#flight-freeze-frame

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[stunie]

SCARY BOYFRIEND EX PRIVILEGES! ❤︎ — Endo Yamato x f!reader ﾉ Sfw ﾉ Cw harassment (not from Endo) ﾉ My response to:

ANON’S ASK — Random thought but what the wind breaker boys protect you in spite of being your ex. Whether it was a mutual, [etc], uncertain, or bittersweet break up is up to you.

Other warnings: one mention of reader typically wearing makeup

As weird as it sounds, you’re not entirely sure if you and Endo have ever officially broken up. Dating through high school was one thing, but keeping the relationship strong after attending different universities was another.

At the very least, you’re 90% sure the relationship died, although you don’t remember exactly when the two of you stopped talking. After you switched your phone number following your first semester at university, you hadn’t even bothered to tell him. You don’t remember why you didn’t bother to either.

Everything is weird now.

Life has been entirely different without him. There’s one less free pocket in your bag now that you’ve started carrying pepper spray with you. You wear your headphones in one ear at a time, and your volume isn’t on full blast anymore.

You actually look where you’re going, and you pay attention to the time— take a mental note that it starts getting dark earlier at this point in the year.

Even with the precautions you’ve learned during your time at university, this type of thing would always be out of your control. How in the world did you get singled out wearing your pajamas and no makeup?

Life wasn’t being fair to you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?”

“Midterms.” You narrow your eyes to the best of your ability, balling your hands into little fists to mask how they’ve started to tremble. “I’m meeting up with some friends now.”

You used to be able to just say “I have a boyfriend.”

You also used to be walked home, so this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. You’re sure that if Endo saw the way you are now, he’d be making a comment by now. Something along the lines of “gonna hurt your hands if you throw a punch with your fists like that, sweet thing.”

Nothing is fair. Why is it now that you start missing him for the first time in years? The feeling comes a little too easily for a relationship that faded into nothing, but you’re too scared to kick yourself in the shin right now.

“That so?” The man in front of you laughs when your fight or flight finally starts to kick in. You take a couple of steps backward, and your frame is suddenly a lot smaller compared to his. How easy. “Where are these friends of yours? Can’t believe you’re out here all by yourself..”

“T-they have my location, y’know.”

There’s the stutter that always gives you away.

He laughs at this, and you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat. Keep your words steady. Ignore the way your heart rate is spiking. Do absolutely anything to avoid letting him know that you’re scared out of your mind.

It doesn’t work at all. “They won’t know if you don’t have your phone on you, will they?”

All the words you know seem to slip out of your brain, and your face feels painfully hot. “U-um…”

“You’re exactly my type. It’s a compliment… I’m being nice, so just come with me. You won’t regret it— I’ll make it worth your time.”

It doesn’t like sound an offer, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion either. Your body freezes against your will, and he catches onto this pretty fast. The pepper spray in your bag seems too far away for you to even consider, and you’ve never felt so helpless in your life.

“Yeah? That sound good?” He moves to close the distance between the two of you with a grin, reaching out to grab your wrist. Your eyes slam shut, lips trembling even when you try to say something to protest. “Damn… you’re so docile for such a pretty girl. Usually, they’d be a bitch, but you—”

“How mean.” Your eyes shoot open when you’re suddenly tugged backward, gasping when your back roughly collides with someone’s chest. “I was waiting all alone. What’s my girl doing over here with you?”

The tattooed arms that drape themselves over your shoulders don’t look familiar at first glance, but the muscles and his scent are. Painfully familiar, as a matter of fact. They’re the same arms you used to cling onto- and you always used to wrap your fingers around his bicep and rest your head on his shoulder.

He loved that.

It all registers in your head as soon as he puts his weight on you, head right beside yours and you feel his hair tickle your neck. He gives the man in front of you an unamused look before turning to you.

“M-me?” You want to dig a hole and stay there for eternity after hearing just how shaky your voice comes out. Endo’s so close that you could simply turn your head to the side and you’d be kissing him.

He laughs, and you feel your face heat up again. Only this time, there’s a gentle fluttering of your heart that comes with it instead. “Yeah, you. What? Did you think I was talking to the loser? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The way you move to latch onto his arm in an instant is all he needs to confirm that your feelings haven’t changed. The man in front of you doesn’t speak— he can’t seem to move either. Your boyfriend has made quite the name for himself, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

To you, he’s your bodyguard— and more, of course, but maybe you’d be honest and tell him about that another time. But to that guy, he’s pure danger. The way Endo looks over his shoulder to give him one last glance is already enough to have his knees buckling.

[auspicioustidings]

Savage

Summary: Request for some Scottish warrior Soap taking an English maiden as a prize.

Words: 3.7k

CWs: Violent non-con (I am so serious, do not ready this if it's not your thing), hardcore smut

–

Authors Note: This is very much a rape fantasy. Traditionally rape fantasies have historical grounding in minorities who felt ashamed of their own desires so had to fantasise a situation in which they were blameless for engaging in a stigmatised action because it was forced. It’s sort of where a lot of the noncon trope in bodice rippers comes from because women in unhappy marriages need a fantasy in which they can get rid of the shame for wanting passionate or rough sex because they imagine they fought against it. A lot more people have rape fantasies than people generally realise and truly a miniscule barely there number of them would ever think it was ok to actually assault someone. All that to say, this is not me condoning anything in real life. If you find fantasies like this don’t do it for you, then do not read it, but don’t then shame people who do. There is psychology behind why people fantasise about these things, it’s pretty normal and you don’t need to be worried that it is some moral failing. Mind your business.

It was a miraculously good match for you, a high ranking soldier of the King’s army. You were technically of noble blood, but just barely. You lived simply, not in a large house but in a small village where you held no sway over anyone else and were treated as common. But the village was close to the border between England and Scotland and every day it became more tense as whispers of raids from villages to the West skittered between houses like rats.

You didn’t know how your uncle had made arrangements for this beneficial marriage for you, but it would get you moving South in a few days time to marry and then you would finally be able to relax with this war much further away from you. You had heard horror stories of what happened to young maidens when savages came pillaging. They said that they didn’t wear anything under those kilts, they said it was to make it easy to bury their cocks in any hot hole they could find. They said they didn’t have any tame qualities, not like the English. Scottish men were feral, the comparison to dogs not holding water because at least dogs could be trained. 

When you retreated to bed you got on your knees to say your prayers. As always you had to beg forgiveness for the licentious thoughts that sent thrills straight to your cunt whenever you thought about the images all those rumours put in your head.

–

The noise of chaos woke you in a panic, heart hammering against your ribcage as the smell of smoke drifted on the air and war cries sounded. You recognised your own kinfolk of course, the battalion of soldiers stationed here to keep eyes on the border. But it was the cries of those animals from the country to the North that sent you scrambling out of bed in only your chemise, knowing you had to run and hide before they could see you.

You slipped out of the bedroom, a frightened little rabbit looking for a burrow to hop into. The smell of smoke was stronger in the main room and you could see the orange glow of flames through the window. Going outside would be a risk, but hiding in here may get you burned to a crisp should this building be lit up. You did not have time to make the decision as the door burst off of its hinges, a muscular man in a blood spattered kilt with a warrior's mohawk and wild eyes panting like a dog as he caught sight of you.

You were frozen, unable to even breathe. And then after a beat his mouth stretched into a horrid manic grin as he bounded towards you. That finally shifted you from freeze to flight as you scrambled back through to the bedroom, trying to get to the small window. You threw the top half of your body through the gap but his rough hands grabbed your naked ankles and yanked you back, hard. You felt the chemise catch on the window frame, the fabric bunching up to completely expose you to him before he let go of your ankles letting you crash to the ground. 

Your knees throbbed from the hard floor and by the time you were trying to crawl away he had his hand in your hair, brutally pulling your head up and craning it to look at him leaning over and getting into your face.

“Hear I have a wee noble bitch on my hands.”

Of course he would know. There were families here who would tell them anything to save themselves and pointing them in the direction of a noble maiden, one who was betrothed to an English soldier at that, would certainly be information that could spare them. The shouts outside sounded more heavily weighted towards those in his own gruff and growling accent now. The English soldiers were losing.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about ser” you cried gently, not knowing how else to save yourself. 

“Bonnie words” he growled, pulling so sharply at your hair that you thought your scalp might be bleeding and using his other hand to grope meanly at one of your breasts through the rough fabric of your nightwear.

You cried out, feeling the tears immediately spill over and stream down your face. He was so strong, you could barely budge against his hold, and he reeked of blood and fire and sweat and hot arousal. You squeezed your eyes shut and he only growled at you.

“Ye’ll keep those eyes open, yer going tae watch yer wee English cunt take me like a whore or I’ll take yer tight arse instead.”

You choked on a sob and opened your eyes, seeing that his were full of sick glee and heat. The hand groping at your tits moved under the chemise to cup roughly at your sex and he pulled you to your feet by that hand. You screamed at how it felt as he abused you with his hand, grinding the heel against you. You felt a hot flood of bitter shame as he swiped a finger violently through your folds. What he found there made him pause for a moment, his face lighting up in unrestrained glee.

“Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

You had heard women who said it would be better to be wet if they were to be taken against their will. You did not agree. Him knowing that your traitorous body found his rough abuse of it arousing was so humiliating you felt you would rather die. He was so oppressive in his demeanour, so big and aggressive above you that you imagined he may break your bed with what he was about to do to you. How foolish of you to think he would have that level of mercy.

“Going tae show all those bastards how their women take Scottish cock” he laughed, spearing two fingers inside you to their full length with no softness at all and pulling you by them.

You could not breathe. You had never had anything inside you and those two fat fingers felt like they were stretching you so much you would tear. He walked backwards so he could keep them firmly inside you and you stumbled pathetically after him, needing to keep as close to him as possible to stop the painful press against your walls that came from him pulling if you did not move. 

The shame was overwhelming as you emerged, full of his fingers and stumbling after him with tears streaming down your face, to find that your country's soldiers had been defeated with the survivors on their knees, hands bound. You were being paraded in front of them you realised, they had been put right here in the town square so they could bear witness, the Scottish soldiers standing behind them feral and full of lust as they took in their leader pulling you in front of them by the cunt. 

When he ripped his fingers out of you, your knees buckled and a high whine left you. You had went from feeling too full to feeling far, far too empty. You could barely hear anything but the blood rushing through you as your heart hammered. That and him as he taunted the soldiers on their knees. 

“Our women would ne’er let ye touch them, they’d die first. Yer clean wee English princess on the ither hand?” he said, planting a booted foot to your chest and pushing until he had you pinned on your back underfoot, “she’s gagging fir it. Foaming at the gusset tae take strong Scottish cock, put a real warrior in her belly.”

His own men cheered at that and you watched on with horror as he cocked his head at one of them and he began to approach you. 

“Naw a monster though am I my wee slut? Ye’d be wet enough fir one of their small English cocks nae doubt, but fir mine? Going tae need something to help me sink in good and deep.”

The other soldier went to his knees between your legs and you watched as he pulled his throbbing cock from under his kilt, jerking it violently. You tried to move away, his cock so close you could feel the heat of it between your legs, but the boot on your chest held you still. When you tried to close your legs the man touching himself used his other hand to wrench one of your knees until it was touching the ground, using his own knees between your thighs to help him keep your glistening cunt fully on display.

When the head of his cock stroked through your folks, slicking you with his pre-cum and bumping at your clit, you were so overwhelmed that you didn’t quite manage to bite back your moan. They laughed meanly at you as the man found his release, spurting hot cum all over your pussy, smacking his cock against your stomach when he was done to shake off the last drops.

It was filthy, you felt sticky and like you were on fire. The next soldier took his place and spat right on your already disgusting cunt as he began to stroke himself. By the time he had painted you with his seed and the third was started, the man above pressed his foot harder to get your attention and all you could do was stare up into his taunting eyes, trying to focus on him so you could not think of what was going on between your legs. You cried up at him, trying to find any level of sympathy in him.

“Keep crying and I’ll gie ye something tae cry about princess.”

Oh you hated him calling you that when you were pinned down in the dirt, defeated soldiers of your country watching as their enemies smeared their cum all over your exposed body. Watching as they made a sloppy mess out of you in preparation for their leader to shove his cock deep inside and pump you full of his savage children.

You did not know how long you stared up at him, not able to look away as you felt the heat of his men on your body, your own body getting hotter and hotter with each slide of velvety throbbing skin against your own. He had started to talk to you, his eyes not budging. It wasn’t the defeated soldiers he was taunting, it was you, ruined and disgraced under his boot.

“See how good I am tae ye little whore? Letting my men make ye flush wi pleasure. Don’t deny it, think I cannae see yer face whenever ye feel a cock on that wee untouched pussy? Like a fucking bitch in heat. I’ll fuck ye like one. Get ye on yer hands and knees so ye can look yer precious King’s soldiers in the eye when ye fall apart on my cock. When ye’r fucking begging for my cum. Wilnae even have tae dae any work, ye’ll be fucking yourself back on me ye needy slut.”

You shook your head in horror at his claims, the true fear being that he would make them true. Already you felt in a daze, felt empty and desperate. But you felt fear as well as he put his arm under his kilt, rucking the fabric up to grab at his cock. It was huge and you found yourself panicked and squirming as the last of his soldiers grunted and slapped the meat of your thigh to get you to stay still. You were rambling incoherently as the man above stroked slowly at himself, causing that thick weapon between his legs to throb and seem even bigger. 

“It won’t fit, it’s not going to fit, please I’ll die, you’ll split me open. It’s so big no no I can’t, I can’t!”

You didn’t even feel the last of his soldier’s loads splatter onto you, didn’t notice when his hands left your flesh. You would have rapidly purpling skin in the shape of fingerprints all over your thighs from how you had been held still by all of them, but you could not feel the dull pain of it through your fear of what was to come.

“Ye’ll take whit I gie ye and ye’ll fucking thank me princess.”

He removed his foot and it was only then you realised that he had been pressing down hard enough that your breaths had been shallow. The rush of oxygen from being able to fully expand your lungs again made you horribly dizzy, but it also flooded right down to your clit and made your body jerk violently with the sensation. 

He didn’t take his hand from his cock and he bent so he could use the other to grab your ruined hair again, yanking your head up and shoving himself into your mouth. You choked, legs scrambling to get underneath you to give you some stability with which to batter your fists against his thighs, trying to pull away. He laughed meanly at your attempts, moving the hand that was touching himself to join the one tangled in your hair on the back of your head and pulling your head at the same time as he thrust forward, settling himself fully in your throat. 

You were gagging around him, tears really streaming down your face now as you begged him with your eyes to let you breathe. He held you there, his own eyes glittering with satisfaction, until your muscles started to give in and you felt your eyes dropping closed as your brain became cottony. Then all at once he pulled you off and you were gulping in oxygen around your coughing and sputtering, the rush much more intense this time. 

He held your head tilted up at him so he could watch your face as he shoved his boot between your legs and got you over the edge. Oh weren’t you a delicious little thing for him, getting off so hard on how he used you, moaning shakily and wantonly in the dirt beneath him in front of his triumphant soldiers and your defeated ones. 

“Good fucking girl” he growled with a feral grin, letting you ride it out with little aborted thrusts on his boot, unable to control your body. 

You looked gone, eyes glazed and body slack. Couldn’t have that, he needed you screaming for him. He needed your blood fighting between being frozen with terror and boiling with need. And he needed you full of him, needed to be able to feel his own cock through your stomach so fucking clearly that he could jerk it. 

You were thrown forward, top half of your body collapsing pathetically into the dirt right where it was covered in the sweat and cum of his soldiers. He manhandled your hips up, leaving your face crushed into the dirt and your ass up high for him, cunt presented. You felt his hot breath at your ear and it was a sudden shock when you realised he was growling lowly into your ear, his words for you and you only.

“S’going tae hurt, yer going tae scream yerself hoarse for me and then I’ll get ye tae milk me when I rip pleasure out of all that pain. Will treat ye right after little princess, like one of my good Scottish lassies, but right now ye’r my fucking English whore.”

The confusing mix of sentiments cleared some of the fuzziness from your mind but you had no time to dwell. He was right, it did hurt and you did scream yourself hoarse. He had lined himself up and plunged into you, cock coated and slick from the cum of his soldiers but no less huge inside your tight virgin pussy. He had split you in two, you were sure of it. His cock must have broken through you, was sitting in your ribcage and punching all the air from your lungs.

You blacked out for a moment, coming right back to when he pulled out to fuck brutally back into you again, slapping your ass so hard that you felt the sting all the way up to your fingertips and making you choke on the sob that fought through the screaming. He ripped at your hair, making you look at the defeated soldiers on their knees. Making you watch their own cocks swell at your treatment. Your utter ruination was making them hard. Your head being wrenched back meant you had to go to your hands as he pounded you, and you saw how they looked as one of your breasts was fucked right out of the chemise, bouncing lewdly for them to see with every hard thrust.

The humiliation had you digging into the dirt like you had claws, feeling the bite of the earth pushing under your nails. It sparked something in your brain, almost like you could see them sharpen. Like you could feel your shoulder blades become more pronounced, become something sinewy and sleek and animal. He was fucking you like a predator and you were drooling and howling and panting like his prey, back bowed as he pulled your hair harder and had to staring at the sky babbling prayers into the night air. 

“S’too much, can’t, I can’t. Full, too full.”

“Ye fucking can. Yer tight fucking cunts trying tae strangle me, wants my cum so bad naw? Perfect English pussy, so slutty and needy for a real cock” he growled, hand letting go of your hair and smacking your ass right over where he had before, causing you to howl at the pain. 

The pain and something else, something that had no place here and yet had been lingering from the moment he had caught you. Something that had been getting closer and brighter and more insistent with every abuse you were subject to. Something that he invited in when your arms collapsed beneath you without him holding your heads weight anymore and he ground your face into the ground before bringing his hand to your clit and pinching. 

Your scream was raw and hoarse, throat well past being able to produce a clear sound. The orgasm was blinding and every bone felt like it had liquified. You saw white and then you saw hardly anything, only vague shapes and colours. The only thing now was how his cock filled you. The shame was gone, replaced with the truth that you loved this. You loved how he used you like this, how he violated you in front of these soldiers just because he could.

“That’s it princess, fucking take it” he hissed, stopping his thrusts and letting you do all the work.

You didn’t even realise now how you wildly fucked yourself back on his cock trying to chase the pain of overstimulation, addicted to the way it made you feel some sick hazy pleasure. You were drooling onto the dirt, tasting the earth mixed with cum and finding the disgust of it only felt right now. When his hand came to your stomach and pushed to feel himself bulging there you came again, harder, babbling thank yous to him.

He bit out a string of curses above you as your pussy squeezed so hard it was forcing him out, but he was strong as he forced himself balls deep and held there, finding his release as you milked everything out of him and into your womb. The liquid heat of it was the last thing you felt as you passed out, blissed and fucked out of your mind. 

–

John MacTavish allowed himself a moment to lean his body against your back, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt and cum and fear and lust from your limp body. So good for him, took it perfectly. He hissed when he finally pulled out, resisting the temptation to just keep going beyond what would feel good because fuck, being inside you had been a religious experience. 

He was nothing if not a man of his word though, and he scooped your body gently into his arms to get you onto a horse and ready for him to take over the border where he could give you that princess treatment he had promised. The surviving soldiers they would leave beaten and bloodied but not dead. After all, someone had to tell your betrothed all the details.

-

“Fucking MacTavish” he hissed after excusing the man who had given the report.

He had made him give it in full detail, told him to leave nothing out. 

“Kept her alive by the sounds of it, maybe looking to get a bastard out of her” Garrick mused.

“Knowing him he’ll keep her near the border to taunt us instead of moving her further up North” Price added.

Simon Riley would not be letting his betrothed get away with allowing MacTavish of all people to take the maidenhood that rightfully belonged to him. She needed a proper punishing fuck from an English man to learn better.

“Doesn’t matter where he keeps her. I’m going to take her, and she’s going to learn what happens to sluts who spread their legs for those Scottish bastards”.

[houseofripley]

Hotel Hell - Part Two

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

Part One Pinterest

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Fighting, Shoving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, MAKEUP SEX

WORD COUNT: 3,812

A/N: omg i am sorry this took me years to finish, life has been busy but it should calm down soon. i got such a good request the other day and i haven't gotten it off my mind so i will start that tmrw if i have time. also i proofread this at 2am so please ignore any mistakes lol

“The Brutalization Chamber? You want to know what The Brutalization Chamber is?” The Irish man laughed out, his eyebrows raising once you turned your gaze towards him. 

An expression of curiosity displayed on your face as you repeated the name of the supposed ‘chamber’. It was obvious to the man that you wanted to know more.

The man began making his way down the stairs, “No offense sweetheart…but I don’t really think this is the place for a girl li-” He tried to speak before being cut off.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“I don’t really care what you think sir, I want you to show me what's down there.” You chirped out, following the male down the flight of stairs, your hand hovering over your aching ribs.

“Well shit, if you insist,” The guy chuckled out, “Feisty, she’ll like you.” He muttered under his breath as he opened the door. 

