#-feel so long and i'm so fragile how much longer do i have to tolerate. i'm contributing nothing. why should my family have to feed and-

[salsflore]

ummmm

[levi-heichous]

i'm a criminal ( i'll take your heart & go ) part 2

part 1 here!! 

pairing: levi x f!reader, erwin x f!reader ( NOT a 3some situation )

word count: 8.6k

content: oral sex ( f receiving ), breeding, infidelity??, lots of drama & angst, daddy kink ( not for levi i'm SORRY ), use of "whore" as unsexy degradation

author’s note: i decided to mix 2 requests into one story because they seemed to harmonise really well! once again, a big shoutout to the requests that were sent to create this story  ( 1 & 2 [ the second request of anon #2 also played a big part in this storyline, but i'll be posting the message in the next part because of spoilers!!!!!] )! 

part 3 to be released in the future! ( i don't wanna say "soon" bc it took me forever to publish this chapter )

mature content. 18+. minors do not interact.

as you lay in bed with captain levi, drawing hearts with your fingertip into the skin of his bare back that faces you, you wonder if time itself can truly heal your scars. the pad of your finger traces over textured skin every time you pass by a healed scratch or gash ( there's plenty on the captain's entire body ) and you see that time doesn't actually heal. it just patches things up to be acceptable, but never the same.

you love levi and he loves you, too. you no longer feel like you belong to the jealousy and greed he's harboured over the past few years; you truly belong to him as a person, not just property. will this suffice as time passes or is this feeling, too, just a temporary fix for the problems you've encountered with him in the past?

you clearly remember the day when commander erwin stomped into the girls' sleeping quarters and had to watch captain levi slowly pull out of you and shove himself back into his pants ( shamelessly, you might add ). instead of blowing up in front of the entirety of the soldiers, the two of them went upstairs to have a civil discussion instead, in which levi counted out and named the cadets that erwin has meddled with since he was put into power. there weren't many, but there was more than the one ( you ) that captain levi ended up with. with the commander's blessing ( read: tolerance ), the captain was happy to have your things moved to his room where you would be allowed to stay during your time as a cadet.

though there was bliss emanating from the both of you, an obstacle that made itself too well known not too long after was the fragility of human life. even with captain levi's presence, the number of close calls was much too high. there were bigger, more important things that captain levi had to prioritise than you when you're out in battle, but he ended up jeopardising them a few times in order to save your life.

a rather ruinous injury in the battlefield had you assigned to bedrest for a month and levi was almost foaming at the mouth as he argued with his commander for hours to retire you. calmly, commander erwin argued that if you weren't part of the survey corps, your presence would no longer be required at the headquarters, so a compromise was met: you were given the title of an honorary survey corps member and you were henceforth a glorified maid. it was clear from the start that fighting titans wasn't sustainable for you and, if anything, you're almost relieved, elated even, about your injury. the only way you'll find yourself in 3d manoeuvre gear again is if there really were no more soldiers left to fight, so death can only come if there was a titan invasion that reached all the way to the survey corps headquarters.

with your new title, it was all too easy to learn how to meet your lover's standards. you were someone who enjoyed cleaning ( the alternative was much worse ) — no groaning or dragging feet when asked to wipe down his office or any other room for that matter. not only were you willing, you were good at it, and these two features are not often found together. if he thought he loved you before...

"stop it. it.. feels weird." a groggy voice washes away the reminiscing and you can't help but smile as you lean in and press a kiss to levi's shoulder.

"why do you have such an aversion to saying it tickles?" in the past, you've tried moving your fingertips along his sides, even going so far as to test his feet, armpits, and tummy, too — but to no avail would he ever admit that he's ticklish.

"because it doesn't, brat." he turns over and, contrary to his annoyed voice, his eyes are warm, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "just because you're ticklish doesn't mean everyone is."

the rolling of your eyes is so easily suspected and he combats it by pressing his lips against yours, scooting closer so he can have your chest flush against his. ever since you've moved in, levi enforced a policy of sleeping nude for easier access each night and morning. the only time he ever thought about retracting it was when you were too comfortable in your bare state and opened the door like that for commander erwin — he left levi's room without even saying what he came to discuss and his cheeks burning bright red.

"should i also start tickling you now to see how you react, sweetheart?" his long fingers reach up to hover above your neck, but you're already cringing and wailing for him to stop. muffling a smug laugh, he replaces his fingertips with his mouth instead and leans in to grab a patch of skin with his teeth where he noticed your usual purple and pink faded to light green, suckling down on it as he trails his fingertips along your protruding clavicle, then down to your chest where he gropes at your plentiful flesh with a soft groan.

"don't you have some drills to oversee?" you mutter with no intention of actually letting him leave; you know damn well he doesn't care about having to watch a bunch of sweaty kids exercise. as if your body's been trained ( it may as well have been with how frequent your escapades with levi are ), you part your legs to wrap one around both of his and pull him closer until you can grind your leaking slit against his thigh. the warm and wet feeling forces a growl to build in his chest and he wastes no time in grabbing a handful of your ass this time, nails digging into the plush skin.

"yes, but i think the drilling you and i are thinking of are quite different," he murmurs against your damp skin. "besides, you wouldn't want me out there frustrated and still horny, do you? imagine how much more running i'll make the cadets do, just to watch—" you cut him off with a sneaky squeeze to his tip and he only laughs in response, somehow entertained by the idea of him being creepy.

"you're so mean sometimes... do you like it when i get jealous or something?" but you already know the answer. though he'd never entice those feelings from you to the same degree he did before, he likes seeing you nestle against him like your rubbing will mark him, or the way your hand squeezes tighter when you two walk by christa; not to mention how much more enthusiastic your hips are when you ask to be on top that night when these things happen.

levi only offers you a knowing grin and he pulls back so you can see it, pushing your shoulder down to keep you flat on the bed as he kisses the tip of your nose. he stares into your eyes for a moment, enjoying the proximity and tenderness of getting to be with you like this. his breath is tangible on your mouth too and you lean up to steal a kiss, earning you another wide smile before he trails kisses down the expanse of your chest, stomach, then the area just above your folds.

oh, he loves stalling and watching you become riled up underneath him. his hands grab the outside of your thighs and he scoots back so he's on his knees, but his torso is close to the bed, head resting on the inside of one of your legs. he's so close, but he's denying you any chance to actually feel him where you're starting to need it the most.

"levi," you grumble, reaching a feeble hand out to try and grab his hair, but it gets shot down in an instant. his eyes are locked on to your puffy slit and the way your nectar glistens with the help of the warm sunlight that illuminates it — the most tempting meal he's ever laid eyes on.

not a second longer is he able to resist, so he indulges himself and dips his head to lick a thick stripe from the bottom of your cheeks, all the way up to your hooded clit, making sure the very tip of his tongue lingers against the sensitive nerves. already, you're squirming and clenching your fists by your side, your lips whispering little pleas of more, more, more. though he acts as if your words and cute little antics fall on deaf ears and blind eyes, he can't hide the way his cock twitches and starts to drip onto his sheets, nor the way his nails start to dig into your skin as he laps his way down to the origin of your sweet honey. his lewd slurps are embarrassingly loud and his accompanying moans are as well, sounding more like he's stumbled upon a world renowned chef's cooking, but your noises are no longer held back and challenge his as your back arches so you lean your hips forward just a bit more to have the tip of his nose press against your throbbing clit.

a large hand hits the side of your ass before he presses down harshly on your tummy to keep you down; he's in control right now. despite not meeting his eyes, you can feel his glare and you try to look anywhere else, but he won't relent unless you give in — you know this. the lifting of his face is felt instantaneously and you panic to look at him now, and only when your eyes meet does he lower himself back down to continue licking up each drop of your slick. this time, his tongue delves inside of you and it's velvet against velvet, the vibrations of his feral moans only driving you closer and closer to ecstasy. the palm on your stomach disappears until all you feel are a few rough fingertips that trail up and down the expanse of your torso to elicit goosebumps as he devours you deeper and more sloppily. his spit is no longer controllable as it mixes with your juices and he finally brings his other hand to press a thumb against your clit, skillfully rubbing it in the circles you taught him to draw months ago.

your release comes suddenly and without warning, but your screams and his name coming off your lips at such a volume make him forgive you right away, his mouth still working on the new influx of your sweet juice until he's satisfied and you're no longer at risk of dripping onto his bed ( not that it matters when he's been ruining it himself ).

"good girl," he murmurs, pushing himself up on his knees whilst wiping his mouth with his wrist. the sun shines from behind in such a way that has him absolutely glowing, as if he's surrounded by an aura; if he asked you right now what you think god looks like, you'd answer that it must be him. isn't levi your god anyways when you worship every inch of him and blindly follow his laws without complaint?

the compliment makes your cheeks burn even deeper with scarlet and you smile down at him, elbows propped up and holding the brunt of your weight with your chest heaving up and down as you catch your breath.

levi shifts to move his back against the wall so his legs are spread out and feet are almost touching the long edge of the bed ( it's adorable that his legs aren't long enough to reach the end, but you'd never say it out loud ).

"c'mere, sweetheart," he coos for you, patting his thick and muscled thighs with his palms to show you your seat. without another thought, your achy joints move to obey so you're straddled on his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck. almost instantly, your face finds the crook of his neck and nuzzles for warmth and comfort, his musky smell almost intoxicating, even after all this time you've spent together. his cock is weeping as it slaps against your tummy and he moves his palm around it in uneven strokes, filling the room with the wet sounds of his indecent act, but it only makes you hungrier for him. you want — no, you need it.

"levi, please," you whisper. even from down here, you can feel the way his jaw tenses with his all-too-wide smile �� he wants to hear more. "please fuck me... i miss you! it's been too long and i want you to make me feel full. didn't you say you wanted to fill me with your child? this time is it, i know it. god, please—"

it's only been a few hours since he was last inside of you, but the way you still crave him and are willing to let him achieve his wildest dreams with you makes you irresistible to him. the growl in his chest is riveting and your mouth parts even before he enters you, but when he does, you're in the perfect disposition to whimper out his name. time and time again, he fills you to the brim and even tries to go deeper until his tip is kissing the entrance of your cervix, his cock's crown creating a tiny, but visible bulge at the bottom of your tummy, and yet, your walls create an iron vice that tests his self-control and the pressing urge to just spill inside of you — this time is no different.

in no time at all, sweat mats his bangs to his forehead and he’s panting hard. his fingers are bruising around your hips and he loves the colour that blooms in the shape of his phalanges every so often, today most likely being one of them. each push inside of you is another sound of a wet slap that ricochets off the wooden walls, barely doing anything to cover up his animalistic grunts and your pathetic whimpers. shaking, your palms snake their way to his full cheeks and you lift them up just a bit so he takes the hint to let his eyes meet yours. once they do, you smile and lean in for a sweet kiss, letting your hips move to the rhythm of his whilst he swallows each of your lewd moans. he’s close already, but he doesn’t want to let go of you or pull away from your suffocating heat; tightening his thighs and pressing his feet into the mattress, he wraps an arm around your waist to lift you up and lay you down on the bed, all while keeping himself buried inside of you.

now that you’re beneath him, a wicked smile turns his lips crooked and he lifts each of your legs to have them bend, the backs of your thighs against his chest and your calves on his shoulders. essentially folding you as far as you can go, he begins to piston in and out of you once more, a possessive hand resting on your stomach.

“that’s right, my angel. this is the day we start to see your belly grow. what’re we gonna name the little brat?” he sounds so amused, but the way he clenches his teeth and furrows his brows are a telling sign that he’s about to finish. you only want to assist and make it all the better, to make his words come true, so you loop your arms around your thighs to spread them wider and keep them closer to you, offering every last millimetre of yourself that you can. once again, your zeal proves to him that there’s no one greater in this world deserving of him or all the potential children he's about to spill into you. one final slam of his hips against yours, his heavy balls hitting the curve of your ass as he empties them inside of you sends him falling on top of your chest, his moist forehead pressed to the bed. you can actually feel the throbbing of his tip and the pool that drowns your clenched velvet walls as he spurts every last drop he can ( it’s a miracle that he has anything left, let alone so damn much, when you consider just how often you two are intimate ), allowing you to milk him for all he’s worth. 

