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hadtobeconfronted · 4 days ago

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Mafia!Yelena x Reader AOT

16k words Holy fucking cannoli this took me like three weeks but I'm lowkey so proud. This was a request so I hope you enjoy the treat anon <3 PLS SEND MORE REQUESTS!!! I’m actually begging…

Warnings: Oral, touch me sometimes Yelena, sesbian lex, murder, blood, guns, I mean it's a mafia au, we are gonna have to kill some characters.

Like a lot of characters. Trauma, sadness, gore, manipulation, toxic relationships lowkey. Yelena is a squirter again cause I fukin said so. Also slight negative body image but very very slight. Fem reader but absolutely nothing specified like skin color, hair texture, height or weight. This fic is for everyone!!! (Let me know if I missed anything)

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Working at a hotel was not your first choice. They could tend to be breeding grounds for debauchery and degeneracy of all genres. Unfortunately, hospitality was a skill you excelled at, always finding yourself working to the bone serving at restaurants or aiding at a front desk. The past few years have been kind to you, a reward for all the hours spent standing on your feet. The ritzy historic hotel downtown hired you as a front desk associate. Originally, you expected it to be full of cement-faced women telling you they aren’t happy with the thread quality on the sheets, and stale rotten men trying to cop a feel, but you were pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the regulars.

This is probably due to the hotel being frequented by the same few families since the 1920s. Originally constructed and owned by the Yeagers, founders of the city. Miss Ackerman, a generations-long regular, often spoke with you about the various orchids and palm trees scattered in the dining room. Offering advice on watering schedules and fertilizer for the flowers, she also shared pictures with you of her personal greenhouse, being a plant person herself. These were the connections you always craved with customers. Eight months into your employment, the owner Grisha Yeager was tragically murdered by his mistress.

How dramatic! She was probably one of many. Wealthy people always have something like that going on, right? Rumor has it, she killed him in a jealous rage, then ran off with a huge chunk of family change. The question is, how did she even get her hands on that in the first place? Grisha probably used the age-old classic ‘I’m leaving my wife’ and transferred some sort of ownership to her. The poor old bastard played like a fool at his own game. This untimely death began the transfer of the business to his two sons, Zeke and Eren. From your point of view, they did an all-right job. I mean, they were the ones who promoted you to front desk manager; that’s good, right? It offered enough money to do more than survive. You’re not rolling in the dough by any means, but it was nice not to live paycheck to paycheck. Plus, you could actually sit in a chair when the lobby was empty! For a while, that seemed to be most of your job. When you first came here, it was busy enough to make you slightly frantic. That took a dramatic turn shortly after Grisha’s death. Were the people sad? No- afraid of being associated with the family for his infidelity seemed more likely. As if they weren’t all cheaters too.

It was an added stressor when your position was elevated. You were worried that the hotel would close because of a lack of funds, right when you had gotten closer to really making a life for yourself. The stress was eventually eased when the Yeagers, you assumed, sold half the business. All of that stuff went right over your head anyway. Different men filled Zeke and Eren’s offices, not that they were ever there. This shift brought new life to the hotel. Having grown to love the place, it filled your heart with joy. Lavish parties lit up the ballroom again and led to the bedrooms being rented more often. These new co-owners brought with them a gaggle of friends who loved to throw charity galas and host prestigious parties. New guests came in, young and old alike. Typically older men with younger, beautiful women. All of them dressed in high-quality fabrics, professionally cut to fit their bodies. Today, however, would not be your average Monday. You will be training two new employees, a man named Onyankopon, and a woman named Yelena. Getting ready to face the day, you sprayed a little extra perfume and applied a thicker layer of lipstick, wanting to make a good first impression.

Yelena’s morning was washed in a distinctly different energy. Steadfast hands prepared her breakfast apple, then buttoned her new uniform, her mind running through the given instructions and preparing for what may come. Not that she would ever question them, no matter the brutality. Being a mafia soldier means she does the dirty, violent work and listens to commands without question. That’s why when the order came to get hired at this hotel, she did so without a second thought. After the death of dear ol’ dad, little Zeke and Eren were completely clueless as to where to go next. The business began to fail, and they had no idea how to run it. Too busy spending their twenties fucking plastic dolls and getting blitzed on 30-year-old scotch. They became an easy target for Yelena’s boss. A piece of cake, truly. The mafia had control of this hotel, with hands in most sectors of business operations. It being a perfect spot for prostitution and its constant transactions were perfect for cleaning dirty cash. No one would have guessed because it’s a nice place, the laundering is hidden by faux charity events and balls with ‘large donations’. When women come through with multiple men a week, dressed well, hair curled to perfection, they seem to just be an unfaithful wife making her weekly rounds. The boss had woven his influence deep, but once business started blooming again, the Yeagers thought they could start up their own shady tactics. Clueless little children. This would never work. Yelena and her partner, Onyankopon, were tasked with finding out which staff members were going against her boss’s influence and then murdering them publicly.

A grand display of what happens when you don’t listen to directions. Completing the short drive to the hotel and meeting Onyankopon outside the front doors, she made her way into the spot they would inevitably make a war zone. Yelena was so often surrounded by men that coming into such a pristine environment, crawling with beautiful women, was a little bit of a shock. Immediately becoming a distraction, almost like a dream. Don’t get her wrong, she has had her fair share of casual fucks with vacant girls from the mafia-occupied clubs, but romance was definitely missing. Not that they could ever touch back; that would be too much of a commitment. Romance and love are pointless to seek when this is the life you live. The pair of newbies was first greeted by Petra, a kind and dependable redhead. The group shared the typical strained hellos that often occur between new people, Petra answering a few of their questions. Onyankopon was much better at that, small talk, easily filling the space with a broad smile and jolly banter. Petra apologized for her manager being late; your absence was annoying to Yelena.

After a beat, the sound of heels overpowered the conversation, catching everyone’s attention. The manager was coming. When you came into view, the distracted feeling she had from first walking in returned; you were nothing of what had been expected. Of course, you would have to be a stunner, just her luck. A real vision dressed in a tight skirt and a flouncy blouse. She could almost see the outline of your bra through it, but the decorative collar tumbled down over your breasts, keeping it hidden. How unfortunate. Thank Goddess above they let Yelena wear a men’s uniform; that outfit would have been torture. Picking up your pace when you saw the group waiting only served to add to the breezy aura you held. Collar flowing around as you jogged, body shifting with each step. “Hello! My name is y/n! I’m so, so sorry! Miss Ackerman noticed some of the plants needed water in the sitting room!” Miss Ackerman, that must be a regular. Rich scum asking for pointless tasks, but your energy must be kind to take on the request even though you had prior engagements. Soft. Sweet. Foolish. Yelena’s got to stay away from you. Orders have been given, and they will be stuck to. No matter what.

Well, there goes your confidence. Not only were you late like an ass, but both people were physically large, upholding an exuberance of power. Mentally grasping at straws to make yourself look more put together, you decided to shake their hands. Beginning with the man, he introduces himself as Onyankopon. The smile he gave would be perfect for customer service; he seems smart and presentable. A perfect fit. The woman, however, may not do as well. Introducing herself as Yelena, her hand engulfed your own with an overly firm grip. Was she trying to intimidate you further? It was already tough enough to make eye contact. Tall, blonde, slightly off-putting, just your type. Her words are clipped, chosen carefully, and much less inviting compared to Onyankopon. Guests may have an issue with her. Attempting to put first impressions aside, you invite them back behind the desk and get to training.

Days dragged on, filled with training protocols, checking people in and out of rooms, and lots of light scolding from you. Yelena wasn’t upset by it though, it was entertaining to watch you brainstorm the nicest ways to correct her. It was satisfying to be entertained by your frustration, even if that was a little mean. A personal favorite of hers was getting caught smoking. Yelena would suddenly disappear, always during a rush, to stand out back by the parking lot. Then, panic-stricken, you would come rushing by carrying various items from the storage shed, usually tools to fix the lobby coffee maker. Rich folks loved free stale things. It’s so strange. “Hey!” Paused to stand in front of her. “Get back inside, poor Connie is swamped in there.” She just stares at you, reacting only with a parting of lips and an uplifting of a single brow. If you hadn’t been stopped and staring at her, you might have missed it. The look she gave was tempting, but could you have been reading too far into it? Plus, why isn’t she inside doing her job? Hiding the shiver that wanted to travel down your spine, you wag a finger at her like a fussy mother and head back inside. That kind of reaction made something tick inside of her. Being able to sense the way she affected you got her mind wandering. Did you find her attractive? Shaking your head, you refocused on solving the primary issue, getting back to the desk as fast as possible. Yelena thought it was commendable how much you cared about your staff and job, but it made you mushy. Pliable towards abuse of your empathy. What she planned on doing was probably going to harm you greatly. Bringing the cigarette back to her lips and inhaling with the hope it would dissolve these thoughts. It was only natural to assimilate into an atmosphere full of people. These emotions are normal.

Six months have passed. Having this time with you has only worked to soften her resolve. Spending time shooting the breeze with you on slow days and sharing snacks from the vending machines has not helped. On occasion, she would come up with a sly remark about a guest to whisper in your ear, just to make you scold her with a swipe on the arm. It was rewarding to get a reaction, especially one that warranted physical contact. On this particular evening, Yelena and Onyankopon were sitting in the living room of her house. Surrounded by cigarette ash and paperwork, a thoughtful smog clung to the furniture. Months of hard work coming to a head. The pair had concluded that nearly all the front desk staff had been helping Eren and Zeke. Some papers proved they were laundering the Yeager’s gambling money in addition to siphoning funds from her boss. Others provided records and notes that they were going to use to expose her group to the police. A pleasant surprise was, your name was nowhere to be found. Awareness none the wiser to the schemes your staff was up to. Most of the people had already been suspected. Onyankopon had guessed that Armin was helping, but neither had figured Petra was. A string of receipts accompanied her information.

Falsified reports of purchases the hotel has made, three thousand dollar TVs, five thousand dollar cash registers, and a single twenty-five thousand dollar bed frame. Clear indications of laundering, so plainly stated the work might as well have been done by a baby. Zeke and Eren had no idea what was coming their way. Yelena, however, knew exactly what she was going to be shoving in your direction. Petra was a close friend of yours. The two of you often made plans to go out after work, exchanged little gifts to celebrate personal victories, and did girly things like that. And yet, Petra was going to have to die. Yelena was going to have to gift you with pain and mourning. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Onyankopon spoke carefully, interlacing his hands and resting them on his lap. Having just finished her glass of wine and now pouring another. To tell the truth, she didn’t even like wine. It gave her headaches, but he had brought the bottle, so it just happened to be the closest vice strong enough to lean on, capable of numbing her feelings. Chain-smoking wasn’t cutting it. Being your enemy was the last thing she wanted to be. Being your guardian suits much better. “How about, it’s time for you to get out?” Attitude clear in her words. He gave a sad smile, understanding what this meant but not the reasoning behind her ice.

Onyankopon had known Yelena for the last 12 years and could tell something about this mission was breaking her down. Unsure of the proper words to say, he packs up quickly, gives a quick goodnight, and exits her house with a firm tug of the door. With the comfort of a friend gone, her actions of refilling the glass continue, punctuated by a big gulp. How could she possibly save you from this? Telling you about the plans would never work. Standing, then swaying, set for her bed, the idea arose. She could always just tell you not to come to work that day. You know what? Yes! That’s perfect! Tripping on the bottom step of the staircase brings the realization, she is much drunker than she thought. This topic would need to be properly ruminated on when the world wasn’t swimming in haze.

Immediately upon the morning light hitting her eyes, she’s sick, running to the bathroom to empty the remaining contents of her stomach. Being hungover at work today would be rough, but it’s much better than waking up still drunk. That would be a trip. Making her way back to her bedroom, the screen on her phone lights up. Text messages. From you. It had been about three and a half months since the two of you shared phone numbers, usually only sharing brief exchanges about schedules, sometimes a stupid meme that she didn’t understand but this message was different.

good morning! i hope this message finds you well! the staff have planned to go out for dinner tonight and we are hoping you can join us! can’t wait to hear back from you! ⋆｡°✩

An invitation. Well, this was a loaded text message, and no, it didn’t find her well; she was holding back being sick again. Still, was there a reason you chose to text her individually? Why use such girly emoticons? Thinking to include her meant she was part of the group, right? Another painful reminder that, no matter what, Yelena’s place was not a cog working to keep friendly connections going, but the wrench tossed in to tear it all apart. She threw her phone down before spiraling further like a teenager, then headed for the shower. Longing to wash away the anxieties from the previous night and the lingering sense of impurity.

Arriving later at work, the morning turned out to be a dreary one, leading to a lull in the number of people checking out, instead choosing to have an extra charge placed on their everlasting credit cards. Growing bored with her book, she turns to Petra, who’s sitting in the nearby desk chair. “Is y/n in her office?” Deep voice startling the other woman, straightforward with her question. Petra blinked and raised an eyebrow, confused. She says, “Yeah, she told me she’d be cleaning in there today.” Doubtful. You were dedicated, but would you be wasting the day cleaning? Yelena stands, height towering over the seated woman. Nodding a thank you before working her way towards your door. Upon arrival, she pauses for a moment to appreciate the hanging name tag. Bold white font spelling out the pretty letters, adorned with various stickers. Children’s art is taped up at eye level, probably gifts from young visitors. How generous of you to not only keep them but to put them on display for everyone to see.

Swinging open the door without knocking, she startles you. Exactly what she wanted, and what a sight for sore eyes you were. Shoes kicked off, discarded by the corner of your desk, stocking-covered feet bare on the floor. A paper cup full of hot tea illuminates the room with fragrance, mixing with your perfume. Looking around the office was like taking a glance inside of who you are, something that she was having a wonderful time observing. Just like the little creeper she is. Your purse is strewn out on the desk, lipstick, gum, earbuds, and miscellaneous items, all layered on top of mounds of paperwork. A plush blanket was draped over your chair, and various children’s toys littered your desktop. Little glittery ponies, a dragon, and a cat. How frivolous. Half expecting you to be goofing off, taking advantage of not being needed in the lobby, she’s thrilled to find you seriously working, arms busy cleaning the windowsill. A woman of her word you are, with your sleeves rolled up to expose soft skin. Places never before inspected by her eyes. The rainy day’s light pushes through the window to cast an ethereal glow on your face and upper body, shining through your shirt, and exposing the darker fabric of your undergarments, truly showcasing them this time. “Oh! Jeez! You scared me! Is there a problem?” Yelena shamelessly looks you up and down. Picking up on her stare, you thought it was a criticism. Immediately you hurried away from the task and shoved your shoes back on. She was delighted when you got closer to her personal bubble. Witnessing your natural height was a treat, and it made the moment feel more raw. “I’m so sorry. My feet were hurting, and, well, um. How can I help you, Yelena?” Leaning against the edge of the desk, your body and mind beg for her to come closer, even though you have your arms crossed. Keeping a distance. “Well, I’ve come to accept your invitation to dinner” Shifting your weight back onto your feet, your eyebrows raise and your face warms up. “Really? That’s great! We are meeting at the seafood place just down the street.” Seafood is Yelena’s favorite. Did you pick the spot because you knew? Wanting to feed into the coy energy, she responds with, “That’s perfect, I’m excited to see you there.”

Daylight seemingly took ages to bleed into night, signaling the end of the shift for daytime staff. Both Yelena and your mind alike had wandered, theorizing situations for this evening. Would you sit next to each other? What were you going to order? The group met up with one another at the front doors, taking lively. Waiting, you being the last to clock out. “Okay, everyone, let’s eat!” You exclaimed. The banter continued out into the humid night streets, your group illuminated by the soft glow of neon signs and streetlights. Hanging in the back, you watched them all. You never expected to care so much for this little gaggle of people, truly finding your sense of purpose within guiding them.

Each person comes from a different walk of life. Armin being the youngest of the group at only 21, this is his first job, and he’s already grown so much. In the beginning, he was so shy, barely being able to hold a conversation. My, how that’s changed. Connie, Jean, and Sasha all go to college together. Sometimes they get into trouble and leave snack crumbs on the keyboards, but it never truly aggravates you; it just always brings forth a chuckle. Erwin was a single father, hardworking and dedicated, always having your back during unexpected rushes. The feeling of truly lucking out was strong with these people. “It’s beautiful out tonight, right?” Yelena’s rich voice breaks the train of thought. Smiling, you meet her low-lidded eyes. “Yes, we don’t get out much as a group, I’m grateful.” When had she walked up behind you? For such a large presence, she sure was quiet, like she was on a mission or something. “Sometimes I just like to hang back and observe them all.” Yelena is staring you right in the eye. “Sorry, ha, was that weird?” Your words are honeyed jabs right into the softest parts of her stomach. Face betraying nothing while continuing to hold eye contact. “No, that’s not weird at all. I think what you observe is telling of who you are.” Was that a compliment? “I sure hope that’s a good thing.” Replying with a giggle, looking away. Yelena speaks again, clarifying. “You are a kind person. That’s rare in a society like ours. You have a lot of courage to show it. Someone might use that against you.” So, yes? It was a compliment? Not having any time allowed to mull over the words, the group arrives at the restaurant.

Swept up in the crowd, the gaggle is ushered to a table at the back. Everyone piled into a booth meant to fit seven but crammed to fit all nine. Elbows clacking, bodies close. Lucky for you, Yelena was sitting to your right. The nerves were spiking, even though sitting with her was what you wanted. To be honest, though, you don’t even really register what you order, being too nervous and overstimulated by the restaurant. Too focused on her looming presence, sitting oh so close. Every time you bump elbows or touch legs, you feel bad, but she never moves away, just glances at you from the corner of her eye. That has to be a good sign, right? Yelena is just so damn hard to read, impossible really. Looking around, everyone else’s faces are pink, their eyes are glazed from drinking. Now knowing you will probably have to help them order taxis. Maybe a glass of something, anything, would be the pacifier to soothe this anxiety. Once the drink arrives, you immediately take to sipping at it. Now, you’re not drunk by any means or even tipsy, still completely in control, things just have a different shine, the lights look softer and you feel less hypervigilant.

The sizable woman beside you has her mind set on different things. Less dreamy things. Yelena is aware of the group of people around her. Watching them enjoy themselves should cause a halt to the plan, but it doesn’t and it won’t. Detachment comes naturally in this situation; the only person whose feelings don’t taint the design is you. Seeing you laugh together, share food, and trade plates when someone has something the other likes better only serves to further her worry for you. How would you take their deaths? Would she be strong enough to convince you she’s good, even after you see the truth? Even if that were possible, could she be flexible enough to aid you in the grieving process? Yelena notices the warmer glow on your face as well, an ease in your eyes when they make contact. “Come with me for a smoke.” she says. Not a question, but telling you what you are going to do.

Only replying with a nod, the two of you start the process of scooting past people. Most of the group’s lesser age made them crack immature jokes. Hooting and laughing at you two making your way outside together. Clearly picking up on the energy being shared, and it made you shy. Even Erwin, of all people, offered a small smile and a nod. His last glass of bourbon must have done him in. Yelena, however, did not react, unreadable as ever. Once you reached the balcony door, she held it open for you. ‘how chivalrous.’ You thought. Setting your purse down on one of the glass tables, placing your sight on the skyline, big and beautiful, shining bright as ever. Yelena comes up behind you, close enough to invade your space, and settles next to you. Strong arms braced against the railing, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to her impish mouth. The cherry glows red with her inhale, just like your heart does while you drink in her appearance. When exhaling, the smoke blows in your face, amplifying the mirage provided by the wine. Yelena would be heavenly to look at even without aid. “Why did you follow me out here?” Yelena asks.

Well, that’s a brilliant question indeed. You needed a moment to contemplate a response, but she did not allow that, instead asking another question. “What would you do if I told you it would be best to stay away from me?” Turning her body to you now, full attention in your direction. “You’ve shown me how obedient you can be. Does that translate here?” Again unsure of what to say, you opted for the truth. “Well, I’d probably have to ask you why, heh, I’m curious about you. I’d love to know more of who you are.” Was that good enough? The words weren’t as toying as hers had been, but could the truth behind the statement be seen? Yelena leaned in closer, understanding that if you take a step back, it would be an indicator to quit the pursuit. However, that’s not what happens; your body inches closer as well. Inspired by the beauty of the night, inhibitions lowered by multiple factors, deciding it’s time to try something far out of your comfort zone. “Would you like to come home with me this evening, Yelena?” You think you catch a glimmer in her eyes, finally. Taking a firm grip on your waist, wanting to keep it PG but also make your blood pressure spike, she tilts her head with a nod. “My, what alluring words. Who could deny that?” The urge to taste the cigarette on her lips is powerful, but the drink wasn’t that strong. What if someone was creeping? Or worse, Sasha and Connie were doing something stupid like taking pictures. Yelena moves away first, breaking the spell. Putting the cigarette out in the ashtray, then walking towards the door to let you back inside. Gathering your bag and following, the atmosphere change almost has you go back on your decision.

Something about the open night’s influence makes everything feel limitless. Fooling around while being her superior could land you in hot water, maybe even out of a job but it’s been so long since you allowed someone in. Girls deserve a little fun from time to time, right? And maybe if you were good enough, it wouldn’t have to be just a one-time event. Walking back up to the table, knees weak while gathering up your additional belongings, the circle catches on before you have a chance to defend yourself. “Yelena and y/n sitting in a tree!!” Shouts Connie, thus earning a flick from Erwin. They all erupt in laughter while you fumble out a measly “We are both just tired! It’s getting late! Stop teasing!” The only person who’s not in stitches is Onyankopon, mouth set in confusion and concern. He stares at Yelena as if she has three heads. Is she crazy? How reckless! Yelena holds his stare, not willing to back down. What’s the problem? Just two adults being adults, right? Except that’s not quite right, this is the culmination of months' worth of feelings. Yelena will not be halted by a glare, and he should know that by now. Even if he jumped up to confront her, she would just smooth-talk her way out of it. Finishing your fussing, you tell everyone to have a good night and get home safely, designating Armin to be the one to help order taxis for. Erwin seems like the obvious choice, but the blonde is clueless with phones.

The air in the car ride home was viscous. A glowing rod of tension formed between your two hearts so vivid it could have been clipped with scissors. It was decided to take Yelena’s car, figuring that if anyone questioned why yours was parked at the hotel all night, you would be more easily forgiven. This car, by the way, was much nicer than what she should have been able to afford. Knowing the exact amount everyone is paid every two weeks, it really made you wonder how she made ends meet. Rich parents, perhaps? Honestly, it doesn’t even matter; your mind is just wandering as a distraction, or else you might be caught staring. Big hands and long fingers take a firm hold on the steering wheel, her foot is smooth on the gas and brake pedals, giving the illusion that the car is floating. Similar to how you are right now. The thoughts of what is about to be shared overtake the previous ones. Those fingers will reach places you can’t on your own. Would the touch she gives be as smooth as her driving? Could she easily guide you into your home, hands tangled in your hair? Not gripping hard enough to hurt, just adding enough tension to relax you, make you extra pliable. Once the car is parked, everything quickly gets set into motion. Taking off her seatbelt, and leaned over to cup your face, spending a moment admiring you up close, then captured you in a kiss. It starts tame enough, the usual push and pull. However, once your hands move from her forearms, dragging up and across her chest to pull her collar, fabric rough on the palms of your hands, things start to rush. She practically snatches your seatbelt off. Briefly breaking the kiss to hit the release button so there’s more ease in pulling you over. Things elevate further when that wicked tongue pushes into your mouth, causing you to pant out breathlessly. The soft sound pulls a low laugh out of her mouth. It’s suggestive and heavy. Pulling away, she says, “I’d be happy to stay in here, but the bedroom is more comfortable. Don’t you think?”

Hopping out of the car quickly was your way of responding, and she followed. Meeting at the front of the vehicle, you took her hand feeling bold. It’s something that a kid might do, leading their crush into the bedroom, eager to share kisses and puppy love. Even though that’s not what the evening entails in the slightest, the gentle nature of holding hands feels right. Yelena doesn’t pull away, allowing herself to be led inside, taken right into the core of a decision made by the heart and soul, not the business-oriented mind. Feeling as reckless as a teenage boy, Yelena watches as you fumble with the keys, catching an exposed part of your neck and placing feather-light kisses on the skin. The shiver this causes makes you nearly drop the keys. After a beat, and a few sinful gasps, you finally get the door unlocked and immediately she’s jumping right back on you. Breaking apart repeatedly to put belongings down and shove off shoes. Grabbing her arm again during a moment of separation, you lead her to your room, hurrying to get the real party started. Her mind is blurry with lust for you, but once she has a look around, that’s slightly eclipsed. The inner workings of your space were something she only daydreamed about, just like everyone does when they have a crush. Seeing inside your private home is marvelous. It’s like a chamber of your heart separated from your body. Every wall screams y/n. Some things are obvious, like the fuzzy throw blankets draped over the couch, mirroring the one from your office. Others not so much, like your taste in art and candles; it fills her with desire, not just to feel you, but to know who you are too.

Upon entering the bedroom, the kissing and stumbling about resumes. While being pushed up against the back of your door, you take a glance at the messy space. It’s nothing gross, just lived in, bed unmade, and a few pieces of clothes scattered on the floor. A foreshadowing of what’s to come. Slipping around her arm after breaking the kiss, you attempt to gather up the scattered things, crouching down to shove them into a corner. Hot and bothered, she comes up behind you, grabbing at your wrist, body heat traveling to you. Effectively communicating she’s not here to play. Needy to hurry and get to it, and witness your unraveling. Body close, unoccupied hand resting on the curve of your waist, she speaks. “Poor thing, not expecting visitors, huh? Don’t be so shy.” Yelena is very much enjoying this ultra-private view. It’s tender and painfully real. Using the hand on your waist to pull you back into standing, she turns you to face her. Kissing again with a new tune. It’s different this time. Not so heavy but more romantic. The way a lover might capture your attention, hogging it and keeping you away from household chores. Natural. Playful. Maybe it’s the way she’s holding you or the way she gently sets you on the bed. No need for pushing, but the dynamic is still clear on who’s in charge. While she’s leaning in again to feel you up, you’re able to sneak a few kisses to her neck, drinking in her smell. A mixture of cigarettes and expensive cologne, masculine without being cloying. Everything about this moment is hopelessly sexy. How could someone so suave be into you like this? So into you, in fact, that she’s about to have you laid out on the bed, body singing with praises for every touch it’s given? Kissing her throat must have come as a surprise, because the most beautiful sigh left her mouth.

“Naughty girl, be careful. You might not be able to finish what you start.” Biting your lip at her words, puppy eyes watching her intently while she sinks to her knees before you. Placing kisses on your thighs, hands traveling up under your work skirt. Eyelids low, the way a wolf’s might be while they track prey, she speaks again, the effect you have on her wearing at her composure. “Can we take these off?” You nod, signaling her to lean back so you have space to stand. Expecting only the skirt to come off, you’re surprised when she removes your panties too. Body turning hot, not having been prepared to be exposed right in front of her face so soon. Before giving you a chance to sit back down, her hot tongue is on you, placing a long lick on your right thigh. “Yelena!” You gasp, the reaction spurring her on. Taking some flesh between her teeth, biting down ever so slightly. This made your hand fly to her hair, a silent plea be nice. Moaning at your touch, she soothes the bite mark with a kiss before speaking. “Lie back on the pillows.” Not needing to be told twice, swiftly shifting yourself up and laying down to get comfortable. Legs, albeit bashfully, spreading open to create room. Yelena crawls up and between them, upper body resting flat on the bed. Smiling wide like a hyena in front of a raw kill. She’s going to eat you alive. Spreading you open a bit with fingers, she gives a few kitten licks, testing the waters. The reaction she’s given tells her keep going. Yelena may be in an inferior position, but it’s clear who’s leading. Wrapping those hands around your hips, she gets to work. One of your hands grips the sheets, and the other comes up to cover your mouth, a weak attempt at hiding the oohs and ahs already spilling from your lips. A mouth so skilled would have you crumbling apart even if it hadn’t been nearly a year since you were last laid.

Hiding yourself would not work with Yelena, reaching up and grabbing the hand that was gripping the sheets she placed it on her head. Wanting you to grip cropped blonde hair as tightly as needed to ground yourself instead. Simultaneously, wordlessly signaling how she wants to be treated. With just a hint of roughness. Hoping to distract you from your hindrance with that and holding eye contact. Yelena looks so adorable, hair ruffled, mouth stuffed with your pussy. Greedy. Getting closer to finishing, the grip on her hair gets tighter, the ruthless and rhythmic pulse of her tongue causing you to twitch, legs tightening around her head. Sensing what’s happening, she switches to sucking harshly on your clit, and that’s enough to push you over the edge. Body trembling, stomach clenching, your voice cracks, cumming hard. Calling her name over and over like a prayer. Pace slowed, she continues to prod gently, helping you ride out the orgasm without leaving you overstimulated. “Kiss me, please come and kiss me.” Voice raw and pleading. Moving up to comply with the demand, she settles against you, arms resting at either side of your face, ensnaring you in a messy kiss. You don’t mind being able to taste yourself; it adds to the intimacy. Both of you being so eager to share a kiss, she didn’t take the time to wipe you off of her mouth. You also don’t think twice about the fact that your nakedness might stain her pants. Wishing to claim her, possess her in the same manner she just finished having you. The kiss moves from your mouth and then down to your throat. Yelena dry thrusts into you, effectively making a mess of her pants. Reaching down to unbutton your blouse, the kisses lower again. “I’ve always wondered what was hiding under here.” she says.

Replying with a shy laugh, hands held limply at either side of your head, giving access to whatever is needed, not putting up an ounce of a fight. Freeing one breast from your bra, she takes it in her mouth, sucking hard on your nipple then removing it with a pop. Longing to return the favor, you reach for the buttons on her shirt, but something brings a pause halfway through. Yelena’s removing your hands and interlocking your fingers together. Speaking up, she tells you, “Next time, next time.” That’s quite a loaded statement. So, there will be a next time? Or was she just saying that in the heat of the moment? Yelena knew the reproductions of what was said even before uttering it, but it’s true. As long as you wanted to, this was going to be the first of many private meetings. Continuing where she left off on your breast, again distracting you with the stimulation. Not noticing the other hand reaching down again while taking your nipple between her teeth, she shoves two fingers in at the same time. “Hah! Oh my God!” You gasp. It doesn’t hurt. Having been fully prepped and puffy, it’s just unexpected, in the best way.

‘again? was the first round just foreplay?’ you think. Moving away with her upper body, then bracing her elbow against her hip, hand positioned over her crotch at the same spot the strap would be if she had one. She pulls her fingers out briefly and when entering again, she moves her hips forward too. She’s actually fucking you with her fingers. ‘holy shit’ is all you can think. Continuing to move in and out of you, keeping her hips at the same pace. The added push from her body has her reaching quite deep, way more than you can when you’re alone. That’s for sure. Each hit has your body bouncing, breasts now completely free from your bra. Leaving the garment attached to your body gives you a disheveled look. That, paired with the fucked out gaze you’re giving her makes Yelena desperate. She needs you to cum again, and hard, harder than last time. Leaning in to attack your neck again has you noisy, the twisted mixture of bites and kisses has you spinning. The new angle has her ramming right into that special spongy spot. “Mmmm Yelena! I think- I think I’m gonna- “She cuts you off. “Oh, pretty baby, that’s right, tell me all about it.” Reaching down yourself to thrash at your clit, wanting to give her your all, you cum again. Calling out for her, voice echoing throughout the room. Noticing your body shuddering, she places her body weight on top of you, wanting to feel every twitch. Wanting to consume. Breathlessly wrapping your arms around her, she pulls out and whispers in your ear “What a sweet girl, such a pretty fucking voice.”

Sinfully bringing her fingers to her mouth, she licks them clean. The embarrassed whine you give is almost enough to go another round all on its own. After resting together for a while, awaiting the calming of your breath, the two of you undress and clean up a bit. Deciding to share pajamas with her, you can’t help the smile. Amusement crawling on your face. Seeing her in one of your nightgowns is a precious sight, hoping it will forever be immortalized in your head. Sleep is imminent after getting fucked so well, so you both hurry to get tucked into bed. Bodies caressed by plush blankets and fluffy pillows. Cuddling to soothe you to sleep, she simultaneously gently pets your arm, whispering into your hair. The words are intelligible to you, but the energy is clear, comforting. You’re warmer and more surrounded than you have been in a long, long time. It’s spreads through your mind, body, and soul, unable to stop the surrender to her relaxing touch, fully allowing sleep to fade your consciousness. The reality of her words is that they are not a lullaby, they are a pleading whisper. “Please, please just trust me. I’m going to hurt you but please, please just trust me.”

The morning greets with disappointment. Yelena isn’t asleep in the bed and the house sounds dead silent. It’s Sunday morning where could she possibly be? The side she slept on is made up, covers pulled tight the same way the maids do at the hotel. It makes you smile, then the spiraling begins. Had you gone too far? Did she regret touching you? Unable to bathe in the morning light and afterglow of romantic connection any longer, you get up. Slipping on fluffy slippers, mind set on the kitchen. Stopping at the dining table because a Post-it note catches the light. She’s left a note. An actual note.

thank you for last night. i hope you slept well, my sweet girl - yelena

Sweet girl. Well, that gave you butterflies. Thank you? Sweet girl!? Should you give her a call? No, no, a text. A call would be weird. The mental twisting continues as you make breakfast and clean up the house. The borrowed nightgown is folded on the bathroom counter and the bottom lock is done on the front door. Her presence only clear to the trained eye. Was that on purpose? No, she was just being respectful. You’re sure of it. After finding the pajamas you bring them in for a deep inhale. If it’s creepy, you don’t care. Cigarettes and cologne filled your mind, just as you hoped. Something deeper remained as well, sweeter and softer, more human. A hint of the love that was shared.

