author's note:
this chapter is so steamy i could take a shower in it. enjoy the utter chaos. also, just gotta remind you, our main character is not a kind person. so set the bar in the grave for her 😍
content warnings:
blood, gore, death, alcohol and drug consumption, light smut (kinda? just gotta edge you for the chapter that comes next 😌)
---
The skin of my forearm is a rippling butter melting under the shear weight of the impact.
White-pinned canines puncture into my supple, unaware flesh. Streams of warm, auburn liquid trickle down where the incision begins and span a spraying distance to my collarbone. Flickered speckles dot my neck as the pressure only increases, a whip of the hound's neck surely to follow suit in any moment and rip off half the limb as if I were a plastic toy.
It was naive enough of me to think that an abandoned facility amid an evergreen forest would be uninhabited. In a place so desolate despite the casual groups that would whisk away on the concrete paths, it's no wonder that a dark cavern became a safe haven for more than just leeches and mice. It was a den, and an extremely intuitive one at that.
I need to push past the shock or half my arm will no longer belong to me. My body a dinner for a stomach that will only desire twice as much come the morning.
The dim-lit space only grants my vision minimal access to unpack the surroundings, but it's enough to uncover the face of the lunging beast before me.
It's a wolf. Not doubt one that is hungry, starved, considering the nature of its eerie habitat within the crumbling walls of the power plant.
The scruffed face is hollow and worn, with crisp and course grey hair encompassing it's every juncture. Bearing its teeth and growling with no remorse, the canary yellow beads that barely resemble eyes remain wide and attached to my own.
Along with the stomping of heavy shoes rattling the metal staircase behind, I hear deep and frightening yells. But they seem so far away. So incredibly meaningless in comparison to the kill-willed animal that latches on to me.
Focus, Ara. Focus.
Porco had once taught me a technique to unlock an opponent who dare use his or her's jaw against me. Though it was all in good fun at the time, and most likely an excuse for Porco to initiate more physical contact, I hope to whatever being out there that it would work.
My free hand roams the dark air before I can even discover its whereabouts. Moving swiftly, I clamp my fingers to where the wolf's jaw unites and dig my nails as deep as I can into the crevice.
It lets out a defeated whine as its teeth are forced to dismount from the saddle-like hold they had fastened onto my arm.
With my hand now firm underneath its jaw, I take my wounded arm and shove a finger into its eye.
The resounding yelp fills the space as I leverage my grip to shove its muzzle into the solid banister of the stairway. It's body falls limp for what I assume will be only a few minutes. I can finally let out a breath.
The breath is cut in half by the sound of paws splashing in the cold tube's water.
I need to move fast. There are more coming.
"Get your ass up here!"
Finally, I lock onto an extremely frightened pair of emerald eyes, frantically trying to shut the heavy, white door at the top of the stairs.
At a speed that can only be described of as reckless and last-hope motivated, I sprint up the clattering stairs with too wide a gap between each increment.
Almost tripping as I reach the top of the platform, I turn my gaze back down to see our greeting party practically galloping up the stairway now. Three wolves crash and topple over one another to attack our duo, each extremely rapacious with foam bubbling at their mouths.
"GET OVER HERE!" Eren shrieks in anger, face laced with limitless anxiety. However, the way he still struggles to shift the screeching door to a close tells me that we won't have enough time before the three demons are eating us alive within the tunnel.
"No!" I yell out, turning to the canisters I noted off before hitting this area of the plant. "That won't be fast enough!"
Wincing in an enormous amount of pain, I use both arms to pick up the rusty, pale container and shove it down the stairwell.
It barrels right into the trio and knocks them down a few strides, but not enough to stop their assault.
Quickly, I wedge myself between the wall and the explosives, lining myself up against the tall cylinders that reach just beneath my chest. In one swift motion, I bring my back flush to the wall and kick out my legs with as much force as I can muster. Sending eight more canisters shooting down the stairs, it becomes enough to buy us time to shut the door.
Turning, I squeeze my way through the small crevice left in the door that Eren still can't close.
"This goddamn door is stuck in place," He puffs out mind-push, bearing all his weight against it.
I join at his side and together we shove with all our force, the door finally creaking as it shifts across its carrier.
Just as we're about to slam it shut, a scratching paw with claws that resemble knives appears through the three-inch gap. The sudden realization causes Eren to halt his movements, so I push forward, slamming the paw between the door and wall, ignoring the screams of the animal that comes from behind.
A sapphire glow and the circular window of the door unveils the deranged beasts as they howl and snap, trying to reach us in whatever way possible.
"We're not done yet," I command as I lace Eren's hand in mine, dragging him down the tunnel.
As loud as our shaking steps are, what I can vividly hear above everything else is my heartbeat. It drowns out all the chaos with its every reminder that I am dependent on its purpose; the organ no larger than my fist. Despite all the muscle I had built up throughout the years, they would all pale in comparison the the service of the one in which I cannot seem to train. The reminder turns into an alarm inside my head as I remember my injury. With every heavy thump comes the additional trickle of thick, warm liquid running down my arm as if it were just the output of a mechanical device.
We need to get out of here. Power plants are connected and filled with tunnels. We wouldn't be alone for much longer.
A tunnel that took us a few minutes to cross just before we sunk ourselves into hell now takes us no more than thirty seconds to sprint through as we finally reach the open window.
"What happened down there?" Connie cries out and continues on, "We heard howling or something and a loud crash."
"Wolves," Eren pants up as we arrive at the opening, Jean's outstretched hand connecting with Eren's calloused one.
"Did you get hurt?!" Sasha panics, grazing her eyes over the pathways of my blood that had ventured their course over to Eren's arm. It must've happened when I had grabbed him to run.
"No," he breathes out as I hoist the rest of his body up, trying to maintain good pace. "Ara did," he finishes once he rolls back into the grass.
The two words are enough to send three wild minds aflame and ignite a series of pointed questions in Eren's direction.
Moving off of shear panic, Jean reaches both arms down in hopes of pulling me up faster.
My left hand soaked in blood unites with his own, both our eyes going wide at the horrific sight.
"I need extra help," I spew out before my mind can comprehend, "Hurts too much to pull."
Jean rapidly nods while Connie and Sasha's expressions fall blank with horror.
I've just about reached half my body through the window when I hear a growl.
Snapping my neck to the side, I'm met with a grey wolf whose muzzle leaks blood from a sharp cut. The one I threw off myself, intelligent enough to find the rusted staircase that connected to the landing.
It stands at the top, snarling and pacing. Luckily this staircase was halfway through decomposition, else we'd have already been attacked.
Brows furrowing together in fear, I look back at Jean who's almost gotten enough strength to drag me through the window, though his seated angle and my meek arm strength make the task far more difficult than Eren's.
"Jean, please, faster. There's one. Right there," I admit in a panic that still tastes bitter on my tongue despite its necessity for the moment.
He groans out as Connie joins his side, reaching in to help as he throws an arm toward my shoulder.
A loud clamour shoots its sound from the rear.
The light now unveils the truth behind me. The wolf, it jumped.
It leaped the whole staircase and slid across the landing, now slowly turning to its prey.
"Jean!" I scream as the two pull me in.
The majority of my body makes it over the grass, warm fluid still coating every surface my arm encounters.
I've just about gotten the rest of my legs through when I'm pulled back in with a force that impales my right heel.
Leaping forward on its hind legs, the wolf gave one last shot at devouring my flesh, and succeeded.
I'm sent back down inside, screaming out pleas for help. To my advantage, Connie and Jean are quick enough to reconnect their hold.
They pull with heavy hands, the wolf lifting off the ground but remaining attached to what now feels like a frail form. With my remaining leg, I kick down on its nose as hard as my body will let me.
The release isn't immediate, causing the slicing teeth to tear down my skin instead of leaving puncture wounds.
I hear its yelp as I'm finally pulled through, the momentum hurtling me across the grass that pokes through my shirt, landing me next to Eren.
After what seemed like an hour of drowning in torment, I exhale.
My vision is communicating with the azure sky, following the natural path of the wispy clouds. Despite the chaos that begins to ensue around me, my internal pace slows down–normality seeping back in as if it were a ray from heaven.
My chest rises and dips down, the unsettling warmth now leaking from my heel and pooling at the ground. Heaven wouldn't let you bleed out, would it?
"Ara are you alright?" Sasha gives a muffled scream coupled with glassy eyes that hold back wells of sorrow and fear. It almost pulls me out of my trance.
I haven't made it above the clouds just yet, not that I would anyways. With intentions as pure as the creators of Russian roulette, in the ground is where I belong. Sasha's grimacing reminds me of the damage I've done.
"Of course she isn't, dumbass," Jean responds with vigorous tenacity and urgency while he kneels at my side. Without a second thought, he rips off the sleeve of his white button-up to expose his arm. In one synchronous movement, he tosses over his keys to Connie while tearing a part the sleeve at its hem.
"Start my car," he orders, "We're taking her to the hospital, I trust you to drive."
No hospitals. Not after my family. Not in this small town.
"No, I-I can't go there," I wince out, grabbing ahold of his secured bicep, watching as he calms his actions and focuses on every word I breathlessly say. "I'll be okay, j-just–"
"That's enough, Ara," he comments in such a stern voice it leaves me wondering what situations had drawn out this intense persona before. Connie and Sasha run ahead to the car with Jean's skateboard in hand, leaving Jean, Eren and the sick-to-her stomach brunette off in the corner.
"Shit, shit, shit," my ears finally engage with the familiar raspy voice beside me, though now his tone is driven by regret.
As Jean tightly wraps the fabric around my arm in a way that shows me he was one of the rares to pay attention in school-mandated first aid training, Eren is quick to yank off his shirt from the back and wrap it around my ankle.
"I'm so sorry Ara," he mumbles out while securing his itchy cloth.
That's the first time he's called me Ara.
And the reason my mind chose to spotlight that one phrase will forever haunt me.
Becoming a rambling mess, he continues, now disregarding my reaction and instead pleading his case to Jean who shuffles his arms beneath my back and legs.
"I'll meet you at the hospital," he fumbles attempting to stand up in unison while his bare chest heaves with exhaustion, "That way I can–"
"No."
Jeans voice is the one who owns the imperative.
His eyes burn holes straight through Eren's tanned skin, making his own green eyes washed out and lifeless.
"You've done enough, Eren. This one was too far."
The man who once seemed tall, prideful and motivated purely by selfish desire now takes a position that could almost be defined as a cower, held up by the crumbling foundation of guilt. The nameless brunette runs at his side noticing the difference, but he only shakes her off his arm in disgust.
Before Jean is bounding up the hill, lazily painting my vision with mushed greenery, the last I see of Eren is a worry-stricken face that only appeared within the first week of the loss of his parents. It looks foreign. Wrong. Sometimes I even forget he's capable of exposing this type of emotion to the outer world, nevertheless to himself.
We've reached the car, which becomes immediately apparent when the back door is shoved violently into my skull.
"SASHA!" Jean scolds, now carefully scooching himself into the backseat to make sure the upper half of my body can rest on his lap.
"Sorry!" she quivers, moving to the passenger seat next to Connie who quickly begins reversing out of the stall, catching us in his anxious glance as he turns around. "I was just panicking and didn't think," the sweet girl whose nails have found her teeth continues.
