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theladyofdeath · 2 years ago

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Lady Death's Lover {9}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Queue the fireworks...and the drama.

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Wife,

I am writing to inform you that I am prolonging my absence. I will write again when I know of my return date. It will be a fortnight at minimum.

Sincerely,

Tomas Mandray

<.>.<.> Cassian <.>.<.>

Three days have passed since the ball and she’s all I��ve been able to think about.

I feel foolish, utterly enraptured by this woman who can never be mine. Yet, I cannot seem to stay away, which is how I have found myself standing at her front door.

The sun has nearly vanished and the city of Velaris is painted in pink and orange. You would think that such a beautiful display of nature would calm me, but the serenity only has my nerves worsening.

I knock before I can back out.

The head butler greets me although there’s nothing pleasant in his expression.

“Good evening, my lord,” he says, his voice low with a hint of confusion. “Lord Mandray is still in the north, I’m afraid.”

I try to put on my best disheartened expression. “I see. Is Lady Mandray home? It’s urgent.”

The butler hesitates but ultimately succumbs. “Yes, my lord. Let me show you to the drawing room.”

Hiding my relief, I follow him into the house and down the hall to the drawing room. He leaves me alone to fetch his mistress and I find my way to the floor length windows, staring out at the gardens that Nesta and I got lost in only days ago. Mere minutes pass before I hear her voice.

“That will be all, Alfred, thank you.”

As I turn around, the doors close softly behind her and we are alone. The room falls into silence and we stare at one another expectantly. I’m scared to say a word, afraid that the help is still standing outside the door, waiting to collect their gossip.

“Lord Cassian,” she says, at last.

“Lady Nesta,” I reply, with a nod of my head. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

“It is no intrusion,” she says, her voice louder than usual. I assume she is thinking of the nosey help, too. “Have you news for me to pass along to my husband?”

The word husband surges through me with a spike of jealousy, but I play her game. “Indeed. Shall we sit?”

“Please.” Instead of making our way to separate seats, we meet at the settee, sitting together. When she speaks again, it’s quieter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I had to see you,” I say, unable to hide it, unable to deny a damn thing, knowing we don’t have much time. “The other night felt…”

“I’m sorry I had to run off,” she whispers.

“Do not apologize,” I counter, longing to reach for her hand but refraining. “You did what you must.”

Nesta’s quiet for a moment, staring at her hands that are clasped together on her lap, on top of her pale blue skirts. When she does speak, she repeats, “Why are you here, Cassian?”

“I’ve already told you—”

“No,” she says, and when she looks at me, her eyes are blurry. There is regret there. Regret, and longing, and an undying sadness. “You are here to suppress me.”

I blink, not understanding. “Pardon?”

“You are here to make me feel want, jealousy, for something that can never be.” A tear falls down her cheek and she angrily wipes it away. “And that is cruel.”

“I am not trying to be cruel—”

“Then what are you trying to accomplish?” she breathes a laugh that holds no humor. “The other night…” She shakes her head but her eyes remain on mine, dejected and yearning for something that is imaginative. “It was lovely. Our moment in the garden, with you, made me feel alive and for that I am grateful. However, it is good that we were interrupted. If we were to kiss, Cassian, there would be no going back. Not for me. And that is something that I cannot risk.”

I am speechless. Foolish, too. I had no idea what I was thinking coming here, or what I had hoped to accomplish. I was only thinking of myself and not her. I was thinking of how she had been affecting me, and not how I would affect her by my presence here.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and when a tear slides down her face once more, I reach up to wipe it away.

She does not push me away. Instead, another tear falls at my touch.

“I will leave you alone,” I say, and I mean it, but I will not go quietly. “I am sorry if I have made you feel any distress, but you have no idea what you have done to me. Since that first day we crossed paths, you have consumed me. Not a waking moment goes by when my thoughts do not drift to you, and I cannot sleep without you infiltrating my dreams. You are, without a doubt, the most intriguing woman I have ever met. You are stunningly witty and intelligent, and your beauty…” She swallows as I speak, hanging onto my every word. “You make me laugh. And you infuriate me at the same time. And I hate that I cannot kiss you, that I cannot hold you in my arms and make you feel as loved and appreciated and wanted as you should feel.”

“Cassian—”

“I am irrevocably in love with you.” The words pour out of me before I can stop them, and the moment they leave my mouth her silent tears have turned into a downpour. “Even if you will never be able to return that love, I thought you should know that someone loves you as you deserve to be loved. Unconditionally. Without fault. Wholly.”

“We hardly know each other,” she protests, wiping at her eyes. Her words lack strength, as if she’s trying to convince herself just as much as me.

“I know you well enough to know how I feel,” I promise, “and I know myself well enough to know that I have never felt this way about a woman, nor will I ever feel this way again.” I reach for her hands and she lets me. I cradle them in my own, brush my thumbs over her smooth skin. “Forgive my selfishness. I know my feelings make no difference, but I had to tell you. I had to let you know that you are loved, Nesta, and always will be.”

I wipe her tears away and my confessions turn into silence that she does not respond to. I do not expect her to. She is married. Yet, we sit there unable to keep our hands off of one another. My thumbs brush along her cheeks, her hands grip my wrists. I can feel the warmth of her body.

I don’t know how much time passes, but I know that we are running out of that precious time. I force myself to stand up from the settee, force myself to look away from her tearful gaze. I force my feet to move, one foot in front of the other, until I reach the door.

I force myself to reach for the handle, but one word stops me.

My name.

“Cassian.”

By the time I turn around, she’s already in front of me, and before I can catch my breath, she’s throwing herself into my arms and her mouth is landing on mine.

For a moment, I’m stunned, lost in this moment that could never be replicated, but then I’m melting into her. My arms wrap around her waist and I draw her against me, as close as she can get, until I feel every inch of her body against mine. Our tongues brush and I am lost in the sweet taste of her. The help outside fades away, as does the fact that we are in her home that she runs alongside her husband.

The second her lips leave mine, I feel empty. She escapes my embrace and takes two steps back, then three, then she’s so far away that I cannot touch her. We are staring at one another as if something monumental has just happened, something that cannot happen, something that should not have happened, something that changed everything.

I want her. I want to take her away from here just as much as I want to lay her down on the table, strip her bare, and ravish her. Her eyes fall from mine and land on my heaving chest just before they land on my groin and the blatant display of my passion.

Her lips are swollen. Her hair is falling from its pins. Her cheeks are rosy.

I have never seen her so beautiful.

“You must leave,” she says, and although I knew it was coming I still feel like I’ve been blindsided. “We must never speak of this again.”

“Nesta—”

“Please,” she begs, eyes shining. “I am begging you, my lord. Leave.”

I nod, accepting our fate. I know she is going against her wishes, know that she is defying her heart. Nonetheless, I must listen. I have created enough inconveniences already.

I swallow as I straighten my jacket and run a hand through my hair. “Goodbye, Nesta.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she says, and her voice breaks, tearing my heart out of my chest and leaving it irreparable.

With nothing left to say, I open the door and let myself out. The hallway is empty as I make my way down it and to the front door where I rush past the butler and into the open night air.

It’s peaceful outside.

But even the famous Velaris starlight cannot make me feel whole again.

#nessian #fanfic #fanfiction #regency au #19th century au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #nesta #cassian #sjm

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thefvrious · 2 years ago

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@ghostsxagain said -> “You’re mine to protect.”

Since that first kiss in his parents' office, things had been electric between Sullivan and Rhodes. Having Sullivan working, still, in the house was interesting, but Rhodes sort of welcomed the challenge of having to look at the other man all the time and keep his hands to himself. It seemed it was just as difficult for Sullivan, and that, in itself, was a treat for Rhodes, never mind the deliciously tantalizing knowledge that his parents would absolutely shit if they had a clue what their son was up to with the help.

Every day, Rhodes learned something new about his lover, and he was basking in the glory of it -- slowly peeling back the layers, showing each other pieces of themselves that no one else had ever seen; or, at least, that no one had seen and stuck around for. Rhodes wanted to see every ugly, shattered piece of this man, even if it left him bleeding -- he'd still say thank you.

"Is that so?" He asked, his black eyes dancing brightly as a smile played at his lips. "I like the sound of belonging to you..." Rhodes stepped closer, right into Sully's bubble. The older man was sitting on the desk and Rhodes found his slender body fit quite nicely between Sully's slightly parted knees. "And you protecting me. Do you think there's anyone you need to protect me from?" His eyes fell to the other man's lips, a smile tugging at his own. Sullivan did not yet know what a force Rhodes was; but that didn't matter. The thought of Sullivan protecting him lit a fire in him, and he wanted to hear more.