“oh, fuck,” he mutters, the feeling of your mixed juices growing uncomfortable when he thinks he can actually notice every drop that drips down the line of your ass and onto his once pristine sheets. with a deep inhale, he ( reluctantly ) pulls out of you and you whine in response to the emptiness, but he’s quick to shush you as he quickly plugs two of his fingers inside instead, fucking his cum deeper and more thoroughly inside of you. “waste not, want not.”

you understand that his goal is to actually put a baby in you, but your insatiable core starts to heat up again with the way his fingertips must be purposely brushing against that special spot buried inside of you  — a single chuckle from him is the telltale sign that you’re actually right. the devil he is, he decides to pursue one more sweet orgasm from you and continues to scissor his digits, feeling the resistance of your cavern, which boggles him; he just had you stretched to the size of his notable girth and yet, you were still so fucking tight. there's no time to waste ( he can hear the cadets asking where the captain is outside ) and he pumps in and out of you quickly, lingering his calloused fingertips against your bundle of nerves as he also works your clit with the pad of his thumb. your breath grows quicker and he relishes in the sight of your tits bouncing with each exhale as you buck your hips, desperate for release.

"that's right, sweetheart. unwind on my fingers." on command, you squeeze around him, almost unbearably so, and you hear a groan from him mix in with your loud keening. he watches with utter excitement as you spurt onto the bed and make an absolute mess for him. "that's my girl."

his beloved sheets are an absolute mess, but so is his angel, and that's all he could've asked for on a sunny sunday morning.

꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏

after a peaceful hour and some of laying on the filthy bed together, an obnoxiously loud knock at the door turns levi's serene smile into a hostile grimace and he kisses your forehead before he hops out of bed, dressing himself because he knows exactly who it is ( if it was erwin, he wouldn't mind opening the door nude with your juices still glistening on him ).

"what, shitty glasses?"

hange's face is uncharacteristically pale and she stutters, uncomfortable with whatever is she's supposed to spit out.

"is she here?" she tries to lean around to see if you're present and when she catches a glimpse of your foot or arm or whatever it is on the bed, she pulls levi out of the room by his shirt collar. "you have to come with me. now."

the captain doesn't even get to bid you a good day before the door is slammed shut, but you're smiling anyways. it wasn't unlike hange to drag whoever was closest into her dungeon to showcase the latest results of her titan experiments.

with a big stretch and clicking joints, you get up to start your day, too. the headquarters was such a big building with only one person hired to clean ( unless captain levi knew a guest was coming or in 'a mood' ), leaving you with little to no free time when the other cadets were hard at work, too. you always start with levi's office and work your way up, then back down to the shared spaces for the cadets. today, just like every other day, you're off to start the cozy routine you've created.

꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏

levi now comprehends why hange looked as if she had seen a ghost and he only mirrors the lack of blood in his features right now. he's actually seeing a ghost, listening to it speak utter nonsense with the intent to haunt him. 

"don't you remember what you told me? what you promised me? our child growing up with humanity's strongest soldier as a father and a noblewoman as a mother! it's going to be the most envied child inside the walls! oh, and that property that we talked about, too? my father kicked off all the people living on it and it's been cleaned thoroughly so we can start our family there any day now, you just say the word!" she drones on in her irritatingly peppy tone about nonsense that would never come true, about a reality that levi would rather die than live in. this isn't what he wanted and he was admittedly the irresponsible one for thinking he could get away with it. "and besides, it'll be good for you and the survival of the survey corps! maybe you can be promoted to commander, too! the king said he was itching to get rid of the survey corps before my father told him about us...."

ever since he fucked the stranger on the night of the military ball, permanently on his shoulders was the heavy weight of guilt from his actions and the way he handled things. though he told her that they probably wouldn't see each other again, she didn't seem to get the hint, even with so many unopened letters that levi refused to acknowledge or reply to. every time you'd see the envelope addressed to him, you'd see the pain in his eyes as he crumpled it up and tossed it in the garbage bin and you— you. you've been as sweet as ever, comforting him and telling him that you forgive him for his unfathomable actions. you'd kiss his lips just as lovingly, suck his soul out of his cock like your life depended on it, and still hold him close as you drift to sleep. it took a bigger toll on you to worry and start an argument where there was no victor, so you learned to comfort him and watch him unwind, watch your mercy make him love you more and try harder to be deserving of your soft heart.

he doesn't want to think about how actually seeing this woman might make all of that go away — make you go away. as if her physical presence wasn't enough, the ever so visible bump where her stomach is is... upsetting. levi feels sick to his stomach and he can already see the never ending tears streaming down your cheeks when you realise that he has a baby, just not with you. his will to live just plummeted underground and he wants nothing to do with this entire situation.

"anyways," he hopes to god that at least hange was paying attention while he was contemplating how to get eaten by a titan during the next expedition, "i'll be back in a week or so with the official letter and papers for our marriage, levi. signed by the king and everything! i'll see you then and don't forget to put on your best suit because my father will be here, too." she reaches a hand out to try and hold his, but before there's any skin to skin contact, he already feels like he's been burnt, whipping his hand away from her as quickly as possible.

"don’t come back," is all he offers her and he pushes the chair he's on with an achingly loud scraping noise, turning away before she even makes a move to actually leave or come closer. he turns the knob, but sees that there was no need — the door wasn't actually closed — and he slams the wood open as far as it can go, as hard as he can. on his first step out of hange's stuffy office, he sees your face, also devoid of colour and your hands gripping a feather duster to the point of your knuckles turning white.

as if things couldn't get worse.

you don't even look at him, only a far, far object that you can't even really see, but god, anything to avoid meeting his eyes. even as he grabs your face, shakes you a little bit, and shoves his face into your vision, your eyes don't focus, as if your soul had left your body.

"hey. please talk to me." still nothing. levi doesn't care that the foul woman only a few feet away can see as he tries to kiss you, like you're some cursed princess and he's the only way to turn you back into a human. "sweetheart," he whispers, the desperation oozing from his voice so tangible.

is this it? does he lose you forever?

"baby, look at me." his voice cracks and you've never heard him so heartbroken before, it brings your body to wrap around him out of instinct more than anything, gaze finally finding his. "how much of that did you get?"

still too stunned to actually speak or fully comprehend what's going on, you shrug your shoulders because you truly, really don't know. moisture gathers in your eyes without you even noticing and only when levi's rough thumbs wipe them away do you realise that you've been crying.

"it's nothing — she's nothing. you're the only one that matters to me." his small frame starts trembling and the hold his hands have on you is becoming to grow painful. "if i can't have a future with you, all my work so far has been for nothing. it has to be you for me, no one else." he's pouring out his heart and reaffirming the idea that the only future he sees is with you; these are words he's sleepily murmured to you as you drift to sleep, especially on days when you'd feel inadequate, but they don't comfort you as they once did. how could they when you see the end of all things good for you and the captain in that room? the protective hands on her stomach and sick, twisted smile that's pointed directly at you. levi might've used her to forget you, but she came back to ensure that you're the one forgotten.

"i... have to go," your voice sounds foreign to you and when you pull away from him, it’s as if you can still feel his presence on your cheeks and, oh, how you dearly wish it was still there. you’re not even sure where to go or where you can go without him breaking the door in to hold you, but you try anyways. the fear of footsteps being right behind you disappears as you run down the stairs and when you realise that no one’s chasing after you, you’re not sure if you’re glad that levi’s giving you space or if you’re upset that he isn’t fighting enough by letting you roam free. the dissonance doesn’t last very long with the image of the woman’s stomach holding her child — levi’s child — becomes the only thing you can think of as you quietly sob to yourself in the corner of the empty dining hall, broken down and holding your knees to your chest. 

the pain of your heart clenching is almost unbearable and you think to how levi promised you similar things with you, too: getting married ( he talked about it being just a piece of paper, since he already knew he was bonded to you for life ), having children, and hopefully having enough stability in the future to retire and live on a quiet piece of farmland. your palms fall to your stomach and your lower lip trembles as your blurry vision sees the expanse of your body that levi claimed and sowed, but wasn’t able to reap. your head leans against the wall and you stare at the lines of tables beside you, blinking and breathing growing slower as you berate yourself with thoughts of not being good enough to have levi’s child and not loving him enough, allowing the woman to think that she had any authority to waltz in here, demanding levi’s hand in marriage. the last thing you ask yourself before you drift off is if the bliss you’ve felt in the past few months was worth the agonising pain you’re feeling now... and you aren’t sure what your answer is. 

꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏

it isn’t clear how long you’ve been asleep, but your ass is sore and your joints ache as your limbs spread out on top of the arms that carry you so easily. slowly, your lids flutter open and you see a mess of blond hair, along with the sharp features of the commander as he climbs up the stairs with you in his hold as if you were nothing more than a sack of flour. 

“s-sir?” 

“i couldn’t leave you on the floor like that. what would levi say if he found you instead of me?” his voice is gruff as he shoves the door of his room open and sets you down on his bed. rather than pacing like he wants to, he crosses his arms over his broad chest as he takes a seat on the chair for his desk adjacent to his bed, his posture immaculate. “he’s gotten himself into quite the predicament, i heard.”

you want to tell him that he’s right and that it’s such a shitty situation that levi himself created, and to tell him the jumbled mess of thoughts that bounce around in your head, but you can’t. you’re still frozen in place, only having moved to rest your back against the wall to sit up and face him. 

“what do you want him to do?” erwin knows that silence might be the only thing to come from you for a while, so he gets comfortable, folding one leg over the other as he leans back and relaxes just a bit. “if he goes with his heart, it’ll be the end of the survey corps and we’ll be left to join the military police, achieving nothing until we’re all eaten by titans... but if he does the logical thing, he’ll save us all, but live an unhappy life.” he muses to himself, expression growing amused. 

even after hearing what hange had to say, he never had time to dissect the issue out loud — how could he when levi started breaking anything and everything fragile within his reach? for now, the small man was sedated with a small dose of tranquiliser for the horses, his brows furrowed, even in a forced state of unconsciousness; an extreme that hange never thought she'd have to execute on levi of all people. 

you break your silence with a faint whisper that erwin struggles to hear.

“i know what he has to do... but i don’t want to live without him, sir.” slowly, as if your limbs were frozen and you’re slowly able to break the ice that kept you from moving, you hug your knees to your chest again, resting your chin on top of your folded legs. “am i being selfish?” the answer is obvious, but perhaps you just need someone who personifies the voice of reason to tell you it. 

“by definition, yes; you’re being quite selfish. isn’t it levi’s and your feelings versus the fate of humanity sitting in your palm? two versus many thousands.” the commander switches his legs and raises a hand to stroke his chin in between his fingers. “though, i will admit that levi’s work ethic might plummet and there’s a very big possibility that he’ll charge straight into a hoard of titans just to avoid returning home. that wouldn’t be very good, either.” 

you nod in agreement to every word he uttered because he’s right. when is the commander ever wrong? 

“go talk to him.” erwin stands now and pushes the chair back into its original place, stalking towards you and helping you off his bed with a gentle hand. “make sure you and levi have a final answer, and if things don’t turn out the way you want them to, you can come to me. this is the one room levi wouldn’t dare try to break into.” 

“thank you, sir,” you mutter, offering a faint smile as you leave the cosy confines of the commander’s room and to the icy, dark one at the end of the corridor. you predict that you’ll be knocking on erwin’s door again soon enough. 

꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏

the first thing you notice when you open the door is the amount of porcelain and books that litter the wooden floor. none of the items seem to be your things though, so you’re hoping that all this anger he was letting out isn’t pointed at you. the next thing you see is levi’s body laid out on the bed, fully clothed — very unlike him. 

with careful footing, you make your way over to the bed and climb in beside him. as much as your chest seems to be in an indefinite state of pain and that this will only prolong it, you want to indulge, even just for one more moment. your arms snake around his thin waist and you rest your head on his shoulder as your eyes begin to weep without any command. 

the feeling of your trembling body is enough to have him snap out of his nightmare and he looks down at you with the slightest bit of confusion.

“sweetheart,” he breathes, wrapping you up in his arms immediately. “i had the worst dream ever...” when you meet his eyes, he sees the red rimming yours and his brows furrow immediately. who made you cry? and slowly, the memories of smashing everything of his in sight comes back, the meeting with hange and erwin, with hange and that disgusting whore. he grows dizzy instantly, but his hold on you never falters. "sweetheart," he whispers again.

begrudgingly, you pull away and sit up with your legs crossed underneath you, fingers linked together and thumbs twiddling.