Yelena just about kicked herself when the buzzing of a cellphone woke her up. Onyankopon was calling. It was a message from the boss, an update on the plan. The hotel has a charity event coming up, a real swanky one. A fully black-tie event that luckily enough, all hotel staff would be invited as well. Honestly, she’s grateful. This revelation makes things much easier. All the people who needed to be taken out in one, probably locked, room but something else echoed. You would be there too. Some part of was excited to see you dressed to the nines but the other, smarter, greater half is aware of the truth. Poor little thing, expecting to have the night of her life, and her bedmate was going to ruin it. Spill blood all over it. This morning should have been spent waking slowly with you, cooking breakfast, and sharing kisses. Made sweeter than usual because maple syrup sticks to your lips, but it will be spent pondering ways to spare you, even if just slightly. When the call originally came through, Yelena stepped out onto the back porch and felt strangely at home. The backyard was very private, backed up onto a patch of woods and thick bushes blocked the neighboring yards. No prying eyes to witness her braless nightgown-covered form. The morning sun shines through dewdrops, air still chilly, giving everything an aura of safety and normalcy. It’s unfortunate Onyankopon wants to meet to discuss details, leaving is going to break the charm of sharing your private space. Coming back inside, she decided a look around won’t hurt. Starting in the kitchen and continuing to the living room, briefly taking a seat on the couch. Washes of different scenarios flash in her mind. Sharing pizza and watching movies. Observing you read while she washes the dishes. Some are a bit more suggestive like images of pushing you against the kitchen counter, kissing you until your eyes turn glassy. Moving on, she gathers her clothes from your room and changes into them in the bathroom, not wanting to wake you.

Folding the night dress and leaving it on the counter, she pokes around in your makeup and perfume, spraying a randomly chosen bottle shaped like a high heel onto her wrist. A rule has been broken. A line crossed. Not only because she connected with you in the first place, when she’s supposed to be working but because she went above and beyond. Having been tucked up in your bed, wearing your clothes, even doubling back to kiss you goodbye. Never had she stayed with a hookup longer than to make sure they were okay but then again, that’s not what you are. She sincerely hopes you feel the same way.

Yelena’s life path was seldom sure. As a child, her life was rough, violence being one of the few typical things. At home from her mother, at school from the children, or even from inside herself. Growing up tall and gay was no straightforward situation. Boys called her a giant, and girls acted afraid when she would try to befriend them. Scared the ‘lesbian disease’ as they discourteously called it, would spread to them. The isolation continued at home. Dad was always gone, up to no good with the same mafia she runs with to this day. Mom resented her, forced her to go to church and beat her with regularity. That was until Yelena grew strong enough to hit back. It was never something she wanted to do, but the power shift changed something inside permanently. Violence was a way of life now. It became clear that if you wanted something — protection or power — violence was the way to do it. When her father learned she understood this, he praised her for it and started the journey down the path of joining the mafia. Everything in her life revolved around inflicting pain, and it hardened her. But could you be the one to melt everything, to start over again? Was it safe to have that? What about you even got her thinking such things? It was probably a classic case of mommy issues. Every time you lend a hand or share a smile, you mend what someone else shattered, piece by piece. So, it’s set. She will ask you to be her date for the gala and, depending on the plans, she will find a way to hide you from the brunt of it all. Cross her heart and hope to die.

Just as she parked in front of Onyankopon’s apartment, her phone buzzed. It’s you! Answering it faster than necessary, then correcting herself by greeting you with a simple but thoughtful, “Hello beauty, how are you?” Internally screaming, you were glad you had gone back on your decision to just send a text. Calling gifted you with her sleepy voice. “You sure sound tired, someone keep you up late?” Yelena can sense the smile in your words; the flirting makes her heart soar. “Staying up late is fine by me if it means spending time with you. Listen, I have an urgent matter to get to. Can I call you later?” Being dissatisfied with ending the call so soon, you were soon pacified by the offer to talk later. “Okay! I hope whatever it is, is worth ending this call with me!” Yelena laughs lightly along with you and ends the call; you’re so cheeky on this morning after. It’s wonderfully different. Taking a look down at herself, she panics. “Shit.” Digging around in the glove department, thankfully discovering wet wipes. Having totally forgotten about the mess you made on her pants. The wipes worked well enough, thankfully. Then, she popped some gum in her mouth to freshen up. It’s not ideal, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kicking your feet briefly while letting out a small squeal, you immediately call Petra, not caring if she’s still asleep. Not replying to her string of texts last night, asking how things were going, has you eager to give all the updates. When the line stops ringing, you scream into the receiver, “PETRAAA!! It happened!!” she reply’s with a scream. “YAAAAYYY!! I hoped so! Was she good?” Mischief clear in her tone. Filling her in on every gory detail, you both take lots of time to pick each of them apart. The two of you decided to meet at your house, and when the outing was over, Petra would swing by the hotel for you to pick up your car. Hopefully, without a pink ticket slip shoved under the windshield wiper. Having both read the company-wide email about the upcoming event, new dresses were in order. Plus new shoes, earrings, nail polishes and lipsticks. I mean, naturally. Adult life really limited fun in most aspects, but Petra brought that back out in you. She’s the best friend you could ever have found in the workplace. You have shared many sacred moments over the time you’ve known one another. Coffee dates, snack binge nights, typically accompanied by her crying about the breakup of the month. She so what she’s flighty when it comes to men, always hopping to the next, but when it comes to you, she's always there. A perfect example was when you got a flat tire driving in the forest one weekend. Thinking of someone to call for help, Petra’s name was the first to pop up. Leaving her date on the spot to come and help you, joyful personality transforming the situation from one of anger to a happy memory instead. Petra just had that effect, always soothing, always ready to share a laugh. The agreed-upon starting point was the food court. With stomachs about to eat themselves, you both order breakfast sandwiches and smoothies, then she convinces you to share a chocolate muffin. I mean, who could turn down chocolate? The pair scanned two stores, and Petra got distracted by various sales; nothing interesting otherwise. “Down girl! Keep your head straight! We need gowns, not winter coats!” Words redirecting yourselves back to the task.

Happening upon another store, they had a decent selection. Selecting a few each, they set off towards the dressing rooms. Hot and stuffy hair makes you grow agitated. The dressing rooms are too small to move in properly, and the first three dresses were a bust, adding to the sense of urgency. “Y/n, show me what you’ve got! I’m bored with staring at the wall.” Face warm, skin clammy, you snatch open the curtain. “This is the only one I kind of like.” Turning your body to the side, you expose your stomach. “Plus, I look bloated from all the food we had.” A frown etched deep into your mouth. If only you could see what Petra saw. A goddess stands in front of her, perfect body wrapped in white, luscious silk. This dress is obviously the one; she’s just got to make you see it. Standing up, hands on hips, she stamps her foot. “Do you know how silly you sound? We wouldn’t be able to sustain ourselves to try on these clothes without food. Plus, my stomach looks the same! We are normal human girls! We gotta eat!” Frown turning upside down, you throw your arms open for a hug. “You’re right!” Petting her hair when she closes the distance. “I do really like this one.” Pulling away, she pokes your side. “That little girlfriend of yours is gonna have a hard time not pulling it off immediately.” Petra wiggles her eyebrows, and you grow shy, shoving her shoulder. “Not my girlfriend yet! And she’s definitely not little.” You two pause, making eye contact, then bust out laughing, causing a few customers to stare. You’re none the wiser, too caught up in the moment with your friend. “Okay, but seriously, seeing you in that dress is going to make her fall to her knees. Yelena is going to beg you to be her girlfriend.” Petra turns away, focusing on gathering up her dresses to try on. Taking a moment to admire your reflection in the mirror, you begin to see what she meant. Adjusting the white silk to sit better, wiping your eyes to see clearer, you do look sexy. Modestly covered, with all the right curves and shapes poking through. The price tag reading 50% off helps too; who doesn’t love a good sale?

Planning a sting operation of sorts would be much more boring than shopping. Well, at least for most people. For Yelena, it’s a favorite. Onyankopon is the best sidekick as well. One should always be prepared with cigarettes and music, just like he always is. Carefully printing out maps and blueprints to be heavily marked up with red and black ink. He’s a faithful man, consistently down for anything Yelena has planned, attentive towards her needs and feelings. It’s normal to form such a friendship after so long. The years passing isn’t really when bonds them most; it’s the violence. Witnessing one another in those worst moments, witnessing exactly when the other takes a life. Onyankopon became involved with the wrong people at a young age. Debts collect and bridges burn, pushing young men to do what they must in order to survive. It turned out he was better than most at it, accidentally finding meaning in the horror. I mean, after all, it is what brought him security. Doing his best to keep his humanity by purposefully memorizing Yelena’s preferred cigarettes and providing his significant other with all the needs and wants imaginable helped. That’s why it’s obvious something is going on in Yelena’s mind, having planned on confronting her about it at the right moment. If only a seating chart were going to be set for this event, it would make targeting the right people much more precise. Yelena lit her fourth cigarette, typical hyena smile present, but the muddying twist in her iris said something else. Time to be bold. “Yelena, something’s holding you back. Tell me so I can help.” Chucking while taking a drag, she tells a half-truth, keeping things vague. “Someone who shouldn’t be is involved in this.” Looking up from the sheets in her palms, speaking again while holding eye contact. “Do you trust me to work it out myself?” Of course he does. No matter what anyone else would think, even if the boss would call it betrayal, he would trust. That’s what time and mutual experience give. “Absolutely. Do what you must.” She nodded, fixing her button-down; emotion embedded her words. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

The following days pass by quickly. Front desk staff, maintenance, housekeeping, and sometimes the chefs are all busy decorating and setting up for the event. Adjusting furniture, fixing streamers to the walls, washing linens — the whole kit and caboodle. You were a rough taskmaster too, fully taking control and giving directions. This being a whole new side Yelena had never seen. Lightly bossing people around and holding everyone’s skills to high standards. “Sasha! Connie! Stop harassing the catering crew!” You scold, causing the pair to scram. “Good Lord.” Tapping your pen on your clipboard, swearing you saw the man wipe sweat from his brow in relief. Things were coming along well, even with the hiccups along the way; pride for your staff still shines through you from inside. “Hey, y/n, I brought you that box.” Jean approaches you with a big cardboard package. Looks light enough, I mean it’s just string lights, right? Wrong. The second the box crosses into your arms, your body buckles under the weight. “Umm… you got that?” Jean scratches the back of his head, observing your struggle. “Yes, I’m fine! Go get the rest of them from the basement.” Wobbling over to the table, you slam the box down, steadying yourself in preparation to stand on a chair to hang them up. Yelena had been goofing off in the corner, pretending to tie ribbons when she noticed what you’re doing. Now she’s sure you can handle it on your own, but that doesn’t mean you have to, right? Coming up behind you quickly, hands wrapping around your calves, she startles you. Nearly falling off the chair, you yell out, “Yelena! You scared me!” Replying only with a sly smile and pushing her hand up higher, you understand what she’s trying to do. Whispering this time, you say, “Hey what if someone sees?” Silence yet again. Her only reply is raising her eyebrows, those pretty hands continuing to move up. Painfully slow, the way a python grips prey. Face feeling hot, you reach up again, fixing a piece of wire to the wall. An attempt at staying on task. Beginning to massage the backs of your thighs, she speaks. Low, barely audible. “Don’t let me distract you, sweet thing, keep working.” Whipping your head around to look down at her, you give her the dirtiest look possible. Digging short nails in a bit, she speaks again. “I told you, continue working.” Deciding to listen, you try again. While you work, she speaks, normal volume this time. “Be careful, wouldn't you to fall.” Whispering a quick “Shut up.” You push another wire into place. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, y/n.” She asks while rubbing circles into your flesh, trying to seem relaxed despite the nervous tick. “Would you like to accompany me to the event? I want to treat you to a night out, as my girlfriend.”‘holyfuckingshitissheaskingmetobehergirlfriend?!?’ Is all you can think. Her girlfriend? The ownership in her words is hopelessly sexy, not even asking you to take the title, but placing it on you. Fuck. Turning back to her bashfully, you nod. “Yes, I would love to go together. Especially as your girlfriend.” Yelena’s face held something more innocent than usual. Those gigantic eyes, always so bored, now looked bright. Hopeful. Successful because you said yes.

Onyankapon watches from a distance, having already suspected you were the thing holding her back; witnessing the flirting confirms it. Not feeling very gentlemanly, he turns away, not wanting to creep further. A dangerous game Yelena was playing, but maybe you were worth it. Knowing from experience with the struggle he endured meeting his own partner. However, it was different. He let them in on his secret when the time was right, without them being a part of the plan. Yelena has you standing directly in the line of fire. You were such an empathetic person, how could Yelena be okay subjecting you to her violence? Then again, that could be why things work between you two, through forgiveness. He mostly hopes you won’t hurt her by leaving her hanging, scarred by rejection when the truth comes forward.

Finishing the work in the ballroom by the end of the week, you filled your Saturday afternoon with an everything shower followed by a full face of makeup, getting ready for the event. Finally, something other than hanging up bows and painstakingly adjusting champagne glasses on tables. The ballroom was immaculate, thanks to none other than you and your staff. Practically rivaling a Gatsby party. Spending the time getting ready while on the phone with Petra, you filled the space with nervous rambling. Petra didn’t mind not being able to fit a word of her own in; it was sweet to see you so excited. “Petra, oh my god, do I wear a red lip?” Replying instantly, she says. “YES! The contrast with your white dress is perfect! And~ imagine smearing it all over Yelena’s- “ What a one-track mind that girl has. “Okay! that’s enough!” You cut her off, both sharing a belly laugh. The evening’s plan was to be picked up by Yelena at 9pm, and it’s currently 8:40. Freaking out, running around the house, you gather up everything you’ll need. Gum, lipstick, powder. In the middle of going down the mental checklist, the doorbell rings. ‘of course she would be early.’ You think. Speaking out loud this time, you yell, “One second!” Shoving on your heels, stumbling around the house blowing out candles and turning off lights, finally resting your palm on the doorknob. Pausing because you’re nervous. Doubt starts to creep in, heavy and ugly. What if she doesn’t find you pretty in your dress? What if she hates your new lip color? Taking a final big breath to calm down, you open the door quickly enough that you accidentally startle Yelena.

A vision. A dream. Unreal and statuesque. White fabric drapes seductively across the curves of your body. Pulling attention to everything just right, but leaving some creativity to the wandering imagination. Yelena’s field of vision blurs at the outer edges, enamored by the idea of your red lips marking all over her collar, wishing to get a chance to see that dress in a mess on the bedroom floor. Yelena’s no fright herself. Lashes adorned with a light coat of mascara only adding to the otherworldly pull they hold. Gravitating closer to her, you notice her clothing. Black dress pants and a black blazer layer overtop a white satin button-down. She left the top few buttons undone, teasing the view underneath. She’s the perfect blend of the divine masculine and feminine. You’re feeling very shy, but want to beat her to speaking first. Wishing to fluster her with a shower of compliments. “Yelena, you look so, so pretty.” Leaning in, to place a faux kiss on her cheek, not wanting to stain her with your red mouth. Not yet, at least. “It’s hard to believe you’re all mine tonight.” You flatter her again, relishing the pink dusting her face. Yelena takes a moment to absorb everything, but unfortunately, something halts the fantasy. Your dress it’s white and will be stained beyond recognition if things don’t go well tonight. She can see flashes of it washing over the real-life view of you. A splatter across your shoulder, an enormous pool in your lap that drips down your thighs. Wet fabric clinging to you in a way that’s uncomfortable, not suggestive. Noticing her hesitancy, you ask if she’s alright. Covering up the moment, morphing it into something else, she kisses you. Quick and sweet, something couples might share before prom night. Laughter bubbles up within you, as you’re delighted that her lips show just a faint pink. “You’ve got a little something there.” You point at her mouth while she wipes it with the back of her sleeve. “Pink lips look good on you.” You tease again, causing her to grab you by the waist and lead you to the car. “Time to get going before I take you back inside instead.” Yelena says. The ride there is cool and calm. It gives you time to share a few songs and chat lightly about different things. Yelena vowed inside not to make anymore mistakes tonight. She did not want to show in any way that something was off. Replying appropriately to the conversation and complimenting your taste in music was easy and enjoyable. On the contrary, the bloody premonitions she was having were not. It’s haunting her, hanging in the corners of evening. Growing with the setting sun. Once the two of you arrive, the evening sweeps you up quickly. Yelena leaves you to get drinks, and you’re tangled in a conversation with Miss Ackerman. “It’s so nice to see you here enjoying an event instead of working, y/n.” She says, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Thank you!” You reply brightly. “It’s kind of strange, actually. I’m so used to worrying about everything it’s hard to relax.” Miss Ackerman smiles. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your evening, y/n.” Sending her off with a smile, you set your sights on finding Yelena. Scanning the crowd fruitlessly, only glimpsing Armin and Erwin choosing between desserts, you decide to check back in the employees-only part of the building.

The plan for the evening goes as follows. There is an emergency exit located center stage currently hidden by decorations and curtains. The door leads to a snaking labyrinth that eventually opens to the staff entrance. It’s a measly waiting room with a bathroom fixed on a side wall, but this was a benefit. The employees milling about using the private bathroom to avoid crowds would help Yelena blend it. Her first target would be Zeke. He’s scheduled to give an opening speech, thanking everyone for coming and announcing the performances to come. All of that pretentious shit. Onyankapon’s first target is currently undetermined; no one was yet settled in seats. His role is to come in through a side door. One that leads from the lobby into the ballroom, currently loitering there, phone in hand, ready to text Yelena when the speech starts. Yelena’s mind wanders to the list of people set to be eliminated. Armin, Sasha, Jean, Connie, Petra, Erwin, and lastly Zeke and Eren. It’s a lot, but nothing the pair can’t handle, especially with the firepower they possess. A string of texts from you pops up on her phone.

hey where are you? i’m lonely :(

i’m coming to look for you. are you at the back entrance?

[image]

look! petra is trying to score with this short dude! ha!

what a sour face he has lmao. apparently his name is levi :p

Hearing you coming through the elevator, she shoves her gun into her belt, freeing her hands, ready to set them upon you. Then she catches you, thanking God you came alone, even though girls love to go pee together. Pinning you up against a wall, she senses she has frightened you a bit because you are squirming, but she easily squashes the fight you give. It’s delicious to feel that your strength is so inferior. You expect a sexy look to grace her face, assuming she is about to ravage you with kisses, but instead your eyes meet fear and concern. This is the moment of truth. Will you listen? “Y/n, I need you to do something for me. Listen carefully. When you see me come on stage, you’re going to hide behind your table.” Deciding to trust, you don’t ask questions. It’s sprinkled in the air that she will do something bad, and you’re afraid. “How will I know when you are on stage?” Her eyebrows furrow with worry. Cupping your cheek, she says sadly, “Oh, you’ll be sure.” Yelena won’t be able to spare you from the first death of Zeke while he blabbers at the podium, but it’s the lesser of evils. Petting your head, the grip on your body lessens. Her phone pings with text messages. It’s time. “Hurry back to your seat. I do hope you heed my warning.” Shifting away and traveling back through the elevator, you text Petra, wanting to warn her. Maybe the two of you could escape unharmed at the very least. It would be a form of betrayal to Yelena, but what the hell was she planning? Making it back to your seat, you notice the lights have dimmed, making it much harder to find Petra. Stumbling across your own seat was by happenstance.

The text messages from Onyankapon are not what she expected.

just took out eren. any sign anyone heard?

Damn. How did that happen so soon? Yelena replies quickly.

what? no not that I can tell. everything should be fine.

Onyankapon hadn’t predicted being found by Eren, but once their eyes met, the fight commenced. Eren knew exactly who this man was and what he was here for. To collect the debt of the Yeagers. Beating Onyankapon with his fists worked for a while. The pair slung office decor and desk chairs around, grunting quietly, focused with laser precision on the battle for life. Onyankapon had the build of an ox, thick with dense muscle. Unfortunately, at this moment that was not to his benefit. When the pair moved behind the desk, he stumbled over the threshold. When Eren noticed this, he took advantage, delivering a hard shove. Onyankapon landed hard, heavy body landing on various office supplies. Staplers, stamps, cups full of pens pressing into his spine painfully weakened him against Eren’s assault. The brown-haired man jumped on top of the other, hands immediately pressing down to steal Onyankapon’s oxygen. Fighting not to panic, the gap between his back and the floor actually benefited. It gave space for his hand to reach back and grab his gun out from its place in his pocket. Normally, Onyankapon would have never considered himself a dirty fighter, but when push came to shove, he would win by any means. In one swift motion, he pulled the gun out and positioned in under Eren’s jaw, then pulled the trigger. Eren’s blood rained down all over him, painting his face, collar, and weaving itself into the coils of his hair. Disgusting, but at least he won. Gathering himself from the ground, he texted Yelena the update.

Zeke’s speech begins before you’ve had the chance to locate Petra, thoughts overpowered by his words ringing through the speakers. “Good evening, everyone! I hope you’re all enjoying the libations and hors d’oeuvres! I’d like to take a moment to thank my colleagues for the beautiful setup they provided. Go ahead and give them a round of applause, everyone!” Frantically making your way through the crowd intent on reaching the back for a better view, the panic rises, along with the overwhelming boom of clapping, as you sense the end of his speech incoming. “Without further ado, let me introduce the first performance of the night. The- “ His words are cut off by none other than Yelena, shooting him in the head. Once this happens, you understand it is time to hide, immediately crouching down behind a table dress ripping in the process.

The crowd doesn’t immediately react when Zeke falls; that happens when Yelena takes a bow, fully enjoying herself. Instantly the room erupts. Tables pushed, purses tossed, drinks spilled. Screams of horror and panic flood your ears, having to cover your mouth with both hands to halt your own. This is not what you expected. You thought maybe she would come up and say something political, rebelling against the millionaires in the room, but then again, why would you have needed to hide? How did you not truly put it together? Being posted at the back of the crowd, you ended up with a front-row seat to the massacre of your friends. Armin is the first to go after Zeke. Sat to the left of the audience, Onyankopon comes from a side door, popping him in the face while he runs towards your side, seeking safety within you. You make eye contact while he falls. In the process of crawling to Armin’s body, a large man trips over you, kicking your thigh and stepping on your hand. Picking up the younger boy, you cradle him in your lap, blood staining your white dress. He’s a baby, for Christ's sake! What could he have done! Petting his long blonde hair to try to soothe him only serves to get it matted with blood. A stark contrast to the typical light fluff it has. His body is so much lighter than you expected, soul having already departed, but you can’t help cradling it anyway. Killed on impact. Distracted by him, you don’t notice Erwin go down. He shoots towards Yelena, trying to charge forward, but Onyankopon is faster, delivering a blow to the arm. Erwin falters a bit weakened, but still tries to continue forward. The gunshot must have been to an artery because blood spurted out with the beat of his fading heart. Wetting his clothes and making his face multiple shades paler. He collapses unceremoniously. A big, bloody heap. Tears begin to spill onto Armin’s face, clearing circular dots in the red stains. His pretty kind visage, bright eyes, light behind them gone. All in an instant. “Hey, Armin? Armin?” Clutching his hand, you pull him into your chest for a hug. If only your tears could cleanse the mess from him, or physical touch breathe life back in.

Onyankopon has made his way towards the front to aid Yelena in eliminating the others. Yelena takes on Jean first. He’s able to get a few good hits in, aiming for her face and stomach, almost disarming her. In the end, her weapon is stronger. Shooting him in the neck and then again in the chest. A payback of sorts. Connie has Sasha on the floor, smaller body caging her in, protecting her. The pair are facing down, and Sasha is covering the back of her head. Connie’s own are wrapped tightly around her midsection. Both of their eyes are closed. It’s barbaric. They are surrendering, but Yelena pauses for only a moment. Really just to get her sights straight from the scuffle with Jean, aiming right for Connie’s chest, shooting at the same as Onyankopon. Her bullet hit Connie; his hit Sasha. At least they went together. Everyone knew they were in love, so now destiny unites them forever. Petra was able to avoid the fate of the threesome, having been separated to talk to that black-haired man named Levi. Hiding in the crowds crammed against the walls, knowing her hair color will expose her soon, she’s just set on finding you first. It’s sad, but you’re her only real friend. Skillfully navigating tables and chairs, tablecloths and spilled drinks adding to the danger, her eyes arrive at you. The picture of a saint. White dress stained, surrounded by a red pool so thick it seems to come from you as well. Soul bleeding empathy for the blonde boy in your arms. Makeup stains mix with Armin’s blood, creating a red tear effect. It’s biblical; you resemble an angel carved from stone weeping over a grave. Grip on Armin’s body tight, perfect picture of a broken mother figure. She starts towards you, her hand outstretched to grab any bit of you, aiming to guide you towards safety, but someone snatches that hand up midway. It’s Yelena. Petra yelps as her body is pulled and turned around. Falling to her knees, accepting fate. She looks like a puppy yanked down by their collar, ready to be beaten for their wrongdoings, hands resting in her lap, understanding. The cruel taller woman standing over her looks her right in the eye and murders her. Yelena feels nothing. That is until your horrified eyes come into focus. Petra was close enough to further paint your face with gore, adding to the pathetic state of things. Your hand, which originally was outstretched for Petra, is how suspended mid-air, empty. “Yelena?” Is all you can say.

She’s delighted to see that your hand doesn’t retreat but instead flexes towards her, shaking. You need her. Still, it doesn’t feel right. She hates how you cower in fear and cry. You’re not supposed to be sobbing from watching her brutalize a human body. You’re supposed to tell her yes yes yes while she worships yours. She’s supposed to dominate your senses, commanding every move and feeling. Not violate them, scaring your mind with the sight of gore, smell of blood and sound of gunfire. Grabbing you under your shoulder, she pulls you to your feet. Armin’s body slips from your grasp and slams onto the floor. The weakness you felt dissipated, and you began to fight Yelena’s grip. “Stop! He’s hurt!” Not sure of the correct words to say, she just overpowers you again, moving you away. ‘he is hurt, right?’ You think, mind completely lost in anguish. His little head just slammed onto the ground. That should have been more than enough to get a reaction. Why didn’t he move? Allowing yourself to be taken, you rest your full weight into Yelena’s body and arms. It’s okay, though it’s exactly what she wanted. Full surrender, full trust. Maneuvering past everyone set on leaving, she knows Onyankopon won’t be happy to see you added to the equation. Body draped weakly across her own. Eventually happening across him, greeted with the exact face she expects, he speaks. “Why is she here? Is this what you were talking about?” The two fight briefly, but he’s a good friend, and it’s especially hurtful seeing you in such a horrid state. Dress ruined, torn at the thigh. Face smeared with blood and makeup, solid gore wrapped around you. Probably from Petra, who was your close friend. It softens his heart. He can’t leave you here; you’re a good person and in any other reality would have been a superb manager to have.

The ride home in Yelena’s car is a blur. Much different from the first trip in it this evening. The first go-around was fuzzy with desire and flirtation. Now it’s just obstructed. Armin and Petra had both reached out to you seeking safety. That being something you could not provide would hang heavy on your shoulders. Guilt prints lasting for a long time. But then when you reached out, Yelena was the one to grab your hand. Could this saboteur be your savior? Street lights shining through passing trees gave a strobe effect, aiding in your distraction. The car’s air conditioning blew with a fierce wind, chilling the mess you’re covering in. Similar to what would happen after being rained on. Noticing that the roads being taken were unfamiliar, you made the assumption that it’s her house you’re headed towards. The idea in Yelena’s mind — the idea of helping you clean up and spending the night at her house — means your space won’t be tainted. Physically or mentally. At least if you decided you hated her, the memories wouldn’t be attached to your home. Knowing all too well what that felt like. Never being able to escape. Assisting you inside the house, Yelena felt almost like a devoted partner helping her girlfriend inside after one too many. Bending down to pull your heels off, she shut the door and locked it. Signaling your safety in her jurisdiction. Now it was your turn to look like a puppy. Pathetic wet eyes observed Yelena as she pulled her suit jacket off, and then set her shoes next to your own. “Come with me, sweetheart.” Warm words from such a cold being. By the way, how was she so untouched? White shirt still crisp and clean, an obvious sign of experience. Strong hands guide you upwards towards the primary bathroom. Right to the heart of the beast. Entering the bathroom, she prepares for a bath. Gathering a towel and washcloth, then undressing you without asking, but you don’t mind. Having removed her own top, leaving her in her bra, Yelena draws the water extra hot, steam blurring the lines. Not that you mind it being too much, the burn helps calm you. A tingling sensation spread all over, replacing the empty feeling. Erasing what you just witnessed. Removing her clothes was a way of trying to balance the scales, wanting to present in a similar state to ease tension. Using her soap, Yelena lathers your body. Working at removing the blood and stench she originally cast upon you. The sweet, clean smell is disorienting. Wanting to trust her for taking care of you, especially after something so harsh, but you have to remember she’s the reason why. It’s growing harder to remember she’s the reason why. When washing you, she works her way up with the cloth, your body facing away from her. Circling your torso and shoulders, then moving to the backs of your ears. When you sigh and lean into her touch, she almost falls right into the water. Letting the towel slip away, she switches to massaging your shoulders. Her thin, pretty fingers are much stronger than they seem. Moving from your shoulder blades to your neck, and then to your jaw. It’s tender; only a lover would focus on something as insignificant as working knots from someone’s jaw.

Suddenly aware that your hand hangs limply on the bathtub’s edge, she realizes you might actually be injured. “Did something happen to your hand?” She asks. Only replying with a nod, and shifting your body toward her, outstretching your arm expecting her to aid. Gipping your wrist sympathetically, she helps you stretch out your fingers and hand. The repeated motion hurting at first but eventually doing wonders at loosening the tension. Satisfied with the cleaning job, she questions you about further injuries. “My thigh. I think someone kicked my thigh.” ‘well, that just won’t do’ thinks Yelena. Assisting you out of the water, gripping firm not allowing any chance of you falling, she wraps the towel around your body. Further smothering by haphazardly drying you off with it. Grabbing your hand, she says. “Let’s get you laid down. How does that sound?” Following to her room, you permit her to lay you down on the bed. Damp body staining the pillow and mattress. “I’ll be right back. Stay there.” Wanting to correct the firm tone, she tries again. “I have something for that bruise.” Then, leaving you alone to absorb the space.

Simple as expected, and clean. Maybe even a little plain, not much personality showing except for the teddy bear resting among the pillows. Judging by the state of it, it must be from her childhood. How unexpectedly human. Returning to the room with two bottles and a lighter, Yelena ignites the candle sitting on the bedside table. Casting a warm flicker across the room, throwing the calm scent of sandalwood into the air. It infuses the room with romance and sacred energy. Something you are weak against the influence of. Yelena reaches down to open the plush towel, leaving you naked, assuming to put lotion on you. Spreading it first into your arms and then moving down. Careful not to invade anywhere unwanted. Pulling your legs straight out to work the cream into your knees and calves. It smells just like her, that expensive cologne scent, furthering the confusion and deepening her grip on your mind. Insisting. The action being extremely intimate, disgustingly so. You want to cry and rush away, but you need the touch too much. No other lover you’ve been with has ever treated you this way, if only it were under different circumstances. Instead of just letting your leg fall like you expect, she gently lowers it back to the floor. “Show me where it hurts.” She says while grabbing the second bottle. The first instinct you have is to motion towards your head; the greatest pain being emotional. Gesturing to a general area of your leg instead, you huff, reminded of the physical ache. Rubbing the bruise gel on the swollen mark with a bit too much pressure caused you to whine. Yelena apologizes and tries again. This time, touching weightlessly. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I’m not used to caring for someone else. I hope you’ll forgive me.” That last sentence carries weight, going beyond accidentally pushing too hard. She hopes you’ll forgive her. Is that possible? Does your mercy stretch that far? “I’d love to elaborate more on why this is the life I’ve chosen, but tonight is not about me. Please, I hope you’ll allow me to tend to you further.” Those words. ‘this night is about me?’ You wonder whether she understands the impact. But of course she does; that’s why that exact phrase was used. To disarm you. Noticing the influence of her words, she adds another detail. “Maybe in the morning we can talk more.” A seemingly innocent suggestion, but again it’s a sign of what you will be doing. It’s not a question. You will be staying the night and spending time together tomorrow. Finishing with the gel, and standing up to leave the room, your words cut off her path. “Will you hold me? Please I don’t want you to leave me alone.” Coming back close, body towering over your laid-back form, she agrees. “Of course I can hold you. Come here.” Grabbing hold of both your hands, she sits you up on the bed. Crawling up behind you to lean against the bed frame, legs straight, lap open for the taking. Yelena expected you maybe to lay next to her or rest your head across her thighs but, to her amazement, you chose to straddle her instead. Bare body completely up against her own scantily clad chest. Wrapping your arms tightly around her neck, fingers finding their way to her short hair, and face coming to rest in the crook of her neck, you allow the tears to fall freely. The contrast of body warmth mixing and cold droplets is practically esoteric.

An exchange that might happen if you had just lost a family member or had a depressive episode and Yelena was a devoted wife. Hopefully, that will be the situation one day. Yelena becoming a wife to you, not a bad guy. Hands pressing circles into your spine brings a shiver forth. Thinking you were cold, Yelena leans the two of you forward to reach for the blanket. Leaning away from the hiding spot of her neck, you meet her eyes. ‘this next ask might be toxic.’ You think, ‘but I need to feel something.’ Awaiting your voice, she holds eye contact. “Yelena, would you ever shame me?” Why of course not, you’re still giving her more than the time of day after what she just did? What could you possibly say that’s so bad?

“Never. Just tell me.” Reaching around, you remove one hand from the hold on your back, and place it on your inner thigh. Confused at the tears welling up again, she assumes you’ve got another injury. “I need- please, I-… I want you to touch me. Make me feel. Just make me feel anything but this pain.” Face dampening with salty tears again.

Being unable to hide the surprise, her eyes sparkle. Trust. You trust her. Anything you want, she will give. Continuing the path you set her hand for, she moves it down to cup your sex, an ultimate check in for consent. Breathless huffs leave your mouth trying to coax her into more. Yelena’s not trying to tease you, but worship you. This is a ritual. Draw out as much pleasure from this moment as possible; it’s her only manner of atonement for now. Dragging a knuckle back and forth through your folds to help you produce more slick, this is a pleading for absolution that will be taken seriously, slowly and gently. Although the look on Yelena’s face is enough to do it for you. Twisted in desperation, with eyebrows knotted together, her eyes now pricked with tears. Heart warmed by your ask. Moving the pads of her pointer and middle fingers to rest on your clit, she begins to work slowly in firm circles that have you rolling your hips in tandem. The motion of your bodies crashing has the fabric from her bra irritating you. Without asking, you reach back and unclasp it. Turning a beautiful pink that spreads all the way to her chest, Yelena says. “No one. No one sees.”

