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February 2nd, 2017.

It was your first ever birthday party, and you had just turned 14.

You made your way to the living room where all your friends were seated on the couch, chatting amongst one another.

In the middle, stood the table, where your birthday cake was situated.  it was time to blow out the candles.

You hurried over, excitedly. Everyone started singing the birthday song, and you smiled, a little awkwardly. But it was fine. You were fine.

Until Naoya, your cousin, came to sit beside you with a mischievous grin plastered onto his face. You found it a little odd, as the guy had never taken a liking to you and would bully you as much as he possibly could during his free time.

Maybe people do really change? I mean, the guy had showed up to your birthday party! That sure was a sign of progress.

Or that’s what you thought.

You bent down slightly to blow out the candles and not even a second later, he grabbed you by the hair and smashed your head into the cake, pink and white frosting coating your entire face.

Laughter erupted around you, Naoya’s laugh being the loudest.

You felt like you were being ridiculed. Because you were. Naoya had fucking humiliated you, in front of everyone, on your big day.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You stormed out of the living room, making your way past the kitchen and straight out the front door. There, you sat on the porch, crying your heart out, with frosting all over your face, looking like a complete idiot. 

You could hear muffled voices and music coming from inside the house. Naoya was probably having the time of his life, knowing he had completely ruined your day. He lived off of that shit. Making life terrible for others. It was like that was his favourite thing in the whole wide world.

Just thinking about his annoying face made you sob even harder into the sleeve of your dress. You had insisted on not wearing a dress with sleeves since the party was going to be held inside and it wasn’t going to be cold, but your mother had called you a whore for even suggesting wearing anything that could show skin.

You thought she was being protective of you, and worried that you were going to get cold since it was winter. But her intentions were different. She thought that you, revealing your arms at the ripe age of 14, meant that you were going to sleep with other boys.

You slowly removed your arm from your face, pausing your crying for a split second, and the nasty feeling of the sugary frosting seeping into your already tight sleeves - along with the fact that you could be wearing something much easier to breathe in if it weren’t for your psychotic extremist mother - made you so overstimulated that you started crying all over again.

”Who was it?”

You flinched when you heard him, arms instinctively moving up to shield your pathetic, frosting covered face.

As if Naoya smashing your head into the cake wasn’t humiliating enough, Ryomen Sukuna, your neighbor whom you’ve had a raging crush on for years now, saw you crying on your own porch on your own birthday.

”Answer me. Who was it?”

You could only sniffle as he spoke to you, unsure of how to even properly formulate a sentence with the way your breath was hitching, shoulders shaking.

Sukuna sighed, moving from beside you to crouch down in front of you. Gently, he moved your arms away to reveal your face, his crimson eyes meeting your puffy ones.

“You’ll laugh.” You pouted.

“You can tell me anything. I won’t laugh.”

”Promise?”

”Promise, bunny.”

You took a deep, shaky breath before continuing.

”You know my cousin Naoya? He smashed my face into my own birthday cake. Really hard. It hurt like a bitch.” You sniffled, “And everyone started laughing at me like I was some idiot and- I just- I couldn’t take it anymore!”

You sniffled, scrubbing furiously at your frosting covered cheek before giving up with a frustrated little whine.

"I just wanted the frosting off..." you muttered, your voice already beginning to wobble. "It felt so gross, and everyone was looking at me, so I just... I just ran."

You hugged your arms around yourself.

"And then I got out here and realized I'd forgotten tissues." You let out a watery laugh. "I-I actually just stood there for like ten seconds because I didn't know what to do..."

Your fingers curled around the sleeve of your dress.

"So I tried wiping it off with this..." You tugged uselessly at the tight fabric before letting it fall. "A-And it's so tight, it barely even moved. It just smeared frosting all over my face, making it worse." your lip quivered, "I hate this dress."

Silence settled between you before you spoke again, quieter this time.

"I begged her..." you whispered. "I begged her to let me wear the one I picked. Just for today." You swallowed hard. "She didn't even look at it." your eyes burned, "She just called me a whore."

The words left your mouth in a tiny, broken voice, like it still stung to repeat.

"I wasn't even trying to look... like that." Your shoulders shook as another tear slipped down your cheek. "I just wanted to feel pretty for once."

You laughed through your tears, shaking your head.

"And now I'm covered in frosting, crying on my own porch, on my own birthday, wearing a dress I didn't even want."

“Be good and wait right here for me, okay?”

”H-huh?”

Sukuna stood up abruptly, walking past you, straight towards the front-door.

”Oh, and one more thing.” He paused, turning around to face you, “you are fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t even process what was happening when Sukuna quite literally barged into your house, not even caring to close the door behind him as he walked through the corridor and past the kitchen, following the noise of the crowd.

It didn’t take him long before he arrived at the crime scene, immediately recognizing your douchebag cousin with the way he was feeling himself on the dance floor. The guy sure was fruity despite denying all of the gay allegations.

Sukuna wasted no time grabbing Naoya by the collar, yanking him forward so violently that he lost his footing and crashed onto his back. Before anyone could react, Sukuna was already on top of him.

First it was one punch. Then came another. And another.

Each punch landed harder than the previous one, Naoya's head snapping to the side with every brutal blow.

"You..." Sukuna growled, his fist colliding with Naoya's jaw.

Crack.

"...don't..."

Another punch.

"...fucking..."

Blood splattered across his knuckles.

"...mess..."

Naoya barely had time to wheeze before another fist came crashing down.

"...with..."

His face was already swelling beyond recognition.

"...her."

The final word came out as a low, venomous snarl.

Panic erupted throughout the living room. Some guests screamed. Other guests stood frozen in horror, too terrified to move.

Sukuna didn't even flinch though. It was as if they weren't there. Absolutely nothing could tear his attention away from the piece of shit beneath him.

His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, crimson eyes slowly drifting down to the boy beneath him.

Naoya on the other hand, didn't move. Blood pooled beneath his head, his face already swollen beyond recognition.

It seemed as if the whole room realized at the same time, because now there was complete silence. Naoya seriously, wasn’t moving. 

No one screamed anymore… No one dared to.

The only sound left in the room was Sukuna's heavy breathing.

Everyone’s eyes were glued on to Naoya’s demolished face, mouths agape, eyes wide beyond belief, too afraid to make a sound. Or too traumatized. Probably both.

"...K-Kuna?"

Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

His head snapped toward you. The fury that had twisted his features moments ago faltered.

You stood frozen in the doorway of the living room, frosting still smeared across your cheek, your eyes wide and glossy with tears.

Everyone watched, expecting you to run.

However, instead, you walked over to him, completely ignoring Naoya’s severed face.

"...Your hand..."

You reached out instinctively before hesitating.

Sukuna’s knuckles were split open, blood dripping from between his fingers.

Afraid of hurting him, you gently curled your fingers around his wrist instead, tugging lightly at him.

"...Come on," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Let's... let's go clean you up."

For a long second, Sukuna simply stared at you. Then, without a word... He stood.

Still clutching his wrist, you quietly led him through the sea of horrified guests, and no one tried to stop either of you.

In fact, no one even breathed until the door clicked shut behind you.

By the time you reached the building lobby, your hands were already sweating.

Which was embarrassing, honestly.

You had spent nearly two and a half hours getting ready that morning just to make sure you looked somewhat presentable for the interview.

Usually, you didn’t care much about your appearance, spending most days in oversized sweatpants and tank tops with your hair thrown into whatever messy style took the least amount of effort.

Today, though, you not only needed to look professional, you needed to act professional too. And having just turned nineteen while searching for your first real job, you were quite literally shitting yourself.

The soft beige blouse tucked into your black skirt accentuated your waist perfectly, while your freshly styled blowout framed your face in a way that made you feel strangely unfamiliar to yourself.

The only thing even remotely comforting right now was the packet of freeze-dried strawberry chocolates sitting inside your handbag for emotional support.

Your heels clicked nervously against polished marble floors as you clutched your handbag closer to your side, eyes darting around the absurdly expensive lobby towering above you.

Everything inside the building screamed money.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline while sleek black furniture sat beneath warm golden lighting, and every employee passing through the lobby somehow looked terrifyingly put together.