"levi... you know what you have to do," you mumble, but you don't agree with your own words. you're putting on a brave face for him because he needs it; he's weak. "it doesn't make sense to let everyone eventually die because of what you want."

what he wants, not what 'we' want.

"everyone is going to die eventually. what does it matter if it's sooner than later? what quality of life do humans even have like this? scared to go outside, starving on the streets? if i meet my end without you, i might as well have not lived at all." the anger from earlier prickles up his spine and he sits up with you now. "i need you and i don't care who i have to resist or kill to have you."

he'll fight for you. he'll kill for you. had this been any other turn of events, you would've thought it to be romantic and taken his hand in marriage right then and there.

"what if it's me that doesn't want that ending, though? what if i'm the one that's sending you to be with her because i want to?" oh, but it's so easy to see through your façade when you're sobbing and shaking like you are now. you're lying and it's so fucking obvious.

levi doesn't even acknowledge what you said — it's implausible and not worth expanding upon.

"we'll run away. i'll plan things with erwin so we'll always have gear and a place to stay... he'll help so no one can find us." he hasn't asked this of the commander yet, but the chances of him declining are so slim. "please, i can't live without you... i don't want to raise a child that isn't ours."

"so you'd be okay with letting that baby grow up without a loving father...? how did that work out for you?" the latter inquiry holds a lot more venom than you want it to and you want to indulge him — indulge yourself — by agreeing to the picture he's painting for you, but the intrusive thought of how he just parroted the same promises to some rich woman months ago, then to you, is something you can't ignore. "you... you cheated on me."

the pain that flashes in his eyes is unmistakable. for months, you've refused to talk about it and were adamant on forgiveness, nothing else, but today is the day you finally let him feel the gravity of his sins.

"you hated when i was just dancing with reiner, a friend, but you get to fuck a stranger and expect me to do nothing about it. if reiner was still around," you heard about reiner and his traitorous deeds and the truth about what he is, but you still mourned the loss of a good friend a while back, "would i get to fuck him, too? so we're even? i get to carry his child and marry him?"

you expect anger and even a slap to the face, but you only see the broken eyes of a man who has crumbled.

"i'd kill him. and i will once we catch up to him." his venomous words hold no poison, only defeat.

"then what about commander erwin?" your jaw flexes with tension. "at least we can trust him to take good care of me." it's your voice that's sharp and filled with irritation. "if i get to do the same with commander erwin and you still want me in the end, then i'll leave everything behind to be with you. i won't feel guilty about the child you're abandoning for your own selfish pleasure."

"okay." your eyes widen and you snap your head to the side to look at him, to look for any trace of a joking smile or just anything to see if he's just playing with you. but you're only met with saddened eyes and defeated, slumped shoulders. "i love you. i love you so much, i want to die. but you're right — i got myself into this mess and if those are your conditions, i'll wait. a year, five years, a decade. however long it takes. i'll wait for you, no matter what happens."

to say you're taken aback would be the understatement of the century.... but you're still trembling with unhappiness and you let your heart win over your head as you nod and get off the bed, fully intent on delivering on your promise to 'even things out.' when you've had time to calm down and think about what it is you're doing exactly ( maybe soon when commander erwin laughs at your silly proposal ), you'll find regret in your heart for what you've done. for now, you think yourself as level-headed and you leave the same way you came in, leaving the door to his messy room wide open.

꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏

"commander," you shout for him and knock your aching knuckles against his door impatiently. captain levi is only a few doors down and you know that he can hear what's transpiring.

"back so soon?" comes his deep voice with a rumbling laugh.

the regret you had saved up for later all comes rushing to you now as you twiddle your thumbs and try to think of a way to express whatever deal you made with levi that won't have the commander pushing you back towards the captain's room, demanding that you two just make up like two bickering kids.

"a-actually... there's something i need to talk to you about, sir... about levi and i— we came to a... a compromise." a thick eyebrow raises with curiosity and he ushers you back inside, shutting the door behind you. unknowing if your legs would be able keep from giving out underneath you, you sit on the bed as you did before, legs crossed under you and one hand on each of your knees. "if you could keep your questions until i'm done, sir... i think i'll lose my train of thought rather easily."

erwin nods and stays standing where he is beside the bed, arms crossed over his broad chest as he furrows his brows with concern.

"so... levi said," you're throwing him under the bus when it was your outrageous suggestion, "if i pursue the life he has with the noblewoman with you, and if i still want him after that, we can get back together. i-i'm not sure how far that means," but you can compromise with yourself, can't you? "as in if we have to get married or anything, and if you already have a wife or lover, i'm so sorry for even bringing this up, sir! i didn't— levi didn't really think it through..."

he looks as if he's digesting every word and turning them into sentences in his mind one by one, slowly understanding what levi ( you ) proposed.

"i'm surprised levi didn't mention that he knows i don't have a lover." dread starts to creep up your spine; maybe you should've left the commander out of this. of course he has a lot on his plate already, what good would the addition of more burdens do? "but i will admit, it's not because i'm celibate or abstaining. i've lost any cadet i've had a connection with in battle, so i gave up."

his arms uncross and he starts to kneel on the bed, hands reaching to rest on the mattress at either side of your hips, lips parted in a wide grin. he's close, too close for comfort.

"but i must also tell you that i've wanted a taste ever since levi started telling me about you. he'd tell me how sweet you are on his tongue during meetings about battle. in court, he whispered about how tight you squeeze his cock, even when you aren't cumming." his breath grows ragged and so does yours in response. "when we met with the head of the military police, he sent me a note with all the names you like to be called while being fucked and where to push and pull to have you moan like a bitch in heat."

your lids flutter and all you can smell is him, so manly and intoxicating. you've never thought of commander erwin as more than an authority figure, it's almost dizzying how quickly you're able to adopt him as a physical partner. he's the exact opposite of levi, your first and only: where levi is small, erwin is big, where levi is big, erwin's even bigger. the dark hair in your dreams is now replaced with shining gold and you fall victim to the seducing words of your commander.

"and now, he's conceding? after all that teasing, he's letting his sweet bunny run head first into the lion's den?" erwin lifts himself up to undo his belt, the sound of just the buckle making your thighs clench together. "he must really love you, and now it's my turn to experience why."

his mouth is on yours in an instant and you melt underneath him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he undresses himself until you decide that it's taking too long. clumsy, small fingers undo each knob from its clasp on his shirt, and it takes much longer than if he were to do it alone; his pants and underwear are already messily strewn on the floor ( another difference from levi — the smaller would fold it all neatly ) and he's waiting for you to finish with an amused, patient smile. only when you finish does he grab your wrists to settle them on your lap so he can shrug his shirt off himself, revealing broad shoulders and a torso filled with scars similar to levi's.

commander erwin is absolutely breathtaking in his naked glory, each of his flexing muscles bulging and just begging for you to worship them with your mouth.

"god," you whisper mindlessly. he's mesmerising without having to do anything.

the corners of his lips twitch with the urge to spread wider; it's been a while since he's had an intimate moment or heard himself being revered the way he likes. the sudden confession he made of wanting a taste of you was entirely true. it was difficult to watch you walk in the hallways without purposely inhaling deeper to take in your scent, to keep himself from asking levi if you tasted just as heavenly today when he'd come into a meeting with your nectar still staining his chin, both of your faces bright red.

erwin is a wise man; he won't take this moment for granted when levi could burst in at any moment to take you away.

"now let's see if the little one was exaggerating or not," his voice is playful, as is the gleam in his eyes, when he leans in to press his lips to yours. instantly, your lids flutter and you wrap your dainty arms around his neck to pull him closer, mouth parting to let him in, to let him wash away any trace of levi you'd had lingering on you. each flick of his tongue has you moaning underneath him and he picks you up so easily, resting your back on the bed so he's hovering over you, almost swallowing you up. the heat that pools in your stomach, in between your legs, is undeniable.

where levi's taste was sweet, the commander is heartier, as if levi was a freshly baked cake and erwin was a home-cooked meal fit for soldiers. levi would send you into a state of intoxicated dizziness, but erwin sends adrenaline rushing through your veins instead.

"sir," you breathe out in between loud, wet kisses, his large hands unclasping your buttons with much more fervour and accuracy than you did his. "a-are you sure?" but the question is more directed at yourself than him, and any resistance you've held on to slips away with your shirt and flimsy bra, to the floor with his discarded clothing as well.

"i think we're past formalities if we're soon to be wed, aren't we, darling? daddy doesn't mind." the single word has your head spinning and he takes this chance to slip off your pants and underwear off the long expanse of your legs, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder.

"daddy," your voice is a whisper and you throw the word out to give it a taste, see how it moulds on your tongue. it doesn't feel right at first, but when you see the beaming grin on erwin's face, you tell yourself that it's perfect. "daddy, i really... really want to feel you."

erwin knows that preparation is necessary, especially when dealing with someone of his girth and size, but your quiet begging, the title, the irresistible sight of you on his messy bedsheets... all the feedback he's gathered through a slew of previous partners gets thrown out the window as he lets lust overtake him. if anything, he'll have to blame levi for speaking of you in such a lewd manner so openly, making erwin's curiosity crash through the roof.

he only nods in response, a hand grabbing at the base of his length so he can give it a couple of steady strokes until he's ready to press against your dripping slit. as much as he knows that he has to prep you, make sure you're ready to take him, the temptation of your ring of muscle squeezing around his tip has his mask of self control faltering and he pushes into you crassly, the hand wrapped around his base steadying itself on your hip for balance.

the guttural moan that slips from his mouth makes your eyes fly up to meet his eyes that've rolled into the back of his head. with your small hands, you grab on to his biceps and dig your nails into his skin, lower lip caught in between your teeth as you hold back grunts of slight pain; he's big and you're sure that no amount of prior foreplay could've prepared you enough to take him without the burning sensation that paints you from the inside out right now.

"just like heaven," erwin murmurs to himself. he sits inside of you, tip already kissing your cervix, and once his shoulders are no longer tense, he returns his gaze to you and cups your cheek with a large, calloused hand. "you alright, darling?"

you nod just once, despite the tears that've yet to dry at your waterline.

"levi wasn't exaggerating in the least, sweetheart," he mumbles again, the mention of the onyx-haired man just a few doors away making your heart twinge with guilt — you've ruined yourself; you're not just his anymore....but it's what he deserves, right? critical thinking is an inaccessible skill at the moment and the pang of apologetic feelings flutter away when the commander — your commander — starts to move his hips, pumping in and out of you at his own brutal pace.

the sound of the headboard rocking against the wall is thunderous, as opposed to the creaks you're used to, and so are erwin's moans of your name over and over.

crystal blue eyes bore into yours, rendering you helpless as your limbs melt into jelly ( maybe the feeling of him pressing urgently into that spongy bundle of nerves inside of you have to do with it, too ). his stare is so intense and you feel as if you've never been so bare before, giving the entirety of your self to your commander, and he takes everything you have to offer.

his pearly whites grind together with sweat beading and dripping down his temple as he finds purchase on both your hips with both of his bruising hands.

"i'm gonna fill you up, doll," he grits out and his hips piston against yours, sending your back arching and vision fuzzy with the merciless pounding against the most sensitive corner of your clenched walls.

"d-daddy— oh, god," is all you can get out, nails digging into his arms once more as you feel yourself tighten around him, and with one last thrust inside of you, you can feel him spill inside just as you reach completion and become undone, like a ribbon on a present. toes clenched and back arched, sweat creating a slick dew on your entire body — erwin swears he's never seen a sight so perfect and wills himself to commit what lies underneath him to memory.

"fucking beautiful," he whispers, chest heaving with deep breaths. slowly, he slips out of you, not without a groan, and you feel the loss instantly, clamping your legs together with embarrassment.

the bed thumps and bounces beside you as the commander lays beside you on his side, a serene smile you've never seen before graced on his lips.

"so, did i convince you to take levi up on that offer?" weren't you the one that came here to persuade him?

your eyes fight the cloud of drowsiness that, as per usual, takes over you post-orgasm, blinking slowly, but hard to keep yourself awake as much as you can.

"yes, sir," you mumble sleepily, back to the honourifics once again. the sound of commander erwin's rumbling laugh is the last thing you hear as you descend into a heavy sleep, the faint image of levi's broken expression painting the back of your eyelids before everything fades to black.

꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏

[asdpawprint]

Max has never been the perfect dog for me. Not even before he became my service dog. A bit too small, a bit too aloof, fragile/accident prone, not quite enough food motivation, doesn't really care to play with toys, sometimes straight up dislikes praise and touch... But he's able to provide enough of what I need. I'd benefit from more, but I can make do with what he gives.

