#she doesn’t have to disclose anything she doesn’t want too

[moviemandy]

Not to make this about amangela but Angela naming Lucy Dacus and then scolding everyone for being the straightest people in the room for not knowing her from boygenius

…👀??

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Fake boyfriend p3-

pairings - soft!rafe! X virginfem!reader

summary - you lie to your befriend that you have a boyfriend.

warnings - alcohol, language, mention of touching.

“So y/n, favorite position?” Kelsie questions, your body stiffens above Rafe. His hand squeezes your thigh, you screwed your face up at her. Her eyes were glassy and eyelids half closed, she was wasted. If she had been sober she would never have asked a personal question like that in a game. She would have asked you the details in private.

“Come on, don't be shy!”

All eyes are on you awaiting your answer, your skin was going to be a permanent shade of red if people kept embarrassing you. Clearing the back of your throat. “I-”

The words don’t seem to form, everyone’s still staring at you causing your heart to pound in your chest. “My girl is a lady, she doesn’t like to disclose personal information… but for the sake of the game and to keep you guys quiet she really loves to ride me”.

You have to bite your tongue to stop the choking sound formulating in the back of your throat, your skin covered in goosebumps at the idea of sitting on Rafe’s cock. Why were you suddenly so comfortable with the idea of sex? Subconsciously your body moved against him when the tingles spread from your toes to your pussy. Kelsie’s eyes are wide and she lets out a squeal. “Goddamn! Bestie you're holding out on details!”.

You shook your head, letting out a forced laugh. You were letting this fake boyfriend thing go too far, you didn’t want to lie to her about sex. Rafe’s hands tighten around your hips to stop you from moving. “You keep moving and we are going to have a problem” he whispered into your ear, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. Your body straightens up against him, did he mean what you thought he meant? Was you moving against him causing him to get an erection?

Everyone turns to Topper and waits for him to choose truth or dare. You're not even sure why you were playing the game, you’d not played it since grade 8 where you got dared to kiss Jacob the popular boy. It was another embarrassing moment to add to the list of embarrassing moments.

Rafe clears his throat, turning your head slightly to look down at him. “Sorry, I’m not sure if you wanted me to say anything”.

“Oh no, thank you for saving me. I um- I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway since you know… I’m a virgin” you whisper, you can feel his heartbeat pick up against your chest. “I see” is all he says and you both avert your attention back to the game happening in front of you.

“Rafe’s turn!” Kelsie squeals, she’s handing everyone shots which you politely decline only to get an evil glare from your best friend. “Dare”.

“I dare you to make out with y/n”

“Kelsie, they are dating remember” Sam laughs, shaking her head at your best friend. “So? My bestie finally has a boyfriend. I wanna see her kiss him again”.

The rhythm of your heart had only just calmed, picking up a few notches you could heart it in your eardrums, the same tingles spread through you when you feel him around move under you, angling both your bodies to look at one another.

You're more nervous than the night before, this time you didn’t have liquid courage. This time you were going to kiss him completely sober, you were also sure he was sober so he would remember what a terrible kisser you were.

His lips turn up into a smile, the creases around his mouth have you feeling strange. His thumb and forefinger reach up to hold your chin, angling your face up slightly. Your breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling faster than usual. His eyes search your face for a sign of discomfort, only to be met by approval. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip pulling it slightly away from your lips, your eyes flutter closed as his lips dust over yours.

You're pushing your body into his, deepening the kiss before he can. His hand holds you by the jaw, lips moving roughly against each other. His tongue slips between your lips and his hands are pulling at your waist, trying to bring you as close to him as possible. Your legs have a mind of their own, moving to straddle his lap.

You're both so caught up in the kiss you forget you're playing some childish game, neither of you hearing your friends behind you who coughed and called your names. They give up after a few tries and end up leaving the room, making their way to the pool.

You're running out of breath and pull away, foreheads pressing against each other. Your breath fans over his lips as you calm your racing heart, you're brought back to reality when you hear a loud splash. Turning away from Rafe to see no one was in the room anymore.

“Sorry… I” you begin to say but he cuts you off by pressing his finger to your lips. The urge to suck his finger is strong, you have to grind your teeth to stop you from doing so. “Why are you apologizing”.

“I don’t know…”

“Have you ever kissed someone like that before?” He questions, his finger has dropped from your lips now. Both hands lay upon your thighs as you still straddled him, very aware of the hard lump pressing against your core. “No”.

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah oh yeah definitely”

He nods his head, another small smirk on his lips. “Can I ask you a personal question?”.

“Sure” he looks at you for a moment and contemplates what he’s going to ask, his eyes searching your face once again. “Is there a reason you're a virgin? I mean you're a beautiful girl, it can’t be anything to do with your looks”.

Your cheeks flush pink again, moving your body off him and onto the seat beside him. His own body seems to follow you for a movement, his back lifting from the chair but he quickly settles back down.

“No real reason, I just have never felt comfortable with someone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a horny 22 year old but I’m not going to pick someone up at a party. I need to feel comfortable and I went to a girl high school and when I move into uni, my parents were into me about finishing with the highest grades… I didn’t get a proper childhood”.

He nods his head in understanding, being a virgin has never made you feel embarrassed up until Kelsie wouldn’t shut up about it infront of people. It was your body and decision, no one has ever made you feel comfortable enough to get naked and go further than kissing and even then the people you had kissed before Rafe never sent shivers down your spine. Rafe had you feeling a different way, you were embarrassingly wet for him the moment your eyes caught his and you didn’t care, you enjoyed feeling this way.

“Did you want to go for a swim?”

“Let’s go”

You follow him out of the house and down the stairs into the garden, you're surprised he knows where he is going but assume he must have snooped while you were asleep. Your eyes are trained on his chest as he takes his shirt off, his abs are rock hard. You have a sudden urge to run your hands down them but you stop yourself.

“Wait I need my swimsuit”

Before he can respond, you're bounding up the stairs again, forcing your way through your bedroom and rummaging in your drawers. You didn’t own anything sexy, but you didn’t care any swim suit made your boobs looked good.

You change quickly and race back outside, Rafe still stood in the same place but with a beer this time. He nods at you as you walk back down the stairs, as soon as you're at his side he’s wrapping his arm around your shoulder walking the two of you to the pool.

Another shiver runs down your spine, his hands instinctively rub up and down them to keep you warm. You give him a soft smile and let him walk you to the edge of the pool.

Music drowns everything out, you watch closely at your best friend who floats on her back in silence. Though she can sense your near she pushes herself up from the water and locks eyes with you.

“Y/n!” Your best friend screams, you give Rafe a smile and race around the pool. Jumping into the water in front of her, she wraps her around around you and straddles your waist. “I’m having the best time, are you having the best time?”

“Yeah babe of course!”

The two of you chat and float around, swimming over to your other friends and then playing a game of Marco Polo. You swim over to the side away from everyone to catch your breath, head leaning against the concrete, Rafe joins you momentarily after.

“It’s funny how we literally just met but everyone seems to be acting like we’ve been friends for years” he chuckles softly, you straighten up and look at how everyone’s just doing there thing, he drops his arm on the cement behind your shoulders, even though he had been in the water you can still smell the cologne on him.

“Well I’ve known who you are since you arrived, everyone knows who you are. You're just more reserved and stick to your friends” he admits, he looks down at you for a brief moment and then back at the water.

“Oh”

He was right, you moved here just before your 20th birthday. Your parents brought you a house on the island for your birthday, and said they lined up for a transfer with your degree. They wanted you to get away from home, uni had been hard and your motivation had been lacking.

Outer banks was only a 4 hours car ride from home, you didn’t really have a choice in the matter. But you didn’t really care because you didn’t have many friends at home anyway.

“But nothing wrong with sticking with your friends, I stick with mine”

You nod in understanding and leaning back, you can feel his bicep on your shoulder blades. Goosebumps litter your skin, you can feel your nipples harden against the material of your swimsuit. “Cold?”

Your face blushed a deep red, thankfully the night sky hid it. You could feel his eyes on you for a moment and then he pulled you away from the seat, his big hands holding your thighs and wrapping them around his waist. His arms hugged you close, his mouth pressed to your collarbone. “Better?”

You nod frantically, the goosebumps still visible but the heat from his body warmed you from the inside out. You were so shamefully wet right now, you could feel his abs against your pussy. Tightening your legs around him instinctively. “You okay?”

“Mhm” you breathe, you let him walk you both up and down the length of the pool. Everyone shouts and plays games around you but it feels like it’s only the two of you in the pool. “Get a room!” Topper shouts out, everyone laughs in the response.

“Let’s give them a show”

You nod your head eagerly, your lips had been longing to feel his against yours since he wrapped your legs around him.

He’s hungrily kissing your lips, slipping his tongue between your open mouth. Shamefully the heels of your feel dig into his lower back, pressing your cunt against his abs tighter chasing some sort of pressure.

His hands are timidly grabbing your ass cheeks and your bucking your hips against him. “Sorry” you squeak, his lips trail down your neck.

“Gross!” Everyone shouts but they turn back to their game, leaving you both in your own little world. He’s walking you until your back is pressed to the wall of the pool. “Rafe”

“Sorry sorry” he quickly says moving away from you but you're quick to stop him, his eyes shoot down to yours as you pull him back. “Don’t apologize”

He nods and keeps his hands underneath your thighs, you wiggle down a little and grind your hips into his hardening cock. “What are- what do you need?”

“I don’t know”

His lips are on yours again, your rolling your hips against his again. “Have you ever touched yourself?”

You nod your head, just because you were a virgin didn’t mean you didn’t chase that high. You were a believer of relieving your stress every chance you got, whether that be your fingers or a vibrator.

“Do you want- do you want me to touch you?”

“Please”

Part four

Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting @drewstarkeyslut @emotionsmgcbabe @ijustwanttoreadlols @uraesthete @drewstarkeyswifehoe @aysha4life

[cod-dump]

For the teen!Ghost au, has there ever been a time where Price hasn’t come home? A mission gone badly and he gets injured? Maybe Nik has to handle the fort for a little while on his own because Price is trapped in the hospital?

(Also Roach is a precious bby)

———

John getting hurt bad enough he had to go straight to the hospital. He was unconscious or just unable to call home to tell Nik or the kids that he won’t be coming home that night. So Kate has to call, and she didn’t know enough to know that John would be fine after a minor surgery to correct whatever injury he obtained.

She calls Nik and tells him that John was in the hospital after a mission with south, and that she doesn’t know much about the situation or his condition. It was enough to make Nik’s blood run cold and him to be near hysterics. But Nik’s a professional and he was able to keep a mask up and keep the truth from the kids.

But they knew something was wrong. Dad wasn’t home when he was supposed to be, they hadn’t heard anything from him and Nik was being too quiet. The fact he wasn’t acting worried made them worry.

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s held up at work. He’s not sure when he’ll be home.”

Nik never felt so much anxiety before, especially in the comfort of his own home. All it took was a phone call and now he felt so out of control. The hospital where John was hadn’t been disclosed with him, Kate hasn’t called and gave him any updates. For all he knew John was dead. And there wasn’t nothing he could do but stay home and care for the kids and animals.

There was nothing else he could do.

Simon and Kyle were not handling this well. Of course they knew something was wrong. They’ve always been anxious boys, and now their dad was missing. Farah was harder to read but Nik could tell this was affecting her as well. She was worried, scared. She was good at hiding how she felt, but he could see her fidget and watch her phone, waiting for a phone call from John.

They were all torn up about this, terrified of what the next call will bring. Nik couldn’t sleep for those two days of silence. He just laid in bed or just rested on the couch, hoping the front door would open and John would come in. He couldn’t speak on the subject with the kids, and he knew that made everything worse.

Kate finally stopped by when the boys were at school and Farah was at work. Nik had to do everything he could to keep himself calm when she walked up the driveway and to their door. He was expecting the worst, he was expecting having to tell the kids the worst thing he could imagine. Having to handle paperwork to become the boys’ legal guardian. Fuck- Pull strings to make it where they stayed with him if that wasn’t possible.

He was expecting the worst and it showed. And Kate blinked when she noticed the stress practically radiating off of him.

“God- He’s fine, Nik.”

Nik felt relief flood him, tears wanting to spill. Then he yelled.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

“Don’t you dare yell at me! This has been the most hellish week of my life! I’ve been having to clean up John’s mess and practically live at my office, not having a moment without someone calling me- Are you crying?”

He did start crying. And Kate had him sit down and coached him through what had to be his first panic attack in years. And once he was calm she was able to explain everything that had happened and where John had been. Both him and Kate had been practically isolated after their intel went sour.

John, having been the most hands on in it, was put through debriefings, meetings, and picked apart by his superiors the moment he came out of surgery. He wasn’t allowed to call anyone until SAS was sure he had nothing to do with everything going wrong at once.

“He’s coming home tonight. He asked me to check on you before I headed home.”

Nik felt stress and relief flow intertwined, his heart pulling every which way. John was coming home, and he wanted to strangle him for making him worry. He didn’t strangle him when he saw him get dropped off. Nik instead swung the front door open before he even made it onto the porch and grabbed him and pulled him into a fierce hug. John squawked when he was grabbed but didn’t fight him, just slumped against him, exhausted.

“Missed ya, too,” he had muttered against his shoulder. John could have easily fallen asleep right there, in Nik’s arms.

He wouldn’t get a chance to, however. Once Riley started barking, the house came alive and John wouldn’t know peace for the next few weeks. A small price to pay for the worry he had put his family through.

[reminiscingtonight]

Sisters Know Best

Ana-Maria Crnogorčević x Wälti!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I may or may not have forgotten the Olympics was a thing. Oops

[WOSO Masterlist]

Consciousness comes to you slowly. Eyes gently fluttering open, your smile is automatic at both the feel and sight of your favorite person wrapped around you.

Ana’s face is peaceful and relaxed as she still remains fast asleep, arms securely locking you against her body.

You’ve missed this. Being able to fall asleep and wake up to Ana is something you took for granted until suddenly you weren’t able to do so anymore.

Her departure from Barcelona was unexpected, for both you and her. None of your teammates knew it was coming as well. A relationship that blossomed during the last half of your one year overlap at Barcelona was suddenly subjected to the distance between your club teams. 

But the two of you made things work. Facetime dates were a regular occurrence, so were the trips to visit one another during short breaks of play. One and a half years after you began dating, your relationship is still going strong.

As much as you would have loved to stay trapped against Ana until she woke, eventually your bladder wins, urging you to find an escape to the bathroom. It takes a couple minutes, but eventually you wiggle your way to freedom without waking Ana. 

After relieving yourself, you’re halfway between the bathroom and your bedroom when you notice the jacket hanging from the hook by the front door. The jacket that very much was not present when you and Ana got to the house earlier in the day.

Eyes wide, you have to remind yourself to stay calm.

A year and a half into dating, you’re already certain Ana’s the love of your life. But that doesn’t negate the fact that you’ve known her nearly almost all of your life. And of course you had no one but Lia to thank for that fact.

Ana’s been your sister’s best friend for as long as you could remember.

And that would be cool, everything would be 100% fine. Except… maybe Lia’s still unaware of your relationship.

Initially, the two of you kept it under wraps, not wanting Lia’s unwanted opinions to potentially interfere with whatever was happening between the two of you. But then as time moved on, as you and Ana settled down into a smooth relationship, separated from your sister by both a country and the English Channel, you didn’t feel the rush to disclose your relationship to her.

The stress of the world cup last year allowed your relationship to remain undetected during the off-season. Lia didn’t have the time or brainpower to focus on anything other than keeping your national team together and functioning under the direction of your head coach who could barely string a coherent play together. 

But that was last year. And now, more than a year after you and Ana made things official, you still have not told Lia about your relationship. And with the beginning of this off-season, you’re about to spend the majority of two months together with no major tournaments to act as a distraction.

A part of you is really hoping you just missed the jacket when you arrived earlier, but the more logical side of your brain tells you you’re as fucked as you think you are.

Tip-toeing down the stairs, you pop your head around the corner into the kitchen.

Lia looks up from where she’s sat by the counter when you push the door open. You were already expecting to see her there, but you still can’t mask the surprise in your voice. “Lia? What are you-- You’re home!”

Your sister raises an amused eyebrow at the tone in your voice. “It’s great to see you too.”

Shaking yourself out of your shock, you lunge forward, letting Lia pull you into the comforts of her arms. “Missed you,” you grin, momentarily forgetting your girlfriend is fast asleep upstairs. 

Though the thought quickly returns when Lia gestures towards the front door, hidden behind the wall. “I noticed you got new shoes?”

Paling, you remember the way you had to bribe Ana with kisses to neatly place her shoes next to yours by the rack. 

“Yeah! I did a little bit of shopping in Barcelona before coming home,” is the first lie that passes through your mind, something you’re quick to voice.