Like they had never embarrassed themselves a single day in their lives.

You quickly pulled your phone out to reread the interview email for what was probably the seventeenth time that morning.

10:00 AM.

Twenty-seventh floor.

Gojo Corporation.

You dragged a hand down your face, inhaling deeply in a desperate attempt to calm yourself down.

If you somehow managed to land this position, you could finally move out of your awful apartment with the broken heating and maybe even stop surviving exclusively off sweets and caffeine.

You needed this job desperately.

Which meant, naturally, your heel caught against the edge of the lobby carpet not even two seconds later.

“Shit-”

Your body lurched forward violently just as somebody stepped out of the elevator directly in front of you.

A solid chest slammed against your shoulder, papers flying everywhere.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-”

You crouched instantly to gather the papers scattered across the floor, mortification flooding throughout your entire body while the stranger beside you knelt down with a dramatic sigh.

“You almost assassinated me before ten in the morning,” he informed you solemnly.

His voice was unfairly attractive, which felt deeply inconvenient right now.

“You survived,” you snickered.

“Barely.”

That was when you finally glanced up properly for the first time, and saw white hair, and bright blue eyes partially hidden behind rectangular black sunglasses.

The guy was tall enough that you had to tilt your head upward just to meet his gaze, dressed in a black suit that probably cost more than your entire life savings combined.

And oh, did he look good in it.

Unfairly good, actually.

Unfortunately, he also looked deeply amused by your suffering.

“I said I was sorry,” you muttered quickly as you stood back up, gathering the last few papers from the floor before shoving them into his hands. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s alright,” he replied easily, his deep voice far calmer than yours despite the collision.

Which somehow only embarrassed you more.

You avoided looking at him for too long after that, suddenly very aware of how attractive he was up close. The expensive black suit fit him perfectly.

Dark fabric stretched neatly across broad shoulders while silver rings glinted against his fingers as he adjusted the papers beneath one arm.

Of course, the hottest man you’d seen all month had to witness you nearly eat shit in a corporate lobby.

You quickly smoothed down your skirt before checking the time on your phone again.

9:52 AM

Only eight minutes left.

“Sorry again,” you said hurriedly, clutching your handbag tighter before turning toward the elevators.

The doors slid open with a soft ding just as you reached them, and you stepped inside immediately, relieved to finally escape the interaction before your humiliation somehow got worse.

Or at least, you would have escaped it.

Had the stranger not stepped into the elevator beside you at the very last second.

He literally just left the elevator. The hell was he doing back in here?

That was when your stomach sank slightly.

Wait a damn second. Was he interviewing too?

No, impossible. There was no way this man was headed to the same place as you-

Then the number 27 lit up when he pressed the button.

Fantastic.

The elevator ride became painfully awkward after that. Mostly because the stranger kept glancing sideways at you with barely concealed amusement while you tried incredibly hard to ignore how attractive he unfortunately was.

God, charismatic men were exhausting.

Especially, before ten in the morning.

“So,” he said eventually, leaning lazily against the elevator wall, “what’re you interviewing for?”

“Marketing position,” you answered.

His brows lifted slightly behind those ridiculous sunglasses.

“Ooh,” he hummed approvingly. “Smart girl.”

Your eyes narrowed immediately.

“How did you know I was interviewing?”

“You’re wearing interview heels,” he said with no hesitation.

“…Interview heels?”

“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely toward you. “The professional blouse, the death-trap heels, the expression of someone seconds away from vomiting-”

“Okay, rude.”

“Am I wrong?”

That shut you up pretty quickly, and unfortunately, he noticed that too.

“Relax,” he said easily, leaning back against the elevator wall. “You’ll do fine.”

Something about the confidence in his voice made you pause for a second. Like he already knew something you didn’t.

The elevator doors opened before he could say anything else, and you stepped out immediately, eager to escape him before your interview anxiety somehow got worse.

Unfortunately, the waiting area upstairs just so happened to be tiny.

Very tiny.

Meaning there was absolutely no escaping the fact that Sunglasses Guy sat directly across from you while you nervously waited for your name to be called.

At one point, you caught him openly staring.

“…Can I help you?”

“You look like you’re preparing for war,” he snorted.

“I’m preparing for unemployment if this goes badly,” you replied honestly despite the sarcasm in your tone.

“You’re cute when stressed,” he said suddenly.

The sentence hit you so unexpectedly your brain genuinely stopped working for a second.

“…What?”

“You keep fixing your hair every thirty seconds,” he explained casually. “It’s adorable.”

Warmth immediately crept into your cheeks.

“You observe people too much.”

“Occupational hazard.”

Thinking of a comeback to say to that, a few moments passed before one of the receptionists nearly dropped her coffee upon noticing him sitting there.

“G-good morning, Mr-”

Sunglasses Guy lazily lifted a finger toward his lips before she could finish, and the receptionist immediately went silent.

You frowned slightly.

Odd.

Then you checked the time on your phone.

10:04 AM.

Your interview was supposed to start four minutes ago.

You leaned back in your chair instead, figuring things were probably hectic back there and deciding you could wait a little longer.

Except a little longer somehow turned into hours.

Candidates came and went throughout the day while names continuously got called from the waiting room, and everyone eventually got interviewed.

Except from you.

:)

By evening, your social battery had completely died.

Your feet hurt, your head hurt, and your hopes for the job had slowly started crumbling after spending nearly seven hours trapped inside the building with no final interview in sight.

That Sunglasses Guy had disappeared sometime after lunch too, which honestly was a little disappointing.

Not because you liked him.

Obviously.

He was annoying, invasive, and weirdly distracting, but the waiting room had felt strangely quieter without him in it.

By the time you finally exited the building into the cool evening air, exhaustion sat heavily in your chest. Sure, this was your first real attempt at job searching, but that didn’t make the disappointment settle any easier inside you.

The city glowed softly beneath sunset now, streaks of orange and pink reflecting across skyscraper windows while crowds hurried past on sidewalks, probably all employed people heading home after work.

With a defeated sigh, you dropped down onto the edge of the sidewalk near the building entrance, hugging your knees toward your chest. The bus wasn’t arriving for another twenty-seven minutes anyway, you might as well suffer dramatically in peace.

“Today drained me,” you muttered miserably to yourself. “At least I still have my strawberry chocolates.”

You reached into your handbag with a small hopeful smile before freezing.

Empty.

Completely.

Fucking.

Empty.

You blinked once.

Then twice.

And as if the universe hadn’t humiliated you enough already, someone nearby started loudly crunching on chocolate-covered strawberries.

Slowly, you turned your head sideways.

And there he was, sitting casually beside you on the sidewalk like he’d been there the entire time.

Mr. Sunglasses Guy himself.

Looking deeply guilty, a half-eaten strawberry chocolate resting between his fingers.

Your jaw nearly hit the earth’s core.

“You fucking thief.”

“I can explain-”

“You ate ALL OF THEM?!?”

“In my defense,” he said carefully, “they were insanely good.”

You stared at the empty packet in horror.

He genuinely didn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation at all. Had it been a bagel or some random snack, you probably wouldn’t have cared.

But your strawberry chocolates?

Seriously?

His shoulders shook slightly like he was trying not to laugh, which only made your outrage worse.

“You absolute menace-”

You immediately started hitting him with your handbag, one hit for every strawberry chocolate he’d stolen. Maybe a few extra for emotional damages.

“You’re committing assault in public!” he yelped in surprise.

“And whose fault is that?!”

“Ow!”

You continued swinging at him while he laughed helplessly, eventually stumbling to his feet when you tried for another hit.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed. “You’re actually insane.”

“You deserve another beating.”

“Over some strawberries, really?”

“Not just some strawberries,” you snapped. “Freeze-dried strawberries covered in chocolate. My favourite.”

People walking nearby had started staring by now, but honestly, you didn’t care.

Mostly because the idiot was still laughing. Like actually laughing. Bright and completely unrestrained beneath the golden evening light, so stupidly pretty it almost annoyed you more than you already were.

And, frustratingly enough, some small part of you felt weirdly proud for being the reason he was laughing like that.

