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see-arcane · 3 months

Text

Before the journal opened

Before it saved his life

Before Hell staked a claim

Before he swung his knife

A storm rolled in with the spring

And hope paved his long way

Through monsters and their red wants

He takes step one today.

WARNING: Contains some grisly imagery towards the end.

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Harker

C.R. Kane

March to April

Spring rolled in more grey than green that week. It dribbled rain through morning and noon, pondering to itself whether it would save an encore for evening in the way of a proper storm. The songbirds and the street noise went on as best they could between showers. They made up the only true din in Jonathan Harker’s corner, not counting the hammering of the typewriter or an occasional rustle of sheets. The usual low cacophony of the firm had been whittled down immensely due to the cough that had been shared at the start of the week and sent the greater part of Peter Hawkins’ small legion home to hack and sniffle in private.

This left Jonathan somewhat abandoned, not counting Hawkins’ presence behind the office door. It was just as well. He’d been splitting his attention between the eternal tower of logistical and legal chores that ruled his desk and the shorthand notes made in preparation for his exam. Such had been his constant state for the past two months. There had been ribbing from all directions, some bemoaning the imminent loss of a load-bearing clerk, others saying now they could draw lots and boot someone else out the door, and still more wheedling about whether or not they could still drag him in place as a shield when clientele of a certain incendiary temperament came around. Please?

Jonathan had remained ominously mum. Groans and lamentations ensued.

This was a joke, of course. Young Mr. Harker was nothing if not dedicated to the task of transmuting Hawkins’ charity to a whipcord child fifteen years prior into a proper investment. Case in point, using a lull in his own workload to get things in order for those bedridden solicitors who had the nearest deadlines pending. Bentley idled through with his tea as he did and shook his head.

“Don’t know what it is that comes with your kind, Harker, but it’s a busier thing that any of us idle English have. We’re down two thirds of the building and here you are doing three-quarters of the work. Get the examination out of the way and you may as well tell the old man to retire.” A thoughtful sip came from behind the porcelain. “Must be something they teach you Gurkha sorts, eh? Some kind of discipline our doughy little English schoolboys never get knocked in their heads.”

Jonathan weighed the decision of whether or not to give Arnold Bentley his bimonthly reminder that he was, in fact, English by birth. His parents as well. But the reminder would likely fall into the same pit between the man’s ears where all the others had gone. Worse, it might risk a tally mark against him in whatever invisible score was kept by peers. The one that determined whether the combination of Jonathan’s physiognomy and disposition really were enough to pardon his status or not. He finished this measuring of scales in less than a blink. A smile was summoned.

“Not at all. Just helping where things can be helped.” He straightened a sheaf of forms back in order. “That, and I cannot go a day without productivity, or else I shall have to go home and carve my hand with the kukri knife in penance.”

Bentley paused halfway through his laugh when Jonathan held his gaze. He gawped over his cup.

“God. Really?”

“No, not really. My penmanship would suffer terribly.”

This spurred a louder guffaw from the man, likewise a rattling clap of his open palm to Jonathan’s shoulder. Then he was out like a breeze to carry on with whatever it was he had drifted from in his own territory of the building. Jonathan resumed his interrupted rhythm. Read. Check. Write. Type. Read. Check. Write. Type. So he went for another hour before his watch told him it was time to check the post.

He stepped out during a lull of rain. The thunder talked with itself in the slate-dark clouds, debating whether or not to turn the spigot on the moment the wad of envelopes was out in the open. Jonathan applauded himself on dodging the first drops of the deluge by seconds. Peeking through the window, he saw there were even a few fitful winks of lightning hopping through the sky. What few pedestrians were left went running for shops they had no interest in, restaurants they had no appetites for, and cabs that turned frustratingly scarce within the minute. Jonathan grimaced in premonition of the dash he and Mina would have to make under the umbrella once she was free of her students.

But that was for later. For now, he flipped through the day’s heap and dealt them out to the waiting desks, occupied or not. The last in the stack was a familiar packet and one of extraordinary make. It was patterned with the stamps of myriad countries with ornate flourishes in the writing. A thick crimson seal sporting a rearing dragon marked it as the second delivery from the same foreign estate that had written to Hawkins in February. A castle set in the backdrop of the Carpathians.

Jonathan had felt his heart twist the first time he’d handled a parcel from the address and it twisted doubly hard now. There had been time in the interim to start combing through Exeter’s libraries for any beginning details to have ready should Hawkins want some background to aid one of the solicitors, especially in the case of a potential trip. If the latter came to pass, it would mean a visit to London and a perusal of denser material. A fine enough excuse to wander the superior bookcases and the British Museum on its own. But the luster of the errand was already gone in his mind. The first glimpse of the prospective client’s territory in the first book he’d cracked open, wrought in illustrations and sparse photographs as it was, sent a spear of longing through Jonathan’s chest that still hadn’t left.

Why would anyone living there want to trade such a place for England?

Jonathan was not oblivious to the advantages of the country. He understood his good fortune in access to modern works, from amenities to entertainments; at least in theory. With cautious budgeting. But all his life had been spent in cramped rooms or congested streets. The presence of a park, a farmer’s field, a distant beach, or a picturesque cemetery were the nearest he would ever come to the broad and chainless beauty of places not yet stomped flat with bricks and smoke.

Imagine! Meadows and hills, valleys and forests, all topped with the great serrated crown of the mountains. Cities and villages worn smooth with generations going back through centuries.

Imagine being there with her. Seeing sunrise flood over the peaks, walking old roads and footpaths, tasting and seeing and playing and breathing in a place without its laces drawn like a noose around throat and purse. The trains alone would be enough for her, true, but we would find somewhere to stop. Somewhere in every swatch of the countryside. At some point, as she became lost in a view, in a meal, in a walk, she would see me on my knee and what I held in my hand, and the wedding could happen right there in an ancient chapel, and then…

But the fantasy turned to dust before it could finish.

The required funds were cudgel enough to smash the whole daydream to atoms. At most they might manage a trip someplace other than their usual heights of hedonism. That was, a brief trip to Piccadilly and back. Maybe a bit of theatre. Possibly a picnic. Perhaps even some further place in the Isles. Somewhere rich with quiet and history of its own, but likely not across the Channel. Never a locale so far and mythic as the place Hawkins’ new client seemed interested in abandoning. Jonathan pictured Hawkins writing back to the noble on his behalf, wailing at the stranger not to forsake his fairy tale castle for the doldrums of a Londoner’s garish crate of a manse, no matter how crusted in filigree.

Save yourself! Do not trade your mountains for an English molehill! Turn back, turn back!

But that would be a poor way to run the firm, wouldn’t it? Resigned, he brought the packet to Hawkins’ office and knocked at the door.

“It’s open, Jonathan.”

Jonathan ducked in with his smile already nailed in place. It was an expression he now had to work at as recent months plodded on and Peter Hawkins’ complexion failed to improve. The man behind the broad desk was only half as rubicund as he’d been the year before. He had insisted to everyone who dared ask that he was merely suffering from a particularly ugly attack of gout and that he would be fine in a week or so. As it stood, Hawkins could still sit up straight and bellow thanks when Jonathan came by with his delivery. He even turned a shade ruddier upon seeing the dragon’s seal.

“Well now,” he said through a grin. He turned the packet over and pointed it at Jonathan. “Have you taken lunch?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Go on and fill up quick. If this is what I believe it is, I expect I’ll need your ear within the hour.”

So saying, Hawkins slit the packet open and began to read. Jonathan dismissed himself with his fingers crossed in his pocket. Perhaps the British Museum wasn’t too far off after all. That and the London libraries. It would be too brief a visit for anything more extravagant than what Lucy referred to as his and Mina’s ‘academic holidays,’ but it would make an interesting exercise just the same. Plotting the trip was a pleasant enough distraction to eat to.

He finished just as he heard the tell-tale grunt and shuffle that meant Hawkins was hefting himself up to trudge around his desk. Jonathan flew to the door first, only just recalling to swat his knuckles against the wood before opening it. Hawkins looked up with a shock before gratefully flopping himself back into his chair.

“You have a dog’s hearing and cat’s feet. Ought to have a bell on you to give an old man some warning.”

“Apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Saved me dragging myself around unduly.” Hawkins thumped a hand on the desk as if patting a horse. “I suppose I need to throw this out and trade desks with you. I can make it past that little square of yours in no time.” He thought further on it. “Less than a minute, anyhow.” He made a face that couldn’t decide itself between a smile or a grimace. “My doctor, who only seems to tell me what I already know, declares that I am not fit for any arduous travel. In his terms, that includes going further than the street corner on foot. Even a train ride is apparently a gamble, being that I should be in bed resting and rotting like a good patient rather than hobbling my way to and from the cab to work. Already I press his orders and my luck. Which means this,” he held up an envelope, “is out of the question for me.”

Jonathan recognized the torn envelope and scarlet seal. What held him up was the recognition that it was the first of the two packets. The February delivery.

“That’s unfortunate. Who was the client?”

Hawkins grinned in earnest now, purposefully turning the envelope so that the address was hidden.

“You tell me.”

Jonathan offered half a smile back. It was an old game that had begun years ago when he was still just a bookish boy underfoot, helping around the office for whatever could be spared for a child’s wage. Even then his eyes had been hungry things.

“Count Dracula, from the castle of the same name, of Transylvania. The address is from a Bistritz postal service situated in the Carpathians.”

“True and true.” Hawkins set the envelope on the desk and tapped it with a thick finger. “Curious taste in property, this one. Likely has the cravings of a renovator. No trouble on our side but for the hunting. But the esteemed gentleman is so damnably far into the Continent that I couldn’t rightly offer myself up in the way he’s asking. I ought to say, the way he insists upon buying. The way our Count puts it, he would rather pay every fee of travel for his English solicitor to and from his keep in the mountains, and play host on top, rather than, he says, ‘Suffer bartering land through stationery.’ In short, he’s willing to ship a solicitor to his door rather than play at this back-and-forth for all his questions, all out of his own pocket. He wants someone who’s not just going to find and sell the manner of place he’s after, but someone who can play encyclopedia if he’s unsure of something.”

“Hence him being prepared to rent out the owner of the firm for an in-person visit,” Jonathan finished. Hawkins gave a nod.

“And the owner might have been up for it a decade or so ago. But time marches and gout outweighs gold. So I fear that leaves me out of the picture.” Jonathan watched Hawkins fold his hands with a calculated laxness on the desk. “Your examination is coming up.”

Lightning flickered outside. More danced across Jonathan’s brain.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“You have been my clerk since you were old enough to rent a flat,” Hawkins went on. “My apprentice and professional living plaster to this place well before that.”

“Yes,” Jonathan breathed more than spoke. He feared his vocabulary was leaking out both ears while his heart tried to climb his throat.

“And,” Hawkins half-leaned over the desk, “you have been holding onto her ring since last year. Haven’t you?”

Heat rushed up to Jonathan’s face as he got out, “…Yes. I have. Sir, are you—,”

Hawkins brandished the packet Jonathan brought through the door an hour ago. This he laid beside the February envelope so that the pair of them seemed like strange square eyes staring up at him.

“I need you to understand: This is not an offer as much as a prayer. If there’s no chance with you, that means Bentley is the next choice. He’s my longest running man here and is liable to set up his own firm before the decade’s out. But for all that, and for all that he is a trustworthy one to patter with most Englishmen, I would sooner trust a cat with a lame canary than Bentley to not choke on his own tongue with a foreigner. Clients of noble lineage included. The man can barely toe his way around an Irishman let alone anyone from across the Channel. And, since the door is shut and no one is around to cry nepotism, I can speak the unvarnished truth.

“You could do with one week what anyone else here could manage inside a month and have it done better. That is not me being rosy about the past or present, that is me having eyes that work and a basis of comparison between how things ran before you began working here and after. The after is smooth as silk compared to the pre-Harker gravel. Stable gravel, I allow, but not nearly as easy a burden as things became once you were attacking the paperwork. And the footwork.” Hawkins raised a caterpillar brow at him. “Any good finds in the local bookshelves?”

“Not as many as I hoped,” Jonathan thought he heard himself say. It was hard to tell as he seemed to have relocated to some remote island in his skull and could only register what was happening as if from across an ocean. “I wanted to stop by the options in London if I had the chance. Just to gather some background on the client’s location if it was needed.”

“I’d say it is,” Hawkins hummed. “Supposing you can tell me you have your schedule open for some traveling come May.”

Jonathan told him it was. Hawkins told him to go to the corner cabinet and move the bust of Alexander off the high shelf. Then to bring down the bottle and two tumblers. There were toasts and there was talk and there was a laughing chide from the older man as he shooed Jonathan’s pocket notebook back from whence it came. No notes today, young man. At least not right now. Actually, perhaps one for later. Did he have time open to visit a tailor? There was a travel budget that was about to go unused if the Count was to have his way. It may as well go toward a good cause. Hawkins could hardly send his best solicitor to a noble’s door without looking his best, and it was for the firm’s image, really, so it could hardly be helped, and the doctor couldn’t grudge him such paltry exercise as going to harangue a suit seller…

Jonathan’s eyes burned and his face ached with smiling. He was mortified to find himself close to a sob before turning the sound into a coughing laugh. Hawkins told him to drink, not inhale. That turned the next sound into a true chuckle. He couldn’t tell whether it was an effect of the liquor or his own imagination that made it seem as if the thunder was laughing too.

“Transylvania,” Mina said for the dozenth time.

“Transylvania,” Jonathan echoed. He turned to face her rather than cling to the charade that either of them were focused enough to continue their mutual study. His pile included the texts that had come to haunt his subconscious with its rules and rites of property law, now with the hypnotic temptation of the library books waiting just an arm’s length away. Mina, who Jonathan knew was as much or more a pillar of solid focus than himself, had not a mote of attention to spare for the papers taken from the realm of educational etiquette or her personal project of mirroring and translating his shorthand. The latter made a certain gleeful anticipation turn over in his stomach. It left him floundering between elation and anxiety with equal force until he thought he might lose his last meal on the floorboards.

Which would be a shame, as he and Mina had combined their efforts into a delightful result in Jonathan’s narrow kitchen. Jonathan had only half-jokingly implied that they were making a child’s ideal feast because he was, in fact, giddy as a boy who’d just shaken hands with Father Christmas. Mina had declared this was nonsense.

“A supper made of breakfast is an entirely sound culinary decision.”

“Yes, Miss Murray,” in his best schoolboy tone. “Did you want crêpes or toast?”

“Crêpes. Extra cream.”

They had giggled like children over their respective plates. Just as they did over the rapidly ignored chores they had planned for themselves after. It was the frightful intoxication of feeling the future unrolling into a new smiling mystery before them. One that whispered, yes, yes, this is real, this is coming true. A future that might include…

Jonathan gulped down a heavy lump of air as his gaze flicked again to the sheet of shorthand messages he had scribbled out for her to translate. She had stopped halfway through. Close, close, close. But he didn’t let his stare linger. Instead he found her face again, still glowing. Jonathan was forever surprised that he had not dreamt her up as a boy and continued dreaming her until now. It surprised him more that he had managed to earn her love and dumbfounded him entirely to think that she regarded herself in the same terms. More, that she insisted she was the luckier half of their equation. He did not follow her meaning then, nor did he think he ever would.

“Mina, anyone with a sliver of sense in their head would feel the same for you,” he had insisted more than once. Each time she had smiled and shaken her head. Her eyes forever bright with a sweet-somber knowledge he couldn’t decipher.

“There is plenty of sense to spare. Loving hearts as well. But there is a different lens that women see the world through and it shows things men shall never have to see. It shows so much to watch for. To be wary of, or to hope for, or to know not to expect because life has made it clear that so much of what’s dreamt of only exists for a few, while the rest make do with storybooks and stage plays.” Her hand had held tight in his. “You were not meant to exist outside the borders of a fairy tale, Jonathan Harker. That you cannot see as much for yourself makes me wonder if someone really did peel you off a page and if you will vanish back to a fair princess somewhere when I wake up.”

“That implies I am either a prince or some clever farmhand. I’m cut out for neither. I am a squire at best. Though I would not settle for a mere princess either way, however fair.” He had dared a grin at her. “Or have you already forgotten Mrs. Westenra’s unique stance on the matter?”

Memory had nettled Mina out of her glumness with a sputter that tried and failed not to turn into shamefaced laughter. She had improved somewhat in the years since the incident itself, back when the whole ring of persons involved had flamed with embarrassment over the misunderstanding of Jonathan’s presence when spotted with Miss Lucille Westenra and her companion Miss Mina Murray now that all of them had stretched out of childhood and into the far end of adolescence. Followed by the ensuing inquiry as to why Mr. Harker had been baffled at the very concept of seeking to gain Miss Westenra’s affection as anything more than a friend.

Jonathan remembered sitting in one of the gilded rooms of the Westenra estate, sat across from Lucy’s increasingly rose-faced mother as she came to the belated realization that Mina Murray’s young man was not trying to court anyone other than Mina Murray. Worse, it had been left on his shoulders to steer the conversation out of potential wreckage by thanking his hostess for clearly being concerned on Mina’s own behalf, as there were too many people in the world who took the notion of seeking out a secret paramour behind another’s back as a matter of course. He was heartened to know that Mrs. Westenra cared enough to be mindful should an actual cad come into the orbit of her daughter or her friends.

Still flushed, Mrs. Westenra had chased agreement in this, poured on apologies for the mistake and had thankfully never brushed the topic since. Though Lucy had words enough to spare on the matter for months afterward. She had languished at them in the garden about it, the image of woe in peach blossom tailoring.

“Jonathan, I fear we must become enemies,” she’d intoned gravely. “You must walk with a cane in hand and I must brandish my parasol so that we keep our distance and never risk breathing the same air. We cannot even deafen poor Mina’s ears with the Bard or eavesdroppers will take us knowing the lines of Hamlet and Ophelia as proof of a tryst. Perhaps we should go around with our hats pulled down over our eyes, lest we give into temptation and acknowledge each other’s existence while being the opposite sex. It is our only chance of salvation.”

“Miss Lindon again?” from Mina, her smile placid. Jonathan knew she wore the same callused shell he did when it came to the patter that trickled down from higher tiers than theirs. Those tiers were many and their squabbles almost alien in what they deemed worth sniping about behind their fans and cigars. The infamous Miss Lindon was apparently a thorn too serrated even for Lucy’s compassion to withstand.

“Very much Miss Lindon again. ‘He would just do for you, Lucy.’ As though she thought I would be doing a charity by going behind my friend’s back and she were doing a charity by her sneering compliment. At least nature was kind enough to spare me having to think of a similarly charitable rebuttal, as a beetle helpfully flew into her hair a moment later and she went running. One must take silver linings when they come. Unrelatedly, Jonathan, when you do become a solicitor in full, should Miss Lindon and her future beau ever approach you for a house..?”

“I shall do what I can to find them a lovely estate,” Jonathan assured. “In Northumberland.”

“Next door to an entomologist?” Mina asked over her cup.

“Of course.”

Jonathan blinked the recollection away, wondering whether it was the dizziness of the day or the ticking of the clock between Mina and the final line of shorthand that was making his mind slosh. Perhaps it was simply the subconscious’ effort to dodge the weight of the evening and what it might promise. His thoughts were fleeing to hide from hope and worry. But Mina knew him too well. She caught him with her eyes before pulling him back into the headiness of the present.

“You will do fantastically, Jonathan. Tell me you know it as well as I do.”

“I will not say I know it. Too much confidence risks laziness. I will only say that I shall give all of myself to the task. It must be done so it will be done. If I think any further than that simple fact, my head will burst.”

“If you do, I promise to sweep you up and put your pieces back in order.” Her smile softened an increment as her hand settled in his. “I mean it.” She squeezed. He squeezed back.

“The same goes for you. We are neither of us allowed to hold ourselves together with string and brittle smiles once the door is between us and,” Jonathan flapped his free hand at the rain-streaked window, “all of that. No acting when it’s us alone.” He flashed her a decidedly less-than-brittle smile. “I promise not to tattle to your girls.”

“You were bad enough today, Mr. Harker. Half the classes were watching.” Her voice tutted, but the grin showed in her eyes. Jonathan had arrived at the school with the umbrella in one hand and a bouquet in the other. A bundle of her beloved lilies that he’d used as a screen behind which to steal a kiss and drop the announcement of Hawkins’ assignment in her ear. Forgetting her audience, Mina had kissed him back, forgetting to mask herself behind the petals. They had absconded to the cab to the sound of a dozen girls cooing their farewells, Miss Murray, see you tomorrow, Miss Murray, has he got a brother, Miss Murray?

“Hardly a terrible thing. If you are one of their examples, mustn’t they have something to look forward to at the end of all their practice?” He assumed a pose of scheming innocence, lashes batting. “I could be especially nefarious come Valentine’s Day. Take a holiday from Hawkins and show up toting chocolates and train tickets and a florist’s worth of flowers.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“I can hire an orchestra to follow us around. Have them play waltzes the whole day.”

“Jonathan.”

“No, of course, an orchestra would be too cumbersome. A singer and a violin, perhaps. I can hire a paperboy to throw rose petals after us. Or else I could send them up to the classroom to follow you in procession out of the building…”

The typewriter hammered back to life. Its keys were struck with more force than they needed.

“Sorry,” Mina sang above the din, “no hearing you over this. You will have to be a foul minion of Eros a little louder.” Jonathan bit his tongue against a reply. Yes, she was typing again. Yes, she was reading the last of the shorthand. Tap-tap-tap, clack-clack-clack. So far it was all the lines of a love note—a common enough surprise, if one that fished more than the usual dimpled grin out of her tonight—and she had not caught on yet to the conclusion. “How long will the client need you over there?”

“Between the travel to the estate, the stay, and the return trip, the whole thing should be over within early May. I shall have time to hoard you a while before you and Lucy have your summer escape to the coast. Was it Whitby?”

“Yes, quite near the landmark Abbey. I mean to harass the townspeople with demands for any ghost stories they might spare about the place. Perhaps Marmion is but a single drop in a sea of waiting legends.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“Then I shall try to collect what I can abroad in turn,” Jonathan said from behind a fan of notes. He kept only the corner of his eye pinned on the swimming lines. “There should be spirits in abundance along the route.”

Clack-clack-clack.

“I would think so. But don’t settle for ghosts alone! I shall happily adopt any devils or revenants or folkloric fiends the locals can share—,”

Her voice died mid-key.

Jonathan looked over the top of his pages. Mina sat frozen as a sculpture. Her hands still hovered at the typewriter, lax and immobile. But her eyes were in motion. Flicking back, forward, and back again between Jonathan’s shorthand and the five words they had translated to in plain ink.

Will you marry me, Wilhelmina?

By the time she finally turned her head back to face him, he was already on the floor, swift and silent at her hip. The box sat open in his hand. Set inside was a petite gold band whose stone gleamed like a fleck of starlight.

Mina looked from the ring to its holder with eyes that were already spilling.

“Yes,” Jonathan heard a dozen, a hundred times in the ensuing night. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand, a million times, yes. Between kisses, between tastes, between touches and takings that skirted the furthest edge of propriety between unmarried bodies. Yes.

“We are engaged. We must prepare for the wedding night as one must study ahead of an examination. Isn’t that right, Miss Murray?”

“It is, Mr. Harker.” Then, furtive despite her position over him, she grew a smile both shy and sly. A lure surrounded by the hanging curtain of her hair, “…Can you say it? For practice’s sake.” He did not have to ask her meaning.

“Mina Harker.”

Her teeth bared in a white moon.

“I didn’t quite hear you. Say again?” As she asked, her hand moved. He gasped in the trap of it.

“My pronunciation must be off. How is this?” His own hand moved. Her eyes went wide and dark. “Mina Harker. Mina Harker. Mina Harker.”

More practice unspooled. Harker, husband, wife, I do, I will. Around and around again until their tongues ran dry and they were left folded into the tangle of each other, their last fig leaf still reserved for the nuptial night itself. As midnight rolled past, the storm slipped off with it and left the moon to throw its rays through the edges of the curtains. Mina’s ring trapped its glow on her knuckle. He almost wept to look at it.

Real. This is real. I am awake and this is real. God, God. Thank you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the top of her head. Her hair massed into a perfect curling cloud under his chin. The cloud tickled there as she lifted her gaze to him.

“For what?”

“You know.”

“If I must say, ‘You’re welcome,’ so must you.” Jonathan held his tongue. “Exactly.” Her hand cupped his cheek as she went on, “I feel much the same. Like a lottery was won and the prize is an unfair gift by dint of how precious it is compared to the recipient. By how that prize refuses to acknowledge their own value. But there is time yet to filter that all down into something better. We will have our vows to smother each other with and neither of us will be able to shush and insist, no, no, I am the luckier one. All while the pews roll their eyes. For tonight I ask that we have a truce. No deprecation, no hoisting onto pedestals. Just for now, we will pretend we each feel equal to the blessing of the other. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Good.” Mina lifted herself high enough to find his lips with hers. “I love you, Jonathan.”