“I can see that,” Lia chuckles, tugging at your unfamiliar but also so obviously worn down sweatshirt. It’s just your luck that you’re also wearing one of Ana’s sweatshirts right as this moment. You find yourself wanting to curse your girlfriend out. Dubbed Ana’s ‘favorite,’ this piece of clothing is your go-to for stealing. It just always smells like her and makes you feel safe, but safe is the last thing you feel as you are quick to nod again, lying that you did indeed get a new piece of clothing too.

The two of you chat about everything and nothing, making up for lost time. While you’re so obviously just trying to buy time as you try to come up with a way to either sneak Ana out of the house or come clean to Lia without facing her wrath, you come bask in the presence of your sister. You really have missed Lia.

After spending the majority of your career chasing Lia from club to club, you finally made your break away from her two seasons ago to Barcelona. Leaving Arsenal was hard, but you were ready for something new. And Lia was more than happy to support you.

Some time in between Lia praising how well the new Arsenal players have cemented their place on the team over the season and discussing which possible movie the two of you should go put on, Lia ducks under the cabinet to pull out the kettle, intent on making some tea. You use the brief moment of distraction to make your getaway.

“Oh shoot, I forgot my phone upstairs in my room. Do you mind waiting here for me while I quickly go get it?”

Lia chuckles, gesturing to stove. “Go for it. I won’t be joining you until our tea’s done.”

Your trainers at Barcelona would be proud of the speed to which you race out of the kitchen and then back up the stairs to your room.

To your delight, and horror, Ana’s already awake, sleepy smile sent your way when you shut the door behind you. 

“Hi baby--”

“Lia’s home,” you whisper, cutting Ana off.

The blonde’s eyes grow in size as she bolts upright in your bed.

“What do you mean? I thought you said she wouldn’t be back until…” Ana’s words trail off when she flips over her phone and sees the time.

The two of you definitely napped for longer than you originally intended to.

“You’ve got to go. Lia’s about to hunker me down with a movie marathon. God knows how long you’ll be stuck here if you don’t try sneaking out now.”

Ana blinks. “How exactly are you going to sneak me out then?” 

You point towards the window in your room. “I’ve snuck out of the house multiple times growing up. There’s a tree that you can climb out and get into the front yard from.”

Ana balks, looking at you as if you just grew three heads. “You want me to sneak out the window and climb down a tree?!”

You roll your eyes, pressing a sweet kiss against Ana’s panic-stricken face. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.”

Turning around, you head for your closest. After a bit of digging you finally pull out an old pair of tennis shoes.

“Here, wear these,” you whisper, shoving the shoes into Ana’s hands

Ana frowns, though she does as you say and slips on the offered shoes. “Why can’t I just wear mine?”

“Lia was asking me whose shoes they were and I said I got some new shoes in Barcelona.”

Ana shoots you a look that tells you she’s less than impressed with your white lie. “I better get those shoes back. They were expensive.”

You have to muffle your snort, both of you knowing very well the chances of you returning them would be close to 0. “I know, I was there when you bought them.”

Ana pinches your cheek for the sass, and you respond by giving her ass a little slap as she slips pass you towards the window.

Though she rolls her eyes, you can see the smile on her lips.

“If I break my neck before the international break I’m blaming you,” she mumbles, swinging her legs through the opening. 

“Such a sweet-talker,” you shoot back, ignoring her huff of faux-annoyance. Instead, you lean in to press a light kiss against Ana’s lips.

“Call me?”

You nod. “As soon as Lia lets me go.”

With one last grin over her shoulder Ana shuffles fully out the window onto the roof. You only wait until you see Ana begin her descent before hurrying back down the stairs towards Lia.

The brunette’s already sitting in the living room, movie pulled up when you come skidding to a stop next to her. To your relief it seems as if Lia’s been engrossed in her phone the whole time you’ve been gone. 

She looks up with a grin, lifting up a corner of her blanket for you. 

“I’m thinking we can start with The Sorcerer’s Stone and make our way down from there.”

It isn’t until the sun’s long set and the two of you have switched to watching cooking shows for the past two hours that Lia rises with a yawn. 

She pats your leg, stretching as she stands. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Sleepily nodding, you sink deeper into the blankets. “I’ll probably watch another episode or something before heading up,” you mumble, fully content with letting your sleepiness take over right here right now. Though your body would most likely hate you tomorrow when you wake, your bed on the second floor just seems so far away.

Lia doesn’t say anything else, giving you a gentle hum as she makes her way towards the light switch. Dimming the lights a bit, she watches with amusement as your eyes slowly flutter, trying, but failing, to keep yourself awake.

You’re two seconds from drifting off into a peaceful sleep when Lia speaks up, not having fully left the living room yet. Spoken over her shoulder almost as an afterthought, her parting words have you suddenly snapping wide awake. 

“Next time Ana comes over let her know she can use the front door to enter and leave like a normal person.”

---

Closing the door as quietly behind her as she can, Lia pops her head over the wall separating the front door from the living room.

Her face falls into a frown when she doesn’t see you anywhere on the first floor. 

You had texted your sister that you made it back to Switzerland only hours ago. Surely you haven’t already left the house without waiting to see her first?

Sighing, she toes off her shoes, not without noticing a new pair of shoes sitting by the shoe rack. You must have gone shopping or something, Lia muses before heading for the stairs.

There’s really only one other place you could possibly be if you were still in the house. Dropping her bag off in her room, Lia lightly skips towards your bedroom. It’s only been two months since you last saw each other in person, but you and Lia have always been extremely close, and paired with how her season ended, Lia just really wanted to see you.

Quietly cracking open your door, Lia pokes her head into your room.

The first thing she notices is how dark it is. The blinds in your room have been drawn, the only light filtering into the room being through the door she has opened.

It takes a couple seconds for Lia’s eyes to adjust, and when it finally does, she can’t stop her mouth from dropping open.

Well there you were, definitely not roaming the streets of your childhood town. But what she’s not expecting is the extremely familiar head of blonde hair tucked around you like a protective shield. 

The shock quickly turns to affection as Lia smiles to herself at the adorable sight of you and Ana cuddled together in your sleep. Pulling her phone out to snap a quick picture of the two of you deep in sleep, Lia quietly closes the door behind her as she sets her sights for the kitchen.

Her sister and best friend? Together? Totally unexpected but Lia couldn't be more than happy for the two of you.

And when you sleepily stumble into the kitchen nearly an hour later, panic crossing your face at the sight of Lia already home, well who can blame Lia for having a bit of fun at your expense?

Especially when it means she gets to see Ana ungracefully scale the tree outside your bedroom window.

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

Hii, could you write something about possessive Soap? You have total freedom to write what you want, but please don’t do anything sad, I can’t stand 😩. In any case I will read everything you give me, I really appreciate your writings I find them really very satisfying! 🩷

However forgive me but I don’t speak English, I hope for being quite understandable

POSSESSIVE SOAP FOR MY GIRLS!

Thanks to this kind reader for the request! ^^ (tag. @dokboom )

- Possessive!Soap is a strange kind of boyfriend, let me explain. He will let his darling dress however she pleases to, because he is a very proud man, and he will flaunt and show off his girl to everyone. Sometimes it feels embarrassing, how easily is for Soap to just lock eyes with a complete stranger and just point at you, you’ll have men watching you, turning their heads for you and your boyfriend would without missing a beat just randomly manhandle you just to show you off. He is so secure about this relationship that nothing really threatens him. If his girl wants to dress up she WILL dress how she wants, because he can fight.

- His ways of showing possessiveness are not quite loud or openly shown. You’ll notice small gestures Soap does to assert his presence in the room and to make sure everyone gets the message about you being off limits.

- One particular thing he does that may seem minor but it’s actually pretty assertive is a quick pinch at your waist. It’s something you two invented, something intimate that he never shared with any woman. He’ll do it in random times too, while you’re out with friends, talking and drinking, his hand making its way to your left wrist jokingly pinching it between two digits. It always makes you giggle, but from an outside perspective you can see the intimacy of the gesture, the message of a man that claims his woman, showing the world how she’s off limits and untouchable.

- “The eyes chico, they never lie”. And his never do. There’s always a particular spark they hold in moments of friction. You could be beside him or at the opposite end of a room, and just by the way he’s looking at you, there’s no doubts to be made, nobody in their right mind would get close to you after seeing how Soap looks in your way. Utterly in love. You’re his girl and his only, he’d go above and beyond for your happiness and well being.

- He’s not fast at introducing you to the Task Force. Ghost is actually the first one to know about your existence but even then it’s only thru a picture that he can see who you are. Soap knows his teammates, he respects them, he looks up to each and every one of them, but he is slow with it, he does not rush you into meeting them, mostly because he is afraid of introducing you to another important future influence that just happens to be of your opposite sex, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready to ‘share’ your attention with another male. It’s not something he can postpone forever, especially with Simon, being his closest friend, but still he’s not really dying for y’all to meet. He also does not want to put Simon in uncomfortable situations, Soap knows how he gets with you when he feels jealous, and it’s a part of him he doesn’t really want to disclose to his Lt.

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

Read the rest here!

After an emotionally taxing conversation with his psychologist, Damiano decided to also stop smoking weed/otherwise consuming cannabis. It’d been too triggering, a reminder of all the reasons he loved coke and opioids. Admitting he wasn’t ready for parties or group gatherings was even more difficult. He loved his friends, his family, and going to Vic’s DJ gigs. He loved playing pool at bars or dancing to the deafening pulse of techno music in a club. These things allowed him to feel the hurried, bright energy of his youth. It was proving hard to differentiate between craving community, craving mania, and craving situations because he associated them with drug use. 

He also made a habit of exercising in the mornings, before treatment. The earlier he took his lithium and ate some protein, the better he tended to feel throughout the day. Routine made cravings easier to resist when he woke up with them and endorphins lessened the severity of his depressive moods.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” That's what you told Damiano when he debriefed you the next evening, a chip to mark 24 hours sober clutched in his fist. He’d disclosed his relapse in group and sobbed, despite hardy efforts not to shed a tear. You make dinner and stroke his hair when Dami lays his head on your lap. He’s cynical, not receptive to positive affirmation. Unfortunately, this mood has become more common as the years pass. So you focus on gestures: nicely making his bed, meal prepping his breakfast, cleaning the litter box even though it was his turn. 

Surprisingly, Damiano requests you read aloud some favorite passages from the books you’ve finished since the breakup. You’d always thought of that as an activity for your sake. Of course he doesn’t actually use the word “breakup.” Dami won’t touch that terminology with a 10 foot pole. He’s grumpy and lovable, snuggled under the pale pink bed sheet as you speak.

Dami returned the favor by waking you up with coffee, which became a tradition on weekdays. He probably got up 10 minutes earlier than necessary to do so. The first morning you thought it was a glorious dream. Instead of the abrasive and occasionally rage-inducing beep of your alarm, a hand you recognized as Damiano’s was rubbing your back. It slides under your t-shirt and gently strokes your spine. You shiver and hum in delight, then scooch closer. Eyes still closed, the bed dips and you sense Dami taking a seat on the edge. The morning light pours in through the curtains – to which you have your back turned – as the scent of espresso reaches your nose. Such sensory perfection must be fantasy.

“It’s time to wake up,” he murmurs.

“Mm mm.” You object and scoot closer, curling around Damiano. He chuckles and massages your scalp with his fingertips. 

“Big stretch,” he narrates as Cheeto rouses herself by his feet. You can tell it’s not Princess, since she’d be meowing by the bedroom door as soon as she heard Damiano up and about. Finally, your brain starts to register that this might be reality, since you never dreamed of Cheeto and Dami simultaneously. You open one eye and are accosted by the bright light, confirming that this isn’t a dream.

“Hey,” you croak, squinting up at him. “What time is it?”

“A couple minutes before your alarm. I turned it off.” You readjust, head, shoulders, and arms splayed across Dami’s lap. “I don’t think that counts as getting out of bed.”

“I’d like to contest that.”

“Getting out of bed in general or if laying on my lap counts?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes falling closed.

“Mm mm, keep ‘em open,” he requests, affectionately. You whine in protest and pout. More than anything, you want to pull Dami into the bed for cuddles, but it’d make you late for work.

“Fine.” Awkwardly, you flip onto your back to stare up at Damiano. He’s smiling, which is good motivation to keep looking.

“You’re cute when it’s too bright. You squint so hard that you get this little line between your eyebrows.” He runs his finger along your nose, then taps your cupid’s bow. You’d very much like him to keep going, gently stroking your features. He delicately moves the hair from your face and your eyelids grow heavy. Damiano tsks, working a hand between your mid-back and the mattress.

“Sit up. C’mon.” With a sigh, you detangle your legs from the sheet. “C’mon,” he coaxes sweetly. “When you’re ready to stop pouting, there's coffee.” Your feet land on the floor as Damiano helps push you upright. After a couple sips of espresso, your pupils adapt and the brain begins working. Dami remains seated, hand on your back, and you love that he’s content to just share space. Love that things don’t always have to be full of words and amusements for one another.

“Thank you, this is so nice!” You hug Dami with messy enthusiasm, leaning some of your weight against him. Damiano embraces back and kisses your head.

“I’m happy to do it, sweetheart.” His hand resumes stroking your spine, the other moving the hair from blocking your face. “Just stay awake.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, standing up and stretching. Dami doesn’t move, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of something. You want the physical affection to continue so badly that it hurts in your chest a little. So you give into an urge before thinking about it and sit on Damiano’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wha – hey there, sweetheart.” Aware of morning breath, you kiss Dami’s neck, hairline, and behind his ears. “Feeling a little touch-starved?” You nod. Slowly, he slides his hands under your shirt. By touch-starved, you hadn’t necessarily meant skin to skin. Damiano sneakily took advantage of an opportunity by reading into it and you certainly weren’t mad about his decision. 

Things start innocent enough, his hands rubbing your back, but then they move away from your spine. When stroking around your waist and hips, his fingertips brushed your stomach, pinky dipping underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. Then those hands slide up, cupping your ribcage. You stop breathing, frozen with anticipation. Would he touch your breast? Would he slide his hand to the front of your chest and caress it in his warm, rough palm? Would he play with your nipples? Rub them with the callous on his thumb? Would he then slide his hand down your front and into your shorts? If he did, you’d raise your hips to give him room. Then you’d trap his hand against your pussy and grind. Did he want to tease you today or make you moan? Or make you cum? 

When you check his expression, Dami’s eyes are glued to your heaving chest and erect nipples. Knowing that he’s hard, you throw a leg over and straddle him. Then you scoot in as close as possible to rest your weight against his erection, stimulating both of you. Damiano’s eyes flutter and his hands escalate from stroking to grasping. You wait for him to make the nest move, but he doesn’t.

“If you could do anything –”

“If I could do anything you’d be underneath me and too wracked with pleasure to say anything but my name and the word please. If I could do anything the neighbors would be filing a noise complaint and you’d be on probation at work for repeated tardiness. If I could do anything we’d have already gone through a bottle of lube and half a dozen sex toys. Our clothes would be on the doormat, panties included because last night we fucked against the front door as soon as you got home. Then again on the kitchen counter and again in front of the bathroom mirror and a fourth time in the shower, which was all a preamble to what I’d do to you in this bed.” 

You look over his shoulder at the mattress cover and twisted sheet. You’d gotten in the habit of sleeping on Dami’s side. It hadn’t actually smelled like him for months.

“What would you do?” he asks.

“I…I have to get ready for work.” You try to climb off his lap, but Damiano holds onto your waist firmly.

“Did what I said offend you?” he pressed.

“No,” you reply breathlessly. The moment is deliciously intense, especially the way he’s staring.

“Overwhelm you? Turn you off in some way?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe overwhelm a little bit…”

“In a bad way?” Dami hasn’t forced the issue in terms of sex since coming home.

“In a good way.”

“Then what would you do? If you didn’t have to get ready for work.” You pause and look down. “We don’t have to actually do it, at least not right now,” he whispers.

“I would – I want you….Um, you’d play with my nipples.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides up your chest and rests on your sternum.

“Then you’d put – push your hand down my front.” Dami obeys, his fingertips stopping at the waistband of your shorts. You stare, willing him to go further with every ounce of your being.

“Does my hand go under your shorts?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Does it go into your panties?”

“Yes.” His real hand doesn’t move. “Between my legs so I can…Actually, I kinda wish that I was just wearing a t-shirt so I could pull your pjs down and grind against your cock. And then, maybe…”

“Mhm,” he encourages.

“I’d take off my shirt too and rub my nipples against your chest until they were sore. Your – your sweaty, hairy chest. And you’d hold me like you weren’t worried about scaring me away. Really grabbing me, like you were confident, but also because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Show me what you mean,” he demands.