Then you remembered your missing chocolates.

“You’re unbelievable,” you sighed dramatically, glaring up at him.

“I said I was sorry,” he whined.

“You’re not even remotely sorry.”

“…That’s fair.”

You glared at him one last time before turning dramatically.

“I’m going home.”

“Lemme drive you.”

You immediately looked back at him, offended.

“Now why would I get into a car with a thief?”

Then you clutched your handbag tighter before marching down the sidewalk.

And despite your irritation, he still followed after you casually.

:)

“Sooo,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets beside you, “how do you think your interview went?”

Your exhausted sigh answered for you.

“I’m assuming it didn’t go very well?”

“I spent eight hours waiting for a CEO who never even showed up.”

“That does sound tragic.”

“And now I’m unemployed and strawberry chocolate-less.” you pouted.

“Rough day.”

“The worst, actually.”

He hummed thoughtfully beside you for a moment before speaking again.

“Well…” his voice sounded suspiciously amused now. “Maybe the CEO liked you.”

You snorted softly.

“He didn’t even bother meeting me.”

The silence beside you lasted a little too long.

And then-

“…You sure about that?”

Your steps slowed immediately.

Something about his tone suddenly felt strange. Suspicious, almost.

You turned toward him slowly, really looking at him this time.

The expensive suit.

The obnoxious sunglasses.

The polished shoes.

The watch glinting against his wrist beneath the evening sunlight.

And your eyes widened instantly.

“No.”

His grin widened.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sooo…” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “About those strawberries…”

“You’re the CEO?!” you whisper-yelled in absolute disbelief.

He flashed you a beautiful smile. Not sheepish this time, but confident.

“Satoru Gojo,” he introduced brightly, holding out a hand like this was somehow a perfectly normal revelation to drop on somebody. “Professional strawberry chocolate thief and occasional businessman.”

You stared at him in complete horror.

Then immediately smacked him with your handbag again.

“Hey, Y/N, catch!” The fabric hit your chest before your brain even registered what Sasha had thrown at you, instinct taking over as your hands flew up to grab it.

It took a second for you to actually look down, brows knitting together in confusion, before the realization settled in and your stomach dropped hard. White lace, soft and delicate, sheer in places that made your breath hitch just holding it. The bra was structured but sinful, thin straps that looked like they’d snap if pulled too hard, satin ribbon threaded through the cups like it was meant to be undone by someone who knew what they were doing.

The matching bottoms were no better - all curves and intention, barely there, the kind of lingerie you weren’t supposed to wear unless you wanted to be seen. “Sasha,” you said slowly, lifting your gaze to her, “what the hell is this?” She didn’t even try to hide the smirk that tugged at her lips, cherry gloss catching the light as she leaned against her bed, arms crossed like she’d just won something.

“It’s called character development,” she replied. “You should try it sometime.” You scoffed, clutching the lingerie to your chest like it might burn through your skin.

“For what? So Eren can lose his shit and ruin the entire night?” Sasha pushed off the bed and walked over to you, expression shifting just enough to tell you she wasn’t joking anymore. “Y/N,” she said, reaching out and cupping your face so you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.

“You can’t keep living your life around his moods. You’re not fifteen anymore.”

Your throat tightened. You hated when she said things like that because she wasn’t wrong, and she knew it.

“I know how he gets,” you murmured. “Just wearing this dress is already pushing it. I don’t want to deal with him today.”

“That’s exactly why you are wearing this,” Sasha shot back, hands dropping from your face to your wrists, squeezing gently but firmly.

“Tonight is about you. Not Eren. Not his jealousy. You deserve to feel good without apologizing for it.”

She dragged you toward the full-length mirror before you could protest, spinning you once so you were forced to look at yourself.

Your hair fell down your back in loose waves, soft from the heat you’d spent way too long on, the ends brushing the small of your back when you moved.

The white dress clung to you like it had been tailored specifically to test you - thin straps resting against your shoulders, neckline dipping just low enough to hint at cleavage without giving everything away, the fabric hugging your waist before flaring slightly at your hips and stopping high on your thighs.

Innocent at first glance. Dangerous if someone looked too long. And underneath it all, hidden but very much there, was the lace. White on white. Sasha stepped back, eyes raking over your reflection slowly, and deliberately. “Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “You look fucking unreal.” Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly. “Sasha-” “I’m serious,” she cut in. “If Eren doesn’t combust, I’ll be shocked.” You let out a small, nervous laugh, reaching out to grab her wrist and spin her around like she’d done to you. Her own dress shimmered under the light, baby pink and tight, spaghetti straps digging into her shoulders like they were barely holding on. Matching. Like always.

Your phone buzzed on the vanity, breaking the moment. Eren: I’m here.

The walk down to the car felt heavier than it should’ve, your coat pulled tight around you even though the night air was mild.

The second you slid into the passenger seat, his scent hit you -sharp, clean, and unmistakably him. Something expensive. Something you’d never bothered to memorize because you’d never had anyone else to compare it to.

His eyes flicked to you immediately. Not your face first. Never your face first. They dropped to your legs, the hem of your dress riding up slightly as you sat, and you watched his jaw tighten in real time, teeth clenching like he was physically restraining himself from saying something.

His gaze lingered there a beat too long before dragging back up, dark and intense. You shifted uncomfortably, tugging the coat closed.

“Is there a problem?” you asked quietly, rubbing the back of your neck. “You’re staying with me tonight,” he said, voice firm, final.

You opened your mouth to agree - because that’s what you always did - when Sasha leaned forward from the backseat. “Oh, absolutely not,” she snapped. Eren exhaled sharply through his nose. “Sasha-” “No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “This is her first real college party. You are not ruining it for her.” she ran her fingers through her high ponytail, before continuing. “She’s not staying glued to your side like a lost puppy; you don’t get to decide that.” “I’m just making sure she’s safe,” Eren said, jaw tight. You bit your lip. You’d heard that line a thousand times.

Sasha scoffed, clearly not impressed, shifting her weight as she folded her arms tighter across her chest.

“Funny how you can hang out with every girl on campus, but Y/N hasn’t even had her first kiss,” she said, voice sharp now, edged with something protective and angry. “And the one time I finally convinced her to come with me on a double date-” “You did what?”

Eren’s head snapped toward you so fast it almost startled you, his eyes darkening instantly, something dangerous flaring there as his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

The words came out low, clipped, like he was holding himself back by force. “It’s not like that,” you rushed out, heart jumping into your throat. “It was just coffee, and I didn’t even go, so it doesn’t matter-” “You didn’t let me finish,” Sasha cut in, raising a finger pointedly, not even looking at you as she stared Eren down.

“She bailed last minute because she felt bad. Because she felt like she was betraying you. Loyal to a guy who won’t even let her live.”

For a split second - just a heartbeat - you saw it. Relief. It crossed Eren’s face so quickly that anyone else might’ve missed it, but you didn’t. You never did.

His shoulders loosened just slightly, the tension in his jaw easing like he’d just been reassured of something he’d been silently dreading. And that was what hurt the most.

Because he could be with anyone he wanted, go home with whoever caught his eye that night, and you would swallow it down, pretend it didn’t sting, tell yourself it wasn’t your place to care.

But the moment you even thought about someone else, the moment another guy showed interest in you, something in him snapped.

You’d spent years convincing yourself this was normal. That this was just how best friends were. One overly protective, the other patient enough to accommodate it. But Sasha had told you otherwise. “Eren drive to Taco Bell, now.” Sasha added suddenly after a few moments, twirling a strand of hair. “Because if I have to listen to this all night without food, I’m throwing hands.”

Eren groaned. “Are you serious?” She tilted her head, unimpressed. “Dead serious.”

There was a long pause. You watched his shoulders tense, then drop as he sighed and turned the wheel. “Fine,” he muttered. “Taco Bell.”

Sasha’s entire demeanour changed instantly, shoulders relaxing as a victorious grin spread across her face. “See? Compromise.”

Later, sitting in the backseat beside her, you caught Eren’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

He was watching you again, expression unreadable, knuckles white where his hands gripped the steering wheel. You met his gaze and gave him a small smile that said, ‘I’m not going anywhere, you can trust me’, hoping it would calm him like it always did.

