#<- prev considering this. correct.

[fansids]

Boy, Tails looks angry though I can’t tell if it’s because Sonic, who he considers a brother, never told him he had a baby, is angry he’s not the youngest anymore, or is angry that he never noticed something different.

Then again he could be angry at Sonic for just being a deadbeat parent.

It’s gonna be interesting when he meets Silver that’s for sure.

Yeah he's not happy.

All of those guesses (except the second one) are correct, but one is more correct than the others.

Him and Sonic are going to have a looonng overdue conversation about this at the end of this "episode."

prev / next

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Solitude Chapter 2

Prev

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Pirates x GN Child Reader

5.8k words

Summary: You are finally graced with an opportunity to be off the ship, but can you handle it?

Warnings: kidnapping themes, violent assaults, death, decapitation, angst, trauma, ptsd symptoms, yandere themes

The much requested chapter two is here, and I hope it lives up to expectation! Thank you to everyone who left such kind comments on the last chapter, it really helped to motivate me to continue!

When you lost consciousness after those pirates surrounded you, you honestly hadn’t been expecting to ever wake up. You made the foolish mistake of stealing from them, so now they would make you pay with your life. That made sense to you. It’s what pirates were supposed to do, right?

So why were you still alive? And why were these pirates so… 

Weird.

There wasn’t any other way to describe these people. You stole food from them. You tried to attack them- twice. And that all happened before they even brought you to the ship. They had no reason to do anything that could be considered kind or generous for you, and all the reason to harm or even kill you.

By the time you came to, several things struck you all at once. The most obvious being that you weren’t on the island anymore. You had woken up in an unfamiliar place. All of the walls and the floor were made of wood like your treehouse, but it distinctly was not your treehouse. Other differences trickled in as your senses returned.

The hardest thing to miss was how much your nose hurt. You had become accustomed to the constant ache ever since you broke it all those years ago, but now it once again felt the way it did the day you broke it. Though you could suddenly breathe through your nose with ease rather than having to rely on getting air through your mouth.

Along with that, you found that your hair was gone. Not completely, but it was now extremely short, feeling almost prickly to the touch. Then there was the smell. You smelled weird. While you couldn’t really describe what you smelled like before this, the new, more unnatural scent was impossible to ignore. It was beyond you what could have happened to you in your sleep, much less why.

Eventually, you would get answers, but they didn’t make sense to you.

Your nose hurt because Marco rebroke it to “make it better”. It was fine as it was in your humble opinion. Not perfect by any means, but you were managing it, so you found his efforts extremely unnecessary. Your hair was gone because it was matted together and apparently unsalvageable. This one bothered you less since your scalp didn’t hurt anymore and you no longer had to worry about clumps of hair obscuring your vision. The weird smell coming from you was something called “soap”. You didn’t know what exactly it was or what it was supposed to do beyond make you smell weird, but it was forced upon you every time they made you take a bath regardless.

What you still didn’t understand about all of this was the why. What did they have to gain from doing all of this? They were wasting resources and energy on you for nothing. It’s not like you were helping them just by being there. All that your presence on the ship amounted to was that there was now someone scuttling around the crawlspaces and swiping food from the kitchen. You had all the benefits of a large rat.

Yet they persisted. They kept you fed and clothed, and some of them were even trying to teach you things. Thatch had an ongoing effort to try and teach you how to prepare and cook food. A foolish idea, truly. You just ate whatever he handed to you. Sometimes, if you were particularly full, you would go along with it, but you weren’t any good at it if Thatch’s constant corrections were anything to go off of. Why did it matter if your hands were washed or if you dropped something on the floor? It was unclear.

Then there was Marco and his battle against your illiteracy. This was by far the most frustrating aspect of being trapped on the ship. Reading and writing won’t help you survive. It won’t fill your stomach or kill threats. It all felt pointless and needlessly difficult. There were too many things to remember, and the effort to commit all of it to memory just didn’t seem worth it to you. Especially not when it meant that you had to spend time around Marco the nose-breaker. 

Up to this point, they have kept you trapped on the ship. The reasons varied depending on who you asked. Marco said that it was because they wanted you to be in better health before setting foot on new lands. Thatch’s claim was that they didn’t want to overwhelm you after having spent your life on an unpopulated island. Ace was the only one that you felt was being honest. He laughed and ruffled your hair when you asked, then told you point blank that they all knew you would make a break for it the second you thought you could.

It was your belief that you were damned to be stuck on this ship until the day you died or could pull off an escape, but that all changed today. The Moby Dick had docked at an island to restock the ship’s food supply, and you were going along to help.

This felt like a trick. Possibly a test. Everyone had gone through great lengths to keep you on the ship every other time it had docked, usually by tossing you at Whitebeard and having him hold you until they set sail again. The one time that they didn’t, you did exactly what Ace thought you would and tried to run only for his overgrown cat to stop you. It was nothing short of humiliating to be dragged across the deck by a cat by the straps of your overalls.

But as you stared at the bustling crowd in front of you, you were able to rule out it being a lie. Sure enough, you were off the ship. It’s not like this was your first time seeing a populated island. Whitebeard’s absurd height allowed you to easily spy on the towns they docked at while he held onto you. But now you were in the thick of it, and that was an entirely different experience.

The unending chatter of the people felt like it was assaulting you from all angles, the cobblestones beneath your feet were unnatural, and you couldn’t see a single tree. As much as you were loath to admit it, Thatch had been right. You were overwhelmed.

A hand came down on your head gently, making you tense and look up at the offender. Thatch was crouched down, attempting to be closer to your height, yet still dwarfing you. He regards you with a warm smile, “You feeling okay, kid? If this is too much for you, we can go back to the ship at any time.”

You bristled at the contact, quickly stepping forward and shaking your head to dislodge his hand. Who knows when or if they’ll let you off the ship again, you don’t want to squander this. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Thatch sag from your actions, then push himself up to his full height with a sigh that was utterly dramatic.

For whatever reason, Thatch seemed oddly focused on gaining your approval. Granted, everyone on the crew made attempts to get close to you, but he was particularly dedicated to the cause. If he wasn’t giving you food or trying to show you how to do something in the kitchen, he would do other strange things like checking on you throughout the day and bringing you back random gifts whenever he left. The purpose behind any of these actions was a mystery to you.

As much as you want to boldly march forward and capitalize on this opportunity to its fullest, your feet feel heavy. All that you want to do is find a quiet, compact place to crawl into and hide in to escape this onslaught of noise and people. 

But… if you never get used to this, you'll never be able to escape. Enduring this seems to be a necessary evil.

Wanting to keep yourself from being ushered back to your prison, you begin marching forward. You had no idea where the market was, but that was neither here nor there. If you didn't show some semblance of bravery towards this new setting, you're sure they'll cut this excursion short. 

Everyone falls into step all around you, obscuring your vision of the surrounding area; though you could still hear the crowds loud and clear. 

Marco's hand settles onto your shoulder, much to your dismay. You scowl at him and try to shimmy away, but he easily holds you in place.  

“Do you remember what I told you? About how you can't just take things here? You need to wait for us to pay for the food before you eat it, okay?”

“I remember… not stupid.” You finally manage to break his hold and quickly relocate yourself to be on the other side of Thatch to maintain some distance. 

Ace chuckled and lightly shoved your shoulder, an action that he claimed to be “playful”, whatever that means. 

“Oh, come on! Don't be like that. Marco is just looking out for you so you don't get in trouble. Besides, you have earned a reputation for having sticky fingers, you know?”

The odd statement immediately prompts you to look down at your hands and rub them together. You then look back up at Ace with scrunched brows, “Not sticky.”

This makes him, as well as a few of the other people in your entourage laugh. Izou speaks up after the laughter dies down to clarify, “He didn't mean it literally. It's a figure of speech. It just means that you have a tendency to take things that aren't yours.”

“Do not,” you grumble quietly, more to yourself than anyone else while stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Just pick things up.”

“Just because someone isn't actively using something doesn't mean it isn't still their's. You've become a real menace to all of the smokers on board, what with your fascination towards lighters.” Marco hums in thought, then tacks on, “Though I suppose all of them smoking less isn't the worst thing that could happen to them.”

Ace groans in annoyance, dropping his head back, “They aren’t smoking less, they’re just harassing me instead. Now I've got half the crew pestering me for a light every minute of the day.” He shoots an accusatory glare your way, “I bet you have some on you right now, don't you?”

Your hands reflexively tighten around the lighters in your pockets, “... No.” Lighters were by far the best thing you've discovered since your abduction. Gone were the days of beating rocks together to make a spark and hoping that it took. Now all you needed was a quick flick of your thumb, and you had a perfect flame. Collecting such a precious tool was important. So what if some other people claimed they “needed” it? They weren't even starting fires. They only ever used them on those smelly sticks whose scent makes your eyes and nose sting. These lighters were obviously put to better use in your care.

“Yeah, right.” Ace drops his scowl and grins again. “I can't stay mad, I guess. I was stealing way more stuff than you when I was your age. I think you and me would've made great friends.”

“Doubt it…”

Ace brings a hand to his chest in mock despair, “So cold! You really are just like me when I was a kid. I bet Luffy would love you.”

Immediately, he started prattling on and on about that brother of his. A common occurrence that you have long since learned to tune out. 

What you decided to focus on instead was how the crowd was getting denser and more loud. Everyone was talking, some even shouting, as the masses all swarmed around one area. What hell is this?

“Damn. Of course we got here when the place is packed.” Thatch surveyed the commotion with a weary look on his face, not appearing to like this anymore than you did. 

Ace, completely unphased, continues walking, “Don't worry, I'm sure at least half of the people will clear out when they see a bunch of pirates walking around. Then we'll have the market all to ourselves.”

This is the market? The place you're supposed to get food from? How awful. How is anyone supposed to get anything when there are so many people here? Everything will be taken in seconds, and all of the noise means that there won't be any animals nearby to hunt. 

Once again, you feel that uncomfortable ache in your gut, accompanied by sweaty palms. You've never seen so many people at once before. Groups were a bad thing at the best of times, but this unending crowd was more than you knew how to handle. It was more than you ever thought was possible. 

Someone touches you again, on the shoulder. Your body goes rigid and you snap your head around to look at the offending hand sharply. It was Thatch. Of course it was him. It usually was.

“We can go back to the ship any time you want. I don't want you to take on more than you can handle.” He smiles, eyes shining with hope, “You can even hold my hand if you need to.”

“No.”

Thatch sulks again. He's good at that. 

As your group enters the market, you're all forced to walk very close together to the point of bumping into each other. You almost grab onto Thatch’s coat to lessen the odds of becoming lost in this crowd, but you refrain. He would absolutely be weird about it. All of them would be. 

To keep yourself from being overwhelmed by all of the people, you focus your attention on scouting for food in hopes that there might still be some left. 

You can't believe what you see. Piles and piles of food are everywhere. Everyone is taking, yet there is such a surplus that there is more than enough to go around for everyone here. How… How is this possible? You never thought so much food could exist at once, and definitely not all in one place!

In your state of shock, you hadn't even realized that you'd stopped walking. Not until someone bumps into you from behind. You stumble forward, but are steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You stiffly look back at who's touching you and see that it's Marco. Your lip curls in disgust, and you're quick to pull away and catch up with everyone else; all while pointedly ignoring him questioning if you were feeling okay. 

“(Y/N)! Why don't you come and pick out something to celebrate your first time off the ship?” 

Thatch is standing by a table among the mountains of food and gesturing you over excitedly. You cautiously approach him while eyeing the wide array of fruit spread out on the table, some that you recognized, some that you don’t. Your eyes settle on a pink fruit that has green leaves coming off of it like spikes.

It was very odd looking. You look up at Thatch while pointing at it, “Devil fruit?”

The plump, middle aged man with graying hair sat at the table laughed loudly and slapped his knee, “A devil fruit? I wouldn’t be working as a fruit peddler if I had that many devil fruits lying around!” 

Thatch also laughs, though not quite as hard. He ruffles your hair, as he so often does, “That’s a dragon fruit. Do you want to try it?”

You’re about to nod, but then you see something out of the corner of your eye. Large red, seed-covered berries that you had recently gotten to try. You ate them by the fistful, loving the sweet and tangy taste they had. Eagerly, you point at them, “Want those.”

The fruit peddler grins, “Your kid’s got a good eye for quality! Between you and me, I’ve got the best ones here! Though I might be a little biased.” He chuckles and stands up, picking up a basket while asking Thatch how many he wants.

Excitement buzzes through you at the prospect of getting to have your newest favorite treat. But unfortunately, your joy was not to last. Marco crouches down next to you, and taps the sign in front of the berries, “Do you remember what these are called?”

“Berries.”

Marco shook his head, “But what kind? Can you try sounding out the word?”

Just like that, your good mood shrivels up and dies. Why must Marco insist on ruining everything? You stare hard at the squiggles on the sign, none of them making sense to you. Of course you couldn’t read this. He knew that you couldn’t. You know that you’ve been told what these berries are called, but you can’t remember it right now.

He doesn’t drop it when you remain silent. He points at the squiggle on the far left side, “Come on, I know you can do it. What sound does this letter make?”

While all of the letters were just shapes to you, this one was the squiggliest of them all, completely lacking in any straight lines. It somewhat resembled a snake to you. Your eyes widen slightly as something clicks in your brain and you recall one of your lessons with Marco.

Marco holds up a card with two shapes on it in front of you. They’re identical, but one is significantly smaller than the other, “And this one is an “S”. It makes a ‘sss’ sound like a snake. Now say it back.”

“Ssss…” You quietly mimic the sound from your memory, making Marco smile.

“Yes, that’s right!” His finger moves to the right, “Now what about this one?”

Your victory was short lived. You stared hard at the second letter, but nothing came to mind. There was nothing about the two straight lines crossed over one another, the horizontal one being shorter than the vertical one, that made you think of a connection to its sound. You were completely and utterly stumped, and you doubted that Marco would let it go.

Movement behind Marco catches your eye, and you see Thatch standing there and… moving his lips but not making any noise? Was he being weird again? Probably. But he was being awfully persistent. He was staring into your eyes while making the same mouth movements over and over again, and you felt compelled to try and understand it.

S… St… Str… Wait-

“Strawberry!” The answer comes out much louder than you had intended, but you couldn’t help it.

Thatch claps excitedly, “There we go, I knew you had it in you!” He closes and reopens one of his eyes quickly, an action you recall being referred to as “winking”. The basket of strawberries is then deposited into your open arms.

“Paid?”

“Yes, they’re all yours, kid.” Thatch watched as you immediately grabbed two and stuffed them into your mouth. His eyes widened and his smile partially drooped, “Hey, wait! You aren’t supposed to eat the stems!”

His reaction makes you pause your chewing. “Poisonous?”

Thatch sighs and his shoulders slump as he scratches the back of his head, “No, they aren’t poisonous, but most people don’t eat that part of it.”

You swallow your mouthful, then grab another berry, “Tastes fine.” With that said, you pop another whole strawberry into your mouth.

He sighs and shakes his head, while muttering something under his breath about “picking his battles”. You two aren’t fighting. Not right now, at least. Perhaps later.

The rest of the food procurement passes by rather uneventfully. Marco mercifully stopped quizzing you after the strawberries, and you were admittedly more focussed on eating than examining your surroundings. By the time you had finished your snack, everyone had finished shopping. 

It was while you were absent-mindedly swinging the empty basket in your hand that your eyes had finally started to wander again. The docks were packed with ships, mainly civilian, but you could see a few pirate flags billowing in the wind. As much as you hated to see them, you couldn’t help but examine each one.

Of course, there was Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger. Though it was still quite far away, the sheer height of the mast made it stand out among the rest. Your eyes flitted from one flag to another, taking them all in in an almost bored daze-

Everything stops.

The world around you falls silent and ceases to exist as you spot a Jolly Roger with a knife stabbed into the top of the skull and poking out one of the eye sockets. 

“Are you sure about this? They’re pirates, we have no idea how they’ll respond. It would be one thing if this was a marine ship, but pirates are too risky!” Mom’s words came out in a rushed hiss.

Dad’s gruff exterior doesn’t waver in the slightest. “Do you think I don’t know that? I don’t like this either, but what else are we supposed to do? We can’t survive here much longer, and there is no telling how long it’ll be before another ship stops here. Or how long it’ll take for that ship to be a “safe” one. I’m going to go speak with them whether you like it or not.”

Mom inhales sharply and drops her head down as her fingers drum on her gaunt waist. She exhales softly, “I know we can’t afford to wait… but there is a lot worse they could do beyond telling us no.”

Dad’s expression finally softened. “I’m aware… I promise that I’m not trying to be thoughtless about this, but we need to act now. There isn’t enough food on this island to feed even one person properly, much less all of us. Our child deserves to have a better life than this.”

“Fine… but I’m coming with you. They might be more sympathetic if we tell them that we have a family at home that is looking for us.”

The wicker basket falls to the ground and rolls away, not that you pay much mind to it as you take off in a sprint. Distantly, you register your name being called out, but you can’t focus on that now as you dart through the once intimidating crowd with one goal in mind.

Mom crouches down and gently cups your face as she speaks in that comforting, soft way she always does with you, “We’re going to be right back, but you need to stay right here until we come back for you, okay?”

Your lips purse, and you anxiously dig your heels into the dirt, “Why are you guys going if it’s so dangerous?”

“Sometimes you need to take risks in life, even when it feels scary.” Dad hazards a glance your way while loading his gun. You aren’t sure why he’s doing that when he isn’t planning on going hunting.

“Can I come? I want to take a risk, too.”

“No.”

Both mom and dad speak at the same time in an equally harsh tone, one exclusively saved for when you do something that could have hurt you or them. You shrink back and frown.

“We’ll be back before you know it, just stay in the treehouse. Please.” Mom kisses your forehead and stands up. “I love you. We’ll be back. I promise.”

A sharp turn nearly makes you fall on your face, but you catch yourself on your hands and push yourself back up. You run as fast as your legs will carry you as you close the distance between you and the ship.

It comes into view, and you spot several people walking off of it. You know them. You can never forget them. Especially not the one with a ratty black mane of hair on his head and face. An eyepatch covers his left eye now, but it isn’t enough to fool you. 

As you quietly creep through the brush, you hear a commotion on the beach. You rush forward until you can see the shoreline. Mom and dad are there, backing away slowly as a large group encroaches on them.

“You want me to give you lot a ride? Does this look like a cruise ship to you? Do you have any idea who I am?” The man with dark hair stalks towards them, looking amused, but also another thing that you couldn’t place. His eyes made you feel nervous despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at you.

“We won’t be freeloaders! We’ll work for our passage! Please, sir, we’re desperate! We have a family at home, please let us get back home to them!” Mom was clutching dad’s arm. Her head swiveled as she saw all of the pirates surrounding them.

The man let out a bark of laughter, “From the looks of you two, they probably already think you’re dead. But, since I’m so nice, I can tell them as much if you tell me where they are. After we’re done here with you two, of course.”

Mom and dad’s faces go pale. “Run!” Dad pushes mom away just as a pirate lunges at them. Dad punches him, then another as mom sprints away.

The knife strapped to your side is ripped free from its confines. You’ll have to thank Ace later for sharpening it for you. Your feet pound against the wood of the docks as you gain on your target. You raise the dagger and get ready to leap at him.

Just as you do, he turns and sees you, and then arms lock around you from behind, yanking you up and back.

Several men rush past dad, chasing mom. One of them, the one that had been speaking, grabs her by her hair, and throws her to the ground. She screams and fights to get her hair free, “Please don’t do this! Please! We’ll leave!”

“Get away from her!” Dad’s voice came out in an enraged bellow. He knocks down the last pirate he was fighting and rips the rifle from his back. He aims it at the pirate attacking mom, and then there’s a loud BANG.

But not from his gun. All you can do is stare powerlessly in horror. Where his head once was is nothing but a bloodied stump. His body sways, then crashes to the ground.

(Y/N), stop! What has gotten into you?!” Thatch’s voice is right behind you as he struggles to keep his hold on you. You thrash wildly as a series of raw screams tear out of your throat. Ace is holding onto your dominant hand and trying to pry the dagger out of it to no avail.

“What’s with that damned brat of yours?” The dark haired man stepped closer, looking almost bored. “They just tried to kill me. I’ve ended lives over far less.”

“C-Captain! Those are Whitebeard’s pirates. Just let it go.” A smaller man puts himself between you and the captain.

“I know who they are, but I think that I deserve an apology at the very least.”

“Capt-” The man is harshly shoved aside by the captain who is now even closer, only adding to your rage.

“You killed them! They just wanted help, and you killed them!” The accusation shreds your throat as you scream it. All of the hands touching you go stiff at your voice.

Mom shrieks dad’s name and begins to sob and fight harder. The man lifts her off the ground by her hair and throws her away. As she’s laying on her back and struggling to breathe, her terrified eyes meet yours.

“Killed who? You’re going to have to be way more specific, kid.”

Just as quickly as mom sees you, she looks away. She frantically looks around as she pushes herself back, then looks up and starts screaming at the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Get away!”

“That isn’t going to happen, sweetheart. We aren’t going anywhere until we’re done.”

“I saw it!” You don’t answer his question. You can’t.

Mom takes him off guard when she abruptly lunges at him. She unsheathes her hunting knife and swings it at his face. He stumbles and falls, and she goes down with him and keeps stabbing, all while screaming “get away” over and over again.

“I saw it!”

The other pirates throw mom off of him, descending on her like a pack of wild animals.

“I saw it!”

A club slams into the side of mom’s face, sending out a spray of blood and teeth.

“I saw it!”

A foot rams into mom’s stomach, forcing more blood out of her mouth.

“I saw it!”

A sword is stabbed into mom’s leg, keeping her in place. 

“I saw it!”

The dark haired man finally gets to his feet and marches over to mom’s battered, bleeding body and draws his gun. You can’t take it anymore. You turn and run. You run as fast and hard as you can as mom’s screams come to an abrupt end following a gunshot.

“I- I- I-” All words and thoughts fail you. Your body goes limp as loud, painful sobs tear out of you. Your dagger- mom’s dagger- falls and embeds itself into the wood of the dock.

What was wrong with you? He was right there. He was right in front of you, but you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t will your body to do anything but cry. The wet heat of your tears feels completely alien to you. You haven’t cried since that day. You forgot what it was like. 

“Hold on,” the captain stares hard at the dagger, “I know that knife! That belonged to the bitch that took my eye!” He laughs, and it makes you feel just as sick as it did the last time you heard it, “I should have known their story was a load of shit! Of course that family they were crying about was actually on the island. I wish I would have put that together before, because then I could have-”

In an instant, you see Izou standing next to the captain. A single flintlock pistol is raised, pointing right at the captain’s head. You see his finger tightening around the trigger, then everything goes black as a hand clamps over your eyes.

A deafening gunshot rings out, enforcing a hush over the crowd. After a beat of silence, a shaky voice calls out, “Captain! You! You’re going to-” Another gunshot. Panic breaks out on the docks, you can hear people running and screaming. You don’t react to any of it, you just hang limply in the air. Your tears have run dry. Now you’re just numb.

“Thatch… take them back to the Moby Dick. We can handle this.” Marco is speaking in a tone barely above a whisper. 

You can hear Thatch start to argue, but then he stops with a sigh, “Yeah, you’re right.”

As he begins to walk away, he shifts your limp body in his arms until you’re facing him. Your face is pressed firmly into his shoulder, still preventing you from being able to see any of what was happening around you. Both of your hands grasp his coat tightly.

Time passes elusively. The amount of time it took for you to get to the ship felt unclear. It could have been minutes or hours. You have no idea. Much louder, heavier footsteps snap you out of your trance, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to turn to look.

“What’s going on?” Ah. It’s Whitebeard. Makes sense, you suppose. 

It takes Thatch a moment to find the right words. “We… found out why the kid hates pirates so much.”

“I see. Do you want me to take (Y/N) back onto the ship for you?” The question makes you tense and clutch Thatch’s clothing even tighter. You don’t know why. You can’t understand anything right now. 

“No… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I should stay with them.” Thatch matches your strength with ease as he all but cradles you.

Whitebeard hums quietly, “Good. You’re doing the right thing.” A loud explosion echoes from a ways away, making you flinch. “I better go check on them. Make sure Ace doesn’t burn down the whole dock.”

Everything after this is a blur. Things are happening around you, and all you can do is go with the motion. What you do know is that you’re in the kitchen with Thatch, and that the contents of the warm mug in your hands is milk with honey. A favorite of yours. You’re pressed against Thatch’s legs as you sip at it.

Generally, you sit with the rocks that once marked your parents graves when you feel upset. Both had been brought onto the ship when you were taken from the island, something that you were begrudgingly grateful for. Yet here you are, choosing to stay with Thatch rather than going to them.

You loved mom and dad. They sacrificed everything for you. Clothes, water, food, their time and energy. Eventually their lives. 

But those rocks weren’t your parents. They couldn’t hug you. They couldn’t kiss your head and tell you that everything would be alright. 

They couldn’t make you milk with honey just the way you like it.

But Thatch could. He could do all of that and more. As if knowing that you were thinking of him, Thatch took a brief break from preparing food to gently pat your head, an action that you had found annoying up until this very moment. How strange. You don’t get it.