“I – I can’t. You just have to.” Dami grabs a hold of your upper thigh with his free hand and flips both bodies. Your back lands on the mattress, arms and legs already wrapped around him. Damiano pushes you further onto the bed, so he has room to climb on top.  It would take less than a minute for you to both wiggle out of your clothes then locate a condom and lube. Probably closer to 30 seconds. It's the same sensation as the makeout two mornings ago. You wanted to say yes, but your self preservation instincts weren’t letting that happen.

Damiano searches your wide-eyed expression for decisiveness and finds nothing of the sort. He can see you thinking about it. Then he sees you over-thinking it and knows that this will not be the moment you feel comfortable enough to trust freely.

“Like this?” He’s panting, as well, and for some reason, that's unbearable sexy. Dami isn’t putting on a facade. This borderline chaste amount of physical contact has got him worked up, too. You almost kiss him, then recall your morning breath and cover your mouth.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Y/n, I don’t give a good god damn whether or not you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t care!” Dami loses his cool, but quickly recovers it. “I – sorry. Sorry, let me…” He walks his hands backwards and climbs off the bed, then helps you stand up.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you repeat, taking a long sip, that way a response won’t be expected. As you slip by Dami to leave the bedroom, he gives your butt a little squeeze. It was once a regular gesture in private, but he hadn’t taken this type of initiative since getting sober. You whip around with an impish smile, the mug nearly held to your lips. Damiano’s expression is watchful, then validated. He was testing the waters and your reaction basically invited him to jump right in.

Rather than refocus on his own routine, Dami watches you assemble a lunch while still in pajamas. He stands on the edge of the kitchen, pondering something, admiring you.

“Whatever your timeline for physical intimacy, I will respect it, 100%.”

“I know that, Damia.” You wash and fill your water bottle. He leans his hip against the counter with crossed arms. 

“But if you're waiting for things to feel not scary with me, that day may never come. Our history isn’t gonna get more palatable.” You hadn’t considered things from that perspective before. “Part of a nurturing relationship is pushing each other, challenging restrictive thought patterns.” Damiano moseys over. First, his right hand cups your hip. Then, the left rubs the side of your glute languidly, before wrapping around your middle. Dami holds you casually, but still body to body, standing behind you at the kitchen sink. Each exhale ruffles your hair, a reminder of how much you’d missed this. Dami’s wandering hands and desire for closeness.

This must have been another thing you blocked out for survival, since an awareness of what once was made losing it lethally painful. You’d forced yourself not to remember and now the remembering felt like the first first bloom of spring after a frosty winter. 

You lean against Dami, let his shoulder take the weight of your head. Then you lay your left arm over his, fingers lacing together.

“And I don’t want to push past your boundaries, but at the same time…” He leaves tender kisses down the column of your exposed neck. “This definitely exceeds a hand holding level of intimacy. It breaks the no couple behavior boundary –”

“Me and my fucking rules,” you groan. Repeated back, you sound certifiable, even from an understanding Damiano.

“This certainly qualifies as sexual touch.” His pinky and ring finger dip under your waistband as he dips into a whisper. “But I didn’t ask first and I don’t have to ask now, either, because just your body language is telling me how much you like this.”

“Forgot until just now.” With an even more dramatic groan, you turn around to meet his eyes. “Ugh! I know I’m shit at this –”

“Not what I was saying, at all,” he interrupts, thumb brushing your cheek. “I was just gonna suggest using a Listen for My No system of consent instead of Wait for My Yes. But that's such a sexually aggressive thing to suggest on someone else’s behalf that I…” He makes a face, nose scrunched up.

“But I agree with you. I’d like that, I really would, but, um…” Dami’s expression goes from relieved back to uneasy. “When I submit, I can’t usually access the decision making part of my brain. Kinda the point, actually.” 

“Baby, we never do anything in subspace if we haven’t agreed to it first.”

“I know, but I’d feel –” You gesture erratically, but the right adjective never surfaces. So you settle on “shitty, I guess.” Avoidant, you stare at the floor in anticipation of Dami’s reaction. Of course, Princess is right there, biding her time for the inevitable moment that all this attention is rightfully turned to her. “Sassy Pants,” you coo. She rests her front paws on your shin and meows, so you pick her up.

“Y/n, I never want you to – awe, look at the fur baby.” Damiano gets distracted by Princess, who uses you like an elevator to his shoulder. She leaps onto him and Dami winces at her claws through his thin t-shirt. “Ow, ow, ow. Thanks for that Sassy Pants, now get off.” He sets Princess back down where she stares at him in betrayal.

“I’m sorry, was having him to yourself all night not enough attention?” You sass her right back with a hand on your hip while Dami laughs. The cat sulks, nimbly returning to the couch and curling up right on his pillow. “Do you see that? She’s the real reason we practice non-monogamy. So I don’t end up with my throat slit in my fucking sleep by her murder mittens!” Hoping to have successfully distracted him, you brush your teeth then slip back into the bedroom to get dressed. In the living room Dami sings to Princess, doing a little dance with her paws. The happy sounds carry through the partially ajar door.

“So, uh…” You’d almost finished pulling on your stockings when he leans against the door frame. “Sorry, am I allowed to look?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to look,” you scoff. He turns the corner just in time to watch your thighs disappear beneath a linen skirt. His lack of objection indicates that your earlier distraction wasn’t effective. He’s not feeling playful.

“What I was saying before is that I never want you to feel bad about putting parameters –”

“Damia, it’s not that.” He’s trying to soften the determination in his expression. “If I allow my rational mind to just slip away then I’m gonna…” again, words evade you “embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean embarrass yourself?” he croons. Damiano walks into the bedroom, cupping your cheek in his right palm. Meanwhile, his left hand slides across your waist and settles on the top of your glute. Another barrage of hidden memories: the early years when Damiano spoke your self-confidence into being fruition on anxiety-ridden mornings.

“I mean grind against your lap or leg or whatever while begging you to fuck me until I sob in a way that’s gonna hurt you to watch. Zero inhibitions as I try to convince you, okay? Just babbling and clinging and tears for your cock. ‘Daddy, my heart hurts because you won’t make love to me.’ I don’t want either of us in a position to navigate that.” Damiano becomes a statue. When it doesn’t immediately pass, you decide to pick a pair of sensible shoes while his brain resets.

“Does your heart hurt for more intimacy?” Now you’re the one frozen in place. “Seems like you may have just accidentally been completely honest with yourself.” Fuck. He was right.

“Could you pretend not to know me as well as you do?”

“No, y/n, I can’t.” You’d tried to lighten the mood, give yourself an out, and he’s rejected that effort wholesale. Damiano stands there, waiting for a real response, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Every morning he puts them on, after sleeping in his boxers, to make you comfortable. It suddenly feels so elementary, this game of pretend you’d been playing because you were scared shitless of losing him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a nervous wreck.”

“Being a nervous wreck about what?” You’re taken aback, having expected some sweet platitude like "don't be sorry, sweetheart.” Or perhaps, “You’re trying your best in a tough situation” punctuated by a kiss to the forehead. But you’d finally exhausted his patience and Damiano wasn’t going to feed you reassurances that you already knew to be true.

“About,” you gesture between your bodies “us!”

“Elaborate for me, please. What about us?” His tone isn’t hostile, just insistent.

“Our relationship.”

“Not my sobriety?”

“No…actually.” You’re even more surprised than Dami at that answer.

“Good. Why is our relationship making you a nervous wreck?”

“Because, because…” You feel cornered even though he hasn’t moved an inch. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes you are. You’re constantly reflecting and self-examining, especially recently. Some days you’re more in your head than you are in the world.”

“But the last couple days, I’ve been better at staying in the present. After our fight, I’ve been trying not to walk on eggshells.” 

“And we’ve been so much more connected, which has been fucking incredible. But you’re still unhappy.”

“I’m not…” Were you happy? You should be happy. You have an objectively good job, a beautiful apartment. You have a loving family, loving friends, loving companions. Your soulmate has returned and he’s stable. But were you happy? With a subjectively horrible job, home full of traumatic memories, emotionally unavailable parents, fading friendships, and companions who’s reassurance couldn’t make you feel adequate so you’d stopped asking for it entirely. 

“How many months do I need to go without relapse, without a crazy mood swing, without –”

“To get your dick wet?” You snap at him in anger. This was the definition of pressuring you.

“For you to trust me, y/n!”

“But sex is the way to show that I trust you? Go get laid, Damianno. Stop avoiding your other companions because you’re afraid they won’t forgive your behavior.”

“You get laid. Stop avoiding your companions because they remind you how profound our intimacy could be.” For what feels like an eon, you glare at each other in silence.

“How about we both admit that having sex with other people wouldn’t do anything to fill this…space?” It feels good to concede. Most of the tension leaves the air.

“Void?”

“Void is probably more accurate, yeah.” It’s just enough breathing room for reality to set in. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for work.” You look around frantically for a hair tie to wrangle your unbrushed hair into an updo.

“Can you please just give this conversation another five minutes of your time?” There's a hair elastic on the floor, by your nightstand. You make a noise of victory, trying to remember if your travel hairbrush was still in the glovebox. “Three minutes?” he pleads. It’s too much. Mentally, you try to check out as an act of self-preservation. In your peripheral vision, Damiano snatches your phone off the bed. You can’t leave without it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m asking how long until you can trust me?”

“For me to trust you completely?” That gives Dami pause. He seems to realize that it's a pretty big question to spring on you before 9 AM. ”Check the phone you’re holding hostage for the time, please.” So begins the hunt for your purse.

“It’s…” With a strained voice, he looks at the home screen. Then his hand drops to his side. “It doesn’t matter. I am asking you – How about when are you gonna be able to at least trust that I’m not gonna abandon you?” Despite attempts to create space between yourself and this moment, it feels like being stabbed with a dull spear, right through the center of your torso. “Hey!” he finally raises his voice in exhasperation. “Can you at least fucking look at me when I’m bearing my soul to you!?” Both cats are hiding under the kitchen table. Standing in the kitchen, you turn to meet his gaze.

“I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Then be late! You hate that job anyways!” The shock reads easily on your features.. “I – that was out of line. Sorry. But this is never gonna work right until you trust me.” Your stomach drops. You feel nauseous and something akin to the beginnings of dissociation. This is why you’d been avoiding tough conversations. What if it went wrong? And if it did go wrong, what was going to happen? The ways Damiano had evolved as a person since going to rehab were great, but it also meant that you couldn’t predict his behavior anymore. If he walked out in anger, would he walk back in?

“Baby, that was really bad phrasing on my part.” His tone shifts completely,  soft and doting in the way you’d expected it to be earlier. “Way too extreme.” Dami knew he’d scared you. That took precedence over what he so desperately wanted to achieve with this conversation. You have half a mind to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s gonna make me feel reassured that you won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know, as in you can’t think of anything?”

“I don’t know!” You curl your hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

“Giving me an answer you regret and take back would be better than this purgatory.” Demand has officially overtaken supply. You’d required so much patience from Dami that it’d burned through all the categorical gratitude he felt for taking him back in any capacity. He was no longer just grateful to be here, he wanted a partner. 

“If your answer is I don’t think I can ever trust you again, so be it.”

“I can trust you! I do trust you, but you’re also…” He’s hanging on to every word and you can’t even craft a basic sentence. “There’s you, but then there’s also an addict you. The first one earned my trust back more easily than I’d care to admit, but the addict you, he – it’s always there.”

“And you can never trust an addict.”

“No! But, but –” The phrase “never gonna work” rattles around in your head. “No, because…because” then we might break-up. You barely think the thought, but it's like a tripwire. Suddenly trapped under all the ways you could lose Damiano. Originally there were two contenders: freak accident and growing apart. Then fame was added to this list, then addiction. Now you had to acknowledge a fifth. Like the fifth side to a cage that can finally hold you captive, invisible to others, making them helpless to do anything but watch the light leave your eyes. He might break-up with you because you couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces back together.

“Hug me.” Damiano crosses the apartment in a few quick steps. The stinging of tears distracts you from returning the embrace, but that doesn't give him pause. The only reason you weren’t blubbering already was how secure he’d made you feel the past few days. Now that was out the window.

“Continuous hugging or do you want room to breathe?”

“Breathe,” you choke, wiping your eyes. Dami’s version of breathing room was taking half a step back and resting both hands on your hips. It was perfect.

“Be brave a little longer,” he coaxes.

“I don’t want us to…God, it’s like saying Voldemort or some shit.”

“The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named that starts with a ‘B’ and ends in the word ‘up?’”

“Yeah, I…No, I don’t even want to talk about it, Damia.”

“That's adorable.” You rest your forehead against his sternum and whine. He cups the base of your head and you loosely cross your arms behind him. “But I do need to know what made you think of The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named.”

“What if,” you resume hugging him instead of finishing the sentence. “What if I can never learn to trust the addict part of you and it happens?”

“I don’t trust the addict part of me, y/n. After everything that’s happened, I sure as shit don’t expect you to.” You pull away in order to look up in confusion. “Awe, sweetheart. I just need you to trust that this part of me has control over that shithead.”

“But relapse happens and – and you’ll always be an addict and an alcoholic. This is permanently a part of you.”

“Can you trust that I’m always gonna do my damndest not to lose control? And if I do I’m gonna find my way back?” 

“It hasn’t even been three weeks.” Dami opens his mouth, closes it, and nods.

“Yeah thats a fucking good point. Damn.” He’s reeling. It’s interesting to see it happen to someone else. “I’m over here fuckin’...demanding to know when you’re gonna trust me again when I haven’t even given you a full month of stability.” You place a hand on Dami’s cheek, trying to redirect his gaze back to yours so he doesn’t get lost in self-loathing. He turns his head, but looks down. “I’m fucking comparing ‘well, I feel this way about her so –’”

“How do you feel about me?” His eyes flit up and you think the romantic in him might win.

“I feel the same way.” Or not. “Because it's easy to fall in love with somebody again and trust them again when they’re the same person. When they don’t have all this new baggage like I do.” Staring at his feet, Damiano mutters, “Nothing to compensate or…”

“You do not need to compensate, what a ridiculous thing to say!” 

“Okay.” You watch him only partially internalize your words, in the same way he raises his eyes, but doesn’t quite look at you.

“Hey, you getting sober created new character traits that I love and am attracted to.”

“Enough to balance out the shit?” You scoff, taken aback.

“Yes! You’re not a fucking equation, Damia. You are a beautiful, compelling man who contains multitudes with this incredible capacity to create multitudes. Don’t separate yourself into these categories of worthwhile or not worthwhile.”

“Y/n.”

“It’s so linear. You’re reduced to a collection of likable traits when –”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. You allow yourself to be pulled in by the back of the head, eyes falling to his mauve, shapely lips. It’s sweet, slow, polite. It’s a gesture. It’s a this-kiss-conveys-my-love-and-respect-because-it's-not-the-kiss-I-wanted-to-give-you gesture. It’s a gesture that reveals he’s forgotten the comment you made earlier this morning.

“Lets,” one syllable and you feel short of breath. “Let's have the big scary talk tonight – tomorrow night! Let's have it tomorrow night.”

“Alright.” Damiano coaxes you back in by holding your chin and brushing his pointer finger back and forth. It tickles faintly and makes you smile into the equally chaste kiss. “Don’t forget, you have therapy today.”

***

“I’m only here to avoid the missed appointment fee, honestly.” You slouch, as if trying to disappear into the chartreuse loveseat. 

“Oh?” Your therapist puts pen to paper and waits for elaboration. You stare at the floor and feel the pressure of tears behind your eyes. It's been like that since leaving the apartment, as though you were one inconvenience away from crying.

“Your disposition is certainly much different from our recent sessions.” Dr. Borough gives you another chance to speak, which you don’t take. She’s wearing all beige, minus an oversized necklace of reflective black beads. The color palette certainly suits the mood.

“Is it Damiano, work, anxiety that's been weighing on you?”

“All of the above.” After arriving 13 minutes late for work, Izolda called you into her stuffy, windowless office. She chastised you for being tardy twice in two weeks and you didn’t have the balls to point out that she’d personally excused the first instance. There were vague references to your performance review and callous comments about “allowing personal experiences to impede project outcomes.”

“Wow. So it's been a tough week?”

“It’s been emotionally laborious…So, yeah. Tough, I guess.”

“But productive?”

“Not when it comes to my job. That place is so devoid of humanity that I can feel part of my soul dying.”

“Sounds like you might need a change. Have you tried searching for –”

“I can’t handle a career change right now!”

“So what can you handle?” Finally, you burst into tears. “Oh, dear.” Dr. Borough pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table. “So what's going on in the other facets of your life? Are you and Damiano on good terms?”

