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[dropsnectar]

When a Fox is Bored...

M!Kitsune x gn!reader

NSFW

A Kitsune who recently inherited a new territory, of which your house is smack in the middle of. 

As an easily bored spirit, he finds the thought of pranking you hilarious. He starts out with small things, moving your cereal bowl in the morning, replacing dish washing detergent with dish soap. He laughs quietly to himself as he watches you search for what should have been obviously in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and confusion fueling his quiet laughter. He watched you run around in horror, trying to scoops bubbles into water buckets. Something about your confusion and panic satisfied him. 

He made a habit of visiting you and making something go wrong. But after the fifth prank, something changed. You laughed at how your water bottle, once filled with water, was now orange juice. Your missing backpack, instead of being on the table, under your bed. You cleaned the place up, reducing clutter. You kept your bags close, and hummed to yourself as you searched about, peaceful. This picked at something in him. Your worried expression had been his after all. He upped the ante.

He messed with your washing machine. That prank took a while, since as a spirit of nature, tech was foreign to him. Filled with pride expecting your eyes to go big and your lips purse for him, all you did was roll your eyes and take your clothes and laundry detergent to the bathroom. You turned on a little play on your little black rock, and filled the tub with water soap and clothes. Then you got to work, stomping like you were pressing grapes for wine. Despite the distraction of the “phone”, your face was still crinkled in effort, sweat drifting down your brow. He liked this expression. Maybe this too was a prank well done.

At some point, you had started making double helpings for dinner. In the past, meals of ramen and grocery potatoes salad had turned into steaks, chicken and pasta. 

You would pour two glasses of wine and put out a plate and a glass on the old stump by the back door. Curious, the kitsune would eat up, soon enamored with your cooking.

About time! It was only right of you to give him offerings. You were in his territory after all. In the mornings you would collect the dishes, and the cycle would continue.

Of course, this didn't mean he would stop his favorite source of entertainment. Far from it. He'd replace your coffee maker with one of a differing model. He'd leave piles of fruit by the door, savoring your surprised reaction as you looked around, not noticing the small form he had taken behind the door. He learned your preferences, your schedule, even your sorrows as you poured over a hastily scrawled budget that just wouldn't add up the way it should. 

He had to admit sometimes his pranks grew even farther then he meant to. You had dressed up to the 9s for a much needed job interview, with a man whose soul was so gray he could see it through the phone. You had gotten in your old, rusty car, only for it to get hit by a huge black Denali, five minutes from your house.

Out stepped a gentle older man in a weathered cardigan. The old man listened to you cry, as you waved about a dead phone, and explained how you couldn't afford this. You had missed the job interview you so desperately needed.

 This was the part that bewildered the kitsune. He wasn't sure if it was his own magic or yours, but the older man offered you a job on the spot, twice the salary you were looking for. The old man's aura was a gentle green. This satisfied the kitsune. This man would take care of his favorite victim.

His heart filled with satisfaction at how you bounced and garbled out thank yous. He didn't fail to notice that dinner that night came with a whole tray of brownies. You made him cupcakes when you got the huge insurance check in the mail. 

After dinner, he was surveying you as you watched “Net-fix”, something about a mute woman rescuing a lake monster, when you turned the TV off and headed upstairs. 

This intrigued the kitsune, as you usually watched television for another hour before passing out. 

You took off your pants and crawled into bed. The room was quiet except for your breathy moans as you pleasured yourself, one hand working yourself up under your underwear.

The smell that filled the room was mouthwatering. And the way you mewled out made the kitsune feral. He was on you in a few minutes, transforming from his invisible form to his most majestic one. He leaned over you, eyes red and hungry, as he pinned your free hand over your head and licked his lips.

“Its you.” You whispered, voice light and merry. It was like it had been a long grey winter and the sun had finally decided to come out. It was an expression he had never collected from you and it made his heart heavy.

“I knew you were here. Thank you. For everything.”

He stared at you, now full of apprehension. But a peice of him was still so full of joy that you recognized him. That you saw him and wanted him with you now.

“You have been my playtoy. I have made your life difficult more times than I have lightened it.”

“You kept me on my toes” you laughed out, tone innocent. “But I know how to deal with boys who tug my pigtails. And you haven't tugged on them in a long time.” You reached your other hand forward and brought it to his cheek. It was a gentle gesture of affection, but it did not have the soothing effect you intended. 

Your hand smelled so full of your core it drove him insane, dick throbing and hard under his robes. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down any residue that had been left on your fingers. The face you made was adorable, how your eyes glowed and the ghost of your tongue peaked out from your lips. He was going to collect so many faces from you tonight, and they would all be his. YOU would be his.

He discarded his robes and your underwear with magic, a tidy pile on the chair next to the bed. Then, he was on you, mouth nibbling your neck, biting you collarbone, before licking at the marks he had made. He rutted his hips against you for relief as he claimed your mouth, your tongue swirling around his. Your hands grasped hard to his back, nails scratching. It was your way of claiming him too, of this he was sure, and it was just too damn cute.

He dragged himself around your entrance, laughing and saying he wouldn't enter you until you begged him for it. You pouted at him and huffed, but eventually gave in, asking him to fill you. He did so with one hard thrust causing you to cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He kept a quick pace. Your eyes were glazed, your core molten hot as he hit every little spot inside you that would bring you closer to release. You tried to hide it at first, hands covering your mouth but your eyes gave it away. He let you conceal yourself for all of five minutes before he had both your hands pinned above your head, his thrusts jutting at an unforgiving pace inside you. 

He was feral. THERE it was! That was the face he had wanted, the expression he had wanted to capture from you since the very beginning. Your panting, your eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent plea, THAT'S what he wanted all along. And it was his! You were his now. The realization, the feeling of you, and the way you cried and clenched around him in release was what finally sent him over the edge. Against all odds you came together, riding out your ecstasy with sighing breaths. 

His mind was hazy with afterglow as he pulled you into his arms, large fluffy tails wrapping around your legs, arms, even one teasing at your face, a tickle. You laughed and kissed the fluff before turning over and kissing his nose, eyes bright. You were sated and happy. 

“Could we maybe, make a habit of this?”

He grinned at you. Every single feature of him was dripping with mischief when he replied.

“You think I'm satisfied with just this? There's so much more I have planned for you, you silly thing. Be prepared, got it?”

Part Two-ish

[thesecretestblogever]

Could you write baking together with Jack Hughes? He’s probably so bad but so eager to help anyway

pairing : jack hughes x reader

w.c. : 800

warnings : none!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

“I mean it’s shocking really,” you stand in the kitchen with your hands on your hips as you watch the struggle in front of you. If you were really kind, you’d blame it on his shoulder injury, but Jack has been without his sling for a few weeks and it’s not affecting the other parts of his life. He really is just that bad at baking.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the bowl on the counter. There’s leaking egg shells on the counter, and spills of milk, and the flour covers almost every surface, including his cheeks. Not to mention that you stepped in something crunchy, which you’re guessing and hoping is sugar. 

“Says the boy who didn’t know how to make broccoli,” you quip, taking the spoon from his hand and pushing him to the side. You’re comforted by the fact that he’ll clean everything up after all is said and done, but you’re completely astounded by the mess in front of you.

“Come on, that was so long ago,” he pouted. 

“And yet, it seems like you learned nothing,” you’re surveying the crime scene to see if there’s anything you can do to save the situation. “What exactly were you trying to make anyway?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Pancakes,” Jack groans, standing behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder as you look at everything. Sure enough, your eyes fall to his phone where a recipe lights up the screen and you smile to yourself. You turn around, your body now framed against the counter by Jack’s. You cup his cheeks in your hands and your thumb wipes away some of the flour on his skin. 

“That’s sweet, baby,” you peck his lips, but pull away when he tries to deepen the kiss. The distraction attempt is almost successful until some sort of wet ingredient drips from the counter onto you and the cold liquid makes you yelp and turn back around. “Okay, we’re starting over. The prognosis is bad - there’s no saving this,” you gesture at the mixture that is clumpy and… pink? 

“I tried to make them pink and I was gonna make them heart shaped, but I didn’t exactly get very far,” he’s cleaning up with you now. The egg shells hit the trash, and the bowl of batter gets placed in the sink along with the other utensils he tried to use. You’re not totally sure what purpose the butcher knife possibly could have served, but you just shake your head and place it in the sink too. Once everything is cleaned up, you can start over. It’s the thought that counts. The fact that he tried to surprise you when you woke up is heartwarming, even if he failed miserably.

“You’re on bacon and eggs duty. That I know you can handle, big boy,” you squeeze his bicep and direct him back towards the fridge. The coffee machine beeps and you fill two mugs to fuel your joint effort to turn the morning around. 

You’re focused on following the recipe on Jack’s phone (correctly this time), so you don’t hear him sneak up behind you and dip his hand into the flour bag. The resounding smack that echoes through the kitchen when his palm meets the flesh of your ass certainly catches your attention.

“Jack!” You admonish him, looking over your shoulder to see a perfect flour handprint across your butt. 

“Oops,” he says innocently, turning back to the bacon on the stove that emits the most delicious, rich, fatty smell into the kitchen. You narrow your eyes, dipping your hand into the same flour bag as quietly as you can to avoid it crinkling. An evil smile works its way onto your face as you sneak up behind him. You think you’ve done it until he whirls around at the last second. 

Jack lets out a bark of laughter as the surprised O your mouth makes as your eyes widen. He heard you coming the whole time and let you get just close enough for him to be able to grab your hand and turn it back on you, leaving another handprint, this time on the front of your sleep shirt.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, baby,” he pulls you into him as you complain about your foiled plan. You successfully make it through making breakfast, sans any more food fights or batter disasters. 

You sit at the dining room table, coffee mugs emanating steam into the sunlit air. Your plates are full, but somehow your heart is even fuller as you watch the boy across from you dig into the meal you made together. What Jack doesn’t know is that he has a flour handprint on the back of his shirt. You used one hand as a decoy and got him with the other…

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 1 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 3 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

The morning rush had ended a while ago, leaving you with a few stragglers tapping away on laptops, a couple on their second hour of an intense whisper-argument, and some guy in the corner who had been staring at a single muffin for a concerning amount of time. Business had been slow after the morning rush as per usual, this meant you’d had plenty of time to reflect on things that didn’t deserve the mental energy you were giving them. Namely, Choso. It had been a few days since your encounter with the world's most socially inept man and his human golden retriever of a brother.

That guy had been… odd. Not in a bad way, necessarily—just in a "probably spent his childhood in a cave and was learning about the modern world in real time" way. The guy had stared at you like you were a cryptid when you asked what kind of coffee he wanted. You had spent way too long trying to figure out if he had just been raised extremely sheltered, or if something was actually wrong with him. Either way, the guy had stared at his latte like it held the meaning of life, and you weren’t sure whether to find it unsettling or endearing.

Because, seriously. That was not a normal interaction.

Most customers came in, ordered their drink, paid, and left. Some lingered. Some had weirdly specific orders that made you question their sanity. Some just sat there typing aggressively on their laptops like they were composing an email that would change the fate of mankind.

None of them, however, had ever been like Choso.

Since then, you’d been left in peace, which was all you could really ask for in life. Life at the café had returned to its usual monotony. The usual entitled customers still came and went, Greg the Manager still did absolutely nothing while pretending to be busy, and the espresso machine still sounded like it was trying to contact the underworld whenever it turned on. In other words, business as usual. Everything was normal.

Which, naturally, meant something was about to ruin it.

The bell above the door jingled. You sighed, plastering on your most convincing Hello valued customer, I sure do love working here! expression before turning around.

The first person to walk in was a tall blond guy in a suit, carrying himself like he had somewhere better to be. He looked exactly like the type of guy who drank his coffee black and silently judged people who put sugar in theirs. He had the air of someone who used Google Calendar religiously and paid for everything with a metal credit card. The second he stepped into the café, he surveyed it with the deeply unimpressed expression of a man who had already decided he hated it here. You immediately got "overworked businessman" vibes. He looked like he hated fun. You respected that.

The second guy, however…

Oh, no.

Oh, this one was going to be a problem.

He was even taller than the blond one. Very tall. Like, shouldn’t be allowed to exist in regular human spaces tall. He had white hair, wore sunglasses indoors, and was dressed like some kind of high-fashion hobo. He had a self-satisfied grin that made you think he had never experienced a single consequence in his entire life. Something about him screamed problem. His whole vibe was just "that one coworker who does absolutely nothing but still gets paid more than you."

"Nanamin!" Tall Guy whined, dramatically throwing an arm around his companion's shoulder. "See? This place is cute! You never wanna go anywhere fun."

The blond man—Nanamin?—exhaled through his nose with the weariness of a man who had dealt with this for far too long. He shrugged the arm off. "I don’t need fun. I need coffee."

"Okay, but coffee can be fun—"

"Coffee is a means to an end."

"See, this is why you have no joy in your life."

You plastered on your most professional smile, already dreading whatever was about to happen. "Welcome! What can I get started for you?"

Nanamin exhaled slowly, the sigh of a man who was one bad decision away from quitting his job, leaving the country, and raising goats in the mountains. "A black coffee. No sugar."

Bless. A simple, no-nonsense order. You liked him already. You punched it into the register. "Sure. What size?"

"Large. The biggest you have."

"Got it."

You turned expectantly to the taller one.

Tall Guy hummed, tapping a finger against his chin like he was making a deeply philosophical decision. "Hmmm. What do I want? What do I need?"

You resisted the urge to check the time.

"Do you have anything sweet?"

You gestured to the massive menu behind you, which had an entire section labeled Sweet & Flavored Drinks. "Yeah."

"Okay, okay. But like, really sweet?"

"Yeah."

Tall Guy nodded, his wide grin never faltering. "Good. I’ll take the sweetest thing you have."

"...You sure?"

He leaned forward, grinning like a child about to cause chaos. "Hit me with your worst."

You stared.

Alright.

You rang up a Death By Sugar—an abomination of a drink loaded with caramel, white chocolate, vanilla syrup, and enough whipped cream to suffocate a small animal. It was the kind of thing you usually only made for children with zero parental supervision.

Tall Guy looked downright delighted when you told him.

"Yay!" Tall Guy beamed. "And make it with love!"

"I am physically incapable of that."

Nanamin gave a single, approving nod. "Good work ethic."

Totaling their order, you glanced at them. "You want your names on the cups?"

Tall Guy nodded adamantly. "Of course! That’s the most important part!"

Nanami exhaled heavily. "Nanami."

Ah, so not 'Nanamin' then.

"Just put 'The Strongest' on mine," Tall Guy added with a wink.

You didn't know what the hell he meant by that exactly, but you did not react.

You took your sweet time making their drinks, mainly because Tall Guy was watching you with the shameless enthusiasm of a child at a magic show.

"You’re really good at that," Tall Guy commented as you poured steamed milk into Nanami’s coffee.

"Yeah, it’s almost like I work here."

Nanami sighed. "Gojo, stop harassing the barista."

"How is that harassment? I’m being nice!"

"You are being a nuisance."

Tall Guy—Gojo, you guess his name is—gasped, utterly scandalized. "I’m adding joy to their day, Nanamin."

You handed Nanami his drink before he could respond. He accepted it with a grateful nod, took a sip, and immediately looked one step closer to inner peace.

You handed Gojo his monstrosity. "Look at all the caramel drizzle!" He took a sip and moaned. "Ohhhh yeah, that’s the good stuff."

Nanami looked like he had just witnessed a public execution.

"Please never do that again," he muttered.

Gojo, of course, did it again, staring directly into Nanami’s soul as he took another dramatic sip.

You were so glad these people weren’t your problem outside of this café.

"Glad you like it," you said dryly.

To your mild horror, they stuck around after getting their drinks, settling into a table near the counter. Nanami was reading a book. Gojo was not reading a book. He was watching you.

Oh no.

"Hey barista," Gojo called. "You ever get bored working here?"

You stared at him.

"Like, when it’s not busy. What do you do for fun?"

You considered telling him you started counting ceiling tiles just to make him go away. Instead, you said, "Mostly, I wait for my shift to end."

Gojo laughed. "You sound like Nanamin!"

Nanami did not look pleased with that comparison. He exhaled through his nose like he was actively restraining himself from committing a felony.

It was at this moment the door opened again.

You glanced up—

And nearly dropped the milk frother you were holding.

Because there, standing like a glitch in reality, was Choso and Yuji.

Yuji, ever the golden retriever, grinned. “Oh, hey! You guys are here too?”

Gojo turned. “Huh?”

Your eyes darted between them.

They all knew each other?

Of course they did.

Choso approached the counter, completely ignoring the other two men. His expression was blank as ever, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted.

“Barista.”

You braced yourself. “Choso."

“I have returned.”

“Yes. I can see that.”

“I would like another latte."

You nodded, trying to ignore Gojo’s eyes burning into the side of your skull and the way he was grinning like he knew something you didn't. “Got it.”

Gojo crept towards Choso with that same knowing grin. “Choso, buddy, pal. This is a big deal.”

Choso frowned. “What is?”

“Oh, you know,” Gojo drawled, “you like the barista.”

Yuji coughed violently. Nanami looked ready to walk into the ocean.

Choso, to your utter confusion, considered this. Like he was running some kind of internal diagnostic.