#rhodes butcher ~ thread #rhodes x sullivan #ghostsxagain #pardon this interruption (queue)

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malewife-overlord · 6 months ago

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Six Cycles Later -- Part VI

Summary: There's a sparkeater loose in Autobot City. Uptick has no choice but to deal with it and calls upon an old friend for aid.

Word count: 6529

Trigger warnings: robot gore, cannibalism, sparkeater being a sparkeater

Previous chapter can be found here, start (and an explanation of what six cycles later is) can be found here. Next chapter can be found here.

Fic under cut!

“Worried” would be the wrong word for describing how he felt. Uptick tapped his pede impatiently outside of the clinic, checking its virtual queue every thirty seconds. Forty full minutes had passed since he’d arrived to pick Luster up, and there was still no word from anyone about his progress.

To say that he was “worried” would be an understatement.

He vented sharply and sent a query to the front desk again, requesting information on the mnemosurgery in Room I12. Almost immediately, the worker pinged him back with the pre-recorded response she’d made twenty minutes ago: mnemosurgery was a complex thing, and until the doctor indicated it was safe for them to contact him, no one was to enter the room or disturb him. Any interruptions could mean the end of the patient, the doctor, or both at once. His concern was noted and rest assured they were doing everything to ensure that his ward was taken care of.

Six. Hours. If that didn’t scream something was wrong, he didn’t know what did. Mnemosurgery was complex, but it didn’t take six hours to perform. He knew because he himself had undergone it several times. Even extended mnemosurgery visits tended to last no more than an hour–the most talented could rewrite a mind in just a few minutes.

Uptick couldn’t say he knew much about Redactor, but he’d checked his credentials the moment he’d left the clinic, which indicated he’d been practicing for at least ten thousand years. If he wasn’t experienced, then Uptick himself wasn’t even a real soldier.

Well, he wasn’t anymore, but the fact still stood. Something had happened, he just knew it. And if the bots in the clinic were too stubborn–no, too concerned–to try checking in, then he would himself.

And he knew just how to get in.

It was mid-day in Autobot City, slowly creeping towards the evening. The shadows had not yet grown long; in fact, most were still attempting to retreat from the afternoon sun. The season was beginning to shift from what humans referred to as “summer” to “fall”, which meant the sunlight would become more sparse and the night would come sooner. But that wasn’t for another few cycles, which meant when he stood by the edge of the clinic, there were no shadows to hide him–and thus, keep suspicion off of him.

No, he was a completely normal enforcer and Autobot, he had no reason to stand in the shadows. And he certainly wasn’t about to contact someone with a fairly detailed history of crime. Who would do that?

Still, he checked to ensure no other mechs were around. The clinic was housed in one of Metroplex’s corners, bordering a wall and a morgue, so it was a particularly unpopular location. The street that ran by it was not even worthy of being called a street, really. This played to his advantage: such an area was unlikely to attract unwanted attention, and thus–

Primus, was he truly thinking like this now? The war was over. He gave his helm a knock and reminded himself that she’d been pardoned, as had he, and contacting her wasn’t illegal.

Though, his request certainly was.

Pulling up Channel’s contact in his HUD, he promptly called it. It would be a long distance contact, so he expected a long wait, but surprisingly, after only twenty seconds, they connected properly.

She answered after three rings, as she always did. He was immediately met with the background ring of drilling.

“Tickers, I hope you got a good reason for callin’ me at this time.”

"Channel!” He smiled despite the fact that she couldn’t see him. “It's good to hear your voice! I hope you're doing well, I need--"

"Hold that thought, Tickers, I just found the lil' fraggers responsible for this entire operation. Get...over...here...you...little!" Her voice quieted for a moment as she grunted and hissed. "Ow! Come on--oh, stop squirmin', you, you know you ain't feelin' nothin' right now—almost—ha!"

An angry squeak deafened the line accompanied by the tearing of metal. Uptick's optical ridges furrowed in concern.

"What are you doing?" He asked. “Are you, uh, with a patient?”

“You can call ‘em that, sure. Hey, you can get up now, the fraggers are out. " Her voice grew a little distant as she continued. "Soak in some fresh water for a few hours 'n lemme know if the itchin' comes back. Aight, go on 'n get now."

He heard another voice say something unintelligible, followed by the sound of pedes. Then Channel vented, a clacking and angry chittering joining her as she spoke.

"Sparklets, Tickers. I just pulled sparklets outta that ‘bot’s chassis.”

“You’re still practicing medicine? Didn’t you–”

“It ain’t medicine,” she interrupted. “It’s fixin’, there’s a difference. One only needs wits ‘n the other wants fourteen-hundred kilocycles ‘a school. Who out here got time for that nowadays?”

She huffed.

“Sparklets, Tickers. Not scraplets, sparklets. They're straight up evolvin' to start tryin' to eat sparks. What’s a doc gonna say, take four an call in the mornin’? You’ll be drained fully before then!" An echo of a dozen little sparklets being tossed in a cage sounded. "Yeesh, I tell you, I've fought on fifty different planets n' ten times that many battlefields, an' I ain't seen as many weird things up there as I have down here. The nerve a' this planet n' it's creatures!"

Finally, she leaned against something, her plating creaking in response to the action, and grumbled. "Alright, present n' willin'. What're you callin' about?"

He did a quick scan to check for anyone listening before speaking. "For a favor, Channel, if you would be willing to hear me out. You know I’m trying to stay clean with this work--"

"Yeah yeah, I know. You ain't boutta ask me to disable another Energon vault lock, are ya? Roddy Prime's pardon had some fine print, I tell you, an' that print states I lose my immunity if I go around unlockin' more vaults. I ain't gettin' in trouble 'cuz you got a fueling problem, Tickers, sorry."

"No, it's nothing like that," he frowned, sounding hurt. "I've worked on my habit, you know this, Channel. I'm clean! I've been clean since..."

A pause. He didn't want to say that name, and he knew Channel didn't want to either. She was quiet, which was uncharacteristic of her.

"Since the end of the war," he finally finished. "No more of that."

"Aight then, what're you wantin' me to pick, then? You got about fifteen kliks—sorry, MINUTES, since they're wantin' us to convert to Earth time—before my next patient, Tickers. Try 'n make this quick, yeah?"

"Right, of course. I...wait, you have another–" His scanners picked up on a motorcycle driving by and a nurse walking out of the clinic on break. His optics narrowed slightly. "I'll push you a data package. Can you open your receptors?"

"Ooh. Gotcha. One sec, lemme check the connection–” He felt a slight zing in his head, like a spark had tapped against it, “--alright, we ain’t bein’ watched. Send it over." She opened her link, and he promptly created a data package, wrapping it up with two passwords before pushing it her way.

It took her about four seconds to break them both.

"...that's it?" She said with a laugh. "That's nothin'. They don't even double encrypt their files, system's so new."

"How long will it–wait, how do you know about thei–"

"Twenty-four seconds the moment I'm on their network. You gonna hand me the address or I gotta find it myself?"

"I’m…concerned, Channel…"

“Don’t be. Their fault for bein’ outdated. Get me a frequency and I’ll connect to it.”

Venting, he sent another request to the worker at the front, immediately being met with the same response from her. Instead of accepting the message, he sent it Channel’s way, who took all of five seconds to link to it.

The feeling of her transferring from his connection onto the clinic’s was strange, but it was something he’d become adapted to long ago. Channel could ride the wavelengths between Cybertronians like a meteor surfer. It wasn’t ever too pleasant for whoever she happened to surf upon, but one quickly grew used to the sensation of a slight weight at the edge of their mind. If she was being careful, he wouldn’t feel it, whether he wanted to or not.

Truth be told, that aspect scared him more than some Decepticons, but he tried not to think on it. Channel was an Autobot, and she wouldn’t use her powers maliciously. He hoped.

"Wow," he heard her say over their connection. "This thing's got more holes than a chronic driller. Aight, gimme twenty-four."

Their connection closed, her weight disappearing from his mind. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the clinic, tapping his pede even faster as he anxiously awaited her return. Five seconds, ten seconds, fifte–

A voice suddenly sounded to his right.

"Hey, you're Uptick, right?" The nurse from before was walking over, a thermos of Energon held in his hand. "Luster's guardian? I've read your file." When Uptick nodded, he frowned. “I’m guessing you’re waiting on him.”

"Ah. Yes, I am. You wouldn't happen to know anything about his current...treatment, would you?" He asked. "I can't say I'm a mnemosurgery expert, but it has been a while since he was admitted, and I'm just a little concerned--"

"Oh, don’t worry," the nurse said cheerfully. "Redactor's good at what he does, and he's got Epistaxis as his assistant. She's the nursing director for this week, and I've never heard a single complaint about her. He's in good servos, promise. But if you really want, I can probably ask her how it’s going. The secretary said you’ve been out here for what, half an hour now?"