This doesn’t come from a disdain for the mirror, just an avoidance of genuine connection; it's not typically something she can spare. Kissing down her collarbone, it leaves faded pink lipstick marks, the remains of the red once painstakingly painted there. You must look practically rabid. Smudged and worn. Neither of you care though; this moment was destined to show what lies underneath. Maybe you’re more intense than you ever thought. Maybe Yelena is softer than she ever imagined. She keeps her fingers out of you, not wanting to invade any further. Plus, there’s an innocence about just touching externally. A simplicity that promises every wrongdoing can be mended in time. When your mouth becomes louder, her fingers move faster, set on getting you to the edge whenever you may please. No holding back, no restrictions on your release. Lost in the burning moment, you capture her in a kiss, but instead of you moaning into her mouth, it’s the other way around. She just can’t help herself; whimpers come involuntarily at the way you’re making a mess on her fingers, open and wet. Being able to tell you’re close to cumming has her scattered. The sound is foreign but so, so right. “Wait, wait, Yelena.” Hand coming to grab her wrist, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s not fair to feel this good after what happened.” Cadence coming out panicked, asking for her approval and reassurance. You are truly too good for this world; how did you end up in her lap? What did Yelena do to deserve this? She’s unsure, but what she is sure of is you deserve a caring touch. “You deserve to feel better, y/n, just let it happen. Please.” Nodding your head along, you feel yourself break. Moving away from her at the intense sensation but her fingers chase, continuing to whisper praises, she just allows you to spasm and cry into her chest. This is your moment. Your cleansing.

While coming down from the high, something new washes over you. A bravery, a renewed power. The depth you hold has been put on display twice now. It’s Yelena’s turn to show. Licking down the valley between her breasts and stopping at her bellybutton, you tug at her belt. Yelena covers her mouth, unsure of what to say. Having your touch would be a blessing, but it’s been so long, does she even remember how to be on the receiving end? Moving your weight to straddle just one of her legs, you motion for her to spread wider; immediately she complies. What a stunning sight. Blonde hair sticky and disheveled, mouth covered with a shaky hand, eye contact equally unsteady. Breath heavy, perky bare breasts pink with embarrassment and sprinkled with sweat. Anticipating being forgiven in the rawest of ways. Removing her belt and tossing it to the floor. It landed in a heap next to her bra. Nimble fingers unbutton her pants and dive into her panties, finding her to be pathetically wet. Leaving your fingers able to slide around easily, almost finding it hard to apply the right pressure.

Using the collected slick to further dampen her clit, you get to work. Leaning into her face to have a better chance at hearing her whine, she grabs at your shoulder with her unoccupied hand. “My, this wet for me already? Fuck.” The dirty words from your pretty mouth make her stomach twitch, involuntarily bucking into your hand. “Fuck, baby.” Cooing at her again while slipping a single finger inside. Adorable yelps are muffled by her palm while she slides down to give you a better angle. Watching you make quick work of her, hand hidden by her pants, turns her on further. The denial of direct sight makes her need it more. “Want another one, Yelena?” She’s unexpectedly tight, and you don’t want to hurt her, but the sensation of her practically sucking you back in tells the truth. Nodding as you insert another, her sounds get much louder, matching the tune of your fingers every time they hit that specific spongy spot. “Ughhh- ngh- ha!” Pulling you in roughly, probably hard enough to bruise, she kisses you. It’s a mess of teeth and tongue, an attempt to hide her sounds. ‘is she going to cum already?’ You think.

Testing your theory, you change up the rhythm, fingers pressing hard into that special spot and shortening the strokes you make. Bringing forth strength from your bicep and shoulder, you drill in with an upward motion. Yelling your name out with a strangled cry, kicking her legs and grabbing at the fat of your ass harshly. Short nails digging in, leaving half moon shaped craters. With one last small shriek, she wets her pants. Squirting all over your hand, soaking through the fabric on her body and staining the bedsheets. “Oh my god.” You whisper, thoroughly surprised. Pulling you down by your shoulders, she grips you, swallowing you up, feeling clingy. Pulling out carefully, you bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean. Just like she had done the first time you had sex. “I can’t believe you were hiding that from me.” You say, giggling slightly. “Stop it.” She wipes a small tear away from her eye, having let go of all reservations. “I want you to hold me, y/n.” Pulling away from her previous grip, you shimmy down the filthy pants still clinging to her, aiding you by lifting her hips. The two of you being fully naked now, entangle together into one sticky mass of legs and arms. Forgoing the covers to cool down, Yelena allows you to assume big spoon. Rocking each other to bed with whispered sweet nothings and calming touches. Intertwined now by more than just physical activity, but a trauma bond of sorts.

Waking up in the morning, things feel different. Your dreams of a future fade with the rising sun. With the candlelight veil lifted, the hard edges of reality returned. The images from last night still hurt, but the mental blood doesn’t gush as much; it doesn’t loosen your grip on real life as much anymore. You know you are at Yelena’s house in her bed alone. Then you remember Yelena killed people. In front of you. Yelena killed Petra. Fear grips your spine with a cold jolt, amplified by the air conditioning fanning over your naked form. The vulnerability setting in makes you wish to be covered up. Remembering your ruined dress has you digging through Yelena’s closet, settling on a black button-up. It’s not really your correct size, but it’s better than nothing. Bare feet patter down the stairs, impact muffled by the carpet.

Rounding the corner and catching a glimpse of Yelena standing over the kitchen sink. She’s slowly sipping a cup of hot tea, steam visible in the sun rays. “Yelena?” She turns, not startled but instead looking at you kindly, happy you’re awake. “How are you feeling, y/n?” What would be the best way to go about this? Honesty’s the best policy, right? “I’m afraid. Would you ever… hurt me too? Like everyone else?” How was Yelena supposed to answer that? She never wanted to hurt you but was okay with doing it when it was an order. She would never hurt you directly though, so maybe that’s where to start. “I would never dream of hurting you directly.” Setting down the hot cup, she walked toward you. “How about we sit and have a chat? You should know more about me.” She says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the couch. What have you gotten yourself into?

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hadtobeconfronted · 9 days ago

Text

Too Sweet

Summary: For the past few weeks, Hanji has locked themselves away in their office, away from prying eyes, including your own. But your heart can clearly tell when something is wrong with your beloved.

a/n: hey everyone <3 this story is entirely based on the cover art by my amazing artist friend @kylekoraki ! please show them some love and everyone say "thank you" to kyle for drawing this! <3 here's their twitter as well <3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: canon setting, fem!reader, non-binary!hanji zoe, no warnings really, just some heavy kissing. not really beta read, we die like men <3

ao3 | wattpad | cover by: @kylekoraki | wc: 4.2k

You knock on the door. Once, twice, thrice. No answer. A grunt escapes your lips and you roll your eyes, repeating the action. Once, twice, thrice. Nothing again. Now a frown takes the place of the smile that used to rest on your face, you know they are in there, you can hear the papers being shuffled around, the tapping of their pen, the shadow of their body as they pass by the door, even faintly the sound of the ice that clinks around their whiskey glass.

You raise your hand to knock again, but before you even have the chance, the door opens. Barely enough for any light to make it through but you see the faint silhouette of Hanji's lips pouting. "You know that when someone doesn't answer, it means they want to be left alone, right?" Their voice is low, almost as if they are making sure to remain quiet to not attract any more unnecessary attention.

"But... it's me.." you respond just as softly, a pout of your own forming, "I'm not like other people."

“y/n…” They begin, moving their glasses from the spot on their face towards the top of their head, pushing their bangs backward in the meantime. Their brown eyes stare at you for what feels like forever, their mind hiding behind an ocean of thoughts and an expression you can’t quite decipher this time around.

They want you to stay, to hold you in their arms as they sit here in the comforting silence of your presence, but instead, they shake their head, trying their best to remove any thoughts of what your warmth would do to them. A heavy sigh makes its way past their lips, the eyebags under their eyes more present than ever as they begin to talk again.

“Please, I’m fine,” they respond. What Hanji fails to realize is that their voice did a slight tremble, not noticeable to anyone else but you know them better than the palm of your own hand. They are the pure representation of your heart beating outside of your chest, so seeing them in such distress is enough to make you act against direct orders, consequences be damned.

“You are not,” you respond. Their office is a mess, their research papers scattered around with drawings and models of flying boats, new weapons, and ways to improve the Survey Corps all around. A thousand and one ideas, some connecting and some just scattered around the wind.

The whiskey bottle that until a few weeks ago rested full to the brim on their bookshelf now finds itself on its last few sips, the curtains are drawn so no amount of light other than the small candles at the edge of their table can exist in the room and you even notice a few shards of broken glass, probably meaning that they have dropped a cup or two, either from exhaustion or from not being able to see in the dark.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” You ask, gently taking the whiskey glass out of their hand. You notice a small blush creeping its way onto their cheeks as their eyes pointedly avoid yours and, by these simple reactions, you can tell it has been a while, “You’re losing weight.”

They try to reach for the glass once more but you shake your head, pulling it further away. Even though they are stronger than you and could easily take it back if they wanted to, they don't. Instead, Hanji leans against their desk, crossing their arms in front of their chest as they let out a heavy sigh. They want to lie, to tell you they are fine, and pretend like nothing is wrong, but before a single false promise about their well-being can make its way past their lips, you speak up again.

“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping,” your voice is soothing, not an ounce of frustration or anger behind it, just plain worry. You take a step closer, fully prepared for another rejection but it doesn’t come this time around, though you still don’t dare take a deep breath until the moment your fingertips brush against their left cheek, just slightly beneath their eyepatch, “you look exhausted.”

“Now that’s just rude!” An exhausted chuckle escapes their lips as they nuzzle their face into your hand, their expression contorting from anguish to a somewhat relaxed one and it causes your heart to nearly stop for a second before between at three times the usual speed, you are convinced they can hear it from where they stand. “I’ll have you know that I look awesome.”

It’s your turn to chuckle, your worries melting away for simply a second before coming back at full force, knowing way too well that redirecting attention and humor have always been Hanji’s favorite ways of avoiding a serious conversation.

“Hanji…” You start, your tone of voice sounding just as exhausted and defeated as theirs. It drags a loud sigh out of their chest, but as their mouth opens to complain, you continue, a begging tone in your voice as your eyes fill with unwashed tears, “Please, just talk to me.”

That look is enough to cause a painful bang to shoot throughout their body, their heart dropping to their stomach with the knowledge that it is their fault that you look this way. So, without even realizing it, they are already taking a couple of steps forward, hands tightly grasping at your hips as they lean their forehead against yours.

“I’ve just been so busy,” they whisper, the broken tone in their voice creates a tight knot in your throat and the sensation only grows stronger as they continue to speak, “Paperwork, meetings, and any free time I have I go to the lab, trying to complete some old experiments I’ve had from years ago. Even if I try to sleep, I just… Lay there, staring at the ceiling, maybe getting two or three hours here and there.”

You sigh, your arms immediately wrapping around their neck as you pull them close. Their eyelashes bat against the skin of your neck as they close their eyes, a shaky breath escaping them as they inhale your scent, focusing on the way your body feels and smells.

At that moment, an idea hits you. Without disturbing the hug, you look around the messy room, quickly taking in the setting before noticing that, for once, their couch rests next to the window, uncluttered and undisturbed.

Reluctantly, you pull away from them and the first thing you can hear is a grunt of disapproval. Once your eyes meet again, their pupils are so big, they could only be compared to a puppy dog that has just discovered steak for the first time, pleading, begging even, “Why’d you do that?”

Without an answer, your hand slides with theirs, fingers lacing and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Their palm is slightly wet, though you can’t quite place if it is from the condensation from the whiskey glass they held earlier or if it is from nervous sweats. Regardless, all you can focus on is how warm their presence feels close to you.

You don’t speak, instead, you just guide their body towards the couch, their feet dragging behind you, “what are we doing?” They ask, their eyes already fighting to remain open in a combination of the exhaustion and the fuzzy feeling from being drunk, the comfort you bring them doesn’t help either. They are clearly forcing themselves to stay awake, wanting to spend all of this time with you instead of stubbornly trying to push you away.

“We are not doing anything,” you respond, taking a seat on the couch. Your free hand brushes against the spot next to you and they quickly catch onto what you are hinting, your words finally clicking in their head as they flash you a confused look, “You, on the other hand, are going to sleep for a while.”

Their eyes widen for a second as your words take them by surprise, a small groan of protest making its way past their chapped lips, “mmmmm, noo, I can’t… I have so much work that I need to get done… I don’t... Have time to sleep.”

Carefully, you bring your hand towards the back of their head, pulling the ponytail holder out of their hair to make sure they are more comfortable for the next step, which includes guiding their head down towards your thighs. It doesn’t take much effort nor does Hanji put up much of a fight, their body is completely exhausted after all.

“Mmmm,” they whine, their voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and stubbornness, almost like a child who refuses to lay down for nap time, but once again, they don’t put up a fight, “damn it, how could I ever say no to you?”

“You can’t,” you chuckle, your fingers beginning to comb through the knots in their hair, detangling the strands, your nails gently scratching their scalp while you are at it, “I promise I will be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words are soft, carrying so much love that it is almost impossible for Hanji not to melt on the spot. The warmth of your legs combined with the feeling of your fingers going through their hair is finally enough to relax their overly exhausted body, their eyes finally closing and you use your free hand to remove their glasses, hanging it up on the neckline of your shirt.

“Finnneeeee,” Hanji whines once more, turning their body over so their face is buried in your stomach, their slim body now curled into a small ball on the couch and you can’t help but smile at the sight, “but do not let me sleep for more than thirty minutes. An hour, tops.”

You lift your eyes slightly to take a look at the clock on the wall, a gift from Kiyomi to celebrate your relationship. Silently, you take note of the time and look back down at your beloved, a soft, whispered “okay” leaving your lips.

“I’m serious,” Their voice starts sounding more sluggish by the second, their mind already starting to drift off but they fight back sleep for a few extra minutes, just enough to finish the conversation between the two of you, their voice extremely drowsy, “I’ll be mad if you don’t wake me up.”

“I would not dream of doing such a thing,” you respond, unsure if they recognize the mischievous tone in your words or not, but truly hoping that, if they do, they are simply choosing to ignore it. Even so, the way you speak brings them so much comfort, a sense of peace they haven’t felt since becoming commander, “just sleep, my love. I’ll be here.”

The moment Hanji hears you whisper that promise, the certainty that you will be here when they wake up, it’s like a switch flips inside of their mind and they finally allow their body to relax against your touch. Much like a cat, they purr as you continue to run your fingers through their hair, unable to avoid the smile that is now stamped on their lips.

“Thank you, love you,” they whisper, their voice is barely audible and you almost miss it. You don’t even have time to respond before they are completely asleep, the weight of the countless sleepless days finally catching up with their body.

When the first hour passes, you look up from your book, your eyes landing on the clock before making their way down towards Hanji’s face. They look so peaceful, their breathing is so calm and even that it soothes your own worries away and it takes every ounce of your strength not to lay down and nap with them.

The decision to let them continue their slumber is an easy one. Eventually, you notice a small smile that tugs the corner of their lips in their sleep and you can’t help but wonder and hope that they are dreaming of you. Nevertheless, your fingers continue to go through the strands of their hair, even if it makes flipping the pages of your book a bit difficult, you manage to find a solution by placing it down on the armrest of the couch before using your pinky and ring fingers to hold the object down while the remaining digits flip towards the next page.

Another hour goes by and you start to ponder if you should wake them up. Maybe letting them sleep for this long wasn’t such a good idea, especially since you know they have to return to their duties as commander of the Survey Corps, such as continuing their research and sketching plans for the flying boat. But you can see it in their expression, the small specs of the bubbly person they used to be finally showing back up on their features as they sleep, small reminders of the bright light that has saved you from darkness more times than you can count.

You gasp softly when Hanji stirs slightly in your lap, your heart clenching in your chest as you continue to look down at them, scared that you moved too much and it caused them to wake up. Their expression is still undisturbed, almost like a cat that has just found the warmest spot on the window sill and you catch yourself smiling at them. A silly, love-sick smile that only they can bring out of you.

As the third-hour rolls by and you are trying to convince yourself that it is time to wake them up, you hear a knock on the door and your entire body freezes. You find yourself torn by the two options:

1) Do you say something loudly enough for the person on the other side to hear and risk waking Hanji up in a stressful way before throwing them directly into a situation in which they need to be the Commander, and not the bubbly Hanji Zoe you once loved so dearly.

2) You silently hope that the soldier on the other side will either go away soon or open the door quietly. The couch, though it is by the window, still has a perfect view of the front door to their office, so the person would quickly notice the situation and you would be able to calmly wake Hanji at your own pace, without any negative or stressful interactions.

A second, more forceful knock comes and you notice Hanji slowly starting to shift on your lap. The annoyed expression on your face morphs into one of anger and, as the shadow on the door side moves to knock for a third time, you decide to throw a pillow at the surface.

The person stops midway with their movements before their hand slowly comes to rest on the knob, twisting it slightly as the door quietly swings open. In front of you stands a very nervous scout, one of the new recruits, who hasn’t even been able to choose a specialty yet. His hands are trembling and he nearly drops the stack of papers he holds in his grasp, eyes bugging out of his skull as he looks at you and the sleeping figure on your legs.

“P-paperwork… F-for the C-Commander…” His voice is quiet and trembling, almost as if he is stepping directly into a monster’s lair. You realize in this moment just how intimidating Hanji is in everyone else’s perspective but your own and you can’t help but smile. You nod and gesture your head towards their desk, placing your index finger in front of your lips.

“I-it’s from… Instructor S-Shadis,” he says in the quietest of whispers, but you could already tell. Keith Shadis’ ugly handwriting was something you could identify from a mile away if you had to, “r-reports about… T-the ranking c-ceremony.”

“Thank you,” you mouth the words softly, your fingers moving on Hanji’s hair. They look so small and calm, almost like a harmless kitten, a direct contrast to the authoritative figure that can command an entire room with just a single look in their eye.

The boy nods, his trembling legs making their way towards the wooden table and carefully placing the new stack of paper next to the old ones, trying his best to make sure it is neatly organized while desperately avoiding eye contact with you. He does a quick salute towards you before eagerly exiting the room and you can nearly hear his breath of relief once he is out of sight, outside the closed doors.

You shake your head before looking down at Hanji once more to see a smile on their face. You roll your eyes, “how long have you been awake for?”

The smile on their face grows bigger, their eyes opening slowly to look at you, still a blurry image from the lack of their glasses but still enough for their heart to beat slightly faster, “since the first knock.” Of course, you think to yourself, “How long was I asleep for?”

You look at the clock, and a part of you wants to lie, say it’s only been thirty minutes or so but when you look out the window, you realize the sun has already started to set, making it impossible for such a thing to be even remotely believable. You sigh again.

“Around three hours…” You respond in a sheepish voice, avoiding their gaze. Immediately, Hanji sits up, placing their glasses above the bridge of their nose and looking at the clock on the wall. Once they look back at you, you can see the slightly irritated expression on their face and you feel like you could just shrink and disappear under such a harsh gaze.

“y/n, you promised!” They blur out and you can tell it isn’t anger or irritation… It’s an intense pile of anxiety, hidden behind the harsh facade they attempt to put up. They’re scared that something went wrong in the period they have been sleeping, like the Survey Corps might have fallen apart and they were doing something so useless such as taking a nap. A single thought is going through their mind, those words they have been chanting like a mantra since the fateful day in Shiganshina.

Erwin Would Never.

You stand up a mere second after them, watching closely as their hands grip the edges of the desk and their head hangs low, hips tilted forward in a desperate attempt to hold themselves upright. It breaks your heart to see them like this and, no matter how much you agree with Erwin that Hanji should be the next Commander, you can’t forgive him for leaving such a massive responsibility on their shoulders.

So your arms wrap around their waist, your cheek finding a perfect spot in the area between their shoulder blades. You nuzzle your face against their vest, nearly purring as you do. The smell of Hanji’s skin, mixed with a little bit of sweat as a result of their nap awakens the butterflies in your stomach and the only thing able to bring you out of your thoughts is the broken sound of their voice.

“How long were you going to let me sleep for?” They whisper, a hint of desperation behind their tone and you notice they are shaking. You tighten your grip around them.

“For as long as you needed,” you respond and, at the sound of their quiet sob, your heart shatters. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping, you are drinking in the middle of the day and, well, you are pulling away from me.”

With a long sigh, they turn around, a defeated expression on their face, “Y/n, I’m a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I’m always overthinking things, I’m mean, I’m stubborn, please. I need to catch up on my work, it’s so much paperwork and it just keeps piling up…”

“Hanji, you’re spiraling,” you whisper, fingertips almost featherlike as they brush against their arm. You hope and pray and nearly fall to your knees begging that they will listen to your voice, that they will give you time to make your case and prove that they are so much more than anything they are thinking, but they continue.

“Erwin’s one mistake was making someone like me the commander,” they whisper in the most defeated tone you have ever heard. It’s like something in your mind snaps and you immediately grab a hold of their wrist, flipping them around before pressing your body against theirs on the table.

“Now you listen to me and you listen good,” your voice is stern in a way Hanji had never heard before, it’s filled with pain, heartache, and still so much love, “Erwin wouldn’t have made you Commander if he didn’t think you would be a perfect choice. And I agree.”

Hanji wants to protest, they want to contradict you but the desperate look in your eyes convinces them to remain silent. Instead, they focus all of their attention on your words, into the amount of effort it takes you not to break into tears as you listen to their self-deprecating words, the doubt in their mind. They focus on the way your lips move and how desperately they want to kiss you.

“You are the reason why we were able to eradicate titans outside the wall, you created the thunder spears that were enough to scare off the armored titan,” you continue, the trembling in your hands is so intense you can barely contain your grip on them but you don’t let go nevertheless, “Moblit sacrificed himself for you because he believed you could guide us towards the world outside the walls. Erwin entrusted the Survey Corps to you because you are the most brilliant person any of us has ever seen. Please, just… Tell me you at least believe me.”

They don’t respond, not because they don’t want to, but because their voice won’t come out. It’s as if their brain has lost connection with their vocal chords and all they can focus on is the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes.

So in one swift move, Hanji grabs a hold of your wrist and immediately switches places with you. You can’t help but yelp quietly, especially when you feel their hands grasping at the back of your thighs as they lift you. Your hands reach behind you, carefully assessing the area while trying not to mix any of their paperwork, but Hanji doesn’t have a single care in the world that isn’t you at this moment.

Their eyes hungrily stare at your lips and, with a silent nod of their head, you push away all the papers that were once so neatly organized on their desk. Once you are sitting down and your legs wrap around their waist, Hanji wastes no time in sealing their lips with yours, a delighted hum escaping your body once they do.

You wrap your arms around their neck, allowing your fingers to venture through the messy strands of their hair. Their fingers dig into your hips, strong enough to nearly leave a few bruises but neither of you care, the need you have for each other overwhelms any and every other one of your senses.

Their tongue slowly glides on your lower lip before they gently take it in between their teeth, pulling the skin towards them. After a few seconds, they let go and immediately begin to silently beg for entrance, using the tip of their tongue to nudge your lips apart and it doesn’t take you long to indulge.

They pull you closer to themselves, your bodies pressed together without a single inch of free space as they hold you, nearly afraid that you might disappear the second they loosen their grip. It’s the first time you have kissed in what feels like forever, even if it has been just a few weeks.

You can’t help but focus on the taste of whiskey in their mouth, it’s completely different from anything ever made inside the Walls. It nearly tastes “expensive”, for the lack of a better word. It’s been hours since they have last taken a sip and the flavor is still so vivid on their tongue. So much so that it nearly burns once your saliva begins mixing.

It’s only when the need for air becomes unbearable that the two of you pull away, a small string of saliva connecting your bodies. You run your tongue over your lip, breaking that connection and still getting one last taste of them. The sight causes a shiver to run down Hanji’s spine and they smile, gently placing their forehead against yours.

“I needed that,” they whisper, a smile stamped across their face and you nod, “I’m sorry for pushing you away, I’m just… Having a lot of big feelings that I couldn’t express but I have you now.”

“It’s okay, just don’t forget that I am here for and with you, okay?” You whisper back in a love-filled voice and they smile once more, nodding their head as their grip around you tightens ever so slightly, “You still taste like home.”

“Yeah? And what does that taste like?” They chuckle, nuzzling their nose against yours, enough that you can feel their glasses against your face.

“Like expensive whiskey,” you respond and Hanji laughs, the sound you’ve missed most these past few weeks and you are reminded yet again that home is whatever, wherever and whenever you are with them. No matter what.

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hadtobeconfronted · 13 days ago

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The Space Between Storm

Yelena x Femreader | SFW | SFW, slow-burn tension, emotional intimacy. (requested !!)

"You should’ve stayed behind."

Her voice is low. Not angry—just flat. That tone that always makes your spine straighten and your heart pound just a little harder. Yelena doesn’t look up as she wraps gauze around your arm, fingers too careful for someone who’s snapped necks without blinking.

"You think I’d let you face them alone?" you ask, biting the inside of your cheek to avoid wincing. Her touch lingers longer than it needs to, hands still against your skin, as if she’s debating something.

Her eyes finally meet yours. Pale. Sharp. Quietly furious.

"You’re not disposable."

You blink. That’s new.

Yelena leans in a little too close, her breath brushing your cheek, voice barely above the sound of the rain hitting the roof.

"You walk into fire for people who would let you burn. That’s foolish.

You chuckle, soft but stubborn. "Not everyone is like you, Yelena."

She doesn’t pull away. In fact, she gets closer. One hand presses against the wooden wall beside you, caging you in with her body, though she barely touches you.

"No," she says slowly, like she’s tasting the truth on her tongue, "they’re not."

A pause.

Then softer, almost like she regrets it.

"But I would’ve gone after you, too."

You stare at her. Yelena never says things she doesn’t mean. Never confesses weakness. But something in her eyes flickers—something like… fear? No. Not quite. Something worse. Hope.

And just when you think she might pull away, might bury whatever that moment was—

"Next time you do something that reckless, you’re sleeping outside," she mutters, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face with the backs of her fingers. "And I’m letting the wolves have you."

But she stays close. The rain keeps falling. And in the silence, her hand doesn’t move.

You wake to silence—real silence. The kind that only happens after a storm. The rain's gone, but everything outside still drips and breathes like the world hasn’t quite remembered how to wake up.

Inside the cabin, the fire’s out. The air’s cold. And Yelena’s still there.

She’s sitting in the chair by the window, long legs pulled up, arms draped around her knees. Her hair’s loose, falling like shadows over her face, and for a moment, she looks… soft. Almost normal. Almost peaceful.

You sit up slowly, and somehow—of course—she notices. Doesn’t look at you. Just speaks.

"You snore."

You blink. "I don’t snore."

"You do," she says, voice like water over stone. "Just a little. It’s… tolerable."

Your lip twitches. It’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ll ever get from her before noon.

She finally turns her head to look at you, and there’s something unspoken in her eyes. Not vulnerability—she doesn’t do that. But something open. Like a door half-cracked, letting in just enough light for you to see the edges of her care.

"You were crying in your sleep."

Your breath catches.

"I wasn’t going to wake you," she adds. "But I was here."

You nod, slowly. There’s a pause, but it’s not uncomfortable. She lets the quiet stretch, lets you sit with it.

Then—

"Come here," she says. Not a request. Not barked, either. Just… warm.

You hesitate, only for a second, before crawling from the bed to her side. She opens her arms wordlessly, and you settle between them, your head against her chest, her chin resting lightly on your hair.

She doesn’t say much after that.

But her hands are steady on your back. Her heartbeat is slow and even. And in the stillness, you realize something:

Yelena doesn't need to say “I love you.”

She stays.

And that’s louder than anything else.

The day passes without much said.

She moves around you like gravity—close, quiet, always present. You try to help clean up, but she shoos you off with that familiar flick of her hand. Still healing, she says. But you catch how her fingers linger a little too long when she hands you a fresh bandage, how her gaze drifts toward you like she’s checking, constantly, just to make sure you’re still there.

Evening falls like a soft sheet. The sky outside turns gold, then amber, then grey.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your fingers along a tear in your sleeve, when you hear her voice again.

"Are you going back to the fort tomorrow?"

You look up. She’s standing in the doorway, silhouetted by fading light. Arms crossed, but her shoulders… are different. Less squared. Less sure.

"That was the plan," you say cautiously. "Unless…"

"Don’t."

It comes out fast. Almost too fast. Her mouth tightens like she didn’t mean to say it. Or like she meant exactly that, and hates that it slipped.

"You don’t want me to go," you say softly.

She doesn’t answer. Just looks away.

The silence stretches between you—tense, coiled, a wire about to snap.

Then—

"You’re the only thing that feels real anymore."

Her voice is quiet. Not a whisper. Just bare. Exposed. Like glass that could shatter if she breathes wrong.

"Everything else is war. Death. Zeke’s plan. Smoke and bones. But you… when you look at me, it’s not out of fear. Or loyalty. It’s just you. And I..."

She trails off. You wait.

"I don’t want to watch you walk out that door and never come back."

Your heart stutters.

"Then say it," you whisper. "Say what you want, Yelena."

She hesitates.

Then she lifts her head. And though her jaw clenches, and her eyes sting with things she won’t let fall, she says it anyway:

"Stay."

Just one word. But it carries everything.

You rise without a word and walk toward her. When your arms wrap around her waist, she doesn’t flinch. She melts. Not all at once—but enough. Enough to bury her face in your neck and finally, finally breathe.

And in that breath, you feel it:

The storm inside her is quiet, for once.

Because you’re still here.

And you’re not going anywhere.

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hadtobeconfronted · 14 days ago

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Hello. If you're accepting requests, could I please request a Mafia!Yelena x Reader smut story? Thank you so much. Have a lovely day💗💗💗

Hello! I know it’s been a couple days but I just wanted to let you know I’m working on it! I had a lot more fun drafting this up than I expected so it’s coming out to be longer than I thought! I’m at right around 5k words and I’m only about half way done so I hope you’re ready! Also as a treat for being my first request it’s gonna have two spicy scenes! 🔥😈

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hadtobeconfronted · 17 days ago

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~ Quiet!Levi who never interrupts when you speak, but you always catch him watching you. The way his gaze softens at the corners when you’re passionate about something—he doesn’t say anything. He just listens, like every word matters. Because to him, they do.

~ Quiet!Levi who never needs to be the loudest in the room. He stands behind you during briefings, hands in his pockets, eyes steady. When you falter or stumble over a detail, you feel the slightest nod from behind you. Subtle, grounding. You don't even have to turn around—you just know he's there.

~ Quiet!Levi who brings you things without a word. A mug of tea when you’re too tired to get one yourself. A rolled-up scarf dropped gently onto your shoulders when he notices you shivering. He never says why. He just… notices.

~ Quiet!Levi who always waits for you to fall asleep first, only then allowing himself to relax. He sits on the edge of your shared cot, elbow on his knee, watching your breathing slow. You don’t know it, but he always whispers a quiet, half-meant "sleep well" before turning away.

~ Quiet!Levi who doesn’t do grand gestures. He tightens your gear without asking. He pulls you out of the path of a falling branch like it’s nothing. He steadies you by the arm when you trip, holding on a beat longer than necessary—but never commenting.

~ Quiet!Levi who never says he worries. But you know he does, from the way he glances over his shoulder for you during missions. From how he walks a few paces behind you—not to control, but to keep you in his sight. Always.

~ Quiet!Levi who brushes your hand with his when you're both seated side by side, elbows nearly touching. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move again. Just that brief touch, like a quiet reminder: I’m here.

~ Quiet!Levi who stands in doorways, watching you with unreadable eyes. You ask him once what he’s thinking, and he shrugs, voice low: “Nothing important.” But the way he lingers… the way he looks at you like you’re something fragile and rare—you know that’s not true.

~ Quiet!Levi who doesn’t confess out loud. He shows it in the way he always walks on the side closest to the street. In the way he only drinks his tea after yours is poured. In the way he cleans your blades along with his own.

~ Quiet!Levi who only says “I love you” once, and even then it’s quiet, gruff, said into your hair when he thinks you’re asleep. But he still holds you tighter after. Because he means it. Every quiet inch of him does.

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

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hadtobeconfronted · 19 days ago

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Just wanted to let everyone know I opened my asks! I’m currently only writing for aot but that will change once I get my footing with writing. I’ve been most obsessed with Yelena lately so likeeee if you wanna request something to do with her that’s fine by me 🤓 I’m also a huge lesbian so I’m probably best at writing gay shit like that just a heads up <3

#aot fanfiction #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot headcanons #send asks #ask me anything

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hadtobeconfronted · 19 days ago

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Beneath the Bruise

4.3k words! Yelena x GN reader. (i think i made the reader fully gn sorry if i slipped up) i fully prepared to end this at 3k words but was told to write more because it felt unfinished. >_<

Warnings: mentions of blood, brusing and a dead worm LMFAO

Summary: You’re a humble medic tending to Yelena after she gets into a fight with another soldier, but you’re a bit of a mess under her scrutiny.

A/N: WOWEE another request yayayyayay this idea is so silly cute. i havent written yet for yelena so i really hope i do her character justice because i love her and i honestly havent dipped my toes into writing this type of character yet (like a character that isn’t upfront with their emotions and all that, but im happy to try) i read the request and knew immediately how i wanted the story to be laid out so i’m really excited to get this out there (im writing this before even starting the fanfiction lmaoaoa)

also stream gnarly by KATSEYE & enjoy

To you, you’ve always seen Marley as a machine: a machine that you always knew your place in. You’re just one small part of a larger whole, like a single screw that helps keep things in place. The role you play in Marley’s grand scheme is typically done on the sidelines, often overshadowed by civilians, yet appreciated by soldiers that play a greater, more dangerous role than you.

You’ve known that you were going to be a medic from a young age. People have always commended you for your unwavering care and kindness, even to the littlest of things.

Your parents never let you forget about how you cried and cried at the ripe age of 7 over stepping on a worm, accidentally killing it. You held it in your hands, with no regard for the slime and dirt that transferred to your hands as a result, blubbering out quiet apologies as if it could still hear you.

That softness, that instinct to help and heal stayed with you, even as the world around you became increasingly more rigid and hard. In a country where compassion was often mistaken for weakness, you learned to focus your tenderness into your steady hand to practice unrivaled precision.

Even now, as you’ve seen soldiers return in puddles of their own blood, the strongest of men and women groveling in front of you, you weren’t deterred. The little child that once shed tears over a dead worm is still inside your heart and mind, wanting to help more than ever.

It wasn’t often that you would remember a particular soldier. Oftentimes, if one was to frequent enough times for you to remember their name, they would be discharged from training due to incompetence, or you would alternatively find their remains scouring the battlefield.