“I love you, Mina.” He mouthed the words to himself long after she had fallen asleep atop his heart. I love you, Mina. I love you, Mina Murray. I love you, Mina Harker. I love you. Thank you.

Jonathan faced the covered window and the sliver of pane visible at the cloth’s edge. He spotted the moon hovering in a split among the breaking rainclouds. As sleep finally found him, he could not shake an unpleasant certainty that he was looking at a great glowing eye. And that it was staring back.

Jonathan discovered Carfax Abbey on a clear blue day. His immediate impressions of the place ran in quick succession. First, that the location was so precise in its accommodation of Count Dracula’s specifications that it might have been commissioned. Second, that it looked like a place meant only to exist after dark on a sinister moor. This remained true despite the brilliance of spring stubbornly budding along the edge of its high stone fence.

He sent back a late thanks to himself as he’d been that morning, when he had tossed a coin on whether or not to bring the Kodak with him for the day’s hunt. Though the cab would be trusted to take him to the general area, it would be down to more literal footwork to inspect the properties he hoped to survey as far as he could without increasing the fare. Which would not bother him too much if he were going light. He did have a fondness for a run when it could be gotten away with sans pedestrians. But there would be no jogging with the camera to mind. Only a steady trudge.

Yet even that predicted march was trimmed down to a mere amble by dint of the cabman’s suggestion. He had heard out Jonathan’s description of his ideal quarry and first assumed him to be a tourist who’d gotten lost in a search for haunted houses.

“The area hasn’t much in that way, lad. Only place that comes close is old Carfax. Used to be an abbey, but looks more like a hideaway for the Dark Ages’ ghouls.”

“Do you know if it’s for sale?” This had earned him an odd look before the cabman admitted he had seen a sign staked out front that might have claimed the place was available. Supposing one cleared away the accumulated grime.

“I have to wonder if your buyer will bother with such a place. Ghosts can be dealt with, but it has more unsavory living neighbors to deal with.”

“Who are they?”

“Can’t say I know them personally, thank God, but I know for certain they’re perfectly mad.”

“Really?”

“Well, they’d not be in a private madhouse otherwise.”

The cab passed said lunatic asylum en route to the site. Jonathan was happy to note that it was at least a stately building, clearly a former domestic estate that had been expanded into suitable proportions for the inmates and staff. Better still, it was so far from Carfax as to be invisible through the facility’s wall of tended trees even when standing outside the latter’s stonework border.

Seeing the composition of said fence’s rough stones had plucked at Jonathan’s boyhood itch for play. If it were not for the cabman as a witness, he might have clambered his way up and walked along the edge as he’d done around his aunt’s home before he was declared too old for such nonsense. Still musing, Jonathan thanked the man again for the find and paid for the ride, promising another fare if he would return in an hour’s time. The cabman hesitated even after he had taken the first half of the pay.

“You’re certain you’d rather not go up the whole road first? There aren’t many houses, but they’re each of them empty and all far less a stain on the eye than that evil heap of rocks.”

“Do any of the rest have a chapel attached?”

“Don’t believe so. But if your buyer’s so keen on his prayers he ought to make do with a trip to church like the rest of us.”

“I imagine he means to refurbish it for that very purpose.” Jonathan offered a smile. “I’m certain whatever spirits might be lurking will have to clear out once he’s put the place in order.”

“Or torn the bloody thing down,” the cabman muttered not quite under his breath. He huffed and checked his watch. “An hour, you said? Just to wander around the place?”

“To wander here and across the neighboring grounds. I need to take note of the full landscape as well as the estate.” The cabman snorted at this in time with his horse.

“I hope your buyer is paying what you’re worth, lad. Any more on his list and he’d have you mapping out all of Purfleet to be sure it suits his fancy.” When the cab pulled away Jonathan began the photography. As much as he could manage from outside the fence. But then, because there were no witnesses, and because there was no way of opening the gate without ruining the rusted lock, and because it really wouldn’t be a thorough survey of the property without a glimpse of things on the inside of the towering stone walls, Jonathan shouldered his bag and scaled the rock as blithely as a spider.

He landed in the shade under one of the sundry trees that crowded the interior grounds. Jonathan marveled at how the trees’ shadows and that of the hulking abbey combined to hold a permanent dusk in place. So much so that it was a challenge to find any well-lit spots in which to take pictures without losing details. Up close the chapel was no less imposing than the abbey. It stood apart in its overgrown gothic solitude while the abbey puffed itself out with late additions to the structure. Jonathan made a note to reserve some pictures for Mina once he’d set aside an album for the Count. Sadly there was no letting himself indoors without becoming a full intruder, and so he satisfied himself with touring the rest of the land. A tour he was happy to make at a run.

The camera and his bag were set carefully aside with the chapel to manage this—for he must manage it, seeing as the grounds seemed to cover no less than twenty acres—and sent another belated thanks to his morning self for donning more active shoes than his workplace pair. While the place was no forest, it was an easy enough copse to imagine as such. A private patch of woodlands in which he had no one to be mindful of on a trail or blush over as they gawked at him, wondering what his hurry was. Here the exercise even bore fruit in the form of revealing a pond set at the estate’s southern end. A pool clear with spring water and trickling a faint stream through a grate into denser growth beyond the rear gates. Another run and a returning walk ensured this too got its photograph.

It was as he took these pictures that he saw the place even had some refreshment in the way of brambleberries snarling their way along the masonry. They were still some months away from being in season, but the desire to steal a piece of their thorny nest to plant his own shrub gnawed. At least until he reminded himself it would be hopeless with his current lodging. A mint tin of a flat slotted wall-to-wall with the rest of the street. Mina’s was worse still, he knew. When they married, they would pool their funds to find somewhere with a little girdle of a garden around it. Or else they would have window-boxes to grow things for the kitchen. Or both. Just a wedge of greenery to tame and taste for themselves.

For now, he satisfied himself with adding it to the marital itinerary and took out his notebook to jot the impressions of Carfax Abbey as he had for half a dozen other estates, all of them falling short on one preference or another. Too new, too near to the hub of a city, too compact, too bright, and, most damning, not a single chapel to spare among them. At least, none that were not in use by the general public. He would likely run around for another couple weeks to check on other prospective options, but he held little hope for a finer match than Carfax.

Carfax, Carfax. I wonder…

The notebook was tucked away in exchange first for his watch, which showed he’d somehow burned only twenty minutes, and then a compass. A minor note from the Count had mentioned a desire to have, ‘an open sky with which to see all the night and day, the dusks and dawns, without men’s brick and smoke in their way.’ Jonathan could not fault such a wish and so had brought the compass to see if he might happen upon a house with the view clear for the east’s sunrise and the west’s sunset. The compass revealed he had done even better with the abbey.

‘Carfax.’ Quatre Face. A four-sided house with its walls facing the four cardinal directions. All clear of any rooftops and their belching chimneys. I’m sure it will please you, Count.

The thought sank his joy like a stone. Jonathan looked again at the abbey. Haunted and a relic of dead centuries, true, but a place of dignity and grand dimensions all the same. A voice rose up in him with smiling malice as he stared at it.

You will never have such space. You will never have a home so broad that Mina can have rooms all for herself and more for the daydream of children. You will live close to all the fruits of a metropolis, as near as the gutters themselves, and only ever know what it is to skim them, to borrow them, to daydream without laying your lesser hands on them except to use them for another. You will have neither the sprawling beauty of nature or the boons of modernity. Not for your entire life, Jonathan Harker.

And, because he could not stop the flow once it was running:

She should have found someone better. Someone with more than your scraps to offer.

He ground the heel of his palm against each eye until they dried.

“What would she say?”

Something kind you do not deserve.

Jonathan shook his head and marveled at the paradox that still found its way to nettle him even with the ring on her finger. Perhaps because of it. It was the miserable uncertainty of the hours preceding his examination turned up a hundredfold. Time, experience and evidence all stood in favor of him passing his tests on the professional and romantic fronts, yes, yes, he knew it…

…But what if he didn’t? What if he had somehow fooled himself and Mina and Hawkins and peers and the world itself into thinking he was more than what he was? What if?

What if you stop wallowing and get out before the cab returns?

Jonathan stopped long enough to skip a stone across the pond before following his route back to where he’d clambered over the wall. With half an hour to spare, he began walking at a healthy gait across the spread of land between the abbey and the asylum. If only to say he knew how many paces it was between the properties. One, two, three, four, five…

The pacing turned irregular once he had to cross through the border of trees that stood for a property line between Carfax and its company. Jonathan was stunned to discover there was no proper fence hidden behind the picturesque rows. Only a walled and gated section at the rear of the asylum that suggested an area for outdoor excursion or perhaps a private kitchen garden. He hoped it was the former. Even the insane needed leave to stretch their legs beyond the borders of a cell. As he mulled this, he heard a shout. It sounded like it held the weight of every expletive known to the English tongue and several more beyond it.

Following this was the same livid voice grating seemingly out of thin air, “Idiot! Fool! One damned page and you do this?” Jonathan heard a clatter of hollow things against a wall. “Imbecile!” He stepped fully beyond the wall of trees and saw the voice’s owner pacing back and forth inside a barred window set at the foot of the asylum’s wall.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Jonathan was almost as surprised as the man in the window to realize he had not only spoken, but come closer. There was an instant in which the man tensed. The picture of one who’s realized someone of influence has caught them in a bad moment. Yet upon actually seeing Jonathan and recognizing his lack of import, he relaxed enough to smile. Albeit sourly.

“Apart from this most inconvenient stint of homemaking, courtesy of concerned friend and kin, I am quite fine, young man. Ebullient, ecstatic, elated.” The polite rictus hardened. Jonathan thought queasily of wild dogs. “Apart from the fact that I have lost the last of my stationery to an overfilled glass. My cup runneth over. My cup ruins days of work and turns the remaining space to so much waste. Just look!”

The man thrust something up to the gaps in the bars, stopping just short of throwing the spoiled pinch of paper out onto the grass. For it was spoiled. Jonathan saw the stationery was really little more than a large cut of butcher paper folded and refolded until it made a sort of accordion-book. The whole thing was so waterlogged that Jonathan could barely tell tally marks from letters as the crayon bled together and the pages sagged.

“Ruined,” the man punctuated with what was either a sneer or a sulk. “At best I can try to mash and dry the thing out as a new sheet. But the stuff was already muddy enough to write on and I shall have to reduce myself to the penmanship of an infant with the bluntest marks just to make anything legible. And I had just started to make progress.” He cocked his gaze more fully at Jonathan. His look was one accustomed to giving brisk appraisal. “If you are a journalist, you are quite tardy with your pen. You’ve not even set up your camera’s tripod to record the travesty.”

“I am no journalist, unfortunately,” Jonathan admitted as he unearthed his notebook. “But at least that leaves some of this to work with, if you’re amenable.” Covering the shorthand of the last full page, he showed the man in the window the remaining blank sheets. Not a great many pages left, and certainly not of impressive size considering it was a pocketbook, but it would be a fair amount of writing space for a careful script. The man’s expression did not change, but his eyes brightened.

“I may be. Supposing I know the price at the other end of such a trade.”

“No price, sir. You would do me a kindness in taking it as I shall have to start a fresh one for another project soon. The predecessor would be left unfinished and forgotten in the meantime.”

“Ah, a worse fate than a journalist. An author. How many poor diaries have you left abandoned in their pretty bindings for the sake of a new volume?” The man clicked his tongue through a grin. “I jest, of course. You do not seem the sort to waste what he has.” The grin, still genuine, flattened an increment. Bloodshot eyes gleamed. “I fear I wasted a great deal of what I once thought mine on the other side of these delightful accommodations. Never make such a mistake as mine, young man. Do not doubt for an instant that what you trust today cannot turn on you tomorrow.”

“I won’t, sir.” Jonathan thought of adding that he had lived under that knowledge since the day he attended the funerals which ended his childhood. He swallowed it back. “May I..?” He held the notebook up, his shorthand sheets pinched between thumb and forefinger.

“I would be most grateful.”

Jonathan tore his filled pages neatly out. The remaining clean pages were barely thicker than a pamphlet, but clung sturdily to the little spine. Jonathan knelt low enough to lay it within reach on the grass. He noticed a small dusting of white powder at the window’s edge. A crowd of ants whittled away at the mound.

“Ants,” the man scoffed as he followed Jonathan’s line of sight. “Pitiful company. I had hoped the thaw would bring in something heartier. Flies, ladybugs, perhaps some early butterflies. But the real trouble is keeping them around. Ah, apologies, might you bring it a little closer?” The man raised his forearms into view. “I haven’t the best angle from where I stand.” Jonathan scooped up the notebook and brought it an inch nearer.

The man’s hands were abruptly out through the bars and clapped around Jonathan’s. Tight. Short of hurting, short of breaking, but locked as firmly as a vise. Jonathan tensed without pulling back. Again he thought of wild dogs. Of things that only seemed to be dogs until they closed in. Creatures that chased once they saw something run.

Jonathan was still. The man was still. Grasping Jonathan’s hand and the notebook in a pantomime prayer.

It’s my left hand. Smart enough for that, at least. I can still do my paperwork with the right intact and the other broken. Will the fingers heal in time for Mina to slip the band on? How mortifying to have to explain it all to her. I wonder if the asylum would make up a cast without charging for it…

“There is no need to shake upon it, sir,” Jonathan heard himself say. “The book is yours.” The man regarded him with less of a smile now. His lip still curled, but it seemed only to hold on by sheer will. It dropped entirely with the gust of a sigh.

“The book and a lack of tact, I fear. Even if I were not mad, I would still be a churl.” The hands relaxed and a set of fingers drummed once on the back of Jonathan’s wrist. “Though I suspect you are a soul used to them. I would tell you to be more wary on your way, but it is only a simpleton of a preacher who would bother teaching his flock wariness in a world where they must interact each day with wolves. Though I will advise that it is rather foolish to go around making conversation with confirmed lunatics up close. I am confirmed, you know. The facts are printed and signed all over by professionals. I saw the document myself.” The man’s look floated away from Jonathan and into a distance he couldn’t guess at. “Printed on far finer paper than what we settle for.”

One of the gripping hands came away, leaving only the one folded over the notebook and Jonathan’s palm. They shook. The notebook was collected in the same gesture.

“My thanks,” from the window.

“Quite welcome,” as Jonathan righted himself. He surprised himself with his own steadiness. The rote pitch of the office and a life’s worth of reflex steered his tongue while mind, heart, and stomach rattled where they hid. Because he had to do something with his freed hand rather than clasp it in its brother, he fished out his watch. Only now did a ripple of worry manage to rise to his face.

“Some trouble?”

“I fear I may have lost my ride.”

“You came from the by-road, yes? It hardly sees traffic. If your driver’s gone on without you, go around the front here and see if you cannot bribe our beloved head doctor into lending out the wagon. Just say you have managed to wring a whole quarter of an hour’s worth of nattering from his friend R.M.”

“R.M.?”

“Short for Mr. Rig R. Mortis.” The man chuckled at Jonathan’s look. “Pseudonym, young man. Can hardly have the family being shamed under my real title. He will know who you mean. Though I do hope you manage your ride instead.” With that, the man ducked back from the window and was gone. Jonathan had made it three strides away when the voice called behind him, “Here!” Something small struck the back of Jonathan’s heel. He turned and saw gold winking up at him. A sovereign. “It is not payment. You are merely ensuring the attendant who lost it when I had my last room search never gets it back.”

“Sir—,”

But the window was already abandoned. Jonathan picked the coin up. It was partially obliterated on one end, erasing part of Victoria’s face and the rider on the reverse. This was because the edge had been ground to a sharp edge that nicked his thumb open as he turned it over. Blood smeared Saint George, his steed, and the dragon hissing up at the sword and hooves.

Cold fingers seemed to walk up his spine as he examined it. Shaking the chill away, he tucked the coin in his pocket alongside the notebook’s harvested pages and dashed back the way he’d come. He made it to the waiting cab just as it was pulling up to the gate.

“Well, lad? Is it what your buyer’s after?”

“I believe so.” Jonathan smiled as he said it and held the expression admirably until the cabman turned his gaze back to the road. He gloved his hands despite the balmy weather, sheathing his thumb as it traced the thin impression of the cargo sitting against his breast.

“If you keep up with that you shall tear the whole cheek off,” she said at his shoulder. “You are awake, I promise.”

Jonathan stopped pinching at himself and split his attention between Mina’s face and the clock’s. The magic circle of Roman numbers seemed to shake a phantom head. No, it said, not yet. But soon.

“This is happening, then?” he asked as he turned fully to Mina. Mina, here at the last moment together until mid-May. Mina, wearing the ring he had saved a year for on her finger. Mina, who had clasped and kissed and kept him from collapsing outright in stupefied relief upon the announcement that he had passed his examination, her fiancé now a solicitor. Mina, who held his hand and kept him from floating off through the ceiling and into the sky. “This is really happening? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Jonathan’s eye traveled to her neck and the glimpse of a cord peeking from her shirt collar. She caught him and spared her free hand to tuck it out of sight. “Just as I am sure you will not fly off with my treasure, you magpie.”

The treasure being Jonathan’s own plain gold band now worn as a necklace. He had been the one to slip it over her head the night before, mesmerized by the soft shine as it landed over her heart. It was done by mostly mutual agreement. Mina wished to hold a scrap of tradition close and leave his hand bare until they reached the chapel. And, though Jonathan suspected this was mere theatre, she said she wished to hold onto it as proof to herself that she was awake and that the engagement was a reality. Besides, it was practical! If he were wearing the cord on his trip, what if he should lose it in any number of countries as he traveled? It was one thing to risk forgetting it at the office or leaving it at home. Quite another to imagine losing it in a hotel in another nation. Even with all this logic at her disposal, Jonathan donned his best moue. Mina covered it with her hand.

“That is unfair.”

“I am not above unscrupulous tactics, Mrs. Harker.”

“Like trying to break me by calling me Mrs. Harker?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, you are foiled. My will is too great.” She brought her hand away to brush a strand of hair from his brow. “There is no need to scheme anyway. You shall have the thing back soon enough.”

Jonathan pretended not to hear the slight tremor at the word ‘soon.’ Yes, it was only a few weeks’ separation. A month at most if there were delays in train or coach. But even in this zenith of excitement, knowing unequivocally that this was where their future began—a future where they were taking their first steps up rather that walking the same flat circle in the dust—it felt strangely like waiting to leap into a chasm. A gorge that required endless paperwork to keep track of, plus what was required for the travel itself. Documentation, letter of credit, passport, polyglot dictionary, and, carefully packed, the first new suit he’d had in three years.

Mina had insisted on his modeling it before packing it away. After, she declared she must send a letter of gratitude to not only Mr. Hawkins, but to the tailor. They would have to see him again about the suit for the wedding. Lucy had already written back in response to Mina’s last letter with the announcement, erupting with insistence that, while she was not the sort of girl to live and die by fashion plates, she wanted to know the very instant she began hunting for a dress.

In the present, however, the only new attire was the coat Jonathan wore. A companion piece Hawkins had insisted join the suit before Jonathan could escape the tape measure. Jonathan’s hand drifted up to one of its pockets now and found it unexpectedly light. Worry spiked for a moment before his mind caught up to what it was he’d been feeling for. He almost laughed. Mina canted her head at him, searching. She never missed even the most minute shift behind his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Only I’ve realized I was so adamant about packing everything for the needs of the trip and the client that I forgot the one item I meant to bring solely for me.”

“Your books?”

“No, the law texts are there. A bit of Dumas as well. But I have forgotten my book.” He offered a bashful smile. “Ours, I mean. For your assignment.”

Her brow furrowed a moment before she recalled, “The journal?”

“Yes. I meant to grab one of the spare pocketbooks from my desk, but it’s not in its place. Maybe I bundled it in the case without thinking.” If not, he could shave out a little of his emergency budget for something en route to the castle. But Mina was beaming at him.

“An ordinary pocketbook might suffice for a clerk, but not a solicitor. Especially not when I’ve held onto this since you turned your back to peruse the dictionaries two months back.” She brought out her reticule as she spoke. From the reticule came a slim leatherbound volume with supple pages made to resist the traitorous smudges and tears of its precursor’s flimsy leaves. The whole thing was tied with a white ribbon that pinned a matching pen to its cover. “All shorthand. Promise?”

“Promise,” Jonathan nodded as he took the book gingerly from her hand. It fit so perfectly in the coat that it failed to even dent cloth. “Though I don’t believe the same applies to the recipes. Which I shall collect in abundance and inflict upon us both once I return. Is there anything specific you want me to bring back?”

“You know my tastes already.”

“Other than the cuisine, I mean.”

“Nothing comes immediately to mind. A good story or two would be nice, but,” again her hand found his face, cupped against the angle of his cheek, “as long as you come back, I will be satisfied.”

“I suppose that can be managed.”

The clock tolled and the call went out to the station. All aboard, come along. Mina’s eyes flicked with brief wonder to the train itself. Locomotives and their railways had been one of her chief interests for as long as Jonathan had known her. She regarded her copy of Bradshaw’s Guide with the same reverence as some did their Bible, to say nothing of the clipped articles she had collected concerning new routes and models being laid out within various countries. In sum, Mina loved the practicality and potential of trains. To her they were proof that their world was not limited by whether or not they could hail a hansom or how far it was willing to take them. But now her smile dimmed.

“It had better bring you back on time,” she said as they walked arm and arm up to his car. “I shall be standing in this very spot with my watch out.”

“I’ll warn the conductor.” Because they were among strangers, she had allowed him to hold her arm rather than the reverse. He gave a gentle squeeze first to her arm, then her hand. The lump of the stone stood out under her glove. “If it runs late, I will simply run ahead.” Her laugh did little to hide the dew in her eyes. It matched the mist in his. Their hands held tight.

In that moment, an absurd impulse leapt up in him. An animal-twitch of fear that went deeper than mere anxiety, deeper than love, deeper than concern of career or separation or wandering in unknown lands. It was the needling of a sense he had no name for. A thing that smelled or heard or tasted some imperceptible sign that bodily and mental awareness refused to acknowledge. It whispered:

Do not go. Do not do this. Go home. Go now. Before it’s too late.

The whisper froze him. Mina appeared to freeze with him. Her eyes reflected a feverish glimmer of his own disquiet. They stood locked in that second like a hart and doe with their ears pricked toward a huntsman’s tread in the wood.

But then they blinked. Mina’s gaze lightened and the uncanny sensation left Jonathan as quickly as it came. Only a shudder of nerves disguised as a portent. Really, he could hardly bow to it even if it had meant anything beyond a hiccough of his own fretting. Fact outweighed fear and the fact was he had a job to do. A job that began here, now, with the release of Mina’s hand so he might grab his other bag from her.

Thus unburdened, Mina abruptly trapped his face between her palms. Jonathan bent down until his mouth met hers. Here was the plush press of her lips on his, feeling so much like a reverie he thought once again that he must be asleep. He would wake any moment and the fantasy would fall away into foam. Now. Now.

“Now, I don’t mean to intrude, but there is a train waiting. I’m afraid you must save the rest of the young man for his return trip.” They both snapped up at once to see the uniformed man at Jonathan’s back. He was eyeing them with a look that spoke of a career forever encumbered with similar scenes. The man peered at Jonathan over his spectacles. “You are boarding?”

“Yes, sir. Apologies.” But an apology not even fractionally meant. He turned back to Mina who now steamed from the neck up as she avoided the gawking of an older couple taking in the show. The wife gestured at the sight of them, muttering something in a tone of mingled mirth and query in her husband’s ear, to which the husband rolled his eyes. Jonathan spared them only a mote of attention. “Mina.” She looked to him. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you, Jonathan. I’ll be right here.”

He found his seat at the window and did not turn his head away from the glass. Not while the train idled. Not while it pulled away in its hiss and puff of turning wheels. Not while Mina stood there waving after him, her feet tugging her forward a few unconscious steps so that she might see his window longer while he craned his head to keep her in view. Only when the station itself was a speck in the distance did he turn back around. Off to the future to lay an invisible track for them both. To collect countries as keepsakes and bring them home on paper like pressed flowers.

Jonathan tried to imagine what he might cross on his travel to and from the castle that would be a worthwhile souvenir. Images of books and baubles were conjured as he traced the edges of his journal. So he went on musing until excitement burned out to exhaustion and the first doze of his trip dragged him down into sleep.

A dream came and went.

He was still on the train, still at his window, but the seat facing his was no longer empty. A face he knew was there. One harvested from the far end of his school days and the nascent career as a clerk. So he believed.

It was a familiar countenance in the way that the sight of a stranger always seen in the same place amounted to vague acquaintance. Known enough to nod at in passing. Jonathan had nodded at this one and been given a nod back in student years. He’d thought of introducing himself once or twice, only for the young man to flush and hurry off like a frightened stray. Jonathan had never quite understood it.

