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southslates · 4 years ago

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like an angry god

@kanejweek day four: darkness (corrupted ambition) / kanej / canon divergence - soulmates - one-shot - rated T / read on ao3! / 2007 words

Inej Ghafa comes to Ketterdam as part of a traveling circus. She doesn’t mean to enjoy the city, with its sharp architecture and cold edges, with its people who pray to kruge, but she does. There is something haunting in its corridors, something which whispers to her in its alleys. Inej is a gravity-defying girl, she is an acrobat and nothing more, but these late-night Kerch streets set fire to her bones. It is as if Ghezen has come alive to speak to her and tell her she could be more.

It's strange because she thinks she has everything. She also feels like she is missing something—not something that needs to be there, but some defining feature of her. She feels like she is spinning a wheel with a loose axel.

Ironically, she stumbles upon the Crow Club when Malik takes her in, wanting to try his hand at Makker’s Wheel. She indulges her cousin and lets him drag her into the lively business in the darkest hours of the night, knowing that they’re on break tomorrow. The Suli do not forbid fun, and they drink, Inej has drunk, but she does not want to in this strange city.

She ends up drinking anyway. She is caught up in the moment, caught up in the lights above the table, the large, large gambling hall, and almost in Salim, the friend Malik had brought with him to the club. Inej likes him, has always liked him, and the sight of him loosens her inhibitions. They loosen her inhibitions so far that she forgets him.

Inej wanders off across the hall, stopping to see the sheer variety of people who habit it: a white splatter of the upper-middle class of the Kerch, lazing away a Saturday; a collection of young children from Novyi Zem, laughing away in the corner; even a splashing of Fjerdans, staying away from alcohol and looking distrustfully at the numbers in front of them. It’s an experience, she can admit even halfway down her glass, eyes shining.

At some point she wanders over to a setting of Kerch men and women playing a game she doesn’t quite understand; they’re holding chips and laughing, cards dancing in front of their eyes. Inej has always been a quick study with these gambling games, though she detests playing; it’s something else the city has whispered into her mind, perhaps. It is the Ketterdam in her blood, though she’s certain she has never been here before. She has never been here before.

She sits at the table and picks up another glass. She will be fine; Malik and Salim are truly not that far away, she can see them from here. A women smiles at her with shark-teeth, daring her to down the cup in accented Kerch. Something in Inej does it, and then when she’s slid another one, she downs it again. Her eyes are uncharacteristically bright at the table, her head muddy.

It's only a moment later she’s in someone’s lap, between two people. It is the Kerch woman and another man, fitting her in the space between them. The woman’s hair is a rusty gold and the man has black hair and a gold tooth.

Inej may have drank too much, but she isn’t stupid. She blinks and sees that Malik and Salim are gone from her line of sight—then she promptly sits up, a bit more aware of her surroundings. This is not a situation she is new to; she’s almost been taken by slavers as a child. They had ransacked her family’s caravan near the Ravkan shore and would have stolen her away from her family had she not woken up early. She has learned to be suspicious of people, and she let her guard down. It’s this saints-forsaken city, she thinks briefly. It is affecting some part of me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the man whispers with whiskey breath, and Inej pulls herself into the space between the bodies she is caged in, ready to pull one of her acrobatic feats—twist her body, do the unimaginable. But before she does and the woman’s vodka-laced breath rushes across her face, something hard clangs down on the table in front of her.

Inej is only human, so the sound makes her lurch. The tablecloth moves forward, and something shatters and then leaks onto her on the bench. She groans, because alcohol will not go well with the cottons she’d donned for a night out.

“Peter,” a voice says crisply. “Lotte. You are not welcome here. Did I not make that clear enough last time?”

The bodies next to Inej scramble away from her, and she looks up in her disorientation to see a man who can’t be much older than her, a cane in his hand bisecting the table and separating her from Lotte on her left. On her right, Peter has shifted away from her and is now standing up, raising his hands above him. “We didn’t mean nothin’, I promise—”

“I don’t give second chances,” the man says, and his voice is cold, so cold it almost crawls into Inej’s spine and then leaves her body, but icy enough that it wants to make a place there. His voice is the city’s whispers in her ears, the biddings of greed. She is buzzed, but she still looks at his sharp suit and glaring eyes and thinks: Who are you?