I grab her attention with low eyes. "It's okay Sash, I'm honestly okay." I turn back to Jean and push a hand against his hard chest, it serving as a more stable support than I expected. "And I don't need to be cradled for God's sake," I add on bitterly, "I'm not dying or some shit, just some cuts."
"That's enough," he speaks, stopping me from rising by grabbing my arm and pulling it off of its support. My head is sent back into his lap, bouncing lightly when it makes contact with his thighs. Fire behind his every syllable, he states, "My car, my rules. You'll do as your told until we've made it into the hospital and the doctors can inform us of the next step."
The world is whizzing by as I sulk, blowing sticky, sweaty hair off my forehead. I turn back to watch the front of the car, noticing how Sasha adjusts the mirror to allow her to mouth 'Sorry,' to me. The small action tells me that something in Jean's past must have triggered this sudden change of character, it would be easier just to go along with it, even if it was annoying the shit out of me.
Once we've reached the large, buzzing EMERGENCY sign–where every E seems to be burnt out–my stomach does acrobatics I can't even manage.
"Do we...?" I let my question trail off into the warm air as Jean's scissors for eyes already give me my response.
"Connie, Sash," Jean begins while lifting me out of the car, still determined to carry me bridal style, "Go pick up snacks or something and park the car. They don't like a lot of people in here. I don't know how long it'll be."
Connie gives a nod, somehow level-headed in the situation. Sasha, on the other hand, is still a trembling mess as she watches the blood streaks that smear across the backseat while Jean drags me out. I guess one person always needs to be the foundation for the other. Connie and Sasha could balance that between the two of them.
The convertible becomes a racing stream of cherry red syrup as Connie leaves the parking lot. I wouldn't be surprised if he was going faster than the ambulance that just whipped by us.
Tainted glass doors slide open upon our presence, Jean carrying me up to the front desk. Luckily, the emergency room doesn't seem to be too busy, a few scattered people coughing or wincing in attempt to move their place up the line. Still, the whole environment leaves me unsettled. I hate emergency rooms.
An older woman with curly, frazzled hair and long purple acrylics barely acknowledges our existence behind her plastic panel.
"First and last name," she drones out.
"Jean Kirsten, ma'am," he replies and I let out a little chuckle as the woman looks at him with are you serious eyes.
"First and last name of the one who's bleeding," she replies bitterly while chewing on her strawberry gum.
"Oh," he looks down to meet my laughter, scowling at his own humiliation. "Uhh, Ara-Arabella..." he begins and I can see him trying to remember all the details.
Before he goes to state my last name, the woman holds up a finger to reply to the ringing phone at her desk.
"Jesus," Jean breathes out, and I can tell he's beginning to regret promising to hold me for this long, "I know why you hate hospitals so much now."
"No, it's not that. It's because of my–"
I'm interrupted by the phone roughly meeting it's plastic cage, the receptionist urging Jean to continue on.
He stammers a bit before answering her, "B-Baudin?" He whispers down to me quietly, "Because of your what?"
"The Baudin family?" The receptionist's attitude changes entirely, filled with glee and energy beyond compare. "Our little Bella? Is that you? All grown up?"
I begin to feel more pain knowing what's about to happen next, and it isn't because of my injuries.
"Let me just pull up your file here," she clacks her keyboard excitedly, "We haven't seen you in so long. God, I miss your mother so much. Do you think she's going to drop by again like she used to? Me and the girls still talk about how amazing her baking was..."
Her energy dissipates into thin air.
As with any conversation like this that I had experienced, it's like the atmosphere turns immediately grey and cold. A world in which no one wants to even think about, let alone exist in.
Jean shifts uncomfortably on his heels. "What's happening?" he asks.
"The reason why I didn't want to come here."
Loving eyes–scratch that–eyes riddled with pity and brimming with tears gather my whole form.
"Oh Bella," she replies in a soft tone, taken aback by the situation, "I'm so sorry about your family. Here, let's get you to a room right away."
I'm quite certain receptionists aren't the ones to lead you to your room, but these are the luxuries you get when someone realizes you literally lost everything you ever had. The moment they find out, they act like you also just found out as well, expecting you to drop to your knees in horrific screams while they call for more help.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" Jean leans into the shell of my ear, obviously confused.
I sigh. "She'll explain it for you. Just wait."
To have lived this conversation a thousand times grants me the knowledge of knowing every direction it always leads to.
We enter the pristinely clean hallway as the receptionist leads us to a room, calling upon a man and woman dressed in blue scrubs. "Wanda, Presley, it's a Baudin," she calls out meekly, juxtaposing the cheery smiles and brisk walks that accompany the two heading toward us.
Jean lowers me onto the hospital bed slowly, almost lovingly. Instantly, I jolt back up to show him I was fully capable of sitting on my own this entire time and did not need to be suffering through some sort of sleeping beauty position. Knowing an argument would cause more interrogations on the story of why he brought a bleeding woman in, he rolls his eyes and watches as the two scurry over, the receptionist leaning on the door.
"We've missed the Baudin's around here so much," the woman, who I assume takes on the name Wanda, replies as she begins to pull over a cart with medical tools.
The receptionist clears her throat from the back of the room, grabbing all our attention as she not-so subtly shakes her head.
Everyone gets the cue at once and worried looks drape over the faces of the two nurses before me.
"What happened, Gladis?" the man asks, discounting the fact that I could speak for myself on this matter.
She twiddles her thumbs as the words seem to be stuck in her own throat. "Well...Uh-They–"
"They're dead," I finish for her, earning horrified glares from everyone around me. "They're all dead. Everyone but me."
My state is cold, lifeless. Just how I found the four of them on that evening, though, much less of a mangled mess than what has been sketched into my memory.
Those two words can halt the atmosphere in one moment, yet simultaneously send minds into orbit. It's a strange feeling, having that power and watching it wreck the people around you. Oddly enough now, it's one of the very few things I find exhilarating. I've played Mikasa's reaction in my head over and over again as much as I've toiled with the emotions of those around me. It's freeing not to be the one on the receiving end for once, though I know that will change in a moment's time.
To mute her sobs, the receptionist leaves the room. The four of us still manage to hear her wandering sniffles, but the two nurses stand frozen for just a moment before they get to work on my wounds.
Jean is the first to speak up.
"She-uhh, got attacked by a wolf," he chokes out.
"Oh, okay," Wanda replies before judging her counterpart, "Go get the rabies shot for her."
He shuffles immediately out of the room, a bright face turned pale and solemn. What seems more odd to me is that they haven't asked one question about the events that brought me hear, they weren't even phased by Jean's statement. That's how much my family meant to this place.
Once my wounds have been properly dressed and disinfected, Wanda excuses herself from the room while wiping away a stray tear. Jean and I are left with the accompaniment of erratic monitors beeping down the hallway to fill the space of the room.
He scratches the back of his head, carrying a look that tells me he's thinking through his next course of action.
"I'm sorry for bringing you here," he admits, "I didn't know."
I don't give him the peace or privilege of hearing an 'It's okay,' and instead continue on with my train of thought. "No one knows, though I'm pretty sure that'll change here soon," I say as I pick up a piece of lint from the bed.
"I'm sure they'll keep it confidential, it has to be some sort of oath or something," he attempts to refute my case.
"No, they have to keep medical information confidential, not deaths after the fact, especially ones that happened almost two years ago. Plus, small town hospitals always seem to bend the rules a bit," I sigh, "They'd come up to me in the grocery store as a kid and start talking about the intricacies of my health in front of the whole store. Not very classy."
"Oh," is all Jean says, which causes me to let out a small laugh at his own stupidity.
"Yeah 'oh,'" I quote him back, "It's ten times harder when your mom was the one to take over baking once a week to the night shift nurses. She's always say it would only be twenty minutes, but she'd come back four hours later from the nurses having talked her ears off. They'd share stories about other patients, drama within the ward and practically anything they could. My mom was always good at listening. Good at empathizing," I pause, "Such a waste of time."
Though my gaze is fixed on the wall in front of me, I can see Jean looking at my expression from my peripheral. My lack of visual communication causes him to take a stand, moving directly into my field of view and placing a hand on each side of the bed, trapping my lightly between his arms.
"I figure you're not the type to want to talk about it," he persuades and I give the usual nod to this assumption. It was always funny how adults would try and talk about it too much, mainly focusing on how it was affecting them, however, those around my age automatically assumed I'd never want to speak on it whatsoever. It took my friends from Marley a whole four days after receiving the information to be dragging me out to parties once again. Depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, drugs and alcohol didn't mix as well as I thought they might. Not that I always pictured them to be a good combination anyways.
Jean removes his hands from the bed, the mattress elevating back to its normal stance. As his arms sway by his side, he adds, "And sorry for that stupid twenty one questions thing. Not the ideal way to start a day off."
"Well at least now you've come to your senses," I smile.
A soft knock draws us out of our conversation.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," a female doctor around the age of seventy strolls in, exchanging glances between Jean and I.
"Only a heated make out session," I shrug my shoulders and watch as Jean's mouth practically drops to the floor.
This elicits a chuckle from the doctor, who slides off her stethoscope and brings it to my chest. "You have the same sense of humour that your father had."
That stings more than the antiseptic.
As we begin the breathing and heart beat checks, she continues on, "I'm Dawn. Was the doctor of your mother and actually delivered you as a child. The nurses spoke of your situation to me. Wolves?"
"Yeah," I laugh, "Too much exploring."
"Sounds like you haven't changed since you were young," she gives a warm smile, but the sentence irritates me even more, surely turning up the pace of my heartbeat.
She steps back and begins inspecting my wounds. "Now, I'm not too worried about the puncture wounds on your arm. There's not much we can do despite wrapping and properly cleaning them, which will also be up to you to take control of. However, I do think you might need stitches for your ankle. The cuts are longer and deeper, so we'll be sending you off to minor surgery in just a few minutes here."
I give a small nod as Jean types away at his phone, most likely informing Sasha and Connie.
Dawn pauses and looks at me with that face. I want to puke at what's coming next.
"Your mother especially had such a special place in our hearts. I'm very sorry to hear about the loss of your family," she folds her hands over her lab coat, "If you're anything like the girl she always bragged about, you've also probably taken on a bit of her stubbornness, which is why I want you to listen very carefully," she explains while attempting to lace empathy into her voice.
"You'll need at least a couple days rest before taking part in any activity," she continues, "I've already called and informed Dot–er, um–Principal Pyxis to you. If you set foot on school grounds before Friday morning, you'll be told to turn right back home. All your teachers are informed of this as well."
I share a look with Jean. And this is how everyone begins to find out.
She gives a parting nod before heading out the room, finishing her sentence off with, "I'll let you and your boyfriend have a moment together, but we'll be taking you shortly."
I roll my eyes as she exits the room and flip her off with both hands. Jean fills the space with a dorky little laugh before coming to my side.
"Next time, just a walk in or something, okay?" I offer.
"I'd hate to even think there's be a next time," he interjects, but his expression turns warm, "But of course. I'm sorry this has been so awful. I'll stay around and take you home after this."
I have to stop myself from letting my eyes go wide. The last cherry on top to this fan-fucking-tastic day would be having someone see my current living conditions.
"That's not necessary," I state, "I'll get an uber."
Jean is quick to argue back. "The last thing you need is having some random pick you up and take you home. I'll do it."