He wanted to trust the mech's words so badly. Luster was in good servos, he had to be, but something at the back of his processor told him otherwise. Six hours without a single update on anything, even just that the surgeon was tired. That didn't make sense.

"I–" he was going to correct the other mech when Channel suddenly called back, startling him. I, ah, yes! Please do ask! I, uh, have a call, please, excuse me.”

The nurse dipped his helm and headed to the clinic doors, downing his Energon swiftly before vanishing into them. Uptick gave him a polite grin until he vanished, then promptly turned away from the street and headed into the alley.

The moment he answered Channel’s call, she spoke.

"I'm in," she announced, pushing him an encrypted data pack. "Here's everything they've recorded since this mornin'. You lookin' for something specific now or--"

He hadn't even managed to start on the first of her five passwords before she stopped.

"Hold up...what in the...well, I'll be."

"What's the matter?"

"There's this one nurse, Epistaxis." Without waiting she sent him a string of unencrypted data, everything he'd need to know about the head nurse—appearance, occupation, age, forging city, years of work, monetary value, favorite color, favorite Energon flavor, and morning timetable. "Check out her schedule."

He gave it a look over and grimaced—some of the patients she was seeing were on full display. Returning his expression to neutral, he vented. That was private information, and he wasn't keen on invading the space of others for long.

"Channel, this has nothing to do with Luster--"

"No, no, it does. Look. Luster was her fourth patient a' the day. An' now look at the rest 'a her schedule. Missin'. She ain't showed up to any 'a her appointments since she saw him."

His spark felt cold. "Channel, what about--"

"Already lookin' into him. Redactor, right? Mnemosurgeon, fresh offa Cybertron. Rich story, that one. Most recent victim of an Autobot prison break." She huffed. "Alright, there he is—wow, clear schedule for the day, just work on your mech. Looks innocent eno--"

She stopped. Before he could even speak the data was jammed through their connection and flooded his head. Uptick had to blink a few times as his processor attempted to focus entirely on its new contents and momentarily shut off his external senses.

"Gentle, Channel, please--"

"He's missin', Tickers."

And that made him shut up, letting his optics blur and his senses dull as he dove into the data. Redactor's schedule was cleared for the day as Channel had said, with his focus to be entirely on Luster. But there were periodic checkpoints he was required to update as he went along. The first of these had been at 11am.

He hadn't even made the first.

"They're both missing," he said aloud, then immediately shut himself up. No one was nearby, but Uptick didn't quite trust that everything was fine. "Channel, can you--"

"Camera's ain't in use in patient rooms, Tickers."

"Then I...why haven't they told me? Why haven't they alerted me? If they're both missing--"

"Maybe they're hidin' something. You seen any other Enforcers around?"

"No, I...I haven't."

Hiding something. If they were hiding something, they wouldn't have alerted any of the Enforcers. Word spread quickly once those like him were alerted. But what could they want with Luster that was worth hiding?

Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Something was wrong, and he wasn't the type to let it pass idly by, taking everyone he was supposed to protect with it. Uptick turned back to the clinic’s front and frowned. The information he'd acquired was done so illegally, he couldn't just waltz in demanding anything, not if he wanted to keep his position.

"Channel, help me think of a--"

"Hold that thought, Tickers, I've got another patient to deal with. Call you once I'm sure he ain't a wannabe Prowl."

Their connection severed before he could protest. Uptick blinked a few times, steadying himself. The nurse who’d offered to check on Luster, what about him? He tried to ping the secretary, asking to see the fellow, only to be given her pre-recorded response again. Frustrated, he balled a fist and stormed for the doors, prepared to demand to speak with someone real.

Which was right about when the alarm went off.

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

The warning came just as he'd reached the back of Autobot City, a full hour after he'd originally expected it to. It blared over his systems, momentarily drowning out the endless screech of his notifications with its message:

A SPARKEATER HAS INFILTRATED AUTOBOT CITY. LOCKDOWN INITIATED. ALL CITIZENS SEEK SHELTER.

There it was, that damn word that he didn't want to speak or think, that reminded him of just how bad his situation was. The word that made it impossible for him to call this place home. The word that defined the mystery of his past and made him wonder if he'd ever really been a true Cybertronian.

He'd run out of time here. And he wasn't even close to properly escaping it.

Escaping the clinic hadn’t been easy. It had taken him hours to quietly drill through the back wall, creating a small hole that had opened into the back alley. He’d lucked out in the clinic’s location–it’s back alley joined with the space behind the morgue, which then led to a back street that he’d followed to Autobot City’s waste disposal site. It had taken a lot of dumpster pushing and a lifetime of mini spark-attacks, but he’d really done it:

he’d escaped that damned clinic with his captive, and no one had seen him do it.

Redactor was a constant weight on his tentacles, two of which had wrapped around his body and moved to drag him behind. He'd tried to carry him, but the two weren't sufficient for the task, and using all four would leave him vulnerable. He needed his weapons in case anyone found him. If they found him, they'd try to stop him, and with how much his processor was screaming, he didn't know how long he could keep himself from giving in.

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCESEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

It had stopped feeling like a suggestion the moment he revealed himself. With such a constant screaming the only way for him to take his mind off of the order was to focus on what was directly at hand. He wasn't thinking anymore—he was acting, and reacting.

That was why poor Epistaxis was passed out on the clinic floor, her chassis completely torn to shreds. He’d managed to keep from damaging her spark chamber, but the more he’d torn the harder it had been to stop. She’d been alive when he’d left with Redactor. He could only hope that would stay true.

He didn’t know how long he’d be able to say the same for himself.

The waste disposal site was large enough to hide him for now, but it was undeniable that they’d find him eventually. He couldn’t hide his spark signature, and he had an entire other Autobot with him. Once they started scanning they’d find them both.

Where could he run? The bar? Not with a captive. His room? Why wouldn’t it be the first place they checked? The clinic? Nope, absolutely not.

Which meant the only place to go was out.

He dragged Redactor (who, through some miracle, was still out) through the waste disposal site, feeling his tentacles strain as they pulled his frame past piles of trash. Had he gotten heavier? It hadn’t been too long a walk, right? He was hungry (starving, some might say), but surely, if he’d had enough energy to escape the clinic, he’d have the energy to escape the city, right?

Climbing over a few mounds of trash, he found himself face to face with one of the walls of Autobot City. It extended far-beyond the height of most of the buildings, and was doubly fortified to protect against Decepticon attacks.

His plating was already itching. This would take a while. Transforming his arms into the drill modes, he touched both their tips to a single spot on the wall and set their speed as high as he could.

It was like trying to force a blade through stone. He grit his dentae and pressed harder. It was either break through, or die in here, or become a science experiment for Perceptor. He didn’t fancy the other two options.

The alarm continued to blare in his head as he increased the speed of his drills, working to try and expand the wound inflicted upon Metroplex. The urge to fully transform and speed this up exponentially made him start to feel twitchy, which made his tentacles coil tighter around their prey. Transforming would make his escape quicker at the likely cost of preventing it entirely—the noise of a whole drill tank would surely attract other Autobots.

Granted, his current method wasn’t exactly the quietest either, but there didn’t seem to be anyone working today, so he didn’t have any unwanted visitors to worry about. If he did, though, he’d just have to knock them out as well. A quick jab through the chassis would do it, followed by a jolt of electricity. He could hide their body in one of the many trash piles. Then he’d just–

Primus, what was he doing!? The thought made him pause. He'd revealed himself as a Sparkeater and taken a hostage! He’d attacked a nurse and doctor and shocked them into submission! The entire city was locked down and Enforcers were prowling looking for him! If he was found he was dead, and yet here he was, loudly drilling the back wall and praying that no one would find him!

He felt sick all of a sudden, his arms falling to his side as a sickness spread through his body. Whatever warnings he received were immediately drowned in more notifications, clouding his head and making him groan. He focused back on drilling.

The hole was expanding by a few millimeters at a time. Theoretically it could be finished in the day if he kept up this pace. Theoretically he'd be noticed by then and taken to prison. Theoretically he could survive being taken apart and held in pieces forever to study. Theoretically--

A groan sounded behind him. His spark skipped a beat.

"Uuugh...where...?"

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

His tentacle shot out and jammed its jaws back into Redactor's chassis, intending to shock him again. But when he focused...the shock never came. Luster paused, glancing back at the twisting appendage and trying again. No electricity crackled through it despite his best attempt.

