#Zeke x fifth

[usertoxicyaoi]

“You’re so horny. Why are you so horny?” MY STORY (2023). Episode 9.

[gradienta]

Dancing gays Zeke x Fifth (My Story the Series)

[heretherebedork]

And dirty joke time it is. Honestly, Zeke and Fifth are actually quite fun and interesting to me, I just wish they were given more time. A lot more time. I like how everyone already teases them for going out but Fifth is sure Zeke likes Kim and the little jealousy interplay between them and the teasing and how much they're flirting but not-flirting with each other at the same time.

[kennyomegasweave]

I loved Ace & Sky in My Day, just to find out they broke up off screen in My Story. So even though I fell in love with Zeke & Fifth in My Story, I decided to wait on watching Our Story until it was done airing cause I wasn't gonna get played again. And, even though it's not done airing, it looks like I was right to wait on watching.

I'm devastated without even watching because Zeke and Fifth were so fucking cute. They didn't deserve this.

[shipperpersempre]

Adoring Your Boyfriend's Physique - Zeke - Fifth - My Story the Series

[miss0atae]

I don't know why I'm still watching Our Story. It's been 4 episodes and they've dragged the breakup between Fifth and Zeke. It's heartbreaking. Fifth is so desperate to find a solution for them to still be together. Zeke, on the other hand, seems to only be annoyed by him and he gets to live his little domestic life with his former childhood love who made him so sad he got suicidal, but now everything is alright... It almost feels like what happened between Zeke and Fifth in My Story was a fever dream. Zeke doesn't seem sad at all not being with Fifth anymore. He is having a fun time with Kevin and silly little chit chat with his new friend Iris while Fifth is crying in every episode.

It is getting boring. The story is not progressing at all. I can't even care about the side characters' storylines because the main leads haven't had a real conversation since episode 2. Zeke is always in the mood or screaming at Fifth. I'm at a point where I wish they would give another love interest for Fifth so he can be happy with someone who respects him and truly loves him because if I was him, I would never get back with Zeke.

My Story wasn't the best BL ever but Zeke and Fifth's story was really compelling. They stole the show from the main leads and I was really expecting their own story to be as interesting as what we got previously. Unfortunately it's not the case. Sometimes the series is not great but there is one good point (or several good points) that keeps you watching it (hello The Jungle by GMMtv 👋). If something better doesn't come next week, I may give up watching it.

[kzlove]

love's rage

rage ; to show or have violent uncontrollable anger

or

when eren witnesses too much, he physically cannot control himself.

warnings : fighting, slight bullying, dick appointment mention, carla is alive, carla and grisha are divorced, not proofread

modern au!eren jaeger x reader

eren jaeger from the football team was a big lover.

everyone understood that when he was seen walking his best friend, mikasa, to class and buying her food.

or even seeing him leave the school because connie ended up passing out while being in the street by himself.

he wasn't as open as he presented himself as, but he definitely did care about some things.

so when a random girl wearing a brown graphic tee began bringing him water when he'd forget during games, he grew a light crush.

he remembers ranting to his mother over the phone the fifth time it happened.

he was at his father's house, laying on his stomach while his mother was working.

carla listened to her boy go on and on about it, ending it off with a hush 'fuck she was just so beautiful. and godsent.'

of course, he got the cursing of his life for using that language towards his mother, but it was worth it.

his team teased him about it, and so did his friends.

even armin, who was still following annie around like a lost puppy.

the news went around almost immediately, and eren even giggled while showing his older brother, zeke.

the captain of the football team is a big lover, and is head over heels for some mysterious girl.

eren made sure to never let anyone know who it was, in case his 'fanclub' goes crazy over it.

sometimes, people think because their captain is such a big lover, the football team would follow behind in his footsteps.

wrong.

the football team was quite the opposite..

-

"eren did you do the bio worksheet?" mikasa groaned, finally catching up with the boy.

she rode in her uncle's car on mondays, so they didn't get to ride together.

and of course, eren always has his headphones in blaring the neighborhood or whatever song armin has in his playlist.

"nah. gonna ask min during lunch." eren said, turning to mikasa with a cheeky smile.

it wasn't the first time eren had ask armin for the homework, and definitely not the last.

but of course, with armin arlert, there's always a price behind.

and with the amount eren failed to do, he might just have to cover the next hangout's expenses.

loud bangs could be heard, making eren roll his eyes.

they were at it again.

some guys on the football team amuse themselves by taking up one of the girls in the school and making them hate their days of school.

every week, they pick another girl to pick on.

whether it be for her weight, her clothes, or her face. nothing ever mattered when it came to those guys.

eren recalls the time they tried it with mikasa.

eren didn't have to do much at the time, because her uncle promptly failed them that semester.

he still remembers what levi had said to him after that.

'if you get them suspended from five games, i'll make sure you pass my class with flying colors.'

safe to say, everyone came to eren for answers he had no clue about.

"are they ever gonna give that up?" mikasa questioned, and eren knew she was watching again.

eren minded his business, knowing that floch forester was apart of half of it.

he'd gotten into the football team because his daddy had money, and occasionally sleeps with the assistant principal.

no one wanted to get in between the ap and her dick appointments.

so when he was walking past and see a flash of brown, he paused in his steps and looked behind him.

mikasa stumbled into him, annoyed. "what the hell?" she questioned immediately.

he ignored her complaints of her make up smudging even the slightest, squinting his eyes to look at who they were bothering.

and it was her.

wearing that brownish grey shirt that was suddenly stained pink.

you looked horrified, hands up in defense as they tossed baby powder on you.

eren watched as floch laughed, another guy shoved you down, and yet another one held a pair of blue scissors.

they practically slid you across the floor in the sticky mess.

of course they wanted to do it in the empty staircase, where no one really would go.

your cries of 'stop' echoed, making mikasa frown.

before she could open her mouth and say something to eren, he was gone from her side.

he was far ahead of her, stepping in the sticky mess with his fresh converse and ripping his hoodie over his head.

immediately, eren was shoving the boy behind you down the steps, hearing a sickening crack.

eren didn't flinch, just lifting you to your feet with a frown on his face.

you immediately recognized him, who wouldn't?

"here. go to the bathroom and clean up. you can wear this after." eren said softly to you, helping you step away from the sticky mess.

he didn't give you the time of day to speak, already swinging on the boy beside him.

-

six.

that's how many men it took to rip eren off of floch forester.

of course, he handled everyone else before chasing floch down the hallways of the school.

the students watched it all go down, not believing eren was actually gonna hurt his teammate.

until the boy was caught.

the minute eren caught floch, he began pounding his face in something serious.

nothing about this was a joke.

nothing about this was in the slightest bit funny.

now eren was sitting in the principals office, his parents sitting on either side of their son.

after their divorce, it was rare to see them sit in a room together and agree on something.

but of course, they could agree that their son had some serious anger issues that built up over the years.

it stayed silent, carla and grisha not knowing what to say at all.

the principal walked in, a disappointed frown present on his face.

"i'm surprised to see you here today. where's your sweater mr jaeger?" the principal began, looking him up and down.

yeah, eren used to be a fighter. and he was known for removing his clothes during fights.

students even hung his gorillaz shirt over the school's message board.

"doesn't matter." eren responded, a common response.

carla swatted him immediately, giving him a stink look. 'behave' her eyes yelled.

the principal sighed, leaning back into his chair in annoyance.

"okay. then what happened." the principal asked, raising his eyebrow and holding a pen.

now this, is what eren was so totally ready to get off his chest.

he spilled everything about what these boys have been doing for the past few months.

every video created, everything he's personally witnessed, every girl he's comforted, and every rumor he heard.

some of these girls even began doing blended learning because of how embarrassed they were.

eren had given them multiple warnings as their captain, and they never listened to him.

this was their last straw, even if it meant eren had to do out of school suspension.

the principal listened and made notes, frowning while doing so.

when he finished writing, he looked up at eren with a sour expression.

"are you aware of the alter ego rule, mr. jaeger?" the principal asked, raising his eyebrow.

eren nodded, having it memorized from when mikasa forced him to take intro to law with her during their freshman year.

"when a person can only defend a third party under circumstances and only to the degree that the third party could act." eren recited, crossing his arms.

the principal nodded, slightly impressed. but eren knew exactly where this was going.

and how to come back to it.

"i'm sure that girl could not have put seven football players in the hospital." the principal frowned.

"very aware of that. that's why i did it in place of the twenty five girls they bothered." eren said, flashing him a grin.

carla could only placed her hands together and pray for her boy's future to be bright.

-

before eren could get into his car with his mother, he heard a voice calling out to him.

he paused, turning around and seeing mikasa and you chasing after him.

"dude! what the hell!" mikasa sighed, leaning over and catching her breath.

eren chuckled and looked over at you, who was now holding the hoodie he'd lent you earlier.

"thank you." you said, giving him the best smile that you could possibly offer after the day you had.

eren nodded, taking the hoodie from you with a smile. "no problem." eren replied, tossing it into his car.

"are you suspended?" mikasa questioned, tilting her head.

eren glanced at his mother, who had tapped her wrist with a frown.

"yeah. three weeks." eren laughed sheepishly, leaning back onto the hood of his car.

carla had nowhere to go but in her house, she'll be alright.

he noticed your expression changed from the corner of his eye, perfect lips beginning to form a pout.

immediately, he squeezed your cheeks and gave you a genuine smile.

"don't be sad. we'll meet again on better terms." eren joked, effectively making you smile back.

before his mother complained, he climbed into the car and smiled.