“Yeah. He woke me up with espresso this morning, it was really sweet.” You wipe your face, which leaves a black smudge of hastily applied mascara on the white tissue.  

“And his sobriety?”

“He relapsed trying to reintegrate too fast. It was just booze and he’s been sober since.”

“Wow.” She scribbles on her notepad. “So that must have been triggering.”

“It…It actually made me realize how sturdy he is. Like, he got right back on the wagon and he started really acting like himself the next morning. He didn’t go back to being an asshole with a passive death wish, he did the opposite.”

“So that sounds like great news!”

“I was such a mess, such a fucking mess.” The note taking intensifies. Somehow Dr. Borough is already halfway down the page. “He was so supportive! And he basically confronted me.”

“You mean comforted?”

“No. Well, yes. He’s noticed that I’m always in my head, trying to figure out the correct or most true course of action. And he said I didn’t need to be, because I wasn’t going to ruin his sobriety. Because he was taking care of his sobriety with a bunch of people at his rehab and stuff, so I didn’t need to prioritize it anymore. I could just prioritize myself and I could depend on him because he’s gotten to a point where he can be my support and also stay sober. But I –” you devolve into sobbing.

“Alright, take a moment. Just take a moment, y/n.” Dr. Borough doesn’t look up from her notepad for several seconds. “So, that's huge! How many days ago was that? You must be emotionally drained.”

“Yeah, from not dealing with it.”

“You’re emotionally drained from purposefully ignoring emotions?”

“Basically.” 

“Alright.” Visibly processing, Dr. Borough adjusts her teal glasses and sits back. “Tell me about that.”

“Damiano just keeps pressing the issue. He wants to deconstruct and cross-examine the whole fucking situation immediately.” 

“Is this usually the case, him pursuing hard conversations and you avoiding? In the past, you’ve mentioned having great communication.” It feels like an accusation that you’ve failed Damiano somehow.

“No, I’m just not ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“These fucking exhausting, weighty conversations!”

“What about them are you not ready for? In my experience, you can be very articulate, especially when it comes to emotions.”

“I’m not scared of talking about our feelings. We talk about our feelings all the time, anyways. I’m not even scared of conflict. We’ve fought twice this week already!”

“Oh, really?”

“But we work it out because we can admit that we’re wrong. We don’t get off on resenting or controlling each other.”

“What were those fights about?”

“This! Me!”

“You?”

“Ugh!” You throw your head back and groan. “He…thinks that I’m unhappy. I’m making myself miserable trying to do the right thing or by trying to control…something, us.”

“The right thing?” She raises one thinning eyebrow. 

“What's best for me.”

“Doing what's best for you is doing what makes you happy. It’s doing what makes you fulfilled, puts you on the path to achieve your goals.” Dr. Borough pauses, staring at you pointedly. “In terms of Damiano. What are your goals? What will make you fulfilled?”

“Being together for real, harmonious, mind, body, and soul.”

“And are your current choices facilitating that?” You feel claustrophobic, fingernails digging into the heel of your hand again. “Why the anxiety?” 

“Because I can’t control him!”

“True. But that’s always been true, y/n.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter what my goals are if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”

“You think Damiano doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, no. I know he does.”

“Alright. So let's talk about this desire to control him.” That definitely felt like an accusation. “I just watched you have a strong reaction. Why don’t you explain that to me.” Pen to paper, Dr. Borough waits while you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance.

“Before I ever stepped foot in this office, I knew that the desire to control another person was toxic. I was already taking steps to ignore that desire when I felt it.”

“So you’re not trying to control him? That's not what's making you miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” you bite.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “But you are experiencing bouts of unhappiness, like right now. You also have clinical anxiety which constantly affects your quality of life. Agreed?”

“Yeah…” The section of carpet at your feet is more worn than another other spot in the room.

“Explain to me why that is.” You choose to be insolent instead of introspective. 

“It’s impossible to tack down exactly what collection of innate and external factors contribute to any one person developing –”

“Not the anxiety, y/n.”

“I…” don’t know. But Dr. Borough wasn’t going to let you off the hook. She waits expectantly. You check the clock to find that the session isn’t quite halfway done. Damn it.

“Why are you unhappy?”

“I’m at my therapy appointment when I’d much rather be taking a nap.”

“How has your sleep been since Damiano’s relapse?”

“Worse than usual, better than expected. We…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t judge me, but the night he relapsed we slept in the same bed. Like, I slept with him on the couch.”

“‘Slept with’ as in…?”

“Cuddled.” You blush all the way up to your ears.

“And that was enjoyable.” It’s apparently obvious from your delivery since Dr. Borough makes a statement, not a question.

“Yeah and…I could hear him crying so hard. I didn’t intend to spend the night there either, but I got sleepy really quick.” A stinging sensation alerts that you’d been picking at your cuticles without realizing. “Because it felt so safe.”

“Huh. So it didn’t feel like the kiss on the plane?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you unhappy?” You glower, finally meeting Dr. Borough’s eyes. She is unfazed. “Damiano has the same relationship goals and it sounds as though he may be ready to act on those goals, right?” You don’t protest, because she’s correct, but you also don’t concede. “So this should be great news! It’s exactly what you wanted, which is why this reaction raises questions. I know it’ll be hard to admit, but maybe now that you have Damiano back, you’ve realized that your feelings towards him have changed.”

“What? No! God, I fucking wish I felt more casually about him. I wish that he couldn’t read my mind and that we didn’t have this fucking soul bond and that I could have a halfway satisfying sex life without him. I want to stop watching him sleep, getting choked up when I see his bougie shampoo in the shower, huffing his dirty gym clothes, and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out because I love him so much. I want to be less in love with him!”

“No, you don’t.” Dr. Borough sets the notepad and pen on her lap and settles into her chair with a smile. There’s been some sort of breakthrough or resolution reached. “So what's the real reason you’re self-sabotaging? Do you feel like you don’t deserve him?”

“I…guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Deep down inside somewhere, probably.”

“So is that it?”

“You’re the therapist.”

“And you’re far from emotionally repressed.” Dr. Borough purses her lips and squints. “So are you afraid of losing him?” You swallow hard, vision blurring with tears.

“Yes, of course. Now with these fucking high stakes conversations, what if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything!”

“Based on what you've said so far, it sounds like you guys would work it out.”

“What if we break up?”

“Does it feel like you’re going to break up?”

“No.” You blow your nose and steel yourself. “I need him. I’ve let myself need him again. So I can’t, ca – can’t lose hi – him again. I can’t! It’ll fucking kill me. I don’t care if you think that's dramatic, because it genuinely feels like I’d die of heartbreak. Even thinking a – about it, can’t – I ca – ca –can’t breathe!” Dr. Borough ends up talking you off the edge of a panic attack. You think that’ll earn some slack, but it doesn’t. 

“Okay, so just take small sips of water.” She uses her most soothing voice as you hold the paper cup in a trembling hand. “I’m going to be candid with you, y/n. Breaking up has always been a possibility and you’ve functioned despite it for years. Damiano dying of an overdose, however, is new. I think that’s what’s scaring you, the fact that death is irreparable.” You manage a nod. “Alright. That risk factor is never going away. So you have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“Of course he’s…” It's reminiscent of what Dami said this morning, which forces you to acknowledge that he was probably right. Putting the pieces back together was going to feel terrifying and you had to do it anyway. “I have all these rules to stop things from progressing before I’m ready. But maybe I’m never going to feel ready.”

“Progressing?”

“To stop Dami from getting too close, from things getting too intimate. I compartmentalized so damn much and I…every time I let him a little bit closer, it's like being hit by a semi-truck.”

“Reminders of his substance abuse?”

“No, beautiful memories of how our love manifested, all the ways we connected and felt at home in each other, felt profoundly understood. Memories of being joyous and intimate and becoming better people together.” Dr. Borough is noticeably moved. 

“You choose to close yourself off to that because of the possibility of pain?” 

“Yes!”

“That’s not living.” Finally, someone had just outright said it. You should feel stunned, but you don’t. “We’ve talked about living versus surviving in terms of your anxiety. The same can happen after trauma. Seeing Dami on life support –”

“Haven’t we already talked about that enough?” Reflexively, you make yourself smaller, hunkering down to survive this horrendous topic.

“I don’t know. Based on this reaction –”

“Based on this reaction, seeing my soulmate an inch from death is still traumatic? Shocking!”

“Traumatic, absolutely.” The even tonality of her speech is an embarrassing juxtaposition to your reactivity, but you’re still unable to quell it. “And based on your reaction, that memory still holds tremendous power over you.”

“Of fucking course it does! I still can’t even think about it like a real thing that happened to me!”

“I recall you’ve been dealing with a lot of dissociation, recently. More than usual.” Dr. Borough resumes note taking.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t handle what's happening around me,” you reply, monotonously.

“You think you can’t handle what's happening around you because a parentified, 15-year-old y/n without an emotional support system couldn’t handle it.” She pauses. In that space, tears blur your vision until the view of the damaged carpet and scuffed shoes becomes indiscernible. “But now you have an emotional support system. You are deserving of an emotional support system, which is something that your parents failed to model in your childhood.” Again, Dr. Borough gives you space to speak, but you curl into a ball, instead. She nudges the tissues further across the table with an empathetic expression. “So you’re protecting her.”

“I am not protecting my mother,” you grumble.

“Not your mother. You’ve been protecting 15-year-old y/n, shielding her. And now you’re protecting the y/n who was confronted by the mortality of her support system’s keystone. Neither of them could handle the present moment, but you can.” Dr. Borough cleans her glasses while waiting for you to say something. Maybe it's an intentional respite from being examined.

“What – How can –” your first reaction is to splutter incredulously. “I’m not, I mean I’m – That's just human development, isn’t it? Burning your hand on the stove teaches you not to touch a hot stove. Burns are bad. They scar, they get infected.”

“Y/n, you are not avoiding a burn. You are eating takeout for every meal to avoid going in the kitchen at all. You are putting on noise canceling headphones everytime someone says the word ‘stove’ and singing to yourself loudly. In this metaphor –”

“I get it, I get it.” Well, shit.

“You’ve heard me say this before: the anxiety, the trauma isn’t your fault. However, coping constructively is still your responsibility. And, yes, that’s unfair. You had to live for your emotionally unequipped parents. In reaction to that hospital visit, I think you may have done a bit of living for Damiano when he was emotionally unequipped for sobriety. Now you’re living for the versions of yourself that are emotionally unequipped to handle the present. But it won’t break you like it might have then.”

“How can you know that!? How…I just want time to recover! I want to be certain!”

“There will never be certainty and there will never be a pause button. I know that's a really hard reality to face with clinical anxiety.” Dr. Borough sets her elbows on her notepad and leans forward. “But y/n, face it you must.”

***

You hold it together on the drive home. Knowing that Dami will be on a Zoom call with his songwriting and production team, you don’t want to walk through the front door a mess and distract him. Unfortunately, Spotify decides to play Folklore-era Taylor Swift as you pull into the parking garage.

I knew you/Hand under my sweatshirt/Baby, kiss it better

By the time the car is parked, you’re already crying. Your first group outing as a couple was a Roma football game with most of his friends and several cousins. The omnipresent barrage of screaming made your ears ring and triggered a panic attack. You tried to suppress your reaction, for which you’d finally receive a diagnosis just weeks later. When that became impossible, you settled on concealing your emotions until it passed. Just don’t freak out. For fucks sake, don’t embaress yourself. 

Having turned your focus inward, the roar of the audience was a surprise and so inescapably loud that it couldn’t even be described by volume. The sound became a tangible force, beating you over the head. So you fled, hands clamped over your ears, tears flowing. It seemed like every person you passed chided you. 

“‘Msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry,” you repeated, voice frail and high-pitched with terror. The adrenaline at least made climbing all those steps easier. Upon reaching the hallway at the top of the staircase, you turned around to scan the field, determining it was a good time to drop your hands. That's when you saw 18-year-old Damiano huffing and puffing, all focus dropped from the game behind him. 

“Hey,” he panted, expression confused. “Hey, you just…Are you okay?” You shook your head, mouth contorted into an ugly shape. “Well, come here, baby.” Dami opened his arms like it was obviously the next logical step to hold you. The gesture revealed that he’d remembered your purse and was wearing it. You could have blurted out “I love you,” right then and there. His sparkling, empathetic eyes framed by smeared eyeliner, outstretched hands decorated by gaudy rings, and wearing his lucky sneakers which were at least a size too small. A couple middle-aged, balding men looked him up and down in disgust. Dami didn’t even notice.

“You need a hug,’ he decided, wrapping you up. 

“Thanks,” you croaked, trembling arms finding steadiness where they held him. 

“What’s wrong with her?” asked a male voice passing by.

“Nothings wrong with her! Who the fuck are you, eh?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, who the fuck do you think you are saying that?”

“You’re in the middle of the walkway, dude.”

“And you’re in the middle of my fucking business, asshole!”

“Damia,” you murmured.

“Sorry, sorry.” You wondered if he could discern your smile against his pilling jersey. The fabric made your face feel raw after exposure to the ruthlessly cold gusts of wind that swept up the sides of the stadium. Still, you felt compelled to hug him tighter, but ignored the compulsion so as not to encourage Damiano acting like an attack dog. But fuck if it hadn’t made you feel chosen at age 18, coming from a family who’s attitude was god forbid your emotions inconvenience anyone. 

Damiano didn’t think you were too emotional, the girl choking on her own tears over a football audience being predictably loud. He stood in the stadium’s walkway, inconveniencing everyone else to prioritize comforting you. Despite not knowing what was awry, he still managed to be soothing. Dami’s inexplicably warm hands rubbed your back under the Roma sweatshirt you wore – actually his, of course. He hummed music from the radio with a cheek pressed to your head and you subsequently felt the music’s vibrations. It tickled. An unfamiliar sensation burgeoned in the darkest recesses of your heart. Not then, but eventually, you’d come to know it as stillness.

Notes: Don't yell at me I warned you! Also I'll post the next part (the smuttastic part) when this post has 40 notes hehe

-XOXO Eden

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[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 17.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 5.3K

Summary: flashback seven - also known as the day you meet the special operations squad after the underground heist failure... and a familiar face

Warnings: death ideation, mourning and grief, mentions of death, depression, lots of hurt, lots of comfort, a treat at the end

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 17 - FLASHBACK: SEVEN

note: this is the final chapter that is heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. this is my interpretations of the material. watch/read that first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

“So these are the barracks.”

Petra Ral is nice. 

A bright-eyed ginger with too much excitement on her hands and too high of an opinion of the world — every time she opens her mouth, you’re painstakingly reminded of Isabel.

With your sudden intrusion into the Scout Regiment, all you have been met with are cold shoulders and judgmental eyes. Erwin was right: they resent your lack of cadet training. Quite frankly, you’re certain they resent everything about you.

Yet Petra glows in a warmth so many of the other Scouts lack.

She shouldn’t be here, and she shouldn’t be trying so hard to make friends in a line of work dedicated to dying.

Because if the gangs of the Underground were a revolving door, then the Scout Regiment was a windmill caught in a storm of bodies.

Under direct order from Commander Erwin, Petra has been assigned to play as your guide in the interim between now and the next Special Operations expedition. She’s responsible for catching you up to speed on anything from proper ODM gear usage (as if you need any) to team formation strategy (as if you’ll memorize any).

Erwin is, above all else, thorough. Nothing is left to chance in his branch and rightfully so; one bad move and a multitude of deaths will be on his hands.

Over sixty percent of Scouts die.

That number is not lost on you.

(Eventually you’ll be part of that statistic. It’s just a matter of how fast.)

The interior of the castle headquarters within Wall Maria is expansive. Beautiful, with gold-trim corners and marble floors — you marvel at the way the sun makes the white floor so much brighter, nearly blinding your retinas every time you stare a little too long.

Truthfully, you haven’t stopped staring. Not since you left the darkness and walked up those fateful Underground passage stairwell with the commander.

Just as you dreamed, the surface is beautiful. Breath-taking. Mind-numbingly overwhelming. From the luscious greenery surrounding the castle grounds, to the lively birds chirping in the endless sky, to the palpable warmth against your skin — you find yourself getting lost at the sights and sounds each passing window brings.

Petra finds your curiosity endearing, at the very least.

Erwin must have already disclosed your oddity — a dweller of the Underground City — before assigning her the task of babysitting. 

She doesn’t seem to care — about where you’re from, about bypassing standard cadet training, about your unwillingness to speak. Not like the others.

You’re not sure why.

Maybe she sees what you’ve tried hiding: the sadness that follows like a ball and chain through every room of this castle; the emptiness of your eyes when they meet hers; the way you fidget incessantly with your necklace, never quite letting go for longer than a few minutes.

(It’s all you have. That's all that’s left of them.)

“This is my bed, actually, but yours will be easy to find!”