She’ll like you…was he talking about the same ‘she’ you had spent your night with? The same woman who just got done unleashing pure cruelty onto you? The same woman who disappeared into this exact building moments ago?

“Name’s Finn by the way,” He mentioned, “It’s just us, the big boss is probably around here somewhere as well.” Finn spoke as you scanned the room looking for ‘the big boss’.

Grimy was the only way to portray the room. Rope lights scattered across the ceiling, some were dim while others flickered. There were freezing concrete walls with cracks littered all over. A red neon sign displaying the letters ‘TBC’. A blood stained ring sat taking up a quarter of the room. Various pieces of gym equipment and punching bags were compressed into a room off to the side. 

“So…just a gym?” You questioned the man, there was no sign of Rhea.

“Nah, it’s a little more than just a gym love…think of it as a fight club. A fight club with a fuck ton of money involved.” Finn stated leading into a room the size of a walk-in closet, the room seemingly being a pathetic excuse of a nurses office. 

You leaned against the door frame while Finn babbled on as he started unpacking his bag, “People come to us in desperate need for money. They’re entered into our roster, put in the ring and bet on. If they win their match they get fifty percent of all bets placed. Bunch of sick wealthy men love wasting their fortune on this shit.”

“Don’t you think this is just a tad bit illegal?” You chuckled, sending a small wave of pain to your ribs.

“Eh I don’t worry about that too often,” Finn shrugged, digging around his duffle. “Rhea’s not too worried about the legalities when there's this much money involved, she can pay her way out of damn near anything.”

Rhea.

Despite your pain you perked up at the mention of Rhea’s name although you stayed silent.

“Rhea would like you, you’re quiet but there's just something about you, like there’s a fire inside you.” Finn mentioned, pointing at you. “I would introduce you to her but earlier this afternoon one of her top guys lost her like seven thousand. She stormed off to god knows where. Another one of her main guys has a big match in about half an hour. Going up against some new kid we’ve never seen so I’m sure she’s busy worrying her ass off.”

You heard a scoff echo from the main room as footsteps approached. “Jesus fucking christ Finn! Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?” You heard Rhea sarcastically laugh trying to cover her anger.

You slowly turned to face Rhea, examining her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Reality had finally washed over you. The weight of Rhea’s actions flooded into your brain. You couldn’t figure out if you felt more betrayal or anger in the moment.

“Ah! Rhea mate!” Finn exclaimed, trying to divert from Rhea’s critiques. “I was just telling this young lady how much you’d like her…I never caught her name though.” 

Your face turned to the ground as you tried to mutter out your name. “We’ve met.” Rhea butted in, her voice was fully flat-devoid of any sign of emotion. That’s when the regret hit you. 

You shouldn't have come here.

“I should leave…it seems you guys have a busy night.” You muttered quietly. Rhea took a firm grasp on your forearm, “That can wait, let’s go have a chat.” Rhea said as her head motioned towards what you assumed to be her office.

“No, I-I can come back another time, I really don’t want to be a bother.” You barely managed to stutter out while Rhea’s middle and pointer finger of her opposite hand guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “I said let’s go have a chat.” Rhea commanded, her grip on your arm tightening. 

You reluctantly followed the woman as she dragged you in the direction of her office. You knew you were in for it big time.

“You are a fucking insane bitch! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to fucking show up to this place?!” Rhea lashed out at you the moment the latches of her door clicked together. She dropped your arm before shoving you towards the other side of the room. You had been lucky enough to catch your balance as you were just inches away from barreling into the concrete walls.

“I just wanted to learn more! I wanted to figure you out Rhea! Can you blame me for wanting to figure out why you’re so angry and cruel every time I see you?” You said loudly, your voice filled with hurt.

“That doesn't give you the goddamn right to follow me to where I work! You don’t fucking get it, these people I work with are dangerous and I don’t want you getting caught up in this bullshit!” Rhea retorted out as her breaths began picking up speed.

“What makes you think I’m so incompetent that I’m incapable of being around danger?! You put me in danger nearly every fucking time I see you! ” Your hands flew around as you yelled at the woman, tears accumulating in your eyes. 

Rhea began inching towards you, a look of irritation covering her face. “I don’t fucking put you in danger!”

“Yes you fucking do! You have no idea how many bruises you’ve left me with. The other month you choked me till I passed out, yet you didn’t stop fucking me to check if I was okay! For fucks sake Rhea, an hour ago you left me bleeding and collapsed to the floor!!” All hell had broken loose between the two of you as your tears started escaping from you.

“You told me you could take it! I don’t get why you’re bitching and moaning all of the sudden.” Rhea continued arguing.

Your fist crashed down onto Rhea’s nearby desk, “I can take it rough, but you can’t keep disappearing after being borderline torturous! You’re so damn immature!!” Your screaming matched showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I’m immature? You’re the one that followed me to my job and is throwing a tantrum right now!” Rhea’s voice thundered around the room. 

“You don’t get it Rhea! I’m a fucking person and you dont give a shit about me! Why don’t you fucking care?!” You yelled through broken sobs as you started unleashing your sadness and anger onto Rhea, pushing and beating on her chest. 

Rhea made no attempt to stop you. She made no moves, just allowing you to inflict your pain onto her. 

Once your hands had dropped to your sides in exhaustion and your breaths became heavier as you tried calming yourself down Rhea quietly mumbled, “I do care…”

“But you don’t…” You looked up at her with wide eyes, lifting your shirt. You exposed your aching torso displaying your cut up skin, dried blood pooled around your laceration and the letters of Rhea’s name carved into your skin. “Someone who cares doesn't do this and run away.” You quietly said, your voice strained from the screaming match.

The regret in her eyes was apparent as she darted her eyes away from you. The realization she had gone too far had hit her hard, feeling as if she was being crashed into by an eighteen-wheeler. 

Her vulnerability was short lived, Rhea quickly repressed her display of emotion, replacing it with her regular cold and emotionless stare. She had to put on her tough guy attitude. It was her only safety blanket. Emotions are for the weak, Rhea could never be weak.

“You get worse every time I see you, something has to change Rhea…” You breathed out, trying to articulate your speech as you lowered your shirt back down. “If you can’t fix this behavior I’m done.” 

“You know you don’t mean that.” Rhea sighed as she ran her hand through her black hair. She didn’t want to lose you but she could never admit that. “I need to think about…everything. Just give me a some t-” 

Rhea was cut off by a deep voice from outside the door. “Ten minutes till the bell Rhea.” Rhea rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, “Just give me some fucking time Damian! And go get a roll of gauze from Finn. Quickly.” Rhea demanded after opening the door just a sliver. 

You clenched your jaw as you sensed Rhea’s levels of anger were once again rising. The last thing you wanted was to end up back at square one with her. You couldn’t handle another argument with her. Not tonight at least. 

The pair of you stood in silence as you waited for the man to return. Once he had arrived he opened the door, handing Rhea the roll of fabric. His eyes curiously examining you through the crack in the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute…” Rhea aggressively muttered before closing the door. She mumbled your name under her breath before walking to her desk.

 “You’re lucky Finn showed up early, only God knows what could have happened to you if one of the other guys showed up before him.” Rhea grunted as she unlocked a drawer and began rummaging through the mess inside. 

What is it about her?

“Why such a dark line of work? What made you choose this of all things?” You questioned, you were terrified to set her off but on the other hand you wanted to push for answers from her. It was the only way to get your foot into the door of her life.

Rhea stumbled her way towards you avoiding eye contact, a tube of antibacterial gel in her hand as she shrugged. “Not something you choose. You’re born into it and can’t escape it, you just have to accept it and make the best out of it.” She mumbled while she lifted your shirt up. 

Rhea applied a small glob of the antibacterial gel to her finger while she lowered herself to her knees, becoming face to face with your shredded skin. The woman began dabbing the gel onto your skin causing  you to let out a small hiss from the pain.

Once she finished applying all of the gel she wiped the residue from her fingers onto her pant leg and grabbed the roll of gauze. Rhea cleared her throat before speaking up, “Just stay in here for a while, I can take you home after this match.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself, Rhea.” You stated, watching Rhea carefully wrap the gauze around your waist.

“I’m walking you home and that’s final.” Rhea stood her ground, “Seriously though, just stay in here. I’ll be back.”

You weren’t planning on fighting about this with her, deciding to keep your mouth shut you let her take the win. “Fine, whatever.” You gave in as Rhea tied a knot in the gauze to hold it in place. 

“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” Was all Rhea had said as she stood up. Nothing else left her lips as she exited the room. 

No apology?

You groaned as you sat down in Rhea’s large chair. You blankly stared at the wall for several minutes before your mind started to wander. Exploring anything that popped into your head. Places, things, people, Rhea. 

If you were being honest with yourself you were doubting the woman's ability to change her ways. You assumed she would most likely be this way her whole life, although you prayed she had it in herself to change. She had the potential to be great if she would put her pride aside.

It wasn't long until the cheers of the crowd on the opposite side of the door had started drowning out your thoughts. 

You wanted to catch a glimpse of the madness. You stood up from the large chair, your feet scuffing the ground as you strolled to the door

You cracked the door open, taking a peek of the ring surrounded by a flock of rowdy men that were yelling. The large man you made eye contact with earlier was in the ring brutalizing a much smaller guy who couldn’t even be older than twenty-five. He was putting on one hell of a fight but it was clear he stood no chance.

Rhea was the only woman there, she was stood right against the ring watching intensely. She had caught your image in the corner of her eyes. Her face turned in your direction, she tilted her head as if she was asking you what the hell you were doing.

You mouthed the word sorry to her before quickly closing the door. 

Fifteen excruciatingly boring minutes had passed, the cheers had dispersed into muffled conversations. Rhea had finally arrived back in her office. She seemed content which you enjoyed. 

“You ready to go?” Rhea asked, you answered with a simple nod.

As the two of you made your way out of the building Rhea exchanged goodbyes with some of the strange men.

The entire walk was silent, the both of you reflecting on the weird night you had been through together. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost peaceful. Having Rhea in your presence when she was somewhat calm was pleasant. You wanted to hold onto this peacefulness for the rest of your life.

It took you by surprise when Rhea insisted on taking you directly to your door instead of just dropping you off in the front of the large building and ditching. 

“You didn’t need to take me all the way up here.” You quietly mumbled as you unlocked the door to your apartment. “Lot’s of bad people around this time of night.” Rhea muttered as your door swung open. 

You turned around to face the woman, her eyes peering over your head, scanning the entry of your apartment. “There’s bad people around all times of the day. I’m used to it.” You said quietly, her eyes returning to you.

An awkward silence filled the air as the both of you gazed upon each other. Rhea began rubbing her neck, “Uh…I should go. I’m gonna go.” She feebly stated before turning away from you, quickly walking down the hall. She had stormed off before you could even speak up.

Still no apology?

—

Multiple days had passed. Rhea had made no contact yet. You spent a concerning amount of time just staring at Rhea’s contact in your phone, debating if you should press the call button. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

She’d call if she cared enough.

It felt as if life had paused, your days seemed empty. The busy streets of New York City felt devoid of any livelihood. The live music that took place at work sounded muffled. The flavor of your favorite foods had been stripped away. Once colorful flowers sold down at the street market now sat dull.

Days just painfully repeated. 

Tonight you had the night off, your only plans were to stare out the window of your bedroom and pray for a text from Rhea. 

You sat criss-cross at the edge of your bed twiddling your thumbs, your mind seemingly empty as you stared into the windows of the skyscraper across the street when the sound of a knock echoed down your short hall.

Groaning in annoyance as you got up you began making your way to the door, chewing the inside of your cheek as your feet shuffled below you. 

You weren't sure who you were expecting to be in the hall but it completely caught you by surprise when you swung the door open to see the dark haired woman waiting for you.

Without a word Rhea launched herself onto your lips, the force causing you to be pushed back a few inches.

Jesus Christ.

This felt like more than just a kiss, it had an intense amount of passion intertwined into it. Rhea’s hands gripped onto your waist as you backed into the apartment, her foot kicking the door behind her closed.

She had never kissed you in this way before. Before tonight you had only received measly pecks while the two of you had sex. It was never emotional.

Rhea slowly pulled away from your lips, both of your breaths were heavy as she finally spoke, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally.

“God, I’ve treated you like shit and I have been such a dick. It’s been the only thing on my mind. You don’t deserve that, It’s not okay.” Rhea began rambling as you stared into each other's eyes. “I get it if you never want to see me again but please just give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll get my temperament under control, I’ll go to therapy, whatever you say I will do it.”

“Rhea-” You whispered, trying to calm her down but she continued her rant. 

“I want to know you, more than just your body. I wanna know everything, The good, the bad, the boring…I wanna know what pisses you off and what makes you cry. I don’t know why I kept you a stranger for so long and I’m sorry for that.”

You led Rhea into your small living room as you listened to her rambling. You took a seat in your chaiser lounge and ushered her to sit in front of you as her speech continued on. “I don’t know why I ran away…I think it's cause I didn't want to hurt you. But I did hurt you, so badly. I don’t want to run away anymore, I had no right to ever hurt you the way I did, just for me to leave you alone right after. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ll never forgive myself for it. It’s just that I-”

“Rhea!” You slightly raised your voice causing Rhea to finally close her mouth. You leaned closer to her, placing a quick and gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” You comforted the woman, softly chuckling.

“I didn’t interrupt your night did I?” Rhea asked, slightly nervous as she scootched up closer to you. You shook your head no as a smile creeped on your face.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to end up in a heated makeout session, your hands roaming over one another's clothing. Rhea groaned your name against your lips before pulling back just a few centimeters. 

“Please let me show you how sorry I am.” She practically pleaded, her eyes full of desperation, “Yes please” you quietly giggled, your eyes adoring the woman's face. The second Rhea heard the word yes echo from your mouth her lips went straight for your neck, causing a whimper to escape from you. 

Rhea took her time as she kissed upon your neck, carefully leaving soft love bites every so often, marking the skin a flushed pink shade. Her lips only leaving your skin as she pulled off your sweater before she began peckering kisses against your collarbones.

Her hands crept behind your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your chest. Your fingers grazed upon Rhea’s tense shoulders as she left a path of kisses down your torso.

As Rhea’s face reached the base of your stomach, her eyes fixated on your face as if she was asking for your blessing. You gave her a nod before lifting your hips into the air, allowing her to slide your sweatpants off your legs. 

 “Rhea, please,” You whined out while Rhea’s fingers toyed with the seam of your panties. Rhea grinned to herself as she slowly shed the final layer of clothing off your body. 

The woman wasted no time connecting her mouth to your heat, causing you to let out a breathy moan. “So fucking beautiful…” Rhea praised against your skin.

Truthfully, her tongue felt like heaven as it worked its way around your wetness. Rhea didn't want to rush you. This wasn't for her, she just wanted to make sure you knew she had the ability in her to change for the better.

Your breaths picked up their pace as Rhea’s hand inched its way closer to your core. Her ring and middle finger traced a circle around the perimeter of your entrance before slowly being pushed into you.

“Shit,” You whined out, your back arching as both Rhea’s tongue and digits worked their magic on you. Although you enjoyed roughhousing with the woman, you undoubtedly appreciated the amount of care Rhea was putting into you.

You were a whimpering mess under Rhea’s touch, and she loved every small sound that escaped from your mouth.

“More! Please, I can take it!” You begged for more of her. Rhea obliged, sliding her pointer finger into your tightness causing you to roll your eyes back as her fingers filled your insides.

“That’s it baby,” Rhea preached quietly when your hips began to rock against her fingers, your moans filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” She added on before her tongue got back to sailing over your clit, her fingers picking up their pace.

Your legs tightened around Rhea’s head as your orgasm quickly approached. “C’mon sweet girl, let go.” Rhea’s encouraging words were muffled, your walls clenched around her curling fingers. 

“Fuck Rhea!” You squealed out as the knot that filled your stomach released onto Rhea’s fingers. Your hips twitched into the air as the fingers inside of you helped you ride out your climax. 

Rhea was grinning ear-to-ear as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your hole. She groaned in pleasure, licking her fingers clean. 

She soon brought her face to meet yours, her plumped lips giving your jaw a kiss before whispering in your ear.

“How’s that for an apology, hm?”

Chapter Taglist: @babybatlover @whiteleoqueen @luvvleah @lovingperson1

[tumblingxelian]

Near Uniquely RWBY - Main Characters

I was chatting with my sibling the other day and we were joking about the fact in 90% of the media I consume I generally don't like the main characters.

Not in the sense I necessarily hate them, but I generally don't find them to be the most interesting, engaging or enjoyable person on screen or page. Instead I tend to gravitate towards secondary or minor characters and even minor antagonists before any of the big names.

Some of this is rooted in my often rooting for what tends to feel more like a real underdog or characters that feel like they got dealt a bad hand by the author unfairly. But its also that in a lot of media the main characters tend to immediately, slowly or quickly go into personality lockdown.

Becoming less a personality and more the embodiment of expected tropes and themes, or they lose their unique edge or circumstances because the plot demands one benefits or personality changes be heaped on them to keep the tone and story going.

Some examples of this would include say:

Ichigo from Bleach, with him and his supporting cast being very unique and super interesting during the initial arc. But as Soul Society came in, he became a much more standard Shounen determinator a the expense of his personality and his supporting casts were largely watered down & left behind.

Or how in Naruto or Dragon Ball the whole underdog/hard worker aspect of the characters felt undercut by legacy power ups and an endless wellspring of natural talent, alien biology, ETC.

I know these are just two examples, but they cover the general gist of what I mean.

So, what makes RWBY different?

Well, off the cuff, is simply that the four main characters are women.

I've often felt simply putting anyone other than a cis-het guy into the main character slot of say, a battle Shounen, or Isekai stands a good chance of making it more interesting by default. Even if the author does nothing with it the audience reaction would be different because the MC would be an exception to the norms.

In that vein, while one can call RWBY some sort of Shounen or adventure fantasy or magical girl show the main four are unique in how they manifest on screen at the very start. From how they participate in action, to how said action is structured and framed and the kind of adventures and topics they tackle.

But being unique alone is not enough, that would simply make it more interesting than the bog standard but what elevates RWBY is the execution and exploration of such elements and its characters.

Going into every aspect would be difficult, but in light of what I said above would be how each of the main four are initially presented as familiar archetypes, only to subvert or deconstruct them.

Ruby is a peppy goth who just wants to be normal but has inborn powers from her mysteriously vanished mother and serves as a beacon of optimism to others.

Except Ruby's version of normal still involved fighting death monsters with a sniper rifle scythe and she is actually one of the more ruthless characters. Her peppy persona obscures that she can have a pretty vicious temper when pushed and has displayed strong bloodknight tendencies.

Her unrelenting optimism and desire to fix the world is a complex mix of true beliefs, coping mechanism for trauma and her grappling with positions forced on her against her will. Her inborn power is potentially useful but also not that much of a game breaker outside specific contexts & said power sure as hell didn't save her mom.

Weiss Schnee is the Tsundere heiress of a powerful family, with a haughty attitude that hides her loneliness.

Except the "Tsundere" is more of a defense mechanism born of coming from an abusive home where every member of her family manifested a different trauma response. Freeze (Mother), flight (Sister), Fight (Weiss) Fawn (Brother).

Despite her upbringing & some projected trauma, she's far from ignorant as to the worst excesses of her nation early on, and her journey was more about overcoming the impacts her abuser had on her and finding a family in her team that let her be safe enough to let down her walls. Also despite being "The ice queen" she's actually one of the characters least inclined towards more ruthless actions and is extremely empathic.

Blake Belladonna is a mysterious and silent rougish woman, something of a shrinking violet even, but she carries with her a wounded heart thanks to her old flame, the edgy Adam Taurus.

Or more accurately, Blake is the daughter of activists and politicians who represent the worlds main discriminated against minority. She spent her youth on the road as a protestor and where even her father could be nearly killed by a lynch mob. She was targeted & groomed by a man who claimed to want to fight the same injustice she did but who was only interested in using the movement to grow his own power.

Her initial aloof-ness was a trauma response to having spent years under his thumb and overcoming him and the idea she had to 'save' him was one of the main corner stone so her character. Also, despite the "Revolutionary fighter" backstory she like Weiss is much less inclined towards ruthlessness than her team in large part because her past experience with it.

Yang Xiao Long, introduced as the fun loving big sister of Ruby & boisterous bruiser of the team who loves to party & flirt.

Except no, Yang was parentified as a child and forced to raise her own sister as their family unit fell apart. Her "Party girl" persona was outright framed as judging a book by its cover in her own trailer and something she put on or took off as she needed.

She became disabled over the course of the series run as well as entered a Sapphic romance with her partner Blake. Unlike the stereotype of characters with her design, Yang is actually an excellent student, fighter and engineer/mechanic. Plus much like her sister she tends to be of the more ruthless and pragmatic persuasion despite being from the "Normal" background.

Character Conclusion

So, all the characters break out of their initial archetypes, which already makes them more interesting. What's more, these sorts of characters just being oput together and made the main characters rather than circling a dude is in of itself unique.

