#sorry i apparently have lots of hatred in my heart?

[m4y4wasnthere]

soc!reader x dallas winston hcs

cw: minor smoking mention, suggestive ones at the end

you were friends with Pony and Johnny because of Cherry

Pony and Johnny always would talk abt how tuff you were, Dallas once overheard them

He didn’t like you, he wasnt fond of the fact you were a soc, regardless of what pony and johnny said abt you. the only reason he didn’t hate you was because of how Cherry proved herself to be a good person

they had to beg darry to let you come over

you were wearing a white sweetheart top with some simple jeans. you loved pearl necklaces and was wearing a pink bow in your hair

when he first saw you, his first thought was how pretty you were. he liked the fact you were slightly dolled up just to meet your friend’s crew

“whats your name dollface?” dallas completely set aside his soc hatred for you

his reaction left pony and johnny shocked lmao “dal i thought you didnt lik-“ dallas shoved pony before he could finish his sentence.

you didnt hear alot about dallas, but you knew he was a hood who got into jail every other week.

you couldnt help but giggle to the nickname, “my name is y/n, nice to meet you, um dal is it?”

his heart fluttered at you calling him that. “uh- the name is dallas winston but yea, you can call me dal.” he tried and lean on the doorway behind him but he missed and slipped before quickly catching himself

he mentally facepalmed , he knew the gang was gonna make fun of him for this later

he loves seeing all your outfits and all the different accessories you have

you have a white/pink mustang and he engraved D.W + (ur initals) on it

you were a bit angry when you found it but it was small and hidden enough to the point where u decided u werent gonna get it fixed (you secretly thought it was cute the whole time)

hes snuck into your room plenty of times, and you love putting a bow in his hair

“cmon doll, y’know i dont wear this girl stuff” he sat on your bed, slightly sinking on the mattress.

“baby if you want to keep sneaking in here then yes, you do wear this girl stuff.” After the bow was clipped on, you kissed his cheek and he seemed to not mind anymore.

Tries his best not to get into jail as much anymore because you hate it. not only do you hate being separated from him, you want him to have an okayyy rep when he meets your parents

hes not completely sober (yet? lets hope 🤞) but he starts to limit how much he smokes since he doesn’t want to be a bad influence on you. If you guys are around each other, then he won’t smoke. Even if that means no smoking for a whole day or 2

you get super scared whenever he surprises you by walking to your house because you dont want him to get jumped by other soc’s

you were chilling on your couch when you heard someone knock on the door, you were in pretty floral silk-like pajamas and had your hair up.

you peeked before seeing your boyfriend. “Dal what’re you doing here? Did you walk here?”

“…yes, but im fine doll s-“

“Dallas Winston, I told you to not walk here by yourself, especially in broad daylight! What if you got jumped!” He walked in, and you locked the door. You crossed your arms, not stepping towards him.

he hates it when you use his full name, his head was down and he fake pouted. “ ‘m sorry doll, forgive me please. I’ll make it up to you.” He held his arms out for a hug.

As much as you wanted to stand your ground, you gave into his hug.

lets just say you guys were kissing.. alot, he promised to make it up to you 🤷‍♀️

He secretly loves saving up whatever money he has to buy you nice things, makes him feel like he actually deserves you. Probably would play it off by saying stuff like “saw this lying around and…” “i picked this up on the way…do you like it?”

His insecurity about if you actually want him and if hes good enough for you is pretty apparent. He doesn’t think you see it but you’ve caught on and make sure to tell him you love him a lot.

• suggestive ones •

Loves praising you, especially if your giving him a blowjob or right when the round finishes

“Your eyes are so pretty looking up at me doll”

“You’re taking me so well”

“You were so good doll, I love seeing you feel good because of me”

You once wore a pretty white lingerie set, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you for hours

Teases you a lot about your matching bra/panty sets

“You matched for me doll?”

“The white sets’ my favorite”

Can’t get enough of your beautiful face, he once gave you a facial and ever since then, he always hopes you allow him to do it everytime

[lykos-attic]

Randomly thinking about how angry the way Winter is treated in the narrative makes me

They show the real Winter and acknowledge who he actually is JUST to once again present him as the mean stuck-up prince??? HE GOES THROUGH SO MUCH DEVELOPMENT IN WINTER TURNING JUST TO BE SHOWN AS THE SAME OLD 'ANGRY RACIST STUCK UP PRINCE'???? IN THE NEXT BOOKS LIKE WHAT. TUI. PLEASE. I KNOW THAT WE AREN'T SEEING IT FROM HIS PERSPECTIVE, SO WE DON'T KNOW WHAT HES THINKING BUT. HE BARELY CHANGES AT ALL... LIKE AT THE END OF WINTER TURNING HE REALIZES THAT THE WINGLET IS HIS TRIBE AND HE CARES ABOUT THEM MORE THAN A RANKING AND A FAMILY WHO (mostly) DOESN'T LOVE HIM. THEN IN THE NEXT BOOKS HE'S BACK TO THE SAME OLD 'WINTER'. TUI.

I've seen people calling Winter 'nasty mean racist man' HAVE YOU READ THE BOOKS. DRAGON RACISM WAS SO RAMPANT IN THE BOOKS.... LIKE ALMOST EVERY CHARACTER HAD A MOMENT WHERE THEY WERE BEING THE DRAGON EQUIVALENT OF RACIST. WHICH OBVIOUSLY, ISN'T GOOD, BUT TO JUST PIN IT ON WINTER??? WHAT??? HIS HATRED OF NIGHTWINGS WAS FUCKING DRILLED INTO HIS BRAIN GROWING UP, HE GETS PAST THAT AND LEARNS TO NOT BE DRAGON RACIST. HE REALIZES 'OH FUCK. MAYBE THE THINGS MY SHALLOW HIERARCHICAL SOCIETY TAUGHT ME AREN'T TRUE'. DID WE READ THE SAME BOOKS, WHERE APPARENTLY, NONE OF THAT HAPPENED?? MEANWHILE DARKSTALKER, THE FANDOMS 'PRECIOUS MISUNDERSTOOD BABY' TRIED TO COMMIT RACIAL GENOCIDE BECAUSE HE HAD AN ABUSIVE DAD WHO HAPPENED TO BE AN ICEWING??? (And when Winter is upset about this he is treated as unreasonable by the guy who KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON (Qibli) )

I've been a Winter defender for so long, surrounded by a fandom who mostly hates him and now that I have emotional intelligence since I'm not nine (no offense to nine year olds 🙏) and I have a place to ramble where I'll be listened to I can finally defend my angsty ice dragon I will absolutely do so. This stupid ass garbagefire of a series has meant so much to me over the years and I'm passionate about so many of these characters. I adore Winter so much, reading through the books for like the 50th time is so amazing, like I used to immediately hate moon because she was called a Mary sue, Qibli because people find him annoying, Kinkajou because she was the 'annoying one', but now I love all of those characters. I can see traits of all of them in me, and they mean a lot to me. Turtle's anxiety, Qibli's Sociotropy, (needing to be liked by everyone) hypervigilance (I've never seen people talking about it, and to see it represented in my favorite book series makes me feel seen.), fierce loyalty, Winter's guilt, self-loathing, desperate desire to please his parents, Moon's social anxiety, nervousness, and love of reading, Kinkajou's desire to be a dragon others notice and remember.

This turned into a rant about a completely different thing I'm so sorry, I'm not even done I have so much to say about these guys

Please don't let this flop I poured my heart out about this book series for children

[joyswonderland1108]

Am i ranting again?

I probably am but whatevuh! 

So by now y’all know i’m on tiktok a lot of time and naturally i get a lot of videos about our boys. Thing is, i come across some “ship” videos that include either Jimin or JK with another member and the comments be saying “It’s always these two” and i’m like No bitch, it’s not AlWaYs ThEsE tWo, y’all are just so fucking blind to the “other two” that’s what it is. 

Cause i’ll be damned if being flirtatious is for some reason considered gay if it’s Jimin or JK with any other member but NOT when they’re flirting with each other.. I’m sorry Ma’am but imma need some explanation over here cause ?!!?!

And you know what’s silly? All these damn excuses that for some reason only pop up when it comes to Jikook. Y’all were adamant about the hickey or as y’all like to convince yourselves being just a “bite” (well technically speaking a hickey is called a love bite but they ain’t ready for that one) or a cover up for JK’s “girlfriend” but surprise surprise when Jimin wasn’t even brought up in the equation with Joon, hickeys suddenly became a Jimin thing.

So we over here always twisting the boys words to fit your unresolved hatred towards any possible deeper bond between Jimin and JK but my question is why is it THAT bad for them to be a thing? Cause i don’t see anyone combusting when they talk about these two being with any other member i mean.. Is the world ending if Jikook are a thing or..? What am i missing? What are we trying to dismiss their bond for? 

Thing is, they’ve always been sus 

They’ve always been a lil.. 

Fruity..

But the narrative is that, apparently, all the things they’ve been up to is such a normal thing to do with friends, besties, um.. siblings.. parents.. Okay yeah Margaret this is disturbing 

I can pretend and go along with that lame ass excuse of that being “normal” between friends but when we’re tip toeing a bit too close to sweet home Alabama i can’t follow anymore. Cause you know you won’t catch me on a regular Sunday just making out with my brother’s neck you know.. I also know for a fact that if anyone other than my so was licking my ear they’re getting my elbow right on the nose. 

“Why do you always bring up things that happened in the past? 🙄” Well i mean we always tend to talk more about the most shocking things don’t we? But truth is that there’s a whole list out there for things Jikook do every year that make me side-eye. We ain’t even recovered yet from the domesticity that emanated from a comment exchange, the whole context of it, let alone stuff that happened in front of our salads. 

You know about muscle memory right? So when your homie is teasing you, cupping your face, your initial reflex ain’t puckering your lips fam..

Bruh i’m not even going to talk about how these two be having the gayest photoshoots 

You also won’t catch me thirst trapping my bro or just canoodling in a dark corner in a party where people are supposed to be having fun with friends ya know. Now of course i ain’t crazy to be thinking that every interaction out there means something deep, there’s a whole thought process, a whole context, a whole understanding to do, a whole knowledge of the person, etc.. 

Something you have to ask yourself “Did A ever do to anyone else what they’ve just done to B?” If the answer is yes of course you can look further into it since as i said there’s also context in there and depending on that (of course we’re talking here about stuff that seem sus anything else is just that no need to dig further into it) but if the answer is no you’ve got your answer right there. 

(Credits to Dalto on Twitter)

Sure enough this is playful this is cute but this is that, as a non-jikooker you are free to see this as friends being friends you know i won’t judge you, i personally see it and it warms my heart but i won’t be jumping on my bed screaming yet.

Initially here JK was supposed to be in the middle but we all know how many times that boy tried to fool Joon into thinking that he forgot he was supposed to be in the middle lol I guess that day Joon just gave up on trying because naturally our Jikook tend to gravitate towards each other, just another Tuesday really.. Again i can see people dismissing this and downplaying it but we all know damn well that once something start becoming a bit of a habit.. You start wondering why (y’all already know why lol)

I know that this post might make absolutely no sense, literally i was just sitting around doing nothing and decided to write, i can’t even focus to make shit organized but hey.. bear with me. My point is, why are people too set on making everything BTS do gay until Jimin and JK do it together? I can understand that coming from the cult for very obvious reason despite it not making any sense but whatever, but why are other people completely loosing their shit over it too? 

[shayberri789]

In honour of Ace Week, I'd like to talk about my experience with growing up ace.

Many, many of my fellow aspecs talk about growing up feeling broken, to the point where I almost felt "fake" because I didn't share this apparently universal experience. (No slander to them by the way, I can recognise myself for being the oddball that I am, and the reason I escaped the self-hatred and broken feeling is. Actually kind of funny)

(Also sorry this is very long and rambly, editing is a bitch on mobile.)

I've always known I was aromantic and asexual. Not the terms, but I know I have been like this since before I can remember. The most important aroace memory I have is the one that saved me over a decade of grief, one I made when I was seven.

I was in grade one, and in a tiny, tiny school with literally only 4 people in my grade. My best friend, Jess, had just broken up with our classmates Thomas (they had been dating the way all 7yos do, and Jess has always been boy crazy). She was ranting to me about him, and I was a bit bored with it, playing about on the patio wall. I distinctly remember saying to her: "I'm never gonna get a crush! Dating is too much drama." And that was that. I promised myself never to get a crush.

And for years, I thought I was fantastic at keeping promises to myself. I was a pretty child, and I've always been kind, and many of my guy friends developed crushes on me, or felt pressured to have a crush and decided I was the best option. I don't know. I turned every one of them down, and said I wasn't going to date because I'd made myself a promise not to. I never developed a crush on anyone myself, and I thought it was because of a promise I made when I was seven. I never felt pressured to have a crush because of that promise, and all my girl friends accepted it too as an answer when they asked if I had a crush. We were like, ten, we didn't know better. None of us even knew what the lgbtqa+ was. Same-sex marriage was only legalised in 2006 in South Africa, and I didn't have a phone or access to the internet until I was 13. We also weren't as steeped in the amatonormative bullshit that comes with growing up, or fandom, or the internet.

When I was around 11-12 years old, we went to the coast to celebrate one of my childhood friend's mom getting married. Both his parents (his mom and later adoptive father) were close family friends, and while we were there I met up with an old friend I'd lost contact with.

I found out Dune, the lost friend, had had a crush on me since pre-primary school. He'd put a ring on his finger and declared that he was going to marry me when we grew up. I think He'd given up the notion by the time we reunited, but it made me feel weird. I started actually thinking about crushes, and my promise, and I worried that maybe I'd been repressing feelings. Did I accidentally close my heart to love because of my promise? But... not having to deal with crushes made my life so much easier, I wasn't sure if I wanted a crush. But I was worried I'd broken myself. It didn't help that when I brought this up to my mom (who is, by the way, an amazing woman and completely supportive of me now and my very queer brother and is bi herself) she said that closing your heart to love was unhealthy, and I should let myself feel things.

In retrospect, that's solid advice. I wish I'd listened to it more before I developed repression of emotions and memories as a coping mechanism to deal with immigration and a new country. But at the time I took it as confirmation I'd broken myself because again, I was eleven, and while I've always been mature for my age I still was lacking a lot of knowledge and growth.

Fortunately, I've always been a stubborn, genuine thing. I only changed parts of myself I didn't like, or thought hurt others, and no one else was allowed to decide that for Me. And I liked the peace not having crushes gave me, and I saved myself many years of grief and worry with that decision. It was three days of worrying about having broken myself, compared to an almost lifetime of many other aspecs.

That conviction was admittedly hard to hold onto though. I had several squishes in my childhood and the following yesrs, or maybe they were actual crushes but I doubt it; and I started becoming vaguely aware that saying I'd made a promise to stay single and unattracted to anyone was a weird reason for turning someone down when you're like 13/14yo. I stopped talking about my promise, but I never got a crush, never wanted one, and never wanted to date. I just kept living my life, even when I immigrated and said family friend's child from earlier, a boy I had been friends with since I was literally three years old, told me he'd been in love with me for five years the day I landed in my nee country. Thanks Vin, that's totally something to drop on your childhood friend when she is busy feeling like she'd lost everything. I spent a week analysing the last couple years of our friendship to figure out if he even cared about me the way I did about him. We're not very close anymore.

A year later, in Year 10/Grade 9, my new best friend invited me around to her house to tell me "something important". When I got there, I found our other friend we'd been growing closer too over the last couple months there already, and they were holding hands. Tess said to me, very gingerly, "Shay, I just wanted to let you know that I'm pan, and Saph and I are dating."

Three things you should know: I was barely aware that "gay" and "lesbian" was a thing at this point, I had no gaydar or ability to predict romance, and had quite frankly forgotten that crushes were a thing. I wasn't even looking for chemistry in my friends. I was caught completely off guard. I had no fucking clue was pansexual was. I'd only just started learning about the queer community and did not know how to react to this, and was suddenly, horribly reminded that my friends were at the stage where they cared more about finding someone to date than plodding on happily with the friendships we had. Tess later told me I "was a bit homophobic because of the way I recoiled with a slightly disguisted look on my face."

Honestly, I think it's because I was disgusted by romance in general and was unprepared for the confession, and was suddenly re-evaluating the entire friend group dynamics. I'm gonna forgive myself if I reacted badly, but I honestly wasn't aware enough of heteronormative culture, had forgotten amatonormativity existed, and didn't know enough about gay people to even be homophobic.

That night, I spent four hours researching the lgbt community to understand as much as I could, to find out how to support my friends and be a good ally. I still thought I was straight, back then. It got to the point where I knew a good deal about the queer community and experiences, enough to help my brother figure out he was pan and trans, and yet I still did not come across any aspec identity. Not in Tumblr screenshots, not on the wiki pages I read, not from word of mouth from the queer people I met irl.

I even went through about a month or so where I thought I was bi. I had enough common sense long before then to realize that a promise made when you're seven should not affect who you crush on, just what you do with those feelings, but it was the only explanation I had, so I quietly stuck with it. When I found out more about the queer community I thought to myself "... am I gay?" And critically evaluated myself, and came to the conclusion I felt the same about guys as I did about girls, and I must be bi, surely? But that didn't feel right, and It honestly made me feel uncomfortable to label myself as that, so I never mentioned it.

Fortunately soon after that, I was talking to one of Tess's old South African friends, who told me he was "asexual" (in hindsight, and seeing how he grew, I think he was actually aromantic. But, it's not my place to tell people how to identify). I didn't know what that meant so googled it, and realized... hey, this covers a lot of how I feel (or rather, what I don't feel). It wasn't quite right, I didn't really understand sexual attraction either (I still don't, really, but I do on a rational level), but it fit me better and explained a hell of a lot more than bisexual did, so I claimed it. Plus, pretty flag.

I tried to come out that pride month. I made an ace flag-coloured version of my profile picture, looked up the pride days for June, and decided I would change my pfp and bio on ace day to come out. Which I did! And many people congratulated me on figuring myself out, even more were confused as to what it was, and the rest didn't notice. But before all that, I'd accidentally come out on aromantic's day, first, much to my fear and embarrassment. I didn't realise I could be both aromantic and asexual. I didn't want it to seem like I was trying to be 'special' to fit in with my friends (I value genuineness greatly, and never wanted to appear like I was presenting myself falsely, especially for something like a trend or peer pressure). I quickly changed my pfp and bio before anyone noticed, and did it on the correct day at the end of the month.

Fortunately, it did make me look up aromanticism, and realize this identity fitted the rest of my experiences. But, I still didn't know I could have two identities, because I didn't know about the SAM model. I decided to stick with asexual, because I liked the flag more.

I still felt a bit like an imposter, though, like I wasn't really welcome in the queer community, and I always knew I didn't fit in the cishetallo one. I didn't know any other ace people except for the guy who told me about the term, and he was far too interested in sex and hot people for my comfort. I dedicated myself to learning more about the queer community as a whole, the lived experiences and politics, so that I could continue to support and be with my friends (who had, one by one over the year or so, come out as queer in some way, as one friend group does after the first one bites the bullet) even if I "didn't really belong".

It took me a while to feel fully comfortable as asexual, and to internalise I could be aromantic too and accept that (I called myself Grayromantic for a time because I thought the squishes had been crushes, and I almost wanted to hope I wasn't completely locked from love. I've since learned better and honestly, I'm really happy as plain aroace). I went through a period of trying on all kinds of micro labels to explain my experiences, but I've come to settle on the plain old aroace label. I'm happy, and I'm happy with myself. I also found the sunset aroace flag last year and fell in love with that, too 😂

I'd like to give a huge thank you to @fuckyeahasexual for all the information and support their blog gives, and the experiences and constant acceptance and reassurance that we are all ace, and for the info they give on aromanticism too. It played a huge role in my coming out and being proud, and then being loud and proud for the remaining years of high school. It's allowed me to meet so many more aspec people, and help people figure out their own aspec identities in my real-life community.

So yeah, I am, very extremely aroace. I swing wildly between sex and romance neutral to outright repulsed, and I have no interest in a qpr or any other relationship beyond family and friendship. (Shout out to my brother for getting into a qpr and then telling his actually aroace sister about it last out of everyone!).

I've been aroace my entire life, and I've never wanted to be anything different. I've dealt with my fair share of both microaggressive and straight-up aphobia from strangers, loved ones, fandom and society in general.

And I've never related to those posts about people growing up feeling broken, and for every single aspec out there like me who skated on through life and to their identities without that trauma as well, I tip my hat to you. We are valid, we are no less aspec than those with different traumas to us, and we are no less important or alone or isolated than they are. We're all in this together, and we should all take pride and care in one another. For our similarities and shared experiences, and for our differences. Happy ace week.

[cloudinterlude]

Do you have any headcanons about Steve, Tony, or Steve and Tony between AoU and CACW? Like, any ideas about Steve's relationships with Rhodey, Wanda, or Vision? Or how closely do you think Tony monitored/kept in touch with the Avengers 2.0 team while he was supposedly retired? Do you think Steve and Tony had many interactions during that time period?

This is actually such a good ask because I hardly ever...ponder about my headcanons? I usually don't fill in gaps with specific happenings because I'm much better at analysis of canon content, so this answer is going to be at least 50% brainstorming! Long post incoming! Also, sorry if this response takes forever to be posted...whoopsies.

All my SteveTony interpretations from that period of time are all depressing lol. I think it's the time they are simultaneously thinking about each other the most and growing apart the most (of course this is only rivaled by post-CACW SteveTony). It also sucks because I like to imagine that after CATWS, the Avengers are all living together for the first time up until AOU. But between AOU and CACW, Tony is wallowing and drowning in his guilt, fear and shame (which I believe is like, 90% the reason he takes the stances he does ) and Steve is literally a mess and a half. The thing is though, Steve is better at compartmentalizing and managing his horror show of a life (he literally has to be or he'd be dead, probably), so he is most likely coping better than Tony at this point. Just barely though. We'll touch on that later in the post if I remember.

Tony is in the trenches. Became depressed after he helped create a murder bot that decimated an already war torn country, piles of self-hatred stabbing his gut at every chance, no girlfriend, no team, no happiness, no JARVIS, no stability, no confidence, no dignity, no---You see the point. All he's thinking about is how the hell to fix all his mistakes that have come to light at once. I'm in the boat of thinking that CW literally could not have been prevented because of how deep in shit Tony is. I do however think CW could have ended up better if Tony and Steve were on better terms....or it would have been so, so much worse. I'd love to see someone write this (I might).

Anyways! I think Tony would have been doing a lot of pulling away from Steve during this time. I think Steve most likely reached out to Tony the few times he could, but he was met with an almost impenatrible wall that he didn't know how to scale. Steve is insanely busy at this time and in copious amounts of emotional turmoil - he only has spend - and seeing as Tony seems safe, I could see Steve redirecting his attention elsewhere after being rejected a few times too many and giving Tony space instead. I think it's pretty apparent that these two didn't interact much (or at least didn't have many deep conversations). I'm basing this off of how they reacted to each other in CW and how Steve didn't know Pepper and Tony broke up.

[This section is gonna be a especially clunky and worded oddly but WALK WITH ME PLEASE] I will say I like the idea of them having literally one (1) heart to heart within this time period. I think it would have had to be early on in order for it to not have a mentionable moment in CW. The conversation ultimately would have led to Tony and Steve understanding each other the way they do in CW. It would be about their "nightmares" in AOU. One thing that I find interesting actually, is how long it takes for Tony to...see Steve as a person? It's very apparent in Avengers 1, but in AOU as well. And it's actually my favorite thing when we see Tony try to push and poke at Steve to get a "human" or vulnerable reaction out of him. For example, the log scene. Where Tony eventually gets frustrated and implies that Steve didn't seem to torn up about whatever nightmare he got. This is 1) Tony fishing for vulnerability from Steve's coping mechanism of stoicism and 2) Tony is taking his anger out on Steve and it's acceptable enough to him because in his eyes, Steve is a stone fortress so it's not like it'll rankle him anyways. You see how this becomes a never-ending circle, yeah? Lol. Especially because Steve doesn't project his emotions in the same explosive way Tony does. To Tony, he seems self-assured, calm, almost too collected and this bothers Tony for reasons I can't elaborate on right now or I'll type too much. In short, it's a part of the Howard-Steve-Tony conflict. To Steve, he doesn't understand why Tony is being antagonistic towards him so he reacts the way he does instead of giving Tony what he wants.

Anyways, back to the conversation! I think they actually must reach a breakthrough with each other. Telling each other about their respective "visions" in AOU...Steve realizing how much responsibility and guilt Tony assigns himself, Tony realizing that Steve still feels displaced and isn't unaffected by the things that's happened to him....I even predict they talked about Howard a tiny bit. To me, in CW, I see a sense of understanding between them that simply isn't there in the previous movies. Yes, they are literally more divided than they have ever been, but I truly, and wholeheartedly believe that CW could have been so, so much worse. I think Steve could have been more pissed at Tony and Tony could have been more cold about everything if they didn't see each other as they are. They don't agree with each other, but they absolutely trust the intentions of the other. Tony straight up says (to Peter) that he knows that Steve is doing what he thinks is right. Steve almost folds and puts his trust in Tony during the signing scene and he wouldn't do that if he didn't have faith in Tony's intentions.

Now, all this said, I do not buy for a second that Tony was able to stay away and mind his "I'm retired" ass business during this time lol. He wasn't active, no, but did he show up to HQ a little more than he should have? Yes. Did he find ways to watch trainings and sparring in person (and on video)? Yes. Did he continue to build stuff for the Avengers (whether or not he actually gave his inventions for them to use)? Yes. Did he press Natasha for info surrounding the Avengers, HQ, Steve, ect? ABSOLUTELY. I think Tony and Natasha's closeness in CW is a direct product of Tony inquiring about everything he missed out on during his break and Natasha offering up all the info he wanted and more. She probably tried to convince him to come back once or twice.

Steve and Rhodes: Now, take my opinion on this dynamic with a grain of salt because Rhodey is a character that annoys me. Very surface level annoyance, but it's still there nonetheless. This isn't to say I think he's a bad character - he's actually one of the few MCU characters that is consistent and makes sense. Anyways, I never saw these two as close. I don't think they have the potential to become super close, nor do I think they are particularly interested in being close to each other. But there is a pretty solid level of mutual respect. I don't think Rhodey really...likes Steve for the same reasons Tony didn't like Steve. Mostly based off of misconceptions and reading Steve's disposition as egoism and coldness (I suspect that it's a little projection comes from seeing the Howard-Steve-Tony conflict from Tony growing up too but moving on). I think Steve is pretty neutral when it comes to Rhodey. He can sense the dislike, but it doesn't bother him because they aren't....close.

Steve and Vision: This is actually a really cute and heartwarming pair that I never thought about until now. I think Vision is fond of Steve. He became appreciative of him mostly through his own observations and through whatever Wanda tells him. I think there might have been times where Vision has seen Steve comfort Wanda and that could have pushed Vision to talk to Steve about his own concerns...maybe having to do with his personhood? I don't think they were close to each other, but I think that Vision definitely marked Steve in the "good" category of people he knows. On Steve's side, he's mostly bemused when it comes to Vision. It's confusion, apprehension and affection all at once. But maybe Vision also reminds him a teeny tiny bit of himself coming into the new century. Fumbling, unsure of new social cues, observing everything and attempting to mimic common behaviors. I'm sure Vision's behavior is endlessly endearing to Steve, but he doesn't know how to handle it all the time. They figure it out as they go. Very cute.

Steve and Wanda: I love them so much. Top 5 MCU dynamic that is never explored but is told through scraps and crumbs of dialogue that hint at the amount of time they've shared together and the amount of trust and care they've build between each other. Here's a take I haven't fully fleshed out yet: I think Steve's empathy and compassion for Wanda is literally endless. I think Wanda's faith and admiration for Steve is endless as well. I think these two are one of the most solid, locked in duos in the MCU. My evidence? Vibes. Just kidding, almost. But I think it's 1) their backgrounds, and 2) the progression of their relationship and 3) the types of characters they are. You know one of the main reasons Wanda trusts Steve? It's not only because he can see who she really is, it's not only because he empathizes with her pain - it's because he isn't afraid of her and her power. Instead, he's worried for her and how her lack of control over her abilities hurt her. He didn't take her in just so he could monitor and stop her from hurting other people - he took her in and continued to stick up for her because he genuinely, wholeheartedly cares. Wanda isn't one to be fooled by fake compassion. And she sees pure authenticity in Steve. Steve looks at Wanda and sees someone that was failed in the worse ways possible. Much like his own life, it's been hit after hit for Wanda - external circumstances that she couldn't control, so once she finally had a chance to take the reigns of her own destiny, she jumped at the opportunity. That line Steve says in AOU, "What kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them in order to protect their country?" "We're not at war, Captain." "They are." From the jump, he went into that fight understanding Wanda's motivations and immediately related them to his own experience and desperation. This empathy for someone who is supposed to be their enemy - someone who is actively coming for their necks. The same empathy that so many people are throwing out the window when it comes to Wanda and her story. I'm one of the whackjobs that fully believes that Wanda would have allowed Steve to help her through WandaVision and MoM AND Steve would have still forgiven and trusted her afterwards. If Wanda came to Steve devastated that they showed her Vision's corpse, he would have stood beside her without question and shut it down (we already know that Steve sees Vision as an actual person considering Infinity War). Steve is has been her advocate and support since she's joined them. And it's often shown in subtle ways. He also doesn't allow people to pick on Wanda - not on his watch. Wanda does the same (as much as she can) for Steve and follows his lead.

Okay, I realized that that turned more into an analysis without many headcanons lol....Okay, some Wanda and Steve headcanons. Steve draws Wanda a lot - always in bright and positive settings to express how he sees her. I think he also makes an effort to be as invested in her powers as she is - to assure that she knows she doesn't have to manage it herself. I could imagine it actual blows Wanda's mind when Steve drags her to practice her magic on him. On one hand she's terrified because she doesn't want to hurt him, on the other hand, she's filled with warmth because he believes in her and is backing it up by putting his own wellbeing on the line. One more...sometimes Wanda pranks Steve with her powers. It's both an example of her progress and her just being silly (but it really shows how comfortable and safe she feels with him). So cute.

Whew! I think I covered everything. I looooooooove detailed and specific questions/prompts like this. Especially when it involves character I'm directly invested in! Thank you so much <3 If you want more elaboration on anything or if I missed something, feel free to hit me up again! <3

[sapphireginger]

Title: The Sith to His Jedi - Chapter #2

Pairing: Straco [Stiles Stilinski + Draco Malfoy]

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 808

Warnings:

Physical Abuse (Mentioned/Implied)

Summary:

When Stiles pulled back briefly, he locked eyes with his boyfriend. “You’re the Sith Lord to my Jedi Master, my love. I’m not letting you go without a fight. You hear me?”