Or perhaps she voiced that thought out loud. No matter; the man ignores her, watching as Peter and Lotte stand up and try to leave the premises. Inej lets the whiskey on the table, cold as it is, leak into her shirt as she watches two large men grab the two vermin by their collars and drag them away to some corner.

“Wow,” she says out loud at the brief spectacle—some patrons have turned to see the two get carted off, but more seem unsurprised. “I was fine.”

“Who said anything about you?” the man bites. “There are no games here. There is no place for cheats.”

Inej is straightforward, and her filters are off as she wrings out her shirt. “You could at least pretend to be chivalrous.”

The man glares at her, his gaze dark and intense and dangerous—but for whatever reason, Inej doesn’t feel like it will cut through her. Maybe that is just the stupidity of being drunk. The longer he stares at her, the more she wants to laugh. “You cannot kill me by looking at me, you know.”

He says nothing, just takes his cane off the table and begins to limp away from her. Inej bites her lip and stares at his receding back—that moment had felt strangely powerful.

“Yer brave,” the girl next to her says after he has disappeared from sight, into a door at the club’s side. “To talk to Kaz Brekker like that.”

“Who?” Inej asks, and the boy next to her, keeping his distance after what had happened to the woman in his previous position, looks almost affronted.

“He is Kaz Brekker, Ja. They say he has played cards with the devil and won,” he says, like he is speaking of a myth, and not the twenty-year-old man with a ridiculous glare Inej had faced just moments ago. “He used to be better, ja, growing up on the streets. But he culled his boss right las’ week, he did. Hung his body from the lighthouse by First Harbor. They say he will commit any sin, without a price. Bloodthirsty.”

Inej leans in close to him, feels something lock into place, the gears of her heart. “Really?” she asks. “He just seems like a man.”

“He is no man, he is a demon. A quick thief, too,” the girl nods to her, and Inej grasps at her pockets. Her coinpurse is missing.

“An immature demon,” she says, stepping up, her head spinning just a bit. “Cheap tricks, for shevrati.”

Inej Ghafa leaves them there and takes the path that the man with the cane had followed; he couldn’t have gotten too far from her, with his disability. Ostensibly, she knows she should not be trying to pick a fight in the middle of the night with a man who just hung another in a public display, but the city is speaking to her; the club is, as though it has a heart. Inej believes in saints, and they are leading her a certain way, giving her the want to get her coinpurse back. It had a sizeable amount of kruge, and she refuses to be made a fool of.

The hallway is dark and she follows its walls to a set of stairs, and then walks up them. At the end there is a door, and to its side, when she moves her hand a certain way, another small alley; a trick alley. She follows that aisle to another door, wooden and locked and in the pitch dark. She shoves her body weight against it.

She doesn’t know what she is planning on doing. Do demons give you back your money if you ask them nicely? What is inserting this drive into her veins?

“What?” a voice roars from inside the room, and then a moment later, as Inej pushes herself against it, it opens. She almost trips onto a cold metal floor, but she doesn’t—she is an acrobat, even sheets to the wind. So she rights herself and turns to the man with the cane—Kaz Brekker.

“You,” he says, distaste coating his mouth. There is no good intent hidden in that word, nor in the hard lines of his face. Whoever this man is, he is not good.

“Me,” Inej agrees, then holds out her hand. “My coinpurse, please.”

“Your . . . coinpurse,” the man says, her face twitching. He is wearing a hat and a suit perfectly tailored to all his edges, a glass man. Inej wonders if she could break him. “Why would I have such a thing?”

“You do,” Inej insists. Of this, she is certain. She’s had it until he was just a foot behind her. “Give it back.”

“You’re very demanding,” he says. Inej wonders if he can feel a pull towards her, like she does for him. His face is surely not giving anything away. “You must be new.”

“I’m visiting,” Inej says, some sort of fear starting to creep into her voice. Perhaps the liquid courage has left her soul in a flush—perhaps the city is no longer with her. She can feel it drifting around her bones, maybe leaving. It is as though it has filled the strange place in her soul with something, not left her empty.