Then, after a very long pause—

“Yes.”

Silence.

Yuji choked once again. Gojo lost his mind, cackling. Nanami, to his credit, simply closed his eyes as if this entire experience had finally broken him.

You, meanwhile, stood there with Choso’s latte in your hand, processing the fact that a man who seemed to barely understand how cafés worked had just admitted, without hesitation, that he liked you.

Nanami, who had been spectating in exhausted silence, shook his head. “I regret coming here.”

Gojo pouted. “Oh, don’t be like that! It’s fun!”

“Nothing about this is fun.”

"I think it's fun!" Yuji piped in with a wide smile.

Ignoring them, you turned back to Choso. “So. I guess you, uh, really liked the latte, huh?”

Choso nodded, looking far too serious. “It was the best thing I have ever consumed.”

You stared at him. He stared back, intense as ever.

God. This was your life now.

Choso, completely unaware of the sheer weight of his words, took the latte from you with his usual blank expression.

“Thank you, barista.”

And just like that, he took a sip, eyes half-lidding like it was the greatest thing he had ever experienced.

You exhaled. “You’re welcome, Choso.”

Gojo, still wheezing, turned to Yuji. “You have to let me know how this plays out.”

You just stared at Choso, who was still enjoying his latte like nothing had happened, wondering how your life had spiraled into this.

"Alright," Gojo said, standing up and stretching like he’d been working hard at sitting down. "We’ll be back!"

You had never heard a more ominous sentence in your life.

Nanami placed a few bills on the counter—far more than necessary—and gave you a knowing look, like he already pitied your future.

You watched the four of them leave, took a long breath, and checked the time.

Somehow, you still had four hours left on your shift.

Great.

[shiorihyugawrites]

Heavy Lifting (Levi x Plus Sized Reader One Shot)

Going to the gym for the first time was already nerve-wracking enough, but catching the attention of Levi Ackerman, an ex-special forces soldier turned personal trainer? That was something you weren’t prepared for.

With his sharp gray eyes watching your every move, you could barely focus—especially when you realized he wasn’t just watching. He was interested.

What started as a simple workout session quickly turned into something much, much hotter. And let’s just say… this was definitely the best full-body workout of your life.

18 + Only | Minors Do Not Interact

A/N: This is a little one-shot I wrote a few weeks ago and I finally got around to editing it. I figured, why not bless you all with a little treat. 😙

Also this was 100% inspired by my fantasies I have in the gym instead of working out 😂😂

The gym smelled of sweat and ambition—a heady mix that clung to the air as you pushed through the double doors, clutching your water bottle like a lifeline. The noise hit you first: the rhythmic pounding of feet on treadmills, the metallic clink of weights being racked, and the low hum of conversations mixed with occasional bursts of laughter. Everyone here seemed to know what they were doing, their movements purposeful, their confidence tangible. Your stomach churned with a mix of excitement and dread.

You glanced down at yourself, tugging self-consciously at the hem of your oversized hoodie. The baggy fabric swallowed your figure, a deliberate choice to hide the parts of yourself you weren’t ready for the world to see. Beneath it, your leggings stretched over your thighs and hips, hugging curves that you’d learned to resent more often than not. You shifted awkwardly, catching sight of your reflection in one of the massive floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The woman staring back looked out of place, a sea of insecurity amid a tide of fit, athletic bodies.

Your gaze darted across the room, searching for a safe starting point. The weight section loomed to your right, filled with men and women who moved with such precision it felt almost choreographed. On your left, rows of treadmills and ellipticals buzzed with activity. You hesitated. Which was the right choice? Which would attract the least attention?

You took a deep breath. "Just start somewhere," you muttered under your breath, the sound barely audible over the gym’s constant thrum. Your legs carried you toward the weights, your steps hesitant but determined. You were here for a reason, after all. The thought of your doctor’s words—“Small, consistent steps. Strength training is good for you”—echoed in your mind. You weren’t about to back out now.

Across the room, Levi Ackerman leaned against the cable machine, his sharp gray eyes scanning the gym like a hawk surveying its territory. He had an effortless presence, his lean, muscular frame clad in a simple black t-shirt and gray joggers. His movements were precise as he adjusted the weight on the machine, but his attention wasn’t on his routine—it was on you.

He didn’t know why you had caught his eye. Maybe it was the way you clutched your water bottle as if it were a lifeline or the slight tremor in your hands as you hovered near the dumbbells, clearly unsure of where to start. Something about your hesitance tugged at him. Your baggy hoodie and leggings left much to the imagination, but Levi’s discerning gaze noted the gentle curve of your waist and the way your leggings stretched over full hips and thighs. He couldn’t help but think you looked… soft. Beautiful, even.

“Damn it,” Levi muttered to himself when he realized he was staring. He turned his attention back to the weights, gripping the handles of the machine with unnecessary force. But his resolve didn’t last long. His eyes flicked back to you, watching as you nervously adjusted your hoodie again and hesitated near a pair of dumbbells. You looked lost, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that bothered him.

You felt it before you saw it—someone’s eyes on you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, and you slowly turned your head, scanning the room until your gaze locked with his. He stood across the gym, his intense gray eyes boring into yours. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous—chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, and a stoic expression that didn’t waver even when he realized you’d caught him staring.

Your heart sank. Was he judging you? Mocking you? You’d seen that look before—the one that dissected you, decided you didn’t belong. Heat crept up your neck, and you quickly looked away, gripping your water bottle tighter. You suddenly felt like bolting.

Levi cursed under his breath as he realized his mistake. “Get it together,” he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. But his eyes betrayed him again, drawn back to you like a magnet. He told himself it wasn’t just attraction, though there was no denying you had a striking presence despite your obvious discomfort. There was something else—something in the way you squared your shoulders and took a hesitant step toward the weights despite the uncertainty etched on your face. It reminded him of soldiers he’d trained, their fear palpable but their determination stronger.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the dumbbells, picking up a pair that you quickly realized was too heavy. “Crap,” you muttered, setting them back down with a metallic clink. You tried to pretend you didn’t notice the eyes on you, the feeling of being out of place gnawing at your resolve.

Levi, still watching, felt a pang of irritation—not at you, but at the thought of anyone else making you feel small. Before he could stop himself, he pushed away from the cable machine and crossed the room with purposeful strides.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the noise around you.

Startled, you looked up, your eyes widening as they met his. Up close, he was even more intimidating—chiseled jawline, muscular arms, and an air of authority that made you feel like you were standing in front of a drill sergeant. You stammered, unsure of what to say.

“I—uh, no, I’m just—” You gestured vaguely to the weights, your face burning.

Levi arched a brow, his expression unreadable. “First time?”

You nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah. Is it that obvious?”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but it didn’t quite make it. “A little.” He glanced at the weights you’d just abandoned. “You’re starting too heavy. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Your heart sank. Of course, you were doing it wrong. “Oh,” you said softly, looking down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentler now. “No one gets it perfect the first time. Let me show you.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by his offer. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “But I want to.”

For a moment, you hesitated. But something about the way he looked at you—direct, without a hint of mockery—made you nod. “Okay.”

Levi stepped beside you, his movements calm and deliberate. “Let’s start with these,” he said, pointing to a lighter pair of dumbbells. “You want to focus on form first. Weight comes later.”

As he guided you through the exercise, his voice was steady and patient, his instructions clear. You couldn’t help but notice how close he stood, the heat of his presence making your pulse quicken. Every so often, you caught him glancing at you, his gray eyes softening in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“Good,” he said as you completed a set. “You’re a fast learner.”

You smiled despite yourself, a small flicker of pride warming your chest. “Thanks.”

Levi’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “Anytime.”

As he stepped back, giving you space to continue on your own, you realized something surprising: for the first time since you walked into the gym, you didn’t feel quite so out of place.

Levi crossed his arms, leaning casually against the nearby rack of weights. His sharp gray eyes, which you now realized were tinged with a softness that balanced his otherwise intimidating presence, studied you for a moment. Then, he extended a hand toward you. His fingers were strong, calloused—hands that had seen their share of hard work.

"Levi," he said simply. His voice was calm and deep, yet it carried a tone that demanded attention without effort.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden introduction. It took you a second to register that he was waiting for you to respond. Quickly, you wiped your slightly sweaty palm on your hoodie before shaking his hand, feeling the warmth of his grip.

“I’m... uh, I’m (Y/N),” you stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of how small your hand felt in his.

Levi gave a slight nod, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you. You picked a good day to start. The gym’s not too crowded.”

You glanced around. To you, it felt packed with people who all seemed to belong far more than you did. “If this isn’t crowded, I’d hate to see it when it is,” you replied with a nervous laugh.

Levi’s lips twitched again, the barest hint of amusement breaking through his stoic demeanor. “Fair point.” He straightened up, gesturing to the lighter dumbbells he’d selected for you earlier. “Let me show you a few movements to get you started. Basic, but effective.”

You nodded, appreciating his willingness to help despite how out of place you felt. He picked up a pair of dumbbells, rolling his shoulders back with ease, and turned toward you.

“Let’s start with something simple: Romanian deadlifts, or RDLs. They’re great for your hamstrings, glutes, and lower back. Watch closely.”

You did as he instructed, watching how he held the dumbbells with a firm but relaxed grip. His movements were smooth and controlled as he bent forward at the hips, keeping his back perfectly straight and his knees slightly bent. His muscles flexed with the motion, and you found yourself momentarily distracted by the way his shirt clung to his frame.

“Notice how I’m not rounding my back,” Levi said, his tone instructive as he straightened up. “That’s the most important part. It’s all about the hips. Got it?”

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure you did. He stepped back, setting the dumbbells down and gesturing for you to take his place. “Your turn.”

You picked up the weights, suddenly hyper-aware of how awkward your movements felt compared to his. As you attempted the motion, you realized immediately that something was off. Your back felt strained, and you couldn’t quite figure out where your hips were supposed to go. Frustration bubbled up as you tried again, unsuccessfully.

“Wait,” Levi said, stepping closer. “You’re rounding your back too much. Here, let me show you.”

You froze as he moved behind you, his proximity sending a wave of heat through your body. His hands rested lightly on your shoulders, guiding you to straighten them. The warmth of his touch was almost distracting enough to make you forget what you were doing.

“Relax,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost soothing, and you forced yourself to focus as he adjusted your stance. One hand moved to the small of your back, his palm barely grazing the fabric of your hoodie. “Keep this part straight. Hinge at your hips, not your waist.”

Your heart was racing now, and you were sure he could feel the heat radiating from your skin. You tried to follow his instructions, bending forward again, but his hands stopped you midway.

“Not quite. Here.” His grip was firmer now as he placed one hand on your hip and the other on your upper back. “Push your hips back more—like you’re trying to close a car door with them.”

You blushed furiously at his analogy but nodded. When you moved this time, his hands guided you perfectly, and you felt the stretch in your hamstrings that he’d described earlier. “There,” Levi said, his voice quieter now. “That’s it.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded, hyper-aware of every point where his hands touched you. His fingers were steady, but you could feel the slightest hesitation in his touch, as if he were holding himself back. Levi cleared his throat suddenly and stepped away, putting distance between you both.

“Try a few reps,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before. He crossed his arms, and though his face remained neutral, you noticed a faint redness creeping up his neck.

You followed his instructions, performing the movement again and again. With each rep, you felt more confident. The weights didn’t feel as heavy now that your form was right, and you were even starting to enjoy the rhythm of it. But as you worked, you couldn’t help but notice Levi’s eyes on you, watching every move with an intensity that made your skin tingle.

What you didn’t know was that Levi was struggling to keep his composure. He told himself he was just watching to make sure your form was correct, but his gaze kept drifting lower—to the curve of your hips and the way your leggings stretched over your backside. With each hinge of your hips, your movements seemed to emphasize the fullness of your figure, and Levi found himself gripping his water bottle tightly.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away. He unscrewed the cap of his bottle and took a long drink, hoping the cool water would ease the heat creeping up his neck. His thoughts were anything but professional, and he cursed himself for it.

When you finished your set, you turned to him with a hesitant smile. “How was that?”

“Perfect,” Levi said, his voice steadier now. He capped his bottle and set it down. “You’re a quick learner.”

The warmth in his praise made your chest swell, and for the first time all day, you felt like you belonged here. You smiled shyly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Levi nodded, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You’re doing fine. Just keep at it.”

As you set the dumbbells down, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was watching you again, his gray eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. It made your heart race all over again, though you didn’t have the courage to call him out on it.

Instead, you grabbed your water bottle and took a sip, feeling your confidence slowly build. Maybe this gym thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Levi watched as you raised your water bottle, tipping it back for a drink. The soft curve of your neck as you swallowed caught his attention, but it was the stray droplet of water that escaped the corner of your mouth that undid him. It slid down slowly, tracing a path along your throat and disappearing beneath the neckline of your hoodie.

His throat tightened, and he felt the telltale heat rising in his face. His imagination betrayed him, picturing where that drop had gone—what it might have touched. He could tell even through the loose fabric that you were curvy in all the right places, and the thought made his mouth go dry. Levi swallowed hard, willing himself to look away, but his traitorous gaze lingered.

Damn it.

His body betrayed him next. Blood rushed southward, pooling in his groin, and he felt a telltale tightening against the fabric of his sweatpants. He cursed under his breath, adjusting his stance slightly in an attempt to hide the rapidly growing problem. But it was too late. The bulge was visible, and he knew it. His jaw tightened as he gripped his water bottle, trying to will himself back to professionalism. What the hell is wrong with me?

You, oblivious at first, capped your bottle and turned toward him, a casual smile on your lips as you wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your hoodie. But then your eyes dipped downward—just briefly—and you froze. Your mouth went dry as you caught sight of the unmistakable outline straining against Levi’s sweatpants. It was... significant.

No way. There’s no way.

Your cheeks flamed as the thought crossed your mind. Was he... turned on? By you? It seemed impossible. He was so toned and downright gorgeous, the kind of man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine. And yet, the evidence was staring you in the face—literally.

You quickly looked away, feeling flustered and self-conscious. Maybe it was just... a gym thing? That could happen, right? But when you risked another glance, Levi’s hand flexed around his water bottle, and the tightness of his jaw told you he was very aware of what you’d seen.

Levi shifted uncomfortably, cursing himself again. His self-control, usually as solid as a fortress, was crumbling under the weight of his reaction to you. He was supposed to be professional, damn it. But there was something about you—your soft curves, your shy smile, the way you kept pushing through your insecurities—that made his usual stoicism falter.

"Everything okay?" you asked, your voice slightly higher than usual as you tried to break the silence. You hated how awkward you sounded, but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Levi’s eyes snapped to yours, his expression unreadable. “Fine,” he said curtly, his voice deeper than usual. He cleared his throat, setting his water bottle on the bench beside him and crossing his arms again. “You’re doing good work. Keep it up.”

“Thanks,” you replied softly, though your voice wavered slightly. You tried to focus on his words, but your mind was still reeling.

He turned his head slightly, pretending to scan the gym, but his mind was elsewhere. His breathing had quickened, and he silently cursed himself for being so obvious. Get a grip, Levi.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance, your eyes drawn to the bulge no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. Your thoughts raced, filled with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. Was this... normal? Or was it possible he found you attractive? You’d spent so long assuming men like Levi would never look twice at someone like you that the idea seemed almost absurd.

Levi caught your lingering gaze this time, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He could see the question written all over your face, and it only made his predicament worse. He had to say something—anything—to break the tension.

“Focus on your breathing during the movements,” he said abruptly, his tone sharper than he intended. “It helps.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his voice. “Oh, uh, right. Breathing. Got it.”

The awkwardness hung heavy between you for a moment before Levi stepped back, giving himself more space—and hopefully a chance to regain control. He grabbed his towel from the bench, using it as an excuse to turn away and adjust himself subtly.

When he faced you again, his expression was back to its usual impassive state, though his jaw was still tense. “Let’s move to the next exercise,” he said, his voice steady but clipped.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction, even as your thoughts continued to spiral. As you followed him to the next set of weights, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was that really about me? Or am I imagining things?

Levi, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own thoughts, trying to push past the image of your flushed cheeks and the way you’d looked at him—like you were just as affected as he was. But for now, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Anything to stop himself from dwelling on how soft your body had felt under his hands... or how much he’d liked it.

He led you toward one of the bench press stations, walking with the purposeful stride of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He grabbed a bench and a barbell, quickly adjusting the weights with practiced ease. The clang of the plates echoed in the gym, drawing a few casual glances from others, but Levi’s focus was entirely on you.

“We’ll start light,” he said, his tone professional as he set the barbell down. “Thirty pounds. Shouldn’t be too much.”

You nodded nervously, sitting on the bench and adjusting your hoodie. You weren’t sure about this—lifting anything above your head sounded like a disaster waiting to happen—but you trusted him. Levi crouched beside you, his intense gray eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation.

“You good?” he asked, his voice a touch softer now.

You nodded, gripping the barbell hesitantly. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Alright,” Levi said, straightening up. “Lie back, feet flat on the ground. Keep your grip just outside shoulder-width. I’ll spot you.”

You did as he instructed, lying back on the bench and positioning your hands on the barbell. Above you, Levi loomed like a sentinel, his hands hovering near the bar. You tried not to focus on how good he looked from this angle—his lithe body, sharp jawline, and that unreadable expression that somehow made your pulse race.