A/N:  I have never used British slang or terms before. Hopefully, I used them correctly here. I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading!

Created For: @puretombingo / Square Filled: Bandaging Wounds

Ful AO3 Link

Draco and Stiles both lived in New York but on opposite sides of the city. Draco was an FBI agent and Stiles was a Literature professor. Their jobs kept them busy, but they texted a lot and called as often as they could. They even managed to set up a few sporadic dates. 

Six months into their relationship, Draco was injured on assignment. Stiles had called that night and got no reply. He was worried until he finally got a text from his boyfriend at nearly midnight. It did not ease his concern at all. If anything, he was even more concerned, as it was unlike his boyfriend in what it said.

[My Sith] I need space. Don’t come after me.

Stiles frowned in confusion. He checked snapchat and it showed Draco was in the hospital. He ignored the text message and headed straight there. Stiles knew it might not have been the best idea but even though they had only been together six months, he loved Draco. Knowing the man was in the hospital, made Stiles sick to his stomach. He wanted to be there for the man he had fallen so hard for.

☆ 🌧 ❤︎ 🌧 ☆

It was when he reached the room Draco was in with the help of a nurse, that he overheard the man he knew to be Draco’s father, speaking in a venomous tone. He had never met the man before but had heard that tone over the phone many times.

“You are done, playing house, Draco. You will be coming home once you are well enough.”

“Yes, father.”

“You’re an embarrassment to the family, boy. You’re lucky you’re injured, or I would be tanning your hide regardless of your age.” 

There was a swish, followed by a smack that made Stiles take a step forward. The soft cry of pain made the amber eyed man’s hands form fists. He had suspected the kind of man his boyfriend’s father was but to hurt his son and in a public place no less was disgusting. 

As much as he wanted to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, Stiles recognized that the man for all his faults was still Draco’s father. So, he stayed where he was despite wanting nothing more than to hold the man he loved.

☆ 🌧 ❤︎ 🌧 ☆

Stiles waited until the man left before slipping into the room and plopping down in the chair next to the bed with his arms crossed.

It startled the injured man in the bed who looked down. “How much did you hear?”

“Him telling you to return home and you agreeing to do so.” Stiles quirked a brow and then clenched his jaw. “Oh and of course the woosh of his cane and him threatening you.”

The blonde haired man covered his face with his hands, a soft sob escaping from his lips regardless of how hard he tried to hold it in. 

Stiles’s heart ached, the sob resonating like he had been stabbed in the guy. “Gecko?” he whispered and reached for Draco’s hands, grateful when said man let him. He laced their fingers together, gently kissing each fingertip and the back of each hand over and over again. “I love you.”

Draco cleared his throat using his shoulder to brush away stray tears. “I’m sorry for the text. I didn’t want to send it.”

“Then why—”

“He took my phone and saw our conversations. I’ve never come out to him, and he ordered me to end it with you. He’s always had this picture perfect plan for me and apparently has a woman that will set me straight. I don’t want to lose you.”

Stiles shook his head, the hatred for Draco’s father increasing. “You won’t. You just have to talk to me. Don’t shut me out, love.”

Draco clenched his jaw and sighed. “I don’t want to go, Stiles, love.”

“Then don’t go. You’re a grown ass man. He can’t control you.”

“He likes to think he can,” Draco said softly and laced their fingers together. “Would you help me?”

Stiles nodded and squeezed Draco’s hand. “Absolutely. I’ll even change your bandages.” He smiled at the chuckle that got him. “I’m behind you all the way, Draco.”

Draco smirked slightly, his eyes still a bit wet. “That you are.”

“Oh, hush you dirty minded man.”

“You love me,” Draco teased and then blushed. “Shit.”

Stiles chuckled softly and cupped his boyfriend’s cheek. “Yeah. I really do.”

The kiss was soft, sweet and full of promise. When Stiles pulled back briefly, he locked eyes with his boyfriend. “You’re the Sith Lord to my Jedi Master, my love. I’m not letting you go without a fight. You hear me?”

Draco chuckled wetly and nodded, pulling his love in for another kiss full of just as much passion and promise as the hundreds before it.

[withjake-blog]

Welcom

JakexfemMC, Phil and Jessy, Dan, Lilly and Hannah, Thomas Cleo…

Jake left MC for 3 months to run away from the FBI without telling her. He comes back but things have changed a lot, especially her.

Jake’s pov :

I'm back After three months on the run, I was back.

Will she be happy to see me again? Is she angry? And… Does she still love me? So many questions whose answers were in his hands I know it won't be easy to be forgiven, but I was so scared that something would happen to her, well, I don't know how to explain it to myself.

I was heading to the Aurora to see Hannah and Thomas first, I know she's there because it was Friday noon and they were always going there at this time. But it's strange Duskood seemed changed, as if there was hatred in the air, a tense atmosphere between everyone

But I paid no more attention

As I walked inside, Phil's waiter recognized me and stopped to look at me with shock and then with disgust. He rushed behind the locker rooms. Weird. Usually he comes to greet me.

- Oh no, Jake ?

-Hannah ! Good to see you !

-Why are you here ?

-What is that question ? I answer her with humor, I'm back, aren't you happy to see me again ?

-No ! I mean yeah but…

-You shouldn't have come back, said Thomas who looked sad to see me

What's going on?

-Jake it's

-So it's true, he's back! interrupts a voice that was familiar to me

Jessy

-When she finds out she's gonna kill him, she sneered

-Who ?

-How who ? Mc of course, wait a minute! Doesn't he know? Haha! It's even better !

-Not aware of what exactly?

-You'll see little hacker… See you in hell!

And she left as fast as she came

-Hannah? You explain to me ?

-I do not believe you

-And yet it's the strict truth Jake, after your departure Mc freaked out she was mad at you. It created stories in the group, Jessy, Dan and Lilly are on her side Cleo didn't take sides and this story even touched the city because half of them felt sorry for her, today it's a little she who controls Duskwood.

-So you're telling me that Mc, my girlfriend, started some kind of war? Between the people here and half want me dead? it must be a joke

-But it's the truth Jake! shouted Thomas, you're in danger man, you broke his heart! She went to the hospital for two days because of a bout of panic, and she didn't eat for days or sleep for a month!

It's like I've been stabbed a hundred times, did I do that?

-Where is she now? I will go see her

-Not a good idea, she won't listen to you anymore, even we don't know where she is, but tonight she'll come as usual, especially now that she knows you're there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mc pov :

I am in pain I have been suffering for three months But I've also been preparing for revenge for three months, I wanted him to suffer as much as me, no, more than me. Even if I missed her smell, her body and her presence more than anything. A tear ran down my cheek, I quickly wiped it away when I heard Jessy coming.

-What ? I tell her hostilely

-He's there

-Who ?

-Santa ! Jake you idiot!

-Pardon ? He dared to repoint himself asshole?

-Who's the asshole, come in Dan while drinking a beer

-Jake

-Haha he dared?

-Apparently

-What are you going to do ? asked Lilly

Obviously breaking his heart

~~10 hours later~~

Jake pov :

-What do I look like ?

-Of a guy who wants his girl back, Thomas tells me

-Perfect

-Do you know you're gonna die?

-Maybe

-And you know she hates you?

-Where there is hate there is love

-Pfft

-Aren't you coming Thomas?

-To be killed by her? No thanks. But take pictures for me! If you're still alive…

I had sweaty palms, what if they were right? What if she really doesn't want me anymore?

You'll never know if you hesitate

Ok then here we go

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were a lot of people tonight, but not this woman with golden curls and sapphire blue eyes, brown freckles and luscious red lips. No. Where was she?

Mc pov :

Everyone pissed me off. Where was that man with black hair? Ocean blue eyes and thin, pink lips. I wanted to see him so badly. Another thing, finally someone caught my eye, Phil… Without even realizing it, my body moved towards him, he was in front of the stage talking to the musicians, he finally saw me and trotted towards me too. Instinctively he grabbed my hips and kissed me like his life depended on it, I deepened our kiss. When he stopped I felt a void.

-Hi you

-Hi

-I missed you today

-I

Without me even being able to realize it, a glass crashed on his head and he fell backwards.

-Phil!

-Don't touch my wife, you fucking bastard.

Jake pov :

I had been looking for her absolutely everywhere for minutes and on purpose I bumped into a guy

-Oh sorry man I'm looking for… Dan?!

-Holy shit, hacker boy?! What are you doing here son of…

-Wow calm! I'm looking for Mc

-And you think you deserve to see it? After leaving like a thief?

I dream otherwise it is not possible. She wasn't kissing Phil Hawkins. Because she had told me that he didn't count but that me so logically she shouldn't be doing it, right?

Uncontrollably and ignoring Dan's words, I walked over to them glass in hand and smashed it on his son of a bitch skull.

-Phil!

-Don't touch my wife, you fucking bastard.

As I walked back to her, she aimed a gun at me, what?

-Wh

-Shut up

-Mc put your

-SHUT UP Tears ran down her rosy cheeks, her hands were shaking and I felt her heart beating a thousand miles an hour.

-Mc calm down and put that gun down

-Otherwise what ?

And then she pulled close to my ear, and there, black hole

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Jake ? Wake up !

I heard a distant voice calling me.

-I am dead ?

-No not yet bro

-What happened?

-Thomas and I were worried about you so we came to get you, you were on the ground with Phil and we took you home. What happened ?

I explained everything to her

-But are you crazy?!

-She is my girlfriend !

-Uhm, you gave her up Jake

-Thanks, I know !

-What I mean is she's been dating Phil for two months and everyone thinks they're a couple now.

-You all think wrong!

-Jake…

First you will have to pass me on the body

Part 2 ? I wrote all this really quickly so sorry for the boredom or the spelling mistakes!!! Hope you having fun !🫶🏽

[sablegear0]

i saw your post about the final ep of technoroid and i have really really long ask incoming, i'm sorry, I had to bc i have too much to say for the reply feature LMAO

I have answers to some of those questions as someone who's read the game story. first, I have to agree that it should've been two episodes. I feel like episodes 11 and 12 should've been 3 episodes, it would've been a much better pace. second, i also think the epilogue doesn't answer any questions. The game starts with KNOCC in sleep mode in some random storage room in Babel with no memories, and Stand Alone are all robots now, so I was REALLY dying to find out what happened. Stand Alone I could guess what happened, but the ending of the anime almost contradicts how KNOCC ends up. also, in the game, it seems like KNOCC's victory at the end of the anime was suppressed? because no one remembers who they are. Hell, even Bora doesn't (though he may just be withholding). The only ones who seem to remember who they are are Esora and Nobel. So I REALLY wanna know how it came to that. third, about Bora. i was also really looking forward to Bora's emotional awakening scene. in the game, he is a detective who has a lot of hatred for both the police and the WG (and also Babel). the latter makes sense, but the former?? he's full on ACAB in the game which is really fucking hilarious in my opinion. he's a high level climber in Babel too, but he doesn't partake much and only did it for the privileges of being "inside" the tower. (i also think he looks better with his headphones btw. i miss them. but he also looks completely different in game.) fourth, i was actually expecting something darker to have happened to kite (i think a lot of people who read the game story feel the same) and i had theories and shit in my head, so kite donating his organs by his free will was a bit anticlimactic for me? and as a kite fan myself i also felt like i really don't know enough about human him

fifth, about nobel. Yeah, no i'm lost too. in the game it's revealed that he's a "Dark Master" which is what illegal android builders are called. he says he does research on robotics but what it is specifically i have no idea. i'm pretty sure he built the two robots that are currently working as bora's partners in his detective agency, but it's a wild guess. sixth, there's a lot of in game story things I can't possibly cover in one single ask so feel free to hit me up i need someone to go insane about this franchise with

Thanks for reaching out! It's exciting to find other people getting into something I'm super new to. Between this ask and your big long awesome summary post, I'm beginning to suspect something about Technoroid the game vs Technoroid the anime... (This is one got long, oh boy)

I'm wondering if they may be slightly divergent timelines. You mention the anime is meant to be a sort of prequel/set-up to the events of the game, but the differences that arise between them lead me to suspect either a) some drastic changes happen over the time-skip (not unheard of but maybe unlikely? There are a lot of contradictions arising), or b) that they're not directly related. From what I gather, the game seems to be a much "darker" timeline to what the anime suggests may come to pass.

We can't rule out the possibility that things were changed on the anime side for the sake of telling a more coherent story, however. You can cram a lot more content into a game (esp a platform like a mobile/gatcha) than about 4.5 hrs of a single season of anime. Making changes to characters' motivations or backgrounds to simplify their arc just makes for cleaner presentation. Thinking specifically about Kite/Kaito here; there's absolutely a disconnect between his apparent fate in the game and his choices in the anime. We only had 12 episodes to introduce, characterize, and face-turn the mean rival character. It's a clear arc within that span, but doesn't connect cleanly to the events of Unison Heart because it was likely trimmed down for time and clarity. Plus a happy(ish) ending with only a mild amount of ambiguity is a nice way to wrap up a single-season run. (However it did just occur to me that the object Esola drops in the anime's timeskip ending is an apple... oh the symbolism, the foreshadowing!)

Still, the differences do offer some intrigue and a fair amount of room for theorizing and creating. This is exactly the kind of undefined space bloggers and fanfic writers thrive in, after all. There is apparently a manga currently in serialization so it's also possible it may tie things together, or even offer another "timeline" to the story. Who knows. I'll have to track it down and take a look. And I might have to play the damn gatcha game too...gr...

Regarding the apparent "suppression" of KNOCC's victory; on the one hand, that really sucks. They worked hard and literally braved death to get that win. On the other, from a real-world standpoint, I can kind of understand how they themselves end up kind of obscure. Consider how fast today's media cycle is, then amplify that into the near-ish future. A short-lived, "flash-in-the-pan" Climber group is liable to be forgotten pretty quickly, even if their success did mark a huge civil rights win for robot-kind. However we can't rule out the likely explanation that there may be some canon media suppression. We know the Exclusionists have those strings to pull and it would make perfect sense to do so. (As an aside, I wonder how "sleep-mode" interacts with the limited lifespan clause. Maybe it just puts their timer on "pause" for a while, like cryo-stasis would for a human...?)

Good to hear my boy Bora is making his way in the world and has some friends to help. It's kind of awesome that he went independent after downloading a conscience. What's that saying? There are no "good" cops because "good" cops quit? Blows my mind a bit to try to think of him as a Climber but I guess a) that's the game's main framing so he needs a reason to be there and b) Babel's performers do have a lot of social clout, it's prudent to get into that circle if you're, say, possibly investigating some political corruption. He also has that handsome voice, I bet he does just fine.

It tickles me that Nobel remains a weird, morally-dubious cryptid across both halves of this. I would expect nothing less, if I'm being honest. While I was mulling over this ask, I had a deep think about him illegally building androids and I realized something. Assuming little else changes about androids besides having personhood under the law (as in, no longer being able to be purchased or owned as property) and having limited lifespans... They're going to "die out." Presumably personhood complicates the process of "buying" (hiring from scratch?) an android, and if Exclusionist sympathies still persist, nobody's going to buy or build more androids. Society is still explicitly capitalist; there's little profit to be made from buying or selling a worker-entity that may decide to up and leave one day. All you'd be doing is essentially sponsoring a person into existence. Which is cool from a social standpoint but not a great business move. Nobel might just be taking it upon himself to perpetuate his "species" since he's realized it's not likely anyone else will. (And if that isn't the case, I'm damn well going to write about it because that shit is compelling to me.)

Well met, @ordinaryxtreme, I look forward to geeking out with you in the future 🤝

[sulevinen]

Not very Captain of you

Summary: Pearl lost control, simple as that. She waits outside her General’s office, dreading the punishment that no doubt will alter her future.

Pearl could’ve sworn she could still feel the warmth of the blood on her hands, but when she looked down, there were only her stitched knuckles and gauze.

She tried not to feel ashamed, or worried, or sorry, but all those feelings gathered in her chest and tightened around her rapidly beating heart, making themselves apparent and loud. She was waiting outside her General’s quarters for their final verdict, and as scared as she might’ve felt, she tried to keep her chin high.

She had no regrets. She wasn’t the kind of woman to have regrets, about anything. When she did something, she owned up to it, stood behind her choices unwavering and confident. Even if the ground beneath her was shaky and future uncertain, possible decommissioning or reconditioning ahead of her: at least she wouldn’t die with regret.

Skywalker had had it coming. For a long time. Rex had told her so, and just the sheer look of honesty and the bluntness of his words made her almost believe it.

Rex had come talk to her when she was sitting in the medbay, waiting for Twinkle to come fix her hands. ”I made him drop the charges. He was threatening to court martial you, but… I made him not to.”

”How did you manage that?”, Pearl had asked, and grimaced. ”And, um, thank you.”

Rex had lifted his eyebrows and sighed. ”Took a lot of convincing. I think by longshot even he can agree that court martialing you would be excessive. He’ll have a talk with your General.”

And now, after two hours, Skywalker was in there talking with Merell. The anxiety of waiting and being alone with her own thoughts made it impossible to stay still, so she tried closing her eyes and breathing steadily, like she had taught Kino. She tried to slow down her thoughts, but they circled back to her talk with Rex no matter what.

”Only Force knows how many times I’ve almost lost my composure with him. He’s a real pain in the shebs, and I can only imagine the cathartic feeling of getting to punch him in the face.” He had crossed his arms, the frown on his face signaling her a warning. ”But you can’t let it happen again.”

”It did feel great”, Pearl had smirked, and Rex’s frown had deepened. ”I’m not sure if it’s worth decommissioning though. But better me than you.”

”Don’t say that”, Rex’s tone was soft, and he had taken a step closer to her cot. ”You shouldn’t be facing this. Skywalker…”, Rex had thought for a moment, ”He brought this on himself. He shouldn’t have said any of that.”

”But he did, and I… didn’t keep myself together. I let this happen to myself.”

Rex had frowned at her with a sorrowful look in his eyes. ”You’re not going to be decommissioned.”

”Reconditioned, then.”

”Not that either.”

”How could you know, Captain? They can do whatever they want with me.”

”The Jedi would not allow it. Your General would not allow it.”

Pearl inhaled shakily and opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure if her General wouldn’t allow it, despite knowing full well the kind of good person they were: but Pearl had broken their trust and she couldn’t stop the self-hatred and grief taking over her thoughts, staining them all with fear.

”I should have stopped you”, Rex had then become apologetic. ”I just- watched. And… that’s why you’re here. I should have looked out for you.”

Pearl had lifted her head and faced the Captain, shocked but mostly confused.

”What?”

Rex had grimaced and shook his head. ”I’m sorry.”

”About what?”, Pearl scoffed, ”you didn’t do anything. It was all me, Captain.”

”Yeah, but I- I should have- done, something. Try something. But…”

”You know.” Pearl had said sadly, knowing the loyalty Skywalker expected of his Captain.

Rex had grimaced again. ”Yeah.”

”Hey.”

Pearl startled and turned towards the sound, relief washing over her when she recognised her Captain in the dim lights of the corridor. Ceres looked concerned and stern, nothing out of the ordinary, but from the stiff steps Pearl knew she was up for scolding.

She humphed and sat down on a chair, hiding her bandaged hands under her thighs.

”You still waiting for the General?”, Ceres asked and Pearl nodded. ”I heard Skywalker-”

”Yeah.”

Ceres’ grim expression softened to a more sympathetic one, which somehow was even worse than if he had been fuming.

”It’s going to be fine, kid”, Ceres said, and Pearl couldn’t help but smile at that. He rarely called her kid anymore; he had called her that when she first came to the 190th, and over the years when she had gained more experience, he had just dropped it. Sometimes she missed it.

”You don’t have to be here”, Pearl muttered after a moment of silence, scraping the scarring off of her knuckles. ”You have other troopers to scold.”

”I’m not here to scold you”, Ceres said warmly, and sat down, taking her hand to stop her from opening the stitches. ”I’m here to listen. Or, just sit in silence, however you prefer it. Not here to scold you, that’d be unnecessary.”

Pearl lifted her eyebrow. ”Unnecessary? I just beat up my CO.”

”He had it coming”, Ceres said quietly, almost angry. ”I can’t tell how many boys of the 501st have wanted to sucker punch him in the face. Skywalker is… not a good General.”

”Or a good man”, Pearl mumbled, mostly to herself, but Ceres scoffed at it anyway.

”Yeah. Rex says so too.”

”He came by earlier”, Pearl said, and looked Ceres in the eye, ”to apologize for not stopping me. Said the same thing, that he wanted to punch him too. I guess the whole GAR is out to get him.”

Ceres let out a little laugh at that and patted her on the shoulder. ”Despite being completely out of line, and I do not condemn your actions, I do understand. It can get frustrating when you’re not listened to.”

Pearl lifted her eyebrows. ”Why do you think that I-”

The doors opened, and Pearl snapped to attention. Ceres followed just as General Skywalker walked out of the room looking annoyed, and to be frank, very beaten up. His eye was still swollen, right side of his face bruising, and his nose patched. Pearl wanted to shrink and disappear from existence: she hadn’t thought she could’ve done such damage.

”Captain. Lieutenant”, Skywalker greeted them nonchalantly, his eyes shooting icicles at Pearl. Pearl nodded rigidly and stepped aside, staring stubbornly at the floor. Ceres saluted and leaned closer when Skywalker was far from hearing distance.

”Could’ve gone worse”, he muttered and Pearl squeezed her eyes closed.

”Pearl?”, a voice called softly from inside Merell’s quarters, ”could you come in?”

Pearl took in a deep breath, and glanced at Ceres for encouragement. Ceres smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder, mouthing ”I’ll wait here” before sitting down. Pearl picked at the stitches on her knuckles nervously as she stepped inside the warmly lit room, where Merell was standing by the window, looking at the beautiful glow of hyperspace.

”Are you alright? How are your hands”, Merell asked instantly. Pearl’s mind overcame with awful self-pity: of course her General still cared about her well-being, even after being such an unprofessional and disobedient soldier. How could she let herself doubt their goodness after relying on it so many times?

”They’re fine, thank you”, Pearl swallowed, and hid them behind her back. ”Stitches and gauze, they should be healed soon.”

”No bacta?”

”They were all out”, Pearl said, biting her tongue so she would not continue with ’probably used it all on Skywalker’.

Her General muttered something and turned to face her, their eyes tired but lips still quirked up in a small smile. Pearl looked away from their intense gaze and let her eyes wander along the walls filled with art and plants. The room was so much different from the facilities on Kamino or their barracks in the ships. So warm and natural, like Merell had snatched a tiny piece of the Temple gardens with her. Pearl couldn’t even imagine herself in a place of such serenity, but there she was, standing in front of her General probably for the last time as a Lieutenant.

”I spoke with Skywalker”, Merell finally started, and walked closer. ”He is still angry, but I managed to calm him down. He was talking about demotion and maintenance duty, bans from battle and transfer to Kamino, but I couldn’t let that happen. You’re too valuable as a Lieutenant.”

Pearl waited with her heart in her throat what alternatives they had come up with. Skywalker had had a lot tamer options compared to the initial court martial, and Pearl thanked all the forces of the universe that Rex had the patience of Gods to deal with him. But Pearl could guess from the sad look on Merell’s face, that the option they had settled on still wasn’t good.

”I’m sorry Pearl, but I need to retract your promotion.”

That’s what Pearl should have expected, but the worry for a bigger punishment had completely swiped off the possibility, and in hindsight, the obvious, that Pearl couldn’t become a Captain. Her shoulders twitched before she could stop them from sinking in disappointment, and she breathed in slowly.

”That’s alright”, Pearl tried to play it off with a chuckle, ”just a tiny setback.”

Merell’s eyes softened in a way that Pearl hoped meant they appreciated her optimism, no matter how fake it was.

”Exactly”, they said gently, and brushed a hand on her shoulder. ”Few more campaigns and you’re up for the title again. You just need to keep your cool, and not lose your head.”

”Understood, sir.”

[tqmlecherocuki]

Talking about ourselves instead of someone else.

Hah... it was ridiculous that he was feeling this way, he knew that their relationship... their friendship wouldn't end right, both having polar opposite opinions of a person held so personally and stubbornly.

He knew, he always did.

Yet... his heart still felt the sting.

CW: Milk has a meltdown, lot of self-hatred, downplaying of ones feelings AND trauma, paranoia, concerning proposals made out of desperation, irresponsible portrayal of a response to a meltdown, some misunderstandings, Milk cannot fathom to be okay with himself hurting someone he loves. equivalent to an erratic roller coaster ride, sorry. THERE IS COMFORT.

also somewhat confusive pov, mostly from yam? but idk. switches around, like my gende

Notes: Milk and Yam are both autistic. Milk used to be a very hyperactive child. Future milkyam, not in the present of this fic cuz' GOD they're both too unstable to be together like that. They’ll get better together though! :D (uh, warning to milkyam fans that hate Choco, I like them and put them in the milkyam to make darkmilkyam… not in this fic, but in general, so, uh, sorry…? but, not really.) ((They are both trans masc, this detail is important to me. MILK IS FAT, too. Also very important detail to me, thank you.))

Figures, right? After countless days and nights spent together, many scenes of them being back to back, being a good team and relying on each other, infinite circumstances of the aftermath of a battle... the gentle scolding coming from the other or himself for getting hurt, which they were both aware that it was from a place of concern rather than mockery. After all of that, it was only natural the two had grown close, at least Yam thought they did...

Now that he was somewhat listening to the blonde going on about his usual spiel about his knight he came to the realization:

He knew barely nothing about the person he has been traveling with for years...

His stomach sank, how could he be so careless? ...then again, everything going on with the dragons and daily enemies, and the fact his adventure partner had quite a lot to say about everything... he'd guess he just fooled himself into believing he knew almost everything about his supposed best friend. He had now realized that the man was... so secretive, using that prince to cover up anything and everything that was actually about himself and not the repeated story about his precious savior.

Something inside him snapped. In a terrifying way, he felt himself getting upset... again, that seems like the only consistent thing about himself now, did it?

"Oh, Yam is upset AGAIN... UGH! What a nuisance that man is! Can't he just stop moping and scowling and BE HAPPY? After all! He just cannot stop yelling about how utterly hurt he is, if it were up to ME? I'd have moved on AGES ago! What is wrong with him??"

He knew that everyone that had bothered to stick around thought about him that way, they just did, of course they'd think that. One glance was all it took to know. Everyone knew.

Oh great, the realization of not knowing his best friend AT ALL and all the people he knew in his head berating him, no, it is not imaginary, he knew this for sure, is just the mix he needed now, great job!

That shameful heat, the quickening of his breath and the knowledge that tears would be coming soon was too much. He needed to let Milk know about their problem with their relationship, since apparently, he's the only one that noticed.

"MILK!" he called out. The man stopped with his chatter, now really focusing on him and how he was - no, not the point.

"... It has been YEARS..." He paused, god-damn it, not the time for his voice to waver, he gulped and resumed "yet, I don't know ANYTHING ABOUT YOU!! It is ALL Dark Choco! That is ALL you talk about! And it's like you DON'T EVEN NOTICE about m-- And BEFORE you start...!" Milk did not seem phased by his volume by now, "I... I know how much they mean to you, I DO, just..." crap, he was losing steam. "A-after a while... I thought that I did know you... but, I really don't. Now- I know that I'm not good at- I'm not good at- It's hard to talk about myself, too... but, I did open up to you about what happened to me. I just..." focusing on Milk now, he looked pensive, his mouth slightly open. "Y-You know what?! NEVERMIND, j-just forge- "

"No, you're right." his tone soft, almost sounding like he was now just discovering this himself, "I... It..." he sighed in frustration, looking for words, Yam now regretted this whole thing, of course, angry people often say things they don't mean, Milk knew that, maybe he won't take this personally, hopefully he won't take this personally - or perhaps a little, Yam still felt hurt.

"Yes... I have not... been fair to you. I don't even know why you bothered to stick even after knowing our opinions about Dark Choco-nim... you did, I owe you this." oh god.

"No - god - that's NOT going to make me feel better, I assure you. You think I wanna pry things out of you?? Well! N-NO. You don't... owe me anything..."

"... I... I at least owe you an explanation...? Now, I'm just - I'm... new to this... talking about myself topic, I suppose? You could probably tell, haha..." his eyes glued to the grass and everywhere else that is not the man in front of him "Ahem, you see, when I was a child - no - do not give me that look, I wasn't THAT young when I met - anyway... I wasn't very good at having friends..." he paused to glance at Yam, he gently gasped at the surprised look, and laughed softly "I... did you...? Really? Gosh, you know what it's like to listen to a topic over and over again with little change, and... just you know, it used to be worse, SO much worse! Hah - you think 47 times is a lot? Well, that was BABY numbers for - well - baby me? Hah... I swear you would've hated me if we had met back then." he chuckled sadly...

Now that he was thinking about it, that outcome might've been very possible... Yam didn't like that.

Milk seemed to hesitate at first with his words, but, he went for it, as he closed his eyes cheerfully "Not to worry though! Rigorous training and burning cold made sure that the number I speak about things caps out at 47! Haha!!" ... opening his eyes again, immediately regretting everything because now Yam's face - Milk thought at this moment of mild panic that some self-deprecation could... lighten things somehow?? - yet the result was only concern.

"Uh - Never mind, I..." he grimaced before continuing, "Let's just say... that things at my village were not very pleasing and... I'd just rather forget some things, you know?" Yam did not think the conversation was going in this direction... oh well, despite… Awkwardness and guilt, at least he was beginning to know some things about Milk...

Holding back a chuckle, Yam replied, "That... You, of all people, told me to speak about my troubles, yet... you? Well, you're not following your own advice." irony seeped out of his voice, hopefully that wasn't too condescending.

Luckily, Milk smiled, seeming more calm now, "Well, it is easy to care for others... but, oneself? The one you live with every waking hour - every detestable, silly thoughts - You know your own truths and... well, I'm not sure if you'd understand, I'd rather you not, honestly, because disliking oneself and having... reasons to keep disliking constantly... is not something I wish upon anyone." that calmness was now threatening to fly away as Milk's face was now full of regret and... fear?

Yam nodded, trying to keep some concerning realities and Milk's mutterings at bay now, "Actually... I do understand."