Now here was his anonymous acquaintance again, finally sedate in his seat and hidden in his newspaper. While he was not Jonathan’s senior by more than a year, he looked to be in a more professional state of dress. Pressed and tailored and relaxed in that way men can be when they know they have a wardrobe full of similarly fine ensembles waiting at home. But it was his choice of accessory that gave him away as being on a similar pilgrimage to Jonathan’s. The unoccupied portion of his seat was taken up by the paperwork of a sale, carefully weighted by a discarded hat. His companion spared it no attention, having his gaze pinned on the newspaper open in his hands. It blocked the view of him from the whiskers down. Jonathan was still wondering whether to announce himself when a voice came from behind the newsprint:

“My way goes through Munich. Yours as well?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said. “Though I fear there will be no real stop there. At least, the Count did not pencil a hotel stay in the route.”

“Hm,” his companion nodded. “I suppose he would not gamble it twice. Even if he did set it right the first go around.” The newspaper rustled and the young man’s eyes finally lifted above the print to find Jonathan’s. They were bottle glass-bright. “What all have you packed?”

“Necessities, mainly. Everything for the sale, some changes for the overnight stays and—,”

“And what haven’t you packed?”

“I…” His hand traveled again to his chest. “Mina saved me at the station. I forgot a notebook, but she had one ready. I should be fine.”

“No. You are still missing something. Rather, I expect you will be missing it quite soon.” There was a sigh behind the paper. “All that practice and you go and leave the damned thing under your bed.”

Jonathan straightened in his seat. His right hand clamped reflexively, as if palm and fingers were dreaming of a hardwood handle.

“I’m not going to the jungle.”

“There are worse things than animals to worry about. If you cannot cut them down, what will be left to you?” Another page turned. The bottle glass eyes slid to look out the window. Jonathan followed his gaze and saw that the world had gone black and white under a skull-faced moon. “But then, you might make do without the steel. You handled the worst of our schoolmates well enough back then without even raising your voice. Whatever you may lack as a full-blooded Englishman you make up for in softer stuff. Enough that one or two of the lads confessed over drinks that they wished you were a girl. I was not one of them. You gave me trouble enough as a boy.

“All that said, you have skills that will help. Appealing attributes. Ones I could have used myself.” The unblinking eyes slid back to Jonathan. It was a greyer stare now. Almost filmy. “I had nothing to sell. Neither in English property or my personal wares, so to speak. I could not even muster charm enough to be worth an extra hour’s chat.” Jonathan watched his companion’s hands crumple the paper in two fists. He saw for the first time that those hands were red. They left dry maroon stains across the gazette. “Who is waiting for you, Jonathan Harker? Who at home? Your Mina, old Hawkins, and who else? Any names come to mind?

“Of those friends, are there any who will know to worry when it goes wrong? Anyone to ask questions? To watch the calendar and the post and wonder how you are? Because I thought I did. I even knew the difference between friends and amiable acquaintances, unlike you. Fellows in and out of my firm. Even a girl who understood my needs and was willing to play her part. They all said they expected letters from me. Said they’d be on watch if I was not back within half a month. That was a year ago. And still they do not know where I am. Nor have they cared enough to look.

“But you would have, I think. If I had ever gotten over my cowardice. If I hadn’t wasted boyhood cringing, so afraid I would give myself away. If I had not made a ghost of myself rather than a friend. I was so proud of myself for not daring at the time—I fear I would have made a wretched scene when I first realized you and the pretty schoolmistress were serious. Instead I took my wine and my pain in silence. Told myself how wise I had been not to try. Ha.” Jonathan watched pallid lips peel open on a smile glazed pink with bleeding. Red rivulets trailed out between the young man’s teeth and into the trimmed beard. “Not that it would have mattered in the end. If we had been friends, if we had been more, if we had been anything at all, there wouldn’t have been much for you to find.”

Jonathan leaned forward. It took an effort. A growing stench was starting to waft from the opposite seat. The stink of copper and rot.

“Please, just tell me what this is. Tell me how to help. What’s happened?”

His companion’s grisly smile wilted. The bottle glass eyes ran like his mouth.

“What’s happened is you have climbed onto the same train I took. You will ride on plenty more. The same coaches too. Perhaps that will help. They never caught on to the truth of things when it was me. After all, he does have work to do, being what he is. People must have made it to and from that place before in official capacity. They must have thought it would be the same for imported goods. Hopefully they will know better now. But then, so will he. Soon all you will have to rely on is yourself. Use what you have. All that you have. Play the game as best you can. As long as you can.” Red tears and dribble flowed in a thickening cascade. “I could not last a week and so lost everything. Or nearly so. I am restless, true, but it could have been worse. Much worse.”

“I don’t understand,” Jonathan almost rasped. Fear choked him like a noose.

“I know. And I am very, very sorry to say that you will.” His companion sighed, releasing a crimson haze of spittle into the air. “Well. This is all I can manage as I am. I suppose I shall not need this anymore. Here.” The newspaper was shut and held out for Jonathan to take. “Somewhat out of date, but well worth the read.”

Jonathan spared barely a mote of attention for it. There was no headline or story that he could make out. Only a flash of what looked like the stanzas of a poem, though he couldn’t say for certain. He was too gripped by the sight of the young man below the neck. Seeing the fullness of it hooked something in Jonathan’s stomach and drew it up to the very edge of his teeth. He wasn’t sure if it was his breakfast or a scream.

That was when the hand fell on his shoulder.

Cold. Just as cold as the lips now pressed at the side of his neck.

Whatever sound he might have made was cut off as something sharp drove into his throat and the train went as dark as the world beyond it.

“Sir?” Jonathan fell against his seat as if thrown. The uniformed man started back himself, taking his hand away from Jonathan’s shoulder as he did. “We’re coming to the station soon. Can’t have you sleeping through your stop.”

“No. No, of course. Thank you. Sorry.” The man glanced at Jonathan’s lap with a look possessed by every father who has ever known better than his progeny.

“You could pick lighter reading to nod off on. You’re only setting yourself up for sour dreaming if that’s what you skim beforehand.” He didn’t loiter long enough to explain what he meant. Jonathan looked down.

He had picked a gazette to stuff into his things before he and Mina reached the platform. He’d had an idea that he was reserving his books for the far end of his travel and so would make do with some final updates from his native soil. At some point he had turned all the way to the obituaries. His hand rested on one describing the tragic loss of a young man at sea. A sailor fallen overboard in a storm, presumed dead.

They could be wrong, Jonathan thought with sudden desperation. Perhaps he lived. He made it safely to an island or some distant beach. They could find him alive and well. Couldn’t they?

The newspaper was shut, folded over twice, and tucked back in his luggage. Jonathan did not touch it again until he left the final station that spat him out by the shore, feeding it to the first wastebin he saw. He almost laughed to himself when it came time to board the ship. It would be May by the time he cracked open the journal and wrote anything of interest.

“I shall do better on the return trip,” he promised the naked pages. “I’ll record a view of the sunrise on the water, I swear.” And he meant it. But for this first voyage across the water, Jonathan stayed shut in his room. If he dreamt of a black tide coming up to swallow him, he was happy to wake without recalling it.

#this is a whopper #hope you have snacks #Harker #my writing #horror #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily #jonathan harker #mina murray #r.m. renfield #peter hawkins #lucy westenra #dracula's guest #c.r. kane

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crystalflygeo · 1 year

Text

Sinful voice pt.2 ft “Morax”/Prof!Zhongli + fem!reader (modern AU)

cw/tags: Voice kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, female masturbation, oral and fingering implied but like it's just fantasizing?? petnames (sweetheart, babygirl, dear) Reader is DOWN BAD LMAO and suffers second hand embarrasment.

notes: EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU @localplaguenurse!!They gave me a F A N T A S T I C idea that just inspired me to continue this wip and ended up not even being featured here yet but HEY... future p3!! //winkwink. That said I did NOT expect how much this would blow up and how ppl loved it and wanted more, y'all gonna make me giddy and/or cry pls (consider checking some of my other stuff too mayhaps? <3) Anyway I REALLY hope this delivers bc boi am I afraid of not meeting expectations vcgvhjbnjnmklal

Weeks had passed since your ‘big discovery’ and you still weren’t quite sure what to do with this information.

At first you chalked it up to just your imagination because… there was no way, right? Your new professor could just have a… similar voice… yeah… that was it.

Except the more you listened to his long-winded explanations the more you picked up certain words and intonations here and there and you knew you were just fooling yourself.

A lot had happened in these last few weeks, from organizing your new living space, to meeting your roommates, to grocery shopping, classes, and you had even considered the idea of maybe getting a part time job somewhere close by. There were plenty of small shops and places around the college campus neighborhood that not only offered valuable services to poor college students but also the opportunity to make a bit of money to help them out.

It had all been rather exhausting and stressing, exams, essays and projects were already starting too…

Lying back in bed you sigh and roll over, feeling the familiar faint throb of desire pooling between your legs, one you’d never really managed to sate with a person so much as with fantasies. But tonight, as you lay awake in bed aching for your usual touch, you feel conflicted.

Ever since that very first day you just couldn’t bring yourself to open up Morax’s website again. Hell, a new month had rolled over and you’d dutifully paid the subscription along with your other usual bills.

Part of you was itching for it, curious, frustrated.

And very very horny.

Thing is, your fantasies had often featured a faceless man, strong, imposing and dominating, taking you like a blushing maiden and making you beg for the pleasure he’d give, allowing him to do anything he wanted with your heated body. Now that man had a face… your history professor Mr. Zhongli.

You used to get off to imaginings of Morax tying you up and having his way with you, teasing you, fucking you into the mattress and making you cum over and over. Now it was Mr. Zhongli. Polite and courteous Mr. Zhongli with his refined gestures and well-mannered demeanor.

You wanted to cum, to reach that high and come undone and let out all the pent-up stress and frustration until you melted into a puddle and didn’t have to think about classes or money or life anymore, but the second your fingers began to rub at your clit, Mr. Zhongli’s voice would hit you with that even tone he used when scolding someone for gossiping during his lecture.

“Disgraceful behavior…”

A hot flash of shame burned at your face but for whatever reason it just turned you on more. You wanted to get fucked so bad you felt like you were going insane. You wanted that man to pin you up against a wall and thrust inside you until you turned into an incoherent moaning mess. You wanted to get bent over at his desk and filled up with cum until you were left gaping and oozing and told what a good girl you are. You wanted to get fucked on your hands and knees squirming and crying from overstimulation.

Lying in bed, you squeezed a pillow against your face and screamed.

You wanted to fuck your handsome history professor Mr. Zhongli.

-------------------------------------

It’s barely first period and you couldn’t concentrate.

You were sleepy, hungry and overall, in a bad mood. Standing in line at the cafeteria for a much-needed morning coffee and some snack you yawn and browse around your phone. Math. Gods you hated math.

At least you didn’t have history today. That was a whole other can of worms.

You figured you’d eventually have to get over it but it was just… so bizarre. Mr. Zhongli was quite the popular teacher, you’d learned. Extremely knowledgeable in various topics, a strict but kind and just teacher and good looking on top of all.

No wonder the upperclassmen flocked around him, probably half the campus lowkey had a crush on him, male and female students alike. It was genuinely a miracle he was not married or even had a significant other apparently.

And he was also Morax. Sensual dominating Morax who would just not leave your head-

“Good morning, how may I help you?” The cashier called out cheerfully and you pulled out of your thoughts.

“Morn-”

“Good morning.”

You gasp so sharply you almost launch into a coughing fit; your eyes widen and whole body tenses and oh shit-

Somehow you manage to trip and fall in the clumsiest, stupidest way possible.

“Woah-!”

“Miss?!”

Except you don’t actually fall, but someone manages to hold you, a hand grabbing your arm and the other pressed against your back steadying you as your poor brain goes into overdrive.

That voice!

It’s him!

Too close!

What is he doing here?!

Way too close!!

The seconds it takes for you to react feel like ages as you stare up at Mr. Zhongli like a deer caught in the headlights.

His hands are warm…

His cologne smells soooo good.

His eyes are gorgeous!

He’s so hot!!

“Are you alright Miss l/n?”

“I’M FINE! I-I’m fine!” You yelp, way louder than intended (or normal) and quickly scoot back to put some distance between yourself and the handsome professor. He picks up his dropped bag and dusts it a little, as well as his clothes, still pristine as ever. “I… think I got a little dizzy s-sorry I haven’t eaten yet and… yeah…” You chuckle nervously.

You see him frown slightly. “Going without food for long periods of time can be quite dangerous.” He states, obviously concerned. “Maybe you should head to the infirmary see Dr Baizhu, you look quite pale and the dizziness could be a symptom of low blood pressure. Do you have anything sugary to eat or drink?”

“I w-was about to buy something…”

“It might be best for you to sit down for the moment.” He nods, resolute. “Allow me.”

…And that’s how you end up sitting at one of the nearby small tables with a little glazed donut and a bottle of water, courtesy of your dear history professor.

You stare at the little treat in your hands, half eaten already as he insisted, at least your hands stopped shaking and some color returned to your face. Mr. Zhongli seemed content enough, sitting across from you.

“T-Thank you.” You mumble, refusing to meet his gaze. “How much was it? I’ll pay you back I have som-”

He sees you rummaging through you bag and raises a hand. “None of that, you needed it. I’m glad to see you’re looking a little better, please take care of yourself, health is very important.”

“Um, ok.”

Then he smiles, and it’s gentle, soft. “You’re Miss l/n, right? One of the new students from my history class?”

Huh?

“You didn’t do very well on the essay assignment…”

Ack. You sigh and take another bite of the small donut. “History is just… not my strong suit. Too many dates and names to remember.”

He chuckles and oh God who gave him the right to make that sound? Your skin tingles.

“Fair enough. I know my classes can be a little daunting, I’m very particular about certain topics and tend to ramble sometimes. But I can tell you really put effort into classes and pay attention to my lectures.” He looks pensive for a moment. “Let me propose something. I usually impart some private tutoring sessions to students on more advanced levels, but I could make an exception for you. If you have time available it could help lift your grades.”

You stare up at him in surprise, grateful to not have a mouthful of donut or you would have probably choked again like an idiot. Did you hear that right? A private tutoring session after hours at his office?!

Now that sounded like a title for one of Morax’s audios: Hot professor bangs his stu-NOPE.

“I-I’ll think about it! Sure.”

He nods and gets up, sparing a glance at his watch. “I have to leave now, please do consider it. And do try to eat at more regular intervals and take better care of yourself, you look quite tired.”

A polite way of saying you had marked eyebags, yep.

“I’ll try.” You mumble. Suddenly a little sad to see him go. “Professor… thank you.”

There’s that smile again, you could melt. “You’re welcome, my dear.”

----------------------------------

And yet that night, you’re once again rolling in bed unable to sleep.

My dear.

You couldn’t stop thinking on the whole incident, you’d certainly made a fool of yourself but the memory of his strong arms holding you, touch firm but gentle. The scent of his cologne that you wish had clung more on your clothes.

You really were down bad, this is ridiculous…

You bite your lip.

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.

Oh but you will, just one wouldn’t hurt.

Quite the opposite actually…

Unable to contain yourself (or your horniness) you take no time to pop in your earbuds and start scrolling. Hmm… there had been a couple new additions in these last weeks.

You can’t help but wonder why he does these. When. How. You never really considered or thought on it before, Morax has quite a lot of patrons (not a surprise) and thought you know nothing about sound and video recording or editing technically he’s making money just by using that honeyed velvet voice of his. That had to bring in some cash, right?

But then again, if you knew anything about these types of subscriptions it was that they required constancy and that meant hard work and dedication. Did he enjoy these? He really puts in the effort given the amazing quality…

You can’t help but picture your handsome professor unwinding a little after a long day, casual clothes, a cup of that tea he loves and setting up to record those dirty words and sinful moans.

Did he sometimes get worked up about these too? Did he also touch himself during or after recording a particular scenario? Sitting back slightly sprawled on the chair, brow slightly furrowed, stroking his co-

Aaahhhh you needed to stop thinking on him.

…

Yeah right.

“Daddy eats you out and prepares you for his big cock.”

Well, this looks promising.

The audio starts like many others, with some dialogue from him and setting the scene and oh… you had kind of missed the playful teasing tilt of Morax’s voice. You can’t help but chuckle lightly, this scene is so domestic. He calls you “sweetheart”, “babygirl” and there are the kissy noises.

You wish you could kiss him…

“Hmmm… daddy’s gonna get you nice and ready. Spread your legs for me.” Oh, you certainly do. “Daddy’s gonna get down here between them.”

You rub at your tights slowly, sensual, remembering his larger hands.

“Oh your little pussy is already so wet and swollen.” Morax coos, voice soft and airy. “You think it’s already ready I know.” He chuckles. “But you know daddy’s cock is big, yeah, your little pussy’s gonna need to stretch a little bit hm?” A kiss.

You whine.

“Shhh daddy’s gonna make you feel so good sweetheart.”

Lewd wet noises invade your ears and you waste no time starting to stroke yourself, slow and tender. He groans and sighs and you whimper, hips jolting from the bed.

Gods how was he so…

“Yeah… nice and gentle hmm, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

His words were a complete 180 from the long lectures about politics and wars, and yet, his voice…

“D-Daddy…” You sigh. “Please!”

“Oh I love how sensitive your little clit is… you like that babygirl?”

You rub and stroke at the little bundle of nerves and see stars already.

You were so pent up, so needy. Your orgasm was already building too quickly, mewling and whining at his words, his noises, trying to match the pace and follow his instructions.

“That’s a good girl.”

“F-Fuck-”

Your eyebrows furrow, your body trembles and you bit your lip to contain your noises. Morax warns you when he adds a finger, and after a few seconds another, chuckling low at how you clench, praising you, coaxing out your pleasure.

You can only picture him at the end of the bed, licking and sucking obscenely at your juices, pumping those slender fingers in and out, in and out…

That tantalizing voice teasing you, your fingers knotting that dark brown hair tipped amber, golden eyes staring up at you half-lidded but feral and fascinated. Focusing on you. Only you.

“A-Ah! Mhmm…”

“Now I want you to cum babygirl come on, in five… four…”

You stroke and pump faster, frantic, lost in that rapidly approaching high.

“Three… two…”

You cry out, a spark cursing through your veins.

“One… hmmm that’s it my dear.”

“Z-Zhongli…!”

He ushers you out of your release with soft words before saying something else, but your mind is floating and hazy. Your take off the earbuds and place them away catching your breath for a moment, arm draped over your face, the audio still has a long way to go but you’re drowsy and sleepy so you decide to call it a night.

It is only a little later, once you’re done with a quick cleaning and putting everything away, curled up under the covers and dozing off that you realize…

Shit.

You’d called not for Morax but Zhongli.

#genshin smut #zhongli smut #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #crys writes #fem reader #professor zhongli #man I really hope this doesn't feel rushed or forced vghbjnk pls I tried my best OTL I know the scene jumps are jarring but #fun fact 1 when I was in uni there was this one beautiful amazing french teacher that half the campus had a crush on #literally everyone loved her she was amazing she was not my bi awakening but boi she CEMENTED it #and it's funny bc literally like ??? girls and boys crushing HARD on her and she was bi and SINGLE and so kind and cool and around our age #anyway that's zhongli 1000%#fun fact 2 I once almost fainted at uni bc I had. in fact. not eaten breakfast or dinner the night before #and my blood pressure just dropped also bc the heat didn't help so rip I got better with a coca cola tho

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vlrghoes · 30 days

Text

What Once Was | Chapter One

author’s note: I edited and proof read this after coming back from the club so if you see something wrong don’t be afraid to point it out as I’m quite friendly anyway!

I still don’t know if I like this chapter but overall I’m just shy about sharing my work because I’m hyper judgmental of my own work but I still wanted to share this with you guys anyway.

The chapters after this will be set a few years after this (which will be clarified in the chapters)

I’m English so if anything is wrong in terms of America and the health practices please forgive me!

I’m literally yapping now but I do want to say that I can’t promise chapter two will come in under 2 weeks as I’ve just finished my law degree and landed my dream job (not related to my degree) and I start training next Sunday and it’s for 5 weeks, really intense and with exams almost every day and if I mess up I lose my job. (Not sure if it’s obvious what my job is but anyways.) Also it’s my birthday on Wednesday and I’m celebrating Thursday so less time to write!

cw/tw: death, pregnancy complications, heavy angst, references to mental health and body dysmorphia/body image issues

word count: 4370 (I never usually write more than 2k so this is weird for me)

tag list (ask to be added): @trippinsorrows @cyberdejos2 @maeb99 @southerngirl41 @callmekayd @trentybenty @tian-monique @rose-bliss (if your name isn’t in grey, it’s not letting me tag you but I’ll try in the comment section)

masterlist

“You’re choosing that stupid title over your family again.” Ayanna’s voice cracked, the finality of her words hanging in the air as Joe stood frozen, his guilt palpable and his resolve wavering. She had spent all day running around the house and decorating for their special day. She spent hours preparing a nice steak dinner for the two of them, however it had been left untouched, the wait quelling her appetite as she now only felt sick. The dress she picked out now felt too revealing, no longer complimenting her body. Suddenly it clung to all the wrong parts and accentuated her weight gain, making her feel like a whale instead. The candles in the house had melted to the point where the fire had flickered out and the playlist she had queued just sounded like white noise at this point. Nothing matters anymore because Joe is late, late home once again and Ayanna is reaching breaking point. She spent hours waiting for him after she prepared their dinner, but all the effort didn’t matter anymore because instead of romance, the air was filled with tension and dread. “You know they’re due any day now, Joe how could you do this to me, to us. How can you still be wrestling so soon to my due date?” She said, her voice filled with emotion as she tried to steady herself. She didn’t want to cry, she had cried so much this entire pregnancy and she felt miserable. Instead of having that pregnancy glow like Rihanna, she had the life sucked out of her and she just felt lifeless.

“Look baby, I'm sorry.” Joe began, trying to figure out mentally how to get himself out of the trouble he was in. It wasn’t his fault, the media day for Wrestlemania was meant to finish much earlier but they took longer to set up, in turn making Joe’s interview (which was last) late. He had intended to be home earlier but it just seemed like the universe had other plans.

“Don’t even bother” Ayanna sighed, playing with the ring on her finger which now felt like it weighed a tonne. When they first got together, he gave it to her as a promise he’d marry her and whilst he did deliver on that promise, since getting pregnant and no longer being able to join him on the road she wondered if it was worth it sometimes. It’s not that she didn’t love Joe, hell sometimes she thinks she loves him too much. However she now isn’t sure if he loved her more than that title. He used to be so romantic; he’d bring her flowers every single day no matter what, he’d take her on dates, even small ones that weren't as lavish and she loved it. But the more he climbed up the ranks of WWE, the less the romance was there. Then shortly after he became champion everything stopped. Their marriage hit the rocks as he was never home and he started to miss things such as birthdays and christmases, so to save their marriage Ayanna gave up everything and joined him on the road. It was all going great until her later stages of pregnancy which stopped her from travelling with him but the most important thing for Ayanna was that he never missed an anniversary.

Well that was until now.

“Do you even know what day it is?” Ayanna asked, her voice quiet as she watched his mind tick, the cogwheels visabilly spinning with his face scrunched up in confusion, dull eyes squinting until it all finally clicks and he looks at her horrified. “You know, as bad as you’ve been lately, I always used to say ‘at least he’d always remembered our anniversary’ but it seems I can’t even say that anymore.” She spits, her heart breaking as the words leave her mouth.

“Yana” he started, feeling dizzy as he watched her flinch, a look almost of disgust flashing within her eyes. The nickname didn’t bring the butterflies it used to bring anymore, instead it forced a swell of emotion that made her feel like she could spew her guts any second. She used to look at him in adoration, but as the years passed the glimmer in her eyes decreased daily until they were fully extinguished. “Baby things are going to change after wrestlemania, I promise. Just one more match, after this I promise I’ll ask Vince again for some time off, I’m sure he’ll give it to me this time.”

The both of them knew that he was telling her what he wanted her to hear, the same conversation being repeated so many times to the point where they felt like they were in limbo. The last time Joe had asked, Vince told him he couldn’t have time off as he was their top star and Joe simply didn’t ask again. He always seemed to lack a backbone in situations that require him having one, but is happy to have a backbone and be stubborn when he doesn't need to be. Ayanna was exhausted, carrying one baby is hard enough but of course Joe carried the twin gene so she was carrying two instead and it felt like they were draining the life from her body. “I just want you to be present Joe, I feel like a single mother despite being married.” She pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. No one ever mentioned how lonely pregnancy is. She had lost many friends as she couldn’t go out to the club or drink anymore which meant that she spent days on end staring at the four walls of her bedroom watching the time pass as she waited up for Joe to come home. She sighed, tears threatening to well in her eyes which made her mentally curse. Stupid baby hormones. “You made the same promise last time, I don’t think you understand that one day I may not be here. You’ve missed so much already and you will never get this time back.”