I give him a cheeky glare. "Remember that one time where you didn't listen to me and we ended up in that awful situation?" I question as I let my arm gesture to the hospital room.
"I guess you have a point," he sighs in defeat. "Promise you'll text us an update though? I'll make the four of us a group chat or something," he shakes his phone in the air.
"Sure," I bow my head and nod it towards the door, "Now, go. I've got some sewing to do on myself," I wink.
Jean gives a lazy smile before tapping the doorframe. "Please take care of yourself Ara," are his departing words.
I'm left alone in the space, but I still answer his statement with a small, devious smile to myself.
"When do I not?"
- - -
The chaos of high school was then put on a much needed pause, for two days that is.
Friday turned its corner with dark clouds and sheets of rain caging in the morning light that would usually flicker through my window.
In the majority of houses within Paradis, a rainy day would be no more than a weather notification coming through the car radio of a top-of-the-line family SUV. However, within my living conditions, rainy days meant the constant pattering drips of water that would leak through the roof and land in multiple spots throughout my room. Four small tupperware containers caught the murky water while the room's walls felt as if they were coated in a thin layer of ice. To say it wasn't ideal would grant me about half of the problems I had come to face.
Alongside the inconsistent storms within the room itself, these days left to heal were attuned to the orchestra of chaotic fighting and make-up fucking from the dwellers of the property below. Somehow, this was still my most affordable option given the speed at which I needed to move back to Paradis. For all the hurt I had caused to friends back in Marley, I guess I was somewhat deserving of this.
I rarely left my small living quarters when I was forced to be alone, only moving to the main level when I could find openings were the two were sleeping, else out and about. Thankfully, Levi and a few others were still diligent in sending over my work, allowing something to occupy my rampant mind.
The wounds I had gathered were quick to heal, as always. Seeing the four now-faded marks across my arm, I'm not unsettled in the least to know where they had come from. However, there is one thing that puts me off.
Bruises.
But not in the place I'd expect them to be. I knew the angle at which I was taken out of the power plant would most likely have caused a few to appear on my arms, shoulders and ribs.
But these bruises were on my thighs, of all places. And they weren't minuscule. They were deep, radiating a plum purple that indicated they were fresh, as if made a day ago. Considering how fast I heal from deep wounds, it would be unlikely that bruises from the wolf fiasco would still exist.
These came from somewhere else, even though I hadn't left my quarters for two days.
I shift over in my comforter, allowing it to cocoon me in tighter. Promptly locking the note within my phone after adding in a few details I had come to learn, I stare at my backpack that lays open on the floor.
I despise being dictated by the decisions of others, feeling trapped within the tiny space I could barely ascribe as a home to myself. Though attending classes was not much better than this, being tucked away was putting my plan on hold.
Did you think I really returned to Paradis for no reason? After all, parentless and alone, I had every right to make my own decisions–and I never make decisions without a specific intent.
However, there is one thing that is cutting into my plan, and it isn't the physical tears that plague my limbs. It's myself.
It took but all of a day and a half for me to begin returning to that frail blonde girl that walked these streets before I left.
She was weak. Driven by the motivation of pleasing others, of seeing the best out of them. Riddled with dreams and adventures far too big for this ruthless world, she was clueless. Clueless and somehow happy in her innocent, rose-coloured glasses she viewed the world through.
To be her again would be an utter waste of human breath.
The heartbroken cruelty and gut-wrenching sobs which she would survive a month upon would give her the necessary growth to become better, to get rid of the utter waste in which her family labelled as attributes of a good person.
I noticed them coming back, crawling through the cracks over these few days.
The way I treated Jean, like he honestly had some sort of shot at meaning something more than a good time, it was flawed. I was losing time and valuable energy pouring into these people, getting to know them and paying attention to every word they said. I even went as far as to step out of my own way to ensure Sasha's emotional well-being. This couldn't stay the same.
The outbursts I gave to Eren weren't unnatural to my character, however, the sincerity was. Setting boundaries was something called for in my line of work, in fact, I'd say I'm a current expert in it. My boundaries were known for making others feel insignificant, helpless–and I loved it. There's quite literally no person I'd trust with any part of who I am. It keeps me safer that way. The half-assed sense of dependence I have on myself is exactly what I need to move forward, even if it means using other people to get ahead.
That's who I was in Marley. And it still should be who I am today. People stopped asking me how I was doing, what my interests were, and I preferred it. They knew any symbiotic relationship with me was purely for a parasitism gain on my part, though some others found an aspect of mutualism for them. The main priority was that I did not care for what they did or didn't get from me, it helped keep my focus on things that truly stole my ambition.
I need to make it more of a priority to monitor my actions.
Moving away from my notes app, I open up the messages within my phone.
jean 🐎 created a group with marco 🫡, sasha 🌻 and connie 😩
I laugh a little to myself at the foreignness of having emojis next to contacts, nevertheless seeing actual names instead of strings of numbers. Connie sure did his own work on my phone.
Aimlessly, I scroll through all the messages that had been delivered. Jean created the group shortly after I went into surgery, but I hadn't spoken in it yet. Since that day, the four had been using the group to help coordinate where they were sitting, who's homework to steal from and more. I don't know why they didn't make it separate, but it was a little amusing to watch as it would randomly explode during peak hours of the day.
I finally scroll to the messages that were delivered last night. Seeing as it was 5:03AM, I doubt anyone would be up by now, but I noticed my name in the evening texts prior.
jean 🐎:
looking forward to seeing you tomorrow ara !! hope ur feeling better. i think levi made eren have extra detention after word got around
connie 😩 changed the group chat name to 'wolf gang 🥶🥶'
sasha 🌻:
you did not.
sasha 🌻:
but i can't wait to see you ara!!! i have a lil present for you so meet me at your locker tomorrow morning 💖
marco 🫡:
Constance do we need to forward this to Mr. Ackerman again?
connie 😩:
wdym i was just paying tribute to my creator, tyler 😍
jean 🐎:
don't tell me you meant golf wang
marco 🫡:
Shit 😂 That's totally what he was trying to do
connie 😩:
SHUT THE FUCK UP MARCO YOU TEXT LIKE A FORTY YEAR OLD VIRGIN
marco 🫡:
I've literally told you it's because I keep having to respond to my boss
connie 😫:
ara get better faster so u can come beat the shit out of these two
sasha 🌻:
it's ur fault rlly connie
connie 😫:
leave me alone
jean 🐎:
deserved tbh
marco 🫡:
connie 😩:
pls tell me ur coming to the party tomorrow ara i need better friends
jean 🐎:
oh shit right that's tomorrow. 2000s theme right sash?
sasha 🌻:
jean do u not have ears. i said country theme literally yesterday
jean 🐎:
country ?? like cowboy?
connie 😫:
yeah it'll go along well with your horseface
marco 🫡:
Good one Connie.
marco 🫡:
Oh also, sorry I wasn't there on Tuesday Ara. Hope you're all back to normal tomorrow 😊
jean 🐎:
stop it with the horseface constance you can't even speak english properly
sasha 🌻:
ENOUGH. move to discord where you can continue your cat fight ladies. let ara sleep because i need her to feel better tyty
connie 😩:
fine. sleep well ig ara
marco 🫡:
Good night! 👍
jean 🐎:
gn ara!! see you tomorrow :)
me:
thanks motherfuckers. beat me in a drinking game tonight and i'll pay you $50
I hide the smile on my face underneath the warm blanket, sending another text quickly to Porco.
me:
hey porco. can we do training earlier today?
number:
yeah ofc anything for my best student. what time?
me:
i can be there in thirty -love, your favourite student 😍😍
number:
i said best not favourite. see you soon
Wiggling the sheets off my feet and stumbling off of the mushy mattress, I head to the bathroom to complete part of my daily ritual. Throwing an extra outfit and some morning necessities into my gym bag, I make the call for an uber to come over. After all, my motorcycle was still parked on school grounds, so I hoped.
Knowing that heading to the kitchen at this hour would most likely make me late due to some sort of argument that could ensue, I wait until the last seconds that the uber pulls up, grabbing gym bag and backpack in hand.
The drive is not too far of a distance, but not an easy five minute getaway that you would find within the mapping of a small town. At about 5:43AM, I find myself slipping on my athleisure and pushing the heavy door open to unveil the gym.
To my surprise, I've beaten Porco here. Trudging over to the side of the ring, I sit on a small stool and begin wrapping the tiny wounds on my arm to keep them from getting worse.
"The hell did you do?" I hear Porco's heavy tone lift throughout the gym. Even though he's a bit far away, his voice carries well.
I chuckle. "Fought a wolf."
"Ha, ha," he laughs sarcastically, "No seriously, what happened?"
Once he's reached my side and I've finished wrapping my arm, I stare up at his muscular form fitted tightly to his instructor's uniform. My gaze is stern and it tells him I'm not lying.
"What the fuck?" he inspects the tape on my arm, "How'd you manage that?"
"Doesn't matter," I shrug, "Can we just get started?"
"Many words today, I see," he jeers before moving toward the speed bag, "We can work on your consistency, pace and speed today. They were lacking from last session."
"Still could beat your ass," I puff out under my breath as I follow him along, earning a furrowed eyebrow glare from him.
Once we make it to the speed bag, I strap on my black boxing gloves and line up myself square to the red object. I begin moving, pushing into a steady rhythm while Porco shouts phrases at me to increase my velocity.
I use the motion as a vessel for the hatred that bubbled up this morning, letting anger fuel my every move. Anger, primarily toward myself, is what helped with my accuracy, what oddly enough seemed to make me hit personal records I could never reach. Unlike a cool, calm and collected mind that was often needed to exceed in athletics, I seemed to function in an entirely opposite manner.
My speed and accuracy take on such a profound pace that Porco's eyes go wide, appalled at my actions.
I stop amid it all. Stepping backwards as the bag finally halts its movements from my pressure.
"You okay?" he asks. "That was the best you'd ever done, why'd you stop?"
"Not enough," I whisper, the fire still igniting every nerve in my body. If I were to jump into a pit of steaming coals, it feels like I'd have no sensation of pain with the way my body is racing.
"Didn't catch that," he smirks as he leans across the wall.
"Not enough!" I yell.
It wasn't supposed to come out as an increase in tone, yet it did. Porco immediately stands tall and moves from his relaxed position, almost viewing me as some sort of monster for a moment.
It takes him a couple more seconds before he falls back into his relaxed persona, stepping forward so he's only inches away from my face.
"You wanna die?" He subtly scolds. I nod.
"Fine," he rolls his eyes, moving us to the mats down the side, "I hope you're angry and not frustrated today, because I'm not negotiating a frustrated Ara again. I'm giving you my most intense CrossFit workout that we can do in the twenty minutes we have left. If I hear one complaint, you're paying for another session."
I knew the threat was meaningless. Porco loved these sessions just as much as I did. I could see it when he'd wipe the sweat off his face with a towel, simultaneously using it to conceal a cheerful grin. Still, I held a content face at the way he tried to be so overpowering. It was cute.
We endure twenty minutes of pure pain, finally causing a smile to spread across my face as I can feel the way it tears at the fibres of my muscles. Masochism at its finest.
Sweat is dripping, leaking from my face and spotting the mat below as I place both my hands on my knees. Porco is laying flat on a mat, groaning in pain while his clothes stick tightly to his chest that moves at a rapid pace.