Milk just nodded slowly, as they both let silence take over, stars twinkling and gentle winds... it was a nice night, the fire had extinguished some time ago, didn't bother either of them, though, it was just... pleasantly cold.

... What had kick-started all of this again...? Oh, god - it was him being upset... he had to be fair to himself though, it really did hurt to hear someone else, that wasn't present, Yam made yet another mental note of holding Dark Choco to high standards, they better be at least entertaining to talk to. Them, the one that wasn't here, being talked about instead of having a conversation, laughing about what happened during the day - heck just... talking about the weather, Milk talking to him, Milk not ignoring, Milk not caring... except he did, his gentle blue eyes meeting his was proof of that, he was valiantly fighting himself on that, Milk did care, he did. And people wonder why he's so loud, his mind is loud all the time, it was just impossible to hold it all in for so long, the noise had to get out somehow.

A gust of wind making one of his wicks slap him in the face got him out of his downward spiral. Focusing again on the man that had been plaguing his already close to bursting head, which was now currently not fully here with a pensive expression, his lip quiver being held strong, as usual when he was upset...

Yam now took this chance to scoot closer, Milk's personality usually made him do the first move, now it was Yams' turn. The shuffling sounds not being enough to catch his attention, his proximity also failing to do so. Yam decided to lean closer so that their shoulders bumped, the little jump being confirmation that Milk was now... here enough.

They decided to not make eye contact for now, but, Yam now felt like it was time to discuss another aspect that was very much bugging him... for much longer. Collecting his thoughts... he sighed and began, "... It's not... just you talking about Dark Choco. It could've been anyone else but..." he was fiddling with his hands now, god, he was going to look so clingy... "Well, the topic being them stings a bit more, but I - Look, I often feel as if... I'm invisible to you when you're speaking - n-now! I know I don't have much to talk about, but... it feels as if you'd continue just fine if I wasn't there... heck, sometimes I feel like I'm slipping away to - I dunno, space? When you're - you go on... and stuff. I know you love to speak, which is why you do it, however - again I... it feels like..." you don't think anything of my company "you'd just yap your heart out, perhaps - I don't know - you'd muffle my existence with your words? Whatever the hell that means - you'd just. Continue on, perhaps you'd even walk away by yapping and leave me behind? - I am - I am not making sense, forget it."

So selfish, so clingy. He was an adult, a warrior, a proud berserker that knew how to handle himself - or at least should know by now how to do so, why did he need praise for existing, stupid, stupid.

"...Yam." his head would've snapped off at the unfamiliar sound of... panic in Milk's voice? Milk's eyes were wide, the deepest frown he had ever seen on his pretty, round face. He felt his own eyes mimicking the width of the other.

"I... Are you - No! I would not just WALK away and LEAVE YOU BEHIND?? No no, I - d-do you - you think that I would just -- are you serious? I-I-I" ...were his eyes welling up now...? "Are you... are you really saying that you felt like... that you didn't mean anything to me?? I - For how long???" oh god, why did he open his mouth, this was so uncomfortably unfamiliar, he caused this... (at the same time he could not help, but, feel a little relieved that Milk was letting himself openly upset instead of... bottling it up behind his back, Milk was happy too often, Yam couldn't help, but, weirdly worry if he could actually feel sadness, that he was eventually going to explode... I guess he pressed the detonator, huh).

"Yam?? I... I DO appreciate you! you -- you really -- you think I could LIVE with myself knowing that I turned away a FRIEND - God, the first proper and true friend I've ever had after - I WISHED on many sleepless nights to just have a best friend one day --?! that I -- It really did not feel like I would - I-I felt like I was going to be ALONE because I talked too much! th- that the noise I made deterred EVERYONE and how -- I JUST COULD NOT HELP IT BECAUSE IT IS SOMETHING I LOVED TO DO??"

"M-Milk...! Milk hey, no hang o- "

"You standed the activity, THE THING I DIDN'T WANT TO BELIEVE TO BE HARMFUL OR- OR -- YES, I love speaking AND I SPEAK t-to show love?" he fell silent, frown somehow deeper, he was shaking and breathing irregularly

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK, god. FUCKED UP BIG TIME MOTHERFU- "MILK! - Milk! just LISTEN - PLEASE." He wasn't listening FUCK. Yelling back is not the idea, he knows this, he can't push down his own panic, he just can't, he didn't expect this.

"...I... I can b-be silent... y-yes!" he tried so hard to twist his frown to a smile, it looked horrifying "Talk only when it is wanted! th-that's right! I won't say anything- I-I promise...! and I d-don't break p-promises!! haha!! I SSswear - please don't -- "

"Please, listen...!!!"

...

and he seems to be doing just that... so, Yam grabbed him by the shoulders firmly.

"...Milk, Milk. I know now, I... god -- I..." his light blue eyes looked so... oh, he's crying... and he can feel himself crying, too. "...Well... th-the both of us... clearly aren't too well now... a-are we...? ...yeah?" Milk slowly, yet shakily nodded "W-well... because... we are unwell...? we have seemed to uh... misunderstand eachother, I-I think... god- I know you love to talk, I shouldn't have said it like that I'm so, so sorry..."

Milk grabbed him by his arms, "No... you deserve t-to have some silence, god... I-I should've known. I'm... sorry."

"...and you deserve to indulge in your love... to speak."

They knew that neither was going to win the "I'm sorry" war, so, they just stared, shaking ever so slightly. Eventually the shoulder and arm grabbing turned into a hard, understanding embrace.

...Huh, their bodies fit quite nicely together. Milk was always very nice to hold, not because of his build... at least that wasn't the main reason. It felt... right... it felt light, in his soul, if that is even remotely possible. They could really just stay like this forever, yes, they don't have the "luxury" of forever like the dragons, ancients or elementals, didn't stop that warmth and comfort that thought brought, though. Suddenly, it seems as if everything came back, the sounds and the feelings the nightly weather brought were a reminder that... despite everything that happened to them, they were here, right now, in this moment, and not suffering, despite the commotion that took place not too long ago, it was a misunderstanding after all, lucky them it ended like this, since lack of clear communication is the cause of many, many horrible things. Gratefulness, a thing that gets sent to the sidelines too often, a thing that is often taken for granted or just simply not being aware of it, it is good to feel again after emotional hell... yet, if it weren't for this burst, they wouldn't be here, holding eachother, they would probably have gotten to sleep right now, repeating the cycle of hiding away hurt and unintentionally growing resentment. Maybe this wasn't that ridicoulous after all.

The grass was brushing against his skin once he came back to his senses, the gentle sunlight of the early morning coating him... and more warmth, near his neck, his body, he didn't have to bother to look down far enough to see that wooly-textured blonde hair, yet he wanted to make himself look further, to look at the gentle and familiar face that seemed like home, and it was. His sunburnt cheek pressed against just above his collarbone... should he wake up Milk...? or... better yet, count his freckles that adorned his face, Yam swore there was more every time he had the chance to look closely, making him recount again, not that he minded... not at all.

Yam did not need to wake him though, for he arouse from sleep by himself, looking up to give him the most content, honest look he had ever seen, he had seen many of Milk's looks in the morning, yet, the fuzzy feelings did not fade.

"G'mornin'..." he whispered, still looking at Yam oh-so lovingly.

"Heh... morning to you, too." Yam whispered back, equally content smile on his face, as well, Milk's smiles were almost always contagious, he found himself yet again fighting the urge to just kiss his forehead, which was right there, mind you.

Milk closed his eyes and sighed deeply, perhaps going back to slumber land. but, he felt the mans' arms gently move from beneath his head, Milk always made a pillow out of his arms for Yam whenever they slept like this, another reason to feel fuzzy. He propped his hands on the ground, and slightly lifted himself up. Now he was looming over Yam, he swore he felt his heart stop for a minute... now Milk was slowly yet surely leaning closer to him, Yam closed his eyes shut to hide his nervousness, was he...? no, he wouldn't.

Yam then felt... something warm press on his forehead... it if it lingered any longer he could've sworn he could've died right then and there because his heart was too shocked to keep working... but, thankfully (...he couldn't help, but, immediately miss the feeling), it slowly disappeared, the touch, the ghostly sensation sticked and it felt like it had spread across all his face, as Yam dared to open his eyes...

He saw Milk still on top of him again, staring directly at him.

"...Thank you for telling me those things yesterday... I will show you just how much I appreciate you from now on in the clearest way." he said, with a softness Yam thought to be unacheivable.

He returned the smile, not breaking eye contact.

"...Well, thank you for opening up... I... I now understand. I'll try my best to not let doubt take over me like that again, for you."

Milk chuckled "And... I'll try as well, to keep my secrecy from leaving you in the dark... for you."

Their smiles did not fade, as they felt grateful the other was willing to understand and stay. They were going to get better together, they'll make sure of it.

[mallahanmoxie]

expose your most hated narnia fancasts that you’ve seen

oh boy before the manslaughter begins, shoutout to tumblr who didn’t notify me i had gotten an ask so that i only saw this message three days later when i accidentally clicked on my inbox

the thing you gotta understand though is that i am old and withered by current narnia fans standards. much like the asoue fandom, though out of different reasons, there’s a new generation of fans that seem to be producing content. when i was young? we were three people with a stick and a piece of paper. so like, the kinda content we put out before was… different. world’s changed tbh.

so i can’t tell you i’ve moved on, because i will never move on from narnia ever you’ll pry it off my dead cold fingers, but i don’t really pay attention to the fandom quite as much as i used to do. i’ve seen the new content tho! i even dragged my ancient ass to a network! that i don’t post to bc university dragged the joy and life out of me! (sorry to the admins). this current gen is producing Top Notch Content. it is not… standardized, let’s say, and it’s mostly for fun so it’s cool. i don’t take it for more than it is. hey, it’s gay and brown, right? it suffices my taste. when i wanted to make a narnia fancast with brown and gay people, i had to plot out the entire series WITH background characters and shit. i had papers of all the characters in the bloody universe fancasted with people who could actually play them (which is why my black, age appropriate pevensies idea died as soon as i had to pick somebody else but lucy, who was oscar nominated quvenzhané wallis who is now sadly too old). some a bit out there but you gotta attract big names to attract big crowds sometimes. this happens less, as the growing trend of casting models and people who cannot act develops as idk overall fandom culture, but it’s still much much better. i’m not criticizing anybody, i swear to you i love yall. you gave me park boyoung as lucy pevensie!!!! nobody’s made me happier!!!!!!!!!

now, for the people of my time…

(i speak like im 84. it’s only been like six years). anyway, a list of my most hated narnia fancasts:

bradley james as anyone. the narnia fandom’s boytoy! our generic White King! the only fucking face i saw for like fifteen and a half years!!! now i love bradley james  BUT. he was everywhere. peter? of course. tirian? why not. rilian? sure. caspian? uh yeah he was blond in the books. i couldn’t get rid of his fucking face bc everybody used him bc idk he was the top first result in blond people that look medieval but without rotting teeth or something list

katie mcgrath as susan or the lady of the green kirtle. again, same thing. pretty lady with black hair that has worn a crown and looks slightly evil, first result, our designated susan. bc what’s having a personality. also she wore a green dress Once so like, what’s the logical choice.

colin morgan as edmund. do you see a pattern here??? i guess merlin was the only medieval show everybody watched back then??? they didn’t cast angel coulby as lucy bc boy would the pevensie parents have some shit to explain.

adelaide kane as lucy. i looked at this once and promptly had a meltdown. an anon yelled at me for being too mean and look, yes, i was too mean and it was not the space to say i Fucking Hated It bc op could see it (top notch graphic tho op sorry for the cursing) but reign was going on and, nah. nah. 

elle fanning as polly plummer. i saw her be polly much more than jill so im jotting her as that, though she was used liberally by lots. at some point i hated elle fanning just bc? idk why tbqh, i can’t remember, but it was maybe that fancast. i still think she lacks all of polly’s spunk anyway. polly? literally yelled at a two meter woman presumably looking like tilda swinton? please.

asa fucking butterfield and chloe moretz as digory and polly. i have a personal vendetta for asa that i forget all about except when our birthdays come around. anyway, they made hugo and people said, well the magician’s nephew happens in the same time frame? they’re white and young? sign me up! i turned the sheet away.

freddie highmore as cor/corin. again, same old. i don’t even know if he ever acted on anything medieval??? and i love freddie okay i kissed his picture when i was in third grade bc i thought blond freddie in arthur and the minimoys (????) was the Shit. but he was Everywhere.

gemma arterton as susan. i don’t hate it i just think she doesn’t fit susan and the whole thing was sloppy when weaponized femininity was all the rage and hansel and gretel came out

sophie nélisse as jill or polly. again dont hate it but it’s uninspired. she lacks the spunk. also, if you notice a pattern here is bc whenever a period drama movie came out with white kids vaguely resembling the pevensies or something, everybody flocked to photoshop. myself included (forgive me lord ive sinned)

francois arnaud as rabadash. he’s white?????????? fam. (sorry i dont have the cedilla on this keyboard)

a few people i want to never see near this: uh, the entire merlin cast, the entire reign cast, the entire white queen or something?? cast, the borgia cast, the harry potter cast, the hunger games cast, the cast of the next child movie that comes out… idk. 

i honestly can’t think of any more but i know i’ve raged before. i have like a real clear idea of how i want the characters to look? and i have like different concepts for them, i just can’t find anybody ever lmao. 

[oneprompt]

HELLO AGAIN I HAVE CAME FOR ANOTHER REQUEST! >:D

Ok so I was thinking on how the Straw hats would react if their newest crew member was dealing with an a parent that was verbally or physically abusive and something accidentally triggered them or Y/N finally tells them about their past since everyone else shared theirs. I don’t really see much of fanfics of the strawhats comforting Y/N due to a traumatic event like this but I dunno I just thought it might be comforting for those who’re dealing with an abusive parent like myself

authors note : im so sorry you have to deal with such treatment .. just know that lots of people love you , and you don't need the approval of bad people , regardless of who they are to you. please stay strong my darling <3

ps , these are very self indulgent , as i grew up in a similar fashion .. soo , the reader is a bit bias to my reactions ;; my apologies.

CW : MENTIONS OF ABUSE. do not read if this is triggering

Luffy x Gn! Reader : Opening up about Abuser

- The moment you first tell Luffy, he blows up. He wants nothing more then to beat them senseless, to ask why they would treat their child in such a way. Luffy knows first hand how lovely you are, how earnest your heart is. Why in the world would anyone do such a bad thing to you? You're his crewmate, his nakama. Regardless of the tie to you have with your parents, the share of blood will never cure his hatred.

- Once Luffy takes time to actually process everything, noticing the itching fear molding your features, he holds his tongue. Luffy rarely filters his speech, making it very apparent that he was getting serious. He never felt the need to act maturely, unless it truly was a huge deal. And your safety was his number one priority. He may not be the best with words, or at comforting people but he does his best. Truly. 

- With a frown, Luffy shoves his straw hat onto your head, staring directly into your puffy eyes, your cheeks stained with your tears. With an abrupt swing of arms, Luffy captures your trembling form in an embrace. It’s still tight like always, but more tender then enthusiastic. For once, Luffy is dead silent. You can’t help yourself, feeling more sobs break free from the prison of your throat, cries filling the space around you both. 

- Luffy makes sure to praise you lots, after you opened up about such a private matter to him. He knows how awful you must’ve felt, all those years. Insult after injury.. That’s all your life was before this crew, wasn’t it? In case you’re ever doubting your self worth, or the things you have to offer others, Luffy is quick to clear those doubts from your admirable mind! He isn’t super wordy, so you can’t expect such an open display of affection but it’s love alright. Just- in Luffy’s weak vocabulary. It means so much to you, knowing you’re so cherished by another being. Especially the one who unknowingly saved you from that living hell, 

- Luffy is quite impulsive, not processing his actions or words before acting upon them. But he’ll notice if anything he does upsets you. Whether it’s a jumble of words or a loud noise, he can recognize that terrified gleam in your eyes. As soon as Luffy does notice, he’s right at your side, ready to give you a big, stretchy hug. He doesn’t mean to be so ignorant to you and your feelings, and he’s trying to get better with that... Truly. 

- Even though Luffy is a blabbermouth, he knows when and what to keep under wraps. He won’t even mention anything about what you told him to any of the other Straw Hats. Trauma is a thing you tell people in your own time, not something you have others talk over. Luffy knows that much. 

Zoro x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Much like Luffy, Zoro’s first thoughts are wrathful. He wants nothing more then to punish them for hurting you, testing his highest strength sword moves on them. Yet, he doesn’t verbalize them. He has half a mind to know not to say anything. He knows showing off such a rage filled face might mirror your parents, making you feel untrustworthy of Zoro, perhaps full of regret that you told him such a thing. 

- Zoro sighs, shaking his head as he pulls you close to him, allowing you to bury your face into his chest. He just holds you, cuddling you within the warmth of his bed. Slowly but surely, Zoro rocks you to sleep. He could tell how much energy that took from you, how much courage was needed. Zoro could tell how badly you needed to rest. And he wanted nothing more then to be there for you while you did, making sure he was there to ease your mind if you woke up, panicked by a night terror. 

- After you told him about your trauma, and how it haunts your mind to the point you often cannot sleep, Zoro began to sleep with you every night. He’d be there to calm you down, helping you either go to sleep or return. He knows how important sleep is, and he’s gonna make sure you keep yourself healthy. 

- Very cautious around you, when it comes to things that could trigger you. Whether it be loud noises, aggravated screaming, he tones it down, And Zoro is sure to keep the other boys in check, not wanting any of those numbskulls to upset you so drastically. He just... refuses to let those memories plague your mind, at least to such a panicky degree. 

- Zoro is 10x more protective of you now. Not that he finds you weak, no. You’re quite the opposite, being capable of enduring all that cruelty for years... you were the strongest person Zoro knew. He just doesn’t ever want you put in such a position again, for obvious reasons. You don’t deserve to be hurt, and you never did. Zoro would rather die then let you suffer again. He’s more then willing to put his life on the line for your sake. 

- Zoro loves drinking, but he avoids bringing it out when its just you two. He knows that alcohol isn’t all fun and games, especially for somebody with a traumatized psyche. He doesn’t want you developing an unhealthy coping mechanism with it. So, Zoro is sure to hide his sake beneath his bed everytime you come to sleep in his room. Even if you lack interest in drinking, it’s just an extra step of precaution. 

Nami x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Nami feels on the verge of tears when you finally tell her the meat and bones of your past. She wants to act mature and give you words of wisdom but she merely can’t, letting out silent cries as she glanced at you. You were so sweet and loving... what could you have ever done to earn such terrible parents? You two cry in silence together, trading glimpses of the other. 

- Once Nami finally gets ahold of herself, she leans forward, enveloping your flushed cheeks in her tear soaked palms. She murmurs to you in between hiccups, going on and on about how none of your trauma was your fault, about how proud she was of you for still being here. Nami knows how hopeless it is to be enduring that type of torture, especially for such an extended amount of time. Knowing you’re the radiant being you are now, even after all of that... she’s so happy! 

- Nami is much more patient with you, in comparison to the more high strung Straw Hats. She’s a good comforter, offering any support she can to her nakama. Once Nami notices that hollow look reflect from your gaze, she’ll urge you to her side to cuddle her. With your head in Nami’s lap, her hand combing through your hair, she’s sure to remind you of how loved you are. 

- If Nami ever catches you degrading yourself for the scars you got from your abuse, Nami will show you her own. Even if her tattoo hides the side of brutal stab wounds from when she was with Arlong, she knows they’re apparent enough to ease your mind, to make you feel less alone. Embrace them, as they’re a sign of strength. That’s what Nami says. 

- Nami knows how important alone time is when dealing with trauma. She makes sure to give you your personal space. If you’re cooling off from a breakdown, she’ll let you haul yourself up in her room for a few hours. And thankfully not even Luffy will come to bother you, as he’s too afraid of Nami’s punches. 

- She loves kids, and she always tells you how great of a parent you would be. Just because you were raised in chaos, doesn’t mean you’ll be like your parents. Nami knows you, she knows your nature. And she knows you’d be the upmost best parent, keeping your babies safe. Your trauma doesn’t define you or how you’ll treat people. 

Usopp x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Usopp may not be a fighter, but he is a mediator. With a hold of your hand, Usopp asks you about everything. No overly pushy questions or ones that’ll upset you, he just wants to know if he needs to adjust certain behavior around you or set new boundaries. You and your comfort are his number one priority. He love that smile of yours and he wants to keep seeing it, just like  he has been for the few months or so. He never wants the bright and amazing Y/n to lose their flare, all for the sake of your disgusting parents. 

- He means well, even if his words of comfort can fall flat. Usopp shows off physical affection during this, but not as much as the  romance dawn trio. He’ll occasionally stroke your head or caress your hands, just little things to put your quivering body at ease. Although, if you flinch at the move of his hand, he’ll stop immediately. As i said, your comfort is Usopp’s number one priority, and nothing will ever alter that. 

- Knowing you trust an infamous liar like Usopp makes him soso happy. He isn’t used to being a persons comfort or someone they rely on for support. it means a lot to be trusted, especially by somebody he loves so much. 

- From then, Usopp holds your hand a lot now. It’s a helpful aid to you, being able to cling to your best friend, somebody you trusted so much. You had nothing to be afraid of. Being able to just make contact with another person without the fear of stinging or aching afterwards may seem like a birth right but to you, it felt like a treasure itself. Usopp was your sanctuary, whether he knew so or not. 

- Usopp makes you all sorts of helpful things! His first gift to you was a pair of noise counseling earmuffs, made to avoid audio caused meltdowns. You had a ton of issues with dealing with loud noises, a thing you had admitted to Usopp. The first gift wasn’t the last, as he continued to make you gifts to help you with your PTSD. Whether it was practical things or just comforting things like stuffed toys, he wanted to do the best he could to make you feel better. 

- Usopp shares a dream journal with you! Not that it directly helps you, but monitoring and focusing on things can help freeze out the problem in a healthy manner. You both document your dreams, the patterns, the similarities, all of that jazz. Its a cute thing for friends to do together, and you really do appreciate the lengths Usopp goes to in order to comfort and distract you from your pain. 

Sanji x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Sanji is so understanding, due to sharing a similar upbringing. He puts an arm around you, letting you lean into his side. Like Luffy, Sanji knows when to drop his comedic behavior. He doesn’t chant any overly formally honorifics at you as you snuggle into him, nor does he let any blood leak from his nose. Sanji just lets you melt into him, humming to you softy, doing his best to calm you down.

- He’ll tuck you into your bed, once you’ve relaxed. Sanji offers you the kindest smile, finally saying a singular string of words. “I’m proud of you, Y/n-san.” Not a lick of his words are ingenuine, Sanji is deeply proud of you. He knows the despair you fall into, being treated so brutally by the ones who are meant to love and cherish you. He’s proud you’re here, that you never gave up on yourself. 

- Sanji will serve you your personal comfort food and beverages, whenever he notes that you look upset. He’ll hand them to you, a heartfelt letter resting on the tray. Its never anything perverted, just a lengthy letter of praise and sincerity. All those letters mean the entire world to you..

- He’s more careful when cooking now, making sure to not accidentally break a porcelain dish, knowing how much that sound may upset you. Sanji becomes much more aware, more cautious. Especially when you’re directly in the kitchen with him, he’d hate to remind you of your wretched parents. 

- Sanji will take you out for fun little things, whenever you’re all docked at an island. He’ll take you shopping with him, pampering you with whatever you desire. Clothing, lotion for sunbathing, cute little knick knacks, he’ll buy you whatever you want. Retail therapy..!! 

- Sanji tucks you in every night, when you two are done spending. He loves asking you how you enjoyed it, because of the smile you give him. Its large, oozing with pure joy. He’d- he will do anything to protect your smile. 

Nico Robin x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Robin can’t help but frown. She heaves a sigh, reaching to pet your hair. She isn’t the most open person, she never has been. So, Robin hasn’t ever had anyone come to her about something like this. She isn’t good at comforting, honestly. But, she’ll do the best she can. “You can cry, Y/n. I know how much you want to.” Robin now has your head held to her shoulder, letting your tears nurse themselves into her blouses fabric. “Thank you for trusting me...” She murmurs, full on hugging you at this point. 

- Robin hasn’t had somebody trust her with such information. It- it felt nice to be trusted, to be viewed as an earnest friend. She can’t help but smile ever so slightly, cradling you in her arms. You really did trust and love her, didn’t you? 

- She’s very motherly to you from there on out, almost the way she is with Chopper. Robin will let you hold her hand, lay on her lap or chest, anything. Her maternal instincts want nothing more then to make you feel loved, something your true mother could never do. Robin never had a mother, but she does her best to do what a true mother does for her babies. 

- At night time, Robin will come into your room to read a book to you. She knows you struggle with insomnia because of your trauma. So, Robin does her best to fix up your sleeping patterns. She’ll read you her favorite books, making her voice as soft as she can. Once she notices you asleep, she’ll give you a light kiss on your forehead before taking her leave. 

- Robin can read you easily, knowing exactly what body language you use when experiencing specific emotions. If she notices you’re upset, Robin will offer you to build a puzzle with her, or listen to her read her newest book. With those distractions, she’ll give you all sorts of love. Verbal, physical, every form. She wants to preserve your pure heart and your joy, helping build that further every time she shows you her love.  

- Robin is the most protective of you out of the Straw Hats. If you two are in a battle with anyone, and multiple of them rush to target you, she’’ll make sure to break them. She’s as fierce as a mother bear, not letting any disgusting people near her child. She’ll make sure to give them a painful punishment for messing with you... 

Franky x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Franky tears up under his sunglasses, each drop escaping and dribbling down his face. He rests his large hand on your head, caressing you with an unfamiliar softness. Franky may not have grown up with his parents but he knows that such treatment against their young is not okay. His heart aches for you, for the childhood you lost.

- He’s furious at this newfound info but he cant express that, as Franky’s rage succumbs to his wavering heart. Franky is full of anger and sadness, pity for you. You poor thing... You manage to smile every day and be so sweet to everybody around you, how do you do it? How are you not...mad? You’re one tough cookie, even if you’re just a kid compared to him.

- Like Robin, Franky’s dad switch is activated. He’s used to protecting and taking care of people, and that’ll extended to you. He won’t smother you but he’s so lovey to you! Franky wants to protect your happiness, letting you flourish. Regardless of what happened in your past, that doesn’t define you. You didn’t deserve it, it didn’t ‘ruin’ you. You’re suuuuper! You grew into such an amazing person, Franky knows that. He won’t ever let you utter a single negative thing about yourself.

- Franky always surprises you with gifts! More so, personally made ones. He’ll make you a cute little music box, something that can act as a sleep aid for you. Something so dainty is out of his normal craft but for you, he’ll push himself to do anything! You’re his ki- friend! You’re his pal.

- He always welcomes you to come goof off with him, Usopp and Chopper! If that is your forte, they’re all sure to keep you laughing, launching endless jokes and absurdities your way. Franky knows that laughter is one of the best medicines! And he’s much better at that sort of comfort then the sophisticated kind... Whether it’s as simple as him doing silly poses, telling you greatly dramatized stories, he’ll do whatever shameless thing it takes to hear that angelic noise. He tries his best to keep you happy.

- Franky often writes letters to Iceburg, even if his handwriting is illegible. He’ll go on and on about his journeys, his new weapons, anything and everything under the sun. But nowadays, he’ll sneak in a mention of you. Going on and on about how much you remind him of his carefree youth, the way you make him feel at home in the same manner Tom and Iceburg did. You may think Franky is helping you with your mental health the most out of you two, but thats not to say you haven’t been helping the cyborg. You really do remind him of simpler times. Those beaming summer days in Waters 7, frolicking with Iceburg in the junkyard... In a way, you make him feel even more connected to those memories, holding an unexplainable nostalgic glow.

Brook x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- Brook places a boney hand over yours, looking down at you. He’s never seen you this way. You look like you’re in so much pain, it hurts his heart. He repeats words of affirmation to you, his voice delicate and quiet. Brook repeats over and over how glad he is to have met you, how lucky the Straw Hats are to have you in their crew. Your parents seemed to have distorted your self image for years on end, almost brainwashing you into thinking you were this horrid person. Brook may not be able to erase such work over night, but he’ll do whatever it takes.

- He lightly squeezes your hand, staring directly at you. “We’re your family now, okay?” With that being uttered, you fall apart right then and there. You can no longer hold back your loud sobs, desperation filling your tone. You hold onto the skeleton tightly, gurgling out thank you’s after thank you’s.

- You and Brook grew much closer afterwards, having you spend a hefty amount of your time with him. Your presence meant so much to Brook, the same way his meant to you. Brook had grown accustomed to being in his lonesomeness, not having a single soul to be with. But now, things were much different. You were his most beloved friend, a person who shared a mutual love for him.

- Brook often composed songs for you, ones that would make you smile or even weep with joy. He put his heart and soul into your songs, putting care into every note. He knew they served as both a comfort to you, and he knew the stroke of the piano keys could calm you down after a night terror. Each song was strategically crafted, containing notes that could lull you to sleep, your favourite instruments bellowing in the back.

- Brook is always there to help comfort you whenever you have a meltdown. He’ll usher you comforting words or warm touches. After you’ve calmed down, he’ll return with your favorite flavor of tea, maybe with some macarons on the side... Whatever snacks you may fancy.

- Brook often ends your days together by tucking you into bed, pulling the warm and cozy sheets over your form. You may be an adult, but to Brook, he believes anyone can be tucked in, regardless of age. It’s a kind and endearing thing, something you deserve. Once he’s gotten you comfortable, he’ll give you time to decompress and sleep. You deserve to relax once in awhile, turning off all your negative thoughts. 

Jinbei x Gn! Reader : Opening up About Abuser

- The moment your words force themselves out of your mouth, Jinbei already has you in his lap, arms wrapped around you. It’s a comforting embrace, holding a sense of security. He’s quiet, leaving you to only listen to his lingering breaths, Jinbei doesn’t push for details, letting you ride out your emotions with him. Even as your tears sink into his yukata, beginning to soak the fabric, he never pushes you away. 

- Jinbei is the most composed out of the crew, not displaying too much heavy emotion. A small frown just rests on his face as he rubs circles on your convulsing back. He avoids showing how upset he truly is, not wanting you to feel any need to comfort for him. You’re the one that deserves all the comfort right now. You’re who needs attention. 

- Jinbei lets you come into his sleeping quarters whenever you need. Whether you’re upset, happy, mellow, you’re always allowed in. He’ll let you sleep in his bed if you need. He knows how touch starved you are and how much you crave validation, and he’s more then happy to deliver. Jinbei will cuddle you, showing you his care for you in the simplest of ways. He may not directly express his love, but he makes sure that you know how much he cares about you. 