However, you happen to know the name of one particular soldier from not only a personal interest, but also the whisperings of your coworkers and soldiers alike that trail her wherever she roams. Yelena. An unnervingly tall woman, both enigmatic and dangerous in all the ways you were taught to fear.

Maybe that was what drew you in about her, the way she was so unlike anything you’re used to. You don’t know much about her, hell- you don’t even know her last name, but you know just enough to grasp the fact you were hooked.

She was a book you felt that you couldn’t put down. She effortlessly commands attention wherever she goes, and not just yours. You’re unsure if it’s willing or not, or if she’s even aware of it.

She’s cold, unsettling and often blunt or rude. She’s strong, a natural leader, someone everyone noticed, and you’re the complete opposite.

Some soldiers come into the infirmary from injuries gained from training, some tumble in drunk, scraped or bruised from a fall, some are rolled in after getting shot, sliced, or stabbed during a battle. The least often kind of injuries that people come in for are from fights amongst each other.

So here you are, ushering the tall blonde woman into one of your cots as blood dramatically flows from her nose. She takes a seat with little urgency, holding her nose with her head tilted backward to avoid dripping blood on the floor or her uniform.

You gently graze the back of her head with your hand, feeling the sharp prickles of hair from her undercut, guiding her head forward instead.

Unbeknownst to you, she tenses at how quick you are to touch her, rather than just telling her with your words. “Don’t tilt backwards, the blood could go down your throat, and it’s not in my itinerary to clean up blood-vomit today.” You tell her.

Now that you’ve tilted her head the correct way, you turn around sharply to find a cloth or napkin she can properly bleed into. You’re so preoccupied with tending to Yelena, the current fuel of your curiosity, that you almost miss the man being carried in by two other soldiers, his arms slung over the shoulders of his friends.

You notice the crowd enough to shout for another medic to attend to him, quickly at that, since he is in a noticeably worse condition than the woman seated behind you.

You grab a small hand towel from a nearby drawer to hand to Yelena. When you transfer the towel to her, her fingers graze yours. Normally, you might feel a fluttering in your stomach, though this time you can’t help but cringe as you notice her blood has transferred to your bare hands.

You turn on your heel once more, washing off the blood from your hands and adorning proper gloves that you had forgotten in the flustering moment of seeing her bleeding in front of you, in need of your care.

She doesn’t thank you, nor does she outwardly react at all. She silently tilts her head into the towel, awkwardly glancing at your shoes, which she notices are carefully treading closer to her.

She’s once again shocked by your hands-on mindset as you use your first finger and middle finger to pinch the bottom of her nose, where the bridge flares out to turn into her nostrils.

“Squeeze here, it will stop the blood flow quicker.” You say, holding on to her nose for a second longer than what might be considered socially acceptable. She responds to you with a simple hum, replacing your fingers with her own.

Immediately, you’ve struck her as somewhat odd. She’s heard of you, as many in the military have. You’re regarded as one of the best medics they have on call, if not for how well you handle your patients, it’s for your genuine care and softness for people.

You’ve always been described as level-headed, soft spoken, focused. But as she gazes up at you, you seem frantic and fidgety, maybe even uncomfortable. She’s trying to chalk your demeanor up to you being scared of her. She’s more than aware of her reputation she’s gained in the military.

You decide to make use of the time you have until her nose stops bleeding, as shifting on your feet and staring at her is starting to make you sweat from the awkward tension.

You grab her hand that isn’t on her nose, flipping it over to glance at her knuckles. You can already see some swelling paired with the blood-filled cracks in her skin. You grab some gauze and wet it, carefully dabbing at the dry skin of her hand to clean the blood.

Yelena is trying to sort through her thoughts silently. Are you always this touchy? If you were, why hadn’t she heard about it? With the way some soldiers speak about you, of your beauty, kindness, and technique, surely someone would’ve mentioned that with drool dripping from their lips.

She’s brought out of her thoughts as a piece of the gauze gets hooked on her dry skin, pulling it up slightly as you lift the cloth. It doesn’t hurt that bad, but she hisses. She wasn’t prepared to be dragged out of her mind so soon.

You let out a soft, sad noise as you hear her wince. “Sorry.” You whisper, changing the gauze out once the blood is cleaned up. You put some ointment on it, allowing it to be transferred onto her skin.

While doing this, you notice just how large her hands are. You suppose it makes sense in relation to her size, and how she is still towering over you as she sits on the cot in front of you. You absentmindedly continue to dab her with ointment past the necessary amount.

By the time you come to your senses, she’s removed her nose from the cloth, noticing how the bleeding has stopped. She sniffs, now looking down at your smaller and thinner hand tending to her knuckles. You grab a light wrapping, holding her hand as you work the bandage around her palm and fingers.

When you dare to take a peek at her, she returns the gesture, looking back at you with an unreadable expression. There isn’t much conversation between you two, as you’re both lost in your own respective thoughts. It’s a little tense.

You move on to her other hand now that she’s done with the washcloth, tossing the bloody towel into the trash. Once again, without asking, you pick up her hand and get to work. Uncharacteristically, she decides to inquire. “Are you always this handsy? Aren’t you supposed to ask for permission before touching me?”

Her words sound teasing, but her tone indicates nothing of sarcasm, interest, playfulness, anything, really. Since it’s hard to tell what her tone is, it’s hard to form a proper reply.

Your first thought was that this was some sort of attempt at teasing, so you respond as such. “I mean, you kinda knew what you were getting into since you came into the infirmary. Did you want me to stare at you while you bled on the floor?”

She lets out a soft huff through her nose. You can’t tell if it’s a huff of annoyance or if it’s the closest thing you’d get to a laugh out of her. She lets the silence hang between you for a few prolonged seconds.

“No.” She said plainly. “But it’s not like it was life or death. You could’ve asked. I would’ve been fine if I bled there for a few minutes.” You give a soft, amused chuckle “Yes, I’m sure you would have survived. But if everyone had that mindset of standing around instead of getting care, I’d be out of a job.”

Once again, silence settles in the air. You’re keenly aware of every sound, now that there’s nothing else to focus on. The steady intake and releasing of her breath, the slightest shuffle that comes from the gauze against her hand, the quiet noises of the other nurses in distant rooms.

“I don’t mind it.” she says finally. Her voice is level, not exactly warm, but not biting either. She can read the stiffness of your shoulders and the way you avoid looking at her for more than 2 seconds at a time, and she assumes that her presence is stressing you out. And in a way, it is.

But that doesn’t really explain everything, does it? If you were so scared of her, wouldn’t you avoid touching her at all costs?

She can see the confusion that seeps into your expression due to her minimal words, so she continues. “Being touched.” Her words are unexpected and unprovoked. You try your hardest not to let her words get to you, because she doesn’t mean them in the way your mind secretly and silently hopes that she does. Touching her was sort of part of your job, in this case.

“Oh,” is all you manage at first. Then, fumbling for something better, comes “That’s good. Makes my job easier.”

Yelena’s gaze drops back to your hands, still halfway through applying ointment. “You’re nervous.” she states.

A beat passes.

You stiffen, heart picking up. “I’m not.” You’re not sure what inspired her to call you out, but you’re wishing she had ignored the urge.

“You are,” she insists, tilting her head slightly, her voice smooth and calm. “You’re different from the stories.”

“Stories?” you ask, tying her hand with the bandages just a little too tight. “I didn’t know I had stories.”

She shrugs. “People worth knowing tend to have some.” You wonder if that’s supposed to be a compliment, but coming from her, it sounds more like an assessment. The silence that follows now becomes less tense, but it isn’t yet comfortable either.

Once you drop her hand, you take a glance at her face and notice the dried blood remaining on her lips and nose. You have half the mind to just tell her, and give her another towel to wash it off. But she gave you indirect permission to invade her personal space, didn’t she?

You were always meant to be a medic. Maybe you were never meant to have power, knowing that having it would make you mad.

Within the same hour of having power, you’re already deciding to abuse it. You grab another hand towel, dampening it with water. She watches you, her eyes giving away the slightest hint of confusion.

You grab her jaw carefully, gently, as if a sudden move could cost you your fingers. Your grip steadies her head, your other hand shaking as you carefully wipe the dried blood from her nose and mouth.

You dare not look at her eyes now. But the curiosity in you gnaws at you more than you can stand. Her eyes are locked onto your face like a hawk. The power you thought you had slips through your fingers as quickly as you felt it, almost as if it was never there to begin with.

Her stare is intense, like a predator hunting their prey. You definitely feel like her prey with the way she looks at you as if ready to devour at any moment. Despite that, you still have trouble understanding what she could be thinking and feeling.

Is she staring at you that way because she plans to kill you? Or is it possible that you’re intriguing her? Is she loving your closeness or loathing it?

Your hand slowly releases her chin, falling to your side. The hand clutching the towel also drops to your side. Your body language screams your disbelief at your own actions.

“Well, you’re fixed up.” You say with faux confidence, gesturing toward the bandages and taking a step back to regain personal space. “Try not to punch anyone else for the next 24 hours.”

She doesn’t move to stand. Instead, she stays seated with one elbow resting on her knee, chin propped in her bandaged hand. “Do you always act so stern when you’re nervous?”

You narrow your eyes at her, still unsure if she’s joking or serious. Probably both. You cross your arms, partially to put on a more confident stance, partially to keep your hands from fidgeting in front of her sharp gaze. “Stern? More like professional.”

Yelena hums again, that low sound from deep in her chest sending a wave of electricity down your spine. “Hm, no. You’re backing away from me like I’m going to eat you alive.” She comments.

“Well,” you say, offering a soft smile, with barely concealed nervousness “You did come in due to a fight: moments before a man was dragged in, barely recognizable. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘approachable.’”

When you take another glance at her, you see that her expression is neutral, but no longer blank. You can catch a small glint of amusement in her words, actions and tone. “Maybe I’m not. Approachable, I mean. Maybe you shouldn’t be so curious about people like me.”

You’re caught between wanting to deny her read entirely and admit to her that maybe she’s right. You’d been hyper-aware of every movement around her, unsure if touching her was like handling a wild animal that might suddenly bite. “Is it so wrong to be curious?”

Another bout of silence. This one is heavier.

Her gaze drops to your chest, then back up to your face, slowly, deliberately, without shame. “You should be careful,” she says at last. “Curiosity doesn’t always end well. Not for people like you.”

You don’t know what to make of that. Is she looking down on you? “People like me?” You inquire, your brows furrowing defensively. She leans forward a little, enough that your breath catches from the proximity, though she still doesn’t stand. “Soft people.” she says plainly.

The words could be cruel. They might be cruel. But her voice doesn’t carry malice. Nothing about her is easy to understand, seemingly.

And then, finally, she stands. “That’s not something that’s found much around here.”

She’s tall. You knew that, and it’s never changed, but somehow it feels different when she rises to full height right in front of you. She’s still, her arms loose at her sides, one hand gently flexing inside its new wrapping. You have to crane your neck slightly to meet her eyes.

Your lips part, then press together again. You let the silence hold between you as you try to decipher if she’s being kind or cruel. “Right. I don’t really know if you mean that in a respectful way, but I’ll accept it as a compliment.”

“Hm.” She hums, looking down at you to meet your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

You’re amused now, the nerves slowly settling, even fading away slightly. You’re still unsure of her, but the more you banter, the less scared you are.

“I think I’ll be seeing you again,” she murmurs, just quiet enough for only you to hear. Your eyes follow her as she strides past you, without pride or dramatics. Only the same calm and controlled footsteps you’re used to watching from a distance.

She grabs a stray pen from the counter, writing something on the clipboard you had discarded after bringing her in.

She pauses right before the doorway. “Try not to worry too much about it, your hands need to be as steady as everyone says.” Right. So, she’s definitely teasing you.

“My hands are steady.” You try to confirm as confidently as possible. But it’s hard to say seriously when your hands are still warm where hers had been. “That remains to be seen by me.” She says before heading out, the door shutting with a soft click.

The feeling she left you with had you confirmed in the fact that you definitely want to see her again. For that brief interaction, you don’t only feel like just a screw in a machine. You feel human: thrilled, overwhelmed with different emotions.

You walk over to the clipboard, using all the restraint in your body to not skip or jump over to it. It reads: “Yelena- Hall G Room 12.”

You spent an abnormal amount of time staring at her handwriting on your clipboard.

Yelena- Hall G Room 12.

You tell yourself it's just a follow-up. It’s the responsible thing to do, to make sure she’s okay after having her nose busted and knuckles torn up. You’d check on any patient like this. Probably.

Maybe.

You can’t help but wonder if it’s too soon. It’s only been a day since she’s come into the infirmary. But she was plaguing your mind and barely leaving, tall, sarcastic, unnerving Yelena. It was almost maddening, the way just thinking about her had you tossing and turning in your bed.

Your heart pounds against your chest as you stand outside her door. It’s surprising that she hasn’t heard it through the wall that separates you. You try to shove your thoughts aside and gently thump against the wooden door.

There’s a slight pause that stresses your nerves so badly that your toes curl inside your shoes. But then you hear her impassive voice.

“Come in. It’s open.” With her approval, you step inside warily, as if you were a small, scared animal. You don’t feel much different from one.

Her room is small and impersonal. The room’s furniture only consists of a wardrobe, desk, a chair with wheels, and a small bed. You’re not even sure that she fits in the bed provided to her given her unorthodox height.

When you walk in, Yelena is sitting up in her bed, with her legs criss crossed. She’s holding a book that she makes look tiny in comparison to her hands, though she doesn’t seem to be that interested in it.

You doubt that she’s changed the wraps that you put on her hand, as they seem to have dried blood seeping through slightly. You hold up the items held in your hands for her to see.

“I brought some more ointment and bandages.” You say simply, trying not to give away the fact you couldn’t care less if she replaced her bandages. In reality, you just wanted to see her again and you knew it, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise.

She lets out a barely noticeable chuckle. “Do you always hand deliver extra supplies?” She tilts her head at you in a way that makes you feel like a puppet under her control. She has to know that she has you wrapped around her finger.

You don’t answer right away, because you’re not sure how you should respond. “No. Most come back when they need supplies, but you haven’t.” She gestures lazily to the space on the bed in front of her, placing her book aside. “Go on then, doc.”

You’re melting over her words, truly. You would melt just standing next to her, her impact on you is just that strong.

You steady your legs, walking towards her bed carefully as if you’re heading straight into a lion’s den. You take a seat in front of her, placing the supplies on the blanket.

You reach for her hand tentatively, unwrapping the bandages as if she was fragile and delicate, like porcelain. When you take a glance at her knuckles, you glance at the swelling and bruising; it was nothing unexpected, and definitely not infected.

Yelena watches with a sharp gaze, studying your actions as well as your body language. She’s starting to become familiar with your mannerisms despite only being formally acquainted for a day.

You can feel the weight of her gaze pressing into you. “You really came just to check on my hand?” she asks you, her voice low. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but she might sound softer than usual.

You let out a soft sigh, biting the inside of your cheek as you reapply the cream to her hands. “I don’t know what I came for.” And then, after another second of thinking, “But you wrote your room number down. It didn’t seem like you wanted me to ignore it.”

Yelena leans the tiniest bit closer. The light from the ceiling casts shadows across her features, making her look even more statuesque. “Maybe I didn’t.” Your hands freeze for a split second as you unwrap her other hand. “You’re not easy to read.”

She watches you a little differently now. Less like prey, more like an anomaly. “You’re not what I expected,” she says, voice almost a murmur. “Neither are you, I think.” You tell her. “I don’t really know what I expected.” Your words were stated honestly, and she softly hummed in response.

As you finish rewrapping her other hand, you feel an overwhelming urge to make some sort of move. Surely you’re not the only one feeling the tension that settled over the both of you from the mix of banter and subtle flirting.

Fuck it, you think. With faux confidence, you bring one of her hands up to your lips, gently pressing a kiss on her bandages.

She pauses, staring at you with a look you can only describe as incredulous. You don’t move, neither does she. Your pulse is so loud in your ears it’s a shock that you can still hear what she says next.

“That wasn’t very professional.” She says, though you can hear the playful lilt laced carefully into her tone. But before you can send yourself into a panicked spiral, she continues “But not unwanted.”

You’re not sure how to respond, like, you’re drawing an absolute blank, as if your brain finally caught up to your actions after already performing them. You drop her hand shyly, placing them on your knees instead with your elbows locked.

She smirks, barely. But it’s the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from her. “Don’t act so nervous,” she says. “You’re the one who kissed me, remember?”

God, this game of cat and mouse is going to be the death of you. Your breath is unsteady from nerves. “It was just your hand.” you say, half-defensive, half-embarrassed.

“I don’t believe for a second that you did that as a friendly gesture. I doubt you kiss all of your patients better, just like you don’t hand deliver extra bandages to them either.” She closes her eyes and takes a breath. “It’s not smart to get involved with me, for more reasons than one.”

You know her words are probably correct, despite you being oblivious to the full connotation of what she means. “But,” she adds “you should come back again anyway. Without the excuse of a follow up appointment.”

Once again, you’re fully speechless. I mean, what are you supposed to respond with after being read as easily as a children's book? You guess the best thing to do is make sure she’s not on the edge of her seat.

“Yeah, I’ll drop by again sometime.” You say in a breathy tone. “There’s nothing left for me to do, so I’ll head out for the night.” You really don’t want to leave, but you know you shouldn’t keep her up late at night, and you shouldn’t keep yourself up late either.

“Right.” She says in a simple and neutral tone, in true Yelena fashion. She stands up to open the door for you. “Before you go, I have something to return to you, though.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You hadn’t given her anything other than bandages, and she wasn’t going to remove them after you spent the time changing them out for her.

You stand up and walk closer to her, but not past her and the threshold of her room just yet. She leans down to your height, her hand resting under your chin to lift it up before she seals her lips with your own.

You wouldn’t have expected to kiss Yelena, but in a world where you did expect it, you didn’t think it would be as soft and careful as it was in actuality. It was short and sweet, not lasting more than a few seconds.

“Goodnight, doc. I’ll be seeing you soon.” She says with certainty, though it doesn’t sound cocky.

If you hadn’t gotten good sleep last night, you would be surprised if you slept at all tonight.

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hadtobeconfronted · 19 days ago

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Levi Ackerman Headcanons

Can’t keep my mind off this man fr Completely sfw I’ve been really feeling soft Levi lately. Enjoy!

<3<3<3

🫧Idk about y’all but Levi is funny as fuck. He would make you would laugh really hard at his deapan jokes like. Everyone else would think he was mad or something and you just bust out laughing. It makes him smile like a kid inside

🫧At first he would get really mad at any messy tendencies you had until it caused a fight between you two. That was enough to make him realize that you aren’t unclean he just uses cleaning as a coping mechanism for anxiety and he can’t force that on you

🫧After working through that fight I truly don’t think he would mind if you were a little messy or forgetful as long as it’s nothing crazy. It gives him something to do. Maybe you forget your dinner plate in the living room or leave your dirty clothes on the floor in the bathroom. He picks up after himself so much sometimes there’s nothing to do and then he has no way to soothe his anxiety.

🫧Has two cats. A tortoise shell girl named Alice and a black and white boy named Fernando (cause I mf said so)

🫧Pretends to not be allergic to said cats

🫧Wouldn’t be able to find you disgusting. Like if you were depressed and had dirty hair or a few dishes stacked up in your room he would just feel worry and empathy.

🫧He knows why it’s hard for people to keep up with things at times and it makes him sad to know you are struggling. He would probably have a hard time showing this though.

🫧He might clean up your room with no expression on his face, probably making you feel ashamed but then when he’s done he would come over and just be like “It’s better? Right?” And you would understand he’s doing it out of love

🫧He would have no problem seeing every part of you including the bad. He’s strong enough to lift you back up

🫧Can sometimes have a negative ego about stuff like. It would definitely be the cause of most of your fights. But it just comes from not loving himself and not being the most confident

🫧He would have very dry pale hands and he would sometimes allow you to put lotion on them. To him this was extremely intimate and he found it physically very soothing to the irritation

🫧He would smell like licorice (this drives me so insane you don’t even wanna know how much I think about this) with a hint of mint from his tea.

🫧 When he’s fresh out the shower he would smell like jasmine and powder

🫧Also he would chew classic pink bubblegum. You keep a pack for him in your purse

🫧Doesn’t need a grocery list he can remember it all easily. Even down the the brand and he pretends to not notice if you slip little treats in the cart like cookies

🫧Definitely the type to be overwhelmed with a rush of love when he watches you do a task.

🫧He would then try to do something that would physically show his affection but it ends up being awkward. Like he’d try to pet your head or rub your arm and then just walk away all stiff

🫧Awkward king

🫧Loveeesss Amy Winehouse. The way she mixes moody soul and playful crudeness fits him so well. I can see him playing Love Is A Loosing Game softly while cooking dinner

🫧Might even dance with you in the living room to Me & Mr jones. He keeps it PG and sweet by never letting his hand travel lower than your middle back (true gentleman)

🫧He would keep roses. He doesn’t drink coffee but would feed your caffeine addiction so he has coffee grounds to fertilize them. The mixture of soft petals and thorns its something he wants to covet

🫧Watching the leaves turn colors when fall comes is something that gives him a reason to live

🫧Hates his birthday and hates Christmas. It pisses him off that they are so close together too

🫧Butttttt he might shed a tear when you present him with a single cupcake adorned with a lit candle, keeping it private and lowkey. Just how he likes

🫧Would also let you kiss him under the mistletoe, but only because you begged! (secretly yearned for the romance of it all himself and hoped you would ask)

🫧Bakes cookies for you periodically too. Wears an apron like an idiot

🫧Big fan of black ankle boots

🫧Black skinny cut jeans + ankle boots for casual fits and black straight leg dress pants + ankle boots for regular looks

🫧Bracelets are his favorite accessory

🫧Wears slippers for sure. He’s clean asf they are his house shoes the outside shoes are taken off immediately (but you already know that)

🫧When he’s comfy he wears a tan cardigan that he calls his “house coat”

🫧His teeth are crooked and overlapping (maybe even a little snaggle canine tooth too) that’s part of why he doesn’t like to smile

🫧They are probably a little stained from his tea too. He keeps whitening strips under his bathroom sink

🫧Big fan of those little travel toothbrushes with the predispenced toothpaste

🫧He really likes milk chocolate but pretends to prefer dark for image sake

🫧Tbh feminist. He knows how men can be therefore he supports women’s rights and wrongs

🫧(Not AU) has stretch marks on his biceps and thighs from how fast he built muscle when he got ahold of odm gear

🫧*Also has them on his lower back from staggered and rapid growth spurts due to food insecurity

#aot fanfiction #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot headcanons #levi x y/n #levi x reader fluff #levi fluff #levi x reader #levi aot #snk levi #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi x you #levi headcanons #levi ackerman headcanons #Aot #aot fluff

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hadtobeconfronted · 20 days ago

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Fundamental Difference sub!Yelena x Reader Aot

Your CEO wife typically has things under control, pulling all the strings. What happens when she’s not as dominant as she seems?

Warnings: lesbian sex, mommy (only once and it’s at the very end), squirting, power shift, power dynamics, oral. Nothing dark/crazy just regular smut! + rushed ending sorry not sorry <3

Dominant women run the world. The common assumption is that men have all the control, but even when a man is a CEO, he always seems to have a woman at his side. His “secretary” that nothing would be possible without. AKA the one calling the shots. Your wife Yelena understood this in its entirety. It took dedication to obtain such a prestigious position like assisting a CEO, but once she got there, she toppled the man all the way down the corporate ladder and into a jail cell. The dirty old bastard had been blackmailing lower-level female employees. Forcing them to have sex and going out on dates with him.

All she could think was Seriously? That’s the cheapest trick in the book. No one would have dared try that with her. Standing at a lanky 6’2, with dark eyes, lids permanently set low in an expression of disinterest, to say she had a bit of a sinister aura would be an understatement. Yelena was serious, strong, and manipulative. She could appreciate two-faced people, but hurting women? That was absolutely off limits, and after discovering his actions, she wished she had the ability to insert some lead right in his temple. Women were the ones who deserved to be in control, and she would have done anything to get it that way. Luckily for him, she let the police handle it. If only he could have been doing something corrupt to better the company, then maybe she wouldn’t have been in such a taxing position once she naturally filled his space.

Maybe it wasn’t typical, but she knew the inner workings like the back of her hand. Following his removal from office, the round table voted unanimously for her. The overfed pigs folded over easily enough, all raising fat, clammy hands to signal they wanted to cast their vote for her. Hard work was fine with her though. Things like eavesdropping and stalking to gather information were easy enough. It’s how she got him handled in the first place. Her off-putting nature would have excused her if she were ever caught, and that intensity would make solving financial and staffing issues a piece of cake in comparison.

Yelena’s need for control didn’t come from a lack of resources. She grew up wealthy and well-connected, but after meeting you, her adoring wife, she felt the primal need to provide. Your upbringing contrasted greatly with her own. It was full of strife and struggle. You were not weak by any means, but she knew you deserved to be spoiled. You deserved a breadwinner. Someone who brought items and experiences you never could have imagined. Expensive vacations in foreign countries, fine leather high heels, silk clothing, and hand-spun lace lingerie — you name it, she would gift it to you. Holding the highest position at such a successful company undoubtedly had its highs, but it also had its lows, like the last two weeks in particular. Between a social media scandal and balancing interest rate fluctuations, her hours have shifted later each day. A heavy workload piled on top of that. What makes it worse is she can’t confide in any of her employees. It would be inappropriate, plus none of them could reassure her the way you can. You, her beautiful and doting wife. Yelena assumes you have been lonely without her.

She’s left you solo. Leaving you to cook and eat alone, and relax in your shared bed alone. To shower alone. Sleep alone. It’s killing her. Pride held her back from telling you, sticking to only talking about work stress during your brief texts and not the emotional distance she felt. It would feel like a weakness to tell you about how her hands were longing to hold you, or push the book you were reading out of your hands to cuddle. Unable to explain the way she itched to share a shower with you, to allow the hot water to vaporize the tension her shoulders held. Indulging in how you allowed her hand to travel lower and lower on your body, your voice entrancing, the sweetest sounds drowned out by the roar of the water, audible to her ears only. Knowing you would melt and tremble, she wouldn’t stop.

To tell the truth, you were doing relatively okay. You missed her when you tucked yourself in at night, but honestly, her absence had you feeling sneaky. Two sides existed inside of you, and you loved to show the helpless one to her. To allow her to tell you what to do and exactly when to do it. Mind perfectly aware that she could overpower any bit of resistance. Twist you any way she wanted and push you down to ravage you. The amount of stress she was under was obvious; you could practically see it weighing heavily on her shoulders. In the nights you were still awake as she finally crawled into bed, it showed too. Always wanting to touch, she was clingy. Constantly trying to wedge her hands under your nightgown or place kisses on your shoulders. Aware of what she was doing, you continually denied her. This needy energy was new, and seeing her in this mindset, it brought out something different in you.

The second side. Opposite of the helpless one. This one was more powerful and in control. Brave. You knew she needed to be taken care of; it was written all over her, etched into your skin by her fingertips, and swimming in her eyes as she stared at you when you denied her. Pride stepped in and stopped her every time she wanted to ask you why you wouldn’t back down. It would be so exciting to be the one in control. To hear her use her words, deep voice asking you ‘touch me here please’ instead of the typical commands she gave. It took another week and a half before the breaking point finally came. Yelena’s schedule had finally loosened, the only thing that hadn’t been eased was her lust for you. Without fail, anytime she attempted to create a mood, you either pushed her off or walked away. Her body urged her to just pin you down on the couch and do what she wished, but her mind was hurting. Emotionally exhausted from the combination of work stress and being sexless, the conclusion came that if she wanted it so bad, she would have to ask. It would be difficult, but she was aware of the countless times now that she had forced you to ask for exactly what you wanted. Red-faced, glossy eyes, sweet voice telling her ‘harder! faster!’ I mean, really, how hard could it be?

Boy, was she in for it. Another nighttime had come, except you would be on top this time. While you were changing into your pajamas, Yelena came from the primary bathroom and practically threw herself on you. Attempting to toss you on the bed and pin you down, but you were faster. Shoving her off of you and down onto the mattress. At first, it hurt her feelings. Did you not desire her anymore? That thought was quickly replaced when you lowered yourself onto her, straddling her lap. Brushing a few hairs away from her forehead, you spoke, arousal laced into your cadence. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want” Dumbfounded, she stared back at you. Instead of responding, she placed her hands on your ass, pulling up your nightgown, giving your flesh a firm squeeze. Leaning into your neck, she placed a bite right on your jugular, licking lewdly from the bite mark to the shell of your ear. When you shivered, she thought she had won, and began to grind you against her lap. Briefly allowing this, you leaned into her chest to let out a few breathy moans.

Yes, it felt good, but it was mostly to continue the illusion of her triumph. Gripping her shoulders tightly, you pushed away from her chest to meet her eyes. You asked again. “I said, tell me what you want” Stopping the movement of your hips, she stared right back, frustrated at how powerful your resolve was. “Tell me. Now Yelena” The sound of her name leaving your pretty mouth mixed with your demanding tone was enough to make her snap. Her body twitched as her face turned red. She huffed out, deep voice extra husky. “What do you want me to say, y/n? Can’t you feel how much I want you?” Not good enough you thought and began grinding into her lap again. “No. I can’t feel how much you want me” Your hands pawed at her linen long-sleeve pajama top. Presentable even in her pajamas, controlled outer image no matter the situation. You can’t wait to strip her of everything, see the sheepish woman who’s hiding beneath. Unbuttoning her top and pushing it off of her shoulders, you spoke again. “Give me what I want and I’ll keep going” Words you had stolen from her own vocabulary.

Openly staring down at her breasts, her skin dusted pink from embarrassment “I want. I want you to use your mouth” she whispered. You knew what she meant; you just wanted to push her further. Pinching her nipple between two fingers, you looked back at her face, eyebrow raised. “Use my mouth? Where hmm?” She gasped pathetically and shoved her chest towards your face. If you were evil, you would make her use her voice again, but this surrender she was giving was a massive ego boost. Besides, your arousal was too intense to wait. Leaning down, you sucked harshly on her unoccupied nipple, moving your mouth between both of her breasts, paying equal attention. Sometimes adding a small bite just to hear her groan louder. “I want more” she drawled out, putting a hand on the back of your head to gently pull you away. Removing your mouth from her breast with a loud pop, spit clung to your lips and connected to her tit, filthy in the best way. The sight of you was so overwhelming, she covered her mouth in embarrassment. You cocked your head to the side, delighted. “If you want more, you can’t hide from me” You got off of her, standing up to your full height, and pointed to the pillows.

She didn’t need to be told verbally to understand what you wanted. On her hands and knees, she crawled up, then settled back against the pillows on her back. Legs spread wide to invite you back into her. You didn’t take the bait, instead choosing to stand at the end of the bed, pulling off your nightgown painfully slow. This left her breathless, switching between scrubbing her thighs together and rubbing herself through her clothes. You could practically see her pussy through the transparent wet spot she had made in her pants, and that made you hungry. Fully exposed to her now, you prowled forward and settled between her legs, sitting on your knees. Yelena gazed up at you, eyes bright for a change, pupils blown wide. She squirmed a bit, ready for what was coming next. Placing your palms flat on her collarbone, you pushed down on her slightly, wanting her to feel your authority, then dug your nails into her skin. She yelped, but it wasn’t enough to hurt; it would just leave delicious pink lines trailing to the elastic of her pants.

Slipping your fingers underneath, you teased relentlessly, inching her pants down slightly and then pulling them right back up. You expected her to fight back, even just a little, but were surprised when she wiggled and made soft, pretty sounds. So she was enjoying this. When that dawned on you, you let out a giggle. Moving back from her to create room, you snatched off her pants at last. She let out a pathetic string of “thankyouthankyouthankyou” No panties, how sinful. She was completely naked now. Pale long legs exposed, small perky breasts shaking with her shuttering breath. Nipples pink, still wet from your mouth. You were sitting between her legs, stopping to watch her chest heave up and down. She’s excited to see what you do to her next. You knew she still thought she had a scrap of control, it was written in her eyes. Dark orbs still fully focused, free from cloudy tears that would threaten to spill. No dazed look letting you know that control had been fully relinquished.

Leaning back close, you kissed down her body, sternum, belly button, then you bent down to hover over where she wanted you most. She shifted a bit and pushed her sex up towards your face, body asking so kindly, ‘please touch me. hurry!’ Greedily spreading her thighs open, you crouched down on your hands and knees, placing hot open-mouthed kisses on the backs of her thighs. Periodically biting down lightly to make her gasp, then soothing the pain with little kitten licks. She still hadn’t melted enough for you yet. She wasn’t loud enough, open enough. Mind still holding onto the illusion that, even though you had her lying back and spread for you, somehow she was calling the shots. Out of nowhere, you grabbed the backs of her thighs firmly enough to hurt and lifted her bottom off the bed. She let out a surprised high high-pitched gasp, a most beautiful ‘oh-!’ and you knew you were on the right path. Leaning down quickly so she wouldn’t have a chance to shove you away by your shoulders, you spread her open further and licked a firm stripe from her back entrance all the way to her clit.

“Huh! What-“ Attempting to sit up, she reached for your shoulders to push you away, just like you had assumed was coming, responding by sucking harshly on her clit. Flopping back onto the pillows, her hands fell from the attempted grip on you and splayed out on the bed. Whatever words she was going to use to fuss at you were now replaced with deep, sexy moans. Her mouth hung open, face relaxed with pleasure, stomach giving a different view, muscles scrunched, hips pushed into your face as hard as they could be to help chase her orgasm. You ate her like a woman starved, this being one of the few times you actually had the chance to taste her. Typically, she was the one with her face shoved into your pussy. That brought her just as much satisfaction as being touched. The way you would call her name so sweetly was enough to push her close to cumming. That was how you were feeling right about now, her big hand gripping the top of your head, making your stomach flutter. She didn’t push you down though, she knew her place now. This finally washed away the remains of your resolve.