The door to the kitchen opens, and Ace walks in. Usually he enters rooms loudly and without a care in the world, but there’s an undeniable caution to his actions. He smiles warmly as he slowly approaches you.

“Hey. You feeling better now?”

You just stare at him blankly.

“Yeah. Figured as much.” Ace gets closer and pulls some rag out of his bag. “We got those pirates taken care of for you. You don’t ever have to worry about them again. There’s just one thing left to get rid of.”

Ace unfurls the rag, revealing it to actually be the flag from the pirate ship. He holds it out to you with one hand, then snaps the fingers of his other hand, creating a small flame. “Do you want to do the honors?”

It takes your foggy mind a moment to figure out what he means, but when it does catch up, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Shifting the mug to one hand, you dig out a lighter from one of your pockets, flick it on, then hold it out to the flag.

You watch it burn to ash, leaving no trace of its history in its wake.

Tag list (first time doing one, sorry to anyone I missed): @epochal-oracle @one-piecelover @mo-on-lotus @dreamland08 @nightreverie @ashortdork @lordchippie @lucyrose9820 @daniissocool5 @star666fox @ladydoe8

[wandixx]

No idea how I didn't find it sooner, but damn if I don't love this take

so i jus thought of smth. . .

Santa canonically exists in the DC universe right?

and often times the DC and DP(Danny Phantom) universes tend to get mushed together

and everyone whos watched DP KNOWS the Fenton parents have a HUGE fight every Christmas on whether or not Santas real right?

doesnt that mean that when these 2 universes get meshed together Jack Fenton is actually correct about Santa bein real?

ofc Santa isnt a ghost, but that means that Jack is legitimately correct that he exists and i wonder how Maddie would feel about that upon(if she ever) finds out.

would she meet Santa herself? and believe that hes jus someone dressed up? she IS a woman of science after all, it should be IMPOSSIBLE for Santa to exist? right?

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 4.1 Belief and Perception

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent.

EP 3.3 And pull the trigger (prev.)

EP. 4.2 Faith and Inhibition (cont.)

Synopsis: A recorded message from the White Rabbit tests your relationship with Dante.

"You have to keep this safe, always. You promise?"

"I promise."

"Vergil, do you promise—"

"I promise!"

...

"I'm not sleepy..."

"You're never sleepy. Okay, what story do you want tonight?"

"Tell me about Dad. Do we get to meet him soon?"

"Alright, I'll tell you a story about Dad. But, after that, you have to go to sleep."

Eva looked hesitant for a moment, but soon smiled at the young Dante.

"Your Dad..."

"Son of Sparda."

Dante woke up with a groan, his head feeling like it's been split in two. It didn't helped that he remembered some childhood memories, those before the incident, further contributing to the unpleasant feeling. "Why does my head feel like this?"

"It's a miracle that you can even feel anything." Enzo beams from his left. The broker congratulated him for still being alive despite half his face still being pure muscle, but immediately lamented that they are prisoners once again, with a dozen other people bound on the floor by vein-like appendages that stretch across the walls. You frowned, placed between the two of them, as he tried to discreetly tell Dante that you've been out of it since you woke up.

"So, you did survive the bomb." An unknown voice calls out to the boy. "By his hand, all things are possible." A grey-haired gentleman in a blue two-piece suit smiles knowingly at Dante, making the other scowl as he tries to recall where he first met the guy.

Dante, proud of himself, smirks. "Aren't you the guy in those mattress commercials?"

"That's the vice president." You interjected, eyes closing off with a resigned sigh.

"Oh." Your brows furrowed. He knows that, he should know that, he's not stupid so why would Dante...

You opened one eye and saw his' stealing glances around your direction, before meeting with yours, looking expectant. Is he... trying to cheer you up? He doesn't even know why you're...

The act itself was stupid that it made you huff in amusement, cracking a small smile despite yourself, and Dante seems to be taking it as a win.

The sound of heavy footsteps cuts through your small reverie. "You're awake." The rough voice of the Red Demon scraped in the silence as he grinned down at all the hostages with Dante's sword in tow. His brother trails behind him, relatively calmer, holding up a jewel case. "The White Rabbit left you a message."

Perhaps emboldened by your initial reaction, Dante's mouth kept running with a cocky smirk. "Remind me again who's the Human Torch knockoff and the leaf blower?" You gaped at his brazenness, dumbfounded by the sheer audacity, but who were you to be surprised? This is Dante we're talking about.

It did get him the reaction he wanted, getting his sword pointed at him as the Red Demon seethes. "You sure you want to be insulting us right now?" It's a bit disappointing that they are this easy to rile up, are demons that simple-minded or is it just these two? You look away with a shrug, joining in the mess, "It isn't much of an insult, really." Dante snickers along with you at that.

Before the demon could lose control, his brother gently reminds him of their objective, making the former huff. As the two of them padded to the DVD player, bickering over the correct way to insert a CD, the vice president turned to Dante. "Have you considered what I told you?"

Both you and Dante raise a brow from his question, with the latter glaring as he remembers what Baines said over the speaker a few hours ago. "You mean what you said about my soul being dirty?"

"I said that God may yet redeem you, regardless of your origins."

"Surely you see how he must have a plan for you."

"To bring you back from the brink of death."

You leaned back to the wall, knowing exactly the kind of person the Vice President is: the delusional and dangerous kind, one that will do anything to reach their goal once they laid their eyes on it, regardless of repercussions. He's dead set on trying to get Dante to join his side, regardless of the latter's feelings, all for the name of God. To think this is a leader of America and of DARKCOM... The thought gives you a headache.

Their conversation soon fades to the background, with you not wanting to hear any of it in lieu of your own sanity, as there are bigger problems to deal with than listening to some religious lunatic who has too much power in their hands. Everything's been a mess for the past few hours. This is extremely unlike the kind of situations you previously found yourselves in, and you're supposed to be the person to have a backup plan to save your asses. Now, you're reduced to a helpless civilian who got caught twice due to your own foolishness.

If only your emotions didn't get the better of you that night. If only you didn't jump off the vehicle's roof a few hours earlier. You wouldn't be caught by Lady Arkham. Dante's neck wouldn't have exploded. There won't be any hostages on the plane right now. You were supposed to think ahead, know everything, have the upper hand, but no, you're useless. It's pathetic, but you kept thinking of all the possible scenarios should you have kept your cool.

"This is all my fault."

Enzo tutted at your whisper, scooting closer with a serious expression. "You take that back right now."

Your eyes turned to him first before your head did, shocked and curious, as you've never seen him look like this. Despite his binds, Enzo somehow looks like a stern father. "I know you became like this because you don't want to get hurt again, but you can't possibly have foreseen this much."

His eyes softened as his usual lighthearted expression returned. "Sometimes, you just need to let go and have faith that it all works out."

Your face contrasts his, loss for words from processing his statement. Blind faith? In this age? You need to consider everything to even do something! Else, everything will fall apart and you're left wondering what you did wrong, as you're surrounded by the consequences of your actions. How can he confidently say that like it's nothing? No, looking at him now, he...

"Is that how you survived these kinds of situations before?" You smiled and released a weak laugh. What the hell, sure. Letting loose might not be that bad after all.

Your response seems to satisfy your adoptive father, as he beams. "Heh! Give your old man some credit! I've been in this business long before you surpassed me!" Right, despite his disposition, Enzo's far more experienced than you. ...yeah, despite his personality. "Thanks, Da—"

"Got it!" Agni, the Red Demon, exclaims, as the lone television buzzed to life. On the screen, the White Rabbit appears, looking maniac as usual. "Welcome aboard Air Force Two!"

"We ask that you please pay attention to the screen for an important safety announcement."

"You're all going to die."

Every single hostage, except for those who knew about the world of demons, thrashed around in panic, whimpering for help against their gags. You narrowed your eyes. How will you get killed? Having those two demons kill you all is too much work for an aircraft to get hijacked. If you were meant to die, they could've just picked a random location. A plane crash isn't out of the question, surely the demons could survive that. But Dante's here and being their target, there should be something else in this.

"That is until the son of Sparda can save you."

There it is. The catch. Why this situation? Revenge to Sparda? Or does it have something to do with him being a half-demon? What is it? Think...!

The White Rabbit's words echo at the back of your mind.

He wants Dante to unleash something.

But what? ...His demon self?

Enzo's shrill voice of shock made you flinch, cutting your train of thought. "Son of a what?!"

"God, and just when I started respecting you..." You groaned and leaned your head back.

The White Rabbit's recorded video continues, taunting Dante about his origins and his denial despite the obvious. "Would just any hybrid, the child of some brute and a frail sapien, be able to do the things you can do?" At those words, Dante's face slowly starts to heal back, cementing the fact that his abilities are beyond comprehension. The White Rabbit then revealed the complete pendant, each halves fitting perfectly despite the contrasting colors, taunting Dante with his family’s heirlooms."Why did half of the amulet that Sparda used to seal the rift between realms end up as a piece of your jewelry?" The heirlooms that his mom gave him. The heirlooms that were given to him and Vergil. The only thing that was left of Eva, wrapped around the Rabbit’s neck like he has any right to it.

"The deadbeat father you never met, who abandoned your family without a thought, was the noble and exalted demon knight Sparda."

Dante scoffed. "Right, Sparda. Can you believe this guy?" Nudging you, he expects a similar reaction, but you only pursed your lips. His expression faltered upon that. The silence is enough for the both of you to understand what that meant. The White Rabbit continued after the pause, seemingly knowing that Dante would be replying to his message. He kept ranting on about Dante’s denial and aversion to the truth, someone who’s willing to delude himself and live a lie, rather than accept and take responsibility for his father’s actions. 

"As for that little partner of yours,” You perked up from that, Dante too, as he glared at the video. “Dressed up in white and acting as your inhibitor... are they your replacement brother?" The Rabbit taunts him for being delusional to the point of unconsciously making you fill the role of Vergil in Dante’s “little family”. Needless to say, Dante’s enraged, making him lunge forward, only for the restraints to tighten up around him and pulse with a faint light, seeping out his energy. 

Were you… a replacement for Vergil? Did Dante really think of you like that? But, looking at how much he wants to defend you, you don’t reckon to believe the Rabbit’s words. The recording continued, belittling both Dante and his father; and while you won’t consider the earlier statements to be true, you’re also guilty of using Dante as a “replacement” for your own. 

You two were just lonely children looking for a home on one another, after all.

A clap from the White Rabbit changes the mood of the video like a switch, as his voice becomes chipper, chuckling while he adjusts his collar. “Sorry. Got off a tangent there.”

"The point is, the plane you're on is rigged with explosives, which my men will detonate momentarily." Rudra, the Blue demon, steps forward with a detonator in hand. The sight further frightens the hostages, with some of them now hysterically crying through their binds. “But not to worry, as Sparda’s son, it should be simple for Dante to save you all.”

All eyes landed on the young man, both fearful and expectant, making Dante grin nervously from the pressure.

"I'd bet on it."

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye @that-dumb-bitch @sleepykittycx @sidewalkenforcer @devil-might-sob @sophrickingfunny

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 9.1 | full chapter without breaks on AO3

content warning: lots of music links, ROADTRIP!!, some hurt/comfort at the beginning, a damn near comedy if I must say so myself, Spanish parts (if wrong, please correct me), lots of fluff, Buc-ee's shenanigans (I love that store), Miguel drives a Range Rover (hot, I know. Tyler got that MUNYUN), some jealous Miguel (MY FAVORITE), a hint of jealous reader 🫨 (she has a storm coming lol), simp Miguel if I'm being honest, 18+ so MNDI, male masturbation, wet wet fantasies, both reader and Miguel are h word for each other

word count: 7.1k, damn near proofread (this is only one part of the behemoth)

I did some research on MLE, yachts, superyachts, dolphins, and water activities for this chapter. 🤠 Hopefully, it shows! The yacht size I imagined is somewhere in between a regular yacht and a superyacht/megayacht. I built a Range Rover just for GR!Miguel you guys. (thanks to my irl besties and @slushycoookie once again 🥰)

Prev | Next (Part 9.2) ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who comes back home after nearly a week of bliss with you. He floated all the way home from dropping you off with Tyler’s people.

He made them wait much longer than they needed to when he decided to makeout with you next to the black Suburban. 

Only a few more weeks before he could see you again. 

GymRat!Miguel who is met with his mom sitting on the couch with just the tv glowing on her. 

His steps were too heavy to sneak past her, so he just sighed and settled down on one of the plush chairs. 

“I see you’re home,” she says. Her eyes don’t move from the Golden Girls episode playing softly. 

“Sí, mamá.”

“How come you didn’t tell me where you went?”

“Gabriel told you where I was. I’m sure you asked him.” Miguel was tired already. 

“He did, pero eso no fue lo que te pregunté.” (but that’s not what I asked you)

“Ma-”

“Mijo.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“And you’ve sat so far away. Like I’m going to hurt you. Miguel, I asked you to come home. You didn’t respond. You didn’t call. You didn’t even speak to me when you came back a few days ago.”

Miguel stared at her face, willing himself not to get emotional over this. 

“I acknowledge that I should have let you know where I was. I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t want to say something I would regret.”

Conchata finally turned to look at Miguel. Her first-born. The life given to her after so much turmoil. 

She could still see the little boy that would cry at the drop of a hat. She could still see the little boy that would dry up his tears if Gabriel started to cry with him, just to comfort him. The little boy with so much room in his heart. 

She can see him now, face ridden with sadness. A face that she knew too well. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, mijo.”

“Well, you did. Again. I’m used to it. This isn’t a new feeling. What is new, is you acting like this towards someone else close to me.”

“I-”

“Let me finish, ma, please. You’ve never been a parent that cares about how I’ve felt in regards to anything. You have made decisions for me without a second thought without ever considering how I might feel. You’ve also never been the type of person who hurts someone else for no reason. I’m sorry I’m not with someone you picked, but I’m not sorry for loving her. She is everything to me. If I were to fall, there’s no doubt in my mind that she would be there to build me back up. She’d probably even break my fall if I couldn’t stop her.” 

Miguel stopped to look up, willing himself not to cry. 

“What you said to her brought something out that she hasn’t felt in a while. You broke her in a way that I promised myself I never would. I wanted to present her to my family in a positive light, to show her off. I didn’t expect you to be ecstatic about her, but I did hope that you could at least open your heart up once you met her.”

He looked off, tears escaping from his eyes. You’re in a better position now, but he won’t know if that donner will creep back up on you, making you hate yourself for something that’s not your fault. He remembered the pain in your voice, how kept it in until you were with him and away from the manor. He hated it. 

“But instead, she was met with two people who paid her no respect. Two people that brought her turmoil. I expected Kron to be horrible, look at how he talked to you, but not you. You were supposed to be better. You didn’t see how much you hurt her, I did. It’s like we prepped for nothing but a shitshow and I should have followed my gut and kept her to myself a little longer.”

Miguel sniffed, wiping at his nose in hopes that it would stop the urge to cry. 

Conchata let the silence rest. Nothing but the TV and her son’s sniffles filled the room. 

“I’m sorry, Miguel.”

Miguel turned back. Shocked that she didn’t put up much of a fight. 

“I just,” she paused. “There’s no excuse for how I treated her. She didn’t deserve it and if I could go back and change my behavior, I would. I think that I was just overwhelmed. Upset because my baby is growing up. He’s moving on and I can’t hold him in my hands anymore. I don’t tuck him in anymore. I don’t have to check under his bed for monsters. He doesn’t need me to do anything. So this shift is hurting me, mijo, and I took it out on the wrong people. For that, I’m so sorry.”

Conchata was a hard-cased woman. She stuck with her opinions, even if they were blatantly wrong. She was proud and vocal. She never let people see her crack or fall under pressure. So, seeing her like this, begging for Miguel to understand her, was a rare moment for Miguel. 

“Ma, me growing up doesn’t stop me from being your son. I’m still here. I’ll still rely on you, but I want you to have a break too. You have to let me grow. I won’t live here forever, but that doesn’t mean I won’t come back to you. I’m glad you were able to express this to me, I just wish you could have said so sooner.”

“Lo siento, mijo.”

Miguel got up to get closer to her. He wrapped her up in his arms, too easy to forgive her. “It’s ok.”

He leans back and kisses her forehead, heart mending by the smallest of stitches. “You still have to apologize to my girlfriend, though.”

“I will when I see her again.”

“And we need to go to therapy.”

“George has already told me.”

“And I want you to make me some ceviche. And tamales.”

“Bueno.”

“And tres leches.” 

She sighed, but squeezed him tighter. “Don’t curse in front of me again, and I’ll consider it.”

“Gracias, mamá.”

“De nada, mijo.”

GymRat!Miguel who goes to sleep with his body feeling a lot lighter. The weight of his relationship with his mom lifted a little off his shoulders.

GymRat!Miguel who has two grand master plans that he’s been setting out for months: eating you out and making your first time together special. 

He’s been overthinking every detail like a maniac. The peaches from the fruit bowl have been disappearing to his room for research purposes only- and a snack of course. 

He once ended up on the girl side of Tik Tok where they complain about everything guys get wrong when pleasuring them. He had been thoroughly reading the comments and taking notes here and there. He didn’t really need the tip about making noise though, he already does that just thinking about you. So many times has he had to stuff his mouth when jerking off. 

He also had a few tabs open in incognito mode. That research is only done in the deep of the night. 

Right now, he’s sitting at his desk reading some article about listening to your partner’s body and his mind can’t help but to wander off. Will you grip your thighs around him? He hopes so. He could die that way. Will you be vocal? Will you tell him if it’s too much? Will you guide his head and pull his hair? 

That last question has him gripping his sweats in anticipation. No doubt when you scratched at his back in the hotel room, he was reeling from the sensation. It was like a reward for him whenever you feel so good, you’re too unaware of what you’re doing to him physically. Too lost in bliss to register the marks and pain you’re leaving on him. You just want him to give you more. 

Miguel drops his pen and pushes the heel of his palm on his growing bulge. 

“Fuck.” Every time about an hour or so into researching, his head is full of you. He imagines what it’ll be like to finally taste you, to be inside you. 

He remembered how wet you got with just a little rubbing. Your body was so responsive to his movements and he couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if you guys upped the foreplay. 

Miguel leaned back in his chair, arm over his head. He dropped his hand in his sweats hand gripping at the base of his erection, exhaling deep as he gave it a few pumps. 

Your hands on his chest. Your arms around his neck. Your nails scraping his back. Your thighs wrapping around his waist. Your breath on his lips. 

You opening up for him. You dripping down his fingers, down his legs, down his face. You screaming out his name loud enough for the entire neighborhood to file a complaint. You in whatever position he puts you in. He could hold you up. Maybe have your legs in the air or stretched out on the bed. He could have you grabbing for the sheets, the headboard, him. His head in your chest, in your pussy, in your ass. 

Pre-cum spilled onto his stomach, rolling down his shaft. Would you let him go that far?

He doesn’t know what’s worse, the cold showers and teeth-marked arms at the beginning of the relationship or his constant daydreams of your body connecting with his that kept occurring regularly. 

Maybe you felt the same way too. That was a new thought. 

Do you wonder about your first time together? Were you just as excited as him? Do you get wet at the thought of him inside of you? Do you have to stop everything and find pleasure like he does? Were your fingers enough or did you need more?

Miguel continued to move his hand up and down, squeezing occasionally to mimic what you might feel like. 

He’s groaning into his elbow, hips lifting from his desk chair. 

He could almost hear your voice in his ear. Begging, praising, crying out, stuttering. 

GymRat!Miguel who cums as Gabriel slams through the door. In a matter of 15 seconds, Miguel covers his drenched chest, shoves his sensitive dick back down, and grabs napkins to try to wipe away at his hand. 

Nevermind his shirt is now ruined. 

“What the fuck are you looking at and why is this picture showing a seductive pomegranate?”

“Why the fuck are you opening my door without knocking?”

“I did knock! I did our special knock plus a freestyle! I thought you were dead, Miguelito.”

Miguel’s heart felt a little tug despite its rapid tempo, “’M not dead, Gabri. Just busy. I didn’t hear you.”

Gabriel snickered when he got closer to look at his laptop. “I can see why. These tabs are a dead giveaway.” 

Gabriel reached over to stare at Miguel’s notebook. 

“These are some good tips! You shouldn’t expect her to taste like sweets, though.”

Nothing in his notes indicated that, but Miguel wanted to be offended for you anyway. 

Miguel gave Gabriel a hard side eye, mouth set deeply down. 

“I really wish you would get out of my room.”

“Oo, you should buy a rose. Dana loves that thing.”

“I don’t want to hear about whatever freaky shit you and Dana get up to, Gabriel.”

“You’ve caught me in more embarrassing situations, I’m just trying to lighten the mood! I also suggest those candy panties-”

“I’m not putting candy on- Gabriel. Can you please stop talking to me?”

“Miguel, this stuff is important!”

“¿Por qué eres así?” Miguel mumbled. “Ok, yeah. I get it. But you can chat to me about this after I’ve switched shirts.” (Why are you like this?)

“Fine, I’ll come back. Ten minutes. Then we must have a healthy chat about how to have fun safely.”

Gabriel skipped back to the door singing Candy loud enough to be heard as he went back to his own room. 

“Strawberry! Raspberry! All those good things! Violets and gumdrops that’s what you’re saying to me, me, me.”

A black hole would be nice to save himself from this situation. 

GymRat!Miguel who jumps out of his bed the day of the “Yacht Weekend.” Gabriel is dead set on calling it the “Yachty Pawty” and Miguel thinks that’s unbelievably stupid. 

GymRat!Miguel who has to go and pull Gabriel out of his bed to get him to get ready, his body stretching like a ferret. He’s never been a morning person. It’s like his brain didn’t start computing until noon. 

GymRat!Miguel who jogs around the neighborhood to kill time. The weather is a lot cooler in the morning plus it gives Gabriel time to come to reality. He waves to the son of one of his neighbors who gawks at him as he passes by. 

Were his shorts giving away too much again? He didn’t feel a draft. 

He looked down at his crotch. All good. 

GymRat!Miguel who calls you while he stops to take a water break. 

“Amor!” His voice is bright and his smile is radiant, watching as you squint at the screen.

Your cheek is squished against the pillow and you’re wrapped up in your covers. 

“Hey, Miggy. It’s so bright there.”

Your voice was scratchy, a sign of how deep in sleep you were. You were so fucking cute. 

“Are you running?”

He placed his phone on a nearby bench so he could stretch. “Yeah, I’m taking a break.”

He went into a deep lunge, stretching his body low to the ground. 

You went quiet for so long, Miguel thought the call dropped. 

“Baby? Did you go back to sleep?” Miguel asked.

“No, I’m still here. Those pants are,” you started to shuffle your phone. “Really short.”

“Really?” Miguel stood up and looked down at his pants. They did cut off high up his thighs, but they were good for running. Plus, he got hot easily, so he needed as much wind on his skin as possible. “They’re comfy.”

“Mm hm. Can you turn around for me?”

Miguel turned, confused but willing. 

“Got it. Thank you, my muscle bear!”

“What did you just do?”

“Took pictures of your ass. It looks great. I’m gonna hold it real good later.”

Miguel laughed and grabbed his phone. 

“Can I hold yours, too?” He wanted to do way more than hold it. 

You smile sleepily at the camera. “I’ll think about it.”

GymRat!Miguel who lets you stay on the phone while he runs back to the house. 

“You’re just going to hear the wind and me breathing for a few minutes.”

“And I’m fine with that! It’s like boyfriend ASMR. Peaceful.”

GymRat!Miguel who ruffles Gabriel’s hair when he gets back home. He’s staring at the wall and shoveling cereal in his mouth at the slowest pace known to man. 

“Buenos días, hermanito!” (Good morning, little brother)

“Mm.”

GymRat!Miguel who takes a cold shower to cool off for once and not because he’s having explicit thoughts of you. 

GymRat!Miguel who chugs down a protein smoothie while he waits for Gabriel to come downstairs. 

GymRat!Miguel who answers the door to Dana. She’s got some shades on and a purse with the same texture as a croc. 

She peers over her shades. “You’re looking put together!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re trying to impress your girl! What do you have planned? A dinner on the horizon? A spa date? Oh! No! Another shopping spree?l

Yes. No, but he should arrange that. And absolutely not. He’s not Tyler. 

“No,” Miguel squints. “But how can you tell?”

“You’re easy to read, big guy. Even when you think about her your eyes turn into hearts. When have you ever thought to wear a button down for a roadtrip to the beach?”

“Touche.”

“I’ll figure out what you’re up to. I have my ways.”

She twirls and runs up to Gabriel’s room, leaving a waft of strong perfume after her. 

With that, Miguel knew it would be at least another 45 minutes before he could get on the road. 

GymRat!Miguel who does his special knock on Gabriel’s door. 

“I’m opening it, so you fiends better have your clothes on.”

He swung the door open to the disheveled couple. Dana with her hair astray and Gabriel breathing eerily hard. 

“Seriously, guys? I need to go by the airport.”

“I was just waking him up!” Dana says with a voice that was much hoarser than it was an hour ago. 

“Well,” Miguel put a hand on his hip in a way that anyone could tell he was Conchata O’Hara’s son. “Are you awake, Gabri?”