Petra smiles brightly in your direction, eyes crinkling at the corners when they shut.

She should keep them open. She can’t trust you like that.

“It’s at the very end of the hallway. It’s got two sets of bunk beds but, uh…”

The original inhabitants recently died.

She doesn’t want to say that part.

“The rest of the team should be making it back soon.”

Petra steps out of the hallway, waving for you to join her. You numbly obey.

“How many people are on this team?” you ask.

“Currently?” she asks, and you nod. “We’re an expedition squad of five — well, seven, if you count Section Commander Hange and Moblit, but they don’t always come with us. Otherwise we have a couple dozen Scouts stationed in other areas to cover ground.”

“How come?” When she doesn’t answer right away, you clear your throat and clarify. “How come those two don’t always come with you?”

“Oh, Hange and Moblit? You’ll meet them eventually,” Petra explains, guiding you back to the grounds. “Hange is a little, uh, on the intense side, but they mean well. They head scientific research for the Scouts, so their work can keep them behind. Commander Erwin left to fetch them a few hours ago, actually, but they should be back by now. Probably going over titan reports.”

Quietly you follow her down a staircase, listening with little interest. Petra continues explaining the most recent discoveries of the Scouts — empty handed, no surprise there — and how she’s excited to learn from your skills — like you’d ever try.

Over and over, the pad of your thumb brushes the pendant between your fingers.

You haven’t slept in days.

You’ve barely eaten a crumb.

Everything has been at lightning speed and slow motion all at once.

The large oak doors at the front of the building have been wide open to air out the interior all day. When the two of you reach the foot of the staircase, you see movement in the distance outside.

Clouds of dust and dirt kick up behind them, but they’re too small to be titans.

“What’s that?” you softly ask, and Petra turns her attention to you.

“Hmm? Oh! The horses,” she supplies, waving you once again to follow her to the mouth of the entrance. You step in time with her. “That’s everyone coming back.”

“Everyone?”

“Yeah.” Petra leans against the hinge of a castle door, crossing her arms over her chest. “Eld Jinn is our second-in-command on Special Ops. Then you’ve got me, Oluo — pretty sure you already met him, but I don’t think you looked at him when he said hi — Gunther is with them, too, and—”

“Petra.”

A warm, deep voice calls out to your companion from behind. 

Immediately Petra stands taller, chin raised. You belatedly turn your head with an air of disrespect but never quite face it.

Because, by now, you know that voice belongs to Commander Erwin Smith.

(You don’t care what this son of a bitch has to say.)

“Commander, sir!” she greets.

You keep your focus on the tiny cloud of smoke kicked up by the horses. The green cloaks billow out from their shoulders, stretching like wings behind them.

From this distance you can make out the hair colors of the first three in the formation — a blond, a brunette, and in the center, a smaller black-haired individual.

“Are the stables ready for the incoming horses?”

“Yes, sir,” Petra chirps. “I already took care of everything before showing James around.”

“Great work, Ral. James.”

Erwin calls your name, but you ignore it. Instead you keep staring at the nearing horses. You try to time the clicking of their hooves to nothing in particular.

Anything, to avoid talking to him.

“Lieutenant.”

At the title, you finally blink your attention towards the taller blonde. He takes a step forward, standing what would have been shoulder to shoulder if not for his height.

“Yes, Commander?” you murmur, tone dripping with disinterest.

“Ready to meet the rest of your team?” he asks without skipping a beat.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, drawing a slow exhale. “Though I can’t imagine they’ll be excited to meet me, considering I’ve—”

“Opted out of the rigorous cadet training like endured to get here?” the man finishes for you. Your brows instinctually furrow. “Unlikely. Your skill will speak for you once you’re out in the field.”

His chin raises towards the nearing Scouts.

“And as it stands,” Erwin continues, “you are not the only soul on this squad to bypass tradition.”

His verbiage almost makes you respond freely.

(What the hell do you mean by that, Smith?)

The first horse to enter the castle perimeter whinnies, loud and piercing.

You turn.

Blinking back to the returning Scouts, you feel it start in the pit of your stomach:

Neutrality bubbles and churns into something nasty, like you might get sick at a second’s notice, the second your eyes lock with the center-positioned Scout.

Under a wind-blown, jet-black fringe stares two sunken, narrowed eyes. The frayed pieces of hair kiss the man’s high cheekbones, accentuating the narrow point leading to his chin. He’s pale, sickly, with a sharpened nose and tightly pressed lips.

From the look of the bags under his eyes, he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He nears with the reins tight in either fist. His neck is covered with a chiffon ivory cravat, neatly tied to perfection against his Scout Regiment uniform — gone are the billowing sleeves and auburn vests where a tan, cropped jacket takes their place.

The emblem on his breast is the Wings of Freedom.

There’s no way.

You blink twice, three times, as many as it’ll take to wipe away the mirage in front of you.

Because it can’t be real.

That can’t be—

“Levi.”

Commander Erwin speaks. The horse kicks up its front hooves from a knee-jerk pull of the rein and protests with a high-pitched whine. Levi Ackerman turns his head in the direction of his voice.

Abruptly his chin stops midway, never quite finding Erwin.

Not when his eyes, overtaken by a growing white, see you.

And your world — his world — suddenly stops.

Levi’s complexion pales. All he does is stare — at you, at nothing but you, frozen in this momentary lapse of time with you.

Levi is alive.

Wetness wells at your lower lash line, unable to stop.

You can’t speak. You can’t run. You can’t breathe. Your mouth is dry. You haven’t blinked.

One word floods your mind.

Alive.

Alive, alive, alive—

“Captain Levi,” Erwin repeats, this time adding a… title?

Titles don’t exist in the Scouts. As far as you knew, you were the only one carrying something beyond Section Commander and Commander.

You can taste his reluctance when Levi forces himself to blink over to his superior office. He hoists a leg over the saddle and hops down to full height, yet turns his back to the rest of the squad to tend to his midnight black horse. He doesn't pivot.

“Commander,” he gruffly greets. “What is this about?”

Your throat closes up at the mere sound of his baritone, unimpressed voice.

It really is him. Levi never went to the gallows.

(And Erwin knew? The commander knew this entire time and said nothing?)

“What’s the status of our perimeter?” Erwin asks simply, ignoring the smaller man’s question.

“Only one three-meter ugly bitch within range,” Levi replies against the saddle. “We handled it.”

“Good,” Erwin chimes. The other Scouts — one blonde and lanky, another older with brunette hair, the last with a buzzcut and a serious expression — step off of their horses and face the Commander. “You arrived just in time to meet the replacement of this squad.”

“We already have new titan fodder?” the one man quips, smirking as he runs a hand across his horse’s mane. “Guess we did lose a lot of people last time.”

“Oluo,” Petra warns, eyes narrowing. “That would be Lieutenant to you.”

“Lieu-what?” the man named Oluo repeats under his breath.

Levi’s hand twitches at the rein.

Only then do you realize your hands are trembling at your sides.

“Lieutenant?”

Levi spits it out as he finally turns his chin over his shoulder, glaring daggers. The word is nothing more than a bite. Acidic.

“First a Captain, now a Lieutenant?” a lanky man with a ponytail asks, slowly and carefully.

“As of now, yes. We have a Lieutenant in our ranks. The first of her kind,” Erwin confirms. “And you’re to treat her with the same respect as you’ve shown our Captain.”

“With all due respect, sir—” Although Levi’s words are respectful on paper, they are anything but against his lips. “—I was under the impression that my squad was to be handpicked and handpicked only going forward.”

Erwin hums. “You would be correct, Captain. Lieutenant James, however, will be a vital asset to your newly-acquired squad. Petra has been kind enough to help her get acquainted with headquarters.”

“Has she been through training?”

Wait.

Is Levi pretending not to know you?

You stay perfectly still, unable to watch anything but him. He continues to stare at Erwin with such forced neutrality that you can see a vein protruding just under the white cravat.

“No,” Erwin plays along, raising a heavy brow. “She’s already proficient in handling ODM gear and hand-to-hand combat."

"She is?" Gunther pipes up, his surprise bordering on admiration.

Erwin continues. "Strengthening our numbers at haste after a significant loss was our most efficient strategy, and I think it will serve us well. Did you miss the detailed briefing I left on your desk before your patrol, Captain Levi?”

The castle grounds fall silent.

Levi’s shoulders, pinched together, now fall.

“Must have missed it,” he replies, feigning an annoyed boredom that you’ve heard so many times before. “So long as she doesn’t slow me down. If you’ll excuse me, I have shit to do.”

Lamely you watch him near you, heart trapped in your throat. You want to run to him, hold him, scream and cry about everything — the heist, the gang, the fucking Scouts — but you do nothing when he passes right by.

Straight past Erwin and into the castle, where he disappears up a flight of stairs and out of view.

As if he never existed.

(His scent is still the same calming fresh linen with a dash of chamomile that your brain clings to, but no comfort comes.)

Did you hallucinate his—

“Lieutenant,” Erwin says, breaking you out of this fever dream. “I want you to introduce yourself to Captain Levi once he’s settled. I think it’ll be good for the two of you to meet.”

You can’t help it: when you lock eyes with the commander, you let him know exactly what you’re thinking — that you know he’s tricked you with the narrative of death, that you’re trapped between relief and grief, and you want nothing more than to cause him pain.

With the way Erwin’s expression smooths, it stands to reason this was intentional.

To see what you’d do — what Levi would do — in this moment.

Though whether or not he understands the type of reunion he’s played out, you aren’t sure.

Two days ago you wanted to die, to simply disappear at the idea of losing Levi, and now? He’s in the flesh wearing a Survey Corps uniform, manning his own squad, and…

You feel something wet slick against your palm and look down:

Red.

You’ve pressed your fingernails so hard into your hand that it's drawn blood.

“Permission to leave, Commander?” you ask, teeth grit against every syllable. “I have to get settled in myself.”

“Permission granted,” Erwin replies with authority.

You waste not a minute more to bolt into the castle.

Petra calls after you to wait for her, but the ringing in your ears, the panic attack budding in your veins, drowns her niceties out.

Levi is alive.

Levi is alive and a captain in the Survey Corps.

You have to find him.

.

.

.

.

.

You search for hours.

In the supply basement, in the sparring chamber, in the kitchens —

Levi is nowhere to be found.

Did you imagine him today?

The conversation with Erwin, the arrival of the Scouts… most of it feels real, but you doubt your own sanity when you cannot find your best friend.

Several doors are locked, but when you lean your ear against the wooden slab, no noise emits.

Empty.

Eventually Petra finds you stalking down a hallway and convinces you to come with her to the mess hall. Supper with the rest of the Scouts could mean he’s there, so you agree.

He isn’t.

The man they call Oluo is as pompous as he’d been outside. The others — Gunther, the buzzcut one, and Eld, the lanky blonde that asserts himself as a second-in-command — are less invasive and more so curious about how you’ve managed to get here.

All you do is ignore them and stare at the stew growing cold on your spoon.

You want to ask about Captain Levi, but you’re too afraid to speak his name — as if breathing his existence into their presence may snap the only red string tying you to what was once a dream.

When Gunther opens up a bottle of wine, you quietly excuse yourself to bed.

No one objects.

Rushing up the stairwell, you head towards the bedroom Petra assigned to you.

It takes every ounce of strength not to scream at the top of your lungs like a madwoman in the middle of the hallway from the growing stress attaching itself to your brain.

You feel crazy.

Are you crazy?

Are you just sleep deprived enough to —

Something latches onto your arm and pulls you roughly to the right. You fumble into something solid, diving headfirst until your back collides with a cooled stone wall.

A warm palm presses to your mouth to keep you from speaking.

Yet the protest would’ve died the second you saw that mop of black hair anywhere.

Levi Ackerman stands before you, pinning a hand against the wall parallel to your head while the other keeps a rough hold on your mouth. His head is bowed, the dark fringe covering half of his face, with lips parted. 

The cloak is gone. The cravat is slightly out of place.

Then his chin lifts to meet your wide eyes in the dark.

Within an instant your pain, your anguish, your hatred, melts. For what feels like forever you both stare at each other in this comforting darkness, waiting for something to come next.

So he speaks, barely above a whisper and sharp like a knife’s edge:

“How?”

You tremble under his touch, eyes welling with the tears you didn’t shed earlier. The bags under Levi’s eyes twitch, and gently, slowly, he removes his hand from your mouth.

“I promised,” you whisper back, and his eyes widen to match yours.

Abruptly his hand drops from the wall to grab yours and harshly tugs you towards a door right across the hall. It’s a vacant office, pitch-black without candles or torches.

“In here,” he demands, pulling you with him.

He swings you away from him to press the door closed, cautious not to make noise. It slowly clicks into place, and he locks the two of you away from the outside world.

Just the two of you.

You can’t help yourself: you rush across the room towards to be near him, to hold him, to feel —

His hands, lightning fast, grapple your wrists and keep you from ever entering his orbit. Your feet spin from his pull, positioning you between him and the door.

You jerk to a halt, deterred by the way his eyes gradually narrow to mere slits.

(Did you do something wrong?)

“Don’t,” he orders under his breath.

“Le—”

“Answer my question first,” he tells you like you’re the enemy. Everything in your stomach drops through the floor. The necklace under your uniform button-down burns. “How?”

A beat passes as you contain your emotions. “...how what?”

“How did you get here?”

You run your tongue against the seam of your lips, deciding what you should start with. A million questions run through your mind.

Did Erwin capture you the same way he captured me? Where is Isabel? Is Furlan safe? Did you willingly join the Scouts?

Did you make a deal with the devil, too?

“Commander Erwin,” you tell him.

His expression flickers with an indiscernible emotion. "Erwin?”

“I had no choice,” you continue. “I was ambushed by the Scouts two days ago. It was either handing myself over to the Military Police or joining the Survey Corps under him.”

The grip on your wrists tighten in a pinch. “Ambushed in what way? Did they hurt you?”

“No.” You shake your head, but he shifts his weight. “I mean, a little, but it—”

“Who?” he interrupts in a murmur. “Who hurt you?”

You search his eyes for the right answer to give, uncertain if he’ll burst from the room to blow your cover at the truth.

“Some asshole named Miche, but I’m fine.” His nostrils flare, eyes darting to the door with deadly precision, but you jerk your wrists in his hands to bring his attention back to you. “Hey. I mean it, I’m fine. Besides, he’s none of my concern. Not when Erwin’s here.”

Reluctantly, Levi returns his attention to you. He hesitates with ebbing anger. “...what the hell does that mean?”

“I said yes to the Survey Corps to take Erwin out,” you tell Levi, which causes him to sharply lift his chin with apprehension. “I didn’t give a shit what happened to me. They made it sound like… like you weren’t alive anymore. They never told me you joined, too.” You swallow to coat your throat. “Did they do anything to you?”

The abrupt blink to stare at the door behind you once again is your answer: yes.

“What about everyone else?” he cryptically asks, ignoring your question.

You shake your head, deflating. “Gone. We managed to survive for almost two months. When the MP pressure got out of hand, someone turned and ratted me out. But most of them made it to safe spaces undetected, I promise.”

He doesn’t let go of your wrists, but he lessens the intensity of his grip. When you lean in closer to whisper, he leans back — determined to keep this distance intact, crushing your heart.

He watches you like an object to solve, an obstacle to overcome.

Whatever love and adoration you were met with two months ago has vanished.

“We can kill them,” you say, earning his attention once more. “All of them. I don’t care.”

Levi remains silent, immobile. Your arms go limp in the hold he keeps.

“Whatever they did to you? Whatever they did to Isa and Furlan—”

“Stop.”

“—I’ll burn every last Scout to the ground—”

“James.” He nearly barks your name to get your attention. Levi hangs his head, dropping his chin to his chest. “Just… stop. Please.”

A mere whisper of a plea.

The soft defeat in his voice is terrifying. It isn't like the Levi you remember at all. Nonetheless, you listen. You stop.

Silence envelops the room.

So this is what it meant for the two of you to come to the surface.

You managed to escape the life you desperately wanted to leave behind, but at what cost?

Even now, you both hide in the dark.

(Was living in the sun everything you had ever hoped for?)

“...what happened during the heist, Levi?”

You hate how your voice cracks between the syllables of his name. He continues to bow his head, though the sound of his rushed breath betrays his composure.

“Where’s Isabel and Furlan? Where—”

“They’re gone.”

Everything feels freezing and boiling all at the same time.

His defeated tone echoes through your mind. You wait for him to lift his head, to tell you that they’ve traveled or escaped.

He doesn’t.

You know.

You know exactly what Levi’s saying, but denial hits you like a ton of bricks.

Isabel’s cheeky, bright smile. Furlan’s all-too-cocky smirk. The sight of them in front of the blazing sun flashes through your mind until they evaporate into the light. 