- If you come to his room upset, Jinbei won’t force you to talk about whatever upset you but the offer always stands. He knows he isn’t the greatest at this, especially out of the Straw Hats but as i said, Jinbei does whatever he can. If it regards your parents, you’re immediately met with a hug. He wants to fill that void for you to the best of his abilities. 

- You give Jinbei a sense of meaning for the first time in awhile, making him feel valued for more then his strength. You and the Straw Hats both made him feel that way. You all helped him feel loved, but you did the most. The way you trusted him so deeply, enough to confide in him for the most heart wrenching things... Jinbei was grateful for that, to have your trust. And you had his, 100%. Jinbei would trust you with his life. 

- You remind him of Koala, in a sense. Is it just his fatherly front that connects you two? Is it the fact you manage to brim with optimism, even after everything that’s been done to you? He’s not very sure. But all Jinbei knows for sure is how much Fisher Tiger would love you, if only he were still alive. He often dreams of that, of how you, him and Fisher Tiger could be a happy family. Maybe in another life. 

[rivangel]

First Times Anthology, ch5: closer, harder

work summary » Intimate, vulnerable, gentle. Concepts Levi is a stranger to, until you.

ch.summary: Things are different after Mayfest. Hearts mingle and undefined lines blur—ones so very thin. Lost in the aftermath of what Levi wants to believe is right, you show him it isn't, whether you know it or not.

content/warnings: so much yearning, masturbation (m!recieving), almost softcore porn tbh, mention of eating abnormalities, Petra: so soft..so kind, lots of tears, Levi falling apart, vague blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention of SA, heartbreak (for a while), explicit&severe panic attack, minor injury; slightly graphic injury recovery, Erwin (accidentally) plays matchmaker, Levi is humanity's strongest for a reason, hurt/comfort, very soft at the end, themes of self-hatred

wc: 17.2k(haha...)

a/n: alternative summary - levi is a hopeless simp who is horrified when he realizes he's in love.

as things heat up i think it's an appropriate time for their first crisis😀but also levi's first case of blue balls. i decided not to split this chappy bc i want softness and comfort out of this fic more than leaving it on a cliffhanger in chaos, but as a result it runs very, very, very long. im sorry! but it will be worth it. im done writing ch's the length of novelettes after this (hope).

i think someone who reads can tell where the end is going. these two are too deeply in love. lets just say there's a lot of smut in the next one. i didnt plan for this fic to run so long or live rent free in my heart😭💕 i thank u guys for all the support on it and i hope the length of this one doesnt drive too many ppl crazy.💖

for the song?? see also: just fine by spookyghostboy

previous part・work masterpost・next part

Listened to while writing:

taglist: @peace-for-levi | @sckerman | @jayteacups | @levi-my-beloved | (if you'd like to be added, lmk!)

“Hey, I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

Levi has always had hobbies a little softer than the way he portrays himself as. Mike or Hange would blanch if they knew he enjoys threading a needle and making scarves, for example. You know he sews, crochets, and surprisingly, dabbles in reading.

That’s a pastime he took to especially after you opened up him up to the world of books. There’s the typical slice-of-life affairs, and secretly (as in, tucked in the lowest of his dresser drawers, secret) contemporary romance.

After years of lending him your own tattered blouses to stitch up, then watching him work at it himself, a few months ago he started showing you the ropes. He’s just so good at it. Apparently, he learned when he was a kid, just out of necessity, but there’s something to his calm frown and steady hands that makes you think he’s just talented.

You, for one, have finally managed to stick a thread through a needle’s eye without pricking the sides. Mostly.

“Hm.”

He sounds just as disinterested as a man like Levi could ever sound. A little discouraged, you crane your neck over the back of his velvety armchair. In one hand you hold a small sock—in case you ‘wrecked’ it, in his words—and in the other, your triumph.

Your breath catches, and in case he can somehow tell, you hold it. Hastily he’s writing something, bent over the edge of his desk in dark, pleated trousers rather than his usual uniform. It’s not like you share his quarters, and the chaos that was Mayfest has again settled into calm waters of normalcy since that evening—so you’re allowed to ogle at his backside in a tight pair of pants, if quietly.

Sewing suddenly doesn’t interest you much anymore. His lips are still pressed together, focusing, so you decide to fool around a little.

The fabric may as well be firmly pasted to that round ass. You imagine it’s just as thick as his thighs: at special moments, you’ve sneaked in little pinches and strokes here and there. They weren’t too romantic since you figured out he’s ticklish in only very specific places—but still.

He looks good. He really does have a small waist, too. Your imagination runs away from you a little.

“Hey, Lev’.” You make your voice as placid as humanly possible. “I’ve thought about it and I think I really like the Military Police.”

Nothing—just a small sound to show he heard you. Your eyebrows shoot straight up to your forehead, laughter bubbling up in your throat which you manage to not let escape. An opportunity like this is simply too sweet to ignore.

Quietly, neatly, you shift your things off your lap and dawdle on your feet a moment before allowing yourself to drift over to him. It’s easy to feign interest somewhere else, and then once you’re close behind him, take a handful of the same round ass you were gawking at not a moment ago.

Levi reminds you a bit of a steel spinning top, how he immediately straightens up and bats your hand off his backside. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was steam pouring out his ears.

“W-What the hell are you doing?”

You mimic his aghast expression. “Oh, so you do know I’m here.”

“You’re…” He presses himself flush with the wooden desk, flustered to hell. His expression pinches (as always), like he’s tasted a fresh lemon. “You’re a pervert.”

You arch a single brow, gauging his reaction before moving in.

If he was much angrier, you’d have something to be worried about. It’s not the first time he’s called you a pervert before reeling you in for a kiss. You think of the last time he snapped your bra straps when you were in bed; all because you wouldn’t stop shifting around, trying to get comfortable.

These last few months have been fun.

He does nothing but stare you down when you cage him against the desk with both arms, leaning in close and pressing a fragile peck to his lips. “Oh? But I couldn’t help myself.”

Levi curls his hands into fists, but that doesn’t keep his whole body from shuddering. He’s normally so in-control, but when specifically you take that away—well, he’s hot under his collar.

He was signing off on documents a moment ago, and barely registered what you said. With a wrinkled brow and topsy-turvy feelings raging inside—notably, the heat in his lower half, which is winning the rest over—he knows why. It's the way you're looking at him. He’s one silky word out of your mouth away from kissing the hell out of you.

“Liar,” he breathes.

“Your ass just looks too good in those slacks.”

If he could somehow overdose on air, he would be dead. It isn’t fair. You’re close enough to feel him hardening in his trousers, but if he didn’t know you as well as he does, it’d be impossible to tell whether you’re simply getting another laugh out of flustering him.

“Daring today, aren’t we?” he mutters, regaining his literal and mental balance. His hand dives beneath the straps tethered around your torso, yanking you in so there’s no space left between you from the chest down. He’s feeling like quite the daredevil himself.

You meet him in a bruising kiss, only for your own to part when his palm slips into your back pocket, stretching down to take his own share. He grunts at the sound that escapes you, and molds his palm with the seat of your ass. It fuels a fire in his belly and the rush of blood in his ears. It’s still not as loud as the smacks from your kissing.

He wants to tell you that he wants your hand back again, that he wants you all over him, but all he can manage is a breathy “Fuck,” between breaks for breath. Your noses keep bumping together.

He burns. It’s with a fluttery twist of lust that a soft, sweet sigh leaves your lips, half-mounting him so your hips have perfect access to the spot between his legs. You grapple the desk as not to crash right into him, and shiver, shamelessly.

“Levi–”

You breathe each other into a wet, hasty kiss. Yes, he decides, he’s going to kiss the hell out of you.

He tastes sweet, in a subtle way, with the slightest hints of earthiness from his tea that’s coupled with something purely Levi that it makes your heart and every little eager nerve of yours sing.

You're out of practice and him, experience, but it no longer matters, not when you want each other this badly.

Somehow, based somewhere in instinct, your hands find each other on the desk on either side of his waist. His squeeze on the rear of your thigh disappears so he can lock them together, all-in.

The position has its drawbacks. Your straddle over him slacks a little, so—without thinking much beyond the throb of your heartbeat—you press right up against his solid body with a slippery whine. You’ve never felt him hard like this, not on purpose.

You see it when his lids flutter, and he pulls a lungful of air between his teeth. Your fingers grope together, uncoordinated. Briefly, you get the idea to reach around and take his ass in your hands again. That’s before his own slip around your wrists, trapping you against him.

Regardless of the fact that you should have him caged in, he’s the one in control; this is the way he wants you, and it makes your face heat. You hike your thigh up around his waist and roll your hips, bumping your knee against the wooden surface in your haste.

Licking pleasure causes a moan to roll through his throat, the first sound he’s made at all, and just like that the spell is broken. He smacks back against the desk, breathing hard. His fingers fumble away from you; all this without a clue why, but he’s horribly embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he croaks.

At first, you don’t think you heard him right. “What? No—are you okay?”

He stares at you, desire quickly bleeding away to shame. The fact that you make room and watch him, worried and earnest, darkens the feeling. He feels exposed, and meeting your eyes feels like confessing everything, so he can’t even look at you straight.

“Yeah. Sorry.” That’s the second apology that tumbles out of his mouth. “I didn’t think…”

He doesn’t know why he makes a fool of himself like this. It’s too much is a defense that comes to mind, which doesn’t make sense because he’s nothing if not glowing in your presence.

He chose this with you, whatever ‘this’ is, but the rest of the jagged lines that make Levi up won’t straighten out, so you can’t match up. They aren’t even defined, as you’ve never sat down and talked about it.

You’re still so patient with him, even now: “Hey, I don’t need that. You did nothing wrong.”

He knows. That’s the crux of the problem. If you were to ask him what exactly begged that Sorry, he wouldn't be able to say. He’s never been scared when hooking up with someone in the past. Then again, you’re so much more than that, to the point that it hurts.

The issue of stopping is redundant because sex has never been, isn’t, and never will be thing your relationship revolves around. He isn’t torn to bits because he pulled away, and you could care less about that when he’s backed into a metaphorical corner, white-knuckling his desk for dear life.

“It’s okay,” you say right beside him, frowning at the feeling of rigid steel that is his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. But if something happened in the past–”

“It hasn’t.” He’s confident of that.

You nod. “But if I overstepped, I just need to know. So I don’t do it again, okay?”

With a shake of his head—being snuck up on by someone he knows as well as you hasn’t been the issue for quite some time—he takes a handful of your bandaged fingers (all that damn sewing), then squeezes. It helps him to calm down, and by the way you deflate, the feeling is mutual.

“No.” A peck to your temple. “It's good.”

Unlike before, when every damn thing you did was like an electric shock to a hundred nerve endings, at least then it was mutually exclusive. It was either something you both wanted, or it wasn’t, and you stopped: that was that.

These days, though, things are different. You pull him closer, and he’ll kiss you; take him to bed, and he’ll happily become your personal furnace for the evening. When you both want it, you make it clear in one way or another—emphasis on or another, in his case.

Too much is a new issue, gauging for how long and when to pull away. It’s like dancing in a field of bushfires blind, wondering when you’ll get burned.

He hates how insecure he’s made you feel. He can tell. No one can read you like him. Like an optical illusion resolving itself, he finds it written all over your face.

“Are you sure?”

With a small, deadpan look, he brushes your hair away. To his own fault, it’s a little messy. “Are you blind?” Another crumpling feeling of embarrassment. “–Or deaf?”

It’s like your voice is carried on a breeze. “Hm. Not the last time I checked.”

“Then that’s your answer,” he returns, glancing down and straightening your collar. His fault again: it’s rumpled.

“Just so you know, it’s good for me, too.”

Levi tuts to smother how that makes him feel. He made you feel good. You liked it. You liked his hands on you, and his tongue licking into your mouth.

He’s inclined to call you a pervert again, but only rolls his eyes and pats your head. Like a puppy starved for affection, you duck beneath his hand, not that he would dream of throwing away the chance to wrap his arm around your waist.

Even affections like this feel different from the era before the festival. She feels it too, right?

“Just let me know,” you mutter just below his ear. “And sorry, about your papers.”

Some of them fluttered to the floor; too bad he’s a little distracted. He’s also never told you about that spot below his ear, come to think of it.

“I do. I will,” he assures. He can’t even remember what shit he was signing off on before you jumped him. “Do the same.”

“Mm.”

Comfort puffs and swirls like a calm cloud in his chest. Maybe it’s in his head alone, this spiky, demonstrable change, or maybe that’s what he wants to tell himself. The one thing he’s sure he has pinned down is, somehow, he’s more terrified than ever; even more than before.

Of what? A million things. One of those just might be the fact that you've never rutted up against each other like bunny rabbits before. Levi is the same person who, when you ran your hands up and down his jaw and leaned in for the first time after the fact (the next afternoon, actually), he stalled when your lips met. It was like being cradled by a butterfly wing.

But it wasn’t that he didn’t want you and it wasn’t that he regretted it: it wasn’t the worst-case scenario that always comes to you first, usually knocking you sideways.

Somehow he simply didn’t expect it, you finding him just after the sun reached its peak and—wanting to kiss him. Of course he kissed back, he always would, but he still had to stop, pull away and ask, “Wait, are you sure you–” and you never let it go.

“I thought you were gonna show me your progress. Don’t tell me you’re dressing up like a mummy for fun.”

You gawk at him. “Mummified—fingers, maybe.”

You stretch your fingers in front of yourself and wiggle them, as if that’ll prove the point.

He bites his lip, pinching hard in efforts not to smile. The strain in his cheeks dissolves into mild stupefaction when you clarify that you need to change clothes—panties, specifically.

“Fine,” he coughs. “Go.”

You don’t share a living space. He still makes a small mental note to do your laundry again. His reason, and eventually yours became that he buys impeccable fabric softener. He can also scrub pretty much any stain out, even hot cocoa—he knows all the tricks.

He can imagine you now: “Sweetie, do you mind ironing my clothes? I can’t do it like you.”

Why does that make him feel so giddy, still? You make him want to iron your clothes for the rest of your life, as long as it pleases you.

And then, he gets thrown in the ditch of ‘rest of your life’, and the fear shoves him to his knees once again.

Why the hell do you always have this effect on him?

Today, at the end of a long stream of paperwork, your palm slinked around the nape of his neck, and you asked to take him for a picnic—which isn't unheard of at all. At least twice a month you end up dragging him somewhere (occasionally, it's the other way around, but Levi is more of a homebody).

It was by a lake like twilit glass, beneath one of those ancient, gnarled oaks that must stretch its roots just as far below ground as its branches pierce the sky. He took the liberty of making these sandwiches with light, fluffy bread; these didn’t stand up to your bright lipstick, smeared with even brighter, tangy strawberries.

You insisted on popping a few in his mouth, just to return the favor by brushing a few stray leaves out of your hair; tucking the prettiest flower he’s ever seen in his life behind your ear, too. You were the one who wouldn't quit babbling about it, calling it that, but that sentiment only became truth when he put it there.

He raised a brow. “Doesn’t seem very equal.”

And then, a strawberry between your fingers, you just kept on smiling at him.

He allowed his eyes to rake up and down your breezy summer dress and sighed evenly through his nose. “You smile at me too much.”

“Have to do it enough for the both of us.”

He snorted, then it was your palms swooping around the backs of his thighs, inviting him into your lap. This, with the promise of giving him a crash-course in making crowns out of (“Are you serious?”) daffodils and all manner of wildflowers.

Levi sits now, perched on the edge of his bed with his hands braced over his knees. You’ve just left—a few minutes ago, actually—but he can’t get his dick to calm down, not after your lips and hands were all over him, kissing just behind his ear and roaming up and down his chest. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and traces of your lipstick still persist.

You got to the flowers eventually, but before that his hands were on you. You’d teetered onto your back and brought him down with you. Turning it over in his mind, the word that rounds out the experience perfectly is honey-glazed.

Just your noses bumping together in a maze of smacking lips, the heat of your breath, and the salty-sweet taste of your skin beneath his tongue. He remembers now, fighting so hard to breathe over the sweltering haze of strawberry rolling over his tongue. It created a pulse in his head that pulsed on and on.

“Sweetness,” he muttered between wet kisses, royally whisked away out of his mind. The shakes in his hands gave him away; the nervous shine in yours. “Look at you.”

You grinned at that—some cheeky comment about needing a mirror. He kissed it off your face, knocking your teeth together.“Gonna report me to the brass, Captain?”

“Brat,” he huffed.

He touched you, too. He asked, and you slotted your thighs around his hips and spared him a look that set a fire in his belly before you took his palm, guiding it beneath your collar, where the strap had fallen away.

Swallowing heavily, Levi pops the collar of his shirt open. He just buttoned it, but it suddenly feels too warm to wear it at all, the front of his trousers too tight, too hot.

Your skin was warm like an oven, and the weight of your breasts so soft in his palms. He could hardly believe his ears when you sighed in his ear and asked if he wanted to see.

He unbuckles his belt with haste, an earnest shudder following when he palms the front of his pants. He hangs his head, though it isn’t the first time he’s had to touch himself when you leave your mark on him, like some kind of vixen. Really, all it takes is a look and suddenly he’s left in the dust, hot and bothered.

Recently, all semblance of control has begun to dissolve when he’s around you and he’s losing his mind.

He squeezes, then he thinks, to hell with it, and shoves his trousers down to bunch up at his ankles. He kicks them away, lets his shirt hang loose at the front and scooches back to lay down. His heart stomps against his ribcage.

Never has Levi wanted a woman so badly in his life. Without guidance on what to think or do, the memory of how you touched him and cooed in his ear rouses back to the surface the moment he wraps his fist around his dick.

With a few loose pumps, he’s just as hard as he was before that long stroll back. There was you, whetting a handkerchief and cleaning lipstick stains from his skin, evidence of where you explored him—but he almost wishes you didn’t. He strains before his eyes, squeezes his round cockhead, and spit-soaked lips part as he throbs.

A gravelly sigh. “Shit.”

For no reason, he’s searing hot with embarrassment. But desire this time has a louder voice, and wins out.

He nudges his briefs down, kicks them away, and spreads his legs. What he wants, what he imagines, is you crawling between them. Then again, if you were here his own mortification would kill him rather than just running his blood a little hot. He’s hopeless.

It’s good, though, even with just his own hand. His cock is thick beneath neatly trimmed, wiry hairs, pulsing when he traces the long vein on the underside. He never thought about it, whether it’d be good for you, whether he’d look good…

Would you do this to him, too? Cup his heavy, round balls and glide a tight fist—just the way it runs his blood the hottest—up and down? Would you praise him, Oh, that’s good, baby. Fuck my fist—there you go, or tease him? So fucking needy, Levi.

He sinks his teeth into his free hand and sighs, high in his throat. The scene is so vivid it begs his imagination; neither would be unlike you. In fact, he guarantees you would tell him to let you know what he likes, and if for some reason he needs to slow down or stop, you would still want him after. You’re so good to him. You’d drag his arm off his face and order him to be louder.

Let me hear you.

He’s wetter now—he hears the slick smacks of his fist, and he feels the hot coil in his belly growing even hotter. He dares to glide his free hand over all those tensing muscles, flicking his hard nipples on the way, and flops his head back on the pillows.

It’s really hard to be quiet, much more than he thought it’d be—or how it usually is. He doesn’t get off like this on a whim, not enough to commit the act to memory. He just knows you’d want to hear him moan, and that’s enough to inspire the sounds to rumble in his chest.

He dips a finger into his wet slit, and his hips give a small jerk. In small circles he teases all around it. What if it was her mouth?

“Gon’a–”

With trembling thighs, he sinks his free hand into the pressed sheets and feels his toes curl. Every muscle tenses, so hard it hurts as his cock begins to twitch. Pleasure pulses on, red-hot, sweet, warm. Throbbing waves wash over him.

His cock throbs, and spills thick cum all over his fist. Some of it even streaks his stomach in white, and when he thinks his climax is ready to recede, he groans low and pleased and throttles a little harder. He doesn’t get off nearly as much as he should.

It’s messy, horribly messy, and if he weren’t squirming all over the place surely his back would be making the tightest arch.

By himself, he’s never had such a mind-bending orgasm in his life—that’s what he realizes a few minutes later when the clarity slams into him and he realizes he cried out aloud to absolutely no one; except you, maybe, but only in his fleeting imagination.

Things are the same as they’ve always been. That’s what Levi wants to believe.

It takes outside intervention to shove the facts in both your faces—other than Hange shooting you both the look when Levi just so happens to pour two cups of tea and set one down front of you during a meeting; other than Mike, whose nose screws up when he sniffs the air and you both know he knows you’ve been wrapped up in bed together.

None of that ever mattered in the past. Remarks and jabs dissolve into awkward passes between moments—a look, a joke to be forgotten. It’s the same with everyone else among Levi Squad, until it isn’t.

Oluo gets a kick from poking at you, but it still isn’t as fun to him, apparently, as joshing around with Petra like an old married couple. He goes tight-lipped whenever Levi’s within earshot, and to Oluo’s credit it’s all in good fun.

With Eld and Gunther, things never stray beyond professionalism. They make good drinking buddies for you (and if you make your sad-dog eyes at Levi, him too), and they’re damn good fighters. All of them.

Levi has known each of them for years, just like you. It’s a web woven by mutual respect and trust, which is why what happened didn’t rattle the squad as much as it very well could have.

The six of you have just wrapped up a brief discussion in the echo chamber that is the dining hall. It’s late, and with so few bodies, shadows dance across cobbled walls.

You flash Levi the briefest of smiles. “I’ll have that report on your desk by tomorrow, Captain. G’night.”

You both know it’ll be sooner than that. He nods like a bird would, and watches the last of his murky tea swirl in its ornate cup as he swishes it around. Petra is usually the first to bed; she’s damn responsible, which makes it weird that she’s still here, nervously tapping the table. With it so quiet, she might as well be playing drums.

He asks the question cordially: “What’s wrong with you?”

“Could… Could I ask you a question, sir?” she stammers.

“Go on.”

The tapping grows a little more frantic. The question is whether or not they’re friends—a pretty stupid one. There’s life-or-death business, straight-laced and coarse, and then there’s camaraderie.

You or Gunther are the ones who do all the pep-talking when Petra needs something, though. Levi isn’t exactly someone people go to for comfort. Rather than a matter of her ODM belts fraying though, it seems a pep-talk is what she needs. She’s hardly ever this nervous around him.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she requests that they talk, as friends. It drops his stomach to unknown, wretched places, but he agrees anyway. People—a friend who ‘wants to talk’ never has good news.

They might as well get out of the dining hall, though. It’s a clear night out.

Beyond the front doors of HQ, the air is cool and breezy, which is surprising for the new summertime. Along the way an occasional firefly will glow to life, intent on getting to wherever they get to. Pondering the lives of the fucking fireflies distracts Levi from Petra’s obvious, unbearable anxiety. Unlike yours, it’s infectious.

He strolls alongside her, keeping in step as she goes on about her father. His letters—and by extension, hers—naturally pass by his desk occasionally. He knows the man is a tad overbearing, how he never wanted her in the Corps, but any set of parents with half a brain are wise to think that way.

“He wants me to get married,” she chitters, clearly troubled by the idea. “Can you believe that? I’m so young.”

Levi isn’t young anymore, and he doesn’t have a family, but he empathizes. “People are too young for plenty of the shit they go through with, whether they got a say or not. So if you have a choice, make up your own mind.” His advice is better than usual. “If you wanna get married, then go off and do it.”

“Oh, no! I don’t want to, that’s not…”

His stroll stutters. “Then, what did you want?” comes the blunt question, and he (to the best of his ability) rectifies it: “Just… get to the point. You have a concern, speak it. Or go to someone who gives better advice.”

Petra scrubs her arms as if it were cold, and stares at the ground like there’s something interesting there.

Confused and a little concerned, he stops too.

“It’s related to that,” she finally says, and looks up (it’s always strange that she’s shorter than him), but she can’t meet his stern gaze.

His brow wrinkles. “Yes?”

“Well… a lot of people admire you—and it’s more than warranted. I look up to you, i-in my case, literally.” She shakes her head, but his lips twitch, because it’s funny. “I try to find someone, but no one quite adds up to you.”

You’ve helped Petra with love troubles a million times—he knows that already, sort of. Without thinking, he shifts his footing.

“So…” she trails off.

He blinks. “I don’t know how to help with that. Find someone different to admire, I guess.”

Her head whips up to look at him again, startled. It’s combed over with a small laugh, and she smiles, ruefully. It’s with a sinking feeling he realizes he misunderstood.

“No,” she chuckles, entirely to spite the muck of awkwardness. “That’s not what I… do I really have to come out and say it?”

He would prefer that; if she stopped bumbling around the issue and disproved what he’s thinking this is. Assuming usually ends in Levi making an ass of himself, because in social situations it’s not uncommon for him to be wrong. The crux of what makes their squad work so well together is communication, anyway; during business hours or no.

Crossing his arms over himself, he tells her so: “Yeah, you do. So just be out with it, Petra,” and watches her pass by him and plant herself on a bench. It has no back, so she’s forced to hunch in on herself a little. Maybe she’d be doing that anyhow.

It’s quiet for a long moment, so long years could pass and he would still be frozen to the spot, maybe morphed into a statue. Then it’s confessed, anxious and unbearably quick, but nonetheless firmly, like Petra is ripping a bandaid off.

She has feelings for him.

“I know this is unprofessional of me.” Her eyes squeeze shut. “I’m sorry. But, if things stayed unspoken, I, I was afraid I’d regret it.” That stings, a little. “But no matter what the answer is, I’ll find a way not to now that you know.”

“…I see.” The words seem to drip off his lips. He idles stupidly, brows furrowed. Then he comes to terms with what she’s admitting and lets it sink in. “But you can’t get the-the wrong idea. Look…”

Their eyes meet somehow, and it feels like touching a hot stove. Levi could go on and on about ‘unprofessionalism’ himself, which is precisely why he doesn’t. There was never going to be another answer, but that’s only a nugget in the reasons why this feels shitty.

He’s not good at this. He’s given a million, deathly-worse pieces of bad news before, but unlike anything else, warring with feelings never gets easier. It isn’t like killing monsters, no matter how he wishes it was.

Will you and he stew in regret if things go unsaid, and why haven’t you both discussed it? Petra wouldn’t have been so inclined to say a thing if everyone knew, and he wouldn’t have to crush whatever fantasy she has of him in her head.

There’s never been a good, safe time—times are never safe. So, does there exist such a haven as the right time? How could there be?

Petra must be braver than Levi, because right now, in the simplest meaning of the phrase, seems to be it. But whether it’s safe, or good, he just can’t bring himself…

“Ah.” Her voice is lighter than air. Her head hangs again, ashamed. “I’m sorry, sir. If you’d prefer if I was booted from your squad, then I’d understand.”

Now that’s just ridiculous.

“You’re a member of an elite squad,” he tells her, “not my dog. Don’t talk like that. But I don’t…” He swallows, collects himself. “Do—you get what I’m saying, or what?”

“It’s fine,” she resolves, nodding. True to her word, her shoulders sink, like something heavy has tumbled off them. “I understand. I won’t mention this again.”

“Good.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Petra rises to her feet. Her face is splotched with red, especially her eyes, but she hastily wipes them with her sleeves and sniffs.

It’s easy to stay friendly with Petra because that’s the way he’s always viewed her. Things will work out this way, but he can’t say the same for the web of fluff entangling you and him. It’s a dull, anxious twist of realization.

As he passes her, he pats her shoulder in efforts to be reassuring. “Look. You’re a valued comrade, and we’re not at each other’s throats, are we? Don’t beat yourself up. That's foolish. Just go to bed.” A pause. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you…” She wipes her eyes, where tears are clinging. “...and the same for you, Levi. Goodnight.”

Right, of course.

He doesn’t remember the walk back; even the fireflies join the fog at the back of his mind. Once he’s trudged up the stairs, swiped out his keyring and retreated into the warm glow of his office (you must’ve lit a candle once you realized he'd be late), he starts to deflate. Knowing you’re here, especially at the end of the night, makes him feel better.

He has work to do, but getting this off his mind will be impossible if he doesn’t let you know. Keeping quiet about the confession—as inconsequential as it is—would feel hollow, like a betrayal to you. It wouldn’t be right.

The smell of roasted cedar immediately swells when he enters. You’re lounging cross-legged on his sofa, chowing down on a bowl of blueberries snug in your lap with one hand, propping up a thick novel with the other.

Flames lick in the fireplace, which casts the room in gold. It’s serene, almost domestic, and this huge wave of—relief crashes over him. It feels like coming home, and that hurts.

He leans back against the closed door, thinks in a string of curses, and closes his eyes. His face feels hot, and the room’s gone blurry.

You notice him, or did, a moment ago, and greet him once he plods over and plants himself in the armchair. He immediately shades his eyes with his hand, wrung-out, exhausted.

It’s better not to ask, even though it’s clear something happened. He’s still in uniform, pressed and perfect as always, but you know him well enough to tell. You ask whether he’s eaten dinner, whether he’d like some berries, and he gently turns down your offers—he ate earlier.

“You think of me too much.”

“Hm. Wrong.”

Your feet take you to his small kitchen. There’s a kettle on the stove from earlier, which you lift and pour steaming, earthy-smelling tea in a mug for him. It’s black, no good for relaxing, but knowing him it'll get the job done.

You take the saucer to Levi, who doesn’t appear to have so much as twitched since sitting down, and hold it out. Immediately he lights up, and sets the china aside so he can cradle the cup in both hands, savoring the heavy aroma, its warmth. It never tastes quite like the way he makes it himself, but close enough—it’s good.

By the way the sofa whines under your weight, it sounds like you’ve sat back down. He wouldn’t know; his eyes have drifted shut again.

Quietly, “Thanks, sweetness.”

“Anytime,” you quip, and curl up like a cat against an armrest. Back to reading.

By the time he’s drained the cup and his stomach is warm, he’s recuperated enough to collect his thoughts. He pulls himself into a proper sit, and informs you quite plainly what happened. You deserve to know, and it’s not the end of the world. It doesn’t break the squad like snapping driftwood, and it shouldn’t break you two either; though it rattled him, sure.

“...Oh.” A little wide-eyed, you stare at him. Your reaction startles even yourself a little bit. You flounder, opening your mouth, then closing it. A wave of cold, cold feeling breaks over your chest.