Gabriel’s face was as red as a tomato as he shook his head no. 

Miguel pitched his voice higher to mimic his brother. “Ten minutes. And then we can have a conversation on time management and respect. Except it won’t be “safely” because I’m going to hurt you.”

GymRat!Miguel who finally backs out of the driveway in exactly ten minutes. Gabriel is rubbing his arm in the passenger seat with a pout on his face. Dana is grinning from ear to ear. 

GymRat!Miguel who hands Gabriel the aux. He might be a silly boy, but his music taste is immaculate.

GymRat!Miguel who almost has to hurt Gabriel again when he doesn’t want to get out of the passenger seat. 

“Why do I have to move?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not grounds for anything!”

Dana pokes her head over the console. “Gabie. Read the room. He wants to grip on to his girl while he drives with one hand. Show off.” 

GymRat!Miguel who kisses you and grabs your bags at the same time when he sees you. The cars around are loud, honking sporadically. People are walking and running to catch cabs or get to their loved ones. Workers are trying to direct the traffic. 

It all quiets down when he meets your eyes. 

“Hola, mi amor.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him close. “Hello to you too, my love.”

You smile up until he presses his lips against yours. More and more pecks follow after that. 

He holds his nose to yours, completely enraptured by your presence. 

“Oh my god, let’s go!” Gabriel shouts from the car, pressing his palm against the steering wheel. 

“You’re not the one driving, pinche pendejo!”

You giggle and stand on your tippy toes to try and see over Miguel’s shoulder. You’re still too short so you lean sideways. Miguel melts. 

“Just a few more and we’ll be done Gabriel!”

“Fine. For you, I’ll let it slide.”

You stand back up straight and kiss Miguel a little more. 

GymRat!Miguel who does reach over and grip your thigh. If Gabriella and Troy weren’t in the back belting, he’d hike his hand up further. 

“Right now I can hardly breathe!” Gabriel pivots his head towards Dana dramatically, water bottle a faux mic. 

“Oh! You can do it, just know that I believe.” Dana is touching his chest dramatically. 

“Are they always like this?” You ask, laughing a little at their antics. 

Miguel groans in annoyance. “Yes.”

GymRat!Miguel who nearly sprints out the car when he parks by a pump. He’s been riding for a bit and he needs to stretch his legs. 

“Miggy, you want something from the store?” 

You’re standing next to the car, the wind blowing your hair back. Your jacket blows away a little, showing off the tight little outfit you’re sporting. You’re beautiful. 

He wants to break you down in the front seat of his car.

He swallows the thought. “I’ll come in there soon, don’t worry.”

You walk in the giant gas station and head immediately to the Icee machines. For the best possible experience, you should wait until it’s time to go before buying it. 

As you’re walking along the wall wondering what flavor you should get, you feel a tug at your arm. 

You turn to see Dana with some bottles in her hand. 

“I don’t know what he’s planning, but trust me when I say, you should take these.”

You frown as you take the cranberry juice. “Um.”

“I’ve been around those two long enough to know when one of them is up to something. I mean Gabriel hasn’t said anything off, but look at how he’s bopping around the store.”

You turn and look. 

He is indeed bouncing more than usual. He’s so tall that if he puts even more pep in his step, he might just break a hole in the ceiling. 

“Ok,” you turn back to Dana while fighting a laugh. “So they are planning something. What does that have to do with me and cranberry juice?”

“Gabie tries his best to use bro code, but I quite literally suck the information out of him sometimes. He caught Miguel looking at lots of articles about pleasuring his partner. With his mouth. That’s all I know for now.”

Your heart picks up. He was still going on about that?

“That might just be a coincidence.” 

“He’s wearing damn near beach attire with his hair styled. He held onto your thigh for an hour, even when the turns got tough. He stared at you walking into the store even until he couldn’t see you anymore.”

You bit your lip. “Those last two things are standard Miguel behavior.”

Dana huffs and spins you around. 

Across the store, you could see Miguel and Gabriel huddled over something. Miguel with his eyes focused and Gabriel animatedly explaining something. Every once in a while, Miguel would nod and roll his eyes up as if he was mentally checking on something. 

You sigh and turn back around. 

“Do they sell pineapples too?”

GymRat!Miguel who looms over you while you and Dana are looking at some cakes. You look up at him, pressing your head against his chest. 

Miguel kissed your forehead when you beamed at him. 

He looked over to Gabriel who was also crowding Dana and shouted, “¡Vamos!”

In a matter of seconds, Miguel had lifted you and brought you to the middle of the store where the workers were cooking up fresh meat. 

You squeal in shock and laugh on the way over. Miguel’s not even struggling. 

Gabriel on the other hand huffs as he places Dana down. 

“You need to work on that, babe.”

“I can lift you when I want to!” Gabriel replies, petulant. 

“For like one minute maybe. Why don’t you start working out with Miguel?”

“No thanks.” They both said in unison, almost carbon copies of each other. 

Really, if Miguel didn’t work out, or if Gabriel did for about a year, they could definitely play off as twins. Only subtle things separating them, like Gabriel’s freckles, softer face, and slightly shorter height and Miguel’s less curly hair, thicker eyebrows, and deeper voice. 

In your eyes, their bond was precious. You wondered what their baby pictures looked like. 

“You guys are so cute,” you say, reaching up to squeeze both of their cheeks. 

They both melt the same way in your hands. Miguel’s face is only a little bit hotter against your palm. 

GymRat!Miguel who presses up against you while you both check out. You stay nonchalant and talk to the cashier like normal, but you could feel Miguel’s heartbeat through your thin romper. 

Every breath he took molded on your skin, his chest rising and falling against your head. 

He kept steady hands on your hips and waist, only moving them to pay for your snacks. 

The cashier would take not-so-subtle breaks to stare up at him, face getting redder after each glance. 

You could only think “me too, girl.”

He really did look good today. His shirt was open a little lower than normal, his shorts loose but tightening around his thighs with every step he took. His hair was slicked back with a few strands falling loose and shades sat perfectly on top of his head. A chain danced around his neck, the color glowing on his pretty skin. He was tanner than usual, the sun making him glow after so many morning runs. 

To top it off he smelled really good. You wanted to lick him. 

From how slow the cashier was moving, you knew she was ready to take a lick too. 

You took moments like this in stride. Especially when Miguel was pressed so hard against you, you could feel his dick at the small of your back. 

Still, when people still tried to hit on your boyfriend or gawked at him even when you caught them, it was hard not feel frustrated about others thinking he can be taken from you. Or just ignoring you. 

More often than not, Miguel would bring you back down to earth with some action to let others know that he’s taken. 

Today, it was a kiss to your neck and a smack to your ass followed by his hand rubbing circles in the same spot. 

He grabbed the bags in one hand and your hip in the other. 

You looked back to the cashier scanning the next customer far more aggressively than before.  

GymRat!Miguel who eats half of his sandwich before starting the car back up. 

You still place the other half in front of his mouth, feeding him occasionally. 

He just smiles before and after each bite. Giddy with attention. You wipe his mouth to stop sauce from spilling from his shirt. 

Miguel almost turns the car into turbo drive. 

GymRat!Miguel who finally makes it to the beach an hour or so later. It’s late Thursday afternoon, so the sun is still shining bright. 

Gabriel is excited to finally be free from the tight back seat so he uses the opportunity to blast music from Miguel’s stereo. 

“C’mon, Dana! Dance with me,” Gabriel said, pulling her out of the back seat and bringing her to the front of the var. “Let’s have a twerk-off.”

You can’t stop the laugh that spills out of your mouth. You couldn’t imagine either of them shaking anything. 

“I can not twerk and you know it!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t shake. Don’t be shy now!”

You and Miguel get out of the car to stretch, Miguel watching the two over the hood of the car, unphased. 

Gabriel turns to you with a glint in his eyes. “Can you twerk?”

You were ready to shake your ass on a yacht after some liquid courage, but you didn’t mind a little dancing beforehand. 

You hurried to the front before the song was over and put your hands on the hood. You bend over with an arch in your back and move your ass to the beat of the song. 

You hear Gabriel shout, “Oh shit! Go, go, go!”

Dana sprints, nearly bulldozing Gabriel to stand behind you and catch it. You laugh at the two and bend even deeper, encouraged by their cheers. 

GymRat!Miguel whose eyes nearly pop out of his head when you bend over. 

When did you learn how to do that?

He’s stunned for a second until he reaches inside the car and turns the radio off. He’s going to kill Gabriel. 

Miguel hurries to the front and picks Dana up by her armpits to move her aside. “You guys are wasting my gas and neither you or you are CashApping me shit.”

He straightens you up and pulls your risen romper back over your ass. He stands behind you like a bodyguard, arms crossed and frown deepening. 

“I don’t know what you think we’re going to be doing on this yacht, but all of my girls are throwing it back. You need to prepare yourself, Mig.” Dana scoffs, mostly offended that Miguel just removed her from a dream spot. 

“Yeah, Mig. Be mindful of why you were invited to the function,” Gabriel turned his nose up and wrapped his arm around Dana. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, m’lady.”

Gabriel bowed to you and you curtsied back with a fake dress. The two of them walked like royalty to the trunk, gathering their bags. 

GymRat!Miguel who stuttered trying to explain himself when you turned to him. 

“Is it going to be a problem for you that I’m dancing with others?”

“No!” he said way too fast. 

You gave him a look with your eyebrow raised. 

“You just,” he paused. His voice got quieter as he played with the strap of your romper. “You never danced on me before.”

He had a pout on his face, mouth turned like a duck. 

“Oh my god, Miguel. I can dance on you if you would like. You just have to ask.” He was so cute. You’ve never seen him get that jealous before. 

You kind of want to play with him some more. 

“Can you dance on me later?” he asks, not daring to meet your eyes. 

“Of course.”

You giggle as you kiss his cheek. His pout slowly disappearing from his face. 

GymRat!Miguel who is greeted by the enthusiastic captain with a shake that moves his entire arm. He’s a jolly little fellow, cheeks rosy and his mustache curled on the ends. He was also strangely stocky. He reminded Miguel of Santa Claus if he took vacations in the Bahamas when he’s not at the North Pole. 

“I take it you’re Mr. Stone’s son, yes?”

“That would be me.”

“Excellent! Excellent. Your father has told me quite a lot about you. You sure do take after his height. My name is Captain Barrett and I’ll be steering the boat for you youngins this weekend. Me and your father go way back. And between you and me, I was better lookin’!”

Miguel chuckles awkwardly, trying to move the conversation along. 

He finally looks past Miguel and sees the three of you standing there. 

“And who might you three be?”

“This is my younger brother, Gabriel. His girlfriend, Dana.” 

“And this is my girlfriend.” Miguel moves by your side and wraps his arm around your shoulders. His tone is full of warmth as he says your name. 

“It’s nice to meet you all. Will you all be in our cabins this weekend?”

“Yeah, this is four of the ten staying on board. The others won’t get here until tomorrow at noon.”

“Is Kron supposed to be joining you all too?”

Miguel stiffens, his grip on your shoulder a little firmer. 

“Not that I know of, no.”

“Perfect! He ruined my other boat and it took me ages to clean it up. Hopefully, you’re nothing like him.” Captain Barrett does a little pleading gesture with his hands. 

“Welp, follow me and I’ll show you on board!”

GymRat!Miguel who is still stunned by the amount of things money can buy when he sees the yacht. He’ll never get used to the life of luxury that Tyler introduces to him. 

“Holy shit,” Gabriel mutters as he stares up at the black and wooden beauty of the deck. Dana elbows in his side, telling him to be polite in front of the captain. 

“Welcome to Black Jack.”

There were crew members there to hand out fancy smoothies and grab everyone’s bags. 

You had seen yachts on some of your old high school classmates’ Insta stories but this was beyond. 

“I’d like to introduce you guys to the crew. They’ll be assisting me to give you youngins a good time.”

Captain Barrett ran down the line and you all greeted every person. Miguel made mental notes of their names. They’ll be getting close with all of the surprises he had planned for you. 

“And this is my son, Blake! He’ll be helping me up in the cockpit.”

Miguel stopped to shake his hand. 

He was like the textbook definition of a pretty frat boy. Tall, but not O’Hara tall, tan, and handsome. He smiled and showed a straight line of teeth, dimples peeking through. 

“Nice to meet you, Miguel. Kron’s really not coming?”

What’s with people asking about that dickhead today?

“Nope. Just us and our friends. If he does come, it’s news to me.” 

Blake went to shake your hand and it was like he started to glow under the sun. His smile went up to his eyes and he mimicked the heartthrobs in the movies Miguel’s cousins watched growing up. 

“And who’s this?”

“My name is-”

“My girlfriend,” Miguel said before you could even finish. 

You looked up at him in shock, laughing it off. “That too, but I have a name.” You respond to Blake and shake his hand. 

Miguel doesn’t like how his eyes scan your body. It was subtle, but he caught it. 

Even as you all finish up greetings, Blake is still making moves towards you. The type of flirting that probably flew over your head, but Miguel has been around enough guys like him to know exactly what it was. 

 “So is this your first time on a boat?” Blake asked you while he guided you guys to your room. 

“No, actually. But it’s definitely my first time on a yacht, especially one this huge.”

Miguel followed behind with Dana and Gabriel.

“Is this your first time on a boat?” Miguel mocked Blake quietly, mouth scrunched up. 

“‘La envidia esta flaca, porque muerde y no come,’” Gabriel replied. “You’re turning green from your neck, bro. He’s just being nice.” (Envy is thin, because it bites and does not eat.)

“No, he’s definitely flirting,” Dana quipped. “He’s not even paying the rest of us any attention.”

“Thank you, Dana. And Gabriel, don’t ever quote a Spaniard to me again.”

“How do you call that flirting? He’s not even-” Gabriel paused as Blake laughed really loud at something that you said with his hand guiding you way too close on your ass. “Ah shit.”

Miguel stomped towards you two, yanking Blake’s hand off of you and replacing it with his. 

“I think we’ve got it from here. You can show those two where they’ll be staying. Thanks,” Miguel nods his head towards Dana and Gabriel with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Right,” Blake responds to him with a blank face. “I’ll see you up on the deck.” Blake winks at you before walking further. 

“Don’t kill him, Miguel,” Dana pats his shoulder as she walks by. 

“You’ve got my permission to hurt him if he touches me one more time though,” you say, snuggling close to Miguel and patting at his chest. 

“So, I’m killing him. Got it.”

GymRat!Miguel who watches you twirl around the VIP suite. 

“Miguel! This is so beautiful! Look at the view.”

“Oh my god! There’s a walk-in closet!”

“There’s a bidet! How’d they fit that and a shower in here?”

Miguel leaned on the doorway, watching you comment on every little thing. 

You made sure to start to spray everything with Lysol, a habit from your mom when traveling. 

While you were in the bathroom, Miguel got out one of his first gifts of the night. 

It was another keychain to add to your collection. He’s been working hard to have this weekend make up for the awful dinner night. 

He placed it on the bed and started to open his bag to grab his pajamas. 

“What’s this?” you ask, coming out to spray the bed. 

“Just a little gift for you.”

“Aw, this is so cute!” Your voice gets higher as you take in the little legos. “They even look like us! When did you get these?”

“I got them made about a week ago. You like them?”

“I love them! Thank you, Miggy.”

GymRat!Miguel who wants to moan when you walk out. 

You guys are going on a double date with Gabriel and Dana at a casual-not-so-casual restaurant farther in the city. That didn’t stop you from getting all dolled up. 

You walk to him on the bed, standing in between his legs. 

“Amor,” Miguel said, rubbing his hands up and down your backside. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you. So do you,” you responded, careful to not run your hands through his hair. It was a comfort for you, but you didn’t want to ruin it. 

Instead, you bent down to kiss him in the quiet of the room. The sun was still out, but a lot dimmer than before. Little patches of sunlight caught Miguel’s eyes. The color was so deeply brown, you swore you saw speckles of red throughout. 

He moved to sit you on his lap, glancing over every detail of your body. 

“You’re making it harder for me to want to leave.”

“It’s funny that you say that. You’ve been walking around like you’re straight out of a beach movie. Chest out and legs for days.”

Miguel blushed and put his head in your chest, bending you back and holding you so you won’t fall. 

“What are you hiding for? It’s true!” you laugh as Miguel seemed to burrow his face deeper. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to call me out.” He was just trying to impress you, per usual. 

GymRat!Miguel who gets nervous on the way to the restaurant. It was one of those immersive experiences with projections on the plates that told stories with the meals. They were pretty cute to Miguel and he figured that all three of you guys would love it. 

The only thing is, he pulled some strings with Tyler to add an extra animation in there. He’s not sure how much that cost, but he’s glad he didn’t have to see the price. 

GymRat!Miguel who side-eyes Gabriel when he just about screams as the little chef walks across the animated place. 

“He’s so tiny!” he whisper-shouts. “So precious!”

By the time the first course comes out Gabriel is fighting tears. 

“Control it, Gabri,” Miguel says, rubbing his back. 

“I’m trying. I really am.”

GymRat!Miguel whose heart blooms when you laugh at one of the scenes. The little chef is squabbling with a giant shrimp and losing the battle. 

GymRat!Miguel whose heart speeds up when the special animation starts up. 

Only the two of your plates are lit up. There’s a river of chocolate that separates the two. From Miguel’s plate, there’s a little version of him that calls to your plate. He watches as your eyes grow when a mini you climbs on top of the plate and yells back. Your character throws him a kiss, sending a pink flutter across the river. The wave of it goes straight to mini Miguel’s heart who in turn, falls backwards dramatically. 

The real you lets out a watery laugh at the scene, eyes looking at Miguel briefly in shock. 

Mini Miguel jumps back up and gets to work, digging around the plate to grab biscoff cookies from the chocolate ocean to make a boat. While he works, your character wanders around the plate cutely, tidying up the area for his arrival. 

When the boat is finished, Mini Miguel uses a giant spoon to steer the boat, singing out brightly the closer he gets to you. The mini you is jumping up and down, cheering him on just like you do in real life. 

Once he gets to the edge of your plate, you lean close to give him a kiss. He climbs from the boat onto the plate and spins you around. You giggle in his hold until he lets you down. 

From there, he starts to use the spoon to drag a chocolate message across the plate. He takes confident steps, spreading the brown syrup across the plate with ease. 

“Tú eres mi luz.” (You are my light.)

When he finishes it, you both sit at the edge of the plate, feeding each other scoops of chocolate from the giant spoon. They both look up at you to wave, the Mini Miguel cheesing extremely hard as he waves both arms. 

The animation fades away in a wave of browns and pinks, the waiters bringing out the actual plates of food. 

The floodgates open when you’re presented with the same chocolate message, a slice of chocolate biscoff cake, and little chocolate decorations of the mini you and Miguel. 

“Oh my god, the spoon is here too,” you say with emotion, picking up a chocolate coated spoon. “Miguel!”

You don't know what to do. You keep fanning your face in hopes to stop the tears from coming out and ruining the light makeup you had on. Dana hands you a pointed napkin and you thank her while holding your head back. 

Gabriel is a mess, faces wet with tears. His cheeks are round as he blows out air to control his breathing. 

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, mi amor,” Miguel’s face is ridden with worry as he reaches across the table to grab your hand. He looks to Gabriel and sighs, “You either, hermanito.” (little brother)

“I’m good. I gotta just,” Gabriel waves a hand in front of his face cutely. “Just gotta get this out. If you’ll excuse me.” 

He gets up to shuffle to the bathroom. 

“I better go help him out. He gets a little delirious when he cries like that,” Dana says, rubbing your shoulder as she leaves the table. 

Miguel wastes no time to sit in Dana’s seat, taking the napkin from your hands and wiping carefully at your tears. 

“I love you. So, so much,” you say, resting your face in his hands. “Everyday, you find new ways to surprise me. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m just…”

You pause, waving your hands in the air, unable to express how you felt. Just thinking about it has the tears spilling over again. 

“Hey, hey,” Miguel chides, catching your tears again. “If you keep crying, I’m going to cry.”

“I can’t help it, Miguel! You made a cookie boat to get to me. How can I not cry?”

Miguel reaches to kiss your cheeks in hopes to help you subside the tears, “I know, baby, I know. But to answer your first thought, when I think of you, the ideas just pour out of me. You’re my first true love, so I don’t know all the ends and outs of a relationship, but I do know what it feels like to be loved. I just want to extend that feeling to you.”

You stare in awe and the man sitting next to you, eyes glistening as you take in his words. 

“I think I need another tissue.”

Miguel laughs as he grabs one to pat at your face again. 

GymRat!Miguel who feeds you bites of the cake while you feed him scoops of ice cream when you’ve calmed down. You can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night. 

divider by: @iwonbin 🩵

Part 9.2 here!

a/n: This is half of the chapter, but I had so much fun writing this! (mostly because I was not doing my actual work while writing half of it), especially Gabriel's silly ass. Like, it was super duper fun. Writing jealous Miguel was also great. There's so much stuff about reader that he was unaware of and I've been imagining him sitting at a table and yelling like Kendrick when it all plays back in his mind.

As always, like, comment, and reblog. Let me know how you feel! 🩵

If you want to be on the taglist, sign up here! Make sure to have your age in the bio or somewhere on your blog!

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

@obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting

@flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02

@jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies

@samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu

@urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx

@lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @cl3stevu

@ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen

[clockwork-stars]

After watching heaven sent/hell bent AND being a huge hozier fan, this hurt so much what the fuck

Hozier, "Francesca"

clara, my clara

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Inertia; One

Pairing(s); LADS Caleb x non-mc reader

Word count; 1,616

Themes; angst (like let me tell you what — ), there will be child abuse (this is Ever we're talking about, so you know, child experiments and all that), eventual smut (way later, they're babies right now)

Notes; Hey guys! Decided to soft drop a drabble series today too as well 👀 I thought I might as well post it, yk? Anyway, if you're not up to date on all the lore bits, the og mc was called Unicorn during her time at Gaia (a research institute under Ever) and Josephine's Team was called Unicorn as well. Caleb didn't have a team name from what I remember so I decided to use Hydra for his and Chimera for yours. I think it fits the mythical creature vibes.

Also, the original mc will be named, because I don't like calling her "mc" in stories, okay? Her name will be Lia-hua, which is Chinese for lotus flower (a flower symbolizing reborth), or Lia for short — sorry if your name is Lia.

Since this is a drabble series, these chapters will be pretty short and to the point!

prev || next

☆ masterlist ☆

Summary; “You can remember your time at the Gaia Research Center like it was yesterday. The anxiety and panic-inducing memories flood through your brain like a glass overflowing with water. You’re not sure you’ll ever get over the trauma inflicted on you by the place. Not even sure if you want to.” 

Or

The day your mother willingly gave you up for experimentation at the Gaia Research Center. The story of how you became Donor 001.

...You can still remember the day you met Caleb. It was rather difficult to forget, after all. Being trapped inside that dark and dreary hell that was the Gaia Research Center. You weren't the first child put in these twisted experiments and you definitely weren't the last.

 

The first would have to go to her…Unicorn. Even though you never met her until later, you would have to be blind as to not notice how much the Unicorns Team doted on her – well, doted is…it's not the correct word per say. You could still hear her screams. Those tortured, agonizing screams that echoed through the halls on her experimentation days. She was the first experiment, Subject 001.

The first of many children that were either kidnapped, adopted, or donated into this life. Into this hell on Earth. And you?

You were Donor 001. Her perfect match in a sense, both firsts of your name. Except you were donated and she was…well, you’re not sure how the researchers got their hands on her, but they did nonetheless. The fact that you were donated never set right with you and yet, your biggest problem wasn’t the fact that you were donated…No. It was the fact that your mother was the lead researcher of the Chimera Team and why is that important?

It’s because the Chimera Team was the one responsible for your experiments.

Your mother, your egg-donor, was the one leading these malicious experiments against you, all for the sake of research. 

The Gaia Center wasn't too kind to children like you, like Caleb, like Unicorn. No, you all were considered the ‘gifted ones’. The children with the most ‘potential’. The ones with the capabilities to be more, to do more, to grow stronger.

Unlike the other children, your Evol was considered to be on the lower end of the spectrum.

When you were first donated to the Gaia Center, your Evol was a Level B. Not the lowest, but could definitely be higher compared to Caleb’s A and Unicorn’s Undetermined, but the Chimera Team planned on changing that.

Your Evol is, what the researchers consider, a hybrid — a Chimera, if you will. It could be classified as Psychic or Elemental depending on how you looked at it. But currently, it was a Level B Evol called “Metal Manipulation”. You could only use it to crush small metallic objects, use telekinesis on them, stop bullets (which you succeeded in with a lot of trial and error), amongst other things and, yet, it wasn’t good enough for the researchers.

But before we get into that, let’s start from the beginning of your plight.

“Here she is. Now, promote me.”

You were only nine-years old currently, but you could tell something was off with your mother. This was the first time you had seen her since your father passed away a few years ago and the first thing she did after seeing you, was take you in to her place of work. Dragging you by your arm through the frigid, blindly white hallways and into a dark room with a plush black carpet. A large, rounded desk was in the center of the room with a big, rather comfortable looking chair. You couldn’t see the other person in the chair, but you could assume it was her boss. Especially if she was asking for a promotion.