I got so incredibly lucky that the dog I already had is capable of doing this job. He's not the perfect dog, but he's changed my life anyway. If he couldn't do it, I'd either still be without a service dog or only just starting to reach the point in training that the dog is occasionally helpful.

Max is getting me through hard times. I look forward to having a better match with future dogs now that I know so much more about my needs and preferences, while still greatly appreciating that Max stepped up and is able to fill that need for now.

Max is the dog I needed at this stage of my life. I couldn't have coped with another Lab so quickly after losing my childhood dog. I needed something different, and he's taught me so much... Including that I want to go back to Labs after him.

Idk, just feeling weird about the fact that he's 5 now. My childhood Lab only just barely made it to 8. I'm hoping hoping hoping Max will live much longer than that, but nothing is predictable with a mutt.

I don't know how long he'll tolerate the stresses of working, I don't know how long he'll be reasonably healthy, I don't know how long he'll live.

And I need a service dog, so I need to plan ahead. The time to find a good breeder, wait for a puppy, reach the point in training where the dog becomes helpful... Adds up to at least 2 years, maybe 3 or 4.

It hasn't even been a year yet since he graduated training, and already I'm worried about how soon I need to plan for my next dog. I might start the breeder search next year just to try to be as prepared as possible. But then there's so many more factors like saving up money, deciding how long to wait before actually getting a new dog, finding a puppy raiser bc I don't cope well around very young puppies, figuring out the logistics of living with 3 dogs for the duration of Max's retired life...

There's so much to figure out. And I have no idea how soon I'll need to.

[cassurrjoybell-30]

Cry Me A River - Chapter 4 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

"The man who has no inner-life is a slave to his surroundings."

Meeting Misery

Three months later

Life here wasn't so bad, the bread was semi-edible, the water semi-drinkable and the people semi-tolerable.

Yesterday, a man who looked like he was in his early thirties tried to steal my bread.

He didn't get away with it and was pulled out by Dane.

He never came back.

Dane had been trying to make advances.

Touches here and there whenever he delivered my food.

Sometimes he gave me extra bread which made the touches semi more tolerable.

Thankfully, he hadn't gone any farther than weird caresses here and there.

I'd come to realize lately that Alice was very protective of me, whenever one of the people had tried to take food from me she'd made sure they regretted it, physically.

She also wasn't very happy with Dane's caresses but there wasn't much she could do about that, that doesn't mean she didn't try, though.

Once, she tried to bite off Dane's hand when handing her, her daily portion of food because she had caught him trying to feel me up.

Let's just say, he reverted back to just simple caresses out of fear of Alice.

I found it quite comical, someone finding Alice, someone so small and petite, intimidating.

Sometimes I wondered if that was what it was like to have a mother.

Someone sweet and loving, always looking after you.

If I were to imagine myself having a mother, it would be Alice.

Six months later

It's been half a year already.

Half a year since being sold here by my own father.

I don't know how much longer I can stand being here, it was dreadful.

Lately, Dane's caresses had been lingering a little too long, which was getting me very nervous.

The fear and paranoia of being raped in this mold infested metallic room was suffocating me and leaving me with a ghost-like persona.

Alice kept telling me how scared she was for me.

How I'm too fragile for a place like this.

Not that I can argue with that.

I don't know how much more I can take.

Eight months later

I can't take it anymore.

Every day I woke up and the stench of blood and corpses just kept getting worse and worse.

So many were dying.

We used to have sixty three people trapped in this small, metallic waste, now we're down to fifty.

The winter was very harsh this year and the people who kept us here hadn't provided us with enough blankets.

There was only one blanket given for every four people.

I'd been sharing with Alice and two other people, but one died.

Now, there was only me, Alice, and a small boy who looked around four sharing one blanket.

Recently, the boy has been heating up, a fever I predicted.

I was getting nervous.

He was so young, too young to die.

Too young to be put in such a horrible condition.

The people who put us here are monsters.

Ten months later

The boy died today.

It was horrible.

He tried so hard to live, he struggled for two months straight but death held him by the neck and wouldn't let go.

He was so young.

His birthday was supposed to be in three days.

He would have been five.

March. That was his name.

When he was born his parents didn't know what to do with him, not to mention what to name him, so they just called him after his birth month, March.

After years of struggling to raise him, they sold him, nice huh?

I guess I was not the only one that was sold by my own flesh and blood.

After being here for almost a year I had gotten to know most of my fellow captives.

Many were, similarly to me, sold by their relatives either because of poverty or family feuds.

Either way, it was horrible how a fellow family member could sell their own flesh and blood to a life like this.

A life where death is waiting patiently outside on your doorstep.

Twelve months later

Happy birthday to me.

It was at times like this that I feel like I'd be here forever.

I'd live here and die here.

Alone.

Well, not alone per se, I have Alice, I guess.

And our happy, friendly fellow corpses, courtesy of death himself.

"Happy birthday, cutie," Alice said with a wide smile.

"Happy birthday to me," I answered monotonously.

Alice frowned.

"Why aren't you happy?"

What was there to be happy about on one's birthday?

You were born.

Was that really something to be congratulated for?

I couldn't remember ever being happy on my birthday.

In my house my birthday was less of a 'celebration' and more of a 'funeral' after all, it was the anniversary of my mother's death.

While others' birthdays consisted of presents and parties, mine consisted of beatings and terror.

It was a day I looked toward every year as one of terror, one I mentally prepared myself for weeks before my birthday, knowing I wouldn't be able to walk days after from the harsh beatings I would receive.

I remembered waking up on my birthday that fateful day a year ago.

I had expected my yearly beating.

I had no idea that I would receive a sentence much more horrific.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Alice's shrieking voice.

"Did that dog touch you again?" she asked, obviously referring to Dane.

"Not more than usual."

"That little piece of shit."

"It's fine, Alice."

"No, it's not. He's a pig."

"No matter. There's nothing you can do to change it."

Silence.

'Uh Oh. When Alice went silent that usually means...'

"Don't start coming up with ridiculous plans that will get both of us into trouble, Ali."

"They're not ridiculous."

"Uh huh."

She humphed and crossed her arms dramatically.

"So how old are you going to be?"

"I'm now seventeen," I said with a small smile.

"Wow, almost an adult, you know," she said with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes.

"As if that's going to mean anything when they bury my corpse."

"Whoa. Way to be morbid there Rivvy."

"It's the truth," I sighed, leaning back against the cold wall.

"You know, just because we're in a place like this doesn't mean we're going to die here."

"Doesn't it?" I asked raising my eyebrow.

"No," she dragged.

"We were sold here to be servants or something so they're going to have to sell us at some point and when they do, we'll be out."

She smirked.

"Yes, out of this dungeon and into another dark basement, not any better Ali."

"We won't go into another dark basement."

"No?"

"No. We'll escape."

"Uh huh and how do you plan on doing that, exactly?"

"Well, once we're outside we can compose a plan and escape."

"And that plan will be..." I tried.

"Not sure."

I raised my eyebrow.

"I'm working on it but it will be a genius one that's for sure."

"If I could reach you, I'd so punch you right now."

"Wow, feeling the love, Ali."

I laughed while sticking my tongue out at her.

She blew me a fake kiss and stuck her tongue out in return.

"Real mature, Ali, real mature, makes me wonder who's the real older one here," I joked.

"You obviously. I don't look a day over sixteen," she smirked.

"Totally," I said sarcastically. She stuck out her tongue before pulling the blanket over herself.

"Hey, sharing is caring," I yelled at her.

She pushed some of the blankets in my general direction.

"Only because you're the birthday boy," she winked.

"Thanks," I scoffed, pulling the blanket over me and crawling into a ball.

I hope whatever plan Alice manages to concoct works.

[sunpopp]

Warm to The Touch | {CCH}

→ Summary; it's not often that Chanhee gets sick, but when he does, he's a very big crybaby about it. That, or he really is in as much pain as he says he is—regardless that leaves you to take care of him, and funnily enough, it has its perks.

• WC/genre: 2K of smut + fluff

• Includes/cw: Chanhee being sick and reader taking care of him, no kissies on lips 😔, sub!Chanhee, gn!reader, fingering (m receiving), dick neglection (?), handjobs, brief praise, aftercare

Riding the bus wasn't your favorite thing to do, but it was soothing if you were in the right mood.

Sadly, you weren't. Mostly due to the fact that Chanhee was quite literally blowing up your phone with texts asking how much longer it'd take you to be off the train and on your way with his precious medicine, making you sigh and roll your eyes before shooting him a reply that you'd be there soon, but knowing nothing would calm him down until you were in front of him to prove it.

You can't help but smile.

Chanhee didn't complain much about anything, besides maybe you not helping him with washing the dishes or set the table while he made dinner, but everything else was, at most, a dirty look that softened relatively quickly. Sickness, though, was a whole other ballgame.

He would rant and rave about the tiniest of phantom pains, practically on the male equivalent of his period with the way his mood would get snappy and sour at the slightest inconveniences.

But maybe he really did just have a shit pain tolerance like he'd often hint at. Though it didn't stop you from still being baffled when he'd get a bad cramp in the middle of the night and whine about it until he'd fall asleep again.

Coming back to reality as you glance up to the bus's nearing destination, you stretch lazily and begin to stand, muscles aching from walking all day and back cracking loud enough for you to wonder if other people heard it. The bus slows to a stop before finally lurching against the sidewalk, and you take your leave through the opening doors with an appreciative thanks to the driver.

Almost immediately after you hop down from the steps, a layering of chilly wind washes harshly against your front and the familiar smell of petrichor into your nose, relentless rain droplets against your coat as you begin in a jog in the direction of your apartment. Chanhee must be freezing right now, you think, concern growing even heavier at the visible breaths of air you let out. If he's already got the sniffles, a sore throat, and headaches, he's probably getting worse considering you'd forgotten to turn the heater on before you left.

Stupid mistake.

It takes maybe a couple more minutes, less than it'd take if you were walking like normal, before you're finally at your door, punching in the code for the lock before shouldering it open and kicking off your shoes on the shoe rack. It's cold inside, you can tell by the way your cheeks still feel numb.

"Chanhee! I got your medicine!" Your words echo throughout the hall, spreading out when you keep calling his name as you move farther in; past the open kitchen and to the bedroom door opposite the bathroom.

When you come into the room, Chanhee is still in the bed where he was when you left, but this time, he's sat up, looking at you with hooded eyes and a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. He frowns, "It's about time. While I was here suffering, you were out with your friends. Unbelievable..," he pouts and shakes his head.

With a chuckle and now eased posture, you sit in front of him and set the bag of medicine beside you to check his temperature. He's extremely hot.

"Yeah, well, staying around you while you're sick is enough to drive me crazy so you can't really pin the blame on me for needing to leave. Plus, it's not like you tried to stop me, did you?" You smile at him, standing back up to go run him a lukewarm bath.

"I was asleep!"

"Your problem, not mine!"

___

"Alright, up you go."

"Ah, but my whole body hurts..."

"Too bad, you're sweating a bunch and you haven't done anything to clean yourself yet."

Another tug of Chanhee's hands, and he's stumbling into your arms with a raspy groan at the jerky movement. You pat his back, pecking his damp forehead, then drag him to the bathroom.

"Can you undress yourself or do you need my help with everything?" You half-joke.

"Don't be rude, it's actually hard for me to do a lot of things," Chanhee utters bitterly, but he does manage to pull his shirt over his head, albeit with your help, as well as his pants and boxers before stepping into the water.

"Or maybe you're just fragile as hell and the smallest things have you bedridden for a week."

"Oh my god I'm gonna-"

"Hush, princess, you won't do anything," you find yourself laughing as you lower yourself to your knees beside the tub, folding your arms on the side before resting your cheek atop them, "Just relax, okay? I know you're too tired to argue right now, so let yourself calm down for a couple."

He thankfully doesn't protest, and takes your advice for once; letting himself fall against the back of the bathtub and close his eyes, the sigh through his nose an indication that he's allowing himself to enjoy the water. He looks so peaceful like this. Doll-like eyelashes fluttering against smooth, heated cheeks, and head slowly lolling to face you.

You feel yourself reach out. You know it's happening, but you don't stop it when you run a hand through Chanhee's bangs, then swipe a thumb past his eyelid to trail to his nose, then lips.