"give her my number miki!" eren said, pushing his head out of the car window.

carla pulled him back into the car by his hair, smiling warmly at the sight of mikasa.

she pulled off, making sure to let zeke know what his younger brother had done.

"wasn't she gorgeous?" eren dreamily sighed, leaning back into his seat with a cheesy smile.

carla glanced at him, before looking back at the road with a loud laugh.

eren immediately looked at her, ready to defend you with his life against his own mother.

"mm... my boy is in love." carla smiled to herself, turning onto the next street over.

and eren wouldn't have it any other way.

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi Terra Darling ❤️

Festive fic request with prompt number 6 "family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party" for Levihan

My headcanons for this prompt:

Hange or Hange's family invites Zeke to a dinner party & Levi is far from happy OR fed up by Levi being single for a long time, Kuchel invites Hange to a dinner party OR Levi or Hange or their family invites an old crush (Zeke/Erwin/Petra, pick one) & it turns out they both used to date him/her lol OR you come up with your own because it will be amazing whatever you decide!!

Happy holidays 🎄❄️

Now or Never (Part 2) Characters: Levi x Petra; Levi x Hange; Mike x Nanaba Word Count: 2188 words

The dining room lay almost bare. No photographs adorned the walls; their ornaments were still wrapped in paper, stored in boxes upstairs. Even the low, wooden dining table didn’t quite suit this new room.  As he sipped his wine Levi considered how it had once sat in Mike and Nanaba’s old flat, centrally occupying the square-shaped space. The table still proudly displayed the tiny tree which Hange had bought for the couple as a flat-warming present over a year ago. Of course, they had never planned to live there forever. This new dining room was longer and in want of furniture to fit it. Its walls were a pale, non offensive shade of magnolia - the exact choice of homeowners intending to cover over the marks - the mistakes - they had once made before moving on. Mike was pouring refills into their glasses. Levi placed a hand over his whilst, beside him, Petra quietly accepted.

“Come on…” Mike urged, “you’re getting the train back right?”

“I’ll take a tea instead.”

“We’ll put the kettle on after dinner.”

Reluctantly, he removed his hand.

“This it then?” Levi’s eyes shifted to the empty seat beside Mike. Of course, if they had been expecting more than two guests, then there would be a fifth floor cushion set out. Despite his uncertainty, Levi’s shoulders relaxed a little. He had experienced the same gnawing sensation when he and Petra had arrived at their house. Removing their shoes at the door, Levi had glanced down to see several discarded pairs beside theirs. He had assumed that someone had arrived before them, only to discover that they were the first.

“Yeah,” Mike replied, “Hange got caught up with an assignment as usual. Something about a deadline.” 

Levi exhaled through his nose. He doubted that very much.

His hand brushed Petra’s shoulder with renewed reassurance as Nanaba appeared in the doorway. The fragrant scent of spices seemed to waft after her.

“The rice will be done in five minutes,” she announced. “Hope you guys are hungry!” “Can’t wait,” Levi commented, “... and nice place you’ve got here. What’s it like living somewhere with two floors?”

“Ah you know, it’s better than being cooped up in the flat.” Nanaba shared a sentimental glance with Mike. “We’ll miss it… but this is better. Even if we’ve got some decorating to do!”

She smiled over at Petra, who was nodding along politely despite not having been part of this previous era… an era of small apartments, of Mike and Nanaba as university graduates… of Levi and… Hange.

“So, how was your holiday? Where did you say you-” Nanaba frowned, reaching over to grab her phone from the side table. “Sorry - hold that thought. Hello?” 

“It was so beautiful…. and just nice to spend time with family you know?” Petra continued to address Mike in Nanaba’s absence. “I’m sorry that I missed out on your New Year’s party though! I heard it was a fun night…”

Levi took a long sip of his wine.

“I don’t know if you’d call it much of a party,” Mike chuckled, “Nana and I were asleep just after midnight so we missed the excitement… guess you’ll have to ask Levi.”

“Hange’s outside!” Nanaba reappeared just as Levi knocked his glass sharply against the table. “Apparently they made their deadline after all.”

There came the sound of a door closing, followed by footsteps in the hall. Petra gave Levi’s arm a little squeeze. He smiled at her in response, though with a warmth which did not quite reach his eyes.

Voices echoed outside; Hange fawning over the staircase and laughing with Nanaba about the previous owner’s choice of carpet. Levi’s jaw set. Then, both of them emerged in the doorway.

“Evening!” Hange beamed around at them. Briefly, their eyes met Levi’s before they glanced away. “Sorry for almost flaking!”

“Why quit the habit of a lifetime?” Mike teased. Levi reached for his wine again. His mouth felt parched; his tongue lay heavy and useless. He craved water - something hydrating - rather than more alcohol.

“Nice to see you again Petra.” Hange gave a little bow of their head as Nanaba dragged another floor seat over to the table. “Heard you’ve just come back from your travels! Was it a good trip?”

“Oh yes, it was so beautiful and relaxing. The new year is the best time to go…”

Levi listened intently to Petra’s story for a second time, refusing to allow his eyes to stray from her face. 

“...but it’s a shame I couldn’t spend New Year’s with you guys.”

Casually, Hange picked up the glass of wine which Mike had just poured. 

“Oh you know, it was a quiet one in the end. Nothing much happened.”

Levi stared at them, utterly astounded by their nonchalance on the subject. 

“Mike said you were all asleep just after midnight!”

“Well, Levi and Hange were up, weren’t you? Mike said he heard you both-” Nanaba walked in with a pot of steaming rice, just as Levi’s floor seat lurched out.

“Whoa!” Petra turned to her left. “Levi, what’s the hurry?”

“Seat got caught on the rug,” he lied. His eyes flew to Hange’s face who appeared quite composed by comparison. They blew out a little sigh as they lifted their glass again.

Nanaba set down the pot of rice. “No jogging the table. I’ve slaved away at this!”

Mike raised his eyebrows as Nanaba began serving heaped spoons onto plates. Petra received hers gratefully. Levi was just thankful to have something to occupy his hands.

“This smells amazing…” Hange praised her. “I love curry rice!”

“So… you had a late night, huh Levi?” Not to be deterred, Petra had rerouted from Hange’s interjection to their earlier conversation. She grinned at Levi expectantly over her plate of food. As he opened his mouth to explain, Mike cut in with a rumble of low laughter.

“Oh yeah… took him years but he finally got Hange where he’d always wanted them.”

Levi dropped his plate on the table, spilling rice onto its wooden surface

“Yeah…” Mike continued as Petra’s head whipped round, “...never thought we’d see the day, but there the two of them were, getting busy-”

Horrified, Levi willed Petra to look away from him as he frantically tried to scrape up rice grains from the wooden tabletop. He could feel her eyes on him; the more she stared, the more the tips of his ears burned. 

“- at the sink.” Mike took a large spoonful of rice and curry, savouring its flavour alongside his own unendurable comedy. “Who would have thought you’d finally get Hange to wash a plate?”

Hange’s forced laugh was lost in the more genuine giggles from Nanaba and Petra. Although the threat which had been silently hanging over Levi had not fallen yet, he could still feel it swaying over his head. He set his spoon down on the side of his plate and let his trembling hand fall into his lap. 

“...yeah, I heard you doing the dishes,” Mike explained as the laughter around the table died away, “...at like, four in the morning.”

“Well, a little cleaning up is the least you guys could do, seeing as you all insisted on staying at my place,” Levi muttered bitterly.

“You know we appreciated you sharing your floor with us!” Nanaba sighed, widening her eyes.

“...and some of us even got to share your bed,” Mike teased Levi again with a hearty wink.

“Gunther,” Levi told Petra automatically.  He reached for his wine again. By this point, he was going to need several refills to endure the rest of the evening.

“...I’m guessing he wasn’t who you really wanted sleeping next to you that night… huh, Levi?” Nanaba joined in, much to Petra’s delighted ‘shh-ing!’

Levi waved away their jokes again, his mouth twisted as though he was being forced to chew on tiny white grubs rather than rice. As he lifted his head he caught Hange’s eye again… and held their look. 

This was dangerous. 

That same rising dread intensified; remained suspended over Levi as he continued doggedly through one of the most excruciating dinners of his life. And yet, there was something which threatened to consume him whole; a feeling caught halfway between fear and fascination. Like oil and water, his conflicted emotions lay beside one another; equal parts danger and desire. They could never be reconciled, but only hold firmer in the presence of one another. Ever since New Year’s, something had started to take form… something that any and all other distractions hadn’t managed to douse…

Levi felt the brush of gentle fingers on his wrist. Petra was smiling at him. He closed his hand over hers, watching as their fingers lay entwined upon his knee. He couldn’t look at Hange again.

“What was it you said that night, Levi?” Nanaba continued, “just this once, then then never again?”

Levi’s thumb stroked over Petra’s knuckles as his mind drifted back to that night. He didn’t want to remember the warmth of the blanket enclosed around his body and Hange’s. He didn’t want to breathe in their scent; to feel the heat lifting from their cheeks; to have his throat run dry as they drew towards him…

“Levi, we can sleep here and never talk about this again. Or…”

Back in the present, Levi squeezed Petra’s hand.

“And I meant it…” he managed huskily, “...you guys can stay at a hotel next time.”

In part it was due to his own habit, but also out of a desire to extract himself from the table, as Levi took up their empty plates. He carried the dishes out to the kitchen and set them beside the sink. For a moment he gazed through their kitchen window at the view of Mike and Nanaba’s new neighbourhood. Rows of detached, two-storey houses stood adorned with gleaming windows and wooden balconies. The pair of them had taken the next step of their journey… their wedding was to follow in a few months…

Behind him there came the tinkling of glass and the sound of a door closing. Levi glanced over his shoulder.