And just like always, it worked. You watched the tension leave his face almost immediately, his clenched jaw loosening as his eyes softened for a split second before returning to the road. It was routine by now - his spirals, your calm - and the fact that you could steady him so easily both comforted and unsettled you in ways you never let yourself think too hard about.

:)

The villa was overwhelming in the way only college parties could be.

Music thudded through the walls like a second heartbeat, bass heavy enough to rattle the glasses stacked along the kitchen counters.

Bodies moved everywhere - pressed together in hallways, spilling into doorframes, laughing too loud, leaning too close.

Warm lights hung from the ceiling and wrapped around banisters, casting everything in a hazy glow that made the night feel unreal, like it existed outside of consequence. Sasha grabbed your hand the moment you stepped fully inside. “Chocolate fountain,” she announced, already dragging you through the crowd like it was a mission and not a suggestion. Your other friend Connie whooped behind you, nearly tripping over his own feet as he followed.

“I heard someone say strawberries. I don’t care if that’s a lie, I’m choosing to believe it.”

You laughed despite yourself, letting them pull you along, and for a moment, the tight coil in your chest loosened. This was familiar. This was safe.

Sasha babbling excitedly, Connie hyping up something that absolutely did not deserve that level of enthusiasm.

The fountain sat in the middle of the dining room, ridiculous and excessive, chocolate cascading down tiered metal plates while people crowded around it with skewers and cups.

Sasha practically vibrated beside you, already dunking marshmallows and fruit with reckless abandon. “This,” she said solemnly, chocolate smeared at the corner of her mouth, “is what college is all about.”

You smiled and took a strawberry from the platter, dipping it carefully before taking a small bite. The sweetness hit your tongue, rich and warm, but your appetite wasn’t really there. You found yourself more distracted than hungry, eyes drifting around the room without fully meaning to. Connie noticed. “You good?” he asked, mouth full, chocolate definitely already on his shirt. “Yeah,” you said automatically, even though you hadn’t taken another bite. “Just… not that hungry.”

Sasha glanced at you then, sharp-eyed despite her excitement. She slowed, nudging your shoulder gently. “You didn’t eat taco bell either, are you sure you’re okay?” “I am, trust me.”

And you didn’t fully mean it - until you felt a welcoming presence step closer behind you, not crowding, not intrusive, just present. “Y/N?” Jean spoke, his voice just as calm as you had remembered.

:)

The music shifted subtly as you let yourself be guided by Jean, a gentle pressure at your back, his hand warm at the small of your waist.

You could feel it even through the thin fabric of your dress, the white silk clinging lightly to your skin, soft but unyielding, perfectly tailored to outline the curve of your hips. Your chest fluttered when he leaned closer, voice low in your ear.

“Why aren’t you eating any of this?” he asked, gesturing to the chocolate fountain and the strawberries Sasha had piled so high on your plate.

His words were casual, but the weight behind them made your stomach twist in a mix of guilt and excitement. “I… I’m not that hungry,” you murmured, trying to sound nonchalant, though your fingers fidgeted at the hem of your dress.

He didn’t move away when you shifted, didn’t let a fraction of distance grow between you as he stepped in slightly, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every curve, every reaction.

You felt almost like you were under a spell, a heady mix of nerves and anticipation buzzing through you.

“You know, you really shouldn’t do that,” he said softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he lifted your hand from your lap. “Ignoring chocolate is like ignoring… a really important part of life.” His lips curved into a teasing smile, but it didn’t reach the heat burning in his hazel eyes.

You swallowed, noticing how his hair had fallen loosely over his forehead, the strands just grazing the edge of his sharp cheekbones.

The intimacy of the moment - the closeness, the warmth, the careful but deliberate attention - made your pulse spike.

“Jean…” you breathed, voice catching slightly. “I-” “Hey,” he murmured, cutting you off gently, his eyes softening. “Let’s dance.”

Your heart skipped, and your gaze flicked around nervously.

The music had shifted into a slow, rhythmic sway, and couples had started pairing up, hands on waists, fingers intertwined.

You searched the crowd reflexively, and relief washed over you in a small wave. Eren wasn’t in sight. Not yet. Just a glance, but it was enough to let you breathe, to nod slowly and allow Jean to guide you toward the slightly more open space near the center of the room.

His hand found the small of your back again, this time holding more firmly, and you noticed how impossibly large his hands seemed against your delicate frame. His fingers spread, anchoring you in place as though you were meant to be there, with him, and nowhere else.

The tips of his fingers pressed lightly, possessively, sending a shiver through your body that had nothing to do with the cool air of the room.

You felt a strange, intoxicating tension build in your stomach, a fluttering of butterflies so sudden you almost laughed, almost wanted to push away just to feel the urge more clearly.

He adjusted his stance, leaning in slightly, so that your body shifted against his. His chest brushed yours, warmth radiating through the thin fabric of the white silk.

The movement was careful, precise, almost protective, yet it held a boldness that made your knees weaken.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in further, voice low, brushing against your ear. “You’re… perfect,” he murmured.

Just the word, a whisper, and your cheeks heated up almost immediately. Jean’s hand slid slightly from the small of your back to your side, thumb grazing the soft curve of your ribs, and your breath faltered.

Every nerve in your body was suddenly alert, buzzing, tense, yet longing to lean closer into him. You felt the subtle press of his chest against yours, the careful pressure guiding you, and the soft sway of your hips in rhythm with his.

You were hyper-aware of every inch of him - his closeness, his warmth, the way his hair brushed your shoulder, his breath catching slightly as he followed the music, and most of all, the way he looked at you as though you were fragile, rare, something that needed to be cherished.

For a heartbeat, you allowed yourself to relax entirely, leaning slightly into him, letting the rest of the world fall away. The chocolate fountain, the noise, the party - all vanished. There was only Jean, his hand warm on your back, and the quiet, exquisite thrill of being held by someone who made you feel safe and noticed in a way that almost made your chest ache.

You tried to measure your own feelings, to put words to the flush spreading through your skin, but they tumbled out in a sigh, a sound that made him look down at you, eyes soft, almost melting.

“You’re… different,” he said softly, letting his forehead brush yours, close enough for you to feel the subtle warmth of his skin. “I don’t mean that weirdly. I mean… you’re here, with me. You’re actually letting me be near you, and I can… I can feel everything. You’re… amazing.” His words were deliberate, slow, and weighted.

Each one pressed against your chest in a way that made your pulse hammer. You swallowed, aware of your own nervous energy, of the flush in your cheeks, the small tremor in your hands. “I… I-” “You don’t need to say anything,” Jean whispered, bringing one hand up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re… nervous.”

His thumb brushed your cheek lightly, gentle, almost reverent. You caught your breath sharply, startled by the intimacy, by how effortlessly he read you.

Every beat of your heart seemed louder than the music itself. Your stomach twisted as he leaned even closer, his lips near your neck, almost brushing against your earlobe.

You felt his warmth, steady and intoxicating, the brush of his breath sending tiny shivers down your spine. “God, you’re perfect,” he whispered again, almost as if repeating it would make it more true.

And then, the moment broke abruptly.

A low, sharp voice cut through the air like a whip.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Recognizing the voice, your eyes widened, heart leaping into your throat, and instinctively, your body stiffened. Jean’s hands tensed at your sides as you both turned, and there he was.

Eren.

Standing in the middle of the open floor, dark eyes blazing, jaw tight, fists clenched.

Every ounce of control he had over himself radiated outward like a tangible force. Your chest constricted, panic surging. “Eren… it’s not-” you started, hands immediately reaching out, trying to create distance, attempting to shield Jean from the storm you could already feel brewing.

Jean reacted instantly and placed himself slightly in front of you, one hand brushing against your arm protectively. “Y/N,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours, “look at me. It’s not your fault. You’re not to blame. None of this is your fault.”

“I… I…” Your voice faltered, panic twisting into guilt.

You could feel Eren’s gaze, sharp and possessive, cutting into every nerve in your body.