But there are other aspects of the writing which endear me to how it handles the main characters and what keeps them interesting.

Anger & Violence

See, while in various media women do express anger at times it is still often far less so than men. What's more, often women's anger tends to be presented in... Less flattering lights.

With the anger obscuring fragility while in a man it conveys strength. Or implying a sort of hysteria rather than an appropriate or controlled response. Or worst of all being demonized in general unless its rooted in or coming from traditionally feminine places.

The same tends to be true when it comes to violence with a lot of media either trying to find some way to make women in battle less... Brutal than their male counterparts. (More more like fanservice) Along with rarely letting women fight men, unless they are a special exception to the norm.

RWBY does not do this.

The main characters, hell, all the women in the series express a multitude of different forms of anger and violence. They battle men, they battle each other, they battle monsters all with no distinction nor fanservice shot in sight.

What's more though is that said anger and violence are not presented as, for lack of better words, wrong. The writers don't draw overt attention to this fact, they don't hang a big sign up saying "Girls can fight & shout too" or the like.

They just present these women with a range of emotions, motives and actions that are treated according to what fits the theme of the show rather than hewing closer to gendered lines.

This isn't to say anger & violence are lionized, but more that the experience and usage of them is not demonized or undermined because of the characters gender.

I suppose what I am saying is that CRWBY by and large lack double standards when it comes to exploring these things that I see so often in other media. The women in the main cast, among the villains, both sides respective allies and beyond can be flawed, or angry or do both good and terrible things.

But the writers are always treating everyone's pain as equally valid regardless of gender or situation. Which means that the situations that cause anger exist within a tone of respect that forms the depiction and framing of anger itself.

Which is just something I really enjoy.

Thanks for reading!

[oceantruffle]

hotline

Characters - reader x Lando Norris

Location - I know Miami doesn't have any mountains but here I just felt like it so just go with it lol

summary - after being up and celebrating the whole night, you and Lando see the sunrise together.

A/N - It would be so nice if I had uploaded it before three days but I was very sleep deprived and the fact that I was in the middle of a forest for 4 days. anyways happy reading ✨

[y/n - your name]

Third Person's POV -

"I was meant to fly but Zak just told me we fly tomorrow so I'm not going to sleep. I'm going all the way. I might have more than just a scratch on my nose tomorrow, so I don't care, but I'll enjoy my time. This only happens once when you're taking your first win. It's nice to do it here in Miami,"

This was enough for you to know that the night is going to be absolutely crazy and wild. And you were very sure that none of you were gonna board the flight in one piece.

You were beyond the clouds. This was a feeling that no one could describe in mere words. The absolute bliss on Lando's face was ethereal. You could watch just him for eternity as he soaked up the sun on the podium. You were smiling so hard for so long seeing him this happy and you didn't realised that until your cheeks started hurting.

'I DID IT!' he had said holding the trophy towards you when he got back to the driver's room.

'YES!!YES YOU FUCKING DID!!' you said as you hugged him over the shoulders.

After 6 hours of clubbing and celebrating this sweet win with your boyfriend you had decided to go to a mountain top, alone. Maybe it was the alcohol which made the decision. You were more sober than him though. It was stupid. But nevertheless here you were now, sitting in the peaceful silence of the forest.

His head was in your lap and he could barely open his eyes. The alcohol was very heavy on his eyes. You both were freezing. Maybe not him since he had a jacket on but you definitely were cold.

You let your hand run through his soft curly hairs. A little chirp above in the tree got your attention. The stars in the sky above you had been staring had started disappearing. The dreamy dark night was filling with beautiful hopeful sunlight. That's when you realised it was morning. So it did happen. You were very happy for Lando. There are many more to come but wining this first one was a different feeling.

Lando was kind off in a passed out state but he was still very active and he quickly jolts his head when he hears little sniffs. Your tears fell onto his forehead as looks up to you.

'y/n?' he asked worriedly.

and when you sobbed a little louder he quickly sits back up to face you. 

'Baby?' he frowns. He got worried and all the exhaustion & sleep deprivation wasn't helping him much.

'What why are you crying?' he managed to frame a question,

'I don't know!' you sobbed.

'hey?' he said, his large hands cupping your face.

'I'm proud of you Lan. I'm so proud of you!' you smiled as tears rolled down your cheeks.

'Come here.' he said pulling you in his arms.

'Stop crying.' he soothed you.

'Please stop crying! haven't you already cried enough?' he said, now his own voice had started to break.

'Y/n?' he chuckled.

You look up to him to see his face and you see tears threatening to leave his eyes.

'I'm sorry! we're in the middle of nowhere, you're hungover, our phones are dead and i'm crying!' you shivered a little as cool breeze passes through.

'I love you y/n' he says.

'You deserve this Lando, You deserve the world..' you smile at him teary eyed.

'Thank you love!' he says softly resting his forehead against yours.

He wiped off your tears and kisses you on the forehead. You snuggled into him once again and watched the sun as it rises from the horizon.

There were countless times when you were up all night partying and eventually pass out in the morning. But this. This morning had something different in it. It had the feeling of glory, the joy and celebrations. You wanted to stay like that forever, in his arms. It was perfect and it wasn't a dream.

__________________

[word count - 875]

not edited

[muchmossymess]

uh oh guys, hot take alert:

i think revali may have invented hand held aerial archery HEAR ME OUT- (this is a long one boys)

okay. evidence one: why the fuck would a rito shoot like that. like, it makes nearly zero sense, it would be such a hindrance to their flight and their main stake is that they can be higher than you can shoot whilst still pinging you... which revali has overcome with his gale

evidence two: tulin and the concept arts. obviously rito style archery would be held in their talons. before totk came out idk if anyone had really thought about it too much, but the developers had, as you can see in concept art (from the creating a champion book). and like, its logical, powerful, and allows for peak maneuverability. also, when in flight revali (and teba) holds his bow in his talons before switching to his wings. surely its easier to keep it in your wing (obvi ignoring the effects to flight but hes doing that anyway firing the damn thing) rather than switch back and forth- unless you were taught that way, because why would you hold it elsewhere, you need it in your talons to shoot.

evidence three: we dont see any other rito do it (...kind of). throughout botw and totk, we never see another rito flying with a bow in their hands. in totk, its mostly tulin, who holds it in his talons, but in botw the big one is teba. during the medoh quest, he actually gives *link* his bow, and therefore does no shooting in the sky. teba and harth had both tried to take on medoh before, but we never see this, and while they holds their bows in their hands *on the ground,* we dont see it.

...except for aoc (uh, spoilers?). there are two times we see a rito other than revali hold their bow in their hand for aerial archery. but it is not with any rito soldiers, either during cutscenes (the bows are only on their backs) or gameplay (they swoop down, and then hand hold bows on ground. they arent seen flying at all but thats prolly for the same reasons as botw: its very hard to code that (and so they write the lore around that fact)). the first time we actually see another rito do this, we dont see it. Its teba, as he comes thru the portal, but all we see is the arrow shot, and then him freeze frame with the bow in one wing. we dont see the bow in his hand for the rest of the fight. the second time we actually see him fighting like this, it *is* in the air, but its noticeably different to revali.

hes a lot slower, it clearly takes a LOT more effort to shoot the bow, and he only pulls off one arrow at a time. its canon that revalis bow is heavier/harder to draw, and he manages to effortlessly stream arrows whilst fucking floating midair. i think teba, forever a revali fanboy, heard of how the champion mastered his own style of archery and sought to teach himself, but lacked one key thing: revalis mastery of wind.

evidence three point five: revali could easily use his powers to hold him in the air longer/slow his descent long enough for him to fire his shots. it makes sense, really. if he can use his gale to propel him, he can sit on the updraft for a hot sec, or even curve the path to carry him along while he lines up the shot. this would mean he wouldnt need to flap as much as other rito, who would obviously need to keep flying

evidence four: revalis fighting style and his needs. revali works with non rito, obviously. he needs to be able to communicate with them on the battlefield, and they wont understand the muffled chirps if he holds his string in his beak, so he needs his mouth free to speak hylian. also, revalis main tactic is fly up with gale, shoot, fall, either shoot more or use velocity and weight to knock around opponents, and then fly back up. he often needs both feet planted firmly on the ground to get a good hold of his gale, something that is harder to do if you have a bow in the way.

also, take for example the kick he delivers link in their fight (aoc). that would possibly damage the bow, or give the opponent a chance to grab his weapon, if he held it in his talons. and to switch from feet to back is a risky maneuver during freefall, and could lose precious seconds, and then when you get back in the air you need to get it off your back again. its much easier to keep the bow loosely in your wing the whole time, meaning your free to attack melee, land and rise all while not wasting a single moment getting your next shot lined up.

so yeah, i think the rito used the talon grip for aerial archery, and would often use the hand held method on the ground for a variety of reasons (more powerful shots?, easier in some situations like hunting), but revali was perhaps the first to use hand held aerial, another reason he was one of the greatest archers ever.

[jeridandridge]

Send Me An Angel

Continuation of my College years series. Can be read on its own, but is sweeter when read with the rest. The first time you see Melissa in a couple years is when her nana dies.

It’s one in the morning on a Thursday when your phone starts ringing off the hook. Waking up to the high pitched beeping you wipe your eyes not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Yeah?”

Hearing sniffles and a staggered breath on the line you immediately perk up knowing exactly who it is on the other end.

“Mel?”

“It’s me,” she croaks out. “I need you to be here I need you to get to me as soon as you can.” She lets out in a sob.

“Mel, honey what happened?” You ask tucking the cell phone between your cheek and shoulder as you get up and move to pack a bag.

“It- it’s nana,” she breathes. “She died.”

Feeling your heart drop into your stomach you freeze where you stand. Maria Schemmenti had been sick for a little while, refusing most treatments despite you and Melissa begging her to, even offering her a blank check to cover the costs. The old school Sicilian woman declined, saying she was as healthy as a horse.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Red. Hang tight, okay?” You say tossing clothes into your carry on.

“Be careful,” she sniffles. “I’ll see you.”

As soon as Melissa hangs up you’re calling a pilot friend of yours offing him a crazy amount of money to get you across the country as soon as possible. Forty five minutes later with a bag slung over your shoulder you walk with your friend onto the tarmac. The flight from San Francisco to Philly would be long and excruciating not only because of the reason you’re going, but because you haven’t seen Melissa in person in two years.

The first time she came to visit you in California was ten years ago and it had been a yearly occurrence up until recently. You were nervous to see your person again after so long, but she needed you and you needed to pay your respects.

The sun is just coming up when the private plane touches down at the Philadelphia airport. “Thank you, John. I owe you big time.” You give him a hug and a big check.

“Go take care of your woman and you can buy me a drink when you get back,” the man pats your shoulder. “I’ll be at the hotel if you need me.”

Hustling through the airport like you’re about to miss a flight, you get to the pick up location hailing a cab panting as you speed dial Melissa on your cell phone.

After two rings, a groggy voice answers.

“Hey, Red. Im in the city on my way.”

“You’re here already? Hon, how?”

“I know a guy.” You smirk quoting your best friends famous excuse as you ride through the streets of Philly. “Are you at home or your mom’s?”

“I’m at home. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

“Don’t even. just get dressed and we’ll go to that diner I’ve heard so much about.” You smile against the phone hoping the little outing would help her.

“Okay, hon.” She lets out a weak chuckle.

“I’ll see you soon, Red.”

In the cab you tuck the phone into your carry on and reach for your make up compact hoping you looked presentable after the long night and the nerves you felt eating away at you. When the cab pulls onto Melissa’s street you sit up taking a breath. Paying the driver you hop out jogging up to the door lightly knocking.

Not even ten seconds later the door opens and you’re being hugged by Melissa. As always, it’s as if the time apart doesn’t matter. Her face is hidden on the crook of your neck and her arms are around your shoulders.

“Walk backwards, honey.” You instruct walking carefully inside, hand rubbing her back. Sliding your bag off your shoulder it lands on the floor with a thud, discarded for the time being. Wrapping your arms around the redheads frame you let out a sigh just standing there with her, her walls always broken down with you.

“Thank you.” Is all Melissa says keeping her arms around you in a warm hug not willing to let go yet. You had always been a safe place for her, that much you knew, and you loved it.

“Have you eaten at all?” You ask with your lips against her hair.

“Not since yesterday morning.”

Reluctantly pulling back you keep her at arms length running your hands up and down her arms. “Cmon, let’s get something to eat and when we get back I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

Melissa looks up at you with a wobbly lip wiping her eyes as she moves to get her shoes. “God I look awful.” She pouts looking in the hallway mirror.

“No you don’t, Red.” You meet jade eyes in the mirror. “And if nana heard you say you haven’t eaten she’d chase you with a wooden spoon.” You tease getting a weak laugh out of your best friend.

As she always did, she hands you the keys to her car silently asking you to drive and you happily accept. Getting in the vehicle you drive her through the familiar streets smiling when you see all the old spots you haven’t visited in many years.

“Turn left up here, hon.” She points resting her hand on yours as it dangles off of the center console. Flicking your signal on you relish in the feeling of warm skin on yours happy to provide her even just a little bit of comfort. Having known Maria Schemmenti yourself since you were a freshman in college this death hit you hard. She was a confidante for you when visiting the family with Melissa, and you were going to miss her.

In the cozy mom and pop diner you sit across from Melissa adding sugar packets to your coffee when the server comes over.

“Melissa, I was so sorry to hear about your nana. My condolences.” The young woman says gently.

“Thank you, hon. It’s been a rough 24 hours.” She gives the girl a weak smile. “This is my friend I was telling you about.” Melissa smiles at you reaching for your hand across the table.

“Oh Melissa talks about you all the time! Let me hook you guys up with some comfort food.”

As the server takes the order you can’t help but glance down into your coffee cup biting back a smile. Of course Melissa talked about you. Despite how you left and how you reconnected, it was no surprise she told other people about you.

Through a nice breakfast, you sip your coffee picking at your own plate while making sure Melissa actually eats a full meal. It’s mostly a comfortable silence unless your server comes over, and at the end of the meal Melissa meets your eyes.

“I can’t believe how fast you got here.”

“You needed me.” You shrug sipping your coffee. “And I loved your nana too you know.”

“She loved you a lot.” The redhead cracks a smile thinking about her wedding and how her nana held her as she cried for you after the ceremony.

You smile tightly playing with a sugar packet on the table feeling guilty. “I wish I came sooner. Got to visit one more time.”

“Oh, hon. None of us knew it would happen so fast.” She reassures you reaching across the table again for your hand.

Fingers laced together you give her a soft smile as your arm rests on the table. “I can stay here as long as you need me to.” You offer after a moment of thought. “After the funeral and everything, you could- you could come back to San Francisco with me. Even for just a couple days.” You shrug.

Melissa looks at you surprised, biting her lip in thought about the idea. She hadn’t seen you in so long and phone calls weren’t scratching her itch anymore. She was already hurting and needed you. “I’ll go with you, hon.”

“Yeah?” You smile in surprise.

Letting out a content sigh Melissa smiles at you. “It’s been too long and my phone bill is outrageous.” She teases you.

“I can’t argue with you, Red.” You chuckle leaning back in your chair, an odd relief hitting you at her answer.

After arguing over who gets the bill, you happily pay and tip the young girl generously before resting your hand on the small of Melissa’s back as you two leave.

“All that coffee and I could still sleep.” Melissa yawns.

“You didn’t sleep did you.” You say more as a fact than a question knowing how she is when she’s upset. When she was going through her divorce she would call you every night staying up until the late hours of the morning on the east coast.

“‘Course not. I was goin through family photos after I got the call.” She hums climbing in the car.

Driving back to her house you glance over at her seeing her start to look sleepy. “Koala time?” You ask referring back to the dumb joke between you two from college. Quickly into your friendship you learned that Melissa loved to cuddle. So much so that even when drunk she would wrap herself around you.

“Yeah.” She smiles getting the key out to unlock the door. Inside your bag still sits on the floor next to the door. Kicking your shoes off you lift your arms in a stretch ready for a nap yourself. Looking at the clock it was hardly nine o’clock, and it was obvious the redhead needed sleep.

“Cmon, Red.” You hum wrapping your arm around her shoulders as you both go upstairs. When you enter Melissa’s room, the environment is completely her. More family photos are on the walls, a massive bookshelf loaded with books, and a signed eagles jersey hangs above the bed.

“That’s amazing.” You chuckle looking at the jersey as you stand there, a little nervous to climb into bed with her. You’d thought about being in bed with her ever since you left, and now you were here and she was right in front of you.

“Do ya need a formal invite, hon?” She teases snapping you out of your trance.

Getting under the blankets you shift with Melissa, wrapping your arm around her as she hides her face in your neck letting out a content sigh. She needed this comfortable bubble as much as you did.

After years of being apart, the feeling of your legs tangling with the redheads and her steady breathing lulls you to sleep faster than you even remembered.

Waking up to knocking and a voice that isn’t Melissa’s you bolt up keeping your arm over the redhead ready to jump out of bed, Melissa jolting awake beside you.

“Ain’t this cute? Bout time you came back, world traveler.” Kristen-Marie leans against the door.

“Jesus Christ, how’d you even get in here?” Melissa huffs, you lay back down letting out a breath trying to calm down.

“I have a key, genius. You weren’t answerin the phone, I came to see if you were okay. And I found letters from nana.” The blond woman shrugs in the door way. “If I knew lover girl was here I woulda stayed outside.”

Rolling your eyes you turn over burying your face into the pillow.

“What letters you talking about?” The redhead looks at her sister. No one had gone through any of nanas stuff yet.

“They were in her purse.” Kristen-Marie clears her throat handing two over.

“This one’s envelop had a stamp on it and everything.” She gestures to you handing it over to Melissa. Confused, you sit up looking and the white envelopes, one completely addressed to you.

“Why would I have one?” You ask quietly, almost afraid to open it.

“Alright, hold on, let’s go downstairs and read these, yeah?” Melissa looks between you and her sister.

Holding the envelope your arm feels like it weight about a hundred pounds as you file down the stairs with Melissa and her sister. Melissa is already tearing up as she sits on the couch, envelope unopened. Curiosity getting the better of you, you carefully peel the paper open. A piece of stationary with Maria Schemmenti’s beautiful cursive handwriting sits on the page. As you begin to read wonderful compliments and praises from the now gone woman, tears begin to flow down your cheeks when you get to the very end.

And you my dear, need to make this old lady happy and take care of my Melissa. I know you two love each other more than friends, more than sisters. I held her during her wedding reception in tears because she knew she made a mistake. I remember those glances you two tried to hide during family dinners. Please, tell her how you feel.

I’ll be watching.

Love, Nana.

Sniffling you re read the words over and over again letting them soak in. She knew. Of course Maria Schemmenti knew.

“Hon? Hon?”

Your head snaps up to meet watery green eyes, Melissa holding her sisters hand on the couch.

“What did yours say?” She asks through her own sniffles.

“It uh, she just reminded me of some things.” You shrug with a smile.

Maria Schemmenti, the matriarch of that entire family, was right and you intend to do as she says.

[mw4n]

Should ¥XX,000,000 Make Fushiguro's Shit Worth It? - ch. 1

༄ synopsis - Being Toji Fushiguro's in-house private solicitor may pay well, but recently you're reconsidering if the pay makes all the stress (read: Toji himself) worth it. At this point, with all the less-than-legal actions Toji commits on the regular, you're practically a certified mob lawyer. [ full synopsis ]

༄ series tags - toji fushiguro x reader; lawyer! reader; no curses; yakuza/organised crime; violence; explicit content; dilf! toji; tags to be added

༄ wc - 5.8k

<< teaser || ch. 2 >>

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── \(˚☐˚”)/

“You know, you really shouldn’t smoke.”

High-heeled shoes clicked against the floor of the rundown bar, a sagging tote filled to the brim with court documents unceremoniously plopping onto the barstool next to Toji Fushiguro’s lone frame. The bartender didn’t even greet you, knowing you weren’t here to drink but just to fetch Toji. 

A hand intercepted the fresh cigarette in Toji’s hand. So fresh, he hadn’t even had the chance to set down the lighter. 

He turned to you, raising a brow. The incredulous look on his face increased by two more points at the sight of the cigarette now in between your lips. You inhaled the nicotine, tugging the cigarette from your parted lips to blow the haze out with a tilted head. The tenseness in your face relaxed as the sensation of the drug entered your system. 

You rarely, if ever, smoked, but the recent events really did call for it. 

“You’re smoking my cigarette.” You had been working with Fushiguro long enough to know when he was actually annoyed, and this was nowhere close.

You rolled your eyes, snuffing the cigarette out on the ashtray next to Toji. “With all the stress you give me, I need it more than you.” A pause. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. “And you shouldn’t smoke anyway, you’re the one with the kid.”

“I could put a kid in you, easy enough.” Toji smirked.

Externally, you looked as unperturbed as ever, ignoring his quip to rifle for his document in your tote. That was what you were here for, afterall. Externally, you were the image of a perfectly professional lawyer. 