You’re not gonna tease anymore, or be mean, she sounds too sweet. You just wanna shove her over the edge as hard as possible. Keeping your tongues lively pace on her clit, you gently pushed a finger in. Compared to the size of the favorite strap she always chose for you, she was tight. Always choosing to penetrate you and not herself. Moans going up an octave, she tried to scoot away from you. Concerned you might have hurt her, you disconnected your mouth, pulling away to check in. “Are you hurt? I should have asked first” Slowly, meticulously, pulling your finger back out. The attention and concern you were giving her merely worked to turn her on more. The last thing she wanted was to lose the feeling of your skilled fingers. Voice dripping with need, just like her pussy, she begged politely “Please, more y/n. I- I liked it. Please, please don’t stop” Pussy clenching at the sound of her words, you didn’t need to be told twice. Returning your middle finger to her plush walls, you rocked it in and out gently. In, and then all the way out, fucking her open.

Yelena’s mind was overtaken by the slightly unfamiliar sensation, it never occurred to her that allowing you to take the lead would feel this good. The sensation was amplified when you shifted to shorter strokes, concentrated on her special spongy spot. This action had her sitting up now, too stimulated to be in a relaxed position. With one of her big hands lightly gripping your wrist in a feeble attempt to pause your prodding, she leaned into your neck to hide the forthright sounds. The other hand scratched at your back trying to grip onto anything to stabilize herself. Excited by her dramatic reaction to just one finger, you slid a second one in. She groaned deep and long, body trembling, close to her climax. “You know I can still hear you, right? You can’t hide from me” Quickening your pace, she was gripping you so tightly that it crushed your fingers together. In response to your words, she pulled away from hiding her face, instead resting her chin on your shoulder, crying out freely. Her sobs echoed throughout the room as she wet the bed, squirting all over your fingers and wrist. It was truly a surprise, neither of you knew she was capable of finishing like that. “Oh my god mommy look at the mess you made” She bit down on your shoulder, embarrassed by your words, some of her normal attitude returning. “Never leave me” she pleads, voice raw. “Never” you said, kissing the top of her blonde head.

#aot fanfiction #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot smut #yelena aot #yelena aot x reader #yelena aot smut #yelena x reader #Yelena x reader smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #pieck finger aot #hange zoe aot #mikasa aot #mikasa ackerman #smut #attack on titian smut #aot yelena #yelena attack on titan

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hadtobeconfronted · 20 days ago

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❝But when I close my eyes, it's not her name I moan.❞

˖°࿐ •⁀➷

POV: Y/N CW: NSFW (18+), possessive behavior, dubcon undertones, obsessive/toxic dynamic, emotional manipulation

"Say my name."

Her voice cuts through the dim haze like a knife dipped in honey—sweet, slow, and venom-laced. You're already straddling her lap, thighs sticking against the expensive leather couch, your dress bunched at your waist, clinging to sweat-slicked skin. Your lipstick is smudged into her collarbone, your breath coming out in shallow pants as her hand fists your hair, pulling your head back.

The other hand? Already between your legs—controlling, claiming, ruining.

"Yelena," you gasp, barely above a whisper, your thighs trembling from the pressure she's building.

"Louder." Her teeth graze your jaw, a cruel smile blooming against your skin. "Like you mean it, pretty baby."

She smells like cigarettes and gunmetal—something masculine and dangerous. Her lips taste like cherry vodka and heat. You don't remember how you got here. You never do. Just the way her fingers slid into yours after the rally, after the speech, after the applause. Past the barricades. Past the guards. Past the world screaming her name.

Now it's you screaming it.

Your back arches. Her name falls from your lips again and again like both a prayer and a curse. You hate her. You love her. You want her to stop touching you. You want her to never stop.

"You think she can touch you like this?" Yelena growls suddenly, breath hot in your ear. Her fingers never slow. "Mikasa?"

That name—spoken like poison—drags the breath from your lungs. She laughs, low and bitter. "That little girl wouldn't know what to do with you."

You flinch.

You didn't say her name. You never say her name around Yelena. But somehow, she always knows. Knows when you've looked at Mikasa too long. Knows when your eyes lingered, or when you blushed at her compliment. Knows when your mind wandered during sex, wandered to soft hands and softer eyes.

"She's not like me," Yelena spits, voice rising. "She doesn't love you the way I do. She never will."

Her grip tightens—on your hips, on your heart—and you moan, because it's all you can do. Because when she touches you like this, when her hands move like knives and balm all at once, you forget yourself.

Pain becomes worship.

And maybe this is love—in the same twisted way war can be peace, or chains can be comforting.

But somewhere, buried under the noise and the heat and the smoke in your lungs, you're thinking about her.

Mikasa.

The way she looked at you yesterday across the war room table. The quiet pause before her eyes dropped to your bruised arm. The way her fingers lingered just a second too long on your shoulder when no one was looking.

The way it felt safe.

And maybe that's the problem.

Yelena makes you feel alive.

But Mikasa? She makes you feel human.

Yelena bends you forward like you're a prayer being recited backward. One knee on the couch, one foot on the floor, hips arched as she pulls your panties off with a swift, practiced tug. They catch on your ankle, and she leaves them there—like a trophy. Her grip digs into the soft of your thighs as if trying to anchor herself inside you.

"Don't run from me," she murmurs, voice fraying at the edges. "Don't you dare."

It almost sounds like desperation.

Almost.

But not quite.

You couldn't run even if you wanted to. Your knees are jelly. Your pulse is in your ears. Her thigh slides between yours, keeping them spread—commanding. Your body responds to her like it always does, helpless and ruined.

She fucks you like you're both her audience and her altar.

Like your pleasure is her applause.

Like her name on your lips is the only thing keeping her from collapse.

"You love this," she breathes. "You love me. The lights. The chaos. The way I own you."

You want to cry.

You want to laugh.

You want to scream until the world outside the VIP room forgets your name.

Instead, you push back into her, and she drags another breathless whimper from your throat.

It's always like this.

The backstage sex. The frantic, violent kisses after speeches. Her fingers inside you while the crowd chants outside—"Yelena! Yelena!" You're the secret. The addiction she hides in velvet. The shadow she fucks in silence.

Her teeth sink into your neck, sharp and hard enough to leave a bruise. The pain crackles under your skin, igniting something shameful.

"You're gonna let her touch you?" she snarls. "Let her soft hands undo what I made?" Her fingers plunge deeper. You moan.

"She thinks she knows you," she pants. "She doesn't. I made you. I broke you open. You were nothing before me."

You flinch. Not at the words—but because maybe she's right.

Maybe you're not a person anymore.

Maybe you're a groupie. A body. A vessel for someone else's power.

"Say it," she hisses. "Say you're mine."

You hesitate.

Just a second.

That's all it takes.

Her hand wraps around your throat, yanking your body flush against hers. Her breath ghosts over your cheek, her other hand dipping low—slow, deliberate, dragging through the mess between your thighs like she's painting something.

"Say. It."

"I'm yours," you gasp. "I'm yours, Yelena."

She groans, as if your voice is a shot of heroin. She clutches you tighter, and you feel her trembling against your back—this tall, strong, cruel woman undone by the way you crumble in her hands.

But your eyes flutter shut. And it's not her you see.

It's Mikasa. Silent. Still. Watching you yesterday from the other side of the room. Watching the way your sleeves never quite hid the bruises. Watching the way your smile didn't reach your eyes.

Watching you fade.

And for a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to be touched with care.

To be seen without being consumed.

To be loved without being owned.

But Yelena doesn't give you time to think.

She pushes you up onto the table. Her personal staging area—glass bottles, cigar ashes, and Polaroids sliding aside under your palms. Cold marble kisses your back. The club's bass echoes through the walls like a second heartbeat.

She kneels between your legs, tossing her blazer off like it means nothing. Her silk shirt is halfway unbuttoned, damp with sweat. It clings to her skin, revealing glimpses of lean muscle, scars, and that ink-black tattoo curling just beneath the curve of her bra.

Her hair is a mess—half-tied, half-stuck to her jawline. There's smudged mascara beneath her eyes, making her look rabid. Her lips are red from kissing you too hard.

"God, look at you," she murmurs, biting into the meat of your inner thigh. You hiss. "My perfect little doll."

She pushes your knees wider, dragging her tongue through your folds like she's trying to erase the memory of anyone else. It's messy, raw. Loud. You sob her name, grip her hair, try to hold on—but her hands are everywhere. Bruising your hips. Gripping your thighs. Digging crescents into your skin.

She moans into you, vulgar and deep.

The room echoes with slick, obscene sounds and your broken cries. Somewhere in the corner, Lana Del Rey hums from a speaker hidden in the ceiling:

"It's so sweet, swingin' to the beat..."

You're close.

Too close.

You feel like you're going to snap in half—but she pulls away suddenly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, licking her lips like she's just tasted something divine.

"Not yet," she says, breathless. "Not until you tell me what I need to hear."

She stands again, towering over you. Shirt untucked. Belt undone. Her fingers skim your trembling thigh, then your flushed cheek. She grabs your chin. Tilts your face up. Her thumb pushes into your mouth.

"Say my name."

"Y-Yelena..."

"Say it like it's a sin," she growls. "Like it's the last word you'll ever say."

"Yelena," you whisper, eyes glassy, jaw slack.

She smiles—slow, wicked, victorious.

"Good girl."

Her fingers plunge into you with precision that makes you sob. Her other hand cradles your face as she watches every twitch, every flinch, every shattered expression cross your features.

Her pupils are blown. Her smile is feral.

"Fuck—you'd fall apart without me."

And maybe you would.

Maybe you already have.

You scream her name as you shatter, stars bursting behind your eyes. Your body collapses onto the table in heaving gasps, every nerve alight.

Yelena doesn't let go.

Not when you twitch.

Not when your voice breaks into something near tears.

She holds you, pressing kisses to your temple as she whispers:

"You're not a fan."

She drags her fingers out of you, slow and reverent.

"You're a shrine."

The silence afterward is deafening.

She buttons her shirt slowly, smirking, hair falling into her face. She zips her pants like it's just another day. Like she didn't just ruin you. Like your body isn't still twitching with aftershocks.

You lie there, legs spread, mascara running, dress bunched at your waist.

And for a second—you don't feel like a person.

You feel like an offering.

She leans down.

Kisses your forehead, mock-gentle.

"I'll see you tomorrow, my little groupie."

Then she walks out. Like she didn't just break you in half.

The door clicks shut.

The crowd outside roars.

And the only thing you hear is Lana's voice fading into the silence:

"My groupie love..."

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hadtobeconfronted · 24 days ago

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hadtobeconfronted · 24 days ago

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ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴ ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ɴɴɴ

⚔︎ 🔞ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʟᴇᴛʜᴀʟ. ᴇxɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ🔞

⚔︎ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴀᴜ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ᴏʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴊᴏʙꜱ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ᴍ�� ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.

⚔︎ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɴɴɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ʟᴇᴛ ᴀ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ.

⚔︎ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴇʟᴇɴᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴇᴅ.

⚔︎ ᴛᴡ'ꜱ: ᴍᴀɴʜᴀɴᴅʟɪɴɢ, ᴅᴏɢɢʏ, ᴘᴜꜱꜱʏ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɴʏ, ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ ꜱᴇx, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx, ᴍᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ, ꜱᴇx ᴛᴏʏꜱ, ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀɪɴɢ, ꜰᴜʟʟ ɴᴇʟꜱᴏɴ, ꜱɪxᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ, ᴛʜʀᴜᴘᴘʟᴇ, ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ, ꜱᴄɪꜱꜱᴏʀɪɴɢ.

⚔︎ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀᴍᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏʟᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ᴇʀᴇɴ

⇥How long does he last: About two weeks.

⇥Surprisingly resilient that is until you wear his shirt around the house on your days off.

⇥Pops a boner and the thought of taking care of it crosses his mind.

⇥But after what felt like the thousand time of splashing cold water on his face he couldn't do it anymore.

⇥He stormed into the living room where you sat on the couch. Fuck it.

⇥He yanks the thin fabric off of you and manhandles you over the arm of the couch.

⇥He's about to fuck you like he hates you for indirectly teasing him.

⇥Results? Loser.

He has one hand pressed down between your shoulder blades while the other has a bruising grip on your hips. His own snapping repeatedly against you as your ass ricochets off him. The sound of your skin meeting his echoing out throughout your living room. What a stupid bet this was anyways; there's no one in the history of forever that has ever lasted an entire month without touching their significant other. Especially one as pretty as you.

"F-Fuck baby just like that. Keep squeezing around me. You know you've missed this just as much as I have."

⚔︎ ᴀʀᴍɪɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥This precious baby.

⇥Too wrapped up on the fact exams are around the corner.

⇥Doesn't really care about NNN but thinks it's cute that you try to get him to cum before the end of the month.

⇥He's lost count on how many times you've climbed on top of him and rode him until you came.

⇥You really thought you could get him but the moment December 1st hit he spent that time doing what he really wanted to do now that exams and that silly little challenge was over.

⇥Results? Winner.

Your fingers buried in his hair as you arch your back and moan out his name. His hand wrapped around his cock as he stroked his length quickly. His pre-cum started out as lube before he switched hands and his fingertips covered with your slick was used to make it nice and slippery.

"Love making you feel good baby. It's what you deserve. Now lay back and take what I give you okay?"

⚔︎ ᴄᴏɴɴɪᴇ

⇥How long does he last: surprisingly almost till the end.

⇥This stupid bald idiot really was so determined to win this. Jean bet him fifty bucks he wouldn't be able to win and Connie was about to call his bluff.

⇥You were supportive cause hey, money is money. You both agreed. No sex, no revealing clothing, and no provoking media.

⇥It was easy and there was only a few days left before the end of NNN. The money was as good as yours.

⇥Until you both were cuddled up and watching Sex in the City of all things and for some reason he popped a boner.

⇥To be fair the money didn't matter. Not when he was thrusting up into you as you rode him on the couch.

⇥Jean's mocking words in the back of Connie's mind. He had more important things to focus on.

⇥ Results? Loser.

"S-So pretty like this." Connie panted out as he watched your expression. Your hands grasping his shoulders as you moved your hips though it was futile was how he snapped his hips up the way he did. "Pussy feels so good baby. Gonna make it mine over and over again."

⚔︎ ᴊᴇᴀɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥He made a bet with Connie and he didn't think he'd be able to win.

⇥But it turned out to be a busy month for both of you.

⇥Thankfully of course because the way you came in after work, despite being tired, looked so pretty to him.

⇥Especially when you took a shower after work and the urge to stroke his cock to the image of your naked body with water droplets running down your body.

⇥He didn't even get a chance to fuck you until you were a few days into December.

⇥ He ravished your body in the shower after you both got home.

⇥Results? Winner.

The water cascading against his back as he had one of your legs hooked over the bend of his elbow. One hand digging into the flesh of your plush thigh while the other held onto your jaw gently. He wanted to make sure that you looked at him while you came undone for him. His hips snapping against you as you held onto his biceps for dear life. You knew you both were exhausted but for some reason this felt better than it ever had before.

"Shit baby, you're so beautiful. Love seeing you like this. Love feeling you. Gonna cum for me okay? Be a good girl and cum for me."

⚔︎ ᴢᴇᴋᴇ

⇥How long does he last: To the end but barely.

⇥He had to distract himself so many times and you surely didn't make it easy for him.

⇥Seeing you making him breakfast in the morning in nothing but his shirt suddenly had him craving you instead of breakfast.

⇥ You eventually caught on to what he was doing and you started teasing him more. Like walking into his study late at night when he was grading assignments for his students. Leaning down and kissing his pulse point on his neck and running your hands down his chest.

⇥The way his breath hitches as you slowly start to unbuckle his belt only to pull away and have him cursing under his breath.

⇥ It was no surprise the second the clock struck midnight you were woken up by your lover practically ripping your clothes off.

⇥ Results? Winner.

"You little goddamn tease." He growled in your ear as he gripped your leg tightly. You were on your side and his other arm had snaked around you and was holding you by the throat. Squeezing the sides gently every now and then as he thrusts inside you. "I'll make you think twice about teasing me like that ever again." He grunted as he continued to destroy your poor pussy. His hand that had been holding your leg now letting go and sliding down to rub your clit. "Now you're gonna cum for me again and again. It's the only apology I'll accept."

⚔︎ ᴇʀᴡɪɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥"My love do you know what No Nut-" "November? Yes, I'm well aware of what it is. I'll do it if you'd like but I'm not sure how well I'll do."

⇥Fucker forgets you had even asked him to do that.

⇥He was so wrapped up with his work at the lab trying to test the serum he made to help with chronic back issues to even think of anything else.

⇥ To be fair you were wrapped up in work too so you hadn't even noticed until it was December before you figured you would congratulate him.

⇥ It was a simple kiss that shouldn't have been anything more than that. A simple kiss.

⇥Oh but it turned into so much more.

⇥ Results? Winner.

You cried out in pleasure as he continued to pound into you. He had you folded into a nasty mating press and you watched through teary eyes the white ring around his cock only get messier. You lost track of how many times you had cum and when you look into those sea blue eyes Erwin couldn't help but groan.

"Can't believe I went an entire month without this. Never again. I want to feel you wrapped around me forever."

⚔︎ ʟᴇᴠɪ

⇥How long does he last: Till the end plus some.

⇥Let's say it all in unison now: sadist.

⇥Knows allllllll about NNN from all the young interns at the lab. Even his boss, Erwin, knows about it which is saying a lot.

⇥He's more than happy to entertain you. Goes a whole month and a half actually and you were practically begging him on your hands and knees to fuck you.

⇥Oh and he does. Exactly like you are right now. Kneeled before him with a harsh grip on the leash attached to the collar he has around your neck.

⇥The dildo you're riding wasn't exactly what you were wanting but it was better than nothing. Especially with how much you ached.

⇥Results? Winner.

Levi gives a harsh tug to the leash causing you to take his cock deeper into your throat. He hums in approval at the way you gag around him.

"Ride it faster." Levi commands and you do as your told and ride the toy faster and he lets out a groan. "There you go my desperate little pet. See how rewarding it can be when you're patient."

⚔︎ ʀᴇɪɴᴇʀ

⇥How long does he last: 2 hours and 15 minutes.

⇥This poor touched starved man.

⇥Can you blame him really? I mean he loves you so much. He can't help it.

⇥The moment you brought up NNN he hated it.

⇥You honestly made him accept the challenge cause you thought it would help with his training. He said he wanted to do resistance training for wrestling anyways so why not?

⇥He was the best on the team and so you figured this would help him.

⇥Spoiler alert...it didn't.

⇥Results? Loser.

He had you in a full nelson and you were already fucked dumb. You grabbed onto his wrists as he thrusted inside of you at a brutal pace. All you could do was take it. You had already cum once and he still was going. You were sure that his stamina was going to be the death of you. The sound filling the room over and over again. You couldn't believe he was still going but you knew you had brought this upon yourself. You had wanted to test his endurance and you were getting just that.

"F-Fuck sweetheart," Reiner moans out. "Taking this cock so well. S-So good...love you too much to ever do that stupid challenge again."

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ᴍɪᴋᴀꜱᴀ

⇥How long does she last: To the end.

⇥She had heard of NNN from Eren but never understood the hype.

⇥The only reason she even agreed to it was because you gave her those puppy dog eyes she could never resist.

⇥The deal was to see who cracked first and unfortunately that was you.

⇥I mean fuck have you seen her working out?

⇥You never knew cross country needed that much work out and soon you started to wonder if she was doing stuff on purpose.

⇥Anyways it was no wonder you caved before you really wanted to and you tried. You really did but she kept bringing up the fact November wasn't over yet.

⇥To your dismay she goes the entire month without so much as a kiss.

⇥She makes up for it though by pulling you on top of her a few days into December and you happily accepted it since you were practically touch starved.

⇥Results? Winner.

You moaned against her folds as you felt her tongue dive into you again. Your nails digging your nails into her thighs as you dived back into eating a meal you had been deprived of since the beginning of November. You knew Mikasa felt the same way despite making it through the entire month because she been buried in your pussy the moment she stripped you down and pulled you to her face. You could feel your thighs tremble around her head with the way she flicks her tongue the way she did that drove you crazy. You whine against her and you can feel her smile against you.

"C'mon baby. Cum for me. I don't plan on moving from this spot anytime soon."

⚔︎ ꜱᴀꜱʜᴀ

⇥How long does she last: One week

⇥She's actually the one that suggested it to you and Niccolo.

⇥For some reason she was bound and determined to win this.

⇥You and Niccolo took it as a challenge of course and you made a bet between the two of you secretly.

⇥Who was going to break Sasha first?

⇥It was you of course. The way you whined her name that night you all had one too many drinks during Connie and Jean's after party.

⇥She snapped and the moment you touched her thigh.

⇥You looked so pretty in that dress and the way you blinked up at her with that pout lip?

⇥It was no wonder she grabbed you and your shared boyfriend, Niccolo, by the wrists and dragging you both to the first empty room.

⇥Since you won the bet between you and Niccolo, your reward was that he'd fuck you in any position you want.

⇥You had the perfect position in mind.

⇥Did the first empty room really have to be Floch's bedroom?

⇥Oh well it didn't matter. Not when clothes were pushed out of the way and the moans started to come from all of you.

⇥Results? Loser.

The way Niccolo snapped his against your arching core caused your tongue to pause its movements against Sasha's pussy often. She whined loudly as her grip on your forearms tightened. The noises you three made were easily drowned out by the music playing throughout the frat house. The full size mattress was barely big enough to fit all three of you and it creaked often under the weight it normally never felt.

"Stop teasing." Sasha whined out and Niccolo sped up his movements with a moan.

"Maybe you should've held out longer. You don't get to cum before she does." Niccolo grunted out as he was fixated on the way your tongue started to move against Sasha again.

"H-Hate you guys so much."

⚔︎ ʏᴇʟᴇɴᴀ

⇥ How long does she last: To the end. Easily.

⇥"Let's do No Nut November." "What?" "Do you seriously not know what it is?" "No genius I don't."

⇥Gods why do you always have to explain things like this to her. She's surprisingly so dense when it comes to this kind of stuff.

⇥"Oh yeah I heard about that on TikTok. Sounds stupid."

⇥Babe...c'mon.

⇥Agrees to do NNN and you expect something with all the teasing you had done but nope.

⇥She's like Fort fucking Knox.

⇥You die though of course. A whole month without the strap? Read your obituary now.

⇥Need her so bad it makes you look pathetic and that's her favorite.

⇥Results? Winner.

You feel her place a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. Her grip on your wrists, she had pinned behind your back, tightens. Her hips snapping against you and your muffled moans along with the headboard hitting the wall fill the room. She moans softly while her grey eyes darken as she watches you closely.

"So desperate princess. Do you realize how pathetic you look right now? Acting like this all because we went a month without sex. Maybe we should do this more often. You sound so pretty for me right now."

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ʜᴀɴɢᴇ

⇥How long do they last: Technically only lasted three weeks but you give them the win.

⇥Hange has two weaknesses: the constant need for knowledge and you.

⇥When you asked them about NNN they gasp with the most excited look on their face.

⇥"I was hoping you'd ask me! Let's do it! I can do a little experiment on this."

⇥They really thought they'd be able to outlast you easily.

⇥That wasn't the case at all.

⇥You quickly see how clingy they started to get. Wrapping their arms around you and kissing your exposed shoulders

⇥Trying to make out with you whenever you could and putting their hands all over your body.

⇥You could feel how desperate Hange was so you decide to call it.

⇥Results? Semi-winner.

You moan Hanges name as they grind their core against yours. It felt beyond heavenly and you wondered how you were even able to go this long without feeling Hange against you. Hange gazes down at you with lidded eyes as they adjust their hips against you. Your leg over their shoulder as they placed gentle kisses against your ankle.

"That's it sweetheart. Wanna hear you. I did win after all didn't I?"

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2024 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ

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hadtobeconfronted · 29 days ago

Text

ANGELEYES ꨄ ft. connie springer

a/n: she’s finally hereeee omg i haven’t had this much fun writing something in a minute so i hope yall enjoy it <333 also there is quite a bit of spanish dialogue and it is unfortunately from google translate so just bare w me lmao

synopsis: a tale about two childhood best friends who *gasps* turn into lovers hehe

wc: 16k//// cw include: super fluffy in the beginning they’re so cute, pretty angsty in the teenage part bc well . . . they’re teenagers, mentions of connie being a dealer as an adult, a lot of flirting and banter— now for the nsfw part: kissing, connie being a tease, oral f & m!receiving, fingering, connie humps the bed while he eats it, dirty talk in english and spanish, choking, protected sex turned to unprotected sex, finger sucking, slow sex n’ rough sex, connie cums in and on her pussy, cum eating, aftercare!!!

‘sometimes when i’m lonely, i sit and think about him. and it hurts to remember all the good times.’

february 14th, 2007 . . .

“c’mon y/n! i don’t wanna be late for the valentines party!”

“slow down con, you’re walkin’ too fast!” you cried out, little feet trying their absolute best to keep up with connie’s fast strides. the chilly wind whipped around you both, nearly knocking you over. “make sure you hold on tight to your valentines, i’ll be so sad if i don’t get one from you,” connie giggled, referring to the paper bag full of bratz themed valentines for your entire first grade class.

you responded with a nod, and an obnoxious sniffle, the icy breeze making your nose stuffier by the second. connie looked over at you and giggled once more, “you look like a giant pink marshmallow.” you joined him in laughter, mitten covered hand reaching up to adjust the pink wool scarf your mother had recently just bought you around your neck.

you were wearing a pink coat that was a size too big, along with a big fluffy hat and mittens to match. “momma said i had to wear all this if i wanted to walk to school with you.”

speaking of school, it was just right up ahead! just as you were about to cross the street, connie slammed his arm against your chest nearly knocking you over. “we gotta wait for the crossing guard, remember?!” you looked at him in pure confusion before a woman wearing a neon yellow vest approached you both.

“you two ready?” she asked with a sweet smile. immediately you froze up, the stranger danger sirens in your head blaring. “yes, we’re ready! c’mon, y/n, don’t be scared,” connie took your hand in his, his free hand grabbing onto the crossing guards. as you walked across the street you couldn’t help but be jealous at how connie was never shy around strangers, adults especially.

in his eight years of being on this earth, connie has always been a social butterfly. whether it’d be saying hi to strangers at the grocery store or playing freeze tag with a random group of kids at the park, connie was always a friendly soul to be around.

“thank you ma’am, have a happy valentine’s day!” connie beamed at the crossing guard before dragging you up the stairs to the school.

you immediately relaxed at the warmth that greeted you when you stepped inside. “c’mon, i’ll walk ya to class,” connie gave you a small smile, enveloping your hand in his once more. as connie walked you to class, various students from different grades said hello to him, some of the older kids even fist bumped him! it was amazing in your eyes

“lemme help you with your stuff,” he mumbled, setting his own valentines on the ground beside him. as you took off your mittens, connie unzipped your coat and snatched off your hat, grinning when you whined about him messing up your hair. “momma spent a lot of time making sure my hair doesn’t stick up,” you huffed, running your hand over the slicked part of your bun.

after hanging up your backpack and coat on the hooks outside your classroom, you turned around to see connie giving you a toothy smile, spider-man valentine in hand. you gasped, eagerly snatching the small card with a lollipop taped to it out of his hand. “thank you, connie! i can’t wait to eat the sucker!”

“i have something else for you too, but it’s a surprise! i’ll give it to you at the end of the day, i gotta go!” and with that connie gave you a bone crushing hug before literally sprinting to his classroom, which was just a few doors down.

while you were in the first grade, connie was in second. this however didn’t stop him from trying to see you as much as he could! sometimes when his class was in the hall you’d see that bald little head peek from the door, smiling at you while waving. during passing times for lunch or recess, he’d always look for the girl with the greased up face, and multiple bows in her hair—it was usually pretty easy to find you because you were always the line leader.

“come on, y/n! let’s get this valentines party started!” you heard your teacher call out. with one last glance at connie, your grabbed the bag containing your valentines before headlining into your classroom.

being the enthusiastic seven year old you were, you expected to get quite a few valentines from your fellow classmates, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. you got a total of eight valentines out of the seventeen children in your class—apparently they thought it would be funny to skip over your basket.

this just broke your little heart.

by the time the day ended you were a puffy faced, crying mess. getting only a handful of valentines had put you in a sour mood, a frown etched on your lips for the entirety of the day. connie had noticed this, and for some reason it made his chest feel funny seeing his best friend in such sad spirits.

as you zipped up your coat you were startled by a familiar voice behind you. “hey! how was your valentines party?! ours was awesomeeee, i got so many valentines and candy—o-oh . . . why’re you crying y/n?”

midway through connie’s sentence you had burst into tears once more, fat, hot tears running down your cheeks and onto your coat. “i-i *hiccup* barely got any valentines *sniffle* f-from anyone,” you covered your face with your hands, tears seeping into the fabric of your mittens.

connie’s mind was racing. what would an adult do in this situation, better yet how would his mom handle it?

without thinking he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close. his mommas hugs always made him feel better. he just held you for a minute and let you cry, glaring and sticking his tongue out at anyone who stared at you both for too long. “c’mon, let’s go before a teacher comes,” connie mumbled into your hair.

before you could even process what was happening, connie was dragging you away, holding your hand tightly in his. the second you walked outside and saw your mother along with connie’s waiting for you, a fresh batch of tears brimmed your lash line.

“what’s wrong with my baby?” your mother asked, her lips turning into a frown. you didn’t really pay much attention to the conversation, and you didn’t really care now that your momma was there to make things all better. you just jumped into her arms, buried your face in her neck, and cried your heart out.

“she didn’t get a lot of valentines,” connie muttered, grasping onto his mothers hand.

the walk back was pretty silent on your end aside from tiny sniffles and hiccups. connie held your hand the entire way to your apartment, he tried to make conversation but you just weren’t having it. before you knew it you were finally back home.

“this is for you,” connie mumbled, unzipping his backpack to reveal a pink teddy bear, along with a valentine’s day card.

suddenly the world stopped.

you were still as a statue, your lips turning into a pout as connie placed the items in your hands. “f-for me?” you sniffled, hugging the bear to your chest. connie grinned at you, nodding his head bashfully.

“how sweet! say thank you, y/n!”

you were still for a few moments before throwing your arms around connie’s neck, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. “those other valentines were probably lame, you can have some of mine from the second graders.” that had you squealing so loud bystanders had to cover their ears.

“thank you con, you’re the bestest best friend ever!” you hugged the teddy bear to your chest again, snuggling it extra hard.

watching your mood do a complete three sixty made connie’s heart swell. which was weird. it wasn’t until lately that every time connie saw you his tummy erupted with butterflies, but . . . he actually liked it?

he liked being around you. he liked the way you always smelt like shea butter and fresh laundry, he liked whenever you would share your snack with him on the way home from school, but what he really liked was that you never tried to dim his shine. connie was a hyper kid, very talkative too, and kids were mean to him for no reason sometimes about it, but you . . . you were never mean to him. you always welcome him with open arms and a smile.

that night, connie talked to his momma about that strange feeling he gets in his tummy whenever he sees you—come to find out it’s called a crush.

“¿explica lo que significa de nuevo, mami?” connie asked, taking a sip of his apple juice. connie’s mom laughed, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them.

“it means you like her, and you care about her, and that’s good! y/n is probably still a little young to understand this, and honestly you are too, but i feel like you’re mature enough to know about this kinda thing. maybe one day when you’re older you can tell her, yeah?”

“yeah, maybe. that stuff is gross though.”

february 14, 2014 . . .

“c’monnnn, y/n. ¡date prisa, chica, date prisa! we’re gonna be late!”

“i know, i know i’m sorry! i totally overslept,” you called out to connie, securing your scarf around you neck. your nose scrunched at the wind that whipped at your face, your lips already beginning to feel dry.

on the decent down the stairs to the sidewalk you nearly slipped, almost busting your butt. “dios mío,” he chuckled, extending his hand to help you down the rest of the way. you quietly thanked him, ignoring the warmth flaring in your cheeks. connie hooked his arm around yours, “hold on to me, i don’t want you to slip again.”

you didn’t protest, you just nodded and quietly thanked him once again. the walk to your school was silent until connie spoke up, “happy valentine’s day.” you looked up at him, giving him a small smile and little nudge to the side. “happy valentine’s day, connie.”

trying to sound as nonchalant as possible connie said, “did you buy any roses to give to anyone? i heard today at nine is the last time to do it.” you quickly responded with a no, your eyes trailing down to the gravel below you.

“do you think you’ll get any?”

you thought to yourself for a moment before shaking your head, “nah i don’t expect it, but that’s okay.” you weren’t bothered by it completely, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t jealous of the girls who talked about getting roses from their crushes. but all was well, your plan for the day was to bury your nose in the latest romantic novel you purchased. the book was probably a little mature for you, but hey, a little make out scene between two star crossed lovers here and there never hurt nobody.

“what about you? did you buy any? plan to receive any?”

you rolled your eyes when connie burst out laughing, nearly stopping your walk entirely to catch his breath. “you’re so dam—d-dang annoying . . . you’re so annoying,” you huffed, unlinking your arm from his. connie wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side once again. “nah, nah, don’t be like that. it’s not my thing though. i didn’t buy any, and i don’t plan to receive any.”

you hummed, kicking a nearby rock with your foot. as you were walking you couldn’t help but smell a faint musky scent. you sniffed, and then sniffed again, this time you got a stronger whiff when you smelt connie. was he wearing . . . cologne?

“is that you smellin’ like that?” you giggled, stuffing your nose in his neck, and sure enough you smelt cologne. for the first time since you were kids you saw connie blush, it was kinda cute, but in a friend way kinda cute. at least that’s what you told yourself.

connie rubbed his glove covered hand over his freshly buzzed hair. “aish! yeah, i put on some cologne, but only because my mom sprayed on a little before i left the house,” he muttered, clearly lying through his teeth.

the truth was, he had asked his mom to buy him some for today, and after all her teasing and pesky questions she caved and got him some. he told her it was for another girl in his class, but really, it was for you to notice and you only.

as the years went by connie’s innocent crush turned into a full blown one. by the time he was thirteen, he kinda had a holy shit moment as he finally admitted to himself that he indeed did have a crush on his best friend. how cliche.

“well it’s nice . . . makes you smell, uhm, grown? i don’t know, but i like it,” your cheeks felt hot as you spoke, and you hoped connie didn’t notice the slight shakiness in your voice as you finished talking. newflash, he noticed, and it filled his chest with so much pride he felt as if his heart was gonna explode.

you noticed the grin on connie’s face and kissed your teeth, “don’t be weird about it, weirdo.” connie smirked, he pulled you in real close for a side hug, then released you. “you’re the weirdo. talkin’ about how i smell ‘grown’, whatever that means,” he cackled, running a few steps ahead of you to avoid getting a smack on the back of the head.

the two of you continued small talk until you, unfortunately, made it to school. “take my hand again, don’t want you to fall in front of everybody right?” seriously, you were this close to punching him. but nonetheless you took his hand, graciously thanking him inside your head for looking out for you.