She waited for Joe to say something, anything that could save the situation and at some points she felt like he was. But he’d then swallow the words back with a bitter taste and instead just looked at her in defeat. Nothing could save Ayanna for the despair she felt and she felt stupid even having this conversation with him. Instead, she gives him one more look over, a silent plea to say something or do something but the window of time closes as soon as she opens and she ends up turning on her feet and going to bed. She kept her room door ajar, hoping he’d come and knock, give her the tight hugs he used to give her and shower her in kisses and apologies but it never happens.

Joseph himself didn’t know what to do. They had the fairytale romance all their friends envied when they were younger, he was the promising D1 football player and she was a shoe-in to be a future Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. They looked good together and spent years in their honeymoon phase, yet somehow as they grew older the fairytale had started to wear off. He looked around the room with a frown, his stomach twisting and his heart aching as he realised exactly how much effort she had put in for their anniversary dinner and in that moment he felt like a horrible person. He knew he needed to pack as he was leaving at 5AM to get a jet for Wrestlemania but a large part of him wanted to go and fix the situation. But he knew nothing could ever fix it. They promised each other that they’d never go to bed without resolving an argument but that promise got broken several times to the point of which it no longer had any weight. So instead, Joe went into the walk-in closet and packed his things, believing that there’s nothing he could do to fix the situation.

That night, for the first time in their marriage the couple slept in separate rooms. Joe in the guest room tossing and turning in his own guilt, whilst Ayanna tried her hardest to muffle her sobs in the pillow. Her tears soaked the case through and her heart shattered in the pieces.

The next morning, Ayanna woke with the worst headache. Her head was pounding so intensely it hurt to open her eyes, however she put it down to the fact she spent all night crying and didn’t sleep. She called out for Joe, hoping he’d be home still so they could make up after their argument and wish him luck tonight as no matter what she loved him and didn’t want to continue on with another argument. But as she made it to the guest room, she realised it was too late and he was already gone. Her heart splintered like fragile glass, and she wept until the well of her tears ran dry, leaving her hollow and desolate.

“Fix your face uce.” His cousin Joshua says with a nudge. Joe having a face like a slapped ass and a snappy attitude had become too common these days and the twins, Joe’s only confidants, knew exactly what was going on. They’d grown up with Joe and practically spent their whole lives with Ayanna through her association with Joe, meaning they had been privy to almost all of the couple’s relationship issues.

“He’s right, every day you walk around here with the face you used to have when my dad used to whoop us all for breaking the window with the football.” Jonathon adds on, a small chuckle escaping from his twin brother as the memory of that day flashes through him. The twins and Joseph had grown up together due to their parents living next door to one another. Rikishi, the twin’s father and Joe’s uncle would say the twins were a bad influence. However everyone who knew them knew that it was actually Joe, he always managed to get away from it all by snitching on the boys before they could save themselves. Which is what led to all of them getting chased with a broom stick as children after Joseph broke the window as they were all playing football, but instead of admitting it he blamed the twins whilst the twins blamed him so the punishment was collective.

“Are you fighting with Yana again?” Joshua asks, earning him a dirty look from both his twin brother and Joseph as the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. The two of them somehow manage to fight more than Joshua and his baby mother, and the pair of them were never even together, just a stupid one night stand.

The pair wait for Joseph to say something but it becomes more and more obvious that he has nothing to say, but the situation is clearly bothering him. Jonathan, the self-labelled “mature” one out of the twins, felt it was best to offer some advice, even if Joe didn’t ask. “Man, I don’t know what’s going on but I know you two have been together since you were both thirteen, whatever it is you’ll make it through it. You guys have always found a way.” The advice, albeit sweet, doesn't really make a difference for Joe. But thankfully he gets called for his press conference anyway so he doesn’t have to engage in the conversation further and he shifts from vulnerable ‘Joe’ to the formidable ‘Roman,’ like a Jekyll turning into Hyde, shedding his worries and fears to become the stoic, unyielding figure everyone dreads.

Joe never really cared for press conferences, however since he was the face of the company he was obligated to fulfil every duty in his contract. He was always used to giving the cookie cutter answers to the usual questions like “what are your expectations tonight?” and “how do you feel about your opponent?” However, he gets caught off guard when someone in the crowd asks "with the demands of your career, how do you balance your professional and personal life, especially with your wife expecting?" The question then places a pang of guilt in his stomach once more as he’s forced to remember their argument from last night. He really wanted to speak to her before he left but he didn’t want to wake her up and his flight was too early for him to stay. He took a thought and tried to compose an appropriate answer before taking a small breath.

“It’s a challenge, no doubt.” He began, slightly sounding defensive whilst making sure to try and make eye contact with the journalist in the crowd to make sure he appeared engaged in the topic. “But I’ve always believed that if you’re committed to something, you find a way to make it work. My family understands what this career means to me, and I make sure to be there for them as much as I can. After tonight, I’m looking forward to some quality time with them.” The words feeling hollow knowing his home life isn’t in a good place.

At home, Ayanna rubs her temples trying to quell the headache that has seemed to intensify from earlier on. She sits on the sofa, her head spinning from the pain when a sharp, twisting pain in her abdomen causes her to shift positions. “It can't be.” she mumbles, it was too early. The twins were not meant to be due yet, she had an entire plan for Joe’s mother to come down and stay in the guest room and help her for the last week of her pregnancy up until the babies hit six months, this can’t be happening. Her phone lay on the coffee table, just out of reach. She stared at it, debating whether to call Joseph or not. But he was probably in the middle of his press conference. She didn’t want to worry him—she could handle this.

She bided her time, until the pain suddenly intensified, radiating from her abdomen up to her chest. Ayanna’s breath hitched, panic creeping in as she realised something was seriously wrong. She forced herself to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. The room spun, and she fell back onto the couch, gasping for air. She gave in and phoned Joe first, his phone going straight to voicemail as she thought before hanging up, her hands trembling as she dialled 911.“Please” she began with a gasp, struggling to even breathe, “I think something’s wrong I'm pregnant, and I—” Her voice broke off as another wave of pain hit her, harder this time as she screamed, the sound of her pained yells bouncing off the walls.

Joe, pleased with his answer to the first question, felt like he was in the clear and that would be it for the interview but then another question hit him. "There have been rumours that you were considering taking some time off after this match. Can you confirm or deny that?" The question made him feel hot under the collar, he didn’t want to give a definitive answer as Vince had already turned down his request and he didn’t want to put himself in a position that gets him in trouble. He hated it about himself and in a way he also hated Vince for putting him in this situation, however deep down he knew that he was at fault. No matter what, he was a coward and tried to avoid rocking the boat at work but all that has done is cause problems in his marriage.

He once again flashes that million dollar smile that he knew the ladies loved the most before positioning his answer. “Right now, I’m focused on tonight. Whatever comes after, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I’ve heard the rumours, but my priority is to go out there, put on a hell of a show, and take care of business. The rest will fall into place." He was cool and composed, everything a champion should be, however, the answer in itself was very evasive. It was as though he had mastered the art of saying much while revealing nothing, leaving everyone guessing what truly lay beneath.

Ayanna’s vision blurred as she tried to focus on the operator’s voice. “Stay with me, ma’am, help is on the way,” the voice said, but Ayanna could barely hear it over the pounding in her head. She doubled over in pain, clutching her stomach as the baby kicked wildly inside her. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear and regret. She should have told Joseph—should have insisted he stay home. But it was too late now. The darkness at the edges of her vision crept closer, and she knew she was running out of time

Joe looked at the crowd, wanting to go backstage and get ready for his match, a sigh of relief leaving his body as he’s told this is the last question of the conference. "Any plans to celebrate after the match, or will you be rushing home to be with your family?”

Joe smiled, the question feeling so bittersweet as he’d love to have Ayanna in the crowd like she usually is tonight, but that isn’t the case. "We’ll see how the night goes. My family’s always been my anchor, so I’ll be getting back to them as soon as I can. But first, I’ve got to take care of business in that ring."The reporters nodded, satisfied with his answer. Joseph glanced at the time—just a few more minutes, and he could get back to his routine. But he had no idea that his world was about to shatter.

Ayanna’s strength was fading fast. She clutched her phone, the operator’s voice a distant echo in her ears. “Hold on, ma’am, the paramedics are almost there,” but Ayanna’s world was already slipping away.

The last thing she felt was the sharp pain in her head, then—darkness.

The crowd was electric as Joe stepped into the ring, his face stoic as he played with his wrists to loosen them up. The glamour and feel of Wrestlemania never gets old, but he stayed focused, his mind locked in on the match and his eyes focused on his opponent. He couldn’t afford any distractions - not tonight.

The bell rang, and he moved with precision, every punch, every kick calculated. He could feel the weight of the championship on his shoulders, the expectations of the fans, the promise he had made to himself to be the best. Minutes felt like seconds as the match intensified, the crowd on their feet, chanting his name. With a final, devastating move, Joseph pinned his opponent to the mat. The referee’s hand slapped the canvas—one, two, three.

The crowd booed as Joseph was declared the winner, his arm raised in victory, gutted that their golden boy Cody Rhodes had lost the title. The championship belt was handed to him, and he held it high, basking in the glory of the moment. For a few seconds, everything was perfect. But beneath the cheers and jeers, he felt an uneasy feeling run through him, it was almost as if his body was trying to warn him that this victory came at a price—one that would haunt him long after the spotlight dimmed.

After the match he walked backstage, sweat dripping down his face but a victorious smile plastered on his lips. Fellow wrestlers patted him on the back, congratulating him on another win, another title defence. He had done it again—proven why he was the best. But it didn’t feel the same without Ayanna there to give him a kiss and tell him how proud she was of him. He longed to have her sweet floral scent dancing though his nose, he simply missed her and he was going to make it his mission to call her immediately and apologise and make it up to her. In fact, he was going to ask Vince again for time off or just go to Hunter and get him to explain to Vince.

As he headed toward his locker room, he saw Vince stood them with a solemn expression. His heart dropped, usually if Vince looks at you like that you’ve done a terrible job and you’re about to be pulled off TV. “Joe, we need to talk,” he said, his voice tight with urgency.”

Joseph frowned, still riding the high of his victory. “What’s up, Vince? I’ve got some celebrating to do and I need to call my wife.”

Vince hesitated, his face pale. “Joe, it’s Ayanna… She had a stroke during labour. She had tried to call you as she was going into labour but you were in the press conference.”

The words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. “What?” he whispered, his heart plummeting. “No… no, that can’t be right.” His mind scrambled to reject what he’d just heard, clinging to disbelief as though it could keep the truth at bay.

Vince’s eyes were filled with sorrow as he continued, “I haven’t heard anything else, however I would suggest that you take the jet and go to the hospital now. We will cover you in the post match press conference.” The championship belt slipped from Joseph’s grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The noise of the backstage area faded into nothingness as Joseph stood frozen, disbelief and horror washing over him.

Joseph’s heart pounds as he bursts through the hospital doors, the sounds of WrestleMania’s victory still ringing in his ears. But as he’s confronted by the white walls of the ICU, his triumph feels meaningless, distant. Joseph’s hands trembled as he pushed through the hospital doors, his mind a whirl of fear and denial. He moved as if in a trance, barely registering the people around him as he demanded to be taken to Ayanna.

“Where’s Ayanna? Where are my kids?” he demands, his voice edged with panic.

The receptionist’s eyes flickered with sorrow, looking around in desperation as she did not want to be the one to be here when the news was broken to him. Luckily for her, the doctor steps forward. “Mr. Anoa’i, I’m so sorry. Your wife suffered a massive stroke shortly after going into labour. By the time she got here, there was nothing we could do to reverse the damage. Her brain activity ceased before we could save her.”

Joseph’s breath catches, his world starting to crumble. “What… what do you mean? Where is she? Can I see her?” His voice wavered, a desperate plea for a reality that was slipping through his fingers.

The doctor hesitates, his tone measured but heavy. “We had to make a decision quickly, Mr. Anoa’i. We kept her on life support long enough to deliver the twins via emergency C-section. It was the only way to save their lives.”

For a moment, Joseph just stares, unable to comprehend the words. “You… you kept her alive just to deliver the babies?” His voice is raw with disbelief and rising fury. He couldn’t believe what was being said to him, Ayanna being reduced to a baby making machine made him feel beyond sick. They could’ve had another baby, but he could never have another Ayanna. “She wasn’t just some fucking incubator! She was my wife! She is my wife, why didn’t you save her?!”

The doctor’s eyes hold steady, though full of sympathy. “She made that decision herself. Your wife signed an advanced directive, instructing us to prioritise the babies if anything went wrong. She knew the risks and chose this course.”

The words hit Joseph like a sledgehammer. Ayanna had known this could happen and made a decision without him—a decision that had ripped her from his life. Anger surged and then ebbed away, leaving a hollow ache where it had been. He had spent his life with her, and now, learning to live without her seemed an insurmountable challenge, a cruel twist of fate.

“Where are they?” he finally whispers, his voice barely audible, eyes vacant.

One of the nurses gently guides him to the room where the newborns lie in their incubators. They’re tiny, fragile, and perfect. But as Joseph looks at them, he’s overwhelmed not with the joy he expected but with a deep, unsettling mix of sorrow and resentment. They’re here, alive and breathing, but Ayanna is gone. She sacrificed herself for them, and Joseph can’t help but feel a stab of resentment toward these tiny beings who cost him everything. He stands over the incubators, his hands shaking as he touches the glass. The twins stir slightly, their small cries echoing in the sterile room, but all Joseph feels is an unbearable, suffocating grief—and an anger he can’t reconcile. Whilst he was angry at the world, he was also mad at himself. What sick bastard resents an innocent child? He thought, trying to force the feeling out of his heart, but it was no use. He just couldn't stop himself being filled with disgust when he looked at them, especially as they both look exactly like her. It felt like some cruel punishment from the universe for his wrongdoing.

Finally, he forces himself to pick up one of the babies, holding the child close to his chest. The warmth of his newborn is supposed to bring him comfort, but instead, it feels like a weight pressing down on him, reminding him of what he’s lost. Tears blur his vision as he collapses into a nearby chair, the sound of the twins’ cries filling his ears. But instead of the joy and love he once imagined, all Joseph can feel is a hollow emptiness and a dark, creeping resentment that only deepens his guilt. The nurse gently touched his shoulder, but Joseph barely noticed. He sank into a chair, the twins still wailing in his arms, as tears streamed down his face. The world had stopped making sense. He had won the match, but in doing so, had lost everything that truly mattered, as if triumph had come at the cost of his very soul.

#roman reigns #liyah’s literature #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x black oc #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wwe imagine #wwe x black oc #whatoncewas

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inuiiwonderland · 2 years

Note

Can I request a TWST scenario in which the reader is infatuated with Leona and tries their damn hardest to get his affections, but unintentionally ends up catching the eyes of all the third years EXCEPT him? (Male reader if possible please)

A/n: this is kinda my first time writing male reader so I hope it isn't bad😓 also sorry for keeping you waiting and I hope this is what you ask for![also I think some characters were ooc so I apologize for that!]

Twst 3rd year's x male! Reader

If you knew trying to get THE Leona kingscholar attention would be so hard…you might have broken down in tears. It wasn't easy trying to catch the beastmen's attention by the amount of times you failed in the past.

You tried everything! And literally EVERYTHING to get Leona to notice you. By getting good grades, doing well in flight class, and hell- even trying to get into a fight with some random student to prove that you're strong…totally didn't end well.

You sighed as you threw yourself on your bed as grim just snicker at your form.

"You're still trying? I thought you would've given up after the second fail attempt of trying to get his affection"

"Shut it"

"I'm just saying!"

You sigh one last time and roll over so that you're now facing the ceiling. You pressed your lips into a thin line as you started thinking of 100 different ways to get Leona attention.

"And there he goes again with the plans" Grim says to no one as he leaves the room to not hear you rant about your plans.

"And then maybe- eh? Grim where did you go?"

It Was the next day. You were running on 2 hours of sleep after staying up all night thinking about ways to catch the eye of the young beastmen while also trying to study for an exam that was in 2 days.

As you were walking to your next class you had bump into something- or rather someone.

"Oh- my bad"

"Oh no worries y/n!" You look to see cater giving you a small smile while also handing you a book that you didn't even notice that you have dropped.

"Ah! Thank you" you said as you took the book from his hand and gave him one last thanks before walking to your class.

Though the moment you left. You didn't see the small blush form on his cheeks.

You notice for the past couple weeks that you have been receiving some letters and small gifts in your bag.

Beautiful written letters from people who complimented you about how smart, strong, and cool you were. You wouldn't lie that the compliments didn't give you butterflies, but you notice that none of the handwriting in these letters matches Leonas- much to your disappointment.

You of course didn't even notice the longing looks you received from the 3rd year's. You didn't react to some of their flirtatious comments thinking they were just being nice.

You didn't notice the way Vil would stare at you during class like you were the fairest of them all. How he would sometimes invite you out to dinner or shoots that he has.

You didn't notice how close Trey is when he helps you bake some sweets for the unbirthday party held at heartsalbyul.

You didn't notice how rook would compliment you more than usual. Not minding it since you know he compliments everyone but not knowing that for you he sees you as the most beautiful in all of twisted wonderland.

The way cater would buy matching outfits for the two of you and post it on magicam and have people think you two are a couple.

How idia would invite you over to play games for the whole night and watch anime while snacking because you're the only one he trusts to bring to his room besides ortho.

Malleus who would invite you out to take night strolls around ramshackles and would literally not stop looking at you the whole time with adoring eyes.

Lilia who would take you around to explore twisted wonderland and see new things and places. Fun adventures that he loves to have with you.

You didn't notice some of their obvious hints of them liking you because all of your attention was set on Leona.

So of course you didn't know that the letters and gifts you have been receiving were from them.

"Another one?" Ace asks as he sees you take another letter from your bag.

"Mhm"

"Wow, you're quite the charm ehh~" He says with a knowing smirk.

"Guess I am"

"So, did you finally get Leona to notice you yet?" Deuce questions while sitting down next to you.

"No…"

"Maybe you should just give up" You glared at ace as you threw the empty water bottle at him.

"No, I won't give up so easily! I'll definitely get Leonas attention!" You say as you quickly grab your bag.

"And I have the perfect plan! Come on Grim!"

"Nooo!" He says as you pick him up and race to ramshackles.

….

"He won't give up won't he?"

"Nope"

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #disney twst #twst x male reader #twst imagines #angst?#twst x reader #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #lilia vanrouge #cater diamond #trey clover #rook hunt #malleus draconia #idia shroud

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sharksupermacy · 1 year

Text

k. - jihyo x trainee! reader

synopsis: you and jihyo were dating but now you aren't, what happened?

genre: fluff, angsty?, not exactly a defined relationship, no communication, hand holding (the scariest thing of all), broken promises 1.1k words pt2. pt3.

she was 16 and so were you. both attending the same high school oddly enough while being a trainee for jyp. maybe it was nice to have a friend just as involved as you were with hers. you at least seemed to think so during the time.

both of you leaning on each other especially during the hard exam time, or when examination was coming near. your friendship was almost amicable to the point of jeongyeon and nayeon always holding each other, knowing each other to the point of being able to guess how the other felt without a single word, and being sappy as hell when it came to it. but in strong contrast of pair before you both were dating.

of course the company didn't know. you were both girls, trainees, and almost set to debut in a new group with nayeon, jeongyeon, and sana. that was all until it wasn't. the new group was cancelled. you and jihyo drifted apart slowly not seeing each other in school, practice schedule never aligning with each other, and her not responding when you reached out.

maybe you should have seen the signs of a huge heart break that was going to be handed to you by her. but being the slight optimist towards yours and hers relationship you thought this was just a rough patch that could have been smoothed over.

you can fondly remember back on the 2 year relationship where you and jihyo went out of the entertainment just to head to a park with ice cream from a convenience store to just talk to each other. both parties holding each other hands and making embarrassing flirty remarks to the other.

but at last you had jihyo had been found out and ratted out to the company. the trainee who told on both of you was kicked out of the entertainment of course but you and jihyo was still called into jyp office. he looked between the both of you and visibly you could see his forehead wrinkle before he started rubbing it before saying, "ah... you guys aren't going to make this easy on me. you and jihyo exchange looks of confusion as you had not even talked to eachother in the past 2 weeks. jyp gave you to the ultimate decision either breaking up and never see eachother again, or quit the company. it wasn't helping that 2 of his best trainees were put in this position jihyo being one talented vocalist meanwhile you on the other hand was an amazing dancer and producer.

jihyo made her decision right then and there without your knowledge or consultation, "we will break up pd-nim." you looked at her as she had a look of earnesty towards jyp.

"well if that is what you so choose, both of you from now on are banned from seeing each other. we will keep this secret between us 3. i hope you two can keep your promises to me, lets never talk about this again," jyp states as he gathers a file walking out of his office with jihyo following him 30 seconds after.

you were left in the office for a good minute trying to process what had just happened in brief 5 minutes. tears slowly dropped to your palms as you were trying to calm down. you walked out of that office 2 minutes later trying to look the most calm expression you could muster walking out of the jyp building to the trainee dorm.

it was only there at the dorm you were able to process and breakdown whatever was built up in that 20 minute walk. you were lucky that none of your roommates were in the dorm yet as it would have been slightly awkward to explain to one of jihyo friend what just happened. you gathered yourself in an 2 hours and headed off to bed at 5pm just as your roommates were back. all of notice that you were sleeping shrugging it off as some type of cold you may have caught.

a cycle of just sleeping, training, school came forth to light. you were of course still eating but you never seem present during anything for the past 9 months. it came over you that should get over your ex in the best way possible so you threw yourself into the studio and made an entire 2 albums worth of songs about her. by the time you were done with the albums that you had put together a total of 2 years have gone by after the break up day.

you took a breath of fresh air outside your dorm and started you 20 minute walk to jyp company building. by this time jihyo had debut of course you went you had to see your favorite girl debut and leaving her flowers back stage with a small pink card stating how proud you were the girl had come.

now it was your turn to part ways with the company that you had used to love and return back to a normal of life with university and such. you knocked on jyp office and when hearing a little come in stepped in jyp office a little bit different than it was 2 years ago. jyp still buried his head into his paperwork and he looked up at you puzzled why you were in his office. "yes?" he said.

"hi, pd-nim i would like to quit being a trainee," you said bluntly while to smiling in his direction.

"may i ask why? you were one of best trainees this entertainment has ever seen," jyp looked up at you from his paperwork with concern.

"i just figured i'm just not cut out for the idol life. i just want to live a normal life, you know go to university and have a nice job," you kept picking at your hand a bit a nervous tick you had developed in the past year.

jyp looks at you with slight disappointment in his eyes, he says a little dishearten, "fine, but will you consider taking up a job here maybe as a choreographer or maybe even a exclusive producer?"

"thanks for the offer pd-nim but i will think about it," you said as you turn and head for the door. slowly heading back down stairs turning the corners to the locker as you empty yours for the last time. you peer over a bit around the corner seeing jihyo sipping a juice talking to her fellow members laughing a bit. you smiled a bit at the sight and returned back to your packing. it was july 18th 2016 when you had left.

a/n: YOOO KILLING ME GOOD IS GOOD- STREAM IT (i mean this as a threat) also this got way to long. so i broke it up to made it easier to read. jeez didn't actually think i would surpass 1k words

#jihyo imagine #twice x reader #twice imagines #park jihyo imagines #jihyo x reader

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the-oblivious-writer · 1 year

Text

Wanna Be Yours |2|

Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Gryffindor V Ravenclaw

Notes: Gonna be my last post for a few weeks, Modern AU, Fem!SlytherinReader, any characters you don't recall from the Harry Potter universe are my OC's

Warning(s): Swearing, throwing up, mentions of underage drinking & blood

Prologue|Previous Part|Next Part

Stressful was definitely one of the many words to describe how the past few weeks have been. With exams and quidditch, Y/N has found herself swamped with work. Luckily she was able to keep up with her classes..except for one.

Arithmancy.

It was the one subject she just couldn’t get. Ask her to brew a potion from scratch? Y/N has that handled. Want to know the name of every star? Y/N Y/L/N’s your girl. Need help in Defense Of The Dark Arts? She’s who to call. Just not about Arithmancy.

So here she was, studying the materials for the hundredth time. Y/N had been sitting there for a good hour now and the numbers and symbols were starting to mix and blur. That was when she knew she should call it a night.

Y/N packed her things and left the library before walking through the school’s halls, half asleep. She had been up since two in the morning and it was now almost curfew. At some point, Y/N zoned out during the walk to her dorm.

I really need to stop pulling all nighte-

The Slytherin is pulled out of her trance when she feels a body knock into her.

“Hmph- '' a girl let out in front of Y/N as both their books dropped to the ground. Y/N looked down to see the brown haired girl who she bumped into. Y/N instantly recognized her to be the Gryffindor she caught staring at her during the first day back at Hogwarts.

“I’m sorry about that” Y/N said as she knelt down to pick up the fallen books.