He opens his eyes, but doesn't say anything, even if he probably finds it strange. He lets you touch him.

"You're very pretty," you mumble whilst pouring water onto his head using the wash bucket on the back surface of the bathtub. Drops trickle down into mini patterns on his face, and he drags a hand over it to clear them away.

"Even while sick?" He raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised at your answer.

You comb the water into his hair to wet it as you nod, "Even while sick."

Chanhee smiles, "So, how was your day out?"

"It was nice. Found a perfect place where I'd love to take you, actually."

"Oh? Where?"

"The bone zone-"

"Oh my god, you're so annoying!"

You erupt into a fit of laughter as Chanhee swats a hand at you, getting some of your shirt and arm wet where you shield yourself from his little attack. You pinch his cheek, flashing a toothy grin, "Oh, come on! That was a good one and you know it. Smooth as ever if I do say so myself."

"Yeah, and you're the only one saying so," He pouts, pulling away from your pinchy fingers and trying his best to hide the steadily growing smirk that threatens to break his face into a smile. Stubborn as always, you see.

"You can leave now," Chanhee gives you a pointed look.

"Alright, alright. I'll be in the bedroom awaiting any further commands, your highness," You shake your head, and make a grand display of leaving the room and him to his own privacy.

Chanhee doesn't take long in the bath anyway, so you knew you wouldn't have to wait long as you fall back against the bed, shifting around until you've made yourself comfortable against the strewn navy covers. You spare a glance out the window pressed against your side; still raining, and still bathed in a silver glow from the blanketing clouds. It'd make you kind of sad, if not melancholic, but you were in a good mood from coming home, so at the most, you were calm.

Calm, even when Chanhee emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam a half hour later, only wearing a pink striped button up pajama shirt and matching bottoms, hands raised above his head whilst he dries his hair with a small towel. He comes to a stop in front of you.

"There he is," you exclaim, looking up from your phone and patting the spot next to you with a mischievous glint in your eye, "C'mere."

"I wonder why I'm hesitating," he says, and you can practically feel the the sarcasm in his words.

"Because hot people make you nervous? Duh."

"Are you insinuating that you're hot?"

That's your queue.

Leaning forward, you grab Chanhee's wrist and tug him into your chest, causing him to stumble slightly, but you catch him and pull him flush against you. A flurry of kisses to his face, excluding his lips, ensue.

Chanhee squirms around in your arms and acts like he doesn't like the affection at first, but a few more seconds of the same treatment prove true to his soft side when he goes limp and begins to giggle at the ticklish feel of your butterfly pecks.

Oh, that giggle. How you loved to hear it; sweet and beautiful like the chime of the prettiest bell in your ears.

You pull him on top of you as you relax against the crevice where the mattress meets the wall, and rest your cheek on the top of his head, humming, "You saying that I'm not hot?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

"Kidding."

"No you weren't."

"Yes I was."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You- Hush!" Chanhee covers your mouth finally and you chuckle against his palm at his feeble attempt to silence you.

You press a kiss to it instead of bickering further, causing him to soften. Just then, you realize something as you touch down his wrist.

"Woah, has your fever not died down at all? You're even starting to sweat a little bit again, too..."

Your suspicions prove true when a closer inspection at the ruddy skin flushed from his cheeks down to his chest and heavier-than-normal breathing indicates that he's still hot, or at least overheated.

"Here," you murmur, already shifting him on his back so you can easily unclasp the buttons of his shirt, "Are you in any pain or is it still just the sore throat?"

"The headache I had earlier is starting to come back. It's getting worse, but that's about it so don't worry, I'll be fine," Chanhee tries his hand at reassurance, you can tell, but it doesn't do anything to stop you from crawling over him to scurry into the kitchen.

"I'm getting you some water, hang on!" You call out from down the hall, making quick work of filling up a decently sized glass before you return to him with some painkillers as well. He barely manages to sit up when you reach him; his face scrunching at the obvious pain that's beginning to hit him tenfold as he gratefully takes the pills and throws his head back when he tosses them in his mouth, chasing them with the cold glass of water you provided.

"Ah, it's actually really starting to hurt...," Chanhee whimpers and at the sound, you slide back into the bed to pepper his face with pecks once again. He's grateful for the comfort, if the way he gently drapes his arm over your shoulder says anything.

"Oh, my poor baby," you coo lowly, feeling the goosebumps on his back that prickle at your tone, "Is there anything I can do to make it better? Did you already take your medicine?"

"Yeah.. still hurts.."

"I can tell," you snort and trail a finger down Chanhee's sternum, looping it back up to flick at one of his nipples. He jolts, and you can't help but give a cheeky smirk, "Even your nipples have taken on somewhat of a hue. I wonder what other places are doing the same thing...," your words would hold suggestion to even the most clueless of people, spoken through lips now slicked with saliva as you roll your tongue across the tinted flesh and lower your head for a taste of his exposed breast.

"Ah!" Chanhee gasps loudly and his fingers find purchase on the back of your head, his body trembling when he arches his chest up into your face, searching for more when his mouth fails to ask you such a favor.

Teasing his nipple with a gentle nip before pulling away to kiss it instead, you caress his narrow waist, "You said it hurts, no?"

"It does...," Chanhee pants and nods as fast as his throbbing head will allow him.

"Where does it hurt most, baby? Tell me," You wet your fingers with a quick swipe of your tongue then reach under his lower half to slide your hand into his shorts, Chanhee helping you by taking one leg out, and glide down the seam of his ass to tease his rim, "Here?"

"Y-yes..!" you chuckle when he huffs and flings both arms around your head, pulling you close into him and meeting your forehead as he grinds down against your digits.

"Awe, look at you..."

And look at him indeed; Chanhee is already a mess before you. Staring at you with those big watery doe eyes of his, and silently pleading for you to continue doing things to his body that has him feeling like bursting.

You give him exactly what he wants.

Pushing your finger into him, slowly due to how tight the fit is, you press sloppy kisses to the underside of his jaw. The reaction Chanhee gives is a familiar one, with sensual lips dropped open to let out a high-pitched moan and legs trembling as he holds them open for you, fighting to not shut his eyes upon feeling you enter him.

"Good," you drawl, tilting your wrist at an angle once your index and pinkie meet the backs of Chanhee's thighs and gently curling your fingers upwards, "Just like that, baby. Is this okay? Are you okay?" Your eyes search his face for discomfort, and though you don't find any, you still your movements.

He nods and nuzzles against the top of your head with his cheek, "Mm-hm. Keep going, please."

You start back up at his polite request, as much as you love hearing him ask for more of something, and begin to drag the pads of your fingers back and fourth alongside his walls until you feel the telltale firmness of his prostate, then start on massaging it.

"Ah!" He emits a short, melodical whine at the burst of sensation now seething within him. It drives him one step from crazy as he scrunches his face and unconsciously slaps at your shoulder in a sort of mid-euphoria result.

You huff out a half-laugh, sitting back on your knees so you can get a better view of what you're doing, "Good?"

Chanhee tries to use his words, but by the way you pin him down to the bed with a palm flat against his collarbone before speeding up your hand, he can only manage a broken sob. It's followed by another of the same needy type, but this time, it's louder and causes your stomach to all but flip at the sound. Chanhee throws his head back, thrashing this way and that to somewhat get away from the overwhelming feeling, but also pushing down against it at the same time; all the while your hand keeps him in place.

"I'll take that as a yes," you jest, mostly to yourself because Chanhee sure isn't listening, then bend down slightly to finally turn your focus to his weeping cock. It's full-blooded from being hard for so long, angry red at the tip and jumping every once in a while, especially when you open your mouth to lick a strip from the base to the head.

"P-please I can't! You're gonna make me cum!" Chanhee rushes to sit up, but you push him back down as soon as he tries. He looks absolutely horrified at being so close already.

"And what's the problem with that?"

"I-I just- I don't want to disappoint you."

"Oh, baby," You take your hand from his chest in favor of jerking him off, which he all but chokes at, "It doesn't disappoint me at all. I find it very hot, actually."

"Plea-ease..! Oh!" Chanhee wails one final time before he lets go all over your hand.

It covers your knuckles, dripping white down the side of your thumb as you keep stroking him to help him ride it out. The orgasm must've hit him hard, you think when you look up to see Chanhee shuddering in time with the aftershocks that zap his body every few seconds, eyes closed and skin dewy with a sheen of perspiration.

"Hey, come back to me. You alright? Does your head still hurt?"

He takes a moment to open his eyes, but when they roll open and find your face, he does something that catches you off-guard. He latches himself onto your front, straddling your lap, and rests his head over your shoulder with a sigh.

"Chanhee, hang on a bit, my hand's still dirty and I need to clean you up-"

"In a second. I'm tired."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Mm, I don't feel like talking right now."

"... You are such a handful."

@vanillaknj @stealerhwa1

[cheshiresense]

For the headcanon thing if I'm not too late. Headcanons for FemIchigo/Kisuke ship?

Lol you didn’t give me an AU? Guess I could throw them in the canon verse but the events wouldn’t be much dif imo. But let’s see how this goes.

Edit: Welp. This got long.

1. Ichigo keeps her hair long because of her mom. Masaki had long hair, and even if it’s not the exact same colour, Ichigo grows her own hair out in her honour, as a reminder of the one time she failed to protect her precious people and just because she’s never met anyone with hair as pretty as her mom’s.

The first time she gets into a serious fight with Shinigami, that dick Renji uses it against her. He grabs her hair, and taunts her with it, and in the end, she kicks his ass, but then his dick boss shows up and just about kills her. When she wakes up at the Shouten, she’s half-naked, wrapped in bandages, and her hair’s been sliced ragged, left in uneven strands around her shoulders where before it had reached her waist. Urahara is nice enough to cut and style it for her. He tells her he only knows how to cut it one way because a good friend of his used to wear her hair short. It’s cute enough, and at the end of the day, Ichigo would much rather keep her life than her hair, but she also locks herself in the bathroom later that night and has a good cry about it. It’s stupid, it’s just hair, it’ll grow back, but it still feels a little like losing her mother all over again. She gives herself twenty minutes, and then she gets her shit together because she has to go save Rukia, and Urahara promised to make her strong enough so she needs to get some sleep more than anything else right now. When she gets back to her room though, the rest of the Shouten is still silent but there’s a tray of tea by her futon, still hot, and too sweet to have been made by Tessai. Ichigo doesn’t even like tea, but it’s a surprisingly kind, amusingly awkward gesture from a man who knows too much and tells her too little. She drinks it all, making a face at the taste but appreciating the warmth that spreads all the way to her fingertips, and when she lies back down and closes her eyes, sleep comes easier this time.

2. Kisuke’s the one who carries her back to the Shouten after she defeats Aizen and subsequently collapses in the aftermath. He thinks it would’ve been easier if she’d been born a boy. She’s tall for her age and gender, but she feels more fragile like this, her shoulders narrower than her usual larger-than-life personality would suggest, her frame less sturdy. Even her bones feel more delicate. Then again, she’s still only sixteen and she’s already lost half her soul in a war she should never have had to fight in the first place, and a good chunk of that blame can be laid squarely at Kisuke’s feet, so maybe boy or girl, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. She’s light enough that Kisuke can carry her without difficulty, but her weight still feels like shackles around his wrists, tied to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean, like the worst of his sins given life, and Kisuke hadn’t ever thought that would be something he’d have trouble bearing until now. But the least he can do is carry her home, so that’s what he does. He takes her back to the Shouten and cleans her up and heals her– it’s a routine he’s uncomfortably familiar with these days. He doesn’t know if she’s ever consciously realized it, but he’s seen her naked enough times to feel like a pervert. He was Onmitsukidou, and he’s seen Yoruichi change in front of him enough times that the female body doesn’t make him blink, but Ichigo’s young - old enough to have developed curves, young enough that his hands shouldn’t be anywhere near her (figuratively or literally) - but there’s nobody else to do it, Yoruichi is always inconveniently away, so Kisuke keeps his eyes and hands well within professional range, runs a bath for her that takes care of most of the dirt and sweat and blood so he only has to make sure she doesn’t drown, and then whisks her off back to bed where he can bandage up what his Kidou can’t heal before settling down to monitor her reiatsu levels.