The writhing made Redactor squeak in pain, his frame squirming beneath the intrusion upon it. "Ow! Stop, please! What are—why are you doing this?" He tried to pry his arms free and failed, visor lighting up as he came properly online again. "Who are--"

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

"Sh," Luster shushed, pulling the tentacle out of his chassis and instead moving it to his mouth. How badly he wanted to instead plunge it into his spark chamber. "Quiet."

Funny, coming from him. Raising his head from his work, he quickly scanned the area. The warning blared in his head again, apparently on a two minute loop. There were no signs of Enforcers—yet. He didn't know how long he had before they found this area. Probably not much more.

The same warning which gave him a moment of clarity blared in Redactor's head as well, and the reality of his situation set in as the drowsiness of forced recharge wore off.

"SP-SPARKEATER!" He immediately yelled, wriggling wildly against the tentacles holding him. "HELP! ANYO--"

The tentacle at his mouth shot to throat, pressing its claws right against his voxbox. Luster felt awful as he uttered his threat, but he knew he had no choice.

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

"If you don't be quiet, I'll remove your voxbox. I'm not going to hurt you. Just hold still, and be. Quiet."

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

Redactor whimpered. "What are you going to do with me?"

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

He turned right back to his work, drilling faster, deciding the extra noise was worth the progress. The itching in his plating was growing worse, like scraplets had found their way beneath it and were writhing in their nest. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated. "I already told you what I want. We can't stop. I'm...you helped me remember Solace. I need to remember more, and I need to remember now."

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

"But...I...Lu-Luster, you know I-I called off our session because, uh, present conditions aside, you--"

They both heard the roar of an engine nearby, followed by the scraping of tires on pavement. The tentacle gripping Redactor's throat tightened, almost daring him to call out. A tiny whine escaped, but no words along with it.

Luster ceased his drilling, turning towards the source of the noise. They were at least nine-hundred feet from the front, and tucked behind several piles of garbage. No way they’d been spotted yet.

Raising a finger to his dermas, he crept away from the wall, dragging Redactor’s stumbling form with him. He bee-lined for a large mound of trash, ducking behind it as he listened for his pursuer.

The scraping of tires ceased nearby, and the distinctive tschu chuk of a t-cog at work sounded out. Heavy pedes plodded at the entrance, pausing there.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Luster immediately cast Redactor a venomous glare. If the other mech had been planning something, the gaze shut him down.

“I know someone’s here. Your signal’s showing on my radar. Come out. City’s on lockdown.”

Of course he was scanning for signals. Why hadn’t he brought something to hide his own? Or received an upgrade for it?

Luster said nothing despite the truth glaring him in the face, his tentacles coiling tighter against his back. Redactor flinched as the grip around him grew painful.

“If you don’t come out, I’m going to have to arrest you,” the Enforcer threatened. “I can see where you’re hiding. Don’t make this difficult, it’s for your own safety.”

Redactor moved a servo to his tentacle. Luster almost snarled at the touch.

"Don't," he threatened, then let up ever so slightly. "Redactor, I don't want to hurt you. I need you. I'm going to let you go the moment we're really finished. But until then I need you to cooperate with me. Or..."

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

"Or else."

He really hated having to threaten Redactor. The doctor had done nothing but attempt to help him. He was the monster here, and his actions certainly weren't helping to clear his name. But what was the alternative? Give it time, and give in to his urges before he remembered what he needed to about Solace? Give it time, and lose himself entirely? Give it time, and become a lab experiment for Perceptor?

"Ye-yes," Redactor responded, voice barely a whisper. "U-understood."

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

He sounded so pathetic. Pathetic, afraid, and weak. Prime for consumption. There was already a hole in his chassis. It would be easily to burrow in and pull his spark free. Solvent gathered in his mouth at the idea. He could take this Enforcer, if he just had a spark–

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

Which sent a bolt of fear as cold and heavy as the nearby stomping pedes through his entire frame.

“I’ll give you one last chance.” He heard the sound of servos turning to a blaster. “Come out.”

His tentacle uncoiled from Redactor’s throat, the other three joining it as Luster slowly stood. His plating was itching wildly, notifications screaming endlessly. As he walked towards the edge of the pile he became more aware of the humming in his head, growing in volume with each step.

“Okay,” he said absently, raising his clawed hands as he emerged from behind the pile. “I’ll come out.”

“Good. That’s a good–”

He barely had a moment to widen his optics before Energon burst from his mouth, pooling out along with his brain. Pink spattered over the ground as he fell to his knees, coughing, gagging, and grabbing at his mouth. Before he could even try to secure his own mind it was out, dropping to the floor like a discarded coin.

Luster stared blankly at the dying mech, now little more than the garbage that surrounded him. Redactor gasped in horror behind him, but he barely heard him. No, his focus was on the glowing ember in the Enforcer’s chest, the waning light that promised him life.

His tentacles shot to the body, immediately turning it over and shredding the plating. He followed them, crouching beside it as Energon spattered against his chassis and face. As the light grew brighter and the spark rose from its chamber, he realized that a silence had settled over his mind: for once, there were no notifications or humming.

Just an ancient, primal urge, compelling him forward, demanding he

EAT.

The cracking of his jaw was the only sound in the entire site as he dove forward, clamping down on the divine light of Primus and swallowing it in an instant.

It was like drinking warm Energon after a trek through a planet of ice. It was a rush of electricity after an eternity of powerlessness. It was a new T-cog after an eternity of root mode only. It was life itself rushing into his dying frame, animating him with the power to finally move.

His tentacles crackled to life, their power returned. For just a moment his hunger waned, and he threw his head back and laughed–the feeling was so foreign now, it felt wrong. And how badly he wanted more of it.

A whimper sounded behind him. His optics widened and his head snapped to its direction. A lavender mech was cowering back, terror filling his eyes.

He rose to his pedes, tentacles spreading out and pointing towards their target. It shook its head and begged in a language he was starting to forget.

Please, no. Please, stop. Help me. Anyone. Please. Luster, no.

Who’s Luster?

His tentacles shot for the mech’s plating, burrowing for its spark. A scream of pain escaped it, only to be silenced as claws pinched onto its throat and closed. Energon burst from the wound, spraying over him.

Luster forced him to the ground, moving his claws to his chest. The silence had broken, and the orders were back.

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

The mech gurgled, grabbing at his claws and kicking its legs. There were two bleeding holes in its chassis.

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

They had pierced clean through its plating and wiring, down to the spark.

SEEKALTERNATEFUELSOURCE

The gentle light of life itself, gifted by Primus, was peeking out.

FEEDMEIMSOFUCKINGHUNGRY

He obeyed.

—--

A sparkeater was in Autobot City. He didn't believe it when he'd first heard the message played. Epistaxis had been out cold for hours, but it had only taken a slight shock from the on-site defibrillator to online her, and she'd immediately begun to scream about the monster. A sparkeater had infiltrated the clinic and attacked her.

And it had taken Redactor and Luster.

His spark had fallen into his tank at that knowledge, and he'd shot into the air the second he’d left the clinic. Before the lockdown alarm had even sounded over the entire city he'd begun his search, trying to ping Luster's frequency, struggling to hear it over the noise and his own pounding fear.

Luster had been taken by a sparkeater. He'd failed to protect the one 'bot he'd promised he would.

It was just like the war, but this time, it wasn't 'cons he hadn't kept away.

Aerial support was appreciated by the Autobots below, but the more he'd circled the city, trying to hone in on Luster's signal amongst the noise of everyone below panicking, the more he'd realized just how disadvantaged he was up here. The many structures Metroplex supported made for excellent cover and there were hundreds of places a sparkeater could lurk. Though the midday sun of Earth banished many shadows to the furthest corners of Metroplex, there were still hundreds of corners and only so many Enforcers. They couldn't check all of them at once, from ground or sky. And with each failed search the sparkeater got further and further away. Who knew where it could be? Who knew what it would kill next?

No, Luster couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He would not see another Autobot die while under his protection, no matter what he had to do.

Winging for the nearest communications tower, he transformed back and landed with a heavy THUD on the rooftop. Immediately he opened his comms and spoke.

"This is Uptick, reporting from tower 3. Everything looks clear up here. What's the situation on the ground? Over."

He received a few pings from the others below who had nothing to say, providing their locations and what data they'd collected—which was to say, virtually nothing. Momentarily he considered sending them Luster's signal, scrambled as it was in the current panic, then hesitated. Even he couldn't home in on its exact location, what good would it do any of them?

Well, he knew someone who could, but from so far away? Would it be worth it to bother her now?

Better yet, why not attempt to contact Luster himself? But what if he was dead?

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Uptick opened his frequency in his HUD and promptly pinged it, sending his location and a request for feedback.

It was dead silence for all of ten seconds before he received a response. It was no location, no status, no life signal. What came through from Luster's frequency was a low hum, reminding him of the planetary song of Jupiter.