“Um… just getting more wine.” Hange lifted the bottle they had taken from the fridge. Levi uttered a throaty sound halfway between a cough and a derisive snort.

“Sure as fuck you weren’t coming to wash these up…” Levi glowered at them until Hange took a step closer. They set their glass down beside Levi’s stack of plates. Through the open door and across the hall they could both hear the chatter of the other guests.

Levi turned away and began to run the water. Behind, Hange poured a little more wine into their glass. He couldn’t help but turn his head again. Hange was checking the label as they set the bottle down. With a sigh Levi lifted a plate and sank it into the dishwater, missing Hange’s eyes as they moved over him.

“Levi… do you want…”

He shifted around again to look at them. His mouth dried up before he could speak. He took in Hange’s broad shoulders beneath their white shirt; the deep, rich brown of their imploring eyes… There was always something so earnest, so fearless in their expression.

Levi’s eyes remained upon their face.

“...I’ll leave the bottle here.” They turned to leave the room, but stopped after taking a step. When they spoke again, their tone was low, conspiratorial.

“You know I won’t say anything, right…?” 

Levi felt a ripple of tension travel down his arms. His hand seized up; the brush he was holding clattered onto the kitchen floor.

“Anyway, nothing happened that night…” Hange gave a little laugh without a trace of humour in it, “...after all, you made it pretty clear what you wanted.”

Slowly, they began to approach him.

“Just like I have to… right now.” Hange was smiling at him, a gentle blush dusting their cheeks. “You know when it’s your shot right? Now or never…”

The air itself lay thick and heavy. Levi was rooted to the spot, his mind clouded with them as they took another step. Oil and water. They couldn’t-  Petra was seated in the next room, laughing with their friends.

Again, he remembered the blanket that had embraced them as they lay together on his couch. Levi could feel their warm breath on his mouth. It was just the two of them under night’s black canopy, threaded with the lights of a million stars. Whilst the rest of the world had slept, they had lain so closely together… they had almost…

“So Levi…” 

Hange’s lip trembled before their jaw set. Behind their glasses, their eyes were glazed with a love so profound that it took Levi’s breath away. 

“If I told you now that… despite it all… bad timing, lack of communication, people and work and life getting in the way… despite my initial hypothesis and all the test runs in my head… my findings are still the same.”

Hange took a shuddering breath.

“You are all I ever wanted. That’s… what I’ve decided.”

He felt their fingers trace his shirt sleeve.

“...what about you, Levi?”

Part 1: Now or Never (NSFW)

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 (𝐈𝐈𝐈)

[panel reads from right to left]

« Part 2 | Part 4 » [ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ SYNOPSIS ] As summer comes to an end Zeke disengages from you until he reaches out to go on an excursion to the headlands. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.9k [ CONTENT ] Mentions of vomit and underage drinking, cigarettes, a little angst, depression, kissing, and y/n and Zeke pop off about gentrification because I have a lot of feelings.

September rolled around much too fast. August felt like a blur.

Neither of you brought up the kiss or your confession after it happened. You assumed it would be a turning point in your relationship with Zeke, but he acted like that day with the snow cones was merely that: a day with snow cones. Following his lead you kept your feelings to yourself and masked your disappointment with a cool, carefree attitude. You tried to mirror Zeke’s behavior, unbothered and unchanged.

But you weren’t particularly good at it. You couldn’t kill the longing glances you’d give him when he wasn’t paying attention.

That’s why it wasn’t particularly surprising when Zeke drifted away from you. He never outright ignored you, but you knew you weren’t a priority anymore. He’d make plans with you and cancel them at the last minute. He was always so apologetic, so disarming. Anytime you planned to call out his actions he said something that quelled the raging sea inside you.

“You realize this is the fifth time you’ve done this to me, right?” you managed to ask one night.

It was one of the odd times he called you. Usually you were the one chasing after him.

“I know. I know. That’s why I wanted to make it up to you. I’m not doing anything this weekend. I’m free tomorrow.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you scoffed.

You heard him deeply sigh.

“I swear.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up. There was a lengthy pause between you two. You could hear Eren being a little gremlin in the background.

“Fine. What do you wanna do?”

“I want to go wander around up north.”

“You don’t mean that in a Into the Wild sense, right?”

“What? No. I want to go see the ruins of that burnt down swimming pool thing. Fuck. I don’t know what you’d call it. A bath house? No. I don’t like that implication…” He trailed off. “Hold on.”

You held.

“A swimming hall? Natatorium? The… whatever. Look it up. The owners burnt it down themselves.”

“I have to do homework? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“You have to go with me. No one else will.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. Zeke could be so needlessly sensitive. You couldn’t think of a reason why none of his friends wouldn’t want to go cavorting around the physical remnants of insurance fraud.

“Alright. I’ll go I guess. But you’re buying me food.”

“I’ll cover everything!” he blurted out.

“I was cool with you just buying food but okay.”

“Shit. I got ahead of myself,” he lamented.

Zeke met you at the train station. It was a shock to see him in normal clothes even if this wasn’t the first time. He actually looked rather put together. Dark green corduroy straight leg pants, a fitted grey t-shirt lazily tucked in, and matte black Doc Martens. He had a windbreaker tossed over his arm, his backpack dangling lazily off his shoulder.

“Did you seriously do a French tuck?”

“Excuse me for watching Queer Eye and taking notes… Do I look stupid?”

No, you thought to yourself. He looked positively adorable. You tried not to stare at him too hard; you didn’t want him to see you all starry-eyed because he wore pants with no grass stains.

“You do but it’s whatever,” you lied.

“You look… nice.”

You were dressed the same as usual. It was impossible to tell if he was being an ass or was simply nervous and didn’t know how to express himself.

“Just nice?” you teased, opting to give him shit.

He glanced to the side, scratching behind his ear.

“I lied. You look like garbage.”

“On a hot, summer day?”

“Only the hottest for you, kiddo.”

Kiddo. You hadn’t heard him say it in so long; it was music to your ears. Memories of the good times came flooding back to you, but still. You couldn’t kill the vague sense of resentment you held deep inside.

Zeke bought your train ticket as promised. He winced when he saw how high the fares went up.

“That much to get to the city?”

“I know. The more transplants that move here, the more expensive everything gets.”

“You know that place where we'd get those breakfast sandwiches by my house?”

It was clear where he was going. So many old standbys were going out of business. Your favorite bookstore had just shut its doors the week before, a heartbreak if there ever was one.

‘It’s gone, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, couple weeks ago. It’s going to be fucking beer garden.”

“Not another one!” you shrieked.

Beer gardens seemed to be popping up everywhere. They were the bane of your existence. They were overpriced. You were too young to go to them. And wherever they popped up so did an influx of drunken tech workers.

“I know. Poor Eren thought it was going to be a bear garden.”

The two of you trudged up the stairs to the train platform because as per usual the escalators were out of service and the elevator operated at a snail’s pace.

“A bear garden could be cool,” you pondered.

“Eugh. No. You could not do that humanely.”

“Oh well excuse me for entertaining a child’s idea,” you snarked, elbowing Zeke gently in the ribs.

“Sorry, sorry. I spent an hour trying to tell Eren why it would be fucked up. It was like talking about SeaWorld all over again.”

“You’re probably better off not trying to educate a little boy on that stuff.”

The train rolled in the second you summited the stairs. You both sprinted to the train, bumping into each other as you tried to enter the doors side by side at the same time. Just as you were about to eat absolute shit, Zeke reached and grabbed your waist saving you from colliding on the dirty floor of the train.

“Thanks. I would have been pretty grossed out if my face touched that.”

“No problem. You’re, uh, too cute to be falling face first into old gum and whatever that stain is.”

He pointed at a particularly gross, mysterious stain. You shivered at the sight of it and collapsed into a seat. Zeke sat down next to you and rested his head on your shoulder.

“You have a lot of nerve acting like this considering you’ve been a total dickhead to me.”

He shut his eyes and exhaled.

“I know.”

“Are you going to bless me with an explanation?”

‘It’s embarrassing for so many reasons.”

You gently pushed him off of you.

“I think we have time.”

He was silent, shoulders slumped forward. He obscured his face with his hands.

You continued, “I tell you I like you. You kiss me. And then you disappear?”

“I didn’t disappear. I talked to you.”

“Barely! You sent me memes, Zeke! That doesn’t count.”

“They were really fucking funny though. The best ones in my camera roll. I don’t send those to just anyone.”

“That almost makes it worse. You thought you could placate me with memes? Pictures of cute dogs? Panels from Boy’s Club?”

He finally looked up, and fixed his gaze on you.

“They were the best panels. The funniest ones.”

“Zeke. Please tell me you’re kidding,” you sneered louder than expected.

The lone man sitting sharing the train car with you scowled and went to the next one over.

“I needed to disengage! Summer was getting close to being over and I was thinking about college. I mean, this was fun—”

“Was? Was fun? As in it’s not fun anymore?”

He turned away and looked out the window. The cerulean sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. The weather couldn't have been any more spectacular, a rare even temperature day in September. It was a shame it was being wasted on a mess like this.

“That’s not what I meant. What? Were we supposed to date and then I leave for school? That would’ve just made it worse.”

“... Hold on.”

“What?!”