She remains in a coma for a month. Kisuke is the one who takes care of her, from fresh bedding to sponge baths to IV-fed fluids, even trimming her hair when it starts looking too shaggy (she’s growing it out again, so he doesn’t cut more than what he has to). By the time she opens her eyes, Kisuke’s just relieved she wakes at all, and it doesn’t seem like she’s (physically) much worse for wear so at least his caretaking skills aren’t terrible. All the discomfort in the world can be tolerated if it means Ichigo remains as healthy as she can possibly be.

3. Ichigo doesn’t see or hear from Urahara or any other Shinigami for the next seventeen months, and she tries not to let it get to her. She still sees her human friends at school, even if she’s no longer welcome in a large part of their daily lives, and Shinigami probably don’t think a year and a half is all that long. Besides, at the end of the day, she knew most of her Shinigami acquaintances for a handful of months tops; that’s hardly grounds for eternal friendship. She’s hurt by their absence, but she keeps herself busy with school, with homework, with the part-time job she finds just to fill the hours in-between. She gets good at ignoring the fact that she knows where her friends go after school, knows where her sisters go, and that she can no longer follow them. Urahara doesn’t wear a gigai after all, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to. He probably has better things to do too now that the war is over and Ichigo has done her duty.

So it’s been seventeen months of mind-numbing (soul-wrenching) monotony, and then she gains a stalker. She would never have chased that thief down if she had known Ginjou Kuugou was so… greasy. She doesn’t just mean his hair either; everything about him oozes an oily sort of charm that sets off every alarm bell her mom drilled into her head about Stranger Danger, Female Edition, and it becomes clear very quickly that Ginjou is exactly the sort of man who just won’t take no for an answer. He follows her around, flirts like he thinks she finds him attractive, keeps inviting her out for a meal, even tracks her down at work, and Ichigo’s just about had it with him after he “bumps” into her while she’s walking home from doing the grocery-shopping, because she may not be a Shinigami anymore but she sure as hell still knows how to defend herself and kick a creep in the balls when he dares to sling a too-proprietary arm around her waist, as if he has any right.

As it turns out though, she doesn’t have to. Ginjou gets about half a second to touch her, still blathering on about having something interesting to show her if she lets him treat her to some ramen, and then he’s being ripped away from her, abruptly enough to tear a shout from him, and Ichigo spins around just in time to see Urahara twist Ginjou’s arm behind him at a painful-looking angle before slamming him face-first into a nearby wall.

Ichigo doesn’t think she’s ever seen Urahara so… openly violent before. She can’t stop staring for a long moment, because that casual, effortless strength is… not something Ichigo would mind seeing again. If nothing else, it’s clearly effective (and pointedly ignores the voice that says she isn’t staring because it’s effective). The look on his face though is positively serene, if you don’t count the ominous shadow that his hat is somehow casting over his eyes.

“I do believe Kurosaki-san has asked you to stop harassing her,” the shopkeeper says in tones so airily cheerful only an idiot would buy the act. Ginjou doesn’t reply anyway. He can’t. Urahara’s yanked his arm up high enough to let him simultaneously choke the life out of the guy, his hand about as movable as stone as it pins Ginjou’s wrist to the back of his neck and his neck to the brick wall.

“Hey,” Ichigo says, and then stops, because on one hand, this guy probably doesn’t deserve to be straight-up murdered, but also if anyone in Ichigo’s life can kill a human and make the corpse disappear, it would be Urahara.

But Urahara glances at her, then shrugs a little and releases Ginjou, only to knock him over the head with his cane, hard enough to send him crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap. There’s a moment of silence after that, and then Ichigo remembers to be irritated because she’s no one’s damsel in distress. “I could’ve handled him, you know.”

It comes out sharper than even she intends, but the sight of him reminds her of how long she hasn’t seen him or any of her other Shinigami friends, and it’s hard to remain mature about it when one of them is suddenly right in front of her again. Urahara, because he’s Urahara, just rakes a too-discerning eye over her like he can see right through her annoyance to the root of it. His expression tightens with something Ichigo can’t name, but all he does is incline his head in acknowledgement even as he smiles in a way that makes her want to punch him. “Of course, Kurosaki-san, but what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t interfere?”

Ichigo gives him the flat unimpressed look that deserves, Urahara’s smile twitches into something more genuinely amused, and for a second, it almost feels as if no time at all has passed since the last time they’d shared an actual conversation. Then Ginjou groans, Ichigo bristles irritably, and Urahara’s smile fades.

“Kurosaki-san,” He calls out before Ichigo can do more than turn away. “There are some things you need to know. But perhaps we can take this off the streets first? Come back to my Shouten; I will explain everything there.”

Ichigo turns back, scowling suspiciously at the blond, then down at greasy stalker. Great. She should’ve known; of course it would be Shinigami business that actually dragged Urahara out of his shop and into his first interaction with Ichigo after seventeen months of radio silence. But… if Urahara is willing to explain just what greasy stalker wanted to drag her into, Ichigo would be an idiot to turn him down.

“Fine,” She grumbles. “I’m using your fridge though. I’ve got ice-cream in here and it’s gonna melt before I get home at this rate.”

Urahara beams at her and hefts greasy stalker over his shoulder before ushering her to the Shouten. True to his word, he tells her about the Fullbringers who’ve invaded Karakura, and he tells her that the Shinigami have been monitoring the situation, and then he tells her he has a way to return her powers and soul-spirits to her. He shows her the sword, engraved with a bunch of intricate symbols she can’t even begin to decipher, and it thrums with so much power even she can feel it. She has a sudden epiphany that it must’ve taken even a genius like Urahara quite a while to make something like this, because she’d asked around, before she’d lost the ability to see Shinigami, and she knows for a fact that fixing her soul should’ve been impossible. The realization that Urahara must’ve been working on this for the past seventeen months goes a long way to soothing any fair or unfair feelings she had towards him, even if she also thinks he could’ve just told her. But she thinks that, and then she thinks that Urahara probably didn’t because he hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up for nothing. It’s stupid, but so is the way he eases the sword through her chest as gently as possible, as if it makes a difference at all when that first jolt of foreign reiatsu to her system still hurts like a bitch. She thinks she can forgive stupidity though if it’s coming from him. Not that she’ll ever tell him that.

In the aftermath, the Fullbringers disappear one by one, and nobody says anything but an increasingly manically cheerful Urahara gets a lot of wary side-eyes from the Shinigami trooping through Karakura over the next couple of weeks. It’s Rukia (Rukia who never so much as passed on a how-are-you, and Ichigo doesn’t blame her, but she’s never going to forget it either) who tells her later about Urahara kneeling in front of all the Gotei’s captains and lieutenants and begging them to help, who bowed his head through the Captain-Commander’s orders to keep the sword back until a powerless Ichigo has drawn out all the Fullbringers, only to immediately disobey as soon as he got the reiatsu he needed from them.

Ichigo asks, of course, just once, why. True to form, Urahara doesn’t give her a straight answer, he shrugs and lies instead, “Well it isn’t as if there’s anything else they can do to little old me in exile, is there?” But for just a moment, he also looks directly at Ichigo, his gaze steady and calm and unyielding, like there was never anything else he could’ve done, like choosing Ichigo over the Gotei was a decision made as easily as he breathed.

Much, much later, looking back, Ichigo thinks maybe that was the moment she first fell just a little bit in love.

4. Somewhere between the Quincy War and Yoruichi and Tessai moving back to Soul Society and the kids deciding they want to experience high school and normal life at the Kurosaki household, Kisuke wakes up one morning to Ichigo cooking breakfast in his kitchen and realizes he’s sharing a house with a twenty-year-old college student whose Gargantas make for the easiest commute to and from school in the history of public transportation. He stands in the doorway for a long minute, just watching her go through the motions that have become routine at the Shouten for… months now. Ever since he survived the war by the skin of his teeth and ended up half-blind because Benihime is only a quick, crude fix when Kisuke doesn’t know the exact makeup of whatever he’s restructuring. He’d had to study that, and then get some hands-on practice, before finally re-restructuring his eyes one more time. Ichigo had been a big help. Kisuke had had difficulties reading, along with dizzy spells and crippling headaches, so even though she didn’t understand everything, she also spent long hours with him, reading out loud and taking down notes for him, cooking for him and keeping his house clean and even manning the shopfront for him when Tessai was busy with the Kidou Corps. And then, once he was better… well, apparently she’d just never moved back out, and Kisuke had liked the company (has always liked her company) that he’d obliviously taken her presence here for granted.

She turns around now, probably sensing him. Her hair’s almost as long as it used to be back when they’d first met, but she’s tied it up into a messy bun. She’s still in pajama pants and one of his shirts because she likes the larger size and she keeps stealing them and Kisuke doesn’t mind, he has more than enough.

Maybe he should’ve minded.

“Hey,” Ichigo greets around a stifled yawn. “Food’s almost done. Could you set the table?”

Kisuke makes an agreeable noise and starts pulling down tableware from the cupboards. The coffee’s also done so he pours a mug, and then prepares the tea with the water that’s just finished boiling. Five minutes later, they’re seated around the table, Ichigo grumbling memorized literature quotes into her coffee because she has finals next week, and Kisuke just… watches her. They’ve thrown the porch doors open because it’s summer and the morning breeze is nice. Ichigo has her back to it, and the sunrise that frames her head like a halo gilds her bright hair gold. When she finally sets her coffee down, she looks up and catches his eye, and even as her eyebrows go up in an unspoken question, the smile that blooms across her face at the same time is as much a reflex as it is genuine, like the mere sight of him is something to be happy about, and Kisuke is helpless to do anything but smile back.

Shit, he thinks, far too late. I’m definitely going to hell.

5. “I’m definitely going to hell,” he moans into the table. Yoruichi, because she is first and foremost a terrible best friend, is too busy laughing at him to console him. At least she came prepared with the sake when he called her in a panic once Ichigo had left for class.

“Took you long enough,” Yoruichi chortles, like this isn’t a Big Problem. “Tessai thought for sure you’d realize she’s practically your wife-” Kisuke winces. “-when she went off to college and still went back to the Shouten every night. But I’ve known you longer so I figured it would take you a while before it clicked.”

“We are roommates,” He hisses vehemently, downing another cup of alcohol before pouring himself some more. “I’ve never- Yoruichi-san, I would never- I wouldn’t-”

“Well that was obvious too,” Yoruichi snorts, but her gold eyes are suddenly a lot less amused a lot more focused, acute and unblinking on his face. “But you know, if she’s old enough to kill for you, then she’s old enough to fuck.”

Kisuke freezes, and then straightens, and he has never looked at Yoruichi the way he does now, but there’s ice in his veins and a knot of flash-fire rage and black-fanged guilt clawing up his gut, and he couldn’t stop the crass words if he wanted to, “She was old enough to kill for me at fifteen; was she old enough to fuck then too?”

Yoruichi doesn’t even flinch, just pins him with a burning look sharp enough to cut. “Well you didn’t wanna fuck her then, did you? But she’s an adult now, and she can make her own choices, and I know you suck at human-ing so I’m gonna go ahead and give you a piece of advice in advance and hopefully save everyone a lot of needless drama - in general, people don’t like it when you make decisions for them because you think you know better. So before you panic even more and start pushing her away ‘for her own good’ but really actually because you freaked out about having feelings, maybe, just maybe, ask her what she wants.” She grins like a tiger that has its prey cornered. “Ichigo’s not stupid. Even I don’t know if she knows about your gigantic crush yet, she’s surprisingly closed off about personal issues, but let me just remind you, Kisuke - she didn’t sit at my bedside, or Shinji’s, or even Rukia’s, after the war, and you know full we were all laid out for days, if not from injuries then exhaustion.” She leans forward and snags the front of his Shihakushou to give him a hard shake. “Are you listening to me, Kisuke? She cares about you, and you care about her, and I have not seen you this happy in a very, very long time.” She glares at him, daring him to argue. “Even if nothing comes from this, even if you just stay friends, don’t you dare fuck this up for yourself. You’ve got a good thing here. She’s good for you, and she makes you happy. And it’s not a crime to be happy, Kisuke.”

She lets him go. Kisuke doesn’t move for a long minute, and this time, Yoruichi waits him out. “…What if I’m not good for her though?”

Yoruichi clicks her tongue and reaches for her own sake again, limbs going feline-languid once more. “That’s for her to decide. She’s got a decent head on her shoulders, Kisuke; if you really were poison for her like you seem to think you are every damn turn of the moon, she would’ve dropped you a long time ago.” She pauses to take a swig, and then she kicks him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. “Now quit being a coward, drink your damn sake, and then go home and be disgustingly domestic with your roommate when she gets back. And if after all this crap you put me through, you still end up hurting her, I’m gonna tell Kuukaku, and she’ll make you wish you were just dead.”