“It’s okay.” Hermione then knelt down to help pick them up. Y/N finally looked at Hermione again when she gave the Gryffindor her book. They both stood up and there was an awkward few seconds of silence until Hermione held out her hand.

“I’m Hermione by the way. Hermione Granger” she let out, introducing herself to the Slytherin. Y/N looked at Hermione’s hand and then back to her face. “I’m Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N” she responded, taking the other girl’s hand.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Y/N. Even if it was by crashing into you” Hermione jokes which pulled a small laugh from Y/N.

“Yeah, I really ought to watch where I’m going next time,” Y/N responded back as they disconnected their hands.

Hermione looked at Y/N for a moment. As she was about to say something Y/N’s name got called causing her to turn her head. Her gaze meets a bloody nosed Link being held up by Amelia and Leo. “What the bloody hell happened?” Y/N asked with raised eyebrows.

Before Y/N went to them, they walked over to her. “Take a wild guess” Leo remarked, he was getting tired of Link’s antics. Y/N sighs and turns back to Hermione,“I gotta uh —she points back to Link— but I’ll see you around. At least I hope I do” Y/N looks Hermione up and down as she says the last part before walking away with the others.

—

“So let me get this straight–” Harry started as he sat down, “Y/N bumped into you, the others showed up, and she said that?”

“Yes” Hermione looked between the two boys, not sure where they were headed with this.

“She was flirting with you, Mione,” Ron simply said before biting into a chocolate frog. “Isn’t this the same girl you’ve been making googly eyes at since seco- ow!” Hermione hit Ron with the Daily Prophet before he could finish his sentence

“Be mature Ronald. I have not been making googly eyes at her. And I can’t help it if I’m a naturally observant person” Hermione claimed defensively. Ron only rolled his eyes in response before Harry cut in.

“But you fancy her, don’t you?” Harry cursorily asked Hermione. She thought for a moment before answering.

“Well, this is the first time I’ve ever even spoken to her,” Hermione responded, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Well you certainly fancy her enough to stare at her hour after hour” Ron mumbled, earning him a kick from Hermione. But it didn’t wipe the smirk off the ginger’s face.

Eventually the three went to bed, Hermione thought about the interaction over again before falling asleep.

—

Y/N was sound asleep, peacefully dreaming about Merlins know what. Well, that was before Amelia woke her up. “Rise and shine sleeping beauty!” Y/N only groaned in response as Amelia clapped her hands. “Come on, it’s Raine’s quidditch day. They’re up against Gryffindor.”

Y/N hesitantly lifted herself up, mumbling a few curses before finally standing up. She changed and put on the Ravenclaw scarf Lorraine had given her a few months prior.

Amelia and Y/N made it to the quidditch field and sat down in the Ravenclaw stands next to Leo and Link who waved them over. Leo was still laying into Link about the previous day. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that dumb” Link defended as Amelia and Y/N watched with amusement.

“How is attempting to do a handstand on your broom, one hundred feet in the air, while not being able to do a handstand in the first place, not dumb?” Leo asked incredulously.

“Well when you say it like that..” Link trailed off while Leo rolled his eyes in response.

“Bloody idiot” Leo mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

—

Gryffindor won the match and they were holding a party in their common room to celebrate. The victory also meant a loss for Ravenclaw which meant comforting Lorraine. If she was anything she was serious about quidditch. It made sense considering Oliver Wood acted as her mentor when she first started out. It seemed he passed over some of his competitiveness.

When it came to parties at Hogwarts, everybody went. No matter what they were for, who lost, who won, people still showed up. Amelia asked if she was going to go but Y/N declined, not wanting “Lorraine to drown herself.”

By the time everybody left, Y/N was softly knocking on the Lorraine’s dorm door. “Go away” she heard from the other side. Y/N sighed and spoke up. “Oh come on, it's me. I even brought over some sweets I found in Link’s snack stash” Y/N said, raising the bag up as if the Ravenclaw could see it.

She heard shuffling and footsteps on the other side of the door before it opened slightly. Lorraine looked through the slither opening, looked down at the bag then at Y/N before opening the door all the way.

“Come in” Lorraine sighed before going back to her bed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows,“What do you mean?”

Lorraine rolled eyes before answering. “I don’t want to be comforted right now, okay? I just want to forget about the stupid match. I’m sick of the pitiful looks I’ve been getting.”

Y/N nodded in understanding, sometimes Lorraine wanted to talk and sometimes she didn’t. The Slytherin placed the bag on Lorraine’s nightstand before grabbing a few things out of it. “I made sure to swipe some of your favorites. How about a night in? Just you and me” Y/N offered.

Lorraine patted the spot next to her and Y/N happily sat on the bed. Lorraine grabbed her laptop and opened it. They spent the rest of the night watching movies and eating sweets. Eventually falling asleep.

Y/N woke up, looking at her surroundings confused before remembering where she was. She looked down to see Lorraine with her head on her chest. Y/N carefully got up while gently moving Lorraine not wanting to wake her up. She then reached into her pocket for her phone. She squeezed her eyes shut as the phone’s brightness shined at her.

There were a few messages from Amelia and Link and a couple from Leo. But being too tired, Y/N just made a mental note to reply in the morning and instantly fell back asleep. What woke her up was the sun shining through the room's window. She winced a bit from the light as she covered her face.

“Look who decided to wake up” Lorraine said as she moved around the room. “None of my roommates are back yet but they will be soon encase you wanna make a run for it” she offered.

Y/N mumbled,“Good call, Rainey” before getting out of bed. The only roommate of hers that Y/N could tolerate was Luna. Eventually she left after saying goodbye and made her way back to the Slytherin common room. Unfortunately a certain professor was waiting at the door.

“Professor Snape.”

“Y/L/N.”

“Are you aware of the time?” he asked with an unamused expression. Y/N looked at her watch then back at the professor.

“It is seven thirty six” Y/N answers, Snape humming in response.

“And do you know when curfew is?” Snape crossed his arms as he waited for a response. Y/N huffed a bit before answering. It was far too early for an interrogation.

“Ten pm” she sighed.

He was getting too old for this shit.

“Good, so you were aware of what time you had to be in your common room. You were also aware of what rules you were breaking. Twenty points from Slytherin and detention for a week, starting today.”

Snape walked away after giving her one more glare. Y/N flipped him off with his backside facing her, before heading to her dorm room. She walked in and heard somebody throwing up. Y/N went to the bathroom where it was coming from to find Amelia hunched over and puking.

“Drank too much I presume?” she rhetorically asked, not expecting her puking friend to answer that.

“Nobody likes a smartass,” Amelia replied before throwing up some more. Y/N got a water bottle then placed it on her friend’s nightstand.

After a couple of minutes, Amelia walked out of the bathroom as she wiped her mouth with a towel. Y/N gave her the water bottle,“Thanks —she took a sip— oh and you know how you’ve been struggling with Arithmancy?” Y/N hummed in response. “Found you a tutor.”

“Who is it?”

“Hermione Granger.”

#hermione fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hermione fic #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione x fem reader #hermione x reader #hermione x you #wanna be yours

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passivenovember · 2 years

Text

“Do we have a mop?”

Mrs. Harrington looks up from her crossword puzzle, razor sharp #2 poised to hack and slash her way toward victory, “Our house is covered wall to wall in tasteful black hardwood,” She says, because her husband’s time last week was 3.35 and she plans to shave at least ten seconds from her own today. “Of course we have a mop.”

Steve shuffles in the doorway, rapping four knuckles against the wood to get her attention. “Could you tell me where it is?”

“Steven,” She sighs, “I’m a little--”

“I want to clean up.”

She resists the urge to dig her fingertips in her ears. Bites down on shock and thrill that her son has finally taken to the perfectionism that runs the roots on both sides of his family tree. “Go dig around the mud room,” She says, returning to her crossword, “That’s where one usually keeps mops, vacuums, dustpans--”

“Thank you,” Steve disappears, leaving Mrs. Harrington’s study in blissful, waving quiet.

She makes it another ten words before all hell breaks loose.

“Mom!” Steve shouts, voice muffled by walls and imported rugs. “Mom, I can’t find the--”

“Goddammit,” She hits the stop-trigger on her alarm clock. 4.15. Her husband’s going to have a field day with this development.

The kitchen is filthy, but only in the way that shows her son is trying his best. Her precious marble counters are streaked with forgotten all-purpose cleaner, and the rugs have been removed, shaken out, and put on their stay mats crooked.

Every dish in the house has been left in the sink and somewhere, past the sound of Steve digging through the pantry and mumbling to himself, something is burning.

“What on Earth--”

“Mrs. Wheeler used to make Nancy clean the floors with pinesol,” Steve breathes, his face as red as a lobster when he pokes his head around the doorway, “But we don’t have any pinesol, mom, I’m not sure what--”

“I don’t like pinesol. Smells too much like a burning nuclear factory.”

“What am I supposed to clean the floor with, mom?”

Mrs. Harrington tugs a mitt onto one hand and removes a sheet of charred sugar from the oven.

Thinks maybe they’re chocolate chip cookies, or brownies, or--

She turns the oven off, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s gotten into you, Steven?”

Steve charges out of the pantry and stops dead in his tracks. “Nothing,” He says, gripping the mop handle so tightly that Mrs. Harrington is positive it’s going to snap in half. “It’s just. I have someone coming over tonight, and--”

“Do you fancy this person?”

“No. Yes, I don’t. I don’t know--”

“You know, When I met your father he didn’t know you couldn’t clean glass with dish soap.”

Steve’s eyes get big. “You can’t?”

“No, it leaves streaks all over the place,” She rolls up her sleeves, turning the faucet water on as hot as it will go. “Anyhow, the first time I came over to study for our pre-law exams that first year of graduate school, he had tried to clean his entire apartment. It was a massive failure because he didn’t have anything in the way of a conventional cleaning product.”

“What did dad use?”

Mrs. Harrington laughs, unable to help herself. “Olive oil.”

Steve saddles up next to the dish rack, using a clean tea-towel to dry whatever’s handed to him. “Dad’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, but he loved me. Maybe he didn’t know it at the time, but I felt it. The second I walked in and fell into the wall because the floor was so slippery,” She pins Steve with what she hopes is a gentle, knowing look, “It meant the world that he’d even try.”

Steve looks thoughtful for a moment. “Okay,” He says, drying his hands on the seat of his Levi’s. “But what do I use to mop the floor--”

Two hours later, the house is clean enough that Mrs. Harrington doesn’t feel guilty returning to her crossword puzzle.

She sits down and restarts her timer just as the doorbell rings. She listens, straining to imagine the big, goofy soft smile that matches the tone of her son’s voice.

“Billy,” Steve says, and he might as well float around on heart-shaped clouds. “I made some cookies--”

“Smells like you almost burned the house down,” The second voice answers.

Mrs. Harrington holds her breath and hopes against all hope that this kid won’t break her son’s heart.

There’s a long pause and then, quiet as a sunrise, Billy laughs. “I’ll choke ‘em down for you, pretty boy.”

For you.

Mrs. Harrington starts the timer and doesn’t even care that her husband beat her record.

5.18. He’ll smile when he sees it.

#harringrove #fluff and humor #mrs. harrington is a good mom

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lazycats-stuff · 2 years

Text

Bruce Wayne x male!reader

Summary: Bruce has some issues with Damian in school, especially with English. But Damian's class master, (Y/N), is more than happy with Damian to help him with English. Bruce didn't expect to fall in love with the teacher.

Warnings: Damian being a matchmaker, Bruce is whipped, (Y/N) wants to help Damian with his English.

Bruce took a deep breath as he was walking towards the classroom. He got an another call from Damian's teacher and class master, (Y/N). Damian is good in all other subjects, but in English he is struggling a lot. Bruce was worried about that, because he knew that Damian was stubborn and he sees that asking for help is a weakness.

Bruce knocked on the door and entered the classroom. (Y/N) was putting some papers away. The teacher looked up and smiled in greeting.

" Good afternoon mister Wayne, please sit. "

Bruce nodded and sat down. " Thank you. My apologizes for pushing this. I had crazy 2 weeks at work. "

" It's okay, I understand. Now, I wanted to talk about Damian. "

" Is he still closed off? "

" Yes. I am worried because he doesn't have any friends. He is usually off to the side and just alone. And he is struggling with his exams. Do you want to see his exams? "

" Please. " Bruce took the papers and looked them over. The mistakes were so... Bruce read the exams over and handed them back to (Y/N).

" I think I know why he is struggling here. English is not his first language, it's Arabic. For the first 10 years of his live, he lived with his mother, who is Arabic. "

(Y/N) nodded in understanding.

" Oh. Well, that explains the low grade now. I know you live outside of Gotham so I don't know when this could work for you, but I always stay a little longer for students who are struggling. We could set up a day what could work for you or somebody else to pick him up? "

" Mister (L/N), that is an excellent idea. Although, I feel like I need to warn you. He is extremely stubborn. "

" Don't worry about that mister Wayne, I have worked with really stubborn kids, I think some even more stubborn than Damian. "

Bruce chuckled at that. There is no more stubborn than Damian.

" You know, mister Wayne, I thought this meeting was going to in a completely other direction. "

Bruce cocked his head to the side.

" What do you mean? "

" I had parents who blamed me for their grades, then they excused their kids... And they are usually rich to put it bluntly. "

" Teachers don't get paid enough. "

" Yeah, but I am not in this job for the money. I just like teaching and working with kids. "

Bruce was in awe. Teachers like (Y/N) are truly rare today in this world.

" And which day would work for you mister Wayne? "

" It would have to be Friday then. "

" Then it's settled. Thank you for coming mister Wayne. "

Both men shook hands and Bruce left the classroom. His right hand was tingling slightly. Bruce was confused by the tingling feeling. What the hell? Bruce shook his head to clear his mind. Now he just has to break this news to Damian. He could only hope that house would still stand.

It's been 2 weeks since they started and (Y/N) was surprised with the amount of stubbornness that Damian is packed with. It seems that Bruce's warning was... Well, (Y/N) wasn't exactly caught off guard when he saw the stubbornness.

" Okay... This better. "

" But this is almost nothing. There is no progress mister (L/N). "

(Y/N) raised his eyebrow and gave Damian a look. " Damian, considering where were were about a month ago, you are doing better. You know, I think that any progress no matter how small or big is a progress. You want to know something? "

Damian nodded, his curiosity piqued now. (Y/N) was his favorite teacher and he tried to be better in his subject, but English is not easy.

" I was really bad at English too. Like failing. But my teacher wasn't allowing me to give up. She worked with me after school just like we are doing now. And in high school I was lucky to have a great teacher too. Both of them made me fall in love with the language.

" But it's not easy. "

" I know, trust me, but once I passes my first final, I was so happy. And trust me, that was the hardest exam of my life. And English is my native language, so that speaks volumes. Now, tell me what's bothering you about English? "

" Is everything an acceptable answer? "

(Y/N) started laughing. He couldn't stop, he tried to stop, but he couldn't stop. " Oh Damian... "

" It is a valid answer? "

" It is, it just caught me off guard. Okay, is the grammar the thing that is bothering you or is it spelling? "

" Both. The spelling is... Insane. And grammar? I would rather run 3 triathlons then do it. "

" I know how you feel, but you have to. So, here is an idea. Next time, I will bring some snacks for you and each time you solve an exercise and if it's correct, you get a snack. Deal? "

" Yes. Are we done for today mister (L/N)? "

" We are Damian. You can pack up. "

Damian muttered a thank God and started packing. (Y/N) huffed out a laugh at that. A knock on the door of the classroom and Bruce's head popping in.

" Hello. "

" Hello mister Wayne. "

" How was it Damian? "

" Torture. " Damian said leaving the classroom.

(Y/N) snorted at that. Bruce smiled too.

" How is he doing? "

" Good. He is really trying to improve. He just needs to keep going. "

" I am relieved to hear that. "

" Does he like reading? It will help him with the understanding. The more he reads the better. "

" I have a really big library in the mansion full of different books. He should be able to find something to read. Thank you for staying after school for him. "

(Y/N) chuckled and waived his hand.

" I have told you before mister Wayne, I have no problem with staying behind for him. "

" Still, thank you again. "

" And again, you don't need to thank me. I am simply helping my students. "

Damian huffed as he waited for his father to come to drive him. Sure, he could drive himself, but his father would be mad if he were to do so. He noticed that his father looked dazed and... In love?

" Father? "

" Yes Damian? "

" Are you in love? With my class master? " Damian asked, a bit shocked.

" What!? No, I just thanked him. "

" Are you sure? In the last 4 weeks, you are not yourself. You are distracted a lot. "

" And if I am in love? " Bruce asked, unlocking the car.

" If it's (Y/N), you can't hurt him. He is my favorite teacher and if you hurt him, there will be hell to pay.

Bruce's mouth dropped a little as Damian walked into the car. Bruce laughed for a moment before he entered the car and started driving back home.

Damian was getting better, but he still needs help. So (Y/N) and Bruce made a deal for (Y/N) to come on Saturdays. Bruce wasn't sure if this was a good idea or not, but Damian was happy and his progress was incredible.

And the other boys love him too. Even Jason did, which is the one thing that shocked everyone, especially Bruce. But it made him think. Maybe he was the one. Him being Batman made it difficult to make relationships. And once he did try, the people weren't interested in his kids, they were interested in his money. Bruce always left them, his kids being first for him.

And you know what? If he is supposed to be single forever, but be a good father to his kids then so be it. But... If he were to find somebody who loves his kids just as he loves, that would be amazing. But he wasn't lucky enough to find somebody like that. But if the boys love (Y/N), and so does Bruce, this is a win win situation.

So, Bruce finally mustered up the courage to ask the teacher out. Well, he was going to ask him to stay for dinner. That is the first step. Then he will advance with his plan further.

Bruce watched with a smile as Damian got the task correctly. He walked up to the duo. He heard (Y/N) praising Damian and it made his heart melt. He felt even more sure now. It felt so heartwarming, so sweet and honest.

" How is it going gentlemen? "

" Good. He is doing great. "

" Okay. How about you stay for dinner, it's late. "

(Y/N) was about to answer, when Jason walked in.

" How about you stay forever mister (L/N)? "

Bruce whipped his head to glare at Jason, but the boy was already gone.

" I would like to stay for dinner Bruce. " (Y/N) answered once Bruce turned around to what (Y/N) perceived as an apology.

" You don't have to feel pressured to stay. "

" I don't feel pressured, don't worry about it. "

" Okay. "

Bruce gave the man a small smile, feeling all fuzzy inside. Maybe (Y/N) is the one.

Quick question: Would you like an another oneshot with their dates and the boys simply loving (Y/N)? Just let me know in the comments. Sorry if this feels rushed, but I just wanted to finish this oneshot.

#bruce wayne x male reader #dc x male reader #dc comics #Damian x male reader #x male reader #batman x male reader

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allmyocsarebritish · 4 months

Text

Kiss, Maime, Kill Chapter 7: The Radio Demon

Pairing: Alastor X killer! F Reader

Warnings!!: continuation of angst lol but it's almost over

Wordcount: 0.95k

2 things: number one, this was supposed to be the final chapter but it got long so I split it, number two, sorry for the delay it's still exam season </3

1939

Pentagram City, Pride Ring

Searching across an entire ring of hell for a singular sinner was easier said than done. It was like painstakingly filtering through a spindly hay bale for a singular needle, tearing apart the masses in desparate hope of finding what you needed.

You had spent the past week since falling at fate's mercy, but at every moment of utter despair memories of Alastor spurred you on. It was at these times of loneliness that you reminisced of his absence whilst broadcasting, the solitude filled by his soothing voice filtering through the radio.

Sighing, you sat up from the mangy sofa in the basement you had managed to swindle for a month or two whilst you searched for Al (and in the process a more permanent residency). Tired and wholeheartedly worn out, you flopped into the wooden chair beside a chipped, stained desk, pressing play on the radio and resting your head in your hands. Hot, burning tears began to stream down your cheeks at the news reporter's cheery voice. It had no hint of the transatlantic accent you adored so much, nor did it carry any of Alastor's way of speaking. Shaking, you began to feel your anger, heartbreak and frustration bubbling like a pan that had spent too long at the stove.

Bubbling over.

A harsh growl of rage escaped your throat as you picked up the clunky, mahogany radio and heaved it at the wall before pounding it with your fists, leaving your knuckles sore and bleeding. The news reporter's voice drowned out until you were left in a silence broken only by sobs.

Sliding to the floor with your back against the wall, you covered your face with your bleeding hands, immobilised by grief. Scattered radio rubble littered the floor around you. The heavy, boxy shape remained mostly intact due to its stature, leaving only the dials scattered across the dusty wooden floor. Sniffling, you wiped your nose, not even bothering to disguise the tears or mascara staining your face as they continued to fall freely. Now you needed to get a new fucking radio. Not to mention the giant, gaping hole in the bloody (channeling Simon Armitage with this double meaning of bloody HA) wall thanks to your frustrated aggression.

"Fuck it, it's tomorrow's problem." You grumbled, stumbling over to the couch and flopping back down with an "uff", arm stretched over your weary eyes. You didn't remember exactly when sleep overtook, but it was neither peaceful nor refreshing.

Lifting your arm, you glanced at your watch. 11am. You'd overslept, not that it mattered anyway. Alastor, ever the early riser, would have gently scolded you for wasting such a promising morning, but he wasn't fucking here. Through bleary eyes you were greeted with the sight of the broken radio, another hefty weight added to the emotional load you were carrying. Burying your dread, you decided to try and focus on the problem at hand. It was a simple enough venture, travel to any decent shop in the city, pick up the cheapest radio to replace the one you broke (as it wasn't actually yours to begin with but instead belonged to those lending you the basement - you would have been glad to be rid of the thing), then wallow in self pity for the rest of eternity. Easy.

So easy in fact that you flopped back down, staring into space for another solid half hour. Then 3/4s of an hour. Then a full hour. Then you got up.

You didn't bother to change, this was hell: nobody gave two shits what you were wearing, nor was it anyone's business. The paved streets were rife with crime and danger, any ordinary person would be terrified. But it didn't bother you, nothing much did anymore. Empty eyes scanned over a few shop windows, nothing of interest present. You could hardly afford to replace the cathedral radio, you had to kill to pay rent, but a few coins jostled in your pocket as you walked. At least this wasn't the greed ring (not that you felt much at home in pride, considering you were so very lacking).

Window-shopping proved to be futile, and was getting you absolutely nowhere. You would have to actually go in to the shops, which you would prefer to avoid doing truthfully. But it wasn't exactly your choice as you really didn't want to be booted out and back onto the streets. Summoning strength with a deep inhale, you pushed open the door of a gadget's store, the little bell chiming as you entered.

You made your way over to the counter, mentally preparing for your first social interaction in days. Fiddling with the coins in your pocket your fingers traced over the imprint of Mammon's face as you began to mentally rehearse "do you sell radios??"

Just as you strung together a frail string of confidence, an earsplitting, piercing scream sounded from seemingly some kind of radio, given the static. How convenient. Or it would have been, at least if the anguished howling wasn't so incredibly loud and disturbing. Prolific serial killer you may be, but that didn't mean you delighted in an unknown sinner's pain. You were starting to live up to your surname. Speaking of Altruists, you missed your partner in crime. But, just as you were about to leave the shop, a certain Mid-Atlantic voice just so happened to filter over the anguished torment.

"Greetings, dear sinners!"

You froze like (get ready for it) a deer in the headlights. (DUDUDUDUDUUU)

The sound of his voice sent chills wracking your body and adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Alastor.

You were going to find him after all.

Part 8!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x you

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tojiscrack · 2 years

Text

𝐑𝐄-𝐃𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

: ̗̀➛ word count: 16.5k

: ̗̀➛ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

: ̗̀➛ notes: a lot of this will be following a more canon-divergent type of writing. the first arc i’m writing is the cadet corps and once that’s done, and the relationship has a more firm grounding, i’ll move on to the canon plot. and i have a lot planned 🤭

: ̗̀➛ summary: despite your friends betraying you previously, you moved passed it to tell them the story of the love triangle between you, keith, and captain levi. and the things they say makes you begin to re-think the first impression you left on your soon-to-be husband..

previous chapter :) next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

“you have to focus!”

“i can’t!”

“well you have to!”

“why don’t you focus for the both of us?”

“how the hell am i supposed to do that?”

“by focusing!”

“i am focused!”

“no you’re not!”