With your arm clasped in your mother’s tight grip, her nails digging into the skin of your wrist, you look up at her to catch a glimpse of her face. You had been so desperate to see her over the years, but now you’re regretting your previous emotions. Why did she take you here? Why was she so angry and cold? Did you do something wrong?

“Promote you?” You flinch as a harsh voice splits through the silence in the room, then a cackle leaves the man. “Alright, sure. Will a head researcher position suffice?”

“Anything is better than sitting behind a desk.” She shrugs. It seems she has no fear talking back to her supervisors. “I’ll be looking forward to your strides in research, Chimera Team leader.” You hear the chair creak as the man spins around in it to face you and your mother, “Your subject will be Donor 001.” His gaze lands on you as he speaks, “Would you like to change your mind now?”   

It seems as if he was giving her a chance to back out but, in reality, he was seeing just how far she was willing to go for the Gaia Research Center — for Ever.

“Of course not. I’ll come back with good news soon. The Chimera Team will provide the best of results for Gaia.” Your mother nods her head, her nails digging deeper into your skin and you try to hold back a wince as you feel something dripping down your arm. Blood? Before you can put too much thought into it, you’re being dragged out from the room and back into the chilly hallway. You close your eyes to drown out the bright lights and by the time you reopen your eyes, you’re in a much darker setting.

You’re in a dim elevator with your mother next to you, tapping her foot as if she’s annoyed with you. You’re unsure why. You didn’t think you did anything wrong while living with your grandmother, so why was your mother so angry with you?

“Mom — “

You feel a hand slap over your mouth and your eyes dart up to meet her gaze, tears prick the corners of your eyes as she glares down at you. “I’m not your mother. Not here, not now. I’m Head Researcher L/n and you’re Donor 002 from now on. Forget your name, it’s no longer yours.” She spits out at you and your heart feels heavy in your chest.  You must’ve done something wrong if she’s treating you like this…She never treated you like this when your dad was alive.

As the metal elevator falls silent once more, the large doors in front of you open, leading to a large open room with curved archways leading down other hallways. The walls were a rusted shade of brown with cement floors, it almost looked as if you were fully underground. The ceilings were lined with industrial hanging lights and there was an enormous set of steel doors at the very back of the room with branching hallways on either side.

Other people in white lab coats rush around the room with clipboards held close to their chests and you could hear a loud, heart-wrenching scream coming from behind the steel doors.

“How’s Unicorn’s experiments coming along?” Your mother — no, Lead Researcher L/n asks as she stops by another woman. This woman appeared much kinder than your mother with light brown hair streaked with silver. Her blue-green eyes glance over you and you catch a glimpse of sympathy within their depths before she turns her gaze back to Researcher L/n. “Relatively well. She made it to Phase-2 last night, so the other researchers are pushing for more tests.” The woman jerks her head toward the steel doors, “They’re trying a few more now, but it seems she’s unable to reach Phase-3 as of yet.”

“Just you wait, Josephine. I’ll surpass you with Donor 001. She’ll be the poster child of the Gaia Center.” Researcher L/n seemed rather smug with herself. As if giving up her child was worth it to seem superior to this woman.

“Donor 001…” Josephine presses her lips together in a thin line, shaking her head with a small sigh. “I wish you the best of luck in your experiments, L/n.”

After this, you were placed on a schedule alongside the child known as Unicorn. She’d go through those large steel doors for experiments on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while you were scheduled for Tuesday and Thursday. It’s unsure why Saturday and Sunday were left empty, but those two days were probably for either of you or another child you haven’t heard of. It was Sunday when you were brought to this place, so anxiety bubbled in your gut as you wondered just what awaited you on Tuesday.

Since you first arrived, you were confined to a room. A room with no windows, one singular door with a tiny window showing the hallway, a mattress on the floor with a thin strip of fabric that was supposed to be your blanket, and a short table in the center of the room. Your comfortable pyjamas were traded out for a more medical looking gown with a pair of white bloomers underneath. No shoes, not even a stuffed animal for comfort in sight. Just you and your thoughts. They could’ve, at least, given you a colouring book to bide your time, instead of leaving you to pace around with paranoia and panic battling in your mind.

What would they do to you? Would you end up screaming like that other little girl you heard on your first day?     

Tuesday came around much quicker than you expected. Though you weren’t sure what day it was, when you finally saw Researcher L/n, after what felt like forever, you knew it was your time... 

[fluffypinkhedgehog]

❀⊱Walking Home⊰❀ ⤷ Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader | sfw, fluff, one-shot, school au

synopsis: You and Shadow are walking home from school.

warnings: reader is a mobian, not beta-read, DO NOT TRY ANY OF THESE STUNTS.

a/n: Had this super cute idea while listening to music at work. Actually, a lot of my fic ideas are because of songs I listen to lol. (Also, I wrote this in one evening, so there's probably typos galore and general pacing/tense issues.)

Prev | Next

The sun was setting upon the horizon as both you and Shadow walked alongside the road, cars occasionally passing by. You had, graciously, missed the bus going to your neighborhood. Why Shadow was with you, of all hedgehogs, you don't know. He doesn't even live anywhere near you. You weren't even sure if you two took the same bus. After a car passed by, tousling your fur and quills from the wind, you finally spoke up:

"So.... You live this way too?" You asked, tentatively, pushing some of your quills out of the way of your face and turning around, walking backwards in order to face Shadow.

Shadow was silent, simply breathing in deeply before letting it go, looking off towards the road. It's almost as if he was trying to avoid eye contact. You looked away as well, towards the sunset above the water. Seagulls squawked as they flew by, creating an atmosphere that could have been romantic if this was one of your maladaptive daydreams... Not that you fantasized about anything similar with the hedgehog in front of you.

"... Yeah," Shadow said, catching you off guard. You stopped suddenly, the jerking motion making one of your feet skid on the gravel. You tried to correct yourself but one of your feet caught on the other's ankle and it caused you to trip. You were about to land on your butt if it wasn't for Shadow catching you by your arm. His face showed surprised shock. You were pretty sure that the reason why he looked so shocked was from your complete failure to walk, considering, y'know, the current situation.

Shadow closed his eyes and let out a breath before helping you up, chastising you. "You should be more careful."

"Ah-hah.. Sorry!" You said, scratching the back of your neck in embarrassment. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you were sure your face was very flushed. You wondered if Shadow could see the blush, if it was even there. "Thanks for the save, Shadow."

"Just make sure not to do something stupid again," he replied, retracting his hand from your arm. He crossed his arms across his chest and continued walking. You put your hands to your face and crouched onto the ground after he passed you by, your bag falling off your shoulder with a soft thud. That small little accident could have been such a romantic moment, you knew it. You secretly hoped for it. You wanted him to lean in and confess his (nonexistent) feelings for you. But, of course, this isn't one of your fanfics. This is reality. Shadow doesn't like you that way. you have to remind yourself.

You jump when a light touch touches your shoulder and you spin around, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. If he couldn't see your blush earlier, he could now.

"What are you doing?" Shadow asks. You stand up abruptly, putting your hands in front of you defensively as you properly face him.

"Ah, my legs just hurt!" You say quickly. Though, it wasn't a lie. Your legs really did hurt, though not enough to crouch down onto the ground. "We've been walking for miles, y'know, and I just... needed to..." You trail off, looking at Shadow as he turned himself around then knelt down on the ground, his back facing towards you. "What are you doing?" You echo his earlier question.

"You said your legs hurt," he stated, matter-of-factly. You step back. Shadow wouldn't just give anyone a piggyback ride. Who is this person? Because this is not Shadow.

You didn't say anything. Instead, like the very sane person you are, you dash ahead of Shadow, skipping and jumping. After a spin, that you thought made you look cute, you smiled widely at him. "Thanks, Shadow, but I'm fine, really!"

To emphasize your point, you decided that it was a great idea to jump on top of the railings, which, by the way, was right next to a cliff face. You started walking along them as if you did this every day after school. Which was a lie. You took the bus home. The closest thing you've done to this was on the monkey bars when you were in elementary school.

"See? I'm completely fine!" You say with a smile on your face.

Shadow walked up to you, his face showed no amusement. "Get down from there, you're going to get hurt."

You 'pfbbt' at his comment and start to walk again. "Please. I'm fine."

You notice how much taller than him you are on top of the rail as the two of you walk. You look at his quills, seeing the red highlights and the way they're styled. You wonder if his quills just grow like that or if he styles them that way. Turning towards him to ask this very question, you start: "Hey, Shadow-"

But, you didn't get to finish your sentence before your foot slips off of the metal railing and you start falling off of the side of cliff, your voice shrill as you scream in surprise.

"HEY!" Shadow yells. He acted fast, quickly grabbing your hand before you could fall any further. You stared up at him, heart beating fast from the terror. His face was scrunched up in, what seemed to be, both worry and fear. You weren't really able to tell. Shadow pulled you up and away from the cliff. You scootched as far away from it as you could without being in the road, breathing heavily. "What did I tell you about getting hurt?!"

You flinched at his raised voice, which is almost never an occurrence. He wasn't one to raise his voice. "I.. I'm sorry, I..." You started, trailing off. You couldn't think. All that was in your head was how close to death you just were. If Shadow wasn't here to save you from your own antics you wouldn't be alive. You stared at were you just were at the edge of the cliff.

"Hey," Shadow said, softer, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention. When that didn't work he grabbed onto your shoulders and forcefully faced you towards him. "Are you okay?"

You couldn't believe it. How was your heart beating faster? The guy you've been crushing on for who-knows-how-long has somehow become even more attractive to you. Is this the suspended bridge effect? "I... yeah. I'm okay." You managed to say.

Shadow let go of a breath that you didn't know he was holding. Was he.. relieved? I mean, it would make sense for him to be relieved. He almost witnessed the death of his classmate. He should be very relieved. That was when Shadow suddenly picked you up without warning. Bridal style. Your brain short-circuited. "Wh.. What are you doing?!"

Shadow looked at you like you were dumb. "Making sure that you don't do that again."

Okay, yeah. Makes sense. You hid your face in your hands as he walked alongside the road with you in his arms. While this was definitely your dream come true, it was not supposed to happen in this way.

Though... you didn't mind it.

[cursedwretch]

What Lurks Beneath - Chapter 4

Viktor x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 7343 Words (oops); Rating 18+ MDNI

AO3 | Prev

CW: Some minor spice ahead! Pubic displays of affection, mentions of female anatomy, a smidge of soft dom!Viktor

I despise short-notice meetups. It’s my mantra as I fiddle with the buttons of my blouse, dread curling in my stomach while I change from my standard uniform into an outfit more bar appropriate. Shucking on my coat, I jog downstairs and out my door. I curl in on myself immediately, drawing my coat tight against the chilled air currently snaking its way down my spine. I would bail entirely there wasn’t the sole, simple reason I agreed to go in the first place:

Some monster inside me has grown used to Viktor’s sporadic presence in my life, and I find myself eager for the easy way out of this... void. I really should apologize. And I have tried. I just happen to chicken out. Repeatedly. Which is exactly how I found myself invited to this event in the first place earlier today.

I stand, hovering down the hall from the Hextech labs, trying to will my stubborn feet to move forward. Eyes affixed to the door. It’s Nathan greeting me that breaks the paralytic making its way through my bones.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Nathan’s voice is leading, full of a promise I opt to ignore in favor of his next words, “Jayce will be there, Alisa—“

He rattles off more names, though I’ve stopped listening. I let him go on, watching the door at the end of the hall. It cracks open.

“Sure,” I interrupt.

His eyebrows fly up, “really? Great. I’ll pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there,” my answering smile is tight-lipped. I hope the subtext is clear enough. He nods, opening his mouth to speak.

“Great, see you!” I turn on my heels, straining to maintain a dignified pace despite every muscle in my body wanting to bolt. Right then, right there.

It’s not a matter of pride. Honestly.

I just don’t want to face that again—that palpable disappointment. It makes my chest ache, a hollow and rotten sink worming its way through my heart. A tad overdramatic? Fine. Yes.

It had only been a few days. Still, Viktor strikes me as the kind of man with walls so high, any perceived slight would result in another being rebuilt and reinforced. Brick after brick until the only option left is to take a bulldozer to his heart just to get back to where you started.

Either way.

I truly, truly hate last minute events.

The bar itself is chock full, with a long, mostly empty table sitting towards the back. A touch out of place, considering the standing-room-only atmosphere throughout. I cringe as I make my way there.

Viktor is the first I spot—seated with his back to the entrance beside Jayce and a woman I distinctly recall being his date at the gala a short while ago. Jealously rears its ugly head, burning and wriggling a hole through my heart. I smile weakly at them as I follow Nathan, taking a seat toward the center, my back to the wall.

The rest of the party grows steadily as people filter in. Filled with strangers, and a few familiar faces peppered between. Sky, who shared a few of my ecology classes during my time as a student. A few colleagues from my department. Pupils of Heimerdinger’s.

I sip at my drink, watching the liquid swirl inside the glass as I listen to the conversations surrounding me. Content with eavesdropping, I stay quiet. Viktor does the same, though I avoid looking his way at all costs.

To my dismay, I can’t stay a voyeur forever.

“I hear you’re researching a restoration project? In the trenches?” It’s Nathan who asks, finally turning my way.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat as I correct, “yes, in the Undercity.”

There’s a scoff at the other end of the table, though I don’t catch who it’s from as I take a deep swig from my drink. I can feel Viktor’s eyes on me, boring little holes along my skin. I don’t dare look over.

“Interesting,” Nathan leans in, ��all hypothetical then?”

“Good luck cleaning up after the sump trash,” the same person mumbled from down the table. This time, I’m able to pick him out as he stares my way with a cruel grin. The man has a shock of white hair, and is quite over adorned, even for Piltover. Gold stacks of jewelry hang off of his fingers, long nails tipped in the very same. Not someone who works with his hands then. His eyes hold a challenging glint.

I take it, narrowing my own. I distantly recognize him as one of the sons of a merchant house, though I can’t recall the name. Relatively unimportant, then. And clearly not involved with the academy. Someone’s plus one.

Likely Nathan’s, judging by the familiar look he gives him: eyebrows raised, lips tight, a silent broadcast of ‘shut up’ across the table.

“No,” I cast one last cold glare in the direction before returning to Nathan, “I plan on following through.”

I give in, daring a glance towards the other end of the table. Jayce is bouncing between Viktor and I—expression oozing with concern. He sends a curt nod my way before he places a touch to Viktor’s arm, touch lingering there as he stands. Viktor swallows. He scratches his fork against the small plate before him.

“You won’t get funding,” comes another voice: Nysa Virellian. A former classmate of mine. Her words are measured and sure, naturally. Her family, owners and operators of a prominent trading fleet, have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo.

“I may. With the right angle,” I shrug.

Jayce heads to the other end of the long table, hand clapping down on the man from earlier’s shoulder. He speaks in low, hushed voice. I can tell by the receiver’s gulp, face flaring bright red, that it isn’t pleasant. With a harsh pat to their back he’s standing, coolly returning to his seat.

Emboldened, I continue, “it affects us too, you know.”

Another scoff.

I arch my brow, pointing to the picked over pastries scattering the table. “We use fish for fertilizer, you know. Degrading habitat mean less fish. Less fish, less wheat. Less cakes to stuff your face with.”

The table grows quiet. Admittedly, I’m being a bit preachy. But my fuse is short, and I don’t particularly feel like putting up with being picked over by near-strangers tonight like a carcass slaughtered for their entertainment alone.

“Not exactly a compelling argument. The are other sources for both wheat and fertilizer—we are a trade hub, after all,” Nysa brushes me off.

I sigh, deep and ragged.

Nathan pats my hand above the table as he speaks, “keep at it, you’re just getting back into the swing of things.”

Patronizing bastard.

Rage, white hot simmers up my throat, threatening to bubble out. It’d be too easy to turn that acid his way, he’d make such a large target for a few choice words. Too insecure, too advantageous. I swallow. I pull my hand away instead, placating him with a tight smile.

Leave it, my heart chants. And so, I do, taking the awkward lull as an opportunity to drain the dredges from my glass.

There’s that warmth again.

I glance up to find Viktor staring my way, eyes burning into mine with an otherwise blank face. I shift, holding his gaze, as the conversation picks up around us. Thankfully, they shift away to lighter topics. One thing is certain: no one in Piltover wants to talk about the Undercity for long. Jayce’s voice cuts our spell, sending us scattering to find fresh focuses as he previews the progress they’ve made with their research.

I wait. Until enough time passes to not be horribly obvious, I take the first opportunity available to slip away, eager to rid my lungs of the stagnant, perfumed air of the bar.

The alley provides just that. Cool, crisp. Dim but warmly lit, incandescent lights providing a warm glow throughout.

Clean.

So, shocking clean.

I’ve never noticed how clean our alleys were prior to my trips with Viktor. Until I saw how easy it is for a city to slip into disrepair and filth when the lack the basic resources for survival. Who sweeps a damned alley when survival means clawing your way through earth itself. Hopeful to find a something of worth for us up above. My stomach turns at the thought, signing. There are many things I haven’t noticed, it seems.

I close my eyes, arms wrapping my coat tighter to my skin. I’m debating leaving entirely as the door behind me cracks open. Footsteps let me know another has joined me.

I feel, more than see, Viktor step into my periphery.

“I have been meaning to talk to you,” he starts.

I swallow, sighing as I look to where the alley meets the street, away from him, “I don’t have the heart for any more debates tonight, Viktor.”

“Mh? No, no. That is not my intention.”

I turn towards him, taking him in.

His arms are crossed, expression guarded. Walls up. I note his cane—rested gently against the brick wall. Still feeling uncharacteristically stubborn, I wait. Let him be the first to speak.

“You were right,” he acquiesces. His mouth pulls into a little grimace that lets me know exactly how rarely he says those words. He continues, “I have no right to dictate where you can go.”

I blink. My own words escape me in an easy exhale, “at least we’re guilty of the same sin.”

His eyes crease, warm.

“For what it’s worth,” I frown, “I’m sorry, too, Viktor.”

His gaze falls away, fixating on something over my shoulder in the distance. I wonder if that was the wrong thing to say as he worries at his lip with his teeth.

“It is,” his voice is gentle as he trails off to find the right word, “unpleasant to be underestimated.”

He casts a glance back towards the bar door. My reply comes out in a hum, nothing more to add. He’s right. Uncomfortable doesn’t cover the half of how it feels. As I let the last of my guilt fester under my skin, he half-shuffles in place.

Another cold wind brushes past my neck, bringing a tantalizing, tempting little thought to the forefront of my mind. The drink giving me just enough confidence to follow through. “Speaking of research,” I smirk despite myself, “I’m heading back to the academy. Want to hear the latest?”

He nods, eyes positively alight. “Yes, although, perhaps, I was hoping—would you like to see our prototype?”

“Viktor, of course,” I laugh.

 ***

I catch him up on my research on the walk over, fighting back the utterly childish urge to go giddy at the way he listens. Eyes wide, fervently nodding at each development. When we finally reach the lab, Viktor fishes out a key, a soft smile as he holds the door open.

Stepping through, I let myself take it all in. For once. I’ve been here before, many times, though usually only ever on quick drop-ins between meetings. I’ve never bothered to look at the details.

It’s cleaner than one would expect, a long workbench lining the wall perpendicular to the door. Well, at least left side was utterly spotless. The other had books and notes and boxes scattered atop the workbench. Not messy, just lived-in. At the center of the room held a device—near identical to the prototype showcased the year prior at the Distinguished Innovators Competition. This one, however, appears to be slightly larger, now holding slots for multiple crystals in the chamber.

“This is terrible for your eyes, Viktor,” I tease. It was dark this time of night, only a little a light filtering through the central window.

He laughs, “I believe I can survive a little dark.”

He walks towards the device, elegant fingers plucking two of the crystals out of the slot, leaving just one. They’re placed gingerly in a box atop the table.

“We have successfully localized the effects,” he explains as I join him, standing at his side, “and can, effectively, control the velocity and distance of transportation.”

He turns down one of the nobs with one hand, fiddling with a sequence of runes with the other. I lean in, watching carefully. He moves with a practiced ease. Turning towards me, he asks, “Ready?”

I let out a soft yes, and watch as the device sparks to life, pulling the very breath from my lungs.

Viktor watches with a cheeky grin. He plucks a screw from his pocket, tapping it through the air. There’s a shock of blue light, and it lands on the floor three feet ahead with a rattling clink.

“How does it work?” I step forward, rounding the device to see it from the side.

“Theoretically, the runes open a path as the very fabric of existence folds in. Letting the object slip through,” he turns the nob up a hair and I find myself feeling a little lighter. He sends another screw through, this one landing against the door with a plink.

“Wow.”

He beams, turning the machine off with a shrug. The picture of faux nonchalance. His eyes scan the blackboard across the room as he speaks, “there is still much to figure out—augmenting payloads, for example...”

I watch as he trails off, a kernel of a thought sparking behind his eyes. He staggers forward to the blackboard, scribbling corrections to the long equation across it. I follow, pulling up a chair to watch as he works.

Moments stretch into minutes and, brilliance aside, playing the voyeur to the genius can only stay entertaining for so long. As my eyes rake across his form shamelessly, my thoughts turn from vague investment to something far more interesting. The slope of his shoulders—all lean muscle with a vague indication of an angular blade, sharp and pleasing peeking from beneath his shirt. I imagine how it would feel beneath my fingertips. Better still, my lips.

I cough, sputtering. Thankfully, my reeling goes unnoticed as he mulls his problem, tapping the chalk against his mouth, a white mark left in its wake just beside his mole. Hesitant to leave, I curl up, pulling out my own notebook to work. Greedy.

We stay like this for quite some time. It’s comforting. The room silent save for the occasional hum, the rare rustle of the other shifting, both lost in thought. It isn’t until my eyelids start drooping that I decide to take my leave.

“Vik,” I yawn, “I’m going to head out.”

He comes back to his body with a hushed ah, standing a little straighter as he turns back my way. His cheeks flush. “My apologies,” he clears his throat, “I have a bad habit of losing myself.”

I shake my head, smiling as I crack the door open. “No need. It was nice, Viktor.”

As I step out he calls my name, eyes warm as he watches me go with a gentle, “goodnight.”

It becomes a ritual of ours over the next few weeks. Not every night, but most. At first, he comes to collect me, dropping by my lab after the academy halls have grown quiet.

“At the very least, come work where there is a little comfort,” he urges.

He does have a couch. One that I’m positive Jayce insisted they procure after one too many late nights spent in the lab. I don’t point out the irony. Instead, I follow.

Most nights, I find my way there on my own as the sun sets. With my journals and materials in tow, I curl up, making a little home atop that very couch.

Tonight, he sits in front of the window, the warm glow of the sun highlighting the edges of his hair, liquid gold streaming into the room. His fingers twirl at the hair behind his ear, long legs elegantly crossed—an ankle atop his braced knee.

The echo of his partner fill the room in errant scraps of paper and discarded coffee mugs, though our paths seldom cross.

“Doesn’t Jayce ever work late?” I ask.

“Eh, Jayce is usually quite good at keeping a healthy schedule.” There’s no hint of judgment or resentment there. Only a quiet understanding and that ever-present undercurrent of admiration.

My pen taps against the page.

“Did you two ever..?” I start, wincing as the words exit my mouth.

Viktor straightens a little, turning to look at me. “Date? Yes,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Didn’t work out?”

“Eh, that depends entirely on how you define ‘working out,’” he shrugs, shifting his notebook to his lap to write as we speak.

I blink at him from across the room, completely at a loss for what to say.

He continues, “eh, it was short lived. When we first started working together. We quickly discovered we wanted different things and our research was too important to risk.”

I hum, skeptical, “that’s rather rational.”

He looks up at me, eyes guarded as he speaks, “he is my partner, our relationship is not something I’d jeopardize willingly.”

Noted. It’s a fair statement but one laced with a hint of warning. I’m not sure of what, exactly.

I cross my legs, head tilting as I continue to poke the proverbial bee’s nest, “no friends with benefits, then?”

Viktor scoffs, smirking as he returns to his notes, “no, Jayce cannot handle something like that. Cleaner to stay partners.”

“And you can?” My brow arches, “handle it, I mean.”

“Yes,” he says, voice smooth and confident, not even bothering to up from the page. So he had then. Maybe does still? As if clairvoyant, his pen pauses against the page as the cogs whir in his mind, clarifying, “not that I have for quite some time.”

I chew on my lip. Interesting.

***

Our steady ritual proves to be the most productive I’ve been in my life to date. Something about the quiet warmth of another while I work, freeing my mind of that constant need to be present, on guard. Safety. I wonder if Viktor feels the same.

Still, it can only do so much. I hit a wall with my research. Humming, I tap my pen against my notes. It’s the third night I find myself stuck on this problem: Tetrachromis fluviatilis, more commonly known as Shimmercale. A clear keystone in the Pilt with a population on a steady decline. Despite more than enough food to eat. No disease present. No reason to poach them. They simply... vanish.

There’s little impact my work can have without understanding the cause.

My eyes float up to Viktor, who is hunched over the workbench once more. A half-constructed model plane lays on the table. One arm curls around his chest, fingers prodding at his shoulder as he rotates it in the socket.

