#//*will smith gestures at this asshole*

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐍𝐨 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

rick sanchez x reader

anon request: please i can request literally anything with rick sanchez acting jealous. Thanks and if you don't accept requests just ignore this tags: sexually suggestive, possessive & obsessive rick, daddy kink notes: minors dni wc: 2.2k

Rick doesn’t get attached.

He is Rick Sanchez. The smartest man, scratch that, creature alive. He isn’t a mere human, he is a God. Whatever Rick wants, he gets. He invented interdimensional travel. He fucked a planet.

Rick doesn’t get attached.

He knows that everything and everyone is replaceable. If someone dies he can just switch universes. Does he lose something? Same thing. Nothing is unique. There are millions of versions of everything. 

Rick doesn’t get attached.

That’s why when you confessed your feelings in a drunken haze Rick yelled at you. Rick thought you were at least smarter than Morty. You should have known that Rick doesn’t do feelings. That you’re nothing special. That you’re just a quick fuck when his cock gets hard and needs some easy pussy wrapped around it.

Rick doesn’t get attached.

He didn’t understand why he felt pressure in his heart when you started crying, endless tears streaming down your cheeks as you apologized after he rejected your feelings. He didn’t understand why he suddenly felt the need to reach his arms out and pull you into a tight embrace. Instead he insulted you as a whiny dumb bitch before disappearing through a green portal.

Rick doesn’t get attached.

So why was he fuming with rage as he saw you cuddled up on the couch with some other man weeks after he told you to fuck off?

A relentless fire, burning away any semblance of rational thought consumed Rick. His eyes smoldered with suspicion at the slightest hint of the man's attention toward you. Rick’s gestures became tense and guarded, his clenched fists betraying the turmoil within. Every smile directed at you from that dude sent a surge of insecurity coursing through Rick’s veins, twisting his features into a mask of possessiveness. Each innocent interaction fueled his rage until it consumed him entirely.

“Wh–Who the fuck is that–that lame fratboy on my couch?!”, Rick didn’t even bother to step closer, his voice dripping with anger. Your eyes shot wide open as you saw the tall scientists near the door. After your confession you avoided him as best as you could – after all you did live with the Smith family ever since your parents (their old neighbors) abandoned you. You never joined an adventure again. You never went into his garage to simply chat with him. You didn’t even ask if you could smoke space-weed. Nothing. That pissed Rick off even more because he caught himself missing you one time too many.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m Michael”, Michael was a polite, handsome young man, who attended the same college you did. Smiling, he reached his hand out towards Rick to shake his hand, “Are you y/n’s grandfather?”

If looks could kill every version of Michael would be dead by now. “You’re fuck–fucking stupid.” Rick would’ve loved to just kill that boy or at least cut off Michael’s hand, which was dangerously close to your thigh. You two were way too close for Rick in general. “y/n, who is that? Your new–new lover, huh? You little– Spreading your legs a–already?”

Rick knew he was overstepping it. He should have never said that but he couldn’t help it. You didn’t talk to him for weeks after you said that you love him with all your heart and now you’re with some lame, boring dumbass? Is that what undying love looks like? 

“…You’re a fucking asshole, Rick”, Rick could hear you holding back your tears, the way your eyes started to water, your cheeks painted red. He hurt you – again. Meanwhile Michael had already stood up and made his way over to Rick.

„Listen to m–„ Michael didn‘t stand a chance, Rick immediately interrupted him. 

„Li–Listen to me, shitface. I know– You fratboys are all the fucking–fucking same. You wanna tell me y–you‘re serious about y/n?“, he stepped closer, „You– Could you give her your phone and promise–promise she wouldn‘t find nudes or chats from other pussies?“

Absolute silence. This was all it took for Rick to confirm his suspicions. „Now you‘re si–silent? Jesus. How predictable. Jesus fucking christ. You think just because you’re d–defending her right now she’ll let you have– get a piece of her? You– Do you really think y/n would do that?” More silence though now Michael’s expression almost matched Rick’s. Both were fuming with rage. Rick simply shook his head, pulled out his portal gun and ended up in his garage again. If he would have stayed any longer he would have ended up beating that fratboy to a pulp.

In the dimly lit confines of his garage, the air thick with the pungent scent of portal fluid and vodka, Rick's rage simmered beneath a haze of alcohol fumes. His knuckles whitened around his flask as he gulped down the fiery liquid, each swig fueling the inferno of jealousy and resentment burning within him. The echoes of a heated argument still reverberated in his mind, igniting a storm of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. His bloodshot eyes fixated on nothingness, yet his thoughts were consumed by visions of betrayal and deceit, twisting his features into a contorted mask of fury.

Rick's movements grew increasingly erratic, his drunken stupor amplifying the intensity of his emotions. Each swill from the bottle became a desperate attempt to drown out the insecurities gnawing at his soul. Yet, with every passing moment, the flames of anger raged higher, feeding off his intoxication like a relentless blaze devouring dry timber. Alone in the darkness, he surrendered to the tumultuous tempest raging within, consumed by a toxic cocktail of alcohol, jealousy, and resentment. Resentment towards Michael, you and most importantly – himself.

“Fuck it.”

His plan was to be teleported in the middle of your room, right in front of your bed. Instead he landed right on top of you on your bed. Maybe he really did have too much to drink. But fuck, did he miss this. Your silky hair, your soft skin, your body pressed against his, your eyes staring into his. The faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window accentuated the contours of Rick’s silhouette, casting a seductive allure over the scene. His gaze, intense and unwavering, bore into yours, a silent invitation laden with unspoken desires.

As you laid on the bed, a mixture of melancholia and yearning coursed through your veins, your heart quickening in response to his proximity. The air crackled with tension, charged with the palpable electricity of unspoken words and unfulfilled longing. Despite the intimacy of their proximity, there lingered a delicate balance between attraction and apprehension, a dance of emotions teetering on the edge of possibility. In that fleeting moment, suspended in the hazy embrace of moonlight, you found yourselves ensnared in a silent exchange of desire, your hearts entwined in the delicate threads of possibility.

“What…what are you doing, Rick? Please leave”, your voice was shaking, filled with sadness. Just like a few weeks ago when Rick rejected you. Honestly as the days unfolded, the weight of his decision settled upon him like a heavy shroud, suffocating him with the burden of regret. What once seemed like a reasoned choice now gnawed at his conscience incessantly, tormenting him with the realization of what he had forsaken. In the quiet moments of reflection, your presence lingered in the recesses of Rick’s mind, a constant reminder of the warmth and companionship he had callously turned away. He yearned for a chance to rewind time, to recant his words and embrace the opportunity he had foolishly cast aside. But as the echoes of his rejection reverberated through his thoughts, he grappled with the harsh truth that some wounds inflicted by one's own hand can never fully heal, leaving behind scars of remorse that serve as a painful testament to lost love.

In a moment of raw vulnerability, Rick found himself enveloped by a surge of longing and regret as he reached out to embrace you. His arms wrapped around your trembling form, pulling you close with a tenderness born from the depths of his remorse. With each beat of his heart, Rick felt the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken apologies pressing down upon him, a heavy burden he could no longer bear. As your bodies pressed together, he savored the warmth of your presence, a fleeting glimpse of the connection he had foolishly forsaken. In that embrace, Rick sought solace in the familiarity of your touch, yearning to erase the distance he had allowed to grow between you. But even as he held you close, Rick knew that some wounds run too deep to mend with a simple embrace, and the ache of regret would linger long after your arms had untangled and they parted ways once more. So, he didn’t let go.

“Why– Why did you b-bring that boy over?”, Rick whispered into your ear.

“…Why do you even care?”

With a heavy heart and a tangled web of emotions, Rick mustered the courage to lean back and face you, intent on conveying the depth of his regret for his earlier rejection. His words caught in his throat, a silent plea for forgiveness lingering on Rick’s lips. Yet, beneath the facade of contrition, a different truth simmered—a truth he dared not confess. Deep down, Rick knew that admitting his regret would unravel the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart, exposing the vulnerability he had long sought to conceal. So, with practiced deceit, Rick masked his true intentions behind a facade of remorse, weaving a tangled web of half-truths and feigned contrition in a desperate attempt to suppress the stirring of emotions he dared not acknowledge. In the shadow of his deception, the echoes of his regret remained unspoken, a silent testament to the complexities of love and the fear of baring one's soul to the object of Rick’s desire.

“Did you– Did you fuck him?”

“Why do you care?”

“y/n, st–stop with this shit. Are you dating him?”

“Why do you care?”

As you persisted, your insistence slicing through the fragile veneer of Rick’s composure, a simmering rage ignited within him, fueling the flames of his resentment. With each passing moment, your few simple words bore deeper into Rick’s wounded pride, stoking the embers of his anger into a blazing inferno. The weight of your expectations pressed down upon him like a suffocating weight, a constant reminder of the vulnerability he sought to shield from your penetrating gaze. Fueled by a toxic cocktail of jealousy and insecurity, his temper flared, unleashing a torrent of pent-up frustration and bitterness.

“What the fuck– What d–do you want to hear, huh?!”, Rick leaned on his hands, which were lying next to your head.

“Rick, listen, you rejected me. You didn’t want me, remember? I can fuck and date however I fucking want! ”

“No! You fucking can’t!”, he screamed into your face, “You said– You said loved me! Talking about– about undying love and now?! Now you get with s–some young bastard from co–college who only wanted to– to fuck you anyway!”

“That’s exactly what you wanted, too! You only wanted to fuck me!”

“That’s not fucking true! I– The last fucking weeks were pure torture. I fucking m–miss you! I can’t fuck–fucking stop thinking about you, y/n. I miss your fucking smell, your h–hair, your voice. Fucking e–everything! I miss your face, the–the way you nag me to drink more water. Jesus fucking christ! I miss you. Why– Why the fuck are crying even more now?!”

With tears of joy streaming down your cheeks, you listened intently as Rick finally mustered the courage to confess the truth hidden behind his guarded facade. As his words washed over you, each syllable laden with the weight of unspoken longing and regret, a floodgate of emotions burst forth within you. Your heart soared with a bittersweet symphony of relief and elation, the echoes of Rick’s confession resonating deep within your soul. The tears that spilled from your eyes were not born of sorrow, but of an overwhelming sense of gratitude and validation, as you realized that the love you had held in your heart had not been in vain.

In a tender moment suffused with the weight of unspoken truths and undeniable desire, Rick leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours in the hazy embrace of the moonlit room. With a gentle touch, Rick cradled your face in his hands, his fingers tracing the contours of your skin. As your lips met in a fervent kiss, time seemed to stand still, the world falling away to leave only the two of you entwined in the delicate dance of passion and longing. With each caress, the walls he had built around his heart crumbled, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in the embrace of her warmth. In that moment of intimacy, you surrendered to the magnetic pull of your shared desire, bodies entangled in a silent symphony of love and redemption.

“You know– You know I’m not good with…emotions and shit. But– But you’re important to me and–and I’m not letting another man touch what’s mine.”

“You were jealous?”

“I wasn’t– Fuck it. Yes, yes, I was. Wanted to k–kill that motherfucker. The way he–he had his arm around–”, in the middle of his rant you wrapped your legs around Rick’s waist, pulling him closer. His crotch pressing against yours.

“Just so you know, I have been very, very lonely the last few weeks.”

“Oh? S–So you’ve been a good–good girl for daddy, huh?”, it didn’t take long for Rick to get hard, his bulge pressing against you, his hand now choking you slightly, “F–fuck, princess, daddy’s going to–to reward you for being so patient.”

[strangersteddierthings]

Based on a twitter thread the lovely @nburkhardt shared in the Discord chat and I just took the idea that Gareth is both Chrissy AND Steve's cousin and ran with it.

"Harrington, think fast!" Gareth is already lobbing the cream soda at Steve's head before he's even fully looked up but the asshole snatches it out of the air no problem. It barely even fizzes when he cracks the can open. The bastard.

"And for you, Chrysanthemum," Gareth hands off her cream soda gently, because she's his favorite cousin. She laughs at him but takes the soda. She doesn't open it right away, instead opting to set it beside her in the shade of the shed they've taken residency of. Out of sight of the rest of their family and their thousand and one questions.

"You know nicknames are supposed to be shorter than the original name, right?" Steve says, then burps because he chugged half the soda in one swallow.

"Gross," Chrissy says at the same time as Gareth's, "noice."

Steve grins, pleased with himself.

"Hey, so. I wanted to talk to you guys about something," Gareth says after a moment of quiet has fallen over them. He's plopped down in the front of them instead of resuming his spot beside Chrissy, leaning against the shed in the shade. It puts him in the sun but he wants to look at them both as they talk.

"Anything, Garebearringham," Chrissy says to annoy Steve with a lengthened nickanme.

"So, I'll be a freshman this year. And, I love you guys, you know I do, but, uh, I don't want to be seen associating with you. Publically."

There's a beat of silence where Steve and Chrissy just stare back, Chrissy looking hurt and Steve looking offended.

"What I mean is that you're both already, like, known. You know? And I don't want to just be… the cool kids' younger cousin. I want to be uncool on my own."

Chrissy says, "Oh. Yeah, I get that."

Steve says, "You want to be uncool?"

Gareth gestures to all of himself. "I am not aiming to win the popularity contest. I want to join the Hellfire club." He points an accusing finger at Steve. "You told me yourself that the club leader climbs on tables and rants about jocks-"

"Yeah, as a warning to not join Hellfire. How did you read that wrong?"

"-so I can't be seen associating with a cheerleader and the king of jocks. That'll ruin my, like, cred or whatever!"

Chrissy is nodding along solemnly. She's always been understand and sympathetic to Gareth, especially when it comes to being himself. In quiet alone times, she's confessed to being jealous of how easily being himself came to him and she wished she was as brave. Steve, however, was a conformist through and through and while Gareth could understand the why (his uncle and aunt are not the best of people) he's never going to try and fit in just because it makes like easier.

"Your cred," Steve says monotone, his bitch face out in full force.

"Yeah! My street cred!"

Chrissy and Steve share a look. Steve raises and eyebrow and Chrissy shrugs before they look back to Gareth.

"Alright. You're secret is safe with us, Garrington," Chrissy teases.

"Do not!"

"You think people aren't going to put together that you and Chrissy have the same last name?" Steve says, because he's a shithead.

"So? There like 4 Smiths, and none of them are related. It'll be fine."

"True. No one will believe the amazing Chrissy Cunningham is related to the absolute loser Gareth Cunningham."

"Absolute loser! You're a dick, Steve Harrington."

"Yeah, but you know I got your back even if you're a loser."

Gareth doesn't answer. He opens his own soda then, chugging enough to let out his own gross burp for Chrissy to scold him about and Steve to laugh.

It's the summer of 1983 and things can only go up for them all now that they're all in high school together.

[artists-ally]

I have a Harvey request if you’re taking them! He’s dating an UES socialite who actually cares about the world and people and isn’t the stereotypical aloof type. He tries to buy her a fancy gift (jewelry/bag/whatever) and she tells him to return it and he gets upset. Thank you!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

{Affection} Harvey Specter x Reader

Hey babes!!! Yes I am always taking Harvey requests!!! NGL I had to google what that meant and I hope I did this right 😭 Enjoy!! Title from this song.

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: language, mild angst, fluff