Internally, you had just creamed your underwear. 

--

The first time you met Toji Fushiguro, it was through the second encounter with his son: Megumi. You say second, well, because you’d met Megumi before when his bike had crashed into the side of your parked and stationary car on Sugisawa Lane.

Given that the meetings were only a week apart, it wasn’t too difficult for you to recall how the events had unfolded. 

“Motherfucker-!” Someone cursed, almost in tandem with a jostling abrupt impact at the side of your car. It was moments like these where you were reminded that in times when most people deliberated between flight and fright, you were an outlier and chose to freeze. 

You tear your eyes away from where they had been fixed onto the mirror, carefully focused on navigating yourself into this tight parking spot, and slowly turn your attention out the window. Just nestled underneath was a teen sprawled disgracefully over the road, legs all sprayed. 

He was dressed in the uniform of the local middle school nearby: a white buttoned shirt, a jacket, black pants. With hair that spikes out in every direction, he has an uncanny resemblance to the sea urchins your grandmother used to bring from the wet market. The urchins that you would watch split orange-tinged liquid all over the sink. Hmm…

As the student rubs said spiky hair, wincing all the while, your vision slowly pans towards the banged up bike next to him. No doubt the culprit behind a fresh dent in your car. 

Wait- middle school uniform? Your mind catches up to the observation you made. 

The stream of expletives from his mouth finally clarify into real words in your mind, now morphing into a variety of legible curses ranging from ‘motherfucker’ to ‘dogshit piece of shit’. Privately, you thought, the last one lacked creativity. Really? Dogshit piece of shit? But you had more pressing issues. 

“Watch your mouth, kid,” you frown, unclipping your seatbelt. If he’s in middle school, that puts him at thirteen, at the very oldest. 

Almost instinctively, he retorts a petulant, “make me.” Then, realisation that he’s the one in the wrong here dawns on him and he flushes. “I mean- sorry, miss.”

You sigh. From the sound (and the feeling) of the crash, you would have to inspect the damage on the side of your car yourself.

Your new car! 

There’s an all-too familiar little wail in your heart. You’d heard it when you paid your law school tuition, you heard it when you found out that your tuition hadn’t covered your graduation gown or other expenses, and you heard it when you had put the down payment on this brand! New! Car!

Admittedly, ‘brand new’ might have been a stretch. The car was comfortably second hand. But you had just acquired it! It had barely been two weeks and a kid scrapes it up with his bike? It was brand new to you!

“You alright?” You have the dedency to ask. The car door clicks as it opens, prompting the pre-teen to shuffle out the way. He’s grimacing. “Crash sounded bad.”

At this point, you’ve tuned out his minor hisses. You assess him as you step out of the car and, aside from a couple scrapes and a smudge mark of… something on his cheek, the kid looks fine. Your focus of attention pivoted onto the state of your car.

He mutters darkly to himself, something about a shitty bicycle ripoff seller, before answering you. “I’m sorry about this, miss.”

You finally gauge the damage, pinching the bridge of your nose to ward off the incoming pressure in your sinuses at the sight of the accident. A comical sound effect of coins clinking plays in your head as you imagine the damage your bank account could take. 

There’s a rippling crater in the side of your new, albeit, second-hand car, and a long gouge. A part of the bike had caught onto the metal as it used your car as a veritable crash cushion. The damage either said something about the strength and tenacity of this kid’s bike or the fragility of your car.  

You close your eyes.

This was as clear cut as a case as it gets. You were peacefully and calmly exiting your parking spot, checking both mirrors and making sure there were no obstructions. You had done your duty. It was this kid who came out of nowhere and slammed into your car with his bike. 

Good thing you had car insurance. Though you had nearly bit through your lip when you paid it, words couldn’t describe how relieved you were now. 

“Where are your parents, kid?” You turned to him fully, crossing your arms.

He takes in your whole one hundred seventy centimetre self. Your tight pencil skirt, flats, and buttoned blouse. You look every bit like the office slave you are.

He’s also trying to estimate how amenable you would be towards eating his bullshit, and judging by your unimpressed pursing of the lips, you don’t look like you’d take it with a spoonful of sugar.

You stare down at him, waiting. 

But still, he gives it a try.

The teen pulls out a phone, punching in some numbers. It’s the newest model. The phone rings for a bit and a cheerful voice picks up.

You hear a cheery “Megumi~!” through the tinny speaker before the kid starts speaking, still sprawled on the road floor. 

“I need some help. My bike accidentally bumped into someone’s car and now she’s asking to speak to my parents. Probably about the damage. It looks pretty bad. Can you sort this out with her?” For someone who had caused such hefty damage, he seems relatively nonplussed by the whole situation. 

A beat goes by, clearly the person on the other side asking a question. The kid - Megumi - makes a ‘mhm’ in response. Then he hands the phone over.

You don’t even reach out to receive it. 

“That’s not your parent.”

He blinks up at you. “It’s my dad. He’ll handle this.”

You look away. “Call your actual dad.”

The likelihood of someone manually hand-dialing their dad’s number when asked to instead of selecting from contacts on your phone was way too unlikely for you to believe that Megumi had just called his dad.

Your eyes had caught that little action. Coupled with the fact that he hadn’t called the person on the other side ‘dad’ once, only added to your suspicion.

Megumi scowls. Without even saying bye to the person on the other side, he hangs up. 

This time, he taps the phone app and selects someone from speed-dial. Satisfied, you lean back on your car and wait. 

In no time, someone - a deeper voice - picks up. 

“Megumi?” 

A sharp contrast from the first person. Megumi stays silent for a bit, and then speaks. 

“Hey dad,” he says in a resigned manner. “I hit someone’s car with my bike by accident-”

His dad says something. Megumi pauses. He shakes his head and then seems to remember that his dad can’t see him. “No, I’m fine.”

Another question.

“Yeah. Yeah. She’s asked to talk to my parents-, I called him but…” Megumi rolls his eyes now, “he’s a bit unreliable. So in the end I still called you.” 

His dad says something and then Megumi hands the phone over to you. His eyes dart to you, almost nervously, and he bites his lip.

Finally, you receive the phone, flicking your hair out the way. 

    “Hello?” His voice is deep, the kind of deep that must reverberate in his chest, and stern against your ear. At such close quarters… meeeeoww!

You perish the thought. 

“Hello, it’s as your kid said. I was parked when his bike slammed into my car.” There’s a thin veneer of professionality that you’re gripping with the edges of your fingers, but you’ve played the game long enough to know others can’t tell that. 

Megumi’s father is rather cooperative, providing his insurance details and his number for any further inconveniences. You expected there to be some resistance, maybe some blame from him onto you, but there was nothing.

During your conversation, Megumi busies himself with straightening out his bike. The front wheel is busted. The spokes? Busted. You have no idea how the crash had actually happened, having only caught the aftermath of it, and not enough knowledge on bikes to know how the wheel spokes can protrude and bend like htat. 

He’s still inspecting it when you conclude the conversation, thanking Megumi’s father - Fushiguro, going by his minimal introduction - and hanging up. 

“It’ll be sorted now,” you hand the phone back over to Megumi. 

The teen tucked it into his pocket. His spiky hair looks less energetic, noticeably drooping and reflecting his dejected demeanour.

“I just got this bike too. I got ripped off.”

Judging by the state of his bike, it’s unusable.

Maybe there’s some sympathy in you for that. You too had also just gotten your car when this had happened.

Looking away awkwardly, you run a hand through your hair. I better not regret this.

“Kid… you want a ride?” You ask hesitantly.

-

You’d actually just meant a drive to the nearest train station, but somehow Megumi seamlessly manipulates you into driving him pretty much all the way home. Which is annoying, because after a long day of work, there’s nothing more you want than to be at home, showered and in bed. 

But instead, you have to deal with your itchy pantyhose for thirty more minutes. 

Whoever made your piece of shit workplace dress code was a demon. Who makes heels mandatory? A small curse goes out to your ageing, withering male-dominated management who care little for female comfort and more for female eye candy. 

If you keep thinking about it actually, you’ll get too worked up. 

You distract yourself by driving through the unfamiliar suburbs. 

“A lawyer, huh?” He says, impressed. “What kind?”

You hmm for a bit. “I’m early enough in my career where I’m kind of still figuring out what I want to settle in. Ideally, something that uses a mix of everything, but I’m not sure.”

“What about criminal law? Locking up murderers or whatever,” Megumi stares out the window. “Left.”

You shrug, turning left. “Could.”

The area around you slowly transitions towards some expensive looking apartment complex. It’s gated for goodness sake. There’s little decorative glass lanterns for goodness sake.

The black gates stay closed as you approach, but when Megumi rolls open the window and sticks his head out, the gates open. 

He doesn’t even speak. 

A deep seated envy in your heart!

Wasn’t being a lawyer supposed to rake in the big bucks?

And here you were, ferrying a kid in a busted second-hand car. 

Another reason to hate your current boss. He’s definitely underpaying you. 

Despite the gate being open, you don’t drive in. Honestly, you’re too embarrassed to have the people who live in this apartment complex possibly seeing the state of your car. But you don’t tell Megumi that.

“This is as far as I’ll take you,” you insist stubbornly. “And it’s more than what you deserve, running into me like that.”

He nods at that. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the ride though.”

You watch the kid struggle with getting his banged-up bike out of the trunk of your car through your rearview mirror, and then you drive off to your mechanic. At least you can invoice it to Megumi’s father. 

But taking the metro to work tomorrow! Another wail in your heart goes off at the thought of that. You can already imagine how packed it’ll be during peak morning time. 

--

The second time you encounter Megumi Fushiguro, it’s on the train, and you’re on the way home. Having had to stay behind for an hour or so to catch up on last minute added work, the usual intense numbers brought on by rush hour has ebbed a significant portion. 

Originally engrossed in responding to an email on your phone (can your piece-of-dog-shit boss really not see that you’ve attached the relevant document sixteen hundred times for him in the previous emails?), your thumbs tapping a mile a minute, a shout by the end of the car draws everyone’s attention - including yours. 

As a rather low-presence member of society, you’re quite surprised that you recognise one of the participants in the altercation. Still, you feel no desire to intervene, content with maintaining your bystander status.  

A middle-aged man, puffy and red-faced, appears to be the main instigator. Shouting abrasively, he’s manhandling the collar of a familiar looking spiky-headed student.

Though there’s an easy two meter gap between you adnd them, you can make out the white knuckled hold he’s got on the student’s uniform, speaking volumes about how much strength he’s putting in.

He’s so angry, you can hardly understand what he’s saying, an undercurrent of a gai-jin accent protruding too much from his words.

Interestingly enough, despite the numerous gaze concentrated on them and spittle flying in his face, the student looked almost bored by the whole situation. 

You’ve already identified him via the unique hair he sports, but the expression locks it in. 

Megumi?

He’s so carefree from the situation that his wandering eyes make contact with you, flickering with recognition. 

You mean to raise a hand up in greeting, but a sudden jolt of the train over a rough patch of track forces you to grab a nearby pole for stability.

You flail, stumbling, causing the person next to you to look at you with alarm. By the time you’re balanced and looking up, the situation’s reversed.

Instead of Megumi being gripped by the man, you manage to catch the tail end of a new student - his friend, you presume - socking the man squarely in the jaw. Gasps fly up in the crowd, and even you can’t help but blink in shock. Dumbfounded. 

“Get your hands off him, you creep!” 

Compared to Megumi, his friend appears foreign, sporting lighter tawny coloured hair and strange birthmarks on his face that make him stand out from the homogenous crowd.

 He’s not even breathing heavily, frowning as he stands  defensively in front of Megumi. The latter of which has placed his hands in his pockets and settles into a near-mocking slouch. He’s clearly not even taking this seriously. 

“Why you-!” The middle-aged man bulges like a frog. You have no idea what caused the conflict, but when the man starts rolling up your sleeves, that’s when you start looking around. No one’s intervening.

You feel your conscience twinge.

It’s true that in between three guys, you really shouldn’t get in the middle of things, but you know Megumi’s only in middle school. He’s just a kid! And as a law abiding member of society, you feel it’s kind of your moral duty to at least try and dissuade the conflict from escalating any further.

Suppressing the urge to cast a powerful stink eye at the cowards remaining silent, you step forward and approach the man cautiously. 

Differentiating from the crowd makes you nervous, but who cursed you with a bleeding heart? 

“Sir, if this goes any further, I’m going to have to call the police.” You say calmly, brandishing your phone. The numbers 110 are stark against your screen’s light-mode. 

The man turns to you, and you suddenly feel like a matador standing in front of a bull in an enclosed area. Sweat starts to prickle down the nape of your neck, though your expression remains as stony as ever.

“He punched me and started it! Go ahead, call the police, see what they say!”

Megumi’s friend looks faintly surprised to see someone intervening on their behalf. Megumi doesn’t. 

“Please step aside, sir. You need to calm down.” In the corner of your perception, you can see the announcement that the train is approaching the next station roll by on the panel. Perfect, there’ll be staff there. You can just hand it o-

???

Stars flash by your vision from the abrupt pain shocking your system. The man lunged at you, shocking everyone and sending you crumpling towards the floor.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

He probably meant to get your face, but he tripped over someone’s briefcase on the floor and the fist swung lower. 

You have mixed feelings. On one hand, he’s punched you. On the other hand… at least it wasn’t your face?     

Apparently watching an older man beating up two middle-schoolers isn’t anything to fuss about, and people are generally content to let it all play out. But when an older man tries to pummel a defenceless, beautiful woman who’s just trying to be a good citizen? That’s what gets people to fly up in a frenzy.     

“Hey, that’s too much!”

    “Back off her!”

    A whole bunch of white knights. 

    You’re still dizzy with the force when you’re pulled out of the flurry. With the posture of pulling a drowning man ashore, arms under your shoulders, you look up to see Megumi’s friend holding you.

    A (this is estimated) thirteen year old easily lifting you? 

    You feel a little flattered by the internal thought that you’re so light (though, of course, Megumi’s friend could just be really strong, but you dismiss that consideration). Just a dust mote, you are. People should be careful not to brush you off their clothing next time you go out. 

    He’s looking all concerned, staring down at you. The birthmarks along his cheekbones catch your attention, but you have the sense not to gawk. 

“Are you ‘kay, miss? Sorry you had to get all mixed up in this.”

    Using his solid, stalwart stance as a support, you stand on shaky legs. The dull pain across your collar compounds with the ache in your heeled-feet, and you just wish you were home again. 

    Really, who gave you such a bleeding heart? 

    That was less of a rhetorical question, and now an annoyed query to the divine up ahead. 

    “I couldn’t just watch things get worse for you and Fushiguro without doing anything. You’re just middle schoolers,” you sigh. Your imposing manner against the man is nowhere to be seen now. “And who would’ve expected he would be so crazy that he would just lunge at me?”

    Megumi finally speaks, arms crossed over his chest. “I could’ve handled it without your help.”

    You shoot him a glare. “This the thanks I get?

    He looks away but the tips of his ears pink. “Thanks.”

    You’re reminded a little bit of your first meeting, when Megumi had been similarly embarrassed but repentful all the same.

Heh. 

    “Eh? You know Fushiguro, miss? That makes more sense.” His friend scratches the back of his head, looking friendlier. You’re reminded of the dumb looking golden retriever your childhood neighbours used to raise. The round one that would press between the bars of the gate, fat fur spilling out through the gaps, and whimper for pets as anyone walked by. “I was wondering why someone like you intervened.”

    The words ‘like you’ shoot into your heart like two arrows. 

    What does that mean?!

    “Like… me?” You say slowly, despair leaking into your voice.

    “!!!!” He waves two hands, shaking his head concurrently. “No! I meant, why an office worker like you stuck your head out!”

    “Like… me?” Your eyes look empty. 

    Am I getting old? 

“!!!!!!!!! Because you’re dressed so neatly, I didn’t take you for someone who was so righteous! It would be one thing if it had been a big, tall guy, but you know, you’re just a frail miss!”

Frail! 

A third arrow pierces into your heart. At least he didn’t call you aged or withered or decrepit or-

“Alright, enough, Itadori,” Megumi claps a hand onto his panicking friend’s shoulder. “You’re making things worse.”

The friend deflates.

You don’t look much different. 

    The train doors slide open, finally arriving at the station, and you’re taken off guard by the two policemen standing in front of the incoming passengers.

Clearly someone during the whole ordeal called the police, and during the conversation with Megumi and Itadori, the crowd has long subdued the rampaging man. 

Disgruntled, he’s thrust over to the authorities to be taken away. Megumi and Itadori get singled out, and follow after the arrested man to have their statements taken.

You watch them leave with mixed feelings, but shake your head in the end and head towards your exit.

At least, you would’ve been heading towards your exit if it hadn’t been for the policeman stepping into your path.

    With a serious face, he blocks the path - undoubtedly preventing you from leaving. Passengers waiting for the next train watch unabashedly.

    Your eye twitches.

    “Yes?

    “Miss, the other passengers said you were involved in the altercation. Unfortunately, you’ll have to come with us.”

    Then the thought occurs to you.

If Megumi hadn’t crashed into your car, forcing you to bring it to the mechanic, you wouldn’t be on the metro in this situation in the first place! Did you owe the Fushiguro family in your past life? 

    Oh, how the chips fall.

Regretting that you had intervened after all, you ended up following the policeman with undisguised annoyance. 

    You hate cops.

--

    It’s at the Kanekaburo police station where you finally meet Megumi’s father - the man financing your car repairs and cosmetic tune-ups - Toji Fushiguro.

He arrives when you’re in a stare-down against the middle-aged man’s lawyer, crossing your arms, Itadori and Megumi behind you. The policemen sweat nervously.

“He might be a minor, but he still punched my client. Everyone saw it!” The other lawyer sneers, his client - of which you had learnt was called Mr. Nakamura - stands with a puffed chest. 

“It’s self defence,” your lip curling. “With your client as the aggressor. Honestly, they’re just middle schoolers. It’s unnecessary for him to have been laying hands on them in the first place!”

Mr. Nakamura puffs even more. “That’s only because they had been so rude with me!”

You don’t know what happened before so you ignore that. “And what do you think you’re doing, punching me? That’s battery, and if you really want to escalate this, section 47 assault.”

The lawyer glances at Mr. Nakamura but then looks like he’s made up his mind. “Do you really want to bring this to court?”

You hesitate. To be honest, you’re not really sure if this is really worth the trouble, and you’re not too clear on the situation of why Megumi had been in the altercation with the man in the first place. Settling might be better. 

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off from answering by a third party entering the scene.

“Megumi,” a familiar voice drawls. “Get over here.”

The tone, though dulcet and lazy, sends your back straightening and hair prickling. You furrow your brow, turning to see the new entry that even the police couldn’t stop from waltzing into this area.

Dressed in a tight black shirt that does nothing to conceal hard muscle lines and loose grey sweatpants that hang off his hips, you can’t help but let your eyes wander appreciatively down his broad frame. The contrast between his tight upper clothing and baggy lower clothing only draws more attention to his taut waist. 

He thumbs at a pale scar at the edge of his lips, like a subconscious, absent-minded habit, and his other hand runs through his ink-black hair with a troubled sigh. 

“You’re such a troublemaker, Megumi. I only just get home, when I get called in for this?”

It’s only then his voice registers. 

You had heard his voice before, albeit filtered, so it doesn’t take long for you to put the two and two together and realise this is Megumi’s father.

Your eyes dart to his huge hands, where two observations promptly wrap around your thoughts. One, he hasn’t got a ring. (You don’t know what that says about you, noticing that.) And two, his fingers are huge and, almost as importantly, long.

Something indescribable paws at the edge of your thoughts but you don’t even think twice before punting it decisively to the recesses of your mind. 

Your travelling gaze makes eye contact, and a spark travels up your spine. 

!!!

His arms cross over his chest. 

Holy mother of biceps, you think, almost in pious prayer.  

“Who’s this?” He smirks.

As his stare connects, you squash the quivering in your knees at his full undivided attention crashing onto you. The image of a lost tree trunk in the ocean, buffeted by tempestuous stormy waves, fizzes into your mind. 

There’s just something about the air he exudes.

Like a black panther lounging on a branch, one wouldn’t dare relax from the feline’s lazy flicking tail or careless posture. You just know instinctively that every single muscle is coiled tight and ready to pounce at the scent of weakness. 

    Megumi saves you, stepping forward and taking the heat. There’s a furrow that manifests in his brow that you haven’t seen at all today. 

    “Stop that. This is Y/N, she got roped in because of us.” 

    Peeping from behind Megumi, Itadori beams and flaps a hand. Out of all three of you, he seems to be the most unbothered by the appearance of Megumi’s father.

    “Heyyy~ Mr. Fushiguro.” 

    “Yo, Itadori,” Megumi’s father raises a palm. Tilting his head, he thinks to himself for a bit. “Y/N? You wouldn’t happen to be the reason why that invoice from Chezai Mechanics of-“ he spits a series of numbers that, for your mental health, you immediately filter out, “-is sitting on my desk, would you?”

You raise a brow. 