Death is an old friend. She’s sat at your table in Roxy’s more times than you can say. Except this feeling, this dread, this sorrow cuts deep with an iron-hot knife and slices down your torso with little remorse.

Levi refuses to look you in the eye. You can almost feel it against your forearm: the tremble of his own hand as he holds onto you for dear life.

“...when?” you ask, but you barely hear your own voice.

A pause passes.

Levi lets go of your wrists, trailing his fingers down your forearms.

“Two weeks ago.”

Tears cling to your eyes but never fall. “How?”

“Titans,” he says, words dripping with guilt. “We thought we could handle them.”

“And you saw…?”

He swallows, coating his throat. “Yeah, I saw.”

That’s all he needs to say.

Woozy in your own stance, you fall back against the door and wait — for the sob, the wail, that’s right at the base of your throat, yet you make no noise.

You relent.

Slowly you feel your legs give out, from your calves to your knees, until you’re sat on the floor. Instinctively you reach for your necklace, your last line of stability, and hold the pendant between your thumb and index finger.

Blinking hard, you squeeze your eyes together in the hopes that the world will become clearer when you open them.

It’s still dark.

You can barely make out anything besides the silhouette of Levi Ackerman.

“So this is the surface,” you whisper to yourself. “This is what we always wanted.”

Leather creaks above you until that very silhouette drops to its knees. You feel it before you see it — the reach for his fingers to find yours. They’re not as strong in conviction as they once were, as if mending from being broken.

Then he speaks, and you almost miss his words completely.

“Don’t do it.”

When you lift your chin, the tears clouding your vision finally fall and warm your cheeks. Levi stares back at you, struggling between two worlds: the one he’s always known, and the one he’s had to make with you.

Just as you endured the last two months.

“Do what?” you ask despite yourself.

“Go after him,” Levi clarifies under his breath. “Any of them.”

Your brows furrow. “But they let Isabel and Furlan die.”

“I let Isabel and Furlan die,” he argues, as if he wishes he were dead right then and there. A bone-chilling confession, a woeful repentance at your altar, as if you can grant him forgiveness he cannot find within himself. When you open your mouth to ask, he continues. “Two weeks ago they put us on a mission. I went off on my own thinking I could kill Erwin myself. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I could sneak up on him, then I could get the documents we needed to escape — then I could go back to the Underground and get you out of there, too. Assassinating the commander was my only chance to save us. Sounds like a load of fairytale bullshit out loud.”

He doesn’t sound like himself.

What was once sure and earnest comes out fractured and uncertain. Like one false move, one gentle touch, and you’ll disappear like stardust in the night.

“But once I realized titans were flanking us from every side, it was no use,” he continues, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Titans got the upper hand and massacred everyone in sight. By the time I came back, you couldn’t tell where one body started and the other ended.”

“Levi—”

“So I’m not watching you die, too.”

His black hair shakes in the moonlight. Sorrow seeps into every syllable.

“I couldn’t save Isabel. I couldn’t save Furlan.” You can see just how much his jaw clenches, threatening to break his teeth in half. “I hoped they wouldn’t find you, but Erwin’s not fucking stupid. He needed a fighter."

We need a fighter. A softer, youthful version of Levi's voice from yesterday whispers in the still air.

Both times it was said to save you.

This time, however, it feels less like salvation and more like a certified death sentence.

"And this selfishness has already bit me in the ass, I know, but I can't—" He chokes on his words, frantic to hold onto his wits. He fails. His next words hitch on a crack in his voice. "If you die, I won’t—”

Propelled by grief, you scramble from the floorboards and rise to your knees, encircling your arms around his body to pull him against you.

His entire body goes rigid, impossibly tight. Too afraid to fight back. Too afraid to let go. You embrace his fear, absorb it, consume it, desperate to show him he's no longer alone.

That you're here to the bitter end, whatever that may look like for the two of you; a blaze of glory or a soft exhale into sleep.

Cradling the back of his head with the palm of your hand, your cheek presses to his cheek.

Warmth.

A sign of life.

I'm here. I'm alive.

He smells just as you remember.

He feels just as you remember.

“I won’t,” you vow against his ear. “I won’t go after them. I'll leave Erwin alone. I won’t die on you.”

Your words deflate his entire being.

Finally, finally, his arms wrap around you and crush your torso against his. In this dark, locked room, he can bury his nose into your skin and breathe — and it’s the slowest, shakiest breath you’ve ever heard.

“Promise,” he chokes. "Promise me."

You nod, face contorting in pain from the hurt in your heart. “I promise you, Levi. I swear it.”

He doesn’t reply.

For what feels like hours you both sit in silence, mourning — remembering — all that you’ve lost to get here. On the floor, in the dark, he holds you close while no one else can see. You embrace him with all your might.

(Until the bitter end — you can promise you'll live, that you'll be by his side, right until the last possible moment.)

Eventually he speaks quietly against your cheek. His words are languid again, smooth like hot tea.

“I saw your pack in my old room.”

Your heart flutters as you pull your head from his, staring him in the eye. Your vision has adjusted by now, focusing solely on his pale face.

“My what?”

“Pack,” he repeats. “They stuck you in our old room — Furlan and Isabel used to be in there, too.”

The bunk beds. A mixture of sadness and relief swirls in your gut.

"And where are you?"

"Erwin moved me into my own room. Said a captain should get their own space," his eyes flicker to yours. "It's just across from you."

You sit up straighter. "So you're... near me?"

Levi nods. “As if I’d be letting you out of my damn sight anyway. I spent the entire day trying to come up with a fucking excuse."

"For what, the logistics of me sneaking into your room when no one's watching?" you tease, but the humor is exhausted on your tongue.

"No one's ever caught you before," he replies with a wit that's entirely Levi. It almost makes you smile.

He runs a hand along your waistline, then raises his palm to lightly press the pad of his thumb against your lower lip.

“Erwin’s aware of our business connection, but I don’t think he knows…”

He trails off, seemingly memorized by the way your lip moves under the guidance, the pull, of his thumb.

A feeling stirs in your belly, one that has been dormant for weeks.

“...but you don’t think he knows beyond that,” you finish softly, bringing him back to reality. His gray eyes meet yours, half-lidded and exhausted. He nods once. “So we keep our past a secret.”

“Just us,” he agrees.

“For as long as we can,” you finish.

His thumb drops from your lip to your chin. Your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips.

Waiting.

"They opened the wine in the mess hall," you add in a murmur.

"Means those shitheads plan to pull an all-nighter," he murmurs back. "They have a thing for commiserating."

"So we have time." A beat passes. "And I'm just across the hall."

"My room's desolate," Levi warns.

"I don't give a fuck," you reply, refusing to waste another second.

Your hand seeks the nape of his neck.

His palms cradle the sides of your face.

And after what feels like an eternity, your lips crash.

.

author's note: WE GOT A REUNION AYE-YOOOOOO. So happy that these two very sad idiots found each other again. Sorry for the pain. We only have about 3 more chapters of flashbacks to go, and then we will be returning to the present.

Thank you so much for you patience and wonderful comments and reblogs and eeeeverything. Seriously. I am so very grateful for your support. A reminder that I am going to switch to a bi-weekly Friday update - I will see you for Chapter 18!

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac @blossomedfloweroflove @carries-blenders-and-stuff @hurtcomfortwhore @ahxiaoshi @littlerequiem

[andromeda-nova-writing]

idk who this can be paired with but i would love to see your spin to “really nice guy who hates you”! hehe :3 tq — @milkstore

He was the first person I thought of. It helps that he really is just a nice guy.

“You should come with me to see Ayaka one of these days,” Yoimiya suggested as the two of you moved boxes of fireworks packing them up for a delivery to the Yashiro commission.

“I've met her before… and that bodyguard she has.” her voice dropped.

“You okay? Did something happen when you met Thoma?” She peaked her head out from behind a box.

“I've been running over what happened in my mind that day but it doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh?”

Y/N placed the box on the ground in the front. “I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. I was just as polite and kind as I am to anyone. I even offered to pay for a drink for them while taking care of my parent’s stall.”

“You do that for almost everyone nice enough to you. You did it for me probably too many times.”

“Cause you keep giving my family free fireworks! What am I supposed to do?”

Yoimiya laughed.

“Anyway. I made the drinks right in front of them. Ayaka was the sweetest. Thoma… are you sure he's a nice guy?”

“Yeah! He's like suuuper helpful! He came to read to some of the children around with me last week. Even gave them all piggyback rides.” Yoimiya seemed to genuinely like the guy.

“He just stared at the drink as if I poured him a glass of mud that I spat in. His eyes were so cold. Like his eyes stared into my very soul looking at me for any past sin I could have committed all with the smile of a devil.”

Yoimiya put her box down. “Are you sure you were talking to Thoma? That sounds nothing Like him.” With the box no longer covering her view she could see who was coming for the firework pickup. “That's Thoma coming this way actually. Hii!” She yelled out with a big wave.

“Don't call him over. He might bite my head off.”

“Yoimiya! Y/N.” He greeted back upon getting closer to the two. His voice was cheerful greeting Yoimiya but when he said her name it felt like he had to force it out through his teeth. It looked as if Yoimiya didn't even notice.

“Let me go inside and finish packing up the last box. It won't take too long.” She explained leaving the two of them alone despite What Y/N explained. Betrayal.

The least she could do was try and make an effort. Maybe Yoimiya was right and he truly was a nice guy. Maybe she just caught him on a bad day and that was clouding her thoughts. “So how's Ayaka doing? Well, I hope.”

“None of your concern but she's fine.” Yikes. And people describe him as a puppy? His arms were crossing making him look even more closed off.

“I'm glad. Especially with the festival drawing near. By any chance could I get an update on if my parent’s drink stall request to be at the festival went through? I know it's a bit informal asking now but-”

“Denied.”

“Like the request was denied or that this isn't a good time to ask if-”

“Denied.” He sighed. People could have two bad days in a row, right?

“Oh okay.” She held her head down not wanting To make eye contact with him any further. “It just seems like Ayaka enjoyed it so much.”

“Miss Kamisato.” He corrected. “Your parents are the ones who put the application in. It would have been best if we saw their skills. Even then since your name wasn't on the application I really shouldn't be disclosing any information to you.”

Y/N frowned looking up at him. “Did I do something? We've barely known each other and all you done is look at me like I'm something you wiped off your shoe. Maybe a life of luxury afforded to you by the Kamisato's has gone to your head!”

She didn't even notice the door open. Yoimiya's eyes widen upon hearing The last sentence. “I'm so sorry! She's usually nicer than this.” She elbowed Y/N as she handed Thoma the box.

“Ah, don't worry about it.” His whole personality seemed to flip. “Nothing I hadn't heard before. Probably best I leave. I’ll be out your hair quick Yoimiya.”

“Take your time. Everything should be out here. We will just be inside if you need anything.” She waved goodbye before pulling her friend inside and closing the door behind them. And with a whispered yell she asked, “What was that about?”

“He started it. I was being polite. I'm just telling you. I think he despises me.”

[junicult]

Speaking of fiances and marriage, can you imagine Harvey's reaction to seeing someone talk to his partner, they're a stranger to him but obviously know Y/N, who looks really annoyed, obviously not wanting to talk to the person

So he steps in, introduces himself and ask "and who might you be?" And the stranger goes "oh I'm Kyle, their fiance" and Y/N just, very, very quickly fixes him and just "ex-fiance"

Apparently Kyle came crawling back but Y/N wants nothing to do with him, obviously, they've got a cute man now! Also Kyle is cringe

Kyle: I'm Kyle, the fiance

Harvey, ABSOLUTELY heartbroken: What?

Y/N: Ex-fiance, ex. It's there for a reason don't forget that, Kyle

🦂

contains ; entirely sfw. (nameless) male ex bf. fem!farmer. new bf!harvey. harvey being the sweetest (as usual.) short drabble.

note ; ok i’m going to bed. i’ll proofread this in the morning (no i won’t)

aw i love the idea of harvey being protective over u.

he’s still pretty reserved, he’s not going to start problems unless he absolutely has to. & he definitely can’t handle confrontation, that’s for sure. obviously, if you’re upset he’s trained and prepared to help you feel better. he’s not a therapist by any sense, but if you just need comforting, he’d be one of the best to go to.

let’s say it’s the very beginning of your relationship. i’m talking you’ve only made it official a couple weeks ago, still in the earlier stages where you get butterflies whenever you see him, and you get all nervous and stuff like that.

you haven’t had the time (or energy) to disclose your last relationship with him just yet. you know he wouldn’t be upset or anything, you just haven’t talked about it.

which is why your ex coming to see you at the farm—WHILE YOUR WORKING—became a huge shock.

you’re easily frustrated. i mean, he’s getting in your way while you’re trying to work so, maybe the easiest option would be to just give him what he wanted—a chance to talk.

he’s talking, in fact he probably won’t even shut up, while you’re watering your plants and listening all annoyed.

“my mom’s still super pissed, she wants to talk to you,” he complains.

“i’ve been pretty busy lately. i already gave you the ring back, what else do you want?” you counter, clearly exhausted.

“i love you, you know that. i think we can work this out, you just need to talk to me!”

his delusions make you even more frustrated, pausing mid pout to take a deep breath—but before you even have the time to yell, you’re startled by the only man you’d actually wanna see at the moment.

“hello…am i intruding something?” harvey asks, standing only a couple feet away. you were too distracted to even see him approaching.

your ex just stays silent, looking him up and down while you blink in surprise.

“no, actually. he was just getting ready to leave.” you sigh, shooting him a pleading look that he doesn’t miss.

“oh, ok! i’m harvey, it’s nice to meet you. she’s a little busy, so maybe you can give her a call later?” harvey smiles, and it almost eases you entirely. his approachable demeanor is making it easier for him to walk closer to him—more importantly you in case he needed to reach for you. but that was just in the back of his mind.

“then why’re you here?” your ex spits, taking him by surprise but certainly not you.

harvey’s the kind of guy that means no trouble. if anything, he just wants the best for everyone.

which is why it’s your turn to blink in surprise when your sweet, peaceful boyfriend’s smile falls just a little, and his eyes squint with a certain sass, saying, “who are you, again?”

it’s pathetic seeing your ex laugh like he has any right, taking a step closer as if to challenge someone who doesn’t even want one.

“her fiancé. who the hell are you?”

“ex,” you waste no time, rolling your eyes. “he’s my ex-fiancé. we lived in the city together months ago.”

whether or not harvey is shocked to learn that, he doesn’t show it. maybe it’s because of your clear distaste to even hear the nickname, but either way, he knows better then to ask any questions right now.

“well, it was a pleasure to meet you. i think maybe we both should probably leave her to finish work. she’s got a busy schedule, anyways.”

you’ve never seen harvey so authoritative, subtle with the intent to get this man who is clearly stressing you out, away from you. his smile still seems so kind, and he’s clearly prepared to step in the way in case your ex counters with some excuse to stay.

“yeah, it’s a bummer you didn’t check to see if she was free today before you came all the way down here.”

“well i tried, but she won’t answer my calls.”

“hm. weird. anyway—!”

you almost feel sick with how much your stomach swells seeing the most amazing boyfriend handle a stressful situation as such so easily for you. he doesn’t even as so crack his exterior while he guides him away, still showing decency just to avoid a scene, which you couldn’t be more grateful for.

it was almost so baffling how easily he handled it. and attractive (needless to say.)

but you still felt so guilty, seeing him after the crisis was averted.

“i’m so sorry, i was going to let you know. i promise i wasn’t trying to keep a secret from you,”

and because of how understanding, and kindhearted he is, it’s easy to melt into his touch when he pulls you in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“oh, i’m not mad at you! i’m just glad you’re okay. he seems like a real jerk.”

knowing him, his main priority will always be the most important task at hand. but of course, you know him well enough that he can’t help but have questions.

so when you get your chance to explain, you know to reassure him with your soft touch, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles and kissing his cheek to show how much he means to you. especially after that.

“i’m sorry you had to go through that,” he frowns, sympathizingly.

“no, it’s okay. the ring didn’t even fit me anyways. and besides, i’m with someone much better now.”

he smiles at your reassurance, not that he really needed it because—well, he knows already.

“me too,” he kisses your cheek. “and don’t worry, i won’t make that mistake.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Heyy how are you? Could write prompt 5)     “Kiss you in a crowded room” from the midnights prompt list for Tim Bradford? Thank you :)

Part One: Monster

Part Two: The Gaslight (NSFW)

Part Three: Stalemate

Tim wants to marry you. He’s thought about it so many times since the two of you got together, he always assumed it was inevitable. Now as he sits at the front desk during the night shift, sifting through the most ridiculous shit the public has to offer, he realises that that possibility is getting further and further away because Captain Ashmore is never going to let you go.