I strut forward, sending a hand down Porco's way. He gladly locks on and I pull him up with a bit too much force intentionally, causing his body to react in a way one's would after receiving an intense shock.
The motions makes our chest flush against one another and I can see a new shade of pink percolating on the tips of his cheeks.
Through heavy breaths, I say, "I have a favour to ask you."
This earns a narrow-eyed grimace from Porco, obviously having already had enough of my morning antics. "What?" he spits out.
"Drive me to school," I state. I wasn't about to pay for an uber when the early morning practice spared me enough time to know that he'd have an extra hour open in his schedule. I can see it on his face that he knows I've thought this through, he doesn't have a good enough excuse to play.
"Fine," he sighs in defeat, letting go of my hand and taking a few steps back to wipe down his shirt. "But you have 15 minutes to shower up before I expect you in my car."
"Then I'll just have to finish getting ready in your car," I wink as I turn toward the locker rooms.
"Yeah, yeah," he brushes off, "Just don't make a mess."
"No promises," I wave off, but he catches me one last time.
"Wait, Ara!" he comes bounding up behind me, "I'll do you this favour if you do one for me."
"But you already agreed to this."
"And now I'm asking you for this. Remember, one quick call and you'll be paying for all your sessions."
I spin on my heels, folding my arms across my chest. "What is it?"
"So–uh–there's this group that contacted me recently. I don't have a lot of details but they wanted to know who my best student was," he rambles on.
He's faltering, almost as if he's making up this story on the fly. His calloused hand meets the back of his golden hair along the nape of his neck, a sign of his nervousness.
"Obviously, I said you," he continues, "And they said something of wanting you to help train a couple of their people? I don't really know all the details, but can you?"
I can tell he's lying, he does know all the details. But what's life without a little fun of not knowing?
"I don't mind," I say, and I can visibly watch his tense shoulders relax. "See you in fifteen."
Pushing through the heavy locker room door, I make my way to the showers and pull out everything I need from my gym bag. The shower is quick, thanks to the low pressure water and high pressure of Porco's incessant texts I can hear ringing from my phone.
Lathering my body in lotion and spraying a perfume across my skin, I head back to the lockers with a towel around my body. I slip into a set of red lingerie and shuffle up the fabric of my outfit. I needed something to cover up the wounds, though I highly doubt it would be necessary considering how fast news travels within the school, but I wanted the security anyways.
Draping on oversized black denim paired with a grey, corestted long sleeve crop, I make my way out to Porco's car with all my bags in hand.
He drove a new Lexus, the smell of fresh leather hitting my nose as I slide into the seat. He focuses his eyes on me as I shuffle in, pulling out the makeup bag I had.
"Stop staring. Start driving," I say.
"You didn't give me the address, dumbass," he quips.
"There's only one high school in Paradis," I lock eyes with him and use his same tone, "Dumbass."
He lets out an over-exasperated sigh before revving the engine, moving us down the highway that would lead to Paradis.
We were about four minutes out from the school when I caught Porco stealing glances, not like he hadn't been doing it the entire time.
I lay on a light layer of auburn lip gloss across my lips, distracting Porco so much that he has to swerve to keep us from rear ending the car he didn't see slowing down.
"Porco!" I yell back at him, smacking his arm, "That could've ruined everything I've done so far," I grimace, pointing to the eyeliner and blush that made up the look.
"Sorry," he nervously chuckles, eyes still on me. "I've never seen your hair dry naturally, I like it," he smiles.
"Good for you," I slump back into my seat. The waviness that worked with my locks came directly from my mother. I don't think she did her hair beyond the day of her wedding, yet it still looked naturally perfect no matter the day. I had her to thank for that.
As we make it into the school parking lot, I turn to Porco who parks the car at the entryway.
"Thank you for the ride," I offer, quickly opening the door.
Tapping his cheek, he looks at me with starstruck eyes. "What, no tip?"
I roll my eyes, exiting the car and placing my hands on the top as I lean down to reply. He moves his face in closer, but can't see what I'm about to say.
"I thought it was just the tip when we fucked, but apparently it was the whole thing," I smirk, Porco's face meeting the ground. "That's what you wanted, didn't you?" I ask in a cute tone.
"Fuck off."
"Gladly," I shut the door with a smile before he zooms away, grabbing stares from his vibrant exit.
Now that I've made it into the parking lot, my eyes immediately dart across each stall in hopes of finding my bike. I search from my position everywhere, trudging over to the side of the wall where I parked it last, hoping that it's still there.
When I round the corner, I'm met with disappointment. It's not in its place and the only bike I can see is Eren's. Was stupid to assume it wouldn't be stolen.
"Hey tough girl," a deep voice radiates closely to my ear, sending small goosebumps on my neck as I feel the warm, minty breath.
I turn to see Jean, smiling with his arms across his chest. The position causes his muscles to swell, showing off his incredible physique.
"Jean," I reply. The way I say his name is enough for his smile to transform into a cheesy grin.
"How are you feeling?"
"Pretty much all better," I say, folding up my sleeve to reveal the faded cuts along my arm, "See?"
His brows meet in the middle as I let him inspect my arm, smooth hands turning it over in his own as if I were a delicate sculpture.
"Holy," he exhales, "You heal insanely fast. Even Jaeger's big ass cut you gave him still is all scabbed and ugly."
I snicker, pulling my arm away and pushing the fabric back down. "Yeah it's always kinda been that way," I pause, taking his confused expression as an opportunity to change the subject. "I see my bike's been stolen though," I point in the direction of where I'd normally park.
"Actually," Jean scratches at the side of his arm and motions with his head, "Come with me."
I follow him through the parking lot, his Mercedes coming into view. Hitched to the back is my motorcycle, exempt for Eren's delirious graffiti marks.
"Jean," is all I can say, astonished at his work. He went out of his way to repaint my bike to what it was before. It honestly never looked better.
"With you being hurt and all, I wanted to do something to help, because I felt like I didn't really do anything at all. When we got back to the parking lot, I saw your bike and thought I could fix it. This Mercedes' takes a lot of work to keep in tune, so I had all the materials anyways."
"You didn't have to do this," I say, running my handing over the bike that doesn't even feel like my own any more, "Thank you."
"It's not a problem," he smiles and a blush comes up on his face, "Took my mind off of everything. Was nice to calm down and focus."
Focus. Exactly not what I'm doing right now.
I see Jean and the way he's attaching to my side, developing a relationship he assumes may be like the ones he has with his companions already. I remind myself of what I spent the last two days thinking about. This compassion needs to end now.
"Oh, who was it that dropped you off this morning?" he asks politely, furthering the speed at which I need this next conversation to happen.
I turn around so I'm directly facing him, lifting my head just in the slightest so I can capture his amber eyes in my own.
Lifting an arm to hold his bicep, I begin, pulling myself closer to him.
"I really appreciate that you did this," I say in a sorrowful tone despite the compliment. Catching the empathy that leaks through my vocabulary, I quickly switch it off so I can continue with the bluntness I needed.
"But please don't do anything like this again. You're kind, but I don't want that in my life. And seeing you go out of your way multiple times for me, I just don't want you to get the idea that–"
"I know," he interrupts sternly.
Sending a confused glance back his way, he continues.
"I'm not that thick-skulled. Even though I can sometimes act that way," he chuckles, running up a hand through his smooth hair. "I picked it up on the first day, when I had you answer those questions. The artist in me knows that you need to establish a connection with your subject before you can understand it, that's what I was doing with you."
"And I'm not going to pull some bullshit," he brings his hands up in air quotes, "'But she'll change for me' or 'Don't worry, I can wait,' because that's not who you are and it would only drive you away."
I listen, absorbing his every word.
"You fascinate me, Ara. Whether you like that or not, that decision is up to me. I know your relationships are superficial and I don't doubt that someday you could just leave like you did before, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. You're not going to be a friend like Marco or Sasha, and I don't want you to be. If it's purely physical, then that's fine with me. Don't care about how I'll react, not that you would anyways," he finishes off.
I'm at a loss for words. Usually these conversations would end in a heated argument from the victim's side, but for once, someone was finally paying attention.
"Jean..." I let out as he holds his hands in the air, motioning me to halt.
"Don't need to say anything Ara. What's growth without a bit of pain? Sometimes I think I need a little more of it," he scruffs my hair up just a bit before turning back to the bike.
"Now," he fishes out my helmet and shoves it into my grasp, "Go park your bike and meet me in the entryway, I think Sash has a surprise for you or something."
Keeping my smile etched into my heart instead of goofily across my face, I mount the bike and wink at Jean, driving over to my spot.
Once I've parked it, I head back over and meet him on the concrete walkway that leads to our school.
"Ready to see how a small town reacts to gossip?" he gives a worrisome grimace.
I nudge his arm as we start advancing forward. "I think you forget this isn't my first rodeo."
Pushing open the glass doors, I'm met with dozens of eyes glued to me. They're laced with pity and compassion, a combination that makes me nauseous.
"You were right about the whole hospital thing," Jean whispers in my ear as we make our way to my locker, "Not only are you the rare new girl, but you're the new girl who just got attacked by a wolf and lost her whole family years ago."
"Thanks for the reminder, Jean," I cough out bitterly.
Realizing it was one of those moments where he forgot to think before he spoke, he attempts to cover it up. "Well, at least it might afford you some of the same luxuries as Eren."
We've made our way to my locker and I swing it open roughly. "I don't want the same luxuries as Jaeger, if you haven't placed that already. Not that I'd get them anyways."
"What do you mean?" he asks as he leans against the locker next to me.
"Well if you haven't picked up on it yet, I'm a woman. People expect men like Eren to lash out and be an asshole, they just blame it on his circumstance half the time. But if I lash out, I'm seen as emotional and immature. Double standards, but it makes me not really give a shit about Jaeger."
"Well, I don't see it that way," Jean huffs out in anger as he looks off in the distance.
"Good for you," I argue back, "That changes nothing."
"THERE YOU ARE!" I hear the familiar, gleeful scream of Sasha propelling its way down the hall.
She runs at a pace she's never even hit in gym class, practically screeching to a halt when she arrives at my side.
"I got you this!" she shoves a milk tea with floating pearls in my face.
I grab it from her hand as she slurps violently at her own. "In my opinion it's the best recovery drink!"
Her face suddenly turns solemn.
"And Ara, I'm so sorry that I never asked about your..." she trails off and I can see Jean motioning in my peripheral as her eyes lock on him.
"I'll take that, thank you," Connie comes swooping in with Marco trailing behind, luckily cutting away the tension immediately as he steals Sasha's drink.
The distraction is much needed. Connie brings the straw to his mouth as fast as he can, not considering the type of drink he has in hand. He takes one large sip, which most likely is a deep breath, and I watch as four boba shoot directly through the straw.
The action causes Connie to choke, spewing the contents on his grey sweatshirt. His chipped purple nails slap violently on his chest to regain some air.
"That'll teach YOU," Sasha yells back at him, leaning forward.
It's impossible not to laugh at the commotion, but I notice Marco's reached my side.
"Hey Ara, feeling better?"
Jean answers for me. "I think she is, she's practically all healed up. She must have some sort of god-like healing power or something," he laughs.