Tagging: @rosedpetal @bbyanarchist

~~~~~

For the past six months, ever since Harvey closed that deal with Smith and Klein, he has had a crush on their public representative, Yn. She is just… she is so pretty. And damn good at her job. She was responsible for representing his client and spreading word about their business on social media. 

But she was just different from the other upper east side assholes in New York. The way she talked and carried herself was enough to catch Harvey’s eye. 

In the last few weeks she’s been at the firm, trying to renegotiate the deal. Harvey took the opportunity to ask her out. To his surprise, she actually said yes. And their date that night had been lovely. At a quiet, riverfront steakhouse closer to where she lived. It was intimate and was a night filled with laughter. 

But there was just one problem. 

She never kept any of the gifts he gave her.

____

READER POV

I scoffed. Was he serious? The blue Tiffany box sat on my desk, its obnoxious blue bow staring right at me. I flicked open the note.

Yn, maybe these are more your style. See you tonight for dinner – Harvey.

What a shallow dude. Was his ego bruised so badly by my three other rejected gifts that he had to send me a fourth? How did one of the smartest men in the world not get the hint? He was good at his job, at closing deals and stirring up trouble, but he seriously couldn’t accept the fact that I didn’t want any presents?

I just sighed, sliding it in the drawer in my desk until later. 

It was annoying enough when he bought me the first set of earrings, giving them to me on our second date. Way too early for jewelry, for one. Second, what was I supposed to do with them? To me it was nothing but a gesture of utter disrespect. Did my time mean so little to him that all he thought to get me were earrings? 

The watch was way worse. And the necklace with matching earrings was just horrendous. Sure, that does it for some girls, but I am not the type to wear it just to make him happy to see it around my neck. Diamonds and glitter can only do so much.

It was nearing our anniversary and clearly we were still not on the same page. Sure, were they pretty? Yes, but that wasn’t the point. 

After I sent my last email for the day, I wrapped my jacket around my shoulders and headed out of the office, tiny blue box in my hand. 

_____

“Don’t you look lovely,” Harvey grinned, accepting my kiss with more than a little enthusiasm. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I smiled, stepping through the door as he held it open for me. “Thank you.” “Of course.”

We were seated at our regular table immediately, the box, which I had stuffed in my purse now burning a hole through it. I caught Harvey looking at my ears, and anyone else would’ve missed the way his eyes dimmed. 

“Good evening, what can I grab you guys to drink?” The perky waitress asked, flipping open a notepad. 

“Just water for me,” Harvey said, scouring the menu.

“I’ll do an iced tea, no lemon please,” I decided. 

“Okay, I will bring those out for you in a few minutes. Take all the time you need to look at the menus.”

She bounded away and I took a deep breath. Any second now.

Harvey tapped his fingers on the tablecloth. He looked… tense. Then again he always looked tense. But this was a different type of discomfort. 

“You’re not wearing the earrings I gave you.”

Here we go. 

I just sighed, “Look Harvey, I-”

“You don’t have to be condescending.”

I paused. “What?”

“I think you’ve been planning on breaking up with me for a while now so just get it over with.”

I couldn't do anything but blink at him. My brain might’ve actually disconnected from my mouth. “Harvey, where on earth did you get that idea?”

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to think?” Harvey’s eyes were wide, voice barely below shouting. “You don’t ever want to come to events with me, you’re hardly willing to go on dates. You clearly don’t want any of the gifts I keep giving you since you’ve given every single one of them back over the past few months. But you also won’t tell me what to get you so every time I go shopping, I feel like I’m blind. I have no god damn clue what it is that you like.”

“Because you don’t ask,” I shrugged, looking at the menu again. 

“What are you talking about?”

“If you ever bothered to ask, you’d know the answer."

“Well, I do ask. And every time you give me the same response.”

“Have you ever asked me why?” Harvey just stared at me, brows furrowed together. “As I was trying to say before, it’s not that I don’t think the jewelry is pretty-”

“Then what is it, Yn? Because clearly I am doing something wrong or you’re just fucking with me,” Harvey sighed, and that sad, defeated look crept into his eyes. 

Guess I'm just going to have to be blunt.

“I don’t give a shit for the jewelry,” I said honestly.

“But- but why?” Harvey threw his hands in the air. “It’s some of the best money can buy.”

“Which is precisely why it bores me. You can only say so much with a pair of earrings and a necklace, Harvey. To me, it screams lazy and mindless. Anyone can get anyone a pair of earrings.”

“Well, what do you want? Anklets? Ear cuffs? How about-”

“I want conversation,” I explained, setting down the menu and really taking him in. He was still. “I want good, meaningful conversation. I want thoughtful gifts like a new bookmark or a little porcelain cat you saw in a window and thought it looked like mine so you bought it for me.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

I couldn’t suppress my glare. “That’s not the point. Harvey, I like you a lot. And I do think you’re great, but you aren’t seeing me. You aren’t looking beneath the surface, you’re just going off your past instincts of what girls like. I’m not those girls.

“I am not a complicated person. Surprise visits and late night drives me more to me than anything you could ever buy in a store. I like being spontaneous and going to new places. And before you even think about it, no, I do not mean booking an all exclusive resort in Jamaica and flying first class. I want to go to museums and grab lunch on the way at a little cafe. To discover hidden gems in this city and make actual memories, not collect material ones. 

“I like authenticity. And I don’t know anyone who is more themself than you are, Harvey. That is what I like about you. You are not afraid to show your personality. You are unapologetically yourself, and I love that about you. But you haven't given me the chance to show that side of myself."

Harvey took in a big breath, nodding in understanding. 

“I am looking for something real. For you to really understand me and what makes me happy.”

“I get it, and I’m sorry I never thought of it that way. Most of the women who I’ve dated in the past tend to go for the biggest, boldest, baddest diamond on the shelf. I started getting offended when you kept sending the jewelry back. I couldn’t figure it out no matter how much I thought about what to get next.”

I smiled, reaching for his hand. He placed his fingers in my palm. “I am not a materialistic person. Earrings and necklaces mean nothing to me. Just a piece of sparkly rock that I’ll probably lose at some point. Or break.”

“So what you’re saying is I should just never buy you anything expensive ever again? Perfect, saves me more money to take you on all those vocations you don’t want to go on.” “Oh hush,” I giggled, easing at the sight of his smile. “Not that those things aren’t nice, I just don’t appreciate them the same way others do.”

“I understand,” Harvey said. “So, would you like to get out of here and go do something spontaneous?”

My heart swelled. “I’d love to.”

[negansworld]

Secret Desires

There’s been always an aura surrounding Professor Smith. The way he talks with that low growl in his voice, when he passes your table and gently touches your shoulder, the way he looks ridiculously cute when he looks over his glasses.

You like to think that he stares at you more often than the others. That there’s a shift in his voice whenever he calls your name and his smiles grow whenever you say the right answer. But deep in you, you know it only happens in your head, that half of the college has that stupid little crush on him and think they’re special to him.

Especially considered that he has a beautiful wife with curly dark blonde hair and a body to die for. Now and then she’d pick him up and the way he’d kiss her letting you all turn green from jealousy.

On the other hand it also has something extremely cute how in love he is with that woman, Negan and Lucille, a couple that belongs together even if it’s just for the perfect match of their names.

Once again you dream yourself away as the early hours of this fall morning passing along the window. It’s your second year and you don’t feel motivated. Not even Professor Smith could lift your mood with his deep voice and his colorful language.

The notebook in front of you don’t carry any notes, but only the varieties of Negan saying fuck.

Fuck, fucking, fuckedy, motherfucking… you get the drill.

It’s not until the shadow appearing in front of your desk, waking you from whatever dream your brain created. You know it’s him.

The usual scent of leather, cologne and cigarettes having your clit squirm, only that this time you’re afraid to look up. Nevertheless you do since the professor can be pretty pushy and doesn’t mind calling anyone out who doesn’t pay attention. You’re pretty sure Carl Grimes still has a bruise on his arm where Negan had thrown a pencil at him for sleeping.

“Now will you look at that? The little missy is still fucking with us.” He’s hot, but sometimes you want to slap this jawline.

Also he’s licking his lips again, staring at you like the predator at his prey right before he attacks. He seems to be offended that you don’t squirm or look away as he makes a gesture with his hand, followed by his lean.

“What a badass. I see you tonight at fucking six in my office. Not a minute later or you’ll fail this class.”

… what?

You’d like to pretend that you’re really a badass and not being an absolute wreck as you walk towards his office. It’s shortly before six and your knock shy as he calls you in.

“Sit down.” Gesturing to one of the two chairs on the other side of his desk he looks so damn serious. “I won’t give you some blah blah speech about how fucking important my course is, because you’re one clever gal and already fucking know it. Now what I need to fucking know is if you’re having problems, any troubles I should know about to make that shit easier for you?”

There’s no denying, no matter how hard you try, the professor sounds honestly worried. Now that could be only a game for you to open up, but you cling to that little hope that he might likes you, that you’re special.

Your eyes meet and insecurely you bite your lower lip, struggling how to explain it. You being distracted has nothing to do with him, not all the time, but that you simply miss home, that you could’ve more friends and better grades. Typical student problems and not worth mentioning to someone like him.

Worst case would be that he thinks you’re a pussy and wasting his time here.

He asks a few questions then, trying to lure you out of the shell while his voice surrounds you like a dark, comforting curtain. Everything in here smells like him. Damn.

Does one of the assholes here bother you? You shake the head.

Is it because of the classes? You shrug slightly.

Are you afraid that mommy and daddy won’t be fucking proud of you? Someone like him should be forbidden to use the word daddy.

Is it because of me? You nod with lips pressed together.

There he is again, the predator picking his prey and hunting it down mercilessly. Freezing in the spot you watch him getting up, coming over and sitting down next to you.

“Close your eyes.” His voice is a hot whisper against your skin, making you shiver as you obey. “Good girl and now lemme do my job.”

It’s like one of your dirtiest dreams come true as he opens your pants with quick fingers and slaps your thighs open. Aroused and a bit fearful you open your eyes, not knowing where to look first as he speaks up again.

“I told you to keep your eyes closed and you don’t wanna fucking disappoint me, do you?”

Again you shake the head and close your eyes, instantly getting rewarded as his long fingers slide into your panties. Gently he massages the warmth of your lips before spreading them open to reach your hidden pearl.

The moment his fingertip brushing against your clit having you squirm in the chair as the most pathetic noise leaving your mouth. Again and again he dips against your pearl until you soak your panties and gasp for him. You should’ve known he’s a tease.

“Damn kitten, I wonder how you’ll sound once I put my dick in you.” He mentions amused as he starts rubbing tight circles until you cling to his arm. “That’s it, give it to me. Oh fuck, I bet you taste amazing.”

He says some more, but all you can focus on are his fingers and the desperate roll of your hips. You’re soaking him, even leaving some scratches on his arms as your clit twitches. So close. Right as you want to scream his name his lips crashing in yours and he swallows your orgasm.

He pulls his hand out and soon you hear the obscene wet sounds as he sucks your juices from his fingers. “Like I said, fucking amazing. You’re more relaxed now, kitten? Does daddy have you purring?”

“Y-yeah… yes.” You mumble and look right into the face of the devil.

His smirk wide and lips shiny, you need to kiss him away, but he shows you that you have to play after his rules. A game you either win or lose.

[themadsquirrel09]

On our hands

Written for this 🧡 @kenmanweek2023 ❤️ 

Fandom ☆ South Park

Ship ☆ KenMan ♡ KenEric (Eric Cartman x Kenny McCormick) 

Characters ☆ Kenny, Eric, bit of Mr. Kitty, Stan, Kyle, “Firkle” Smith.

Rating ☆ M

Warnings ☆ Violence, drugs (well, just tegridy), swearing, fluffiness that might give you cavities. They are aged up here. Also, English is not my native language; If you find mistakes, and tell me so I can fix them, I thank you.

Summary ☆ Kenny wonders what is it that keeps him close to his childhood friends, that night he finds out part of that answer. 

About it ☆ December 6th's theme was “Clubhouse!” I’m turning up late because I couldn't stop editing =u=’’ This fanfic works as a one shot, it is also part of an AU I'm slowly working on.

☆ 2664 words ☆

With love: (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Stan

If I think about it, my life is damped by weirdness, dread, fun, and death. Maybe that's why I don't think about it, I just try to face it all with an unreadable look, and a calm disposition. It's ironic, then, that I find satisfaction in those moments of intense feeling, when I can’t contain laughter, pleasure, surprise, or even anger.

Makes me wonder if that’s why we are still always around each other; the four of us, I mean, it is like something sticks us together. Is it my love for intense feelings what keeps me close to my favorite assholes?

I make it to the bus stop, lazy steps, a bit of a blurred view, both because of the snow, and the black eye I have. I'm the first one here today, it's just me, and the snowflakes descending, dancing at the will of the fierce wind.

It's so fucking cold, but I have a trick for it. I look around to make sure nobody is close, take a deep breath, and start singing.

“Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow”    

Smiling, feeling how my body relaxes a little, I keep the tempo in mind.

“A siren sounds like the goddess

Who promises endless apologies of paradise

And only she can make it right

So things are different tonight”  

Almost without noticing, my eyes are closed, and I'm gesturing with my hands.

“We'll go together in flight”    

My left hand bumps on something, someone! I jump to the side; it can't be sweet (possibly drunk) Stan, or an always open to listen Kyle, it has to be Eric fucking Cartman. I throw off my balance, and he grabs me by the hoodie’s collar, pulling me close to his face like he wants to fight.

He seems pissed, but not exactly, like some emotion I can't name burns from inside.

“Your face looks like shit!” He snaps.

“Fuck off!” He scoffs, and releases me slowly, almost like he waits until I have my balance back to do it. Weirded out by how quiet he gets, I have to ask: “What’s wrong with you, dumb-ass?” 

“With me? I’m not the one with an ass-face.” 

“Ass-face?” That reminds me of an old joke we pulled together, and I’m about to laugh, but he doesn't seem amused; he points at his right eye. Oh, the black eye! I almost forgot. “Yeah, well...” I trail off, I don't know why, I really want to talk about anything that isn’t my singing, so maybe he forgets about it.

“You are still doing it, aren't you, Kenny?” He takes out a cigarette package, and puts one between his lips. Then he starts looking for something as he keeps speaking. “You know, playing to be the hero at night”.

I freeze. 

How? Among all the possibilities, how does he know? He looks at me, and when our eyes lock, he seems surprised for a second, then he looks away. 

That unreadable look I try to keep dropped for a second, Eric caught me smiling like an idiot, (not my polite smile, neither the one I use to flirt); there’s just something about it that makes me happy. Cartman is now searching in his backpack, frustrated.

Getting close, I take out my matches, and light one. I've always loved everything about that: the smell of the matches, the way it sounds when you light it, the fire itself; even if I've died burnt alive, I still feel the same.

Since I'm so enamored looking at the flame, I flinch a little when Cartman takes my hand, he holds it still, and lights his cigarette. I look at Eric's soft features as he takes a drag with his eyes closed.

How is it that someone like him makes me feel calm right now?

“Ok, you got me.” I finally say; when he looks at me, I take the match, and turn it off with my tongue, enjoying the sensation, the taste, and, of course, the disgusted look on Eric's face. I laugh at him, and I catch him smiling at that.

“Are you smoking, again, Cartman?!” Kyle still tries to be the moral compass of this group, and so he tries to bat the cigarette out of Eric's hand, while dragging a mildly drunk Stan. 

The day takes its course.

It is one of those days, though, when I find myself standing close to Cartman, sitting at the desk next to him, feeling like smoking when he sneaks out. Listening to his voice, following every senseless word.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It shouldn't be such a surprise, that when the night comes, and I find myself looking at Mysterion in the mirror, I remember what Eric said in the morning.

“Was he worried?” The question comes out loud, followed by a snort. I feel so stupid for even considering that, and at the same time, I can't shake the feeling that my hunch is correct.

But I have to focus, this is important to me. All the other's took it as a game, and that's ok, I guess, sometimes I wonder if everything is just a sick game.

I wonder if I'll ever run out of lives.

I always find myself face to face with that question when death is near, and it is happening again, right now, as a rabbit masked guy punches me in the face. Oh no, not the eye that was already black, you motherfucker. I punch back as hard as I can, and look at the little goth, who's crying. He is the victim this time, I might not get his money back, but at least he will be alive.

“Dude! Fucking run!” I get to say before the creep gets up, and hits me right in the gut. I fall to the floor, but feel relieved when I see the goth is already running away.

Through my grunts, and the sound of the beating I'm taking, I hear a siren. Immediately, my attacker stops, and bails. He doesn’t even pick up the gun I got to kick from his hand. The fuck just happened? Has my luck finally changed? I smile at the thought of that, then I pass out.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Did I die, and went to heaven... again?” I ask faintly when all I can see are those pensive eyes so close to mine, illuminated by colorful lights. The puzzled look is also pretty. 

“If you think this is heaven, I'll have to take you to the hospital.” I shake my head at the word hospital. Where did you go? 

“I hate hospitals!” 

“I know, Kenny, but then why do you keep doing this?” He comes back with a wet cloth, and keeps cleaning my face; I start to understand little by little. 

“Eric?” 

“What?!” He snaps, why is he pissed? 

“Where am I?” 

“In our Clubhouse.” Even now that we grew up, this place is huge. Cartman even had electricity installed, but it all looks so much better! Like he has been spending a lot of time here. I think about what he just said, our clubhouse, huh? Smiling hurts, but I can't help it.

“How did I get here?” He looks at me for a bit. I wonder if it is the colorful Christmas lights he uses for the place, how he patiently cleans my wounds, or a concussion, but I can't stop noticing how cute he is. Well, at least with my good eye.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? I heard a noise, I followed it, and found you here.” I can’t remember that, it hurts my head just to try.

“Why are you helping me?” He laughs.

“How do you know I'm helping you? Maybe I'm just curious to see you die.” Eric puts his hands around my neck, and presses a bit. He has the softest hands I've ever felt. I let out a satisfied hum.

“Erotic asphyxiation has been one of my favorite deaths, go ahead then.” He lets go instantly.

“Goddammit, Kenny!” Cartman stands up, and storms out. I close my eye for a second, and breath, trying to stop myself from laughing, as it really hurts. I hear his steps on the wood, the water running. We even got plumbing installed, didn't we? 

When I look at him from afar, a realization hits me, my laughter dies instantly.

I haven't noticed because the mask, ears, and cape are missing, but Eric is in his disguise: he is The Coon. Looking down, I find I'm laying over a sleeping bag, and it is not a cover what keeps me warm, but The Coon's cape. My heart hammers with all its might, like it wants to be left out to curse, and explode.

I wonder if this time I'm going to die from a heart attack.