And then it went silent.

Frowning, he tried again, and again. The ping reciprocated once more before the connection closed and did not reopen.

He growled. Well, if it was going to be uncooperative, then he knew someone who could brute force it. Swapping to his other frequency, he promptly called Channel.

This time, she picked up on the second ring.

"Ticker's, I got news for y--"

"I need you to hijack a signal for me." Whatever she had been talking about could wait. "There's a sparkeater in Autobot City and it's captured Luster. I need you to find him."

There was silence for about two seconds before she spoke.

'Well, I'll be. Sparkeater's a bit worse 'an this I s'ppose. Aight, gimme the signal."

He immediately sent her Luster's signature, then grabbed the tower's satellite.

"Channel into my processor. I can connect you to one of our satellites."

"Channel into you? From this far? Tickers, ya over three thousand miles--"

"Channel. Please." He vented, gritting his dentae. "He could be dead. I need this. Please. I need to find him."

She sighed in response. "Aight, Tickers. But ya owe me one later, aight?"

"Add it to my tab."

The sensation of having his processor invaded by her was a familiar discomfort, like cold energon spilling into his tank. For a moment it was unpleasant, and he was acutely aware that an invader had just ridden through their established connection straight into his mind. She was there and he couldn't stop her—anything he thought and felt in the moment would be completely open to her.

And then she had integrated, his processor growing used to it, and she was the same as any other background hum or intrusive thought. Good, that was the first part of the process. The second was channeling her into the satellite, which he promptly did, finding its frequency and connecting his own personal one to it.

Like a drop of water moving between pools, Channel slipped from his mind into the satellite's projections. It only took a moment before she began to report back.

Thousands of signals were filtered at once. He saw Autobot City as a skeleton of itself, populated with thousands of dots of light, which one by one winked out as they were eliminated from Channel's search. The city began to shrink as the signal became more and more clear, zipping past buildings and over roads towards the very back. It paused at the clinic for a moment, then raced along the back wall and finally locked in on the back wall at a waste disposal site.

Three signals blinked, then one went out as the lock-on finished.

"Found your kid," Channel announced.

The coordinates logged into his internal map the second she'd sent them. The second she retreated from the satellite he released it, ignoring the sensation of her mind leaving his own.

"Thanks Channel. I'll update you when I've found him."

"Right, Tickers, but you should--"

He closed their connection and transformed his arms, testing to ensure that his blasters were working. They powered up in two seconds, as if they'd been used yesterday. Then he tested the launchers on his shoulders, which unfolded and loaded their missiles with the same speed.

Alright, a sparkeater. He could take a sparkeater. It couldn't be worse than the sixth infantry. Just one sparkeater. For Luster.

He leaped off the building and promptly transformed, almost breaking his wing against the nearest structure. He was too big to be flying so low. He didn't care.

Luster was in danger, and he wasn't about to--

An SOS ping shot through his head. It came from another Enforcer, one on the ground. And then it cut off.

Panic shot through him as he searched rapidly for the signal’s origin, finding it in the exact spot he'd already planned on going.

Oh no. Nonononono--

Three minutes. He had three minutes until he was there. Three minutes flying safely.

He promptly diverted all fuel to his thrusters and shot forward, turning the world below into a blur. Thirty seconds. He had thirty seconds.

Each one felt like too long.

The waste disposal area came up so quickly he almost missed it. He immediately banked up to force a stop, entire body creaking as it fought against air and age to obey his command. He was a decent flier, he'd say, but no Decepticon jet—cargo planes weren't made for such steep turns or jerky movements. He forced them anyways.

Primus, his back strut would ache in the morning, though.

With his momentum halted he immediately began to fall. Transforming back, he used his thrusters to manage what could barely be considered a controlled crash onto the nearest roof, hitting his knee hard against it. The damage came through in an immediate report and the pain momentarily caused his processor to flash. He forced them both to be silent and dropped to the ground, hearing a snap along with the landing boom.

Luster's signal was less than a hundred feet away, hidden amongst the trash. Uptick half limped into the waste disposal site, drawing in a sharp ex-vent at what he saw.

Lying on his back, a hole punctured through his chest, was the other Enforcer. Already his frame had turned gray, the death pallor broken only by the pink of his Energon. His mouth was open in a scream, optics wide and offlined. Next to him, snapped free of its cord, was the small orb of his brain.

Uptick closed his eyes and turned his head away, saying a silent prayer to Primus at the sight. He'd been too late.

And he couldn't stop now. Heading deeper into the site, he quickly spotted drag marks highlighted with Energon. They moved around the trash piles, heading right towards the back.

So it had taken its prey somewhere private to kill it. He had hope, then. Luster could still be alive, pinned beneath the thing and terrified, but alive. He had to be.

It was the only thing keeping him going. With each step his leg hurt even more. It reminded him of the war. His plating bristled, arms already transforming into blasters.

The marks lead around one final pile of trash. He could see a pool of Energon leaking around it. Just beyond he heard the sound of metal snapping.

Uptick steeled himself, bringing the memory of that day back to light. The sixth infantry was below him, the ground awash in pink. And around, the jets had already formed into their kill formation, one behind, one on the right, and one on the left. There was only one form of escape:

forward.

He trained his blasters on the monster before him, crouching over the flickering body of Redactor. The doctor's cheerful lavender paint had been stripped away from struggle. Wiring burst from the joints where his hands had previously connected. His back was arched, legs broken, and chest bared to the creature crouched over him. Writhing tentacles gripped the open hole in his chassis, presenting his spark chamber to the beast as it lowered its head to eat.

And yet even as it did, Redactor spoke.

"Help..." He whispered in a final prayer for safety.

The sparkeater atop him paused, neck cracking as it raised its head and turned to look at him.

His optics widened in horror. His spark felt ready to go out. And his blasters trembled as the pain in his knee threatened to drop him to the ground.

"Luster?"

No. It can't be. Anyone but you.

#six cycles later #tf ocs #maccadam #my ocs #my writing #oc: luster #oc: channel #oc: uptick #RIP our boy #WELCOME BACK TO WHERE WE WERE EVERYONE #EXPECT THE NEXT CHAPTER SOON

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leadercreated · 7 years ago

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le sucky tags lol.

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xxsmokeyy · 5 years ago

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Levi x Reader (F) It’s The Tea

genre: fluff, canon divergence — coffee shop setting

summary: a misplaced table and a pair of hands that had a knack for good tea; you wonder what brought Humanity’s Strongest to your shop.

wc: 6,262

part II

“I’ll have one flat white,” a customer says as she picks money from her coin purse. You give her a smile after receiving her payment, the exact amount saving you the task of calculating change.

“Coming right up.” And you make your way to the coffee beans to make the blend she ordered. She watches in patience as you skillfully maneuver around the counter, getting everything done along the process. You incline the porcelain a little to make for the finishing art, steamed milk piercing through the coffee and creating a signature shape. In no time, you hand her the drink on top of a saucer.

She silently nods as brief thanks, and as soon as she turns her back to you, you dart your eyes on a table of one by the far right windowpane. You carefully spectate her and what direction she’s going. She’s going to the table!

The make-do suspense keeps you on your toes as you look at her intently, breath slightly hitching, waiting for her to sit on the lone chair. The woman navigates across the room, heading straight for your wishful desires. Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, witnessing the life-changing moment unravel before your eyes. No way. She really is.

The cup of coffee on her left hand, she uses her right to move the chair to take a seat. But just when she’s about to pull it back, someone calls her from another table, waving at her excitedly.

You stand upright and alert while your scrutinizing gaze follow her movements. She looks at where the voice is coming from, and almost immediately, her face brightens upon seeing who. Her right hand lets go of the wooden furniture and proceeds to where the caller sits. You look at her destination and find three people on a table of four. It doesn’t take long before she takes the free seat and starts chatting with them.

Your body slumps back with a disappointed sigh. Looks like no one’s sitting there yet again.

It’s the closest call you’ve ever had after years of this shop’s existence. Why no one chooses to sit there is beyond you. Either your customers are not alone, or they are, but only to take out their orders. Actually, even if they’re alone, they’d take the table for two instead. Do they not want to look lonely that bad? You groan in annoyance.

The table consists of a small, circular table and a single chair by the window. In your mightiest opinion, it’s the perfect place to just sit down, enjoy a cup of hot coffee, and read a book. But nobody’s ever done that through the passing years, and you can only witness the table being neglected by people.

It irks you a little. Could there have been another way to maximize the space that stemmed from unproportional construction? Maybe it really is time to remove those. Maybe it’s not really a big deal.