"So does that mean you're coming tonight?" Connie, who finally can speak, bounds up to our group.
"So far, yes," I smile.
"Hell ya!" he jumps with his fist in the air. "After seeing all your snap stories, I knew we needed another life of the party."
"Answer me this though. Why is it themed?" I ask.
Marco is the first to reply. "I don't know how it started really. Sasha came up with the idea and it somehow stuck. It actually made the parties a lot more fun because people really got into it. Sometimes feels as exciting as a Halloween party, but it happens a few times a month."
"Does that mean you'll be playing country music all night?" I shove two fingers into my throat and make a gagging motion.
"No," Marco chuckles, "Just more themed to what we wear."
"Hey! What's wrong with country music?" Sasha's eyes mimic a lost puppy.
"Everything," Connie let's out before advancing close to me, pushing a finger onto my bare chest. "And I'll be taking that $50 from you tonight, love," he coos, which only brings out a pitiful chuckle from me.
Shutting my locker door, we all make our way to homeroom.
"Who the hell even wakes up at 5:00AM by the way?" Connie turns to us, but focuses on me as he walks backwards.
I stare him down as I reply, us all noticing how awful is directional senses seem to be taking him. "Just kinda always been that way for me."
"Psyc–OW!" Connie runs his head directly back into the wall, just missing the open doorway to Levi's classroom.
All of us having seen it coming and working our best to hide our smirks, we finally release a loud laughter at his demise.
"Watch where you're going Springer," Levi's voice echoes above us all.
We shuffle in, taking our assigned seats within the classroom. I make my way toward the back, noticing Armin, Mikasa and Eren already in their usual spots.
Landing heavily in my seat, I take out supplies as Eren turns around to face me.
Emerald eyes stare at me with concern, an emotion I'd never imagine Eren to have for me.
"I'm sorry," he speaks with sincerity.
I etch his expression into my own mind. These were the apologies I hated the most. They were driven by pity and guilt. They weren't true apologies, just a means to feel better about how they reacted to the situation.
Pulling up a disinterested look on my own face, I continue organizing my supplies as I reply apathetically to his statement.
"Sorry for what? That my family died or that you were an asshole."
"I-No, I'm actually–"
"Please, just shut the fuck up for once in your goddamn life Eren," bitterness fuels my every syllable, "That'll show me you're actually sorry."
"No," he replies sternly, fully facing me now. I can see he's grabbed the attention of Armin and Mikasa. "I need to apologize for this."
"Why?" ice courses through me. "Why would I accept an apology just to make you feel better about the situation. You can hold onto that guilt, use it to bring some common decency back into you," I scoff.
"Ara, c'mon," I hear the subtle voice of Mikasa standing up for him, "He's just trying to apologize."
"And you're trying to be his bitch," I utter, facing her. "He's stupid to think that this is the way to make things right."
She furrows her brows. "He's smarter than you."
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to the pages of my notebook, flipping through. "Then that just means he's Einstein compared to you."
We're all caught off guard by the erratic coughs of Armin. Was he, laughing?
He surely was, and was using the cough to mask it. I smirk to myself as everyone moves back to their original positions.
Altogether, the day sped by briskly. After a chaotic lab demo and intensely intimidating instructions with Yelena, we all found ourselves grouped by the lockers once more.
"Want to come over to my place before the party?" Connie offers us all the question, earning a nod from everyone except me.
"Actually," I begin, remembering the text Hitch sent me over lunch about a shift opening up. If it was between money and socializing, I'd choose money over it every day. "I won't be able to make it."
Connie practically faints to the floor, landing on his knees in a begging position as the entire group wears dismay.
"Why not?" he whines.
"I got called into work," I say, snatching the helmet from my locker.
"But please," he begs. I look down at him with power.
"On your knees often like this Springer?"
He smirks back before putting a hand on my leg, "Only for you, if you'll come."
"Sorry baldie," I scratch his head. "Next time?"
Leaving the group in a sense of defeat, I make my way over to the brewhouse, stopping by a coffee shop for a few hours in between to finish out some homework. When the time reads 9:45PM, I'm pulling into my regular parking stall. Fridays were always a late night, so I tended to start a bit later.
"Hey hottie," Hitch's voice lingers like cinnamon in the air as I see her leaning against the side of her car. "Thanks for picking up the shift last minute, I would've been dead doing this all alone. Hope I didn't ruin anything in your schedule."
As she makes her way over to me, I respond, "Only a party."
She stops dead in her tracks.
"You're telling me you're skipping out on the second party you've been invited to, to spend a night with me?"
"To make money," I correct.
"You're so boring," she dramatically rolls her eyes, "You're not working tonight."
"But you just said you'd be dead by yourself," I play along.
"Ugh. Gimme one sec."
Hitch races into the back door of the brewhouse, leaving me to admire the wispy clouds that illustrate the sunset sky. To calm any nerves that could arise, I fish out a cigarette from my bike and prop it between my lips. Lighting it quickly, I take a slow drag and watch as the smoke dwindles in the evening air, adding even more beauty to the sunset.
She comes back, wiping her hands clean as if she's just completed the best deed of the day.
Recognizing her expression, I inquire, "Hitch, what did you do?"
Once she reaches me, she tilts her body back and forth on the balls of her feet, singing out, "Nothinggg."
"Nothing, but?"
"But you won't even be allowed to step foot into the bar tonight. Just told the manager that you were out here puking your guts into the grass."
"Hitch!" I slap her arm.
She waves a finger in the air. "You can thank me later. I'm calling you an uber and I'll take your bike home. Just don't black out on me, that's not how us girls show up at these things."
Before I can argue, she's making the payment on her phone.
"But I don't have anything to wear. They made this one some stupid country theme."
"Well that's a small town cliche if I ever heard one," she comments, "Good thing your best friend specializes in this sort of stuff. Follow me."
We make our way to her car's trunk, which is filled to the brim with piles of clothes and accessories. Fashion was her living and breathing passion.
"Now, I'm thinking sexy cow girl," she pats her finger on her lip.
"Just no–"
"Colour. Yeah, yeah I know," she waves off, rummaging through the piles in her hatchback.
"I think this'll suit you," she shoves a mound of clothing into my arms. "Jump in and get changed before the uber arrives. I think I have short, black cowboy boots in here somewhere," she says, sticking her arm deep into the accessories side.
Opening up her door, I crush the cigarette beneath my foot and move into the backseat, stripping from today's attire.
Wearing nothing but my red lingerie, I shuffle up a pair of grey, frayed denim shorts that leave a bit of my ass out when they scoop up at the sides. Sliding a black belt with a embellished, silver buckle across my waist, I pick up the long-sleeve ebony flannel and tie it just beneath the base of my bra.
Toned abdomen left exposed, I unbutton the flannel to unveil a bit of cleavage. Hitch was right with the whole sexy thing. Though this outfit was something I thought I'd never have to step into, I look fine as fuck.
"Done yet?" Hitch calls out.
"Yeah," I nod, opening up the door. She meets me with a pair of short, black leather cowboy boots.
"It's a good thing these are a trend right now," she smiles, handing them to me, "Else you'd be outta luck pretty girl."
She holds her stare on me as I shuffle them on, a warm blush appearing on her chest. "Come to think of it," she says, "I think you should dress like this more often. Would get you hella tips."
"Fits better than I thought it would," I grin, looking at her work. "Thanks, Hitch."
"Oh! I almost forgot," she perks up, zooming to her purse. "My secret recipe!"
I let out a groan. "Hitch I am not putting on your dick-sucking lip balm."
About four months ago Hitch had stumbled across an adult website where she found intensely flavoured lip balms that not only plumped your lips, but physically tasted like the item which they represented. She tried it out once at a party, and needless to say, was a huge hit. She'd always receive compliments on the way she tasted when someone would kiss her, and it went straight to her head.
"Do this? For me?" she asks in a whiny tone. "After all, I did just give you what you needed."
"Fine."
"Yay!" she smiles, throwing two lip balms up in front of her face. "Grandma's cookies or sugar plum?"
"I hate that you call them that," I reply, snatching the sugar plum from her hand and applying a layer to my lips.
"Now, add this," she leans into me and puts on a layer of Dior red lip oil for me. Once finished, she backs away, muttering, "Perfect," under her breath.
Just on time, the uber arrives and pulls into the lot.
"That's my cue," I stand up, giving her a small wave goodbye.
"Fuck shit up!" is the last thing I hear her say before shutting the door to the outside world
---
[🎵 good feeling - flo rida]
As I shut the door to the sedan, I'm met with a vibrating ground due to the music's hell-raising volume.
On the outside, the Jaeger mansion hasn't changed one bit, not that it would over the course of two years.
The greenery is still kept to its pristine shape, bushes trimmed in a variety of shapes and sizes, one even replicating the form of a bird.
People are scattered about on the lawn littered with red solo cups and cigarette butts. From the grass to the concrete pathway that leads up to the grand entrance, each individual has taken the theme with their own interpretation. Some have leaned more into a rave take on their outfits, while others look as if they quite literally just came from herding cattle.
The massive windowed walls of the mansion give a looking glass view into the party inside. The air looks hazy, fogged. It's only 10:30PM and people have already started giving it their all. I guess this was the most fun one could get up to in a small town.
I head forward, finding comfort in the warm air. Summer was disappearing before our eyes, tree leaves turning shades of fiery embers and letting their hard work fall to the ground. However, the sweet, humid air offered a counter to the season change's goal. It was a nice in-between.
As I'm walking up to the door, I notice Connie, Marco and Jean on the left side of the lawn having a shotgun competition. Sasha films them, letting out multiple whoops as they gulp down the liquid as fast as they can.
Connie is the first to catch a glimpse of me, eyes going wide and face turning red as he instantly drops of from the competition and leaves his can on the lawn.
"ARA!" he screams out, sprinting towards me. "YOU MADE IT!"
He goes in for a wide hug and I swerve out of his way, causing him to stumble and fall into the grass. Letting out a laugh, I extend a hand to him and reply, "My coworker forced me to."
He rubs his arm. "I love your coworker so much," he slurs, obviously a bit over his head already. Once he sees my hand, he lets his vision walk up my body, taking in my appearance.
"You look..."
I promptly squeeze his large hand and pull him up to his feet.
"Hot? Yeah I know," I smile. If Connie's eyes were made of hearts right now, I wouldn't be surprised.
Crunching footsteps near close to me. "You're here!" Sasha's beautiful voice cries out.
If I thought I had anything to show off tonight, it paled in comparison to Sasha. My mouth gives a little as I look at her. She wears a yellow mini skirt held together with a buckled belt. The skirt hangs low to her waist, exposing the rich curves of her body. A blazer-like, yellow leather jacket completes the look, with light fringe and a cropped cut that lands just beneath her lace bralette beneath. Her hair in a tight ponytail, she looks like she could walk into a TV set and immediately be the star of the show.
"Sasha, you look incredible," I gape, causing her to turn impish.
"Says you," she lands her arm around my shoulders. "If I had a body like yours, I'd just never wear clothes," she giggles. "Doesn't she look good?" Sasha turns to Jean and Marco.
Marco wears a blue flannel tucked into slim-fitting denim. For the first time, I can see a bit more of his muscles that peek out to fill up the shirt, causing it to fit him snugly. He looks charming.