Why would you save my life, and then lie about it?! It can't be, right? But I have to know. So I stand up, ignoring how much it fucking hurts, grabbing what I can to get close to him. He turns, maybe at the sound of my steps, and rushes to me just before my legs give up, I fall into his arms, and we both land on the floor.

“Kenny!” Oh, you can’t fake that voice, that urgent look in the eyes. He curses as he takes me back to the sleeping bag. “Kenny, what the hell?” 

“You fucking liar!” He ignores my accusation, as he seems more worried about treating a reopened wound. “If you just want to see how I die, then stop trying, let me die!” I bat his hand away from me, and Eric turns red out of anger, but it also looks like he is about to cry.

“Shut up, Kenny, you asshole!” I take my hand to his face, and place it in his burning cheek. 

“You don't wanna see me die, huh? You saved my life,” He looks at me, his frown dissolves. “Admit it!” 

“OK! You got me! God fucking damn it,” He leans a bit into my hand. “Will you stop crying now?” Then he goes back to the bandages, tightening loose ends.

“I'm not crying.”

“Ha! Who's the liar now? Fucker,” As he says that, he goes away for a bit, and when I touch my face I notice that yes, I'm crying, I'm not really sure why, but it is relieving, so I let the tears flow. 

Eric comes back. “Here,” he offers me a neatly made blunt, “You are always on about the medicinal powers of weed, and shit.” Honestly, I never thought he was listening to me. I grab him, and pull him into a hug.

“Let me go, Kenny… ” He says weakly, not bothering to fight my affection. And I remember this morning, I was wondering what kept me close to Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. I'm pretty sure about the answer now, at least when it comes to Eric. 

“I don't wanna let go,” He sits up slowly, and I cling onto his neck, allowing him to lift me up. “Thank you, Eric,” I say, holding him tight. And it is weird, how the happiness, and affection I feel at this moment makes me forget about the physical pain. As a reply, I feel his arms wrap around me softly.

“Am I a hero?” I really wish I noticed before that I wasn't the only one who took it seriously. I finally let him go, to look into his eyes.

“You are a hero,” I admit, he smiles, seeming sincerely touched; I take his hands in mine, and hold them, “You are my hero.” I enjoy the shocked, then flustered look as he struggles to escape my grip. It is not everyday you get to see the shy side of Cartman, it is like the hidden face of the moon.

I take the blunt from his hand, and look for my matches. When I find them, I place myself with my back against the wall, he sits beside me. I take a drag, and pass it to him before it goes out. When I watch how the smoke escapes his lips, I feel mine go dry remembering our kissing lessons; but then I look at his eyes, and notice the dark circles under them. 

“This place looks better than ever, are you living here, or what?” 

“Sometimes. I like it here.” 

“You said it is our clubhouse, so I can come whenever I want, right?” 

“Well… ” He gives me back the blunt, and gets himself inside the sleeping bag, “Only if you finish it.”

“The hell are you talking about, Eric?”

“The song, the one you were singing at the bus stop.”

“Dude,” my voice comes out low, but my heart protests loudly; now I'm the one feeling shy. “It's a fucking long song, like 7 minutes, shit!”

“I don't care, Kenny, it is our clubhouse, but my garden. If you wanna make a deal, start singing.” He lies on his side, smiling at me, so full of himself. Then he closes his eyes; I know it won't take him long to fall asleep. Fuck! 

Fuck it. 

I take that old smartphone the guys gave me years ago, and play the song's karaoke. I breathe into my gut, and let it out. 

“Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

For merely dreaming we were snow

A siren sounds like the goddess

Who promises endless apologies of paradise

And only she can make it right

So things are different tonight”  

It might be dumb, but the song makes sense to me for the first time. I take another puff, looking at Eric, wondering if he is still awake.

“We'll go together in flight”  

I hope he is sleeping, as I slowly lie on my side, facing him, making sure not to sing too loud the next part.

“It's now and never

A reverie endeavor

Awaits somnambulant directives

To take the helm

Believe me, darling

The stars were made for falling

Like melting obelisks

As tall as another realm”  

Oh, shit, the part in french! If he is listening, he'll never let me live this one down.

But I’m determined to finish what I started.

“Un ensemble d'enfants

La galaxie s'étend

Jardin de l'imagination

Combler la lacune

Roller passé la lune

Comme nous evoluons

It feels like flying

But maybe we're dying

A cosmic confluence of

Pyramids hologrammed

She knows you heard her

Staging music murder

In line before the show began

To be where I am”      

I hear a noise, that's when I see Mr. Kitty! 

The cat comes right to me, and crashes our foreheads, which hurts, but mostly makes me laugh; I take it as cat affection. He climbs Cartman’s side, who grunts softly, but seems asleep.

“To know

We are beyond a bow

And lo, the hues arrange to show

It's perfectly clear”    

It is strange how Eric can look so peaceful. His hands are right in front of me, so I take them in mine. 

There’s no reaction.

“You look quite divine tonight

Here among these vibrant lights

Pure delights surround us as we sail

Signed, yours truly, the whale

Joy mirage's kingdom come

No one left at stake

Now that existence is on the wake

Let's see what we can make”     

Mr. Kitty climbs down, and lies right between us, looking at me.

I hum, then sing a bit to him, getting a loud purr as a reply.

“Bye, hi

Sigh, Hawaii

We never meant to part

Sublime, thy art     

One light

Higher than the Sun

Invisible to some

Until it's time”      

At the last verse, my gaze falls on our hands, and I fight how sleepy I am just to linger a bit in the sensation. 

Drifting to the point of no return, I feel Eric’s hands squeezing mine lightly, I wonder if I'm already dreaming.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅••❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

The end (for now!)

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Final notes 💌

I loved writing this, and I hope you loved reading it!

A little of context: they are in the last year of school. If something is left unsaid, it is because I'm slowly working on this AU for my favorite troublemakers. 

About the song: I chose one that would suit Kenny’s voice, I thought this one was good, and my own Mr Kitty agreed! Kenny learned to sing, reaching a professional level on S04E04 ∣ Quintuplets 2000. That song, as I see it, ended up working on more levels than expected, you can find it here.

[gabigabigabby]

don't let me go down | e. smith rowe

emile smith rowe x grealish!reader

a/n: i've been listening to 'sos' by mod sun and royal & the serpent on repeat and this came out. hope u all enjoy and hope u all don't cry too much😬😬

synopsis: the three occasions where you notice emile is slowly slipping through your fingers

warnings/content: emile is the biggest asshole in this. just the biggest dick ever, violence. i also recommend u all listen to this song on repeat while u read. it sets the mood

—

01.

"y/n," emile's figure appeared leaning on the doorway of your shared bedroom. "rams and georgina invited me and some of the boys to celebrate his marriage. i'm leaving tonight."

your eyes lit up. "oh, that's nice!" you smiled. "who else are you goin' with?"

"bukayo and tolami & martin and helene." he replied. your eyes grew wide hearing tolami and helene's names. the three of you plus georgina had grown very close throughout the season. you had thought it'd be nice to see them again before the next season begins.

"alrighty, i'll get to packing, then." before you could even get up off the bed, emile pushes himself fully into the doorway, clicking his tongue.

"no. y/n, i need you to stay home. watch over the dogs and that." he said, his tone dry and his expression blank. you brows pulled together as you let out a confused giggle.

"i'll just send my brother a message, ems. they'll be fine." you shrugged.

"no. you're staying. i won't be gone for long." emile shook his head, his eyes wide and arms opened as he walked away. and so you began to wonder, what happened at training today that totally buzzed him off? you had never been terrified to question emile about his mood, but this time, you were. and you wished to know why.

and so for the next few days you were at home all alone taking care of the dogs, you had browsed through emile, bukayo and aaron's instagram stories. you watched them having fun on a yacht and drinking. helene and tolami were wearing bridesmaids sashes across their bodies. georgina had asked you to become one of her bridesmaids a week before the wedding alongside tolami and helene, and you had graciously said yes to the beautiful gesture.

to have to keep remembering the fact that you were sitting here, in your humble abode in london and not on a yacht in the middle of nowhere, you had to admit, it tugged on your heartstrings a little bit.

02.

you were parked right outside london colney and you had overheard bukayo and emile's conversation from the car about some pre-season event mikel and the management team are hosting. as soon as emile got into the vehicle, you wanted to know more.

"i couldn't help but overhear your conversation with b about something," you turned towards emile, showing your full-fledged interest in his previous conversation with bukayo. before you revealed to emile about the pre-season party, he had clicked his tongue in annoyance. probably about the fact that you had been eavesdropping in his conversations. "the gaffer is hosting a pre-season party?"

you heard emile groan softly before revealing it to you. "yep. the gaffer is hosting a pre-season party. what about it?"

"you have to go, emile! we have to attend the party!" you expressed your excitement to your boyfriend. oh, you were just so excited to see the boys again before the new season begins.

"of course i have to go, y/n. but you don't have to," emile shrugged. you had given him a puzzled look then. why don't i have to go? noticing that, emile huffed. "i know you're not a party person. that shit's all gonna be too boring for you, and then you're going to come running to me telling me you're not having a good time. also, nothing mad is going to happen, so relax."

so when the night came and emile was getting ready to attend mikel's pre-season party, you sat on your bed as you watched him pull a black sweater over his body. you watched him pull on a pair of black jeans over his calvins. you watched him mess with his hair until it reaches his desired style. you watched him spray his favorite cologne all over his body. you watched him lace on his favorite sneakers.

and the most painful part was you watched him leave the house, get in the car and drive away, leaving you alone at home with the dogs.

hours later, the boys' photos and instagram stories began to pop up on your feed. you couldn't even bring yourself to like them all, especially if emile is in those photos and his arm wasn't slung over your shoulders, as it usually would be at arsenal events.

03.

arsenal go head to head against your brother's club, man city, at the etihad today. emile had so graciously offered to drive the both of you there. finally, a day where he's being nice for a change, you had thought to yourself.

as you arrived at the etihad, you had immediately made your way towards the arsenal vip box and not city's. after all, you were there for emile. your brother just happened to play for city. as you were about to climb up the stairs leading to the arsenal box, emile had pulled you off.

"what you doing?" emile said, looking a little bit angry.

"trying to find me a seat at the box. what are you doing?" you had let out a small chuckle.

"nah, nah," emile scoffed. "i put your name for the city box."

you couldn't believe your ears when you heard that he did that. "why? do i look like i'm wearing a city shirt?" you joked.

"well, you should've." emile answered matter-of-factly before calling for one of the guards to escort you to your seat in the city box. this is the third time in three consecutive weeks that emile has done nothing but act odd and condescending towards you. you'd wanted to get to the middle of it, but realising that this is the game which would determine arsenal's chances of winning the league, you had stopped and taken a rain check on that.

and so the game unfolded, city had bested arsenal by four. you knew this was the moment that jack had been talking about for a really long time and all you wanted to do was run down to the pitch and congratulate the man, but after having to watch the little scuffle that happened between him and emile, you were almost terrified to approach him.

though, you had been lucky, because he had cooled off enough to be approachable. "congratulations, brother!" you smiled, pulling jack into a tight embrace.

"thanks, dude," he grinned. "and sorry about earlier with your shit boyfriend. lad revealed somethin' to me mid-match and i couldn't ignore it." your brows had pulled together subconsciously.

"what'd he tell you?" you asked before you noticed jack slowly backing away from you. "jack peter grealish. tell me what he told you."

jack sighed as his eyes ran around every single direction except yours, before soon enough, it landed just a tad distance away from where your back had been facing. "i hate to ask you to turn around right now, lad..." jack drifted off.

you wished you didn't obey jack's words, because you'd want to drench your eyes in bleach at the sight. you had caught emile pulling an unknown woman in a tight embrace; a similar one that you had given jack a few minutes before. "oh, this lad's gonna get a blasting from me." jack said through gritted teeth as he started stomping towards emile, past the arsenal and city boys.

pulling the girl away from his arms, jack had landed a blow to emile's nose, which left him hunched over with his hands holding the blood in. "fuck you, smith rowe! you stay the hell away from my sister!" jack had blasted. his voice had corraled a bunch of the city guys, including pep, towards you and the crowd.

every now and then, the arsenal boy would release the pressure he had put on his nose to prevent more blood from dripping. you tried your very best to push jack away from emile when soon enough, rúben and erling had involved themselves into helping you keep jack away from emile.

"is this why you didn't ask me to come with you to celebrate aaron's marriage?" it almost sounded like a whisper when you asked emile that question. "because you've got her now?" at that moment, most of the arsenal guys had begun to gather around the commotion, aaron being one of them.

"you told me she had to go to manchester to visit jack!" aaron shouted, chucking his goalie gloves onto the ground harshly.

"is this why you told me not to go to that pre-season party with you? is this why you put my name up for the city vip box instead?" to say you were in utter disbelief might be an understatement. bukayo, leandro and granit had begun shaking their heads in disappointment of emile. emile could only look at his teammates with guilt in his eyes after realising that they were all on your side. "it's okay, you don't have to say anything. i'm already sinking in the ocean that's you. don't let me go down any further. we're done, ems."

you heard rúben mutter scum under his breath as you, him, jack and erling had begun to walk away from the crowd of red shirts on the pitch. a chorus of i'm sorry's and i didn't cheat's were sounded from behind you, but you knew that if you turned to the voice... that if you stay any longer, you'll never leave.

that's how much you loved emile. it's a shame he didn't love you the same amount.

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: If It's Not Right, You Have to Put It Right

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, painful wound cleaning, restraints (shackles), severe power imbalance, nasty law enforcement/abuse of power, aftermath of flogging, mention of wound infection, lady whump

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 3917 || Approx reading time: 16 mins

If It's Not Right, You Have to Put It Right

Teaser: Is there no one around here with any kindness in their heart? Or any goddamn sense in their head? “But…no one’s looked at his back since yesterday.”  I point at Fox, letting my voice quaver. “Those cuts will get infected if they don’t get cleaned.”

Bree

The night passes in unsettling quiet. There are no howls of despair from other cells, no angry bellows from the constables. In fact, little noise at all breaks through the darkness, save for the scraping of hobnailed boots when the patrolling guards stalk through the halls.

Fox, too, is quiet—no moans or whimpers from pain-induced dreams. He sleeps, silent enough that I catch myself hoping he’s not dead.

Sleeping, when  it’s my turn to sink into its elusive mists, brings no rest. Waking, which happens enough that I’m not sure I slept at all, brings only grief and uncertainty.

Hatchett first said I would hang, then changed to not necessarily. Was that part of the game? Was he simply trying to confuse me? If I am not taken to the gallows, but left here to rot instead, what then? Or perhaps…perhaps that’s it? Maybe it’s enough for him to watch me suffer? He’ll get his long-awaited vengeance for running away from him  four years ago, and I’ll get to die cold and alone.

A hoarse moan from the other cell jars me from my thoughts. “Am I still alive?”

I don’t know whether to muster up tears or laughter. Pressing as close to the bars as I can, I squint through the dark. “Seems you are.”

“Shame.” He draws a slow breath, punctuated by a wince.

“Does it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

He hasn’t moved much from where he fell asleep last night—probably couldn’t. His wince echoes through the darkness as he slowly starts to rise.

“No one’s come to take a look at those yet.” I can’t see his lash-wounds, not while his face is turned toward me, but I was awake for enough of the night that I’d have noticed if someone visited.

“That asshole medic will come around when he wants to,” Fox mutters. “Or maybe never. He hates my guts.” After he’s pulled himself upright, panting slightly, he adds with a dark laugh and a vague gesture around us, “Like everyone else.”

I don’t understand. Why take care of the shoulder wound, but not these ones? “But they might get infected—”

“So? What do they care?” His words run together, so it sounds like, Whatta they care? “Aren’t I gonna die anyway? May as well make the lead-up painful.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I say the first—and most inane—thing that comes to mind. “I don’t hate you.”

Something flashes across his face. Amusement? Gratitude? Confusion and discomfort he’s too polite to acknowledge? “Uh. Thanks.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy wishing I could die right about now.

Long, dragging minutes prompt the realization that I haven’t eaten since my last meal at the Smith house, nor have I had any water since my interrogation.

Tell me what you know about IA. Its leaders. Its methods. Everything.

With the sound of the whip still ringing in my ears, I was not inclined to give Baden Hatchett a single word, let alone any goddamn details about running for IA.

Speak, Miss Cooper, or you will find your stay in this prison less than hospitable.

You realize it is in your best interests to cooperate, do you not?

You think I won’t go to any lengths imaginable to take them down? Do you really want to be on the wrong side of that battle?

You’re a fool, I finally told him. I already am.

“Please, sir. When is the medic coming?” The constable who delivers water and bread appears genuinely surprised when I scramble to my feet and address him. “Will it be soon?”

He gives me a look one might give a worm, squashed and bloody beneath their shoe. “You sick?”

“W-well, no, but—”

“Then sit down, girl. Mind your own business.”

Is there no one around here with any kindness in their heart? Or any goddamn sense in their head? “But…no one’s looked at his back since yesterday.”  I point at Fox, letting my voice quaver. “Those cuts will get infected if they don’t get cleaned.”

Scoffing, he asks, “Is that supposed to be my problem? Take your fucking meal and worry about yourself.”

This time, when I answer, impatience slips through, and I press myself against the metal. “I’m telling you, he needs to come look at—”

“‘I’m telling you’?” Reaching through the bars, the constable shoves me back. My stocking feet and tired limbs struggle to keep balance, and I sink to the floor. “Who do you think you are? Mind your goddamn tongue, you hear? He’ll come when he’s available.”

Fox lurches forward when the guard shoves me, spitting venom—the only weapon he can wield. “Look what we got here. Another big man who likes pushing people around.”

I cringe. It’s nice of him to speak up, but he’s already saved me once. I don’t need him to do it again, certainly not now. For once, even if neither of them realize it, I’m the one in control of the conversation. Keeping my eyes on the constable, I reapproach. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Infected wounds kill people all the time. Don’t you care?”

The constable glances at Fox and guffaws. “About him? Not particularly.” He tugs out his baton. “Seems you still need a lesson in respect.”

Although I step back as if cowed by the implicit threat, I say, “I give respect to those who earn it.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that so?  Rest assured… I will let Constable Hatchett know.”

Fox leaps back into the conversation, contempt upon his face. “Going to run right to mommy and tell her, are you?”

The constable slams his baton against the bars of Fox’s cell hard enough to echo. I barely suppress a startled squeak. “You and your mouth. You just don’t learn, do you, you stupid fucker?”