“Alright,” Levi said. “Lift on three. One... two... three.”

You pushed upward with all your strength, lifting the barbell off its rack. At first, it felt manageable, and you exhaled in relief. “Not too bad,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Levi nodded approvingly. “Good. Now lower it slowly to your chest and push back up. Controlled movements.”

You followed his instructions, lowering the barbell carefully. But as you pushed it back up, your arms started to tremble. The weight felt heavier than you’d anticipated, and you could feel your grip slipping. Panic set in as the bar wobbled.

“Uh—uh—Levi—”

“Relax. I’ve got it,” he said sharply, his hands moving to catch the bar just as your arms gave out completely. He grabbed it with ease, lifting the weight back onto the rack as though it were nothing.

You let out a shaky breath of relief, but your gratitude quickly turned to mortification as you realized something. When Levi had leaned forward to catch the bar, his hips had shifted—bringing the unmistakable bulge in his sweatpants directly against your forehead.

HOLY SHIT.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your mind spiraled. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make your skin feel like it was on fire. And to make matters worse, you couldn’t help but notice how amazing he smelled—a mix of fresh laundry and something musky and masculine that made your head spin.

Levi stiffened the moment he felt the faintest brush of contact, his entire body going rigid. A jolt of something he refused to name shot down his spine, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. His brain screamed at him to move, and he quickly stepped back, his face unreadable but his ears visibly red.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, keeping his voice steady despite the turmoil in his head. “Didn’t mean to get that close.”

You sat up quickly, avoiding his gaze as your face burned with embarrassment. “It’s fine! Totally fine! I wasn’t paying attention—”

“Neither was I,” Levi cut in, his tone clipped. He grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink, trying to calm himself down. His hands flexed around the bottle as he fought to suppress the vivid memory of the accidental touch—and the way it had made his heart race.

There was a heavy silence between you, both of you too flustered to say anything. You fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie, sneaking a glance at him. His jaw was tight, and he seemed to be staring at a distant point on the wall, avoiding looking directly at you.

“Thanks for catching the bar,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Levi glanced at you, his gray eyes still sharp but less guarded now. “It’s my job. You did fine.”

You gave him a weak smile, still too mortified to feel any real pride in your effort. “I don’t think ‘fine’ is the word I’d use.”

He arched a brow, his expression softening just a fraction. “You didn’t drop it on your face. That’s a win.”

A nervous laugh escaped you, and Levi’s lips twitched in what could almost be called a smile. He grabbed a nearby towel and handed it to you. “Take a breather. We’ll try something else in a bit.”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to recover—not just from the workout, but from the overwhelming heat still coursing through your body. As Levi turned to adjust the weights again, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift downward. The bulge was still... present, though he seemed to be doing his best to ignore it.

There’s no way, you thought to yourself, your stomach doing somersaults. There’s absolutely no way he’s... because of me!?

Levi, meanwhile, was giving himself a silent pep talk. Keep it together. You’re a professional. Act like one. But as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the way your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, he felt his resolve waver again.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the barbell so tightly his knuckles turned white. For both your sakes, he needed to pull himself together.

…

The rest of your workout with Levi passed in a blur of effort and determination. His sharp, focused instructions kept you grounded, and his hands—though thankfully staying professional this time—helped correct your form when needed. His stoic demeanor made him seem almost unflappable, but every now and then, you caught him glancing at you with a softness in his eyes that sent your pulse racing.

By the time you finished your final set of bodyweight squats, your legs felt like jelly, and your hoodie was damp with sweat. You flopped onto a nearby bench with an exhausted groan, clutching your water bottle like it was your lifeline.

“Done already?” Levi asked, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. His tone was teasing, but his face betrayed a flicker of concern.

You glanced up at him, your chest still heaving from exertion. “Already? I feel like I’ve run a marathon,” you said, your voice breathy but laced with humor.

Levi smirked—a barely-there expression that somehow felt like a victory. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Will I, though?” you shot back, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Because right now, I feel like I’m going to collapse.”

He shook his head, walking over and crouching in front of you. “You did good for your first day,” he said, his voice softer now. “You pushed through, even when you were nervous. Most people don’t make it past that.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks, Levi,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I really appreciate all your help today. I don’t think I could’ve figured this out on my own.”

He shrugged, standing back up. “That’s what a good trainer’s for.”

You felt a pang of disappointment at his words. Did he see this as part of a job? Maybe he was trying to recruit you as a client? You weren’t sure why that idea bothered you, but it did. Shaking the thought from your head, you forced yourself to smile. “Well, you’re a really good one.”

Levi tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he unlocked it with a quick swipe of his thumb.

“What are you doing?” you asked hesitantly, watching as he scrolled through his apps before handing the phone to you.

“Add your number,” he said simply, his tone calm and direct.

Your jaw dropped. “W-what?”

Levi arched a brow, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “You’ll need it if you have questions about your workouts,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of something warmer beneath. “Or... anything else.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat. Was he serious? Was this actually happening? You stared at the phone in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly as you opened the contacts app. Your mind raced as you typed in your name and number, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Okay,” you said finally, handing the phone back to him. “All set.”

Levi glanced down at the screen, his thumb brushing over the name you’d entered. “Good,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I’ll text you so you have mine.”

You nodded, trying not to let your nervous excitement show. “Thanks. That’s... really helpful.”

He smirked slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Just don’t text me at three in the morning asking about squat form,” he said, his tone dry but laced with a subtle warmth.

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “No promises.”

Levi’s smirk widened ever so slightly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn his gaze softened again. “Good. Now go home and rest. You earned it.”

You stood up, wobbling slightly on your tired legs, and grabbed your things. “I will. Thanks again, Levi.”

He nodded, watching as you turned toward the exit. But just as you were about to leave, his voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You turned back, your heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

Levi’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet intensity that made your stomach flip. “Don’t quit. You’ve got potential.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Then, slowly, you smiled—a genuine, radiant smile that made Levi’s chest tighten.

“I won’t,” you said softly. “See you around, Levi.”

With that, you walked out of the gym, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You glanced at your phone as soon as you stepped outside, a small thrill running through you when you saw the new message:

Levi Ackerman:Here’s my number. Don’t be a stranger.

You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you saved his contact. Maybe—just maybe—this gym thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

After leaving the weight area, you made your way to the locker room to change out of your sweaty hoodie. Peeling it off, you glanced down at the fitted T-shirt you had on underneath. It hugged your figure more than you liked, clinging to your curves in a way that made you self-conscious. You tugged at the hem nervously, wishing you’d brought something looser. But it wasn’t a big deal—you were leaving anyway.

Grabbing your things, you headed out toward the exit. That’s when you noticed something odd: Levi’s phone was still sitting on the bench where you’d been earlier. You frowned, looking around the gym. He was nowhere in sight. Just as you were debating whether to leave it there, the phone started vibrating, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

You bit your lip, glancing around again. Surely Levi would come back for it soon. But after two minutes passed and the phone kept buzzing, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the call might be important. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to miss something urgent.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, picking up the phone. “I’ll just find him real quick.”

Clutching the device, you scanned the gym. Finally, you spotted him walking out of the cardio area and disappearing into a private door near the back. The sign read: Exclusive Members Sauna.

You hesitated, unsure of what to do. Surely he’d notice his phone was missing soon and come back out, right? You leaned against the wall, waiting awkwardly as people passed by. Five minutes turned into ten, and still, Levi didn’t emerge.

Sighing, you debated leaving the phone at the front desk and heading home. But just as you were about to turn away, the door to the sauna opened, and Levi stepped out.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Levi was wearing nothing but a towel, loosely wrapped around his waist. His lean, muscular frame was glistening with moisture, droplets of water tracing the lines of his defined abs and the sharp contours of his chest. His ink-black hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in a way that only made him look more effortlessly attractive. His posture was relaxed, but the moment he saw you standing there with his phone in hand, his gray eyes widened slightly.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the surprise evident. His gaze flicked to his phone in your hand, then back to your face.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You were too busy staring—shamelessly staring. Every inch of him looked like it had been sculpted from marble, and the way the towel hung precariously on his hips was doing unspeakable things to your imagination. Your cheeks burned as you tried to force your brain to function.

“I, uh—” you stammered, holding up his phone as if that explained everything. “You left your phone on the bench, and it kept ringing, so I... thought you might need it.”

Levi blinked, processing your words. “Right,” he said after a pause, stepping closer to take the phone from you. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Thanks. Didn’t realize I’d left it.”

As he took the phone, his eyes fell to your shirt. The fitted fabric clung to your body in a way your hoodie hadn’t, accentuating the soft swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist. Levi’s throat tightened as he felt his body respond yet again. The dampness of the sauna and the sight of you standing there, looking so effortlessly gorgeous, was almost too much.

His gaze lingered, drinking you in. You looked delicious in his eyes, and the way the fabric stretched over your curves was driving him insane. He knew he shouldn’t be staring, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Your eyes met his, and the air between you shifted. The surprise in his expression faded, replaced by something darker, more intense. His pupils dilated slightly as his gaze held yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body—not just from the sauna, but from the tension that now crackled in the space between you.

Neither of you spoke, caught in a moment of pure, shameless lust. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to find something to say, but your mind was blank. All you could think about was how close he was, how good he smelled—a mix of clean soap and something deeper, more masculine—and how the towel around his waist seemed dangerously close to slipping.

Levi’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his composure. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, but with you standing there, looking at him like that, he could feel his resolve slipping. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before snapping back to your eyes, his chest rising and falling slightly faster than before.

“You...” he started, his voice rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his words instead of the way the water droplets on his chest seemed to glisten in the light. “It—it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just thought it might be important.”

Levi nodded, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Thanks,” he said again, his tone quieter now.

Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The space between you seemed to thrum with something unspoken but undeniably intense. Your breath hitched as you saw Levi’s gray eyes flicker to your lips, his gaze darkening with an intensity that made your heart race. Then, slowly, deliberately, he licked his lips.

The action sent a wave of heat coursing through your body, and you were sure he could see the way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. His movements were careful, calculated, as he stepped closer. You could feel the energy radiating off him, the air growing thicker with every step.

By the time he stopped in front of you, he was so close you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your skin. His damp, black hair clung to his forehead, framing his sharp features, and his voice was a low rumble when he finally spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question made your head spin. You didn’t respond with words—your body moved before your brain could catch up. You reached up, your hands finding his chest, and smashed your lips against his with a desperate kind of hunger.

Levi froze for half a second, clearly surprised by your boldness. But then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him as he responded with equal fervor. His lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours with a passion that made your knees weak. His hands slid down to your waist, squeezing gently as if to ground himself in the moment.

He hadn’t planned this—not even close. But from the second he saw you walk into the gym, Levi knew you were different. And now, with your soft body pressed against his, your lips moving against his like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had, he didn’t care about plans or professionalism or anything else.

His hands tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into the soft curves he’d only been able to admire from a distance until now. He loved the way you felt under his touch—soft, warm, and so very real. The towel around his waist felt dangerously precarious as his body responded to you, but Levi couldn’t bring himself to care.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands sliding up to grip his shoulders. The sound drove him wild, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your head spin. His chest pressed against you, firm and slick with moisture from the sauna, and you felt the heat between your legs grow unbearable.

Levi pulled back slightly, his lips still hovering over yours, his breath ragged. His gray eyes were dark with lust, and his voice was low and rough when he spoke.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your own breathing just as unsteady. “I think I have an idea.”

He chuckled softly, the sound more of a rumble in his chest. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your waist. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw. “Soft... and dangerous.”

You shivered at his words, your body arching into his touch. “And what about you?” you shot back, your voice breathy. “You’ve been staring at me all day.”

Levi smirked, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Can you blame me?”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, and the world around you disappeared. It was just him—his scent, his taste, the way his hands felt on your body—and you never wanted it to end.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His sharp gray eyes flicked downward, and that’s when he saw it. The damp spot between your legs. Levi felt a jolt of heat shoot through him, and he cursed softly under his breath. You were soaked, and the knowledge sent his restraint spiraling further out of reach.

His gaze shifted upward, catching the way your hardened nipples poked through the fabric of your fitted T-shirt. He licked his lips, his mind racing. He knew he shouldn’t—knew this was crossing every line he’d ever drawn for himself—but the sight of you, flushed and trembling, was enough to make him say to hell with it.

“Fuck it,” Levi muttered, his voice low and rough.

Before you could process what was happening, he grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and pulled you toward the empty changing rooms near the sauna. “Levi—” you started, but your words died on your lips as he glanced back at you, his intense gray eyes filled with pure, unfiltered desire. The look in his eyes made your knees weak, and you let him lead you without resistance.

As soon as you stepped into the changing room, Levi shut the door behind you, the lock clicking into place. The small, enclosed space was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, both of you already panting from the intensity of the moment. You barely had time to register the faint smell of clean linen and cedar before Levi was on you again.

His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed into yours, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped you. Levi groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, brushing against yours in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You kissed him back just as eagerly, your hands tangling in his damp, black hair.

Levi’s hands left your face, moving down to your waist as he pulled you closer, his grip firm and possessive. He squeezed, his fingers digging into your soft curves, and you felt him press against you—hard and unrelenting. The sensation made your breath hitch, and your hands slid down to grip his shoulders for support.

“You’re so soft,” Levi murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need. “So perfect.”

You opened your mouth to protest—you were still sweaty, still flushed from your workout—but Levi silenced you by trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. “Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”

His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you let out a sharp gasp, your hands tightening on his shoulders. Levi smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction, and began kissing and nibbling along your neck. Each touch of his lips sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you could feel the wetness between your legs growing.

Levi pressed you against the wall, one hand slipping under your shirt to grip your waist directly. His fingers brushed against your bare skin, and you shivered at the contact. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gray eyes burning with intensity.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice hoarse and almost pleading.

But you didn’t want him to stop. You shook your head, your hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his skin. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

That was all Levi needed to hear. His lips were on yours again, hungrier this time, as his hands began roaming over your body. One hand slid down to your hip, squeezing gently, while the other moved up to cup your breast through your shirt. You let out a soft moan as his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple, and Levi groaned in response, his mouth moving back to your neck.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Better than I imagined.”

You barely registered his words, too lost in the sensation of his hands and lips. Your own hands moved down to his waist, brushing against the edge of the towel that still hung loosely around him. The thought of what lay beneath made your core throb, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning again.

Levi’s kisses grew more urgent as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body flush against yours. He didn’t care that you were still sweaty, didn’t care about anything except the way you felt in his arms. His hands slid back down to your waist, gripping you tightly as he rocked his hips against yours. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you.

“You’re incredible,” Levi said softly, his lips brushing against your ear. His hands tightened on your waist, his body trembling slightly as he fought to keep control. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “Me neither,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Levi’s lips curled into a small, almost disbelieving smile before he kissed you again, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that made you feel like the most beautiful person in the world, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

His hands roamed lower, his fingertips teasing down your sides before settling on your hips. His grip was firm, commanding, as if he wanted to memorize the shape of you, to make sure you knew just how much he wanted you. His fingers flexed slightly before he slid them lower, cupping the full, soft curve of your ass in both hands.

You gasped, your body jolting at the unexpected touch, and that was all the opening Levi needed. He seized the opportunity, tilting his head and slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss in an instant. His tongue moved against yours, hot and hungry, tasting you in a way that made your knees weak.

A moan escaped you, swallowed instantly by Levi as his hands squeezed, molding your plush curves in his grip. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips, sending heat pooling between your thighs. He pulled you even closer, grinding his hips against you just enough to make you feel the full extent of how much he wanted you.

You whimpered into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his damp, black hair. He was devouring you now, kissing you like he had no intention of stopping, like he wanted to drown in you. You responded with the same desperate energy, pressing your body against his, reveling in the heat radiating from his skin.

Levi let out a sharp exhale through his nose, his breathing ragged as his hands kneaded your flesh, his thumbs brushing against the curve where your ass met your thighs. He was losing himself, every ounce of his usual restraint slipping away with each second your body was pressed against his. He wanted you, needed you, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t give a damn about holding back.

His kisses grew rougher, more urgent, as he trailed them from your mouth down to your jawline. He nipped lightly at your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue, his breath hot against your flushed skin. His hands were restless, tracing patterns over your curves, committing them to memory as if he were afraid this moment might disappear.

“You feel so damn good,” he murmured against your neck, his voice husky and strained, filled with something dangerously close to desperation. “Soft… perfect.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his hair. The way he spoke, the way he touched you—it made your stomach flutter, made the wetness between your thighs even more unbearable. You never thought someone like Levi—strong, stoic, disciplined—could lose his composure over you, but the evidence was undeniable. His kisses, his hands, the way he pressed himself against you—it all told you exactly how much he wanted you.

Levi’s hands slid back up to your waist, gripping you firmly as he guided you further against the wall, pinning you there with his body. He kissed down the column of your throat, his lips warm and demanding, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He paused at the base of your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your sensitive skin before he sucked gently, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants. “Levi…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his hips pressing into yours with more intent. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the subtle, almost imperceptible way your thighs pressed together. He knew. He knew you were soaked for him. And the thought nearly shattered what little self-control he had left.

Levi pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, but his breathing betrayed him—deep, heavy, as if he were barely restraining himself. His hands smoothed over your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles against your sides.