He didn’t quite yell at you, but it was a tone you hoped to never be on the receiving end of. You’d seen him pull it with his dad constantly, and Eren maybe once or twice. But never you.

“First, you’re not allowed to talk to me like that.”

He lightly banged his head on the window, but remained silent.

“Second, if you were leaving for school you should be… not here right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay so why are you not gone?”

It was hard to make sense of any of this. Your feelings were hurt by how he was acting but you were more concerned with his vagueness.

“I didn’t get in,” he muttered in the littlest voice possible.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“And you didn’t tell me this because…?”

You wanted him to look at you so you could understand him. He was more than capable of hiding behind his words.

“I felt stupid… I… only applied to one school.”

Consoling him crossed your mind, but you knew he’d never accept it. The rest of the ride was in utter silence.

When you got off the train Zeke looked miserable. A melancholic fog hovered around him.

“Are you hungry?” you asked in a gentle voice.

“I guess.”

“I was thinking the ferry terminal might be cool. There’s a ton of crap there.”

He shrugged and started to walk ahead of you. You grabbed his arm, yanking him backwards. He turned and faced you, utterly bewildered.

“I thought we were hanging out.”

He sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“Good point. I don’t know why I did that. I have no idea where anything is in there anyway.”

“Listen, let’s get some overpriced food. Sit by the pier, watch the traffic on the bridge while we wait for the bus to the headlands. And, I don’t know, you can maybe talk to me?”

“I think I can do that.”

“Good because you said you were paying for everything and I didn’t ask my mom for any money,” you said, holding the door open for him.

When you walked in you were inundated with the smell of fresh baked bread. The inside was magnificent, natural light streaming through the windows of the nave. You walked through the marketplace, peering at every vendors’ wares.

“I want gelato. No wait, macarons. No wait, definitely gelato… Shit no actually—”

Zeke cut you off, stopping you drowning in indecision.

“Both. We’ll get both,” he said, patting you on the head.

The gelato shop ended up having an incredibly long line and neither of you were feeling patient enough to wait it out. Any hint of disappointment either of you felt melted away when you spotted the macaron stand.

You ordered a dozen of them without looking at the hefty price. Zeke winced as he pulled out his dad’s debit card. You could not give a shit. The macarons looked so precious packed away in their pastel pink and green box.

“Let me get the Earl Grey one,” he said as you both walked to the bakery that filled the terminal with the smell of fresh baked bread.

“Not yet!”

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re torturing me on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Kinda,” you said, getting in line to make him buy you a baguette.

“We should get fancy cheese to go with it.”

You weren’t in love with him by any means but you knew if he kept saying things like that you could be. He must’ve known it. He smirked at you the second he noticed your eyes get all wide at the mention of cheese. The disappointment between the two of you when you realized a hunk of aged cheddar would cost you an absurd amount of money was intense.

“What about the camembert?” Zeke asked.

“Twenty bucks.”

“You’re joking. It’s just fucking cheese.”

“Kid, no one’s saying you gotta buy it.”

“Kid?!”

You grabbed Zeke by the arm and dragged him away from the creamery. Getting out of there was your number one priority even if his artisan cheese induced anger was hilarious. You knew he was mere seconds away from going on a tangent about capitalism and dairy farms.

“Kid?!” he repeated as you led him into a gourmet grocery store.

You eyed the perfectly ripe avocados, rushing over to lightly squeeze one.

“They’re perfect.”

You grabbed three.

“That seems a little excessive,” he muttered.

“Oh hush, kid.”

“Seriously?!”

“Zeke, you literally call me ‘kiddo’ constantly. I hope the irony... is this irony? Whatever. I hope the irony isn’t lost on you.”

He read the back of a bag of trail mix.

“Good point.” He paused. “Do I like walnuts?”

You ripped the bag from his hands, saying, “No, it’s pecans you like.”

“I’m glad one of us remembers,” he replied, grabbing a different bag.

After you thoroughly spent his dad’s money on expensive food you sat by the pier to take inventory. Staring down at the box of macarons you realized that maybe twelve was too many for two people.

“You were right. Six would have been plenty.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve amended my stance on that.”

“Have you amended your stance on not telling me shit?

He sighed and looked at his phone.

“Bus will be here in five.”

“Come on! You’re lucky I’m even here with you. I thought about not showing up as some sick form of revenge for how you’ve been acting.”

“I don’t know what to say honestly. There’s no excuse.”

“I’m not asking for excuses. I’m trying to understand.”

He stood up and pointed at the bustling street behind you. A puff of exhaust smoke tickled your nose as you heard the squeak of old brakes.

“You can try to understand on the bus. Let’s go.”

The bus ride felt endless mostly because Zeke didn’t say much the entire time. Forty minutes of what you considered dead air. He’d occasionally comment on how choppy the waves were as the bus snailed across the bridge. He looked so dramatic, eyes narrowed, the side of his head pressed up against the cool window. You knew he was struggling trying to articulate his feelings but you couldn’t help yourself.

“You look so serious right now.”

He turned to you, looking like the definition of miserable. It seemed to be his default emotion for the day. Just as he went to open his mouth the bus driver slammed on the brakes. The crackly speaker mumbled the name of your stop and you both stepped off the bus.

A swift coastal breeze pierced through you. Shivers invaded your body. Your jacket did little to protect you. Without a word Zeke put his windbreaker over your shoulders. You went to say something but he spoke before you had a chance.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, wandering down towards the concrete ruins of a burned down natatorium. “I run warm. You know that.”

You hated yourself for knowing that. Many summer nights were spent curled up in a field, head resting on his chest, clinging to his body because you were always a little cold regardless of the season.

His windbreaker smelled faintly of cigarettes and laundry detergent. After pulling it on you trailed after him, carrying the food rather precariously. He turned around and saw you struggling to maneuver yourself down the hill in one piece.

“Shit,” he said, bounding up the hill, grabbing the baguette from you.

“Wow, thank you so much,” you snarked. “You can’t do this shit to me. The whole ‘let me do something really fucking sweet and then act like a clueless asshole the next’ act is tiresome.”

He lowered his eyes and said nothing. You wanted to shake him but, again, losing your footing and careening into the ocean would’ve been hell itself.

The ruins weren’t nearly as interesting as you thought they’d be. When you read about the place getting burned down by the owners in the 1940s for insurance money it sounded so intriguing. But now standing on the concrete ruins all you felt was disappointment.

Zeke sat down and watched as the tide came in and crashed against the ruins.

“I am sorry. You know that,” he murmured.

“I don’t though!” you exclaimed, opening the box of macarons.

Zeke’s hand snuck inside immediately and grabbed the Earl Grey tea one. It was almost as if it materialized inside the box.

“Basically my hubris destroyed my life.”

“That seems really dramatic.”

“It is. But there’s still truth to it. I assumed being an athlete would make up for my average grades.”

“Is that your wording or—”

He cut you off. “Mine. Obviously.”

“I always thought your grades were really good,” you said, biting into a macaron.

“Really good is apparently much more relative than I initially considered.”

“So something shitty happened to you and you decided to push someone that cares about you away?”

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Where did I say I wasn’t?”

You sighed.

“Good point… I don’t know. What you did fucked me up.”

“I know.”

“I literally had just told you I liked you.”

“I know.”

“And then you ignore me.”

“Yup.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, hand brushing up against your body, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Sorry. I should have taken them out before you, uh, put it on. That felt invasive.”

You stifled a laugh and patted yourself down for his lighter, handing it over once you found it.

“Do you mind?” he asked, holding up a single cigarette.

“Only if you let me have one.”

“You almost got sick last time.”

“Okay, well… The key word there is almost.”

He relented and handed the cigarette to you. You stared it down, hoping this time you’d be able to keep your cool. He lit it for you like a gentleman. One inhale left your eyes and mouth watering. Zeke plucked it from between your fingers.

“Oh god! Why!?” you called out to the heavens.

“I refuse to feel bad for you. This is the fifth time you’ve done this, kiddo.”

“Fuck you,” you said, spitting into the ocean trying to rid yourself of the taste. “Stop humoring me!”

“I am in no position to say no to you. I’m trying to get back on your good side, remember?”

You moaned and took a sip from your water bottle. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face. The tenderness nearly killed you.

“Why did you leave me hanging? You could’ve cried on my shoulder. These babies were made for crying,” you said, gesturing at your shoulders.

“Embarrassment.”

“Seriously?”

“Pride? I don’t know. Nothing I say is going to make sense. I was acting childish.”

“Okay true.”

“Everyone tried to tell me it was going to be fine, that everything would work itself out, but it didn’t change how idiotic I was.”

“You were confident. Overly. But not idiotic.”

“I also didn’t feel deserving of, you know, people being so fucking understanding.” He took a drag. “Even my dad was understanding which made me withdrawal from everyone out of spite.”

“I mean you saw all your jock friends so you didn’t withdrawal from everyone.”

He reclined, his body lightly thudding against the ground. He took another drag off his cigarette.

“Nope. I lied. I was holed up in my room, wrapped up in a blanket like a hermit,” he said, exhaling.

You bit into another macaron; you didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to see you, but I, I don’t know, felt like I was stuck. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“I saw you barf into your own hands at a party once.”

“Don’t.”

“You tried to carry it outside.”

He winced and finished off his cigarette.

“Please,” he begged.

“You wept and asked if I’d move to Bombay Beach with you.”

“Stop torturing me.”

“What I’m getting at is I have seen you in much more pathetic situations. You being depressed is way more manageable than you and your vomit hands… to me at least.”

Depression was significantly more complicated than cleaning up a drunk teenage boy. You knew that and kicked yourself for being so callous.