Based on the look on Fox’s face, I can only imagine what he’s thinking: Well, you better come in here and teach me a lesson, then, or something equally ill-advised. But he grits his teeth and says nothing.

“Huh. That’s what I thought,” the officer says, and he stalks away.

Fox turns his glare on me. Once the constable’s footsteps have faded, he says, “So much for not doing that anymore. Didn’t you promise just last night you wouldn’t try to piss them off for my sake?”

Irritation flares inside me. “I promised I wouldn’t put myself in harm’s way. There were bars between us, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t stop him from trying, though, did it?” Fox gestures toward the door. “And you do realize, right, that he could have come in if he wanted to? That’s how jail works. They’re the ones with the keys.”

“Sure. But I’m the one with this.” I brandish the flask I unlatched from the constable’s belt while I was distracting him with my complaints. “Let’s hope it’s just water.”

How satisfying it is  to watch his eyes widen. Ha. Weren’t expecting that, were you? “When’d you pinch that?”

“There’s a reason Spider recruited me.” I unscrew the top and inhale, praying the pungent smell of alcohol doesn’t assault my senses. “I’m not half bad.” With a sigh of relief, I return the cap. Just water. Exactly what I wanted.

“All right, well, good job, but…why do you need that?”

“I don’t need it.” I drop the flask and scan my clothes, seeking the least soiled stretch of fabric before I tear a strip from the skirt. It’s far from sterile, but it’ll have to do. “You do.”

He frowns. “What?”

“If that dumb fucking medic,” I say, “isn’t going to do his job, then I’ll have to do it for him.” Waving the torn cloth, I gesture toward the water flask. “Come closer.”

He’s staring at me with a mix of astonishment and something I can’t place. Suspicion? Confusion? “Why?”

“Because just hurry up.” I beckon him with my hand. “Before he figures out his flask is missing and comes back. I’m going to clean your cuts.”

He blinks. Flinches. Is he…embarrassed? Is the prospect of me touching him more horrible than being whipped in front of the entire prison? “Bree, you don’t need to—”

Bitterly, I say, “I do if he’s not coming.”

He barely moves a muscle. “We just met.” His good hand rubs anxiously at the nape of his neck. “You shouldn’t have to…”

We just met. His words sting more than they should. “We’ve met before.”

“That night doesn’t count.” For the first time, he looks at me with something akin to pity. “It was awful. For both of us.”

“You saved my life.” No point in bringing up the first time we crossed paths. Why would he remember? He’s probably helped Spider recruit dozens of runners.

“Right, but…” Wide and uncertain, his eyes are still fixed on mine. “I don’t expect nothing from—” A pause. “You…you don’t owe me anything.”

I huff out an annoyed sigh. “Will you just get over here? Or was st—taking this a complete waste of time?”

For a moment, he remains a statue—then hauls himself across the floor, stopping with his back to me. “This…good?”

I reach through the bars to test the distance between us. “Yes.” Hovering my fingers over his back, terrified to touch him until we’re both ready, I scan for any inch of skin that isn’t pocked with lash-marks. “I’m…I’m sorry again. He wouldn’t have flogged you if not for me.”

“Not your fault.” Fox’s voice is bitter, but I believe him. “For a miserable bastard, he’s fucking creative when he wants to be.” He puts on his best mimicry of Hatchett’s low voice. “Consequences.”

Surely he’s trying to be funny, but a shiver runs down my spine. Father was cruel and quick to use his fists, but dumb as a rock. Baden Hatchett is cruel but sharp—clever and quick to use his wits. Had I gone through with the marriage, what awful consequences might I have met when my actions brought him displeasure? “Yes.” You will call the count. “He is.”

Banishing Hatchett from my mind—as much as I can when I’m staring directly at his handiwork, embroidered in blood across Fox’s back—I reach for the flask. “I’m going to run water down your back first. I imagine it will hurt.”

“I expect so, yeah.”

“Are you ready?”

“Do I got a choice?”

I pause, not sure what to do. “I mean… You do, but…”

He snorts. “Just say no.”

Swallowing an uncomfortable laugh, I open the flask.

At first, the water runs rust-coloured to the floor, pooling between us and mingling with the filth crusted there. Fox hisses.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Just breathe.” What did Mother used to do, when I was young and Father got carried away? Tell me about the story you read today. How were your lessons this morning? Let’s go through some arithmetic facts. “What’s two times two?”

He jerks his head back to look at me, brows pinched in confusion. “What?”

“My mother used to try and distract me,” I say, “when she had to, um… When I was hurt and she didn’t want me to cry.” Didn’t want me to cry too loudly and bring him storming back. “Stories, arithmetics, and such.”

“Listen. I’m not doing any maths right now. This fucking hurts enough as it is.” He winces again as another flood of water drips down his back. “No need to bring school into it.”

“All right. That’s fine.”  Inexplicably, my heart is pounding as I lift my makeshift washing cloth. “I’m going to start, um, cleaning.” Why are my hands shaking? “May I…?”

If he was embarrassed before, he’s gotten over it. “You’ve already started. Might as well finish it, yeah?”

I grit my teeth as if I’m the one who’s bracing myself for pain. “Tell me a story, then. Something about you.”

He barks out a laugh.“You think that’s a good idea? Who knows who’s listening in?” After a pause, he adds, muttering into the darkness, “Fuck you, whoever you are.”

“You needn’t tell me your life story,” I say, chuckling, though my stomach twists. “A happy memory or something.”

He gives a soft yelp. I’m doing my best to be gentle, but the wounds are still raw, and my dress isn’t made from the softest material. “About. What?”

“Anything.” Reaching through the bars is awkward, and my back and arms already ache from the awkward position. Perhaps his story will distract me, too.

To my relief, he acquiesces. “I…used to have…this dog.”

The cloth is already stained pink. “How sweet.”

“She w—” He breaks off, choking back a gasp. I’ve reached one of the deeper cuts. “She really was. And my br—”

His words halt so abruptly, I wonder if I’ve somehow killed him.

“Fox?” I murmur. “Your…?”

“Nothing.”

He is quiet, his breath stuttering as I wash the dried blood from his back. Some of the wounds have already scabbed overnight; I pray there’s no grime trapped inside.

“I was a little shit in school.” I’m puzzled by the change in subject, but I don’t pursue the dog story. “The schoolmaster hated me. He loved to give me the strap.”

Perhaps Fox and I differ in our understanding of something happy. “This doesn’t sound like a good memory.”

“Well, every time I put crickets in his desk, it felt pretty good.”

I bite back a laugh.

“Once, I put a baby snake in his hat.”

“You didn’t.”

“And I broke—ah—” The cry only deters him for a moment. “—into the schoolhouse one night and wrote a rude story on all the slates, pieces of it on every single one. It took hours.”

I’m giggling now, helpless as I imagine the look his shenanigans must have brought to the schoolmaster’s face. “You were a wicked little boy.”

“Yes. Very.” He pauses to wince and jerk away from me as one of his cuts splits open at my touch.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m trying—”

“I didn’t make it easy for myself.” He’s rushing now, shoving his words together as if that will somehow keep the pain at bay. I di’n make it easy f’r m’self. “I could never sit still, and listening to him droning on and on was so boring. All I ever wanted was to go out and play. I’d get in trouble for talking to the other children, daydreaming, fidgeting, talking out of turn, generally being insolent…” He laughs. “Once, I just ran outside because I decided I wanted to go for a walk.”

“How old were you?”

“I dunno. Young.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice now that makes my heart ache. “Ma almost killed me when she found out.”

“And you were, of course, very sorry when you got in trouble.”

“No!” His laugh wraps around me like a cloak, a snatch of childish joy that has drifted from the past to offer us comfort for these precious, fleeting moments. “I remember enjoying my stroll very much. How could I be sorry for that?”

Another cut dribbles fresh blood down his back, and the spell is broken. With a hiss of annoyance, I tear another strip from my skirt to soak it up.

“Was it a happy one, then?” I keep my voice soft. “Your childhood?”

His unkempt mop of hair bounces with his nod. “Yeah. It was.”

Why am I suddenly blinking back tears?

“All right,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.  “I think that’s the best I can do.”

A dark stain, wet and rusty, glares up at me from where bloody water dripped onto my skirt.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

I drop my hands in my lap, trying not to dwell on how my hands, too, are stained. “It was nothing.”

“Won’t be nothing if—when—we get busted. Give me the flask.” He turns so we can face each other once again. “So they think I took it.”

“No.” I place it behind me, where he can’t reach. “You’re not taking the blame for me. I’m not afraid of them.”

The look on his face tells me he knows I’m lying. “They’re gonna figure it out.”

“No,” I repeat. “I’m the one who took it, so—”

The sound of hobnailed boots scrapes through the air, too quickly, so quickly I barely have time to think.

“Bree, please,” Fox says through gritted teeth.

I tent my legs and sweep the empty flask beneath the canopy of my skirt.

It isn’t the same officer from earlier. Rather, the junior constable from yesterday appears outside our cells. What’s his name? Michaelson.

Shit.

“Please,” he begins, his voice doused in sarcasm, “please tell me you two crooks are continuing your thieving ways in here.” The torchlight gives his eyes a maniacal gleam. “Because I would so love to find out that you’re bold enough—stupid enough—to steal from a constable.”

My earlier confidence disintegrates under Michaelson’s searing gaze.

“Where is it?” he asks softly.

How likely is it he’ll believe anything I say? “What are you talking about?”

“The flask that mysteriously disappeared from Officer Lenton’s belt. Where. Is. It.”

I frown. “Flask?”

Would it be better to confess? Give it back? His face gives no indication that either scenario would result in mercy.

Michaelson flips his attention to Fox. “Where is it?”

Fox just shrugs, silent.

The constable looks back to me, and I can tell—impossible though it should be since he wasn’t even fucking here when I took it—he knows. “Stand up.”

How foolish I was, believing I was ever in control. Sighing, I pull the flask out from underneath my skirt and toss it toward him. It clatters against the bars and hits the floor.

“Well, well.” Michaelson studies the flask for a moment. “And why did you take this, girl?”

Before I can even open my mouth, Fox speaks. “I made her do it.”

What the fuck? I shoot him a furious glare. “No, he d—”

“I…” The idiot next to me is racking his brain for a story as he speaks. “I… I wanted to see how loyal she still is to IA. To me.”

After a long pause, Michaelson pierces me with his gaze. “And? Are you?”

Great. Fox tried to help and ended up throwing me into a net. No matter how I answer, we’re in trouble—either he’s a liar or a manipulative bastard gang leader. Either I’m the thief or a stupid little girl following orders. Swallowing hard, I stare back. “What do you think?”

Michaelson smirks. “And did the fox-thief force your hand? Did he make you take it?”

“Yes, I did,” Fox says quickly. If I ever get my hands on him, I’m going to slap him for being a self-sacrificing moron.

Instead of reaching through the bars to retrieve the flask, Michaelson unlocks the door. I realize how egregiously I overestimated my abilities to run this fucking water-flask heist.

“You know what I think?” He steps inside. I scramble to my feet, unsure how that will help me—but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be sitting passively on the floor while he goes through with whatever he’s planning.

“Jesus Christ.” Fox is getting to his feet, too, pain written across his face—violent poetry inked into his skin, sweat glistening on his brow. Sit down, for fuck’s sake, I want to say. But he’s still talking, clinging now to the bars with his uninjured arm. “Leave her alone. She didn’t—”

Michaelson ignores him. “I think,” he says, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the back wall, “that he’s as much a liar as he is a thief, and a bad one at that. And you? You’re a little bitch who was happy to let him take the fall for you, yes?”

“Get off me.” Trying to wriggle from his grip is useless. What am I supposed to say?

A bruising grip digs into my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And not even a word of apology. Incredible.”

Is he serious? “Apology? You think I’m going to apologize?”

Michaelson smiles, as if this is the answer he was both expecting and desiring. “No.”

My back is pressed against the wall now, heart thundering in my chest. “I didn’t take it to drink, I took it to—”

Why am I even bothering? He doesn’t care. “You two want to play games?” His voice slithers into my ear. “Better understand the fucking rules.”

When he lets go of my arm, I try to jerk away, only to feel a sharp sting across my cheek.

“Don’t.” Fox’s voice cracks.

“Rule number one. Don’t forget it.” Michaelson closes a ring of cold iron over my right wrist. “It’s us who make the rules. Not you.”

I glare up at him, every thought  unintelligible except for one. “Fuck you.”

He slaps me again.

“Constable Hatchett says you two can cry in here together while you wait for your turn in the square,” he says, dropping my arm, making the chain rattle. “I don’t understand it, but fine. Try to rig the game in your favour—even think about stealing from one of us ever again—and I’ll fucking make you wish you’d never been born.” His gaze slides to Fox. “Both of you.

I can see the way Fox is shaking, and I have a feeling it isn’t from fear.

Unlike me.

I watch Michaelson stalk out of my cell, unable to follow, tethered now to the wall. The chain allows some freedom—but not enough to reach the door or the wall I share with Fox.

Michaelson doesn’t even look at me when he lets his foot, no doubt on purpose, knock over my untouched cup of water. I flinch at the tinny sound, at the sight of the liquid—that I should have gulped down while I had the chance—transforming into muddy sludge on the floor.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Fox is still clinging to the bars. “How was that necessary?”

The clang of the locking door echoes through the corridor.

“You really think you’re some kind of hero.” Michaelson pauses in front of Fox’s cell, making no effort to go inside. “You’re not. You’re nothing. The sooner you get that through your thick head, the better.”

“That’s not true.” I shuffle forward, trying to ignore the pull of the chain on my wrist. “Don’t listen to him.”

Michaelson laughs, turns on his heel, and walks away.

My knees give out on me the second he’s gone. I kneel, gasping softly, waiting for Fox to say the words I deserve to hear—I told you so.

Instead, once he, too, is on the floor, he asks quietly, “Are you all right?”

Nodding—all I can do.

“Did he hit you hard?”

I shake my head.

Surely, tears should be streaming down my face, carving ravines into my skin, burning my slapped cheek. But there’s nothing.

Once I can form words again, I ask him, “Are you all right?” He shrugs in answer. “Your back?”

“Still hurts like hell.” The tiniest flicker of a smile. “But it’s clean. Thank you.”

Maybe it’ll be enough to stave off infection. Maybe it will mean his last days here carry a smidgen less suffering.

How could I be sorry for that?

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles .

[Banner ID: A narrow horizontal, rectangular banner featuring a barred archway. The bars and the stone walls evoke the feeling of a dungeon or prison. There are burning candles on either side of the archway. The title of the story, The Prince of Thieves, appears in white text in the centre of the image. The author's username, abbreviated to LPS from littleperilstories, appears in the bottom right corner in partially transparent text. End ID.]

[siremasterlawrence]

Keys Of Destiny Series: Unlocking Potential

Part 1

Michael Smith a young black male enters his home to see a stranger box neatly pack and wrapped up in Christmas paper on his kitchen table.

Approaching it he drops his keys on the desk across from it and he is instantly in awe drawn toward it without any hesitation.

He picks it up watching it glow magnificently in the darkness of the house he is at a loss for words at the sight of the sparkling lights shooting off the paper.

The float into the air dancing in the pale glow of blue and white moonlight flowing over him he is stunned by the beauty of it all.

He falters to the ground falling into a deep

state of unconsciousness as a figure stands over him cloak in the night offering a hand.

His eyes collapse with his body being lift off the ground a door opens and the man exits his home.

The young man awakens in a panic at the sights never scene before his heart beat races out of control the fear consuming.

Shaking his head he stands up using his palm to propel himself upward he is greeted with a strange smell.

Something so familiar yet unrecognizable the same guy stands behind a counter in a store filled with the oddest things to come in existence.

Part 2 - 3

“I am sure you are probably wondering on all of your inquiries.”

“Like…why am I here?”

“In short it’s problematic”

“You are the chosen one”

“For what? For who?”

“The Hall Of Magic”

“Excuse me!”

“You are the one I am meant to serve “

“The Great Protector Of Magic”

“You have me mistaken for someone else”

“You have been through the ringer”

“Bullies, assholes, judgmental freaks and more.”

“Let me go, let me free, and right now”

“Sorry can’t do that”

“You will never be happy their”

“I can set you free”

“I love you “

“What are you doing?”

Part 4 - 5

I cannot believe my eyes at the emporium of Magic walking through to see shelves upon shelves.

The place is erupting with new walls expand

locking us into place I am left without any worry or effort.

“This is your castle now, your home and your throne.”

“You make the rules”

“Education in magic, everything ethereal “

“I am about the only human not tainted with bullshit”

“Let me help you “

“Take my hand and embrace it all”

“Ooooowwww! What the fuck?”

I give in enjoying the fantasy raise my finger into the air letting it life up flowing into the sky.

It spreads splitting into multiple parts glows encircling the building everywhere as it is vanishing.

It transports onto the moon blowing up my body in an ethereal shine leaving me with an outstanding expression.

“I think that you need to kneel at my feet”

“I am at your mercy”

“I SAID KNEEL”

“OH God! “

“Recreate me”

“Use me”

Part 6 - 7

A single snap of my fingers entrance to my building transforms sending a current into every inch of this store.

“There are eleven rooms to inhabit”

“Include but not limited to a store, library and more.”

“We make a financial killing”

“Let us dispense of the conversation “

“What now ?”

“How do I begin?”

“Kneeling at my feet I had you the key of destiny”

“Use it as a gesture like your opening a door”

“Unbelievable, no way this is happening”

“I unearth a new world”

“I am Godly”

I turn the key as if in a lock the a loud noise from an invisible bell blast through.

My body shakes in a fit relieving me of all my anxiety, depression and memories.

It’s an automatic factory reset for me feeling brand spanking now right off the assembly line.

“Wow! Who is the man”

“You of course “

“I am different in every way “

Part 8 - 9

“Do you feel different my dear?”

“Alive! untampered with”

“100 percent me”

“I need you at your best, give me your soul and get to work”

“What can I do to please you?”

“Here you go! A single shake in movement and there you go”

“Blueprints! Yes!”

“This is the key to your job”

“Fix this place up once and for all”

“Masterful my king”

“Grandiose in statute, beautifully painted and exquisitely executed “

“Why would it not be? It’s me”

“Get to work”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“ I maybe in utter denial”

“You are loving this power “

“Simply because you are perfect”

“Hardly”

The end

[ohmytomorrowisthursday]

Until I Fall - Part Five

Levi Ackerman x Fem Reader.

Eventual romance but this is a slow burn, definitely angsty and darker. It will also focus a lot on Hange, Erwin and the original scouts. Eren and the 104th training corps will be around but I’m focusing on the older characters in here. Your self insert name is ‘Azeria Becker’ pronouns She/Her/Hers. Using a name because don’t like using ‘y/n’.  

Cannon universe. I wrote this for myself but I hope that you enjoy it, too lol <3

As you stood in front of Levi on that final day, you couldnt help but remember every last moment of your time in the scouts. How had you gone from that scrawny young rookie trying to fight titans to Erwin’s right-hand soldier who overthrew the government and was about to charge to your death? It was never fair, you’d never get enough time together. Standing before him, his eyes full of the sadness of the truth, it hurt too much to say Goodbye, don’t forget me. I’ll love you forever, so instead you said the only word that you could manage to speak; Survive.

cw: imagine literally every awful/gory thing that happens in SNK. Death, violence and gore. Drinking, sex.

You can find all chapters here.

Year: 845

The training went on like this for weeks. Every morning you would meet and train until breakfast, and then train more with the squads. You trained through the winter, even on the coldest of mornings.