“how did the tables turn so quickly?”

marco sighed, watching as his two friends continued to bicker without getting any actual work done. the trio were sat on the training field, marco sitting on the hard concrete, and jean and you standing on either side of him, yelling obscene words at each other.

the three of you did not need to train at this very moment, for the weekends had arrived, meaning that only half the day would be used for training, and after noon, you were free to do whatever you wanted (aside from breaking any other regulations, of course). however, unlike every other weekend, both marco and jean had decided that they would do some voluntary training in preparation for the upcoming exams coming the following week. you had protested, but certainly not hard enough to convince both of your friends to take the day off with you, so huffing and puffing, you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed to strain more muscles in your body because that was just how miserable you were.

you hadn’t completely forgiven marco for betraying you the other day, and he knew it, for you did not let any of his comments go free without a jab at them: 1. ‘the porridge tastes weird today, huh..’ — ‘weird, like how weird it was when a friend betrays a friend, right?’, 2. ‘i can’t fight without a weapon!’ — ‘but you didn’t have a weapon in your hand when you chose to fight for shadis last week’, 3. ‘jean, it’s not my fault!’ — ‘just like how it wasn’t your fault when i was left helpless in the stables?’, and many, many more occasions.

at first, he would look down in shame, but after it happened for the nth time, he seemed to have gotten immune to the feeling, and merely rolled his eyes at you, smiling all the while. you were not impressed.

but that was a topic for another time.

right now, you needed to focus on your pla— training. your training. you had to focus on your training. your plan for training, really.

although you had been deemed as number ten for the southern division of the 104th cadet corps, that position could change before the final examination. next week, it would be the second to last change, and you knew you had to maintain the pace you were working at (if not slightly harder, seeing as people were beginning to step up their game).

your initial plan was to move up the list, because you knew you could. however, you had realised a little later on that it wasn’t necessary to, for all you needed to do was be in the top ten to reduce the risk of a growing population of future mp’s, and seeing as you were most definitely joining the scout regiment, there was no need for such brutal competition for the higher positions. you were doing just fine at number ten.

so you had to keep it.

but how were you supposed to do that when jean would keep eating your ear off as if it were as tasty as dry hay?

“are you thinking about captain levi again?” snapped jean, both hands placed on his hips. he reminded you of a mother scolding their child.

“no!” you denied, folding your arms over your chest, attempting to ignore the heat crawling up your neck, choosing to rest in your cheeks. it was a hot day today after all, you couldn’t be blamed for how warm you were beginning to feel. “i saw him just last week, there’s no reason for me to be —”

“cut the bullshit y/n,” interrupted jean exasperatedly. “you look like he just proposed to you.”

you grinned.

“stop giving her ideas, jean,” marco groaned from below.

you looked down. he seemed to be picking at the grass, calloused hands seeming to be weakened with the amount of work marco had been putting in for the last couple of days.

“scrap it already,” demanded jean, staring at you firmly. “it’s never gonna happen. he’s the captain of the scouts and you’re — you’re —”

your stare hardened. “i’m what?”

“out of damn control,” he finished, running a hand through his hair. “we’re lucky enough to even be in the top ten, you know that?”

“doesn’t matter to me,” you shrugged mindlessly. “i’m not joining the mp’s.”

jean frowned, his thin brows knitting together as he performed a stretch that would help with the back of his upper arms (one elbow raised whilst the other hand pushes it down his back). “the garrisons would be pretty happy with a cadet who has a high ranking.”

“the scouts, you mean,” you corrected, eyes narrowing.

you watched the way in which his face appeared to be blank for a moment, the hardened gaze he usually held so proudly beginning to falter ever so slightly. the heavy breathing from marco had been halted, too, and you wondered whether he was choosing to hold his breath.

“sure,” jean nodded calmly. you couldn’t help but believe that he still did not seem to approve of your idea. “whatever.”

“i think we should just cut to the chase,” marco calmly added, carrying his weight on his elbows, leaning back to look up at you. he was hiding in your shadow in an attempt to shield himself from the blinding light of the sun. “what’re you planning?”

you blinked, dumbfounded.

“huh?”

“you’re not fooling anyone, y/n,” said marco.

“except, maybe, yourself if you actually think that we haven’t noticed how distracted you’ve been lately,” commented jean, only resulting in you exaggeratedly mimicking him out of spite. he scoffed at your childish act.

“i would tell you guys,” you began truthfully, “but i have trust issues now.”

marco groaned loudly. “i’m sorry, okay? will you let it go already?”

“never,” you stated coldly. “live with regret.”

“how come you don’t bother jean about it? he started it!”

“oh jean’s already learnt his lesson,” you answered smugly. and with a glance at jean, you said, “haven’t you?”

“shut up y/n.”

“watch it,” you warned, “i won’t hesitate to put you back in there.”

“shadis wouldn’t believe you unless you do it like last time,” said jean, lip quirking upwards. “and that would mean you have to be there too.”

you smiled innocently. “so be it.”

jean took a step back to create a larger distance between you two.

“you’re psycho.

“no, i’m y/n.”

“i’m convinced they mean the same thing at this point,” sighed marco, shaking his head tiredly.

“okay, fine, i’ll tell you,” you said, and marco actually sat up in interest expectantly. “but under one condition.” the two boys looked at each other warily. you continued. “you help me with something.”

jean did not waste a single second before he spoke loudly.

“absolutely not,” he protested, shaking his head defiantly. “no way. whatever you’re getting yourself involved in, i’m out.”

you rolled your eyes. “i only need one of you anyway. marco?”

marco hesitated; you smiled. the single hesitation told you that he was actually considering it instead of shutting it down straight away.

jean was aware of this, his light brown eyes darting from you to marco in alarm.

“no, marco’s not doing it either,” he demanded with an air of dominance. he made eye contact with the said boy. “you’re not doing it.”

“who are you, his mother?” you teased, smirking. “he can make decisions for himself.”

“yeah, except when it comes to you.”

“and that’s where you come in?”

“i’m saving him.”

“from what?”

“from you!”

“i pose no danger to him,” you say honestly. “it’s just a small favour.”

“a small favour for something big, i know it.”

you said nothing.

“i’m right, aren’t i?” questioned jean, eyes wide.

“marco,” you say soothingly, choosing to ignore jean and his frantic self, “what do you say? help a girl out?”

marco had a hand over his chin, looking as though he were deciding something life threatening. men are so dramatic, you thought to yourself.

“i don’t know..” he said, causing your patience to thin.

“marco, you’re smarter than this,” that stupid jean intervened, and you felt a tingle in your arm that you knew could be solved if you swung it at his face.

you racked your brains for a small moment, trying to gather ideas of what could persuade your rational friend.

“i’ll forgive you for your betrayal?” you tried convincingly.

“sold.”

“what?” yelled jean, outraged.

you smiled widely, holding a hand out to marco to pull him up. he took it sheepishly, standing up and then shaking it as if you guys had made a wonderful business deal — to you, perhaps it was. you did mean business after all.

“i knew you’d redeem yourself,” you told him excitedly, blocking out jean’s exaggerating arm movements of protest. you had half a mind to tell him how he looked as though he were neighing but decided that this was punishment enough.

marco scratched the back of his head once his hand had been released from your hold.

“so what’s this plan of yours?”

“i need to get into keith’s office,” you revealed calmly; jean looked scandalised.

he turned to marco.

“don’t tell me that’s not risky,” he said sharply. then, he looked back at you, eyebrows raised so far up his head, lines were beginning to form. “and who the fuck are you calling ‘keith’?”

you groaned, slapping your forehead.

“it just keeps slipping out,” you admitted, barely abashed. “never mind that. i have to get something in there.”

“what’re you looking for?” asked marco curiously.

“i don’t really know yet,” you answered.

jean let out a dry laugh.

“definitely not a red flag or anything.”

“can it,” you hissed, eyes narrowed. “i just need to find anything in there that’ll tell me when the captain’s next arrival is. i have to see him again.”

“that’s great and all,” marco began, sounding hesitant once more, “but.. what makes you think that..?”

you raised a brow at him expectantly. the way in which he was searching for words but also leaving his sentence incomplete made you question whether he was expecting you to finish it, to immediately understand whatever he was trying to get at.

“what, marco?”

he rubbed his palms against his jacket, shaking his head rapidly, murmuring something you couldn’t quite catch.

deciding to forget whatever he was going to say, jean seemed to have thought the opposite, choosing to complete his friend’s sentence without a single stutter and the upmost confidence.

“what makes you think that the captain wants to see you again?”

you blinked up at him.

“why wouldn’t he want to see me again?” you shot back. “i’m amazing.”

“so amazing that you even have commandant shadis hiding from you?”

“he doesn’t hide from me.”

jean scowled. “the day after your little farting mishap, i saw him use odm when you came out of the mess hall.”

you were beginning to think that perhaps he was right but you were much more stubborn than jean was.

“all of the higher ups use odm,” you tried, shrugging as though it did not matter at all.

“yeah.. when they’re in definite danger. gas and supplies have to be saved at all times, so the fact that he uses it when he sees you near —”

your heart had probably dropped in to your stomach and you felt sick. if you had managed to scare away shadis, what first impression did you leave on your soon-to-be husband? what did he think of you now? a cadet that went haywire? a cadet that is in need of proper discipline? or worse.. a cadet that is unworthy of joining the scout regiment?

the urge to pull your hair out of the roots was only growing bigger and bigger, for the realisation that perhaps he was even considering banning you from joining the scouts and reuniting with your partner in crime (erwin) had just become more notable to you.

no, that can’t be possible, a voice in your head spoke, erwin would put in a good word for you, right? … right?

and now a sense of dread filled you from the top of your head all the way to the tips of your toes.

instead of deterring you from your plan, your friends seemed to have accidentally got you determined to complete the plan at more urgency than before.

“well then the plan has to happen today,” you declared, determined.

jean’s face resembled one of trauma.

“what? no, that’s not what i —”

“scrap that,” you re-decided, ignoring the way jean’s shoulders had dropped as though a weight had been lifted off of them, “the plan has to happen right now.”

he looked more alarmed than ever.

“no!”

“where’s keith right now?” you asked marco, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. “is he on duty?”

“i don’t know his schedule,” marco responded nervously. “i thought you would. hey, why are we doing this right now?”

“because i just realised i need to make a new first impression,” you answered confidently. “he probably wants nothing to do with me, i have to see him and prepare a plan b.”

“just.. why?” groaned jean, rubbing his hands over his face exhaustedly.

you glared at him.

“all married couples have arguments like this, we’re just in the middle of one,” you told him wisely. “stay out of it, jean.”

“trust me, i will.”

a headache beginning to form, you turned around, a hand placed just over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun for a better view of the mess hall from afar. you wondered whether keith would be inside there, frightening the cadets as they wolfed down their breakfast. the only way, you concluded, that you would be able to see if his office was free or not was to walk by it, slyly shaking the door knob to see whether it was locked or not. and seeing as keith was trying his best to avoid you, if he did encounter you, it’s less likely that he would reprimand you in comparison to how likely it would be that he merely ignores your presence and runs away.

you clapped your hands together, ignoring the way both jean and marco jumped ever so slightly at the impact of your palms meeting.

“i know what i have to do,” you stated proudly, eyeing marco. “what we have to do.”

“marco,” jean called out warningly.

“jean, do not make me get you a family reunion,” you threatened honestly. “believe it or not, i really don’t want to —”

“please stop arguing,” sighed marco, standing between the two of you as a peacemaker. “please?”

you smiled innocently, gazing up at jean’s chocolate-brown eyes in victory; he did not return the gesture, opting to glare daggers at you instead. victory truly was sweet, because no matter how many times jean tried now, marco was still part of your plan out of his own free will — nothing to do with you of course.

“i have to check keith’s office,” you told them, specifically marco, calmly.

“commandant shadis,” corrected jean bitterly. “before you go around telling everyone i told you to call him that.”

“it happened six days ago, get over it,” you dismissed him bluntly. “now, i just need to go over there and get inside. you have to cover me.”

marco looked you up and down before sharing his thoughts with you.

“not to be cocky or anything,” he started, scratching the back of his head with a brow raised, “but with how short you are, i don’t think you even need me for that.”

“not just physically,” you said, flicking his forehead at his stupidity. “if keith comes over, then you have to talk to him, bring up some sort of conversation.”

“won’t he get suspicious?”

you laughed.

“marco, you of all people don’t have to worry about that.”

“that’s not what he meant,” added jean, rolling his eyes at you. “shadis will think something’s up ‘cause, for some stupid reason, we’re friends with you. he’ll know you’re up to something and that you’re using marco to do it.”

although it was a good point, you knew that this part of the plan would be the least of your worries.

“keith’s not that smart,” you countered, sounding as sure as you felt. “if he was, the countless other stuff that i’ve done in the three years that i’ve been here wouldn’t have happened under his watch. just trust me on this.”

jean did not seem convinced, but marco looked worse. it would be more helpful if jean was helping out, but seeing as he was so fucking stubborn on his decision, you knew he couldn’t be moved and you would rather die than admit that his help was very much needed. it didn’t matter as much that he was not persuaded, so long as marco was, you would be fine, but that was the problem: he wasn’t.

“if we get caught — which we won’t — i’ll take the blame,” you reassured, but that only made marco’s frown deepen.

“what? no, that wouldn’t be fair at all —”

you’d had enough.

“marco, if you don’t shut the fudge up and just let me take the lead, i will slap you.”

sheepishly, he smiled.

“i guess i deserved that,” he mumbled. “i’ll do it.”

you beamed. “wonderful! let’s go now.”

you turned away, feeling a swell of pride bloom in your chest. this was one out of the many failed attempts that you had managed to successfully corrupt marco bott, and jean was not able to prevent it like he usually could.

“n-now?” you heard marco stutter.

“no, tomorrow afternoon.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

you intertwined your fingers together behind your back, walking along the corridors lightened up by the sun through the windows with ease, trying your best to look as though you were not up to anything.

it was difficult, though.

on several occasions, people looked back at you with curiosity, grinning behind their hands as they whispered amongst themselves something that, no doubt, had to do with you. once or twice you heard the very words ‘what’s she doing now?’ when you waited by the window sill, carefully watching marco run around the field keeping an eye out for keith.

at long last, marco turned around and looked up, waving frantically to grab your attention and then presenting to you two thumbs up, letting you know that the beast (keith) had been spotted and the plan was to commence.

adrenaline running through your veins like a marathon runner, you hurriedly walked over to the door, walking up and down the corridor once.. twice.. three times before standing in front of his office, hands behind your back as you clasped the cool door knob.

you pushed your head forwards and looked left and right before movement had been caught to your attention: ready to explain yourself, you noticed that it was a false alarm, that keith was still outside somewhere with marco covering you. instead, the very people not far down the corridor were three you knew all too well: eren jaeger, mikasa ackerman, and armin arlert.

sighing in relief, you violently shook the knob not realising how old the door must have been, because it made a loud clattering noise so that the three that were walking away from you were now forced to look over their shoulders and identify what (or rather who) was making such a racket.

it didn’t matter that mikasa’s dark eyes were piercing directly into yours in mild peculiarity, nor did it matter that eren was now intrigued with whatever the hell you were doing — judging by the way he opted to step back and regard you with a raised eyebrow.

“what’re you doing?” he asked, when you had silently cheered because of the creak of the door opening. “why are you outside the commandant’s office?”

if this kid wasn’t so damn nosy all the time, you thought to yourself, taking a step back into the office.

“i’m waiting for him,” you lied quickly. “er — be on your way now.”

eren’s brows were beginning to furrow. ah shoot, you cursed in your head, forgot he has anger issues.

“sorry,” you apologised, eyeing mikasa for help. you knew she also felt that eren stuck his nose in business that was not his. “i just have something to do.”

“like farting in the commandant’s office?” armin perked up.

at first, you thought he was spiting you, but when you actually stared at him, you realised that he was drop dead serious, a question with no malicious intent behind it. besides, it was armin, armin who never caused any trouble, armin who was almost as innocent as marco. his cheeks turned pink when he got no response from you, so you hurried to correct him.

“no,” you scowled, barely abashed. “i didn’t do it on purpose —”

“why didn’t you just hold it in?” asked eren, shrugging.

armin nodded in agreement. “yeah, you couldn’t have gotten in trouble if you did. was it really that bad?”

“i —”

“commandant shadis looks distressed nowadays,” mikasa commented coolly. “is it because of you?”

“it was a fart, it’s super unhealthy if you hold — wait.. why am i even explaining myself to you?”

you became wary of the little time you had left in your hands, majority of it used up because of eren’s stupid inquisitiveness.

“i have business to attend to!” you stated, frustrated.

and with that, you shut the door in their faces, exhaling in annoyance.

only for you to open the door once more and find them standing there, bewildered and blank faced.

“if anyone asks, you didn’t see me here,” you said, slamming the door again.

you could have sworn your heard armin question whether you were up to something or not and whether this meant that it’d be joint enterprise because they were at the scene. yep, you thought dryly, as innocent as marco.

shaking the thought away, you began to get to work, all but sprinting to his desk in search for papers, notes, anything that would alert you of the captain’s next arrival. there was no luck at all, all the sheets on his desk were merely random forms for god-knows-what. you did, however, notice a small change to the room in comparison to your last visit: there were several candles around the room even though the lamp was still working (you had checked just to be sure). it was after a more thorough examination (where you brought the candle up to eye level) did you realise that it was scented. what smell was he trying to get rid of by using scented candles?

you shrugged, lord knew at this point, because you surely didn’t.

you began to grow more irked with your constant failure at every attempt on searching for anything that would hint at the captain’s next arrival, before you grew intrigued by a thin sheet underneath one of the lit up candles.

interested, you dashed forwards, lifting the candle and taking the note underneath it. hands shaky, your eyes scanned the messy scrawl you noticed to be keith’s handwriting before nearly squealing in excitement, feeling the same rush of exhilaration you usually felt when flying through the trees using odm. the note read: ‘higher ups expected to help with the examinations for the 104th cadets next week’.

and that was all the information you needed before bolting out of the room, passing keith who paused, stared at you, and then sighed, shaking his head as he walked away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

today was a good day. the day after was even better. and the day after that was brilliantly excellent.

even the during mandatory training session, you had managed to out-do annie in hand-to-hand combat, and when she stood back up after taking a particularly hard beat down from you, she regarded you with a nod, which was much more recognition she gave to anyone ever.

“do i even want to know what’s got you in such a disgusting mood?” keith had the audacity to ask that day, reluctantly ticking something on the paper that was pressed against the clipboard in his hands. you had a very strong feeling it had something to do with your training progress.

“i’d be happy to explain,” you lied, sending him a smile that was all too fake.

the commandant walked away from you, grunting. “please don’t.”

you raised your middle finger at him as he marched over to mikasa next.

by that point, both jean and marco had made it to your side, all of you collectively watching as keith nodded to the dark haired girl, praising her silently with his eyes.

“think he noticed?” questioned jean, leaning in to your side to speak in a low voice.

“he’s daft,” you assured, mainly for marco’s comfort — who was standing on your right shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “hasn’t suspected a thing.”

“good,” voiced jean sourly. “you know what we — i mean — marco had to go through trying to speak to him? it was hell.”

you looked up at him skeptically. “so why are you so pissed?”

jean took this accusation to heart.

“i’m not!”

“okay.”

“but i’m not!”

“fine.”

“i don’t know what made you think —”

“jean, shut the frick up,” you sighed, clueless as to why he was getting so defensive. you raised a brow at marco, who shrugged at your friend’s odd behaviour.

but jean, instead of continuing to act in such a weird manner, opted to glance at you in disgust, looking you up and down and returning to his usual argumentative personality. you scowled at him, tilting your head up to address him directly.

“what?” you vocalised accusingly.

“it wouldn’t kill you to swear, y’know.”

“what’s it to you?” you interrogated defensively. “honestly jean, keep your flipping mouth shut.”

“on a better note,” started marco, very obviously changing the conversation, “your training has gotten so much better, y/n. had a change of heart?”

you looked away from jean, watching as your fellow classmates continued battling each other with desperation. as keith moved around the different pairs, you noticed how every time he got close to one of them, they would immediately fix their posture and fight as if their lives depended on it. it seemed as though people were really taking it serious from here on out, but it made your stomach flip uncomfortably. as much as you would love to join the scouts, this was only a scarce reminder that the three years you spent with all these people would be long gone and (possibly) forgotten, too.

“no,” you answered truthfully, releasing a tired breath. “i just feel good. and humble me real quick because it’s only hand-to-hand combat. i’m the best at that.”

“won’t help you much if you plan on fighting titans,” mumbled jean.

you chose to ignore his comment, clearly made to prove to you how the scout regiment is not where you should be going.

still, that didn’t stop you from stepping on his foot and relishing in the feeling of triumph when his face turned a nasty shade of blue; you grinned nonetheless.

the day after that was when it was real competition. the second you woke from your long, recharging sleep, you noticed how the bed across you (usually occupied by sasha) was made neatly and looked as if it hadn’t been slept in. this was an odd occurrence because you knew sasha very well, and you also knew her to be up only moments after you for breakfast — which you sometimes skipped to join jean and marco in their early morning training (begrudgingly, of course).

when you walked along the corridors to make you way to the boys’ barracks, people were putting their heads together to whisper in hushed voices, looking all too stressed with dark bags underneath their reddened eyes. their nerves were beginning to make yours become more existent. had they lost sleep over this? but you hadn’t, so what did that say about you?

palms tingling, you ignored the sign besides the entrance to the boys’ barracks stating (in bold) ‘no girls allowed’. you weren’t even sure whether the higher ups put it there or if one of the former cadets did. either way, you had ignored it on your first day in the training corps (and had several pillows thrown at you) and will continue to ignore it till your last day; it was tradition now.

and with that, you reached the fourth door down to the left of the corridor, one that you had memorised after taking this path for three years straight without fail. where you used to receive grimaces at your appearance in this area of the building by the boys who resided here, you now no longer get a second glance, as if you had become the exception to the words in bold. funny, you thought, as you entered their room without knocking, because you remembered the odd glances krista had gotten when she (bless her soul) was helping patch thomas wagner up after a particularly rough day of training.

you didn’t get to breathe a single bit of sweat and whatever else their stinky room smelt of before your face was met with the soft impact of a pillow mashing against your nose. hand tightened on the door knob you hadn’t let go of yet, you opened your eyes — when had you closed them? — and frowned at your attacker: jean was sitting upright on the bottom bunk of his bed, glaring at you as if you had betrayed him in some way (the irony).

“wow,” you spoke dryly, “that hurt.”

“learn to knock, woman!”

“i called it,” you heard marco sigh from the other end of the small room.

you raised a brow at him.

“your arrival,” he clarified helpfully. unlike jean, marco was not completely dressed, still taking his time with the straps on his chest. “i predicted it.”

you shut the door behind you, leaning against the cool wood. “congratulations buddy. want a reward?”

marco, to your surprise, actually nodded.

“not exactly,” he answered, and then turned around to reveal his back side where the straps had not been tied properly. “just a little help if you don’t mind.”

you said nothing as you helped him out, stepping forward without hesitation. ever the smartest one of you all, jean had decided that your compliance and lack of energy meant something was wrong, whether for you or for them, he had no clue, and took great care in demanding answers from you.

“thought you’d be excited for today,” he snapped after you carefully placed his pillow on his bed rather than choosing to smother him with it. he narrowed his eyes at you. “what’s wrong with you?”

“nothing,” you shrugged.

“bullshit.”

“hey, if she’s behaving, that’s all we’ve ever wanted,” intervened marco brightly. he stood beside you, smiling, and you noticed that the proximity between you was so little, you could count each freckle dotted on his cheeks if you so wished. “i don’t think we should be questioning it.”

“the hell is that supposed to mean?” you voiced defensively.

jean sat up in a way that looked as though he was expecting something.. almost hopeful you’d let out a certain reaction to confirm his theories. luckily for him, you did not have the energy to annoy them like you usually did, and so you had no choice but to resort to a more calm response (which was notably very much unlike you).

“whatever,” you sighed, tired.

his eyebrows rose up so that there were lines on his forehead.

“wha—”

“when are we leaving for breakfast?” you asked neutrally.

jean’s head swivelled to face marco, who was looking mildly impressed.

“you’re not gonna question her behaviour?” he demanded, staring at the dark haired boy in outrage. “why’s she acting like this?” he glared at you. “why are you acting like this?”

you blinked. “do you want me to hit you?”

“maybe it’s the stress for the exams,” marco innocently suggested.

at that, jean did not waste any time in demonstrating how wrong he felt that answer was. bursting out in fits of laughter with a hand draped over his lower abdomen and his other hand pointed at their freckled friend, jean practically choked on his own spit. you scowled.

“all right man, it’s not that funny.”

“her? stressed for the exams?” he managed to breathe out, unnecessarily slapping his knee at the thought. you hoped he would injure himself sooner or later. “have i ever told you how funny you are, marco?”

marco scratched the back of his head, shrugging instead of choosing to reply. obviously jean had not, but nobody was going to voice that out loud.

truthfully, it wasn’t exactly the stress of the exams that had got you in such a lazy mood, but rather the fact that your husband — hang on, time to be serious — your crush was going to be present, and you had spent no time attempting to better your scores like everyone else had been doing. it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because you had no care for it, but that was the issue: the idea that because you had no care for it — unlike everyone else — there’s a possibility that you won’t be able to impress him when some people might have surpassed you during the time that you had decided to not do excessive training.

but of course, if you told them that, then they’d just go back to thinking you weren’t being serious when you one hundred percent were.