He laughed and put out his cigarette.

“Good point. You’ve definitely seen me at my worst.”

You both sat in silence and ate the macarons. However this time the silence was pleasant. You watched the waves flood over the ruins, leaving them covered with sea foam. A deeper understanding of Zeke’s situation had been granted to you. You were still hurt but at least you knew why he acted the way he did.

“What are your post-graduation plans?” Zeke asked as you both sat on top of a decrepit building used to store military shells. “I probably should have asked that earlier.”

It was your idea to check out the old military buildings nestled away in the hills. One battery touted a perfect view of the ocean. When you crested the hill you were blown away by the vastness of the Pacific. You knew it was big; you weren’t an idiot. But seeing it stretched out in front of you, seemingly endless, was awe inspiring.

“I’m gonna work at the nursery down the street from me, you know, tending to the plants and shit. I’m hoping I can save up enough money before I decide what to do in terms of college. I figure I’ll give myself a year.”

“See? Why can’t I think like you? That’s fun and reasonable.”

You laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“I mean it kinda sucked realizing I couldn’t just afford to go to school. I dropped the ball on scholarships.”

He broke off a piece of the baguette and handed it to you.

“Eh, it happens.”

You bit into the baguette, savoring the tanginess of the sourdough.

“Could be worse. You could have died,” he quipped.

“The bar is on the floor then if that’s the case.”

“It’s the little things,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

You both stared out into the ocean, the sunlight glimmering on the waves.

“When’s the bus supposed to come?”

“An hour or so,” he replied.

“Am I… going to have to worry about you disappearing on me after this?”

“I’d like to think that I won’t. But I feel odd making any promises.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d rather not hurt you again.”

“I’m not asking you to sign a contract,” you giggled. “I just hope that summer isn’t the only thing that brought us together. That’s all.”

“I always assumed it was ditching class. Our benign rebellion.”

Zeke was able to go from dead serious to joking around so fast it made your head spin.

“You can be so obnoxious sometimes.”

“I only do it because I like you.”

“Really?”

He turned to you and pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead.

“Yup. You’re stuck with me now. I dare you to try and get rid of me.”

It never occurred to you to do such a thing. This is what you always wanted, to be near him. To have his arms wrapped around you, his soft lips pressed against your skin. You needed to remember this moment, to hold onto it during the unkind winter. Every detail was crucial. How his hair got tousled by the salty, sea breeze. How his glasses fogged up when you threw caution to the wind and kissed him deeply. How awkward he was after and how he apologized for not being a good kisser.

“You’re too self conscious,” you said, wrapped up in his embrace.

“Well excuse me for wanting this memory to be special.”

He looked inhumanly adorable as the waning sunlight danced along the apples of his cheeks. The moment couldn’t get any more picturesque.

“It already is.”

[jjkeremika]

all or (Formula) n(One)

chapter six - Japan Grand Prix

description: “And just like every other race this season, we are gifted with the sight of that MKA on the chassis. Yet another reminder that Jaeger will be pushing that car all the way to the checkered flag, hopefully in P1 the whole time.”

“As if the MKA wasn’t enough, Eren Jaeger receives a hug from his good luck charm and lead engineer, Mikasa Ackerman. A moment that perhaps wasn’t meant to be on camera, but caught and aired anyway.”

tags/disclaimer: ferrari driver eren jaeger x engineer/mechanic mikasa ackerman; formula one au

**Japenese Grand Prix; Race Day**

*helicopter view over the circuit.*

“Welcome to the Japanese Grand Prix! It is a beautiful day at Suzuka, with an air temperature of 20 degrees and a track temperature of 42. It’s hot track temps like this that we will see those tire strategies really coming into play.

“After a really intense qualifying yesterday we see some great changes to the top of the grid, and can only hope it’ll translate into a fantastic race today.”

*Grid lineup shows alongside the live view*

*live view pans over the pit lane as each driver gears up and gets into their cars*

“In sixth place we have Zeke Jaeger in the McLaren. Right next to him in fifth is his former teammate, Mercedes driver Jean Kirstein. In the second row we have Erwin Smith in the second McLaren, paired with his former teammate Levi Ackerman with Redbull in third.

“And in our front row, leading the grid, we have the former two-time world champion, Redbull’s Reiner Braun, in second, who was beat by three hundredths of a second by our winner from Australia, Ferrari’s Eren Jaeger, who found that pace at the very end of Q3 and won the qualifying pole position for the first time in his young career.

“In the commentary box, honored to hold the microphone for the 2024 Japanese Grand Prix, I’m Alex. And looking forward to commenting on this one, because it’s a race he’s done in the past, please welcome Martin.”

“It’s another favorite circuit of the drivers. 18 turns of speed and bliss, fast and flowing around the S curves and chicanes. I’m certain we will see some overtaking opportunities at turn 11. And with such tight margins between drivers—three hundredths between the front row, six hundredths between the second—it is more important than ever that these drivers establish a good start and comfortable flow.”

*live view shows Eren Jaeger chatting with Mikasa Ackerman, both in their Ferrari jumpsuits.*

“There’s Eren Jaeger. Currently second in the championship because of that DNF in Jeddah, but he brought it back with that stellar win in Australia. And he’s on the front row today for the first time in his F1 career.”

“It must be exciting, to get pole position on a track you’ve never even raced on before.”

*camera follows Eren and Mikasa while she zips his jumpsuit to the top for him as he dons the helmet sleeve*

“It is exciting, Martin, to see this dynamic duo work in tandem to produce podium-worthy results. I already strongly believe we’ll be seeing that Ferrari car putting up a fierce competition for the championship this year.”

“A competition, need I remind everyone, that two-time champion Reiner Braun hasn’t had for those two years. Though he currently has 61 points to Jaeger’s 50, that 11 point gap is still the shortest Braun’s leading margin has been in those two years.”

*Eren dons the helmet and walks over to the car. camera zooms in on the MKA signature above the driver number*

“And just like every other race this season, we are gifted with the sight of that MKA on the chassis. Yet another reminder that Jaeger will be pushing that car all the way to the checkered flag, hopefully in P1 the whole time.”

*Right before Eren gets into the car, Mikasa pulls him into a hug. He seems surprised at first but immediately reciprocates the move.*

“As if the MKA wasn’t enough, Eren Jaeger receives a hug from his good luck charm and lead engineer, Mikasa Ackerman.”

“As a former driver, Alex, it’s incredibly important to have a good relationship with your lead engineer. But to have that special of a partnership—that really is reserved for that dynamic duo right here at Ferrari.”

“A relationship and a car I’m certain many other drivers wish they had out there today. Now we are only moments away from the start of the formation lap, and therefore even closer to the start of this exciting race, with 53 laps ahead of us.”

*camera zooms out over the pit lane, shows the cars exiting the lane for the opening formation lap*

“And with the formation lap underway, we are nearing the start of this promising race. And almost immediately we have Ferrari doing a radio check as he warms up those medium tires.”

*radio noise beeps; Eren Jaeger’s radio pop-up appears on the live screen*

“Radio check, Eren,” the race engineer speaks.

*camera shows the Ferrari leading the cars along the track; the red car is swerving left and right on purpose to warm up the tires*

“Car feels good, Mika!” The voice is muffled over the helmet and the static.

*camera cuts to a close up of Mikasa with the other race engineers and team principal, with a headset watching the data monitors*

Mikasa’s cheery voice rings clearly. “Haha, do your thing and win us a podium then.”

*live view turns to driver’s view of the Ferrari car 139 as it zooms down the track*

“Whatever you say, Miks,” Eren returns affectionately.

*camera view returns to helicopter view over track. Multiple cars driving around the final corner and settling into their starting positions*

“We are mere seconds away from the start of the Japanese Grand Prix. The crowd roars with anticipation as the red lights go out, and both that front row Ferrari and Redbull have excellent starts going down that straight, into that first corner as the Japanese Grand Prix is now underway!”

*camera view of the cars as the lights go out and the cars start down the first straight.*

“Eren Jaeger gets the launch he was looking for. Kirstein had a good start with nowhere to go as Ackerman in front of him had a poor start.”

“Jaeger manages to lead the race into those first few corners with Braun close behind. Ackerman falls into fourth as Smith cuts the inside and pushes his way into third.”

*lap 3. Car 139 is exiting turn 10. Redbull is one hundredth of a second behind*

“Reiner Braun sees his opportunity as they approach turn 11 with that extra race pace of Redbull’s he manages to pull alongside that Ferrari as they go wheel to wheel into turn 11, Jaeger just barely ahead—but not for long as that rear wheel locks up around the corner and Braun leads going into turn 12.

“Jaeger tries to stay wheel to wheel as they go into turn 12 but Braun defends well and prevents the scarlet car from cutting to the inside.”

*lap 12. Redbull radio pop-up appears. Camera follows as Braun’s Redbull drives along the track*

“Box, box,” the radio blurbed.

*Camera follows as Braun heads into the pit lane.*

“An interesting move from Redbull as they bring Braun in for an early pitting. Especially with Jaeger so close behind.”

“It’s a protective strategy from Redbull, Alex, as they are switching onto the hard tires meanwhile Ferrari hasn’t even pitted yet.”

*Camera shows the pit lane exit and final straight. The scarlet Ferrari turns the final corner and sets down the straight.*

“With a 2.3 second pit stop, Braun is now making his way to the exit—but he doesn’t make it in time as Jaeger speeds right on down that straight into turn one before Braun can even join the track again!”