The tension between you was unbearable. Every touch, every heated glance, every stolen breath between kisses only fueled the fire raging inside you. You didn’t just want him—you needed him. The restraint that had kept you tethered to reason was gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered desire.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you whispered, voice breathless and shaky, “Levi… I need you.”

Levi froze for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath heavy and ragged. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tightened at your words. His hands, which had been gripping your waist with controlled force, now trembled slightly as if he were fighting some inner battle. But it was futile.

He exhaled sharply, his gray eyes dark with something primal, something dangerous. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Before you could respond, Levi’s hands were at your waist, his grip firm and commanding. With one swift motion, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and tore them down your thighs. The cool air against your heated skin sent a shiver up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the way his hands moved over your exposed flesh, mapping out every curve like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed your thighs and effortlessly lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your breath hitched, hands scrambling for purchase against his damp skin as he backed you up against the cold tiled wall of the locker room.

“You feel so fucking good,” Levi murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse as he held you up like you weighed nothing. His fingers trailed up your thigh, teasing, until they found the thin barrier of your underwear. He pressed his palm against the heat between your legs, and the sensation made you whimper.

Levi inhaled sharply, his body tensing. “So wet,” he groaned, his fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your already sensitive core. The friction sent shockwaves through your body, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips instinctively bucked against his touch.

You could feel him, all of him, pressing against you through the thin fabric of his towel. He was hard—achingly so—and there was no ignoring the way his length throbbed against your inner thigh, barely restrained. The sheer size of him made you gulp, and heat pooled in your stomach at the realization.

Without thinking, you reached down, your fingers grazing against the outline of his manhoodl. The moment you made contact, Levi’s entire body shuddered, his breath hitching.

“Shit—” he hissed, his grip on you tightening.

Encouraged by his reaction, you slid your hand lower, palming him through the thin towel. Levi moaned, his head dropping against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he groaned, his voice raw with need.

Your fingers worked under the towel until you could fully grasp him. The moment your hand wrapped around his heated length, Levi let out a sharp, almost desperate curse.

“Goddamn it—” he bit out, his hips jerking into your touch, completely losing the control he so fiercely held onto.

His skin was hot beneath your fingers, smooth and throbbing with need. You stroked him slowly, teasingly, watching the way his body reacted to your touch. Levi's breath grew heavier, his jaw clenched tightly, and his fingers dug into your hips as if grounding himself.

But then—his control shattered.

With a guttural curse, Levi tore your underwear aside, his fingers wasting no time as he slipped two thick fingers into your drenched pussy. You cried out, your back arching against the wall as pleasure shot through you like lightning. His fingers curled inside you, slow at first, then faster, exploring you like he wanted to memorize every inch.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Levi growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “So perfect.”

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he worked you open with precision, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles against your clit. Every movement was calculated, designed to make you unravel completely.

You whimpered, barely able to form a coherent thought. “Levi—”

“Say my name again,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire.

You moaned, tilting your head back, completely at his mercy. “Levi—please—”

Levi groaned at the sound of your voice, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. He wanted to feel you come apart, wanted to watch you lose yourself to him, and only him.

And god, you were already so close.

But just as you were about to reach your peak, trembling in Levi’s arms as waves of pleasure built up inside you, he suddenly pulled his fingers away. The absence was immediate and jarring, leaving you gasping at the loss. A desperate whine left your lips as your body clenched around nothing, the high you had been so close to shattering right in front of you.

"Levi—" you panted, frustration thick in your voice as you squirmed in his grasp.

Levi smirked, his gray eyes dark and filled with something wicked as he took in your wrecked expression. “Tch. What a brat,” he muttered, amusement lacing his voice. He let his fingers drag along the inside of your thigh, teasing, but never giving you what you wanted.

Your breath hitched, heat surging through you again, but you pouted, pushing at his chest weakly. “That was mean…”

Levi leaned in close, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he whispered, “You’ll survive.” His voice was low, teasing, yet filled with something undeniably heated.

But before you could whine again, your breath caught in your throat as you felt something new—something much thicker, much harder—pressing against your core. Your entire body tensed, your hands gripping his shoulders as realization hit you.

He was lining himself up against you, his heavy length brushing against your soaked entrance. You swallowed hard, nerves and anticipation intertwining in your chest. He was big, and the idea of him stretching you made heat flood through you like wildfire.

Levi, noticing your reaction, ran his hands over your thighs, gripping them firmly as he held you against the wall. His voice was rough, strained with his own desire. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded, trusting him completely as he slowly pushed forward, the head of his length breaching your entrance. A sharp gasp left you as the stretch burned, your fingers digging into his shoulders. Levi froze immediately, his jaw clenching as he fought for control.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice tight with restraint.

You took a shaky breath, adjusting to the size of him, before shaking your head. “Just… give me a second.”

Levi swallowed hard, his muscles tensed like a coiled spring, his fingers flexing against your thighs. “Take all the time you need,” he said, though his voice betrayed just how hard it was for him to hold back.

After a few moments, the initial discomfort began to fade, replaced by something deeper, something intoxicating. You met his gaze, heat swirling in your belly. “You can move,” you whispered.

Levi exhaled sharply, his control barely hanging by a thread as he pushed deeper, filling you inch by inch. The stretch was intense, but the pleasure that followed made your body shudder. He let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hands tightening on your thighs. “You’re so—damn—tight.”

You whimpered at his words, at the way his body pressed so perfectly against yours, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling. But you could feel him holding back, keeping himself reigned in when all you wanted was for him to lose control.

“Levi…” You gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “Harder. Faster.”

His entire body tensed, a shudder running through him at your words. He tilted his head back, his gray eyes meeting yours, searching, as if making sure you meant it. And when he saw the desperate need in your expression, something inside him snapped.

His grip tightened, and without another word, he adjusted his stance and slammed into you. A loud, gasping moan tore from your throat as he buried himself to the hilt, the force of his thrust pressing you harder against the cold wall.

“Shit—” Levi growled, his voice strained, his self-control completely shattered. He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through you, your hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

Your head tilted back, your eyes rolling at the sheer intensity of it all. “Levi—oh my God—” you gasped, your entire body trembling as he hit deeper, his pace unrelenting.

Levi groaned in response, watching the way you unraveled for him, how your body took every thrust, how your mouth hung open in pure bliss. His fingers slid down, finding your clit, rubbing tight circles as he pounded into you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and commanding. “I want to feel you come around me.”

The coil inside you snapped, your back arching sharply as pleasure exploded through you, your vision going white. A strangled cry left your lips as your body convulsed, waves of bliss washing over you in an overwhelming rush.

Levi let out a harsh groan, his movements growing sloppy as he felt you tighten around him. His grip on your thighs bruised as he chased his own release, his breath ragged.

“Fuck—” he gritted out, his rhythm stuttering. With one final, deep thrust, he pulled out, his jaw clenched as he spilled himself all over your stomach, his body shuddering violently as he came undone.

The air in the changing room was thick with heat and the lingering scent of sweat and something far more intoxicating. Your body trembled in Levi’s arms, your skin still tingling from the waves of pleasure that had crashed through you moments before. Your breaths were uneven, desperate attempts to steady yourself after what could only be described as the most exhilarating experience of your life.

Levi’s forehead rested against yours, his damp black hair sticking to his skin. His chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths, but his arms remained firm around you, keeping you locked against him as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His grip was possessive, his fingers idly stroking over your thigh where they still held you in place.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, tilting your head slightly so your nose brushed against his. “That was…” you trailed off, searching for the right word, but nothing seemed to do it justice.

Levi huffed out a quiet chuckle, something rare and utterly intoxicating to hear from him. His lips, still slightly swollen from kissing you, curled into a smirk. “Tch. You can say it,” he muttered, his voice rough from exertion. “Best workout of your life?”

You let out a soft laugh, your body finally beginning to relax against him. “Understatement of the century,” you admitted, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his shoulder.

Levi exhaled, finally loosening his grip just enough to let your legs slide down from his waist. Your feet touched the cool tile, but your knees nearly buckled beneath you, and he caught you effortlessly, his grip tightening at your waist.

“Easy,” he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he steadied you. “Did I wear you out that bad?”

You gave him a pointed look, your cheeks still burning from everything that had just transpired. “A little.”

Levi’s smirk widened, his hands not moving from your waist. “Consider it your post workout stretch.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother denying it. Instead, you rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, your body still humming with the aftershocks of what had just happened. Levi let you stay there, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles against your hips, grounding you.

After a moment, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. “So… is this a one-time thing?” you asked softly, unable to keep the hesitation from creeping into your voice.

Levi’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading. His sharp gray eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you saw something deeper, something raw beneath his usual stoicism. He reached up, brushing a few strands of hair from your face before letting his fingers linger against your cheek.

“No,” he said simply, his voice lower now, more certain. “I don’t want it to be.”

Your breath hitched at his words, at the quiet certainty in them. A slow smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Levi sighed, finally stepping back fully, though his hand remained on your waist as if reluctant to break contact completely. His eyes flickered downward, and his smirk returned when he saw the mess on your stomach.

“We should probably clean you up,” he muttered, though there was amusement in his tone.

Your face burned again. “Yeah, you made a bit of a mess.”

Levi just shrugged, grabbing a clean towel from the nearby shelf and handing it to you. “I couldn’t help myself… not when you look like that.”

He grabbed his joggers, pulling them back on and leaned against the wall as he watched you clean yourself up. His gaze remained on you, softer now, less intense but still filled with something unreadable. Once you were done and put your clothes back on, you turned to him, still slightly nervous despite everything that had just happened.

“So…” you started, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “What now?”

Levi studied you for a long moment before shaking his head slightly, as if you’d just asked something ridiculous. He stepped forward, reaching to grab his phone. He unlocked it, tapped at the screen a few times, then turned it to face you.

It was a text message. From him. To you.

Levi Ackerman: Next gym session. Tomorrow. Same time.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Is this your way of asking me out?”

Levi smirked, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “It’s my way of making sure you don’t quit.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I can’t tell if you’re being sweet or bossy.”

“Both,” he said smoothly, reaching down to grab his shirt and pull it over his head. “Get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?”

Levi stepped closer, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he pulled away. “Nope.”

Your heart stuttered at the simple gesture, at the way his fingers lingered for just a second too long. This wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment thing for him. You could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at you even now, in the way he wasn’t trying to rush out the door.

This was something more.

Levi exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before giving you one last glance. “Go home. Get some rest,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Tomorrow.”

As you turned to leave, you felt Levi’s gaze on you the entire time. And just before you stepped out of the changing room, you glanced over your shoulder.

Levi was still standing there, watching you, his expression unreadable—but the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched like he was holding himself back from grabbing you again—it told you everything you needed to know.

This was only the beginning.

~

Masterlist | Patreon

[minty-mumbles]

LU Survey 2024 Results

The long awaited results of the survey. Thank you guys for being so patient with me :)

There were 350 responses to the survey this year! Not as many as there were last year, but still impressive. If you want to look at the raw data for this, you can do so here

Demographics

General Questions

Favorites and Least Favorites

Blank Space Question (Select Answers)

I'm so normal about Legend (the biggest lie I've ever told)

WIND BABY WIND OUGH IHGH UUOA I AM SICK FOR HIM MY SKRUNKLE MY OUGHGHHGJUA BELOVED

Remember that fandom is a community! Reach out to each other and learn something new! Give someone a compliment! Ask them a question! Encourage new artists and writers who are still learning! Thank you Mint for doing the survey again, too!

The fact no one has thought of calling Warrior's Zelda, "Areia" hurts me deeply "Hyppolita" even, please, with how much shipping there is between them, people sure are eager to name her after goddesses who have vowed to never have romantic relationships.

I dont think the fandom talks about it but i really love that every single piece of sky clothing is embroidered, because unless skyloft has embroidery machines thats all hand done. Which means either someone he knows makes a lot of them and gives them out freely (i give most of my projects to friends and family) or he would have paid someone for it, which means that either someone on skyloft lives of decorating clothing (and likely other fabrics) or someone just uses it to get some extra money (both are amazing since in the modern day people dont want to pay for handcrafted works what its actually worth)

Shark skeletons are made of cartilage, not bone

It's dangerous to go alone. Take this. 🦆

FOUR SUPREMACY🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥💚❤️💙💜💪💪💪💪🔛🔝💯💯💯💯💯

No but the Athena/Artemis thing is so real. What’s up with that. Why did we pick Artemis? Why did we do that?

I find it so funny how the fandom has decided to call Dark Link "Dink" because whenever I play a Zelda game I name my character Dink or Dinkus :D I started doing this waaaaay before I knew about LU

Im so excited for Echos of Wisdom! I find it really funny that Nintendo keeps making it harder for JoJo to stick to the plan, I'm pretty sure it's Legend and Fable but I'm not certain any ways Im really happy!

I love how LU is a culmination of so many of my favorite tropes from other fandoms! It’s been really comforting and nostalgic for me despite the fact that I only got into it this year. Especially since so many creators I liked have been getting revealed as problematic, it’s nice to be able to fall back on fictional characters who can’t ruin the lives of real people. :)

[quillcraftconquer]

Simon, who never wanted a dog. He didn't mind dogs, always stopping to give them a quick pat on the side, and he didn't mind his friends' dogs coercing him to toss a ball for a couple of hours. He just never envisioned himself owning a dog. He spent too much time away from home, and god forbid if anything happened to him, who would even take his dog? 

Still, despite all of his unanswered questions, when he met the tan, leggy stray on a mission that followed him around like he already owned it, he couldn't help but feed it scraps from his dinner, let it sit too close, talk to it whenever everyone else went to bed. 

It wasn't a cute dog. Its body was nicked with tiny scars from its time spent on the streets, and Simon was well aware of the bugs running through its scruffy fur. Its legs were far too tall for its body, accompanied by a small, pointed head with ears too big that stood up when something caught its eye, or drooped comically low when he was relaxed. 

Price complained relentlessly about the “damn dog” that followed Simon to every dinner, whining and scratching at the door when they went to bed, always under their feet while he was trying to walk around the base. It wasn’t until he walked into the showers, making eye contact with Simon and Gaz knelt on the floor, the damn dog enjoying the last remnants of hot water and the empty box of flea medicine tilted against the wall that he knew it was a losing battle, the dog was going to stick around. 

Simon, who didn't want a dog, but spent more money than he had on anything else to bring it home, buy it a nice bed, and a thick leather collar. 

It wasn’t until he stood in the vet's office, watching you run the metal tag through the engraving machine with his information on it that he realized the dog was his. Simon told himself he came here because you were nice to his dog, not commenting on his unique looks or bad behaviors, and how your eyes didn't linger on the dog's scars (or his, foregoing the masks when he did stop in.)

You, of course, didn't mind Simon’s gruff exterior, the way he mumbled ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to your questions, but talked extensively when it came to his dog.You laughed at the way Simon’s nose crinkled when you discussed neutering, or different training methods. You said nothing when Simon would always answer “Not my dog, just a stray.”, but always paid for the best food, treats, and care, almost as if he was convincing himself the dog wasnt going to stick around (because what did in Simon’s life?)

You especially didn't mind when Simon brought up boarding, stating he had to leave for a few weeks. You jumped at the chance, determined to show him that his dog could learn just a few house manners. You let him drop the dog off at your home, gave him access to the cameras, let him survey the yard. 

And if you had known, you wouldn't have minded the late nights Simon was halfway across the world, laying on some shitty bed with security cameras pulled up, watching the dog- his dog- take its signature 3 circles before plopping down on the outdoor couch next to you. 

It was for the dog, he told himself. It definitely didn't have to do with the too tight, too short christmas pajamas you wore in, yes, June, (he had to check the calendar, feeling like he had somehow missed 6 months of the year.) It didn't have to do with the way your fingers lazily dragged over the dog's fur, or the way you pinched the bridge of your nose when the dog tore up another cushion Simon would replace. 

Simon’s thumb punched the side of the phone, the screen darkening as he laid it against his chest, eyes staring up at the darkened ceiling.

It was just about the dog.

[strangesthirdeye]

Quiet Mornings and Coffee Beans (Arthur Morgan x deaf! wife reader)

Summary: Day off is spent with loved ones.

Warning: IT'S ARTHUR FUCKING MORGAN. HE'S HOT ASF AHHHH. Fluff, Arthur being lovely hubby, Arthur being Arthur, café, desserts, coffees. Love, cute, love, idk what else. BUT NO ANGST. MODERN ERA

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Arthur Morgan had seen a lot during his week on patrol - car accidents, long nights, city noise, paperwork, and the same lousy vending machine coffee. But today? Today was his. And he was spending it with you.

You were already awake, hair pinned back and apron folded neatly on the couch, ready to open your café. You didn't expect Arthur to wake up early - not after the week he had - but there he was, standing at the kitchen doorway in his joggers and gray NYPD hoodie, a steaming mug in one hand and that signature sleepy smirk on his face.

He signed lazily, "You thought I'd slept through your big muffin-baking morning?"

Yeah, ever since that day. He continued his sign language lesson just to communicate with you without him reaching out his phone just to type something on you. He is too lazy to type. Being a police officer really makes him sick of typing especially to make reports. So that's why he learned sign language. He goddamn learned it fast.

