𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍•ᵉ ʲᵃᵉᵍᵉʳ

2

𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟹𝚝𝚑

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 the morning sunlight has shifted, casting longer shadows across my dorm room as the day settles into a gentle afternoon glow. The warm light spills through the window, illuminating the scattered remnants of our impromptu coffee date: crumpled napkins, the empty coffee cups, and the crumbled donut boxes that hint at our casual indulgence.

Connie left after we finished and I decided that I didn't wanna leave the my dorm, at least at that moment.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, scrolling through my phone absentmindedly, my mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Eren Jaeger.

I find myself replaying Connie's words, piecing together the fragments of who he might be, the way his name rolls off the tongue like a distant melody. The curiosity stirs inside me again, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. What kind of stories does he carry from Shiganshina? Will he share the same camaraderie with Mikasa and Armin, or will his presence create a ripple in our tightly woven circle? The more I think about him, the more I feel a strange yearning for connection, a desire to understand what makes him tick and how he'll fit into our world.

I can't shake the thought that his dreams might be vile and inappropriate, each one steeped in a darkness that transcends mere nightmares. They claw at the very essence of sanity, warping the boundary between what is acceptable and what is grotesque, making the familiar feel alien and unsettling. I imagine his nights haunted by visions where the lines of love and violence blur, manifesting as visceral imagery that is both mentally and physically tormenting.

In these dreams, I see him writhing in anguish, skin taut and raw, as though the world around him has twisted into a perverse reflection of his innermost fears. They're not just dreams; they're vivid assaults on his psyche, where the act of intimacy devolves into something horrific, an inescapable cycle of longing and repulsion. Each moment becomes an unbearable clash of desire and revulsion, with a hunger that feels insatiable yet destructive. I wonder if he wakes drenched in sweat, heart racing, grappling with the inappropriate longing to be both devoured and cherished, a juxtaposition that leaves scars deeper than any physical wound.

These vile imaginings swirl within the confines of his mind, creating a mental labyrinth filled with anguish and confusion, where the echoes of shame ripple outwards like a tainted stream. If he is anything like me, then he is trapped in a silent struggle, battling with thoughts that threaten to consume him whole, leaving nothing but remnants of a soul longing for connection amidst the chaos.
As I linger on the thought of Eren, a chilling curiosity takes root within me—does he secretly desire the grotesque things that plague my own dreams? Does he long for the kind of intimacy that transcends mere connection, one that dances on the edge of depravity? I wonder if he craves the same visceral experiences, the ones where the lines between pleasure and pain are hopelessly entangled, where love is expressed not through gentle caresses but through primal, animalistic actions that leave scars in their wake.

Would he yearn for his partner to explore the depths of those dark fantasies, to partake in a ritual that feels as much about destruction as it is about devotion? The thought both excites and terrifies me, igniting a flame of intrigue in my chest while simultaneously filling me with dread. If he truly harbors these grotesque desires, would we find a common ground, or would our shared darkness only serve to deepen the chasm between us?
I wonder if he has animalistic desires to rip someone limb from limb but also shower them in utmost affection it's almost to cunning to bear.