It was exhausting at first, but soon your body could endure it better. Levi wasn't much of a talker but he did seem to divulge some things about himself to you. He grew up in the underground. His mother died when he was young, and he grew up for a time with a man named Kenny. Erwin recruited him. He didn't like dirt. He thought that the Military Police were absolutely incompetent. It wasn't much but you felt this was the closest thing that he could give you to personal information; the man was a wall, a grumpy, sarcastic wall. Every now and them he seemed genuinely happy when you were trining. Not in a beaming smiling way, but he would let out a laugh or make some morbid joke at your expense that amused him. Maybe you were becoming friends. You liked the moments that he did seem happy, and you always tried to bring that out in him.

At times, he got on your nerves a little too much. He was also such an asshole. He would not refer to you by your name, only brat, idiot and loser, and maybe he'd sprinkle in a few curse words. He hardly acknowledged your presence outside of morning training, and sometimes it felt as if he was truly trying to kill you when you fought. "I'm only trying to make you better, you're shit," he would say, but sometimes you didn't believe it.

"Oi brat," He said to you as you walked back to the dining hall from a morning of fighting, "Come find me at lunch. There's someone you need to meet." You were taken back. Levi never invited you to do anything. You searched his face for some answer as to who it was, but he only wore his same cold neutral frown. You'd just have to wait

That lunch, after training with your squad you searched the dining hall for Levi. Finally, you spotted his dark hair and eternally sour face. He was sitting next to Erwin Smith, your heart dropped to your stomach. Erwin was the First Squadron Leader. He was the best of the best. Cunning, brave, skilled. The crowds gathered in the streets to see his fleet. He always rode behind Commander Shadis. What was Levi thinking?

You cleared your throat to get his attention. "Levi," you said, timidly. You stood behind Levi at the bench as he ate his meal. He didn't acknowledge you.

"Azeria Becker," Erwin chimed. You were terribly nervous. "Captain Erwin," You said, saluting. He looked at you with a softened face. He was already much nicer than Levi.

"Please, come sit," he gestured to the corner seat beside him and of course, you obeyed. It was weird to sit with Levi in the dining hall, all you ever saw of him was fighting in the woods. It was so out of place. He continued to look down at his food and ignore your presence.

"Levi tells me that you've been training together," Erwin said, drinking his tea. "Yes, we've been training every morning." Levi told him that? When did he tell him? Levi talks about me?

Erwin nodded in acknowledgement, "He says that you are quite skilled." Hang on. Levi paid you a compliment? That was simply impossible. You blushed a little. You must have. Levi was an asshole, you didn't think you would ever live up to his expectations.

"Oh, uh-thank you," You mustered out, "I've been doing my best to be ready for our next expedition."

He nodded at you, once more. You noticed that despite his softer eyes and kinder face, Erwin was just as unreadable as Levi. "That's good. It's impressive to see such resolve from a recent trainee," he paused, "That's what I am meaning to talk to you about. Our next expedition; I want you to join my squad."

Your eyes opened wide. You couldn't believe it. This was the squad. The best of the best. You had always wanted to fight alongside them, but you never thought it would come this soon. "Captain! I am honoured! I promise I will not let you down!" You were shocked. He smiled. "I am glad to hear it. You start training with us tomorrow. I will inform your squad leader." You watched him as he left the table, a mix of shock, excitement and panic ran through you.

"Levi- I- thank-"

"Don't spoil a good moment, brat," Levi said, finally lifting his face from his plate.

"But you said I was shit," he looked so annoyed with you. You couldn't believe you were going to be fighting alongside him.

"You are shit," He sneered, "I'm just going to use you as titan bait."

You smiled, "I just can't wait to see the look on your face when I kill more titans than you."

"Tch. You wish," He lifted himself from the table and left. You could swear you caught him smiling.

    You were so happy all afternoon. So happy, that your task of cleaning the horse barn didn't seem to bother you much at all. You were going to be in Erwins Squad, riding beside Levi, Hange, Moblit. They were going to be your team.  More importantly, you could finally see it; Levi was your friend. You had finally earned his respect. Perhaps you had it all along and you just didn't know it. In any case, you were elated. This was the beginning of an adventure, and you could feel it.

By the time you got back to the dining hall, everyone in your graduating class knew. They surrounded the table that you sat at.

"Azeria! How could you not tell me you're joining Erwin's squad!" Ilse said, grabbing hold of your arm. You laughed, "I just found out at lunch! I haven't had a chance!"

"I can't believe it! I mean, of course I can, you're one of the best from our class but it's just so fast!" She squealed. It was true, you and her were the top of your class that year. "Don't worry, you'll be joining me soon, I know it." She smacked your arm, "I know it too!"

chapter six

[lorspolairepeluche]

Day’s End

look, this is a well-established pattern. i see @bladeverbena​ make a new oc, and i immediately have to make an oc of my own to hype his oc up and be the Best Friend, and then within a week i’m in tears over my oc’s tragic story and have made like five other ocs to populate it. this is exactly what happened re: ress and oday.

Anyway. AHEM. This is my enablement of contribution to the AU first seen in this fic of Smith’s. Set maybe a few weeks to a couple months after the squad returns on the Ragnarok. (Mild CWs for alcohol and discussion of pregnancy, past abuse, past suicidal ideation, and death of a significant other. Nothing described graphically. I promise. Also, goes without saying, FFXIV spoilers up to mild Endwalker spoilers.)

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO.

“You know, with how many children you adopted even before you stopped being an asshole, I thought you’d be happier about the news.”

Gaius wasn’t surprised to hear someone — he’d heard heavy steps climbing the stairs toward his room and his balcony — but the sound of that voice in particular piqued his curiosity. That wasn’t to say he jumped in surprise. Certainly not. Simply a small startle out of his reverie. He turned to the doorway. “Oduyanga Khagan.”

“Did I scare you?” At least they had the decency to try and hold back their smile at the idea.

“I simply hadn’t ever heard your voice below fortissimo before. I didn’t realize you were capable.”

“Ah, laugh yourself stupid about it.” But they’d let the smile creep up as they rolled their eyes, and they held out two metal flasks. “Share a drink with me? Sunsets are even more stunning when seen from a roof.”

“How did you even get in here?” he asked, even as he relinquished the last of his grip on the balustrade and followed them to the trapdoor in his solar that led to the roof above his apartments.

“You said it yourself — I’m the khagan. You can get in almost anywhere when you’re an allied foreign dignitary.” They tugged the rope that both opened the trapdoor and dropped the ladder concealed above it. The piece of ceiling swung inward to let a shaft of reddish evening light pour lazily down on the dim landing. “Look urgent enough, hide the booze, and say that you need to see Lord Baelsar immediately, and everyone’s jumping to throw open the doors for you. Couple that with the descriptions Ress has given me of the building, and oops, I practically have the run of your home.” They gestured him up the ladder before him — a courtesy to the person who actually lived here, perhaps.

Gaius gripped the ladder and began to climb. “I’m unsure as to how I feel about the idea of you having access like that and the gall to use it.” He almost paused at the first feel of the wind in his hair unhindered by other buildings, but the khagan had already hopped the first few rungs below him, so he clambered out onto the roof tiles.

“Hey, with all the trouble Lord van Ballsack Better-Than-Thee gave me — on two separate, near-apocalyptic occasions — I think I deserve to annoy you once in a while.” Their head popped up grinning with sharp teeth. The red of their hair was even more intense in the sundown, and their pale irises glinted with mischief. “Plus,” they grunted as they pulled themself up, “I thought I should at least make an effort at a rapport with you. If only for Ress’s sake.”

Gaius sat back on his heels from his aborted motion to help Oduyanga up from the ladder. “How…how is he doing?” The last time he’d seen Ressaunt — the Warrior of Light, he corrected himself in a moment of absurd propriety — was less time in the past than it felt. Ressaunt’s pale skin had been just a shade away from dead white, the darkness under his eyes had been even deeper than the fading bruises on his body, and he’d all but collapsed in Gaius’s sitting room. That had prompted a frantic Ser Aymeric de Borel to come rushing through the aetheryte network to spirit him back to Ishgard. And…

“He’s on the mend. We all are, but…he took the worst of it.” They kept their face turned toward the western horizon as they said it.

Gaius simply nodded, without bringing up how every time he’d seen Oduyanga and Ressaunt fight as a team, Oduyanga had many times taken an almost subconscious step forward, placing themself bodily between Ressaunt and the enemy. Even when that enemy wielded the power of three eikons.

“Honestly, I came here partly to get a break.” They offered him one of the flasks as they situated themself with their legs dangling down over the edge of the roof. “As soon as I was well enough to walk again, what do you know, being khagan comes with duties. Cirina had mostly been managing what she could and fending off the rest in my absence, but once Mag and Temulun heard I was back, I was summoned home like a child for suppertime. I only managed to go to Doma — to tell Hien in person that we’re all right — by invoking the foreign-allies excuse. It’s been extremely useful lately. Thank the gods that my term as khagan is only a year.”

“You don’t intend to compete again?”

“I have what I needed from the last Naadam — allies to reclaim Doma, proof of my own worth, and…” Here they paused, fiddling with the cap of their flask before taking a swig from it. “Anybody ever tell you I’m a widower?”

“Nicéphorien is dead?” Gaius blurted. He gathered the full improbability of that an instant after Oduyanga nearly choked on the next sip of their drink.

“Gods forfend. Thybé’s fine. Or as fine as any of us are after…” They waved their hand airily to indicate the arduous prevention of yet another apocalypse. “That. And we’re not married. Haven’t found the blessed time for that. No — no, I was widowed before I met him. Lost my husband in a Naadam. But, as it turns out, when the Au Ra Xaela refer to the Steppe as speaking or alive, they mean the spirits of its warriors. So when I claimed the title of khagan…well, I got my closure, at least.” There were many things not said there, and Gaius did not ask after them. “But I came to talk about — well, you, really. I was serious earlier: I thought you’d be happy.”

“I…” Gaius had no words to say about it. He’d been trying to find the right ones for days now, ever since Ressaunt had looked him in the eyes and told him. “You were right that I…took in many children. Those in whom I saw…potential.”

“And the ones whose fathers went insane with obsession.”

“Cid fit both those criteria, I’ll thank you to recall. But…I could not…I never managed to truly be a father to any of them. I was always a soldier foremost. I did not see them grow up the way I wished them to. And I never made time for any relationships except those. I do not…comprehend how it is one goes about this sort of thing. Either of these sorts of things, a relationship or…”

Oduyanga only gave a soft hum to gently let Gaius know that he did not have to finish that sentence. They kicked their legs back and forth in the empty space below. “I didn’t, either. Still don’t, on the second count. I don’t think Ress knows entirely, either. He has Aymeric for the relationship part, but they both understand that Ress is the kind who wants…more. The kind who can give more. Hien and Thybé and I are the same way. Ress has more love than he can really give to only one person.” They shook their head and tipped their flask back once more. “I’m going meandering again instead of saying what I wanted to say. What I came here to say.”

“I expect it’s something about how if I cause Ressaunt even a whit more hurt than he has already experienced, you shall return it tenfold on the blade of an axe?”

“That part comes later,” Oduyanga laughed.

The brilliant red of the sky had faded to a deeper violet, melancholy and soothing in one, and Oduyanga’s voice softened with it. “I wouldn’t have made it in the Empire. No, not even if I were one of the lucky ones that Legatus van Baelsar fostered. I chafe at…well, everything. And you’ve been on the receiving end of it far more than enough times to know that I have an extremely bad habit of shooting off my mouth when I really should not. No, I wouldn’t have survived as any sort of Garlean, born or subjugated. I almost didn’t survive where I actually was.

“I was always what one might politely call a hellion. As I grew older and did not grow out of my…rebellion, I was called many less kind things. I was considered a nuisance at best and a threat to tribal convention and normalcy at worst. Someday I’d have to settle, they told me — settle into my prescribed role, be who I was always meant to be, not this…oddity, this freak accident of a person who defied every known law of being an Oronir.

“I was convinced no one would ever see me for who I was, that if I stopped fighting, I would be forced into my allocated place with those who bear and rear the tribe’s children. I envied the Dotharl — no one gave so much as a damn what gender a Dotharl was, so long as they were glorious. And I convinced myself that the only way I would ever have a chance to be who I wanted to be was if I were the strongest. If no one dared tell me that I wasn’t what I was supposed to be. I would never bend until I broke myself — die young in a blaze of glory, and no one would ever be able to deny that I was the strongest as myself. I wouldn’t survive on the Steppe — but I could survive at the top of a hill of bones. It was a dark outlook.”

“That seems an understatement,” was all Gaius said. An instinct in him rose, the same instinct that had seen the core of brilliance in Rhitatyn and the steely strength in the children of Werlyt, but he held his tongue again.

“The fact was, I convinced myself of all this so well that when someone did see me as I wanted, as I really wanted to be seen, I didn’t believe him at first. He saw past the strength and the rage and the dead-set conviction that I had to be the best. So when he was kind to me, I thought at first it was a ruse, that he was trying to appeal to me and bring me into the fold. He was next in line to be khan, after all. Thank Azim that he was, in his own way, as stubborn as I was.

“In the end, my hostility got the better of me. I thought I’d force him to show his true colors and simultaneously reinforce that I was the strongest. The Oronir khan is supposed to be the best warrior in the clan, after all — no one would forget the one who had bested their leader. So I challenged him. A battle, one-on-one. And I won. And then, with him on his ass on the ground, my axe sunk into the dirt between his legs, me standing over him…he did something wildly unexpected.”

“And what was that?” He was fairly sure of the answer, and Oduyanga’s smile at the last glimpse of sun over the horizon confirmed it before they even answered.

“He asked me to marry him.”

Gaius couldn’t help the smile that crept up on him too. “And did you accept?”

“It took some convincing after the fact, but eventually? Yes. I did. And…we might not have had long together, but however short it was, and however badly it ended, that was the most happiness I’d ever known. Altan looked at me and saw me. He gave me the chance to be that, to stop having to fight for it. He gave me the time and space to be who I was.”

“I am gladdened that you had that joy. However it ended,” he echoed.

“So am I. I’m grateful to him still. I am who I am now because he gave me the love I needed to be who I was then. Granted, I was still stupid enough for the longest time after Altan to not realize that someone else might eventually want to give me that love again,” they laughed. “But I finally caught on, and now…now, I think I might actually have time to savor it again. I have the chance to be myself — the self I want to be.” Oduyanga nudged Gaius with an elbow, careful to keep the spike at the point gentle against his ribs. “And the point of me laying bare to you my whole sorrowful history is that — you have that chance now too.”

“The chance to…be myself?” Is he…not himself?

“To have a future where you don’t have to fight for it all. You’ve never known much besides fighting, have you?” They gestured to the sky, its color falling gently to darkness like a leaf from a tree, to indicate the wide world and the wider future. “Well, now you have the opportunity to…take time for you.” They hesitated. “And, if you want him, for Ress too. And…for the kid. If…if you choose to — to be a father? You can choose that without having to shed blood for it.”

They lapsed into silence together, the words that had been spoken hanging between them and the ones that hadn’t dancing invisibly in the air. Gaius took three drinks with long pauses between them before Oduyanga said abruptly, “Besides — whether you choose that or not, I’m going to be helping to raise this child. And do you really want me being the only bastard teaching your child right from wrong?”

Gaius mock-shuddered at the very idea of it, and for the first time, the two of them both laughed together. “Khagan, take no offense, for I mean none, but I very much do not want you being the sole adult teaching any child right from wrong.”

“You know the foreign-dignitary thing was just an excuse to get in here, right? You don’t have to use my title. Just call me Oday already, old man. All my friends do.”

Friends. Gaius nodded and let his smile be safe on his face.

Oday raised their flask toward him. “To the wonderful people who give us good things we don’t expect.”

Gaius touched his flask to theirs with a soft clanking of metal. “To futures we never thought we’d have.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Together, they sat on Gaius’s roof and drank until the stars blinked above them.

[amoosarte]

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW 𝜗𝜚 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎

━━━ in which he knows he’s fallen for her but chooses to ignore it but she doesn’t, causing both of them heartbreak…

Jess wouldn’t know what love feels like, simply because he doesn’t know how it feels like. Coming from a mother who was too busy getting boyfriends than to be paying attention to her son, he didn’t know.

He was a troubled teenager, he knew but he didn’t care, but living in such a small town, it made him go insane. Then again it gave him the chance to experience love.

Her name was Maggie short for Margaret, she was a sweet experience for Jess, but he wouldn't say that out loud. She was a girl with a sweet attitude if approach with one, though Jess didn't really introduce himself like that.

He laid eyes on her the moment he entered his uncles diner, she was helping a customer and bussing tables. "Mags, come over here for a sec." Luke gestured the girl over, making her slowly but surely examine the boy.

"This is my nephew, Jess." Luke introduced him, in which he had a bratty face, looking the girl up and down with judgement. "Jess, this is one of my employes named Margaret." Luke signaled to the girl.

"Pleased to meet you." She wiped her hand with her waist apron, wanting to shake the boys hand. "Right.." Jess pushed around her, making her just stand there. Luke sighed and walked over to Jess taking him upstairs.

Margaret looked at the boy with a glare and got back to work.

The second time Jess had an encounter with Margaret was when he was escaping dinner at the Gilmore household. He was sneaking out from the back and making his way on the main road, there he heard a light voice reading.

It was a story he's heard about it but never read it, but it made him surprise who was reading it. There she was, sitting in by her window, was Margaret, quietly but somehow clear in her words when reading. "Taming of the Shrew?" Jess smirked looking up.

It made the girl jump in her skin, quickly shutting her book, looking down to see the boy smiling. She looked at the boy confused, she was out of her work attire and she hadn't seen the boy since that day.

"Jess, was it?" Margaret asked, looking at the boy, in which he nodded. "why are you here, at night, all alone?" She asked, looking around the street. "Escaped dinner." He muttered. His eyes shifted towards her, he examined her.

Her hair was loose (she was a brunette, he noticed) and a semi large 'The Smiths' shirt covered her upper half. He smiled stupidly, looking up at her again. "the smiths?" He said it like it was a joke. She focused her attention to him again. "yes? they're my favorite band." She says.

"Interesting choice.." Jess said making it a bit insulting. "At least it's not ABBA.." She muttered making him whip his head back at her. "No way you think of that." He wanted to laugh. "Go home Jess!" Margaret said before shutting her window's close.

Jess had this asshole smile, as he walked away, he knew something of her little by little.

Jess didn't really like Star Hallow, but this was interesting. "Whatcha doing?" He leaned on the diner counted looking at the girl below, in which she was organizing the inside of her basket. "Getting ready for the Annual Basket auction." She replies.

"Got good stuff in there?" Jess tried to peek in it before she closed it, looking up at his as if he was stupid. "You have to bid on it if you want to know whats in there." Margaret huffs up as she walks into the back to get her coat.