You blinked, surprised, then smiled, signing back. "You worked all week. I wasn't going to wake you."

He set the mug down and stepped closer, signing slowly and with purpose. "I miss you when I work. Let me help. Please."

You smiled at this and nodded before reaching for your car keys. You turned to him again.

"come on, love" you signed and walked out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

You unlocked the front door while Arthur carried in a crate of new supplies like it weighed nothing. A streak of morning light spilled across the floor, catching dust in the air like tiny stars.

Arthur whistled, surveying your little café. "Still the coziest spot in the city," he muttered before turning back and flashing a grin. "So, boss... What's first? You want muscle, charm, or height?"

You chuckled and signed. "Height. You're on top-shelf duty."

Arthur sighed dramatically as he climbed the small step ladder to hang the new "Summer Specials" sign. You held it steady from below.

"Don't fall. I'm not carrying you."

Arthur looked down, gave a mock-serious nod, and signed, "If I fall, just marry someone shorter next time."

You rolled your eyes, signing with a smirk, "That's your plan to get out of chores?"

He winked. "Every man needs a strategy."

Arthur leaned slightly to the left, stretching out to adjust the "Summer Specials" sign just a little more to your liking. You could tell he was doing it because he wanted it perfect for you - not because it needed to be perfect. His hoodie lifted just enough to expose the back of his police badge clipped to his belt, a reminder that your gentle giant of a husband spent most days fighting the harshness of the world.

You stood with arms folded, studying the placement of the sign. You tilted your head thoughtfully.

Arthur looked down, brows raised. "Too high?" he said aloud, but also signed it just in case.

You gave him a thumbs-up and nodded.

He exhaled in relief and climbed down, boots landing on the floor with a soft thud. "I swear, that thing was about to come down with me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Dramatic."

He laughed. "Only a little." He glanced around the cafe. "So what's next, darling?" he signed.

You walked behind the counter and pulled out a box of cups and lids, holding them up with a shrug. 

Arthur rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles dramatically, like he was preparing for battle. "You're really putting me to work on my day off."

"You volunteered." you signed, rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, but I thought it'd be like... cute help. You know, wiping windows, stealing kisses, lifting one box and getting praised like I moved a mountain."

You grinned. "You can still steal kisses. But you're lifting at least four boxes first."

Arthur leaned over the counter to press a quick kiss to your cheek before grabbing the box. "One down," he signed, smirking. "Three kisses to go."

With soft jazz humming from the Bluetooth speaker in the corner, Arthur helped you stock sugar packets, sweep the floor, and fix the tilted barstools. Every now and then, he would lightly tap your shoulder or wave in your periphery just to make sure you saw him before he signed something. He always made it a point to face you, always made sure you felt seen. He never missed it - not even after long shifts, not even in a rush.

You passed him a dish towel and pointed to the glass panels near the entrance.

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to be your window washer and your handyman?" he signed, pretending to be sour.

"You offered charm earlier. Prove it." you signed, rolling your eyes with a grin.

Arthur chuckled. "Damn. You remember everything, don't you?"

You nodded. "Especially when it works in my favor." you signed, simply.

You both worked in sync, communicating with touch, smiles, and signs. He refilled the sugar jars while you arranged fresh pastries behind the glass. At one point, you caught him sneaking a chocolate chip cookie and shaking his head as if he was deeply disappointed in himself.

"It looked lonely," he signed with exaggerated guilt.

You gave him a look, to which he quickly added. "I adopted it. Out of kindness."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, still wiping down the pastry case as Arthur finished the last bite of his "adopted" cookie, savoring it like he'd just made a life-changing decision.

"You gonna adopt the rest of the tray, too?" you signed with an arched brow.

Arthur placed a hand dramatically over his chest, signing with mock heartbreak,

"No, no. That would be unethical. One cookie is already a heavy burden to carry."

You chuckled silently and tossed a dishrag at him. He caught it, twirled it, and tossed it right back. The two of you stood there for a moment, smiling at each other across the counter, the quiet kind of moment that didn't need anything more than each other.

He glanced at the clock. "Alright," he said, brushing his palms together. "Ten minutes until opening. How's my hair?"

You gave him a long, deadpan look.

He frowned. "That bad?"

You signed, "You're the only cop I know who shows up with cookie crumbs in his beard."

Arthur blinked, then scrubbed at his face with the back of his sleeve, chuckling. "Damn. Caught by the muffin queen herself."

By 9:15, the smell of freshly baked blueberry muffins filled the café, and Arthur was leaning against the counter, eyeing the tray like a starving man. You caught him and narrowed your eyes.

"You already had a cookie." you signed, eyes narrowed.

Arthur widened his eyes in mock innocence. "I was ensuring freshness!" he signed, fast.

You handed him a muffin with a sigh. "This is bribery so you don't eat five later."

He took a dramatic bite, closed his eyes, and sighed. "I married a genius." he signed.

You sat beside him on one of the stools, arms brushing. For a moment, the world slowed down. Outside, cars pass. Inside, everything was soft and peaceful. He leaned towards you slightly, not to speak, not even to sign - just to exist beside you.

You reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze.

Later, while you were putting finishing touches on the corner display, Arthur sat on the floor nearby, reorganizing the box of tea sachets by flavor. He looked up suddenly and tapped twice on the floor to get your attention.

"Hey," he signed. "You ever think about how weird it is that we ended up like this?"

You tilted your head. "Weird how?"

"Me. Big dumb cop. You. Café queen. I dunno… It just works."

You chuckled. "I don't think I could've married a barista. I needed someone who'd fight the world for me, then mop my café floors like a teddy bear."

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I do make a damn good mop."

"And a good husband."

His expression softened instantly. He set the tea down and knelt in front of you, taking both your hands. Slowly, he signed with careful precision. "I love being your safe place. Even when I'm tired. Even when the world's loud. You're my quiet, and I need that more than anything."

You didn't reply with words. You just wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your forehead to his. His hands found your back, holding you gently.

No sound. No movement. Just steady breath and warmth.

When the doors finally opened, the café slowly began to fill with regulars. Arthur stayed a bit longer, greeting a few familiar faces - off-duty officers, elderly neighbors, even that little boy who always came in with his grandfather for banana bread and left you hand-drawn doodles on napkins.

Arthur squatted beside the boy's table, ruffling the kid's hair as he looked at the napkin doodle of a blocky, square-jawed robot.

"Good drawing. Your robot looks strong, partner" he said, gently.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "He fights space pirates," he said proudly.

Arthur smiled. "I get that. Gotta protect the galaxy somehow."

You watched from behind the counter, leaning against the espresso machine as Arthur patted the boy's shoulder and stood up with a soft grunt. 

He caught your gaze and signed, "Kids these days - draw better than I do."

You replied, "I've seen your drawings. He definitely does."

Arthur put a hand to his chest, staggered back dramatically, and signed, "Betrayal. In my own wife's café."

The café was humming now - steady foot traffic, warm chatter, the clinking of spoons and coffee cups - but there was no urgency in your bones today. Arthur, still dressed in a soft gray NYPD hoodie and jogger, had no radio on his belt, only badge at his side (in case something happens) and no obligation but you.

"Y'know," he said between sips of your best cappuccino, "this place of yours? It's got magic in it."

You raised an eyebrow.

He leaned back in the wooden chair near the window and signed with one hand as he spoke, "People come in tired and grumpy, but they leave with that look - like they've remembered something good."

You tilted your head slightly. "Maybe it's the coffee."

Arthur chuckled. "Or maybe it's the woman behind the counter." He signed it so simply, so matter-of-fact, and then took another sip of coffee like it hadn't just made your heart flip over.

Around 11:00, things started to quiet again. You flipped the sign to "Back in 10" and nodded towards the back where your little kitchenette waited. Arthur followed like a golden retriever, ducking under the doorframe with a grin.

You pointed to the skillet. "Your turn to cook."

He raised his eyebrows. "Dangerous idea, ma'am."

"You promised pancakes."

Arthur scratched his neck, pretending to think. "I also once promised to cut carbs. Didn't work out."

Still, he tied your spare apron around his waist - comically small on him - and started cracking eggs like a pro. You leaned on the counter, watching him, amused.

"You should open your own cafe."

"Only if you run the register and scare away the health inspector," he replied, flipping a pancake with far too much flair.

You stuck your tongue out at him. He gave you a wink in return.

Because it was just the two of you, and because the moment called for it, you ate pancakes sitting on the café floor in the sunbeam near the front window - legs stretched out, syrup on your fingers, his ankle lazily brushing against yours.

Arthur chewed thoughtfully and then signed, "This is perfect."

You tapped your chin. "It's just pancakes."

He shook his head. "It's you and pancakes. That's what makes it perfect."

The afternoon rolled in like warm honey. Arthur helped wash dishes while humming some old outlaw folk song under his breath, the same one you'd caught him mumbling during late-night laundry. He dried the plates with a rhythm, occasionally tossing you a dish towel like a basketball, missing terribly each time.

Later, when business picked up again, Arthur helped serve coffee, wiping down tables and clearing trays while you manned the espresso machine. Some of your regulars looked up in surprise. Even your workers too. 

"Ye finally got the husband t'work, did ya?" Sean teased, your loud mouthed waiter.

Arthur leaned down with a grin and whispered just loud enough for you to see. "She pays in muffins and forehead kisses. I ain't complainin'."

As the sun dipped low and golden light painted the inside of the café, you found a rare quiet minute to breathe. Arthur was sitting at the bar, spinning a spoon between his fingers, tired but calm.

You walked over and leaned your elbows next to him.

He glanced sideways at you, then reached out gently to tap your hand, signing. "Thank you for letting me be part of your world."

You shook your head, smiling softly. "It's our world."

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft - long enough to make your cheeks warm.

Outside, the city kept moving. But inside that café, everything else was still.

After the last cup had been poured and the floors swept clean, Arthur locked the door behind you and offered you his arm dramatically like some cowboy prince. You looped yours through his and leaned your head against him.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Happy tired."

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You know what I was thinking all day?" he asked aloud, then signed to match.

"We should do this again. You and me. No badge. No rush. Just pancakes, bad mop dancing, and quiet."

You reached for his hand and signed,

"Let's make it a monthly thing. 'Arthur Day.'"

His eyes lit up. "Hell yeah. But I want it in writing. And snacks in advance."

You laughed.

And with that, you walked home together in the quiet evening, the scent of coffee still on your clothes and the warmth of a shared, simple day stitched into your hearts.

[multisaku-rarepair-cove]

❦ FOOLS IN LOVE ❦

APRIL 1 ~ APRIL 4

A MultiSaku RarePair Event

Very excited to announce the Cove's first event! We'll be posting an invite to the the Cove's discord server a week prior to the event start!

【Mods: @frostmarris @hallous @princessxgarbage | Text version under the cut!】

PROMPTS

Each day has two sets of similarly themed, but opposing, prompts for a total of four.

DAY ONE ❦ APRIL 1

Fool's Gold | Diamond in the Rough

Enemies to Loves | Lovers to Enemies

DAY TWO ❦ APRIL 2

First Kiss | Kiss Goodbye

Walking on Air | Walking on Eggshells

DAY THREE ❦ APRIL 3

Summer Solstice | Winter Solstice

Secrets Kept | Secret Revealed

DAY FOUR ❦ APRIL 4

Heroes & Nobles | Thieves & Vagabonds

Wonderland | Wasteland

THE FOOLS

As decided by the MultiSaku RarePair Survey

Kisame ❦ Deidara ❦ Neji

Kankuro ❦ Kiba ❦ Tobirama

Obito ❦ Minato ❦ Karin

Hidan ❦ Yamato ❦ Temari

Haku ❦ Konan ❦ Cee

Kimimaro ❦ Sai ❦ Shino

Zabuza ❦ Genma

RULES

If you have any questions, please DM a mod via discord or through the @multisaku-rarepair-cove blog

❦ Only use this year's Fools for your MultiSaku RarePair ships. You can mix-and-match to form any OT3s or polyships.

❦ You can use any one or combo of the 4 prompts for each day. Whichever inspires you! You do NOT have to use both dual prompts.

❦ Any fan content (art, fic, moodboards, cosplay, etc.) is welcome, provided it is YOUR OWN.

❦ Use the tag #foolsinlove25 (tumblr, ao3, etc.) and tag the @multisaku-rarepair-cove tumblr.

❦ AI/machine learning content is NOT welcome.

❦ All NSFW and dark content must be tagged and have appropriate content warnings.

[beccawise7]

Tuesday Tidbits!

~Japanese scientists have created an MRI machine that can record your dreams so you can watch them later. 👀

~A survey of 20,000 people in the US found that 91% of them feel dirty talk before & during sex contribute in a positive way to intensity.

~According to a UK survey, 78% of men said they communicate better in person when side-by-side rather than staring directly at their partner. Due to face to face feeling more confrontational.

~66% of women surveyed had stronger orgasms during anal sex than any other type.

~90% of men in psychology testing wished they learned, at an earlier age, to ask their partners if they were seeking comfort or solutions when discussing problems together.

~Deep Intimacy (not sex) between partners is the number one desired & yet missing aspect of couples in therapy for their relationship.

~Kindness is free & it costs nothing to be a good human.

Have a great day!

~beccawise7💜🖤

[xpbrandai]

The Economic Impact of Ineffective Decision-Making in Global Companies

Ineffective decision-making poses significant risks to global companies, impacting financial performance, operational efficiency, strategic competitiveness, and reputational integrity. However, by leveraging AI insights from Xp, companies can mitigate these risks and make more informed, data-driven decisions. As companies continue to embrace AI as a strategic tool, the role of AI in enhancing decision-making and driving long-term success will only continue to grow, shaping the future of business in profound ways.

[ghostofskywalker]

Hi! Im not sure if you're still taking requests for your clone-urary event, but here I got. Could I request an F!Reader x Fox with the prompt "Do you want to go out sometime...?" || "Like a date?" || "Y-yeah, like a date".

It gives me a idiots in love to idiot lovers' vibe.

this is such a cute prompt, and fox was fun to write it with! i tried to go for the mutual pining/they both don't realize the other feels the same way vibe, and i still have your other request in my inbox, i hope to start on that soon!

What Happens To The Caf Machine (Sometimes Leads to The Admittance of Feelings)

words: 1,395

summary: As the caretaker of the Senate Archives, you don't usually see too many people. But when the Coruscant Guard's caf machine is out of commission one morning, your favorite trooper comes in to ask a favor, and things blossom from there.

clone troopers masterlist || request a clone-uary fic!

“Good morning Commander!” you said brightly as Fox’s telltale red helmet appeared in the doorway of the Senate Archives. 

“Good morning,” he greeted in return. While the cadence of his voice was nowhere near as cheery as yours had been, you didn’t think much of it. With the workload that he had and the amount of stress that undoubtedly rested on his shoulders, you didn’t blame him for not being cheery this early in the morning. “Can I use your caf machine?” 

“Of course,” you said, watching as he stepped behind your large desk and crossed the doorway into your small office. His visits to your little office in the Archives had become something of a routine at this point, and you’d be lying if you said you disliked it. You technically shared the sprawling basement of the Senate building with the headquarters of the Coruscant Guard, and lately Fox had been making regular appearances throughout the day, whether it was because he had something to ask you, or to just hide away in the stacks of books and documents for a little while.

“Thorn hogging your machine again?” you asked, stifling a laugh as you watched him survey the small collection of mugs you had amassed in your time here. Unlike the times you had been in his break room, where it seemed every trooper used the same blank white drinkware for their caf, your mugs were bright, colorful, and sometimes oddly shaped. 

“Thorn broke our machine,” was Fox’s answer, finally pulling out a pale blue mug with the first initial of your name on it. “The di’kut said he would fix it, but last time he said that, the machine ended up exploding all over the next person who tried to make some caf.” 

Laughter bubbled from your lips as you considered the sight in your mind’s eye. “And who was the unlucky victim?” 

Fox removed his helmet, allowing you to see the serious expression on his face. “Me,” he deadpanned. 

You laughed once more, playfully ignoring the glare he shot you. “Well, no matter what happens to your caf machine, you can alway come in and use this one. Even if I’m not here.” 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, face softening at your words. 

When the counter top contraption finally whirred to life and began to dispense (heavenly-smelling) caf into the mug, you smiled, starting a conversation you seemed to have every single time he was here. “I have milk and creamer in the small chiller over there, and there should be some sweetener packets resting in the bowl next to the machine if you want them.” 

And like every time you had made the offer before, you received the same answer. “No thank you, black caf is just fine with me.” 

You smiled, watching as he moved out of the office and back towards the entryway to the archives. “I know, but it’s here if you ever change your mind.”

Selfishly, you wanted him to stay. Your fascination with the marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard had done nothing but grow in recent rotations, and it was spiraling to full-on crush territory. You wanted to learn everything about him, to spend as much time together as the galaxy would allow, and you desperately wanted to make him laugh. While you had seen the commander’s smile on a few prior occasions, the sound of his laughter was still elusive, and it was very quickly becoming your most important mission. 

“I’ll bring your mug back when I’m done,” he said, and you smiled. 

“I’m not worried about that,” was your response. “Besides, I know where you work.” 