A quiet wince has me standing up, walking over.

I press my hand to the nape of his neck, warm beneath my fingertips. He stills, looking up at me.

“Shh,” I coo, turning his head to face forward, as I replace the hand at his shoulder with my own.

“What are— ah,” he lets out a soft noise as my thumbs connect with his shoulder, smoothing out the knots in his muscle with a light touch. His sigh is stilted.

“This ok?” I breathe.

He nods, his voice tight, “Yes.”

I continue, pressing a little deeper, drinking in every little response. Once-taught muscles relax, turning him into putty in my hands. His neck hangs forward, giving me better access, as his breathing picks up.

I can feel the faint vibration of the hushed, rumbling groan that slips from his lips.

We both still. Just for a moment.

I let out a satisfied hum, and leans back, head tilting up until the back of his head rests against my stomach. His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded as he watches me. I press my thumb into the space where his neck and shoulder meet, and his breath hitches, arching towards my touch. Another ragged gasp is tears from his throat as I repeat the motion, my other hand dipping forward, tracing the hint of collarbone poking out from beneath his shirt. With a hungry gaze, I watch his lips. Softly parted, panting. Like a man starved, desperate for air.

Oxygen.

My hands still.

He blinks, eyebrows pinch together.

“Air,” I hiss, letting him go.

His whine is downright pained as he watches me rush to grab my notebook, bringing it over to the bench. I scramble into the chair beside him, rambling. “They’re dying out. I haven’t been able to figure out why but—it’s oxygen, Viktor.”

The confusion melts away as I speak, eyes lighting up. He leans in, his hand coming to rest along the back of my chair as he reads over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of him enveloping me. It feels right. I rifle through the pages, pausing to tap at the diagram I was searching for.

“They host a type of plankton in their gills. They convert the ammonia in the waters into air, but,” I flip through the pages of my notebook, “see, here. They thrive off of these minerals—which are in excess thanks to all the runoff. The population density rises, as does the byproducts. They’re getting oxygen poisoning.”

He blinks, worrying at his lip, “and reducing runoff would fix this?”

I nod, fervently. “Yes, although that’s rather unlikely. However, there are ways to mitigate it.”

I continue scribbling notes, feeling him watch with keen interest. The time stretches on until, eventually, his head bobs forward. Forehead hitting my shoulder and snapping up again. I turn to see him blinking away the exhaustion. As if watching me write was worth it.

 I smile, “c‘mon, get up.”

He looks up at me blearily, but follows my guidance without a word, letting my lead him with a hand against his back until he’s slumping down onto the couch. His legs stretch out with an automatic yawn before tensing—face pulling into a grimace as his eyes flutter closed. I run my fingers through his hair once, watching the tension melt from his face. Greedy.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, pulling the spare blanket draped across the back of the couch over him.

***

We don’t see each other over the next few days, both buckling down on our own preparations for the symposium. It isn’t discussed. But, the tacit, unspoken understanding is there nonetheless.

On the first night of the weeklong affair, the hallways of the main building of the academy are stuffed to the brim with scholars and scientists. Posters line the edges of the halls—graphs and images, findings from just about any study one could imagine. I fight my way through the thick crowd, keen on nabbing a spot in the back of the auditorium where Jayce and Viktor are scheduled to speak.

Eventually, I succeed. Watching with bated breath as the lights dim, leaving only the stage illuminated. The crowd quiets to a dim murmur as Jayce takes the stage. It’s busier than I anticipated, the rare socialite and politician seated amongst the throngs of scientists.

They certainly brought a crowd.

Predictably, Jayce does the speaking. In fact, I can’t see Viktor at all on the stage. I frown. Eyes scanning the wings for him as Jayce recites the words Viktor had written on previous nights. There are a few modifications here and there but, predominantly, untouched. Save for one part:

Jayce’s voice booms out over the crowd, confident and steady as his walks to the prototype, his speech drawing to a close. He gives an easy smile as he says, “I present the next step in Hextech’s future.”

With a press of the button, the crowd hushes to complete  silence as the air in the center of the stage electrifies. A blue glow fills the auditorium. From the podium, Jayce collects a familiar model plane—Viktor’s, from the night previous—and tosses it through.

It vanishes.

The audience murmurs, questions floating through the crowd.

It’s a voice behind us that answers. Lilting, a little uneven, but with an unexpected air of confidence. “As you can see,” he holds up the model plane, “with this, we are one step closer to becoming the center of trade across all of runeterra.”

The little magician.

He beams up at Jayce, and I laugh as the crowd absolutely loses it. Applause thunders through the room as Jayce steps down from the stage, making his way towards his partner as the poor man is quickly enveloped by dozens of scientists—undoubtedly peppering him with questions. It’s nice. Seeing him be the center of the attention for once. Judging by the warm smile touching Jayce’s eyes, he thinks so as well.

I slip through the crowd towards the exit, craning to catch Viktor’s attention through the cracks of the crowd. Somehow, I succeed, honeyed eyes shining into mine as I mouth well done. His answering glance is part proud, part petrified.  Satiated, I slip out the door.

***

My own presentation, a slot secured by Heimerdinger both to my relief and chagrin, is in a much smaller auditorium on the last day of the symposium. Thank the gods. A short speech to summarize and, hopefully, intrigue investors. Terrifying nonetheless. I pick at the skin around my nails as I run over my cards for the 50th time today from the wings.

As the speaker before me finishes, I stumble forward to the podium.

It’s bizarre distilling down mountains of research into a ten-minute talk. I operate on autopilot alone. It goes by faster than I imagine, and I’m finishing the last of my well-rehearsed words. The applause is subdued as I take my leave. I’m distantly aware of Haynes fuming from his seat in the front row. Heimer is there, as well, with a satisfied look gracing his features. He’s proud, I realize. I must have done well enough, then.

I nod his way as I step down, walking along the wall of the auditorium as the next speaker takes the stage. Towards the back, I see Viktor and Jayce leaning against the wall. Jayce leans to whisper something into his partner’s ear, his right hand squarely resting on Viktor’s back. I resist the urge to fiddle with my top as I approach.

Viktor murmurs my name, “you did well.”

Jayce’s hand slides from Viktor’s back to shake mine, “you’ll have no trouble securing funding at tonight’s party.” Before I can reply, he gives Viktor an overt look, knowing and coy, as he steps back, “I’ll see you there.”

Viktor gawks back at him, annoyance written across his face clear as day.

“Thanks,” I mutter, bringing Viktor’s attention back to me.

He shifts, nodding. “Will we? See you there.“

“If I can get changed in time, yes,” I laugh. There was plenty of time. I should have just said yes. I dig the toe of my shoe into the carpet.

“Good,” his eyes slide around the room as he leans in to whisper, “we’ll introduce you to some of our investors.”

Part of me wants to deny him, say I can network just fine without the support, thank you.

“I know,” he says, ever the mind-reader, “however, you’ll do well to remember: you have an uphill battle. And, to be honest, you’ll find some of our investors less likely to be scared off by your choice of locale.”

I swallow. Right. Investors of his must have been able to make peace with his own background, though his work was much more tantalizing. A different circumstance entirely.

“You have the backing of multiple counselors,” I cock my brow at him.

“As will you,” his smirk is downright filthy as he speaks, “go, get dressed.”

I gulp.

***

The ballroom is elegant and frankly overwhelming. I blink up at the chandeliers littering the ceiling, filling the room with a warm, intimate glow. The crowd, however, is anything but intimate. So many people are stuffed in this single room I find myself asking if this really was invite only as the hosts claimed.

Nonetheless, Nathan is quick to find me. Coming stand at my side, I imagine he’s eager to use me as an excuse to rub elbows with Piltover’s finest. He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, “your speech was good.”

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to wince. I can’t say I attended his.

I fetch a glass of wine from one of the servers as they pass. Nathan’s fills the dead air, droning on about the different talks he attended, who he’s met, who might give him funding. I half-listen, scanning the room for a familiar face.

It’s not a face that I find, but a familiar mop of wavy hair instead. My breath catches as I take him in. Oh I really would like to scream. He’s traded his usual uniform for a suit: black as night and perfectly tailored. Gold piping lines the seams, highlighting just how lithe he really is. A burgundy collar pops out from beneath his jacket. He looks dark, dangerous.

The rotten, malformed part of me chants delectable.

He turns, eyes catching mine and, a moth to flame, I float forward. I’m vaguely aware Nathan is following. Judging by the way his eyes ice over as he spot my companion, Viktor is too. This won’t do. Viktor walks toward me, meeting us in the middle. Thankfully, he is in fine company, meaning Nathan quickly extricates himself from my side to chat with one of the councilors. Not even bothering to greet Viktor, who stared daggers at his retreating back.

Viktor turns towards me, eyes raking down my form before looking back towards the group. He mouth quirks down, “your date?”

“No,” I breathe, “I came alone.”

His mouth twitches, but he schools his feature into a neutral position. “I see.”

I imagine I look much like a fish out of water, mouth gaping and working to reclaim the air that seems to have left my lungs. “You look good,” I finally manage.

There’s another quirk of his lip threatening to betray him before he turns, holding his arm out. I take it. Of course I take it. He’s warm beneath my fingers.

He leans down, whispering in my ear. “I believe I promised some introductions.”

I nod, looking up at him. I brush my hair behind my ear on instinct. He lets out a short, low laugh and my heart picks up. Turning towards the group, he points against the ground with his cane—a tap to the right. My eyes follow.

I feel his breath ghost along my skin as he dips down to speak once more, voice low and dangerous, “Silas Thorne, one of our early adopters. A bit of a skeptical man; but, ultimately a fine topsider.”

I nod, taking it in. As best as possible, at least. I huff a laugh at the slip of the term topsider. An insult rarely uttered in Piltover.

“House Kiramman, as you are aware. You’ll find an ally in Cassandra,” he continues, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks, “To the left, Holloran.. Mh, not worth your time.”

My breath is drawn from my lungs as he continues rattling off names. I blink, nodding, until he peels back at last.

He looks down at me, mouth pulled into a wicked grin.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t have you pegged as so socially adept,” I say.

His eyes crease, head tilting as he shrugs. “Eh, for me, it’s a matter of survival. Or, was. Before Jayce and Hextech.”

I swallow, frowning.

So much laid bare in just a few words. Despite everything, it is far too easy to forget what he’s been through. What he’s had to tolerate to get where he is. And to say it so readily, the picture of nonchalance. As if it’s just another basic fact of life. I’m still reeling as he asks, “ready?”

My dress suddenly feels much too tight. Seams clinging against my ribs keeping the air from my lungs. I blink, looking up at Viktor as I nod, “sure.”

His hand finds the small of my back; his touch a warm, soothing balm on my stuttering heart.

He leads me to Cassandra’s side first, easily slotting into the group as he introduces us.

Her eyes light up, putting pieces of some unspoken puzzle together as she shakes my hand, “Jayce tells me have a rather interesting project. Habitat restoration of the river Pilt?”

“In the distributaries in the undercity, yes. Though I hope to renew the Pilt itself one day, perhaps.”

This seems to please her, her chin tilting up as she smiles, “your research is actionable, then.”

I nod. I’m fairly certain I look like a bobble head.

“Have you secured funding yet?”

“Not quite,” I chew at my lip, shifting my weight to my other foot. My shoulder brushes against Viktor’s chest. It’s steadying.

He gaze is shrewd as she asks, “tell me. Why the undercity?”

I stick to my canned argument, citing the economic benefits for Piltover—trade, fishing, health. She takes it in, with a look that says she can already read the subtext written beneath every page: to help, to do something worthwhile for the betterment of us all.

These conversations repeat throughout the night. A monotonous refrain of the same questions. How interesting, why the undercity? Who is financing? Why there? Somewhere along the evening Viktor has drifted away, standing beside Jayce as they speak with Heimerdinger. He listens to them speak, a gentle curve to his eyes as he looks down at the Yordle.

When the conversation with my last magnate of the evening has grown stale, I gracefully make my exit. Eager to join my friend’s side.

Nathan, however, stops me with a hand at my shoulder. I suppress the instinct to sigh, facing him.

“You’re the popular girl tonight,” he smirks.

My stomach turns. I give him a tight-lipped smile, “hardly.”

He presses forward, invading my space, “have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight?”

I look away as I mutter, “thanks.”

While we had dated on rare occasions, my interest in him waned as it became clear that it would never delve into anything more interesting than superficial sex and the occasional date for social events. Nothing particularly worth going back for. I thought we’d had a tacit agreement on this. However, it appears I am wrong.

I glance over to Viktor, who watches the exchange with a ferocity that was utterly rare. His upper lip curls, narrowed eyes looking at us from beneath stark brows. As his eyes land on me, they burn. Annoyance mixed with something else. My breath hitches.

Nathan, it seems, misinterprets this entirely. Catching me by the elbow, he leans in to whisper, “how about we get out of here?”

I choke.

Viktor shifts more of his weight to his cane, head tilting back as he stares.

“No,” I stutter, “I, ah.. No. Sorry.”

I don’t look back as I walk off, face flaring up. Undignified. I’ll blame the drink later, should it come up.

Like gravity, I’m pulled to Viktor’s orbit. He smirks, wicked and cruel as he glares past my shoulder as I approach. There’s a glint to his amber eyes and my mouth runs dry as he muses, “hm, I almost feel bad for him.”

I gape, floundering. Utterly thrown by this fresh side of him. I can feel the heat from his gaze as he waits for me to reply.

Nothing worthwhile comes to mind as I croak, “almost?”

His stare is knowing, but he chooses to ignore my reply. I note a flush on his skin as he sets his emptied glass down, leaning in, and I’m keenly aware that whatever his next words are, they will be my damnation.

I’m saved by Cassandra’s hand atop my shoulder. I turn, letting out a shaky exhale as I greet her once more.

Her elegant hands pass me a card as she cuts right to the heart of it, “I’d like to sponsor you,” she says, certainly not one for mincing words, “Let’s arrange some time to speak over tea. Soon.”

It’s exceptionally jarring, considering.

I feel Viktor’s chest at my back as he peers over my shoulder. A little off-kilter, and less-than-dignified. Nosy. Certainly the wine, then. I swallow, taking the card from her hands. One side holds her family emblem foiled in gold, the other a pneumatic code.

I nod, “yes, yes of course. I’ll be in touch.”

She gives another smile, nodding to Viktor as well before taking her leave.

My head thoroughly spins. Between the wine and the complete, utter whiplash of the last few minutes, it’s all far too much.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I croak.

Viktor smirks at me in a way that screams, ‘you won’t die, you dramatic girl.’ Charitably, however, he does not voice it. Instead opting to loop his arm through mine as he speaks lowly, “let’s get some air, hm?”

I follow, clutching to his arm like my own personal lifeline. He leads me out the banquet hall, to a hall equally as grand. Tall windows line the entire exterior wall, each tucked into an alcove. To the right lays the exit. We take the left. Towards the end of the hall, he guides me into an alcove, hand sliding from my skin to unlatch the window, cracking it open.

The air is crisp, grounding. Moreso are has hands finding their way to my shoulders, thumbs drawing an idle path to sooth my stumbling pulse.

“She wants to sponsor me,” I breathe at last.

He beams down at me, “yes. I anticipate more will follow.”

I rub my face, “one is more than enough, gods, Viktor, I—“ I swallow, looking up at him, “thank you.”

His mouth parts, brows pinching. “No need, you did—“

“Viktor,” I urge, “let me give you the credit you’re due.”

That seems to strike a chord. His brows raise, and he swallows thickly. Nodding, hesitant as he whispers, “you’re welcome.”

His hands find a strand of my hair, twirling it with his fingers as I so often see him do to his own as he works. There’s a far off look in his eye as he stares at the motion. He swallows, coming back to me with a slight nod of his head. An answer to some unspoken question.

“You did well,” he says at last, amber eyes glinting before falling to my mouth.

He takes a step closer.

“You did, too,” I exhale, “I never got to say.”

He lets out a gentle huff of a laugh, “I said a single line.”

He watches me carefully, looking for any sign of hesitation as he steps closer, closing the gap. He smells of tea and aluminum and him. My heart races, every nerve standing on end.

“Viktor,” I say. Not a warning, but a prayer.

One he hears.

He swallows, harsh and hard as his head dips down, pressing my back against the alcove wall. He halts, lips hovering above mine as our breath mixes in the gap between, letting out a whisper of my name. I gasp it in like air. I could subsist off my name on his lips alone.

His hand slides up from my shoulder, ghosting along my collarbone, my neck, my jaw—until my face is nestled securely within the palm of his hand. He swipes at my cheekbone with his thumb, tilting my head back.

I let out a noise—strangled and sharp and desperate. Once honeyed eyes are now blown black, fluttering closed as he dips down until I can just, just feel the warmth of his lips. I crane my head, chasing after it.

His hand at my neck holds me put. Letting out a ragged breath, pressing every inch of his body against mine.  It’s not nearly enough.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for quite some time,” he muses, voice far too even for my liking.

A thumb swipes across my lower lip, and I shudder. Another shaky breath against my skin—whisky and wine and want—before he’s closing the gap. Pulling me into a kiss so searing I’m sure I’ll burn up right then and there.

I whine into his mouth, and I am rewarded with hands falling to my hips, pulling me sharply against him. My own hands tangle into the soft curls of his hair and I could cry. I tug, pulling his mouth off mine. He pants, looking down at me with wild eyes.

“As good as you imagined?” I smirk.

He groans, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of my mouth, “better.”

I gasp as he pressing another searing kiss along the bend of my jaw, stopping at the juncture. “Like honey.”

His leg slots between mine, pulling me against his thigh as he presses his lips against my ear. “I wonder where else you taste so sweet, hm?”

I whine, my fingers scrambling for purchase in his jacket and hair. Teeth nip at my ear, tongue darting out to sooth at my skin before he whispers, “you must be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, a frantic little motion. He lets out a rumbling laugh as his lips trail down my neck. I shudder with each kiss. He mouths at the juncture of my neck, and I bite back a moan, hips rolling against his thigh instinctively. Desperate for friction. His thumb is sharp against my hipbone, pulling me down harder.

“Good girl,” he smiles against my skin. His hand trails down my neck, to my collarbone, down to the edge of my neckline—gliding along the seam, finding their way back up to the strap. A calculated flick and it’s falling down my shoulder.

He chases after with his mouth, guiding my hips to roll against him as the cup of my dress slips downward. He mouths at every inch of the newly exposed skin. The crest of my breast, the soft dip between. My head swims, eyes fluttering closed. The feel of his soft hair the only thing left tethering me to this plane. A thumb brushes across my nipple, followed by his tongue. I gasp, and he stills.

My eyes blink open as I pant down at him, watching. Rapt. Judging by the sinful smile he gives me, he’s well aware the picture he paints below—wild hair tangled between my fingers, his lips wrapped around the peak of my breast.

“Quiet,” he reminds me, hand rising to press flat against my lips. I whine, grateful, nodding.

Distant laughter stops him, he lets out a sigh as he stands, chest pressing to mine. His hand rights my dress as his arm comes to rest against the wall. Propping himself up.

I roll my hips, shamelessly in search of friction.

He smirks, dipping down to whisper, “mh, you’re desperate, aren’t you? You want me to touch you right here in this hall?”

I shudder, “please.”

His laugh is low and sinful, heat coiling in my core as his fingernails rake down my thigh.

“Not here,” he purrs, “not like this.”

It’s full of promise.

A familiar voice calls our names from the other end of the hall. Heimerdinger’s. And it’s a bucket of ice water across us both. He groans against my ear before standing, leaning to grab his cane from its resting spot against the window.

“More benefactors,” he says with a lopsided grin, breath still uneven.

I let out a soft laugh as my hands glide up to fuss at his collar, smoothing it down in place beneath his jacket. His eyes are gentle as his own fingers card along my hair, righting it. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, whispering, “come, let’s go.”

A/N: Viktor kinda (really) fucks, y'all. And really likes parallel play apparently lol. I'm a little proud of the somewhat dubious science in this once, tbh.

[scromchz]

v for vendetta | elw (m.)

— your boss has seemingly had it out for you since day one.

contents. mean boss!ellie williams/intern!reader | smut, fluff | 3.1k

warnings. kinda loser!ellie, jelly ellie, cursing, mdni - smut, fingering, mild spit kink.

note. a reupload from prev blog with same name, with some edits. its a wee bit cringe to me so be prepared. but people seemed to like it so enjoy and happy pride month <3

© scromchz 2023 — all rights reserved.

Getting your foot into the corporate world was never going to be easy. You knew this before you even applied for the summer internship at the DarkHorse Tech conglomerate, well aware that you'd have to claw your way up from rock bottom without so much as chipping a manicured nail. But you were optimistic; freshly graduated from college, and ready to take the challenge head-on.

That was before you met Ellie Williams.

Boss to the company, and your personal tormenter. She made hell seem like a cozy vacation spot.

What you did to get under her skin was a mystery. Hell, you didn't even report to her directly. There were at least three meat shields between you and her within the hierarchy. But somewhere, somehow, you blipped onto her radar, and you have stayed there like a bad stain ever since.

She made your work life an agonizing affair, and nothing you ever did seem to please her. If anything it had the opposite effect. Paperwork you'd spent hours agonizing over was always a 'complete mess', and she'd keep you after hours in her office to belittle you without ever correcting any so-called mistakes.

She shoulder-checked you in the hallway and picked apart your appearance when nobody was around. It didn't matter if you were wearing a grandma sweater and a floor-length, shapeless skirt. She threatened to write you up for a dress code violation like you showed up in your birthday suit for casual Fridays.

You were sent on wild goose chases disguised as coffee runs to places that didn't even exist, then berated for arriving late and empty-handed. Or god forbid, with Starbucks. You were supposed to be doing data entry, for fucks sake. And if you were to so much as smile at one of your coworkers she would pop out of nowhere to tell you off for slacking, like a damn high-school hall monitor.

Anytime you tried to voice your grievances to your manager, they'd give you a sympathetic smile. What she says goes, they'd awkwardly relay, she's the boss. 

There was nothing you could do. She wielded all the power and flaunted it outright. During the mandatory bullying and harassment presentation she even singled you out, asking by name if you had any questions or if there was anything you 'didn't understand'. Message received. 

Today was no different.

She'd sent a pristine pile of cardstock flying out of your hands and onto the floor, tsking at you for being clumsy when she'd purposefully swiped at them. You had to get on your knees and meticulously pick up each one, all the while she loomed over you, a smug smile on her annoyingly perfect face.

Of course, you had to sacrifice your break to grab Ellie her own lunch from across town. While your coworkers got to enjoy their downtime in the breakroom you'd seen the inside of twice. You were exhausted, dropping her food off at her desk while she pretended you weren't there, but you couldn't even be bothered to care. That's not to say you didn't feel her eyes burning into your backside when you left.

What you didn't see was the furrow in her brows, concern lacing her heated gaze when she saw you were empty-handed. She knew for a fact she told you to get something for yourself when she handed over her card. Strike number one of the day. Not taking care of yourself was unacceptable. 

She kept a close eye on you through her one-way office window, which was easy considering she had your desk moved directly into her line of sight. You were hunched over your desk, periodically wiping at your tired eyes to keep focused.

Then your shit-stick fellow interns had the gall to shirk their duties onto you. Like rolling around in daddy's money made them incapable of using a fax machine. And you, sweet, sweet you, had the nerve to weakly smile and say no problem. Ellie's eyes narrowed, aggressively chewing on her straw like an angry gremlin. Oh, there's a fucking problem all right. Strike number two.

As the clock neared five-thirty, you were nearly home free. If only office fuckboy extraordinaire hadn't waltzed over to you. What happened next made Ellie see red.

He made you blush. Oh, hell no.

Faster than you could kindly reject Brad's offer to take you out, the door to Ellie's office swung open. The force smacked it harshly into the adjoining wall.

She dismissed everyone for the day, and in the same breath barked out your name. "In my office," her tone left no room for disagreements. "Now."

Brad sucked in his teeth, offering a 'good luck' before high tailing it out of there along with the rest of the office. You could already hear whispers of your name, musings of what you did this time to warrant such an explosive reaction. Nobody envied you.

With shaky limbs, you stood, cowering under the weight of her glare. She held open the door, forcing you to brush against her suit-clad chest. The click of the lock sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sit," she commanded. But clicked her tongue when you slid into your usual seat in front of her desk. "No, not there."

You looked around in confusion, thinking you'd misheard her over your thunderous heartbeat. She looked expectant. Not to mention pissed.

But a cursory scan of the room confirms your thoughts. There were no chairs besides Ellie's, and the one you occupied.

You were used to her outlandish demands, but this was a whole new level. She was being difficult just to be difficult. Did she expect you to sit criss-cross apple sauce at her feet?

You pause, reigning in your irritation. "I don't understand. Ms. Williams, is���“

Angling your neck in her direction, your speech falters. She's much closer than you anticipated. Leaning down, her face was mere inches from your own. Your cheeks heat, and you're momentarily struck by her looks from up close.

It pains you to admit it, after everything she's put you through. The very person who makes you dread waking up in the morning can make your tummy flutter at the same beat. She was good-looking, objectively speaking. With the whole freckle-faced, green-eyed thing going on. 

Plus she smelled good. Ugh.