“i’m gonna go, but i’ll see you at lunch yeah?” connie spoke softly, nudging your side with his elbow. you wanted to be selfish and tell him that he should spend the morning with you, but you bid him farewell nonetheless with a smile on your face. the second he was out of sight a frown took over your lips. you couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed you were wearing a new gloss today, or you changed your perfume scent from lavender to coconut. boys were so hard to read.

the day went by slow, as usual, but when the last period of the day came around things got a little interesting.

“valentine roses! we have valentine roses!” you heard someone shout from the door of your classroom. you took your eyes away from your book to see three students wearing various pink and red articles of clothing. “mm, whatever,” you hummed, looking back down at your book.

a few minutes passed, and just when you thought the commotion was over, one of the students approached you. looking up over your lashes, you raised a brow. “these are for you, all from the same person,” they said, giving you a small smile before handing you three red roses.

your mouth dropped, unable to find the correct words. there was no way this was real right? there was no way someone bought three roses for you. “w-who are these from?” you questioned, running your thumb along the soft petals of the roses. the girl tapped on a heart shaped card that was tied to the stems with a ribbon, “they had the choice to write a message in here. they either signed it or left it anonymoussss.” the girl gave you a tiny smile before walking away, leaving you completely dumbfounded.

with shaky hands, you opened the card.

‘U R 2 CUTE’ the card had said in bold, pink letters, and at the bottom in parentheses it said ‘for real :)’.

you recognized this handwriting all too well.

you nibbled on your bottom lip, a giddy smile making its way onto your lips. you couldn’t believe connie had done this for you. after all the smack talk and fake gag noises about anything romantic, connie was the last person you expected to receive a rose from. and what did he mean by ‘for real’ ? did he think you were cute, did he think you were . . . pretty?

for the rest of the period you sat there, admiring your roses. you had to ask connie about it, you had to! so when the bell rang you made a beeline for connie’s locker. thankfully he was there, unfortunately his friends were too.

when he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile, but then he saw the flowers you were clutching in your hand. there was nooo way he could let his friends find out he actually participated in the rose giveaway.

“um, i’ll see you guys around,” he muttered, slamming his locker shut before making his way over to you. once you were in reach he gently grabbed your wrist, “vamos a casa, m’starving and need a snack.” without any protests you let him lead the way with tiny, minuscule, little hearts in your eyes.

“you really got these for me?” your voice was tiny, barely audible, and if connie wasn’t so close to you he probably wouldn’t have even known you were speaking. he looked at you and then the ground, his cheeks turning bright red. “well, yeah. i thought flowers would be better than another teddy bear.” he smiled at the last part, remembering his last visit to your bedroom.

you were already into plushies and beanie babies big time, and he did no favors adding onto your collection. each of six teddy bears he got you were lined up neatly on your bed, not a head or paw out of place. connie, being the fourteen boy he was of course, wreaked havoc on the poor teddys, tossing them around and making them do obscene positions much to your horror. they all had names as well, but you have yet to reveal them to save yourself from anymore embarrassment.

“this was really nice of you con, i really wasn’t expecting you to do this,” you couldn’t hide the giddiness in your voice as you spoke, your lips breaking into a shy smile. “ay dios mío, please don’t make it a big thing. let’s talk about something else pleaseeeee!” connie dramatically threw his head back, his cheeks so hot if felt as if someone had placed hot coals on them.

“whatever, weirdo.” you giggled, gently backhanding his chest.

after a few minutes, connie pulled out his phone and headphones. “wanna listen to music with me?” you grinned at him, nodding eagerly before taking an earbud. connie only really listened to songs in spanish, and maybe some rnb on side, but he only listened to songs in spanish with you to help you learn the language better. you caught on pretty fast to the basics when you were younger from hearing him and his mom interact with each other, but as you got older connie wanted you to know more. sometimes he’d quiz you and sometimes he’d just say a whole sentence you didn’t understand over and over until you got it right—he was actually a pretty good teacher for a fourteen year old.

as you were walking you kept feeling connie’s fingers brush against your own. your heartbeat quickened, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip as you decided if you should engage or not. i mean, what if it was accident and he got creeped out? but then again, it wasn’t an odd thing for you and connie to hold hands outside of school.

your thoughts were interrupted when connie hooked his pinky around yours, securing them together. you didn’t say anything, too stunned and shy to mutter even a word, but you did give his pinky a squeeze to let him know the action was welcomed.

“did your mom tell you we’re coming over tonight?” connie asked, referring to him and his mother. you smiled at him, and nodded. “of course she did! it’s like—”

“trying saying it in spanish, chica!”

you hummed, racking your brain for the right words and pronunciation. “uhm . . . okay, uh, es como nuestra tradición?” connie tapped on his chin and hummed, he had the most unserious serious look on his face it almost made you laugh.

“¡correcto! i’ve taught my student well,” he smirked, giving your pinky a rough squeeze.

before you knew it you were outside your apartment building. “here’s your card, i’m happy you like the flowers.” there was a slight shake in connie’s hands as he held the card out, thankfully you didn’t seem to notice.

you took the card, an eruption of butterflies swarming in your stomach. without saying anything you wrapped your arms around him, and as you pulled away you left a tiny peck on his cheek. connie’s eyes widened, his body tensing. “t-thanks for the roses n’ the card. i’ll be sure to take care of them and, uh, i guess i’ll see you later!”

“b-bye y/n! prepare to have your butt kicked at mortal combat when i see you!” you laughed on the your way up the stairs, you turned around to give connie one last wave and smile before heading inside.

the second the door to the building shut connie exhaled a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “was that my first kiss? nah, nah, can’t be . . . well, it counts a little bit,” he giggled to himself, turning on his heels to make his way home. the whole walk home all he could think about was the peck on the cheek you gave him.

he took off his glove and pressed his fingers against the spot on his cheek you kissed, he was intrigued to find out the area was a little sticky. he brought his fingers to his nose, senses immediately overwhelmed by the scent of strawberries. ‘strawberry lipgloss . . . nice,’ he thought to himself, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

the second connie walked in the door of his apartment, he made a beeline for the only person worthy of knowing this information: his mom.

he found her in the kitchen, the smell of her famous pollo guisao wafting into his nose. “estoy casa, mami,” he mumbled, giving her a quick hug from behind. “one sec, hijo, i’m almost done with this. feel free to grab a snack, i bet you’re starving.” connie didn’t need to be told twice, his stomach growling at the thought of some kind of greasy snack.

“alright, that should be good,” she hummed, dusting her hands off on his apron before making her way over to connie, who was munching on a bag of chips. “¿cómo estuvo la escuela?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch next to him. connie hummed, popping another chip into his mouth.

it was silent for a few beats until she smacked him on the back of the head. “w-wha? ow! what was that for, ma?” he whined, rubbing the back of his head. “boy, you know what i wanna know. did you buy the flowers for that girl today?” connie nodded, not being able to fight the grin creeping up on his lips.

“it was y/n, wasn’t it? she’s also the one you wanted to wear cologne for, right?” connie’s jaw dropped, his fist unintentionally crushing the bag of chips he was holding. she smirked at him, reaching a hand over to gently run over his hair. “una madre siempre sabe cuando su hijo está mintiendo, mi amor.”

connie sank further into the couch, his brows furrowing in annoyance. how was she able to read him so easily? “whatever, mami, but yes, it was for her. the b-best part though was when he got to her house she kissed me!—well, on the cheek, but still.”

all connie’s mom could do was smile at her son—ah, young love. “you two are so freakin’ cuteeee!”

“mami pleaseeee stop!” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. her pesky teasing went on for a few more moments before she gave him a serious look. “i have something for you, wait here,” she spoke softly, getting up from the couch and going into her room. when she came back out she was holding a rectangular shaped box.

she sat next to connie and slowly opened the box, revealing a gold cuban link chain. “it was yours dads. i scrounged up every penny i had, and bought it for him on our two year anniversary. él llevó esto a todas partes.” she laughed at the last part, her lips turning into a sad smile.

connie took a closer look at the chain, his lips turning into a frown. “you sure, mama? i know his stuff is important to you,” he whispered, but his mom shook her head, letting out a little sniffle. “i want you to have it, mi cariño . . . he would’ve wanted you to have it. just promise me one thing.” she took the chain out the case, and gently placed it over connie’s head.

“excuse my language when i say this, amor—wear this shit with pride, just like your dad did. he was a good man, with a great life, n’ a good family and i want all the same for you, okay?” she chuckled when she saw a stray tear roll down connie’s cheek. “no tears, amor, no tears. just promise me that one thing.” connie sniffled and nodded his head—

“i promise, mami.”

february 14th, 2018 . . .

“this fuckin’ girl,” connie groaned, his head tilting back to look at the cloudy, grey sky. he had a card in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other for none other than you, his lovely best friend. he settled on a bouquet of pink tulips this year, deciding to switch it up from the usual roses he gave you.

his ears perked up when he heard the sound of someone coming out of your apartment building. there you were, looking cute as cute as ever in your oversized baby pink coat, along with a hat and mittens to match. “i know, i know, i’m sorryyy,” you giggled, taking careful steps down the slippery stairs.

“yeah, yeah whatever,” he smirked, looking you up and down before holding up the card and roses. you gave him a toothy grin, happily accepting the gifts from him. “thank you con, eres tan dulce.”

connie tongued the inside of his cheek, “ah, it’s nothin’. c’mere.” connie reached an arm out, tatted hand gently grabbing your coat to pull you in for a hug. the smell of his cologne had you relaxing into the hug, your arms tightening around him.

if any stranger were to see you two right now, it would obviously look like you two were together, but unfortunately for connie, that was not the case. it gets worse, you actually have a boyfriend. some motherfucker got to you before him, and he gets mad about it everyday because he had so. much. time. to make you his. you’ve been with the guy for nearly seven months and connie’s jealousy never dimmed.

“alright, alright, let’s get going before we miss the bus,” you mumbled into his jacket, ever so slowly detaching yourself from his embrace. connie huffed, but nonetheless followed after you.

you didn’t link arms anymore, and he didn’t wrap his arm around you—apparently that was a big no no for your boyfriend. connie kinda understood him in a way, if you were his and anyone laid a finger on you he’d go ballistic. at least you were able to listen to music together on your walk to the bus stop, and on the ride to school.

you whipped out your phone and headphones, passing one to connie. “man, no you’re always listening to those korean guys. i can’t understand shit they say,” his chest puffed up if faux annoyance because he knew he’d listen to whatever you played anyway. “well, i don’t care about none of that so here.”

“mmcht, fine. una niña tan mimada . . .” he grumbled, playfully side eyeing you. he loved getting on your nerves.

“i’m not spoiled.”

“yes you are.”

“okay and what about it, constance.”

“woah, my government name? my bad buddy, didn’t mean to strike a nerve there!” he chortled, raising his hands in surrender. if you weren’t connected by a pair of headphones you would’ve pushed him. “anyways . . . how did it go with your mom last night? i’m sure she was so pleased to see the new ink on your hand.”

connie’s shoulders slumped, “bro, you would’ve thought i killed someone the way she reacted. she was saying shit in spanish that i didn’t even know existed, shit was terrifying.” you doubled over in laughter at this, your hand slapping against his arm for stability.

“tch, it’s not funny, y/n. my head still hurts from how hard she threw her sandal at me,” he whined, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. he was expecting his mom to get a little upset about the tattoo, but figured maybe she’d show a little mercy because it was a tribute to his father—that was not the case. my mans got a very stern talking to, and a sandal to the back of the head.

“tuh, well that’s what you get! you know how she feels about tattoos.”

with a huff, connie waved you off, choosing to tune into the music blaring in his right ear instead. you didn’t have to wait long for the bus to come, though you didn’t mind the comfortable silence. when connie found two seats, he allowed you to go first. he always sat on the outside of seats, or walked on the side where the street was—he was a gentleman through and through.

“are you and your mom comin’ over tonight? i convinced my mom to take your favoriteeee.” you snorted, and looked over at him, “but, connie . . . you hate salmon.” connie shrugged, nudging your elbow with his own.

“i don’t mind it too bad when i know you like it so much.” his heart clenched at your smile, but the feeling soon faltered when you frowned, your teeth pulling your lip back to pick at the skin. he made a noise of disapproval, “hey, don’t do that. ¿por qu�� te ves así? ¿qué pasa?”

your lip popped back into place, and connie’s frowned deepened seeing a small speckle of blood. “well, like, my mom will be going over there, just . . . not me. i’m gonna be out with—”

oh.

connie’s lip twitched, and then slowly turned into the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. “that’s . . . fine. it’s fine. i probably won’t stick around for too long anyway.” your eyebrow perked up, “oh?”

he adjusted in his seat, his knee no longer touching yours. you didn’t understand why it bothered you so much, but it did. it bothered you a lot, actually.

you poked his shoulder, “did you have other plans tonight?” connie shrugged, his focus now on plastic wrapped about his healing tattoo. “jean and ony were talking about this party goin’ on tonight, and you know, since you ain’t coming tonight i might as well join em’.”

“yeah, i guess.” you mumbled, shrinking into your seat. connie noticed the change in your body notice immediately. you thought he was mad at you, it was written all over your face. it couldn’t have been further from the truth, his anger lied with your boyfriend, the dickhead breaking your tradition for the first time since you were kids and stealing you away from him for the night.

connie grinned at your pouting lips. he tapped your chin, taking it between his fingers. this was probably crossing a boundary, but you surely weren’t in a rush to pull away from him, at least that’s what it looked like to him.

“no te veas tan triste. nestoy enojado contigo, así que deja de hacer ese puchero, ¿sí?” you hated when he did this, his eye contact was always so intimidating. your nod was slow, like you were still unsure if he was telling the truth or not. he hummed, releasing your chin. “i promise,” he spoke softly, grabbing the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “that i’m not mad.” thankfully you seemed to relax after that.

connie was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. he took pride in being an honest, good man, much like his father was. but sometimes people, and by people he means you, are stubborn and not so easy to convince, so he started this little thing that whenever he grabs his his dads chain it means he is telling the honest truth, and nothing else.

your eyes lit up the tiniest bit, your frown replaced with a small smile. “te creo, connie. te lo prometo.”

“ooo, look at you using your spanish. una chica tan inteligente,” connie smirked, patting your head three times. oh, how connie loved the the language sounded rolling off your tongue. he noticed you sounded more confident nowadays, and it made his heart swell with pride. “heh . . . thank you. now move your behind, this is our stop,” you grumbled, nudging his knee with yours.

when you got off the bus you were elated to see your boyfriend, eren yeager, waiting at the steps for you. you turned to connie, “i’ll see ya later, thanks again for the flowers! i’ll leave them with ms. jones for the day, she’ll watch them for me.”

“i’ll see you at lunch, okay? we’ll get sum to eat, unless your boy toy already has plans with you.” connie’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette behind you, his lips curling up in distaste. he didn’t care for eren if wasn’t obvious. he had a reputation, and not a good one, and you were too sweet to deal with anything of that nature, but somehow the boy swept you off your feet and you were smitten.

when the most popular boy at school asks you to be his girlfriend, you don’t say no, it’s a clear no brainer—connie thought that logic was bullshit, but he kept that comment to himself.

“well lucky for you he didn’t mention any plans about a lunch date, although he didn’t mention dinner plans either . . . but i’m sure it’s just a surprise.” bells went off in connie’s head when you mentioned that, but he stayed silent. you always found the bright side in things, he admired that about you.

“mm, well, i’ll see you later then. have a good rest of your day, princesa.” he squeezed your shoulder tenderly before walking off. he side eyed eren as he walked away, and ugh, the boy just pissed him off so bad. his face looked entirely too nonchalant for having the most beautiful girl in the city all for himself.

the day went by painfully slow, and then it was lunch. connie waited for you in the foyer, already having a place in mind lunch, but you were nowhere to be found. when he checked in with your favorite teacher, ms. jones, he was shocked to find out you had went home early. apparently you weren’t feeling well.

he decided to text you and check up on you, only to find out your phone was on do not disturb. now this was odd. you were never the type to keep your phone on silent, unless absolutely necessary, afraid that you might miss an important call or message.

leaving school early? phone on do not disturb? connie did not like where this was leading.

he opened instagram to look at your profile, and sure enough, his suspicious were confirmed when he saw the highlight you had dedicated to eren was no longer there. connie’s grip on his phone tightened, he was pissed. this man had the audacity to break up with you on valentine’s day? absolutely not.

i’ll spare the details, but just know it was a very eventful lunch period for paradis high.

forty five minutes later . . .

“use this to ice that,” the nurse treating connie muttered, her tone filled with annoyance. connie huffed, slouching back. this folding chair was really starting to hurt his ass.

the door opened and there revealed connie’s very angry mother, her lips balled up so tight it had connie shivering in fear. “Levántate ahora,” she hissed, clenching her fist at her side. connie let out a long sigh, the knot on his head throbbing harder by the minute.

the walk out of the office was very humbling to say the least, his mother wasting no time cursing him out in spanish, and it continued like that until they got home.

“i mean . . . what were you thinking getting into a fight at school?! you know that stays on your record, tu idiota!” connie’s head fell in his hands, an exasperated sigh slipping past his lips. he really didn’t feel like talking about this. he just wanted to see you.

“imagine how y/n will feel knowing you started a fight with her boyfriend, she already must know you don’t like—”

“¡ya ni siquiera están juntos, mami! . . . he broke up up with her.” it was silent for a few beats. “¿lo sabes con seguridad?” connie shrugged, doing his absolute best to explain the situation with you leaving school early, your phone being on do not disturb, and his missing highlight from your instagram. all his poor momma could do was sigh. “this is absolutely no reason to get into a fight, and get suspended over, constance. i’m very disappointed.”

before connie could respond, there was a knock at the door. his mom looked at him and then the door, “yo lo conseguiré, tú quédate aquí. this conversation is not over.” connie slumped back into the couch, his heart stinging at that word ‘disappointed.’

he didn’t pay too much attention to the visitor at the door, until he saw who it was. there you were in your pink and red, heart patterned sweater, the jeans you were once wearing now replaced with hello kitty pajama pants. “i have to run to the store, so i’ll give you two a minute, but make it quick please, y/n. he’s in big trouble.” and with that you two were left alone.

you slowly walked over to his spot on the couch, taking a seat next to him. you sniffled, “ . . . why’d you do that?” he was silent, that only frustrated you more. “do you realize he’ll probably never talk to me again? he already thought i was cheating on him with you, this only made things worse! i know you don’t like the guy, but connie, i like him a lot, i-i think i might even love him.”

this had connie gritting his teeth, and balling up his hands.

“dios mio, y/n, give me a fucking break. you don’t love eren, you don’t even know what love is, you’re seventeen.” this had you scoffing, how dare he try to turn this on you? “and what the hell do you know about love? you’ve never even been in a relationship for goodness sake!”

“i may not have been in a relationship, but i can tell you whatever you and eren had goin’ on was not love. he never took you out, bought you gifts, i mean shit, the only reason the guy posted you online was because you begged him to, and it was only twenty four hour stories. don’t even get me started when he forgot your birthday—”

“that’s enough!” you cried, jumping up in front of him. connie followed suit, his chest nearly touching yours. you two have had your fair share of fights, but this is by far is becoming the most serious one.

“what? can’t handle hearing that your boy toy was a shitty boyfriend?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at you. your hands balled into fist, your french tips pinching the skin of your palm. “w . . . w-why do you even care so much huh?! why does him breaking up with me effect you so much, con, it’s getting exhausting!”

“¡porq ue estoy enamorado de ti, chica estúpida!”

your body tensed when connie pressed his lips against yours. it was fast, and awkward. it was his first kiss.

when he pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel small under his intense gaze. his cheeks were as red as tomatoes, and his nostrils were flaring—he was breathless. your lips started to wobble, a fresh batch of hot tears brimming your eyes. “connie, i—”

suddenly the door opened, and in walked his mother. he looked at her and then to you. “deberías ir,” he muttered, taking a step back from you. each movement he made was like a hammer to your heart, shattering it slowly with each step.

“m’kay *sniffle* i-i’ll see ya,” your voice cracked at the last part, and it had connie’s heart clenching. this wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was. when he pictured himself confessing his crush to you, him sending you out of his house a minute later was not apart of the vision.

that night you and connie both cried in your mothers’ laps, hearts aching and yearning to text the other, but too scared to at the same time, afraid it would make things worse.

“lo arruiné todo, mami. probablemente esté muy enojada conmigo,” he muttered, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt her nails scratch at his scalp. she tsked, and shook her head. “you didn’t ruin anything, amor. y/n cares about you so much, you two will work it out. te lo prometo, mi amor.” he muttered out something that she couldn’t quite hear, but she just let him be, allowing him to peacefully fall asleep on her lap.

while connie was asleep he received two messages.

new message from day one : i’m not mad at u, but i think we need to have a talk tmmr about what happened today

new message from day one : i hope you’re okay, ily

you and connie did talk about it, and after a conversation that lasted four hours, you both came to an agreement to not date. connie mentally beat himself up the entire way home afterwards, because that was in fact not how he felt, but just from your tone he figured you weren’t interested. little did he know you were.

after he graduated you two still talked, but not as often, until you just didn’t talk at all. by that time you were freshly graduated, and preparing for a summer full of fun before starting college. you decided to choose one in your city, too scared to leave your momma alone, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

connie took an interest in selling weed, and has since moved out of his moms apartment, where to? you had no clue.

february 14th, 2024 . . .

“girlllll, let’s go! you got thirty seconds to get down those stairs before i leave you!”

“you better not! it’s hard to get down these stairs with heels on!” you cried out, clutching onto the stair railing as you carefully went down. a sight of relief blew past your lips when you made it down safely. before getting in your friends car you tugged your skirt down, not that there was much to grab onto anyway.

“this skirt is entirely too tiny,” you grumbled, hopping in the passenger seat. anytime you made any sudden movement it was riding up your thick thighs, and you almost took it off, but you knew you’d be crucified by your best friend if you didn’t go through with wearing it.

you were heading out for a night at the club, and since it was valentine’s day, this certain club was allowing ladies to get fifty percent off all drinks.

the entire way there you were fiddling with your skirt, afraid that you were showing too much skin. “don’t worry about your outfit, ‘kay? you look good as fuck, y/n,” you friend grinned at you from the side, giving your arm a tender squeeze. “yeah, you’re right . . . i do look good. really good.”

before you knew it, you had arrived, your stomach doing somersaults when your friend turned the car off. she undid her seatbelt, and turned to you, she set her hands on your shoulders, and looked dead in your eye. “we’re gonna go in there and come out with some cuties, got it?” you let out a shaky breath, nodding your head.

the club was loud, and packed, but nonetheless there were some cute faces in the crowd. luckily your friend found two open seats at the bar, she was quick to secure them and immediately ordered a lemon drop for you. “i feel bad you won’t be able to drink since you drove,” you pouted, resting your arms on the bar.

your friend waved you off, insisting that she wouldn’t need the liquid courage like you would. it was shady, yes, but she wasn’t lying. you weren’t the slickest when it came to men, so it was a good thing you were a pretty girl.

“how’s your mom?” she asked, swiftly thanking the bartender when they set your drink in front of you. you hummed, tapping your fingernails against the glass. “she’s okay, we’re not out of the woods yet, but hopefully she’ll be in remission soon.”

a couple days after your twentieth birthday you had found out your mother was ill, and although you were willing to take a break from college and take care of her full time, she insisted otherwise. ‘this is your time to find yourself, and maybe someone special,’ she had said with tears in her eyes.

your friend gave you a warm smile, “that’s amazing, y/n. i’m really happy for you guys. now where are all the cute . . . guys, ” your brows pulled together as her sentence trailed off, her focus on something, or someone, behind you. “you see somebody?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

she nodded with a smirk, “there’s one right behind you. the one in the gallery dept. hoodie. he’s gonna be mine tonight.” you giggled, pushing your hand against the bar to get a look at the mystery man. your eyes widened when you realized it was onyankopon.

“oh . . . i—i know him. i went to school with him,” you muttered, turning your seat back. “were you two high school sweethearts, or something?” she teased, pinching your side. this had you scoffing.

“please. we were never together, but he was friends with my bes—um, ex best friend, connie.” her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “right, right. i remember you mentioning him. do you know if they’re still cool? *gasp* maybe they’re here together! i’ll call him over.”

“n-no, no no no. there’s no need to do that forreal,” it was hard to hide the nervousness in your voice. your friend hummed, tapping on her chin in faux thought. “you’re right, let’s go over there instead,” and with that she was hopping off her seat, her hand wrapping around your forearm.

you were stunned to say the least, your body stiffening as she tried to pull you from the bar stool. “but wait, wait, what if they actually are here together? y’know i haven’t seen connie in years and i just—”

you were silenced by a hand being placed in your face. “my dear y/n, no one on this earth go ahead in life by sitting in their behind, not come onnn.” you whined and protested when pulled again, spluttering out something about how you haven’t finished your drink. it took some serious convincing, and tugging, but your friend eventually got you up, wasting no time making a beeline for ony.

his back was facing you, but that didn’t stop your friend from tapping him on the back. “what’s good—oh, y/n! what’s up, girl?” ony grinned, pulling you in for a hug. you awkwardly hugged him back, giving his back a few gentle pats. “o-oh nothin’ much,” you were very grateful the music was so loud that he couldn’t hear the shakiness in your voice.

“what are you ladies up to tonight?” he asked, beckoning you more into his section. there were a couple other guys, and some girls taking up seats on the lounge couches, all immersed in their own conversations, besides one man. he sat on the farthest end by himself, a blunt perched between two tatted fingers. he was scrolling on his phone, his foot tapping along to the music every now and again.

“oh, you know, just a girls night out. i was actually hoping we could hangout with you? you seem nice . . . really cute too.” you couldn’t help but snort as your friend turned on her charm, ony immediately turning to putty in her hands. “why don’t you go mingle, y/n? i’ll have ony order you another drink, and don’t panic if you see you know who,” she gave you a sly wink before waving you off much to your dismay.

you decided to take a seat next to the loner with the blunt, wondering to yourself if he was even allowed to smoke that inside. your eyes drifted to the rings on his fingers, all coated with tiny diamonds. you leant to the side, close enough to where he could hear you, “i-i like your rings!”

and suddenly you were met with a pair of very familiar brown eyes staring back into yours. “connie . . ? !” you said his name as it were forbidden, your chest tightening. he looked at you for a moment, his brows pulling together as he examined your face, you figured it all clicked for him when he started grinning at you like the cheshire cat.

before you could say another word, he stood up, his reaching down for yours. “uh i—” you looked over at your friend who was already looking right at you. she had a giddy smile on her face, her hand waving in a not so subtle way to tell you to go with him. with no excuse left, you took his hand, the warmth from it sending shivers up your back.

as he lead you out of the section he passed the blunt he was smoking to ony, yelling something about how he’d back right back. while he lead the way, your eyes were focused on the way his hand grasped yours. it felt comforting, familiar.

when you got outside the cool, city air felt like heaven, but it didn’t stop goosebumps from forming on your skin when connie leant against a blacked out vehicle, his eyes zeroing in on yours.

“wow, s’really you.” his head tilted back in a laugh, giving you a small peek at the grills on his teeth. “¿cómo has estado, princesa?” his head tilted, awaiting your answer.

you wanted to speak, you really did, but the words would not leave your mouth. you were stunned to say the least, not only from seeing connie after years, but also how different he looked. he was way buffer, and now had a bit of facial hair, his signature buzzcut stayed the same. what caught your attention the most was the tattoos that covered his arms and neck. his few pictures on social media didn’t do him much justice.

“hello? anybody home?” he chuckled, waving his hand in front of your face. you blinked three times, your mouth opening, then closing.

“hi.”

you sounded strained, almost like you were in pain, it made connie laugh. “hi, y/n.” the way he smiled at you made you feel . . . weird. he was looking at like you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“sorry, it’s uh, it’s been a minute since we’ve seen each other in person. you look . . . different, i-i mean you look the same, but, not? i’m sorry—”

“hey, hey, relax. it’s just me remember? no need to be nervous, even if some time has passed.” he leant forward, grabbing your hand in his, he pulled you closer then let go, your hand twitched at the loss of contact.

he had a point. it was just connie, your childhood best friend, someone you’ve known longer than you haven’t.

you cleared your throat, clasping your hands behind your back. “well, i’ve been good. i’m sure you’ve seen that college is going well. met some new people, had a few failed relationships, you know, typical stuff.”

“thas’ wassup. i heard about your mom, i’m real happy for you y/n. ustedes dos no merecen nada más que bendiciones en esta vida.” warmth spread through your cheeks at his words.

“did that translate, or have you been lacking on your spanish, hm?” he teased, secretly hoping you have in fact been continuing to speak spanish. you giggled, waving him off. “i understand, and i really appreciate it. deberías visitarla algún día, le encantaría verte.”

his grin widened, “yeah? i figured she’d hate me after what happened with you and my mom. i’m sure you’ve heard some awful things from her about me.”

he was correct. whenever his mother did visit his name would somehow come up, and then it would lead to the same speech about how she felt like she failed him and how she hated his life choices. you agreed about the drug selling part, you weren’t very fond he chose that as a source of income, but when it came to the other awful things she spewed about him, you found it rather hard to believe. there was no way she was talking about your connie.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes drifting to the gravel. “i don’t blame her though, like at all. i gave her hell for months about . . certain things. i thought it was just best to keep my distance after i moved out. she hasn’t reached out to me, and vice versa.” this made you frown, and without thinking you wrapped your arms around him.

“oh, uh, thanks,” he stiff at first, but eventually relaxed into the hug, “feels good to hug you again.” you slowly nodded, sighing with content. it really was nice to be in his embrace again. his smelt different though, more mature, more expensive.

“you know, even though she says all that, she still misses you like crazy. momma told me so herself.” connie squeezed you a bit tighter, his chin finding place at the crown of your hair. “your momma has never been one to lie, so i’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled, leaning back against the car, taking you back with him.

your nose bumped into his sturdy chest, you looked up at him, giving him an apologetic look. he gently squeezed your side, “don’t worry about it.”

it was silent for a few beats. he cocked his head to the side, giving you his signature smirk, “why’re you lookin’ at me like that hm?”

“it’s just really good to see your face . . . i missed you connie. in case you don’t remember, you kinda stopped talking to me the summer i graduated.” connie licked his lips, the feeling of guilt slowly trickling over him. you looked like you had more to say, but as always you cut yourself off, your teeth picking on your bottom lip to stop yourself.

you nearly whimpered when his hand cupped your face, his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip out. “veo que todavía tienes ese hábito. termina lo que ibas a decir, usa tus palabras.” you melted in his arms. his touch was so gentle, as if he was petting a week old kitten.

you took a deep breath, “well, it hurt connie. it hurt a lot, and like, i felt guilty, but i shouldn’t have felt guilty because . . . well, because i didn’t do anything! you kissed me, and then you ask me to leave like i did something wrong, a-and then when you agree to talk to me you acted like a fucking zombie, just nodding along to everything i said, not explaining literally anything at all. you completely ghosted me after you graduated, and then i have to hear from my mom that you’re fucking dealing?! i mean, what were you even thinking? and i don’t believe the bullshit about it ‘just being weed’, l-like y-you were an actual *sniffle* —

you hadn’t even noticed you were crying, you also hadn’t noticed you stepped three paces away from connie, too wrapped up in your anger. connie let out a shaky sigh, “sigue adelante.” connie was stunned. you were never one to raise your voice at someone, let alone yell at them. in a world full of people who ran over you your whole life, him included, he was more than happy to receive all the pent up anger you had built up.

you sniffled, lips wobbling as you choked down a sob. you probably looked crazy right now, but then again this probably looked like a normal situation seeing as you were outside a nightclub.

“you just left me hanging . . . friends don’t do that connie, n-not best friends that you’ve known longer than you haven’t. there was so much stuff i wanted to talk to you about, but i didn’t even know if you would give me the time of day.” by now you were close to hyperventilating, all the emotions you had been setting aside for years hitting you at once.

connie pushed off the car, outstretching his arms towards you, he pulled you in for a tight embrace, whispering little things in your ear to calm you down. “it’s okay, it’s okay, i’m here. i’m so sorry, you have no idea, cariño.”

“then explain yourself,” your muttered, words muffled by his shirt.

well, here we go.

“i wasn’t . . . i wasn’t being completely honest when we had that conversation. i didn’t want to be just friends, i wanted to be more, but then i thought ‘well, what if things don’t work out?’ so, i pushed you away. you have to believe me when i say dealing was the last thing i wanted to do, but if you want to live a good life as quickly as possible you have to do things you’re not proud of. you gotta understand, i was around some bad people for a while, the kind of bad people that would hurt someone i care about. i didn’t want that to happen, and my mom was already giving me enough shit so i left. i’m so sorry y/n, i wanted to explain but it was just too much, pero estoy aquí ahora.”

you didn’t say anything, so he continued. “el universo nos volvió a reunir por alguna razón, verdad?”

“yeah . . . i guess.”

“so stop those tears. y’know i hate seeing you cry, ‘breaks my heart,” he muttered, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. “do you hate me?” he whispered, and his chest filled with relief when you shook you head.

“nunca podría odiarte, connie”

connie inhaled deeply through his nose, his face moving another inch close to yours. your lips parted, but nothing came out except a weak ‘please’. he hummed, brushing his nose against yours, before softly pressing his lips to yours. it was slow, but desperate, which was expected since he’d been waiting years to do this.

what connie didn’t expect was for you to deepen the kiss. your lips parted, tongue swiping against his bottom lip in urgency. a chuckle rumbled in his chest, how cute.

he grabbed the fat of your hips and switched your positions, your back now pressed against the car. he cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing down on your chin. connie’s tongue traced over your lips before pushing into your mouth, earning a squeak from you.

“heh, te gusta eso?” with a gulp, you nodded. since when did he learn how to do that? it kinda irked you knowing some girl, that wasn’t you experienced these kinds of kisses from connie.