You’ve been contemplating too many times replacing it with a plant vase or a decorative ornament to take up the space since it’s of no use anyway. But something just tells you you shouldn’t. Besides, just thinking thinking about feels costly.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and before you know it, you’ve opened the store again, serving customers after customers. This time, you never gave the table another glance. Surprisingly enough, you spent the whole night debating with yourself on what decoration you should fill the space with. A nice bookshelf would’ve been good, but you decided to go with a monstera plant to make use of the window right by it. Not until your day off, though, which is still on Sunday.

Having consecutively served around six customers and cleaned used tables, you sit and take a breather, resting your eyes by reading a book to let a couple minutes go by.

You slowly get sucked into the story, the marvelous art of prose bringing you into the plot’s little universe. The way the writer used the most fitting descriptive words possible astounds you, making a smile of enjoyment involuntarily creep up your lips. Somehow, you think writing is similar to making coffee, mixing different elements to create the perfect blend, the sole goal of making an exquisite taste that will leave people aching for more? Oh, and they both smell good, books and coffee. A chuckle leaves your lips.

Just when you’re deep in thought, things starting to stir up in the narration, someone speaks in front of you.

“One black tea,” a stern voice curtly orders, interrupting your peace. Harshly brought back to reality, you rise to your feet to resume to work. First tea of the day, huh?

Sure, your shop is known for its good coffee, but your tea can put up for a competition, too. It’s just that these days, coffee is more on the popular side, since tea can be made in almost any household now.

You close your book to attend to the customer, but not without leaving a bookmark on the current page. When you look at him, you almost freeze in your tracks. Well if it isn’t Humanity’s Strongest himself!

A pair of dazing stale eyes bore into your own with an unreadable expression and you compose yourself. Crap, you must have been caught giggling to yourself. You feel heat speedily cover your cheeks, turning you to a blushing mess. How shameful.

“Pardon me,” you excuse, clearing your throat before telling him the price. He wordlessly fishes for his wallet and pays. He does find you a bit weird, laughing at nothing, but pays it no more mind. He’s supposed to be on leisure, not meddling with some brat’s uncanny actions.

As you turn your back to make his beverage, you squint your eyes in loss of face. It really is the Captain Levi, and you probably looked like a creep in his eyes. Now what will become of your shop’s repute?

You shove the thought to the back of your head and start working. The ravenhead watches back as you work your hands into making a, hopefully, good blend. Your heart is beating wildly inside your chest like it’s about to jump off your rib cage, but you try to ignore it. The thought of a widely known persona such as him inside your very shop is crazy. To what do you even owe this pleasure?

Oh well, you’ll just pour your heart into making his tea, that way you might erase his ridiculous impression of you in his head. Hey! What’s so bad about giggling while reading? your subconscious tries to defend while you strain the boiled tea leaves into a clean china. The earthly smell hits your nose, making you want one, too.

You smile as you hand over the teacup. “Thank you for your service,” you add, even going as far as bowing. The moment the phrase escapes your lips, you regret it right away. Chills shoot up your spine. It sounds so awkward and unnecessary, but should you just treat the Captain like any other people knowing he’s done so much for your country?

Your cheeks flush into a faint, pink color. Thankfully, you’re slightly angled downwards, he might not see. Levi only eyes you for a second before nodding and taking the cup of tea in his hands, his calloused fingers grazing your hands fleetingly.

When you hear his footsteps fade, you rise and rub a palm against your face. You hesitantly take a glance toward the Captain, and shock takes over your whole system. To be totally honest, you never thought you’d see the day someone would sit on that table.

He looks perfectly placed on the table, like it’s reserved a long time just for him. He’s in civillian clothes, probably to not attract a lot of people. The sunlight gives his face a pretty sheen, the air from the window blowing lightly on his dark fringes. Your heart continues to skip several beats for no clear reason. Maybe that is the reason why your instincts keep telling you to not replace it.

Meanwhile, Levi sips on the freshly brewed tea, the strong flavor staining on his tongue just right. As he occupies his mind somehwere else, the taste hits better. Everything feels evenly distributed, the base smooth and pleasant, the amount of water not brimming. The temperature isn’t so bad as well.

Then and there, he guesses you source fine leaves from the innermost walls, which is a luxury at this point, not to mention your non-overpriced charge.

Not bad, he thinks.

You’re dumbstruck as you sit back in awe. You weren’t able to decipher what he’s thinking, but you know for sure he doesn’t hate it from seeing that he emptied the whole thing and left a generous tip.

You grab your tray and proceed to cleaning up the table he previously seated on, the whole decision of shopping for a plant on Sunday going down the drain.

—

It’s been a whole month since the Captain’s visit, and you think of the once in a lifetime moment often, and at times randomly. You sure as heck won’t be removing the table now that something has happened.

“Thank you,” you say as you hand the cup of coffee, serving the last one for the queue. It’s a late, cloudy afternoon, looking like it’s about to shower, and the shop is pretty dull. Well, that only means you can read more.

“Is this the shop they say sells well?” you hear someone from the ordering area. “Yeah, you go ahead,” they converse. You’re making coffee for yourself at the moment and you can’t peer to look at whose voice it is.

“What? You do it!”

“Just go! We don’t have time!”

“What the fuck? You’re the one holding the knife, aren’t you?!” a man shouts in a whisper. You can’t hear crystal clear due to being far into the counter, although you know they must be disturbing the atmosphere.

Vexed by their rowdiness, you turn around and stop making the blend. You walk to the front of the counter, “Excuse me, please lower your—”

“Give me all your money, lady. Let’s transact in peace so nobody gets hurt,” the man grabs your collar, knife pointed straight into your neck. Another man of his companion moves to the side to cover their actions. You don’t feel the sharp edge prick your skin due to intense panic.

You look around frantically, worried if there are other people harmed. To your relief, they seem to not notice anything, if you can even call that relieving. Now there must be no saving you.

“It’s alright, we won’t bring someone else into this, just do what we ask,” the other guy says, wide, haunting eyes looking straight into you. You feel cold sweat drip from your forehead.

“Now hand us what you got.”

On the other hand, Levi finishes with his errands around the capital and stumbles within your shop’s vicinity. Walking mindlessly, he checks the skies to tell the time, but sees the dark clouds instead. It seems it’s about to pour.

He’s already in front of your shop, but the threatening rain will be bigger trouble, he might get stranded if he stops by. Plus, he probably didn’t bring enough money, so he’s got no choice but head back now.

Just when he’s about to leave, his peripheral vision miraculously catches sight of your horrified expression through the window, putting him to an abrupt halt. He turns to see better, and finds two men roughing you up while trying to hide the commotion.

He clicks his tongue and spins to turn away. It’s not his business anymore, it’s for the Military Police to deal with. They might be loan sharks for all he knows, and you’d be held entirely accountable for that.

Unable to take the view of the knife pointed to your neck out of his head, he sighs defeatedly and eventually discovers himself inside the store, else it’d slowly eat at his conscience.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” he questions with a firm voice, turning heads his way.

“It’s Captain Levi from the Survey Corps!”

“What a lucky day!”

People stir up upon seeing the Captain to which he only ignores, full attention on you and the two criminals.

The robber without a weapon quickly turns around to check, shaking in fear. As he makes terrifying eye contact with the Captain, he makes haste for the door in desperate hopes of escaping, but to no avail. Levi grabs the back of the poor guy’s head and slams it against an empty table, putting him to deep sleep. Then turning to your armed assaulter, Levi closes in with big steps and takes the knife down before swinging the side of his hand, striking a nerve on the man’s neck to knock him out.

Levi perceives they’re complete amateurs and wonders why they even steal. Atleast one of them tried to run, he thinks as he looks down on the passed out crooks.

You’re not exactly sure if your heart calmed down or speeded up even more—maybe both, but you feel safe and more at ease.

Tying the last knot, he stands from his kneeled form and dusts his hands off to rid himself of the filth.

You only watch silently, mind clouded in confusion of what to do. Captain Levi came just in time and saved you and your shop of possible bankruptcy. Say, it could have been the worst timing considering you haven’t cleared your cash box for weeks now. You’re reminded of how much you owe the Captain.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be out cold for a while, just call the MP’s on them,” Levi assures before taking a glance at you and fails to understand your expression, your face looks like it’s leaking shit in his opinion.

You look at the two robbers dozing off tied together by the help of Levi and your spare rope before giving your savior another bow. “Thank you so much!” you exclaim and raise your head to meet his fierce gaze.

“And sorry for the trouble, people around here can get belligerent, especially to us business owners,” you add.

He observes you from head to toe, eyes particularly lingering on your neck, and you blush in embarrassment, feeling his hot stare.

“Is there—?”