Ellie's jaw clenches. "No. I don't think you do."

Before you can respond, probably with an unprofessional what the fuck, she's yanking you up out of your seat. You sputter, skin burning from the contact of her hand wrapped around your elbow. She uses it to maneuver you like a rag doll.

She purposefully steps forward as you stumble off-balanced and careen into her. Just when you think things couldn't get any stranger, Ellie abandons her hold on your arm, hooking around your waist instead, pressing your entire front into hers.

Her arms cage into you on either side of the desk, and it digs into your backside. "Your behavior today has been unacceptable. I should write you up—" 

Something in you snaps.

"Then do it!" You cut in. You'd heard this exact spiel a hundred times over. And despite her numerous threats, your record remained spotless. "I am so sick of this. What'd I even do to make you hate me so much?!"

Momentarily, you seem to stun her. Weakly she mutters, "I don't hate you."

"Yeah right," you scoff, throwing propriety out the window.

Both of you were crossing lines, and you had to accept that you'd likely be out of a job come morning. She was the boss, after all. Blinking away an onslaught of tears, you focus over her shoulder at the beige walls.

She doesn't let you avoid her gaze for long. To your dismay, both her hands grip your face, forcing you to meet her frantic eyes.

"I- fuck, I don't. Seriously. I just," her voice actually cracked. Panic gripped her clear as day, a stark contrast to her typical nonchalant persona. It kept you from stomping on her foot and high tailing it out of there, if only just to see this through and get some long-awaited answers. "I never meant to— oh, fuck it."

Her chapped lips crashed into yours and time stopped. She was actually kissing you.  

Frozen and wide-eyed, you see firsthand the way she melts. Her eyes flutter shut, pressing into you as close as possible so that you're forced backward — a few pens clattering off the desk

Never in your wildest dreams did you foresee this outcome. But for some inexplicable reason, you kiss her back.

Despite your shock, or the questions on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes shut, and your lips finally move against hers. A deep moan is pulled from the depths of her chest and into the slick heat of your mouth.

Grabbing at the lapels on Ellie's suit, you're pleased by how she bends to your whims, arching into you. Her hands wander, a timid quality you would've never attributed to her. She gives your lips chase when you pull away with a wet pwap.

"Why does this feel so, fuck-" you dazedly pant into her spit-slicked mouth. "So good."

"I can make you feel even better," she rushes out, thumbs massaging mindless circles into your hips. She looks drunk, glassy-eyed and flushed pink. "If you let me. Please."

Please. What a trip. You had half a mind to search the room for hidden prank-show cameras.

This new power you seem to hold over her thrums in your veins. It overshadows any lingering doubts, muting the little voice in your head that says this is a bad idea. Instead, you give into the giddy feeling, letting it rush to your head like fizzy soda bubbles. 

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, you nod. "Then touch me."

Her eyes light up like a kid on christmas, and her lips stretch into a toothy smile. It's crooked—but hell, is it cute.

Ellie hitches your legs around her hips and pulls your weight into her arms, all the while lavishing your neck with deep sucks. Mindlessly she says things like sweet girl, and even a succession of garbled thank you's. It throws you for a loop; but you can’t deny the way it makes you ache.

Kicking the rolling chair out of the way, she takes you both down to the carpeted floor, laying you gently beneath her. After getting the green light, her hesitation melts away.

Slipping under your shirt, she hungrily palms your tits beneath your bra. The tips of her fingers are calloused, but that fact only seems to heighten your pleasure when they pinch your nipple. With the hand other cradling your skull, she licks into your mouth.

Distracted by her sweet taste, you're caught off guard when Ellie jams a knee between your thighs, forcing out a squeaky, embarrassing moan.

"Fuck," she detaches with a pop, sounding awestruck. Resting her forehead against yours, she peers down. If only she could burn the image of you grinding against her, she would; driven further mad by the feeling of your hot cunt, searing even through the layers separating you.

Suddenly she sits up, shedding her suit jacket and rolling her sleeves to the elbow. She's the picture of sin. Somehow you never realized she was so toned— and, is that a tattoo?

You follow her lead, wriggling out of your blouse and tossing it aside. She helps you with the rest of your clothes, eagerly dragging down your skirt and leaving you in just a pair of cotton panties and a bra. You shy under her unwavering stare, not used to feeling so seen.

"You're unreal," she breathes, resting her hand on your tummy. Her stare lingers on your clothed pussy, the wetness seeping through making it mold to your puffy lips. A proud smirk appears on her face. "You're soaking, fuck. Do ya' always get this wet?"

You squirm, grabbing hold of her wrist. Not to stop her, just with the intention to anchor yourself. "Ms. Will-"

"Ellie," she corrects. She splays her long fingers and slides downwards, stopping to fully cup your heat. "Can I?"

"Yes," you whine, feverish with need. Ellie glides your underwear down your legs, knocking your knees together and pushing them toward your chest for easier access. Once off, she stuffs them into her pocket with zero shame.

Hunkering down, she grips your inner thighs, thumbs maddeningly close to where you're throbbing for her. Splaying them wide for her viewing pleasure, she sucks in a breath and the first sight of your glistening cunt.

"Knew your pussy would be cute," her husky voice drawls. She spreads your sticky folds with her index and middle finger, a string of slick keeping them connected. Exposing your flushed clit and twitching hole, she puckers her lips and with a puh, spits directly inside. Fucking hell— your hips buck, brain short-circuiting.

She doesn't let you get far. Ellie just chuckles, pinning your lower belly with her forearm. Now that she had you like this, there was no running away. Not when you'd only gotten a taste of the pleasure she intended to bestow.

She massages your opening with her thumb, just dipping the tip inside to ease you into it, feeling like sweet torture. Your core gets all cramped up from clenching around nothing, winding yourself up up up. Finally, she slips two of those long fingers inside, knuckle deep.

Scrambling for purchase, your grip finds her wrist like a bracelet. It seems to be your go-to, and you carve out a permanent place there with your nails. So slowly it aches, she bottoms out before tentatively thrusting.

"Oh m'god," you babble, eyes rolling. "oh m'god, you're inside me. I can feel you inside—!"

Ellie shudders, both at your words and the feel of your hot, wet cunt wrapped around her. Taking a deep breath is a mistake; she just gets a lungful of your heady scent. Combined with the feeling of you soaking her hand, her eyes full on roll to the back of her head

"Jesus." Her palm slips up your stomach, taking in every tense of muscle as an orgasm winds up in your core.

Tucking her fingers up in search of your special little spot, Ellie prods a bit before bingo — you clench up tight. You can't think, let alone speak. You can't recall a time you'd ever come so fast, but every curl of her fingers has you climbing up higher and higher to that peak.

Needing to be closer, Ellie plants her free forearm next to your head, upping the pace with her other hand. It grants her a front-row seat to every micro-expression you make, and she tailors her movements to what has you reacting best.

"Look at me," she murmurs, nose grazing your cheek. It takes a moment to comply, her voice sounding far away like you're underwater. "Good girl."

"El," you gasp, legs beginning to shake. Your eyes locked, begging for something.

"I know," she hushes, pecking your lips. She watches with bated breath the way your face crumples when her palm fits against your aching clit. It's just what you need, and your thighs keep her trapped there, grinding back and forth.

In a matter of seconds that feel like a lifetime, you reach your breaking point, cumming around her fingers. Every spasm pushes out a wave of stringy-slick, dribbling down her curled wrist and onto the floor. You don't envy the poor soul who will have to clean it up.

Ellie gently eases you back down to earth, shushing you softly. You can't recall when she slipped out, but from the corner of your eye, you see her stuff them into her mouth.

"Shit," you mutter. As the haze of lust starts to clear up, regret takes its place. You just let your boss, who gets their rocks off making you miserable, finger you on the floor of her office. God dammit--

"Hey," she says gently. It's the opposite reaction you're expecting. Instead of kicking you out, she sits you up, slipping her big jacket around you. When you're decent, she grabs and cradles your hand in two of hers. "I meant what I said. I don't hate you. The opposite, actually."

"Wha-" at first you tilt your head in confusion. Then you really take her in. The shifty eyes, the way she’s pulling at her fingers, those red capped ears of hers. Everything clicks. Oh. "Oh."

It never escaped you how she never paid anyone else the same level of attention. That even at its worst, she never truly hurt you. Just menaced you enough to become a fixture in your life.

"Yeah," she trails off.

"If you're serious, I need you to promise me something."

Ellie's gaze snaps to yours, completely moon-eyed. Reinvigorated, she laces your fingers together, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "Anything."

"One, no more bullshit."

She winces but readily agrees. "Of course."

"And two," you continue before she can jump the gun. "You take me out on a real date."

This gets you a real kiss. "I'll fly you to fucking Paris, whatever you want. Money is no obstacle."

You laugh against her lips. Jesus, this girl. "How about dinner and a movie to start."

"Fuck yeah. Sounds perfect."

For a few minutes, you bask in the moment, exchanging kisses before beginning to redress. Balancing with a hand on the desk to get your shoes on, you pause, suddenly remembering something.

“Can we circle back to the seat thing?” You ask, referencing her ridiculous demand from earlier. “Where were you even going with that?”

It takes a few seconds for your question to register, her mind and body still fuzzy. Then she flushes red, from her neck to the tips of her ears. Was she blushing? Now you were beyond intrigued.

“The desk,” she stutters. Your big scary boss actually stutters. “I was gonna, you know,” she clears her throat as if to dislodge the words. 

Your grin is cheshire. “No, I don’t.”

“Like in the movies n’ stuff,” it’s as if it pains her to admit this. You eat it up. “I was gonna clear off the desk and make you sit there. It was supposed to be... sexy.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. “By 'clear' do you mean toss onto the floor?" You ask, eyeing the very breakable cutter on her desk. The image makes you laugh even harder, bellyaching. "You know that would’ve scared the shit out of me, right?”

Her pout deepens. Ellie buries her face into your neck, muffling her voice. “Shut up.”

[aettuddae]

high garden academy — chapter 58.

⟢ synopsis: a new school year begins at the high garden academy boarding school, bringing with it new students, and among them, the new center of attention for the drama-thirsty student body: the hong sisters. eunchae and her mysterious and unsympathetic older sister, daein, who oddly seem uninterested in the secrets, legends, and gossip of their new school. winter, the institution's top student, and karina, the popular girl and promising pianist, never imagined they would end up so closely involved with hong daein.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

[a/n: i haven't updated in ages so if from now on there are profile pictures/anything that changes in any way, it's because i couldn't find the previous ones]

the yu's house was gigantic, more rustic and traditional than what daein expected to find. nowadays all the houses of families with money looked like hospitals, white floors and walls, little decoration, no life. daein didn't like that kind of residences, sometimes she considered she had an old soul, and it was partly because she felt more comfortable in places like that. the high garden building seemed extremely nice and cozy, although she hated being in there, it was like a big museum where you could also live, practically a dream. the yu's house also gave her that feeling, it even reminded her a bit of her own house, although it seemed less like a medieval vampire castle.

unfortunately, daein could not inspect the home as she would like, spending time on the details and the probably expensive antique decorations, her brain was having great difficulty functioning properly, she could not concentrate either on the scenario she was in or on the numerous questions she was being asked by the couple who owned the house, stammering out answers that almost sounded coherent that she put together with the little willpower she had left based on the few words she retained. karina was doing god's work completing her sentences and making sense of them, justifying her attitude by saying she was shy or nervous. all her attention was on her own body, on the headache that seemed not to have stopped for days, the sweat that had no reason to appear as it wasn't hot enough, the nausea that hit her from time to time making her inspect the place to identify the quickest way to the bathroom in case she had to vomit. of course, some of that could be caused by lack of sleep since she hadn't rested well in the past three days, and she didn't even feel like thinking about the heat that invaded her chest every time she had to suppress the urge to yell at karina to shut up since lately she couldn't stand anyone, least of all her, or having to avoid rushing the girl's father who spoke extremely slowly.

daein was a complicated person, bitter to say the least, but this was already getting out of hand. she was never someone who lost her patience so quickly, although it could be because of her physical discomfort which was also a particularity of this stage of her addiction.

but she didn't use strong substances, did it make sense for her to feel this way? maybe she was just sick.

of course it didn't matter because she had to stay sober for...

for some reason she couldn't remember.

jennie? this dinner? sehun? oh, eunchae. she had to do it for eunchae. was it for eunchae at all? why was she putting her body through this? nevermind, there had to be some good reason, it was probably for eunchae, wasn't it?

still, she did know why she couldn't think straight, one thing being karina's hand resting on her lower back as they both sat on an elegant sofa in a corner of a room specifically dedicated to tea. her other hand rested on her leg, while with the one her parents couldn't see the girl pinched daein's skin as if trying to wake her up or nag her for her erratic behavior. the younger one disguised her correctives with displays of love and hong was not fascinated by either.

"aeinie." she hated that nickname with all her might, but she still turned to look at her. "do you want to see the piano?" the girl's expression at the suggestion of that was somewhat frightening, like when as a child you got reprimanded by your teacher and she had to disguise the anger so as not to lose her friendly image, but only achieved a hybrid that scared you more.

"will you play for me?" she asked expressionlessly, she didn't know what the fuck was happening to her body, but that karina played the piano she did remember, idiot.

the blackhaired faked a tender expression, dropping her shoulders and her eyebrows, she moved closer, and gave a kiss on her cheek. "sure, i'll play something for you." she agreed, standing up and extending her hand to her.

"food will be ready soon, go and we'll let you know." announced the girl's father as daein grabbed onto her to get up, they both nodded slightly.

"what did you consume?" sentenced with a forceful tone the youngest whispering when they were already a little bit away from her family.

"nothing." she was at a loss, the words seemed to come out of her mouth at random.

"daein." she shot her an accusatory look.

"i didn't use anything." she reiterated. "that's why i'm like this." she explained after letting out a drawn-out sigh. "but it will pass." rather than trying to calm karina down, she seemed to be trying to convince herself.

she looked her up and down, finding the sweat on her neck and recalling having seen somewhere that this must be a symptom of abstinence, although she wasn't sure. because of the state she was in, she had no choice but to believe her. daein was usually lost and didn't make much sense, but at this moment she was worse, even anguished, anxious, which was rare to see in her. she hoped her parents hadn't noticed from across the coffee table.

without saying more, she walked over, leading her with her clasped hands, approaching the long, elegant brown grand piano with lines effect, there being some darker ones, indicating it was macassar ebony wood. karina took a seat first on the stool that was wide enough for daein to enter as well, so this one followed the younger girl's steps and sat with her.

"do you know anything about piano?" the expert inquired putting her hands on the keys and stroking some of them creating a vague ephemeral sound.

"my mom plays the piano." she commented, her eyes inspecting the instrument. "she's not professional or anything, but she plays sometimes."

"you appreciate your mom a lot." she observed.

"isn't that what all children do?" she said with obviousness.

"i guess." she cocked her head to the side as if that would help her think her words better. "my mom tends to get overshadowed by my dad's presence." she mumbled in fear of being overheard.

"i understand." agreed the older one. "mine too."

"i see we have something in common." she smiled sideways, victorious.

"unfortunately." she grumbled, grimacing in disappointment. "but she's still my mother, you know." she continued.

"no, of course, i know what you're talking about." she sat up in the seat. "if mom wasn't around i think i'd go crazy." she laughed softly.

"bonding with parents must be more complicated when you hardly see them during the year." daein assumed, turning her head to give her a look.

"yes." she shook her head accompanying the statement. "since i've been attending high garden since i was little, there are teachers i've seen more these past few years than my father." she admitted with a downcast attitude. "i'm sure most of my baby teeth are in some jar in teacher jeon's office." they both laughed at the image. "hey! i made you laugh!" celebrated the younger exalted girl.

"it doesn't count, i'm dying." she stopped her, causing her to pout.

silence fell over the place and before allowing it to become uncomfortable, jimin began to play a piece on the piano, her fingers strolling comfortably across the keys as if she had no bones to constrain her. it was a rather slow melody, but still complicated, daein watched her hands without understanding how someone so young could have such ease in playing such a complex instrument. it wasn't melancholic, it sounded like a summer ballad, positive, hong had no idea what song it was, but she was mesmerized, it was the first time all day she could pay attention to anything.

slowly karina's fingers paused as she played the last few notes until the lack of sound returned to the room, but far from discomforting, it represented a missing of words. daein hated wanting to compliment her on her talent, but she had to admit she had loved it.

"you're good." she criticized. "very good."

"it's one of the works i'm supposed to play at the korean music contest." she reported casually. "i should do well." she sounded a little pressured and it made sense, not just anyone was representing one of the most prestigious schools in the country in the most important national music contest among students. "did you learn anything from your mother?" she removed her hands giving daein room to play.

"little, actually." she directed her hands to the piano and hesitantly pressed several keys without much sense, according to the blackhaired she was trying to play a rather messy version of ode to joy.

realizing that she didn't remember what the song was like at all and noticing the horrified look on the pianist's face next to her, daein preferred to stop trying, generating some sympathy in the girl next to her, who with a confident smile stood up and walked to stand behind her, leaning a little until she could reach her hands, her chest resting against daein's back and their cheeks just a few inches away from brushing against each other. she positioned daein again on the keys and began to guide her so that at a leisurely pace, but not as awkward as before, she could play the song she had attempted.

what irony hong daein playing the ode to joy.

daein was using all her energies to focus, if there was something that moved her it was the need to complete things and do them well, and maybe that was one of the causes of her deep sorrow, not being able to do anything right in this last time of her life. she couldn't even stand the discomfort she felt at the lack of doping. she followed karina's indications as well as her condition allowed, failing in some notes, skipping others, but in general sounding as she should, which must have been all the responsibility of her puppeteer.

with some difficulty the song ended, a small smile on both faces, one out of pride at having completed the piece no matter how easy it was or how many mistakes she had made, and the other because she was distractedly enjoying the closeness with the older one. neither having noticed that they came even closer than before, completely entangled with each other, their cheeks pressed against the opposite, jimin's arms almost embracing daein from behind. the blackhaired moved her head slightly so that her nose could rub hong's cheek, closing her eyes to enjoy the fact that she wasn't moving away, nodding her head slightly up and down. she lifted her hands from the piano and used them to hold onto her neck completely, wrapping her in her grip.

daein let herself be carried away by the tender gestures, and leaned her head more and more towards her own shoulder, following karina's touch, her eyelids drooping and preventing her from seeing that this was the same girl who used to drive her crazy all the time. her face was predisposed to the younger girl, who now that they were facing each other was caressing her nose with her own.

after all daein was not in her five senses and was someone who would do anything for a simple token of affection,

so she didn't stop jimin when this one captured her lips between hers, slowly, delicately, more than a kiss it was caresses between their mouths, with trouble to detach, to cut the touch. karina always wanted more of daein, once she kissed her, she couldn't stop thinking about doing it again, so being like this with her felt fulfilling, and more exciting than kissing anyone else she'd ever done it with before.

she didn't understand why, but no one seemed to have such soft lips as daein, and no scent was as satisfying to be smothered by as daein's was. she was such a cruel person, she rarely showed any pity for her, but when she kissed her no one was as tender as daein.

needless to say, she was exaggerated and restlessly obsessed with hong daein.

their mouths were entwined, daein's hands had risen to hold and attend to jimin's resting on her collarbone, their tongues were just now wanting to meet, but they never got to. "jiminie, the food-" the housemaid suddenly came in interrupting them. "oh, sorry." she covered her cheeks in embarrassment with amusement on her face, the two younger girls looked at her uncomfortably, separating immediately. "the food is ready."

(!)

— taglist [open] : @yoontoonwhs @gayforalll @hwm1hyun @jisooftme @gornoi @eunhhh @petruchiosstuff @linnnsworld @xen248 @trueblumarinegf @rinapomu @imahallucination11 @thefckghost @myouiiiiiiii @blaymine @chaewoni3 @aliceiwk @gfriendsapple @sewiouslyz @multiliker @cwpiqwon @pandafuriosa60

[yuri-is-online]

Hi I love your soulmate au, consider Ace or Deuce as soulmate but not touching each other until much later.

rules for au/prev posts can be found on my masterlist

So I could not quite tell if you meant ace x deuce or aceyuu/deuceyuu but since I am a Yuu focused blog (and you said "or... but not untill later") I am going to focus on x yuu.

I think the first potential time for them to touch Yuu is after beating the phantom at the end of the dwarf's mine. They're cheering, you're cheering, there's a half second where they scoop up Grim and swing him around and half reach for you but... hesitate. It's like everything stops for a moment before he shakes himself out of it. You're just Yuu, some magicless human he literally met today, why's he feeling so... strange about it???

I could see Ace knowing about soulbonds. His best subject is magic analysis/theory, he's far from unaware of theoretical concepts. But he's also Ace. The bratty kid who hates being seen as vulnerable, who thinks romantic things are uncool, whose way more comfortable being someone's friend than he is their boyfriend. He doesn't want a destined mate, he wants someone he can laugh with and likes being around... and he sort of hates how much you fit that description. So! Only solution he can think of is trying to bait you into making physical contact first, that way if anyone makes a big deal about this all consuming need to be close to each other it's you and not him.

Even though he's the one who proposes sharing a bed. It would have been your fault if you said yes! He's unprepared for what it feels like to get his wish, after Vil curses him to spend the night on the floor with Deuce and Grim he expects you to just abandon him to your room... but you creep back with blankets and pillows for your friends and hesitate when you go to give them to him. Slowly, so gently it makes a mockery of the searing undeniable realization that tears through him as you lay yourself next to him and lay your hand on his shoulder and rest.