A smile crossed his lips as well, and what sounded like the barest beginnings of a laugh formed before the expression faded. Well, at least you knew he liked your jokes. “Thank you,” he said, nodding at you with an appreciative expression before putting his helmet back on and heading out the door. 

As you waved goodbye to him and began your actual tasks for the day, you couldn’t help the way your mind wandered to daydreams of the commander, and the way you hoped that his caf machine remained out of commission for the foreseeable future. 

***

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you saw Fox again, and you looked up from the document you were transcribing with a smile as he walked through the door again, the mug you had lent him earlier safe and sound in his hands. It was something of a welcome surprise to see that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. “I came to return this,” he said, gently passing the mug from his hands to yours. “And to thank you again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “Did Thorn fix your caf machine?” 

Fox shook his head. “He’s attempting to as we speak. From the profanity I heard coming from the break room walls, I don’t think it’s going that well.” 

You laughed. “Well, at least there haven't been any explosions yet.” 

But it seemed the galaxy wanted to showcase its comedy skills in this moment, because right after you finished speaking, the sound of something echoed through the walls, shaking some of the tomes as they sat upon the archive’s endless shelves. It was silent in the room for a moment as you and Fox locked eyes, and then the very thing you had been hoping for happened: the commander began to laugh. It was a joyful sound that you immediately decided you wanted to hear every single day for the rest of your life, and it didn’t take more than a second for you to join in. 

“Well,” you said, after finally composing yourself. “I guess you’ll be using my caf machine for a little longer then.” 

“I suppose so,” he responded, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his face changed as he smiled. There was no telling what stress he was subjected to on a daily basis, but right now, as some of that seemed to have slipped away, he looked almost younger. “I’ll have to start bringing my own mugs and ground caf."

“Oh please, don’t even worry about it!” 

“No, I couldn’t-” 

“Fox,” you said, cutting him off. “You’ve seen my mug collection, you know I have more than enough. And the caf here is stocked by the Senate, I don’t pay a credit for it.” 

He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I still want to thank you for your kindness though.” If you didn’t know any better, you would almost say that the look on his face was one of nervousness. 

“Well, you don’t have to bring me caf to do that,” was your response, and you kept talking before you could really process what was coming out of your mouth. “Do you want to go out sometime?” 

Your words had clearly come as a shock to him, and his eyes widened as he took in your words. Thankfully though, he didn’t shoot you down right away, and the voice he responded with was much softer than you had ever heard before. “Like a date?”

Kriff it, you might as well own this now. If he refused, maybe you could still be friends, or at least friendly acquaintances. “Y-yeah, like a date.” 

But to your surprise, he didn’t pull a face and awkwardly try to end the conversation. “I’d like that,” he said quietly. 

Right as you were about to speak, the comm device on his wrist started to blare, and it was clear that either the situation with the caf machine had suddenly gotten a lot more involved, or something else had happened that needed his attention. “I’m so sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you’re an important guy around here,” you responded, grabbing a piece of flimsi from your desk and quickly scribbling something on it. “Here’s my comm frequency, maybe we could go out for dinner when we’re both off.”

He smiled, quickly silencing the ringing as he grabbed the flimsi from your hands. “That sounds great.” 

He was out the door seconds later, but you didn’t blame him for the interruption. Looking back at the mug he had returned, you couldn’t help but smile, because even though nothing was set in stone just yet, you had a date with Commander Fox.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[insomniac-astronomer]

Thunderbolts Fam x fem!Reader: Trying to be Sneaky

Description: Despite your best attempts to hide your chronic GI issues, Yelena and Bucky find you sneaking your medication.

Pronouns: she/her

WARNINGS: this is about gasteoparesis. Swearing. Mentions of symptoms related to that, medication (laxative). Medical gaslighting that everyone goes through when they tell you "just take miralax twice a day 😁"

Note: because I'm learning that hot girls have GI issues and it actually shouldn't be embarrassing.

*not my gif*

You gently close your laptop as your stomach begins to twist uncomfortably.

Fuck.

You were so absorbed in your work that you forgot to take your second dose of miralax. Usually you slip it into your drink at dinner so no one will notice.

You sigh, heading to the kitchen.

Surveying the drink options, you decide hot chocolate would at least be somewhat rewarding despite your stomach actively trying to strangle itself alive.

But, you're all out of packets. Only K-Cups left and the Keurig is on its last leg.

You load the pod in and press start, cringing as the machine groans to life. You glace around to make sure no one else is awake.

Finally, it starts pouring your drink and quiets down. You breathe a sigh of relief.

You shuffle back to your room and grab the miralax bottle carefully hidden in your T-shirt drawer. It feels light, you'll need to pick up some more tomorrow.

You hurry back to the kitchen before your drink can get cold. You open the bottle and begin to pour out the familiar white grains into the cap, until the flow stops halfway.

Shit.

Well, more like no shit. You peer in to check for anything that might be blocking it, but the empty bottle stares back up at you.

Suddenly, the bottle is ripped from your hand.

"Laxatives?" Yelena's familiar laughter rings from behind you. You feel your heart rate pick up, not wanting to face her while she's still holding what society might consider the most embarrassing medication to take.

"And-" Bucky slides into your view, grabbing your mug. "A cup of hot chocolate."

This could not get any worse.

You stand physically frozen. How are you supposed to respond in a situation like this? Two of the strongest assassins on Earth catching their assistant with miralax?

Yelena's laughter dies down the longer you stand there.

"Are you okay?" She places a hand on your shoulder, setting the bottle back down on the counter.

"Yep," you respond meekly.

"You woke up the whole damn tower brewing your drink." Bucky says as he fills a glass with water.

"I'm sorry," you clear your throat to get the words out.

"Um, I think-" now Bob is here, wonderful. "Maybe, we should-"

He points sheepishly to the hall. A look of understanding washes over Yelena's face.

"Oh, did I embarrass you?"

"N-" your voice catches again, "no."

"I am so sorry!" She wraps you in a rough hug from behind. "Go, take your medication."

"Okay, great-" you die slowly as you pour the half-filled dose into the cup.

Then, you realize you never grabbed a spoon. Bucky is leaning against the silverware drawer.

You take a breath of courage and awkwardly reach for the handle. "Sorry, I'm just gonna get in here-"

"Yeah, sure," he jumps away and you quickly grab the first spoon you see.

You reach for your cup, hardly paying attention. It slips from your hand and shatters onto the ground.

You stand there, spoon in hand, just staring at it.

Bob moves to start cleaning it, which snaps you back.

"No, I got it, I got it." Just as you were starting to get comfortable living with these people, something like this has to happen and ruin everything.

"Okay," Yelena bends down and begins picking up pieces of shattered ceramic. "Now I am actually sorry."

"Do you have another one?"

You jump as Ava materializes next to you, holding the empty bottle.

"No, it's fine." You focus intently on wiping up the liquid and whisper to yourself, "oh my God, this cannot be happening."

"I can go, buy you another one-" Bob steps forward, but pauses at the tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

"Hey," Ava leans down next to you. "What's going on?"

"I'm so sorry, I woke all of you up, I was already running out, now I have none, not that it helps anyway, and now you're all here trying to help me-"

"Nope, come on." Yelena wacks your arm. "No more tears. We are all friends and we all help each other."

You take a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Who made this big mess?" Alexei is suddenly towering over you wearing the largest robe you've ever seen with a giant Avengers logo on the front.

Yelena groans, "not now, Dad, go back to sleep."

"No, who smashed the mug? Was it you, 'Lena? You waking me up-"

"No, no, sorry, it was me," you carry a clump of paper towels to the trash can. "Butterfingers, anyway, I'm just going to go back to bed. Sorry to wake everyone, thanks for helping me clean, see you tomorrow."

"Bob, what happened?" Alexei turns to Bob as he awkwardly laughs. "I know you cannot lie, tell me now. That was my favorite mug."

"I have literally never seen you touch that mug." Bucky comments.

"Nonsense, I use that mug everyday."

"She, uh, we, kinda, saw her trying to sneak miralax into her drink but then she got nervous and," you give Bob a death stare. "Dropped it."

"Bob!" You snap.

"S-sorry." He takes a few steps back toward the nearest wall.

You sigh, "no, I'm sorry. I'm just . . . feeling a lot of emotion right now."

Alexei shakes his head disapprovingly. You dread what he is about to say next, expecting the worst. "What is this? You are too young to have problem. Now, I- I have problem all the time-"

"Dad! No one wants to hear that!" Yelena whines.

That just makes you feel so great about yourself.

"Why, why are you taking this bullshit?" He abruptly knocks the bottle off the table.

You are slightly stunned from the sudden violence. "My, uh, doctor told me to? I tried to tell her it wasn't working but she just, um, told me to keep at it. Forever, I guess."

"Bah!" He suddenly yells. "I go pay doctor a visit in the morning and I wear Red Guardian suit. I threaten her and if she tells you that again, I strangle her-"

"Okay, that is very much not necessary, but thanks. I'm actually good to just keep trying."

"You shouldn't have to settle." Ava says softly. "You deserve to find something that works."

"Yeah, well, at this rate, I won't. I appreciate the thought, but it's pointless." You shake your head, putting the spoon back in the drawer.

"Not that I like to agree with him," Yelena gives her father a pointed look. "But I think we should go have a little talk, see what her professional opinion is then."

"Either way," Bucky steps in before Alexei can get too excited. "We're here to help you."

"Yeah, you don't have to hide this from us." Bob says.

You smiles softly. "Thanks, guys."

"Okay, I'm exhausted. Don't wake me up in the morning or I'll tie you to the helipad for an hour." Yelena heads down the hallway.

"Same," Bucky follows her.

"Okay, kids, goodnight. I will see you in the morning for possible mission," Alexei wraps you in a bone-crushing hug.

"Yeah, possibly," you squeeze out. He finally releases you and you take a huge breath.

"If you need anything, I'm right down the hall." Ava gives you a smile and exits.

"I was serious. I can go buy you more if you need." Bob slowly creeps up to you.

"No, I'll be okay. Thank you, though. I appreciate it, Bob." You offer him a sincere smile.

"Yeah, of course."

You awkwardly wait for him to say something else. "Well, goodnight, then."

"Yeah, yeah, goodnight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

You laugh. "You, too."

Sorry, I hate John. Actually have no idea how I would write him into this. Though I do low-key ship him and Ava so I'd prob write that.

[incorrect-mtg]

The Argent Etchings teach no fear

Fez Xa'ktiz knew no fear as he stepped through the omenpath, even though it was the first time he would be in a world not his own. He was the First Vanguard of the Choir within the Seven Hundred and Forty Eighth Expedition Force of the Alabaster Host and through his lips the song of the Mother of Machines would be spread, her presence was always with — within — him.

Fear was a weakness of the incompleat, of those not yet blessed by the light of Phyrexia, not yet held in the sweet embrace of the Mother of Machines, not yet baptized in ichor. It was the inevitable result of imperfection and lack of unity, something that would soon be eradicated through their work, where the entire multiverse would find purpose and belonging.

Fez Xa'ktiz was not born to feel fear, he was born to sing. He was not born to be alone, he forever heard the whispers of the Mother of Machines, the guiding force of his own voice.

"In the Argent Etchings we each learn our appointed duties and so we understand our purpose" he heard the Mother whisper within him, and so it was with delight that he fully crossed the boundary into a nameless world.

As the rest of the Expedition Force stepped through the omenpath behind him — alongside a number of members of the Chrome Host — he did a first survey of the site of their arrival. Although the Machine Orthodoxy held knowledge of countless worlds, eagerly gathered in preparation of the events now unfolding, there were countless more about which they had known little to nothing. He had been trusted with charting one such world, hence the presence of the Chrome Host, and so any insight would be beneficial.

The most noticeable aspect was the material of the walls that surrounded him — organic, disgusting wood — and then the realization that they had, indeed, arrived in a room. A large hall, rectangular in shape, its dark and stained walls covered by peeling and roting paper and littered with assorted objects that might have long ago implied a living presence. At the each of the most distant ends of the hall, flimsy doors hid the rest of the world from sight.

Curious... although the Mother of Machines guaranteed that their feet would find stable ground to cross on arrival, he thought it unlikely for said ground to be in a building, much less an abandoned one.

His duty was not to ask questions, however, unlike the members of the Chrome Host that had immediately set upon their given task of setting up observation devices, scanners and other such contraptions. Typical of apostates who saw observation of their surroundings as a better path to perfection than the much more enlightened learning through the Argent Etchings themselves.

"In the Argent Etchings we see the world as it should be, and so they light the path towards perfection" whispered the voice of the Mother of Machines again as he turned towards his fellows in the Alabaster Host. Unlike their Gitaxian counterparts, they had organized themselves single file, silent and waiting for orders. Sixteen divisions of sixteen soldiers, each led by another Vanguard of the Choir, the perfect ordination for the forces of Phyrexia.

Fez Xa'ktiz opened his mouth and let ring the song to which he had been entrusted, its metallic shrieking and undulating depths shaking the walls around them at the same time it gave the soldiers purpose. As each member of the Choir echoed in delightfully rending harmony, they set out to do their work. The forces split in two and moved towards each door, followed by quickly assembled Gitaxian probes. As both doors opened into new halls, each splitting off into different directions, the Host split up further into smaller forces, until finally each division pressed on individually, mapping out the path that they took and noting all other paths they missed, which would likely be explored by the drones the Chrome Host was sending off.

Although not able to see through their eyes, the resonance of their singing allowed Fez Xa'ktiz a measure of understanding of the surroundings each division passed through, which let him see that whatever building had been unwittingly chosen as the landing spot of their invasion was still large enough that none of their forces had arrived at an outside. Odd, although not beyond the realm of possibility — perhaps this place was a crude and disgustingly organic facsimile of the Fair Basilica, an entire world brought within a greater structure — and something that would definitely be worth noting.

Of perhaps equal note was the first living being found within the plane: a moth, its gray fluttering wings carrying it through the doors and right by him. Perhaps it had sat in a hidden alcove, and the passing forces had awoken it? How serendipitous, then, that it had been drawn by the light of the omenpath right towards them.

Bringing forth a hand towards the insect, Fez Xa'ktiz was delighted to see it land upon his claw, its wings closing and antennae fluttering as they regarded each other, black eyes meeting perfectly polished ivory... This creature, insignificant as it might be, would be fitting first initiate for this world. A moth reaching for the light and finding its own perfection upon arrival.

Extending his tongue, he let it be cut by one of his sharp fangs, black ichor dripping through the wound. Leaning his head down, he let it drip directly onto the moth until its gray wings turned black. Surprisingly it had no reaction to such a treatment, even though he knew compleation was supposed to be — meant to be — a painful process.

"Weakness burrows deep in the flesh of the incompleat. It bites down and refuses to let go. Their first step towards perfection is to extricate it and bleed out its rot" taught the Mother of Machines, even though the vermin on his claw seemed to defy such clear teachings... Until the entire thing came undone, breaking apart like petals falling off a dead flower.

Perhaps... Perhaps it was simply too weak. If someone — something — was wholly comprised of weakness, how could they remove it without ceasing to exist entirely? Yes, that made sense. To react in pain, to shake and twist and cry, one would need parts of themselves to remain, the parts that weren't corrupted by weakness. The insect likely had nothing to offer and so could not even muster a reaction.

He put the moth out of his mind, focusing on more important matters: one division had finally met living beings to oppose its passage. Not insignificant vermin, but actual fighters charging directly at them.

The walls rumbled and shook as Fez Xa'ktiz increased the volume of his song, the lessons and tactics etched in his mind echoing towards the legions of soldiers now finally seeing battle. Like the beasts of the Hunter Maze, warriors seemed to come out of the woodwork, their rusty and jagged weapons doing little and nothing against perfect phyrexian soldiers-

No, that wasn't right... The walls, they had not shaken due to his song, had they? Or had they? He didn't understand why it mattered, but he would swear that they shook first, then he had intensified his singing...

"The enem- even some of our al- see meri- ception- crush- overwhel-" murmured... The Mother of Machines? Why could he not hear her clearly?

He sang louder still, certain his voice would reach all members of their force — be it Alabaster or Chrome — and through the omenpath itself to the Mother of Machines. In the echo of his song, he would find stable ground-

His next step — had it been a step forward, towards his soldiers, or backwards, towards the omenpath? — found nothing but empty air, the wood underneath him rotting and opening into an abyss.

He quickly spread his wings, trying to stabilize and go back to where he had been even as he was spun around by gravity and air resistance, until his body met the ground with a loud crack and roaring pain and his consciousness left him.

When he woke up, one of his wings broken after taking most of the force of his fall, he did not know how long he had laid there. It could not have been long, certainly, for the Chrome Host would have certainly sent a drone to retrieve him given enough time — shameful as it might have been — and yet he laid alone, the silence of the room cut only by a dripping sound.

(Why was he alone? Why could he not hear the voice of the Mother of Machines)

He looked around, taking stock of the room and how its smooth white walls were almost as beautiful as those of the Fair Basilica, except instead of being made of ivory they seemed covered by... Wax?

His gaze finally fell upon his remaining wing. Rather than being bent out of shape like its counterpart, the limb has been spread behind and to the side of him, and was covered in the same material that covered the rest of the room, already in the process of solidifying. Another drip, directly onto it, served as confirmation.