He takes something from his pocket and offers you a handkerchief which you cluelessly accept. You later on realize what it’s for, finally feeling a sting on your neck. You wipe the bleeding area and see trails of crimson on your apron as well.

With no reason to stay any longer, Levi steers to leave, but is just in time to witness the rain pour down heavily, big droplets washing against the windows. He sighs, it’s just as he guessed.

You, on contrast, get an idea to show your gratitude, feeling a physical candle light up in your brain. “Captain Levi, please stay and let the rain pass while I brew you some coffee,” you negotiate with strong willed eyes, fixed on returning him a favor. It’s the least you could do from within your limited skills, and you’d like it if he’d accept. Actually, you won’t accept if he rejects, fully wanting to pay him back atleast a tad.

He looks back at you, slightly surprised. You seem like a more persistent person now rather than an easily flustered mess. Could he be so insensitive as to decline your generous offer after seeing your firm resolve? But more importantly, coffee? Could he be so thick-skinned as to ask for something else other than that?

When he stays quiet, you decide to go ahead and make him a drink from one of your premium coffee beans, but you’re put to a stop as he speaks.

“I’d prefer tea.”

Oh, right. He did ask for black tea a month back, didn’t he? You give him a smile and a thumbs up of approval before turning your back to make his tea.

Levi massages his temples and takes a seat, eyeing the immobilized crooks and the outside, thinking what he got himself into. It won’t be so bad to stay for a while and let the rain ease down, right?

You wait for the water to boil before dropping a bunch of mint leaves, then waiting for it to simmer. You prepare a porcelain cup and saucer and pour in the hot liquid, adding honey for a natural sweetener. You mix in a couple droplets of lemon to balance the flavor and you’re good to go.

You set the tea on his chosen table of two, giving the free seat a momentary glimpse. You wonder how it would feel like to have a proper conversation with Captain Levi, only to quickly dismiss the thought of joining him as you hear someone call you from the counter. Thankfully, people are back to minding their business and don’t bother the Captain anymore. You excuse yourself and return to work, still a couple hours away from closing time.

Levi sits back and enjoys the tea you made, soon learning it’s a fresh peppermint tea. Though it’s only the second time he’s having your brew, he doesn’t know why he already has high expectations. The choice of blend is perfect for a rainy day, and it’s exactly what he would have made when he returned back to the headquarters. You don’t really look like someone who prefers tea, but he’s impressed nevertheless.

He sips on the cup, letting the weather pass and the taste line his tongue. A variety of things occupy his mind involuntarily and before he knows it, the rain has calmed down into a shower.

He stands to leave but suddenly notices an umbrella left on his table. When did that get there? He takes a glimpse at you and finds you looking back at him with curious, alert eyes like that of a cat, immediately averting your gaze and resuming to pick up the dirtied tableware onto your tray.

Levi confirms it’s from you, and it’s another one of your acts of gratitude. He’s left with no choice and grabs it, wraps his slender fingers around the handle, and takes his leave.

Satisfied, you sigh in relief as you watch his back drift into the darkness. You look at the handkerchief in the pocket of your apron, smiling. Despite rumors of him being an unrelenting leader and a ruthless thug that stretched way back, the Captain is a kind man, isn’t he? If there really is such thing as coincidence, you’d like to consider yourself lucky for having experienced it.

—

About two more weeks pass when Levi finds himself hooked into the sweet aroma of the tea you make, the ambience of your shop’s environment, and something else he can’t put a name on. In actuality, he may or may not be using your umbrella as an excuse to go to your store right now.

He takes a glance at his hand holding the same umbrella. He briefly questions himself what he’s doing but pushes the thought aside with the use of his well thought of excuse. True enough, he can’t just go around using other people’s possession, can he?

He begins to sense the growing familiarity of your shop as he closes in. The choice of location being just at the mouth of the city, the distinct line between rural and urban is visibly emphasized.

As Levi enters through the saloon door, his eyes almost immediately find your form, leisurely reading while leaning on the counter, back turned against the entrance, your hair up in a braided bun which he finds neat. He clicks his tongue as he approaches to order.

“It’s easier to mug you that way,” he says and you jolt in surprise. Recognizing the stone cold voice, you spin to see the Captain in front of you, inside your very shop once again. This is no coincidence anymore!

“Captain Levi!” you greet with a beam, utterly delighted to see him. “Pleasant afternoon, what can I get you?” you ask and look him straight in the face. He’s in casual clothes, so you guess it’s another one of his day off’s. His sombre eyes of a unique bluish grey color take on your gaze fiercely. It’s true that the eyes convey one’s entire personality, as you feel his menace even though he doesn’t intend to display it.

“Black tea,” he says without a hitch, giving you the exact amount of money, and you proceed to your working space. Boiling of water, straining of tea leaves, pouring it into clean china; as you hand it to him, they start to resemble a routine.

He goes ahead and takes the corner table, and you couldn’t be any happier, thinking he seems to like the spot, choosing it among every other free seats. Levi takes a sip, and enjoys it with no wonder. You didn’t fail to make an exquisite blend.

A couple moments later, he’s still there. While everyone else chitchats with their company, he sits in silence with his beverage, ocassionally looking at the sky freely laid out by the window. He’s never really one to catch up with the bulletin and read daily papers, he’d prefer books for that matter.

As you wipe with a rag the empty tabletop just beside him, you see him looking at the window, cup of tea in hand. He, however, feels your stare, and wordlessly slides an umbrella on the table without batting you an eye. You recognize it as yours and take a step towards him.

“You better not have arrived home drenched that night,” he says. It’s only until he returned to the headquarters that he had realized you must have given him your only umbrella.

A chuckle leaves your mouth, aren’t you concerned. “I might have.” He clicks his tongue.

You grab it in your hands and follow his gaze, soon looking vacantly at the view as well. “You can see the skies from there, right?” you ask, earning a low hum in response.

“I wonder how far they stretch from outside on… Some say they’re boundless,” the words unconsciously slip from your mouth as you watch the clouds move. Something about relatively slow afternoons just hypnotize you to no end.

Levi shifts his gaze to your figure upon hearing a frame of your mind, finding a glimmer of ambition in the mesmerizing pools of your eyes. He can hear your train of thoughts out loud, while you wonder if you could ever get to experience the outside world. He remembers a couple friends thinking the same thing way back, and he realizes, it’s people like you that he hates to see drift away, one of those whom he feels he has to protect, though it’s not like you know each other to great extent.

He brings his cup to his lips and frankly speaks, “It’s not pretty out there.”

His words interrupt you from your daze, making you look at him. You notice he grips the teacup oddly, holding it around the mouth instead of its handle. You heave out a shallow sigh. “Figured you’d say that,” you say with a sad smile. It’s undeniable, coming from him.

You fish something from the pocket of your apron and leave it on his table, then making your way back to the counter. A seemingly little exchange of borrowed objects. He eyes his cleaned dry handkerchief and leaves a comment before you can stray farther, “It does seem endless.”

The corners of your lips upturn into a grateful smile. He really is soft. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know exactly what you’re thanking him for.

—

Time and time passed, and he always comes every week without fail. Sometimes, when days are light, he even visits twice a week. You could say you have developed quite a relationship with the Captain, though not something that can be considered close to sentimental. The distance is still present, but you’d have small talks here and there, sometimes you’d lend him your books just so he doesn’t bore himself to death, or maybe so he’d stay a little longer.

You gradually learn to read his moods through the language of his orders. You find that he’s more of a tea lover based solely from the fact that he never once asked for coffee. Black tea is his regular, Oolong tea is when something probably turns out good or successful, since the price a little higher and you guess it’s his little way of celebrating, Chamomile tea when something is roughly off, you figure as he never speaks excessively when he orders it.

You never end up joining him, though. Of course, he always takes the table of one, there isn’t room for another.

“The usual,” Levi briefly says and hands you the exact charge. Never faltering, you smile and continue to make black tea for the man. “You still haven’t hired a helper,” he points out and you hum in agreement.

“I can manage by myself,” you inform as you stir his tea. You’ve managed years by your own, what use is there for an extra hand? Besides, it’s not like your shop gets hoarded by huge amounts of people. Coffee shops attract a moderate number, and you’re fine with that.

You slide the finished drink to Levi and he accepts, heading to his own little corner. Ever since he first came, you labeled the corner seat as his own, and you never thought of removing it again. He doesn’t seem like a very social person, like he’s a man of few words if talking is unnecessary. You always wonder how it must feel to have a conversation with such a persona; must be novel and inspiriting. Problem is, you don’t have the guts to initiate it. You don’t want to be overlooked as a fangirl of the sort. If possible, you want to converse casually.

It’s the looming distance between a coffee shop owner and a country’s renowned soldier that obstructs you from feeling on level as him.