While he lies there awake cursing Vil (he refuses to blame himself) for denying him the ability to hold onto you like he should.

~~~~

Deuce is different, I don't think he would be aware of soulbonds nor does he seem to believe in soulmates. I don't think he's thought much of romance at all really, so he doesn't fully understand what he's experiencing or why he's so nervous to touch you. He wants to though. Badly. It's all he can think about sometimes, he's never had a friendship this close or intimate. He really treasures you and this closeness, he doesn't want to break it. While Deuce might not know what is driving this desire, he knows that if he touches you he will understand. And that scares him, what if he breaks you with touch? What if nothing good can come from this connection, what if he is unable to let you go? He really wants you to be able to see your home again... but the thought of losing you leaves him strangely listless. Like you would be taking a part of him with you...

I don't think he ever finds the correct word for it. Maybe sometime way in the future Malleus or a professor will make him aware, but somewhere in a dream he finds it; the understanding of just what this bond means. Physically, he is unconscious in a hospital bed after failing to dodge the shards of Ramshackle Dorm's ceiling, but mentally he is wrapped in the warm, heavy sensation of his love for you. When he wakes and you aren't there he almost tears himself in half looking, and when you come back he holds you so tightly you can feel the tension shaking through his body. The only thing that soothes him is your gentle touch on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his soul as he breathes the bond between you in.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 8

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟖 | 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

chapter word count: 3.3 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: So we are doing this again, where I say that I'm too busy and the next chapter will take a while and then I turn my back and upload on schedule. Anyway. I hope ya'll enjoyed last chapter's cliffhanger!

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 are taken aback is a gross understatement; you’re utterly stunned. Your eyes widen a fraction, and for a millisecond the air, the ocean, and your heart all still. 

Never in your dreams –well, maybe some of them– would you have thought that your name would come out of his mouth seconds after meeting you. There are no introductions to serve as prelude to his words, no past interactions to serve as crutch for rationalization. 

The gleaming moonlight is suddenly much more brilliant, bathing you both in silver rays. Your hair sways in the salty ocean breeze, and so does his, matching yours in a gentle rhythm. The wind is much calmer than the storm that heralded your arrival, air strangely warmer despite the environment that would suggest otherwise. 

Your name in his lips is not a question, but rather an answer. 

He, somehow, knows who you are, as his tone does not ask if that is your name, but instead states it with the certainty only someone familiar with another can. It is strange, how his eyes speak of understanding, how his stance speaks of kinship.

You are frozen in place for what seems like eternity, but is likely just a couple of seconds. Hange’s enthusiastic voice is lost in the pulse of the sea’s waves, in the drum of your heart, in the whisper of breath of your unasked questions. 

How? Is the first one your mind asks.

Zeke, you reply, before discarding the idea. It is neither logically sound nor something coherent with the instructions and warnings you were given. The Scouts never knew about the Volunteers before they set foot on the island, never considered such an organization's existence in the first place, and much less one that Zeke led. 

Invariably, you know him. 

Unexpectedly, he knows you. 

“What?” you instead ask out loud, when you notice that he is searching your response for confirmation.  

You hesitate with your question, not unlike when you first asked Yelena who she was. It is terrifying how, just when you feel you have a grasp on what is happening, the rug is pulled from your feet and you are left dazed and confused on the floor. 

It makes you think that when you reweave a new carpet from your loom, when you believe you can see the whole picture it depicts, a loose thread will ultimately be pulled by an unknown force, sending you tumbling down once again. 

You are a bit embarrassed of yourself when he gives you a small smile and your stomach flutters just as your cheeks heat up. Maybe this is a dream you think, and it's not the first time that you are hesitant to accept reality, but it is the first occasion that you don't compare it to a nightmare. 

“Don’t pretend like you dont know me,” he says, further baffling you. “We both know way too much for that.”

“We do?” you ask, before correcting your tone. “We do.”

Eren tilts his head slightly, transferring his weight from one foot to another. “Yeah.”

You’ve noticed that there is a lot of space for silence in your life. Whether it contains unsaid secrets, unasked questions, or unresolved doubts, it always lingers behind you, never broken, never explained. 

And yet now, even with the uncertainty with which you approach the newborn conversation, there is implied solidarity in his words, in his actions. Eren didn’t try to pretend he was ignorant of you for the sake of having aces under his sleeve, nor did he attempt to trade that tidbit of information for another. 

Instead he came down the hill –because you are certain he was given explicit orders to not approach the ship’s crew– and talked to you, making it known that you had a connection. One that may only be just brought forth, but that came to life months before your first meeting, when he received his medal and his memories and his burden, and when you watched his story and his rage and his salvation.

You hear a whistle in the distance, and you whip your head towards its source, the sand and rock shore where the two Volunteers and two Scouts remain. You glance at them, too far away to distinguish their faces, their number, but knowing anyways who it is that stands there. Or maybe not, but you couldn't bear to think that your information was now obsolete. 

“I have to go,” you confess as if it is a great sin. 

Eren, who also turned his eyes to the shrill whistle, looks at you again. You swear his eyes soften, and gleam with something akin to… beholding? As quickly as these thoughts enter your mind you dismiss them, because, even if he could claim to know you through his future memories, it doesn’t excuse what you think you see. And so, you conclude it must be a trick of the light and of your perceived closeness to him through his story. 

He nods, not moving from his place between the dunes. You swallow, also not wanting to withdraw, but then you blink and the spell is broken on your end. The sand once again crunches underfoot, but then you stop when he calls your name again in a soft voice that is carried your way by the salty breeze. And so you cast your eyes upon him again, humming questioningly.

“Tell them your name,” is what Eren says after a moment. “They don't know,” he continues, infusing the word with weight, “but they learned.”

And it should be painfully awkward, how blunt questions and half finished answers are being thrown about, but there is no discomfort in the exchange. You know, and he knows, and you hadn’t realized how refreshing it was to just be, not relieved from the burdens but breathing in spite of them. You wonder if he has come to the same realization. 

“I will,” you say. “Thank you.”

“I’ll find you later,” he says. 

“Yeah,” you answer, almost tripping over your words. “Okay.”

You dont think to ask why until much later, when your feet have already taken you to the other side of the pier, sand crunching rhythmically under your robotic footsteps. Why he would tell you, and why now, and why in that way. But the more you delve into it, the more obvious it becomes. 

Eren knows what is supposed to happen (giant footsteps and crunching bones and the spray of blood and–) and is, in his eyes, powerless to do anything but follow the path already established by his future self, who is likewise chained by the same revelations. Perhaps you are as well, if the haunted look in his eyes is any indication of the unstoppable future that will be realized in a little more than three years. 

Still, everyone seeks salvation, even those who sacrifice themselves in order to save others. You and him are no exception. 

You will save him from his preordained fate, determined by his past, by his future. He will save you from your uncertain destiny, shrouded in mystery and paradoxes. 

Maybe you don't need to reweave a new tapestry just yet; maybe it's enough to only untangle the yarn. 

Hange Zoë is no less enthusiastic than the character you used to watch on Tv. Levi Ackerman is no less distrustful than the man you read manga about. They haven’t greeted you yet, as you’ve only just arrived to stand behind Yelena, next to Onyankopon. 

He glances at you when you arrive, silently asking with his eyes what held you back. You shake your head almost imperceptibly, imploring that neither he nor Yelena press the issue. 

“Is that her?” Hange chirps, curiously referring to you. 

You almost want to look behind you, to see if there's anyone else they might have been talking about, but you know there is no one else in your vicinity, and you're the only one who has approached recently enough to warrant the question. 

“She is the last one.” Yelena says. “Please excuse her tardiness.”

“Oh! Well, in that case it's so nice to meet–” 

“Four eyes,” Levi interrupts. “Now's not the time for chit-chat.” He turns to glance at you, before returning to look at Yelena, the de facto leader. “Expect the ship to be searched while we escort you three to our base.”

“I would expect nothing less,” is what Yelena responds. “Your caution is commentable.”

“Sure,” Levi says dryly, not an ounce of belief in his voice, signaling unnamed Scouts to march onto the ship and its crew. “Get walking.”

You all file in, walking amongst the dunes and rocks, with Yelena at the helm of your little group. You feel eyes on you, but when you turn to look no one in your direct vicinity is watching. Instead, you trip when going up some slippery rocks, too preoccupied with searching for nonexistent eyes, but fortunately Onyankopon catches you, grabbing your arm to prevent your fall. 

The rifle slung over his shoulder rattles with the commotion, and you feel how the others turn to look at you, before registering both your actions as non threatening. 

“Careful there, kid,” Onyankopon says. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, heart still reeling from your near slip. “Sorry for the, uh, tardiness.”

“It's all good,” he reassures you, although you know your notoriety for being late is only growing. 

You also know –well, maybe not know, but you are smart enough to deduce– that Onyankopon does want to ask you about your reasons for not heading directly to the pier after the Volunteer in charge of letting you out of your small cabin reported to his post. 

But he won’t pose the question right now, where there is a great chance of being overheard, and where exchanging secrets would only cause more suspicion from the Scouts. 

There is no idle chatter as you make your way to the multiple tents that make up the Scout’s base, scattered around an open field in an orderly fashion. Small yellow dots light up the entrance flaps of each green structure, and there are multiple barrels strewn around. 

You once again feel eyes on you, only this time you are aware of who those eyes belong to. It is a given that the other soldiers would be apprehensive about the Volunteers sudden appearance, but you notice how their attention lingers a tad too long on you. 

You force yourself not to squirm under the weight of their curiosity, of their judgment. Yelena and Onyankopon get noticed as well, but it is you that garners the most attention. Because, well, adults are what they expected Marley to send, but a teenager? Even if you are older than some of the recruits and Marley didn’t actually send you, it was still something they didn’t account for. 

So it is strange, even to you, who was made aware of this prematurely, how you are included in the small group with the proclaimed leaders of the Volunteer faction. Yeah, you can see why all eyes are primarily on you. 

Hange reaches a tent that seems larger than all of the others, and enters through the flap, and the rest of you follow, flanked by Levi. They grab at the knob of the hanging lantern and the space is coated with light. On the inside there is a table and red chairs, two on one side, two on the other. Hange brings a third one from a corner, raising the total to five.

“Sit, sit!” they usher you, taking their place on the other side of the table. 

“Weapons on the table,” Levi says, less enthusiastically. 

You don't have any weapons to turn in, so you walk towards the chair on the far right and sit, fiddling with your thumbs before you remember to quash the anxieties bubbling inside of you. There is a strong sense of deja vu when you reach for one of the teacups gingerly placed on the table, noting with some sourness how bitter tea always seems to follow you in interrogations and introductions. 

You disassociate for a moment, choosing to retreat into your thoughts, rewinding your earlier interaction with Eren over and over again, not unlike what you used to do with his older brother. 

What sets it apart is the intention with which you are dissecting it, turning his words upside down to squeeze more of that refreshing understanding (You know, and he knows, and you hadn’t realized how refreshing it was to just be—) out. 

There is silence again, but this time it is filled with tension. You blink, unsettled by the lack of discussion between the two Volunteers and the two Scouts, only to find the later ones looking at you expectantly, Levi’s expression disguised with more finesse than Hange’s.

“…Sorry, what?” you ask. 

“Your name,” Hange clarifies. “I asked for your name.”

“Oh,” you say. “It’s Y/n.”

There is something almost imperceptible in the way Hange fiddles with Yelena’s gun, a recognition in both their and Levi’s eyes that you might’ve missed were it not for Eren’s insistence in presenting yourself with your name. 

You risk a glance at Yelena but her eyes are on you, not them, as are Onyankopon’s, so you let yourself breathe, halfway convinced they didn’t notice.

Hange does not miss a beat. “It’s nice to meet you Miss Y/n!” they say, drowning out your protests of Just Y/n please— and placing the gun back on the table, next to the rifle.

You nod, hesitant. “It’s nice to meet you too, uh, …?” You trail off, not remembering if they already introduced themselves or not.

“Hange Zoë, at your service!” They say, nudging Levi when he doesn’t say anything.

“Levi Ackerman.” And if you notice the distinct lack of add on like Hange’s introduction, well, that is to be expected.

Yelena takes the opportunity to steer the conversation away from pointless (to you) introductions and unimportant (to her) dialogue.

“So, about our proposal…”

She launches onto the plan you rehearsed and memorized with Zeke, drilled into your mind enough times as to prevent any slip ups of the scheme only him, Yelena, and you know.

It’s not different at all from the one presented in the series, and although you now have it branded deep in your mind, back home you had to watch several videos and read several posts in order to understand. 

The beauty of Attack On Titan was in the convoluted yet intriguing plot and themes, yet sometimes you needed outside help to comprehend half of the stuff that was going on. The fact that each character has their own motivations and their own secrets on top of the changing allegiances do nothing to help.

Still, hours and hours spent scraping the wiki and watching compilations finally pay off, and you’re confident in your ability to not only remember each plan, but also the people involved and the moments in which their loyalties shifted.

The motions are well rehearsed; Zeke will contact the nation of Hizuru, and Hizuru will contact the outside world, advocating for Paradis, as well as provide the blueprints necessary to help advance the island’s technology.

The plan would take around fifty years to reach completion, the amount of time that is estimated as enough to take to bring Paradis to a similar level technology wise to the rest of modern society. There would be a small-scale Rumbling to show off the island’s power, acting as a deterrent for nations with wishes to invade. 

Hange takes the gun again, pointing it directly at their face. It is unloaded, but it still unnerves you. You weren’t a gun savvy by any means, but the first thing you had been taught by Zeke when going over gun safety was to never ever point the gun at yourself, not even when it had the safety on, not even when it was unloaded. 

Yelena lists off the numbers of personnel in the army, counting all the divisions; the infantry, the navy, and aerial forces. Despite Hange’s and Levi’s best attempts, it is evident how frazzled they are by the revelation. 

One million foot soldiers, three fleets of twenty one battle ships each, new technologies and aerial weapons. Those are the new enemies that they must now fight against, a stark contrast to the mindless but brutal titans they are used to dealing with. 

“If Marley had such capabilities the whole time, why haven’t they attacked in over a year?” asks Hange. 

“There are two main reasons,” Yelena begins. “One; the Pure Titans. Even with the latest weapons available to Marley, they would hinder a land assault. Quite ironic that the very thing that is used to confine Eldians to the island also protects it from outside forces.” 

“Yeah, well, ain’t that funny,” Levi says. 

Yelena sips her tea. “Still, I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?” Hange asks.

Yelena doesn’t answer, choosing instead to take a sip from her cup. She looks at her right, directly at you, as if she wanted you to answer in her place. And you can't and won't ever be able to read her mind, but you’re pretty sure you can guess what she is playing at. 

“It's almost dawn,” you point out. “And we are sitting in a tent drinking tea. There is no commotion outside, no one hurrying to their fighting posts. There are also no protective structures around the base, suggesting that you have exterminated almost if not all titans on the island.”

It's clear they weren't expecting you to speak. Even if Eren told them something, the most logical approach to your presence in the tent was as a buffer, something for the Scouts to pick at, to find weakness in. Yelena is helping you overcome that, because, even if it would be easier to infiltrate them if you are deemed as non-threatening, the trust that would be placed upon you should you be assessed as capable makes them want to take the gamble. 

“And the second reason?” Hange asks. 

“Currently, Marley is at war with multiple nations,” Yelena says. “The loss of the Colossal and Female titan, as well as the defeat of their Warrior unit has given many of their enemies the chance to unite and retaliate against Marley.”

“If you guys are secret agents who infiltrated Marley, I’m guessing you came from conquered nations?” Hange asks. 

Yelena’s and Onyankopon’s faces harden– one fake, one true. 

“Oh, I’m right?!,” they exclaim after. “I bet you’ve got some pretty big backers to go up against Marley then.”

“Not quite,” Yelena says, and after a moment she clarifies. “Onyankopon and I are from conquered nations, but Y/n is Eldian.” There is only one truth in her whole statement, a new record. “We were powerless, forced to play soldiers for the nation that took our homes, but Y/n was deemed a devil the moment she was born.”

The fake backstory you're using makes you a little uncomfortable, but it sure was convenient. They wanted to paint you as smart, but not too intelligent as to outsmart Paradis. Dependable, but not a pushover. Eldian, just like them, facing obstacles even when outside the walls. 

You tune out Yelena praising Zeke for organizing the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers, calling him a god amongst mortals. You hoped that small, subtle discomfort showed in your face, so the two members of the Scouts present would notice that you weren't lost in reverence for Zeke. 

“We are the Anti- Marleyan Volunteers,” she finishes. “Our goal: To free the Eldian people.”

Levi and Hange share glances, no doubt discussing the answer they would give. 

“We would like assurance of your allegiances,” Levi says. “You will not be able to contact Eren, or any of the others for that matter, but we want the girl to come with us.”

taglist: @dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13 @luna4mnoon

@yuuuumii @kermittears @binluvsu

ask or comment to be added!

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 32

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Grian's pov*

You "wake up" extremely late the next day ... You didn't really, you took the night to work on things in your plan and you just lost track of time, but nobody has to know that...

Normally this wouldn't be worth mentioning considering It's Saturday and most mortals oversleep in the weekend but from the number of notifications on your phone you can guess this isn't the case... You just have to wonder what in the world has been going on.

[Pearl created a new chat.] [Pearl added you.] [Pearl added Scott.] [Pearl added Cleo.] [Pearl added Martyn.] Scott: Ohh Nice! Scott: ... Scott: Why? Cleo: Yeah. Cleo: What's this for? Pearl: After yesterday thought it would be a good idea. [Pearl changed the chat(s) name to Winners] Scott: Ohhh!love that. Scott: What did we win? Pearl: Nothing. Martyn: Maybe the real win was the friends we made along the way. Cleo: Why that name then? Pearl: It's a bit of a joke, It's a reference to the traffic. Cleo: ... Cleo: So, hope you know that doesn't make any sense. Martyn:Say. Martyn: Talking about friendship, where's my funny man Scar at? Pearl: I don't have his number. Martyn: Aww. Pearl: Ask Grian about it. Martyn: @/Grian. Scott: I don't think he's awake yet. Martyn: @/Grian. Martyn: @/Grian. Cleo: This is fun. @/Grian. Martyn: @/Grian. Cleo: @/Grian. Scott: I can do that too @/Grian.

. . . You are going to have to respond or they might actually keep doing this, well, finding Scar's number shouldn't be too hard... hopefully.

Grian: I'm here. Martyn: Finally. Martyn: So? Grian: I'm on it.

Scar looks more lively today, the eyebags are still there but much less prominent. He looks excited about something.

"What has gotten you so happy Scar? Did you enjoy my gift that much?"

"No! I mean yes! I mean I loved it! But I am excited about something else!"

"Something else?"

"Yes! Guess!"

"Uh... We got a raise?"

Why did you even ask that, you don't even need money...

"... No?"

"I have no clue...is it like...hero stuff?"

"Yes! The hero association said that you can start actually going out as my sidekick soon!"

Ah right, yeah, you were wondering about that actually... It's been a few days since the inauguration thing abd you haven't actually done any hero stuff yet.

". . .Aren't you excited?"

You are, definitely, just probably for different reasons then his.

"Yeah, just shocked about it, didn't meant to leave you hanging like that."

"Oh right, I shouldn't have told you like this... Kinda sprung it on you randomly"

"It's ...fine Scar."

Then he seems to remember that you wanted to talk to him.

"Well, did you need something G?"

"... Yeah, do you have a civilian phone number?"

"Oh yeah! I should have told you ages ago! It's xxxxxxxxxx"

"Great, Pearl made a group chat, do you want in?"

"Oh! Sure! That sounds fun"

-Winners- Martyn: So? Martyn: Any news. Scott: I'm pretty sure he just went back to sleep. Grian: Done. Scott: I stand corrected. [Grian added Scar]

*End of chapter 7*

[museofreverie]

Chapter 09 ⋆ The Summer I Turned Ugly

WAYS OF FREEDOM┊Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Modern Fem!Reader ┊2nd POV

In which a chronically online Gen Z that went through the pandemic goes to the Attack on Titan Universe and tries her very best to change the ending with an "I can fix him" mentality.

⋆ CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.4k words

⋆ WARNINGS: mention of past ED, slight panic attack at the last part

← prev chapter ┊ next chapter →

𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟖𝟓𝟏

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 time froze with the view before you. 

No one dared to move at your confession. Even if your vision wasn't in good condition right now, you tried to soak in every moment with keen eyes like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

Your eyes moved from Hange who had their mouth hung open in shock, words unable to leave their lips to Levi who stood rigid, eyes narrow as steel that lost its composure for a second at your words. On the other hand, the other three were unreadable to you considering your spot; Mikasa's breath seemed to be hitched as her eyes widened as she shared a quick glance with Armin who remained rooted to his spot, completely shocked with his face speaking for himself. And for Eren, well, you thought his expressions betrayed nothing.

But as soon as your focus shifted back to the others, you missed the fleeting moment Eren's eyes widened. As if realizing something only he knew. 

And then, Armin broke the tense silence. 

"Wha — what do you — um — what do you mean by that exactly. . . ?" A nervous chuckle left his lips, a fragile attempt to pierce the heavy silence that bestowed upon them. He gave Hange and Levi a careful glance as his hands clenched tightly at the pencil and notepad he was holding. ". . . Your world?"

You gulped, bracing yourself for the worst. It was about time you told them the truth.

Well, some of it. 

Your hands fidgeted anxiously, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "I — I know it's a lot to process, but—" You paused, and tried to gather your thoughts as best as you can even though your mind was a mess. 

"—Yes. Yes, you heard it right. My world. A totally different one from this Earth I think, but there are some similarities, I'd say. And well, where I come from, titans really don't exist." You mustered the most serious face you could show them, but then words spilled from your mouth and you were unable to stop yourself from rambling. "But I think they do, but only in stories and shows, and well, not just the ones you know. To be honest, I really don't know if they're real or not, and also, I don't even know what a real titan from here looks like—"

"What?" Hange said incredulously; eyebrows shot up towards their unruly hair, a clear sign of their disbelief that stopped you from your ramble. "You haven't seen a titan yet? But I thought they made them from outside Paradis? So how is it possible that you don't know what they looked like?"

You purse your lips into a thin line and shake your head. You almost forgot that standing here before you is the only person in this entire place who found titans endearing. Ever. How could you ever forget the history of Hange with Sawney and Beane?

And Hange is right. How is this even possible?

Obviously, you didn't have a good answer for that, so you settled with raising your shoulders and saying, "I honestly don't know."

They all glanced at each other, a silent communication with their eyes that only they could understand. 

Your fist clenched beside you. I knew this would happen.

"You still don't believe me." You stated, your shoulders deflating. Then, a challenging look grew evident in your face and you tilted your head. "You don't believe me? Fine. Ask me some questions."

Never in your life did you imagine yourself trying to prove something like this to these characters—Wait. 

You mean people, you corrected yourself.

Don't forget that they're supposed to be real now, Y/N. You reminded yourself. Don't forget that.

Hange spoke up again, their curiosity piqued as always and staying true to their title as Commander of the Survey Corps. "Well, if. . . what you are saying is indeed true. . . then what are Titans like in your world? And could you explain more about this — this world that you came from?"

Hange stepped forward now with a glint in their eye. "Tell us more."

You nodded, and suddenly got an idea. You were already sleep deprived and not eating properly, you couldn't stop yourself from having a little fun. 

You cleared your throat and said, "Look, I don't even know if I'm supposed to say this, but. . ." you leaned in closer and cupped your cheek with a hand and whispered, "I have magic."

A second passed.

"MAGIC?!"

"Hey," Levi warned, and there was a bite to his voice as he flashed Hange a warning look. "Focus."

But Levi also had a look of curiosity, wondering if you were telling the truth. "Do you?"

It was only over a year ago that they discovered that titans were once humans turned by Marleyans and sent to Paradis. So this information won't even shock him much if it was true. 

Slowly, you nodded your head and went quiet for a second before immediately breaking out of character and snorting out loud. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Sorry, I couldn't help myself. That was funny."

Again, you were sleep deprived. 

Levi's eyes changed and narrowed dangerously, his voice cold. "Huh, you think that's funny? May I remind you that in a few days, the Military Police will put you to trial?"

You immediately stopped and went stoic, completely irritated by the truthfulness in his words. Damn, this guy is no fun. Can't believe I used to pray for times like this to happen. What an asshole.

"I'm sorry, I know that was a bad joke. But yeah, like I said, I'm not from here and from where I came from, titans don't exist."

As you think back to the days of your childhood, nostalgia echoed through your memories that traced the path of your fascination with the ancient tales and legends of god and heroes in Greek mythology, sparked by the Percy Jackson books.

Ah, back when life was much more simple.

"Well. . ." You cleared your dried throat and licked your chapped lips, before rubbing the back of your ear for comfort. ". . . The titans in my world, well, um, they're supposed to be these made-up stories that are part of one's culture and passed down to generations — they're myths to be exact. The most famous myths of Titans came from Norse mythology. To be honest, I'm not really familiar with the Norse one, just the basics, but — um, with the Greek one, though — well, they're like these pre-Olympian gods that ruled the Earth. They're really important figures from ancient stories based on tradition and culture from different countries." Your throat was starting to itch, and so you brought a hand up to your throat and scratched it. You turned your head away from them for a second to cough, and straightened your posture after.

Afterall, Ymir's name did originate from Ymir the giant in Norse mythology. So somehow, it may or may not be a coincidence. You never know. 

"But long story short, they're not real. Nope," you shook your head. "Absolutely fictional."

Like you guys. You said in your mind.

Armin's breath hitched loudly. "Not real. . . ?"

You frowned, suddenly feeling bad for this revelation. Oh, poor Armin. What more if I tell you that you're supposed to be fictional too?

It was clear on their faces that they wanted to dig deeper into the subject, but all you could tell them was the tip of the iceberg. It also seemed that they were still having a hard time grasping the thought that the very thing they have been fighting for their entire lives before the countless revelations that titans were also humans, now merely exists from where you came from leaves them speechless. 

"Prove it." Eren demanded, and it was the first time you heard his voice again.

You turned towards him and tilted your head. "What? Prove what?"

"How can we know you're not lying?" He said, voice laced with suspicion. "For all we know you're just making this up, but. . . some of what you said earlier did make sense."

You looked around you as if trying to state the obvious. "Um. . . am I not locked up already? What's the point of lying to you guys when there's also a possibility you'd kill me if I did lie? I have nothing to lose right now."

Well, except my phone.

"But since you're asking for more proof, then well, I'll give you that, I guess." You thought about how to explain it. Your hand flew to your lips and you bit your nail out of habit. Wait, how do I tell them this? Hmm. . . 

They waited for you to speak again.

Oh, wait! Do I narrate it like how Armin did in Episode 1? Oh, that would be funny. . .

You cleared your throat and tried your best to put on a serious face.

"I came from the year 2021." 

Silence.

"And in that year, humanity received a grim reminder. . ."