To fly back with a single wing would prove a challenge, but with two wings damaged it would be impossible. Furthermore, if he was to be forced to drag himself up the hole he had fallen through, the weight of the wax would simply make things harder. Without hesitation, he pushed his claws under the material, right where feathers met wax: Even if some of it had dried already, the ichor that would pour through the wounds would close them quickly, he was certain-

That certainty lasted only until the pain — beyond what he had ever felt, ever knew could be felt — spread from his wing as he pulled the wax off. This- this wasn't normal. He-

The liquid that poured out of his wounds, where wax had pulled feathers and skin and bones alongside it, was not ichor.

It was red... Why was it red?

"What foolish prey, that wanders into an open maw thinking themselves the predators" whispered the Mother- no, this was not her voice. These were not her words.

The walls surrounding him rumbled once again, so hard it seemed the entire world was shaking, before stopping. Then again, before stopping, repeating, stopping, and on and on and on.

As Fez Xa'ktiz laid alone, his wounds bleeding a liquid that should not be there, he knew that the rumbling was certainly the consequences of battle: the Mother of Machines must have heard his last cries and sent forth more soldiers to tame this accursed world.

And yet a small part of him couldn't help but fear that the rumbling felt like a delighted and cruel laughter.

[spacetelescopescience]

Did You Know: Scientists will analyze data from the Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope in the cloud? (For most missions, research often happens on astronomers’ personal computers.) Claire Murray, a scientist at the Space Telescope Science Institute, and her colleague Manuel Sanchez, a cloud engineer, share how this space, known as the Roman Research Nexus, builds on previous missions’ online platforms:

Claire Murray: Roman has an extremely wide field of view and a fast survey speed. Those two facts mean the data volume is going to be orders of magnitude larger than what we're used to. We will enable users to interact with this gigantic dataset in the cloud. They will be able to log in to the platform and perform the same types of analysis they would normally do on their local machines.

Manuel Sanchez: The Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite (TESS) mission’s science platform, known as the Timeseries Integrated Knowledge Engine (TIKE), was our first try at introducing users to this type of workflow on the cloud. With TIKE, we have been learning researchers’ usage patterns. We can track the performance and metrics, which is helping us design the appropriate environment and capabilities for Roman. Our experience with other science platforms also helps us save time from a coding perspective. The code is basically the same for our platforms, but we can customize it as needed.

Read the full interview: https://www.stsci.edu/contents/annual-reports/2024/where-data-and-people-meet

[shiorihyugawrites]

Red Regrets

Twelve years ago, Levi Ackerman made the hardest decision of his life—he left behind the only woman he ever loved, believing it was for her own good. But fate is cruel, and when a fiery redheaded boy with a familiar scowl crosses his path, Levi is forced to confront the past he abandoned. The truth he never knew. And the woman whose heart he shattered. (Levi x OC)

Chapter Eighteen

The late afternoon sun bathed Wall Sina in a warm, golden glow, filtering through the tall windows of Dr. Penelope Iverson’s clinic. The space was a testament to her brilliance and dedication: pristine white walls adorned with anatomical charts, shelves lined with medical texts, and a counter cluttered with neatly labeled vials and instruments. The air carried the faint scent of antiseptic and lavender, a calming contrast to the bustle of patients moving through the waiting area. 

Penelope stood behind the examination counter, her rose-red curls pinned in a loose bun, a few strands framing her olive-skinned face. Her fitted burgundy dress hugged her curvy frame, the white doctor’s coat over it slightly creased from a long day. Her golden eyes, sharp with focus, scanned a patient chart as she dictated notes to a young medical student shadowing her.

“Ensure the dosage is adjusted for his weight,” Penelope instructed, her voice crisp but patient. “Too much could cause dizziness, too little won’t touch the infection. Recalculate and show me before you leave.”

The student, a nervous girl with a notepad, nodded vigorously. “Yes, Dr. Iverson. I’ll have it ready in ten minutes.”

Penelope offered a small smile, her deep dimples softening the intensity of her presence. “Good. You’re learning fast, Mara. Keep it up.”

As Mara scurried off, the clinic door swung open with a jingle, admitting Commander Hange in a whirlwind of energy. Her scout uniform was slightly disheveled, her glasses perched precariously on her nose, and her brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. She carried a stack of papers under one arm, though they seemed more an afterthought than a purpose. The patients in the waiting area glanced up, startled by the sudden arrival of the Survey Corps’ commander, but Hange’s focus was singular: Penelope.

“Penelope!” Hange exclaimed, striding across the room with a grin that promised mischief. “My favorite doctor in all the Walls! How’s the miracle worker doing today?”

Penelope looked up, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Hange,” she said, her tone a mix of amusement and suspicion. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have, oh, I don’t know, a regiment to run?” She set the chart down, crossing her arms, her posture radiating the no-nonsense authority that made her clinic a well-oiled machine.

Hange waved a hand dismissively, plopping the papers onto the counter with a thud. “Pfft, the scouts can survive without me for an hour. I’m here on a mission of utmost importance.” She leaned forward, her grin widening. “I want you to be our head doctor. Officially. Full-time. The Survey Corps needs you, Penelope.”

The clinic seemed to pause, the hum of activity dimming as patients and staff overheard the bold declaration. Penelope’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of exasperation passed through her eyes. “Hange, we’ve been over this,” she said, her voice firm but calm. “I have a clinic to run, patients who depend on me, and medical students I’m training. I can’t just drop everything to join the scouts.”

Hange’s enthusiasm didn’t falter. She clasped her hands together, her eyes gleaming with determination. “But you were incredible the other day! Fifty recruits, cleared in a single day, with precision I’ve never seen from our current medic. No offense to him, but he’s… well, let’s just say he’s not you. I’m ready to fire the guy if it means getting you on board.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “You’re going to fire a man for being less efficient than me? That’s a bit harsh, even for you.”

“Okay, maybe not fire,” Hange amended, backtracking with a sheepish grin. “But reassign! To… paperwork or something. Come on, Penelope, you’re a natural. The Scouts are rebuilding, and we need the best. You’re the best.”

Penelope sighed, rubbing her temple as if warding off a headache. “Hange, I appreciate the flattery, but my answer hasn’t changed. This clinic is my responsibility. I’ve built it from nothing, and I’m not abandoning it. My students need me, my patients need me, and frankly, I don’t have the time to play field medic for the scouts.”

Hange’s grin faded, replaced by a dramatic pout. She dropped to her knees in the middle of the clinic, clasping her hands in a theatrical plea. “Penelope, please! I’m begging you! The scouts are desperate, and you’re our only hope. Think of the lives you could save, the soldiers you could patch up, the—”

“Hange, get up!” Penelope hissed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as patients craned their necks to stare. “You’re making a scene, and you’re the Commander of the Survey Corps! Have some decorum, for God’s sake!”

Hange remained on her knees, undeterred, her voice rising in a mock wail. “I can’t get up until you say yes! The fate of humanity rests on your shoulders, Penelope Iverson!”

Penelope’s exasperation gave way to a reluctant laugh, her dimples deepening despite herself. “Hange, don’t you have important things to do? Like actually leading the scouts? Planning missions? Not kneeling in my clinic like a child throwing a tantrum?”

Hange’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Leading is overrated. Begging is way more fun.” She shuffled closer on her knees, ignoring the stares of a nearby patient clutching a bandage. “Come on, Penelope. Think about it. The Scouts need you. This is your chance to help humanity directly. To be a hero!”

Penelope’s expression hardened, her golden eyes glinting with resolve. “Nice try, Hange, but I’m not falling for the hero speech. I help humanity every day, right here, treating people who’d otherwise be left to suffer. My answer is no. Final.”

Hange’s shoulders slumped, but she wasn’t out of tricks yet. She rose to her feet, dusting off her knees, and leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, okay, forget the hero stuff. Let’s talk about something more… personal.” She waggled her eyebrows. “If you’re the head medic, you’ll be around Levi all the time. Working side by side, saving lives, maybe sneaking off for a little… you know.” She winked, her grin downright devilish.

Penelope’s laugh was sharp and immediate. “Hange, really? That’s your play?” She shook her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “I see Levi almost every day. He comes over for dinner with Preston as often as he can. I don’t need to join the scouts to spend time with him. Try again.”

Hange groaned, throwing her head back in exaggerated despair. “You’re impossible! I’m out of cards, Penelope. I’ve got nothing left but whining and begging.” She clutched Penelope’s arm, her voice dropping to a plaintive whine. “Pleeeease, Penelope. Pretty please with sugar on top? I’ll do anything! I’ll clean your clinic! I’ll babysit Preston! I’ll—”

“Hange, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Penelope said, gently but firmly prying Hange’s hands off her arm. “And you’re scaring my patients. Look, I’ll help the Scouts if you’re in a dire emergency, like the other day. But I’m not leaving my clinic. That’s the end of it.”

Hange’s face fell, her energy deflating like a punctured balloon. She sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Fine,” she muttered. “I get it. I’m bummed, but I get it.”

Before Penelope could respond, the clinic door jingled again, admitting Levi and Preston. Levi’s sharp gray eyes scanned the room, his scout uniform impeccable, his posture radiating quiet authority. Preston, his rose-red hair tousled from a day at school, slouched beside him, his gray eyes mirroring his father’s but softened by youth. He carried a satchel slung over one shoulder, his expression a mix of embarrassment and defiance.

“Mom!” Preston called, spotting Penelope. “Dad insisted on picking me up from school. Said it was ‘on his way,’ but it was so embarrassing. Everyone was staring!”

Levi’s lips twitched, a faint smirk breaking his stoic facade. “You’ll live, brat,” he said, his voice low. “Better than you wandering the streets and getting into trouble.”

Penelope’s smile widened, her dimples deepening as she took in the sight of her son and Levi. But her amusement faded as she noticed Hange, still clinging to her arm, her face a picture of exaggerated misery. Levi’s gaze zeroed in on the scene, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he demanded, striding forward. He grabbed Hange by the collar, pulling her upright with a single, fluid motion. “Hange, pull it together. You’re the damn Commander, not some street beggar.”

Hange yelped, flailing slightly as Levi released her. “Levi! I was just… having a friendly chat with Penelope!”

“A chat?” Levi’s voice was flat, his glare cutting. “Looks like you’re harassing her. Again.”

Preston, catching the gist, grinned mischievously. “What’s Commander Hange begging for now? Mom, is it another scout thing?”

Penelope sighed, crossing her arms. “Hange wants me to be the scouts’ head doctor. Full-time. I’ve told her no, but she’s not taking it well.”

Levi’s expression darkened, his gaze snapping to Hange. “I told you to drop that idea,” he said, his voice low and edged with steel. “Penelope’s got enough on her plate—her clinic, her students, Preston. She doesn’t need you piling on more.”

Hange raised her hands defensively. “I know, I know! But she was so good the other day, Levi! Better than our current medic by miles. I thought maybe—”

“No,” Levi cut her off, his tone final. “She said no. Respect it.”

Preston, undeterred by the tension, piped up, his gray eyes gleaming with excitement. “I think it’d be cool if you were the scouts’ doctor, Mom! You’d be there to patch me up when I join after cadet training!”

Penelope’s heart sank, her golden eyes softening with a mix of love and dread. Levi’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to his son, but he didn’t snap. They’d had this conversation too many times, and they’d reluctantly agreed to let Preston choose his path, even if it tore at them both.

“Preston,” Penelope said, her voice gentle but firm, “we’ve talked about this. You’re not enlisting tomorrow. And even if you do, I’m not leaving my clinic to chase after you. My work is here.”

Preston pouted, crossing his arms. “But it’d be awesome! You’d be like, the coolest doctor in the scouts, and I’d be the coolest recruit. We’d be unstoppable!”

Levi snorted. “You’re not unstoppable until you learn to eat your vegetables without whining, brat.”

Preston shot his father a glare, but the banter eased the tension in the room. Penelope turned to Hange, her expression resolute. “Hange, I mean it. I’m not leaving my clinic. If the Scouts are in a real emergency and need me, I’ll help, like I did with the recruits. But that’s it. No full-time commitment. Understood?”

Hange sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yeah, I understand,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I just… I had to try. You’re too good, Penelope.” She managed a small smile, her usual spark returning. “Thanks for not kicking me out.”

Penelope’s lips twitched, her exasperation giving way to warmth. “You’re lucky I like you, Hange. Now go be a Commander and let me get back to work.”

Hange saluted playfully, grabbing her papers from the counter. “Yes, ma’am! I’ll see you around—hopefully not begging next time.” She turned to Levi and Preston, winking. “You two keep her in line, alright?”

Levi rolled his eyes, but Preston grinned. “No promises, Commander!”

As Hange made her exit, the clinic resumed its rhythm, patients shuffling in and out, Mara returning with her recalculated dosage. Penelope leaned against the counter, exhaling a long breath. The weight of Hange’s request lingered, a reminder of the Scouts’ desperate state and the pull of Levi’s world. But her resolve held firm—this clinic, these people, were her purpose.

Levi stepped closer, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “You handled her better than I would’ve,” he said, a hint of admiration in his tone. “She’s relentless.”

Penelope’s golden eyes met his, a playful glint returning. “I’ve had practice dealing with stubborn Ackermans,” she teased, nudging his shoulder. “You and Preston aren’t exactly easy to manage.”

Levi’s lips quirked, a rare smile breaking through. “Tch. You love it.”

She laughed, the sound rich and melodic, her dimples deepening. “Maybe I do.”

Preston, who’d been pretending to ignore them, groaned dramatically. “Ugh, you guys are gross again. Can we go home now? I’m starving.”

Penelope ruffled his red hair, earning an indignant squawk. “Patience, kiddo. I’ve got a few more charts to review, then we’ll head out. Levi, you staying for dinner?”

Levi nodded, his gaze softening. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As Penelope returned to her work, Levi and Preston settled into the waiting area, the former flipping through a medical journal with feigned interest, the latter sketching in his notebook—likely a crude drawing of himself as a Scout. The clinic hummed around them, a microcosm of Penelope’s world, one she’d built with her own hands. Hange’s plea had been a valiant effort, but Penelope’s roots were here, with her patients, her students, and the family she and Levi were slowly rebuilding.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the clinic floor. Penelope’s voice carried softly as she instructed Mara, her confidence unshaken by the day’s chaos. Levi watched her, his pride a quiet, steady warmth. She was his anchor, his partner, and no amount of begging from Hange could pull her from where she belonged. For now, they had this—dinner, banter, and the fragile hope of a future forged together.

…

The evening settled over Wall Sina with a quiet reverence, the sky a tapestry of deep indigo streaked with fading gold. Inside Penelope’s home, the warmth of the kitchen lingered from dinner, the scent of roasted herbs and fresh bread still drifting through the air. The table had been cleared, dishes stacked neatly in the sink—a task Levi had insisted on handling, his meticulous nature unable to tolerate a single crumb out of place. Now, the house was still, save for the soft creak of floorboards as Levi ascended the stairs to Preston’s bedroom.

Preston’s room was a study in organized chaos, a reflection of a boy on the cusp of adolescence. The bed was made, though the quilt was slightly askew, and a wooden desk held a jumble of sketchbooks, pencils, and a dog-eared military manual Levi had grudgingly lent him. A small shelf displayed a collection of polished stones and a carved wooden horse, remnants of a childhood not yet fully shed. The window was cracked open, letting in a cool breeze that rustled the curtains, and a single lantern cast a warm glow across the room, softening the stark lines of the wooden walls.

Preston sat cross-legged on his bed, his rose-red hair catching the lantern light, his gray eyes fixed on a sketch of a scout in mid-flight, ODM gear wires taut. He was adding details to the blades, his pencil moving with the careful precision of someone who’d studied his father’s movements too closely. When Levi knocked lightly on the open door, Preston’s head snapped up, his expression shifting from concentration to unease.

“Hey, Dad,” Preston said, setting the sketchbook aside. His voice carried a wary edge, and he straightened, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “What’s up?”

Levi stepped inside, his uniform replaced by a simple black shirt and trousers, though his posture remained as disciplined as ever. He pulled the desk chair over, positioning it to face Preston, and sat, his movements deliberate. His gray eyes studied his son, taking in the nervous twitch of his fingers, the way his shoulders tensed as if bracing for a reprimand. Levi knew that look—knew it from his own childhood in the Underground, when every adult’s approach signaled trouble.

“You’re not in trouble,” Levi said, his voice low but firm, cutting through Preston’s spiraling thoughts. “Relax, brat. I just want to talk.”

Preston’s shoulders eased slightly, but his eyes remained cautious. “Talk about what?” he asked, his tone laced with suspicion. His mind raced, mentally cataloging his recent actions. His room was clean—Levi had checked it that morning. He hadn’t gotten into any fights at school, not since the incident when Levi’s stern discipline had left a lasting impression. He’d even eaten the damn carrots at dinner. So what was this about?

Levi leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely. The lantern light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint scars that marked his years as a soldier. “Your birthday’s coming up,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a weight that made Preston’s fidgeting still. “You’ll be twelve. First one I’ll be here for.”

Preston’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his wariness. He hadn’t thought about it like that—not consciously. Levi had only been in his life for a few months, a fact that sometimes felt like a lifetime and other times like a fleeting moment. The significance of this birthday, the first they’d share, hit him like a quiet wave. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter. “That’s… kinda cool.”