He leans into her—he doesn’t leer, not in a way that is lewd, but in a way that is certainly dangerous. “Well, then, my dear visitor,” he says the word like a curse, “you would do well to leave now, before I break your legs for coming to my office without permission.” His eyes scan her, perfunctorily, and Inej can only dream she sees something below the surface. “You need your legs. Or perhaps you can walk a rope with your hands,” he sneers.

Then he slams the door in Inej’s face. The city escapes her, returns back for its sins, disturbs her edges. I have shown you a story, she can feel it whisper, from the wrong end, wrong beginning.

She slides out of the secret corridor and down into the busy club. The Crow Club, it’s called. The largest building in the Stave. She wonders if the foundation was built on a demon’s work. She wonders why she feels like she should know, why there is a haunting space in her mind.

Inej wonders who Kaz Brekker is. She wonders why her saints guided her towards a demon, what they were trying to tell her.

She wonders how he knows she performs on the rope.

#kanej #kanej week #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #kanej fic #dee writes

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vennilavee · 4 years ago

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to build a home - ch 3

from dusk till dawn

attack on titan masterlist

check out this story on ao3

Pairing: levi x reader (attack on titan)

Summary: a modern au where you and levi both work for the Survey Corps, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the youth of the Underground District.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, harassment, smut- 18+!!!

Word Count: ~8800

A/N: there is smut, mentions of harassment (in a flashback) and kenny makes an appearance! ENJOY THIS IS 18+

***

“Why do I have to go?” You groan, rubbing your face, “Isn’t it Hange’s turn to go? Or Levi’s? Anyone but me? Can’t we all go together?”

“I don’t think all of us need to go for this one,” Erwin offers, “And it would be a good learning opportunity for the new hires. You can pick one or two of them to accompany you.”

“Lucky me,” You mutter, glancing at Levi. He’s looking at you with a small upturned smirk, clearly gloating at Erwin’s specific insistence that you go.

“These are all the rich people that you have the most experience with,” Erwin explains and you groan again, “They’re your favorite people, remember?”

You glare daggers at him when he grins at you.

“So now I have to babysit the rich guys and the new kids?” You say without any real heat in your voice.

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Levi,” Erwin says, grin still plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

“God forbid,” You throw your hands up in the air, “We’re showing up in a limo and everything will be on the company card.”

“I expect nothing less,” Erwin confirms.

“Good, you know me so well.”

***

The door to Levi’s office is closed and locked, because you’re trying to convince him to come to the ball with you. Your eyes are dark and coy, lips only a breath away from his, and Levi could scoff. But he’s enjoying your groveling.

“You can hold your own with them,” Levi says, poking your forehead, “You know you can.”

“Of course I can,” You sigh, “Is it so much to ask for you to come with me just because I want you to?”

Your hands are flat on his chest and Levi tugs your wrists into his, rubbing circles. You already see the agreement on his face, in the turn of his lips.

“Not at all,” Levi promises, “I’ll tell Erwin I’ll be coming as your plus one.”

As if he could ever say no to you. As if he could ever say no to a night of being on your arm, both of you dressed to the nines. Even if that meant listening to rich men and women speak to you both in a way that annoys him to no end, in a way that makes your blood burn.

You both usually manage to make nights like this fun. He’s sure you have something up your sleeve. A memory of the first time Erwin had assigned you both to one of these donor’s galas resurfaces, maybe from ten years ago at this point-

Levi had barely paid you any mind, and you were quite annoyed with it all. You didn’t know why Erwin thought this was a good idea, pairing you up with him to tag team this gala.

You would probably have more success on your own anyway. Since you would be focused and your thoughts wouldn’t be filled with ire for the man who was accompanying you.

But just because he doesn’t pay you any mind doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a gentleman. He held doors for you and had even gotten you both a drink as soon as you had entered the ballroom.

There’s no way he could’ve known that you needed something to hold in settings like this to stave off your anxiety.