“And we are back to Ferrari leading this race!”

“Just look at the way Jaeger is expertly handling those s-curves and increasing that time and distance to the Redbull.”

*lap 20. Ferrari radio pops up.*

“Box, Eren, box.”

*camera follows Jaeger as he enters the pit lane.*

“Jaeger enters the pit lane. Ferrari bringing out the hard compact tires for the main part of the race. And he comes back out just barely in front of Braun in that Redbull.”

“Reiner tries to go around the outside as Jaeger cuts to the inner corner but that Redbull is breathing in dirty air and stays in second position.”

*lap 40.*

“Jaeger stays as the race leader and sets the new fastest lap record as he continues to race around the track, and—oh! Down in the fight for third we have Kirstein fighting Ackerman.”

*camera cuts to Redbull Levi Ackerman and Mercedes Jean Kirstein as they go wheel to wheel around the corner*

“We are seeing Levi Ackerman and Jean Kirstein go wheel to wheel as Jean tries to go around the outside at turn 15–not a conventional overtaking place but when you’re Mercedes you’ll take any opportunity you can get.”

“The Mercedes driver is doing a great job keeping up with that Redbull around the corners and sticking wheel to wheel into the next corner. Can he make the move quickly as they—oh, no!”

*Mercedes wheel locks up around the corner. The chassis slides right into the side of the Redbull car and knocks it into the tire barrier*

“Kirstein has a front wheel lock up going into turn 17 and knocks that Redbull off the track and into the barrier.”

*camera pans over the wreckage. Kirstein and Ackerman both get out of the car*

“That’ll be a safety car as they clean up that mess.”

Martin chuckles. “Ferrari will be thanking Mercedes for that safety car as now Braun is forced to stay in second position.”

*lap 50. Safety car is about to head in.*

“With only three laps left to go, Jaeger and Braun will be in the fight of their lives for that pole position.”

“For the first time, Jaeger leads the race following the safety car exit and Braun is eager for an overtake. Definitely has his foot on that throttle ready for Jaeger to restart the race.”

*safety car heads into the pit lane. camera follows as the Ferrari car 139 speeds up and the Redbull car quickly accelerates behind*

“With that brilliant acceleration Braun threatens Jaeger’s position into that first corner—and he manages to go wheel to wheel into the second and stays within one thousandth of a second through those s curves.”

“Jaeger manages to just barely lead as that Redbull fights for pole position. Going into turn 11, Jaeger goes a little wide and Braun takes the opportunity to cut to the inside and takes the lead!”

*lap 53. camera shows Mikasa attentively watching the monitors in the paddock*

“As we approach the end of the race we see Jaeger only four thousandths of a second behind Braun—”

“Braun should be worried as in the past few laps Jaeger has had the better race pace, has had better corners than the former champion.”

“Oh and here they go wheel to wheel yet again into turn 12. Jaeger tries to take the inside but Braun had the couple second lead that keeps him in front. But that all might change going into turns 13 and 14 as Jaeger hits the throttle and goes around the outside.

“Still wheel to wheel down the straight into sector 3 and Braun tries to push towards the inside but Jaeger refuses to back down and keeps that pace, stays wheel to wheel as they barrel into the final corners—where Eren Jaeger manages to cut across to the inside and comes out of turn 15 just barely ahead!”

“And we are seeing Jaeger pull into the lead into the final set of turns, and Reiner can do nothing but watch as the Ferrari driver cuts in front and defends that pole position all the way to the checkered flag!”

“And listen to that crowd cheer! What a phenomenal race! For the third time in his F1 career, Eren Jaeger finishes in pole position. A well fought, well earned position.”

*camera cuts to driver view as Eren pumps one arm in the air in victory. camera split views to show the Ferrari team celebrating in the garage and at the paddock*

*Ferrari radio pop-up occurs alongside live view of Eren pumping his fist*

“Great work, Eren. Fantastic drive,” the race engineer says.

“Woohoo! *Bleep* yes! Great car, Miks. Great job team. Amazing pace.”

*Ferrari car 139 pulls into the first place podium position in the pit lane. Eren gets out of the car and jumps on top, throws his hands into the air to celebrate.*

*The Ferrari team floods the pit lane towards the car. Eren hops off, takes the helmet off, and finds Mikasa, wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her into the air. Both are cheering. The team cheers around them.*

“A momentous occasion yet again for the team that hasn’t seen this many Grand Prix wins this early in the season since the late 90s, early 2000s. With that win and the point for the fastest lap, Eren closes that championship gap to only 3 points. An incredible accomplishment for the young driver.”

“Now, Alex, with that well fought, well deserved win, what do you think is an adequate trophy for him?”

*Camera zooms in on Eren and Mikasa still hugging, celebrating together. Eren’s looking at her. She’s looking at him*

“Well, Martin, I think we’re looking at her.”

[save-the-data]

My Story | S01E02: ZEKE X FIFTH SUPERCUT

Filipino Drama - 2023, 10 episodes  

~ Episode List ~ | ~ Filipino Drama Master List ~ | ~ Official Links ~

[usertoxicyaoi]

“We’re good, okay?” MY STORY (2023). Episode 6.

[gradienta]

My Story The Series EP6-EP9

Oh, to be young, horny and shameless... what a life.

:D :D :D :D :D :D :D Congrats :'D

Wow, now he's totally pregnant.

I think peak being in love and horny for your lover is when you try to understand how to get intimate when you have an injury.

Big SKAM and T8S vibes.

"What do you want? To be loved? Or to be used? Or both?" "Both."

KinnPorsche vibes

The photoshoot scene - TITANIC VIBES

[heretherebedork]

I love jealous Fifth is and how oblivious Zeke is. It's adorable. I love these two so much more than the main couple. I also love their plot more, honestly, but that's because I can only handle so much kitchen drama before I check out.

[dogandcatcomics]

#repost @seth.becker Seth Becker (New York State, USA, 1987-). First image is Toby Barking at His Shadow, 2020, oil on panel, 12 x 9 in. Second image is Zeke and Molly, 2021, oil on panel, 9 x 12 in. Third image is Lost Dog in a Hedge Maze, 11 x 14 in. Fourth image is Hound With Parting Clouds, 9 x 12 in. Fifth image is Cat in Knight's Costume. Thanks to @pamelasalisburyhudson for the tip.

[daryascurse]

Chainsmoking His Love 5: The Fifth Bottle

Zeke Jaeger x Reader // nsfw mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: drinking, teasing, oraI, sεx, hidden exhιbitionism (like, when someone is in the vicinity of people having sεx but they don't know), Porco Galliard Chapter length: 4.4k

You eye down the neck of the bottle as best you can in the dim light, unable to perceive the liquid in its depths. “No?” you say absently.

He makes a breathy sound, almost like a dry laugh, and you catch his eye as you lift the bottle to your lips.

“I think what I made upstairs was sweeter. I like that taste. And I need a palate cleanser.”

You gulp and the dregs of wine burn down the back of your throat. You cough, and raise a hand in alarm, as it threatens to burst out of your body in a heaving response at the speed. And Zeke takes advantage of that to bend before you, lowering his knees onto the dusty floor.

“Hold your skirt up for me,” he says, a gruff command.

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You heave the door to the cellar closed behind you, shutting out the last of the banquet’s din into distant muffles. Low light illuminates the steps into the cool, deep retreats, barrels of wine lining the bottom of the stairs and creating an aisle into the looming racks of pre-prepared glass bottles. They twinkle, dark, black diamonds as you take slow, cautious steps down, skirt clutched in your fist.

They have to be slow steps. Not for fear of losing your footing on the loose dust, nor blind stumbles in the dark, but because your thighs are still sticky, sweaty, heavy with the ghost of Zeke’s fingerprints. 

And besides. As much of a responsibility serving is, there’s enough staff that there’s no real need to hurry back.

You exhale into the crisp air, rich with dirt and entwined with the deeper, even earthier tones of the plums and grapes of the liquor. The scent gathers on your tongue and reaches back to your nostrils. It’s calming. You take another deep breath on the landing, reaching out to ground your palm against a barrel. 

“Okay,” you say, letting the word hang.

Reds. It had been red wine at dinner. So you walk into the aisles, the bottlenecks leering out to you from the racks built all the way to the ceiling above. The cellar yawns forward, the dim torch lights somehow making the darkness wider and emptier. 

Reds. What meat had it been? It’s not your fault you can barely remember as you go down row by row.

“Lamb,” you say, frowning up at the dusty labels and thinking of the stew.

The cellar door squeaks in the distance beyond the landing, the chatter and violins swelling and fading as it opens and shuts again. Someone else coming down the servant corridors seeking replenishment. 

“What red goes well with lamb?” you call, turning your face to that center aisle and addressing the heavy footprints coming closer down the stairs.

“Lamb?”

It’s not the voice of the head server, any of the butlers, any maids. Not anyone who should be down here.

A thrill of sheer delight goes through you.

Zeke’s steps are heavy down the dirt-crusted stairs, and you purse your lips for a moment in humiliation - how? How were his footsteps unrecognizable ? - before forgiving yourself. You take a cautious step forward into the aisle as he stops at the foot of the stairs. 

“The lamb upstairs isn’t nearly as delicious as this little lamb I’ve found.”

Your breath catches. Zeke smiles; then drops the expression so quickly that it must have been involuntary. Or, just your eyes playing tricks on you in the dark.

“I don’t think you should be down here,” you say, and you can’t keep the smile from spreading across your face.