But Jean, on the other hand, this theme was designed for him. He's the first of who I've seen so far to sport a chestnut brown cowboy hat, his long hair and stubble suiting the look to a T. In dark-washed denim, he wears brown cowboy boots beneath to match the hat and a large belt with a gold buckle. Where a shirt normally would sit lies his bare chest, abs rippling up and down with every breath he takes. Instead of opting for a flannel like most of the men here, he wears a navy vest that he keeps open, arms and everything visible for everyone to see.
"Fuck yeah she does," Connie answers for the two of them, who seem to be at a loss for words as we all ogle at each other.
"This style suits you so well," I say to Jean, "Are you sure this isn't one of your side jobs or something?"
He smirks back at me. "Nah, but I wouldn't mind teaching you how to ride."
"Like I'd need to be taught," I jest in a sultry voice.
"You guys are going to make Connie evaporate if you keep acting like this," Marco chuckles, pointing to a dazed Connie as he watches the interaction. He wears a grey flannel wide open to expose a thin, white tank top beneath. Keeping to his comfort, he's added in layers of jewelry to the outfit and barely fits the theme overall.
"Enough of the talking," Sasha says, using her arm around my shoulder to guide our group in. "Let's get shitfaced!"
The familiar stench of weed and stinging alcohol fills my senses. Oddly enough, it feels more like the comfort of home than my current living quarters do. The party is packed, as if everyone in the small town were attending. As we squish our way through the sea of bodies, I can't help but notice a few subtle changes.
The staircase on the right still leads to the upper floors, but the walls have been stripped of every family photo that existed. While the main area we walk through is still expansive and filled with luxurious furniture, I notice a small stage-like structure has been built on the side. It currently houses a DJ who runs the music and LED lights that flash throughout the space. Eren sure built his mansion up to fulfill a bottomless pit of pain, that was evident to anyone.
We make our way to the open-concept kitchen, leaning against the cool surface of the marble countertops.
"So, what'll it be, crazy party girl?" Connie turns to me, a wide grin on his face showing his own anticipation to unravel my adventurous side tonight.
Instead of the response I wanted to give Connie, Jaeger beats me to it with a sarcastic laugh.
"Do you really believe her?" he taunts, obviously still so, so bound up over remorse and guilt that he stares at me with insulting eyes. I knew he didn't really care.
Eren makes his way around the counter to the side that houses all of the appliances. He wears an evergreen flannel completely open to expose his chest and the key necklace that dangles on top of it. His tanned skin compliments the sharp, defined curves of his herculean form. Jean was ripped to his very core, but Eren's form resembled the strength of intertwined cords that held up Golden Gate bridges. He looked like he had built this house up brick by brick himself.
When he reaches the counter, his hands decorated with thick veins meet its corner, allowing him to lean in closer to us.
"Haven't you forgotten she was the one who rarely had a sip of alcohol back when we were young teens? We had to coax her into just taking a tiny gulp and even then she almost threw up," he snickers in an acrid tone.
I can see the confidence of my peers beginning to falter at his words. He wasn't wrong, but a lot had changed in the years.
"She's obviously lying to you," he pushes off the counter, leaning back against the oven with a smug, slappable smirk on his face.
"Is this how you get off?" I remark. "Playing cult leader with your friends?"
He shrugs. "You don't intimidate me and you've got nothing going for you, cut the act."
I love the way he feels threatened by another strong presence. Even though it's a waste of time, I want nothing more than to prove him wrong in every way possible tonight, just so he can get a taste of what it feels like to sit second place to the centre of attention.
"But if you want to prove me wrong and end up with your head in the toilet," he turns around and fishes out four shot glasses along with a bottle of Grey Goose, "Four shots of vodka, right now."
Oh please, this is nothing.
I furrow my eyebrows to inspect the bottle. From my experience, I can tell there's only about four and a half shots left within the whole glass casing.
Thinking that my stare means I'm worried, Eren begins to laugh. "See?" He turns to the four at my side, "I don't know why you had such high hopes for her, she's still the same–"
Swiftly, I reach over the counter and swipe the bottle from his hand, downing its contents without taking a single breath.
To say everyone around me is awestruck would be an understatement.
"Holy SHIT!" Connie screams out, "That was fucking awesome!"
"Now, step aside Jaeger," I offer with a lust-filled voice to grab everyone's attention, not that I hadn't already. I make my way to where Eren stands frustrated and bump him out of the way with my hip. "Sash, I'm assuming you'd like something sweet."
She nods rapidly and I turn to Eren. "By chance, would you have any Pop Rocks in your kitchen," I ask cutely to make him feel even more belittled.
He points to the white sliding door and I make my way in, not missing the vexation in his breathing or the way he mutters, "Probably going to puke it all out in fifteen minutes," under his breath.
I find it amusing as I replay his statement in my head.
Honey, alcohol was my staple food for three months after the loss of my family. Four shots is just a child's game.
I come back over with five Pop Rocks packages in hand and turn to the cabinet Eren visited to pull out a cocktail set.
"Oh shit, I forgot you bartend," Jean comments while Eren disappears back into the party, "We're getting treated like fucking royalty tonight!" He high-fives Marco.
"Hell ya," I smile, mixing together the rocktail beverages, but a question still plagues my mind.
"Do you all really consider Eren your friend?" I ask to the group while shaking up the mixes.
"Yes and no," Sasha replies, "I think he keeps us around for the popularity honestly. If he was friends with just Armin and Mikasa, the way he is, people would see him as some creep rather than the school's jock. If he has us, all of us," she gestures to the vicinity, "then it looks like he runs half of the graduating class."
"Makes sense," I reply even though I think it's stupid. In five highball glasses, I hand us out each a drink with a different bright colour to match the flavouring.
"To one hell of a night," Connie shouts, and we all cheers our glasses together.
For the next hour, the time is spent darting back and forth between where the crowds have chosen to dance and back into the kitchen for more drinks. Sasha now walks around with a massive bowl of popcorn to herself that she gladly declines from any other person looking for food.
As Sasha drags me back into the kitchen to fill up her popcorn for the fourth time in twenty minutes, I'm irritatingly taken away from the random, attractive partner I had found to dance with.
Entering in, I see quite a few of us have made our way to this place at once. Connie, Jean and Marco all take a shot together on the side of the counter. Historia, in a head-to-toe pink cowgirl outfit, hugs Ymir tightly as she fixes them a drink. In the wide table to our left, Eren, Armin and Mikasa sit and seem to be calming down for a moment.
"Everyone, over here," Eren commands.
As expected, everyone dwindles over to the table. Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt appear from the side and take their seats. Everyone seems to be a little tipsy aside from myself, Armin and Eren.
"Anyone want to play a game?" Eren inquires, but it's evident no one has a choice into the matter. He looks directly at me. "Truth or dare."
Don't get me wrong, truth or dare is fun, in middle school. When it comes to high school or college party games, truth or dare was only ever done with the intent to expose an enemy or get under the skin of someone you hated. That, or it became an excuse to fuck who you wanted to fuck because you were too much of a pussy just to ask for it.
"No sorry," I reply dryly, "I have to wash the toaster."
My comment earns a few giggles, but Eren just smirks. "It's obvious why you of all people wouldn't want to play. Too much for you still, isn't it Bella?"
He annoys me in every way possible, but I want to make good on my promise. Walking my way over to where Armin sits, I land my arms on the back of his seat.
"Oh no, you've got me all wrong," I purr, "I'll play a game, but I want Armin to choose it."
I knew exactly what I was doing. And by the looks of Eren and Mikasa's expression, they also knew the audacity of my choice.
But I could play these games with Eren. He wants to come off as stronger than me, and he knows that if he backs out of Armin's choice, it'll only make him seem weak.
"Fine," he grits his teeth, turning to Armin, "Think of something fast."
"I-I d-don't know if I-I'm c-cut out for this," he quivers, eyes racing. I'm determined to figure out why he's changed so much, and this is the perfect way to begin.
"Shut the hell up Armin and just use your smart ass mind so we don't have to be stuck on Eren's selfish middle school games," I demand.
My demeanour causes him to shift in his seat. We all watch as the wheels in his mind turn. Suddenly, he snatches his phone quickly from the table and I know he has an idea.
"Everyone, send me an emoji right n-now," he turns over his shoulder to me, "Ara, I think you're the only n-number I don't have. I'll give you mine and then s-send an emoji over."
"What the hell?" Jean looks over, confused but still dragging out his phone. Sasha seems to be super focused on picking the right one as I add in Armin's number.
"I should have twelve people sending me emojis," Armin says as his stuttering begins to disappear, no doubt because his mind was moving too fast enough for him to overthink his every word, "I'll t-text you back to send me a new one just in case anyone sends me two."
"Armin, can you tell us what's going on?" Mikasa sighs as I take my seat beside her.
"One sec," Armin scrolls through his phone, finishing everything off as he opens up a web page that readers Random Emoji Generator.
"Okay so, this is a s-spin off from Truth or Dare," Armin begins, "I don't have a name for it yet, not that it really m-matters. You've all sent me an emoji and whichever one appears on this random generator, you'll be the first one to start off our game. The trick to this game is, you have no idea who's it, but you have to find them. If s-someone is it, you can ask them to do anything and they'll have to comply."
He earns more muddled expressions and decides to give us a clearer explanation.
"For example, let's say I'm the one chosen. If Mikasa finds me and tells me to jump into the pool fully clothed, I have to do it, no matter what."
Everyone starts to smile around the whole table.
"So what if you're it?" Jean asks bitterly, "Do you just have to be everyone's personal slave for the night?"
"Not exactly," Armin replies, "Here's where we add some risk into it. The person who's 'it' only has to follow through on three actions that they receive from other p-people. And you can only ask one person to do something once, so Mikasa couldn't ask me to do three things in a row. Once you've completed your third task, the role transfers over to the last person who asked you to do something. If I jumped in the pool for Mikasa, chugged a beer for Ara and had to expose a truth for Eren, Eren would be the next person to take on my role. The hard part is, once you figure out who the 'it' person is, you won't know if you'll be the next person to take on the role."
"Fuck yeah," Connie rubs his hands together, "This sounds like my type of game!"
"You're a genius Armin," I utter into his ear and he meets me back with a grin.
"Does everyone get it?" Armin asks.
We simultaneously nod as Armin clicks the generator. In four seconds the thumbs up emoji has appeared on the screen. Armin doesn't have to generate a new one, telling us that someone in the group is it.
"Annie! Hit your head on the table," Reiner bursts out. She stares at him with bored eyes and gets up to leave us all.
"Well, it's not her I guess," Bertholdt laughs at Reiner's failed excitement.
Sneakily, I watch as Connie inches his way toward Marco. As everyone is busy asking the person next to them to do something crazy, Connie whispers into his ear and Marco sports a defeated look, the both of them exiting the kitchen.
Marco. So that's who it is.
I push myself off from the chair and walk over to the kitchen, filling up my drink before I head to the living room that Connie and Marco darted off to.
I'm caught off guard as shoes dangle and swing in front of my face. Amid loud cheers, Marco is making his way across the banister to the second level, post-by-post. He hangs over the crowd as his shirt untucks, exposing a solid v-line in front of my own face. I follow from my position until he reaches the end, dropping to the ground as the cheers grow louder.