Kisuke thinks about that for a moment, remembers some of the antics Kuukaku used to get up to with Yoruichi, and internally cringes. “Right,” he sighs. Yoruichi rolls her eyes at him, and he sighs again. Well, he supposes he should’ve known better than to get any sympathy from Yoruichi. He also mulls over what she’s said though, and… well. If nothing else, Ichigo’s choices are her own. Kisuke’s manipulated her into a war once already. He can’t - he won’t - do it to her again, for anything.

He downs the last of his alcohol and this time dares to hope.

6. They never actually sit down and lay all their cards on the table and talk about it. It’s not in either of their natures; Ichigo prefers actions, and ninety percent of Kisuke’s words have always been used to deflect and manipulate. But, for Ichigo, the Shouten becomes home. She never moves out (and yes, she knew what she was doing when she packed up most of her belongings and carted them over to the shop), and at first, it was just to help because Kisuke was so badly injured from the war, but the longer she stayed, the harder it was to think about leaving again for good. When Kisuke hadn’t said anything even after he’d fully recovered, she took it as permission to stay, and of course that didn’t do anything to make her like him less. She enjoys his company, likes reading in his labs while he fiddles with his experiments, likes surprising him with new recipes, likes being surprised when he modifies or creates yet another Kidou spell for her monstrous levels of reiatsu so that it won’t blow up when she tries it. She likes that he always tucks her into bed if she falls asleep at her desk studying, and she likes that he trusts her enough to walk around without wearing his hat all the time. She likes that between her strength and adaptability and his creativity and cunning, they’re more or less evenly matched in a spar, and the harder she pushes him, the more thrilled he gets at having to work for his victories. She likes that he comes home one day with something both new and still familiar in his eyes when he looks at her, and a month later, on her birthday, he takes her halfway across the world to a rare book convention with a focus on Shakespeare, and halfway through that, his hand swings out to tangle her fingers with his own.

They never really talk about it, but Ichigo migrates into his bedroom one night and never sleeps in her own room again. They take things slow, honestly more for Kisuke’s benefit than her own, but she doesn’t mind because mostly, she just likes having Kisuke there, with her. He still treats her like glass sometimes, like something priceless he’s afraid to smudge just by touching it. Those days, Ichigo sprawls across him with all her weight and stays there until he wraps himself more firmly around her, usually dozing off while Ichigo works on a draft of her first book.

They don’t talk about it. But they don’t have to, to know what they mean to each other.

[sarehime]

Might Comes from the Heart Chapter 12

Rael and Karias watched the scene before them. They were surprised because of the unexpected guest and were curiously waiting for what would happen next. Why had Eden stopped Frankenstein? Of course this was not the most important question right now. How had Eden stopped such a great power with ease? This was the most important question right now because if Eden decided to become their enemy, it would be difficult to stop her.

"Rael." Came a calm voice behind them, they both turned to where the sound had come from. "Hyung!" Rael cheered excitedly when he saw his big brother. "Why are you here?"

"We came to avenge the previous attack," Lazark said. It was hard to tell how he felt, because of the mask covering half his face, but still he looked calm. Well, typical Lazark, Karias thought. "Why are you here, then?"

"One of our companions was kidnapped by the werewolves. We came here to rescue him," Karias replied. Lazark nodded, then turned his gaze towards Eden. He frowned slightly. A strange but familiar energy was radiating from the girl. Weird. He was sure they hadn't met before, then why did he feel like they had?

"Who's the lady?" Lazark asked unable to hide his curiosity. He couldn't stop looking at her. Karias smirked at him sarcastically. "She is very delicate, isn't she? Since she caught, even your attention." Lazark rolled his eyes, "I'm wondering if she's our enemy or not. It's not that hard to understand, Karias." Karias raised his hands. "Come on! You can't deny that she is beautiful."

"Karias..." Lazark closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He didn't have time to deal with this nonsense. He wanted to learn if the lady was a potential danger and, if necessary, help Frankenstein. "Ah okay!" said Karias, finally giving up. "Her name is Eden. For now, I'm not sure which side she's on either, but she is a good girl. I don't think she's our enemy." Lazark sighed again at the lack of explanation. "That was not helpful at all," he said. Karias shrugged. "Let's just wait and see, my friend," he responded and returned to the scene from earlier.

"Are you going to say something?" said Frankenstein finally. "There is nothing to explain, Sir Frankenstein. I have to protect this werewolf. Please understand."

"What do you expect me understand? Are you making fun of me?" Frankenstein barked. Eden didn't respond and turned to the blond werewolf, "You are Dorant, right?" Dorant narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest. "Yes. Who are you? Did The Lord send you here?"

While Dorant asked this questions, Frankenstein rolled his eyes. She ignored him... again! "Eden answer my questions first," he said as he began walking towards them. Eden immediately raised her arm in front of Dorant. Frankenstein was annoyed at that. Apparently, she was serious about protecting Dorant and would not allow them to fight again. Since she just stopped the previous power easily, he couldn't force her aside either. Frankenstein stopped where he was. Eden wouldn't protect Dorant for no reason. There was someone who gave her this ridiculous order. Muzaka!

He was once again filled with rage. He had no idea how Eden was persuaded to leave Muzaka but looking at the young woman's face, it was obvious that his job was not easy at all. Damn werewolf! I will make you regret this when I next see you, Frankenstein thought in rage and he'd really do something about it. Even if he had to face Eden again... For some reason, Frankenstein hated the idea of fighting Eden. She had a power that made him excited, he wouldn't deny it, and Dark Spear didn't help at all. But, Eden's delicate and fragile appearance always made him stop. She looked like a glass that would break easily. He knew it wasn't true, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking that way, whenever he saw her.

"Eden, that werewolf you are protecting right now isn't innocent. Please don't make things harder for me, I don't want to hurt you." Eden raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't want to hurt her? Why? Ah, I don't like that child. You attract the attention of very unnecessary people, Eden. When Seraphiel whispered these words into her mind, she blinked innocently. What do you mean? Nothing. You don't have to worry about that but still be careful with this Frankenstein person, please. Seraphiel and his unnecessary jealousies... Eden smiled slightly. When Frankenstein saw her smile, he forgot how to breath for a moment. Why was she smiling? He turned his eyes away immediately and coughed. He suddenly felt a dryness in his throat. He focused on a random rock on the ground. He frowned, wondering why he felt like that? Because she looks delicious. Dark Spear hissed in his mind. Shut up! He could understand that Dark Spear was trying to take control, but he wouldn't allow it. Fortunately, he was stronger right now, and Dark Spear didn't have a strong grip, although they had surrounded him completely. Generally, his skin was blazing and he felt like he was going to drown. Yes, he had an obsessive and very possessive lover. He didn't want to think about that any longer and turned his attention back to Eden. He opened his mouth to say something but another voice interrupted him.

"Eden, thank you very much! I'll handle the rest." When she heard Muzaka's cheerful voice, Eden immediately bowed and moved over. Dorant looked at Muzaka in a rage. "You..." he hissed taking a step forward but then stopped suddenly. He took a glance at around him and then, dropped his fist. Damn, his situation wasn't good at all. He had wounds from his previous fight, and his teammates were dead. He was too weak to face Muzaka alone, plus he had Lunark and Kentas on his side as well. He turned to look at the girl who saved him, as she turned to look at him as well. It seemed as though she was going to attack him if he made one false move. He couldn't be in a worse situation than that. He grit his teeth. He couldn't run away, but he couldn't stay either if he wanted to live. "Dorant," Lord Muzaka called his name. Dorant gave his attention to him instantly, in this situation he had to focus on his enemy. Muzaka could see Dorant's hatred for him, in his eyes. His eyes were filled with sorrow and disappointment. He always thought of Dorant as his successor, but after seeing him like this. This was a really big disappointment. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Dorant asked. "Why did you come here? You're even collaborating with the humans and the nobles! You really are a traitor!" Muzaka ignored his words and asked a different question.

"Garda... Were you there when she was caught and taken to the lab?" Dorant widened his eyes in bewilderment. Garda. She was a very good friend of his as well as his comrade. She was the most powerful werewolf warrior after Lord Muzaka. However, these things were no longer important because she was a traitor like Muzaka. He shouldn't be ashamed of what he did. He frowned at his thoughts and looked Lord Muzaka in the eyes. "Yes, I was there," he said confidently. Muzaka narrowed his eyes. "You let me down."

Dorant's eyes darkened at Muzaka words. "How dare you say that to me?" he hissed. "Me, disappoint you? Do you know how big of a disappointment you are? You were useless even when you were our Lord!"

Eden clenched her fists at Dorant's words. He is right, Eden. Muzaka has never been a good Lord. Maybe, but he still thinks of his people. Enough to endanger himself. I don't think that matters for his people, he always left them alone. However, I should intervene before this goes any further. Let them solve their problems among themselves. This is their problem. Remember your promise. Eden sighed.

Seraphiel was right. She'd promised not to interfere in their problems but still she didn't like seeing Lord Muzaka so broken. Did Lord Muzaka really deserve these words? He had come all this way to save his people, even though he knew the danger. He was thinking of the happiness of his people even though he was no longer a Lord. He was aware of his mistakes, she could see it in his eyes. It's too late to understand all of this now. When Seraphiel said this, she turned her sad eyes towards Muzaka. Was it really too late?

When Kentas and Lunark finally intervened, Dorant left furiously and no one stopped him. Only Lord Muzaka watched him leave. When he'd gone into hiding before, he didn't expect to find a very angry Frankenstein in front of him. The crazy guy was still covered with that weird, dark matter and stared at him sharply. Muzaka grinned and started to speak. "Sorry," he said. "But I can't let you kill him."

"Shut up!" Frankenstein shouted. Lunark and Kentas hissed at him. How dare he...

"Oh, you look pretty angry," said the former Lord widening his grin.

"I'm going to go crazy!"

"What a pity!" Lord Muzaka responded trying to pushed him around. "You look stressed."

"Stand still." Frankenstein said calmly.

"What?" Muzaka asked in a daze but it was too late. Frankenstein picked up Dark Spear and swung it towards him. When Lord Muzaka saw a monsterlike weapon approaching him quickly, he shielded himself with his arms, when nothing happened, he lowered his arms with a feeling of deja vu, he saw Eden blocking Dark Spear with one hand.

Frankenstein looked at the young woman in front of him who was now holding his weapon. "Sir Frankenstein, please calm down. Otherwise, I don't know how long I will tolerate your disrespectful actions."

Eden said these words calmly but he could see her beautiful, violet coloured eyes blazing with anger. Frankenstein exhaled and then, his muscles relaxed. "Okay," he mumbled and pulled Dark Spear to himself, but, there was a problem.

Dark Spear refused to leave Eden. Frankenstein frowned with fear in his eyes. Dark Spear was stuck on Eden's hand. When Eden understood this, she tried to pull her hand away but she couldn't. Eden! Seraphiel's anxious voice filled her mind and she started to feel a little worried as well. "Eden!" said Frankenstein starting to worry.

"What's going on?" Lord Muzaka asked holding onto Eden's arm. He seemed afraid too. The sticky dark matter began to sprawl up Eden's arm. Eden clenched her teeth with the pain, as she tried not to scream.

Frankenstein was trying to separate Eden from Dark Spear and Lord Muzaka helped him. He wrapped one of his arms around Eden's waist and wrapped his free hand around Eden's arm. He'd have to stop the dark matter from spreading somehow.

"Let go of her!" Frankenstein shouted. His heart began to beat quickly when he saw dark matter spreading up her arm. He couldn't understand, he was shaking with a feeling that he couldn't make sense of. Eden cried out in pain unable to hold herself anymore when a rumble occupied her mind. Focus, Eden! The weapon is trying to conquer you, break your mind. Save us, we didn't deserve this! Eden widened her eyes when she heard a baby crying. The crying mixed with Seraphiel's restful voice, but it was still there. What is this? A human soul. Eden don't let them break you. Fight! But it's a baby... Just focus! I promise after destroying this weapon, I will free them. Now just focus! Eden was at a loss. A baby... She was sure she heard a baby crying! What was that weapon?! Crombel has same weapon, Eden. She closed her eyes in pain. But this time, it was a different pain. She didn't think about it, no! It was so merciless. He couldn't be... In a moment of anger, she held the weapon tightly.