He turned her down. That makes sense.

Unless he made that choice, not because he entirely feels nothing for Petra, but because he feels some obligation towards your own feelings. Levi makes time for everyone in your squad, but everyone is close to Petra—everyone who has a brain, anyway—because she’s open, and supportive, and one of a kind. Just like him.

You frown. It feels like you’re falling. You couldn’t bear it if Levi contradicted how he really feels for your sake. It wouldn’t be like him, but stick the words for your sake in the equation and he’s made plenty of sacrifices before—life-risking ones included. You can’t count the number of times he’s quite literally shielded you from attack, completely compromising new, raised scars and a dislocated shoulder, or (not so literally) a broken back. It’s never the case that you do too much for him—as he’s often insisted, over more meaningful things than fruit—but completely the opposite.

He frowns as you launch into small questions about his choice. You can’t help but sate the craving to ensure that what he said is what he really wants.

Since forever, it’s been a slinking thought creeping around the back of your mind: What are we doing, if not just spending quality time together the way lovers would? That title alone is blacklisted from your relationship—however you should define it as.

Am I holding him back? Not in the scope of his reputation, or the dream you both dedicate your hearts for, but in life. It’s never been clear, and that’s how it’s been between you two since (what feels like) forever. It’s as muddled as it is perfect; in many ways it’s perfect, but so fragile. What are you supposed to do while you’re drifting, stuck in the threshold of a grand promise like that?

How, concretely, does Levi even feel? What does he want? You realize that you don’t even know, not that the lives you two lead give you much opportunity for prancing in fields without a care in the world.

Now’s a good time to get the answer. With your book effectively forgotten, you’re sure to forget everything else until you know for certain.

You both idle now in the space between the golden sitting room and the dim kitchen. The more words that pass between you, the more he becomes (more and more) impatient.

In your defense, this isn’t an issue of flipping to the wrong page of a book—or however casual he thinks this whole conflict to be. You’re not overreacting. This is important.

“No,” you insist, “I’m not trying to judge your choice, I just don’t understand, because—she’s Petra!”

His befuddlement sinks into a glare. “And you’re you. What’s your point?”

“My point is…”

You’re not sure. The topic of a potential relationship with people outside your merged bubble isn’t something you two have ever talked about; not in such frank terms as someone outright confessing their love to one of you. That was especially true before you and he kissed for the first time.

Christoph was different because, to you, he was objectively unattractive, and he never outright spoke the words: I love you! Go out with me! Be with me! into existence. This is different, so much different. She confessed to him.

Anxiously, you pull at your sleeves and step away. You need to think.

“Are you…” He doesn’t understand. “…upset, because I turned her down? I didn’t do that because we’re—exclusive, or….”

He trails off, at a loss. Fact is, you’re not exclusive—that’s not a baseline you ever established.

While you stand there, very clearly upset, the possibility that you’re feeling insecure comes to mind, but that wouldn’t make any sense. You ought to be pleased with him if that were the case. He told Petra the truth: he doesn’t want that kind of relationship with her.

“I know,” you say, a little stupidly. You meet his troubled eyes head-on. “We’re not. That’s fine. I’m just—I am upset.”

His brow twinges with confusion.

You shake your head, resigned. “You deserve better than for me to be upset about it. I shouldn’t be, but Levi, if we’re not in a relationship, or dating, or exclusive…”

Each press of the words, for him, stings.

“…Why did you tell me all about it? That seems personal, since me and her are close.” You frown, deep in thought. “She probably would’ve told me, actually. I've known Petra a long time.”

Frozen on his feet, he stares at you like the front of a door. Not even a reason comes to mind, because he doesn’t know. It never crossed his mind not to tell you.

“I see,” he replies, lips twitching.

What does he say? You’re right. And now, he’s rendered you frowning miserably, anxious, likely tearing up your sleeves. He did wrong by you, too.

“What’s on your mind?” You free your sleeves, opening up a little, and wander closer, if just to show you’re not angry with him.

He isn’t looking at you. When there’s no reply, you tilt your head. “Of course you’re free to make your own choices.”

I just think Petra would be a better one.

You swallow again: it feels like there’s no saliva in your mouth. “I just think Petra is really great, but if that’s the way you feel, then I’m glad. I'm just—worried I’m holding you back.”

A little incredulous, he jerks his head to look at you. “What? How does being—content with our situation mean I’m limiting myself?” He doesn’t understand at all. “Why the hell should that even matter?”

“Because you have the opportunity to be even more content than you are now!” you insist, then tear apart inside. Really, what gives you the right to micromanage Levi’s happiness?

He keeps his voice carefully even. “I don’t care. There wasn’t ever gonna be another answer.” He’s actually angry, you belittling yourself like you’re nothing but a pastime for him. “Get that through your thick skull.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. Even as you speak, you sense a rift pulling you apart. “I’m just insecure.”

He huffs and retreats a little, leaning against the doorway. “Shit. Coulda fooled me.”

You’re reaching the end of his patience. Briefly, you close your eyes, seeking a breath. There’s insecurity, and the blunt-force claw of selfishness, too. It’s an ugly facet of yourself—and not the real issue.

“But there’s something else.” Again you swallow, but there’s a snag there this time. “I also got worried ‘cause I don’t want any of this to stop, I want nothing to change—because you’re the best person in my life, and, I don’t feel like I deserve it, so I’m so fucking terrified you’ll…”

“I’ll what?” Flush with the doorway, his voice is low, and thick like molasses. “Get bored of you? You’re smarter than that. But think about our fucking jobs—we’re always in danger. You’re the oldest veteran besides Eyebrows, and I know what I’m doing, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“No–”

“You need to be prepared for the worst. Are you not?”

It’s this type of thinking, specifically, that’s been gnawing at his bones for months. Life could change, or end, at the flip of a coin; it always has. How you could possibly forget that, he doesn’t know, unless it’s his fault for lulling you into a false sense of security.

The best person in your life? That’s practically a screeching alarm, warning to something horrible about to happen, either to him or you. He hopes it’s him—in a sick, destructive way. Everyone who’s ever talked like that, or showed it in even a fraction of that way has left him behind; living or dead, but mostly dead. Nothing has ever stayed as long as you.

You don’t answer.

“If I got unlucky, you’d have to move on,” he insists, leaving no room for argument. “And if it were you, I’d do the same.”

“Levi–”

Your eyes look like glitter. He can tell you’re about to cry, but you can’t not be prepared for that. He can’t wreck you. He can’t do that to you.

“Listen,” he goes on, “f’you live with regrets, you might as well count yourself among the bodies… You’re right, I shouldn’t have told you. That was shitty to Petra.”

“I know.” You’re not entirely listening, too busy cracking wide open. This conversation left Petra a while ago. “I’ve had so many friends die. You were there for that! But we’ve made it this far–”

“And one day we won’t. I thought the same about–” he sneers, “–n’ look what happened to them. The world will chew you up and spit you out all it wants—it a-already has. You deserve better than me or this shitty world could ever give up–”

Hearing him talk like this is a punch in the gut. “No. That’s not true! I just want you!”

His eyes go wide. “It doesn’t matter what we want! Don’t you get it? This world is cruel. It’s not gonna listen to you or me and let us stay happy, no matter if we’re Titan-food or two fat, ugly nobles.”

“Wait, you’re happy?” you sniff, picking at the skin of your fingers. Hope hurts. “I make you happy?”

Realizing what he let slip, he seals his lips. It’s like his insides have dropped inside a chasm, that’s what it feels like, and no longer in a good way. His chest caves in.

He knows—what he feels for you is so rare, maybe he’s never felt it in his life: call it happiness, call it anything good. Never could he keep it. It’s been ripped away each and every time, so eventually he stopped reaching for it.

The first time he kissed you was the first time he reached out again, resolved to the fact that things would be different. Of course they are, and more than that, they’re new, and overwhelming. You want him, and maybe you can tell the feeling’s mutual; or not, by the way you belittle yourself so much.

Either way he’s sick to death. He refuses to wait around for you to be ripped away. Not you, not yet another person he failed to protect. Terror forces him to say nothing.

Yes, Levi’s happy, but his lack of reply tells you that he won’t allow himself to be. You’re not the same. Be it a bloody death, or how cruel the world is—you could never bring yourself to care. It’s hard to say whether he’s a coward, or you’re a fool.

“So… what?” You brace your head with your hands, sounding like a strangled bird. You feel like one, too. “We can never be happy?”

By his sides, his hands curl into fists. “…No. I guess not.”

But he foolishly believed you could be, once.

It’s always the hardest words to say, the lowest thing to do—but it’s true. He knows this. It’s cruel and it’s unfair, but you’d be fooling yourselves to believe otherwise. Isabel’s severed gaze, and Farlan, waving goodbye. People with faces and names and lives. This world is too bloodthirsty to let happiness stay.

You stand, arms crossed tightly, like you're hugging yourself. Then you snivel, a wet sound.

Automatically, he straightens up and looks down at the floor. Things have always easily reduced you to tears, so he’s heard you cry, but it never gets any easier to listen to. He feels ripped out of his own heart. Everything he feels goes against what he’s done here.

Without another word, you sniff, and begin to move. He’s never felt more disgusting, foolish and evil than that hope twinging. In the past, he couldn’t pry you off with a hammer when you were upset: you always completely latched yourself to him. Maybe that’s why you’re carrying yourself like that.

The soft, wet sound of your weeping retreats down the hallway. It’s hard to breathe. He did what he gave his word not to. Maybe you don’t even remember, it was years ago, but he’s pushed you away.

But it’s true, the same thought protests. Was there any other option where you could possibly maintain this dance of friendly romantics, and face the threat of it all being torn to shreds—every day for the rest of your lives?

If you shared each other completely…

A long breath. He doesn’t know. He’s never felt this for anyone. Imagining the opposite, losing you, it would be worse than loss. Worse than the biggest bone in your body shattering, worse than staring down at the blood pooling in your palms and getting the first inkling of what you’ve done. Loss hurts like hell, so he can’t even imagine.

But hurting you hurts like hell, too, so he must be damned either way.

The side-door to his quarters shutting is a gavel going down. Muffled, further away, your retreat from his office is a ghost letting go.

It feels like a vicious whip has cracked a jagged line through the center of everything you are. The result is manic, and it’s numb and raging—all at the same time.

Numbness easily pilots you back down to your hall, to your dark, oaken door. You stare for a while, hating that you left. There’s a thousand things you could’ve said, and a million more thoughts still crammed in your head. It’s Levi, so you simply can’t think of it any other way.

The crest of the door-knocker is a stormy gray, above which sits the coppery plate proudly displaying your rank as Lieutenant, followed by your last name.

The knob is cold when you grip it, and incidentally the chill reminds you of Levi. Here’s where the knot in your throat lurches, and the shapes in your vision stretch as it clouds with tears.

You step inside, and go to bed.

‘Crying all night’. In your life you’ve cried plenty, but a phrase like that only ever rang as true as ‘you’re perfect’, or ‘endlessly, forever’. A contrived game of hyperbole and extremes, usually to play up terribly average feelings. Say it enough, use it enough, and the meaning will drain from the words.

But your entire body lurches with the force of your sobbing, screwing your shoulders up as far as they’ll strain.

You can’t get over it. It’d be easier, somehow, if Levi didn’t want you. No, you make him happy, but he refuses the eventual heartbreak. In his case, he can’t afford to be distracted, not the most valuable soldier the Corps has. What only rubs salt in the wound is you understand why he said what he did.

When it grows late and your tears have dissolved to whimpers, the pool of anguish sits like a stone in the center of your chest. As heavy as your body grows, as soaked as your pillows, as heady as the blankets framed around your face—that dull urge to weep keeps grasping. It feels like you could cry yourself to sleep. As long as you remain in this dark, drowsy void, you could keep crying, on and on until you wake, weeping in shallow gasps.

This turns true, along with the fact that people are more than capable of crying all night long.

It’s early in the morning. You can tell by the gray that waits outside your drawn curtains. Somewhere, a mourning dove is crooning, outshined by a drill instructor shouting his commands. HQ is already awake.

A deep, shaking breath, and more grief worms its way up your parched throat. Your eyes feel somehow chapped when you open them, and sting when you shut them. That’s not exactly fair—but neither is anything.

Curled up, sleep is drifting back in, warm and inviting.

It’s easy to write off most of the jabs Levi throws as dry, poorly-timed jokes, or instances of him ‘just being an asshole’—his words, anytime you asked. But he always means the things he says, in lieu of chattering along without a care. He’s not good with words, but only because he fails to say what he means much of the time. That’s not his fault.

Last night, there was hardly any room for deciphering a different meaning between the lines, “You deserve better than me or this shitty world could ever give up,” and “If I got unlucky, you’d have to move on.”

He was worked up. Case in point, you never talk about either one of you dying: that’s like seriously discussing how likely it is that humanity will one day eradicate the Titans. He’s never yelled at you, either. Not like that, when he wasn’t Captain Levi of the Survey Corps, but just Levi.

You sniffle, cringing at your sloppy-feeling, clogged sinuses, and wish he’d never brought up Petra. Then again, the thought persists, a conversation like that had to happen eventually.

Your relationship, or a hypothetical one—you try to sort it out by yourself.

Friends—even friends with benefits—don’t hug and press little kisses all over the other’s face to wake them up after the nights they stay together have bled into the morning. The only benefits that you and Levi really shared in that sense, was each other. It was never going to work, lines jumbled and unclear like that, but.

With a small whimper, hot tears drip down your cheeks, which you smear in the pillows. Thinking about it isn’t helping.

You’re deeply inclined to sleep in, but chastise yourself for your laziness. There’s work to be done, if only that means interacting with Levi, or rather, Captain Levi: the most shallow, professional part of who you know him as, completely on face-value.

And it goes about as well as you expect.

Long since springtime came and went in its unfurled blossoms and light, smoky days, summer has come to take its place. It’s blisteringly hot outside, and while weighed down by fourteen kilos of straps, gas and wires, while also wrangling the new recruits—to mold them into certified Scouts (though, no one is really a Scout until they make it back that first time)—you’d rather be shoveling horse shit.

On the other hand, Levi has plenty of excuses to be stricter than usual. If a disagreement over gas tanks or something else just as asinine breaks out, he’s quick to break up the fight with just as much tenacity: a swift kick in the ass and a few biting curses at the ‘brats’. Hange, in honesty, just likes to make them squirm, while the stablehands (and Petra, you notice) aren't happy with any of it.

You’re perched in the hulking tree branches alongside Eld, guiding screeching, unsteady wires—and the new blood attached to those wires—when it happens.

Like a lonely marionette, you’ve been on auto-pilot since breakfast’s gruel. Maybe it’s hours of muscle memory finally derailing, or you haven’t kept as hydrated as you should for the sweltering sun. Either way, one moment you’re coasting through the air, and the next, your vision’s a green spinning top.

You hit the forest floor pretty hard, and for a while you can’t find the strength but to stare up at the blinding gaps between the leaves above, heaving and hot and fuzzy.

Eld leaves no room for argument when he clasps your hand, urging you to your aching feet: “Let’s let the Captain know, just in case. It’s the right thing to do.”

“No… I just took a fall. That’s all.”

His bright bangs flop in his face when he shakes his head. “It’s gonna be me, or me and you. No offense, Lieutenant, but you look like hell.”

You hate to see where this is going, but you smear the sweat off your face, and let it go. No doubt you feel like hell, that’s for sure.

The first, brief look of alarm on Levi’s face when he first catches sight of your skin and uniform scuffed, scraped, dirty vanishes in an instant. You have the guts, at least, to come out with what happened, but he still deals you quite the verbal whipping for it. His tone is just about as sharp as the kickdrum beating between your ears.

Levi dismisses Eld with a jerk of his head, and then his eyes are squarely on you. “You idiot. I didn’t see the sun for twenty years and even I know what fucking heatstroke looks like.”

“It was a mistake,” you insist, curling your toes in your boots to stay steady. Wavering now would just be embarrassing.

“Yeah,” he sneers. “Mistakes kill people.”

You grind your teeth like shaving wood, willing yourself not to speak. You’re getting chewed out by your Captain, not your friend (Whatever he is, you admonish yourself).

“I’m just tired, sir.” Emphasis on the last word. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”

Several beats of silence are clogged by the thick air. He won’t look at you, or maybe he can’t. Finally, he decides to let you off for the day.

“Get it together. You��re dismissed.”

Cheers to you for maintaining maturity. Still, you scuff up a little bit of dust than you meant on your way through the grassy courtyard. The hot shower you take burns like acid, fostering a new batch of bruises dotted up and down your limbs. You burn on the inside too, ashamed.

Will we ever talk about this? If your performance keeps slipping, yes. Will we ever talk the same? You don’t know.

You get to thinking.

It’s accepted that shouting matches are a normal part of relationships. Maybe it’s even expected, but still: The sooner an argument like that sweeps through a relationship, the worse-off two people are for each other—especially the more it goes on. If that’s the case, it makes you wonder if you and he are still persistently bared to each other on an artificial level.

You’ve never landed yourself in a shouting match with Levi before last night; not a real, world-ending argument over such vague, precious topics like commitment.

Did that make us wrong in some way? A better question: Why the hell should it?

It’s a depressing thought. If it’s inevitable that two souls are bound to grate and screech together when rubbed the wrong way—is anyone truly ‘made’ for each other? It’d be the case then that some things are made to be broken. They tumbled out into the world deficient and cracked.

Does everyone tolerate? Does love mean you still have to settle?

You make yourself sick thinking like this. Too nauseous to eat, but knowing full-well you should, you decide to wait until the dining hall clears out.

Hopefully, Levi is eating enough too. You can’t help worrying. He tends to forget.

You’re smoothing the headache out of your temples when there’s a light, almost shy knock on your door; too soft to be Levi. You’d recognize his even if you went deaf.

Petra practically oozes concern when you summon her in, all the way down to the tray she carries, crammed with leftovers. She didn’t spot you at breakfast, either, so she decided to come by.

You sniff, take the tray, and gently place it down on your desk. It’s also crammed, just with cluttered paperwork. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she says kindly, and picks at her fingers. It seems she picked up that habit from you at some point. “If there’s anything I can do, well, you know.”

She, for one of the few of your closest friends, knows the sort of ‘crybaby-turtle’ you are—Oluo’s words. You’d be damned to ever let your nature bleed onto the battlefield, or onto your closest comrades, who you’ve bled for.

It feels good, not having to pretend in front of her, but not even Petra knows about you and Levi; not any of it, no one. You hate that she was the catalyst, but it’s not her fault.

You reassure that you’ll be alright with a small shake of your head. “What’s new with you?”

“Well… I embarrassed the hell out of myself in front of Captain Levi the other day,” she laughs. “I hope he hasn’t told you.”

“It’s nothing,” you remark, “I think gossiping went out of style for him forty years ago.”

She sniggers at that. No one (including him) knows his age for certain—Levi doesn’t even use a last name—but not even recruits will bet on forty. His looks speak for themselves.

“Well, he’s been in a mood.”

Your interest is snagged. “You think so?”

Petra gives you a look that says everyone thinks so, but she’s still a little ashamed about gossiping. “So, I’m sorry anyway. You two are just—connected in a way, you know?”

“Hm. Maybe.” Playfully, you knock your boot against hers. You needed that. “Really. It’s alright. Maybe Oluo will get down on one knee one of these days, hm?”

“Agh. As if.”

You can tell she’d rather you open up and let her know what’s wrong, especially after your fall this afternoon, but she’s just as quick to trust you and leave well-enough alone. Demons follow just about everyone in this regiment, and you’re a hard shell to crack anyway.

She bids you goodnight. It’s stomach-churning to finish your supper, but you manage to force it down before strolling to your bookshelf to pick out a book.

“Oh,” you mutter, and slide a paperback off the pine shelf. Levi will be missing this one right about now. You sigh, and hug the book to your chest. Shit.

Just as you suspect, he is.

Levi frowns into the drawer, the lowest one he always has to crouch to get to. His fingers play at the polished wood, glaring into the emptiness. He looks mildly resentful and a little hollow behind the eyes, but that’s just his thinking face, more or less. The one he can’t find, you were reading together; bought in the most pompous bookstore in all of Wall Sina—or it must’ve been.

His gut reaction is to let you keep it, finish it on your own time, and if he never gets it back, so be it. Your duties are slipping, along with your mood, and you, and it’s all his fault. Guilt like a millstone roils around in his chest.

It had to be said, he reassures himself. You’re both better off not getting involved, or you will be. You must be. Feeling piss-poor and empty isn’t the newest feeling, but he never planned to drag you down with him. He tells himself again that you’ll bounce back, but that reassurance feels emptier than the first.

The sounds of your weeping retreating down the hallway needs to be worth it.

He rubs the bridge of his nose. Still. No matter how this thing between you ends, he shouldn’t have left things like that.

She walked away first, one part of his mind meagerly protests.

Because you made her cry, berates the bigger, seething part. What kind of piece of shit gets ‘I want you’ screamed at him and does that? What’s wrong with you?

Plenty. He rolls it around in his mind as he makes the trek through cobbled hallways, speckled with shadows thanks to the wall-mounted torches. The way he was brought up wasn’t exactly pretty, but that’s not an excuse. You know so much of it now, anyway.

When he quit locking up like a rattlesnake whenever you so much as wrapped your arms around him, you asked much later if the man who raised Levi ever hugged him. The ridiculousness of the question took him by such surprise that he actually laughed.

He shared a cigar with me, once, he remembers telling you. Then he added, The expensive ones. From Mitras, as if that cushioned the blow.

You really teased him for it, but you had to. Otherwise, it’d just be depressing.

Either way, the crux of the issue, and the conclusion he’s forced to come to, is maybe he never learned to hold people no short of arm’s length, but it’s that no one ever taught him any other way.

It’s almost like when he was learning to write just a week into his promotion to Squad Leader, when reading and writing became a requirement rather than a privilege. Everyone around him could do it without a second thought—some with their eyes closed, even—while he could barely manage making out the letters of his own name. The words he was an expert at no longer meant shit, either: eloquent ones like ‘tavern’ and ‘KEEP OUT!’.

You’re not obligated to mend a bone that snapped before he was born; you deserve better than that. If he had any say, he’d want your relationship to be smooth sailing and sweet, as close to perfection as you can get.

Thing is, he isn’t convenient, or perfect—or any of those other things you deserve. In some places he’s odd and broken. In plenty.

Sometimes, often, he even gets a sneaking, oozing feeling that he’s deceived you in some way when you make it so clear how highly you think of him. He never got that part: Why you seem to bask in his shadow so much. He can’t help but feel he poisoned you, because those horrible words you attach to yourself, so utterly incorrectly, is him.

He feels even less than a human being at times. If there’s anything he was taught, it’s that his body is a weapon, and he’s to make it in this world. Not much else matters other than avoiding getting dulled down or broken in half.

So no, the serial killer who raised him never hugged him much.

With your door—your plaque spelling your name across its face—staring back at him, he once again scrounges together the nerve to knock. His knees have locked up, along with the rest of him, but if Petra can get the balls to confess to her superior officer what she did, he can at least do this. He needs to.

He needs to fix things, or patch them over. Something.

You made her cry.

Levi raises his hand, and knocks. When the door cracks open, then whines a little further, he instantly forgets everything he planned to say—about the book. Keep it, he wants to tell you, but what comes out is: “You look constipated.”

You idle behind the threshold a little, sort of like a little kid. “Uh-huh, I know. If I lose any more sleep, I’ll start looking like you.”

That casual remark makes panic shoot through his belly for some reason. He might as well just be out with it. “I wanted to talk.”

“Okay,” you venture. Rather than a little kid, you now come off as a wary, wide-eyed cat. “If it can’t wait… Is it important?”

Important? He sure would like to think so. “...I’m not here for paperwork.”

The air turns thick. Now, you aren’t even looking at him: you’re glaring at the floor, swallowing as if there’s something stuck in your throat. The next few moments, he doesn’t really hear before the door shuts. You tell him, “I’m sorry, but I can't. You make me too sad.”

An apology sticks to his tongue, but if he opens his mouth, it’ll just be told to the door. His lips twitch, not understanding.

Why did that hurt so much? You didn’t tell him you hated him, you didn’t even slam it in his face. Levi makes you sad, that’s all, but suddenly the sky is falling inside him. He can’t even feel the floor beneath his feet.

Okay, he reasons to nobody. If he makes you sad, removing himself ought to make you happy. Maybe it won’t for a while, but… If I give it time, it should. In retrospect he was conceited for expecting anything else.

In any case, he’ll try his best to do right by you.

As his steps finally start to recede, you’re left at the door, sniffling, idling. You cry too much—which isn’t his fault. It’s just the fact that you’ve never felt more disgusting, hopeless, and evil than that hope sticking to you like cobwebs. Some part of you is so angry with him, but you wanted him to stay, too. It’s not fair.

You can hear Levi’s sardonic quip now: “Fair. Is that a joke?”

This whole mess reminds you of the first real night you stayed together—a million years ago, it feels like. Maybe three or four. For once, he actually slept, but his hands visibly shook when you crawled into his arms that night.

It worried you, whether he was anxious beyond all measure, or you were overstepping bounds he wasn’t ready for, but he insisted he just wasn’t used to going to bed with someone. Now, you’re sure he was afraid—of waking you with a nightmare, or being close to someone, or every bad thing, all at once.

He was warm and solid, and he cradled you to his chest, your breaths falling in sync with the rise and fall of his own. It felt so safe. He must’ve felt that way too, for you woke even before him, and strapped on your uniform back in your own tiny quarters (fit for when you were still a Squad Leader).

But a few minutes later, there was a rapping on your door. It was Levi of course, strung-up and glaring, but his eyes gave him away. By then you had an idea of just how often they do.

“You could’ve told me you planned on leaving first-thing. I told you I’m not used to this.”

“Oh.” You were a little blindsided. “I just wanted to let you sleep in.”

His eyes grew sharper. “Well don’t, you shitting idiot.”

You were flabbergasted then, but now you look back and know he felt abandoned. Even though he was still the one to approach your door this time, now it’s your turn to feel that way. Maybe you both do.

You’re so tired of crying.

On the other hand, Levi has never been a crying person. He couldn’t do it even if his Commander ordered him to, not even if he wanted. After you told him to go, he let the front of his desk bear his weight for a while, jaw locked up and aching.

You’ve seen him at quite a few of his rock-bottoms, in a state of icy grief or blood-red rage, but he’s still never been so pathetic as to let you see him blubber and sob like a baby. If he can’t do it alone, how can he expect to let you witness that horror show?

Doesn’t matter. You don’t want to see him at all.

So, he gets started on paperwork: he scratches dry parchment with the end of his quill so long that the inkwell runs out. Without pausing to mind his aching neck, he replaces it and gets back to it.

He writes some notes, too—ones the recipient will never see, so there they sit. He works some more. He throws the notes away. Sunset drowns in the dark gray of evening.

Levi is, self-admittedly, so good at math that he can tell distance with a single, squinted look. He’s always been that way. The logic is a comfort to him somehow, so that night he ends up calculating the Corps’ budget as far as two months from now. Sooner or later, he finally feels the hunger pains sinking its jagged teeth into his stomach.

Eating isn’t a new chore to forget, no matter how important it is. He lived with hunger for so long, it became just like dealing with sore feet, or aching fingers after quite a bit of writing; it’s just another task to get done a few times a day. Once he let you in enough for you to notice his weird patterns, you really jumped on his ass about it.

It used to piss him off, because it was his business and he didn't get why you cared so much. Now, as he manages to scarf down some leftovers that taste a little better than cardboard, he just feels shitty the ritual of you reminding him has been broken.

Falling asleep would be a pointless fight, he decides.

Unsurprisingly, Commander Erwin is awake this late—or this early, rather. The lantern on his desk is burning its weight in oil when he drops an even stack of papers down.

Lately, Levi has driven himself so hard into the ground that the stream of bureaucracy has whittled down to just a few drops, but, “if you’re looking for something to do, allocate some funds to buy a suit. A few select officers of each regiment have been invited to Mitras.”

Levi’s nose screws up. “You mean it’s time to kiss more pig-ass. Play politics, right?”

The shadows dancing across the walls make Erwin’s chuckle seem a bit more foreboding, but, as usual, Levi’s right: he has a knack for shaving the fluff off Erwin's words.

Rather than play politics though, it’s almost entirely Levi’s job to stand around, keep his mouth shut, and look like Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. Erwin, Hange and Mike always do him the favor of ass-kissing, but if possible, “bring your Lieutenant. She’s just as impressive, but unlike you she has a clean mouth.”

“Tch. You’d be surprised how many idiots around here don’t brush their teeth,” he grumbles. Then, he steps away from Erwin’s long desk, and connects the dots. “Wait. You said I have to play dress-up for this. You wanna make her my date?”

Levi knows he’s being bitchier than usual, but Erwin’s cool gaze gives nothing away. He simply locks his hands under his chin, and explains: “Officially, yes. Nanaba is joining Mike in the same way. Unofficially, it isn’t my business. I’m not interested in disciplining you or her for fraternizing, of all things.”

If Levi and you are in bed together, Erwin doesn’t need to know—how relieving. Fair, though. Recruits crawl in bed with each other all the time. Still, this little revelation boils his blood to no end.

Fucking shit, Levi thinks with disdain. What great timing.

If just the sight of him at your door is enough to make you sad, a hokey date-night in Mitras will send you spiraling—better he not tell you and spare you the anguish. The news will find your desk on its own, and sooner or later you’ll learn to coexist, just like that.

But...

It’s when he’s sat hunched over in the reclusive safety of his quarters, shining a blade, that a selfish sense of possession swoops over him like an evil shadow.

Levi pauses with the cotton-white handkerchief clutched in his palm, thinking hard. He needs to think. You've always pointed out that he spends too much time in his head.

No matter what, he’ll always try to attract your gaze; let the room be crowded, dark, or empty. In some ways he feels he’ll die without it, hence how he needs you just to function. The crux of the issue is that if you did die, he really might just follow you. It’s pathetic.

He imagines cradling you as the life in your eyes is fogged by muddy, gray film.

Worse. What if he isn't there when you land in trouble? What if he could do something, but fails? What if your blood splatters his cape, proof of his helplessness and your painful end?

There’s a title he carries—Humanity’s Strongest—but still, somehow, he always manages to fail in protecting the ones he cares for the most. For you, if there was something he could’ve done, or done better…

His expression screws up, because that’s wrong: No matter what it’d be his fault. Whether it's logical or not, it’s how it is. If he’s strong and that’s his right to life, then he’s the one responsible for flubbing that one and only talent, and by extension his duty, over and over again.