It's been over a month since his Captain pulled him into his office, demanding that he disclose your location. His refusal had left him relegated to desk duty for the first week, his punishments steadily getting worse the longer the stalemate continues.

Ashmore can’t outwardly fire him. There are procedures in place, the union to contend with, appeals if he tries but he can make Tim’s life miserable, he can stall his career, destroy his future prospects.

Tim’s willing to risk all of it to keep you safe, because that look in the other man’s eyes when he showed Tim that picture, he knows he’s going to kill you. Tim’s worked enough DV cases to see the signs.

The others have tried to talk to him about his predicament, but he’s kept his mouth shut, told them to mind their own business. He doesn’t want the Captain coming down on any of them, assuming that their co-conspirators so he keeps his distance. He hasn’t seen you since the night before Ashmore pulled him into his office. He’d managed to swipe Chen’s phone to send you a text.

“He knows.”

There had been no contact since.

It’s Angela that breaks his silence.

It’s 3am in the breakroom when she corners him. He’s sipping a coffee and flicking through your old Instagram images, ones before you abandoned the account. There’s one of the two of you from Angela’s wedding, him in a tuxedo and you in that silk, cornflower blue dress. He remembers undressing you that night, the fabric fluttering to the floor in his bedroom, your lipstick marks leaving a trail down his body.

“I need to talk to you.” Angela says interrupting his thoughts as she sits down across from him. She has a brown manilla folder in her hands and already the dread is climbing in his chest. “Captain Ashworth has asked me to look into something.”

When she flicks open the folder he sees your picture, the one from the academy and his heart just stops.

“Noones heard from her since she took that leave of absence. There’s been no posts on her socials, her phone’s switched off, her house is locked up. No movement on any of her accounts. He suspects foul play.” He leans back in her seat and shakes her head. “I thought she just needed some space after what happened with that kid. I didn’t think…”

Angela trails off and Tim can see that guilt, how much it weighs on her. The two of you were partners before you took off. You’d told her, you needed a break, that the Chapman case was too much. Finding out what that little girl’s father had done had almost broken you, but it wasn’t the reason you left.

It’s a devious move, one that even Tim didn’t see coming. Angela is an excellent detective, she’s tenacious and loyal, leading her to think that her friend is in danger is only going to add fuel that fire. That woman won’t stop until she tracks you down.

“The two of you were close, did she say anything...”

Tim swallows hard against the anguish in his chest, his jaw clenches because all of this… It’s just too much to carry on his shoulders, he can’t keep going it alone, not when Ashmore is pulling shit like this.

“Angela, she isn’t missing.” Tim says reaching over the table and closing the file. “She’s on the run.”

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[keepingeahalive]

Ramona Badwolf Headcanons

Her full name is Ramona Garnette Badwolf. 

She is one year older than Cerise and went to Ever After High before her. She was expected to play up the role of Cerise’s rival, but Cerise had to goad her into it. The two had a decent, if distant, relationship before Ramona went to reform school, and Ramona didn’t want to hurt her baby sister.

Strangely, she was a very calm, easygoing child. She was more content to watch the other Wolf children play tug-of-war in the mud than to join in. Her dad describes her as an old soul.

She has fewer anger issues than Cerise. Because she was raised as a Badwolf, she was free to be more wild and wolf-like and let out her emotions. On the other hand, she has trouble realizing that not everyone has this privilege.

Her family and closest friends call her “Mona”.

Mona always felt out of place with the rest of her father’s family. She wasn’t as wild as them, and they saw that as a weakness. She’s built up a reputation as a “rogue” and a “lone wolf”, even though she is very much a social animal. 

Whenever she’s able to see her mom, she calls her “Momo”. She hates the name, but she loves her mom too much to tell her to stop.

She sometimes wonders what might have been if her mother had picked her as Little Red Riding Hood. 

She has a tail. It’s small and deformed, but it’s there.

She has an underbite.

Ramona shared a very loving relationship with Rosabella before she was sent to reform school. She especially loved Rosa’s beast form. After a while, Mona was tired of keeping their relationship secret and thought that if Rosa showed the world she was a beast, they could be together. Rosa wasn’t ready to do that and broke things off with her. 

She hates secrets, especially the ones in her family. It makes things harder for everyone. She would rather have everything out in the open, regardless of the consequences, because she believes it would be easier.

Ramona doesn’t show it, but reform school was a traumatizing experience for her. She hasn’t disclosed what happened there, but she’s highly triggered by whistles and bell sounds and refuses to let anyone touch her neck, mouth, or hair. 

She cannot fully transform into a wolf like her dad. She claims it’s because she doesn’t need to, but it would be a dead giveaway of her heritage if anyone knew she physically couldn’t do it.

She can retract her claws at will.

She’s terrible at technology. She doesn’t trust it and is sure that every MirrorPhone’s camera is watching her. She’s also convinced anything with electricity will zap her. 

She often jokes about eating Hunter.

She’s a carnivore by nature, but her favorite food is peaches. 

Ramona has a thing for princesses, especially ones who aren’t afraid to stand out. She loved Rosabella for this reason, and it’s why she became attracted to Justine. 

[baronessblixen]

Prompt: 9. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

How the Ghosts Stole Christmas post-ep, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff - all the fixings: Bill Jr. runs into Mulder in the middle of the night and it goes as well as you might expect. (wc: 1,286)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 22: Cookie Theft and Other Crimes

He hasn't been sleeping, but he thinks that if he had, he would be wide awake now. Whoever is coming down the stairs isn’t quiet. Mulder watches and waits. It’s not Scully, he knows that much. She’d never make so much noise this late at night. It doesn’t take long until he sees the culprit. Of course, it’s Bill Jr.

Mulder gets up – quietly – and follows the other man into the kitchen, watching in amusement. This man, who hates his guts, and has threatened to take him down more than once, has snuck down in the middle of the night, to steal one of Mrs. Scully’s Christmas cookies.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” It’s dark, but Mulder sees Bill Jr. jerk, his hand still in the air.

“What in- what the fuck are you doing here?” Forgotten are the cookies. Bill Jr. stands up tall and approaches him. “Did you break into my mother’s house? I’m going to call the police.”

“Your mother knows I’m here,” Mulder says calmly. At least he thinks she does. He knows that Scully knows he’s here. Right now, she’s the only one who matters to him.

“Right. Why don’t I believe you? You weren’t here earlier. I would have remembered seeing you. Are you still not done harassing my family?”

“What is going on down here?” The lights come on and both Mulder and Bill Jr. blink in surprise. Mrs. Scully stands before them with tired, but furious eyes, wearing a big, fluffy robe. She looks from one man to the other, not caring who gives her an answer.

“This punk here-”

“Your sister’s partner,” Mrs. Scully corrects him and Mulder bites back a smile. Bill, however, snorts.

“Did you know he was here? He is sneaking around down here in the dark.”

“Would you rather I be in your sister’s bedroom?” Mulder realizes his mistake as soon as the words have left his mouth. Mrs. Scully isn’t quick enough and Mulder doesn’t even try to move away when Bill Jr. swings his fist at him. There’s a sound that reminds him of stepping on a branch, and the thought distracts him so much, that for a moment, he doesn’t feel any pain.

“William Scully Jr.! Have you lost your mind?” It’s only when Mrs. Scully touches his jaw that he notices the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and the throbbing pain that comes with it.

“He deserved it.” Mulder doesn’t argue.

“Go wake your sister, Bill,” Mrs. Scully says while she gets an ice pack for Mulder. “Sit down, Fox.” Her voice goes from livid to gentle.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Scully,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” she says. “My son overreacted.”

“Did you know I was here?” She nods, holding the ice pack to his jaw.

“Not that Dana told me. I heard you two earlier.” Mulder blushes. There’s no reason to. They didn’t do anything scandalous. “She should have invited you all along.”

“She did. I didn’t want to get in the way of her family time.”

“Fox,” she says, giving him a stern look. “You are family. She missed you. I could see it in her eyes, you know? Not just you. Christmas is hard for all of us. It’s when her father… anyway. With what happened last year, in San Diego, I knew the day would be difficult for her. But she kept saying she was fine.”

“She always says that to me, too,” Mulder mumbles.

“That’s Dana for you. But you’re here anyway. I’m glad, Fox. I’m so glad she has you.” He nods, a lump in his throat. He’s not going to betray a confidence. This is not his story to disclose. He won’t reveal that Scully called him a few hours ago, her voice weak and trembling. She never asks for help. Never. Unless she absolutely has to. All he said to her on the phone was that he'd be there soon.

She opened the door to him and he took her into his arms. No words necessary. He held her as long as she needed it. They talked about Emily, and how she might have grown. How their lives would be if she were with them. Then, she finally fell asleep and he carried her upstairs. He could have left and maybe he should have. But he stayed on the couch, just in case. He’d planned to leave early in the morning before anyone else was awake.

“I’m the lucky one,” he says. “Because she’s in my life.”

Mrs. Scully is about to answer when two quarreling Scully siblings come down the stairs. He wonders how Bill’s wife and his son are sleeping through this.

“This is none of your business,” Scully says, pushing her brother away to get to Mulder. She immediately checks on him, her eyes full of worry. With her face so close, he can still see the redness from when she cried earlier. She’s touching his jaw gently, moving it this way and that.

"He started it," Bill says, but no one is paying attention to him.

“I don’t think anything is broken,” she says, her words brushing his skin. He smiles at her, hoping it’s enough of an apology.

“Well, then he can just leave.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Scully says.

“So?”

“Fox isn’t going anywhere, Bill. He’s our guest.”

“I didn’t invite him.”

“I did.” When Bill wants to say more, his mother stops him. “He will stay here and have breakfast with us tomorrow.” She’s looking at Mulder now and it sounds like a threat. He nods quickly. “Now,” she says with a sigh. “It’s late and some of us are tired. Bill, go back to bed.”

“What about Dana?” he complains.

“She needs to tend to Fox, thanks to you. What were you even doing down here?”

“Oh, you know,” Bill suddenly changes his tune, walking toward the stairs, “I just wanted a glass of water.”

“There’s water upstairs,” Scully mumbles but either her brother and mother haven’t heard her, or they’re ignoring her.

“Hey,” Mulder says once they’re alone. “How are you feeling?”

“I should ask you that.”

“It’s not often that I almost get shot and beaten up in one night. Merry Christmas, huh? But I’m fine.”

“Why did he hit you?”

“Said something stupid,” Mulder says with a shrug. “I caught him trying to steal your mother’s cookies.”

“Well, thank you for guarding them.”

“You said your mother baked them for her church.”

“She did.”

“She would have noticed one missing.” There’s a gleam in Scully’s eyes all of a sudden and she turns to look at the cookies on the table. “Scully, no.”

“We can blame it on Bill,” she suggests.

“He hates me enough as it is.”

“I’ll let my mother know that you made sure neither of her children stole a single cookie,” Scully says with a low chuckle. “You’re gonna be her hero.” Her voice is soft and sweeter than sugar.

“Do you think you can fall back asleep?” he asks, turning serious again. “I am willing to share the couch.”

“I’d love that,” she admits after a pause. “Thank you for tonight, Mulder. I didn’t get to say it earlier. I appreciate it.”

“Even the haunted house?”

“Even that. I know why you did it.” She kisses his cheek and then takes his hand. She snuggles into him on the couch and is fast asleep in no time at all. Mulder closes his eyes and revels in holding her. He drifts off to sleep with the thought that Bill Jr. is going to flip out tomorrow when he finds them entwined like this. He can't help but smile.

[greazyfloz]

Mark and Ethan 3 some?

The Bucket List

w/ Ethan Edwards and Mark Estapa

SMUT

Word Count: 1.8 k

[Ethan POV]

~Yesterday Night~

Y/n had some friends over at her apartment tonight for a wine night so I was just chillen at home playing chel with Estapa when my phone started to ring, I paused the game seeing Y/n’s name appear across the screen, “Hello?” I say before hearing laughing and hooting from Y/n and her friends. I look over to Estapa “she but dialed me” i lightly laugh. “Put it on speaker, what are they talking about” he says amused, I put the phone on speaker and listen:

  “So you think he is hot?” I hear one of Y/n’s friends asking, “Oh I think he is sex-y” Y/n says making me blush until her friend continued, “So if you weren’t dating Ethan-”, “Oh yeah I would definitely fuck him” Y/n says, who the fuck? Mark looks at me biting his bottom lip trying not to laugh. “Ugh, its so weird around him now, because I had a pretty sexy dream about him a couple days ago and now it’s just awkward because like, that's E’s best friend. Obviously I’m not tempted because I think E is the sexiest person I’ve ever met, I just feel weird around Mark” Mark?!. I look over at Mark who’s jaw looks like it’s about to hit the ground. I hang up the phone and look over to Mark. “We didn’t hear that conversation” I say. Mark nods his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t have listened” Mark adds. We resume Chel for a bit before the food we ordered is at the door. Mark jumps up to get the order.

He hands me mine as we start to eat. As we are finishing up Mark and I are talking about some girl Mark just ended things with, “I don’t know I just didn’t see things going anywhere, she was too vanilla” Estapa tells me, “Like just missionary?”, “Yeah, and she won’t suck me off, foreplay sucks” Estapa says shaking his head laughing, I laugh with him “I got pretty lucky with Y/n I guess, She’s always down for whatever, like I mean anything” I say back, “I thought she would have been pretty vanilla, if I’m being honest”, “No, no like she has this bucket list of-” I start before stopping thinking maybe she doesn’t want me to disclose this detail. “Like a sex bucket list? That’s sexy” Estapa says throwing his head back, “You are a lucky dude” he continues looking back at me I laugh and unlock my phone going through mine and Y/n’s photos in our conversations to find the list she sent me. When I found it I clicked on it and handed my phone to Estapa. 

Estapa takes my phone and starts to read out loud: “Hot tub sex”, “check” I respond, “Hot party PDA”, “Every weekend, check”, “Phone sex”, “check”, “Bring vibrators to bed”, “check”, “Birthday Sex”, “Not yet”, “Hotel room”, “next weekend”  i say laughing about Y/n and I’s plans for her to come out to Notre Dame and sneak into my room “Dirty dog” Mark laughs before continuing on the list, “Threesome”, “No plans yet” I say, “But we are working on it”. Mark laughs, “damn bro”, He swipes to the side thinking the list went on, he looks down at it for a couple seconds before he realizes he is looking at a picture of a fully naked Y/n, “oh fuck, sorry” he says locking my phone and handing it back to me. I laugh taking my phone back. 

We go back to chel and Y/n gets brought up again. “So Y/n would fuck you we heard that earlier” I laugh, ‘Would you fuck her? Like say I wasn’t in the picture”, “Honestly, ye-” he starts but stop and says “Why are you asking me, tryna fill out the bucket list?” he laughs awkwardly. “Why not” we both laugh continuing with our night.

[Y/n POV]

Ethan and I were laying in his bed play fighting when he starting tickling me, “Ma-ark stop!” I say making Ethan immediately stop. “What did you just say?”, “Nothing” I say. Ethan gets off the bed and looks down at me. “What?” I say getting up trying to act as if I didn’t just say Mark’s name. “I gotta admit something” Ethan starts, “You butt dialed me yesterday and Mark and I were listening and you said you’d fuck Mark”, my cheeks burn red. “I’m sorry, I would never though because I love you”, “don’t apologize, I’m not mad. I did kinda show Mark your bucket list though and he may accidentally saw a picture of you yesterday…”, “Ethan!” i yell, “Why would you do that?” she questions, “I don’t know, it just came up. Boy talk.” Ethan says scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry. I think he liked it if that means anything” he looks at me. I laugh at his attempt to make me feel better. “I’m not mad” I say rolling my eyes. 

“Good” ethan says peppering me with kisses. Ethan suddenly stops “Wanna check off something on the list?” he says smirking at me. I have a feeling I know what he is talking about so I say nod. “Take all your clothes off and lay back on the bed” Ethan tells me before going over to the dresser and picking up his phone. I get undressed so I am fully nude and go over to ethan wrapping my arms around him, “And why are you still dressed?” I say lifting his shirt. He takes it off and looks at me “Lay” he points to the bed. I lay down on the bed and I hear him say “okay, good” to himself before walking over and sitting on top of me. I hear the facetime ringer waiting for someone to connect on Ethan’s phone, “When he answers, ask if he wants to join” ethan laughs sitting on me. “What’s up” I hear Mark over the facetime call, I bite my lip as ethan looks into his camera saying “Y/n wants to ask you something”, he turns his camera to his back camera, so the facetime reveals a very naked me on the screen, I cover my eyes and say “do you want to join us” giggling. “Say it again without covering your eyes”, I uncover my eyes and ethan grabs one of my bare boobs making me giggle more knowing mark is watching this. “Mark, do you want to have sex with Eddy and I” I say, Ethan laughs at Mark’s reaction through the Faceetime. “I’m coming” mark says ending the call. 