You were trapped between the two of them, your chest heaving, mind spinning, and you felt an uncontrollable surge of anger at yourself - for letting things get this far, for trusting Jean, for just being human.

“If you want to punch someone, punch me!” you shouted, voice raw. “It’s not him! It’s me! Don’t touch him! Please, Eren, I beg you!”

Jean’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening.

“Step back, Eren,” he said, voice steady but unyielding. “She doesn’t belong to you. You don’t own her. And if you lay a hand on her or me… I won’t let it go.”

Eren’s body tensed, muscles coiling as he took a step forward, the atmosphere around you crackling with tension. “You’ve been like this forever,” Jean continued, voice rising just enough to cut through the music and the crowd. “You know she’s always liked me. She just never made a move because of you. But now? You’re pushing too far.”

“She is mine!” Eren spat, the room seeming to shrink around you, every heartbeat loud in your ears.

The first punch was thrown, swift and hard, and chaos erupted. Floch and Reiner immediately lunged, trying to pull the two apart, while you found yourself sandwiched between the wild, thrashing bodies.

The crowd recoiled, some cheering, some frozen in fear, while Sasha and Connie shouted over the noise, trying to break through the storm.

Blood spattered.

Grunts, thuds, and the sharp crack of a fist landing echoed through the villa.

You clutched at Jean, instinctively pulling him closer, protecting him, even as you stumbled backward, trying to keep your balance on the slippery floor.

The adrenaline was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure, and your stomach twisted as panic and rage warred inside you.

At some point, it all became too much. You couldn’t take the sight of them hurting each other, couldn’t bear the chaos, couldn’t stand the pounding in your chest. And without thinking, without any plan, you pushed past the arms, past the yelling, past the shocked faces, and ran.

:)

Your heels slip against the slick pavement as you burst through the front door, the raindrops immediately soaking through the fabric of your white dress, clinging to your skin.

The cold hits like a slap, making you gasp, but you don’t stop. You can feel the water seeping into your shoes, weighing you down, but you can’t care.

You need to move, need to get away.

Away from the shouting, the chaos, the blood, the fighting…

Away from Eren.

The rain pelts your hair, soaking the loose strands that stick to your cheeks and neck, plastering the curls to your skin. You can barely see through it, the streetlights blurring into long streaks of yellow and white.

Your lungs burn, your chest heaves, every step a desperate attempt to escape the weight of everything inside you.

“Wait-!” The first voice breaks through the storm.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t have to look to know it’s him.

The voice that has haunted your entire life, the one that has always been there when you didn’t want it. The one that has controlled more of your world than anyone should ever be allowed to.

You don’t slow. In fact, you don’t even glance back.

You can hear his boots striking the pavement behind you, steady and deliberate, gaining on you slowly. “Y/N, you need to hear me out!” he shouts, his voice cracking through the rain, the intensity slicing into you like a knife.

You slip again, cursing under your breath, your hands scraping the wet asphalt as you catch yourself.

The dress sticks to your skin, white turning almost transparent under the downpour, revealing the pale lines of your body.

You can feel the heat crawling across your cheeks, the raw embarrassment mixing with fear and anger, driving your legs faster.

“Please, just slow down!” he calls again, closer now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

You’ve been bottling this up for years, every word, every frustration, every injustice, and it all explodes in your chest. You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until the first loud hiccups tear out of you, mixing with the pounding rain.

Your fingers claw at your dress, trying to keep it from sticking to you, from revealing more than it already does.

You want control. You want freedom.

You want to scream that you are done being controlled, done being treated like property, done being the one who must sit quietly while everyone else does what they want.

“Stop!” he calls, closer now. His voice is low, pleading.

You can hear the anger simmering under the concern, that impossible combination that has always made your stomach twist.

You round a corner sharply, the slick concrete threatening to throw you off balance. “Y/N, please-!”

You finally snap, spinning around mid-run, face flushed, eyes wild, water dripping from your hair and down your spine, soaking the delicate lace underneath the dress. “ENOUGH!” you scream, voice cracking over the rain. “I’ve had enough!”

Eren stops a few feet away, hands slightly raised, the way he always does when he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else but also can’t control the storm in him. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, eyes dark, piercing, searching.

“I… I was just trying to protect you,” he says slowly, voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability slipping through the usual hard edges.

The words hit like fire.

You stumble backward a step, slick pavement betraying your balance for a brief second. Your hands fly to your face as the tears mix with the rain, streaming down, washing everything in chaos.

“Protect me?” you choke out, sobbing, rage burning hotter than the storm around you.

“You control me! You control everything I do, everything I feel, everything I am! I can’t-” Your voice breaks, barely audible over the pounding rain. “I can’t take it anymore, Eren!”

He takes a cautious step forward, the rain running off his damp hair, water clinging to his clothes, but the storm in his gaze hasn’t softened. “I’m not trying to control you-” he begins, voice firm but pleading, like he’s trying to reach inside your chest.

“You’re lying!” you shout, turning sharply so the rain lashes against your face. “Every time I try to breathe, every time I try to- just- live- I can’t! You won’t let me!”

His jaw tightens, muscles shifting, and you see the flash of pain in his eyes, the way he fights with himself not to cross the distance between you too fast. “I just… I can’t let anyone hurt you,” he says finally, voice lower, almost a whisper against the rain.

“And I can’t live like this!” you scream back, sobs wracking your body as your hands pound against the sides of your head, water and tears blending. “I’m not yours! I can’t even talk to a guy I trust because you’ll ruin it! You’ll always ruin it!”

He steps closer, hands stretching out, and you shove him fiercely, teeth gritted, rain mixing with the spit flying from your lips.

“Don’t touch me!” you yell. “Leave me the hell alone!” His eyes widen slightly at your intensity, but he doesn’t stop moving toward you. “I’m not letting you walk alone,” he says, voice shaking with desperation. “Please, just… don’t run from me.”

“You don’t get it!” you scream, tears dripping off your chin, soaking the delicate lace of your dress, clinging impossibly to your skin.

“I’ve been quiet for years, Eren! I’ve let you decide who I can like, who I can talk to, who I can even look at, and I-” You catch your breath, sobs tearing through you. “Why, Eren, why???”

For a long, unbearable moment, the rain beats down, your breaths loud in your ears, water running down your face, blinding you.

His shadow falls over you, and even in the storm, you can see the desperation and the fear in him.

You want to hate him. You want to scream at him to disappear. But even as your body shakes, your chest heaving violently, there’s a part of you - a small, tiny part - that wants to see the face you’ve known since childhood soften, to see him stop this endless cycle of anger and protection.

“Because…” he starts, voice breaking, reaching for you slowly,

“Because… I love you!”

You stumble slightly in the slick rain, the dress sticking impossibly to you, water running down your back and legs, mixing with tears, but you don’t pull back. Your chest heaves, lungs burning, sobs still rattling your frame, and for a split second, all the anger that’s been dragging at your bones pauses.

You just… stare. Because he said it. He said the words that you’ve been dying to hear, the words you thought you’d never hear from him.

“I… I love you.” He continues, calmer now.

You freeze.

The rain pounds down, your hair stuck to your cheeks and neck, your wet dress clinging impossibly to every curve, revealing lines and shapes you’ve been so careful to hide. Your stomach twists, your heart skips, and your brain can’t catch up. Shock wraps around you like ice, numbing everything.

“…What?” you manage finally, your voice a broken whisper over the storm.

You’re still trembling, water running down your face, hair plastered against your temples, but you don’t step back. You’re too… frozen.

He’s close now. Too close.

The storm and the rain and the chaos of the night fade, leaving only him.

His hands shake slightly as he lifts them toward you, the desperation in his eyes burning through the cold.

“I’ve always loved you,” he repeats, voice trembling, raw, and aching. “Ever since we were kids. I didn’t know how to tell you because- I was afraid… afraid I’d lose you.”

And suddenly, all the words that have been building inside you- the rage, the frustration, the envy of all your friends who’ve moved on, who’ve kissed, who’ve lived, while you’re still untouched- spill out in a single, jagged breath.