“we’re going to miss breakfast,” you pointed out observantly.

jean stood up, dusting himself off with an air of free confidence, a smirk playing on his lips which you wanted so badly to slap off. perhaps when you finally get into a better mood, you will.

“come on then,” he suggested cheerfully, striding over to the closed door, “if you’re so eager.”

jean was probably the only person you had seen that day who was not shitting himself due to the exams. well, perhaps sasha too, but did she really count when before she had been gifted with some bread and cheese, she looked so close to tears?

it didn’t matter in the end, not when the dry bread in your mouth nearly choked you mercilessly at the sound of his voice.

his voice.

it was enough to wake you from your non-existent slumber, enough to shake you from your lazy mood, enough to splash ice cold water on your face like a harsh reality check. you slapped a hand over your mouth, tears blurring your vision as you coughed, your other hand gripping onto the wood of the table so hard, you felt your nails digging into the table.

jean gave you a single glance before ultimately deciding to help out, slapping your back (albeit, harder than he should have and the fucker knew it) before looking around, trying to decipher what had got you in such a state.

“woah, even y/n’s nervous,” you heard connie chuckle from beside marco who, bless him, was silently urging you to drink some water.

you glared at the cocky, bald headed cadet who was holding his head in the palm of his hand.

“i am not nervous!” you snapped, a hand around your neck to ease yourself.

it wasn’t a complete lie, because no, you weren’t nervous about the exams. you were nervous about how you performed in front of captain levi, the man who was having a conversation with keith outside of the mess ha— hang on a minute.. he was having a conversation with keith!

sight now coated in red, steam might as well have been protruding from your ears, for if glares could kill, keith would have been dead ten times over.

connie coughed loudly. “chill out man, i was just kidding.”

you averted your gaze to him.

everyone at the table was watching you intently: you hadn’t realised that it looked as though you were directing your anger towards the clown that you knew to be connie even though you knew all too well it was your arch-nemesis, but they had no clue. maybe that was a good thing, your cover would have been blown if not for their completely wrong ideas. your blood was no longer boiling as much as it had been previously.

exhaling through your nose, you shook your head.

“it’s not that,” you informed them, ripping off another piece of bread and popping into your mouth with a sigh. “i have someone to impress.”

at that, everyone’s heads leaned in, some looking amused, others looking baffled. some even had the audacity to look skeptical (stupid idiots, you’ll show them!). jean and marco, however, shook their heads and sighed, looking unimpressed.

“here we go again,” you heard jean mutter. you repressed the urge to shove his face into marco’s porridge.

connie cackled loudly, pointing at you as if he had heard a joke worthy of making even captain levi’s mouth twitch. “you got your eye on someone?” he chortled, wriggling his brows. he looked more like a clown than ever.

“no,” you rolled your eyes. how dumb could he be? “he’s got his eye on me.”

they all looked at jean and marco for confirmation.

“don’t look at me,” stated marco, raising his hands up in a way that practically screamed ‘i’m not involved’. a form of betrayal you won’t forget.

“come on now,” began thomas wagner, who had been sitting quietly up until now. after hearing his next sentence, you thought that perhaps he should have stayed quiet. forever. “you guys aren’t actually buying this?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, your grip on your bread tightening. your day was already not having a good start, this was merely worsening it. “why wouldn’t they?”

maybe jean was sensing trouble, because he seemed to be acting as a piece maker for the first time in his life. someone give him a reward. “thomas,” he pressed on warningly.

thomas wagner, however, continued to joke. jean knew he meant no harm, just a friendly conversation, but where these conversations used to poke some fun at armin, or eren, or even him, jean, they had rarely ever been focused on annoying you, y/n. especially not when you were already in a sour mood. if commandant keith did not scare you on your good days, what the hell were you capable of on your bad ones?

wagner was playing a dangerous game without knowing it, it was only fair jean warned him.

but the blonde idiot was not getting it, and jean could tell your patience was waring thin.

“every guy is scared of you,” answered thomas, rewarding himself with laughter from the listeners.

true, you thought carelessly. but captain levi is not ‘every guy’.

jean’s shoulders drooped in relief. he didn’t say anything too bad.

“and,” wagner continued; jean was tense again (why doesn’t this idiot just shut the fuck up?), “this guy probably doesn’t even exist.”

BAM!

you kicked the bench wagner had been sitting on, hard enough to push it back despite the fact that it was being shared by the weights of many people, and the next thing anyone knew, he was on the floor, clutching at his buttocks in confusion and pain.

oh, and that wasn’t all.

keith was now looming over the table, sporting a deep scowl (when had he gotten here? you had no clue).

“it was y/n, sir!” some redheaded guy accused loudly.

you didn’t even bother denying it, but that did not stop you from sending him the dirtiest look you could muster: who even was this guy?

“do i know you?” you voiced, watching as his ears turned a deep shade of crimson.

“y/n,” sighed jean, nudging you with his foot as marco put his head down to avoid eye contact with the exasperated commandant.

“i already knew who it was before i even looked at what had happened,” keith scoffed, ignoring the way reiner braun was stifling his laughter, ignoring the way bertholdt hoover was silently choking on his bread, ignoring the way mina carolina was using her pigtails to silence her giggling. keith then shoved wagner from the behind with his foot. “get up, scum. your training starts now.”

and then he left.

wait.. he left? you questioned, raising your head to glance at the door to find that, yes, indeed, he had left.

but it was not only you who had been pondering his odd actions. the entire table was now gazing at you with wonder, envy, and amusement as you pushed away your now empty plate.

“and if it were any of us..” began jean, bitterly.

“what’s your trick?” asked connie, looking very interested as thomas wagner begrudgingly climbed back onto his seat. “whatever it is, i need it.”

“no, i do!” argued sasha, which (to be fair) she really did. ever since the first day, keith had it out for both of you — mainly you, seeing as sasha had only done one wrong whereas you had committed plenty of offences.

“i think he’s just fed up of you, y/n,” armin helpfully answered the question you failed to. “every single one of us set the standard. fortunately, y/n set it really low, so he expects everything she does now.”

“oi,” you snapped, realising how troublesome that sounded. maybe that was why your mother did not seem too upset with you leaving the house for the training corps.

“you’re annoyed ‘cause it’s true,” said jean sternly.

his stupid ass was so engrossed in lecturing you, he missed the way sasha had stolen his final loaf of bread from right under his nose. well, because of his annoying self, you decided you wouldn’t tell him that the bread sasha was now munching on was definitely not her’s.

“maybe use this new information to.. i don’t know.. fix up?” suggested marco kindly. he looked away when you met his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck timidly. “or i think that’s what jean meant —”

“i didn’t.”

“jean, i’m trying to make her less angry at you —”

“you do realise that i can hear you perfectly well, right?” you interrupted, frowning at their stupidity.

and the last few minutes of breakfast went by with you and jean arguing, marco attempting to make peace, thomas wagner being awfully quiet now (though watching your trio with amusement like everybody else), and none of you noticing the watchful, grey eyes that the stoic figure by the double doors had on you all.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

“line up, maggots!”

you stood behind a tall, brunette boy. after some close examination, you realised that it was eren, and then you felt depressed all over again. not only was he being so damn determined, his height was preventing you from seeing anything at the front, including the delicious, short man standing beside keith with his arms folded tightly over his chest. so, frustrated, you took a teeny, tiny step forwards, standing on your tip toes so that eren could hear you when you whispered.

“move a bit to the left, will you?”

eren’s posture, already extremely tight, tightened even further, shoulders raising ever so slightly which told you that he most definitely had heard you. you waited.. and waited.. and waited.. why the hell was he not moving?

you nudged the back of his foot with yours, reminding him of your presence.

“can you move a bit?” you asked again, nicely so that the angry voice that urged him to have anger issues would not go against you when you needed him to comply the most. “please?”

you heard him exhale through his nose. still, no movement. you were beginning to grow agitated as keith’s speech was slowly growing nearer to an end.

“hey, i’m talking to you,” you whispered again, slightly louder to demonstrate your growing agitation.

“no,” you heard him respond, and although it was through a whisper, you could hear how firm he sounded.

you scowled at the back of his head, fingers tingling, prompting you to pull at his hair. goody-two-shoes.

you didn’t give up though, and began poking his back with every chance you got. there were other higher-ups walking up and down the paths, eyes wandering over every single cadet to make sure they were not talking and were completely focused on keith’s speech before they would enter the examination room. this meant that any time the coast was clear, you’d go back to poking him, nudging him, begging him, and all the while he remained stagnant. like the idiot he is, you thought sourly.

“(…) and if any one of you is caught talking, you will be disqualified and get a fat zero for that specific exam!” keith was saying, but it was only going through one ear and out the other for you, your main focus being on trying to see the captain. “your first exam will be the written test! empty your pockets now! any pieces of paper we find on you once you go in will count as a cheat sheet, you have been warned, cadets!”

annoyed, you kicked at the back of his knees, and to your surprise, he quite literally nearly fell, bending over before catching his balance and standing up straight once more. it would have been quite funny for you if you weren’t so furious right now. the movement did not go unnoticed by keith, however, who moved over to the right and glared at eren.

“JAEGER!” he bellowed, the whites of his eyes so visible his pupils looked like slits. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

before eren could even apologise, keith had his attention elsewhere, looking around for something.

you tilted your head to the side, still attempting to find captain levi, only to see that you had fallen right into keith’s line of sight. fuck’s sake, you thought to yourself, not because his features were slowly starting to harden even further as he looked around, but because moving out of position was now useless when the commandant was covering the man you so desperately wanted to see. you moved your head back in place so that you were concealed by eren’s tall figure once more, disappointed. no use in having eren move for you now, you concluded.

“line up straight, maggots!” the commandant ordered, everyone’s posture straightening by instinct. “AND WHERE IS L/N?”

people around you were now turning their heads, no doubt looking for you. you eyes widened, trying to think of what you might have done that had gotten you into trouble again. bending your knees slightly so he couldn’t find you (you glared at the people around you so they knew not to snake you), you racked your brains of the morning, trying to figure out where you had gone wrong. apart from the wagner incident which keith knew of, what else had you done wrong today?

before you could think of anything, the back of eren’s head that you were looking at was now replaced with the front, and you were surprised to see that the bastard had a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“don’t move,” you whispered pleadingly.

he didn’t say anything and only turned around, as slow as a snail, before raising his arm up.

“what, jaeger?” snapped keith, distracted.

again, eren said nothing.

but instead, he did the opposite of what you asked of him.

the fucker moved. to. the. left.

and keith saw you.

“you actual snitch!” you snapped, the desire to pull at his hair till he turned bald eating you up inside. “you snake! teacher’s bloody pet —”

“i want l/n at the front, now!” demanded keith, voice ringing in your ears despite being such a distance away from him.

you wanted to stomp your feet to demonstrate your irritation, you wanted to throw a tantrum loud enough for him to reconsider, but most of all, you wanted to slap eren jaeger till your handprint was left on his cheek: now you understood why jean hated him so much.

“any day now!” the commandant shouted when you hadn’t moved.

grumbling (and muttering profanities and curses you knew eren would most definitely be able to hear), you slowly made your way to the front, dragging your feet against the concrete reluctantly. because the lines were ordered without a flaw in place, you had to switch places with annie leonhart, a blonde haired, stoic girl who had a heart made of stone so that you had a position at the front. she made no comment about this decision, and silently obeyed by marching to your previous spot without complaint.

keith opened his mouth to continue his speech, but you were left with questions unanswered.

“why am i at the front?”

he did not bother giving you a single glance as he responded. “something always goes wrong when i don’t have my eye on you. i believe what happened to jaeger was all your doing.”

“no it wasn’t —”

“RIGHT, you worthless shits!” continued keith, rudely ignoring your argument.

you scowled, hands behind your back which you straightened at last. keith continued talking to your peers, walking up and down the rows of cadets addressing what would happen next. however, you were not listening. where at the back you were most distracted with finding captain levi, now at the front you were most distracted by captain levi himself. being at the front had its benefits, it seemed, for now you had a clear view of the man. you were close enough to see the exact, precise colour of grey his eyes were, close enough to see every thin strand of his hair that would fall against his head (slightly out of place), close enough to see the crease between his brows when he looked around. if you wanted to, you could examine every single detail about his flawless face and draw it on paper better than jean — who had much more experience with sketching — ever could.

he wasn’t looking at you, though, but that was okay. you would probably faint if he made eye contact anyway.

he looked majestic. grumpy, yes, but majestic all the same. the way in which he stood —

click! click!

you couldn’t see him anymore, vision taken over by a tanned hand that you knew belonged to —

“PAY ATTENTION, L/N!”

blinking several times, you looked up, met with the hard eyes that were keith’s; he did not look impressed. when did he ever? you thought to yourself, unamused. neck warm, and unbeknownst to the second pair of eyes that were focused on just you, you took a step back, grimacing at the hand in your face.

“i’m listening, i’m listening,” you mumbled, trying to stay in place.

“you’re unfocused!” keith scolded loudly. “take that trait with you to the scout regiment and you’ll be the first to die!”

you knew what he was trying to do. make you look bad in front of the captain of the scout regiment himself so that he would fall for him and not you. you bit your tongue, holding it so that you did not get yourself stuck in a sticky situation like last time.

“focus, cadet!”

“i am —”

“backs straight, all of you!”

you sighed, aware that it was going to be a long, long day.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

all the cadets were taken into the examination room, line by line. the only issue with this was that keith had (without hesitation) ordered the higher-ups to escort you specifically and to walk by you side-by-side as if you were a child who needed more discipline than the others. for starters, no, you were not a child, and it was unfair that he would single you out just because of your unspoken chemistry and connection with captain levi. it wasn’t your fault that his love was unrequited (or maybe it was, because you were a barrier indeed).

anyway, the main problem wasn’t that you had to be singled out and escorted. the issue was that when keith loudly instructed that one of the higher-ups volunteer themselves to willingly do so, none of them agreed. in fact, when you looked around to see why it was so silent, you were sure that many of them even pretended not to hear him.

it had to be reiterated.

they pretended as though they could not hear commandant keith shadis, who needed no megaphone to allow himself to be heard.

offended, but content that you could walk independently like an adult, you grinned, a sight keith was not happy with.

“what’re you smiling about?” he jabbed, hands clasped behind his back as he towered over you in a way that you thought was supposed to be intimidating. it wasn’t.

“i can walk in myself, then?” you questioned, knowingly giving him the answer to the question with pride.

to your surprise, however, keith did not give you the answer you were expecting.

“no.”

you blinked. “no?”

“are you DEAF, CADET?” he yelled, and your head throbbed with the increasing volume of his voice. “DO YOU NEED ME TO REPEAT MYSELF? IF YOU CAN’T EVEN HEAR ME SPEAK, HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO HEAR THE FOOTSTEPS OF ONCOMING TITANS? YOU’LL BE THE —”

“‘first to die’, yeah, yeah, i get it,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. you could hear sniggering as the lines began to move. what the hell did these people find so funny? “can i go in now?”

“not without an accomplice,” he answered, turning on the spot to glance at captain levi.

the captain stood there, scowling at the commandant. he said nothing, did absolutely nothing, yet somehow you knew that it was going to be him. what you did not know, however, was when that had been decided. had they been having a secret, silent form of communication, a sort of code that you were unaware of? but you were watching keith the entire time, what could you have missed?

it clicked.

every time they looked at each other, it was like there was some type of conversation going on through their eyes.

and then you were jealous.

but you hid it well of course, not letting the anger in you show so that keith wouldn’t be satisfied with how his plan of tearing you and your lover apart was slowly working.

you glanced at captain levi as if waiting for a confirmation. he turned around, began walking, then stopped, craning his neck over his shoulder to glare at you.

“are you sitting this exam or not?”

you swallowed on nothing, nodded, and then marched forwards, falling in line with the captain. the walk was silent, but also wrong. not in the sense that you and him walking together was a bad thing, but because he was walking around the building instead of going through the same entrance everyone else was walking in. curious, you addressed this.

“why are we going this way?”

he didn’t answer.

“everyone else is going to the classrooms.”

he didn’t respond.

“are you taking me to the mess hall?”

he didn’t say anything.

“why do you walk like that?”

“fucking hell, the bald shit was right about you,” the captain grumbled, side eyeing you as he walked.

you narrowed your eyes, figuring that it probably wasn’t anything good.

“what did he say?”

“none of your business.”

“it is my business if it’s about me,” you replied, almost skipping as you walked. who knew having a conversation with the stoic captain levi would be so chill?

he took note of the slight skip in your walk.

“walk properly,” he demanded, looking away when you glanced up at him curiously.

“what, like you?”

if he heard you, he didn’t make any indication that he did. shrugging, you formed an expression like his, shoving your hands in your pockets and then exaggeratedly straightening your back, attempting to walk just like he did, except for the fact that there was more femininity in the way you did, which you tried fixing, but could not.

you walked like this for about a straight minute before he noticed what you were doing. when he did, you smiled, gesturing to your legs that weren’t exactly complying.

he gave you the dirtiest look you had ever seen him give anyone. “what the hell are you doing?”

“am i doing it right?” you asked brightly, ignoring his question which you knew he already had the answer to. “i think i got my top half right, it’s just my legs. you walk like you’ve got somewhere to be —”

“that’s the purpose of your legs, idiot.”

“see, you calling me an idiot isn’t the serve you think it is if i like it,” you notified him wisely.

he glanced at you in a way where you could not decipher what he was thinking. would it kill him to smile just a little? you pondered.

“Coccydynia,” said captain levi, looking as though he was pretending not to await your response.

“it’s not an insult if i don’t know what it means,” you revealed, laughing before realising that captain levi does not laugh when he walks. you coughed, covering it up, but you could tell he knew what you were doing.

“that explains everything,” he stated quietly, but you heard it all the same.

“has keith been telling lies behind my back?” you said, a brow raised in concern, nearly tripping over your own feet. “i don’t know how you walk like this every day —”

“i don’t, you brat,” snapped captain levi, scoffing at your act that he thought looked nothing like him, “and stop calling him by his first name. that’s an order.”

“fine,” you agreed.

he raised a brow at you.

“fine?” he repeated, as though he heard something not worth believing like it was a trap set to kill.

“fine,” you nodded calmly.

he furrowed his brows, looking ahead once more as the two of you walked through the opened double doors.

"that was easy," commented captain levi, regarding you with little emotion as you followed him like a shadow. you were now taking notice of the fact that you were walking towards the classrooms, but the long way. "so what does shadis find so difficult about giving orders to you?"

"he doesn't find it difficult," you announced, undisturbed, "and if he does, he gives them to me anyway. second nature to him now, i think."

captain levi scoffed, almost in a way that sounded like it was a form of realisation. "so you're one of the trouble cadets? should've known."

"wha— no!" you denied, brows furrowed and no longer attempting to walk like him. "i follow orders really well actually. kei— i mean — commandant shadis just doesn't give me enough credit for it."

"you have anyone that can vouch for you?"

he trapped you in a corner now, because when your first thought was jean and marco, the voice at the back of your mind told you that they would most definitely not vouch for you. that short moment of silence was enough for the captain to know the answer, so scoffing, he walked on, making no attempt to bring up a conversation any longer.

"i followed your order," you pointed out smartly.

he stopped walking, and so did you; stood a few metres behind him, you could tell you had him backed into a corner like he had you at one point. for what reason, though, you had no clue.

captain levi glanced at you from over his shoulder, face stone cold and voice just as bored. "you'd be foolish not to," he told you, stultifying.

"is that a challenge?" you said, brow raised and a ghost of a smirk on your face.

the captain was now staring at you in definite shock. of course, his brows weren't as high up as yours would have been, his eyes weren't as widened as yours would have been, his top and bottom lip weren't as widely parted as yours would have been: the small change in his demeanour like the way in which his pupils dilated ever so slightly or the way in which his sharp jaw was left just the slightest bit agape was enough to tell you that you left him speechless.

the question was why. why was it such a shock to him that you were challenging him? had he never had someone speak to him as if it were a regular conversation? or had you, perhaps, said something completely out of line?

"i'm not part of the scouts yet," you mentioned, walking forwards so that you were directly in front of him now, "so i don't have to answer to you, right?"

he blinked..

and then frowned, the lids of his eyes back to covering half of his pupils.

"you're asking for a kick to your backside," he finally voiced, "i don't know how shadis keeps up with you."

"i'll take that as a compliment."

"wasn't supposed to be one, now start walking or i'll drag you myself."

you scowled. "keith's rubbing off on you —"

"cadet," he hissed, teeth gritted.

"commandant shadis, i meant," you sighed, disappointed.

and as the two of you continued to roam the halls in a comfortable silence, you then began to realise that you were taking long detours before reaching the classrooms. wondering why that was, you looked up at the man beside you, trying to figure out his intentions. as if a light bulb was placed directly above your head, your breathing quickened.

he was trying to get you alone.

but.. why would he do that? you weren't even married.. yet. you weren't prepared, you hadn't even told jean and marco that this wasn't part of your plan, how would they react when they find out eventually? or the better question: could you even bring yourself to tell them?

palms sweaty and head in a whole other world, you weren't aware of the short glances that the captain would give you every once in a while, a form of checking up on why the lousy cadet beside him (that was you, by the way) would keep looking around warily as if you'd been caught in an illegal act. you were nervous, perhaps, for the exam, which brought him to the conclusion that not only were you such a menace, but you held no regard for the exams, too. he rolled his eyes because, as he said, you were a trouble cadet.

or maybe even a troubled cadet. why were you nervous to the point where you were now walking closer to the walls of the corridors than to him?

at last, when you began slowing your walking pace (which thoroughly irked him), he voiced his questions aloud.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

and he said it harshly.

did not help calm your nerves, by the way.

"nothing," you lied shakily. "what's wrong with you?"

he scowled at you, turning away briefly and deciding in his head that no, he would never ask you that question ever again, if the situation ever called for it.

but now he had no choice but to take notice of your odd behaviour, because you were practically glued to the wall at this point, slowly lingering as if there was something so interesting about the dust gathered for years that no one had bothered to clean. tramps, he thought in his head, sourly.

watching you, he waited.

and he was as impatient as ever.

"get over here," he demanded, vexed.

you didn't.

"that's an order."

you did.. but ever so slowly. a snail could beat you in a race without even trying. exasperated, he strode forwards, gripped onto your upper arm tight enough to leave marks, and then pulled you forward so that you were forced to walk beside him.

he must really want me then, you mused, conflicted between feeling panicked or excited.

"escaping your exams won't get you anywhere but back in the stables," he told you firmly. your brows were knitting together, confused as to why he was talking about exams when he was clearly trying to get you alone in a room with him. he scoffed at the look on your face, walking faster when you tried pressing your feet to the ground. for a man as short as him, he sure was strong as hell. "yeah, i remember. seems like you've forgotten though, don't make me remind you."

what the fudge does that mean?

but before you could ponder on that for any longer, he stopped at the wooden door of a classroom. the very classroom - you noticed - where you took your daily classes, the very classroom you were told you would be in for your written exams. and here you were, not alone with captain levi the second he twisted the knob and opened the door to find befuddled cadets trying to find their assigned seats.

"get in," he said, wasting no time in turning away to leave.

you couldn't. not when your heart was practically threatening to leap out of your chest, not when your brain had been completely fried, not when your limbs were rooted to the spot, frozen. and you could see, from your peripheral vision, that he was still looming around the corner, waiting.

"oi," he called out, voice bouncing along the walls so that you were shaken out of your stupor. you shifted on the spot, staring at him expectantly. "stop wasting time and go inside."

the look on his face - he remained expressionless, a small pout pulling at his lips like something between a frown and a scowl - made it look as though he wanted to say something, but was holding back. in the end, his expression merely hardened, a silent order with his eyes.

"if you don't walk yourself in that room right now, i won't hesitate to use force —"

"all right, all right, keep your hair on," you quickly replied, after thankfully recovering from your petrified state. you felt your heartbeat return to its usual pace, beat after beat, you stood waiting for him to leave. when he didn't (as if he expected you to run away the second he turned the corner) you grinned, lifting an arm to send him an exaggerated wave. "wish me luck!"

the aloof captain simply rolled his eyes; you took that well regardless.

when you found your seat at last (after taking your sweet time walking in the room as you were processing the previous events) you sat, pulled yourself in with your chair, and clasped your hands together on the table in front of you, deep in thought. yes, you were one hundred percent wrong with the captain's intentions, and now really thinking about it, why would someone like him try to get you alone after knowing you for only a solid five minutes? it just didn't make sense, and if you had just realised that earlier, perhaps the disappointment blooming in your chest wouldn't have existed at all: even though you were scared and unprepared shitless, you would practically kill now for some time alone with captain levi.

and after the disappointment, the anger settled in comfortably. how dare he not want me? i am amazing, i am awesome, i am —

"hey, y/n, i've gotta ask you something."

leisurely, you turned your head to face the cool toned voice that interrupted your very important thoughts. mildly annoyed, you raised your eyebrows at the freckled brunette who sat on her chair carelessly.