With each tale you said, Hange listened intently at your revelation like a curious child learning about the vastness of the world beyond this one, their mouth open and a glint in their good eye.

You mentioned some bits and pieces from your world—how over the years the world has changed, you told them about the pandemic and why you acted like that when you first met them at the beach, you told them how society has evolved tremendously to the point of reaching space. 

That's when Hange lost it.

"REACH THE MOON?!"

Hange looked like they were about to faint. 

They moved so swiftly towards you that you barely had time to react and take a step back when they reached out to grasp the iron bars again.

"HUMANITY HAS REACHED THE MOON?!" Hange was now talking animatedly and Levi had to visibly wince at the loudness of the voice. He scowled again and nudged Hange in the ribcage, hard. "Hey!"

But Hange paid him no attention as they continued. "How did they reach the moon—?!"

"Enough, Four Eyes." Levi's voice was sharp as he tried to stop Hange once again. He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes narrowed. "And you."

He took a step forward. "Cut the crap already."

Your brows furrowed and you placed a hand on your chest, taking his words offensively. "Excuse me?"

"I said cut the crap already." His unyielding voice cut through, and it made the others uneasy. "I told you Hange, we're just wasting our time with her."

Frustration built up in your chest, so you crossed your arms defiantly, your voice rising to prove your point. "I swear, I'm telling the truth!"

Heat rose in your cheeks and you felt it battle the pounding in your chest. You sighed defeatedly. 

"Would you just let me speak for a minute?" You gave Levi a stern look. "Please?"

The short man was starting to get on your nerves and you sneered. Seriously, he's so annoying. I can't believe I go crazy every time he acts like this in the anime. He's still hot, but. . . whatever.

Levi didn't say anything and only mirrored you; arms crossed and eyes still carrying a stern suspicion that will not falter until he seems satisfied with your words. 

"You better not be lying this time." Was all he said afterwards. 

You took a measured breath and returned your focus to Hange. "Yes. What I said about humanity reaching space is true; in my time, technology has evolved pretty well and made our lives easier. Only downside was, some people become lazy because of it." You clench your fist in defeat before continuing. "And that object you kept bothering me with — it's called a phone. There. I said it. It's not dangerous, I promise — it's just a simple communication device — and — and if you try to back me up during the trial, I'll tell you more about it."

Your eyes carried sincerity, pleading them. "So, please. I'm begging you. Don't touch it or do some experiments with it — it's risky to tell you right now, because once the Military Police knows about it, or better yet, they know where I came from, they might use it against me." 

You were at your wit's end now.

You held your necklace, playing with it between your fingers and looked at the ground. "I told you, it's a lot to process.”

"A lot?" Hange pointed out, their face showing their stressed state. "This is more than a lot!"

You flinched at the tone. This whole scenario was so humbling, you had to force yourself not to cower under all of their intense gaze. 

"Seriously, I'm not just telling you all about this just so I can save myself—"

At this, they all gave you a look.

You rolled your eyes, grumbling. "Okay, fine. Technically, I am, but that's beside the point."

You shook your head sideways and massaged your temples. "Jesus, I still can't believe I'm locked in prison," you mumbled to yourself, voice barely above a whisper.

I'm suicidal as fuck, but I ain't letting myself die here if the Rumbling does happen.  

You took a deep breath, stabilizing yourself. I need to humble myself before them. It's the only way.

You looked at Hange pleadingly. "Please. Promise me that you won't give my phone to the Military Police. Don't give it to anyone as evidence of who I am. The only people who could know about this are you guys. No one else."

You sighed heavily, sounding defeated. "Look, I just wanna go home. I don't want to be involved in any of this — but I don't know how to go back. It's not my fault that I suddenly got into this place."

It was silent once again.

You scanned their faces and your eyes finally landed on Eren. Disheartened that they still won't probably believe you, your lips trembled.

"Please, help me."

The silence lingered as the gravity of the situation weighed upon these soldiers. 

"We'll think about it." Levi stated, his voice firm but still with a hint of contemplation. With a defeated sigh, he shared a knowing look with Hange, a deep conversation only with their eyes—one only the both of them could understand. 

Hange nodded their head, and in the silence of the underground cell, they held your gaze with finality. A promise.

"We will do our best."

TIME STRETCHED ENDLESSLY. The days had started to blend together, and the concept of time had now become a foreign notion to you the longer you spend your days inside the cell. You had nothing with you as an indication of what day or time it was. Before, replicating your quarantine life became your pastime, and you even tried your very best to be patient with it—but now, you simply got tired. 

The simple knowledge of being possibly killed in this era troubled you greatly. But somehow, you found it quite ironic that during the lockdown period, you felt like you were in prison—just like Scott Lang from Ant Man. 

Yet now, things have changed. You didn't know about the unforeseeable future that you will find yourself being imprisoned in this very world you could not stop thinking about. . .

How ironic indeed. 

Even worse, the tiniest hope left in you had now faded away when Hange and the others stopped visiting. 

You forgot how long it has been that you had to wait. They promised to return, so you waited and waited for them to deliver some news or anything, but they never came back. For all you know, they might have changed their minds and decided to go with the Military Police's decision to take you, instead of fighting for you.

Or, perhaps, even they have forgotten about you. 

After all, even before, you were easily forgotten.

And that thought killed you inside. 

But one time, Armin did try to visit you alone before in a selfish attempt to feed his curiosity about you and your mention of a world existing beyond the ocean. 

You found it amusing when you offered him a tense smile, and all he could do was keep his distance and stumble over his words. What truly piqued his interest and made him act normal it seemed, was when you mentioned your penchant for reading. He tried to relay this message to his captain so he could offer you some of his books that sparked his love for knowledge about the outside world, but unfortunately, Levi refused to acknowledge his request and said no. 

With this notion, you completely made up your mind.

You absolutely hated this Levi now. 

But at this point, you don't care anymore about what'll happen to you. After all, you had lost track of time by replaying the events in your mind that led you here —over and over again.

You couldn't help but wonder about the life you had left behind before appearing here. Will someone even notice that you're gone? That you somehow left without a trace? Will they search for you? How was your dog? Or does time here work differently and time in your world hasn't moved? Is all of this even real? Are you labeled as missing? Or as dea—

You felt bile rise in your throat at the thought that you may never return.

Here, you were nothing but a caged bird. 

Like a prisoner stripped away from everything that you once were. Perhaps, all of this is penance for your sins of committing such a pathetic display of defiance towards your parents back in your grandma's house. 

There are times when the guilt tries to resurface—eating you whole until you drown in this intense feeling and be suffocated by it. And yet sometimes, it serves only as a reminder. 

That it is too late to go back now. 

You shook your head. All of this doesn't matter anymore. The hope of getting out of here has now faded away from your grasp. There is nothing left. 

You will now spend the rest of your days here, rotting in this cell until you die. 

With empty eyes, you stared blankly at the bricked walls and yearned for the warmth of the sun once more. 

As you were kept in constant isolation, your mental state only seemed to deteriorate even further. 

Or in other words—it was getting bad again. 

You couldn't see your reflection but you felt like you were having a breakout—and a really bad one. 

Bumps had started to form on your forehead, which stung when you prodded them with your fingers. So you left it alone. Your tangled hair was rusty, enough to be considered as a bird's nest. It got so bad to the point all you could do was scratch your rough scalp. You catch a whiff of yourself and cringed hard at the unpleasant odor that emanated from your unwashed body. Disgust washed over you as you finally noticed how filthy you are right now. 

The lingering scent of sweat from your unwashed fabrics mixed with the smell of rusted iron bars and mildew that cling to the walls. Perhaps you were fortunate enough that this place wasn't infested by pests or rats running around or else you would completely lose your mind. Only a foul smell that reminded you greatly you were indeed in an era where hygienic practices weren't a thing. 

You'll get used to it. You told yourself. Just ignore the smell. You will get used to it. 

Just drown out everything. 

The cold surface of the cramped cell amplified the stiffness of your sore muscles that started to ache from the lack of sunlight you were deprived of the most. And no amount of stretching could lessen the ache. 

Right now, all you can do is sleep.

Sleep. Yes, you must sleep. For it is a payback to all the sleepless nights you lay awake in your room, with the very essence of sleeping properly becoming foreign to you. And thus, you once again caught yourself spacing out. 

But your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps and the clanking of plates. 

"So much food. . ." You failed to hear it clearly. "Gotta. . . focus. . ."

Ah. 

Feeding time. You guessed. 

Usually, nameless soldiers you didn't know came before to drop off your food and immediately left once they were done. You didn't care for whatever reason they had to leave. 

But. . . something feels different today.

You were about to continue your daily routine of staring off at the wall when an exaggerated gasp made you jolt a little. 

"Huh?!"

Your hand flew to your chest and you gave the person a side eye. 

Jesus. That truly startled you. 

A beat passed. And then—

"Wh-What the. . . ?"

Based on the feminine voice, it seemed to be a girl. That caught your attention, but still, you didn't stand up. 

The girl sighed and continued, "Such a shame if you let the food go to waste like this."

She sounded disheartened by what she discovered. She then cleared her throat and tilted her chin high, as if trying to make an important point. 

"Food is precious here, y'know?"

At this, your brows met in confusion, so you tried to stand up to see what the commotion was all about. Yet, as you did, you immediately clutched your head at the dizziness sensation; you blinked and rubbed your eyelids, trying to take a good look at who it was. 

You shrugged. It didn't matter anyway. Almost all of them leave instantly when they deliver your food.

But somehow, this one seemed different than the others.

Now, you completely pushed yourself from the bed to take a good look at the person. You groaned in pain as a few bones cracked in your lower back; you even tried positioning yourself to sit on the mattress, with your back leaning against the wall. 

You looked at the person warily. She was standing a few feet away from the cell.

"Sorry. . . ?" That was the first word that left your chapped lips in a while. And muttering that single word took you a lot of energy to do it. 

She continued to speak again. "It's just that — there's so much food and — and I can't even believe Commander Hange trusted me with this task — oh, I really gotta focus—!" Her rambling got interrupted by a loud growl coming from her stomach.

You stared blankly at her. 

Her hands gripped tightly on the tray, as she tried her best to control her hunger. It was painfully obvious. Slowly, she lowered her height and placed the food inside the rusted bars on your cell. She fixed her posture after and stood up, shaking her head vigorously, as if fighting her own thoughts away. With a sharp inhale of breath, her gaze lingered on the food and you followed it, before her gaze then shifted to meet your own. A lump formed in her throat. 

To you, it was so evident that she wanted to eat it. You waited for her to explode. Any minute now. 

A beat passed before she finally bursted out loud, gripping her stomach with a pleading look in her eyes as she stared at you. 

Her voice broke through the silence, loud and sounding urgent. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to do this, but — but — but I'm just so hungry right now! I can't help it! Training some of the new scouts was tiring and it made me hungry but luckily, the cook prepared something delicious! And — and I really wanted to do doubles, but sadly, Captain gave me new orders and now here I am and I told Con—"

"Hey, hey." You said, trying to calm her down. "Relax."

A loud growl from her stomach rumbled once again that made her pause. 

Silence. 

Your weight on the mattress shifted again as you slowly stood up this time, using your arms as support. You were weak, almost like a walking corpse. 

Your bare feet touched the cold cobblestone floor and you shivered at the sensation, before walking at a slow pace towards the bars that separated you both. The dim light from the candles was too much for you and so you shielded your eyes away with your arm. 

You returned your focus back to her, and she gave you a strained smile. 

"Are you. . . um. . . " She started, scratching her head. "Are you still going to eat that?" she asked tentatively, her eyes still flickering with hunger.

You were taken aback by her sudden question as you blinked multiple times. "Huh?" 

She lowered her head and looked at the plate, a little sheepish this time. "Like I said earlier, well, it's kinda. . . quite rare for the cook to give this kind of portion of food to the prisoners, and well. . . I'm quite—" she scratched her nape and chuckled sheepishly, "um, hungry right now. . ."

Well, that caught you off guard.

Her eyes gleamed as she lifted her head, now smiling. "So, if you're not going to eat it, well, then can I — can I have it?"

You blinked again. Did she just—

You shook out of your reverie, and remembered she was still waiting for an answer out of your mouth. 

As your voice croaked, you begged for water.

The girl's eyes widened and immediately passed you the cup filled with water.

A quiet chuckle bubbled out of you, and you cleared your dry throat. "Su-sure. . . the food's all yours."

At this, she beamed brightly and celebrated her small victory by throwing a fist in the air and saying a loud, "Yes!"

Her voice echoed through the hallway and her eyes widened; instantly she lowered her head, immediately muttering an apology. "Oops, sorry 'bout that." 

You shook your head and bit your lip to stop a chuckle from escaping your lips. "It's okay."

Her face lit up again, and you watched as she fixed herself by sitting on the cold floor, crossing her legs and lifting the plate, eagerly accepting the food. She looked up and grinned. 

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with gratitude, and began stuffing her face with food. 

You couldn't help but smile at her infectious energy as she chewed loudly and hummed in delight, savoring each bite of the meal. 

Feeling your legs starting to sore, you mimicked her actions from earlier and began to sit down on the floor, crossing your legs. 

You decided to watch her in silence as this was the first time in a while someone interacted with you like this—and weirdly enough, you found it somehow entertaining. 

However, your brows met as you couldn't help but have a gut feeling that something about her seemed awfully familiar to you.

You couldn't quite put a finger to it. You weren't quite sure. 

You continued to watch her and as she reached for the last untouched dish, her demeanor changed as she hesitated, contemplating about something. She stole a glance at you, and then towards the plate in her hands. She gulped the food down, and slowly handed you the plate, passing it through the bars.

You stared at her actions, confused. For some unknown reason, the odd sensation of deja vu hit you.

"Here," she said softly, her words light as a feather. 

Your eyes widened and you politely declined her offer by shaking your head sideways with a small smile. "No! no — I swear, it's all yours. I'm not. . . I'm not hungry. . ."

You coughed again, feeling your body getting weaker. 

Gone was the vibrant energy she displayed earlier, as her expression turned serious studying your face. She placed the plate down beside her and crossed her arms. 

She huffed. "Don't lie to me," she said sternly, determination flashing in her eyes. "I know you're not full — you barely ate anything! I mean, look!"

She pointed towards the untouched meals from before. Your gaze shifted towards the long line of untouched plates placed on the floor that brought the attention of this soldier. 

Ah. 

Memories of skipped meals and trying to starve yourself to conform to society's standards at such a young age clouded your mind. You went numb, as it was all you ever knew as a child. You promised to yourself that you deserve to eat now, slowly trying to rebuild your relationship with food, but—things have changed now. 

Then, as if you remember that you are still human, hunger gnawed at your stomach, as the fresh smell of baked goods filled your senses. You blink the fatigue away as it has been a while since you've had a proper meal. You didn't even know if your stomach would accept it. All you could do is cough.

This was all too much. 

You cowered, caught in her unwavering gaze.

"I'm sorry. . ." you mumbled reluctantly and shifted uncomfortably. "I just. . . don't have the appetite lately."

At this, the girl's features softened and she reached out to place a hand on your arm. 

Your breath hitched—because for a moment, you missed the feeling of being held like this. 

Her voice was soft once more as she spoke. "Look, I know it may not seem like much, but like I said from earlier, food is precious inside these walls. We should never waste it or take it for granted. Even if you're a prisoner." Her words carried so much sincerity that it stuck with you completely. It's safe to say that it did humble you.

You haven't even realized your lips were trembling when your own stomach made a sudden sound.

You both stared at each other before breaking into a fit of laughter together.

The delightful sound echoed and you both grinned at your silly situation. You both looked like little girls giggling at a playhouse.

And for the first time in a while, you felt alive. 

"See?" she grinned. "I told you, you should eat. Besides, I'm already full. So let's share this together."

You gave her a genuine smile, accepting her offer of generosity. Your chest swelled with gratitude for the unexpected act of kindness of a stranger in such a bleak place. 

A tear fell from your eye. 

"Thank you."

And just like that, the both of you spent the next few hours eating on the floor and sharing stories with each other, not a single care from the outside world. 

You asked her about the Survey Corps and what she does, and she was eager to tell you more about the adventures and hardships that came with being a soldier. 

You took a last bite from your plate and chewed slowly; you gulped it down after with water and cleared your throat, wanting to ask her something.

"Do you perhaps, um. . . know how long it has been since I got here?" you asked, voice filled with anticipation and curiosity.

She tilted her head for a while and hummed. "Hmm, from what I can recall, it's been almost. . . two? yeah, two weeks since we saw the ocean."

Your jaw dropped at her words. Two weeks? I just wasted two weeks of my life here?

While she continued to ramble, you played with your necklace mindlessly.

After a while, she cleared her throat. She looked hesitant, as if there was something bugging her all day and wanted confirmation. "Is it — um — is it—"

You tilted your head. "What?"

She glanced to her side, careful of her next words not to be heard by prying ears. "Well, is it true? that — that you—?" she leaned in closer this time, and whispered excitedly. "—came from another world?!"

You found her amusing, and so you chuckled lightly. "Oh, so the others have already told you, huh?" You paused, brows furrowed deeply after realizing something that caught your attention. "Wait—"

You held her gaze. "— They told you?"

"Yeah, and I even had to bug Armin about it because Mikasa won't say a thing!"

The smile on your face is now gone. 

"What?"

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably. But you specifically told them not to say a word to anyone unless—

Your gaze turned serious. "You're close with them? As in close — close friends?"

"Yeah." She hummed, as if this was nothing new to her. Unfortunately, she failed to notice your discomfort and continued. 

"And Mikasa and I are roommates, actually." 

That was all it took for you to have an outburst. 

"WHAT?!"

You almost stood up at this girl's sudden revelation. Your wide eyes mirrored the turmoil within as your hand flew to your mouth in shock. You cleared your throat loudly. The sound of your heartbeat drowned out everything else, and you struggled to steady your quick, shallow breaths while finally taking in her appearance. 

Part of you was certain you knew who this person was, yet still in disbelief, you wanted confirmation.

You exhaled sharply, biting your lip in hesitation. "Wai—wait, you. . . you forgot to tell me your name. . ."

Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, you're right!"

She seemed oblivious to your frozen state, her face lighting up as she extended her hand beyond the iron bars of the cell, her smile unwavering lighting up the place.

"Call me Sasha!"

Your mouth hung open, awe and confusion battling within as you stared at her. It seemed you were trapped in your shock for quite a while, unable to decide whether to reach out or retreat, as Sasha began preparing to leave.

It all finally clicked to you now. So that explains the conversation about food. 

But you failed to acknowledge this detail as the usual Sasha you knew always had her brown hair kept on a ponytail; and right now, it wasn't styled.

You chuckled internally. She looks different now, but she's still the Sasha you loved from the anime. 

Loved.

Your heart then sank to your stomach. 

You returned your focus to her.

She frowned, her shoulders slouching. "As much as I would like to continue being here, I really need to go now. The others might start looking for me. . ." She gave you a sheepish smile. ". . . Sorry, but duty calls and all that."

You both stood up, and she grinned once again. "It was nice meeting you. . . ?" She said, waiting for you to tell her your name.

Your lips trembled, and you held the iron bars for support before giving her your name.

"Y/N." You said firmly, and held her gaze. "It's Y/N L/N."

You watched Sasha finally leave with a wave of a good bye, and your mind screamed with an intensity that felt like a cacophony of alarms blaring in your head, and an overwhelming urge to rip your hair out surged through you like a tidal wave. 

You exhaled sharply and gripped the bars tightly. 

"Wait!" you called out urgently.

Sasha halted in her steps and turned her body towards you, her face full of curiosity. 

You took a measured breath, whilst your head popped out from the bars, glancing towards her direction. 

"Perhaps, I'll see you again soon?" you asked, voice filled with anticipation. "I. . . had fun. I hope this won't be the last time." You shrugged your shoulders sheepishly. "It does get a little lonely here."

As she nodded her head and smiled widely with her eyes crinkling, a sudden flicker of the candlelight made you gasp in horror and took your breath away. 

An illusion; an image of a still body on a wooden floor, covered in blood that haunted you for a long time painted your mind as you stared back in horror at the smiling person in front of you.

It was short, but it was enough to disturb this sweet moment.

It all came crashing down on you as you watched Sasha's figure go. 

Cold dread settled into the pit of your stomach, spreading throughout your body at the realization that a few years from now, Sasha Braus will be dead.

As well as Hange. And—

You gulped sharply, the tips of your trembling fingers slowly curling into a clenched fist.

And Eren.

All of them will be dead; as well as the hundreds, thousands, millions of people that will face his wrath one day—Screaming. Praying. Burning. Blood everywhere as it painted the earth red.

This knowledge of their cruel fate terrified you. 

Your hands became drenched with sweat, and you struggled to keep a grip on reality as you clutched your chest desperately, gasping for every breath. Your entire body quivered, consumed by a relentless wave of horror and dread that threatened to swallow you whole.

Breathe, Y/N. You told yourself anxiously, doing grounding techniques by closing and opening your fist multiple times until you calmed down. You took a long and measured breath. 

Breathe.

Was this how Eren felt? 

Knowing that a beloved friend will die like this. . . and you can do nothing about it. 

Your legs finally gave up, and you lay there in the ground, desperately clutching your chest.

You blinked away your tears. Is there anything you could do to change the course of the events that will follow in the near future as long as you are here? 

You know deep inside that you promised yourself that you probably won't interfere, but after that sweet moment with Sasha—the thought of simply doing nothing shook you to your core. 

You gnawed on your bottom lip in contemplation.

This is Attack on Titan. You reminded yourself. No matter what happens, this place is purgatory.

It is doomed for Ragnarök.

People here die easily, like how Thanos turned people into dust in a single snap of his fingers. 

You snorted at the uncanny similarity. Now, you wonder if there is a universe out there where this really happens.

You shook your head. Okay, enough about the MCU.

You still have a hard time wrapping your head around this concept of a universe like this exists, but you will try—These are real people. With real lives. Not some characters that only live on paper, becoming alive through animation. They weren't just characters made by Isayama.

Now, they're real.

Then, a renewed sense of drive filled you.

And you think it's time to finally do something good while you're here. 

No matter what it takes. 

To be continued . . .

⬅ prev chapter ┊ next chapter ➡

[sugarcream-sims]

ISSUE 2 | LEGACY

<< PREV | NEXT >> TRANSCRIPT BELOW

We have another exclusive with Iris Liddell of Liddell Genomics, and as always, I consider myself privileged to breathe the same air… it’s truly humbling to stand in your illustrious presence.

IRIS LIDDELL: You honor me.

Of course, you’re here today to discuss more than your own accomplishments, incredible as they are.

LIDDELL: Please, my good sir. My company’s market domination would never have been possible without the work of the founder of Liddell Genomics, Alice Liddell. Or indeed the work of my direct predecessor, former CEO Elise Liddell, who oversaw the merger with Hinagiku Robotics…

Before she mysteriously vanished a decade ago, as I recall.

LIDDELL: Unsolved to this very day.

It must have been very difficult for you, losing your mother at such a tender age…

LIDDELL: Oh, not at all.

As resilient as one would expect, from the heiress of the company that some say rules the world.

LIDDELL: My, my. People do say the most curious things… LG may provide life-extending healthcare for upwards of 97% of government officials in the first world, but we prefer to stay out of politics.

An impressive figure, to be sure! On that note, we’d like to ask about your upcoming biographical film, the Liddell Legacy, set to release across all streaming services on February 13th.

LIDDELL: Go right ahead.

Until this point, details about the Liddells have been very sparse, limited to matters of public record and biographic blurbs from your PR department… what made you decide to so freely share information about your life, and the lives of your two predecessors?

LIDDELL: The short and sweet answer is that I believe the public has a right to know. LG cares for the people of this world from the point they’re first laid down in their cradles, to the time they enter their graves. We maintain the very largest collection of personal data ever put to record; highly detailed dossiers. Why shouldn’t our beloved customers get to access me, the same as I access them?

So it’s a matter of reciprocity?

LIDDELL: It’s also about building trust. I want to establish a relationship with all the bright, beautiful consumers of LG gene therapies. I am not merely the architect of your destinies, shaping your resistance to cancers and diseases, granting you all the bodies of your dreams. I am also your close, personal friend.

I feel closer to you already!

LIDDELL: I am so very happy to hear that.

Moving along, I have to say, one of the subjects I’m the most excited to learn about is the founder of Liddell Genomics, Alice Liddell. She created the company from the ground up, humbly using her vast inheritance in pursuit of her passion for genetic perfection… only to step down from the throne of her genemod empire a scant decade later. In terms of historical significance, Alice Liddell is comparable to the great conquerors of the ancient world, but we know more about Alexander the Great or Napoleon than the woman who created the company that doubled the human lifespan & cured the common cold.

LIDDELL: A lack of documentation that our film seeks to correct.

I don’t want to ask for spoilers, but what are you willing to tell our readers now?

LIDDELL: I can say that the focus of the film will not only illuminate much of what went on behind the curtain here at Liddell Genomics during its grand and tumultuous creation, but also bring to light the deeply private details of the personal lives of my predecessors… withholding nothing.

Details like what exactly the Founder gets up to, these days…?

LIDDELL: I’m aware of the rumors, good sir. We don’t need to play coy.

Ah, you found me out.

LIDDELL: Ask your burning question.

Is it true that Alice Liddell was placed in cryostasis, around the end of her reign?

LIDDELL: …yes. It was her will.

So the rumor is true? That’s incredible!

LIDDELL: At the time, our anti-aging technology was somewhat more primitive. Foremost in the Founder’s thoughts, after securing LG’s grip on the private health market and cloning herself an heir, was ensuring her own youth would spring abundant and eternal.

So the genemod mogul Alice Liddell was as afraid of aging as anyone…

LIDDELL: To the world, she was the tech tycoon who forged a new era in blood, with ruthless business acumen. To me, she was Grandmother. A playful and dreamy woman, often lost in her own imagination, desiring nothing more or less than to vanish into her sweet and simple dreams.

So it’s more involved than just being put on ice.

LIDDELL: That’s correct. Just as she outlined in her personal designs, she’s been placed in a cryostatic slumber. The exact details are proprietary, but much of her natural bioliquid is drained through dialysis, and replaced with a potent cocktail of freeze-resistant artificial blood and neurostims. While her heart might only beat once per minute, her brain is quite active in REM.

She really is dreaming…

LIDDELL: It’s my own dearest dream to ensure that her dream continues unabated, weaving into perpetuity.

Eternal life?

LIDDELL: As near as the billions of credits generated by Liddell Genomics will allow. We’re further refining the process of life extension every day. So you see, good sir, that what might at first blush appear to be the story of an autocratic tech giant dominating the global health market… is actually the gentle and relatable tale, of a family seeking to fulfill the dream of their beloved Grandmother to remain joyful and beautiful at any expense.

It’s what anyone with a heart and billions of credits at their disposal would do.

LIDDELL: It’s part of why I’m so proud to share our story with the masses.

“THE LIDDELL LEGACY” IS COMING TO STREAMING SERVICES FEB 13. DOWNLOAD YOUR COPY FROM BULLETBANK & RECEIVE LIDDELL GENOMICS GENEMOD COUPONS!

<< PREV | NEXT >>