“I think we both know that the reason for that invoice, Mr. Fushiguro, is really because of your son.”

An indescribable sense of pressure leverages onto you, but you just scoff and turn to the side. Your thin nonchalance barely conceals the tenseness in your posture.

Then he snickers, and the feeling is gone.

“You’re right. It is because of Megumi.” 

Megumi grumbles. 

    Everyone relaxes.

    It’s at this moment that the huffy middle-aged man seems to have had enough of the spotlight taken off him, making another fuss.

    “Now that the father of the one responsible is here, you should know to educate your son! I’ll- I could take this to court, you know!” He swells, tinting pink in the face. His lawyer looks mildly panicked. Clearly they hadn’t discussed this. 

Megumi’s father narrows his eyes and the power in the room shifts invisibly. The airflow almost stagnates. As if subconsciously aware, everyone seems to hold their breath. No one seems to take heed of the fact that the police have literal guns strapped to them, least of all the policemen, who stay silent with wide eyes. 

    Then, just as quick as it happened, the moment passes, and Megumi’s father is chuckling.

The colour leeches from Mr. Nakamura’s face, the red fading to reveal a fear-conjured white that only serves to highlight his greasy skin texture.

“Oh, really? For what?”

In hindsight, this should’ve been your first sign that Megumi’s father wasn’t just anyone. How could a regular person hone that kind of presence without spilling some blood?

“F-for- for-“ 

You cut in. “For the two counts of assault and battery you’ve committed against Fushiguro’s son and me, you mean.”

The bluster flies out of Mr. Nakamura just as fast as it had accumulated. 

In the end, all that heat that Mr. Nakamura had mustered faded once Mr. Fushiguro smiled a bit more at him. Even the hotshot lawyer who you had been butting heads with felt like he had tamped down.

You had received Mr. Nakamura’s number and details for any injury-related bills incurred, and were rather satisfied.

As you leave the police station, dreaming again of your shower but knowing you’ll have to get on the metro and jostle again, both the Fushiguro’s and Itadori are right behind you.

“I’m so~rry, Megumi,” Itadori sheepishly says behind you. Megumi harrumphs in response. From this snippet, you can tell that whatever the reason is for Mr. Nakamura’s anger, Itadori was most likely the primary member behind it. 

Though you can’t see it, you can almost hear Megumi rolling his eyes.

Heading towards the bus stop - because you really can’t stomach incurring more transport costs - you’re a little taken back by the extra set of footsteps behind you. In the reflection of the shiny bus stop advertisement, you can see Fushiguro looking at you.

“Y/N, right?”

You pause. “Yes.”

He doesn’t say more than that, just looking at you thoughtfully.

A premonition… 

“It was nice meeting you and your son, Mr. Fushiguro. Itadori.” You nod at the trio. 

Mr. Fushiguro opens his mouth but you’re already skating off. Who said your heels hurt! 

--

You think it’s all behind you, casting the series of events from your mind. The injury on your collarbone has deepened into a gross yellowish-green bruise that pangs every time your blouse even brushes against the skin, but you’re actually regretful it wasn’t worse. 

With little else but a bruise ointment from your nearby convenience store to bill Mr. Nakamura with, you can’t help but feel you’ve lost out.

It’s not like you advocate hurting yourself to hurt your opponent, and a pyrric victory isn’t a true victory… but… some part of you is miffed that you hadn’t been able to take a bigger chunk out of the man who punched you. 

You should’ve fought harder.

Still, you’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Your boss has just ripped into you for about thirty minutes- well, you and the rest of your team - for work that he definitely had just lost by himself and not because none of you guys had emailed it to him, so you’re slumped over your office chair in a defeated manner.

Uncaring of your image, you cover the back of your eyes with your forearm. Your skirt crumples against the chair and you kick off your heels under your desk. 

At least in your private cubicle, no one can see you like this. 

That’s when you get two identical notifications to both your private email and your message inbox. The alerting vibration against the plastic table buzzes. 

You don’t recognise the string of numbers and most of the message is cut off by a line break, but you don’t open it - pressing onto the notification to enlarge the whole thing.

Y/N, 

What do you think about working for me? 

You’re a bit curious as to why this number had reached out to you in this manner rather then just through your L**kedIn, but that curiosity is outweighed by the fact that someone has your personal email (it’s not really hard to guess that one), your phone number, and your name.

Your thumb moves over to the block button when a second message rolls in, again pinging into your email inbox and your phone messages.

Of course, annual salary negotiations start at ¥XX,000,000. 

HOLY SHIT- Before your mind can catch up to your actions, you’ve opened the message, read it, typed, and sent a response.

Sorry, who is this? 

The mysterious person doesn’t respond for a couple minutes. You’re just about to turn off your phone, dismissing this as a cruel prank on an office slave when another message pings - just in your messages, this time. 

…Fushiguro. Megumi’s father. 

I did give you the correct contact, no?

Ahhh…. a searing sound akin to steak on a grill rings in your head. 

You’re embarrassed that he’s caught you in the act.

In truth, he had indeed given you his comprehensive details but it wasn’t like you actually saved it into your contacts. You had just written it down onto your notes app and handed it to your mechanic to be processed.

You weren’t good with numbers.

You don’t respond, but he doesn’t push the topic, continuing.

What do you think about being my own private solicitor? 

There’ll be an exclusivity fee, of course. To ensure you’re not busied by other potential clients. 

More?!

The calendar app opens on your phone in a heartbeat, and you strike out the upcoming ‘private’ meeting with your boss mercilessly. You might get an annoyed shout for that, but you’ll probably just gaslight him into thinking he scratched it out himself. He wasn’t the best with tech, afterall. 

I’m free at 16:30 today to discuss.

You refrain from adding an exclamation mark at the end. It would be bad to come off as too eager, would it?

Fushiguro stops responding and your momentary passion ebbs, leaving you overthinking. Was it too much? Maybe he wasn’t even free today. Maybe he was just probing your interest. 

You turn off your phone, feigning disinterest - only to pounce when the screen lights with another notification.

This time, there’s no words, just a location pin for a nearby cafe. 

You check the time. 

If you rush the scrapped document, you can make it!

Your fingers fly over the keyboard immediately. With this motivation, even the tedious work that you had agonised over is nothing. 

Unknown to you, you’re biting at your lip, filled with anticipation. 

¥XX,000,000.

In a couple months time though, you would be lamenting your decision. 

---

next chapter link here

(Years later…) Megumi: actually this was all masterminded by me when I was twelve years old- Reader: !!!! You were twelve?! Itadori: ...you're ignoring the mastermind portion?

༄ A/N - whewwww! chapter one of this series out! i hope everyone likes my tumblr jjk writing debut (シ_ _)シ and my writing style !

(♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) please feel free to interact w me in any way shape or form, I'm always excited for new friends new mutuals~~~ shoot me an ask or a like or anything hehe

[seeingivy]

new year's day

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: reader mentions insecurity, connie and reiner teasing you, smooching, levi being a dad for ten minutes straight, sukuna cameo

an: I MISSED YOU POOKIES SO MUCH. SO SO MUCH. war (my 9-5) is over. this ended up at 9k, I hope it can compensate for the wait. ALSO VERY IMPORTANT WE'VE REACHED OUR FIRST TAYLOR SONG OF THE FIC. you can listen to new year's day from reputation before reading - it'll make the end part make more sense <3 (me furthering my turning people into swifties agenda, I saw her last night and my brain chemistry changed)

previous part linked here

--

“Go outside and look at the moon.” 

“No. I’m really comfortable in my bed.” 

“Oh, come on Y/N. Just go outside.”

You grumble some nice profanities at Eren over the phone as you shuffle out of your sheets, pushing open your window to stick your head out. The breeze in the air is cold, the frigid atmosphere invading your already freezing room.

Erwin won’t justify turning on the heater. There are only four people in the townhouse right now - you, Levi, Hange, and Erwin (which is totally not your worst nightmare) - and apparently, that doesn’t justify heater use at all. Luckily enough, Eren and his very convincing angry face will arrive tomorrow to save you from your eternal winter. 

“S’cold, Jaeger.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Do you see the moon?” 

You crane your head up, twisting back in the window to look at it. A small crescent pressed against the sky, just slightly hidden beneath the clouds. 

“Yes, Eren. I see the moon.” 

“Okay. Now look to your right.” 

“Are we playing Simon Says?” 

“STOP SASSING ME AND JUST DO IT.” 

You’re thrown off by the irritation in his voice, and you turn over, peeking your head entirely out to look to the right. 

“Very exciting views, Eren. It’s literally pitch black.” 

You don’t see much, just the tandem bike you set out for tomorrow - when Eren would be here and not berating you through the phone - and the small patch of flowers that are by the front door. 

“I meant your other right, Y/N.” 

You shift your head to the left and see Eren standing there, his green hoodie pulled over his head and a cheeky smile pressed into his face. 

You drop your phone flat on the floor, running (falling) down the steps out into the cold air, your socks against the cold pavement as you run out to greet him. 

He’s already holding his arms open, which you run into, as you burrow your face into his shoulder, his warm arms squeezing around your frame and his laugh in your ears. 

“You were supposed to come tomorrow, Eren.” 

“And yet I’m here today, Y/N.” 

“Shut up. You know what I meant.” 

“Flight got moved up. And maybe I just wanted some time in the house where it’s just you and me - you know, without Mikasa interrupting us every two seconds.” 

You laugh as you and Eren sling your arms around each other’s shoulders, trudging out of the cold and into the kitchen. 

Before you can even mention it, Eren’s pulling out two bowls, and you’re grabbing the ramen packets, the two of you leaning against the counter as you watch the water boil. As excited as you are to see him and actually to be near him, there isn’t really much to talk about. 

You guys literally talk every single day. 

“How’s the song coming?” 

You groan, leaning into his shoulder as he laughs, his hand coming around your shoulder to rest in your hair. But it’s better. Because you can see him with your own eyes, hear him with your own ears, feel him with your own hands. 

“Bad. I’m never going to finish it.” 

“You’ll finish it. Plus, Armin’s coming soon, and he knows how to rhyme and stuff.” 

“That’s not the problem. I feel like the lyrics work when I can figure out the backing tracks and the music. But I keep getting tangled up because I can’t figure out the piano.” 

He reaches forward, opening the packets of noodles and dipping them into the water as you start chopping up the vegetables on the side. 

“I play piano, Y/N. I can help you if you want.” 

“No. That would just be more embarrassing. I get super frustrated when I’m writing. It would be infinitely worse if you were there watching me fail.” 

He rolls his eyes as he takes the knife from your hand, lightly pushing you to the side to watch the noodles. 

“You’re not going to fail. Let me help you. No one gets a hit on the first try, stupid.” 

“Don’t call me stupid, idiot.” 

“My bad, dumbass.” 

“Language, Eren,” Levi says from behind you two. 

You watch a smile spread across Eren’s face as he moves, running past the side of the counter to give Erwin, Hange, and a now-annoyed Levi a hug. Hange and Erwin are ruffling his hair, Hange cooing about how their little stars are back together again. 

Eren joins you again at your side as you're dishing out the food, Erwin pulling out a stack of papers as you and Eren start eating at the counter. 

“Business.” 

“Go ahead, Erwin.” Eren says, handing you the hot sauce before you can even reach for it. 

“So. Final scripts. As you’ll see, there aren't too many big scenes for you this season. It’s mostly focusing on this whole Utgard Castle arc, which you’re both not in.” Erwin explains. 

“Okay, that’s-” you say. 

“That doesn’t mean you both can slack off. There are more scenes for the rest of them because we need you two to nail the scenes you are in. Eren - this whole Colossal Titan reveal, you need to put everything you’ve got into it. If you think I’ve pushed you hard before, you’re in for a whole different playing field this season.” Levi says, glaring at Eren. 

You watch Eren roll his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he agrees and starts flipping through the script. 

“And you too, Y/N. This whole “Thank You” scene at the end - the majority of the dialogue falls on you. But you need to deliver in all ways. You better be acting with your eyes, your mind, your entire being. This is the type of scene you both could get nominated for as awards that’ll get you more roles. Take it seriously.” Levi continues. 

At the mention of awards, you and Eren both perk your ears up, flipping to the end of the script to the scenes tabbed at the ends with your name on it. You quickly run your eyes through the scene and the staging and feel your throat constrict at the staging lines right in the middle, bolded. 

Y/N leans forward, grabs Eren by the collar, and presses the softest kiss to his lips. It’s not overly passionate or sensational, but to the two of them, it’s a simple message. One they’ve known all along, maybe since they first met - in that cabin all those years ago.

I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it. 

You feel your eyes widen as you look up at Hange and Levi, the words spilling out of your mouth. 

“You want us to kiss?” 

“Huh?” 

At your words, Eren’s leaning over into your space, reading the line marked, and suddenly your cheeks are both burning pink. You both give each other a glance, which only makes it more awkward, as you shuffle as far away from each other as possible. 

“Yeah. It’ll fit the scene. It’s just one kiss, maybe two if we don’t get it on the first take.” Hange says nonchalantly as they start flipping through the rest of the highlighted script. 

As Erwin, Hange, and Levi start milling through their own conversations - discussing sets, costumes, that scene - you squeak out something that stops them in their tracks. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” 

Hange’s eyes light up as they nearly jump to your side, taking your cheeks into their hands and teasing you. They flip you around so you’re facing Eren, which you’ve been avoiding this entire time, and start whispering into your ear. 

“Aw, isn’t he so sweet? It’ll be so nice to have your first kiss with your best friend, someone you trust.” 

“Uh, I-” 

“Cmon. Eren won’t bite now, will he?” 

Eren awkwardly pads to the other side of the room, shoving his face into his script, as Levi comes over and yanks Hange by the hair, muttering something about how they need to stop teasing you. 

“Another thing. While they’re filming the Utgard Castle scenes, you’re both not really in, you’re both going on a press junket. We’ll all be there as well.” 

“The rest of the cast too?” 

“No, just you two, Eren. They’re all going to finish filming so we can maximize time and all that. You’ll return on New Year’s Day to film that last scene.” 

“Can we come back earlier? Y/N’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve. She should be here to celebrate with everyone and not on a stuffy plane.” 

“Fine. You’ll come back that day. And then the scene is the day after.” 

Hange, Erwin, and Levi give the two of you a curt nod as they pad back upstairs, leaving you, Eren, and your two bowls of ramen in the kitchen. You and Eren take the bowls and place them on the table, eating silently. 

It’s still hanging in your mind. In a little less than a month, you’re going to be kissing Eren. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah, Eren?” 

“I haven’t kissed anyone either.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“I just mean, it doesn’t have to be awkward. We’ll just…figure it out together. And it’s you and me, so it won’t be weird.” 

You smile, watching the last of your noodles swirl around the bowl as his words seep into your head. Right. It is just you and Eren. You’re best friends. It’s just one kiss. Or maybe two. It’s not a big deal. 

“Yeah. You and me, Eren.” 

He smiles in response, the awkwardness lifting off of you as you both finish eating. 

- 

The second Connie, Reiner, and Ymir make it back on set, their incessant teasing starts. They read the scripts. Kissy faces, smooching sounds, purposely pushing you and Eren into corners together just so they can tease you. 

“Eren. Are you excited to kiss, Y/N?” 

“Shut up, Connie.” 

“Is this your first kiss together? You must be sooo excited, Y/N.” 

“Okay, Reiner. Are you excited for your weird pervert lines about Historia?” 

The entire room laughs, Historia and Mikasa coming over to yank you out of the corner and sit at the table with them as you all catch up. Armin’s going around - taking pictures of everyone for our first day of filming with his Polaroid - as he starts labeling them all. 

There’s one of Reiner and Bertholdt - in their iconic fists to each other’s back poses - labeled “pervert and giraffe” by Connie. 

Another one of Sasha sleeping face first on the table from her jet lag while Connie and Jean are spraying whipped cream into her hair, labeled “connie springer, ultimate menace” 

And another one of you and Eren, fist-bumping each other, labeled “l/n-jaegers, season two” 

Connie films his first incriminating video ten minutes after that. It's Eren tucking your hair behind your ear. 

- 

You yank your earphones out as you crunch the pebbles under your feet, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes. When Armin walks up next to you, he’s immediately leaning his head on your shoulder, his eyes sleepily shut as you wait for everyone else to join. 

It’s five in the morning. And you really, really hate Hange for this. 

You’re all supposed to be filming a scene two hours away, in the snowcaps. It’s meant to be a flashback scene, primarily for Ymir and Historia, which is why you’re pissed that you had to wake up this early anyways. The light is barely peeking into the sky, the hues still a dark navy as everyone strolls out of the townhouse. 

Jean’s grumbling profanities, Mikasa’s dragging Connie out, and Sasha's the only one who’s really awake. Erwin slides open the bus door, and you trudge in, sliding into the first seat. 

You're leaning your head against the glass, ice cold, as you try to flutter your eyes closed again to rest a little bit on the drive over. You feel a shifting in the seat next to you and two hands on your head, moving you through space. 

You peek your eyes open to find Eren, placing your forehead against his shoulder instead of the glass. 

“Huh, what-” 

“Sorry, Y/N. Didn’t mean to wake you. Just figured it would be more comfortable this way.” he whispers, lightly pulling the hood of your jacket back over your head. 

You nestle more into his shoulder, letting the weight of your head fall entirely onto his shoulder as he readjusts under you, his arm splayed across your back. You feel his head resting on top of yours, your breaths in tandem as you both shut your eyes and drift off to a very unrestful and bumpy sleep. 

You wake up two hours later to the flash of a camera. And when you open your eyes, Armin and Connie are smirking at you, holding up the Polaroid of you and Eren sleeping in front of your face and then running out the bus. 

You frown as you rub your eye sockets with your knuckles, readjusting your hair and cracking out your neck. 

"Fuck Erwin for getting Armin that camera." 

“I really hope they’re not there when we have to kiss each other, Eren. They’re never going to let us hear the end of it.” 

“You and me both.” 

He holds his hand out, helping you up from the chair as you both pull on your jackets and join everyone else in the snow. 

“Sleep well?” 

You and Eren turn your heads to find Marco standing beside you, a shy smile on his face. You and Eren both reach forward, pulling your arms around him as you start talking at the same time, shocked at his presence. 

“Marco. What the fuck? What are you doing-” 

“You didn’t even tell us you were coming! That’s so messed up. You bitch.”  

He pulls back, a hand resting on both of your shoulders as he smiles, the look soft. 

“Sorry, guys. I wanted it to be a surprise. I’ll be here after you’re back from the press junket, too, Y/N. For your birthday.” 

You smile at him, giving him one more hug as he ruffles your hair, the two of you linking arms as you wait to film the scene at hand. After you film the aforementioned extremely short scene - which just makes you more aggravated at Levi and Hange because why the hell did you have to come out here for that - the lot of you head into the cabin, peeling off your snow coats and settling into the seats. 

Armin and Eren settle at the window, the two of them teaching each other card tricks while Bertholdt follows Sasha to rummage for snacks. Mikasa and Reiner run off to explore the upper level of the cabin as you and Marco sit flat against the wall, watching everyone walk around. 

“How are you, Y/N?” 

“Okay, Marco. How are you?” 

“I meant. Regarding everything we talked about last time and all that.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

The last time you saw Marco was when he came to visit you and stay with your family for a week. It was an impromptu trip after you mentioned to him that things weren’t going so great. Granted, he was only an hour away from filming a short film and had the time to spare, but it still meant the world. 

He places a hand on the top of your knee as you look over at Eren, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he starts talking. 

“You doing okay? Seriously?” he asks. 

“It feels better when I’m here. With you guys. Especially you, now that you’re here. I feel most normal here and wildly out of place when I’m home.” 

He sighs, squeezing your knee as you watch Eren place his card down, a victorious screech leaving his mouth as Armin rolls his eyes. 

“I can’t say I understand. We all went to the SHWA when we were so little, and I guess there was always some understanding that we’d be…in the spotlight. Scrutinized. No grocery stores or going to the beach, or any of that. Those things wouldn’t be normal. There was really no…normal to go back to.” 

You reach down, holding his hand, as you tilt your head back on the wall. 

“I don’t know. It’s weird. Sometimes it feels like I can’t even be normal without people picking apart everything I do. I knew this was something I wanted badly but never figured it would be like this.” 

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” he responds. 

Eren looks over from his spot on the windowsill, eyebrows scrunched together in frustration now as he mouths the words. 

You okay?

You nod, albeit halfheartedly, as Marco pulls you up, the two of you scooting into the kitchen. 

“Did you tell him about any of this?” 

“No.” “Don’t be silly, Y/N. The first thing they say at the SHWA is to rely on the people around you. The ones who understand.” 

“I do rely on the people around me. I’m talking to you right now.” 

He reaches forward to flick your forehead, the spot stinging.

“Ouch, asshole.” 

“I’m not a series regular anymore. And he’s the person you should tell. He’d want to know.” 

You roll your eyes at him as Sasha comes up, splitting half of her chocolate bar with you. Armin and Eren amble in a little while later, the lot of you all standing in the kitchen, watching Connie shove as many marshmallows as he can into Reiner’s mouth. 