You had offered him a smile and a ‘thanks’, to which he had waved off. You had wanted to tell him that he looked nice, but refrained from doing so when he seemed to not even want to look at you.

What an ass. That’s okay, you’ll pretend like it doesn’t irk you. That one of your coworkers who you’ve worked with for as long as you’ve been part of the Survey Corps seems to not even want to breathe in the same general vicinity as you.

You had only just gotten his phone number, and you’ve worked with him for almost five years now.

With a scoff, you tell him that you’ll go and mingle with the crowd. You advise him to do the same and he has the gall to roll his eyes at you.

Fine. Two can play at that game.

He dislikes these events, but he knows how much it benefits the organization to get into the pockets of these rich types. Knowing that their money was benefiting something good for the Underground soothed their egos, after all. He gets frustrated when he sees these people talk about themselves like they're something to be worshipped for a simple donation. Maybe simple is the wrong word. But to Levi, spending the time with the kids meant just as much.

Considering that he was one of them.

But as Erwin often says- they need both to function. They need the resources and they need interest.

Levi hates this. Making small talk with people. Specifically, making small talk with people who don’t give a shit about him. Or you. Or anything outside of the walls of their unattainable realities. He decides to keep to himself and watch you plaster a sweet, unassuming smile that nearly makes his skin crawl. Because with that smile, you could convince anyone to do anything.

Him included. Probably.

You place calculating touches over the shoulders or forearm of whoever you’re talking to, bursting out in laughter at the perfect time, and Levi wonders when and how you got so good at this. When and how you got so good at schmoozing.

No wonder Erwin prefers that you come to these galas. You’ve got these fuckin’ losers eating out of the palm of your hand so effortlessly. It’s like clockwork- your dark eyes are wide and shining, smile easy and sweet, hands open and friendly.

These people will have nothing but good things to say about you at the end of the night. You had clearly done your homework- you knew who the big families in attendance were and you had their profiles nearly memorized as talking points.

That begs the question- why the fuck was Levi even there then?

You manage to excuse yourself, promising the people around you that you’d be back soon enough. Levi watches your smile fall as you roll your shoulders back. You’re exhausted, things like this clearly took its toll on you.

Levi has a glass of water ready for you.

“Thanks,” You mutter, unable to pull your muscles together for a smile.

“Think you need more than just a water to deal with these fuckers.”

“Tell me about it,” You sigh and then realize it’s the first full sentence he’s said to you all night, “Gonna go to the bar. You want somethin’?”

He shakes his head and you shrug, heading to the other side of the room. Levi watches you walk away and picks up on the tension building in your shoulders.

Your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all of the forced smiles, forced laughter, and forced conversations. You want to go home, but you have a duty to fulfill. After you order a drink, you find yourself in conversation with two women, asking you about what it was like to work in the Underground.

It’s one of the few genuine questions you’ve received, and yet you’re almost too drained to answer. One of the women leans in closer to you, nose only millimeters away from yours.

“You’re somethin’ else aren’t you? Survey Corps finest and all,” She muses, “Erwin only sends his best to these things.”

“Uh,” You reply, your head suddenly filled with air. You back away a step, but she’s somehow closer to you than before. Her fingers dance over your bare arm and you reflexively yank your arm closer to you but she pays no mind to your reluctance.

“His prettiest, too,” She says and you wish you would melt into the floor. Away from her. Away from this.

“Can’t you tell when you’re making someone uncomfortable?” A voice comes from your right and you can barely hear it over the slamming of your heart against your ribcage. It’s Levi and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Or do you have a stick so far up your ass that you can’t tell what’s right in front of you?” Levi continues easily, ignoring your wide eyes and the woman’s flabbergasted look.

Levi stands next to you, nearly shielding you with his body.

“Do you even know who I am?” She says rudely, arms crossed across her chest. As if she hadn’t just touched you with those same fingers.

“No,” Levi says in his bored tone, “Don’t really care.”

“Levi, let’s go. It’s fine,” You whisper, trying to plead with him.

“You won’t get my money then-”

“We don’t fuckin’ want your shitty money,” Levi says coldly, already turning his back on them and you follow him. He’s walking fast and you have to call out to him to wait up for you at the coat check. Your head is spinning, a sure sign of a headache that will be coming.