“You- You go from girl to girl and I don’t say a word, and I let it slide! And now- now that I finally give someone a chance, someone I trust-” Your voice breaks into sobs. “You do this? You-you beat the crap out of Jean because you love me?”

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a frown crossing his features, but he doesn’t step back. He only takes another careful step closer, hands lifting slightly, tentative. “It’s not like that,” he murmurs, voice low and strained. “You have to understand… I was trying to protect you. I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

And that’s the final spark.

Your chest tightens so hard it hurts, and all the frustration, the humiliation, the anger, the exhaustion, the loneliness, the hunger that’s gnawed at you all day- it explodes.

“I’m still a virgin, Eren!” you cry, rain plastering your hair to your forehead. “I haven’t even had my first kiss, and I’ve been waiting for someone I can actually trust, someone who… who doesn’t scare me half to death, and you-”

You stumble, letting the words trail off as your strength fails for a moment.

The cold, the hunger, the adrenaline, the constant running- the fight and the chaos- it all drains out of you in a shuddering breath.

You shiver violently, dress clinging, teeth chattering. Your tears and rain blur the world. Before you can finish, before you can even articulate another sentence, he steps forward faster than you expect.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t hesitate. His hands are suddenly at your face, cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing away rain and tears, and then-

he crashes his lips onto yours, causing the entire world to tilt.

The rain falls harder, hammering against your back and shoulders, soaking your hair and dress, and yet all you feel is him. The heat of his body against yours.

The taste of him.

The desperate, yearning pressure of his lips that don’t give you a moment to think, a moment to protest,

a moment to even breathe.

Your knees buckle slightly. You’re exhausted. Wet. Starving. The energy that allowed you to run, to scream, to fight, to sob- it’s all gone.

And he’s there, holding you, strong and unyielding, grounding you against the storm.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, pressing you into him, and letting you stumble fully into his chest.

He breaks the kiss just for a moment, just long enough to let you catch a trembling breath, and his eyes meet yours, dark, searching, and full of longing. “You… you’re mine,” he whispers, almost reverently, “and I’m going to give you everything that I ever deprived you of.”

Your breath catches, body shivering violently. The wet lace clings impossibly to your chest and hips, the pale skin under the white dress glowing faintly in the streetlight, and the thought of it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment and excitement all at once.

You barely have time to process his words before he presses his lips to yours again, slow this time, lingering, feathering, pressing, deepening as if he wants to memorize every inch of you.

You gasp into him, hands flying to his shoulders for balance, knees threatening to give out entirely, and he tightens his arms around you, holding you upright despite the trembling, despite the exhaustion, despite everything.

The world contracts.

Rain, wind, tears, sobs- all of it disappears into him. Into the heat radiating off his skin. Into the press of his lips, the brush of his hair against yours, the warmth of his chest, the solidity of his arms.

You shiver violently, sobs mixing into the kiss, energy spent, body trembling.

He murmurs against your lips, low, almost worshipful, “You’re my perfect little girl. You always have been.”

Your legs, not used to this kind of intimacy, give out completely and you let yourself collapse almost entirely onto him.

He catches you without hesitation, hands sliding down to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly, and holding you against his chest like you weigh nothing at all.

His forehead rests lightly against yours, rain dripping between your hair, and you can barely hold yourself up, exhausted from the tears, the chase, the adrenaline, and the fact that you haven’t eaten in hours. Eren murmurs softly, almost fondly, “Let’s get you somewhere warm. Somewhere you can eat. Your bad eating habits are coming back. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

You cling to him, shivering, heart still racing, trying to pull in breaths that won’t come, and you can barely form words.

The confession, the kiss, the release- it all hits you at once. And yet, even in your exhaustion, in your wet, fragile state, all you can think is: He’s finally yours. He’s finally said it. He’s finally here, holding you through this storm.

The rain pelts you, soaking your hair, dripping down your neck and back, but it feels like nothing compared to the warmth of him, holding you, steady, grounding, unyielding. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, the steady thrum beneath your trembling frame, and for the first time all night, all year, maybe even all your life, you feel… safe.

The car door slams behind you, muffling the rain that’s been hammering your dress into you, leaving your skin cold and slick. Your dress clings uncomfortably to your breasts and thighs, soaked through, and the chill makes your teeth chatter.

Every nerve in your body screams for warmth, for comfort, for something to stop the shaking- but when Eren enters through the other side of the car, plops down into the backseat and leans down beside you, his presence alone is almost unbearable.

The scent of him hits you first, sharp and warm, intoxicating in the small space of the car.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he slides in closer, eyes dark and unrelenting as they sweep over you.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, voice low and husky, and it makes your chest tighten in ways you weren’t prepared for.

His hands settle lightly on your shoulders, grounding and firm- but not rough.

You try to pull back, to insist that you’re fine, but his fingers curl slightly, holding just enough to prevent you from moving. “No, Eren, I’m fine,” you whisper, voice shaky, shivering not just from the cold but from the proximity, from the tension that hums between you.

He leans closer, nuzzling your neck gently, and you can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes.

“Not fine,” he murmurs against your skin. “Not like this. You’re wet. You’re cold. You’re shivering. I can’t let you sit like this.”

Before you can protest again, his hands are already at your straps, slowly sliding them down your arms.

The wet fabric peels away from your shoulders and chest, and your breath hitches.

Your body reacts without permission, shivering again, and he notices, pressing a little closer to shield you from the chill. As your wet dress slides beneath your laced breasts, Eren is respectful enough to look away, but when the dress makes its way down your thighs, revealing the matching lingerie, he can’t take it anymore.

His eyes darken with lust and want, fingers twitching at the sight, before moving them to push the soaking dress off you completely.

Lastly, he removes your heels, gently, placing a soft kiss on each of your ankles before reaching out to the front of the car and turning on the heater.

As he does that, you notice the blood seeping out of his cracked knuckles, and on instinct you gasp, eyes widening. “Eren, you’re hurt!” You grip his wrist gently, holding it like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

Your fingers feel small against his, and for a second you just breathe, the rain tapping against the roof of the car loud enough to drown out everything else.

You bring his hand closer, resting your forehead against his knuckles, eyes dropping to your lap as if you can’t quite bring yourself to look at him yet.

It’s soft and familiar. It’s something you’ve done since you were kids- seeking comfort without realizing it, leaning into him without thinking twice. Except now everything feels heavier, charged, your chest tight with emotions you’ve kept buried for far too long. “I’m fine, Y/N” Eren says, a small grin growing on his wet lips. “You’re not,” you whisper, voice trembling as you tighten your grip just a little. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

The words come out small, fragile, like you’re afraid they’ll shatter the moment they leave your lips.

Eren shifts closer, slow and deliberate, until you feel his presence fully.

His other hand comes up to cover yours, fingers threading gently between them, anchoring you there. You feel his thumb brush over your knuckles, soothing and familiar. “None of this is your fault, but I just get a little mad sometimes. Especially, when it comes to you.” he murmurs, voice low and steady.

He pauses, before his green eyes meet your puffy ones, and he continues- “I’ve got you. Always.”

Your breath stutters at that, chest aching as you finally let yourself believe him. You loosen your grip just enough to lace your fingers with his properly, holding on like you’re afraid the moment will disappear if you don’t.

The rain keeps falling outside, relentless, but inside the car it feels suspended in time.

He leans in even further, brushing a soft kiss against your temple, then your forehead, lingering there just a second longer than necessary.

Another kiss follows on the tip of your nose, gentle and unhurried, like he’s savouring the closeness rather than rushing it.

His nose nudges lightly against your cheek, affectionate and warm, and you can’t stop the quiet sigh that slips out.

You press closer instinctively, letting your head rest against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Your body feels heavy and drained- not just from running, but from holding everything in for so long, for bottling up all of these intense emotions.

He exhales softly, lips curving just a little as he looks down at you, eyes full of something tender and unreadable. One hand stays tangled with yours, the other resting protectively at your side.

Then, gently- almost teasingly- he murmurs, “Now… let’s get you something to eat.” Before he can proceed to move to the front so he can start the car and drive you off to the shops, you stop him. “Wait- Eren” you say, a faint blush growing on your cheeks.