"So what if I bid on it?" Jess asked, this got her attention. "Now why would you do that?" She asked making him wonder about it before replying. "To see what's in the basket..?" He teased, making her groan and roll her eyes.

When it came to her basket, she was surprised on how many boys bid on it, making her nervous. "20, do we have a 25?" Taylor asked making the crowd shift, making the girl eye the last boy that bid 20, until someone actually bid 25 dollars.

"Twenty-five, here." Jess rose his hand, making the crowd look at him, and so did Margaret. "No more bidders?" Taylor asked the others, watching as the boy groan and lose the basket and the girl he wanted to go out with.

"It goes to the fellow in the yellow jacket." He hammers the table lightly before moving on. "You actually bidded on my basket?" Margaret looked at him confused. Making the boy keep walking with the basket in hand.

"Yes I did, let's move on." They walked away from the plaza, Jess was taking her away from the crowd. He actually brought her to the lake luke had pushed him into some days ago. "My goodness, did you bring me to the place Luke pushed you in?" She snickered, in which made him look at her.

She giggled and sat down near the edge, making him follow along. "You're actually in luck, I put some good stuff in this basket." Margaret smiled and opened the lid, revealing the goodies inside. "This seems like diabetical murder scene." Jess said in a monotone voice.

"Hush, there some healthy options here." Margaret pulled some sandwiches out, handing one out towards him, the scene was a comfortable silence.

Jess looked around before swallowing his bite. "The boy bidded on your basket because he wanted to make a pass on you.."Jess said making the girl look at him. "oh, um well thanks for doing that.." She smiled at him.

The silenced became a bit unsettling, the boy looked away from her, noticing how he made the situation a tad bit more still? "Sorry the guy was being an ass, so I did the more responsible choice.." He said, taking a chip from the basket.

Margaret looked at him, nodding in understandment. "Thank you for being responsible." She smiled slightly, then the silence turned a bit more comfortable.

"Maggie."

Margaret didn't know the Bracebridge Dinner would be such a problem, it was never one, not until this year. She was so fussed up with what to bring, what clothes to arrive in, what to look like, why was this so hard?

Maybe it was because he was here this year. She didn't really understand, they haven't properly interacted since Annual Basket Auction, but there was always signs..

When he would peep around just to glance at her, little actions such as him giving her a peeled orange, her cup of coffee at the diner, doing her chores little by little. It made her develop something she didn't want.

She had developed love towards the boy, and she wanted to throw up. She didn't mean it in a disgusting way but deep down she knew it was a one sided love.

Margaret could only look at herself in the mirror and just let her imagination go wild. What if Jess developed the same feeling as she did?

Would they become more? It made her heartbreak because it wouldn't work.

She ended up going to the dinner with a white knitted sweater and a black skirt, the black tights weren't really helping tring to block the cold winter air.

The first thing she saw was Jess talking to Rory, both noticing her when she walked in with her older brother and his wife. Maggie hated fidgeting with rings, and made her anxious.

Jess was about to tease her until she had walked passed them, making both of the teens look at her. She was talking to Lorelai, who was directing her to their room.

Jess could only look at her and just stare, what was going on with her? Was there something bothering her, or was he bothering her.

The dinner was intense, Margaret could feel his eyes burn holes into her. She could only just sit and eat, ignoring his presence because it made her think of things she didn't want to imagine.

She was half of the people that had left for a sleigh ride, some left before dinner and the other half did it again after. Maggie had a nice warm mug of hot chocolate sitting on her lap, along with a blanket to cover her exposed legs.

She huffed as she could see her hot breath seep out. She was alone once again, her brother and his wife having their own moment. The driver was about to move until there was a shift in the carriage.

"You didn't have the patience to wait for me?" It was Jess. Then instantly her palms became clammy and the warmth that was just in her legs suddenly rose up to the rest of her body. "You're ignoring me or something?" He kept pestering.

"No, just didn't feel like talking today." Maggie just knew that sounded lame once it came out of her lips. Jess kept looking at her and he saw her eyes go somewhere else. He stood still for a moment before sitting straight in his seat.

They had been sitting there almost half of the sleigh ride, and the air was thick. Until a head was placed in her shoulder, Maggie looked over just to be greeted with black hair in her way.

Jess had began to lean into her body more, making her lean away. "What are you doing?" Margaret could feel her face heat up, and he could feel it. "You're hogging the blanket, jeez don't you know how to share?" Jess said before it returned back to the quietness.

Then he could feel the blanket go around him, but he could feel the body next to him more clearer now. The rough thick khaki jacket he had on was a big contrast to her black leather jacket.

He could see her rosy cheek, her puffed out pink lips and her messy brown hair that was under the white beanie under her head.

When you know, you know.

Jess huffed and Maggie could feel him relax under the blanket, but he still had his face shoved into her neck. "I got you a present." Jess had whispered, making her the only one able to hear it. Maggie could only chuckle, the vibration making its way towards him.

"Me too."

Everything had changed after that, Jess seemed to be around more frequent, he seemed to care more. He had became a little bit more open with her, more genuine with her.

Then it had all changed a month before graduation, when he found out he wasn't eligible to graduate.

Now Maggie stood in front of him, near the bus station going to hartford. He had things packed and he hadn't said anything about leaving, not even her.

She just by chance was passing through there, she had came back from visiting harvard. Coming home to tell him the news, that she had been accepted.

Instead of seeing him near the diner, he was getting ready to leave her. It was eating him alive when he saw her get off the bus and head towards him. "Where are you going?"

"None of your business." His voice was blunt, making her flinch just a bit. "Excuse me?" She was confused, why was he sour?

"You're excused." He huffed out. "What's up your ass today?" Maggie was speechless. Jess on the other had sighed, visible annoyed. Maggie huffed, sitting down right next to him.

"Where are you going." She asked again, after some time of silence. Jess was still ignoring her, making her knee shove itself towards him. "I'm leaving.” His answer didn’t affect her, she knew it was going to happen either way.

Maggie looked at him, making him stiff as a board. “Okay.” She had finally peeled her eyes away from him. Jess was starting to bite his nails, he felt uneasy about this drastic change he was about to commit.

Both of them saw a bus going towards Star hallow coming their way. Maggie was going to tell him, before she would never see him again.

She knew she couldn’t make him stay, so she would unravel it all today, before he left. “Here.” She handed him a fresh book that was wrapped. Jess could see her hands shake, he could hear her voice shake, and he was the cause of it.

Jess looked at her, her face was somewhat in denial but it was putting up front he knew too well. He took it out of her hands. “this is your early birthday present.”

Before he could respond, she stood up grabbing her bag and making her way towards the bus. She stopped and grabbed something out of her bag.

“Here, this is my new address starting in March, feel free to write me or to drop by.” Maggie smiled at him, making him take the letter, it was a street near Harvard. His eyes were wide, this was big news, for her, for them.

He had encourage her to at-least apply and she agreed now she had been accepted. “Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean we’re no longer friends, we’re friends.” She said.

“Friends can lean on each other, you can lean on me if you want to Jess, but that is a step you need to take, okay?” Jess was still, a million thoughts running through his head, He was barely able to hear her say.

“I love you, Jess.” It was like the world was becoming still, and the last horn to Star hallow blew and she walked away. Forever leaving him until he decided to reach out and lean on her.

Jess saw nothing but truthfulness on her face, and his heart palpitated. Jess was in love with her, he wanted nothing but to kiss her, hold her just for a minute but his time was up and she had been nothing but patient.

Jess however had turned hesitant, she was headed toward her dreams and he was still lost. So he let her leave, leaving her with hope that he will choose her... he never did.

He would say that was his biggest regret.

She waited, waited for two year that eventually turned into four, and ended at five. She was now twenty two, and has only a dash of hope, but it flew away when she met him.

A boy who was like her, waiting for someone. Somehow they met as an accident that turned into a friendship that healed them, and turned into love.

His name was Theodore, and he had healed her waiting heart that was stuck in denial and hope. Two years had flown by and she had moved on, now planning her wedding.

She had returned to Star Hollow to hand out wedding invitations to closer relatives and friends. Maggie had contacted her brother to meet up at Luke's diner. "My, look how you've grown up!" Eliza her brothers wife had said. "Hey Maggie, how's Theo?" Tyler, her brother asked, making her roll her eyes. "You haven't seen me in a long time and you ask for theo?" She said, making the man surrender jokingly. "How've you been?" Tyler said slinging his arm around, making her laugh. "Happy."

Luke was surprised when he saw her enter the diner, he was happy but he had gotten a tinge of sadness in his old heart. The last time he had seen her wasn't that long ago but to him, she was still seventeen.

"Hey Mags." Luke side hugged her, making her smile. "Hey, how've you been?" Her smile had turned large, she wouldn't lie, she had missed him. "Busy and tired running this place." He exaggerated, massaging his shoulders jokingly. Maggie laughed, making him smile a bit. "This place needs you back, miss my handy employee."

She had laughed harder this time and continued to talk to him before eventually going to sit with the people she was originally going to talk too. "Here it is!" Maggie pulled something out of her bag, in which was the wedding invitation. "God, you're growing up." Tyler took the card, almost tearing up watching his baby sister grow into a wonderful lady.

"I want Eliza to be my maid of Honor." Maggie asked shyly making the other woman jump in excitement, then sitting back down. "I'd love too!" She smiled.

Eventually they had invited her to their house, her little nephew had missed her dearly.

Margaret smiled big, she loved this part Connecticut, her little town. She watched the kids she once knew pass her by telling her hello, and other things. She had entered Luke's diner with no thought in her mind, looking up to find Luke.

Then again, she turned into a fool everytime he looked at her. "Jess." Maggie felt her heart drop as his name became a foreign language.

Jess was surprised to see her, then his mind went blank.

The two adults had stood there still, what was wrong with her? She had waited for this moment, because she was over him. "Hi, um how've you been?" She said taking a step near the counter. Jess was still looking at her, taking her features in.

"I've been good, you?" Jess finally mustered something out, making the girl look around before responding. "I'm fine, do you know where you uncle is?" She asked looking around again, the diner was empty, it was just them. Jess's eyebrows frowned "Upstairs.."

"Alright, it was nice seeing you." She smiled at him before walking away. Jess could only think about was why was she so calm, acting like she didn't care.

"Luke you in there?" Maggie knocked before the door swung open. It was Lorelai, and Luke, they seemed flustered. "Woah is this a bad time?" She said, before the two yelled a 'no'. "Well this is actually a good time for me, Lorelai come here." She said, walking to were luke was.

The other two looked at eachother, as the younger one pulled something out. Lorelai was the first one to see it, making her scream. "You're engaged!?" She yelled, leaving no time for the girl to respond before pulling her into a bone crushing hug.

Luke was shocked but congratulated her, but when he was done she laughed. "Gosh, you guys, wait!" She said before pulling out wedding invitations, making the other woman scream more. "You're getting married!?" She yet again pulled her into a hug.

"I want both of my parent figures there..you guys mean so much to me." Maggie gave them a sad smile that was quickly wiped off. Luke had laughed a bit, while Lorelai cried happy tears just a bit.

After some time Lorelai had left to tell Rory the news, after her Luke walked her down. That was when Luke remembers what happened between her and his nephew, quickly looking at her. "It's fine, I'm over it." She smiled.

Jess had noticed her and Luke walk past him, before leaving the diner to talk outside. "Luke, I wanted ask you for a favor." Maggie said, catching the attention of the older man. "I want you to walk me down the aisle, but it's totally up to you!" Maggie continued to talk until Luke hugged her. "I'd love too."

With that Maggie smiled and hugged him back, after sometime they parted. Maggie could see on luke's face that he was thinking about something, and she knew what. "He can come too, I don't mind."

Luke looked at her with worry, only for her to shrugged it off. "I'm over it Luke, I've met the love of my life, and I'm happy.." She stated while Luke nodded, then she left.

Luke smiled a bit before going back upstairs only to find Jess staring at the invitation back upstairs. "Are you going to go?" He asked a bit dull. "I am." Luke snatched it out. “Ironic.”

"She was nice enough to invite you too, knowing you broke her heart." Luke had a harsh habit of reminding him, making him wince. “You need to get over it.” He continued, making the boys anger grow once again.

“She’s finally moved on and able to find happiness, you should follow in her steps.” Luke said. “Please why are you so angry about this? It was just a stupid crush she had.” Jess anger began to bubble.

“It wasn’t a stupid crush, she was waiting for you for five years!” Luke declared. Jess anger disappeared, now he was looking at his uncle with a confused look. “What do you mean five years?”

“Five years my ass! When I finally had the courage to go see her, she was already with him! She broke that promise.” Jess yelled, making Luke frown.

“She met Theodore when they were both healing! He was nothing but a friend to her, a year later they began dating, she moved on! Now she’s over you and now getting married.” Luke screamed back, making Jess quiet again.

“You didn’t have enough courage, but she did. She was able to look at you and forgive you, takes a really nice person to do that.” Luke finally said. “I’ll be going to that wedding, and I’ll be walking her down that aisle.” He said slapping a rag down the counter.

Jess looked at his uncle who stormed upstairs, now wanting to scream at himself for being an idiot. Jess ran outside and looked for her around the plaza, he saw no one.

She looked eternal, that's how Jess would describe her. She was like a model you would see in a bridal magazine, the ones that found the perfect dress.

Jess was nothing but awestruck, watching her walk down the aisle with his uncle's had guiding her down, handing her to her future husband. Jess saw it in his smile, he looked in love with her, it made him think. Would that have been him, if he chose her?

The whole ceremony was beautiful, Jess eyes were just on her. Capturing every time she smiled, when her eyes twinkled towards her lover. When she cried reading her vows, and looked at him while he read his.

When she kissed him as everyone erupted cheered for the happy couple, making him stand up as well. Finally watching her walk down the aisle but now with someone that would cherries her like he should've done.

As the party, Jess wanted to run away from the crowd. So he did, sneaking around before he made his way to his car, until he heard a voice he knew so well. "What are you reading these days?"

Jess looked behind to find her with a kind smile, her after party dress that made her move freely now. Jess could only think of their first encounter years ago. "Mostly taming of the shrew and others.."

"Jess, was it?" Margaret smiled, looking at the boy, in which he nodded. "why are you here, at night, all alone?" She asked, looking at the sweet boy with a knowing look he knew too well. "Escaped dinner." He muttered, his eyes shifted towards her, as he examined her.

Her brunette hair was loose, while it was halfway tied up, and her body contained a loose white sundress, god was he a fool. He smiled stupidly, looking up at her again. "The smiths?" He said as the background noise was her favorite Smiths song, the singing along of her guest said so too.

She focused her attention to him again. "yes? they're my favorite band." She says. "Interesting choice.." Jess said making it a bit insulting. Margaret looked sadly at him, the air became a bit awkward. “Just because we had a rough time with our relationship doesn’t mean we’re no longer friends, we’re friends.” She said.

Jess eyes widen, how could she? How could she still say he's a friend after everything he's done. "Jess, you have to put in mind we both experience the same hurt, in the end we didn't end up together." She said, making him look at her nervously. "As your friend, I would want you to move on.. as the girl you broke her heart, I would want you love someone better."

“Friends can lean on each other, you can lean on someone special if you want to Jess, but that is a step you need to take, okay?” Margaret said, giving him a sad smile, before turning away. "Bye, Jess, Love you." She said, before walking away.

Jess stood there, as the tears finally bursted out. Maggie short for Margaret, she was a sweet experience for Jess. She was an experience he wished he could relive and do the right thing, because he had finally lost the girl he loved, the girl who genuinely was ready to be by his side, but she needed him to take that step.

A step he regretted not doing everyday after he wedding.

𐙚 @landitolover, @moneygramhaas, @d6za1, @ch3rryknots

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉, ⟢ more!

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

How to be a Human Being

by inkstainzed

"Tommy, kids are always going to be assholes." Phil says, for once sounding like a robot, almost monotone in that way Techno's tone is on the daily. "Just ignore them. They're probably just miserable and," Phil lifts one hand and waves it around, gesturing, before bringing it back down to continue typing. He doesn't turn around to look at Tommy at all. "—you know." he sighs.

"You can a handle it." his dad says. "Just— grow up. Be the bigger person."

A heavy weight like a stone drops in Tommy's stomach. He feels it, and with the stone, his heart as well. For a second, he thinks he might be sick.

Just grow up.

"O—oh." Tommy chokes, feeling a ball forming in his throat, blocking it up, causing tears to prick at his eyes. He goes to try to speak around it, but—

"Is there anything else you need?" Phil asks, endlessly facing away, still not even bothering to face Tommy. "I'm really busy, kiddo."

-

or, in which Tommy is being bullied in school, and makes the mistake of trying to speak up about it.

Words: 13047, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF, Dream SMP

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson | Philza, Wilbur Soot, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Original Characters

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo

Additional Tags: TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Older Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot - Freeform, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), TechnoBlade, Adopted TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Foster Child TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), He’s trying his best, Sort Of, well . idk, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Nonbinary Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), IRL Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Bullied TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Bullying, Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Bruises, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Injured TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dissociation, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, BenchTrio - Freeform, Sleepy Bois Inc-centric, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Fluff and Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, bc i Refuse to do hurt no comfort, Anxious TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), He’s doing his best, :(, BedrockBros my beloved, ok thats all i think, enjoy

[lovearne]

Chris Smith x gn afab! Reader(no use of y/n)

Warnings: PiV sex, use of sex toys, light bondage, rough talk but sweet sex, cockwarming, Chris is a sentimental asshole

Word count: 881

"Ohhh fffuck, chris, shit!" Your legs are squirming all over, kicking your feet as Chris holds a hand on your lower tummy, keeping you steady. His other holds a vibrator right where he knows is the weakest part of your body.