“Which coat is yours?” Levi asks once you catch up.

“That one,” You point to the black peacoat that you want nothing more than to bury yourself in. You stay silent as you walk to the entrance, mindlessly scrolling on your phone and texting Erwin that you’ll be heading home.

“Tell me that was the first time,” Levi says, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Comes your eloquent answer.

He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Oh. Uh… It happens sometimes,” You shrug, “Doesn’t really get too far. These rich types just like what they can’t have.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m gonna kill Erwin,” He mutters.

“Why? He didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not worth it. Do you think it’s worth it?” Levi asks, more emotion in his voice than you’ve possibly ever heard before.

“Levi,” You murmur, “It’s fine. Just drop it.”

He looks like he wants to protest but he abides by your request. Levi can’t get your hesitance, your fearful eyes, your flinch out of his head. It reminds him too much of his mother, and he can’t get it out of his head.

Levi takes a cab home with you, telling the cab driver to stop at your apartment first then his. The ride is mostly silent, save for the cab driver’s small talk. Your hands are twisting in your lap as you look out of the window.

“Hey,” You murmur, “I’m glad we’re coworkers. Friends, even.”

“Tch,” Levi replies easily, “Don’t get any ideas.”

But you smile at him and Levi doesn’t look away. He has to make sure that the look that reminds him of his mother is gone.

***

Tonight’s gala is at the castle in Wall Sina. Coming here still puts a bad taste in your mouth, but it’s not so hard to manage as it was before. The decorations are more tasteful than they usually are, bronze and blue streamers and banners hanging throughout the large ballroom.

“How are we supposed to blend in here?” You hear Jean mutter under his breath.

“By getting that stick out of your ass and mingling,” Levi replies easily, shooting a sideways glance.

“It’s not so bad,” You muse, “It’s not so bad now . Just be yourself, Jean. These people love talking about themselves. Just charm them. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at that.”

Levi rolls his eyes at Jean’s surprised expression.

“C’mon, Jean. We can go talk to that noble family over there,” You suggest, looking expectantly at him.

“What about Ca-, I mean Levi?” Jean asks.

“Levi has his own list of people Erwin wants him to talk to,” You wink at him and Levi rolls his eyes.

“Meet you back here in an hour or so.”

***

A voice that you haven’t heard in years breaks your reverie, your heart sputtering as you turn around to face him. You try to face him as neutrally as you can, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he bothers you.

“Kenny,” You breathe, surprise morphing into irritation, “Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t check in on my favorite nephew and niece to be?” He smirks in that way that you know gets under Levi’s skin.

“He’s not- we’re not-” You sigh, cutting yourself off, “You shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“He’s playing hard to get, huh?” Kenny says, lips twitching and eyes trained on you. You feel exposed, as if he’s burning you from the inside out but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. His cool, grey eyes are unforgiving but you hold his gaze. He seems satisfied with his assessment of you and you pretend like your skin isn’t crawling.

You’ve never liked Kenny. Even if he wasn’t such a dick to Levi, you’re certain you wouldn’t like him.

“I said he doesn’t want to see you,” You repeat firmly. The longer he stands in front of you, the more disgusted you become.

“Aww, he doesn’t want to see his ol’ man?” Kenny pouts, “I’m sure I’ll run into him at some point. Give him my best will you?”

“Wait,” You call out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you in, what, four years?”

“You miss me, sweetheart?” He grins wolfishly and you visibly recoil, “This whole thing. I’m one of the people they’re honoring.”

“Oh, really? This is for donors, for good, upstanding people of Wall Rose and Wall Sina who give money and resources to help us-”

“I’m hurt that you don’t see me as one of those good, upstanding people.”

“Kenny,” You scoff, “ Good and upstanding isn’t in your fuckin’ vocabulary.”

“Ouch,” Kenny says, “You kiss Levi with that mouth?”

You swear you’re about to lunge at him, hands ready to throttle his neck and wipe the stupid grin off of his face. But then you feel Levi’s presence before you see him and his hand brushes against yours. In an attempt to reassure you. He doesn’t look at you, only concentrating his gaze upon Kenny.