Still, you don’t know why you’re currently grabbing a book from one of your drawers and why you’re currently making your way toward him, tray still in hand to clean afterwards as an excuse.

“Fancy a book?” you offer as you set one of your favorite titles on his table. He darts his eye on it and studies the cover for a brief moment, seeing if it’s up to his standards. It doesn’t really pique his interest, but you made an effort, and it’d be of great companion with the tea.

Levi accepts the book in his hands and starts reading, later learning about the main character’s introduction. “You have a lot of books,” he comments out of observation. This isn’t the first time you offered him one, nor is it just the second. He’s come to a conclusion that you have a liking for it.

You hum in agreement. “I like collecting them, but they’re still not enough to fill a shelf, though. I’m thinking about putting one here,” you say, already envisioning where to place it.

He almost immediately thought of the Headquarters’ library. A lot of books there just get covered in dust, unmoved. Cadets these days don’t take reading as hobby. He considers the idea of bringing some for your shop to make use of it. “I can hand you some,” he says, flipping the page.

Your eyes widen in an equal mix of delight and surprise. He’d go that far? For what? Is the Captain really like this? “Really? From where?” you try to hide the excitement in your voice, but it doesn’t escape his ears. Well isn’t that great? An upgrade for your shop and a chance to see him again. Not that he’s not showing himself enough.

“Scouts’ library,” he says, flipping another page, and you’re deep in thought. Is that allowed? Do I have to pay?

Just a couple of pages in, he seems partially engrossed. The protagonist is a traveller who encounters metaphorical life obstacles and is most likely to find self-discovery through it, that’s as much as he knows.

He notices you still haven’t left and bats you an eye. You look troubled and euphoric at the same time, he couldn’t understand entirely what you’re thinking but he has a clue. “It’s free. Some of it are old anyway,” he informs, which seems to bring your face relief. So his hunch turns out to be right, you were thinking of the burden.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that!” you deny right away, waving your hand dismissively, cheeks blushing. You definitely were.

He stays quiet, and you feel ashamed. Does he think you’re a cheapskate? Or thick-faced? Hey, he’s also reading, you must be a distraction. Oh god, how can you make acquaintances with him now?

You aim to leave and give him his space, afraid that you might be bugging him for too long now, but Levi suddenly speaks just in time.

“You have an allurement for things about the outside,” he asserts in heed. When you don’t answer, he continues, “It’s not all rainbows out there, you know.” His perception of you still stands as he’s continuously reminded by you of people who go through great measures to reach their dreams, and those he lost due to wanting to seek for more.

You don’t know if it’s a positive connotation or a negative but he doesn’t sound so enthusiastic. Your grip on the tray tightens. The way he puts it… is he trying to make you drop your interest?

“I do know that. I just,” you pause, contemplating what to say. You’re stuck with I just want to dream, is it so bad? or I just want to experience the forbidden, I’m sick of being stuck in this birdcage, or an impulsive one: I just want to see, would you bring me outside?

Instead, you settle with “I wouldn’t know, I’m a mere shop owner. I don’t have the chance to sit and talk with someone who’s gone beyond the walls.” Like you, sir.

He studies you as you look back at him with firm eyes. Brat, you already live a life with fair peace. The resolve in your eyes didn’t waver, not one bit. He thinks, will you be content with knowing about the outside? Levi heaves out a sigh and closes the book before leisurely taking a sip on his tea.

“Maybe if you’d put another chair, we’ve been talking for months now,” he then says, an even amount of sarcasm in his tone, enough to not come off as rude.

Dumbfounded, you gawk at the Captain for a good five seconds, eyes slightly enlarged in surprise before laughing your head off, turning a couple heads your way for a fleeting second.

“What’s funny?” he quizzes, thin brows furrowed together, and you wave him off, wiping your euphoric tears away.

“Well, I didn’t know it’d be that simple, Captain!” you giggle, eyes genuinely happy and hearty. Just put a chair in? In all seriousness, he doesn’t exactly look approachable with those half lidded dark eyes and a permanent scowl now, does he? That’s one of the primary reasons you have trouble making advances to him.

Levi looks at you, taking in the undeniably beautiful sight before clicking his tongue and averting his gaze.

He’s absolutely certain he paid no attention to the way you tucked your hair behind your ear in a timid manner, the way your silky locks sway gracefully by the wind’s cool breeze, the way your delicate fingers held to the tray tightly as you try to compose yourself, and the way your glowing eyes looked back at him with a gentle gaze once you’ve finally calmed down. Yes, he likes to think he paid no extra mind to those details.

“Tch, did you think I’d bite you or something?” he deadpans, taking another sip on his cup.

“No, absolutely not!” You absolutely did. “I’ll put another chair some other day,” you say and wave him goodbye upon seeing a customer enter, returning to your working place.

He shakes his head lightly and finishes his cup, bringing the book with him as he takes his exit. The smile in your face never disappeared throughout the day, chest booming in an unrelenting speed.

Sunday comes, and you decide to do a general cleaning. You also buy a small shelf from the nearest furniture shop and have it delivered, filling it with some of your books. You squeeze in a chair to the corner by adjusting the other tables’ distances, and you can only laugh at yourself for not thinking of this long ago. You think, why not just sit on a table of two? but figure maybe the Captain’s already grown fond to the spot.

You feel like a schoolgirl as you mindlessly prepare things to talk about and questions to ask. How much does he know? Are titans really that big? Is the ocean real? What brought him to your shop?

But after that, you never saw him again. You think maybe he’ll arrive later or the next day, but more weeks pass, and not even his shadow appeared.

The slowest weeks achingly turn to months. You’ve been awfully attentive to the morning papers since then, looking for the slightest news about him, or their operations. You think it’s completely understandable, being perfectly aware that the Captain is a busy man. You know that visiting little tea shops isn’t actually a luxury that a guy like him affords, but it tugs at your heart a teeny bit, a small part of you involuntarily longing for him. Eitherway, you just wish for his and his people’s safety.

About five months have passed since you last saw him. Levi, on the other hand, has gotten busy those said times. Expeditionary Operations came after another, and he’s buried with work once they arrive back. His squad got promoted to Special Operations Squad, and intensive training was mandatory. The amount of free time he had back then was generous, and in those five months, he had no time to slack off.

But he never forgot you, every single time he drinks tea, he starts doubting his own blend as compared to yours.

“That’s the last of it,” Levi says as he hands over piles and piles of paperwork to the Commander. Erwin only grunts his response.

The ravenhead contemplates for a few moments before finally speaking, “I’ll be out. I’ll return before dinner,” he informs and turns his back, words more of a statement than asking for permission. The higher ranking officer only stares at him as his figure leaves the room. Fair enough, he’s done with his current tasks as a Captain and it’s his first day off in a while. He leaves him be.

Levi dismisses his tan jacket and fixes his cravat as he heads to the shop he favors. He ends up forgetting the books he’s supposed to give but pushes it aside. Oh well, just another excuse for him to visit.

Minutes of walking on foot, steps a little quicker than normal, and he finally arrives, the ambience hugging at his aura. It’s been long since he last set his foot here. He pushes at the saloon door, a ton of improvisations greeting his sight. The interior is now painted a beige color, the warmth going along with the wooden accents. You’ve added the shelf you said you wanted to put, a fair number of books in it. Lastly, his preferred corner seat already has two chairs opposite to each other.

Your back is turned against the door again, leaning on the counter as you occupied yourself with a book. He notices that your hair has gotten longer in a span of months. He shortly wonders what else has changed.

“Oi, the usual,” a familiar voice says, stoic tone resonating in your ears and you immediately feel your soul light up, like it’s been ages since you last felt so giddy. A chaotic mix of worry, excitement, longing, and bliss surges all throughout your body.

When you face the stale eyed man, your tingling heart shamelessly speeds up, a smile rising on your lips.

—

You wave him farewell as he leaves, and as he cuts eye contact, heat shoots up into your cheeks like crazy, which he totally misses out on.

One step out and Levi feels the presence of a stalker just around the alley. He gives her a bored look and starts walking away, which she then reveals herself and follows suit.

“So this is you and your secret lover’s getaway, huh?” Hange teases, obviously aiming to pry for more. Now what, she’s spying on him? This insane woman.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she has good tea,” Levi answers in nonchalance, staring right ahead the road. The woman makes silly noises at his response, similar to those sounds only she can produce when learning new discoveries about titans.

“Precisely,” the redhead says in satisfaction, nodding her head with her hands stroking her chin as if she got the answer she’s waiting for.

He shoves her actions aside, couldn’t care less about whatever conclusion she came up with. But no matter how much he keeps convincing his subconscious, it’s the tea that draw me in, he just can’t bring himself to believe in it.

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