He’s never told you this, he realizes with a hollow feeling, but he still finds himself anguished that he did nothing for his mother in those last days she spent bedridden. He knows he was just a kid, but he can’t convince himself that means anything, even now.

His old friends, faces with names and lives—those deaths ended up leaving him stronger. He was able to channel the grief, and mold it into power. But when he inevitably comes up with the image of your body amongst the dead, his hands pick up a tremble.

A carefully even breath. The knife he cradles in his palm is old, rusted a coppery brown and whittled down at the edges from years of wear and (literal) tear. It’s the one that clashed with Mike’s and Erwin’s blades; it’s the one that carried him through a good portion of his years running with gangs; it’s the one he brought up from the gutter.

It’s no longer good for practical use, but he never lets go of things, even when he knows he should. Even if he can't hold them or even see them, they stick in his mind. If he doesn’t get it together–

“Shit,” comes the curse, then a small string of others, one after another. A clean, brittle snap of the blade. Where now two pieces lay in his palm, the metal around the break is especially weathered, like terminally-sick silver.

Levi knows his way around a knife, so he knows the art of fixing them up. There’s not a damn thing he can do for this one.

He can’t idle on the equally-anguished snap somewhere deep in his chest. What does he do with it? It's useless now. His last tie to his home is dead and gone.

Home, he thinks with sorry spite. That’s a funny word for it.

Without thinking, he tears his cravat from around his neck, craving air, and stands. His step stutters, but he can’t help it. He needs to pace.

Levi doesn’t have a home, or a family. His meaning is the cause, with the Corps, and maybe he found a family once, but they were wiped out.

The knife means nothing, the Underground wasn’t home—it was a dead-end gutter where dogs are born, lay, and die. Maybe home was his mother, but she laid and she died, and he was so young when it happened. He doesn’t even know what home means.

The broken knife suffocates in his tightly-knuckled fist. It’s too dull to pay any mind to. Crushing it is better than feeling sorry about it.

He senses a pattern. That’s his way with all precious things. Whatever soft, golden thing sprouted between you two, he crushed it before the grief could ever snag a chance to crush him. He’s a killer, in the most elementary sense of the word.

Dull, burning hatred. He hates what he’s done here, and he hates himself for his actions.

At a loss, he crosses the threshold between his personal quarters and his office, swipes his keyring out, and jams it in the small lock of a desk drawer; the one closest to the floor.

There’s a ponytail holder of Isabel’s he only noticed he still had tethered around his wrist after the fact, a pair of ancient dice, and a dozen other odd things within a sea of strung-out patches displaying the Wings of Freedom. Most are bloodied, aged stiff and brown. He has nowhere else to put it.

He sniffs. The heaviness sinks somewhere way down in his chest, as heavy things do, and slinks away; dull, but unbothered. He’s not equipped to do anything else with those feelings, much less unload all of this bullshit on you. Even on good days it was hard.

He shoves it down deep instead, buried like a chest crammed with rotten, cheap treasures. It’ll find its way to the surface in another way—a pattern he believes because you explained it to him. He’ll just have to wait and see what it’ll be.

Two days later, Levi breaks his finger.

He’s running himself ragged with all manner of exercise he can manage by himself in Trost HQ’s claustrophobic gym: maintaining a plank until sweat from his brow drips to the mat below and his core is on fire; pushups until even he loses count; donning a pair of gloves and bruising the hell out of the leathery punching bag until Mike, who’s bracing it, gets knocked on his ass—or just about.

Mike’s the one who grins in approval, a smirk curling despite his bare, heaving chest. Much like a dog, he sweats buckets, so much so his skin looks more like tinfoil. He asks how much Levi has managed to lift lately, and sensing a challenge, told him honestly: “Two-hundred.”

“Shit, man…” Mike gawks at him in disbelief. “What’re you made of?”

It’s well-known that Levi’s abilities stretch far-beyond the best in the Scouts, or the military as a whole. You were always of the opinion that he’s the strongest man alive.

The times when you and he trained together, one-on-one (something that didn’t happen as often as it should, come to think of it), you worked off each other constantly, building strength, endurance. You never managed to knock him down, though, other than that one time years ago; you caught him off guard by demanding to know why he hated you. That was because he pushed you away.

He abandons that train of thought. Few people can take him in a fight, at any rate.

He believes the closest you ever got (fairly) was when he requested mid-plank for you to add more weight onto his back. He’d been able to maintain the same position for several minutes, and all he had to show for it was a bead of sweat broken over his forehead.

You indulged him gladly. Only, you were kneeling beside him, pressing both hands to the sharp planes of his shoulders. You were helping out gravity more than giving him a challenge.

“S’not working,” he huffed, and shrugged your hands off, adjusting his tight brace above the floor. “Sit on me.”

You were incredulous with him. “What, like a pony?”

“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes, flicking his sodden bangs away from his eyes. “Sure.”

“Only if you neigh.” You said this like it was the chief requirement.

“...Fucking neigh. Hurry up already.”

You chided him for acting bossy, but you quickly lurched into action. Your chief complaint was the sticky sweat pasted to his bare back. Still, he could feel you staring, gliding over the places where his muscles were pulled taut and flexing beneath his skin.

Levi, at the time, felt prickled that you might have been scrutinizing some particularly ugly scars with your eyes; those still stubbornly raised, the color of severely diluted blood. You weren’t.

He grunted and strained under your weight. With a whole human body managing a recline long-ways as if he were a hammock, who wouldn’t?

He dropped—according to Hange’s stopwatch—after another hour and twenty-two minutes. As a result you were severely bored, and babied the hell out of him for the next few days until he could at least stretch his arms above his head without every one of his muscles locking up in that crumpled way he only gets after a good workout. He thanked you, told you he owed you, even, but you never asked for anything back—not even for him to give you a proper neigh.

He hates you for that, he swears he does. You went out of your way by the hour to make his days a little easier, and demanded nothing in return. That only happens in storybooks, or so he thought. Either way, he didn’t deserve you.

No, he corrects himself, not just ‘a little easier’. You managed to make him look forward to eating, as if it were a candlelit date instead of a task to get done, you made swirling, happy feelings break over his chest by doing so little as yawning too widely, and at the end of so many days, he learned to hate sleeping a little less. He was less defensive, and smiled more—yours was just that infectious. But when your heart broke, he wanted to protect you, too. He could’ve handled feeling as broken as you, at least for a while, so you wouldn’t have to brave it alone.

And he still wants it. You make him so happy it hurts—that’s why he can’t stand it.

It was just an accident: Mike saw an opportunity, bet he could take him down in under five minutes in the ring, and Levi rose to the occasion.

That gigantic hound of a man was the strongest in the Scouts before five years ago, so they duke it out anytime Levi actually agrees to it. Most times not, especially if Hange bets on money, chores, or gods forbid gets Erwin wrapped up in the gambling.

This afternoon they weren’t present, but even if they were, he wouldn't have cared. The blood in his veins was boiling to fight, which is unlike him. Back before he met you, it would've been: he had a much shorter, nastier temper before the sun ever shone on him, but fighting has always come as natural to him as flipping a page. Everything else seldom does.

It must’ve been right before he kicked Mike square in the chest, putting him down for the count. They were rolling around quite a bit before then, so maybe Levi’s hand got pinned at some point. Doesn’t matter—it’s no one’s fault.

Mike even grasped Levi’s hand and shook it at the end, but he didn’t get the lurking sense of his ramrod-stiff finger until he stepped in the shower right after. It’s his left index finger, and it's puffy and swollen. In sharp contrast to the others, it’s taken on a morbid, maroon color.

He was weary when he first set his eyes on it, and he’s weary now as he kneels before his gaping bathroom drawers. This exhaustion somehow supersedes all his physical wear and tear.

He grinds his teeth to keep from wincing—despite the fact that he sits alone—as he roots through his drawers. It was only when he saw the ugly thing that the length of his finger started throbbing. That didn't go away, and now it’s tender and flaming simply on sight.

The first-aid kit—where is it? He doesn’t misplace things: organized would be his middle name, and he considers it his last as long as he doesn’t know it. The only reason he even keeps such a thing is to avoid siphoning resources from the medbay in cases of minor grazes like this.

He shuts his eyes as he smooths his sopping bangs completely off his forehead. The least he did was pull on a pair of briefs, but he couldn’t dry off before attending to this. Scavenging for a memory when he can hear his heartbeat in his mangled finger is a bitch.

The cabinet is deliciously cool when he leans his forehead against it. And then, it comes to him as all terrible revelations do, sinister in its clarity, abrupt and sinking: His first-aid kit is in your quarters.

You got sick of him tending to his injuries by himself—hiding them, you insisted—and all but pilfered it from him. He teased you about it and pretended to throw a fit, but he didn’t even think of it, not until now. He didn’t care, because if you had it stashed away he could do the same. It felt good to take care of you, even though he couldn’t stop the injury from happening.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wobbling around a dozen heavy, clunky feelings. It was more than just patching you up, too. You, taking care of him like that, he liked it—or the idea of it. It was nice, you keeping it for him. Reserving his well-being for the front of your mind, no matter how slight the hurt. No one ever did that for him before. He used to be so alone.

The acid-cork in his throat breaks like popping a tap. Hot tears spring to his eyes, and a croaked sound escapes before he can stop either of them.

With another wave of weariness, he comes to the realization that he’s so sick of hiding away, covering up, locking down and burying the key. It’s like the hint of something split him the moment you met, and it never stopped since. Only, he didn’t realize it until the something started to take shape.

It's like you cracked him, and like a dam he’s broken open, impossible to stop. He’s crying, and it feels like he can’t ever stop. It’s as if he’s been flung from his own reins, throwing him out of control. It was his choice that let him ruin things all by himself, but he’ll die before he brings this to you; he normally would, after he got a hold of himself, but he makes you upset just to lay eyes on.

He’s out of control. This realization tosses him into an electric panic: The pangs of his heart reaches his ears, he begins to shiver, and his hands morph into prickly icepicks. He hasn’t gotten one this bad since Kenny left him.

Then, something else. That sense of danger that’s resided in him since he was young prickles, sending the shaking and anxiety and impending doom-feeling into overdrive.

Only on instinct does his body kick into action, but completely deprived of thought, all he can do is slam a cabinet shut, cringe at the reverberation, and pin himself against it, gasping noisily. The danger isn’t real—he’s in his bathroom at HQ—but the sense is never wrong, either. His eyes dart around for a weapon, but when he doesn’t see one his hands reflexively curl into fists. Big fucking mistake.

The wince, this time, is audible—it shows all over his face. Pain rattles him from the static in his head to the curl of his toes. He hears it through the cotton stuffed in his ears, but he can’t be bothered to muffle it anymore, if he’s even capable of that much thinking right now. He cradles his scathing finger, pinned between his folded legs and his chest, and feels himself from the perspective of a broken spinning top.

He’ll swear to the end that he never heard you knock on his door, nor unlock the door and go on searching for him until you heard the slam coming from the depths of his bathroom. You rapped on the oak in an endless mantra of Levi’s name until his head jerked up, finally hearing you.

You knew better, so much better than to barge in on him in the middle of a panic attack. With his clamoring gasps for air stretching through the door, barging in on him would’ve done nothing but plummet him into worse places. He’s broken parts in that way: When he’s in dire need of comfort, that's the last thing he’ll reach out and grab for. It weighs too much.

He hears your voice through the wood, and sighs high in his throat at the sound of it, relieved and a little helpless. You haven’t spoken this tenderly to him in so many days, so hearing it now is like falling back into a bed he’s slept in since birth.

For a while, you simply go back and forth; mainly you, guiding him through it. You tether him back down to earth, as dizzyingly rough a return it is. Sooner or later, much later, you gently ask if it’d be alright for you to come in, but he’s not ready for that just yet.

The first-aid kit—Levi’s first-aid kit—dangles at your side when you do come in, after he has more clothes on his back and he’s wrangled the air back into his lungs. In… and out.

The first order of business in his mind is how you knew, and if you were somehow forced to come, to leave. In yours, it’s his stiff, swollen finger, which has reached the color of rotten gala apples.

You came because Mike mentioned it, you claim. You’re here for Levi, though, and that’s enough of a reason.

Gently, you knock the door closed with your booted foot. “So? Sit down and let me do this for you.”

Objections, immediately. He tries to sound firm despite the croak still thick in his voice. “You don’t have to. Leave it here and I’ll handle it on my own.”

You shoot him a look—displeased, but patient.

“I’m fine,” he insists, but is sure to add, “I’m fine now.”

“Levi–” you plant the kit down on the counter, “–there are a million things I could’ve done instead of this. All he said was you were pushing yourself much harder than usual. I still came straight here, didn’t I? I got worried.”

“Because–’cause you have the med kit,” he stammers, and screws his nose up in shame with himself. “I can splint my own fucking finger. Leave. Get out.”

Your face goes hard. “You want that?”

“That’s what you said you wanted,” he points out, not resentfully, but plainly; like it’s an argument on behalf of a ghost.

The tension hangs in the air. You’re still hurt, and you’re angry about what happened. You can’t pretend you’re not, not anymore, and not when he's standing right in front you. All this time, you didn’t dodge all his bullets, just denied that they hit you.

The next words leave you in a long breath: “Levi, what’re we doing?”

His lips twitch. Sensing the path this conversation is going down, he crowds up against the counter without thinking. “...Don’t know.”

You want to ask what distressed him enough to make him panic, partly because of how rare it is, but you know you won’t get a straight answer.

Telling him it would make you feel a lot better if he sat down gets him to at least give you a chance, however reluctantly. He perches himself on the edge of the tub.

You plant yourself next to him and pop open the cotton-white kit. This part comes so easily you can talk while your hands work: “I really wanted you to stay the night you showed up, but I was upset, too… But I think that’s understandable. Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Obediently, he spreads his hand over your knee when you tap his wrist. You elevate it a little.

“Can you feel this?” You take your pointer finger and carefully trail it down from his third knuckle.

The way he cringes tells you he can. While beaming red and stiff like a tree branch, it isn’t bad, all things considered. Splinting it would still be safer though, no matter how quickly he heals.

“I take it you won’t go to the infirmary for this?”

He makes a low, unhappy sound. “Not if I don’t have to.”

“…And if I ask that you do?”

“Same thing.”

Taken aback, you pause with the two pieces of metal bracing his finger. You didn’t expect him to say that after making it clear that it didn’t matter what either of you wanted, but he made it just as obvious that he wouldn’t dream of leaving you.

You decide not to comment: it’s high-time you stopped belittling yourself so much. Look what happened last time.

“Hey…” he mumbles, swallowing around the acid-shot of pain as you delicately splint the injury. Busy measuring his words, the silence drags on.

“Hey,” you say.

“...I meant what I said. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the same as you.” He remembers what just transpired, and tenses involuntarily. “I realized that. Then… I. I thought there was danger where there wasn’t. It was just you.”

“Oh, honey…” You sigh, quietly lending your ear as he wanders through an explanation. All the while, your hands go on working, taping the splints. Levi can be chatty when he wants to be, but he takes time with his words anyway.

It doesn’t surprise you much that that discovery would make him panic. You get the feeling that he’s afraid most times. Maybe the root of it isn’t that physical anymore, but the fear is still there, nestled just beneath the surface.

All you’re afraid of is him disappearing on you for good while it can still be prevented.

“I don’t know what–” he swallows. “We can’t. I can’t go through something like that all over again.”

He could go on about how you deserve someone decent enough to follow through when they’re told that you want them, that he’s mangled and jagged in places, that he’s not good—but he doesn’t try. He knows you don’t see him that way, not one bit.

The splint is finished. You wrap up with a tired shake of your head and stand, striding out of the bathroom without saying anything. You leave the first-aid kit behind, too.

That troubles him enough to rise to his feet. He follows you out into the sitting room, where so many dear memories lie. It feels like defacing sacred ground, inhabiting it like this.

You’re sitting at the table next to the window, clearly swathed in some anguished thoughts. He has no idea what to say to make it better—honesty and comfort go together like oil and water.

“Look,” he begins, eyes darting aimlessly from your face to the floor. “We can’t ever be normal. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“Friends?” The idea scrambles your brain. You look up at him, brows knit. “Maybe it’s easy for you to cram all your emotions into a tiny box in a dead-end ditch where they’ll never be found, but–” you shake your head, “–we can’t be friends, anymore or otherwise. I’ll always see you as something else.”

To him, you’re implying you want nothing to do with him. Not an option, he decides immediately, because that’d be even worse than if you died. You’d still be putting too much syrup on your pancakes and fighting with more tenacity than anyone in his squad and scrunching up your nose in your sleep—but you’d be strangers then.

Your jaw drops, hurt. “You think, after all I’ve cried over you, I’d be okay with not having anything to do with you?”

As you speak, you quickly rise to your feet and plant your hands on his shoulders, giving them an even shake; as if to wake him up.

“All? You’ve–” He’s busy being jittered by the first hit of your pearly perfume, along with any bit of your touch in days to think straight. He feels stuck, like roots. “Don’t cry over me.”

“Then don’t make me cry,” you shoot right back, stepping away and planting your hands on your hips. You’re determined to stand up for yourself this time.

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Either way, you could, you will. There’s always a chance. The difference is there’d be nothing he could do then, and no way he could make it better, not any longer.

“Stop that,” you sigh, like you’ve heard the argument—the root of his doubt—a million times. “We can’t think in ifs. If everyone spent all their energy worrying about dying, there’d be no point in doing anything. Is five years still not long enough to prove to you that I’m capable?”

He grinds his teeth. “You’re more than capable. I'm just... I’m just an idiot.”

You fall back in the smooth, ornate chair and sniff. It’s asking too much for Levi to ever finish that sentence and admit he’s scared. Love hard, lose it, and you force yourself to stop loving; he’s lost so much, so he’s entitled to that fear, but you’re so sick of being scared. “Is that any way to live?”

It isn’t. He knows that it isn’t. Freeze up at the wrong moment, and it’s all over. That’s how most recruits go out, or the ones foolish enough to join the Scouts, anyway. Not death by Titan, but fear.

Losing another person precious to him, not by death, but by his own fault isn’t something he could tolerate. You’ve had some close scrapes of course, and you'll have more, but while you're both here you have a choice.

But...

One day it's almost guaranteed you won’t, and if he lost you for good, it wouldn’t leave him that much stronger for it; it wouldn't be like Isabel and Farlan. Your end would sap the life right out of him.

Stop that, your words remind him. How can I even bitch about that when she’s sitting right in front of me? What good does it do?

None. Seeking a little support from the table, he’s silent for a long moment, letting the words stir, thinking deeply.

It would be like taking his heart and leaving it completely in your hands. Whether it gets shredded would be no fault of your own, because he trusts you. It's the odds. Just as well, yours would be in his hands too, and he hasn’t taken care of it lately like he should. Yet you bare your heart, and persist.

“I need… to think,” he decides, and eyes you above your hand, which you prop up your chin with. “Maybe that’s asking too much, after wasting so much damn time, which—was shitty of me. Sorry.” He hangs his head a little, avoiding your eyes.

You deflate, relieved. He’s not the only one who’s wasted time.

If he needs a while to choose what’s best for him, or to come to terms with things, you don’t hesitate to grant him that. All you ask is that he makes the choice. This rift torn between you has felt like tenderizing a nerve, every damn day since that night. You never want to feel like that again, not when it’s perfectly possible for things to be okay. “–is that okay?”

He nods, circling around the table. Once he’s right in front of you he crouches down and rests a reassuring hand on your knee—his good one. He needs you to know that he means this.

It takes him a moment to find the right words, but it takes you the same amount of time to lean forward, smoothing the ramrod-stiffness of his shoulder. His mind goes blank. He missed you like hell.

“I swear to you.” He finds your other hand, takes it delicately between his injury, and kisses it. You’re too precious to throw away—he will never, could never. He hears your breath shudder. “Understand? I’m serious, so don’t worry about those things that scare you.”

He also wants to warn you not to get a single scratch before he can settle on this, and that if he lands in favor of putting his heart in your hands, he wants to make it perfectly special the way someone like you deserves. You’re one of a kind. A moment like that—just like the night of Mayfest—leaves no room for any sort of heartache trailing behind. That sort of mushy fluff he can communicate by squeezing your hand, and the small look he quickly shoots you.

Your eyes gleam like he’s just as precious, which stings in the best of ways.

“Understood.” You squeeze back. Your other hand rises to the top of his head, petting.

A long breath he had no way of knowing he was holding leaves through his nose, and the tension, it feels like, eases away like runoff from a river.

The utter relief on his face must amuse you. “Cute. Relax a little.”

With a small grunt, his chin lands on your knee. Your fingers buried in his hair feels too damn good—always too good. That’s familiar, at least, but after it's all said and done—whatever that may mean—it won’t matter if it feels normal or not. It’ll be good, because you’re good in any sector of his life.

“Stop, ‘m not a damn cat. You’re using that against me.”

You tut a little, and then your bound hands break away. His eyes shoot to your face, confused and a little torn, only to watch you press your fingers to your lips. At once you place them on his pout, and by the look on your face, you did it on purpose.

He smacks a small kiss to those fingers, leans up and catches your soft cheek, and takes his time leaving one on your forehead, then the side of your mouth. When it comes to the quirk of your pink lips, he stalls a little. He can’t decide if it’s appropriate or not to leave you hanging. He eyes you, wanting.

You tilt your head, lashes fluttering a little. You resist the way the pull between both of you yanks. “Take your time, ‘Vi.”

That’s a funny thing to say when he’s half-straddling your leg, not to mention his hand straying over your jaw. You have the collar of his shirt wound up like a knot, wanting just as much. He just needs time.

“Don’t worry,” he tells you again.

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

[babyboibucky]

Charm

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky checks whether he still has his 1940′s charm.

Word Count: 1,613

Warnings: TFATWS spoilers! No warning, just a bit of fluff I guess???

A/N: Nothing really, just that Bucky deserves all the love in the world :’)

Charming (Part 2) || MAIN MASTERLIST

“You should date someone.”

Bucky groans at Yori’s suggestion. Again. The old guy had been pestering him about it ever since they started their little friendship. Introduced girls and forced him to take them out to dinner or bingo. He did try of course, but it always seemed too fast for him.

“I already did, haven’t I? You sort of forced me to go on one, remember?” Bucky asked before downing a glass of sake in one go.

Thank god they went to a different Japanese restaurant this time. His date with the girl at the other restaurant went pretty badly, with him walking out after a particularly sensitive topic and never returning. Bucky felt bad and as much as he wanted to go back there and apologize, he just doesn’t have the courage to show his face again.

“Yeah, well you messed up.” Yori said pointedly.

Bucky chortled, “Or maybe you messed up by forcing me. I told you, you gotta take it slow like a dance. I mean, you don’t just ask anyone to dance with you. You ask someone you’d like to dance with.”

Yori’s shoulders trembled as he tried to bite back his laughter. Bucky made a face when he realized he’d been talking a lot.

“Then go find someone you want to date. Or maybe you just don’t have it in you.” The older man teased.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin, “Sounds like a challenge.”

As Bucky poured himself another glass of sake, he began to wonder whether Yori was right. Maybe he really didn’t have it anymore, the confidence and charm he used to have back in his time.

Only one way to find out.

-

The club was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

Initially, Bucky thought that it would be the perfect place to find someone to date. Apparently not, because despite the presence of beautiful girls, they were pretty much throwing themselves at him. As much as Bucky was curious about the so called “hook-up” culture in the modern times, it just wasn’t for him.

And good god, the dancing? It’s not what it used to be; Bucky wasn’t even sure if he could call those movements “dance”.

Bucky called it a night and quickly headed to the exit. And that’s where he noticed you, fumbling with your phone and clicking your tongue from what seemed to be frustration. He slowed down in his steps, not wanting to interrupt your little moment as you mumbled a string of curses to yourself.

He eyed you from head to toe, noticing that you were wearing something too simple for a club: just a white shirt, some jeans and a pair of sneakers. With Bucky’s experience, he learned to be observant enough to read someone’s personality.

You were definitely not a frequent visitor to these clubs. And he was right about that because you were just forced to tag along to your officemates to celebrate a promotion.

“Ugh, fuck. Come on!” You unintentionally exclaimed out loud, stomping on the ground causing for Bucky to let out a chuckle.

Bucky’s eyes widened when you abruptly turned around, “Oh sorry. I didn’t meant to uhh...are you okay?” He asked timidly, slowly walking over to where you stood.

You huffed out, “I’m trying to book a ride, but the signal here sucks.” You explained. “And I’m not really comfortable to walk home at this hour.” You quickly added.

It was close to ten in the evening, it wasn’t that late yet but given the location and downsides of being a woman, you really didn’t want to risk your safety.

“Won’t your friends give you a ride home?” He asked.

You groaned, “They aren’t really my friends...I just work with them. They’re all shit-faced drunk and I didn’t even plan on coming here. Not a fan of clubs.” You admitted.

Bucky chuckled as he kicked the ground, “Guess that makes two of us.”

Your hum caught Bucky’s attention and when he looked up, you were looking at him suspiciously. For a moment he thought that you might have recognized him but you merely laughed and shook your head.

“You don’t seem like the type to hate clubs. Why are you here then?” You asked curiously.

Bucky shrugged, “Thought I’d find someone here that I can you know...take out on a date.”

You cackled out loud, it was the kind of laughter that made Bucky join in. You probably thought it was stupid for him to come looking for love at a club. And well, given his experience inside, you were correct.

“I know. It’s stupid. I haven’t been to clubs really, so I honestly didn’t know what to expect.” He admitted, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly.

You nodded, “How was your experience inside then?”

“You could say I was pretty shocked. And disoriented. The lights made me dizzy.” Bucky said, widening his eyes in emphasis.

Laughing, you nodded and agreed before introducing yourself so casually. Bucky repeated your name, he liked the way it sounded.

“I’m James.”

Bucky found himself easily opening up to you. The conversations flowed naturally, from something as basic as favorite food down to your mutual hatred for crowded places and everything in between. Bucky learned that you often volunteer at an orphanage and that you hate plums which happens to be his favorite. It resulted to a harmless debate that lasted ten minutes.

You asked him about his work, something that he had to lie his way around. As much as he wanted to be honest with you, he was afraid that revealing the truth might scare you off. You seemed to be really interested in him whenever he talked about his boring daily routine.

“Do you...do you like to talk somewhere else?” Bucky blurted out.

You offered a sad smile, one that broke Bucky’s heart because you were probably going to reject him. Understandable though, he was a stranger and it was late at night. It was hard to trust people nowadays.

“I have work tomorrow morning.” You apologetically said.

“But you can walk me home...if you’d like?” You asked. “I probably sound demanding but uhh, I don’t think I can really book a ride and I don’t want to walk home alone at this hour.”

Bucky heaved out a deep sigh of relief and laughed, “I thought you didn’t like talking to me.” He sheepishly admitted.

“No, I actually like talking to you. You’re fun. And interesting.” You smiled.

Bucky beamed and extended a hand, letting you lead the way before matching your pace. The more he talked to you, the more he realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d be the first person he’d willingly ask out on a date.

The walk lasted half an hour but to Bucky, it only felt like minutes. It was definitely not enough for him to get to know you more.

“Well, this is me.” You announced when you reached your apartment building.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.” You said.

Bucky placed his hands inside his pockets and nodded, “Call me old-fashioned, but I felt like any gentleman should do so.”

Bucky held your gaze and debated how he should ask you out. Should he just blurt out the question? Would that be too soon? Your number! Maybe he should ask for your number first, show his therapist that finally, there was a new number registered in his contacts.

“Well, I should head inside.” You said when Bucky remained silent and although Bucky didn’t want to assume, he thought he saw a look if disappointed in your eyes.

Yori is going to regret saying that he doesn’t have game.

“Wait,” Bucky called out before you could turn around. “Being old-fashioned and all, I know this might be too forward. Or too fast, even.” he trailed and cleared his throat.

“Would you like to go out on a date with me? This Saturday. We can go to the beach, get ice cream...” he suggested.

Wrong move! Out of all the places he could suggest, it just had to be the beach! It’s not like he could wear a long-sleeved top and his gloves without getting dirty looks from people. You were going to find out the truth about him, his arm, his past. And then you’d regret letting him walk you home because who knew what the Winter Soldier was capable of?

“I’d love to.” You replied with a grin but before Bucky could suggest another place, you had already walked up to the front door of your apartment building, pulling it open before suddenly stopping.

“Or we can just take a walk at the park if you want, if that’s more comfortable for you.” You suggested turning your head to look back at Bucky.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. Again, he was unable to say something because you beat him to it with a surprising revelation.

“I’ll wait for you to come pick me up on Saturday. And don’t worry about your arm, I don’t mind. Good night, Bucky.”

And with one final beautiful smile, you headed inside the building leaving Bucky with a confused look. You knew him all along but didn’t say anything. You opened up to him, held his arm when you laughed and still, it didn’t bother you. You didn’t call him out when he lied about working for a mechanic shop, didn’t get scared when he offered to walk you home.

It took a few seconds for Bucky’s brain to process everything. And then he found himself grinning like a fool when he proved something to himself. And well, Yori too.

“Guess I still got it.”

-

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[lubdubsworld]

The Devil’s Own.

Jungkook x OC

Mafia Au!

Warnings : Non-Con ! Manipulation, Degradation, Shitty hero with no redeeming Qualities you have been warned. ( i mean he does get better but not much.) 

Summary : Just Mob Boss Jungkook doing mob boss things. 

Chapter 1

“ Sign it. ”

I glared at him, feeling sick at the tone. The entitlement.

“No.” I said sharply and I could feel his anger swelling, morphing into something dangerous and deadly but I couldn’t care anymore. I was tired. Exhausted. This cat and mouse game had gone on , long enough. It wasn’t an even playing field, in any sense of the qword.

If today was the day I died, so be it. I would accept it. I would even welcome it.

I was done.

He had everything : an empire at his beck and call , enough money to pave the streets of Seoul in gold and an army of loyal associates behind him. His face was plastered on Billboards across the country , the President posted pictures of him on his fucking SNS and delegates from other countries had to wait weeks , just to get an appointment with the youngest billionaire South Korea had ever seen.

And yet none of those white collared dignitaries saw this side of him. The dirty, violent ruthless man who had more blood on his hands than anyone else in the country. My father’s. My brothers’.

Jeon Jungkook was both the most revered business man in the country and the undisputed king of Seoul’s criminal underbelly.