Eren hums, squeezing your hand a little to indicate that he heard you. “Earlier… you said that you were going to…” you shake your head, before continuing “never mind, forget it.”

Eren nudges your knee, teasingly. “Tell meeee” he whines, just like when you were kids.

“No, you’re going to make fun of me.” you say, flustered, face still turned away.

“Y/N, look at me,” he says quietly.

You take a shaky breath before lifting your eyes to meet his, lungs burning like you’d been holding in air for too long.

“I told you I was going to take care of you,” he reminds you, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. Not rushing, never rushing with you.

You nod, a small hum slipping from your throat before you can stop it. “So that means,” he continues softly, “if there’s something on your mind… you let me hear it. I can’t take care of what I don’t know.”

You swallow. “Fine…” you whisper, biting your lip as your gaze drops to where his hand is still holding yours. “I just- earlier, you said you were going to give me everything that you…” You trail off, heart pounding too loud in your ears. “Everything that you ever deprived me of. And I- you don’t have to, obviously. I’m not asking. I’m just… curious. I mean, you probably don’t even want to, or-” You don’t get to finish.

In one smooth movement, his hands slide to your shoulders, and he gently but firmly shifts you beneath him, guiding you back against the cool leather of the car seat.

It’s careful and controlled - nothing rough, nothing sudden meant to scare you - but it still steals the breath from your lungs.

A soft gasp leaves your lips as your back meets the car seat.

He hovers over you now, rainwater dripping from his hair and landing warm against your forehead as it trails down your cheek. Eren’s eyes flick down once to your laced breasts - just once - and when they come back to your face, something dark and settled locks into place. His hand tightens at your waist, decisive now, like he’s done pretending this isn’t happening.

He leans in until his mouth brushes your ear, voice low, controlled, and ruined all at once. “Get comfortable, baby” he murmurs. “Because once I start…

The conflict starts long before your mother even reaches your bedroom door.

You hear her voice downstairs first, sharp and loud enough to carry through the entire house while dishes clatter aggressively in the kitchen. The moment your name leaves her mouth, you don't even react. Your body doesn’t tense the way it used to.

Because you’re used to this now, and that’s the worst part.

It’s complicated with your mother. One second she’s completely calm, and the next she’s exploding over something meaningless, screaming until your head hurts and your chest feels tight. You could ask something harmless like, “Do you know where the spatulas are?” and somehow it would turn into a full argument.

And so, eventually, you stopped trying.

Now you barely speak unless spoken to and hope for the best that she won’t put her hands on you today.

Sitting at the edge of your bed, you stare blankly at your phone while your wired earbuds rest around your neck. The room is dim except for the orange sunset bleeding weakly through your curtains.

Then suddenly-

Your bedroom door swings open hard enough to slam against the wall.

“There you are.”

Your mother storms into the room already angry, pacing around while throwing random things dramatically like she’s cleaning up after some disgusting animal.

“Are you fucking serious?” she snaps. “Who lives like this?”

You glance around numbly.

The room isn’t even dirty. There’s a hoodie on the floor beside your bed and an empty water bottle near your desk, but to her it’s apparently the end of the world.

“I’m tired,” you mumble quietly.

“Tired from what?” she laughs bitterly. “You don’t do shit all day except rot in this room.”

You stay silent.

“You don’t even come downstairs anymore. You act like you hate this family.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter beneath your breath before you can stop yourself.

Silence. Complete silence.

Then her expression changes.

“What did you just say?”

Fuck.

Now she’s louder.

Talking over you, around you, not even waiting for answers anymore. Complaining about your attitude, your grades, the way you dress, the fact you never want guests over anymore. The way you always look miserable whenever relatives visit.

Then eventually, like always, it shifts.

“You know,” she says sharply, eyes dragging over your body, “other girls your age actually take care of themselves instead of starving themselves for attention.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, your chest twists painfully.

There it is.

Your body.

The one thing she always finds a way to weaponize.

When you were younger she mocked you for being chubby. Compared you to thinner girls. Your friends, your cousins, you name it. Made little comments that stuck in your head for years. Then when you started eating less, suddenly she acted concerned.

Like she had no idea why her child stopped wanting food.

Having had enough, you stand up abruptly before she can continue spewing out insults.

“I’m going out.”

“Oh, of course you are,” she scoffs. “Run away again. That’s all you know how to do.”

Your hands shake while shoving your phone into your hoodie pocket.

“Go then!” she yells after you. “Walk around outside all night like you always do!”

You shove your sneakers on and leave. The front door slams behind you hard enough to rattle the windows, and the cold air hits your face instantly.

For a few seconds you just stand there on the front steps breathing unevenly while the sky darkens overhead.

One tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. Then another. You wipe angrily at your face with your sleeve.

You hate crying.

Especially over arguments like this, because it never changes anything.

Your nose burns pink from the cold while your eyes sting red beneath dark lashes. You shove your earbuds in quickly before your thoughts can spiral any further.

Still With You by Jungkook fills your ears softly, immediately wrapping around your chest in that familiar aching way it always does. You don't even care for k-pop anymore, but you still keep some nostalgic songs in your playlist for moments like these.

You start walking, and the neighborhood is quiet except for the sound of wind scraping dead leaves across the sidewalk. Your oversized hoodie hangs heavily off your body while strands of dark hair keep falling into your face every time the wind blows.

You don’t notice someone beside you until one of your earbuds suddenly gets tugged out.

“The hell are you doing out here?”

You flinch violently before glaring up-

and immediately see Eren standing there.

Of course.

 It’s Eren.

Tall enough to practically block the streetlight behind him, dark hair messy from the wind, sharp green eyes narrowing the second he properly sees your face.

“You were crying.” he says, not as a question.

You immediately snatch the earbud back from him.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You literally were.”

“I literally wasn’t.” you continue to deny.

“Your nose is red.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“And your eyes are too.”

You roll your eyes hard before shoving past him with a quiet, “Shut up.”

Eren falls into step beside you automatically like he always does, and for a while, neither of you speak. Your shoes scrape softly against the pavement while music continues playing faintly through the remaining earbud.

Then quieter this time, he asks,

“Your mom again?”

Your shoulders tense instantly. That alone, said everything he needed to know. 

Eren exhales sharply through his nose, jaw tightening the way it always does whenever he gets angry on your behalf. Then after a minute or two-

“You wanna go to the park?”

And you nod silently, like you always do.

---

The park is empty except for the old swings creaking softly in the wind beneath flickering orange lights. Dead leaves scrape across the pavement while the jungle gym glints silver under the streetlights.

Without really thinking about it, you climb onto the metal bars.

Eren watches from below while you pull yourself higher onto the structure, sneakers slipping slightly against chipped paint. A quiet laugh leaves him at your childish behavior, probably relieved to see you acting even slightly normal again.

But then your hoodie stretches up slightly when you reach for another bar, just enough, for Eren to go completely silent.

You glance down instinctively, confused at first, but then your stomach drops the second you realize what he’s staring at.

Your waist.

The sharp outline of ribs beneath pale skin.

Fuck.

You yank your hoodie down immediately, fingers tightening hard in the fabric while heat rushes to your face, but Eren doesn’t say anything.

Which somehow feels even worse.

The jungle gym creaks softly as he climbs up after you, crouching onto the small platform beside you. His shoulders hunch slightly because the bars overhead are too low for him, green eyes still fixed on you with an expression you can’t even read anymore.

Shock?

Concern?

Anger?

Maybe all three.

You avoid looking at him completely, pretending to untangle your earbud wire even though it’s already straight.

Then suddenly-

His hand wraps around your wrist.

Not rough, just firm enough to stop you from pulling away.

And the second his fingers touch your skin, his eyebrows pull together sharply.

“You’re freezing.”

His voice comes out lower this time. Not teasing anymore, concerned.

His thumb brushes against the inside of your wrist unconsciously, like he’s still trying to process how cold you actually are. The expression on his face makes embarrassment crawl up your throat immediately.

You tug weakly against his grip.

“Eren.” you say, after another failed attempt at getting him to release you.

“What?” he snaps. “You want me to pretend this is normal?”

You look away instantly.