"Hey pretty boy," I murmur as he closes the distance between our bodies. "Ready for your next task?"
Sulking in exasperation, I snicker at his tired state even though the game hasn't been going on for more than five minutes. If someone was doing something extravagant, it was pretty easy to locate them.
I grab his hand in my own, surprised my his soft skin. "Outside with me," I state as I drag him along.
Once we've encountered the fresh air, I turn back to see that Connie, Jean, Reiner and Sasha have been following the two of us.
"So, what do you want me to do?" Marco inquires.
"Give me one moment," I drop my drink in his hands, scouting out a group of overly drunk blondes in the corner. That'll work just fine.
About two minutes later, I come back with a purple, lacy bra in hand.
"What's that?" Marco looks at me, appalled.
"A bra, idiot. Thought it may be your first time seeing one," I jest, the quartet behind us stifling their laughs.
"It's not my–Ugh, what do I need to do?" He runs a hand over his face in stress.
"Drop your shirt and pants," I command.
He looks at me through his fingers, "What?!"
"I want you to take off your shirt and pants. Then you're going to put this bra on and strut your stuff as if you were giving us a glimpse of a Victoria's Secret show in the lazy river."
The whole group can no longer contain their laughs, Sasha and Connie barrelling to the ground and holding their bellies tight.
With an intense frown, Marco shoves the drink back into my hand, it splashing over my stomach a bit. Eyes fully fixed to my own, he shoves his clothes off and snatches the bra from my hand, stomping his way over to the lazy river.
Jean whips out his phone to video, though I doubt he'll even get it with how much he's shaking in laughter. He's doing that thing that men often do when their pitch goes up a few octaves out of sheer joy and yet they still attempt to cover their mouths up.
Racing our way over so we can watch the show, Marco jumps into the river, the water coming to kiss at his thighs. With bra now lazily draped over his chest, he walks like a clumsy model through the dense liquid. He keeps a dedicated smoulder on his face and whips up a cheesy pose with one hand in the air to finish it off. We can all barely breathe as he jumps out of the water.
I hand him back his clothes, wiping a tear from my eye. "That was amazing."
"Well, pretty girl," he mimics the tone of voice I had, "You were my third task, which means you're next."
His heavy hand wraps around my arm as the colour drains from my face, Sasha, Connie, Jean and Reiner now looking at me with high hopes.
Pulling me back into the house, he turns to me, "And since you're one for theatrics, why not give you a taste of your own medicine."
Walking me up to the DJ, he whispers in his ear and the man in the hoodie gives a nod. Marco hands me over a microphone and earns a glare from me that says NO in every language.
"Don't worry Ara, it's just lip syncing for a couple minutes. I'm not that mean," he continues, "But I do need you to put on a good show for us," he points to the back of the room where the four stand together. "I'll be over there and I expect to get full worth out of my tickets."
He leaves me to myself as the other song comes to a close. Tickets? Was he expecting some sort of concert.
The familiar upbeat country song plays loudly through the speakers, earning a few glares from the partygoers as some leave the dance floor.
Oh God, yes he was.
The good thing was at least, I was never one to back down or shy away from a challenge. Make it awkward, people feel bad for you. Steal the show, everyone's in love with you.
I'd done something like this before in Marley, though this was the first time I'd be doing it semi-sober and I'd most likely remember it the next day, not have to be told about it through the gossip vine.
[🎵 man! i feel like a woman - shania twain]
I roll my eyes directly at Marco and he responds with two big thumbs up, Jean laughing away again into his own arm.
Thanks to my athletic experience and Hitch's teaching methods, I definitely wasn't foreign to moving my body in ways that would capture the attention of others.
Standing next to the DJ, I bring up the mic and choose to sing, even though I know no one can hear me. Slowly, I unbutton my shirt by one in tune with the lyric of 'let it all hang out,' the laughs of the four in the back turn into enchantment, but I still haven't grabbed the dance floor.
Not wanting anything about this to look awkward, I jump off the DJ's platform which is out in the corner and swing my hips as I walk up onto the coffee table, people parting ways as they realize what's going on.
With Shania's soft scoff in the song, I bring the mic up in the air to expose my neck with the breath. People begin to turn to face me and sing along.
Jean, who's the only one trying to cough back a laugh at the moment, is the one in which I target. I advance in a confident stride off of the table, heading directly toward him.
The coughing is replaced by a red blaze that appears on his whole body. I bring our bodies flush and move my mouth near the side of his neck, singing the words that only he can hear.
The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun.
Feeling the way his heartbeat turns erratic, I snatch the cowboy hat off his head and place it on my own. Turning, I flick up my hip and pull up my shirt in the slightest, exposing my lace bra for just a moment while keeping eyes on Jean. The action earns subtle cheers from the crowd and big screams from Connie and Sasha jumping at his side.
Knowing that if I brought Jean up with me, he'd probably die on the spot, I turn to Connie looking at him through low lashes. His demeanour shows nothing but excitement. Twirling and hitting the ground softly, I rise back up and snatch Connie's hand in my own.
Happily, Connie follows my lead, singing almost five times louder than me and partially off key. Pulling him along as if he were arm candy, I lead us up to the coffee table. If I didn't take the stage with my own performance yet, this surely would.
Stopping our movements entirely, I turn back to the crowd and point the mic out as everyone shouts, Man! I feel like a Woman.
Leaning my back against his chest, I take on a sultry pose and inch my way down his body that moves with the music. My hand traces its way down my body, coming to rest in between my thighs and balance me on the table.
We don't need romance, we only wanna dance. We're gonna let our hair hang down.
Stretching my gaze up toward him, I shoot up a hand in the air and let it fall behind me. Swerving my body to the side, I partially lay beneath Connie. The position gives full view of my body as if I were modelling on a motorcycle, allowing the words of the song to compliment the gesture beautifully.
Connie's arm grabs my neck as he pulls me back up to face him. Fuck, I truly underestimated is show performing skills.
Hand around my neck, he pulls the mic between us as we both sing out the chorus. I throw my hair back, exposing my chest that Connie gladly looks down upon. Once our eyes meet again, I brush his hand to the side and steal the mic back as I continue the song.
He jumps off the table, sending a hand up my way for me to come down. As I reach the ground, more of the partygoers pool in with their phones recording the performance, coming together to dance and sing out the rest of the song.
Hands in the air and gathering down into my hair, I finally lock eyes with Jean who's made his way into the crowd.
"Still gonna keep laughing at me, cowboy?" I pull the mic away to whisper.
He grabs my hand and spins me around, bringing our waists to brush against one another.
"This isn't fair for your dare," Marco chimes in behind me and I chuckle, still focused on the way Jean's eyes watch every movement of my body.
"How could I keep laughing at this?" Jean's voice is doused in desire, a few octaves lower than its normal condition.
I ramp my hips up against his own, his head drooping down at the action. I repeat the motion as his hands find my bare waist, trapping me in a hard lock. Connie swings by and steals the mic from me for him and Sasha to scream into together, but I could care less.
Angling my mouth just below his ear, I smugly say, "See? I told you since day one riding was my thing." I can hear expletives dribble out from Jean's voice as our bodies move together.
I push myself off his chest with two hands, spinning around as I let my fingers trace my waist and play with the hem of my shirt. Seductively, I draw off his hat from my hair and step forward, landing my soft hand on his chest.
Placing the hat carefully back on his head, he leans down to me, whispering softly.
"Ara, do you think we could–"
"SONG'S OVER!" Connie shouts, bounding up to me, "MY TURN TO PICK ARA'S TASK."
Jean heaves a heavy sigh, muttering "Cockblock," underneath his breath as Sasha joins us once again.
The music reverts back to the basic tunes of a high school party as Connie explains the next steps of the game he wants me to play.
"Well since YOU dropped off the face of the earth last time I asked you to play indoor chicken," Connie pushes my arm, obviously a bit more than tipsy at this point, "I think it's only fair that you make due on that two-year promise."
Jean scratches the back of his head. "I think I'm gonna sit this one out Con, Marco can take my place."
Briskly, Jean make his way out of the living room and disappears into the crowd. I let out a giggle as I watch him leave as fast as he can.
"What's up with him?" Sasha questions, eyebrows meeting in the middle.
"Blue balls, probably," Marco laughs out, "You should've seen the way he was drooling over Ara. Every cowboy's dream."
We all laugh together as Connie assigns the teams. "Alright, I'll sit on Marco's shoulders and Sasha will be on Ara's. We'll start from right here."
Marco sends a fearful glare as he stares at my muscular physique. "Connie, I'm not so sure–"
"Just fucking do it, Marco," he flicks his forehead.
Marco and I both kneel on the ground. I send the poor boy a smirk as he looks as if he's about to shit his pants.
Once we're both standing with the chaotic evil and chaotic neutral on our shoulders, Connie yells, "BEGIN!"
Immediately, Marco starts running back in fear as Sasha and I charge forward, sending attack shouts their way.
The sudden movement causes Connie to begin losing his balance and Marco trips over a shoe, both tumbling together in a mound of tangled limbs.
Sasha giggles vivaciously on my back. "Does that mean, we win? That fast?"
"I think so," I chuckle as the two of them slowly get up and assess their wounds.
I drop Sasha off my shoulders and lean toward Connie. "This is why I always say we need to play in the pool, even if you think it's boring."
As they start to get their heads back, I turn to Sash. "C'mon, let's go make sure Jean is alive."
"Good idea!" she shouts, scurrying ahead of me to the backyard.
I twist through the bodies, finally nearing the sliding back door that leads to the outdoors when the scent of sandalwood, cardamom and cigarettes fills my lungs.
"Nice performance," Eren's warm breath hits the back of my neck. Disgusting.
"Mhm," I offer, walking outside to the fresh air.
He stands in front of me now, leaning against the patio fence. "I'd like to give you a task," he smirks.
I come to his side, leaning forward on the banister. "Which is?"
Eren turns around the view the backyard, Jean and Sasha catching his eye. "Go tell Jean he means nothing to you, that you have no intentions of being with him."
You've got to be kidding me. This is such a waste. I would've expected something better from Eren, but then again, he still views me as insignificant, pure and weak. To him, he's probably expecting an outburst and tears.
"You really don't take anything I say as truth, do you?" I retort as I walk my way over to Jean, Eren following closely behind.
"That's only because it's all bullshit," he snickers.
Once we've funnelled our way into the group, I grab Jean by his vest and turn him to me, Eren standing a few feet away, but enough so that he can hear us.
"Back again so quickly?" he flirts.
In the most dull voice I can muster, I commence Eren's speech. "Jean, I don't care about you and I don't want to be with you, ever."
He looks at me with confusion. "Didn't we already talk about this this morning? I said I was fine with it, why bring it up again?"
I turn to Eren and catch his dumbfounded look, earning me the pride I needed.
"Ahh," Jean puts all the pieces together. "That's a fucking waste of a task, Eren," Jean speaks out, holding up his drink to him.
"Exactly what I told him."
Jean and I share a spiteful laugh together as Eren only grow more upset. Pathetic. He looks like a disgruntled child to me as he stands on the side of the pool, watching his plan fall a part.
Taking confident strides towards his way, I leave a few inches between Eren and I's body. Noticing as more people have realized that he's probably next on the target, I watch as familiar faces of Annie, Armin and Mikasa come into view.