“You defiance only makes me want to break you in other ways Elena.” He said warningly and I felt my throat go dry. I stared at him, wondering how someone could look so expensively gorgeous and yet, like a hardened criminal.

The expensive silk shirt, the fitted slacks and the handmade shoes ought to clash with the dark ink that covered his entire arm and neck, the piercing on his eyebrow and the glint of metal on his tongue but it didn’t.

It just all came together to make him the most attractive man in existence.

I took a deep breath. Perhaps begging was the way to go?

“ You have my father’s company. You have my brother’s Hospital and you have the family mansion. It’s all yours. This bakery belongs to my mother. It’s all I have left of her. My sister in law is pregnant , due any day. She needs a place to stay and I don’t… I don’t have money to rent anywhere else.” I said desperately, thinking of the paltry wage I earned waiting tables. I could barely afford food for myself let alone for Jisoo and the baby on the way.

The bakery was abandoned but it had a roof. The furniture was crumbling but I could fix that. If I didn’t have to worry about rent, I could save up enough to make it livable. At least till I got a better job.

“I’ve offered you solutions for all of that.” He reminded me softly, eyes trained unblinkingly on me and I stared at him.

“I’m not going to be your whore.” I felt my voice shake.

He grimaced.

“You aren’t qualified to be my whore. And I don’t need one either. Whores are not my thing. I have a beautiful fiancée, don’t you remember? ” He grinned. I felt my heart ache because that fiancée was once my best friend. The only person I had trusted with my entire life. Lisa had betrayed my trust, had spied on my father’s operations and brought him down and I had the horrible, horrible inkling that she had also had something to do with my father and brother’s untimely death in a car crash.

But I couldn’t think about that. Every time I thought about her my heart broke and head spun, and I had to be at my maximum mental capacity if I was going to deal with her heartless fiancée.

“ If you ask me, you’re not fit for anything more than a back alley blowjob for a couple bucks. But Hoseok thinks you have potential. Join his agency, there are a lot of very wealthy men who have a bone to pick with your father. He made a shit ton of enemies. Most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of you. ”

His words felt like worms crawling all over my skin and I could feel the nausea churn inside me.

“I’m not signing the bakery over. You can call the creditors. I still have another year and half to pay the one remaining loan and they won’t come for me till then.” I felt my head begin to throb and Jungkook sighed.

“Suit yourself.” He stood up and I stayed still, watching his tall frame tower over me with ease. He gave me a small bitter smile. It was fraught with hatred and I stared back at him, knowing the emotion was probably mirrored in my gaze.

“Beautiful Elena. As pretty as the day you left me at the altar.” He smirked and I flushed.

“Your vengeance is petty and pointless and unfair…just like you.” I said angrily, frustration building u at his words. The way he talked about our broken engagement like it even mattered. It hadn’t even been real. We had hardly spoken and my father had called the wedding off at the last moment. But apparently, that had been the last straw for the Jeons. They had come after my father’s entire existence with a single minded intent to destroy him and they had succeeded. The man was dead . His two sons were dead.

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

Jungkook stared at me, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe. But it’s also deadly and potent. And it won’t rest until I see you reduced to nothing but a whore on the streets, spreading your legs for every man who can afford you.” He laughed. “ Saying no is a luxury , one that you’ll soon be unable to afford.”

I refused to be cowed, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words scared me. Because they did.

They scared me so damn much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This bed is so lumpy… I’m so sorry, unnie..” I said apologetically but Jisoo shook her head quickly, palms cupping my face as I held her elbows, gently lowering her to the bed. I stared at her feet, feeling my heart race at how swollen they looked. That can’t be normal, a voice whispered and

I didn’t know if that was normal and I had no money to take her to a clinic. The social center we usually went to only allowed three visits per month and we had used it all up. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and spend the thirty thousand won it would take but that would mean no groceries for a week and surely bread and eggs wouldn’t stretch that long, even if I could sneak meals in the restaurant for myself.

“I’ve been feeling a little dizzy…I’ll just sleep.” She said tiredly. She was thirty six weeks along, not due for another four weeks but her blood pressure was erratic. Her lab numbers were oscillating and there had been talks of an emergency c section. Even with insurance it was way more than I could afford but I had my own jewelry, a few expensive trinkets from my teenage years. I’d been obsessed with diamonds and my father had indulged me and I had a pair of earrings left. I’d already sold the rest but this would take care of the medical bills for the birth itself.

“My shift starts in ten minutes. I have to go. Give me a call if you need anything…” I said softly and I saw the familiar blank and listless look come into her eyes. I knew she was depressed, dealing with grief and pregnancy and loss but there was nothing I could do for her. Nothing. I had applied for a bunch of other jobs but they never wrote back. It wasn’t easy, being rejected over and over again but it wasn’t like there was much else I could do. And the truth was I was resigned to this, accepted that at some point I would have to take more loans and be stuck in an endless cycle of debt for the rest of my life.

And I had made peace with that.

There was no future for me. And I was okay with just surviving.

If only Jungkook would let me.

Apparently, watching me wipe down greasy tables and mop up floors and toilets trying to earn just enough to get a few square meals didn’t soothe his anger. It only fueled it. Jungkook couldn’t fathom that it had been six whole months of me on the streets of Seoul and I wasn’t completely destitute yet. I’d kept myself and my sister in law alive, safe and it pissed him off.

He wanted to see me broken and on my knees, begging him for help. The idea of me somehow surviving despite him taking everything away from me, it just didn’t sit well with him.

I couldn’t afford to have him as an enemy so all I could really hope was that one day he would wake up and give up. One day he would just wake up and decide that I wasn’t worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I walked into my shift and noticed a familiar pair of high heeled Louboutins , completely out of place in my seedy place of employment, I knew I was in trouble. Lisa sat against one of the booths and her gaze was fixated on the door which meant she was waiting for someone. And when her eyes narrowed at the sight of me, I just knew I was the someone.

She wants to get me fired.

It wasn’t rocket science and I felt the urge to turn right back around and leave.  But I tamped down on it. I could get through this. I would get through this. Lisa and Jungkook got off on invoking reactions and I wouldn’t give them that.

Except it wasn’t that easy.

It was a nightmare, watching her demand and reject and walk all over me but the sleeplessness from the past few days made spacing out easier and I just stared away at the wall as she yelled and complained and made a scene.

“You’ve stopped fighting? Finally giving up? Good…” She hissed when the manager apologized to her and told me to meet him after my shift and I felt myself tremble in indignation.

“I won’t fight you or Jungkook, you and I both know I can’t afford to.” I said quietly and she went still, something flashing in her eyes for a second. It was gone before I could fully process it but it had been there. Guilt.

Lisa wasn’t a terrible human. She had been a dear friend. We had grown up together and she had even hugged and teased me when I’d been betrothed to Jungkook, all those years ago. I had been twenty back then, naïve and spoiled. While Jungkook had taken my father’s entire legacy apart, piece by piece, Lisa had been nothing more than a pawn. I remembered all the times I had let her home, how she would disappear for lengths of time.

Planting bugs all over the house. All over his office. Jungkook had been smart. Someone like Lisa, so fascinated by thr wealth she had grown up around would naturally jump at the idea of more. It wasn’t greed. It was human nature. And with her help he had destroyed everything my father had built over decades.

I shuddered. My father hadn’t been a good man. He had been greedy, yes. But he hadn’t deserved to die. And Jungkook would have to pay for that sin, someday.

“There’s a job waiting for you in Hoseok’s club.” She smiled cruelly , “ you don’t need this one.”

“The fact that you want to take it away from me, tells me that maybe there’s nothing left in you save.” I said blankly and she turned her nose up at me.

“I have Jungkook. I don’t need to be saved.”

I shook my head. She was so naïve. Men like Jungkook cared for nothing but themselves. But I wondered if women like her didn’t care for anything but the money that came with being his. Money was precious, I thought bitterly. I’d never realized how privileged I had been until I’d had it all ripped away.

“He’s the one you need saving from. And one day you’ll realize that.” I shrugged, not in the mood to offer her anymore life advice.  If she was alright with being a trophy wife in exchange for a few pretty shoes that was her prerogative.

Before she could reply,  my phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked nervously and I felt my heart drop to my knees when I heard who it was.

I turned on my heel rushing inside and my manager gave me a look of surprise.

“ My sister..she’s… she’s sick. I need to go.” I said desperately and his eyes narrowed. It was the worst timing. He was already annoyed because of Lisa and I stared in disbelief as he quickly shook his head.

“No. I’m sorry Elena…I just can’t let you leave like that…” He said sharply.

It was so unfair.

“I haven’t taken a single day off in five months…” I said desperately..” Please, she’s pregnant..She needs me, she-“

“If you leave, you won’t have a job to come back to. I can’t do this.. First you make trouble with a customer and now you just want to walk out in the middle of your shift without any notice…”

“Fine. Fire me.” I snapped, because I’d just had enough of it. I was exhausted, and tomorrow I’d go knocking on some other tore and I’d get a job. I lived in Seoul …How hard could it be? For now, I had to get to Jisoo. I had to get the hospital and things would be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t okay.

“I… You want to keep her in? So soon?”

“Her blood pressure is through the roof. There are signs of severe pre eclampsia and we want to get her started on a magnesium drip. Steroids to help the baby’s lungs incase we need to deliver…”

“Deliver..?” I couldn’t breathe.

“Yes, I’m sorry…. If her blood pressure doesn’t come down we’re going to have to deliver.”

I nodded, glancing at the bed where Jisoo was sleeping, her face swollen and I knew that she was sick. Really sick. She looked pallid and ill.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked hoarsely.

“We’re going to do what we can… But I’m going to be honest, we’re looking at a c section, a lot of meds and also some time in the NICU for the baby…. Can you afford it? Your sister’s insurance only covers 80% .”

I blinked, completely thrown. White noise rushed through my ears,  a dull throb settling right at the base of my skull and beginning to spread all the way to my arms and back. It was panic mixed wth anxiety mixed with despair and I couldn’t quite cope. The earrings wouldn’t cover all that.

“Oh… Oh..yeah.” I said dully, “ Of course I can… Let me just…. Can I have a moment? There’s somethings I need to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I carefully slipped the cash into the envelope, swallowing as I sat on the pavement. I’d got another call from the hospital, they had administered the steroids but Jisoo’s condition seemed to be worsening. They wanted to try inducing labour soon but they wanted me to pay for the room and for the medicines, and apparently, the earrings weren’t as valuable as I thought they were.

I fought nausea wrapping arms around myself as I stared at the cars whizzing by, the putrid city air clogging my lungs as I tried to come to terms with what was happening. Jisoo needed help. She was the only one left and she carried my brother’s son. I felt my throat clog when I thought of Daehwan. He had been a good guy. I had loved him. It wasn’t fair, what Jungkook had done to my family, I thought miserably .

And the only reason I wasn’t driven by vengeance or anger was because I was nothing like Jungkook. I hated him. I didn’t want him to live in my head, didn’t want to waste any part of myself on him , not even my anger. But it was hard when he wouldn’t let me breathe, always at my heels like a wolf : jaws snapping and blood thirsty eyes trained on me at all times. I couldn’t fathom his obsession sometimes. Surely, his hatred was uncalled for now? He’d taken everything from me anyway.  

There was a dull roaring in my ears, one that said that this was not really a surprise. I’d thought about it way too often, had considered it countless times. Had even spent one absolutely horrifying evening scouring the streets of Seoul’s red light district just to see how sex workers behaved.

I’d also realized that in the face of desperation, dignity didn’t hold much value.

You are going to pay your debts on your back and on your knees.

The first time Jungkook had thrown it at my face, eyes glinting with glee, my stomach had rebelled so hard. I’d been absolutely infuriated, had thrown a vase at him. And it had been awful,  watching him catch it out of the air with ease, his mocking laughter making my bones rattle as he shook his head, “ That’s how this ends, Elena. Mark my words.”

And it was pitiful ,  that he went through life so consumed with hatred and vindictive cruelty that he couldn’t leave me alone . He was pathetic. That’s how I saw him. A pathetic child who refused to stop tormenting the helpless ant on the floor although it was no match for his cruelty.

At some point Jungkook was going to win. And his idea of winning was seeing me stripped bare of the one thing that kept me alive : my freedom.

It had just happened sooner than I’d thought.

Because I knew what it would mean, to go to Hoseok. He would own me. Hoseok’s whores were all slaves, tangled in his web so badly that there was no hope of escape. He wasn’t cruel but he was smart. No one left the his ‘ agency’ once they went in. I would be lost, forever. And I couldn’t stomach it.

I stared at my knees, fists clenched on the fabric of my skirt. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the contacts. I considered it carefully. I had to do this on my terms. Had to make sure I retained some sort of control here.

And I knew just how to do it.

Hoseok picked up on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“I need help.” I croaked out.

The deep chuckle made my skin crawl.

“Elena Gong. What a wonderful, wonderful surprise. What can I do you for?” He drawled.

“Well sweetheart, I’m all out of charity so you’re going to have to make it worth my while.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m a virgin.” I whispered.

The line went completely silent.

“What?” The amusement in his voice died.

“You heard me and I’ll let you cash in on it. I’ll let you auction it off…” I tamped down on the burning protest in my lung, the screaming inside my head that said it was horrifying, that I was considering this. “ But only if you keep my terms.”

“What makes you think you have a say in that.” He said sharply and I laughed.

“I belong to your world, Hoseok. Did you forget that we were friends, once.” I whispered and he didn’t reply.

Laughter, kindness, a big brother I could always count on, hobi oppa, nine year old me with my fingers curled around his wrist as we ran all around the gardens , a smile so wide that he could spread sunshine on the gloomiest days. Different from Jungkook and Namjoon and Yoongi and the others. Willing to include a ‘ girl’ in his playtime. Lisa and I the only girls, not even fazed watching as the rest of them wielded toy guns and mock interrogation scenes, pretending to kill and maim and torture because that was the world we were born into.

“We’re not friends, Elena. Let’s get that straight. The only part of you that holds any value to me is th part between your legs. So tell me, what do you want.”

“When was the last time you auctioned off someone’s virginity? You know how much money you can make off something like that. Not just from the sale itself but from the entire night. Your club… Your gaming hell…. All of it.”

“You expect me to believe you’re a virgin. At twenty seven.” He scoffed.

“Put the word out, everywhere. If you find one man who says he’s slept with me , I’ll back off.”

“That would require me to tarnish your  family name. And you’re alright with that?”

I smiled biotterly.

“Isn’t that what you and your precious Jungkookie want? To see the last living Gong, be labeled as a whore and a slut.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’ll give you that. You can do it… You know that will only interest more people. As Jungkook so eloquently put it, most of them would love to fuck the defiance out of me.”

“What’s the catch. What do you want. ”

“2 billion won.”  I said firmly “It will be one night. One night only and I want enough money to pay off every one of my father’s debts, to get me an apartment for my sister in law and to support her and her baby for a year at least.”

“Done.” He said without missing a beat and I went still. What must it be like, to throw around money like that without a care in the world. And it sickened me that Jungkook was probably ten times as rich as Hoseok , the money my father owed him and his associates not even pocket change in comparison to his gargantuan wealth and yet, he stayed on my heels, snapping his jaws like a dog with a bone.

“And Jungkook doesn’t get to watch.” I said softly, knowing exactly what Jungkook would get off on.

That made Hoseok laugh.

“You know him too well. I keep forgetting he was madly in love with you once.”

I resisted the urge to vomit. Jungkook didn’t know love. He knew ownership. He didn’t love me, he thought he owned me. That I was his to play with…. For the rest of his life. And when my father had denied him that, just like a toddler in a toy store being denied a shiny toy to break and trample on, he had thrown a temper tantrum.

Except his tantrums always ended in death and destruction.

“That’s the deal. He doesn’t turn up there to gloat.”

“He’s heading out to Switzerland for a week , two days from now.” Hoseok said evenly.

“Good then. My sister in law…she “ I swallowed. “ She’s in a hospital in Yongsan. I’ll send you the address.”  

“I’ll take care of it. But I want you here tonight. I’m not going to drop a couple billion won on your head without making sure I’m getting my money’s worth. And I can’t have you changing your mind and bolting either. My reputation is on the line here. If I put out the word that I’m serving something so fucking delicious and then back out, they’re not going to want to buy Hobi’s wares anymore. You understand what I’m saying darling?” Hoseok drawled and I knew exactly what he was saying. If I agreed to this, it was blanket consent for him to whatever he wanted.

“I won’t back out. I can’t. But this is one night. One night with whichever bastard you choose and that’s it. I want out.  I don’t want you or Jungkook hounding me again. Ever.” My voice shook as I dug my fingers into my knees.  

“My men will be there in ten minutes. Sit tight, princess.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared at Hoseok as he carefully poured me a finger of whiskey, neat. He gave me a smirk and I shrugged.

“you remember.” I said casually, throat itching because it had been way too long since I’d had quality alcohol. I missed the burn,  the warmth , the numbness that followed.

“Of course I do. You could drink all of us under the table with little effort. It was spectacular.” He laughed and I leaned back against the couch, letting my head fall back.

“I was half certain that you would have a doctor around to make sure I’m a virgin.” I stared at him and he shrugged. “ Pointless. You’re twenty seven, you’ve probably had stuff up there anyway… Not like your hymen’s still going to be intact.”

I thought it was rather horrifying, that I didn’t feel nearly as mortified as I should. This was how Hoseok talked, matter of fact and open and that was why he was so popular. Anytime an important person came into the country, Hobi was the one who offered entertainment for the night. Hobi’s girls were always the prettiest, most well behaved and perfect. They were educated, knew what they were talking about and he didn’t force them into the life. They loved it, enjoyed it and it showed.

Not to say he was a saint.

Far from it.

Hoseok knew how to dine with kings in castles  but also how to wrestle with  swine in the gutter. The seedy brothels in Seoul’s back alleys were his as well, and he ruled his kingdom with an iron hand. The prostitutes there feared him, one look or word enough to silence any rebellion, any thought of escape.

He was called Hope. And yet somehow that was exactly what he denied the women under him. There was no hope here. There was only lust and power and money. You came to Hobi…. You never left .

I took the glass he offered, taking a small sip, savoring the taste.

“But you believe me. I wonder why.” I watched him closely and he scoffed.

“Between your father and Jungkook, no one ever really had the pluck to come anywhere near you  did they?”

Undisputable.

I sighed, leaning back to stare at him.

“Do you think dying hurts?” I asked softly.

It was frightening, how his entire body went stiff, eyes wide and jaw dropping.

“Elena, what the fuck-“

“Its just a question. You’ve killed people. You’ve watched them die… how do you think they feel?” I asked , curious.

“None of them wanted to die. If that’s what you’re asking.” The look in his eyes made me nervous.

I stared at him and the question was obvious. None of them wanted to die, but do you?

I didn’t.

“I’m not thinking of killing myself , oppa.  Stop looking so horrified.” I laughed. He shook his head.

“ Don’t joke about that. It’s not fucking funny.”

I sobered up, remembering with a jolt. Ah, of course.

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” I said quietly.

Hoseok’s little sister had killed herself when I was seventeen. She was a year older than me and her father had lost her in a wager to a seventy year old man, known for torturing his bedmates. She had heard the news, taken a deep breath and taken a deep dive off the seventeeth floor of the condo where she lived with her mother.

I’d been engaged to Jungkook by then. And I had almost wanted it. Jungkook wasn’t old at least… twenty one to my seventeen.

“Just so you know, he’s going to find out. And he’s not going to like it.”

I shrugged. Three years is a long time to be preyed upon and now my mind was resigned to a life of being hunted. Hoseok was right. Jungkook would find out and he wouldn’t like it.

Good.

“I don’t care what he does anymore. All I care is that Jisoo and the baby are left out of whatever plans he has…. If you promise me you’ll keep them safe , I’ll cooperate.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a baby boy.

I stared, fingers itching to hold the baby but it was impossible, the little one whisked away to the NICU right after with respiratory distress and Jisoo had gone into a seizure, eyes rolling back into her eyes.

She as alright now, resting in a VIP room with the best care money could buy. Hoseok had asked me if I was happy with the arrangements, and if I would name the boy after him.

I stared at the room, large and breezy and filled with flowers and gifts, toys and baby stuff and I knew right then that I had sealed my fate. I was going to have to go through with this. I could imagine how much Jisoo would protest when she came to her senses. The only relief was that it would take her a few days to be good enough to fight or protest. But then this would all be over and done with.

Jungkook would leave this afternoon. His flight was at three.

I would reach the club at five. The patrons would arrive at seven.

One night, I reminded myself , staring at the gentle rise and fall of Jisoo’s chest as she slept, my fingers playing with the soft skin on her wrist. The IV line went through her veins and I watched the gentle drip of it.

One night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t know how auctions happened and while I’d been prepared for the worst kind of humiliation,  Hoseok assured me that he wasn’t going to make me stand naked on some podium or something.

“Generally, I would do something like that simply for the flair of it but consider this a favor ….a respite because you were, as you said, once a friend.” He gave me an even smile and I could only nod in mute relief.

I was grateful. Beyond grateful.

And what was more, he hadn’t told anyone, who I was.

That stunned me. Because wasn’t that the selling point? The murderous, greedy mob rat Gong Hyo Suk’s only daughter forced to spread her legs for one lucky stranger? If Hoseok had cashed in on that he would have made a fortune. But he hadn’t. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Would , whoever it was be upset if he recognized me?

I was led to a bedroom, large and tastefully decorated with silky satin sheets and dark curtains and dim lighting that lit up parts of the room and left other parts plunged in darkness. Hoseok had told me to wear whatever I wanted and I realized with a pang that he really didn’t see this as some sort of transaction. He was trying to make it as easy as possible without making any decisions for me. Offering me choices and options and some illusion of being in control.

I didn’t have anything fancy so it was just a dress shirt that I borrowed from Hoseok. I’d left the underwear off, eager to merely get the whole thing over with. I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to laugh out loud.

If Jungkook were here he really would have lost his damn mind, simply because of how little this whole thing affected me. And that was it, really. He was always desperate for a reaction.

Earlier when this whole thing had started, I’d obliged him with that. I would scream, rant and yell….launch myself at him like a wildcat, scratching at him , fists flying  and it was obscene, how much he seemed to enjoy that. He would press me up against walls and tables , fingers choking the breath out of my lung, just so he could see me struggle and push back.

He fed off from every negative reaction I offered him and it had taken me a long long time that the way to beat him was to become passive, unresponsive. I would go limp in his arms, stare at him blankly as he tried to manhandle me and that…that had pissed him off. Because that meant I wasn’t playing his game anymore.

If the prey wasn’t playing, the game wasn’t fun anymore. It was drab.

Boring.

And I knew that Jungkook kept raising the stakes, kept tightening the noose around my neck….just to bring that girl out again. The one that had wanted to put up a fight . The one that wanted to mouth off even with the muzzle of a gun pressed against her head. The one who would spit in his face in front of all his associates, even if it earned her a vicious strike of his hand across her face.

I shuddered. They weren’t memories I liked reliving.

Well, if that was who he wanted, I’d make sure he would never see her again.

The door opening made me jump and Hoseok came in , with a wide grin on his face.

“Baby…. Your guest for the night.” He said softly and I peered over his shoulders, my heart and mind grinding to a halt when I caught sight of what had to be the most breathtakingly beautiful man on the face of the planet.

I felt my heart begin to pound, fear taking over because this wasn’t okay. Not really. I was okay with old, creepy and disgusting , not able to get it up for more than ten minutes.

I wasn’t okay with someone who looked like they stepped right out of the latest issue of GQ.

Hoseok left quickly, closing the door behind him and the man stepped into the light, the brightness lighting up his perfect features even more. I felt my throat go dry, and fought the urge to get up and run. Growing up as the daughter of a mobster , I’d learned how to trust my instincts over appearances.

And right now, every single one of those instincts screamed at me that this man was absolutely dangerous.

“Well, you are beautiful. I’ll give you that. “ He said casually.

“Thank you.” I said stiltedly, watching as he tugged on his tie, pulling it off his neck deftly . Instead of tossing it aside , he wrapped it a bunch of times around his wrist over and over as he smiled at me.

“Don’t thank me yet. The only reason I like beautiful things is because of how easily they break.” He smiled.  “ I haven’t been with a virgin in a while…. I miss the screams.”

And there it was the full blown panic that came with stark terror. I crawled back on the bed, staring as he moved closer and there was no mistaking the look on his face, the harsh grip of his hand on my ankle telling me that I was going to regret every one of the choices that led me here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hoseok wasn’t at the airport.” Jungkook observed casually, glancing at Yoongi as the latter finished cleaning his gun carefully, eyes fixed on his weapon with utmost concentration.

“He’s holding some sort of auction tonight. Some chick …” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook hummed. It was not the kind of thing he was interested in. Anonymous bids were often boring : actresses or female idols past their prime, desperate to make some money to survive. He had no interest in those but he was a little peeved that Hoseok hadn’t told him anything about it.

Hoseok was one of Jungkook’s most trusted friends. He was almost as powerfully rich as Jungkook and the only reason Jungkook reigned supreme was because Hoseok had no interest in challenging him for the throne. Hoseok was dangerous and cunning and loyal and Jungkook was grateful to have him on his side and he had hoped to see him before leaving. Just to ask him to keep an eye on Elena.

He grimaced, hating himself.

God, he couldn’t go two hours without thinking of her. It fucked with his head, the amount of space she took up inside him. Jungkook , for all his wealth and power, was driven solely by his need to prove himself. He wanted to be powerful and terrifying yes, but more than that , he wanted people to know.

He wanted people to look him in the eye and acknowledge him for what he was : the most dangerous man in the country. He liked seeing that fear, that worship, that admiration. He got off on it. He wanted it , craved it and for some reason he craved it more from her , than anyone else.

And instead of giving him what he wanted, instead of begging on her knees for mercy, instead of licking his shoes and begging for him to let her live….she ignored him. She looked at him with defiance and pride, her chin straight and her back unbending, her gaze locked right on him like she was his fucking equal….

And Jungkook, he’d taken a lot of insults. Taken more than his fair share of hits in life …..

But when she looked at him like that , like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe….

Fuck it drove him wild with fury.

It made him want to teach her a fucking lesson, to remind her that he owned her because he owned everything. To break her down, snuff out the flames of defiance that burned so bright in those ember eyes… Take her into his bed and brand her with his body. Till she was on the floor, on her knees covered in his spit and cum begging for mercy….

Because no one looked at Jeon Jungkook like that and lived to tell the tale..

“Seokjin’s here. Landed in Korea a couple of hours ago. ” Yoongi said casually and Jungkook smiled a bit at that. He loved his older brother, technically a step brother and growing up he had only saw him when he visited his mother in China. That meant a couple of months a year and now as adults,  a bit more often because Seokjin loved Jungkook and liked to visit him often.

Seokjin was a celebrity trainer, working with actors and athletes and he did a good amount of modeling as well. He was rich,  handsome and well liked and the only thing that gave away the Jeon blood in him was the fact that he was a sexual sadist.

The face of an angel with a devilish streak, he had a penchant for sadism and inflicting pain on his partners and while Jungkook didn’t particularly enjoy indulging him, he knew there were women who were into that and usually had them arranged for when Seokjin dropped by in Korea. His hyung’s visit seldom lasted more than a few weeks at a time and it was a pity that he would miss out one whole week of it .

But the issue in Switzerland was a little pressing and Jungkook had to be there in person to sort it out.

He leaned back against the seat, staring out of the window, sighing.

“An unsullied dove ….What the fuck is this shit..” Yoongi muttered and Jungkook turned, curious.

“What?”

“Hoseok’s been hyping up some new girl for the auction and Seokjin hyung’s bidding on her.”

Jungkook laughed at that.

“Jungkook…..” Yoongi’s voice is completely stunned, his eyes confused as he looks up at Jungkook.”  Its Elena.”

Jungkook’s thought process came to a grinding halt.

There’s a sound between his ears, a dull rushing sound like the wind in a storm and he can’t quite comprehend what he just heard. Even Namjoon who had been buried in his laptop , looked up then, tugging an airpod out of his ear.

“Wait…did you say Elena?” His eyes were wide , lips parted in shock. Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged glances, no doubt bracing themselves for the explosion that was to follow.

Jungkook took a deep breath.

“Turn the fucking plane around.”

That jolted Namjoon out of his stunned stupor..

“Turn-? Jungkook what…. We’re on a fourteen hour flight-“ Namjoon began but the look on Jungkook’s face made him stop.

“DID I FUCKING STUTTER?”

Namjoon swore.

“Fucking hell… alright just calm the fuck down, Jesus…just put a fucking bullet in that girl’s head and spare us all the headache fuck…” He growled, unbuckling his seat belt and rushing to the cockpit and Yoongi groaned.

“ Let me guess you want me to get in touch with someone in Seoul and ask Hoseok to hold off on letting Seokjin near her…”

Jungkook glared at him.

“If you already know that why the fuck are you still here…” He growled and Yoongi gave him a look.

“Just tell her you’re in love with her and let us live, Jeon Jungkook.”

In love….. what the fuck….

He glared at Yoongi’s back, his asinine words making him madder. God he wanted to crush someone’s skull into dust with his bare hands.

And right now, in his head , that skull belonged to Jung fucking Hoseok.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 “What just happened?” I asked, frantic staring at the door as Hoseok’s men casually led a fuming Seokjin away while the man himself stared at me, looking pale as parchment.

“ Jungkook found out.” He said shortly and I felt my heart drop although I was half relieved because there had been something insane in Kim Seokjin’s gaze when he’d reached for me , a cruel glint of hunger that told me he would have hurt me really badly if Hoseok hadn’t barged into the room , frantic and worried.

He had given Seokjin a wide smile and then, “ I’m so sorry. We were waiting on her blood results and turns out she has a…. well, certain occupational disease that is very infectious.”

Seokjin’s mouth had dropped open even wider than mine.

“I thought she was a fucking virgin.” He had snapped, and I flinched at how cold and furious he had sounded.

But apparently there was a reason this whole thing had happened.

“What do you mean Jungkook knows? What does that mean?” I asked frantically, fear taking over.

“ He’s heading back here… He wants to see you.”

I felt my entire body go ice cold as I shook my head…

“No…fucking no bring Seokjin back here , he can fuck me that was the fucking deal, Hobi, please don’t../…”

“Elena , I’m so fucking sorry.. Seokjin…he’s fucked in the head…. He likes hurting his whores, likes making them bleed and he would have fucking destroyed you…”

I gaped at him horrified.

“What?!” I hissed shaking my head in disbelief.