The lenses of Zeke’s glasses glint at you, colder than the crystalline bottles that surround you to the sky. He clasps his hands in a languid, casual motion behind his back, and takes steps forward that are slower, more deliberate, all the way down to the rows of wine you stand before.

“Oh, you know that a missing Eldian or two won’t be a call for alarm.” Zeke pauses. “Given that it’s not too long an absence.”

Your thighs ache, your cunt practically oiled and throbbing at the thought of his fingers mere minutes before. “Oh? Can they even spare the great War Chief up there?”

He rests an elbow on the edge of the iron rack, looking down his thin nose at you, hand dangerously close to the delicate neck of the bottle. “Such cheek. You’ve certainly gotten bolder since I first met you.”

You hesitate, a sudden heat of anxiety rising to your face. Maybe the words were spat out too brashly. Marleyan you may both be, but he still holds that certain esteem. He may have asked you to abandon titles in private, but he still wears it like a badge. You may arch over his thighs, but you still fall to your knees in every sense of the phrase. 

“Mmm ,” you say, a nasal sound full of uncertainty. 

Zeke’s eyes are ever unreadable; blank slates behind a glass sheet in the dark.

“Am I a bad influence?”

You still aren’t sure what to say, your mind racing, burning. 

This cat and mouse game, this weird relationship of dares, of sex, of his mercy. Maybe you don’t quite have the hang of it yet.

“Smoking, drinking, rather daring public exposure…” the words flow slowly out of his mouth, a drawl, as he counts carelessly on fingers waving still too close to the glass bottles. “And now, some insubordination. I think I may have corrupted you.”

There’s an acute hint of alcohol on his breath.

“Have you… sir?”

The word comes out too purposefully to merely be instinct, and you bite the inside of your cheeks at the impulsive impudence. 

But Zeke smiles, wide, and genuine, if maybe a little tipsy. He reaches forward, dances his fingers along the lines of wine. He plucks the fifth bottle in from off the shelf, right next to your head, and takes a step closer to you in the aisle. You step back. He follows in the dance. 

“I have,” he says in quiet triumph. “And, you know, I think I quite like your filthy little fire.”

He leans close, and your chin tilts up, lips barely parted in half-expressed expectation. He withdraws for a moment, bringing his arms forward and around you, and doesn’t mind your limp expression of disappointment as he turns his gaze down and offers no kiss. His fingers wrestle with the cork atop the black glass bottle.

“You can’t -” you start automatically, though you know as well as he that a bottle missing wouldn’t fall on anyone’s radar. 

“Don’t pussy out on me now,” Zeke chides, the word falling a little harshly on your ears. But just at that moment, he twists and jerks the cork clean out of the bottle with a satisfying pop, and flings it carelessly to a dark corner.

His voice is strong and clear, but the haze at the edge of it is as undeniable as the faint waft on his breath. You were the one filling his drink upstairs, after all. You take a few more steps backwards, further into the dark security of the row, and Zeke steps forward as he squints at the label. He takes a swig, then winces.

“Maybe I’m biased, but I think my own little project tastes better.”

“Oh - you’re still making your own wine? How’s it … coming along?”

He looks at the bottle almost in disgust, turning it in his hand before passing it to you. “Fine,” he says. “I think I know how to get the last ingredient I need. But that’s not what I meant.”

You eye down the neck of the bottle as best you can in the dim light, unable to perceive the liquid in its depths. “No?” you say absently.

He makes a breathy sound, almost like a dry laugh, and you catch his eye as you lift the bottle to your lips. 

“I think what I made upstairs was sweeter. I like that taste. And I need a palate cleanser.”

You gulp and the dregs of wine burn down the back of your throat. You cough, and raise a hand in alarm, as it threatens to burst out of your body in a heaving response at the speed. And Zeke takes advantage of that to bend before you, lowering his knees onto the dusty floor.

“Hold your skirt up for me,” he says, a gruff command. You lower your hand in clumsy acquiescence to grab a thick fistful of fabric, the slippery glass still in your other hand. 

Zeke’s hands find balance on your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft inner skin, palms bracing on the muscle. His breath is hot on your skin, tongue pressing flat over the fabric of your panties.

“This tastes familiar,” he says, and you whimper. It feels tender as his tongue probes, fat and heavy and pushing over the fabric to find the remnants of your arousal he had teased out of you at the dinner table. His fingers flex, and yours do in response, pushing against the fistful of skirt in your hand and anxious on the wine bottle. 

Even if Zeke’s been drinking at the dinner table, you just know how heady and dripping you are, the saliva pushing back at you only reinforcing that slippery arousal against your skin. Zeke tastes it all, and he must be finding it delicious indeed, because he practically moans into your skin. A hand pushes up, against the drape of skirt bunched at the back of his head, to feel for the band of fabric at your hip again. His fingertips scramble, and instead of the coy nudge to the side he had given at dinner, he grabs hold and roughly rips them to the side.

“Oh! ”

The sound yelps.

Zeke groans, smacks his lips as they press to your bare skin. “Be - quiet - and - drink your - wine.”

You whine, the sound rolling away from you as you gingerly lift the bottle to your lips. The weight of the liquid sloshes heavily, and you jerk your chin back to avoid spilling blood red down your neck and crisp serving clothes.

What doesn’t help is Zeke’s eagerness as he tugs the waistband aside. Your feet totter on the floor, ankles threatening to roll, as his tongue tastes the slick skin of your cunt. 

“So sweet,” you can hear him breathe. 

The kisses on your skin come quick and sloppy. Your head reels with the sharp wine, with his eager touches. The curve of the top of his lenses press against your hip, the circle of glass threatening to cut into your skin as your hips shift in involuntary circles over him. Zeke’s tongue hunts further, driving up between you. 

“Mmm…”

Your fingers itch on the bottle in longing, to dig through that coarse tuft of hair as his head bobs and pushes. Your knees bend, opening wider and wider still. Without thinking, you lift the bottle to take another uneasy swig. 

“Oh,” you gasp, a voice thick and full as he somehow again chases your swallow with another harsh drive of his tongue. His fingers go hard on your skin in a familiar pattern, lifting, shifting, down again as he maneuvers his face up. The stubble at the corner of his mouth rubs your skin soft, silky, as his tongue flicks hot over your teased clit.

The sensitivity alone lurches in your blood, as your whimper rises into the cool cellar air.

“Zeke… there…”

He makes no sound of acknowledgement as his breaths come rough, but the frantic wave of his tongue hovers right over that spot in an easy identification. The pressure comes, goes, pushes again, faster, and faster. 

The tidal wave of blood and warmth rocks below your hips, kicking up to a new, uneven, urgent tempo. You close your eyes, head tilted back against the clinking bottles, and oh , think of his fingers, upstairs, minutes ago, but so far away, and the pulse gets higher, faster.

His tongue is velvet, his hands are iron.

“Zeke, I’m - ”

You come hard in his mouth, and he moans at the taste. It comes in ripples, your words breaking with each second - “coming, coming, coming,” as you repeat in frail helplessness. Those hands clamp hard enough to create a garter of bruises across your thigh, as Zeke laps his tongue around you in a drunken hunger. The slurp of mouth on skin is loud as he sucks it down. His next move misses, lips closing around your inner thigh, and you bite back the wail at the jerk of sensitivity it shoots through you. 

Maybe he didn’t miss on accident. You whimper, head spinning, cunt throbbing at the delicious payoff. 

“My turn,” Zeke says, his voice hoarse as he rises. 

You try to pawn the bottle off to him, vision swaying and heart beating in your ears. He shakes his head, glasses slowly un-fogging and glittering in the low light. 

“I don’t want that. When I’ve just tasted this.”

He cups your face in a gesture that takes you by surprise - because - why, it’s almost tender - before his lips crush yours in a kiss. Your cramped fingers release the folds of your skirt, and you find that free hand coming up to his hand, to his wrist, grabbing it as you kiss him back. And you do taste yourself, the sour wine twisting between the fluids you share together. 

But then, as if the moment is too tender, he drops your face. Your hand falls down to clutch the bottle too, almost shaken from your touch, a joint grip of fingers to keep your balance.

Zeke jerks his head. He moves his leg, and his hands grab at your hips to push against your skirt. The action nudges you to turn. You lean hesitantly, awkward, tipsy elbows against the iron racks, almost self-conscious at the near-bent position.

“Give me that,” he mutters, and the bottle lifts out of your hands. There’s a clink as he sets it on the dusty stone floor, bent between your legs again for a moment as he lifts the fabric again.

The dark bottles in aisles ahead of you echo into dark infinity as they glisten through the iron racks as you lean forward, hips and feet heavy anchors. The vision kaleidoscopes and you gasp as Zeke tears your panties down, urging your legs fully apart. You lift your left foot, unsteady. The fabric crumples around your right ankle. And Zeke moves one hand up the back of your thigh, rubbing his fingers together thickly at your entrance. Your slick arousal, his saliva, drips across his fingers. There’s a rustling sound and he withdraws a moment to wrest his own pants down. 

“Now,” Zeke says, and your skirt bunches up higher across the small of your back again. “Hold - ”

And he freezes, silent. You whip your head, a wordless moan in the darkness, when you hear what his training-heightened senses must have caught mere moments ahead of you. At the top of the stairs, the door swings open with groaning hinges. The wood bangs back against the stone wall, the screams of delight upstairs echoing into the cellar.

Zeke’s fingers are cold at the small of your back as footsteps descend, rapid. The server - for it must be staff this time - clops down to the landing, letting out a sigh. 

Maybe they’ll just grab a bottle and go.