Armin takes a picture. Labels it “chubby bunny gone wrong” when Reiner’s choking over the sink.

- 

The press junket is insane. You and Eren are spending three days, all at the same convention, doing panels together. All while trying to memorize the lines for your kiss scene. Levi and Erwin said to meet as many people as the two of you could socialize as much as you can. Answer questions about the show for fans without letting Eren spoil the show. 

The first interview was a get-to-know-the-actors test. You and Eren are tasked with asking each other simple questions and talking about them. It should be easy. As the camera beeps red for recording, Eren turns to the side and starts. 

“My name is Eren Jaeger, and I’m one of the cast members of Attack on Titan.” 

“And I’m Y/N L/N, and I’m also from the cast of Attack on Titan. We’re going to be doing an interview today for you to get to know us better!” 

Eren leans forward, giving you a warm smile as you talk. He reaches forward, reading off the question on the first card. 

“Y/N. Did you take anything home from the set?” 

You turn to the side, making a fake warning face into the camera. 

“Levi, if you’re watching, stop.” 

Eren laughs as you turn back to him, trying to ignore the lights blaring in your eyes. 

“Um. I totally accidentally took one of the scarves home. But that was an accident. Did you take anything?” 

“I stole one of Armin’s polaroids from the wall. I keep it in my wallet. And I totally stole one of the ODM gear swords.” 

“Huh? What do you even do with that?” 

“Threaten my brother.” 

“Oh my god, Eren. Jesus. Which polaroid did you take?” 

“I have it, actually.” 

Eren smiles at you as he yanks his wallet out of his pocket, handing the shiny white Polaroid over. You smile as you remember the day, the picture being of you and Eren with your ramen bowls. Armin’s inscription says, “sosuke and ponyo.” You hold it up to the camera before handing it back to Eren, making a mental note to steal one of Armin’s Polaroids too. 

“Okay, Eren. Your question is…who is the first person you call when you get good news?” 

His cheeks turn pink as he pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes at the camera. 

“This is kind of cheesy.” 

“Huh, Eren?” 

“The person I call is you.” 

You smile, twiddling with the end of your braids as you respond. 

“My answer is you too.” 

He smiles back, the two of you getting through the rest of the questions and thanking the crew team in the filming room. As you and Eren swing out of the door, he pulls the tiny little sheet Levi had made for the two of you out of his pocket, looking where to go next. You’re leaning so close into his space to read the little sheet that you can smell his minty gum, the smell filling your nose. 

You’re going to the networking event. 

You and Eren slide into the hallway, a big expensive conference room filled with people milling around. Almost everyone is nursing a glass of red wine in their hands, all adults talking over and around you as you both awkwardly stand at the front. You instinctively reach down for Eren’s hand, the two of you locking fingers as you move forward. 

You both naturally lean against the wall, watching everyone walk around as you enter the room. All men. Well, almost all men. But from what you can tell, the only other women in the room are actresses - the producers, directors, screenwriters - they’re all men. 

“Does it feel weird to you here, Eren?” 

“Kind of. I can’t really place what it is, but it doesn’t really feel like we’re allowed to be here.” 

You’re both significantly younger than almost everyone in this room. And they’re all drinking. Talking about god knows what. You try to scan the room - looking for Erwin, Hange, or Levi but come out dry from your search. Eren must be sensing your unease because he’s leading you toward the doors, ready to yank the two of you out of the situation. 

But before he can, a man stops him, tapping him on the shoulder to talk to him. You both stop in your tracks, half turning around to look at him. He’s extremely tall, looming over the two of you, and you feel infinitely small in front of him. He looks at Eren, a self-assured smile pressed on his face as he introduces himself. 

“Scott Clarkson. I’m a producer for Stone Studios.” 

“I’m Eren Jaeger. This is-” 

“I know who you are, Eren. I was invited to see one of the first cuts of the latest movie you just filmed and-” 

Before you can even understand what’s happening, he has his hand on Eren’s shoulder, and they’re walking down the length of the hall, the end of their conversation lost to you. Eren looks back, and you give him a halfhearted smile as he tries to turn back before getting stuck in a larger group of people. 

You make your way back against the wall, sliding into one of the farthest chairs and swirling a cup of lemonade in your hands. You watch the pulp of the lemon dissolve into your cup as you aggressively swirl, the drops landing on the black of your skirt. 

It’s moments like this where you feel like you don’t belong. Marco’s words swirl through your mind, that this type of stuff is normal for them because they have no normal to return to, but you can’t help but feel other to them even if they are where you feel most comfortable.

Eren’s on the other side of the room, now stuck in a big group and laughing with producers and casting directors and talking about movies he’s filming and what he has lined up next. You’re on the other side of the room, sulking against the wall - you’d be shocked if they even knew who you were. 

You’re not jealous of him. If anything, it’s everything Eren deserves and more. He’s always been phenomenal. But that’s just the thing, he’s everything and you’re not even on the same playing field. 

Sometimes, it feels like Eren’s too good to be your friend. Your co-star. Someone you’re around. You can feel your knuckles turning white against the plastic of the cup, crushing against your hand. 

“You know, if you do that any harder, you’re going to spill it all over yourself. Then I’ll have to take my pants off so you don’t look like an idiot.”  

You look up to find Sukuna smiling at you, with Nobara and Maki rolling their eyes at him. You hop up, crushing Nobara and him in a hug and physically feeling the unease untangle in your chest. 

“Hi. I’m really glad you’re here I-” 

“This shit always sucks. I have no idea why we’re forced to come to these things.” Maki says, sliding into the seat on your left. Sukuna sits to your right, his arm resting across the back of your chair as the four of you whisper, well, more like the three of them explaining who all the producers in the room are, as you sit there. 

“Hey Sukuna.” 

“Hm, doll?” 

“That guy. The one talking to Eren. Who is he?” 

He squints his eyes as he cranes around the room, trying to find where you’re pointing at Eren. And when he does, you watch his eyes widen before he talks again. 

“Ah. That’s Clarkson. He’s kind of an asshat.” 

“What? Why?” 

“No, he’s just a dick. A really great producer makes super cool movies, but he’s…not the best. All that shit you hear about the industry running people dry, taking advantage of people. They’re talking about him. And his lot.” Nobara explains, glaring daggers at him. 

“Not his entire lot, Nobara. His daughter is fine.” Sukuna says, reaching over to you and Maki to flick her cheek. 

“She’s a bitch. You’re just saying that because you’re dating her.” Nobara responds, flicking him back. 

“Who's a bitch?” 

The four of you break apart, still leaning over each other, to find Eren, Levi, and a short girl with brown hair staring at you. 

“No one, Hyla.” Nobara says, grumbling as she and Maki stand up. Levi gets side-swiped into a conversation. He looks like he’d rather be five feet under than whatever he was talking about as the six of you stand up. You hold your hand out, introducing yourself to Hyla. 

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Hyla Clarkson. Your dad was the one who acted in Interstellar, right?” 

“No. That’s Historia’s dad, but I get the confusion. We’re just from the same show.” 

You watch her eyebrows pinch up in confusion as she crosses her hands around her chest. 

“Oh! Was your mom the one in Moonrise Kingdom?” she asks. 

“Nope. I-” 

“So what film were they-” 

“My parents are dentists. They’re not really in the industry like that.” you ramble out, trying to spare yourself from any more embarrassment. 

She smiles, the expression not meeting her eyes, as she reaches down and links her hand with Sukunas. 

“That’s really sweet, actually. Humble beginnings and all that,” she says. 

“I think it’s pretty cool. Like yeah, we all land roles because our parents kind of help us get them in some way. But, Y/N worked her way to the lead of the show, sans famous parents. It’s a testament to true talent. ” Eren says, his voice firm.

“I agree. L/N has always been badass, especially on the screen.” Maki says, glaring at Hyla altogether. 

She rolls her eyes as she reaches into the pocket of her dress, taking out a shiny silver card and handing it to Eren. 

“Eren. This is my dad’s card. He wanted me to give you another one unless you lost it.” Hyla says, giving Eren a hug before she walks away. 

You both wait outside for Levi to join you, quietly standing against the wall. You watch Eren turn over the card in his hands before ripping it up, slashing right through Scott Clarkson’s shiny name in the middle. 

“That’s a bit harsh, Eren. He’s a really good producer from what I’ve heard,” you say. 

“Don’t care. We’ll get there on our own - we don’t need leg-ups from guys like that.” 

You smile as you lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, the anxious feeling still tingling in your chest. Levi makes his way out, giving you two a smile as you both get dragged to your next panel, individual interviews. 

You go first. The interviewer is a pale blonde girl with a stack of cards in her hand. 

“Y/N. Who's your favorite male co-star on set?” 

“Oh, um. That’s a hard question to ask, we’re all friends.” 

You can tell she’s not satisfied with your answer by her uptight posture, the irritation rolling out of her mouth. 

“Oh, don’t pick a cop-out answer. Who's your favorite male co-star? Is it Eren?” 

“Um, sure? He’s my best friend on set. But I like everyone.” 

She smiles, switching to her next card. 

“Fans have picked up on matching bracelets you and Eren have been wearing during this press tour. Can you comment on the story behind them?” 

“Oh, sure! It was last year, at the Savant Awards TV show awards. A pair of sweet fans gifted them to us.” 

She doesn’t comment any further on the story, switching to the next card as you swirl the bracelet around on your wrist, concealing Eren’s name on the beads against the inner part of your wrist. You have a feeling that what you just said will already get twisted into something it’s not, which in the worst way, distorts the entire thing for you together. 

“Okay, well, that’s all I have for you.” 

You give her a smile as you switch seats, taking Eren’s previous seat. Hange places a hand on your head, and you watch them share a look with Levi as Eren takes the seat.  

“You’re a phenomenal actor, Eren. What gets you in the zone on set?” 

“Thank you so much! I usually have to take a second before I start filming a scene just to get in the right headspace. Especially for scenes that I film with Y/N, I usually need her to be right there next to me just so I can…feel the scene before we film it.” 

The interviewer smiles, sliding to the next card as she asks Eren the questions. She couldn’t be this cheery and enthusiastic for you?

“Do you have any pre-filming rituals before you get on set and start filming?” she asks.

“I need to eat a bowl of ramen with Y/N before we start. It’s not like a good luck thing or anything, but we’ve just always started our day like that and now we just have to do it before we go on and film.” Eren responds, looking over to give you a smile. 

You give him a thumbs up as he keeps going, trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that all of Eren’s questions are about his upcoming roles, his acting techniques, his favorite parts of acting, and how yours were all about him. Granted, Eren somehow brings you up in almost every question he answers - even if it’s not explicitly related to you - which only makes the entire thing fester in your mind more. 

What are people going to say about it? This would just make what everyone says about you guys worse. 

Not that it’s bad, but they just…say things. Granted, everyone had been saying things since the start, but you’ve always chalked that up to the fact that you and Eren are closer than everyone else is. And you know how the two of you are, but everyone else seems to have their own opinions about it. And maybe you should try to stop it? But if that’s how you are, who are you to change and-

“You okay?” 

Eren’s taken the seat next to you, leaving Erwin to get interviewed next. You’re both slumped into the chairs at the back, Levi and Hange whispering in hushed voices in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if they felt this way when they were filming La La Land, but then again, they had no reason to deny anything that anyone said. They were actually together. 

“Yeah. Just want to go home.” 

He frowns as he brings a hand to the top of your head, leaning it to rest on his shoulder again. His cold fingers are in your scalp, pressing against the pulsating headache you’d been ignoring for the past hour, soothing the feeling. 

Should you guys really be sitting like this if there are cameras five feet away? And what if-

“Do you want to take a walk? We can go look for lemonade or something.” 

You nod as you both stand up, giving Hange and Levi a wave as you walk off. You’re slowly ambling behind Eren as he looks around for the drinks, the entire day replaying in your mind. 

You just want to go back to set. Have Mikasa tell you goodnight, eat breakfast with Sasha, play cards with Armin. None of this press junket, stupid interviewers, uncomfortable producers business. 

You feel a tugging on your arm, and you look back to find two girls looking at you. They can’t be much older than you, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with matching Attack on Titan shirts. With your face on it. 

“Hi. We’re Sarah and Sofia. We’re really, really big fans of the show. We were wondering if we could get a picture with you?” 

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’d love to.” you respond. 

You take a few pictures with them before handing them their phones back. 

“Are you guys enjoying the panels?” 

“Yes! We’ve gone to every single one of yours, you’ve been doing really well.” 

You can feel your cheeks burning at their praise, reaching forward to hold both of their hands as you talk. 

“You guys are too kind. And I really, really love the shirts. Did you make them yourselves?” 

“Yeah! We also drove down two hours just to come watch, it’s been such a good weekend. We really, really admire you for what you’ve done. It seems like we hardly ever see “normal” people in the media. But every time we watch you do an interview, you always bring up our favorite songs and slang that we use, it just…makes it feel like there’s someone like us on the screen.” 

You squeeze their hands, the tears welling in your eyes as you fight them down while responding. 

“I promise, I’m a thousand times more like you than any of them, in more ways than you’d think. And…you could do it too. It’s like you said, we’re one and the same.” 

They’re smiling so brightly at you that it’s making your heart squish in your chest, the feeling all warm and gooey and self-soothing. Right. You can do it. Who gives a fuck if a stupid reporter or these people think you’re lame - the people who watch your show are the ones that matter. 

“We love you so much. You’re so, so sweet. You’re literally the nicest celebrity we’ve ever met. I’m sure you have to run soon - I can see Eren back there staring bullets at us - but we hope you have a really good birthday tomorrow, and we can’t wait to meet you again.” they say. 

You wrap your arms around both of them as they both run off, excitedly talking, as you see Eren coming up to join you. He has a cup of lemonade in his right hand, the left hand reaching forward to wipe away the one tear that escaped your eyes. 

“Sure you’re okay?” 

You look over at him, green eyes looking into yours, and reach down to take his hand. 

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

“Let’s go home, yeah?” 

You nod, the two of you shuffling off to where you came from. 

- 

When you get on the plane, your impending panic of the “Thank You” scene comes back. You’re both landing on set on New Year’s Day - which is your birthday, so you won’t be filming. Levi and Hange granted you the night off, and Eren says the two of you can go get slushies when you land. But then you’re filming the scene the next morning. You’re both still stuck on the plane for another seven hours running through the lines. 

“Listen, you’ve always been at my side...thank you.”

You drop the script onto the table and groan loudly, to which Eren laughs in response. 

“It-it’s falling flat. This scene is too serious, I-we’re going to have to do a million takes.”

“It’s fine- we’ll just practice a lot.” 

You switch seats so you’re right next to Eren, the two of you looking down at your scripts and switching. You read each other’s stage notes - you both have a habit of writing notes to help remember lines and blocking - which you’ve found helps reading each other's notes helps you stay in line. Like you’re in each other’s head. 

You read through his little scribbles - keep eye contact, start crying here, practice this. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?” 

“When you say practice this, you mean…” 

He leans over, eyes going wide as he snatches his own script back, face burning. The arrow saying “practice this” was pointing to the line referring to the two of you kissing.

“Were you going to practice kissing in the mirror?”

“Shut up.” 

“I think a pillow would be more sanitary. Maybe you could find a video of it on the internet or-” 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to practice with me,” Eren responds angrily. 

You can feel your throat drying, eyes met with Eren’s burning stare. 

“Um.” 

“I just thought it-it would be worse if we did it wrong. And had to keep trying, and you know that everyone’s going to come to watch us and-” 

“I guess, but-”

“You don’t have to, Y/N. I was just thinking about it, and I was going to ask. Just so we don’t…have to do it for the first time in front of cameras.” he mumbles, turning his head away to look out the window. 

You sit there for a second and think about it. Eren does have a point. Having Ymir and Reiner stand there while you kiss Eren, or anyone, for the first time would be horribly embarrassing if they were actually standing there. And it would be weird to have your first kiss for the first time in front of someone, maybe it would be a better memory if it was more isolated and someone else. 

“Okay, Eren. That actually makes sense.”

He turns back, a shocked expression spreading across his face. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, just…don’t be weird or something if it’s bad. I’ve like never really done this before, Eren and-”

“It’ll be fine. We can figure it out together. It’s just…kissing. Can’t be rocket science.” 

You nod, albeit apprehensively, as Levi and Hange join you and Eren in the seats across from you. 

“You guys doing okay?” Levi asks, pushing bottles of water toward the two of you. 

You both nod as you take in their expressions, the two of them more stern or serious than normal. Well, Hange being more stern - Levi has resting serious face. 

“We wanted to talk to you about something,” Hange says. 

“Okay. Is everything okay?” you ask. 

“The press junket. You both were exposed to many different things you really haven’t been to before and we just…want to give you our own advice before we let you go on and about in your careers.” Hange says.

“We care about you both, and there are just some things you should know. We don’t care what you do because you’re your own people, but we just want you to be warned about things you…might see.” Levi continues. 

You and Eren give each other a weary look, halfheartedly nodding at the two of them. 

“There are some producers in the industry that don’t have your best interest. I’m sure you guys have heard rumors before of what the industry is really like and what it can do to someone - we’re trusting you both to keep your heads when dealing with situations like that.” Hange says. 

“I don’t give a shit if it ruins your reputation. You don’t let them ruin you, control you, whatever. Your safety and what you’re comfortable with comes first.” Levi says. 

“Have you guys ever been....near stuff like that?” Eren asks

Levi and Hange give each other a weary look before nodding. 

“Yes. That’s why we’re telling you because no one ever told us. They’ll make you do things you don’t want to, make it feel like they control you, and take away the things important to you so they’ll know you’ll stay. Some of them are also very deep in some very, very illegal shit, so again. If you value where you are, you won’t interact with them.” Levi says. 

You both nod, reaching for each other's hands as Levi and Hange study you with their eyes.

“Eren. Y/N. Did you notice anything weird about the press junkets we did today? Or what the media says?” 

“Not really,” Eren responds. 

You look down at your hands, focusing on the way your knuckles look when they’re flexed, from clenching so hard, as they all wait for your response. But you guess your silence is enough of an answer because Hange takes that as their sign to start talking. 

“I had a feeling. What have you been thinking?” Hange asks. 

You can feel your voice getting tangled in your throat and the tears coming to fill your eyes when it comes time to explain, to tell the three of them something they might entirely reject. Or just not understand. 

“I just-the press junket was weird. It seemed like the interviewers were all asking me questions about Eren or Connie, or my other co-stars while they were asking Eren questions about his acting and what he does to get ready on set. It just feels like-that’s the only thing they care about when it comes to me. How I interact with other people.” 

Eren’s squeezing your hand - three times - as the tears are freely spilling out of your eyes. Right with the words because now that you’ve opened this can of worms, it seems like you won’t stop until they’re all out on the floor. 

“And. At the networking event, everyone wanted to talk to Eren and not to me. And it’s not that I’m jealous of him because I want Eren’s dreams to come true just as much as mine, but it…just feels like I’m less than. Like I’m stupid for even trying because my parents are just dentists in a small town, and the only acting I’ve done before this was in a very shitty small-scale production of Hamilton at my middle school.” 

Hange and Levi scoot into the seats at your sides, Hange’s arms around you on your left and Eren’s around you on your right. Hange and Eren are squeezing your hands, Levi’s hand softly running through the strands of your hair as you sniffle through all the tears. 

“I’m sorry, kid, but this part doesn’t go away. Especially because you’re a girl, something about that makes people think they have the right to the most heinous things about you. They’ll criticize anything and everything you do. You’ll learn to roll with the punches because, at the end of the day, you’re here to make art. Let that do the talking for you.” Hange says. 

“I know. I just have to ignore them. Plus, there are nice people out there who really care about the show and what I do so-” you respond.

“More than just care about it, Y/N. People love you. The ones around you and people out there.” Eren says. 

“Another thing. Eren, the type of scrutiny you’ll face is nothing compared to what she’s going to face, just on principle. It’s your job to not be the asshole who turns a blind eye to that and it’s your job to defend her if it calls for it. And if anything, it should infuriate you enough anyways that-” Levi mentions, looking over the tops of your heads to look at Eren. 

“It already does infuriate me. Who gives the people the right to say anything about her when she’s one of the best ones on the show?” Eren responds, the anger spilling out of his mouth.

Levi and Hange give your hands one last squeeze before walking away, muttering something about how you should just focus on enjoying your birthday tomorrow and the scenes, leaving you and Eren in the seats again. 

“What were we talking about before?” you ask. 

“Everyone is stupid. You know that, right?” 

You sigh, leaning against the chair so you’re looking up at the top of the airplane, the white lights shining on the two of you. 

“I know that logically. But sometimes, it just kind of sits in my head. Repeating, and I try to convince myself it’s not true, but-”

“I’ll convince you.” 

“What?” 

“Just tell me. I’ll convince you. You could have told me before too and whenever you want. I’ll drop whatever it is I’m doing for you if this is what you need me to do.” 