“get outta your head, we’re supposed to be kissing, not thinking,” he muttered against your lips, pushing his front against yours. the cogs in your head started turning when you felt something hard. was he worked up just as much as you?

connie cradled your jaw in both his hands, desperately kissing you with every fiber of his being. “c-con—”

“lo sé, cariño, lo sé. y’have no idea how much i’ve waited for this. from the moment you kissed me on the cheek ten sum years ago, i knew i didn’t wanna feel anyones lips on me, but yours.”

you whimpered. “and as much as i wanna bend you over my car, n’ take you right here, i have a friend who needs to get home safe, and so do you.” he pulled his lips away from yours, a thin line of spit connecting you. he was right, unfortunately.

“i wanna see you again . . . tomorrow, i wanna see you tomorrow. can you make that happen?” you were clutching onto him so tight, afraid he’d slip right through your fingers. connie smirked, his fingers dancing down your hips, and to the tops of your tights. he pulled the material forward before letting it snap back into place, earning a squeak from you.

“i can make that happen. should i roll us a little sum?” you shook your head, “eh, i don’t really like smoking, it makes me paranoid.” you laughed at the last part, and god, it was so nice to hear your laugh. your eyes trailed down to his lower half, then back to his eyes. with a slow bat of your eyes you said, “i like wine though . . . cuanto más dulce, mejor. do what you will with the information.”

connie’s dick twitched. “noted. very much noted, princesa.”

as happy as you were to know you’d be seeing connie again real soon, something kept crossing your mind. “um, connie?” you whispered, playing with the hem of his shirt. he noticed your eyes were avoiding his, you were nervous.

“those people, the bad ones, do you still deal with them?” it was a valid question, connie had a feeling you’d bring it up sooner or later.

“no, i don’t, i got outta that months ago. i found me a new supplier through a friend and now i sell a lil weed on side, nothing big. n’ then once i finish this apprenticeship at this tattoo shop i’m at, i’m done for good. no estaría haciendo todo esto si supiera que tu vida estaría en peligro.”

your eyes fluttered shut when he lips pressed against your forehead. he wrapped his fingers around the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “you can still be skeptical, i don’t blame you, but just know i treasure your existence too much to play with it like that.”

“i believe you, con,” your voice was small, but connie was still able to hear. he kissed your forehead a final time, “c’mon let’s go inside, it’s cold.” your fingers laced with his, and a warmth that you’ve never felt before coursed throughout your body.

when you got back to his section of the club, you sat in the nearest open spot, your heart beating a mile a minute. after all these years wondering where you two had went wrong, you finally got a little clarity. you still had questions, but decided not to pry. as connie talked about his experience with those certain individuals, you could tell by the strain in his voice that it was a hard topic.

“by the smile on your face, i’m assuming it went well?!” your head whipped to the side to see your friend, a proud smirk on her lips. you nibbled on your lip, your eyes flicking to connie who was sitting by himself once again, blunt in hand. you would definitely call the conversation a success.

february 15th, 2024 . . .

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : i hope you like stella rose black bc that’s what i got

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : send me your addy, ima leave in 20

your stomach twisted in knots as you texted connie your address. you didn’t know what to expect from your hangout, all you knew was that there was going to be sexual tension and wine, a very dangerous combination.

with a shallow exhale, you stood up, quickly making your way over your full body mirror. you examined your outfit carefully in the mirror, it was cute, but something was missing. “ . . . i need a headband,” you muttered, scrambling to find the perfect, pink headband to complete the outfit.

before you knew it, connie was texting you that he was outside your apartment.

“momma! i’m gonna go out with connie for a while, i’ll be back soon.” you pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, and she mumbled something about how you looked like a doll.

when walked outside connie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you, flowers and card in hand. “lemme help you down, lord knows what’ll happen since you’re in heels,” he snickered, extending his hand out towards you.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” you grumbled, taking his hand. you let out a tiny gasp when he pulled you close, his body pressing against yours. “mm, you look cute. i like . . . whatever this is,” he chuckled, pulling at the soft material of your jacket.” you mumbled out a thank you, your eyes drifting to the pink roses he was holding.

he held them out to you, his lips lifting into a sly smile. “i know i’m a day late, but these are for you.” the roses were the prettiest shade of pink, and the card had some cheesy pun about sushi on it. “gracias, connie. they’re beautiful.”

“you’re very welcome, amor. now c’mon, i got your seat all warmed up for ya.” he literally had the seat warmer up full blast, already knowing you were probably freezing your ass off in your skirt.

his car smelt like weed and pine scented air freshener, it was oddly comforting. “feel free to adjust the heat to your liking, it won’t take long to get there though, only like fifteen minutes.” you hummed, placing your hands neatly in your lap.

the ride was pretty silent, but you didn’t mind it because his hand was glued to your thigh the entire time. “m’not making you uncomfortable being too touchy am i?” he spoke softly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. you answered with a quick ‘mm mm!’ and eagerly placed both of your hands on top of his.

you were so cute, and you didn’t even know it, you were practically killing the poor guy.

“good . . . good. y’know i’ve come to realize i’m really hands-on when i want something, ‘specially if it’s a pretty girl.” your lips parted, then shut, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t make you sound dumb. when did he become such a flirt?

“eh, i guess it just came naturally as i got older.” connie chuckled, and you just about fell out when you realized you had in fact said that out loud. “sorry i didn’t meant to say that out loud, b-but it’s true! you keep leavin’ me flustered it’s annoying!” this had connie laughing so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled shut. “you want me to stop?”

“ . . . no.”

twenty minutes later . . .

“make yourself comfortable and—ah, don’t mind her. she loves meeting new people,” connie chuckled, patting the grey pitbull, that had started sniffing you the second you walked inside, gently on the head. you become quickly enamored with the dog, bending down and cooing at it excitedly. “what’s her name?”

“her name is kali, i got her a few months after i moved in here. she makes good company, very sweet, and very snuggly as you can see.” snuggly was indeed the correct word to use, and you were loving it. “she’s too precious, con, i’m sooo jealous,” you giggled, scratching underneath kali’s chin.

connie’s apartment was very . . . him. dark brown, leather furniture covered the living room, along with a sixty five inch tv mounted on the wall. his windows were huge, giving you a pretty view of the entire city, and along with them was a big glass door that lead to the balcony.

“this is . . wow.” your hands were clasped behind your back as you looked around, what caught your attention next the various pieces of art along the walls. “you’re into buying art?” you giggled, turning around to look back at connie, who was still by the front door. he pursed his lips, a hand coming back to scratch at the back of his neck.

“i dabble in it every now and again. shits way too expensive to have a whole collection,” he chuckled, finally making his way over to you. “which one do you like the most?”

you nibbled on your lip, taking your time to examine and admire each framed piece.

“i think i like . . . this one. the eyes look so real, it almost looks like a picture, and it looks like there’s some emotion in them, but i can’t quite pinpoint it,” you muttered, and connie hummed in agreement. he went on to explain that it was his favorite painting as well, and that it was the cheapest one of the bunch.

“this older guy was having a viewing, and barely anyone was there so he walked me through the whole exhibit. these eyes? they’re his wives, shit, everything he painted in there was of his wife. the day the viewing was held was the anniversary of her death, i thought it was kinda . . beautiful, so i bought it. only cost me fifty bucks, can you believe that?”

your jaw dropped the tiniest bit, you stepped closer the painting, taking in every little detail once again. “so i’m assuming the look in her eyes—it’s love?”

connie nodded, taking a step forward as well, he was behind you now, you could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. “he said when he was painting this he was picturing the look she gave him on their wedding day, said he saw a spark in her eyes that day that he’d never seen before, and never saw it again. cool as hell right?” he whispered, leaning over to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“y-yeah, s’really cool,” you turned your head, your nose bumping into his, “it makes sense you’d have something like this it, uh, suits you?” connie grinned at your words, now standing up straight.

“thank you, y/n . . . you want some wine?”

you were quick to nod, your feet swiftly turning to follow him to the kitchen. he rummaged through he cabinets and pulled out two glass cups, “now i don’t have wine glasses, so these’ll have to do.”

as he poured the wine, you went ahead and made yourself comfortable on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. your feet slowly swung back forth, and when connie slid the glass over to you, you wasted no time taking a long sip. “s’good? es lo suficientemente dulce para ti, linda niña?” he asked, leaning on the island.

you felt your cheeks get hot, recalling your comment from last night. “yes, it’s sweet enough, thank you.” you made brief eye contact with connie before looking back down at your glass, twirling it carefully in your hands.

suddenly you blurted out, “you have a lot of tattoos now.”

connie smirked, taking a sip of his own wine. “yes, yes i do. you wanna see them?” you nearly choked on your spit, breaking into a fit of coughs. see connie’s tattoos? you didn’t know if your heart, or your pussy, could handle that, especially at the rate you were drinking this wine.

connie took your silence as a yes, and before you knew it he was shedding his hoodie, leaving him in thin tank top. he was completely jacked now, the swirls of ink around his arms and chest only adding on to his attractiveness. he looked like a completely different person.

“wow, you really wasted no time taking your clothes off huh?” you giggled, raising two fingers to beckon him closer. connie kissed his teeth, he tried his absolute best to look annoyed, but he couldn’t! not when your laugh sounded like the prettiest of symphonies.

“man, whatever. now you wanna see just my arms, or do you want so see everything?” his eyebrows raised up mischievously, and you knew right then and there you were absolutely done for . . . and you were gonna need more wine. “um, i guess everything since you’re already stripping, but gimme some more wine first!”

after a topping off your wine, connie removed his tank top, revealing more inked skin. you eyes were as wide as saucers, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “oh my goodness, connie! didn’t this shit hurt?!” without thinking you extended your hand, you ran the tips of your fingers over his chest, shuddering at the thought of a needle piercing his tan skin all over.

connie’s breath hitched. “y-yeah, it hurt like bitch. took two sessions to finish too, but it’s hard right?” your head bobbed up and down in a mindless nod, your hand still glued to to his chest. “this one didn’t hurt too bad,” he grumbled, pulling the waistband of his sweats down slightly to reveal a tattoo that said ‘muérdeme’ right on his v-line.

“bite me . . ?” you mumbled, fingers trailing down to trace over the letters. connie let out a low hum, goosebumps rising all over his skin. “you like it?”

you blindly reached for your glass and took a small sip of the wine, you looked into his eyes while you swallowed before nodding. “i like it a lot, i love all your tattoos, s’making me a little hot actually,” you giggled, leaving connie stunned, and a little turned on. the wine was definitely giving you a little extra confidence.

he took a step towards you, and then another until your knees were touching the tops of his thighs. he didn’t lean down, no, he waited for you to tilt that pretty head up and look him right in his eyes. when you did you wanted to look right back down at the floor. he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you whole.

“should i put my shirt back on, or do you want me to keep it off?” he didn’t laugh, he give you that signature smirk, he looked more serious than you’ve ever seen him. his thumb tapped against your bottom lip, “¿me oyes, linda chica? ¿on o off?”

you let out a shaky breath, “o-off. off please.”

connie was quick to grasp underneath your thighs, and pick you up, his hands moved downwards to cup your ass for a better grip. “if you want me to stop you better tell me now,” he spoke lowly, setting you on the island. before even kissing you the first thing he did was nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling your familiar, but now slightly different scent.

your hand gently cupped the back of his neck, “you still like me?” yes, you completely ignored what he said, but that question had been burning in your brain since the second you locked eyes with him the previous night.

he lifted his face out of your neck, now standing at his full height. “um . . . did you not see how quick i was to kiss you last night? or how quick i was to start taking off my clothes just now? c’mon, y/n, usa esa linda cabecita.”

your lips pushed into a pout, “don’t be a dick, just confirm it for me so i can have peace of mind.”

“yes, y/n, i do still like you, love in fact. i’ve only ever loved two women in my life, you and my momma, and that’s how it’ll be until i’m in my grave.”

“b-but connie, you’re only twenty four . . . don’t you think you might love another before your time comes?” he quickly shook his head, not even bothering to give your question any thought. “you and my momma. that’s it, that’s all—well, kali too, but you know what i mean,” you both laughed at the last part, but you were soon interrupted by connie smushing his lips into yours.

“mmph! w-well i have no other questions so please continue,” you panted against his lips, you shakily reached your hand down to tug him closer by the waistband of his sweats. your panties were starting to feel uncomfortably sticky, the soft cotton sticky lewdly to your folds.

connie wasted absolutely no time lifting you up once more, he mumbled something about taking you to his bedroom before making the slow, but successful journey there. his lips never once left yours, happily swallowing up every whine and moan you let slip out.

you eventually had to pull away for air, though he did not make it easy, his lips chasing yours each time you pulled away.

“i—i like your room!” your lips parted in a squeal when he dropped you on the bed, your headband flying off somewhere behind you. “not cool, eres tan molesto,” you huffed, sitting up on your elbows.

connie’s chest rumbled with a laugh, you were really too cute.

“what, you think just because i’m in love with you i won’t give you shit? estas muy equivocada, mami.” connie softly grabbed your ankles, pressing a kiss to each one before pulling you forward. “you mind if i peek up under there?” he chuckled, slowly getting on his knees.

“n-no go ahead, just . . . be nice. it’s been a minute since i’ve gotten a wax, m’goin’ for a more natural thing you know?” no, no he didn’t, but he truly didn’t care if you were bald down there or not, he was gonna eat it regardless.

his hand reached up to the button of your skirt, “i don’t care if you got a little hair down there, y/n. we’re both grown, yeah?” as he was speaking he undid the button, then the zipper. you didn’t say anything, instead you just nodded and lifted your hips up, allowing him to slip your skirt off.

connie slowly ran his hands along the insides of your thighs, his mouth watering at the sticky silhouette of your pussy. you gasped when he pulled your panties to the side, your dripping pussy on fully display for him. “dios mio . . . she’s prettier than i thought,” he mumbled, his fingers brushing over the small tufts of hair on your mound.

“constance. don’t p-pet it . . . that’s . . . w-weird . . .” your sentence trailed off into nothingness the second you felt his tongue circle around your clit. he was going soft, so soft you barely felt anything, and then he licked a fat stripe up your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

your elbows eventually gave up, and you flopped back on the bed with a soft thud. connie hummed against your pussy, his fingers tugging your panties to the side more to get his proper fill. when he felt your hand nearly smack on top of his head it gave him the biggest fucking ego boost.

“f-faster please,” he heard you sigh out, and he was more than happy to give you what you wanted, except your panties were starting to become a bother. “no problem, gorgeous, i just gotta—”

RIPPPPPPP

you picked your head up to see if your ears were deceiving you, and unfortunately they were not. connie had completely torn your panties in half, he tossed the garment aside like it was nothing and looked back up at you, a dopey smile on his lips. “you have absolutely no manners,” you panted out, too embarrassed to even glance at your torn, discarded panties.

he kissed the inside of your thigh, mumbling something you couldn’t decipher into the skin, probably something snarky knowing him.

“spread your legs mama, i’m gonna take my time with you—unless you have somewhere to be after this?”

you shook your head, grabbing the back of your knees to open them as wide as you could. “i texted my mom not to wait up on the way here, she’ll call if she needs me. now no more talking,” the last part came out rushed, barely audible to connie as you pushed his head between your thighs.

despite the well rounded man he had become, connie was still a little shit at heart, always teasing you even during moments like these. every time you’d moan, he’d moan just as loud, every time your hips raised the slightest he’d push them right back down, rewarding you with a nice pinch on the thigh.

he was a messy eater, not ashamed in the slightest at how sloppy he sounded, but at the same time it didn’t help that you were practically leaking like a faucet either. each time his tongue swiped over your clit another gush of wetness dribbled out of you, waiting to be lapped up by connie.

his cock throbbed in his sweats, tip drooling at the thought of you wrapped around him.

“o-oh connieee,” you gasped out, your head tilting back into the mattress. you were so wrapped up in your pleasure that you hadn’t even realized he pushed you further up the bed, making just enough room to lay between your thighs. the pressure felt sooo nice on his dick—now he could really enjoy this.

“te sientes bien, baby?” he asked, spitting on your clit, earning a shy whine from you. his hips started to rock into the bed, and with each movement it had him moaning into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

you moaned out a weak yes, your hips circling around his tongue. he gave you full control now, allowing you to move your hips, and fuck his mouth as you pleased.

you nearly fell out when you suddenly felt him push a finger in, curling it almost instantly. he let you adjust at first, making sure you weren’t hurting at all before adding another finger.

shlick! shlick! shlick!

you were so close, he could feel it. you were dripping all onto the sheets, creating a creamy puddle beneath your ass, and if connie weren’t as pussydrunk as he was, he would’ve definitely teased you for it.

“i-i’m—!”

suddenly a hand wrapped around your throat and connie was towering over you, his chain dangling right over your nose. “do it, i wanna see your face when i make you cum for the first time. ven en mis dedos, princesa, déjame ver esa cara.” your eyes rolled back, hands grasping at connie’s wrist as you came a cry.

“there it is—mierda, such a pretty girl,” he groaned, slowly sliding his fingers out of your pussy. he rubbed three fingers between your folds, simply feeling you up now. “mm, i like your pussy. she’s cute n’ soft, just like you, i can’t get enough of either of ya.” your back arched into his chest when he pinched your clit, “you’re so responsive too.”

“t-thank you, can we—can we do some more?” you could spot the huge print in his sweats from a mile away, and you were just about done waiting to see what was underneath. you cupped his bulge gently, giving it a soft squeeze. “lemme see, con.”

“m’kay, baby,” he muttered, giving your lips three kisses before getting off the bed. with shaky arms you sat up, giving his lower half your full attention.

wow.

“what?”

“what?” you asked, blinking multiple times. he was looking at you like you had sprouted a second head. “you said ‘wow’ and i couldn’t decide if it was a good wow or a bad one, so i’m asking . . . duh.”

you kissed your teeth and scooted closer to the edge of bed, you couldn’t help but internally cringe at the wet sounds your pussy made as you moved. “come closer,” you whispered, moving to sit on your knees. he took two steps forward, his palms feeling clammy when you leant forward, nose nearly touching his cock.

he was hung, thick too, almost intimidatingly thick—but you were no bitch, and you liked a challenge. he let out a small breath through his nose, it sounded like a laugh. “¿crees que puedes manejar eso?” he mused, raising a thick brow. you looked at him through your lashes, “yes.”

your tongue poked out, giving his drooling tip an experimental lick. oh, you liked that.

connie’s head tilted back, his adams apple bopping with you wrapped your lips around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock. “d-don’t do too much, i don’t w-want to—fuck, bust in your mouth so . . . soon.” all thoughts, or any concept of one were wiped from connie’s brain when you started to suck, little droplets of drool spilling from your mouth and down his shaft. he was too far gone.

you made a noise around his cock when his hand cupped underneath your jaw, the other finding purchase on top of your head. he found a grip on your hair and slowly started to move his hips. you moaned around his dick, and relaxed your jaw, allowing him to sheath more of his cock down your throat.

“good fuckin’ throat,” he grunted, pushing your head down as low as he could get you. your hands smacked against the bed, hot tears brimming your lash line. you choked around him, and that earned you a very deep groan from connie, his head tilting forward to get a good look at you. you looked stunning with a mouthful of dick, his dick specifically.

he yanked you back by your hair, allowing you to gasp for some very much needed air. “you’re— you’re good at that *pant* so fuckin’ good at it.” he slapped his cock against your lips and cheeks, smearing any excess pre and spit on your lips and chin.

“how do you want it?”

you already had a position in mind. “f-from the side, please.”

that’s how you ended up on your side, stark naked, with connie behind you, his chest feeling scorching hot against your back. “im’a go slow at first, but after that i can’t tell you what’ll happen,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. he took your hand in his, mumbling lowly for you to hold your leg up for him.

despite being on birth control, you both decided it was best for him to still use a condom, but that logic slowly faded away when you felt his dick slip between your dewy folds, fat tip nudging against your swollen clit. “goddamn, y/n,” he groaned into your shoulder, shallowly his hips back before pushing them forward.

“t-that feels nice,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into his pillow. connie tapped his tip against your sticky clit three times before aligning himself with your entrance, “you ready, mama?” you nodded, moaning out a pathetic plea for him to hurry up.

when he finally pushed inside you both gasped. you could already feel your arm getting weak from holding your leg up, and he wasn’t even fully inside you yet. “i got you,” you grunted, putting his hand over your own.

he started slow at first, real slow, making sure that you felt every vein and ridge that he had to offer you. it didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust, and before you knew it he was giving you slow, but swift thrusts. “joder, eso está apretado,” he all but growled, his fingernails digging into the fat of your thighs.

“y—you don’t know how long i’ve waited for this, to be close like this. eres un sueño, amor.” all you could do was moan, and nod along to his praises. you wished it was possible to be even more physically closer to him than you were, but this would just have to do to.

your hips suddenly had a mind of their own, moving back to meet connie’s swift thrusts. “yeah . . fuck me back, c’mon mami.” his eyes flicked between your bodies, your hips moved back against his with so much desperation it was almost too precious.

“c’mere.” his arm slipped underneath your head, his hand snaking around your throat. he hiked your leg higher, and pulled you closer, fully sheathing his dick inside you. “o-oh!” you squeaked out, hand coming behind you to cup the back of connie’s head. he let out a pretty moan right into your ear, his tongue lolling out to lick over the shell of it.

his pace had changed drastically, he was now fucking you like he hated your guts. his strokes were quick and shallow, his pudgy tip slamming against your g-spot each time he pushed in. you couldn’t help but think how nice this would be raw . . . fuck it.

“c-connie,” you whined, patting the back of his head softly. connie’s thrusts halted, he still deep inside you, cock throbbing almost painfully at how tight you were gripping him. “what’s the matter, mi cariño?”

“off . . . i wan’ you to take the condom off, if that’s okay.” it was silent for few beats, the only thing being heard were your labored breaths. “look at me,” connie whispered, not moving an inch until your eyes were on his. he slowly pulled out, gauging your every reaction as he did so. he quick to rip and condom off, blindly tossing it in the nearby trash can by his bed, and he was even quicker to thrust inside you once more, your mouths dropping in synch. you finally got feel him, all of him.

connie resumed his brutal pace, his grip on your throat tightening the tiniest bit. “h-harder,” you choked out, resting your hand on his. he snickered, squeezing your neck roughly before releasing it, “you like that? you like getting choked by me?” you head shook furiously, a raspy ‘uh huh!’ slipping past your kiss bitten lips.

the squelching of your pussy got louder and louder, alerting connie of your oncoming orgasm. “shit, you’re about to cum—aren’t you?” his question ended with a squeeze to your neck, and that’s what triggered your second orgasm of the night. your eyes crossed and your body spasmed, your pussy was clenching around connie so tightly it almost had him cumming.

“f-fuck yeah, get that nut out, baby. feel good f’me.” connie milked your orgasm as long as he could, even going as far as pushing down on your lower tummy to make sure you got it all out.

your body trembled in his arms, and to soothe your whines he whispered praises left and right into your ear, some in english, some in spanish.

it wasn’t long before that fluttery feeling in your tummy came around again, and just like that you were all over connie, your lips smushing against his sloppily in a clash of tongue and teeth. “l-lets go again, i wan’ you on top,” you words were muffled by lips, but he understood loud and clear.

he wanted you to feel him as deep as possible, so that’s why he had you hanging halfway off the bed, your knees pushed to your ears while he beat your guts in. each clap his thighs against yours had your skin tingling, your nerves feeling as though they were on overdrive.

“ohhh f-fuck,” you sobbed out, tears free falling from your eyes. connie’s thighs were practically shaking. he’d been holding back his load for so long there was no telling when he’d lose it. “tu coño es tan bueno mami, tan tan bueno, me encanta.” his eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy struggled take his cock, your folds were all soaked n’ puffy, you looked divine.

“m-me estás follando tan bien, connie, vas a hacer que me corra otra vez!” your hand smacked against his chest, fingers nails digging harshly into the tatted skin. that had connie pulling out with a hiss, a stray spurt of cum shooting from his tip and onto your tummy.

his head dropped pathetically, chest having as if he just got done running marathon. “can’t say stuff like that, baby, y-you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he grunted, pushing his hips back so his cock was laying directly between your chubby folds. he slowly pushed inside, his eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that enveloped him.

his head drooped down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. “we got all night, con, jus’ do it. i won’t be going anywhere, don’t worry.” you words brought him bliss, a feeling of relief washing over him when he realized you weren’t going to allow him to slip from your fingers ever again.

he rolled his hips forward, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip so hard he was sure to draw blood. his hand found its rightful place around your neck, squeezing it roughly every now and again. “that’s that fuckin’ shit, so damn wet for me, mama,” he cursed, pressing his body into yours. he was so deep now, you could practically feel him in your tummy.

the air was suddenly pushed from your windpipe when connie squeezed your neck, his hips stilling as his orgasm washed over him. he wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from finishing inside, but still he pulled out nonetheless, jerking himself off until the rest of his cum covered your pussy.

connie wiped his forehead slowly with the back of his hand, his body feeling almost completely numb. he smirked at the white substance dripping from your hole, and without even thinking he scooped some up and brought to his lips.

“ugh, connie, don’t be nasty,” you whined and shut your thighs, only for them to be forced open by connie. he swiped his fingers over pussy again, this time he was offering you some. “c’mon just a little taste, you almost begging for some before, so here,” he pushed his fingers closer to your lips. with a huff you wrapped your lips around the digit, your eyes not once leaving his.

he smiled down at you, giving your head a soft pat, “buena chica.”

sometime later . . .

after a much needed shower, and some hot tea to help your sore throat, connie had you bundled up in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. an episode of friends was playing quietly in the back on his tv, but you were more interested in watching the man laying next to you.

“con?” you whispered, poking his naked chest gently. his eyes slowly drifted to you, his lips lifting into a small smile. he had smoked before joining you in bed, the smell of weed still slightly attached to him. he raised a brow at you, “yes?”

“what are we?”

“y/n.”

“yes?”

“you wanna be my girlfriend?”

your lips parted then shut again, too stunned to speak. you couldn’t wrap your head around the situation at all, you went from speaking everyday, to not speaking for years, and now after just reconnecting he was asking you to his girlfriend—literally what the hell.

“yes . . . y-yes i’ll be your girlfriend connie. just stay out of that shit, i want us to be happy, lavish lifestyle or not,” you mumbled, brushing your nose again his. connie gentle stroked your jaw with his thumb, “you don’t gotta worry about me getting back into that, i got too much to lose now.” with a dreamy sigh you nuzzled into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.

that night for the first time in six-something years, connie got a full good nights rest, with you tucked by his side.

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hadtobeconfronted · 1 month ago

Text

Perfect In Theory Nerd Levi X Female Reader

⚠️ Warnings: obsessive behavior, psychological manipulation, dubcon (dubious consent), coercive control, grooming, stalking, non-consensual power dynamics, emotional abuse, soft captivity, loss of agency, forced relationship, toxic romance disguised as love. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

A/N: Tried a slightly different style with this one—Still dark, just told a little differently. Hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading 🖤

The sound of your voice had been recorded twelve times.

He played it back at night, buried beneath layers of folders labeled with innocuous names—“OrganicChem_2ndSem,” “CampusClips,” “AudioLog_5.” But he knew where every file lived. Where every second of you lived.

You spoke like you were trying not to take up space. Sweet. Hesitant. You didn’t know it yet, but the way your voice dipped when you asked him for help last week—that moment—it ruined him.

He had blinked, once.

You had smiled.

And that was it. That was when the static behind his temples became a clean, slicing clarity. Like his entire life had just sharpened into focus.

You didn’t know he was watching you before that—collecting your routine like a liturgy. You didn’t know he had written simulations, coded probability charts based on your behavior. You didn’t know he had narrowed your friends down into two categories: neutralized and obsolete.

But you would.

“Levi?”

Your voice floated through the campus café where he sat with a small cup of hot tea—plain, bitter, his gloves still on.

You had asked to meet him here. For tutoring. You were two minutes early.

He looked up slowly, letting his eyes trail from your shoes to your throat before meeting your gaze. Calculated. Measured. Deliberately unsettling.

You shifted awkwardly.

“Hi,” you tried again, tugging the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I wasn’t sure if—”

“Sit.”

You obeyed instantly.

Good.

You didn’t know why you listened. It wasn’t his tone. It was something else. Something cold and razor-smooth beneath the surface. You took your seat across from him and pulled out your notes. He didn’t look at them. He was looking at you.

“I didn’t bring a textbook,” you said nervously. “But I figured we could just review my last paper? I… I didn’t do great.”

He didn’t blink. “Your introduction was weak. You open with a question. That’s what children do. And your citations were inconsistent. You write like you want to be liked.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small folder. Inside was your paper—annotated in red, printed, re-stapled.

You stared.

“You retyped this?”

“I hate sloppiness.”

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t run either.

His gaze lingered on the edge of your mouth as you chewed the inside of your cheek.

“Why are you in this class?” he asked, voice low and flat. “You don’t belong here.”

You frowned. “I’m trying. I just… It’s a required credit, and I wanted to understand it better. I like psychology, but—”

“No,” he interrupted, “you misunderstand me.”

He leaned forward, slow, calculating. His gloved fingers tapped once on the table between you, almost touching your hand.

“You’re not built for this world. These classrooms. These games.” He tilted his head slightly. “You’re too soft.”

You sat frozen. He could see it—your discomfort. The way you shifted your legs, how your lashes fluttered. Your fingers curled slightly, like you were folding into yourself. He liked that.

It made him ache.

“I can help you,” he continued, voice silk and blade. “If you’re serious.”

You swallowed. “I am.”

He nodded. Like he expected that. “Then meet me again. Tomorrow. Same time. But don’t waste my time with excuses.”

You nodded slowly.

Levi stood.

And just before he walked away, he reached into his coat pocket, placing something on the table. A neatly folded napkin. Written in small, clinical handwriting:

“Cut caffeine. Take magnesium before bed. You sleep poorly. You fidget in the mornings.”

You stared at the note, confused. “How do you—”

But he was already gone.

Levi Ackerman was a third-year at Kershner University—a name whispered with either dread or admiration depending on who said it. Some called him a genius. Others a freak. But no one ever called him a friend.

Majoring in Applied Behavioral Psychology, with minors in Linguistics and Biochemistry, Levi carried a perfect GPA and a reputation so severe it bordered on myth. He was the kind of student professors feared disappointing. The kind others watched from afar but never dared to approach.

Not unless they had to.

Not unless they were her.

He always wore black. Button-down shirts, pressed slacks, wool coats in winter, simple gloves in autumn. His shoes were never scuffed. His glasses—round, wire-thin—never smeared. His hair was always combed back, his jaw always clean. He sat with a posture so rigid, his back never touched the chair.

He drank his tea bitter. Unsweetened. And only ever filled his cup two fingers below the rim. Always.

He washed his hands more than necessary—three times between classes, four if he walked through a crowded hallway. His notebooks were lined with such precise symmetry they resembled architectural blueprints. His handwriting? Immaculate. Monospaced. Emotionless.

Levi didn’t speak unless spoken to.

When he did, his words were clipped, efficient, and often felt like judgment disguised as fact.

“That’s not logic. That’s laziness.” “Your conclusion is emotional. Start over.” “Don’t waste my time with apologies. Fix it.”

People mistook him for socially anxious. He wasn’t. He was selectively interested.

He could tune out entire rooms. People became background noise unless they had use. He moved through the campus like a phantom—always present, never engaged. Even professors stumbled when addressing him. He’d look at them with those narrowed, silvered eyes that held the weight of a man cataloguing their flaws in real time.

Still, he had his routines.

Every morning, he arrived on campus at 6:45 a.m. Every Monday and Thursday, he sat in the northwest corner of the café, table 12, seat facing the exit. He took exactly twenty-one minutes to eat, drink, and review his notes. He timed his walks between buildings to avoid the crowds. He never stayed in the library longer than forty minutes at a time.

And no one had ever seen him with a date.

Not once. Not holding hands. Not laughing. Not looking.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching.

He had seen you. The girl who dropped her pen during lecture and actually apologized to the floor. The girl who scribbled hearts in the margins of her notes when she thought no one was looking. The girl who once held the door open for too long because you were worried it might slam in someone’s face.

The girl who didn’t belong here.

Not because you weren’t smart. But because you were too soft. Too untouched by the brutality of systems Levi had long since mastered. You moved through the academic world like it was a dream you hadn’t woken from. You still believed effort was enough.

And Levi?

Levi had been studying you long before you ever noticed him.

He knew your walk. Your pace. The way you twirled your pen when you were nervous. The scent of your shampoo when you passed by him in Behavioral Structures. He had memorized the cadence of your laugh, the flutter of your lashes when you read something romantic, and the crack in your voice when you tried to hide frustration.

You were a weakness in motion. And Levi was obsessed with flaws—correcting them, claiming them, controlling them.

You just didn’t know that yet.

But you would.

The café smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso. You clutched your notebook tighter, heart picking up when you saw him already there—same corner, same black coat, same impassive face.

Levi Ackerman didn’t even glance up when you approached. His tea was already half-finished, hands folded, a stack of flashcards lined up like tiny soldiers across the table.

“Hi,” you offered quietly.

He didn’t respond. He just nodded once, slow, like a judge allowing your presence.

You sat down, trying not to feel awkward, even though his stare—flat and disinterested—made your stomach twist. You cleared your throat and opened your folder.

“I reviewed the edits you gave me,” you said with a smile. “They really helped. I think I’m getting a better grip on how to frame my thesis statements.”

“Mm,” he hummed. Not praise. Not agreement. Just noise.

Silence settled.

You hated it.

He made you feel like a child—like everything you said was beneath him. But maybe he was just... shy? Maybe no one ever really tried with him.

So you tried again.

“There’s a party this weekend,” you offered gently. “At the Sigma house. I don’t usually go to those, but I thought maybe I’d stop by. You know, to blow off steam.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you going?”

Levi blinked. Slowly.

Then he looked at you like you’d asked if he wanted to roll in garbage.

“No,” he said flatly. “Why would I subject myself to that?”

You laughed once, nervously. “Well, I mean… sometimes it’s nice to just unwind. Be around people. Not everything has to be serious all the time.”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a twitch.

“You think drinking cheap beer in a house full of mouth-breathers qualifies as a healthy social outlet?”

You flushed, embarrassed. “I just thought… maybe you’d want to—”

“I don’t.”

The way he cut you off wasn’t loud or cruel. It was calm. Dismissive. Like brushing lint off his sleeve.

You bit your lip, nodding. “Right. Okay. I didn’t mean to push.”

He tapped a pen twice against the table and slid a worksheet toward you. “You missed three questions on your last mock quiz. Your recall speed is slow, and your answers still lean emotional. You’re wasting time with performative effort instead of meaningful comprehension.”