There’s the crackle of a sparking match, the few puffs of a charring light, and you realize that they’re lighting a pipe instead.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Zeke leans in. His body curves over your spread legs and bent back, the coils of his stomach muscles tense and fluttering at your back with his even breaths. His hands lock under your skirt, and his cock comes between your thighs, rubbing up into your sticky, trembling skin as he moves back and forth.

The person coughs loudly as they puff, the pale scent of cheap tobacco rising through the room.

You gulp down a whimper, turning your head against the iron and clasp your hand over your mouth. The scents of wine rise to your nose, and you close your eyes, willing yourself not to make a sound.

“Quiet,” Zeke whispers, so silent himself that it may have just been a breath of air against the back of your ear. Your skin there grows warm, burns at the sensation, so cool again as he straightens back up. 

Zeke splays his hands on your bent hips, pushing your skirt high and cascading down the front of your shaking legs. He guides himself so easily to your tender wetness and pushes in. You push your lips together to keep from letting out a moan as he moves. He goes slowly, slowly, sinking into your puffy, sensitive core. And then he pulls out, in, restraining himself with slow thrusts deeper and deeper. 

He’s only going slow to be quiet, of this you’re certain, even past your own haze of clouded judgment and wine. But what even the slowest, most agonizing drags of his thrusts cannot hide is the sound your body makes as he does it. His cock pushes through that fine oil of arousal like crushed velvet and the wetness is undeniable. 

You let out the tiniest, anguished whimper, and push your head into the back of your hands.

It’s also maddingly teasing.

Zeke leans into you. He rests his face against your shoulder blades and takes a shuddering, steeling breath. His heart beats through his shirt and yours, wild against your back.

“Zeke,” you dare to breathe in a strangled whisper. “Please …”

The word puffs out of you, but you feel Zeke smile against your skin, his grin growing wide as his glasses, his cheekbones, press into your blouse. “ Shh,” he says in an exhale. 

The person coughs again, scuffs their shoes loudly against the wall, and you squeeze your eyes closed. The adrenaline coursing through you is terror, is thrilling, is longing.

And then, Zeke begins to pound into you, as if in terrible punishment for the transgression of sound. You brace yourself against the iron racks, fingers so tight against the cross of metal in desperate avoidance of the bottles threatening to clatter together if you dared to lean on them, to grab for aching support. Your other hand presses so hard against your mouth as if you could bruise yourself.

He slides through you, breathes hot and hissing and as quiet as he can wrangle at the back of your neck. His fingers dig into your hips so harshly that there, marks will appear, tiny purple circles to haunt your skin.

And of course, the faster he goes, the harder it is for both of you to remain silent. 

Zeke’s cock fills you, leaves you empty, and practically drives to your aching core again with every stroke. His hands move up, as hungry as the rest of him, wresting with your blouse to pull up and grab at your chest. His thumbs roll and massage clumsily, pulling you into him even as you arch your back against his body. 

You bite the side of your hand.

And then, the footsteps shift again, and Zeke stills. He pushes up into you, hands teasing at your tender nipples. You can’t help it, you writhe back on him, squeezing every inner muscle, your thighs shaking, as he keeps you stuffed open and dripping. But he only moves his fingers ever so teasingly, his breaths coming more and more even even as you struggle and strain in tortured silence.

Glass clatters against stone, the familiar tapping sound of a pipe being emptied. The footsteps go up the stairs, swing the door open. 

The exhale is shared. 

“Ohh,” you say, and Zeke rolls his hips over you. 

“Bad girl. I told you to stay silent.”

“You weren’t help -” you start, and then cry as Zeke’s hands go hard on your chest. He pinches, a dark chuckle coming from above, and withdraws to place his hands on your hips again. You lean down, almost slumping under his weight, as he changes angles. He’s somehow going even harder, the relaxed shift in your hips letting him drive even deeper. You let the moans roll from your throat in reckless abandon. 

“Fuck.”

You roll your foot, and carelessly knock into the abandoned, barely half-drunk bottle. It slides, glass against glass. You jerk your head, and in the dim light, watch half-horrified as it falls in slow motion.

Zeke doesn’t stop, holding you down through the startled, jerking motion. He doesn’t even adjust or falter. 

“Mmm ..”

He groans too, and you roll your head, neck back, craning to see him. His glasses are slipping down his nose, eyes hooded with wine and lust, the pulse at the base of his neck beating hard against the constraint of his collar. He makes eye contact with you, and grins, upside down. He squeezes your ass, and your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Zeke… ” 

He doesn’t respond, but his thumbs dig into the curve of your skin, air hissing through his teeth. You feel yourself clench over him, as if everything within you melts, as if your joints go numb as he pounds through you.

And then he comes, holding you so close to his body, fingers knotting into your skin with a harsh breath near-vocal. His strokes are short, tight, and spilling hot as he pushes into you. He thrusts again, the wetness dripping from between your folds, smearing onto your thighs, your liquid against his. 

A cry comes deep, low, animalistic from his lungs, and his fingers are like rods as he spills. For the first time, he pumps you so full of himself, the warm rocket shooting his seed through your body and somehow making the blood pump hotter, as if that sensation alone could make you come again.

Your own legs feel as if they could give out beneath you, as if in this moment those strong hands are the only thing to hold you up. 

The breath that comes jagged from you both is uncomfortably loud now, the only sound to cut through the suddenly too-quiet cellar. Too dry, the air heavier from that lingering tobacco smoke at the foot of the stairs. Zeke pulls out, and your knees knock at the sensation of him slipping out. You hesitate, so empty, legs dirty and bruised.

He steps away, and you grip at the iron for strength. Turning to face him, your skirt falls awkwardly, and you reach to smooth it in hesitant, dusting motions.

“Do I look… a little too… messy?” you ask, feeling a little foolish. Your mouth is a little dry, head pulsing.

Zeke tilts his head to the side, bending briefly to pull his pants up. He keeps that unreadable eye contact with you as he fastens them. “I like when you look a mess.” 

You roll your eyes to the ground at that unhelpful answer, and brush your dress off more. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Zeke asks, but chuckles dryly as he answers his own question. The bottle he’d taken, that you’d accidentally kicked, lies in black shards, last dregs of red seeping against the ground. 

“Shit,” you repeat again.

“You have a dirty mouth for a lady, don’t you? I feel like I’m realizing so many things about you today.”

His voice is clearer, sobered, but still amused. You open your mouth for a moment in indignation, and close it. As much as he may proclaim he’s found a liking to your so-called“fire” that he brings out of you, a clever retort escapes you now.

“Anyway, it’s fine,” Zeke adds.

“I guess,” you say. 

“After a banquet like tonight, no one’ll keep track of how many bottles go missing or end up a casualty. I bet our smoking guest isn’t the only person to steal a moment or two down here tonight, and maybe come up with more.”

“Stealing a moment like us?” you ask.

Zeke, bent to examine and flick away the dust on his knees, looks up at you with a wry smile. And it strikes you - you’ve never referred to the two of you as “us.” 

“I’m sure no one quite like us,” he says.

You’re not sure if the words deceive you, the pulse of alcohol or adrenaline still playing magic tricks in your mind and body, but he does seem to linger on the word. You chew the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. 

“I’ll head up first,” Zeke says. He straightens up, fixes the hem of his shirt. “I need a cigarette anyway.” 

You hesitate, about to ask to come along, somehow not quite ready to leave his company.

“And you,” he says, peering through the lens with a dark gleam in his eyes, “don’t forget to bring us more wine.”

The difference in tone, the coldness, almost punches you in the gut. Of course. The us he usually says, the us he usually means. The Eldian elite, the ones close to Marley, fighting for its glory. Of course you’re on the outside of that. You bow your head to keep your expression hidden, and look at the floor without another word as the smile slips off your face into neutral servitude. 

You almost say “yes, Sir,” but bite it back this time. 

Zeke’s boots don’t even wait for a response. You see him turn heel, walk back into the aisle, and out of sight. The familiar sounds of the stairs, the crescendo of volume as he opens the door without a care, and closes.

You wait a moment, but the door doesn’t open again. No last call to you, no last joke, no recognition. The silence seems to grow, deafening and terrible around your ears, the sound of your heartbeat uncomfortably loud and heavy. You clear your throat. It echoes strangely.

Back to work. What else is there to do?

You stoop in front of the racks of bottles, carefully investigating your reflection in the dark glass. When you’re satisfied in your appearance, you reach up, grab a bottle, hoping that it suffices. Hoping that it’s even red. You cradle it in your arms as you walk down the dusty path back to the stairs, and allow yourself to stomp with a strange, inexplicable frustration up each step.

With a low grunt and wrinkle of your nose, you yank the door open. The swell of sound greets you in stark difference, and you squint at the abrupt brightness of the grandly lit hall. 

There’s someone standing a few paces down. Your heart leaps despite yourself at the familiar garb, the shock of hair, but it’s not Zeke. He has a sterner haircut, a shorter statute. He turns and looks, and you bow your head as you make your way down the hall in his direction. 

Porco Galliard, another of the Warriors, stands straight and steps right in your path. The Jaw Titan.

“Excuse me,” you murmur, eyes downcast as your feet stutter to a halt. Your hands are clutching the dark bottle in your hands, sweat trickling down your back as goosebumps rise. He adjusts, still blocking your way, and you turn your eyes up.

There’s nothing else in the hall but the gleam of lighting. No other figure. No Zeke. 

Porco looks at you coldly, his chin forward, as he whispers in your ear.

“Do you know why the War Chief just came this same way? ”

chapter 6