Levi’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. “Kinda cool,” he echoed, his tone dry but warm. “I missed your first birthday, Preston. Every damn one. I wasn’t there when you were born, when you took your first steps, when you started talking. I don’t take that lightly. I’m not missing any more.”

Preston swallowed, his throat tight. He’d heard Levi talk like this before, in snippets, but never so directly. The weight of his father’s absence, and now his presence, was something he felt but didn’t know how to articulate. “You’re here now,” he said, the words clumsy but earnest. “That’s what matters, right?”

Levi nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah. But it’s not just about being here for cake and presents. It’s about making sure you’re ready for what’s coming. You’re turning twelve, and you’ve made it clear what you want—to enlist as a cadet, to be a Scout.”

Preston’s eyes lit up, his earlier unease forgotten. “Hell yeah, I do!” he said, leaning forward. “I’m gonna be the best cadet they’ve ever seen. I’ve been training, Dad. I can do fifty push-ups now, and I’m working on my balance for ODM gear. I’ll—”

“Slow down,” Levi interrupted, his voice calm but commanding. He held up a hand, silencing Preston’s enthusiasm. “We’ve talked about this before, you, me, and your mom. As a family. But I want to talk to you now, just us. Man to man.”

Preston’s excitement tempered, sensing the gravity in Levi’s tone. He nodded, his gray eyes locked on his father’s, waiting. Levi took a breath, choosing his words with the precision of a blade.

“I know you want to be a scout more than anything,” Levi said. “And I know we can’t stop you. Your mom and I tried. We sat you down, argued, pleaded, but you’re stubborn as hell—an Ackerman trait, whether you like it or not. But I need you to hear me, Preston. Really hear me. The life of a scout isn’t just training and glory. It’s short. Brutal. You sign up, you’re saying your life is expendable for humanity’s sake. You’re saying you’re ready to die so others might live.”

Preston’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. He’d heard stories—whispers of Shiganshina, of the Scouts’ decimation, of the nine survivors, including his father. But those were tales, distant and almost mythic. The reality Levi described felt heavier, colder. “I know it’s dangerous,” he said, his voice quieter but defiant. “But I’m not scared. I want to protect people, like you do.”

Levi’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “I know you’re not scared. That’s what worries me. You’re brave, Preston. Too brave, maybe. But bravery doesn’t keep you alive. Skill does. Strategy does. And even then, it’s not always enough.” He paused, his gaze distant, haunted by memories of comrades lost—Petra, Eld, Gunther, countless others. “I’ve seen too many good soldiers die. I don’t want that for you.”

Preston shifted, his hands clenching into fists. “But you’re still here,” he said, his voice almost a challenge. “You’re the best, Dad. Everyone says it—Humanity’s Strongest. If I train hard, if I’m like you, I can make it.”

Levi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his pride warring with his fear. “You’re not just like me,” he said. “You’re an Ackerman, Preston. You’ve got abilities others don’t—strength, speed, instincts that’ll set you apart. You’ll likely be the top cadet in your class, maybe the top soldier one day. That’s not arrogance; it’s fact. Your blood gives you an edge, but it’s also a burden.”

Preston’s eyes widened, a mix of awe and curiosity. He’d felt it—the surge of power unlocked in him when he had saved his mother, the way his reflexes seemed sharper than his peers’. Levi had explained the Ackerman lineage before, but hearing it now, framed against his future, made it real. “So… I’ll be better than the others?” he asked, a hint of excitement creeping back.

Levi nodded, but his expression was stern. “Better, stronger, faster. But that’s not a free pass to be reckless. I taught you this before, and I’ll say it again: your strength isn’t for showing off. It’s not for bullying, not for proving you’re tougher.” His voice hardened, and Preston flinched, the memory of Levi’s discipline—a sharp lesson after he’d stomped out his classmates—burning in his mind. “You use it wisely, or it’ll destroy you. Understand?”

Preston nodded quickly, his face serious. “I remember,” he said, his voice small. “I won’t forget. I’m not a bully, Dad. I swear.”

Levi’s gaze softened, satisfied. “Good. Your strength is for protecting those who can’t protect themselves. That’s what it means to be a scout. You look out for the weak, the scared, the ones who’d break without someone standing in front of them. You do that, and you’ll be better than I ever was.”

Preston’s chest swelled, his father’s words igniting a fire in him. “I will,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll protect them. I’ll make you and Mom proud.”

Levi leaned back, his hands resting on his thighs. The weight of the conversation pressed on him, but he pushed forward, needing to say it all. “Your mom and I… we’ve fought you on this because we love you. More than anything. The world’s changing, Preston—faster than we can keep up. Marley, the nations beyond the sea, the truth about the Walls—it’s all a mess, and it’s only gonna get uglier. We don’t want to lose you to it. If something happened to you…” He trailed off, his voice catching, a rare crack in his stoic facade.

Preston’s throat tightened, his bravado faltering. He’d seen his parents’ worry—his mother’s furrowed brow, his father’s clenched jaw—but hearing it laid bare was different. “I don’t want to hurt you or Mom,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I have to do this. It’s who I am.”

Levi exhaled, the sound heavy with resignation. He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto Preston’s. “I know. And I’m not here to stop you anymore. I had a talk with Erwin, back before… before he died. He told me something I didn’t want to hear at the time. Said kids need the freedom to chase their own paths. Said there’s nothing your mom or I can do to keep you from being a scout if that’s what you’re set on. He was right.”

Preston’s eyes widened, the mention of Erwin—a name revered in their household—carrying weight. “Commander Erwin said that?”

“Yeah,” Levi said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he knew people. Knew what drives them. You’re driven, Preston. Like me, like your mom. I can’t fight that. So I’m gonna do what I can to support you.”

Preston’s mouth opened, then closed, his usual quick retorts failing him. “You… you mean that?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope. “You’re okay with me enlisting?”

Levi’s smile faded, his expression serious. “I’m not okay with it. I’ll never be okay with my kid putting his life on the line. But I’m not gonna stand in your way. You’ll be a damn good scout one day—I’ve got no doubt about that. You’ve got the heart, the skill, the stubbornness. But you’re not there yet. When you enlist, you train hard. You listen to your instructors. And you don’t get cocky. Got it?”

Preston nodded vigorously, his gray eyes shining with determination. “Got it, Dad. I’ll train harder than anyone. I’ll make you proud, I swear.”

Levi reached out, resting a hand on Preston’s shoulder, the gesture firm but gentle. “You already make me proud,” he said, his voice low, the words carrying a weight that made Preston’s chest ache. “Just… don’t make me regret this. Stay sharp. Stay alive.”

Preston’s lips trembled, but he managed a nod. “I will,” he said, his voice thick. “I promise.”

Levi held his gaze for a moment longer, then leaned back, his hand dropping to his side. “Good. Now, about your birthday. I’m not big on parties, but your mom’s probably got something planned. You got any ideas? Something you want?”

Preston’s seriousness gave way to a grin, his earlier nerves forgotten. “Uh, maybe a new sketchbook? Mine’s almost full. And… maybe you could teach me some ODM moves? Like, the real stuff, not just the basics.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “You’re not touching ODM gear till you’re a cadet, brat. But the sketchbook I can do. And maybe I’ll show you a few knife techniques. Deal?”

“Deal!” Preston said, his grin widening. He hesitated, then added, “Thanks, Dad. For… you know, all this. Talking and stuff.”

Levi stood, ruffling Preston’s red hair, earning a half-hearted protest. “Don’t get sappy on me,” he said, but his tone was warm. “Get some sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow, and I’m not dealing with your mom if you’re late again.”

Preston rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, settling back against his pillows as Levi moved to the door. “Night, Dad,” he called, his voice softer now.

“Night, Preston,” Levi replied, pausing in the doorway. He glanced back, taking in the sight of his son—red hair, gray eyes, a stubborn spark that was all too familiar. The future was uncertain, a storm gathering on the horizon, but for now, Preston was here, safe, dreaming of a life Levi both dreaded and admired. Levi’s job, as always, was to protect him, no matter the cost.

He closed the door softly, the lantern’s glow fading behind him, and descended the stairs, the weight of the conversation settling into his bones. Penelope was waiting in the living room, a cup of tea in her hands, her golden eyes lifting to meet his as he entered. She didn’t need to ask how it went—his expression, the quiet resolve in his gaze, told her everything.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Levi said, his voice low, more to himself than to her.

Penelope’s smile was soft, her dimples deepening. “With you as his father? He doesn’t stand a chance of being anything less.”

Levi snorted, but the warmth in his chest was undeniable. He sat beside her, their shoulders brushing, and for a moment, the world’s chaos faded, leaving only the quiet strength of their family, holding fast against the storm..

She cradled her teacup, the honeyed steam curling upward. “I was half-expecting him to come downstairs complaining you’d grounded him for life.”

Levi snorted, picking up his own cup, his movements precise as always. “He thought he was in trouble at first. Kid’s got a guilty conscience, but he’s not half as bad as he thinks.” His gray eyes flicked to her, a hint of pride in them. “He listened. Really listened. That’s more than I expected.”

Penelope’s smile widened, her heart swelling at the thought of Levi and Preston navigating their bond. “You’re good with him, Levi. Better than you give yourself credit for. He’s lucky to have you.”

Levi’s lips twitched, a faint smirk breaking through. “Tch. Don’t get sappy on me, Pen.” But his tone was soft, and the way his gaze lingered on her betrayed the warmth her words sparked.

She laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I’m allowed to be sappy sometimes. Speaking of Preston, I’ve been thinking about his birthday. I usually keep it small—just a few friends from school, some of the clinic staff, good food, and cake. But this year’s different with you here.” She set her cup down, turning to face him fully. “I want you there, obviously. And you can invite Hange, even your Special Ops Squad, if they’re interested. I know they’re busy, but it’d mean a lot to Preston to have them.”

Levi nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’ll ask them. Hange’ll probably show up just for the cake. Sasha too, if there’s food involved. The others… depends on their duties, but I’ll pass it along.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as he caught the slight furrow in her brow. “What’s wrong?”

Penelope sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “It’s just… Preston doesn’t have many friends. Last year, I invited two boys from his school, and they came, but it was awkward. This year, he hasn’t mentioned anyone. He’s been such a loner, Levi. It breaks my heart. He’s a good boy—kind, smart, a bit awkward like you—” She shot him a teasing glance, but her smile faded quickly. “But ever since that incident with the bullies, when he… well, you know, stomped them out, it’s like the other kids keep their distance. He’s ostracized, and I hate it.”

Levi’s jaw tightened, the memory of that incident flashing through his mind. He had disciplined him harshly, a lesson Preston had taken to heart. But the fallout had been brutal, the whispers at school painting Preston as a threat rather than a kid protecting his dignity.

He set his cup down, his hand resting lightly on Penelope’s knee, a rare gesture of comfort. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Preston’s gonna be okay. He’s tough, like you. And once he joins the cadets, he’ll find his place. Those kids’ll be like him—driven, ready to fight for something bigger. He’ll make friends, real ones, the kind that stick.”

Penelope tilted her head, her golden eyes searching his. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Levi said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “School’s for the rich brats in Wall Sina, the ones who’ll never see a Titan or swing a blade. Preston’s different. He’s throwing away a cushy life to join the military—probably the only kid from Wall Sina doing it. That’s not weakness; it’s strength. The cadets’ll see that. They’ll respect it.” He leaned back, his hand lingering on her knee. “I didn’t go through formal cadet training myself, but I’ve seen it with my squads. My old team—Petra, Oluo, Eld, Gunther—they were tight, bonded from their cadet days. Same with Eren and the others now. They fight for each other, bleed for each other. Preston’ll find that too.”

Penelope’s expression softened, the worry in her eyes easing. She placed her hand over his, her touch warm and grounding. “You’re right,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I keep forgetting how much he’s like you—stubborn, loyal, ready to take on the world. He’ll find his people. I just… I want him to be happy, you know?”

“He will be,” Levi said, his gaze steady. “He’s got us. That’s more than we had at his age.”

She squeezed his hand, her dimples deepening as her smile returned. “True. And he’s got your squad to look up to. I bet Sasha might try to steal his birthday cake.”

Levi snorted, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “She’ll try. I’ll have to guard the damn thing myself.”

Their laughter mingled, a soft, shared moment that wrapped the room in warmth. But as the laughter faded, a different undercurrent stirred, one that had been simmering since that charged moment in Levi’s office days ago. The memory hung between them, unspoken but vivid—Penelope perched on his desk, her legs around his waist, their kisses hungry and unyielding until Hange’s untimely interruption. Levi’s thoughts drifted to it often, too often, the fantasy of what could have happened playing out in his mind with a clarity that tested his ironclad self-control.

Penelope, for her part, felt the shift too. She loved teasing Levi, coaxing reactions from a man whose stoic exterior rarely cracked. Getting under his skin was a game she played with precision, knowing exactly how to catch him off guard. Tonight, with the house quiet and their son upstairs, the air felt ripe for mischief.

She leaned back against the couch, her sweater slipping slightly to reveal the curve of her collarbone. Her golden eyes glinted with a playful edge as she sipped her tea, her movements deliberately slow. “You know,” she said, her voice casual but laced with a teasing lilt, “with all the chaos at the clinic and Preston’s birthday planning, I’ve barely had time for myself lately. Not even, you know… a moment to relax.” She paused, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Haven’t had a chance to… take care of certain needs.”

Levi froze, his teacup halfway to his lips. The words hit him like a sucker punch, and he choked, tea spraying in a rare, undignified sputter. He coughed, setting the cup down with a clatter, his face flushing a deep red as he glared at her. “What the hell, Pen?” he rasped, his voice a mix of shock and exasperation.

Penelope burst into laughter, the sound rich and unrestrained, her dimples deepening as she clutched her sides. “Oh my God, your face!” she gasped, tears of mirth glinting in her eyes. “You look like you’re about to clutch your pearls and faint!”

Levi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his blush deepening as he tried to regain his composure. “You’re insane,” he muttered, but the heat in his eyes betrayed the effect her words had. “Saying shit like that out of nowhere—what’s wrong with you?”

She leaned forward, her laughter subsiding but her grin unrepentant. “What? I’m just being honest. You’re the one who can’t handle a little candor, Captain.” She drawled the title, knowing full well the effect it had, and watched with delight as his jaw tightened, his pupils dilating slightly.

Levi’s self-control, impeccable in battle and unyielding in command, faltered around her. Penelope was his kryptonite, her unpredictability a force that unraveled him with terrifying ease. He leaned back, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from her assault. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he said, his voice low, a mix of accusation and reluctant amusement. “Trying to kill me.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her tone unapologetic. She tilted her head, a curl falling across her cheek, and her golden eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. “It’s fun watching you squirm. You’re so composed all the time, Levi. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

He snorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a reluctant smirk breaking through. “You’re a menace,” he said, but there was no venom in it. His mind, traitor that it was, drifted back to the office—her lips on his, her body pressed against him, the desk creaking under their weight. He’d replayed it too many times, wondering if she’d been teasing or if she’d meant to go further. If she had, he knew he’d have followed, his restraint crumbling under the weight of a decade’s worth of longing.

Penelope watched him, her sharp mind catching the shift in his expression, the way his gaze lingered a fraction too long. She knew what he was thinking—knew the memory burned as brightly for him as it did for her. But she didn’t push, not yet. Instead, she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” she said, her tone teasing but edged with something deeper. “The office. What could’ve happened if Hange hadn’t barged in.”

Levi’s breath hitched, his blush returning with a vengeance. “Pen,” he warned, his voice rough, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him. “Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish.”

Her laugh was soft, almost sultry, as she rested her hand on his arm, her touch light but electric. “Who says I won’t finish it?” she murmured, her golden eyes gleaming with challenge. “You’re the one who looks like you’re about to bolt.”

He didn’t bolt. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice a low growl. “You’re playing a dangerous game, woman.”

“Good,” she shot back, her smile fearless. “I like dangerous.”

For a moment, the air between them crackled, charged with the same tension that had nearly consumed them in his office. Levi’s hand twitched, itching to pull her closer, to see how far she’d take this. But the creak of a floorboard upstairs—Preston shifting in his bed—broke the spell, a reminder of where they were. Levi exhaled sharply, leaning back, his self-control snapping back into place like a taut wire.

Penelope, unfazed, sipped her tea, her grin smug. “You’re too easy, Levi,” she said, her tone light but her eyes still dancing with mischief. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you to crack completely.”

He shot her a look, half-glare, half-promise. “Keep pushing, and you’ll see what happens.”

She laughed again, the sound wrapping the room in warmth, and leaned her head against his shoulder, the teasing giving way to a quieter intimacy. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, her voice soft now, the playfulness tempered by affection.

Levi didn’t respond, but his hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers in a rare, unguarded gesture. They sat like that, the candle flickering, the tea cooling, the world outside held at bay. Preston’s birthday loomed, a milestone that carried the weight of their fears and hopes. The memory of the office lingered, a spark waiting to ignite. But for now, they had this—each other, their son upstairs, and the fragile, fierce love that bound them through the chaos of a world unraveling.

As the candle burned low, Penelope’s voice broke the silence, soft but certain. “We’re gonna be okay, Levi. All of us.”

He squeezed her hand, his gaze fixed on the flickering flame. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady. “We will.”

~

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