You nod, thinking of the best response. Because how do you tell him that he’s the best person you’ve ever met, and this only furthers the fact that he’s just too good for you. Because you’ve never had someone defend you or be so ready to come to your aid before that you don’t know what to do with it? 

“I know how you feel. You don’t have to say it, Y/N.” 

You laugh, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Are you quoting the stage directions from our kiss scene?” 

“Maybe. But it’s true. And also, that’s what we were talking about before. Practicing kissing.” 

“Maybe after we go to get slushies for my birthday later?” 

“Yeah.” 

You both smile as you dig your noses back into your scripts, waiting for the plane to reach back to set. 

- 

You guys land on set the next day, around three pm. Eren and Levi woke you up on the plane with a little mini-cupcake and a candle to surprise you. Hange then smashed almost all of the frosting onto your face, which just earned them a good amount of scolding from both Eren and Hange. When you land, you and Eren head to the townhouse together, to change before getting slushies. 

“Why do you have your phone out, Eren?” 

“What? I always have my phone out.” 

“Not when you’re like…walking somewhere. And there isn’t even any wifi outside the townhouse, so I don’t even know what you’re doing on that.” 

“Can you just walk into the house, please? Do you have to question everything I do?” 

You pretend to scratch your temples, like you’re pondering his questions, as Eren rolls his eyes and lightly pushes your head, gesturing you into the house. And when you walk inside, they’re all waiting for you - the foyer of the townhouse decorated for your birthday and little party hats on all of their stupid little heads. 

They’re all singing Happy Birthday off cue - Reiner singing opera again, Connie screaming cha-cha-cha off cue, and Historia singing like she’s the next contestant of America’s Got Talent. Mikasa and Sasha bring over a cake with seventeen green candles, each of them giving you a tight hug as you blow out the candles. 

“Surprise!” Armin says, flashing the camera in your face. 

“This is so sweet, you guys. Thank you,” you say. 

“We have gifts. Come on, let’s open them.” Jean says, grabbing you by the hand and leading you to the center room. 

They each hand you their gifts, excitedly watching you rip off the wrapping paper. And you get why because it seems like everyone put so much thought into their gifts that it makes your heart squeeze. Mikasa gives you a nice, leatherbound notebook so you can stop writing song lyrics on napkins, and Armin compliments her gift by buying you a nice set of green guitar picks. 

You take the time to squeeze everyone in a hug and press a kiss to Ymir’s cheek, much to her dismay, because she writes you the sweetest little birthday note that makes you cry, and Reiner buys you a vinyl player to use for when you make your own record. And when you go all around the circle, you end up back at Eren, who is seemingly empty-handed. 

“Did you get me something? You don’t have to, I just-”

“Shut up. Of course, I had to. I just can’t really wrap my gift.” Eren responds, grabbing you by the hand and leading you to the closet near the front door. 

The rest of them all follow suit, watching you guys from a little distance. 

“Wow, Eren. I love it. I’ve always wanted my own closet.” 

“Shut up and open it.” 

You reach forward for the handle and swing it open, only to be met with your brothers - Colt and Falco - springing out of the closet and wrapping their arms around you. You’re squeezing the both of them so hard, so excited you’re crying because it’s literally been months on end since you’ve seen them, and you never dreamed they could even be here. 

“What are you doing here? Coco, you literally have class in like two days, and Colt so do you and-” 

“Eren flew us out for your birthday.  We’re leaving at the end of the day tomorrow.” 

You turn around, and you know you’re all teary-eyed and pink in the face, but you reach forward and squish Eren into the tightest hug known to man, eliciting cheering from the rest of them still watching you - that you entirely forgot about. 

“Eren. I love you so much. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the plane tickets, but this really means the world to me, and I-” 

“You don’t have to pay me back. This was a gift for you, birthday girl,” he says, pinching the side of your cheek. 

- 

Nine hours later and the whole new year in the flesh, you’re scribbling lyrics into the little book Mikasa bought you. The party they threw you - fully set with games, karaoke, and a pinata that Bertholdt procured out of thin air - turned out to be so tiring that they all passed out in the foyer, sleeping on top of each other on the couch and the floor. 

“Writing a song?” 

“Yeah. I think it’s done, actually, I just need to go play it now,” you say. 

“Want me to come? I can help with the piano.” Eren asks. 

“It’s three in the morning. Aren’t you tired? And I don’t even know where the key to set is where we can access the piano.” 

Eren reaches for the closest drawer, pulling out a shiny black key and dragging you out by the hand. You both pull on jackets and run out into the dark to the tandem bike, pushing towards set while shivering in the cold air. 

And when Eren opens the set door and turns on the lights, you immediately scream and duck behind him. 

“What the fuck is that?”

“Ymir’s prosthetic titan.”

“God. Do they need to leave it at the front door? That literally scared the shit out of me.” 

He laughs, locking his hand in yours as he drags you to the piano near the back of the set. You yank your hoodie off your head, placing the lyrics on the front of the piano. 

“Okay, so. Sing it. I’ll see what chords make the most sense after.” 

You nod, going through the first verse. 

There’s glitter on the floor after the party  Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby  Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before, but

Eren starts playing the piano around the chorus, a light piano tune filling the air. And he’s watching you so intently as you sing the lyrics, change words around with your messy handwriting, and he thinks at this moment, with your forehead all scrunched up in concentration and your sweet voice in the air that you might be his favorite person to be around. 

Don’t read the last page But I stay, when it’s hard, or it’s wrong, or we’re making mistakes I want your midnights But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day

And when you finish, he’s wrapping his arms around you, his voice so soft when he whispers in your ear that it makes the hair on your skin stand up. 

“You are…amazing. You know that?” 

“Eren. You’re so-” 

He cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth as he looks into your eyes, the look so warm, so sincere that it makes your chest tingle and your heart pound. Any denial of the fact will be met with pushback, so you drop it. 

“Thank you, Eren.” 

He smiles, dropping his hand to play the chords again and write them in the book. 

“Hey.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Is this song about me, Y/N?” 

“What?” 

“Well, the line. You squeeze my hand three times in the back of a taxi? Isn’t that kind of our thing? Squeezing hands three times.” 

You can feel your cheeks burning as you focus on the lyrics. And god, maybe the song is about Eren. You didn’t intend to write it that way, but he’s right. The candle wax, and the polaroids are mentioned in the song.

Those are all things you associate with him. 

“I guess so. I mean, I didn’t mean to really write it that way, but I guess that’s how it came out.” 

He smiles, a smirk on his face as he starts teasing you. 

“Am I your muse?” 

“Shut up. You’re so fucking stupid, Eren.” 

“You and me, forevermore huh?”

“Eren. Stop.”

“I’m teasing, Y/N. I like the sound of that. And the entire song, it’s really good. You should submit it to perform for the Savants.” 

“No. I could never do that.” 

He rolls his eyes as he shuts the book, swinging on the other side of the piano bench to lean against the now-closed piano. You’re both sitting silently, taking in the set when it’s so empty. Everyone’s ODM gear is labeled in the closet with their names, Eren’s prosthetic titan arms lying nearby, and Levi’s cleaning supplies. 

Eren clears his throat, breaking the silence. 

“We-um. Were supposed to get slushies yesterday.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I just got so distracted.” 

“Yeah. And.” 

“And?” 

“Weweresupposedtopracticethekiss.” he mumbles out, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. 

You feel your eyes widen as the recognition hits you. You’re supposed to kiss Eren tomorrow morning. 

“Oh, shit. That’s literally tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.” 

The silence hangs between the two of you as the pit in your stomach starts burning. 

“Do you want to practice now? Just so we’re good for tomorrow morning?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” 

You both awkwardly shuffle on the piano bench facing, splitting your legs between each side so you can both scoot closer to each other. And you can feel your heart beating really fast at being this close to him, all alone. 

He must sense it, because he puts his hand in yours, squeezing three times, before talking. 

“You okay? We don’t have to.”

“No. We should. I-I want to.” 

He nods, lifting his hands in the air as confusion spreads across his face. 

“You can put your hands wherever. It’s okay.” you say

“O-okay. Right, Y/N. Sorry I-” 

“Don’t worry. I’ve never done this before either.” 

He settles for cupping the side of your face with his right hand and leaving his left hand resting against the side of your waist. You place your hands against his hoodie, crumpling the fabric in your hands as you try to limit the sweat gathering on your palms. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay, Y/N. You ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

He leans forward and presses his lips to yours, the sensation so strange that you forget to move your lips and freeze up against your face. You both stay there for three seconds - but it feels like an eternity. And when he pulls away, you can feel the embarrassment rushing to your face when you realize what just happened. 

You just kissed him wrong. You forgot to kiss him back. 

“Oh my god, Eren. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was so thrown off by it, and I just made your first kiss wrong, and I-” 

“Y/N.” 

“Oh god. We’re going to fuck this up so badly tomorrow. I’m going to fuck this up so badly tomorrow. And we’re going to-” 

“Y/N.” 

“Ymir is never going to stop making fun of me. And then I’ll probably-” 

He drops his hands and reaches for your wrists, squeezing hard as he talks. 

“Y/N. Stop.” he says, his voice so soft, so earnest that it stops you in your tracks. 

“It’s okay. You didn’t mess anything up. I think you’re just…thinking about it too hard. This isn’t the kiss we’re doing for tomorrow or the show. This is just you and me, kissing here and now. So just…relax. It’s just us.”

You groan as you put your hands on your face, murmuring through your fingers. 

“How do you always say the right thing like that? It pisses me off.” 

He laughs, grabbing your wrists and placing them back on his shoulders where they were before. And when he secures his hand around your cheek and your waist again, his green eyes are shining in the set light and you think he might be your favorite person to be around. 

“Ready, Y/N?” 

“Ready.” 

And when he leans forward this time, you move your lips too, taking notice of how soft, how warm his lips feel against yours. How the sensation tingles all the way down to your stomach, makes your cheeks burn and your brain prickle. You instinctively lift your hands off his shoulders, feeling the softness of his hair between your fingertips and how his hand is only guiding your mouth closer to his like he’s pushing your lips together more than they already are. 

And when you both pull away, you’re both staring at each other - dilated eyes and swollen, pink lips. Your hands in his hair and his hands around your waist, breathless. 

When he cracks a smile, you can feel your entire resolve shattering. You make no effort to stop beaming at him the way you are, because you know you couldn’t even if you tried. 

“Hi Y/N.” he whispers.

“Hi Eren.” you whisper back. 

And you both laugh so hard that it makes your chest hurt. 

“Listen, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” 

“You know. We’re practicing. And doing it one time doesn’t mean it’s perfect, so-so we should try again. You know, for method acting purposes and-and.” 

You smirk, reaching forward to pinch his cheek.

“You want to kiss me so bad.” 

“Shut up. We don’t have to, I just want to make-” 

“We can.” 

He smiles, leaning forward to press his lips against yours again, his breath tickling the tip of your nose and his lips pressing against yours again, this kiss better than the last. You’ve committed it to memory - how his lips fit perfectly against yours, where his hands feel the best. 

For acting purposes, of course. 

- 

You and Eren are ready bright and early to film the scene. Seconds before you start, Levi comes over and drops a key piece of information that leaves you and Eren pink in the face.

They’re cutting the kiss from the script.

--

--

next part linked here

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[skiyoosmi]

it kills me a little, that's okay 'cause i'd die for you—

⤷ contents. gender neutral reader, petnames (he calls you baby and dude), angst (and a sprinkle of fluff i think)

there's stillness in the night as gojo lays idly on his bed, relishing the very short break he has before the strenuous work at jujutsu tech begins once again. his room is engulfed with darkness, barely lit by the dim brightness that comes from the screen of his phone.

"hello, satoru's phone! yn here, hehe."

a minimal smile appears on his face as he plays a familiar video, greeted by your bright expression as you try to position the phone in a better angle. his thumb hovers over the screen as he pauses when your face comes near, mimicking gesture as if he's stroking the apples of your cheeks. there are veins of melancholy that burrows its way deep into the crevices of his core before he resumes the recording. 

as soon as you've achieved your goal of stabilizing the device, you start speaking again.

"so, you might be wondering what in the world am i doing right now. well, this is a surprise video mess—" 

"baby, have you seen my shaving cream?" he hears his voice ask in the background, albeit muffled. he remembers how he was poking around the bathroom cabinet, preparing for a flight he will have to catch in the evening, he remembers how you scoffed beforehand when he told you suguru or shoko could do it for him, he remembers how long you nagged him about being a responsible adult and that he should learn to do it on his own. he remembers it all too well. 

he chuckles lightly upon watching you roll your eyes.

"top left in the drawer! silly 'toru, what would you do without me?" you whisper to yourself as you shake your head and turn to face the phone again, "anyway, as what i was saying, this is a surprise message! you might see this once you're in the airplane, or in the hotel room… heck, you might even see this as soon as you hold your phone, which would be a bummer but…"

"... what are you doing?" his face appears in the video and although he has seen this video for so many times already, he reels back in surprise at how different he looks– a bit younger yet so much happier. he watches the youthful him naturally place his chin just above your shoulder blades, eyes scanning the lens before leaning in to peck your cheeks multiple times. you giggle and try to move away, but he follows you.

and if he had the chance again, he'll willingly follow you anywhere.

"ahh, satoru, you big bummer. this was supposed to be a surprise! i was recording a video for you…" you whine out and he remembers raising his brow in interest, intrigued by the reason why you thought of such idea. he assumes you recognized his facial expression as one of curiousity so you continue to talk, "you know, so that if we break up, you'll never be able to move on and you'll be too busy missing me."

there's a pause of silence in the video and once again, he recalls the two of you staring at each other after you say that. you purse your lips when he suddenly lets out a boisterous cackle, "pfft— baby, what the heck? that won't happen. you're never gonna get away from me. it's you and me forever now. it'll always be you for me, dude."

the video shakes and satoru only sees blurry frames but his mind and soul vividly pictures the memory of attacking your face with more kisses as he wraps his arms around you while you squeal and giggle, "satoru… *kiss*… stop! let …*kiss*... me finish… *kiss*... the video… *kiss*"

a few seconds later, you reappear and satoru wonders how is it possible for you get even brighter and more beautiful. you pout and look at the boy beside you, who only grins smugly, "you ruined it. plus, that was supposed to be romantic and shit but you just had to call me dude, huh?"

"nyenye, finish that already so we can kiss," he says exasperatedly and slumps his body on yours. you roll your eyes once again, "you're such a boy, 'toru. are you even done packing yet?"

he freezes and slowly lets you go, sheepishly smiling before going back to the bathroom. you laugh, "so irresponsible, you dummy!"

you turn your eyes back on the camera and he sees pure adoration and fondness swimming in them, "you know i could never say all these to you directly, 'cause your head might get big. but it'll always be you for me too, satoru."

a sharp claw of agony grips his heart tightly and it refuses to let go. he refuses to let go. and suddenly, he's opening up his contacts, scrolling through the list before he stops right when he reaches yours– he never changed the nickname, never even thought of blocking you after you broke up with him through the same, exact phone he was holding, telling him how you couldn't do it anymore; being a jujutsu sorcerer, losing friends, being with him, and all that there is to it. so, you reopen the same wounds suguru left him and bid your own farewell. and yet, he could never do all those, couldn't change nor remove anything that has something to do with you, because that would mean giving up on you. it would mean he was letting you go.

and just like how he can never delete your number, he can never delete you from his life.

thus, he clicks. and he feels so anxious, so impulsive and so sad. the ringing goes on for what felt like forever. then it stops.

"satoru?" he hears your voice, his name rolling off your tongue, so sweet and silky. and suddenly, he's back in the years of his youth, as if he was eighteen all over again.

"i…" he feels a sickening lump in his throat when he starts to speak, desperate to get out and cry to you, "sorry. i'm stupid, i didn't mean to disturb you."

he hears a soft rustle from the other side of the phone before he hears you once more, "hmm, it's fine."

there was a hint of sleepiness in your voice and he figures the call woke you up, "were you sleeping?" 

you only hum in agreement and satoru feels awfully jealous at how you can sleep in peace at this hour while he spends most of his nights trying to fight the insomniac thoughts that threaten consume his mind whole. but he feels relieved in a way, because he wouldn't want you to spend these lonely evenings and midnights the same way as he does. he's only wanted to keep the smile on your face, after all. that's enough for him.

"i was watching the video," he gulps the pain away, "and you were right, i don't think i'll ever be able to move on."

you don't reply but he thinks… no, he knows you're listening.

"i'm too busy missing you, you know," he manages to chuckle despite the claw that rips his heart out of his chest bit by bit the more silent seconds that pass by.

"but i know. we've had our time," he adds when he hears you trail off while speaking his name once again.

"you… you're happy, right?" he chokes out a cough to cover the wavering of his voice when he feels that the end of the phone call is nearing. from the other side of the phone, you sit up and hold the phone by your ear tightly, "mhm, i believe so."

the claw has finally made a hole on his chest, "o-okay… that's good. that's good."

it's fine, he tries to convince himself. you're happy and that's all that matters to him anyway.

"you should go back to sleep," he whispers when a tear finally escape from the windows of his eyes. you hum quietly, "i really should."

"okay."

"okay."

and as if it was all a mere dream of his, the call drops along with his heart. he opens up his gallery, welcomed by the paused video he was watching a while ago. it stopped with your face in view again and his fingers hover the screen once more. you gotta stop, you gotta let go now, a voice screams at the back of his mind. and he clicks,

this video will be deleted from the icloud photos on all your devices

delete video

cancel

the layers of gloom return in his chest, marking your image within him, carving each and every of your features, and he feels like he's at the beginning of the end once more. his thumb presses on the screen and the loop of his remorse repeats, over and over again as he whispers, "it'll always be you for me."

cancel

—you know i'd still die for you 

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 3

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2568

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: military setting, violence, explicit language.

PT4: https://at.tumblr.com/sunonyoreface/he-knows-simon-ghost-riley-pt-4/g299e2a9fj7s

When the van slows to a stop, Soap reaches over and snags a hand under my seatbelt clip to release it before undoing his own. His gloved knuckles brush against my stomach and there’s a slight pressure as he undoes the buckle. As quickly as he reached over, he disappears.

“We’ll wait ‘til everyone else’s off,” he says quietly, but I catch it immediately. There’s no one else he’d be talking to right now. Soap didn’t speak another word the entire ride, even to Ghost. No one else needs to hear his quiet words, they’re solely for me.

I nod in response, but I don’t know if he catches it.

The blindfold stays on as I descend the steps leading out of the van. A startling wave of icy air whips around me. All of the warmth I gained on our ride here is stripped from my body and I already feel the goose bumps rising on my arms.

“Fuck it's cold,” I mutter under my breath. My feet land on an uneven surface that I think is gravel. I can feel a layer of snow sticking to the bottom of my socks. The fabric freezes to the surface and sticks with resistance when I try and lift them. I can hear people unloading equipment from the vehicle and somewhere behind us another two or three vehicles pull up.

“Fair jeelit out,” Soap states to no one in particular. I don’t know if I heard him right and I’ve no clue what jeelit means, but it must refer to the cold. His reassuring hand once again finds its place at the back of my upper arm to quickly guide me inside.

It’s warmer inside, but only because there’s no wind. I follow Soap’s directions as he leads me to a room somewhere to wait while the team unloads. Inside is out of the wind, but not much better. Everywhere is freezing. Where the hell are we? It’s only November. It shouldn’t be this damn cold.

In the room alone, I can finally take the mask off. It’s a dim, bleak room with no windows and no furniture. A single fluorescent light hangs from the ceiling. It feels like the strange lighting plays with my eyes and forms shadows that aren’t really there. As I exhale, my breath visibly hangs in the air, illuminated by the light. I find myself drawn to the back corner of the room where I take a seat against the cement wall. I feel like I’m in a prison cell being punished for a crime I didn’t commit.

My stiff fingers untie the plastic bag to grab the blanket they gave me. It’s thick and rough, but warm. It wraps fully around my body, providing a refuge from the cold. Balled up in the corner of the room and wrapped in the old blanket, I’m finally able to relax enough to doze off. Being in a constant state of fight or flight is exhausting. I can almost feel the buildup of cortisol in my blood from the last several weeks. I’ve yet to catch a break and it’s taking a physical toll.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but when someone finally comes to the door, it’s not Soap. The sound of the latch unlocking startles me from my slumber. A large, dark figure looms in the doorway. He fills almost the entire space and is only a couple inches away from the top of the frame. A small pit in my stomach begins to grow. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light before I see the outline of the skull mask.

Ghost holds onto the sides of his bulletproof vest as he observes me in the corner. His wordless presence changes the entire feeling of the room. Everywhere he goes, Ghost brings with him the threat of violence. A dangerous ambiance floods the room as I’m reminded of our interactions last night.

