One hookup with yours and your brother's best friend since childhood can't be that bad, right?
⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚
In which Jean Kirschtein and Y/N Jaeger engage in acts that challenge the boundaries of friendship, jeopardizing their relationships with oth...
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⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚
Words: 2.2k. Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Alcohol and Substance Use, Verbal and Physical Confrontation, Blood.
⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚
You had spent the entirety of your Friday afternoon preparing for the party. Downstairs in the kitchenette, coolers, beers, and mixers line the fridge, anything above 40% lines the freezer. Large bowls of family size chips, candies, and batches upon batches of homemade cookies line the island counter. LED disco lights replace the usual ambience of the overhead pot lights, and a large speaker hides in the corner next to the couch. While you were connecting your phone to the speaker, intending to play a carefully curated party playlist, the doorbell rings for the first time at exactly 7:00 PM. You hadn't even started getting ready.
The clock of your phone now reads 8:02 PM. You're sitting at your makeup table, beauty items sprawled in a less than organized fashion.
"You need to relax, my love."
Sasha's big brown eyes meet yours in the mirror. Her hair is pinned half up, the other half in chocolate curls down her back. She looks beautiful, her makeup is more than complimentary to her doe-like features. A pink blush is dusted over her cheeks, its container sitting on the edge of your makeup table. You're unsure if you want to blush your cheeks with the same shade. You're unsure of a lot of things right now. Her slim fingers rest softly on your shoulders in attempts to ease your anxiety.
"She's right. This party is going to have a good turn out, there's already a ton of people downstairs," a petite blonde pipes up.
Your gaze shifts from the mirror to the couple seated comfortably on your bed. Historia's ocean eyes are kind and soothing. Expertly applied mascara only further draws attention to them, the way a siren's song lures sailors into the deep. Her golden locks are pulled over her shoulder, presumably for the comfort of Ymir, whose chest she's resting on, and whose arm tattoos she softly traces with french tipped acrylics.
Ymir hadn't put nearly as much effort into her appearance as the rest of you, not that she needed to. Her freckles act as natural contour, and her coffee coloured hair always falls exactly where she likes it. She offers a swift nod in agreement to her girlfriend's statement. Though her temperament is often cynical, she has always been a good friend to you.
Just as you parted your glossed lips to respond to the support of your friends, your bedroom door swings open. Muffled music and conversation resonates, providing proof to Historia's words. You offer her a kind smile before assessing your intruder.