"Now, you get to play the role," I coo. "And the first thing I want you to do is follow my lead."
Grinding his jaw, I place my hand behind Eren's head, tangling my fingers in his satin locks and in between the elastic that holds up his bun. Though still trying to carry on his loathsome act, I notice the action granting him a bit of relaxation, just how I figured it would.
I bring my face closer to his, watching as his eyes dart to the shiny gloss that coats my plump lips. His tongue pokes slightly at his cheek.
His eyes flutter shut. That's my cue.
Rapidly, I swipe my leg under his own, fully throwing him off balance. Pulling my hand off his hair, I simultaneously bring my other to push against his chest, hard.
The double hit sends his fully clothed body deep into the end of the pool, water splashing and coating the onlookers.
Standing tall and proud as he languidly emerges from the water with a coughing fit, I raucously comment in a petty voice, "I didn't think big and strong Eren would be so quick to sub. Who knew you were a switch?"
Mikasa is the only one not laughing right now, everyone else gleefully enjoying the deserved punishment as he gets ahold of his breath.
He swims to the edge and I kneel down to meet his miscreant form, speaking this next part so that I know he will only be able to hear me.
"You really think I'd do this, with you?" I quote his statement from two years prior.
Vindication never felt so fulfilling.
Viridian eyes turn ice cold at the repetitive phrase as I smirk at his dismay.
"You can finish off by rolling in that pile of leaves over there," I gesture to the back corner of the yard.
"Bitch," Eren mutters, dragging himself out of the pool and tossing his shirt to the side.
An additional plus for me was watching his rippled body coated in a glistening water beneath the moonlight. However, there is better use to this task. I want to drive him insane.
"Ah-ah," I wiggle a finger as he turns around with an abominable look on his face. "Throw yourself into that pile with all your drenched clothes, because in case you forgot the purpose of this game, you're my bitch now."
Keeping his venomous glare locked on me, he angrily swipes his shirt from the ground and throws it over his shoulders before trudging his way over to the corner.
"I think I need another drink to watch the rest of this," I snicker, walking back into the kitchen.
[🎵 heartless - the weeknd]
The bass of the music pumps through every marbled surface and hardwood floor of the Jaeger mansion. Only getting thicker, the air holds heavy with a sweat stench now mixed within.
I've only poured about a few sips of tequila in my cup when Reiner appears in my view. He walks leisurely up to me and my eyes follow the way his semi-unbuttoned white shirt squeezes to his torso's every motion. With the stocky way in which he is built, I can't help but thinking maybe I'd be better off having him as my trainer.
"Saw the way you danced with Kirstein," is the first thing he says to me, eyes low and demanding despite his nonchalant charm. "Was hoping you'd give us a shot."
"Us?" I implore.
It's Bertholdt's suave utterance that answers my question. Reiner's hypnotizing mannerisms had preoccupied my thoughts enough that I failed to recognize that the lengthy, dark-haired man had found his way behind me. "Yeah, dance with us both," he dictates, rather than asks.
How could I say no to being trapped between a Zeus and Poseidon? Their duo fit the archetype immaculately.
Drink clenched in hand, I let the two navigate me toward the middle of what has become the rambunctious dance floor filled with grinding, horny students.
Smushed between the heated bodies, Reiner places two tough hands on my hips as Bertholdt's come to meet along the side of my thighs.
"Did you request the song?" I sneer, wondering how convenient it was that I entered in just as the music began.
"What do you think?" Reiner tosses me a sinful glance.
I hum in pleasure, moving my body in tune with the song as the three of us develop a rhythm together. In tantalizingly slow movements, I move my hips between the two of them, never once faltering from my stare on Reiner.
Tempting the fragile line our trio was treading across, I feel as Reiner moves one of his hands from my hip to my ear, cupping the strands of my hair behind it.
"So pretty," he mutters and I can feel Bertholdt lean in towards my exposed neck, placing a soft, wet kiss on its side. I brush my ass up against his waist, gliding to every hit of each note.
I walk my fingers up Reiner's chest, laying my hand flat against his bare skin once available. Looping a finger between the taut fabric and the nearest button, I pull downwards to open his shirt more, him watching my movement all the while.
Throwing my head back onto Bertholdt's shoulder and sending him a smirk, I wrap an arm around Reiner to draw his body in closer, sweat glistening across his skin.
Once he realizes what I'm asking, I'm able to move my arm away and send it back over my head. I card my soft fingers through Bertholdt's willowy hair as I roam my body across his own, chest fully open and exposing every inch of my neck.
"Fuck," is all I can hear Bertholdt mumble underneath his breath. I respond with a low hum, shutting my eyes for a moment to relish the way their tough bodies cage me in.
Reiner lustfully removes the cup from my hand. I let its escape give me the opportunity to run my hand up his forearm, feeling the way it tenses with my touch. His veins protrude through the thin fabric of his shirt as I hold on with a tighter grip, leading his arm up to my ribs.
Taking the plastic cup in hand, Reiner brings its brim to my glossed lips. Tilting it slightly, I feel the searing liquid cascade down my tongue as I blissfully swallow each bit, my throat moving up and down.
The performance gives them the exact vision they were looking for. Wanting more, Reiner moves the cup with less caution and pours too much liquid in my mouth.
I don't choke, but the remaining alcohol leaks from the side of my lips, flowing down my neck and pooling within my cleavage. Bertholdt plays with the hem of my shorts, sliding a finger a few centimetres underneath as he watches.
As all the liquid drains out from the cup, Reiner tosses it to the side and opts to place his free hand just below my cropped shirt, toying lightly with the fabric.
I let go of my hand around his arm and bring it to my chest where the alcohol glimmers underneath the flashing lights.
With two manicured fingers, I swipe up from the base of my bra to my neck, all while giving a spellbinding smirk.
Fingers coated in buzzed glamour, I brush them across Reiner's chapped lips. He darts out his tongue, licking off the tequila I had smeared on his face.
Tangling my fingers back through my hair as I walk them down my body, I scoot away from the two and smile.
"Thanks for that, boys, but song's over," I smile.
They both seem in complete disarray before realizing the song has long since ended, my body having kept them in enough of a trance to steal their consciousness.
With dejected but understanding expressions, I depart in hopes of finding Sasha once more.
But I'm distracted.
Distracted by a handsome blonde boy who sits on one of the leather couches alone, head planted on his palm and staring off into the distance with wary eyes.
Tentatively, I make my way behind the couch in hopes of gathering where his attention seemed to be.
"Not interested in watching the game you created?" I question, leaning behind him.
"No," he sighs out, and I eventually place that his sight is locked on Annie who's laughing as she sips back a beverage from her cup.
I jump over the back of the couch, landing myself next to Armin. "Heart focused on someone else tonight?"
"Yeah," he breathes out in a crestfallen tone, "It's the f-first time I've ever seen her w-with her hair down."
I capture her alluring, toned form. She somehow magnificently pulls off low rise jeans, pairing it with a short-sleeved baseball tee that causes your eyes to avert directly to her chest. Blonde hair flowing with every small gesture, the tiny cowboy hat she wears creates an unpronounced sense of magnetism, drawing people in.
"B-but it's no u-use at all. 'Can b-barely make out a s-sentence," Armin murmurs, placing his knees on his lap and sloping his posture forward.
"I'm sure Annie wouldn't mind the silence," I say as I recall our past conversations. She appeared to be the type of person that would prefer less talking.
"I-It's not that p-part I'm worried about," Armin admits, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with the fabric of his jeans that show off parts of his lean, strong legs I didn't think existed.
Seeing as he doesn't attend our gym class, I honestly wonder how he maintains a toned form. He's nowhere near close to the likes of Reiner and Eren, but his navy tee still accentuates all he has to offer.
"Y-you're so good at it," he drabbles on, not noticing the time I had spent checking him out. "I s-saw the way you d-danced with Jean and Reiner and B-Bertholdt. I c-can't do anything l-like that."
An idea pops into my head. I stand up and extend him a hand.
"Well, maybe you just need some practice," I offer with a malicious smirk.
He grabs my hand even though he practically pulls his own weight off the couch, replying with, "I-I don't want t-to talk to Annie right now."
I tug him in close, making sure that he can hear my enunciation over the blaring music and riling shouts. "That's not what I was thinking."
Intertwining his velvet-like fingers in my own, I wind us back through the bustling living room and up the stairs that lead to the second level of Eren's home.
As we amble side by side, I proceed, "I'm an ideal person to practice with, considering my experience. But once we reach the top of the stairs, I expect you to lead the way. This is your opportunity to figure things out, after all."
Footsteps halting at the final step, Armin pauses for a moment, staring at his boots in what seems like agitation.
"And if you don't want to do this then–"
"No, A-Ara," he quivers, "Thanks for asking, but it's s-smart."
Softly and sweetly, he delicately pulls my hand and navigates us down the hall. We cross two, three, then four doors down the hallway, finally stopping at the fifth.
No fucking way. This is Eren's room.
I'm standing behind Armin as his hand goes to twist the doorknob, but he stops, as if over-thinking the whole process.
Or maybe it's something else. I know what Armin looks like when he's over-thinking, and his face shows no signs of it.
It's almost as if he's mentally preparing himself for something else.
Honestly, I'm a tad bit worried about his state. More for me than for him.
"Armin, are you–"
I'm instantly cut off by the door violently swooping open.
In a few seconds, the door is slammed shut and locked by Armin who roughly uses the base of his palms to drive my back into the white-painted oak.
"Shut the fuck up, Ara," he grimaces, lips just gracing my own. "You were so worried about me that you failed to see what was happening right in front of you. I thought you were apathetic, only caring for yourself in this pitiful world like Eren does. Who knew you'd fold in so easily."
There's no stutter in his words. No whiny high pitch riddled with anxiety.
His voice is deep and demanding, azure eyes half-lidded and motivated purely by physical lust.
It feels like a new personality, but I realize, it isn't.
This is who Armin was all along, he had just gotten so goddamn good at putting up an innocent facade.
But there is nothing innocent in the way his pressure shoves my shoulder blades, inciting a stinging pain. There is nothing innocent about the way his mouth latches onto my neck, tongue spinning circles as his teeth nip at my flesh.
Armin, our little manipulator, always had a reason for doing everything.
And right now, I had fallen into his little scheme.
With incessant need, he clasps my jaw in his hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Is this usually how it goes?" he whispers into my ear. His voice is satin, contrasting against coarse nails that dig into my supple skin. My body increases in temperature by every second that passes with his hand drawing needy pictures across my waist.
"Mmn-no," I groan out slightly as I connect our mouths in a lewd kiss.
He pulls away, ending it quickly with a thin string of saliva connecting our lips. "Show me."
"I thought you wanted practice," I smirk.
"I thought you would've realized I was lying by now. Show me."
My hungry eyes meet his own, and for a second, I see a glint of fear in the blue of his.
"What's your safe word?"
---
author's note:
hope you guys enjoyed this one!! sorry it was so LONG.
thank you all for your support!! i can't believe we've reached over 500 reads hehe
to celebrate, i created a little meme video that may or may not have some spoilers. here's the link:
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMNM9n4qD/?k=1
this is definitely inspired by the amazing work of yagamisdiary
her videos in parasite (which you should read btw) always made me laugh, so i wanted to bring that joy into here. hope you like it!! love u all so much <333