You blinked. “O-okay.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “I’m not criticizing you. I’m explaining your deficiencies.”

You smiled again, smaller now. Just enough to make it stop hurting.

He leaned back in his seat, finally. “You should study more. Go out less. Distractions weaken your resolve.”

You nodded, obedient. Agreeable.

But something inside you folded in a little.

You weren’t sure why it stung—he was just trying to help. Just being honest. Right?

You stared down at your notes and didn’t notice the way Levi watched you, eyes flicking over every twitch of your fingers, every shift of your body.

He saw everything. Every flinch. Every hesitation. Every time you doubted yourself.

And he loved it.

Levi hated campus sidewalks at noon.

Noise. Movement. Pointless human rituals. Students milled about with paper coffee cups and oversized headphones, speaking too loudly about things that wouldn’t matter tomorrow. Their laughter scraped the inside of his skull.

He stepped aside precisely three inches to avoid brushing against a couple holding hands. Obnoxious. Sweaty. Always touching. Like their validation required physical proof.

He hated that.

He hated most things.

Especially people.

Outside the psychology building, Jean Kirstein was leaning against the stair rail, talking to Eren Jaeger like a dog barking at another dog.

Levi didn’t break stride.

“Yo, Ackerman,” Jean called out. “You ever think about being a little less of a ghost and maybe helping the rest of us pass Dr. Zeklow’s exam?”

Levi’s steps didn’t falter, but he stopped just past them. Turned his head halfway.

“You could start by reading the syllabus. Or stop mistaking charisma for intelligence.”

Eren stifled a laugh.

Jean scowled. “You know, just because you have a stick up your—”

Levi didn’t wait for him to finish.

He kept walking.

Ten minutes later, he was outside the literature building, adjusting the cuffs of his black coat as Hange Zoë came bounding down the steps with a folder in one hand and a half-eaten granola bar in the other.

“Levi!” she beamed. “Did you see that article I sent you on dream-state cognition? The one with the rats that—”

“Yes,” he said. “They drowned them.”

“...Yeah, but! Did you see how they responded to the reintroduction of scent cues?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You mean how they hallucinated safety and willingly submitted to drowning again?”

Hange paused. “Okay, well, when you say it like that—”

“You’re romanticizing death by conditioning. It’s not clever. It’s pathetic.”

Hange laughed. She always did.

“You are such a ray of sunshine, Levi.”

“And you’re late for your lab.”

She checked her watch, cursed, and took off running. “I’ll text you!”

“Don’t.”

His apartment was only ten blocks off campus—a minimalist third-floor unit in a quiet building with steel locks and blackout curtains. His family’s money paid for it in full, along with the furniture. He didn’t use their name. He didn’t need to. His father occasionally called, offering him new properties, investments, “resources,” but Levi ignored the voicemails.

He didn’t care for legacy. Or charity. Or people trying to own him.

He walked up the narrow stairwell in silence, keys already in hand. Each movement was ritual: shoes off at the threshold, coat on the hook, gloves placed neatly beside the door. The scent of antiseptic hung faintly in the air.

The apartment was spotless. Cold. A reflection of its owner.

Except for one part.

The wall above his desk.

Photos. Printouts. Handwritten notes.

All of you.

Smiling. Walking. Laughing with friends.

One image—clipped from a social media post and reprinted—showed you sitting on the quad in a pale yellow dress. The sun hit your face just right. You looked happy. Untouched.

He sat down slowly, fingers trailing over a diagram he’d sketched.

It was a timeline. Your life. Day by day.

The tutoring was only Phase Two.

Phase Three would begin tomorrow.

He was already seated when you walked into the café—same table, same seat, same untouched cup of tea. You paused for half a second, the weight of his stare making your steps falter before you forced your feet to keep moving.

He didn’t look up as you sat.

You smiled anyway, placing your notes down softly between you. “Hi…”

He didn’t say anything.

Your smile wilted slightly. You tucked your hair behind your ear, tried to act like the silence didn’t sink under your skin.

“I brought the updated draft like you asked,” you said carefully, pulling out the printout. “I revised the intro, and I tried to—”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked at you then. No warmth. Just stone. Something unreadable flickering behind his glasses.

“I didn’t ‘ask.’ I told you. I don’t make requests.”

You swallowed hard. “Right. Sorry. I just meant—”

“You went.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Your heart stuttered.

He set his pen down with precision. Folded his gloved hands together like he was preparing to dissect something fragile.

“You went to the party.”

You stared at him, lips parted, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

He was watching you too closely now. Like he was peeling you apart with just his gaze.

You tried to laugh it off. “It wasn’t really a big deal… I just stopped by for a bit. Didn’t even stay that long.”

His scowl deepened.

“You reeked of alcohol on Monday.”

You flinched. “It was just one drink—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped an octave—still calm, still controlled, but dangerous now. “I watched you.”

Your throat tightened. “You…?”

Levi’s stare didn’t waver. “You smiled at people. Let them touch you. You laughed like you forgot who you are.”

You sat in stunned silence. Hands curling slowly in your lap, legs pulled in tighter beneath the table.

“I—I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t even talk to anyone for long.”

His eyes narrowed. “And yet, you went.”

You bit your lip, nodding slowly. Shame creeping up your neck. “I just wanted to feel normal for a night…”

“You’re not normal,” he said, voice like ice on glass. “You’re malleable. Fragile. You don’t belong with them.”

He slid the red-marked draft across the table to you.

“This paper is worse than your last. Sloppy. Distracted. Predictable.”

You stared at the page but didn’t see the words. Just the heavy ache of your own embarrassment thudding in your chest. Your hands shook slightly as you picked up your pen.

Levi leaned forward, his voice softer now—deadlier.

“You said you wanted to be better. But I see weakness.”

You nodded mutely.

His eyes raked over your trembling fingers. The way you folded into yourself. Your silence. Your guilt.

He liked that.

“Next time,” he said, “when I tell you what not to do… don’t make me repeat myself.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

The pen sat still in your hand.

He watched you fidget, and finally—finally—he smiled.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation as students filtered in, slinging backpacks over chairs and cracking energy drinks like it was a frat house and not a 400-level psych course.

Levi sat in the front row. Alone. As always.

His notes were already open. Pen uncapped. Hand resting, still-gloved, against the edge of his desk. His posture was perfect—unmoving, spine aligned, back never touching the chair. His eyes scanned the syllabus printout like he hadn’t memorized it three weeks ago.

Noise scratched at his concentration.

Behind him: Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirstein were already at it.

“You ever notice how Ackerman looks like he’s plotting a murder with math?” Jean muttered. Eren snorted. “He probably has a kill list sorted by GPA.”

Levi didn’t move.

Didn’t acknowledge.

Didn’t need to.

He felt the eyes on him. The whispering. The idiocy.

To his left, Sasha was trying to eat a granola bar she wasn’t supposed to have in class, crinkling the wrapper so loudly it made Levi’s jaw tighten. To his right, Connie tapped his pencil against the desk. Constant. Useless.

A waste of oxygen, the lot of them.

And then… you entered.

Soft, rushed, clutching your laptop to your chest with that usual hesitant smile like you were trying to make yourself smaller than you already were. You scanned the room, and your eyes met his.

Just for a second.

You gave him the tiniest nod.

He didn’t return it.

Instead, he turned back to his notes, expression unreadable.

You sighed under your breath and took the empty seat two rows behind him. Not beside him. You’d learned your place.

Jean noticed. He grinned.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered across the aisle, leaning back in his chair. “You looked good at the party last weekend. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Levi’s pen paused mid-sentence.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… um, thanks.”

“You gonna come to the Halloween mixer next week? Bet I could help you with a costume.”

You gave him a polite, quiet smile—awkward, a little unsure. “I don’t know yet…”

“Don’t let her go with you,” Connie cut in. “She’s too sweet for you. She needs a guy who doesn’t breathe through his mouth.”

More laughter. Sasha giggled.

Your cheeks turned pink. You ducked your head.

Levi turned the page of his notebook.

Hard.

Jean rolled his eyes. “What, did I offend the great Ackerman again? Hey Levi—what costume are you wearing to the party? Let me guess: serial killer?”

Levi slowly looked over his shoulder.

Just once.

That same, flat, dissecting stare. Cold. Deadpan. Like he was mentally peeling Jean apart with a scalpel.

Jean shrank half an inch.

Levi spoke—quiet, bored.

“If I were a serial killer, you’d be the first to go. No challenge. No loss.”

A few people gasped. Even Eren raised his eyebrows. Jean scoffed, trying to play it off, but he didn’t say anything else.

The room quieted.

The professor entered a moment later. Levi returned to his notebook.

You stared at the back of his head, throat tight.

Something about him was colder today. Sharper. He hadn’t even looked at you. Hadn’t spoken. But you could feel it—his annoyance hanging in the air like smoke.

You tried not to fidget. Tried to focus. But your eyes kept drifting back to him.

Levi could feel your gaze.

He didn’t turn around.

But he was already planning what he’d say to you when you were alone. What he’d fix. What he’d take away next time you disobeyed.

You were early.

Fifteen minutes, actually—but you didn’t care. You needed to tell him. To thank him. You clutched the graded essay in your bag, the little A- circled in red at the top like a light at the end of the tunnel.

You hadn’t stopped smiling since you got it back.

Maybe—just maybe—you were finally proving yourself.

Maybe he’d be proud.

Levi was already seated, of course. Same chair. Same coat. Same stare that made your stomach flutter and your palms sweat. He barely looked up when you approached.

You sat down with care, your heart too hopeful.

“Hi,” you offered gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I… I wanted to say thank you. I got my grade back.”

You reached into your bag, sliding the paper forward with a hopeful smile.

“A-minus,” you said, unable to keep the happiness from your voice. “I really tried. Your notes helped so much—”

Levi didn’t touch the paper.

He didn’t even look at it.

He sipped his tea slowly, setting the cup down with a soft clink, then leveled his eyes at you—cold and sharp.

“That wasn’t earned,” he said flatly.

Your heart stilled. “What?”

“That professor’s standards are weak. Your grade is inflated. You don’t deserve it.”

Your breath caught. “I—I thought it was better…”

“It’s passable,” he said. “Nothing more. Barely above average. And it wasn’t your effort that earned it. It was mine.”

You froze, hand still hovering over the edge of the paper.

He leaned forward, voice low but venomous.

“You’re too easily pleased. Like a child. Always grateful for scraps. Is that all it takes to make you feel special?”

You flinched.

The air thinned. Your fingers curled tightly into your sleeves as your throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I just wanted to—”

“You wanted to be praised,” he said, cutting you off. “But you don’t get praise for mediocrity. You get correction. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

The ache bloomed fast behind your eyes. Too fast to stop.

You looked down.

Shuffled your papers together with trembling hands, heart pounding too hard in your chest.

“I—I’m sorry,” you choked out again, pushing your chair back, blinking fast as tears broke free.

Levi said nothing.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stop you.

You stood quickly, clutching your bag to your chest like armor.

“I didn’t mean to waste your time…”

Your voice was a whisper now—fragile, shattered.

Then you turned and rushed out of the café, head down, tears slipping down your cheeks as the door shut behind you.

Back at the table, Levi didn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, he reached across the table and pulled your abandoned paper back toward him. His eyes scanned the margin notes, the way you tried to mimic his edits, your clumsy underlines, the small heart you’d accidentally doodled in the corner of page three.

His fingers tapped twice.

He didn’t smile.

But he felt it.

Control.

The tightening of the leash.

She cried.

She would think of him now, even in her sleep.

It had been seven days since you last saw Levi Ackerman.

Seven days since you left the café trembling, your cheeks soaked with tears and shame. You hadn’t gone back. Not to the café. Not to the tutoring sessions. You didn’t check your email, didn’t reply to his texts—if he’d even sent any. You deleted the draft you’d been working on with him and rewrote it yourself.

He was a ghost.

But somehow, still, his voice echoed in your head.

“You don’t get praise for mediocrity.” “You’re too easily pleased.” “Like a child.”

And maybe that was why you let them dress you like this.

“God, you look so hot,” Mina squealed, tugging the hem of your skirt down uselessly as the group stepped out of the Uber. “If you don’t leave this party with at least three guys begging for your number, I swear I’ll riot.”

“I still think I should’ve worn the cat ears,” you muttered, tugging the sides of your barely-there corset top.

“You look perfect,” Sasha chimed in, already halfway through her first can of spiked soda. “Besides, Levi probably won’t even be here. You’re fine.”

That wasn’t why you were anxious.

Not exactly.

But you nodded. Smiled.

Let them lead you up the porch steps of the packed frat house, the thump of music already vibrating the floorboards beneath your heels.

Inside, it was hot and humid with bodies. People brushed past in costumes—vampires, pirates, something with devil horns. The air smelled like sweat, cheap alcohol, and apple-scented vape clouds.

“Drinks!” Hitch announced, pulling you toward the makeshift kitchen bar. “First round’s on me.”

A guy in a toga handed you a red cup with a wink. “For the prettiest girl here.”

You laughed softly, a little flustered. Took the cup. Sipped. Whatever it was, it was sweet and strong and made your skin warm almost instantly.

Around you, the girls scattered—dancing, flirting, snapping selfies.

You tried to blend in. Tried to forget. To be normal.

You didn’t know, in that moment, that Levi had already arrived.

You didn’t know he was watching from across the room.

That he had been waiting.

The music pulsed like a heartbeat—too loud, too fast.

You’d danced for maybe an hour. Just with the girls. Nothing dangerous. Just laughing, swaying, pretending the weight in your chest had lifted. You felt floaty. Light. Dizzy in a way that made you brave.

When a guy stepped in, Sasha gave you a thumbs up and twirled away into another crowd.

“Here,” he smiled, pressing another cup into your hand. “You looked like you could use it.”

You hesitated. Then took it.

One more wouldn’t kill you.

You deserved it, right?

You brought it to your lips. The sweet, sharp taste burned a little this time. Your body warmed again. You giggled at something dumb, maybe even flirted—just a little.

Just to forget.

But it wasn’t long before the pressure hit your bladder hard and fast. You slipped away from the living room crowd, weaving down the hallway, laughing softly to yourself at how the floor shifted under your feet. You made it to the bathroom. Locked the door. Did your business. Washed your hands slowly, blinking at your reflection.

Your cheeks were flushed. Your eyes glassy.

You didn’t look like you.

You opened the door.

And someone shoved you back inside.

The door slammed shut.

You stumbled, catching yourself on the sink. “What the hell—”

Hands grabbed your face. Lips crashed into yours.

Your vision blurred. Breath caught. You shoved weakly at their chest, but they didn’t move.

Then came the voice—low, angry, cold against your cheek:

“You really thought I wouldn’t find you?”

Your stomach dropped.

“L-Levi—?”

He kissed you again—harder this time, forcing your head back, one hand wrapping tight in your hair, the other sliding dangerously low. You gasped against his mouth, fingers trembling as they clutched at his sleeves.

“Drunk,” he murmured darkly. “Smiling at them. Letting them hand you drinks like some helpless little thing.”

His hand pushed under your skirt.

You gasped, tried to back away, but the sink pressed into your spine. His body followed, crowding you in. Caging you.

“I—I didn’t mean—”

He yanked your head back by the hair.

“You think you deserve freedom? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Tears welled up.

Your legs trembled.

His fingers grazed your inner thigh. Too high. Too much. Not enough room to breathe.

“You’re mine,” he hissed. “And I’m done watching you pretend otherwise.”

His lips crashed into yours again—rough, punishing—his breath hot against your face as his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you effortlessly onto the sink. Cold porcelain met the back of your legs, but all you could feel was him.

“Levi—” you tried, but the sound melted against his mouth.

Your hands pressed weakly to his chest. It wasn’t a push—it was barely resistance at all. Your heart beat like a trapped bird against your ribs, breath trembling as his body slotted between your legs, hips pinning you in place.

“You let them look at you like that,” he growled against your lips. “You let them hand you drinks. Touch you.”

“I didn’t mean—” you breathed, but his hand curled around the back of your neck, holding you there, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You smiled,” he whispered, voice dangerous. “Do you know what that did to me?”

His mouth was back on yours before you could answer, stealing the air from your lungs. You kissed him back without thinking, eyes fluttering shut, legs tightening slightly around his waist.

The smell of him—clean soap, tea, faint antiseptic—cut through the fog of alcohol. Your fingers curled in his coat. Your head spun, but not from the drink.

From him.

From this.

His hand slid up your thigh, fingers dragging over your skin, pushing the edge of your skirt higher until it bunched at your hips. You whimpered softly, pulling your mouth from his just enough to breathe.

“I-I didn’t think you’d be here…”

His grip tightened.

“I’m always watching,” he said darkly. “You don’t understand what you are to me.”

His fingers grazed your underwear—barely there, soaked through—and your body betrayed you. You twitched, gasped, hips jerking toward the contact.

His eyes locked on yours. Cold. Focused.

“You think they can make you feel like this?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because you were already falling apart, and he hadn’t even touched you fully.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

“You were made for me.”

Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, breath catching in your throat as Levi’s hand dragged between your thighs—firm, deliberate, already past the point of return.

Your moan cracked before you could swallow it.

He kissed you again, deeper this time—tongue claiming, consuming—one hand tangled in your hair while the other moved against you in slow, devastating circles. You blinked rapidly, your lashes wet. Your hips twitched helplessly, caught in the rhythm he forced on your body.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your mouth. “You need this more than you know.”

You gasped, clutching at his shirt, too dizzy to answer.

Your body responded faster than your mind could process. Your thighs parted instinctively, your lips opened for him when he kissed you again, and your head lolled back, breath coming out in ragged little sobs as pressure built behind your ribs.

“Levi—please—”

His name was barely a whisper, but it broke something in him.

He pulled his fingers away, and before you could breathe again, he was undoing his belt, pressing forward, dragging your hips down just enough that the cold sink edge bit into the back of your thighs.

“No one else gets this,” he growled. “No one else touches you. No one else hears you like this.”

You whimpered as he entered you in one hard, slow push—filling you completely, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body tensed and then surrendered. He didn’t stop, didn’t give you time to adjust. His mouth was on your neck, your jaw, his teeth grazing skin as he moved inside you with brutal purpose.

You moaned—loud, broken—and he swallowed it with another kiss.

Tears pricked your eyes. Everything blurred—your thoughts, your shame, your aching need. Your legs trembled around his waist as he thrust deeper, harder, each motion knocking soft whimpers from your throat.

“Mine,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your dazed expression. “Say it.”

You couldn’t speak.

So you moaned instead.

He drove into you harder.

“Say it.”

You nodded—wet-eyed, lips parted, voice barely audible.

“Yours.”

He kissed you again like it was a reward, hips rolling, hands gripping you so tightly you’d bruise. You didn’t care. You couldn’t think. All you knew was him—inside you, around you, breaking you down and putting you back together with each thrust.

You shattered on a moan, head thrown back, Levi following just behind with a low growl of your name, holding you in place until the tremors slowed.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breath—ragged, shaky.

Then he pulled back, tucked himself in slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

You were still shaking when he leaned in again—gently this time—and kissed the tear that had slid down your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your legs were shaking.

They didn’t feel like yours anymore—numb and trembling as Levi pulled back, his hands still firm on your hips. You blinked, dazed, lips parted in silence as your mind struggled to catch up with your body. The mirror behind you was fogged. The air thick. Too hot. Too close.

Something warm slipped between your thighs, trailing down your inner leg.

You looked down, confused, then looked back up at him.

He was already adjusting your skirt, carefully pulling it back down. Neat. Precise. His fingers moved gently, tucking you back into place like dressing a doll. His gloves had been discarded somewhere. His skin was warm.

You flinched when he smoothed your hair behind your ear.

“Easy,” he murmured.

Your breathing was shallow. Head spinning. Your fingers clutched the edge of the sink, trying to stay upright.

Levi reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. White. Immaculate. He bent down slightly, wiping the inside of your thigh without shame, without hesitation—like it was normal. Like it was routine.

His cum.

You wanted to speak. Say something. Anything.

But all you could do was watch him.

Watch him rise again, steady you with a hand around your waist, then lean in slowly.

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

Barely there.

Then he dipped down, breathing deeply in the crook of your neck. You felt him inhale you like a man starved. His arms came around you suddenly—strong, secure—and he held your trembling body against his chest.

Your face crumpled.

The shame, the need, the wrongness—it all threatened to spill out, but he held you tighter, grounding you.

Then came the whisper.

Right against your ear.

“Now you won’t run again.”

Your heart stuttered.

He pulled back slowly, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t name. Possession. Finality. Something that made your stomach twist.

Then, wordless, he took your hand.

Not harshly.

Just firm. Inevitable.

He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway of noise and light and chaos—dragging you behind him like nothing had happened at all.

And you followed.

Because you didn’t know what else to do.

The party lights blurred into streaks of orange and red as he guided you through the crowd—his hand tight around yours, his pace sharp. You stumbled once, your heels catching on the sticky floor, but he didn’t stop. His grip just tightened.

Your head was spinning. You barely noticed the cold air until the door was just a few feet away.

“Y/N?”

You blinked blearily.

Mina stood by the entryway, red solo cup in hand, eyeliner smudged. She tilted her head at you, eyes narrowing. Then they slid to Levi—and her smile dropped.

“Where are you going?” she asked, stepping forward. “Y/N, are you okay?”

You tried to speak, but it came out more breath than words.

Mina’s expression soured instantly. “Seriously? You’re leaving with him?”

Levi stilled.

Mina scoffed, drunk and sharp-tongued. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to take advantage, Ackerman. She’s had one too many to go home with the likes of you.”

She reached out, grabbing your arm.

You swayed, blinking slowly, your fingers twitching in his hold.

Levi stepped forward, close—too close—and leaned in until his breath brushed the shell of Mina’s ear.

His voice was low, cold, and dreamy in the most horrifying way.

“Touch her again and I’ll snap your wrist so clean you won’t feel it until the bone shows.”

Mina froze.

You didn’t see her face—but you saw how quickly she let go.

Levi looked at you. His jaw clenched once. Then he took your hand—rougher now—and pulled you toward the door without another word.

Your body jolted at the pace. Your heels scraped pavement. The night air slapped your skin as you stumbled down the porch steps.

“L-Levi—” you tried, but he didn’t respond.

He dragged you to his car, unlocking it with a quiet beep. Then he opened the passenger door and turned to you, still holding your wrist.

You were shivering.

Dizzy.

“Cold,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He didn’t answer.

Just pushed you gently—too gently—into the passenger seat.

The doorframe bit into the back of your knees. The leather seat felt too big, too soft, too unfamiliar.

Then he buckled your seatbelt for you.

The motion was mechanical. Controlled. Intimate in the worst way.

His face hovered just inches from yours as he clicked the belt into place.

“Don’t move,” he murmured. “Not until I say.”

Then he shut the door.

You sat in silence, heart pounding against the seatbelt strap, watching him circle the front of the car—slow, precise, like a predator sealing off all exits.

The night was quiet.

Too quiet.

And the man who climbed into the driver’s seat beside you?

He wasn’t just your tutor anymore.

He was something else.

Something you couldn’t run from now.

The apartment was dark.

No lights. No sound.

Levi opened the door with a soft click, guiding you in by the wrist. You stumbled once over the threshold, your heel catching on the edge of the rug. He didn’t snap. Didn’t mutter about scuffing the floor or hygiene. He just closed the door behind you and locked it.

You blinked, swaying slightly, waiting for him to say something.

But he didn’t.

He led you down the hall—past the pristine kitchen, past the folded towels, the military-straight bookshelf—and into his bedroom.

The air was cold, and your limbs were heavy.

The bed looked untouched. Sterile. Tightly made. But he didn’t hesitate. He guided you to sit, ignoring the rules he’d drilled into himself: shoes at the door, outer layers in the laundry, no disruption of the order.

You sat down slowly, breath catching as your feet ached beneath you.

And then he knelt.

Without a word, he undid the straps of your heels. Slid them off one by one.

His hands wrapped around your ankles, warm and steady. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your aching soles, tracing the arch, soothing each tendon like you were something precious. Not a girl he just dragged through the night. Not a girl he’d already taken once.

But something his.

You breathed softly. Let your eyes flutter closed.

Then the mattress dipped behind you.

He was over you in seconds.

His mouth found yours with an urgency that made you gasp, his kiss deep and hungry. You responded instinctively—fingers clutching his sleeves, mouth parting for him. He tasted like mint and bitterness and heat.

You tried to keep up with him as he undressed you, his hands moving with quiet purpose. He tugged off your shirt, kissed along your collarbone, then reached down, dragging your skirt and panties down in one long pull.

You lifted your hips for him.

You spread your legs.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

His body pressed between your thighs, and he claimed you again—slow this time, rolling into you with deep, consuming thrusts. His hands gripped your waist like he was molding you into his shape. His mouth left open kisses on your breast, then harsher ones—marks—on your neck, your shoulder.

Your breath stuttered. Your back arched. You whispered his name.

He moved until your moans softened into whimpers. Until your body shook against his. Until your fingers curled in the sheets and your eyes glazed with something too heavy to name.

And when it was over, when he finally stilled inside you, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest.

His breath was warm in your hair. His grip didn’t loosen.

And for the first time in days, you felt safe enough to sleep.

So you did.

Peacefully.

Beside the man who would never let you go.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

But you remembered the cold. The dizziness. The way your legs trembled as he carried you through the door. You remembered his mouth. His hands. The weight of his body between your thighs. The burn of it. The way your name sounded when he groaned it into your neck.

Your eyes fluttered open around 11am.

The sunlight was muted through the blackout curtains, barely touching the floor. You were alone in the bed, buried beneath dark, smooth sheets that smelled like Levi—clean linen and antiseptic, with a faint trace of mint and skin.

You blinked.

Your head throbbed. Your throat was dry. Your body ached in too many places to count.

You sat up slowly, a sheet slipping down your shoulder, and realized—you were naked.

Panic bloomed. You pulled the covers tighter around yourself, heart pounding, trying to gather pieces that didn’t want to fit.

Then you saw it.

In the corner.

Folded precisely on the dresser: a full change of clothes. Simple leggings. A long soft shirt. Underwear. Even socks.

You stared at them.

He folded them for you.

You should have felt creeped out. But all you felt was a strange relief. The thought of tiptoeing around in a sheet made your skin crawl. You moved slowly, aching and careful, as you changed.

Then, barefoot and silent, you opened the bedroom door.

The apartment was quiet. Sterile. Every surface spotless.

And there he was.

Levi Ackerman—standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a small pot. No music. No TV. Just the sound of boiling water and the soft scrape of a spoon.

You gasped.

“Le—Levi—” you breathed, your voice hoarse and dry. “Did w-we…?”

He didn’t even look up.

“Tsk.”

He turned, set the spoon aside, and walked toward you with a glass of water and two small white pills balanced perfectly in his palm.

You stared.

He came to a stop in front of you.

Lifted the glass.

Pressed it into your hand.

Then, softly—like it meant nothing—he leaned down and kissed you.

Just a brush of lips.

But it made your breath catch.

His eyes stayed on yours, unreadable. Cold and commanding.

“Drink it all. Understand?”

You nodded slowly.

His hand lingered on the rim of the glass until you brought it to your lips.

You swallowed.

He watched every second of it.

Like he’d done this before. Like he’d prepared for this. Like it was only the beginning.

You handed him the empty glass with shaking fingers.

He took it like nothing was wrong.

Like nothing could be wrong.

The silence pressed in around you, heavy and still. Your stomach twisted with unease. Your mind fought for pieces—flashes of skin, the smell of his sheets, your legs spread beneath him, moaning his name. But it was a blur. A fog of sensation and alcohol and—

Did you ever say yes?

Your chest tightened.

You turned away, trying to breathe.

His apartment was immaculate. Clean to the point of suffocating. The floors gleamed. The towels were folded in exact quarters. Even the tea canisters were arranged by shade.

But then—

Your eyes caught it.

You hadn’t noticed it before. You weren’t supposed to.

On the far wall—just beside his desk, partially hidden by a shelf—were photos.

Small, printed, taped with perfect precision.

Your face. Over and over. Some laughing. Some tired. One with your head resting on your backpack. One where you were crying quietly in the library. One from behind, walking alone.

All you.

“Oh…”

The sound escaped you before you could stop it.

You took a step forward. Then another.

They weren’t just photos. There were notes. Scribbles. Dates. Red circles.

“Behavioral deviation: minimal—subject isolated.” “Smiled at peer, duration 4.3 seconds. No perceived threat.” “Alcohol tolerance lower than projected.” “Too trusting.”

Your hand flew to your mouth.

“I—I… what is this?” you whispered, throat dry.

You turned, your pulse thundering in your ears.

He was standing there still. Calm. Quiet. Like this was just another Tuesday.

“Levi,” your voice cracked, “what is this?”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

Yet.

Your breath caught in your chest.

“I—I don’t understand—what happened last night? We… did we…?”

You couldn’t say the word.

Couldn’t finish the question.

He walked toward you slowly, stopping just close enough to feel the heat of him again.

“You came to me,” he said simply. “You kissed me first.”

Your mouth parted. “No—I—did I?”

“You lifted your hips for me,” he said, voice soft but sharp. “You let me touch you. You moaned when I entered you. You begged for more.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t need to remember,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “I do. I was sober. I took care of you.”

His hand rested lightly at your waist.

“I’ve always taken care of you.”

You were shaking.

“I should go,” you whispered.

His grip tightened.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

And then, with terrifying gentleness, he smiled.

“Not after everything we shared.”

You scanned the room again—heart pounding.

“Where’s my phone?” you asked, suddenly breathless. “I—I had it last night, I think. Maybe I left it at the party…”

Levi didn’t answer.

He returned to the desk, adjusting something—something normal, something precise—like this was just another quiet morning. Like you weren’t standing there unraveling at the seams.

“Levi.”

He glanced back at you.

You stepped closer to the wall, to those photos, your fingers trembling as they hovered near the notes.

“Why do you have these? The pictures? And all the writing—what is this?”

His hand stilled over a drawer.

You turned fully to him.

“Levi… do you—do you like me or something?”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

And it felt like being dissected.

“I don’t ‘like’ people,” he said calmly. “That’s a juvenile word for something chaotic and unreliable.”

You swallowed hard.

“Then… what is this?”

He finished what he was doing—shutting the drawer, adjusting a frame—and then he walked toward you. Slowly. Controlled.

When he stopped in front of you, he smiled.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him smile.

But it wasn’t kind.

It was terrifying.

“We’re a perfect match,” he said, voice low and certain. “I chose you because you’re easy to control.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?” you breathed.

“You’re quiet. Eager to please. You fall apart under pressure and mistake cruelty for authority.” He tilted his head slightly. “You respond well to discipline.”

You stared, unable to speak.

His voice softened.

“That’s why I picked you. That’s why I started testing your responses. Patterns. Attachment triggers. Fear conditioning.”

You felt dizzy again—but not from alcohol this time.

“And all this time…” you whispered, “you’ve been so—so mean. So cold. Why?”

He scoffed.

“Because you can be insufferable.”

The word cracked across your chest like a slap.

“You’re soft. You smile at the wrong people. You trust too easily. You need someone to tell you how to be useful.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes again.

He stepped closer.

“But you want that,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t realize it. You want someone to take the choices away. Someone who sees you.”

His hand came to your chin, tilting your face up.

“I see you.”

You shivered.

And for a second, you didn’t know if it was fear or something worse.

He stood in front of you—arms crossed, eyes calm like this was just a class presentation. Like he hadn’t just destroyed the world you thought you lived in.

“You can finish the year,” he said. “Graduate. That’ll look good on paper.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And then,” he continued, “we’ll get married. My father’s been hounding me about it—legacy, appearances, the usual nonsense. So I chose you.”

Your knees weakened.

“We’ll start a family soon,” he added casually, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to touch your lower stomach. “Or sooner—if you end up pregnant before the ceremony.”

You froze. Breath caught in your chest.

He brushed his fingers across your belly with an awful tenderness.

Then kissed your forehead.

The contact made your blood run cold.

“I—I don’t want that, Levi,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please… let me go.”

His hand suddenly gripped your jaw—tight. Not enough to bruise. But enough to shut you up.

Enough to remind you: you were never leaving.

“You don’t get to say that,” he murmured. “Not after what we did. Not after what I gave you.”

Your lips quivered. “Please…”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, sharp and hot against your cheek.

“Disobey me again and I won’t be gentle next time.”

Your whole body shook.

The tears came fast.

And when you whimpered—small, broken—he smiled again.

“There it is,” he said. “See? I told you. You’re easy to control.”

Then he took your hand.

And you didn’t fight him.

You followed as he led you down the hall, back into his bedroom.

He opened the door and guided you inside, then turned—slow, deliberate—and closed it behind you.

Click.

The lock slid into place.

By the start of spring semester, everyone noticed the change.

Y/N had lost her shine.

She moved quietly through campus now, her voice softer, her smiles more rare—more rehearsed. She spoke only when spoken to. She sat beside Levi in every class, just a few inches behind him like a shadow.

She wore what he chose: soft sweaters, long skirts, delicate earrings. Her makeup always matched the tones he liked—subtle pinks, warm neutrals, a hint of gloss. He picked it all.

He reminded her what to eat and when to drink water. He brought her vitamins. He packed her lunch. If she forgot to take a bite, he’d stop the conversation with a gentle, "Now," until she obeyed.

She wasn’t just with Levi anymore.

She was of him.

By March, he took her from her dorm. Quietly. Permanently.

She moved into his apartment with a small bag of clothes and no argument. He cleared out half the closet, bought her more. A lot more. And a week later, he announced their engagement—just like that.

He called it a natural progression.

She met his parents. His father was sharp-eyed, indifferent. His mother blinked once, politely, and offered her tea like she wasn’t trying to read a girl already halfway erased.

Levi never left her side.

They shopped for a house together. A real one. In a quiet neighborhood with tall hedges and far fences. Levi talked about rooms for future children, security systems, solar panels. He held her hand the whole time.

And he never hurt her.

No, Levi didn’t mistreat her.

He massaged her shoulders when she was stressed. Brought her her favorite pastries when she was studying. Sent flowers to her classes. Bought her jewelry “just because.” He’d kiss her forehead in the mornings, make her tea just right, run her a bath when she was tired.

He gave her everything.

Promised even more.

He gave her a future. A name. A home.

It wasn’t love, not really.

But it was…

almost perfect.

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