His uncle. Uncle Kenny.

“Oi, Levi. Lookin’ the same as ever,” Kenny drawls and you see red.

“Shut up,” You hiss, “Shut the fuck up -”

Levi quiets you with a look before turning back to Kenny. He’s quiet for a moment, as if he can’t believe that his Uncle Kenny is standing in front of him.

“You’re here because of the weapons business you have,” Levi says, voice perfectly even. Only you can catch the small inclination of fury beneath layers of iciness.

“You somehow wormed your way in with these people. Convinced them that you’re like them,” Levi continues with piercing eyes, “You’re not. You’re a weasel. A shitty little weasel with no place here. You’re nothing like them. At least they can sleep at night, but you? You don’t deserve to.”

Before Kenny can say anything, Levi’s turned his back on him and you walk side to side with him. Tension radiates off of him in waves as he stews in his quiet anger and you let out a soft sigh.

“Levi,” You murmur, “Come with me.”

You touch the inside of his wrist and he follows you to an empty room. Boxes upon boxes sit on the sides of the walls. The room is illuminated by drowning sunlight creeping in through a window. You lock the door behind you and take his hand, drawing circles in the inside of his wrist.

“Levi,” You whisper again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He says nothing in reply, only looking at you with that same piercing gaze. Iciness has chipped away from the corners of his eyes, and instead he just looks lost for a moment. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you’re sure it’s a look he wore often when he was a kid.

“I’ll tell Erwin we have to leave,” You say, “He’ll understand, Levi. It’s not worth it.”

His eyes flash at you but you stand your ground.

“Do you want to stay?” You ask, sensing his hesitancy, “We can leave, Levi. We can go home.”

Levi pulls you in without a word and presses his face into the crook of your neck. His breaths are heavy against your skin, trying to calm himself down with your woodsy scent. You run your fingers through his undercut and over the base of his neck, lightly scratching with your freshly done nails.

You just want him to feel safe and you know he doesn’t. Not when Kenny is around.

It’s a few minutes before Levi speaks again, and his voice is even but tight.

“I need to know why he’s here. And how.”

“Levi,” You say softly, cupping his cheek, “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” He says sharply, turning his icy gaze to you. Levi winces when he sees you pull your hand back in alarm. He reaches for your hand again, rubbing circles over your thumb.

“He raised me,” Levi says, “I need to know.”

You nod, eyes round with understanding. But you see a crack through his armor and you press your forehead to his, allowing his shaky breaths to fall onto you.

“Why is he here?” He whispers, eyes trained on yours. You hear the silent question- why is he here now? Why wasn’t he here before? Levi pulls you closer to him by your waist, hands firm and searching for comfort.

“I don’t know, Levi,” You murmur, “But I’ll kick his ass outta here, you know that. If he even looks at you the wrong way-”

Levi cuts you off with a kiss, pouring all of his frustrations, his anguish, his love for you and for life into you. Your startled gasp is muffled, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“I know,” He whispers when he pulls away, “Saw you about to throttle him earlier. Who do you think you are?”

Levi’s offers you a crooked smile and you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Kenny Ackerman’s niece to be, apparently.”

“Is that what he said?” Levi says mildly. You hum and Levi pulls you closer for another stolen kiss. He breathes compliments into your skin with his lips and with featherlike touches of his fingers. You coax his nerves out of him, whispering honeyed promises with your tongue and your touch to his warmed skin.

“We should go,” Levi mutters, pulling away, taking in your heaving chest and swollen lips, “Before people notice that we’re gone.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you nod reluctantly.

“Or we could stay here and make out for the rest of the night,” You protest feebly, already smoothing your dress out and taking his arm as he leads you out of the room.

“We have family business to attend to.”

***

You keep sneaking glances at Levi, unsure of what he’s thinking. You want to hold his hand and rub his back but refrain from doing so. Instead, you reach under the table and touch the palm of his hand to reassure him and before you can pull away, he holds on to your fingers. He’s rigid in his seat, face betraying no trace of emotion. But you know better.