“He’s Jungkook’ stepbrother. I’ve arranged whores for him before, I knew he was a little crazy but I’d never seen him before and I didn’t know he was the Kim Seokjin…fuck he outbid everyone and fucker looks like a fucking angel, how the fuck was I supposed to know he’s unhinged? Thankfully, I messaged Yoongi and …. Fuck… Listen… I know I paid for your sister’s surgery but you’re going to have to pay me back….”

I felt my body convulse in rebellion.

“I can’t.. You know I fucking can’t…”

“I can’t make an enemy out of Jungkook…. I can’t.” Hoseok shook his head. “ You can get out of here now if you want but I’d advise you to stay. If you run it’s only going to make Jungkook angrier.”

“WHAT DID I FUCKING DO TO HIM?!!!” I screamed, feeling my composure crumble into smithereens. “WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT FROM ME?!!”

Hoseok flinched, stepping back and holding his hands up.

“Whether I want to or not, I answer to Jungkook.  I shouldn’t have done this in the first place , I’m sorry Elena.” He shook his head and stepped back like the coward that he was and I wanted to hurt him. To shake him and ask him to fucking remember who I was. That I had nothing to do with my father’s sins . That I had been a fucking marionette in his hands, had wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“So much for being a friend…” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. But he didn’t look guilty. None of them ever did. It was like guilt didn’t exist in their world. They did what they wanted to whoever they wanted , whenever they wanted and they got away with it because that bastard’s word was law. What Jeon Jungkook wanted, he got.

“I’ll get your clothes sent in.”

I watched him leave, the door slamming shut behind him and sagged against the bed, staring at myself. What had just happened?

Was I born to endless misery and misfortune?

Couldn’t I catch a fucking break?

I’d agreed to sell myself hadn’t I? Would have even let Seokjin hurt me if that was what he wanted. Because it was one night. It was one night of this…whatever the hell this was and then freedom. That was the deal.

The door opened again and I stared as a young girl brought me a pile of my clothes neatly folded.

“Do you work here?” I said sharply.

She blinked before bowing her head.

“Yes, mistress.”

I scoffed.

“Don’t call me mistress , I’m here to get fucked, just like you. Tell me does Jungkook ever use the women here.” I demanded.

She looked trapped, glancing at the door, clearly wanting to run .

“Tell me.” I snapped and she flinched.

“I..uh..yes. Sometimes.” She said softly.

“Can you tell whoever fucks him next to kick him in the fucking balls?”

The girl bowed deeply and all but ran out and I sighed, feeling myself shaking. Jungkook was on the way here and I wanted to yell and scream and rave at him but I knew that was exactly what he wanted. I wanted to deny him the satisfaction …wanted to act all cool and composed in front of him but it was impossible…

Because I hadn’t realized just how tired I was of this whole thing, till right this moment, when the end had been in sight. I was supposed to get my two billion won pay off all the debt , give Jisoo the rest of the money and disappear. I was so tired, so tired of this life I’d gotten trapped into, slaving over for hours on end just to afford a couple of meals a day. No friends, no boyfriends, no hope of a future …..

The door banged open and I jumped, crawling back when I recognized the man who had just entered.

“Yoongi-“

“Jungkook wants to see you.” He ground out and I swallowed.

“I need to get dressed. Please just wait outside.” I said shakily.

And then the door opened further and a tall looming shadow stepped in familiar and vomit inducing.

Jungkook looked livid, piercing glinting through the dimply lit room and I stared at him. He was dressed in a tight black t shirt, he sleeves stretched thin over his biceps and the tattoos stark against his skin.

“Leave us.” He said softly and Yoongi moved away to the door leaving me alone with the devil himself. I cursed myself for not putting at least my panties on, I was naked underneath this shirt and although it was big it left nothing to the imagination.

Jungkook’s eyes raked over my form before resting on my face.

“You think you’re smart enough to outsmart me, Elena?” He whispered softly.

I swallowed.

“Send you brother back in. He can fuck me and I’ll pay you back.”

Jungkook hummed, stepping closer and grabbing my clothes from the bed, he grabbed the plain white bra and the pastel pink underwear and then to my complete and utter mortification he brought the clothing up to his face, breathing in .

“Fucking pervert!!!” I screamed, feeling the action like a physical touch and wanting to claw his eyes out and the smirk on his face told me that this was exactly what he wanted but I was too fucking gone to care.

“If you want me to be a whore, fine. I’ll be a whore. But on my terms…” I spat out and he shook his head, laughing.

“I don’t just want you to be a whore, Elena. I want everyone to know that you are one…” He dropped my clothes and moved closer, holding a hand out. “ Come here.”

I stared at the inked fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings and bracelets with the motifs of his gang. I shook my head.

“No. I’m not playing this game with you.” I turned my face away.

His hand shot out gripping my upper arm with enough strength to bruise and I screamed, agony shooting up my arm and shoulders as he dragged me off the bed and onto the floor. I landed hard, hips and elbows bruising from impact and I stared at him in disbelief.

“I’ve been to gentle with you. You’ve forgotten your fucking place.” He bent over and grabbed me by my hair, yanking me to my feet so hard that it felt like my scalp had been ripped away from my skull.

“Okay…okay…Okay Jungkook..just…!!” I said softly, flinching because my pain tolerance was almost zero and Jungkook’s grip was so hard that my eyes were beginning to water now. He let me go, grabbing my panties off the floor and tossing them at me.

“I’m going to count to five. Put those on and get out.”

He walked out of the door and I stumbled a little fumbling with the fabric before quickly, slipping my legs in and yanking it up to my waist. I made to put on something else but his voice came, loud and impatient.

“Get the fuck out here.”

I walked out of the door and he was standing there next to Hoseok. I couldn’t meet either of their gazes , hating how they had so much power over my life. I stared at the floor. It was tempting to yell at them and scream but that never led anywhere.

“ I’ve asked them to stop the payment on the Hospital bill. Seeing as Elena hasn’t kept her end of the bargain.”

I felt my breath hitch at that, willing down the tears as I glared at him.

“What do you want?” I snapped. “ Tell me who you want me to fuck…. I’ll do it. Let’s get this over with so you can go back to whatever sewer you fucking climbed out of. ….”

Hoseok’s breath caught like he couldn’t believe what I’d just said and the look in his eye was a warning but I was sick of this. Sick of them all.

Jungkook turned to Hoseok with a laugh.

“You see hyung? See why I can’t let her go? If I let her scot free, everyone’s going to think I’m a pushover….that any worthless bitch can talk to me any way she wants and get away with it….” He shook his head, staring at me with a glint in his eye. “ I’m not going to choose. They are. You think you can charm your way into Hoseok’s heart and get special treatment? You think you’re ready to be a whore, Elena? Let me show you how a real whore gets treated in Hoseok’s club.”

He gripped my wrist, yanking me behind him as he stalked off down the narrow corridor that opened up into the club. I let myself get dragged out into the club dismally aware of the fact that I was wearing nothing but Hoseok’s shirt. I could feel eyes on me but I kept mine on the back of Jungkook’s head as he dragged me all the way to the front. I knew what he was going to do and at this point I was just numb.

There was no point reasoning with the devil.

I glared at him as he pointed at the stage. “ Get up there.” He whispered harshly.

I stared back at him, not moving. I saw Jungkook’s jaw clench.

“Either you go up there by yourself, with your clothes on. Or I carry you up there, after stripping you naked. What’s it going to be? ”

I glared at him, pursing my lips before climbing up using the small stair in the side. I moved to the center, right in front of the stage lights, so the rest of the room would disappear. I had no wish to see any of the bastards in the room.

“I think all of you recognize this little beauty here, don’t you?” Jungkook’s voice was cheerful, friendly even and I bit my lips, fists clenched. “ Well, if you don’t let me tell you . This is Gong Hyo Suk’s daughter. Remember that bastard? He put a hit out on my father. Killed him and my mom on the night I was supposed to be marrying his fucking daughter. A daughter who later called off the wedding, because I was too poor now, to give her the life she deserved. ”

I felt the familiar ice cold guilt in my vein. I was seventeen, I wanted to scream. I was seventeen and all I did was say what my father asked me to say, do what my father asked me to do.

“ That was nine fucking years ago… and you know what I told myself…. I told myself, that a greedy little bitch like this, doesn’t deserve shit.” He laughed. “ If money’s what she values the most, then the only thing she deserves is to be treated like the whore she is.”

“Why don’t you guys tell me, how much money you’d be willing to spend, to fuck her? Come on, Hobi’s been treating you guys so well lets help him make some money tonight… be generous. ”

I could barely hear what they were calling out but when Jungkook climbed onto the stage next to me, I jumped. Moving back instinctively, I winced when brought a forearm around my throat nearly choking me as he dragged up against his body.

“90 million won….That’s a lot.” He grinned. “ Jihan hyung….. that was you right? You’re gonna pay 90 million won for her?”

I felt my heart race, it was a lot. More than enough for the Hospital Bills, would even leave extra to get a decent apartment somewhere... I grabbed his wrist as it pressed into my throat, trying to pull his hand off me but he just wrapped his free hand around my waist, wrapping his entire body around mine and chuckling into my hair.

Jungkook pressed his head against mine and I froze, hating the close contact.

“Okay…but since I’m feeling a bit left out here…Why don’t I pitch in… 500 Won.” Jungkook said loud and clear.

I froze. An eerie silence fell over the club, laughter stilling and the clink of glasses slowing down.

What.

I struggled to get away from his but his hold tightened.

“Anyone else?” He called out. “ Come on… Not even thousand? Surely you think this one here’s worth a thousand won? Aren’t you going to outbid me?”

No one responded of course they didn’t. Jungkook’s anger was palpable and no one was going to get on his wrong side …..

“Ahh… is that it then? Bid’s going to close for 500 won then…. Hear that baby?” He whispered against my ears and I swallowed. “ 90, million won to five hundred won in a few seconds… What does that tell you?”

“It tells me you’re a fucking psychopath in love with your own voice… Get off me.” I hissed.

“No. What it tells you is that only I get to decide how much that body of yours is worth, not you. . You don’t get to go sell your fucking body behind my back for two billion won and then pay off all your debts and ride off into the sunset, that is not how this works….”

I went limp in his arms fighting tears because he never played fair. Never.

“Hear that Hoseok-ah… I win her for the night for 500 won…fair and square…. Is that alright?” He called out into the darkness and I felt the first inkling of dread begin to seep in.

“No.. No… get off me.” I hissed and he laughed, dragging me off the stage with ease. I screamed, kicking out in disbelief.

Jungkook grinned at me, before grabbing both my arms and yanking them behind me, and I whimpered, unable to move as he easily pulled me along to the door that opened into the hallway. Behind us I heard Hoseok’s voice.

“Jungkook, don’t be impulsive. Think about whatever you’re going to do.”

I flinched at that, panic building.

“He’s not going to do anything. I’ll fucking kill him if he touches me , I-“

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch.” He shook me hard till my teeth rattled and I sobbed out.

“Jungkook…” Hoseok warned but he merely snarled.

“I know what I’m doing hyung, just…. Don’t disturb us. And make sure everyone here knows that she’s open for business.” It was loud enough to carry through the club and I felt humiliation burn my throat, acrid like acid.

I froze in disbelief.

“Jungkook …” Hoseok’s voice held a tone of reproach.

“ And tell them that her body is amazing. Tell them she spent the night with me , the best fuck I’ve ever had , mouth made for cock.”

I stared straight ahead as he pulled me all the way to the room we had left earlier and I tripped when he shoved me inside, landing on my hands and knees . I quickly rolled back around to land on my ass, crawling back as he slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

He stared down at me, mouth grim.

“You do owe me a wedding night. I was so ready to fuck your tight cunt, nine years ago… I think I’ve waited long enough yeah.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, to yell and scream and protest and fight so he could get off and forcing me…. Fucking psychopath.

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“If you pay for my sister in laws bills, and give me an apartment sure. “ I shrugged. “You’re not any different from any of the bastards here. I don’t give a damn which one of you idiots wants to rut into me like the absolute animal that you are…. I don’t care…” I said softly.

“you don’t? Really? You want me to tell you what your brother said when one of my men put a gun into his mouth…. He begged for his life…said he had a kid on the way….” Jungkook laughed, shaking his head. “I told him it was better than what his father did…. My sister was six months pregnant when his lieutenant gunned her down on the streets.”

I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Why are you telling me this…” I snapped.

“Because she didn’t deserve it did she, Elena? She didn’t fucking deserve to die like that , like a dog on the street when she had nothing to do with any of this…. She didn’t deserve it.” He growled, bending down and gripping my chin hard.

“Maybe she did deserve it.” I spat out. “ If I deserve to be here, maybe your sister deserved to die too. “

He snarled, hand flying to my hair and dragging me up off the floor in one sharp yank. I whimpered as he pushed me on the bed, before climbing on top of me. I felt like every bone in my body was about to snap in two, the weight of him unbearable on me.

“I won the bid tonight…. I won it fair and square… You signed the waiver didn’t you…that you agreed to the auction…I won and I’m going to fucking collect.” He growled, and I kicked out, trying to buck him off of my body.

“Get off me.” I hissed. “ I’m not letting you fuck me for 500 won.”

“How about for your Jisoo then?” He whispered and I went still.

“What?”

He chuckled, reaching down and I felt my pulse pound as he pulled his phone out, dialing quickly and turning on the speakers.

Yoongi’s voice made me go ice cold. Everyone knew what Yoongi did for Jungkook.

“Daehwan’s wife is in a hospital room in Yongsan. Hobi’s got the details. I think she’s served her purpose.”

“No!! JUNGKOOK NO!!” I  screamed , thrashing so hard my head began to spin but he grunted pressing down into me harder.

“Are you serious? I’m not home yet… I can take care of it tonight.” Yoongi said, voice casual and I sobbed, shaking my head in sheer terror.

“Okay… I’ll behave.. I promise.. please just don’t…”

Jungkook hummed.

“Well, that was easy… Yoongi-yah… why don’t you stay on the phone yeah…. Going to get that wedding night I’m owed and if my baby doesn’t co operate you know what to do, yeah?”  

I bit my lips, glaring into the sheets as he gripped my waist, pulling me up.

“Ass up like the bitch that you are, baby.” He whispered and I felt my entire body shudder in disgust. It was worse because I hadn’t done this before. Didn’t know what to expect. But I couldn’t let him know that. If Jungkook knew that I was a virgin, I could just imagine how much fun he’d have with that info.

Hands gripped my wrists, pinning them to the bed and I turned my face away when I felt the press of his lips on my cheeks. He gripped both my wrists with one hand, keeping them pinned over my head and I flinched when I felt his fingers pulling the fabric of my panties aside, just enough for the blunt head of his cock to press against my slit.

“Yoongi, you there?” Jungkook said softly and Yoongi grunted over the phone. I felt my face flame in embarrassment.

“You’re a sick bastard but I’m used to it. What’s up?” he said casually.

“Remember how we used to wonder just how tight Elena’s cunt was… back when we were in school.”

Fucking monster, I thought in disbelief. I hate him I hate him I hate him….

“Good times…” Yoongi chuckled lightly .

Jungkook pushed into me in one hard thrust and pain shot straight up my spine, my insides burning like he’d fucked me with a knife and not his body. I couldn’t stop the cry of agony that got torn of me, my eyes tearing up and tears spilling over onto my cheeks.

“Damn Jungkook, she okay?” Yoongi’s chuckle made me want to claw his face off, and just the urge to kill was growing inside me.

“Well, I can confirm that it is, in fact just as tight as we thought…” He grunted, thrusting into me at a pace that was inhumane, every push and drag of him rubbing my insides raw and I bit down on the sheets under me, afraid that I would do something absolutely humiliating, like beg him to stop.

“Good, you should let me take that tight ass for a ride someday then. With her permission of course…. I’m a gentleman after all. Big on consent.” He laughed and I swallowed the urge to tell him that I would puncture his balls with a switchblade if he came anywhere near me.  

“Oh, she’s going to do whatever I ask her to….aren’t you baby…” He grunted, “ Turn around so I can see you.”

He pulled out of me, his weight lifting off my body as he moved away. I couldn’t move, limbs numb and insides throbbing in pain . His palm landed on my thigh, hard and the sharp sting of it made me jump.

“I said turn around, I want to see your face when I fuck you.” Jungkook growled. I stayed limp, breathing hard and he grunted impatient, fingers sinking into my hair , yanking me to my knees and the movement made my legs scream in protest.

“How’s she so quiet? You fucked the voice out of her, kook-ah?” Yoongi asked amused and Jungkook pulled me by the hair, dragging me to the center and pushing me down till my head landed on the pillow.

“Hyung you should see her right now, all fucked out …. Like she’s never had a dick in her before.” He shook his head, “ Fucking slut. Take that off and hold yourself open for me.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending and he grabbed both my hands, placing them on my knees.

“Grab your knees and pull your legs back… So I can fuck that tight cunt the way I want to.” He said slowly, like I was a dog he was trying to train and I stared at him , defiantly.

“ Go to hell.” I whispered.

Yoongi’s laughter came from somewhere to the right.

“Your dirty talk needs work, Kook ah… Tell her she’s a precious little kitten and she makes you feel really good…. Bitches love that shit…”

Jungkook hovered over me, grabbing the back of my thighs and spreading them wide enough to make me whimper in pain.

“Is that so babygirl? You want me to tell you that? That you make daddy’s cock feel good?” He cooed, nudging the tip against me again and I had never hated anyone so much in my life. I stared up at his face, and he smiled at me, a cheeky little grin that made his bunny teeth stand out and for a second he looked so deceptively angelic and the glimmer of his piercing caught my eye.

I couldn’t help but swallow, gaze trained on the glint of metal on his tongue.

“You like that?” He grinned suddenly, sticking his tongue out for me to see, I felt my eyes widen at how sinfully good he looked .” Hyung she likes my tongue piercing.”

“Show her how it feels on her clit.” Yoongi laughed and I could barely fully process what I heard before Jungkook was crawling down my body, arms, curling on my thighs and yanking me onto his tongue .

I felt the press of his tongue on my slit, licking right into me and the jolt of pleasure was so unexpected, the pleasure so unwanted and yet so overwhelming and I couldn’t stop the way my body thrashed against the streets, lips parted as I practically mewled out in pleasure.

“Definitely a kitten…” Yoongi called out and I shuddered as Jungkook slipped two fingers into me , the ice cold press of his ring inside me making me jump. I wanted to pull away, grab his hair and yank him off but I couldn’t because it was

“Next time I’ll put the dick piercing in too, yeah? Fuck you with a bit of metal on my cock so you can feel that up there…. ” He laughed into my thighs and I screamed when he bit into the flesh there , hard.

“I’m getting bored… Either turn on facetime so I can at least jerk off to this , or I’m hanging up…” Yoongi called out .

“Hyung she clenches down on me every time she hears your voice… Just stay on for a few more minutes yeah, she tastes so fucking good, I’m gonna cum soon….” Jungkook added another finger, slipping in deep before spreading them apart inside me. I whimpered when he pushed his tongue in between the wet digits, licking into my walls and I could feel the ball of his piercing drag against my walls, ice cold and hard.

Was it fucked up that I did clench down on him again, my body apparently a slave to my base desires even as my mind screamed that he was the absolute worst bastard on the face of the planet.

“Elena, you owe me a blowjob at least for this…” Yoongi called out and I glared at the phone.

“I’ll bite your fucking dick off if you come anywhere near me.” I snapped.

“Fuck, I could get off just to that mouthy fuckhole of hers…..” Yoongi grunted.

Jungkook pulled away, climbing back up over me and lightly slapping my breasts.

“Now, how about you open that mouth and let me fuck it?”

Yoongi snorted from behind us and Jungkook glared at the phone before glaring at me again.

“Well?”

“You want to know how hard I can bite?” I said sharply, the pleasure ebbing away into nothing and resentment taking it place, the momentarily physicality of the situation fading and the reminder of who he was and who I was entering my sex addled brain.

“No.. You’re right…. But you know what, I’m not feeling it anymore. I was right.. you really aren’t qualified to be my whore. Your body…it’s frigid like a fucking popsicle…such a fucking turn off. ” He reached over and hung up on the phone.

“Now…”he whispered, leaning in closer and I yelped, when his fingers closed over my throat..” Shut your mouth and take what I give you like a grateful bitch.”

I swallowed when he pushed into me again, his pace steady as he fucked into me, eyes closed and I realized that he was almost fully dressed having just unbuttoned himself enough to get his cock out.

When he stiffened, spilling into me his eyes blew open and he locked eyes with me, wide eyed and for one horrible second he looked young and vulnerable and hurt.

I blinked as he pulled out, the sticky warm mess of his cum dripping down my inner thighs and onto the sheets.

“Well, that was much worse than I thought it would be.”  He said and I stayed on the bed as he grabbed his phone and buttoned himself back up.

He smirked at me and then reached into his pocket.

I quickly pulled myself together, ignoring the aches and pains and getting to my knees before reaching for my dress on the bed. it was kind of pointless because I still had Hoseok’s shirt on and I wasn’t going to take that off in front of Jungkook.

“Well, I’m a man of my word , Elena so…here you go..just as we discussed.” He tossed a coin on the bed and I stared at the engraved 500 on the shiny surface, feeling my rage swell inside me.

“If you still want to work out a payment plan for your sister’s bills …. Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow?” He tossed his card on the bed before  moving away to the door.

Fucking bastard.

Author’s note : My whole life is filled with regrets . 

[bubbleteaimagines]

Pants on Fire

Reiner Braun Oneshot

Summary: Part two of this

Pairings: Reiner Braun x Reader

Warnings: Angst

when you woke up, you had a killer headache. moaning, you grabbed at your head wishing the pain would just stop. you opened your eyes to see what the hell was happening, but you quickly gasped and scuttled away when you saw who you were sitting next to.

“woah, woah, easy,” reiner’s voice caused panic to swell in your chest. letting out a scream, you swung in his direction and jumped back.

“get away from me!” you yelled out, your fearful eyes locking with reiner’s.

those eyes, those damn eyes that once brought you to your knees now filled you with utter terror. those eyes that you once could never get enough of now belong to a murderer.

“y-y/n,” reiner’s face flashed with hurt as he reached out for you. “y/n, baby it’s just me.”

“no!” you recoiled from his grasp as tears filled your eyes. “no, no, no! you’re a monster! g-get away from me!”

you tried to scramble back but your back ended up hitting a tree. it was then that you noticed exactly where you were, a yelp escaping your lips as you noticed eren and ymir with you, titan’s scratching at the trees below you.

“eren! ymir!” you yelled out for your comrades, seeing as they were on another tree. eren’s arms were cut off and so were ymir’s.

eren offered you a weak nod while ymir said nothing.

“what did you do to them?!” you shouted at reiner.

“don’t worry, they’ll heal,” bertholdt told you. he was standing a good distance away from you, reiner having been the closest.

“y/n—”

“shut the fuck up,” you found yourself staring at him with hatred in your eyes, even though you felt quite the opposite. on the inside, your heart was hurting. scratch that, it was burning and it was burning for reiner. your body had become so accustomed to his touch that you were aching for it, but you couldn’t. because he wasn’t your reiner anymore.

“you don’t get to speak after everything you’ve done,” you snapped, pain in your voice.

“baby please,” a frown tugged at his lips, “please, let me explain.”

“oh boy, here we go again,” ymir rolled her eyes.

“get away from them!” eren shouted out, his glare intense on reiner. but in his state, he couldn’t exactly do anything.

“i said shut up!” you growled again, flinching as reiner leaned closer to hold your face.

you couldn’t help it— you immediately began to melt. his touch was your weakness, after all. it always had been. it sent electric shocks through your body and reiner knew you had felt it.

he was gentle, just like he had always been.

“baby...”

“don’t touch me!” you cried out, smacking his hand away. “don’t you fucking dare!”

“please, y/n, you have to understand!” he pleaded. his eyes were sad, begging you to listen. “everything i did, that was before you. and everything i’m doing now, it’s for you.”

you would have scoffed if you weren’t so heartbroken in the moment. everything inside of you wanted to reach out to reiner. you wanted to be in arms, you wanted for him to hold you and comfort you and explain all of this confusing stuff to you.

you wanted him, even after everything you saw. and that absolutely disgusted you.

“please,” a tear slipped down your cheek as you looked helplessly at eren. “just let me go. let us go, we won’t tell the others where you are. you can let us go, reiner. you can turn yourself in and end...whatever this is!”

“i can’t,” reiner turned away as he gritted his teeth. “i wish i could baby, but i can’t.”

“stop calling me that!” you broke down, pain coursing through your veins at the nickname.

baby.

reiner had called you that during your first date.

baby.

reiner had called you that when he held you in his arms, peppering soft kisses on your face while telling you how much he loved you.

baby.

reiner called you that when he made love to you, whispering how good you felt around him.

your fists clenched. “you lost the right to call me that the minute you revealed your true self to me. you’re a murder, reiner braun! do you hear me?!”

you could tell that your words were hurting him, like a knife digging deeper and deeper. he looked utterly heartbroken as he heard you speak but oddly, it brought you satisfaction.

by the way he had shattered your heart it was only fair he felt the way you were feeling right now.

“you killed my family,” you continued, “terrorized my friends! you sat there and listened to me cry about them when it was you the entire time!”

“i’m sorry,” reiner looked away, tears filling his eyes but you weren’t listening.

“you held me when i had nightmares from that day and whispered how much you understood! you stood by while our friends were killed by the titan’s you let in! you made love to me, reiner, you were my first! you were my everything goddammit and you...it was all a lie!”

finally, your voice broke and you leaned back against the tree, sobs raking your body.

everything inside of you began to shut down, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. how could you after you just learned the man you had loved for three years was a traitor?

“y/n—” reiner tried to reach for you but you were unavailable. “i love you, you have to believe me. nothing i told you was a lie!”

“won’t you just shut up already?!” eren’s voice cut the atmosphere like a knife. “can’t you see that you’ve done enough damage? for three years you’ve strung y/n on and lied to them, why can’t you just stop?”

“because you don’t understand!” reiner suddenly yelled, causing you to flinch back. “i...we don’t have a choice! we have to do this!”

“no you don’t,” you whispered brokenly, letting out another sob. “reiner, please.”

“i’m sorry baby,” he sunk down and held his head in his hands. “i-i wish there was something i could do...if i wasn’t such a coward...”

a stray tear ran down his face and you hated yourself for getting the urge to wipe it away.

“reiner,” bertholdt’s voice caused the blonde to look up with pain behind his eyes. “i know this is sad for you but you’ve got pull it together. someone’s coming!”

at this, all four of you strained your necks to see what he was talking about. peering around reiner’s tall frame, hope flooded your veins as you saw green smoke.

“the scouts,” you whispered, your eyes widening. “the scouts are coming!”

you could have laughed in that moment. even though you knew they weren’t necessarily coming for you, you were still going to be rescued.

“shit,” reiner and bertholdt became frantic bad the sounds hooves echoed closer. “we gotta leave — they’ll be here soon.”

“no!” ymir was the one to protest. “i’m not leaving without christa! we had a deal, braun!”

“w-what?” you stared at ymir with betrayal. she had made a deal with them?

“there’s no time,” reiner snapped, ignoring her request. “we have to go before they get here and take eren and y/n from us!”

“what do you want from me?!” eren yelled angrily, thrashing around.

“what we want is for you to come with us — no resisting. can you do that?” reiner grunted, strapping on his ODM gear.

your eyes widened in fear. “no! no reiner you can’t leave!” you involuntarily blurted out.

this caused reiner to pause, hope filling his eyes.

“i-i mean,” you were quick to cover yourself, “you can’t take me with you! it’s not fair! i won’t — please, don’t make me!”

“i have no choice,” reiner frowned, bending to your level with sad eyes.

“you do,” you spit out, rapidly nodding your head. “you do reiner, please. eren was right — don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“y/n you don’t understand,” he shook his head. “i can’t lose you baby. you’re the one thing that’s kept me sane. i have to...there’s no other way.”

he reached over to grasp you in his arms and it was then that you realized you weren’t even tied down in the first place. you had been completely free the entire time. so why — why did you not try to run? why did you not try harder to escape, when freedom was right there?

“baby, please,” you locked eyes with reiner. “please don’t do this.”

you knew he was on the verge of collapsing as you reciprocated the nickname. your voice was so soft, so small that reiner actually feel to his knees.

“there’s always a choice,” you reminded him, delicately placing your shaking hand on his cheek. “and if you love me, if you truly love me then please, reiner. leave me here.”

reiner eagerly grabbed at your hand, desperate for your touch. his large palm overlapped yours and he savored the feeling of your skin on his.

“i’m sorry,” his voice broke as he shook his head and took out a small dart. “i love you, baby. so much,” he promised.

“that’s why i have to do this,” he whispered, and then your world went black.

-

when you woke up again, you found yourself staring at the familiar patterns on your ceiling.

confused, you sat up, the last memories of reiner lingering on your mind.

“hey,” a gentle voice caused you to jump slightly, but you calmed down once you noticed that it was only armin.

he looked a little worse for wear, his blonde hair messy and his blue eyes swimming with emotions. but hey — at least he was alive. and so were you apparently.

“armin,” you groaned out, your throat raspy from being knocked out. “what happened?”

you remembered reiner’s eyes and his face contorted in pain. that was the last sight you saw before everything went black, and apparently a lot had happened since then.

“we found you in a tree when we went to rescue eren,” armin explained, fiddling with his fingers. “eren said that reiner left you there before he and the others ran away.”

“what—”

you remembered your conversation with him.

“if you truly love me then please, reiner. leave me here.”

you let out a gasp. against your will, more tears began to fill your eyes. pretty soon, you found yourself sobbing again while armin gently held you in his arms.

“hey, hey,” he frowned as he heard you call out reiner’s name, “he’s gone, okay? he left with bertholdt and ymir. you’re safe now — y/n i know he lied to you. and i know it’s painful but he’s gone, you hear me? he can’t hurt you anymore.”

another cry left your lips as you heard that reiner was gone. so that was it then. the love of your life was gone and you were never going to see him again.

“armin,” you managed to choke a sentence through your sobs. “i’m not crying because reiner lied to me.”

armin frowned. tilting his head, you could tell that he was confused. “y-you’re not? t-then why are you crying then?”

you sniffled as all the memories of you and reiner began to play out in your head. every kiss, every delicate touch. every time he made you laugh up until the very last time he made you cry.

you replayed it all, and then you stopped once you got to his last words to you.

“armin, i’m crying because he told me the truth.”