Frankenstein continued trying to save Eden from his crazy lover. More precisely, he screamed, at Dark Spear to let her go in his mind. He didn't expect an attack from Dark Spear. He knew that his weapon desired Eden like crazy but he had not thought they would escape from his control, like this at first contact. He turned his eyes towards her face. The pale skin of the young woman flushed, because of the pain. The sweat drops on her forehead shone in the moonlight, her violet eyes darkened. Frankenstein could see that Eden was suffering tremendously. Suddenly, his eyes widened in astonishment as he saw a glimpse of something, however, before he could understand the image in front of him, he found himself flying backwards from a great force. He found his balance immediately, after flying along the ground for a few seconds, he stopped himself using Dark Spear. However, there was something wrong with Dark Spear, they were lighter. He looked at them, unable to believe his eyes. His mouth opened in surprise, he gawked at the edge of Dark Spear, it was completely torn. The weapon tried to regenerate themselves but it was obvious they were having difficulty, probably because of  all the glittering light surrounding the area where they were shattered. What was that? This glittering energy that gave out a golden light. A familiar colour.

"You have a very dangerous power, Sir Frankenstein." When Frankenstein heard Eden's voice, he turned towards her immediately. The girl's arm was still surrounded by the power of Dark Spear, and the painful expression on her face had still not disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Frankenstein asked as he headed towards her but he stopped himself because of the way she glared at him. He wanted to ignore those glances and help her but, his instincts begged him to stay away. "What is it?" Frankenstein gulped but didn't answer, he didn't have an answer to give, Eden already knew the answer. "Very cruel..." He frowned at Eden's whisper. He felt a pang in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt that way. Yes, Dark Spear was a weapon that shouldn't have been created in the first place. After all these years, Frankenstein had to accept it, but still he couldn't convince himself. He'd created them after all, well technically he didn't, but the idea was his. If he knew what would happen, he would never have thought of creating such a thing. Never.

When Eden saw his face, she sighed. Her previous words hadn't been meant for him. Her master had the same power as well. She didn't know how Frankenstein gained his power, but she knew how her master did. He'd created the power for himself. That weapon hadn't chosen the souls. She'd heard the voice of a little baby! Her master knew and yet he... She glanced down at her wounded arm. Seraphiel, you should free them. I know. Close your eyes. She closed them as she felt Seraphiel's power thicken around the dark matter on her arm. Seraphiel's might was peaceful and bright but also painfully strong. Whenever she used his power, her mortal body couldn't bear it. Her bones were breaking, as her organs were crushed under the sheer weight of his power. She knew one day she would die while using his power. No matter how much Seraphiel told her, he would not allow it, but now it felt different. She felt Seraphiel's touch on her skin. Warm like life... he took the spirits one by one and freed them as though releasing butterflies that were caught in a web, she exhaled calmly. The source of her life, her friend, her companion. She knew he would never leave her alone. Never. Finally she opened her eyes and turned her head towards the sky. Bright golden coloured, lights drifted upwards like butterflies disappearing on the horizon, she felt a pain in her chest. Familiar but also foreign. She swallowed and took her eyes off of them, what was this painful feeling? She started panting when she felt the glances of others on her. She brought her hand to her mouth, as she felt a burning sensation in her lungs, but it was too late. She coughed and a dark liquid began to spread along her fingers...

***

Thanks @webcomictranslations for correction!

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

of broken mirrors and haunted rooms (i'm empty inside but so are you)

Avatar: The Last Airbender was one of my first fandoms, and still is to this day, so I dug up a half-written fic from a few years ago and cobbled together a little something.

Bear in mind, this was one of my first attempts at fiction of any kind.

Read it here or on Ao3 at:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10998975

Summary:

After nearly half a decade in a cell, the decision to take Azula’s bending away has finally been made.

Someone has to break the news to her, and who better than the Avatar, who has spent the past three years trying to show the princess the kindness he realized she’d never known.

Note: Assuming Aang was 12 coming out of the ice and 14 at the series finale, this takes place roughly 5 years after that. We don’t ever really get to find out the ages of the other characters, so this fic is going by my rules.

This makes Aang, Azula, Katara, Sokka, Mai, Ty Lee, and Suki all about 19 years old. Zuko, canonically one year older than Azula, so he’s 20. Toph, as the youngest, is only 18. You only see Azula and Aang here, but I just wanted to let you know where everyone else stands in my little fanfiction universe, just in case this ever expands.

The Avatar doesn’t take away her bending.

Doesn’t need to, because that’s what the drugs are for. It takes the doctors years to figure it out, how to make something that will block her chi and nothing else.

She’s told that the Fire Lord was adamant that the medicine only bind her powers, not her mind.

She’s heard the stories of what drugs like this do to people. How it takes away their bending. How it takes away everything else, too. Hollows them out until nothing remains but a practically catatonic shell that once used to be a functioning person.

That’s why it’s taken them so long to cook up a recipe that wouldn’t leave her virtually brain-dead, all at little Zu-Zu’s behest. She didn’t realize he still cared so much.

Maybe he just wanted her awake enough to be able to gloat.

If only they knew that their work was wasted on her.

Ozai had taken great care to strip out her insides and replace everything warm and living with cold, dead things a long time ago.

There was nothing left for the Fire Lord to preserve, but his misplaced affection for the little sister he wished she could have been blinds him to the fact that Azula has been scraped empty long ago.

She sees it in his eyes every time he comes to visit- the little boy he used to be. The big brother, responsible for his baby sister.

She’s neither a baby nor his sister anymore.

Would that they could, Azula knows they would have preferred to slip it into her food without her noticing at all.

But the taste is too bitter for them to mask, to crush pills into powder and stir it into her tea, so they are forced tell her up front that she will be medicated.

Rather, they send in the Avatar to do it, terrified of her reaction to the news.

She hasn’t actually burned anyone in years, merely sent out flashy displays of sapphire flames as a warning to anyone who draws her ire. But her scare tactics have worked well over the past few years, and work well even now.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.” He looks at her with wide, apologetic eyes, brimming with a mixture of hope and compassion that turns her stomach at the sight.

“Why?” She snorts, rolling her eyes, “Isn’t being in this glorified prison misery enough?”

The corners of his lips twitch downwards as he averts his gaze.

His reaction to her words elicits a harsh bark of laughter from her throat.

“I see. The rest of the world isn’t content to have me simply locked up for the rest of my days. They want me to suffer.” Just like I made them suffer, she thinks, pursing her lips to keep the wayward thought from escaping her mouth.

In typical Airbender fashion, he redirects her barb with fluid ease. “And you consider being here punishment enough for your crimes?”

Ah.

Punishment.

Azula’s least favorite word after Ozai and Father and dutiful.

“It doesn’t matter what I think or who I am.” She nods towards the evenly spaced steel bars stretched out across her window. “What matters is what everyone else beyond these walls wants.”

It’s never mattered, none of it. None of her hopes and dreams and desires and fears. None of it has ever mattered to anyone. At least Ozai had the decency to be up front about what he wanted from her. About how he saw her, what she was.

The Avatar narrows his eyes at her, and she can almost see the gears turning in his head as she stares back, unflinching in the face of his unwavering gaze.

The past few years have changed him just as much as they’ve changed her.

He’s older now, leaner.

If she’s correct in assuming that they’re both around the same age, he’s nearly twenty now, like her.

Age has stripped them both of the baby fat that once softened their features half a decade ago when they first met, children fighting a war started by people who didn’t fully understand that the price to pay for power was blood.

Or perhaps they did understand, and chose to spill it anyway, painting the world crimson and leaving stains that would likely never wash away.

Thinking about either option for too long always makes something in Azula’s gut twist.

He’s grown into himself, no longer looking like someone far beyond their years trapped in a childish form.

But his eyes remain the same, youthful and ancient all at once, and still gleaming with the unmistakable spark of hope.

Azula hasn’t looked into a mirror since the day she shattered her mother’s reflection, but she knows that her own eyes carry no such emotion.

Hope was something that Ozai had taken pains to ensure would never blossom in Azula’s heart. He’d stolen it from her as soon as he was able, extinguished from her childish eyes to be replaced with the cold steel of blades forged in angry flames.

They sit like that for several moments, neither one moving. Neither one looking away.

Then he speaks, and it strikes at the wobbly foundations of sanity she’s struggled to build ever since the day she shattered her mind along with that mirror.

“So who are you, Princess Azula?” She’s long-since lost any right to the title, but that never stopped him from using it, not three years ago when these visits first began and certainly not now. “And what do you want?”

She turns away from his piercing stare, the hand buried in the folds of her skirt curling into a fist as her nails bite deep enough to draw blood.

For the first time, she is the one who looks away.

The significance of the gesture is not lost on him- she can tell as much by the way he stiffens in surprise. But she cuts him off before he has a chance to speak again.

After all, her fragile tether on sanity could only take so much in a single day.

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to have answered, Avatar.” She says it quietly, voice low and tight with an emotion she knows he can’t quite place, because neither can she.

Don’t ask questions I’m not ready to answer, she thinks, but the words go unsaid.

She doesn’t know if she can trust her voice to carry them.

She doesn’t know if she can trust the Avatar to understand.

For the first time since he started visiting, her voice shakes.

Azula looks brittle, as if the next wrong move could shatter her and every single bit of progress he’s spent the past three years trying to make.

As much as he wants to push, to finally solve a piece of the puzzle that is the deposed princess, he knows he can’t. Not if he wants there to be anything left for him to solve.

He bows his head in acquiescence. “I apologize, Princess.”

She nods silently in response, now peering carefully at the embroidery of the silken scarf resting in her lap despite the fact that they both know she could care less about its craftsmanship.

The piece is exquisite, its stitching flawless- he knows this, because he’s the one who bought it for her. It’s become something of a tradition- giving her a tiny token of appreciation for allowing these visits, for speaking to him when they both know she could simply treat him like everyone else who tried to arrange a meeting- with the stiff, regal silence befitting her former station.

He’s still not really sure why she tolerates him in the first place.

Zuko tells him it’s because he’s the Avatar, and if there’s anything Azula respects, it’s power.

Aang thinks it might be something else.

He can wield the four elements, but the princess is a prodigy in her own right.

He may be the Avatar, but she is Azula.

Azula, who possesses sapphire flames and a mastery over the most difficult of all firebending skills- manipulating lightning.

Three years ago, when he’d first dared to enter her room, Azula had no need to respect his power. Not when she was already so sure of her own.

She was still the same girl who had struck him down with a bolt of lightning, the same girl who had shown no fear at the prospect of confronting the Avatar.

The same girl who had left a scar on his back that not even Katara’s considerable skills as a Master Waterbender and healer could dissolve.

But for some reason, she tolerated him.

And over three years of regular visits and carefully worded exchanges over tea, he’s never asked why.

One day, he hopes she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell him.

But the dismissal is evident as she skims a hand along the silk of his latest gift to her, firmly ignoring his presence.

“Until tomorrow, Princess.”

For a single second, her eyes dart back up to meet his, golden irises flashing bright in the light spilling through the bars of her windows.

“Until tomorrow,” she echoes, casting her gaze back down to the fabric in her lap, the expression etched across her features still unreadable.

He’s nearly out the door when he hears her call out behind him, hesitant and unsure.

“Avatar?”

He stops and turns back instantly- uncertain isn’t a word he’s ever associated with Princess Azula, but it’s how she sounds now.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, you said they’ll begin giving me medication during tea.” Again, the flicker of her aureate eyes looking up to meet his lasts only a moment, too fast for him to read the emotions glimmering within. “Will you join me?”

I don’t want to be alone.

It goes unspoken, but they both hear it just the same.

He realizes it then, how much this must scare her.

From the little she’s shared and the information he’s managed to pry out of Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee, her firebending has been the one constant in her life.

And now, like everything else, it’s being taken away.

All this time, he’s waited for her to open up, to show the vulnerability he’s never doubted she possessed, not since the day he watched her lose her mind as well as her crown. It had struck him then, that she must have lost as much, if not more, than he and his friends. The cost of the war had been paid by both sides of it.

But this is not the way he’d wanted to get her to open up.

He bows, not deep enough to appear subservient, but deep enough that his feelings are made clear.

“I would be honored.”

Good? Bad? Absolute trash?

Should it end here or should I pick it up after all these years and turn it into something longer?

Let me know down below. :)