Within seconds, Mark enters the room. “Is this for real?” Mark asks, “Well are you just going to look at her naked or you going to do something?” Ethan says, I sit up so I am now sitting on the side of the bed looking at Mark, “You first” Ethan says as mark takes his shirt off,  coming closer to me pushing my back down on the bed. Mark forcefully puts his lips on mine as I see ethan take his pants off sitting on the desk chair, feeling himself through his boxers. Mark travels down to my nipples and grabs my boobs massaging them roughly while sucking on my nipples. “F-fuck!” i whisper out a whimper, mark grows hard against my leg in reaction. I reach down grabbing Mark and rubbing him through his pants earning a small moan escape his mouth. His lips come back up to meet mine before backing up to take off his pants. 

Ethan stands back up lifting me up so I am now standing making out with him. He lays me down on the bed and moving beside me. He stops and spreads my legs revealing my soaking pussy to Mark. “Eat up” ethan says to mark before connecting out lips again. Suddenly I feel Mark’s tongue flick up and down in fast motions on my clit. I moan into ethan’s lips and reach down to massage ethan through his boxers. Mark began sucking my clit as ethan breaks our make out session to remove his boxers, making me moan loudly, “Aa, mmm!”. Mark sticks his tongue inside me licking and moving his head back and forth as I massage my boobs. Ethan stands stroking his dick watching. “Get on your knees” Ethan says to me. Mark stands and I obey Ethan standing up off the bed then falling to me knees. 

Grabbing Mark first, I stroke his dick before turning and putting ethan in my mouth with the other. I start slow with ethan but he grabs my hair and starts pumping himself faster into my mouth. Ethan pulled my head back looking down at me proud of himself seeing the pre-cum from my mouth from his dick, I lick my lips to clean myself a bit before ethan grabbed my chin wiping the pre-cum and spit harshly. I turn a face Marks did taking it in bobbling my head back and forth. “Grab on. Fuck her face” Ethan tells Mark. Mark obeys grabbing onto my hair roughly pushing my head in and out. I pull myself away smiling up at mark earning a “fucking sexy” to leave his lips. 

Ethan stands me up pushing me down on the bed. “Hands and knees” Ethan demands. I obey his orders and feel a hard slap on my ass once. I yelp out once before receiving another slap on the ass, “Ready?” Ethans says behind me with his tip lined up at my entrance. “Yes” I plead and ethan wastes no time sliding inside of me. Mark walks to the other side of the bed and lifts my chin up so my lips were lined up with his dick. I open my mouth and began to suck Marks cock as Ethans pumped inside of me. With every pump from ethan the deeper he gets earning a moan on Mark’s cock. Ethan grunts before saying “on your back, now!” I release mark from inside my mouth and laid back knowing from ethan’s tone that he is close. He took his condom off stroking himself quickly as Mark rolled a condom on before lining himself up next. Ethan grabs my face and kneels down to the side of the bed before finishing in my mouth. Mark at the same time thrusts inside of me hard and fast and keeping up the pace. Ethan pushes my hair out of my face as I moan out in pleasure “Fuck! Don’t stop!” I whimper. Ethan bends connecting his lips with mine, before mark says “I’m gonna cum”, “go ahead” I say. Mark plunges himself in deep before releasing himself inside of the condom. He takes himself out taking the condom off and throwing it out. 

Mark starts to get changed and turns to the door “Ah- Thanks” mark says awkwardly before turning again ethan looks at him and says “do not. Tell anyone”. Mark shakes his head and leaves the room. Ethan jumps back into bed holding me in his arms. I pull out my Bucket List from my notes and check off ‘threesome’. Ethan laughs before saying “We’re going to need a new list”.

[tortol]

as per my good friend @sepublic’s req, here are some quick notes from dana’s talk yesterday that i somehow managed to get into and wrote as it went on to remember everything, now that i’ve put my brain together and processed all the stuff dana said that y’all might find interesting :)) long post!

when i walked into the room she was just sitting on a chair eating cookies which i guess is irrelevant but it was a huge reality check because like… holy shit? dana terrace is a real human? and she’s eating cookies? i literally could not process her presence but that made it settle in a little more

first answer to a question was that after the shortening of toh she never quite got used to it and just had to suck it and learn to work with what she had. she says that she also feels uneasy by the current reality of the industry and wonders what’s in store for creatives, but hopes the landscape will change in the future

her first reaction upon learning about the shortening was to say “fuck you” and then lock herself away in her room to cry :,)

she heavily considered ending season 2 in an insane cliffhanger and then never actually finishing the show to spite disney, but was convinced by a couple of her friends (including matt braly!) to keep working on it

cancellation news came by the time eda’s requiem was being produced

she was asked about amphibia crossovers and she said that she likes to think anne and luz have crossed paths

a girl in an otter onesie thanked her for making the show. dana got emotional and cried, then got up to hug her

we were her first live event since the show aired!

she’s currently throwing ideas around and working on pitch for a new series (she’s not set on anything tho)

king was originally meant to be very tall

one of the projects she’d love to get to the most is a graphic novel

she’s also interested in writing for live action

hexside was not on her original plans (at least the version we know now) and the execs pushed her to add a school setting into the show

she found making season 1 a lot more challenging due to execs’ restraints

she would’ve liked to dive further into bump and eda’s relationship

the inspiration for belos comes from cult leaders (obviously) and matthew hopkins, as well as many of her own conservative family members, particularly those with homophobic ideals

she doesn’t like writing belos at all

when i told her my name she went “oooo” which made my soul melt from within

i asked if she was able to disclose any unused or potential plot threads she would’ve added if not for the short s3! she said that wasn’t something she could say anything about so she let me ask another question (we were talking for real and she saw my person there in the room can you fucking believe that. she passed me the mic with her hand. insane. i touched dana terrace mic)

so i asked if she was met with any challenges when pitching characters who were part of such a diverse cast, not only in regards to queerness, but also for not quite fitting into a box and just being overall very… different (neurodivergent for the homies, lol) and if the execs had any trouble understanding them

unfortunately i think because i used the word “cast” she misunderstood my question and thought i was talking about the voice acting cast of the show, and said that disney didn’t have any issues hiring diverse people and she always wanted to make sure a character’s diverse traits matched the actor, mentioning avi roque and raine as an example

when she first heard sarah-nicole robles’ audition for luz she didn’t like it because she used a voice that was too high-pitched. thank fuck people in the studio suggested she give her another chance with a more neutral voice, and that’s show she landed on her to voice luz

actually, she said voice casting was the easiest part of her job

disney is not interested in producing any more owl house content

a girl asked about huntlow and she said that was something she couldn’t answer specifically because she didn’t want to give away any spoilers (?)

even though she doesn’t regret what she wrote, she would’ve liked to see how the story would’ve progressed if luz hadn’t been admitted into hexside. she thinks not much would’ve changed; she would still be friends with gus & willow, fall in love with amity, and, eventually, slowly prove to bump how capable she is

she really, REALLY wishes she had gotten to do another episode with young raine and eda. she LOVES those two, and mentioned how much she dreams about doing a series of them as teens

she went through a period of really neglecting her health and sleeping only about two hours a night due to the stress of working on the show and her busy schedule, which really drained her, and advised everyone who wanted to become a showrunner to learn to take care of themselves even in stressful times

i told her how much the show meant to so many people and that every sleepless night had been more than worth it, that everyone was grateful for everything she’d done and keeps on doing, that her efforts had paid the fuck off. also that i hoped she was doing better lately and taking care

she wants to take a good fucking break once the show is over

i also thanked her for making lilith aroace, as no one in the room had mentioned it, and said she was glad people were able to resonate with that

she pitched another show alongside the owl house, and will show the pitch later

they took some pictures with her and the people in the room before wrapping up

respectfully, she’s so fucking fine

i don’t know what else to say man, she just really manages to light up a room. her presence is something so special and those couple hours of just chatting with her alongside other people became easily one of the best moments of my whole life. she really is incredibly passionate about what she does and so eager to help aspiring creators, which is why we were all ultimately there for. i don’t think the past two years of my life would’ve been the same if it hadn’t been for her work impacting me the way it has. i feel like the luckiest person on earth :,)

[birdsaredinosagenda]

more

Character: Kuroo Tetsuro

Warnings: smut, 18+ content, a bit of angst(?), it’s straight to fucking, friends with benefits

Sounds of moans and groans and the slapping of skin on skin mixes with the audio of the movie that plays forgotten. The two people—you and Kuroo—who took way too long to pick it are too busy with each other to even bother hitting pause.

“This is why you should get a girlfriend,” you tell him in between sighs.  

“She can do this with you when you have a bad day.”

Having you bouncing on his cock with one hand on his shoulder and the other grabbing a fistful of his hair is just what he needs after a fantastically shitty day.

He almost forgot that you’d be at his place picking up the books and sandals you left last week. A greeting of ‘hey, you’ from you as the door opens had a funny effect on him. Like the first sip of chilled soda, bright and sweet and stings just right. But you didn’t need to know that.

You sit on him fully and take his entire length, you roll your hips and set a pace and pressure so you can grind your clit on his pubis while your cunt is filled. Doing this to him is definitely more fun than riding a stack of pillows.  

“Why should I when you’re already doing-” His arrogance fails a bit as you clench your pussy around his cock. “Ah, fuck!”  

He sucks air between his teeth and pulls you closer to capture your lips with his. Your mouth opens right away to welcome his tongue. He tilts his head a bit so he can kiss you like how you like it. He leans forward and put his weight on one knee so he can fuck you how he wants.

“Your pussy feels like heaven.”

A soft chuckle gets lost with the sound of rain that falls in the living room of the couple in the movie.

He gets a good, strong hold of you and puts you down on the bed. Pulling out his cock, creamy with your juices, Kuroo is almost shaking with urgency and desire to bury his length in you again.

He crawls over you and tucks his face in the crook of your neck. You feel his teeth graze your soft skin.

“See, if you have a girlfriend, you can do this with her anytime and you won’t have to share.”

Hilarious. You’ve always had a quite a mouth on you. One of the things that make you so attractive.

He braces himself with his left arm and his right hand finds the back of your knees to lift your leg up.

“I can just not share” he says as he lines up his cock at your entrance.

“You can just forget about that one.” He pushes the head of his dick back in your pussy.  

“Mmm, I dunno…I like Ren.”

His lips crack into smile. He pulls out completely then sheathes himself to the hilt. Deep and hard thrusts bring out load moans from you. Hips rising to meet his. Kuroo’s breathing starts to speed up and in between hard breaths he curses and groans. 

“More than me?”

You pretend to not hear his question and he pretends to not notice your evasion.

Shit.

Two sensations compete for his attention—both intense and demanding to be felt. He chooses to focus on the incredible friction on his cock over the annoying tickle in his chest.

You both know what you signed up for, ground rules were clear from the start. You even had it in writing because you both are weirdos who just can’t help themselves.

Just fucking.  

No titles, no feelings.

Can have other partners but needs to be disclosed.  

You want something, you say something.

It stops when one party wants it to stop.  

It ends when it’s not fun anymore.  

It ends when one party gets weird about shit.

He gets the drinks, you get the snacks.

Signature here. Initials here. Shake my hand here. May this friendship bring many fun and frequent benefits. (It did. It does.)

Kuroo feels your legs wrap tighter around his hips, bringing him closer and deeper. Every nerve ending of your sensitive spots firing simultaneously.  

His orgasm hits him like a tsunami. One big wave, anything and everything on its path wiped out. But he doesn’t stop his movement. Can’t think about anything else if he fucks his own brains out. And he doesn’t want to feel think about anything else. He just wants this. Just you and your nails scratching up his back. Just your cunt squeezing his dick. The feeling of your warm skin. The taste of the melon candy you were eating and your flavor when he ate you.

He tries to maintain the cadence of his pumps as yeses and fucks tumble from your lips. He pumps through tight shoulders and buckling hips. He grabs your ass so he can fuck in you in the way he knows would have you screaming. He takes pride in knowing how to get that angle perfectly. You can be standing or on all fours or dangling at the edge of the bed. He knows how to position his hips and yours to get the same result.

His fingertips dig into your flesh as he thrusts and grind to give you your release. You reach your peak and he almost comes again.  

This part. This part is always his favorite. Fucking you is amazing but having you lose yourself after you cum around his cock is unbeatable. Reducing you to whines and whimpers is always the goal.

The pleasant buzz of endorphins fills his head and he stays in you for a few more moments to feel the tiny tremors that are running up and down your thighs. He rolls off you with a hiss, turning over as he catch his breath  

On screen a man runs hand in hand with a red-haired woman as people around them disappear one by one.

“No.”

He turns to you with half-lidded eyes, his breathing starting to slow. “What? D’you say something?”

You take one big breath and sigh.

“I said, no. Not more than you.”

[luna-rainbow]

Ah yeah. There was that excellent Twitter chain when the show screened from a practising psychologist talking about how bad the therapy was. /

i mean... there were also veterans, real veterans, who spoke about how that was the "therapy" assigned from the uS government so it wasn't so inaccurately. it I'd wrong but yeah they said that's exactly what they get which sucks... there was this woman specifically, a Black woman, she does tiktoks and so and she did a long video on YouTube talking specifically about that scene and how much it sucks that the real actual government gives them that...

I’ve seen that video. It was a great video with a lot of insight into veteran experiences. I don’t remember what she said about therapy specifically but she spoke a lot about how hard it was to get the system to recognise her trauma or for her abusers to have any form of retribution.

From memory though, most of the vets were commenting on the first therapy scene. The psychologist I referenced was also talking about that scene. It was a great scene of bad therapy, not because it’s unrealistic, but because sadly it isn’t. That said, it doesn’t affect the headcanon that the therapy program was just to keep an eye on Bucky. Vets who had poor experiences with the VA say they feel it was aimed at getting them back into duty without actually addressing their trauma. A lot of people (myself included) liked the first therapy scene when it screened, because we saw bad therapy for a traumatised POW and thought the story was going somewhere with it, but....uh, nope. (** This post is already getting too long but good storytelling isn't about realism, it's about creating meaning)

I haven’t seen many comments from vets (apart from one commenter on the other post, thank you 😊) specifically talking about the couples therapy scene. And I was talking about the couples therapy scene specifically as being so poorly done (and in context of the poorly researched writing elsewhere in that series) it's unrealistic.

Firstly, massive faux pas in Raynor disclosing Bucky’s treatment to JOHN F(ucking) WALKER. That’s a HIPAA violation right there and while Bucky might not know anything about it, Sam could report her ass right there and then. Also Walker somehow…can dictate the treatment program? (Although I wouldn’t put it past the military) But he’s not even Bucky’s superior officer? Bucky's not even in the military? Raynor said in the first therapy session that “you’re a civilian now” so how does Walker get a say?

Raynor then discloses treatment details to Sam - although I’ll let this one go because Bucky might have consented to that. She then insists Sam join Bucky for the session, which…can happen but neither Sam nor Bucky wanted it, and why would you want to spring a group session on not ONE difficult patient but two?

When Sam sat down, he had to ask her name, which means they’ve never met before. He tries to tell her it’s a really bad time, and it’s clear from his tone and body language that he’s not wanting to engage. She not only does nothing to address that, she doesn’t even do the basic courtesy of taking a history from Sam before launching into her confrontational “treatment”. Look, maybe psychologists are built different but a clinician starting treatment without even knowing the background? If we’re going to treat psychology as real therapy and not voodoo science, then like all physical treatments, it comes with risks. How TF do you assess that risk if you haven’t even talked to the patient??

So she then subjects Sam and Bucky to “couples therapy” which unsurprisingly triggers both of them because she hasn't assessed her patient. Sure, prolonged eye-contact between real couples is meant to increase intimacy and empathy. But you know what other situation people use prolonged eye contact? When the fight response is engaged and it’s a warning for imminent aggression.

So, good work fake therapist for doing the human equivalent of making two angry bulls lock horns then patting herself on the back on creating intimacy. “Look they are touching their foreheads together how cute” no the fuck not they are about to gore each other in the eye.

Luckily for her Sam and Bucky had enough wits about them to not actually hit each other, but they did the verbal equivalent of the same, and both of them left that therapy session more angry and hurt than they were when they started.

TL;DR - the second therapy session was a load of BS because

HIPAA violation upfront and throughout

Walker for no reason dictating Bucky's treatment

Raynor dragging Sam into therapy without having ever met him before

Raynor subjecting Sam to therapy without assessing him

Eye contact used erroneously in a situation that is likely to increase aggression

These are not just bad therapy, it's bad writing from someone who doesn't know how therapy works.