"you're number ten as of now, right?" asked ymir, brown eyes staring at you in confidence.

you nodded, inquisitive to see where this was going.

"well i got a favour i need from you," she told you calmly. swinging on her chair as the other cadets walked up and down the isles to find their seats, she continued without a waste of a single second. "i heard you're joining the scouts. is that true?"

again, you nodded.

"how do i know you won't change your mind at the last second?"

you tilted your head, confused. "what're you talking about?"

ymir whistled lowly. "i remember a time where you were pretty serious about joining the garrisons."

you shook your head, waving a hand dismissively. "that was ancient. a long time ago —"

"it was three weeks ago —"

"i was a different person then!" you shot back, outraged. she seemed unfazed, almost pleased with your response, which brought you to a single question. "why do you care anyway? it's my choice."

"i want you to do something for me," said ymir, and when you searched her face for a single suspicious look to see where the lie was, you found none. ymir halted her swinging for a moment, the legs of her chair slamming against the wooden floor as she slapped a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to her. instinctively, you leaned in. "see krista over there?"

you followed her other arm, traced it to where she was pointing and was met with the sight of krista lenz, a blonde haired girl with doe blue eyes to match, muttering and speaking to herself. judging from the way her brows furrowed so tightly that it created lines on her forehead, you could tell immediately that she was preparing for the oncoming exam.

you liked krista, she was a nice girl who had shown you kindness since your first day here at the training corps. with that in mind, you also knew how ymir and herself were glued to the hip, so whatever ymir was going to ask of you, it was safe to assume that it had something to do with little krista.

"what about her?" you went on to say, watching as krista rubbed her temples with her fingers.

"she looks stressed, right? i know a way you can help a girl out," suggested ymir, releasing her grip on your shoulder to clasp both her hands behind her head. "let me cut to the chase. you have no intention on joining the military police, you made that pretty clear from the start. no clue what your deal is with them but i like it, 'cause that means you'll have no problem with taking position number eleven instead of ten, just so krista can join the mp's and live in the interior?"

you rested your chin on the palm of your hand, surprised. "so.. you're asking me to be a little lousy on the exams?"

ymir clicked her fingers, pointing at you as if to say 'bingo'.

"exactly. how's that sound?"

you were now in deep thought, which you didn't completely mind. it took your brain away from any thoughts about captain levi, something that you knew was needed due to your unhealthy obsession. you honestly did not mind dropping a position, it wouldn't be too bad. besides, your only plan with these exams is to impress the captain, and you could still do that being number eleven, right?

ymir was not a patient girl and it showed. she clicked her tongue disapprovingly, forming a fist with her knuckles so she could press her cheek into it and rest her tilted head there.

"c'mon, if you don't plan on joining the military police, what's the point of being part of the top ten?"

"but that's the point," you began to explain, conflicted, "i hate the military police. the only reason why i plan on being in the top ten is to prevent another potential member of the military police. if i now know that krista will be one of them, well my plan goes to shit."

"it's krista," clarified ymir, frowning, "do i need to spell her name out for you? what bad would krista do in the military police?"

that was a good argument.

"if you had to choose anyone to be part of that regiment, krista would be the best option and you know it."

you did not spend any more time in thought. smiling, you gave ymir two thumbs up.

"all right, fine," you agreed, content. "i'll go down one step, number eleven it is. doesn't sound too bad, right?"

"not at all," encouraged ymir, smirking all the while. "but if you change your mind —"

"i'll let you know beforehand,” you assured her truthfully. “'m sure i won't, though.”

ymir nodded abruptly, looking pleasantly pleased with your answer. the two of you then decided that you would stop the small talk to pay attention to the examination’s officer, who was giving a small pep talk at the front of the class. he merely summarised the things you were taught in class, which wasn’t at all that difficult to forget: where the weak spot of a titan was, who came to discover it, the theoretical aspect of the existence of the titans, etc.

however, despite knowing all of this, you couldn’t help but believe that the stuff you wrote in the exam weren’t as sharp as they would have been on your best days. perhaps it was because a certain someone had been plaguing your thoughts throughout every question you read and every answer you thought of.

you left the classroom feeling elated either way, deciding that this one exam would pull your grade down (like you had agreed with ymir) but the rest would be quite all right.

the next one was the use of odm gear and titan killing. of course, real titans weren’t used, it was just like training, where you’d fly around the woods and the cardboard titans would appear out of the blue; the goal was to slice the cushion part of their necks. for every kill in the set amount of time given, you earned a point, boosting your grade.

and how did that go for you?

better than the written exam, sure.

you were sure you’d have made it past position number five from the second you took off the ground, the hooks of your gear latching onto the thick trunks of the trees, pulling yourself up against the force of gravity as the wind smacked your face harshly. you had one of the female higher-ups following you close by, observing your every move, her face showing no crack of emotion for you to decipher whether she was impressed or not, but that was okay, you knew that you did particularly like well for this part..

except for when you caught sight of him.

the second you spotted a flash of dark green in your line of sight (one that you knew did not belong to the leaves hanging on the trees), you froze, flying in mid-air with a hollow head, the remaining gas left in your canisters being wasted on the movement of simply moving with no sense of direction.

and then your nose met a wall. hard enough to know it was solid, and flimsy enough to recognise it as cardboard, you were well aware that one of the last pop up titans that was meant for you to kill had stopped you right in your tracks.

and then you fell.

— caught yourself just in time with your hooks so that you were bent over a tree branch, arms and legs hanging limply in exhaustion —

but you still fell nonetheless.

that would most definitely effect your grade.

you groaned, opening your eyes to stare deeply into the brown ones belonging to the woman who had been previously observing you: she was sitting on the branch in front of you, higher up than you, and shaking her head.

“how much do i have to pay you for you to forget this ever happened?”

she ignored you and instead announced that your time was up. you came to the conclusion that that exam didn’t go as well as you wanted it to go, but it was definitely something, enough to make up for the grade you messed up for the first one.

keith later announced that all cadets would be allowed an hour break before continuing on for the last set of exams. relieved, you sat by yourself by the tree near the field where the hand-to-hand combat training usually took place. you weren’t alone for long, for jean and marco had come as a pair to sit beside you, pulling you into a conversation on how the first two examinations went.

“i smashed it,” jean announced proudly, leaning on one of his elbows with an air of unhinged confidence. “probably did better with the odm than the writing though. like did you see that question — what was it? — oh yeah, the one about ‘approximately how many titans can one single soldier kill’? how the hell should i know? isn’t that supposed to be up to the skill of a soldier?”

“i think that was meant to be the answer,” marco sheepishly replied, jean responding by smacking his forehead and then grunting at the impact. “and i’m pretty sure we’re supposed to write the statistic.. like the highest kill count done by somebody —”

“which would be captain levi, right?” you asked, because you remembered writing about him somewhere on your paper.

jean rolled his eyes at you. “for the love of god, i hope you did not write that —”

“it would be, actually,” answered marco, raising his brows at you in surprise. “you wrote that, didn’t you?”

“of course i did,” you revealed, laughing at the scowl on jean’s face, “who do you think i am? there’s no way i’d forget such an important thing about him.”

“i saw you walking with him earlier too,” mused marco, smiling. “how did that happen?”

“keith,” you stated, venom laced on your tongue as you spoke the single syllable that was his name.

“shadis,” corrected jean, bitter.

you rolled your eyes. “that paranoid are you?”

“can’t blame me when it comes to you.”

“anyway,” started marco, interrupting as the peacemaker he is, “how did you do, y/n?”

sighing, you leaned back against the tree trunk, the rough wood scratching against your harnesses.

“aside from a silly little mistake —”

“i bet it wasn’t ‘little’ —”

“— i think i did really good actually,” you continued as if jean hadn’t commented his unwanted thoughts. “i’ve decided that i’m gonna step back a bit.”

jean and marco, ever the only ones to be so curious with what you get up to, sent you curious looks as if to say how?. you saved them the time of panicking for no good reason by clarifying exactly what you meant.

“i’m taking position number eleven now.”

and they certainly weren’t pleased with your answer.

“what? why?” demanded jean, a single vein protruding from his pale (now very pink) forehead. he sat up properly, towering over you in a fit of white hot rage and fury. “you’re taking yourself out of the top ten? why?”

marco did not look too impressed either. he was frowning - pouting almost - eyes downcast in what looked like to you as disappointment. he didn’t say anything, choosing to let jean express his contained anger instead.

“how are you going to get into the military police if you’re not in the top ten?” argued jean, his thin brows knitting together tight enough to form lines between them.

“you forget,” you started, irked, “that i never planned on joining the military police. you know that —"

“you won’t be in contact with us!” snapped jean, actually gripping onto your arm tight enough to leave half moon crescent marks where he touched you. “you’re insane —”

“it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. i’m banned from joining the military police regardless, remember?”

jean had definitely forgotten this crucial fact, because he leaned back again, the grip on your arm loosening as he ran a hand through his light hair with his free hand. “shit.. yeah, you are,” he murmured, realisation seeping in. “fuck’s sake, y/n, the hell did you have to go bothering nile dok for?”

“hey, it was for erwin!”

“commander erwin,” mumbled marco, who had been eerily silent up until now.

surprised, you turned your head to shift your gaze from an irate jean to a calm marco, who was silently picking at the grass squashed beneath your weight.

“you’re gonna need to say his name with his title in front.. for when you join the scouts.”

blinking, you were convinced this was a dream. it had to be. marco, who had secretly (though not slyly) been wanting you to join any regiment but the survey corps, was now encouraging you to pick them? marco, who had always lowkey sided with jean, was now siding with you and your choice?

this definitely wasn’t real.

“pinch me,” you breathed, startled.

“no, pinch me,” said jean, in awe. he stared at marco. “you’re supporting her?”

“not really,” said marco, giving you an apologetic shrug when you frowned, “but i do believe that it’s her choice. i’m sure she’d want us to join the scouts with her, but she’s not trying to convince us about it because she knows it’s up to us, our decision if we want to join her there or not.. or that’s what i — that’s what i think —"

“you’re right,” you admitted, beaming at him. “i’d drag you guys there with me but i know you don’t want to.”

“hm,” voiced jean, seemingly at rest. “what changed your bipolar mind anyway? i thought you wanted to impress captain levi?”

“i can still impress him by being at number eleven. besides, ymir wanted krista to take number ten —”

“you’re doing this for them?” asked jean, outraged. “what about you? the fuck do you owe them?”

“it’s not a debt i’m trying to pay!” you exclaimed. “i’m doing this ‘cause i want to.. and like i said, we wouldn’t be in the same regiment even if i did stay at number ten. nile dok hates me.”

jean scoffed. “and whose fault is that?”

“his. i’m extremely loveable —”

“not wrong there,” chuckled marco, and you sent him a toothy smile, showing off your pearly whites.

“that’s why captain levi’s already asked you out, right?” jean jabbed at you.

“i’ll have you know that he nearly did today!”

“straying too far from the truth, i think,” marco intervened, causing you to slap his arm playfully.

“whose side are you on, marco? you keep switching.”

“whichever one benefits me most.”

“devil in disguise, you are —”

“you’ll be working for the devil in disguise, sooner or later,” said jean, flicking your forehead.

you yelped, jumping away from him as you rubbed your head, glaring at the culprit in front of you. “you’d better not be talking about erwin —"

“i hope not too,” replied jean, annoyed, “i hope i’m talking about dot pyxis, or nile dok —”

“hey, you never know, she might even decide to find a way to stay in the training corps and work for commandant shadis instead,” said marco, sheepishly moving away from you when you sent him an unmoving glare.

“anyone but the one man that could get her killed,” agreed jean, nodding, “even if it’s the commandant —”

“i’ll slay those titans better than even the commander,” you vowed dramatically. “that’ll prove to you guys that i’m not gonna go rogue out there.”

“and now you sound like jaeger —”

“jean!”

“whatever. just don’t die when you join the scouts,” jean finally uttered, and instead of the usual joking manner the three of you spoke in, there was a sense of grave urgency in his voice, the vein that had previously been visible on his forehead pulsing beneath his skin. you could tell he was still not on board with your decision, but there was a difference to his attitude from then to now. it was all sinking in, genuine worry painted over his features which made this entire thing seem more real. it was only a couple more weeks before you parted ways, the potential thought that you could die outside of the walls without a body to be returned did not ease both jean and marco’s nerves, however they were accepting: one more than the other but even still, accepting.

and that made you content.

you found yourself grinning at jean, leaning forward to tease him. “aw, do you care about me suddenly jean-boy?”

“shut up, i take it back.”

“you don’t,” you chortled, pulling at his ear as he swatted your hand away.

“why are you always like this with me?” he grumbled, rubbing his pink ear grumpily. “what about marco?”

“marco can admit he cares,” you answered, placing your hand on top of marco’s when he shakily smiled at you, “but you’re the idiot who hates affection for some stupid reason —”

“he wouldn’t hate it if it was from mikasa,” marco joked, and you bent over in laughter, surprised at how easily the joke slipped past the precious, peacemaker marco’s lips with such ease.

“w-what? that’s not — fuck you guys, i hate you,” sputtered jean, left in a pool of his own embarrassment as the two of you continued to make fun of him.

not long after, the hour break was done as soon as it came, and before you knew it, the lines were formed once more to proceed with the next set of exams. of course, you were at the front again, not that you didn’t try to take back your original spot, however, eren was not having it, and he purposely stepped to the side to reveal your sneaky figure hiding behind him. you threatened him lowly as you made your way to the front, but you felt victorious when you saw the look of unease and fear on his face when he heard you curse at him; at least he knew he was fucked. we love a self aware king.

the next exam you had was hand-to-hand combat. you were placed in pairs (random pairs) to fight it out and hold it for an entire minute. you had been paired with hannah diamant, a brunette haired girl who you knew to be a hopeless romantic, a girl you had interacted with many times but never actually trained with her one-to-one. thankfully, you were aware that hand-to-hand was not her best, but it certainly was yours, so you held your ground incredibly well throughout it all.

until..

him.

you saw him. you saw him eyeing the cadets, you saw him observing their every move, you saw him criticising them with his calculating eyes.

and when you tried getting yourself to focus, under the impression that he would be watching you too, you lost it. taking steady breaths, you put yourself into position, preparing yourself, only to trip over your own feet and go tumbling over poor hannah, who had done nothing but fall victim to your clumsiness.

the examination’s officer tutted at you, shaking his head as he scribbled aggressively on the board clutched tightly in his iron grip.

so like odm, you figured it went well till this very point: unfortunate, but not too bad, right?

that was okay, because you were sure to make up for all the mess ups in your assessments when you would go in for the final exam: the knowledge crunch.

here you would be in a room, alone with an examination’s officer and a single higher-up. the examination’s officer would have some pre-set standardised questions in front of them, and you simply had to answer correctly. show off your knowledge, really, and be creative too.

which you were one hundred percent sure you could do. there were many times where you left people speechless, and what was that due to? your creativity, the ability to freeze them and have them expect the unexpected.

you were certain you’d do well when you lined up by the door with your fellow cadets waiting for your turn, you were certain you’d do well when the line began moving, you were certain you’d do well when you caught sight of different higher-ups leaving and entering the room..

but you weren’t certain you’d do well when mina carolina skipped out of the room, squealing in excitement.

“how’d you do?” you asked, beaming at her when she sent you a radiant smile full of exhilaration.

“i think i did excellent!” she smiled, bending her knees to stop herself from jumping, “i thought it’d go horribly because i was so nervous of the man in the corner!”

“man in the corner?” you repeated, confused.

“he’s the captain of the scouts, captain levi’s in there,” mina clarified, watching as your face fell. she gripped onto your biceps, gently shaking you as some form of comfort. “oh don’t worry, y/n! when i saw him there, i thought i’d start stammering like crazy. remember when we’d have commandant shadis ask us the questions? it was nothing like that! he just sits in the corner and watches!”

you absentmindedly nodded, before realising what she had uttered at the last sentence.

he just sits in the corner and watches!

(..) just sits in the corner and watches!

(…) in the corner and watches!

(….) and watches!

“he watched you?” you asked, unintentionally cutting through her vibrant explanation of how she wasn’t a stammering mess like she usually was; she did not mind, happy to answer your question either way.

“yeah, and he looked really intimidating, i nearly lost track of thought,” said mina, chuckling. “word of advice, just don’t make eye contact with him. i did once and i lost track of what i was saying. he’s got this face that just makes it look like everything you’re doing is wrong, y’know?”

you’d have thought that you’d be happy to see the captain again, and no doubt, you most definitely were. the only issue was that you came to the conclusion that your exams went really well.. when he wasn’t around. somehow, when he did come at the last damned second, you managed to fuck up. it was like fog was building up in your brain, so much so that you could not think clearly. he was as desirable as cheese in a mousetrap.

before you knew it, your name had been called out by a voice deeper than even reiner braun's. gulping, despite the encouraging smile mina gave you, you walked into the room, nearly walking directly into the chest you knew belonged to captain levi.

"you again?" he said, looking down at you as if you were such a nuisance.

you smiled through the rapid beating of your heart. "don't act like you want to get rid of me so soon."

"it's not an act."

"captain levi," the deep voice sounded again. you looked past the shoulder of the captain's, met with the eyes of a man who looked old enough to be your grandpa. "we're a little short on time. i thought you said you were leaving?"

you walked over to your chair, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other, leaning forward to take a look at the piles of paper stacked in front of you. you took one, your eyes running down the page skimming and scanning.

"eugh, whose handwriting is this?" you questioned aloud, making a look of disgust as you tried reading whatever the scribbles of writing were. "could use a lot of work —"

"i'll have you know, it is mine," the examination's officer remarked, impertinent.

your face dropped, eyes widening and heart stopping altogether. you wanted nothing more than the ground to just swallow you whole. even death seemed to look more appealing than this form of embarrassment. he was definitely not planning on giving you a good grade.

you let out a shaky laugh, offering the paper back to him timidly.

"yeah — erm — so you might want this back, right?"

he all but snatched it out of your hand. you shrunk in your chair.

"actually," began captain levi, who had been present throughout this whole interaction, "i don't remember saying i was ready to leave."

the other man looked up, pushing the glasses on the bridge of his nose further up at this revelation. he shook his head, "but you just —"

"you said your time was running out," the captain reiterated.

"of course," the examination's officer said, flipping over the pages on his notebook, "of course."

it felt like hours had gone by when the questions had started. the captain, like mina had said, made himself comfortable at the corner of the room, arms folded over his chest as he watched you. you tried not to focus on him, and it was working.. almost:

"there has been a titan break in: wall rose has been taken over. what are you going to do?"

"run to erwin."

the examination's officer blinked. "erwin?" he raised, the end of his pen poking at his cheek. "erwin smith, you mean?"

you nodded. "that's him."

"why?"

"commander of the only regiment that deals with titans.. why wouldn't i?" you responded, leaning back with your elbows resting on the arms of the wooden chair. "and because he's my best friend, of course —"

"watch it," captain levi voiced.

you looked up, having almost completely forgotten that he was even there. you raised your hands up in 'surrender', shrugging. "my bad, forgot you two were tight."

the examination's officer coughed, eyeing you eccentrically. "you and commander erwin.. you're acquaintances?"

"more than acquaintances," you answered. "he told me his entire life story —"

"don't be fooled," captain levi butted in, "she begged him for it."

"you don't know that," you retorted quickly.

"did you?" the examination's officer asked. "beg him for it?"

"yes," you said lowly, "still makes us more than acquaintances!"

he coughed, bringing his notebook of questions closer to his face. "we're stirring away from the exam.. let's see.. ah — yes — so you would contact erwin smith.. and say what, exactly?"

"that he's not doing his job properly and that titans have broken through."

"not doing his —? okay, all right. let me rephrase. what is the first physical action you would take against a titan, should you come face-to-face with one?"

"slice the nape."

"and if a fellow comrade is in danger?"

"slice the nape."

he begins noting things down in his book. you wonder if what he's written is even legible.

"who would you report back to after seeing titans invade wall rose?"

"erwin —"

captain levi clicked his tongue. "that's commander erwin to you."

"or him," you added, pointing at the moody captain residing to the examination's officer's back left corner.

"i wouldn't believe you."

this guy, you thought to yourself, aware that the man in front of you was probably noting down every interaction you'd made with the captain as a bonus, too.

"i'd make you believe me."

"what the hell did you just say —"

"is this exam finished yet?"

"not quite," the old man said.

and he was a liar, because he made it seem as though it would be done in a couple of minutes: it wasn't. you were there for nearly ten whole minutes before things were finished off. many, many times you had rendered the man in front of you speechless (your main goal, of course), and you were convinced that you had done well. impressed the captain? you must have, there was no way around it.

you left the room feeling giddy, convincing yourself that it hadn't been nearly as bad as you thought it would be. mina was right.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

a week later, you were alerted of the results of the new list.

a crowd of people had been spotted by the corridor opposite to keith's office, huddling and shoving and pushing each other. immediately, you knew what it was, especially when marco excitedly dragged you across the substantial amount of people regardless of their loud complaints about how it wasn't fair that you were going in front of them.

⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝

1st - Mikasa Ackerman

2nd - Bertholdt Hoover

3rd - Reiner Braun

4th - Annie Leonhart

5th - Marco Bott

6th - Eren Jaeger

7th - Jean Kirstein

8th - Krista Lenz

9th - Sasha Braus

10th - Connie Springer

⌞ ° • + • ° ⌟

so you hadn't made it to the top ten. expected. you weren't disappointed.

so you read number eleven, where you should be, but found:

11th - Ymir Fritz

what? you thought to yourself, baffled. okay, so maybe you were at number twelve. again, not too bad, but instead you found:

12th - Samuel Linke-Jackson

13th - Armin Arlert

and now it made no sense to you. you appreciated all three of these people, ymir, samuel and armin, but you knew that your skill was much better than theirs, and as your finger moved further down the list, you found yourself.. lower than expected:

38th - Y/n L/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

you just had to drag marco into your bullshit, didn't you?

jean did not know why he chose to be friends with you, or how this friendship even came to be, but it's not as though he regrets it.. of course not.. you were just a handful. or more than a handful, really.

marco was an absolute stammering mess, scratching the back of his neck as he tried bringing up conversation to the commandant for your sake. it was a painful sight to watch, yet jean had found himself leaning against a particular tree, eyeing the back of the commandant's head, just picturing the look on his face that had marco cowering back in fear.

should he go in and save him?

no, jean, don't even think about it, he scolded himself. the second he did so, he was reminded of just why he shouldn't get involved, unless he wanted to ask marco for an ear massage like last time for when shadis twisted and dragged him by his ear. no, he would watch from a safe distance, because he warned marco, had he not? he warned him not to agree with whatever plan you had going and marco made the stupid choice to ignore him. he did this to himself, now he must suffer.

he listened intently, silently cringing at every word he could hear.

"i just wanted to.. i wanted to ask you a question about something, s-sir?"

silence.

the silence was too damn loud.

it felt like hours before shadis responded.

"are you waiting for me to grow out some greys or what? ask the question already!"

"o-oh, right! sorry!" said marco hastily. "well, i was curious about.. about.."

fuck's sake, thought jean, mentally face-palming himself, he's just about as much of an idiot as y/n is. he willingly brought himself in shadis's presence unprepared?

should he interru—

no, jean, no! he reminded himself cruelly. he knew what he signed up for, it's not your problem.

yet watching him fish for something to talk about was physically painful.

"cat got your tongue, bott?" exclaimed commandant shadis, impatient. "speak now or forever hold your god damn peace!"

and marco actually stood there, like an idiot, frozen in place, with nothing to say.

commandant shadis shook his head at him, sighing. "what was i expecting?" he snorted, sounding mildly annoyed. "you spend too much time with l/n, i knew this would happen."

"y-you knew what would happen.. sir?"

"i knew that she would rub off on you and i would lose another extremely capable cadet."

and that couldn't be more further from the truth.

ah fuck it, jean thought, you owe me one, y/n.

"that's not true," jean called out, feeling heroic. both marco and the commandant turned to see jean with his head hung, eyes trained solely on the floor in shame. "that's not true because.. i asked him to speak to you."

silence.

calm before the storm.

and then he was yelling.

"YOU? AGAIN?"

"i wanted him to ask you something that i couldn't.." said jean, eyes scrunched shut. i hate my life, he thought, before uttering the last few words. "i need.. relationship advice."

jean left the field after several sit ups, squats, and laps with a dull ringing in his ears after listening to the loud lectures given to him by the commandant.

you were definitely a handful.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

so so sooo sorry for the late update. i've just been extremely busy with school and everything, so i'm juggling writing chapters like these on top of all the work. i probably won't be as active in the next 2 months, but i promise, after mid june, i'll be here a lot.

i did not expect this fic to get as much love as it got, so i did king of neglect it a bit. and then came back to a swarm of new notifs so yeah, felt special ig lol. anyways, hope u enjoyed?

all characters belong to hajime isayama, apart from y/n, who i've inserted in to the story myself.

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