I wait for his husky voice to fill the room with an order, but it remains silent as he watches me with those cold, calculating eyes. I feel like an animal of prey backed into a corner by a predator. There’s a lot about Ghost that’s predatory. His stature alone is built to kill. He’s the tallest man here only next to one other. But that man is slim compared to Ghost, who is broad and built with thick muscles gained from years of experience with hand-to-hand combat. Although he’s built like a machine, he’s incredibly stealthy. I wouldn’t be surprised if his call name originated because of how quiet he is when he moves. When he walks behind you, you don’t even know he’s there. His footsteps are utterly silent and he somehow blends into every room he enters. You don’t notice him until you see that terrifying skull mask staring back at you and by then, it's too late.

Ghost also seems to have an expansive understanding of people’s body language and facial expressions. He knows where a conversation is headed before it reaches its destination. He seems to know the next move of the people around him before they’ve thought about it themselves. He does this all based on how they hold themselves and where they’re looking. It takes him just seconds to catch a lie being told to him based on your micro expressions and tone of voice. He leaves no rock left unturned and is incredibly detailed. When Ghost looks at you the way he is looking at me now, you can almost be certain he’s reading your thoughts.

He's confident in the way he holds himself. Ghost knows his capabilities and what he brings to the team. He has more than earned his title and position on this team. The men he works with have unyielding respect for him and rightfully so. He’s technical, mechanical to the point that you might think he isn’t human.

There’s a darkness to him that makes him suited for this profession. He’s experienced and committed violence that most men can’t even imagine. Something has happened in his past that makes him choose this lifestyle - this violence over and over again because even it is better than what he knows from his past life. The old Ghost has died and what remains is the most efficient of killing machines.

So yes, when I see him standing in front of me, analyzing every shift and micro expression, looking for ulterior motives, it terrifies me. Because even though my only motive is to learn about my parent’s past, he already seems to know more about them than I ever have. When he looks at me, Ghost knows more about me than I will for years. And that, is a terrifying thought.

“Where’s soap?” I ask.

“In a meeting,” Ghost responds.

“Is this another interrogation?” I shift in my spot to see him better and wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“It could be,” his voice deepens as he fully steps into the room, silently closing the door behind him. The pit in my stomach begins to grow. I straighten my posture as I sit on the floor and bunch the blanket in my hands with nervous fists.      

“I thought I was cleared,” my throat is tight and my voice goes up an octave when I respond. Ghost stalks closer to me, clearing the small room in just a few slow strides.

“No. You were deemed non-violent,” he says. “People with clearance don’t walk around wearing cuffs,” he stays standing as he approaches me. I find myself craning my neck to look up at him. Ghost stands directly in front of the fluorescent light. Rays shine down around his shoulders causing him to appear as a silhouette. I have to squint my eyes to make out his mask. Cold eyes stare down at me. I adjust the blanket again, but it’s no use.

“I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home,” I have to be careful or my voice will break. “Why can’t you guys just put me on a plane to New York?”

“You’re not going back to New York,” his voice is certain.

“Why? I’m no use to you guys. In fact, I’m the opposite of useful. You have to spend the extra money and manpower to feed and watch me. We’re both better off if I leave.”

“Useless things don’t last long around here,” he states as he crouches down to my eye level. Ghost’s forearms rest on his knees as he removes the gloves from his hands. He slowly and deliberately pulls on each finger of the glove as he maintains eye contact. My eyes are drawn to the alluring sight of the veins on the back of his hands. They ripple under the dim light as he flexes his hands after freeing them from their restraints.

“Does Soap know you’re here?” a sound of annoyance escapes his chest at my question. My stomach twists. Shouldn’t have asked that.

“Soap doesn’t need to know I’m here,” Ghost pauses, leaning in closer so our eyes are level. “Soap answers to me. Not the other way around. I say jump. He asks how high,” Ghost’s eyes carefully scan over my face, taking in every detail. His voice is low, serious, and unyielding. “Stop asking about Soap. He can’t help you. The only person who can help you right now, is me.”

I force a swallow before nodding. All the while I never break eye contact with him. Once our eyes meet, it’s hard to look away. His gaze is paralyzing and even when I tell my eyes to look elsewhere, I can’t.

“Understood?” his voice is just above a whisper.

“Yes sir,” I respond as the world around me blurs. All I can see are those hypnotizing eyes that demand your attention in all of it’s entirety.

“Right,” Ghost says as he stands back up and paces around the room. “Yesterday you said you were researching your father’s past. What did you find?”

“I was able to get in contact with one of his cousins on Facebook. I was hoping to reach out to more relatives, but she said she wasn’t in contact with anyone from that side of the family. She also said that she cut herself off from our family for a reason and that I’d be stupid to try and establish that connection again. She warned that no good come would come from it.”

“Have you met this cousin before?” Ghost asks.

“No, but both of my parents spoke of her and she knew information about our family that isn’t public,” I respond. “Even though she didn’t support what I was doing, she gave me the mailing address for one of my uncles, Dimitri Makarov, so I wrote to him next,” I continue, but notice a shift in Ghost's demeanour when I mention his name. “I never got to read his letter though, I had just picked it up from the post office and that’s when I was kidnapped.”

“What do you know about Dmitri Makarov?” He asks, pacing back towards me.

“Nothing. My father never spoke of his brothers. I wouldn’t doubt they’re part of the reason he left. I asked several times about them as a child but learned quickly it was a sore subject. For a long time, I kept my questions to myself. Snooped when I could, but never found anything interesting,” I think of all the times I’d go through my parents’ mail as a kid - looking for letters from our family; Christmas, birthday, anniversary cards – to only find an endless supply of bills.  “Do you know that name?”

Ghost chooses his words wisely before speaking. “It’s a name familiar to 141.”

His response isn’t reassuring.

“My parent’s changed their last name when we immigrated. It doesn’t really feel like we’re related at all. I can’t even remember meeting most of my family.”

“What’s the other brother’s name?” Ghost skips over my last statement.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know Dmitri’s name either until I started digging,” Something about his expression leads me to think he knows more than he’s revealing, but I’m in no position to be asking questions. There’s something new to Ghost’s eyes. This conversation contains information he wants but I’m just not sure why. Is it possible whoever my father and his brothers were involved with are known to 141?

“Has your father ever flown back to Russia?” he asks.

“He went back for my grandfather’s funeral a few months ago. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t allow it,” I think back to all of the times he’s travelled. It isn’t a regular thing, but a couple of times each year he goes on business trips. My parents make an effort of going on a trip once every year or two. Sometimes I get to go with them, but not often. I don’t know where he goes when he travels, he’ll tell me one place, but in hindsight that doesn’t mean much without proof. “You know, he’s never specifically said that he went to Russia, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t.”

Ghost’s expression remains stoic. I wish I could see the rest of his face, just for the chance to read his reactions. What does this all mean? My father left that life; surely Ghost doesn’t think that is a lie?

“Do you think he’s involved?” my voice wavers. He doesn’t spend much time considering the question. In Ghost’s mind, he already knows.

“Can’t say,” he says as though he’s unsure of the possibility. He isn’t being truthful. What else has he misled me about? The realization that my father could possibly still be involved with the life he supposedly left behind starts to sink in. My emotions begin to tangle in themselves. The urge to cry pricks at the corner of my eyes and I have to close them to prevent a tear from escaping.

“This is so fucked up,” I mumble. I wait for him to ask more questions, but they never come. Ghost watches me closely as I process everything. With a sigh, I finally bring myself to look up at him. His deep brown eyes meet mine and for a moment, neither of us says anything. I can almost imagine his brows furrowing as he tries to determine what I’m thinking about. In reality, it probably doesn’t take him much effort to determine my thoughts. I grab the blanket and use it to wipe the bottom of my nose. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“As long as it takes,” his tone is reserved.

“As long as it takes for what?” the urge to cry returns. At this rate, I’ll never get to go home. Ghost gets up from his position without answering me. He heads to the door and pauses when it opens.

“Soap will get you once he’s free,” he looks back at me once more. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he holds himself. His hand grips the edge of the door and for a second, I think he’s going to say something else. But then he intentionally knocks on the frame once with his knuckles before turning and pushing off. The loud clang of the lock echoes through the empty room.

[blueish-bird]

Chainsaw Man is about self-destruction. It’s about self-destruction as a means of reclaiming your autonomy in an environment where you are consistently denied it. Chainsaw Man is about denial of autonomy. Chainsaw Man is about how, when you are in an environment where you are denied your own autonomy, you learn to view interpersonal relationships as interactions you have no control over unless you find a means of controlling the other members of that relationship — whether that be through methods of fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. Chainsaw Man is about how denial of autonomy is framed as love. Chainsaw Man is about how love that denies autonomy is violence.

[comicaurora]

When did you decide on introducing Falst as a fakeout villain? in my head it's such an ingrained part of the arc but I have to imagine his intro wasn't always like that.

It wasn't! In the very earliest version of the story, aka the loose pre-scripting nebulous idea for how to get him in with the group, it was a pretty simple scenario where Falst was victimized by some bad guys and the gang helped him out, validated his existence, etc. It was functional for what it needed to accomplish - getting him in as a Main Character - but it had a lot of problems, namely that he had no agency in any of it.

I realized as I got closer to introducing him that Falst had a characteristic that none of the other protagonists had: he was rough. Erin isn't nice like Kendal and Alinua, but he's not going to go out of his way to purposefully hurt anyone who hasn't hurt him first. Erin can be rude and thoughtless, but he likes explaining things, and that does a lot to smooth over potential miscommunication. Falst isn't like that. Despite suffering deeply from loneliness, Falst is not good at making himself palatable for other people, and for the most part doesn't want to, in part because he shouldn't have to. It took a lot of bad stuff to grind him down to the point of seriously contemplating turning himself human to make it stop, and even then, he typically responds to antagonism by hitting back twice as hard, not making himself more inoffensive in the hopes of making it stop. In the trifecta of fight-flight-freeze, he defaults to fight, and he has a lot of reasons to wall off every conceivable vulnerability and snap out at people instead of giving them an in-road to hurting him by being nice to them. This makes him incredibly vulnerable to conflict and miscommunication plotlines because he will never explain himself if he thinks he has any other more combative option available, and that makes it very easy to turn people against him if they aren't willing to reach out and potentially take a hit trying to close that gap.

What I like most about writing Falst is that none of this makes him a monster, and none of it makes him unworthy of chances, love or understanding. He's a ball of sharp corners and he hurts people, and he's very easily framed as an antagonist because of that. And framing him opposite a kind, soft-spoken, eloquent, handsome small town doctor makes it easier to see him as a villain. And the fact that the doctor is actually a manipulative villain doesn't undo any of the stuff Falst did during their initial encounter when they didn't know each other and he made his introduction by robbing the party and lightly maiming Kendal. Falst is not perfectly nice, and it doesn't take much to get him to be actively mean or unnecessarily defensive. It is easy to convince characters and an audience that a character like that is a Problem, because if he weren't a Problem he would be nice and non-confrontational and conventionally attractive. Undercutting aesthetic morality is always fun, and sometimes you just gotta judge a character by their actions and conclude that they might not be good at making you like them but they're not actually doing anything all that bad.

Falst is kind of a jerk. He also has a lot of qualities that are not jerk traits. Falst found people who like him, and the fact that he's a jerk doesn't contradict that. We're all jerks sometimes, and we all tank hits from our friends being jerks sometimes. Falst is at his most interesting when I let him be emotional, hostile and imperfect, and I think it's nice to give him people that love him without undercutting the things that make him believe he's unlovable.

[in1-nutshell]

With all the Deadloop and Red Cross nutshells, my brain has been stuck on how their reunion might go! Did either of them go back to the museum they were in to look for the other? Did they ever find out that they are both back with their faction? Maybe there’s something of history repeating itself, and Deadloop gets shot down, and Red Cross finds and saves him? (Also, what would Agent Fowler say to having a ‘con in the family?)

Thank you for feeding the Red Cross and Deadloop brain rot I have with all the nutshells!

I've had many requests for these two reuniting, so I've combined them all into one.

Hope you enjoy!

Red Cross and Deadloop reuniting

TFP

Deadloop had been enjoying his break when he was notified by Starscream to guard a hostage.

He hated having to deal with hostages.

It brought back memories of the human war.

Memories of the Fowlers.

Memories of her…

He is confused when he sees a man being suspended in the air by a couple of large chains.

It seemed too extreme, even for Starscream.

Deadloop walking over to the human.

“So, you’re the little human that’s been giving Screamer trouble.”--Deadloop

The human huffs.

“If you want the information, I don’t have it.”--Fowler

“Relax, I’m not going to shove my Granny up your behind.”--Deadloop

Fowler looks at him strangely.

“What’s your name?”--Deadloop

He glares at the Con before noticing key details in his alt mode.

“What’s with your alt mode? Cons getting a budget cut from the high-tech aircrafts?”--Fowler

Deadloop scoffs.

“I’ll have you know sir, that this alt mode was from the original model back in the day.”--Deadloop

This catches the man’s attention.

“I’ll tell you my name if you come closer to the light.”--Fowler

Deadloop humors him and walks closer while also noticing some familiar looking features on the human’s face.

The way his eyes concentrated...

The little deeps in the cheek…

Almost like…

“Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Fowler?”--Deadloop

The human’s eyes widen by a fraction of a second.

Good enough for him as takes the chains off and pops open one of his subspaces.

“Hop in.”--Deadloop

Deadloop knew that his actions would be counted as treason, but he was not going to let this Fowler get hurt on his watch, never again.

Fowler tried questioning what the Con was doing, but he soon saw that he was tkainghim outside to the flight deck.

Was this Con actually helping him escape?

They made it to the flight deck before Starscream caught wind of Deadloop’s plans.

Deadloop transformed into his baron form and took off as Starscream and some of the seekers came out.

So, it was a dog fight that they wanted? It was a dog fight that they were going to get.

It was a long fight in the air, but Deadloop was much more experienced in this art of war than these newbies.

Starscream managed to clip one of his wings good and was spiraling down with Fowler.

Luckily Fowler had called the base and had a groundbrigde sent right underneath them.

As Deadloop transformed and shielded Fowler from the impact

Deadloop wasn’t surprised to see that there were several blasters pointed at him and ordering the human to be released.

He gently placed Fowler down.

Optimus offers Deadloop his servo.

After a moment he grabs it and lets the Prime help him up.

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble. I’m no longer allowed a Con and I don’t want anything to do with this war.”--Deadloop

“And how are we supposed to trust you?”--Wheeljack

“He did save Fowler.”--Jack

“It could be a trap.”--Arcee

Raf looks at him closely.

“You wouldn’t happen to turn into a Red Barron would you?”--Raf

“Finally! A human of culture! I do in fact turn into—”Deadloop

Deadloop looks at a couple of hand grenades in a box unorganized.

“Why are all your eggs so messy?”--Deadloop

“Has anyone seen my eggs? I swear I put them—”—Red Cross

Red Cross stop in her tracks and stares wide optic at the red mech in front of her.

Deadloop just freezes in place.

This couldn’t be…

She was…

“DEADLOOP!”—Red Cross

Red Cross slams into his frame wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug.

The red mech snaps out of his trace and hugs her back just as hard.

The medic spots some sparking near his wings and pulls back.

“Primus your hurt! Come, sit I’ll go get my kits!”—Red Cross

Deadloop gets carried bridal style by Red Cross while she mumbles about the supplies she needs.

“…what just happened?”--Fowler

Everyone is confused.

Red Cross and Deadloop tell their story to the others and their relation to the Fowler’s.

Agent Fowler does not know how to feel about this sudden news. He needs a moment to process this.

Even when she’s done, Deadloop takes Red Cross’s servo in his and doesn’t let go.

She doesn’t make any motion to get out of his grip either.

It takes one question from Red Cross and now Deadloop is now an Autobot.

This was going to be some load of paperwork when Fowler returned to his office…

[gkutfdvnn]

Just like every year chaos had unfolded right before Christmas. Flights were delayed and cancelled, disgruntled passengers were screaming at the employees desperately making phone calls, while some others had decided to just lay down on the seats to sleep.

As soon as you heard that your flight back from Paris was cancelled due to bad weather, you had taken your leave from the International Airport. Right now you were waiting for the metro, drinking some bear you were given at the airport by a stranger, some french dude you couldn't understand. With it came a leaflet to some party tonight, the only thing you understood was that it was Christmas themed, everything else just was gibberish to you.

Finally the metro came, mostly empty given the hour, so you just sat down and closed your eyes thinking about the last few days in Paris. Honestly, you liked the city. It wasn't as glamorous as seen on TV, yes the folks could be rude, but it had some sort of rustic charm, and for every unfriendly guy you had met twice the amount of kind people. You were thinking about the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, both the good and bad food you had eaten, the crêpes and the gauffres, and the beautiful Christmas market. The "vin chaud", you chuckled as you thought about the word in French, was actually delicious and you had gotten quite tipsy of it, to the point at which your friends had to accompany you to your hotel.

Shit, you must have fallen asleep. The can you were holding had fallen out of your grip and spilled beer all over your clothes. The doors opened and you looked up to the board. You were now a few stops too far ! Grabbing everything you could you rushed out of the wagon just before the doors closed again, falling face down on the floor. Luckily no one was there to witness your embarrassing fall. You cursed aloud, the "putains" and "merdes" leaving your mouth as if you had spoken french since birth. Too caught up in the moment you failed to notice the growing hairs that had appeared on your cheeks and chins, covering your lower face in a dusting of dark black dots. You looked back at the now empty railroad, a new series of French curse words escaping your lips as you noticed most of your things missing. The jacket, your gloves, your backpack and your suitcase were gone with the tram, lost in the maze of Paris Metro, all you had taken with you were the can of beer, and the pamphlet. Worst of all your wet jeans were starting to cool.

It was best to get on the move before freezing to death. You made your way through the white-tiled walkways of the underground metro while rubbing your arms and shivering. The rubbing seemed to help though, your skin was getting warmer each time you caressed it with your hands, your fingers pushing through the softer muscle. It was strange feeling around your arms with your palms, they both felt bigger and a bit softer, like they had swollen just a little bit. Soon, you didn't even need to rub your arms anymore but you still continued to, your own touch felt amazing, the tingling provoked by the tips of your fingers felt pleasant, great even !

After the corridors came the stairs, at first you were taking two, even three steps at the time. Being tall surely helped in these kinds of situations. But soon you were even having issues keeping the speed up, your feet were hitting the steps and you almost tripped and fell down, gripping the handrail as you were about to fall. That was close ! You waited a moment as some sort of dizziness settled around your stomach, you were sure the steps must have gotten slightly bigger on your way up, although your clothes also seemed a bit looser on your frame. Even though the dizziness didn't fade completely, you began your ascent again. Your whole body felt weird and out of place, just like you were shrinking, step by step. It wasn't much, enough to be almost unnoticeable. Each step you took altered your body just a little bit more. Your arms continued to swell while getting shorter with the rest of your body. Your legs lost in length and your back grew shorter too as they swelled with muscle, eating your rat away. Soon even your shoes didn't fit you properly anymore, your feet having left a bit of width and length. Your thighs expand to a fit and healthy girth, soon followed by your calves. Your back strains and stretches to the side as the muscles grow and expand there too. On the last steps, just before the automatic gates, you took a break as you caught your reflection in a broken screen.

The changes had been slow and gone unnoticed by you until now, there in the reflection stood a person you couldn't recognise. You wouldn't describe what you felt in that moment as panic, it was more like.. dissociation? As if the person you were looking at didn't match the person that was inside. You rubbed your hand through your beard that was still a few shades darker as your hair, then you lifted your shirt quite hesitantly revealing a lean stomach and then.. two pierced nipples set on a pair of girthy pectorals. You rubbed the silver rings and bit your lips. That tingling you felt earlier was spreading through your body again but this time it was transforming into growing pleasure. With one hand you continued to rub one ring, with the other you took your shirt off and threw it away. You looked back at the screen and pressed your lips together, a soft moan escaping your lips as the boner grew in your underwear.

You looked just like some handsome and not so average Parisian dude. You pushed your pants down and kicked them off with your shoes, exploring your body from top to bottom, gliding your hands in every crevasse and on every curve. Your thighs and calves jingled slightly as you moved around in front of the screen.

The mental changes didn't come suddenly, but were slowly rewriting your thoughts and memories. It was really more like acceptance. Of course that handsome guy's reflection couldn't be anything else than french. In fact, every second you spent in front of that screen made you feel ever slightly more french. You weren't working as a cashier abroad, but studying hard for a master's degree in economics. Paris was of course your only choice since you had grown up in a small french village without much to do, it was quite a lonely place for a gay dude like you. Soon, even your basic thoughts were expressed in French, every trace of your mother tongue erased and left forever forgotten. New moans escaped your soft lips as your hair darkened to match with your beard, and a fine layer of black hairs covered the rest of your body. Finally, with a few strokes, you came, and with it the last remnants of your past life vanished, just a stain on the floor, nothing more. You were now Pierre, a Parisian student, living your best life in Paris.

Some of your cum had landed on the flyer to the gay Christmas party you were going, you looked around for your clothes, somehow you had scattered them all around you. But hey, you sure damn didn't need them, the party was just above the entry to the metro, and you always enjoyed coming of strong !

With one jump above the automatic gates you left your past behind, ready to enjoy the Parisian city life !