He knows exactly how to play your body like an instrument, the exact amount of pressure is best, and where to put it. And he is a man who's unashamed to use toys in bed with his partner. Chris had tied one of your hands up, with a handcuff, attached to the lamp on the side table. The lamp he had secured on it with his drill months ago.

"Yeah? You like that? You like when I tie you up and use you like the cheap whore you are?" Chris' words were like lightning to your body, shooting right through your veins and thrumming your clit just right.

He always allows one untied hand, to use to grab him, he loves your hands on him, but he loves being in control much more. His cock was straining against his pants, the bulge in his lap glaringly obvious, nice and thick, long enough it didn't fit without force, but it felt so good to be stretched out on.

"Does my little toy wanna touch my cock?" Chris always sat in such a way while using you, so he could feel your small hand on his significantly large cock. He loves the feeling, it's the best thing to him. Next to cockwarming. I nod eagerly, and he gestures his consent. Gripping it tightly through his pants, he lets out a groan, pushing the vibe further on my clit, turning up the vibration intensity.

Chris shuffles his ass as you squeeze firmer, his eyes rolling back a little, eyes half lidded as he loses himself for a moment. You catch it as always. Smirking and squeezing a bit harder.

"Does my big guy want to fuck me good? Stretch me out all nice after not being home for a week?" You roll your hip more into the toy. Chris' face quickly changed.

"You want me to fuck you slut? Beg for it, beg for my big gorgeous cock." He starts to pull the vibe away, signaling that's the end for right now. You whine as all stimulation is removed. Him removing the cuff on your wrist after.

"Chris," you pout sticking your lip out and giving him fuck-me-eyes. "Please would you fuck me with that beautiful manly cock you have? So veined and perfect." His face told you he was accepting of your plea.

"Aww baby, you want me that bad?" You nod. "Well, since I can never say no to my pretty baby." He makes a sweet face at you. "Why don't you get on top? It's been a while and I don't wanna hurt you."

Your heart melts as Chris suggested you be in control, so his cock doesn't stretch you too much too soon. Climbing on Chris, his hands supporting your hips as he helps you onto his cock. He doesn't try and push you down, he just supports you, his hands on either side of your ass. Your eyes Arrington into each other slowly starting to spear yourself on his cock.

With barely the head in, he holds you still, wrapping his stronger right arm under you, to support you, and reaching his other hand to rub circles on your clit. Helping you to adjust to his size by giving you a bit of outside stimulation. You lower yourself more, nearly a third of the way down, already feeling so full, moaning to Chris on how good this feels. He grunts, your tight channel gripping him in all the right places.

"Yeah baby? You haven't even got it all in and you're moaning like a cheap whore. Wait until it's all the way in." His fingers speeding up to make you produce more wetness. The emergency lube sitting on the nightstand as a precaution. The lube in which he is not afraid to use, nor will ever judge you for it.

You whine, sitting down farther, so content, almost all the way down, and he was already stretching you so well. Pulling your head from his shoulder to look in his eyes, you see his are almost completely blown with lust. Yours probably reflect the same.

Chris grunts, swapping hands as you are almost completely sat down. You know what he wants, he wants to pull you the rest of the way down. You nod frantically, begging him.with your eyes. His hands hold your hips again and he pulls you onto his cock, seething fully inside. Your head falls forward, landing on his strong shoulder, moaning his name out as you spasm around him.

"Oh fuck, Chris. Jesus christ. You're so big, you fill me up so well.

He grunts, holding you still on him. Hugging you close by your top half, his face in your hair, smelling and kissing your head as he revels in the feeling of being inside you after so long.

"I think we should sit like this for a while. It feels so good to be back inside you. I wanna savor it." You nod, settling in as you cuddle against his chest. His arms rubbing up and down your back

Taglist:

@likedovesinthewnd

[darklcy]

𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬

attack on titan masterlist |  spotify | part 1 of 6 | part 2  | part 3  | part 4  | part 5 | part 6

pairing: yelena x gn! reader 

genre: college AU, slight toxic relationship, unrequited, angst to eventual fluff

summary: being in love with your roommate is not fun.

warnings: slight NSFW, mentions of alcohol & yelena being an asshole 

word count: 12.7k 

A/N: bringing yet ANOTHA one of my works from archive over here teehee. this one did pretty well actually so i’m excited to bring it over here to this blog :> this will be a miniseries of 6 parts. hope u enjoyy!

The rain was nice on this dark, hazy Thursday afternoon.

A storm was brewing in from up North, knocking the world into a fogged up mist, crying heavy tears down onto anyone who stepped outside. You enjoyed the weather a bit, finding comfort in its sadness. Though, this day hadn't been particularly your favorite.

To be honest, nothing bad had happened to turn your mood sour. It was just one of those days. You thought so, at least.

Staring out the windowsill, you laid your chin on your forearms resting on the desk below you, lungs letting out a sigh. A distant thunder broke out into the atmosphere. A dance of lightning came with it.

Classes had ended for the day, and just in time, too. A minute later and you would've been soaked head to toe. Though maybe, if you'd had any luck in this world, the weather could've prevented you from seeing the one person you should be happy to see.

The door leading to the room opened and closed, announcing a person's presence. 

"I'm hoome."

Your eyelids fell shut, cheek lolling to the side to lay on your arm.

"How are you, bug?"

A pair of long, tender arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders. You hummed as they kissed your temple a few times, raising a hand to rub at your eye.

"M' okay."

The person released you from their embrace as they fell back onto the mattress of your bed, limbs sprawling about. "That's good to hear. Class was good?"

You turned in your chair to face them. "Mhmm. You?"

Yelena nodded as she stared at the ceiling fan spun, round and round and round. "Boring. My professor is such an asshat."

You lightly chuckled. "Who is he again? Professor Smith?"

Yelena groaned. "Ugh, yeah. I like that he's passionate about what he does but c'mon, does he really expect me to write a 10-page essay on all the political parties by Monday?"

You shrugged. "Well, you are a political science major."

Yelena propped herself up on her elbows and glared. "So?"

"So you should proobably get started on that." You raised a brow while pointing at the door, suggesting she leave your room and go to hers. She stared at the exit for a moment before flicking her gaze back over to you.

Completely sitting up, she reached for the back of your chair and pulled you closer to her, other hand grabbing onto your bicep. Your stomach twisted when the hand holding onto your chair fell to your shoulder, fingers playfully massaging you through the fabric of your shirt. You looked up at her, despite feeling nervous, and observed her eager expression.

"Do you want me to leave? Is that it..?"

Your breath hitched slightly. All the words left your body, leaving you breathless. You shook your head. Yelena tilted her head at you and hummed.

"So...you want me to stay?"

The skin on your neck and cheeks heated up at her close proximity. Staring at her up close, seeing all her beauty marks and feeling her breath...How could you possibly say no?

"..Yes."

Yelena instantly dipped her head lower to meet your lips with hers, hands creeping up your neck to caress your cheeks. Your hands placed themselves onto her shoulders as you gripped her closer and closer.

..How long had it been since this sort of relationship with your roommate started? Was it a romantic gesture out of love, or was it lust? At this point, the line between the two blurred together as one, no longer bearing a difference. It all felt the same to you.

She always was the one to initiate it. She was the one who started this whole...friendship-with-benefits situation. One day, she'd stumbled into your room with a bottle of liquor and practically begged you two to play truth or dare. You claimed it wouldn't be fun with just the two of you, but she insisted. A few shots in, you got stuck with truth, to which she popped the question..

"...Would you ever kiss me?..."

That was the first time you two ever slept together.

At first, you didn't think too hard on it. Yelena didn't seem bothered by it, so you decided, neither would you. Who cares. It's college. Life goes on.

What you weren't prepared for was how you'd feel after the fact. You noticed some days you just couldn't find the urge to look away from her when she was just so...mesmerizing. Confident. Beautiful.

Someone you idolized. Someone you felt inspired by. Someone who maybe one day...you could fall in love with.

The next few intimate moments shared between you two left your heart in a puddle, cheeks hot as a stove, and legs wobbly. One instance, she'd left your room to retreat back to hers after a late night together and you watched her leave with an unbearable ache in your chest. One second gone and you were already missing her. This was not good.

Your suspicions of your newfound feelings were confirmed one day when the two of you were at a party. She was chatting up with another girl, Historia Reiss, to be exact, and looked pretty pleased with herself. She leaned on the countertop with her lower back as she stared down at the shorter girl, a sly smirk on her lips. Historia giggled bashfully at Yelena's lame jokes, tucking strands of her golden hair behind her ears. Your stomach fell into a painful tightness when Yelena bent down to whisper something into Historia's ear, causing her to gasp and blush.

That's when you knew you'd fallen. Quite hard, too. She'd become your first love, first person to have slept with, and now here she was flirting with another girl right in front of you.

You knew it didn't mean anything to her when she kissed you as soon as the both of you stepped foot back inside your dorm that same night, pressing you up against the wall and roaming your body with her excited hands.

She didn't love you back. It was as simple as that. Yet you couldn't find the strength to push her away.

Even now...when she told you to lift your arms so she could take off your shirt. Her lips marked the skin of your chest feverishly, heavy pants leaving her parted mouth before bringing her tongue back down to trail your collarbone. Your head tilted back as a whimper whirred in your throat.

Maybe this could be okay. You could love her and still experience bliss with her. She cared for you and you cared for her. It was a win-win, right? Who cares if she slept with other girls? In the end...who does she come home to?

Laying you back down on the bed, Yelena hovered over your body with hers, eventually settling her weight onto you. You cradled her head with a hand, the soft tresses of her hair tickling your fingers. She slightly pulled away and moved to kiss your neck when a sudden vibration set off, stilling the both of you.

"Oh...shit. Sorry."

Yelena peeled herself off of you and grabbed her phone sitting on the bedside table, answering whoever was calling.

"Hey. No, I didn't forget...Something just came up and lost track of time. Yeah, I'll be there in a bit. Alright. See you soon, cutie."

You frowned as you watched her conversation from your position on the bed. Wasn't hard to guess the matter of the situation she was swooped up with.

"Sorry, bug. I totally forgot I made plans with Historia today." Leaning back down, she planted both her hands beside your head and kissed the middle of your forehead.

Moving a hair away from your face, she stared down at you with a fond smile. "We'll continue this later, yeah?"

You hummed out a 'mhm' and managed a grin. Seemed that was enough to satisfy her as she hopped off the bed and grabbed her bag.

"Okay then! I'll see you tonight. I love you, say it back."

Sitting up and retrieving your shirt, you weakly laughed. "I love you, too."

The door to your room softly shut, and as you turned back to the window to watch the rain, you could hear the retracing footsteps of Yelena as she eventually exited the dorm.

Your lips turned back into a deep frown, the tightness in your chest filling you with the urge to cry, scream, and die all at once.

You closed your eyes and laid back down on the bed, curling in on yourself.

"I love you, too..."

[peachy-panic]

Not For Nothing

Takes place the morning after this piece. So, Christmas day. How festive of me.

Do No Harm TAG LIST:  @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump  @melancholy-in-the-morning @also-finder-of-rings @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf

WARNINGS: Implied/referenced past noncon. Medical setting. BBU/BBU adjacent. Frank discussion of STDs/sex. Pretty fucky (and misguided) thoughts from a survivor about himself. 

The first time Sebastian had ever seen Jaime’s face, it was covered in blood; crimson dribbling down his chin and staining his shirt, even as his hands swung out for purchase against the handlers who dragged him in. The guy had been a live wire full of futile resistance, the first, last, and most Sebastian had ever seen from him. That time, he had to be restrained. Bolted down to the exam table and gagged to keep him subdued.

Today, when Sebastian enters the exam room on Christmas morning, he finds that familiar face waiting for him, attached to a different body entirely.  It’s as if all the life has been vacuumed from him. Jaime sits, unrestrained, on the edge of the table, his legs hanging limply and his shoulders curled forward over his body. He is staring straight ahead, eyes only half-focused on the wall when Sebastian walks into the room. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t even turn to look at him.

Handler Smith—oh good, a Christmas miracle—pushes off the opposite wall and walks toward him, arms crossed. “Dr. Tate.” He nods. “Taking advantage of that holiday double-time, or did Greer rope you into covering for him?”

“I volunteered.” It’s not a lie, but it’s also not something he’s looking to bare his soul about to this asshole. His eyes cut back to Jaime, acknowledging Smith as little as possible.

“That’s the spirit,” Smith says through a smile. He gives a half-hearted gesture toward Jaime, who hasn’t moved an inch more than what is required of him to blink. “This one needs a full intake workup. All the bells and whistles.”

He startles. “Intake?” His eyes shift from Jaime back to Smith. It had hardly been any time at all since Sebastian released him from his post-op supervision. “I wasn’t aware he had been assigned another contract.”

Smith raises an eyebrow. “The administration office is hardly obligated to keep the clinic in the loop about contract affairs. Especially ones that don’t involve an active patient.”

Sebastian clenches his jaw against the urge to tell him that Jaime probably should have been an “active patient” far longer than he had been allowed. “So, they must have determined his healing injury wouldn’t be a hindrance to his new… post.”

Much to Sebastian’s dismay, Smith takes the opportunity to reach over and grab the arm resting on Jaime’s lap, yanking it roughly forward to show Sebastian the afflicted hand in question. Jaime barely flinches, just the tiniest wince of movement around his eyes. “See for yourself,” Smith says. “Your handiwork healed up just fine. Greer signed off on the release himself.”

Of course he did.

Smith is right, at least in his assessment of the scar. It’s healed nicely—just a raised, pink line across his hand that hardly resembles the gruesome battle wound it had been a few weeks ago. Somehow, Sebastian doesn’t have it in him to be proud of the work he had done on an unwilling subject, and certainly not while the memory of the event is still so fresh in his mind.

He tears his eyes away from the scar as Smith discards Jaime’s hand back onto his lap. “Alright.” Sebastian clears his throat, keeping his voice as even as he can. “Intake exam. Got it.” He knows exactly now what all that entails—the ‘bells and whistles,’ as Handler Smith so eloquently put it—and the back of his neck prickles with dread already. “I’ll call you when he’s done.”

Smith lingers for a moment, hovering and silent, and Sebastian braces himself for a fight. But, to his equal parts horror and relief, he instead turns on his patient again. He grips onto his jaw with inequitable force for someone who is completely still and compliant, large fingertips digging into his cheeks. The way the position forces Jaime’s chin up allows Sebastian an unobstructed view of the boy’s neck, and in the flat, white clinic lighting, there’s no mistaking the unsubtle marks that dot the skin between his collar and his jawline. “Behave yourself,” he warns in a casual tone that does not at all match his physical aggression. “I don’t want to hear you’re taking advantage of the new guy when the boss is out.”

Through his crushed lips, Jaime manages a weak “yes, Sir.” Sebastian stands idly by, fingers curling and uncurling at his side, blistering under the heat of his own uselessness. A breath escapes both of them as Smith finally releases his grip. He walks toward the door, stepping further into Sebastian’s personal space than necessary, and Sebastian channels his rage into forcing himself not to take a step back. They wait until the door is sealed, and even then it’s only Sebastian who seems to relax. He takes half a step toward Jaime, whose eyes have gone resolutely back to the wall. “Hey,” he says softly.

Jaime inclines his head once, then tilts it back up. “Hello.” His voice is empty and flat, a perfect match to his expressionless eyes. Sebastian has to work to suppress the unhinged urge to wrap him up in a hug.

“So. You were on another contract.” Sebastian is stalling and he won’t apologize for it. He’s in no hurry to do what he needs to do right now, and certainly in no hurry to send him back to Smith. He leans casually back against the counter, giving Jaime as much space as he can in the small room. “How long was it this time?”

“Just yesterday.”

Sebastian blinks. “Yesterday?” he repeats. “And they… what? Decided to cut it short?”

His head moves in a barely perceptible shake. “No, sir.” Sebastian doesn’t bother waving off the use of a title this time, just grateful Jaime is speaking to him at all. “It was a one day contract.”

Something curdles in his stomach. A couple months ago, you might have convinced him there are hundreds of logical explanations behind a one night rental of a human slave, but he knows better now. If the patches of pinkish-brown bruises on his neck weren't a dead enough giveaway, there’s the matter of the tests he is about to run. To call it an open secret isn’t quite accurate: everyone knows what this is. His fingers curl around the edge of the counter behind him as he looks down, eyes fixed on the tile.

“Do you remember what we did last time you were here for an intake exam?” he asks softly.

Jaime doesn’t look at him when he responds. “Yes, sir.”

He turns away from him to face the cabinet, taking his time as he rifles for a fresh set of latex gloves. “The tests we ran,” he continues. “The blood draws, the samples… You understand what they were for?”

There’s a moment of pause, then an audible swallow. “Yes.”

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut tight, seeing swirls of color explode behind his eyelids. He brings the knuckle of his index finger up to dig into the tense line between his brows. Without looking up, he forces himself to release the words he feels building in his throat.

“Based on that…” The words catch in his throat. What is he doing? Why is he doing this? He’s had enough interactions with Jaime to understand what this conversation will do to him. He knows that putting him in this position will only frighten him, make him think he’s in trouble or that Sebastian is trying to get him there. And what right does Sebastian have? What gives him the right to press him for information on this when he knows there’s nothing he can do with it to help?

Something about seeing him here again, today, in this clinic, has summoned back the fury he had felt those weeks ago. The fury he hadn’t quite been able to bury ever since. He’s done several intake exams with a myriad of other patients since then, and each time it drives a nail deeper and deeper into Sebastian’s psyche, lobotomizing him into numbness and prodding some dormant rage at the same time. Today, the prod has a glowing-hot tip and it presses into his most vulnerable parts, presses and presses and presses until all he can feel is the burn.

“Based on the nature of these tests,” he says calmly, keeping his voice level, “can you tell me… am I running these tests for nothing today, Jaime?”

He lets the name slip before he can stop himself. It’s this single word, the one they haven’t exchanged out loud while the boy in question was in his right mind, that seems to shake his patient out of his catatonic state. When Sebastian turns back around to face him, his eyes are on Sebastian’s, so intense that he almost looks away.

“You called me that,” Jaime whispers, as if it’s a quiet epiphany to himself rather than an accusation toward Sebastian. “When I was in the clinic, after my surgery, you…” His mouth snaps shut. He seems to realize himself, to realize the way he’s talking and to whom, and he closes up fast. Sebastian feels a spark of panic and scrambles to keep hold of the first delicate thread of conversation they’ve ever really had.