The irritation in his voice should make you defensive, but somehow it doesn’t. Because unlike your mother, Eren’s anger never feels cruel.

It feels protective, and for some reason, that just makes your chest tighten even more.

“You look sick,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your face again. “Like actually sick.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious.”

His grip loosens slightly when he notices you shrinking into yourself, but he still doesn’t let go completely.

The wind blows through the park again, cold enough to sting your face. Somewhere nearby, the swings creak softly back and forth.

Eren swears quietly under his breath before pulling one hand through his hair aggressively.

“How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know.” you whisper.

“Bullshit.”

You flinch at his harsh tone, and Eren notices immediately.

For a second, guilt flashes across his face before irritation takes over again.

“Sorry,” he mutters roughly. “But don’t give me that answer.”

You stare down at the peeling paint beneath your shoes.

“I just haven’t really been hungry.”

"Don't lie to me." he responds with no hesitation.

"I'm fine, can't you see?" you tried to flash him your best smile, but he could tell it wasn't authentic.

"You look like shit." he says with no hesitation.

"Real comforting, Yeager." 

“Oh my god,” Eren scoffs, looking genuinely annoyed now. “Stop focusing on the wrong part.”

His eyebrows pull together hard while his grip tightens around your wrist again.

“You’re freezing cold, your ribs are fucking sticking out, and you look exhausted all the time. The hell do you expect me to say?”

You don’t answer, and silence settles between you two again. Then quieter this time, Eren asks,

“Did she say something to you again?”

Your chest tightens painfully. And just like that, all the fight drains out of you. You shrug weakly, still refusing to look at him.

That's when Eren clicks his tongue in irritation.

“She did.”

Not a question, a statement.

You swallow hard. “She always says stuff.”

“What stuff?”

You hesitate, then laugh quietly, bitterly.

“Take your pick.”

Eren’s jaw clenches instantly.

“She says I’m lazy.” Your fingers tighten around your hoodie sleeve. “That I’m embarrassing. That I act depressed for attention. That I look disgusting no matter what I wear.”

The words come out weirdly numb now, like you’ve heard them so many times they don’t even sound real anymore.

“She used to make fun of me for being chubby,” you continue quietly. “Then when I stopped eating she suddenly started acting concerned.”

Eren’s expression darkens more with every sentence.

“And now she keeps saying I look sick, but she’s the reason I started hating my body in the first place.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

You shrug again.

“I dunno. After a while I just stopped feeling hungry.”

Eren goes quiet for a second.

Then-

“That’s so fucking stupid.”

Your head snaps toward him immediately.

“Huh?”

His eyes narrow. “You heard me.”

Eren exhales sharply through his nose, visibly frustrated that he can’t explain himself properly.

“I’m saying she messed with your head so badly that now you’re the one hurting yourself for her.”

The words hit harder than you expect, and you immediately look away again, because he’s right.

And you hate that he’s right.

“You think starving yourself proves her wrong or something?” he asks, voice quieter now. “Because it doesn’t.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop.”

You laugh weakly.

“Wow. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

“You think I wanna feel like this?” you whisper. “I’m exhausted all the time, I swear I can barely function anymore. Half the time I feel dizzy just standing up.”

Eren’s expression changes instantly.

“You feel dizzy?”

Fuck.

You shouldn’t have said that.

“It’s not a big deal, though. Don't worry.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

You groan quietly, rubbing your face with your sleeve.

“Can you not make this dramatic?” you whine, your voice a little muffled because of your sleeve.

“Dramatic?” Eren repeats incredulously. “You’re literally admitting you’ve been starving yourself until you pass out and you want me to act normal?”

“I don't pass out.”

"Yet."

The word hangs heavily between you, and you hate how serious he sounds. Hate how worried he looks. Because now guilt is twisting painfully in your stomach too.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” you admit quietly, looking down.

Eren’s face softens slightly, and for a while neither of you speak. The wind pushes strands of hair into your face while your music still plays faintly through the earbud dangling around your neck.

Then suddenly Eren asks,

“When’s the last time you actually ate something?”

You hesitate a little too long, and his expression immediately hardens again.

“Oh my god.”

“I had coffee earlier.”

“That is not food.” he says, sternly.

“There was milk in it.” you say, sheepishly.

Eren stares at you blankly for a second before dragging a hand down his face.

“You’re actually impossible.”

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh slips out, and the second Eren hears it, his expression softens just slightly.

There it is.

The thing he was trying to get back out of you all night.

Something real. Something alive.

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters quietly.

Then his eyes flick downward toward your hands that are still shaking slightly.

Without saying anything, Eren shrugs off his hoodie.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

“Put this on.” he demands.

“But you’ll freeze, Eren you don't have to-”

“I literally don’t care.”

Before you can argue again, he forces the hoodie on you.

“Stop talking.”

You glare at him as he adjusts it on you, dragging it down the hoodie you were already wearing with ease. His breath hitches a little at the fact that you need two (maybe more?) hoodies to feel warm. If it were up to him, he would keep you warm forever.

The hoodie smells just like him. Clean laundry, cold air, and something annoyingly comforting. The sleeves are way too long, and warmth immediately starts sinking back into your freezing hands.

Eren watches your expression carefully the entire time, like he’s making sure you actually keep it on.

Then quieter this time, he asks,

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The question catches you off guard, and so you stare down at your lap silently.

“I dunno.”

“Yes, you do.”

You swallow hard, then after a moment you speak. “Because it sounds pathetic out loud.”

Eren’s eyebrows pull together instantly.

“You think getting treated like shit every day is pathetic?”

“No.” Your voice drops lower. “I think letting it affect me this badly is.”

For a second Eren just stares at you, but then suddenly he moves closer. Close enough that his knees bump against yours in the cramped little platform.

“Look at me.”

You hesitate, biting your lip.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, your eyes lift toward his, and his expression is serious now. Completely serious.

“You are not weak for being affected by that,” he says firmly. “Anyone would be messed up after hearing shit like that their entire life.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

“And you need to stop acting like you deserve it.”

The words hit something deep inside your chest.

Because the scary part is-

You do think you deserve it sometimes.

Eren notices the look on your face instantly, and suddenly he looks genuinely angry again.

“Don’t tell me you actually believe her.” 

Silence.

“Are you serious?”

You look away quickly.

Eren lets out a sharp breath, leaning back slightly while dragging both hands through his hair.

“That woman pisses me off so bad.”

Despite everything, another weak laugh escapes you. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He looks at you again, and this time there’s something almost helpless in his expression. Like he genuinely doesn’t know how to fix this for you.

“If I could, I’d drag you outta that house myself,” he mutters.

Your chest aches painfully at the sincerity in his voice.

“You can’t.” you whisper.

“I know.”

The quietness of his answer somehow hurts worse. Eren watches you silently for a moment before speaking again.

“C’mere.”

Before you can react properly, his arm suddenly wraps around your shoulders, pulling you against him. Your breath catches instantly. Eren has hugged you before, but never like this. This feels different. It feels careful. Almost protective.

One hand rests against the back of your head while the other stays firm around your shoulders, holding you close against his chest like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he ever were to let you go.

“I'm always here, you know that, right?” he mutters quietly.

Your face presses against his chest, and embarrassingly enough, no one has ever comforted you like this before- so your eyes start to burn automatically.

"You're gonna make me cry,” you mumble against his chest.

“I know.” he responds, wholeheartedly wanting you to let it all out.

“I hate crying.”

“I know.” he says, softly.

You laugh weakly through the tears. Eren’s hand slides gently through your hair once. Then again.

The movement is awkward at first, like he’s not completely used to comforting people this softly, but he keeps doing it anyway. Because for you, he will do anything.

“You scared the hell outta me tonight,” he admits quietly, and your chest tightens painfully.

“You’re not alone with this shit, okay?” he says firmly. “I don’t care how bad things get. You tell me.”

You don’t answer immediately. You just stay there in his arms beneath the flickering orange park lights while the cold wind blows around the jungle gym.

And for the first time in months, you don’t feel completely unbearable to exist as. Because Eren’s holding you like you matter - like you’re something worth protecting.