- eremika oneshots.

devil. [ema]

— with the brunette & blonde, comes
along a stoic black haired beauty.
despite her frail appearance,
never underestimate her.

(( 🧸 ))

/ highschool au. /

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swearing & fist-
fighting up ahead! :(

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Eren pants, heavily breathing. Upfront, his arms extend out as a barrier to keep the blonde from stepping any further. His head felt as if it were about to fall off— he was horribly dizzy, and his stomach hurt like shit. He could relish the blood seeping in his mouth, this was one of the worst pain's he's ever dealt with— but it was worth it.

He has to defend a friend, Armin.

"Well? Are ya' sophomore's ready to give us yer' lunch money now?" The assumingely, senior student teased— a so called 'shit-eating' grin plastering wide onto his lips. He was fairly tall, and had shaggy brown hair. Cords of muscle knot his neck and straining shoulders— the seams of his uniform tenuously buttoned.

Eren clenches his fists, gritting his teeth. He glares at the men with such despise— his eyes like a knife, sharp point digging in deep. His viridescents flash with indignance and vexation, much like lighting on a pitch black night. He hated people like them. Feeding off the weak, like an aphid on new spring growth.

Already, the brunette feels drained and tense.
They were considered as bullies, but the brunette considers them as parasites. Parasites whom boost their selves at a cost to others. They're vapid and rotten, needing transitory external crunches with boosted egos.

Behind him, the feeble blonde gulps— hands trembling, he makes his way to his pockets. "Oh? Looks like blondie over there's giving in. Whatta good boy, eh." The other mentions, a chortle slipping past his lips— hands tressing his dyed-coiffure mohawk.

"I-I'm sorry— Ere—"

"Armin, don't. You're just giving them what they want."

"But—"

"If you keep giving in, they'll keep picking on you. Defend yourself, fight back."

The elder student hisses, clenching his fist with a smirk— a vein popping out of his forehead. "Izzat' so?" In a brisk movement, not quick enough for Eren to react— the man strikes a full-fist directly at his face. The brunette's legs give away, helplessly crumbling to his knees with a groan.

Armin's brain stutters for a moment, and his cerulean orbs tinge. His fingers were twitching rhythmically as if in spasm, and his skin pales— mouth slightly parted. Quickly, he comes to his senses and reaches out to Eren— only to be pulled back by the hair. Slightly, his feet lift inches from the ground— a painful shriek slipping past his mouth.

"Oi, oi. Blondie, where's your money eh?" The dyed-coiffure mohawk student asks, swinging the blonde against the wall as if he was rag. Impotent, Armin slides down— abutting against the wall, arms against his stomach. He winces at the pain, eyes squeezing shut. This was all his fault. He should've done what they told, this wouldn't have happened.

Defend yourself, fight back. Eren.

Armin efforts to stand, grunts and groans audible from his side— only to be disturbed by a thrash to the face, sending his frail body to limp on the ground. "Aye, whatta weak-lot." The blonde's face fell faster than a corpse, blood trickling from his nose— fighting to keep his eyes open. At this rate, there was nothing to protect them— other than empty words. "..Eren—"