“I did,” Sebastian blurts, taking another step forward and stopping when Jaime tenses slightly. “I did call you that. I’m sorry if I made you nervous. I promise, I would never let it slip in front of anyone else. I just… I can’t stand watching people call you guys by those— those fucking numbers, like you’re not a human being.”

It’s not hard to guess why Jaime’s jaw opens then sets at his words. He takes a moment, a deep breath, then asks, “How do you know?”

“I don’t. Or I guess, I didn’t. Until now.” He offers a nervous chuckle that Jaime pointedly does not return. “You were talking when you were sort of out of it. You kept saying that name, and when I asked you if it was yours, you clammed up in a way that made me feel like I had to be onto something. So it’s true, then? Your name is Jaime?”

He’s looking at him desperately now, and Sebastian knows he should stop. “I don’t have a name,” the boy whispers.

“Before?” Sebastian can’t help himself. He leans in toward him. Jaime’s eyes scramble away from him again, searching for anything else to grasp onto in the small space before eventually settling on his lap. His breathing has taken a visible uptick, his hands beginning to fidget in his lap, and Sebastian takes the cue. He backs off, raising both of his palms to him. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about this, you really don't. I’m sorry.”

His shoulders sag forward in relief, and the next breath sounds suspiciously like a sniffle. Sebastian would like it on record that he might climb to the top of the building and fling himself off if he has managed to make this kid cry today. A real merry fucking Christmas from Doctor Tate.

“It’s not for nothing.” Jaime’s cracked voice catches him off guard.

“What?”

Jaime’s eyes find him again. “The tests? You wanted to know if…” He swallows, nudging the thick band fastened around his throat. “If there was a reason to run them again today? There is.”

The information washes over him like a cold sweat. Sebastian nods. For a long moment, that’s all he can manage to do. In so few words, Sebastian had asked so much of him, and in even fewer words, Jaime had managed to confirm what Sebastian already knew. About this place, about the fucking assholes who buy contracts, about what Jaime’s life and the lives of the other people here are really like. In the place of the anger he had braced himself for, there is a strange calm, or maybe that’s the numbness rising back to the surface.

“Okay,” he says, pushing off the edge of the counter. Jaime watches him carefully, as if trying to decipher if his honesty will reap some sort of backlash. “Okay, I… I appreciate you being honest with me. Thank you.”

Jaime nods, the jerky motion injected with more relief that makes him feel vaguely ill. Desperately, Sebastian reaches out through the fog that’s begun collecting around his brain again and grasps at whatever remains of his professionalism.

“I want to reiterate,” he says, pulling the blue latex over his hands, “that you can ask me to stop at any point in the exam. If you need to take a break, if you have any questions about what I’m doing. Anything. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“And Jaime?” This time, he doesn’t refuse the name. He only looks up at him, wide-eyed and maybe just a little more trusting than he had been before. “I’m sorry. For what happened to you.” What’s still happening to you. What will undoubtedly happen to you again and again and again as long as cowards like me are the only thing standing in the way.

He nods again. Sebastian wishes he could give him anything more than what he has to offer.

“Are you ready to begin?”

***

“Are you ready, Sebastian?” The nurse’s voice is soft and soothing, and he clings to that sound instead of the sterile cold that wraps around him in the too-bright room and the buzz of the overhead light.

“Is it going to hurt?” He feels like a child for asking the question, like he’s eight years old instead of eighteen, but he still stares up at her expectantly for the answer. The pure fucked-upness of the situation does not escape him: that his first doctor’s appointment outside of his parents’ care is for an STD test.

“Have you been tested before?”

Sebastian shakes his head, feeling somehow even more like a little kid.

“The needle for the blood draw is pretty small,” she says, patiently, and he absurdly wonders if this kind of question is what inspired the title of ‘patient’. “The swab might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t be painful.” She watches him another moment as he nods, trying to take in her answers at face value, then she says, “It will be over before you know it.”

“Okay.”

The clock above the door frame tells him that the entire procedure takes less than fifteen minutes, but it feels like he’s been sitting on the table for days by the time it’s over. He spends most of the visit fixating on the poster across the room, just past the nurse’s left shoulder. It’s a diagram of the human nervous system, laid over a hyper-realistic drawing of a man, and it’s exactly how Sebastian has felt for two weeks now: cut down the middle and peeled open, exposed, like every nerve in his body is on display. He pictures himself as the man on the poster, flat and still and lifeless, as the nurse works over his body, swabbing and prodding and piercing.

He stands wordlessly from the exam table when she tells him it’s over. His body feels raw. Every inch of his sweatpants and long-sleeve shirt clings to his body like cellophane, suffocating, restricting, crushing him. He is so tired.

“We should have your results for most of the panel by the end of next week, but the HIV test can take a little bit longer,” the nurse says, snapping off her gloves and pitching them into the trash can. “You’ll want to get tested again in three months, as standard protocol for the detection window. It’s possible that the infection might not show up in your test results right away, depending on when you think you were exposed. Do you have a partner?”

Still trying to wrap his head around the possibility of living with this uncertainty for several more months, Sebastian nods. “I have a boyfriend,” he says. He resents the part of him that still winces when he says the words out loud to a new person, unsure of how they might react. The nurse doesn’t seem bothered.

“Is he the only sexual partner you’ve had in the last thirty days?”

Sebastian feels his whole body lock up. His eyes go back to the diagram man on the poster. He can’t seem to make his mouth work.

“Sebastian?”

“I don’t know,” he hears himself whisper, and immediately wants to bolt from the room. The nurse is quiet for a long moment, another one that seems to stretch on for eternity. She takes a step back from him, leaning back against the edge of the sink.

“What do you mean by that?” she asks. Her voice is gentle and unimposing, but Sebastian tenses in preparation for battle anyway.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” he says, and even he realizes that doesn’t come close to answering her question. And it definitely does nothing to un-raise the red flag of suspicion he has thrown into the air.

“Look, regardless of how many partners there are, it’s important that you communicate with them if you think you might have been exposed to something,” she says. “I understand it’s not an easy conversation to have, but the lack of transparency is how things can spread so quickly on a campus this size. You’ll want to play it extra safe until you have your results. Use protection if you’re active. Be smart.”

“Okay,” he says. He resists the urge to tell her she’s a couple weeks late on the advice to ‘be smart.’

He does not mention how she doesn’t know the half of how difficult that conversation would be if he chose to be honest. He doesn’t tell her that the use of the word “partner” hardly feels like the right terminology for a half-baked, faceless memory in a dark room and some residual pain. He definitely doesn’t scream to her about how unfair all of this is, even though he really, really could do with a healthy dose of screaming right about now.

“Thank you.” He glides past her in a daze, already nightmare-daydreaming about how he’s going to navigate the next week of waiting while keeping Ethan at arm’s length, when the nurse calls after him.

“Sebastian,” she says, looking almost hesitant when he turns back to her. Something about the expression doubles his impulse to escape the room. “Listen, if you are caught in a bad situation, or if something happened that you didn’t want to happen, there are resources. People here on campus you can talk to about your options--”

“No,” he interjects too abruptly, clamping down on the door handle as if it might be an ejection lever to spring him out of the room. “I don’t… I-...it’s not like that. I’m fine. Thank you.”

Considering how she doesn’t appear to have been born yesterday, Sebastian is sure she sees right through the facade he’s putting up, but at least it’s enough to silence her outreach. He pulls his lips into a tight line, the best imitation of a smile he can manage, and pushes out the door. Grateful for his University’s drive for free testing on campus, he brushes right past the receptionist’s desk without having to worry about whatever copay he probably couldn’t afford anyway. The air is cold when it hits his face. He lets the bitter sting freeze out all his other senses for a moment and just… breathes. He closes his eyes, falling back against the brick exterior of the clinic. Seconds later, his pocket buzzes.

EB: Hey, just got done with practice. It’s fucking freezing out here. Gonna go back to my place and shower. Be there when I’m done to warm me up? :)

The nurse’s words throb inside him like a broken bone he can feel everywhere. It’s been a challenge of its own, keeping Ethan at a safe distance these past couple of weeks, but he knows this isn’t a sustainable option. He’s not going to let this slide much longer before he starts asking questions that Sebastian’s not prepared to answer. Or worse, because he’s Ethan, he will probably start taking it personally and turning it back around on himself, and the last thing Sebastian can handle right now is his boyfriend blaming himself for this behavior.

These tests, the results he will receive in a week’s time… they could change everything. They already have. Even if they come back negative next week, there’s still this other window of detection that she mentioned that could stretch his uncertainty months into the future

When Sebastian woke up two weeks ago, mostly naked in a soiled bed, he told himself that he would do anything to keep this secret from Ethan. That had been a lie. At the time, he hadn’t been thinking clearly about the consequences that would come soon after. He hadn’t realized that the most important thing isn’t shielding Ethan from the truth. It’s shielding him from this.

Sebastian might be a coward and a liar, and he might hate himself forever for ruining the best thing to happen to him in a really long time, but he would sooner die of heartbreak than let Ethan get sick because of his own carelessness.

He forces his fingers to move over his phone screen before he can give himself time to back out.

I’ll be there. Need to talk to you about something.

And then, because he doesn’t know how many more times he will get to say it after today:

I love you.

[fanmoose12]

Hello would you mind writing vets as a music band? And that fans suspect the “normal” relationship of head vocal Levi and bassist Hange? Sorry if my english isn’t writing properly at all.

Mikasa invites him to a No Name concert.

And it's like- whatever, right? Who cares? Jean certainly doesn't.

So what if the girl of his dreams asks him out on a date? It's not like he has been daydreaming about it for the past two years. So what if she offers to see his favorite band in the whole world? He doesn't even like them much. Sure, he knows all their songs by heart but- he doesn't listen to them that often. Only twice or thrice each day. And it's not like his closet hides an insane amount of their merchandise. That is between Jean, his closet and his mother.

He isn't nervous, he doesn't care about the upcoming date. At all. Most certainly, he doesn't spend literal days, obsessing over his outfit. And he obviously doesn't pester Sasha and Connie with questions on how to style his hair.

Most importantly, he doesn't imagine how it would feel to hold Mikasa's hand or maybe even go for a hug or a kiss-

Jean tries not to think about it, his heart starts to beat to fast, when he does, but when he doesn't think about Mikasa, he starts thinking about No Name and the little, tinie tiny fact that he's going to see them in person. That he's going to meet them and maybe even shake their hand, because Mikasa being the gorgeous goddess she is, got them tickets with access to a backstage. It didn't require any kind of effort from her side, since the famed, spectacularly, dreamy Levi Ackerman is Mikasa's cousin, but- Jean doesn't remember sharing his No Name obsession with Mikasa, for obvious reasons - he doesn't want to think that he likes her just because she's Levi Ackerman's cousin, Mikasa is great not because she's an Ackerman, but because she's Mikasa, but- but Jean is so, so grateful that he'll have the chance to see No Name in all their glory.

Of course, he is not at all nervous about meeting his favorite band in person. No, no, he doesn't lose sleep over it, his palms don't turn clammy. Sometimes he feels like he'll combust from anticipation, but he's fine, completely fine.

He just can't wait until that fated day will come.

---

When that day rolls around at last, Jean is cool. He's cool, calm, serene.

His hand is greasy from all the times he touched his slicked back hair, and he can't stop tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket, but- but he's cool.

The band that is currently playing isn't that bad - not nearly as talented and awesome, and hot as No Name, but still good. The crowd is bigger than Jean is comfortable with, but today it works in his favor because it prompts Mikasa to hold his hand. Maybe, he'll get that kiss after all. If he continues keeping his cool.

That proves to be just a little harder task when Mikasa announces that they reached the backstage.

Jean can't help it - he gawks around helplessly.

This is it, this is a place where miracles happen, where stars lounge and rest.

This is the place where he'll meet No Name.

Jean can't imagine how this meeting will transpire. Will they like him? Will they agree to make a photo? Will they give him an autograph? Will they think that he's a weirdo who is too obsessed with their music?

All of the above? None of the above?

Jean doesn't know.

There are so many things he wants to say. There are so many things he wants to ask - how can they play with those bandages on? How do they never trip during performances? What is their favorite song to play? What do they do in their free time? What is their favorite food? Are the rumors about Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe-

Okay, no, he probably shouldn't ask that last question, no matter how much he wants to know the answer. And he wants to, so, so much.

The thing is- there are many rumors about No Name. It's not surprising, they are young, famous and extremely hot. These rumors usually exclude the drummer, Mike Zacharias, who is already engaged with a very pretty blonde lady, their stylist. Although, there are some fans who speculate that the engagement is not true, and Mike actually dates their producer, one Erwin Smith, but- Jean usually ignores that type of fans, branding them as freaks.

Now, as far as everyone is aware, nor Levi Ackerman, neither Hange Zoe are involved in any kind of romantic relationships, and that's- that's where the juicy stuff begins.

There aren't many rumors about Hange - some say she's involved with Pieck, the band's make-up artist. Or their manager, Moblit Berner. Or an indie artist, Onyakopon. But that's where the list ends.

Levi Ackerman, however, oh he has a far longer list of lovers. Petra Ral, for example, a rising pop-star - young, talented and so pretty that it hurts. Or Erwin, although on that subject rumors wary - some say that Erwin is the one who got Levi in showbiz, some say that Erwin is his sugar daddy, some say that they're already engaged and even married. The rumors are as varied as they're wrong, in Jean's opinion. Most rumors about Levi are like that. There are even talks about his involvement with Yeager brothers - with the front man of the rival band, Zeke, and Jean's and Mikasa's classmate, Eren. Jean doesn't understand where these rumors even come from, as far as he's aware, Levi hates them both. But- but rumors still exist.

As stupid as they are.

Now, Jean has a different opinion, one that he spends nights defending in chats and forums. Yes, Levi Ackerman has a lover. And no, it's not Petra Ral, Erwin Smith or any of the Yeager brothers. It's Hange Zoe, No Name's bassist.

There are many reasons why he thinks so. Firstly, they are always together. And by always, Jean means always. In photoshoots they stand side by side, during performances they lean against each other, on all kinds of photos - from after-parties to official events, they always touch each other in some way. And that's not all. They spend their vacations together, they hang out at movies, restaurants, museums, their respective instagrams are full of the other's candid photos. And it's a known fact that they share an apartment. Honestly, how much more obvious it can get? Also Jean is pretty sure that one of the songs written by Levi is about Hange, and he has an entire essay, explaining why he's right. He prays to every saint known that Mikasa will never find it. He doesn't want his almost girlfriend to find out just how invested he is in the romantic life of her famous cousin.

As they walk further and further into the magical territory of the backstage, Jean tries to think of something cool to say, something laid-back and easy like 'hey, what's up, guys? I've listened to the couple of your songs, you're not that bad...'

Yes, he decides. That's a good way to start. A cool way to start.

And Jean is cool. And calm.

And- oh my god, there they are, the three of them, already in their costumes, just without the signature bandages. They look even cooler in person. They look even hotter and-

Mikasa squeezes his hand.

"If my asshole cousin says something awful, I'll punch him in the face for you."

God, that is so sweet. So Mikasa. He wouldn't be opposed to anyone getting a punch from her except- her gorgeous cousin. His pretty face should be protected at all costs.

However, as they approach, the face that charmed millions transforms, turning into a quite nasty scowl.

"So that's him?" Levi Ackerman asks (Jean's sick brain, even in that moment, can't help but note that Hange Zoe is standing right behind her band member, a hand laying on his shoulder). "That's the guy you're going crazy about?"

"Yes," Mikasa answers, and suddenly the air grows stiff. "Do you have a problem with that?"

The lines around Levi's mouth harden, and Jean tries to focus on Hange Zoe, while his mind prepares for something not at all pretty, but- Hange is smiling - not smirking, smiling. That is a good sign, right?

"Don't mind the Ackermans," she stage whispers to Jean. "Levi was actually very excited about meeting you."

Right now it's hard to imagine that dark (and still so handsome) face in the expression of excitement, but. Hange knows him a lot more, right?

"Oh and by the way," she giggles, and at the back of his mind Jean wonders if that's how angels sound like. "I'm Hange."

He almost blurts out 'I know' but- that'd be creepy? Or not? He can't decide so settles on a simple nod.

"Jean," he says, taking the offered hand in his. With his hand that isn't holding Mikasa's (they're holding hands, wow!), he shakes Hange's. It's unexpectedly calloused. But still warm and gentle. Not as nice as Mikasa's but... somewhere very close.

"And that is the one and only Levi Ackerman," Hange continues, gesturing to the man in question. "He only looks so scary. But actually," she winks and lowers her voice. "He's the biggest softie you'll ever meet."

The biggest softie Jean has ever met, practically snarls, baring his teeth. But the hand on his shoulder tightens and he instantly relaxes, scoffing in annoyance. Oh, so that's who Hange Zoe is? The one who tames the beast?

"You're not as revolting as her other dates," Levi says. Jean is pretty sure that it was meant as a compliment. "But if you dare to-"

"Oi," Mikasa's face becomes as stormy as her cousin's. "He won't."

"And even if he does," Hange smiles, so handsome and a little scary. "Mikasa knows what to do."

Jean gulps. He has seen Mikasa train that one time. He was very impressed, and a little bit scared. Also a lot aroused.

He knows with ironclad certainty that should Mikasa kick him... his face may not survive it.

"Hange, Levi," a gruff voice behind them calls. Jean lifts his eyes, mouth opening in shock as he sees him in the flash - the third member of Non Name, Mike Zacharius himself. In person... he is even more enormous than on photos. His shoulders are twice as wide as Jean's, and next to Hange and Levi, he looks almost like a giant. "We're starting in five."

"Oh!" Hange covers her mouth with a palm. "I haven't checked my guitar yet. Let's hurry, shorty!"

Hange dashes away instantly, Levi sighs and trudges after her. Mikasa tugs at Jean's hand as well, whispering that they need to go to their places.

Jean nods, absentmindedly, because right in that moment, at the other side of the room he sees Hange and Levi exchange a playful, quick but undeniably a kiss.

Triumph courses through him, firing him up. He knew that he was right, those fuckers from twitter can eat his shit.

Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman are truly dating.

He wants to know more, wants to ask Mikasa to spare the juicy details, but for now-

For now, Jean has to take care of his date as well.

He interlaces their fingers, and, keeping Hange's words in mind - Ackermans are not as scary as they look - he leans in to press a kiss to Mikasa's cheek and whispers,

"You look fantastic."

Ever so slightly, but Mikasa blushes. It's the best moment of the evening so far.

And, hopefully, there will be more of that.