Levi tenses up immediately when Kenny walks across the stage to receive his commendation for being such an esteemed donor. Kenny spots him immediately in the crowd, narrowing his eyes with a smug smirk.

Poor Jean. He probably has no idea what’s going on. A drop of guilt blooms in your chest. He’s supposed to be here to learn. You mentally promise to make it up to him.

Jean looks at you, then Levi, then the stage. He’s no fool- he can tell how tense the air has become. There’s a crease in Levi’s brow that he’s never seen before.

You’re certain you’ll all receive a scolding from Erwin, but at this point, you truly do not care.

***

“I’ll get the car keys from the valet,” Levi promises, “It’ll take a second.”

His thumb brushes your chin and you nod. He didn’t want to wait for valet to bring his car around, he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he could. Even if that meant going on a wild goose chase for his car within the parking lot.

“Wait,” You reach for him, “What about Jean? The least we can do is take him home.”

Levi groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine,” He sighs, “I’ll look for him inside. If I don’t find him in a minute, I’m leaving his ass here.”

You stifle a laugh but nod at him. He leaves you with his blazer when he sees goosebumps on your skin as well as another brush of his thumb against your chin. You admire him from behind, the way his navy colored waistcoat hugs him. As you’re tugging his blazer on and crossing your arms for warmth, you see Jean walking out of the entrance. You’re about to text Levi and tell him that you found Jean, but then you see Kenny following him outside and you swallow.

You thought you could make a getaway without running into Kenny once more. The number of times you’ve seen him tonight is already one too many. Dread fills you, leaving you rooted on the spot as he approaches you with his cool, unassuming smirk.

“You could knock someone dead with that look,” Kenny muses, “I suppose that’s one of the many reasons why my nephew is with you, huh?”

You say nothing as your cheeks flare.

“The silent treatment? That’s not very nice…”

He’s close enough to you that you can see the steel of his eyes. It’s the same steel in Levi’s eyes and you swallow your nerves once more to face him.

“Don’t talk to me about being nice, Kenny,” You scoff, “What do you want from me? What do you want from him?”

“Nothin’,” Kenny shrugs, “Can’t I just say hello to my family? See how everyone’s been?”

“No,” You say bluntly, “Leave us alone, Kenny.”

Jean is nowhere to be seen and you breathe a minuscule sign of relief. You don’t want him to listen to this.

You try to move away from him and get back inside the venue, but he grabs your shoulder. Your head snaps back in surprise and then irritation. Shrugging your shoulder out of his grip, you step closer to him. Close enough that he takes a step back.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ touch me again, Kenny,” You seethe, “You don’t need to worry about Levi beating your ass. I’ll break your wrist on my fuckin’ own.”

To your surprise, he laughs.

“She’d like you, you know. Kuchel,” Kenny laughs, sudden fondness in the lines of his eyes. He pokes your forehead, almost teasing and you ache for Levi. This was the man who raised him. And then left him when he was barely a teenager.

“Leave us alone, Kenny,” You murmur, taking a step back, “If he wants to see you, he will. But leave us alone until then.”

“He’s doing okay?” Kenny asks, and you see a familiar crack in his armor. It reminds you of Levi, when he lets his guard down and allows the perceived luxury of vulnerability.

“Yeah,” You reply, “He’s doing okay.”

“You’ll take care of him,” He says, his voice hard. Steel returns to his eyes, but you’re used to it.

“Always,” You reply without missing a beat. Your heart is out in the open on your sleeve, bleeding and beating for Levi. You wonder if Kenny can sense all of the things you want to say to him.

Kenny pokes your forehead once more, eyes lingering on your face. As if searching for a shred of doubt or reason for disbelief.

As if he has a right to.

***

Levi was about to give up on looking for Jean when he bursts into the entrance as if he’s seen a ghost. His eyes are wide and he sprints to Levi when he finally spots him across the room.

“Spit it out, Jean,” Levi says with a raised eyebrow.

“Some guy- There’s some guy out there,” Jean pants, “Looks kinda like you except smiles more. But in a scary way. Talking to her. Figured you should know before I intervened.”

It’s not fair for Levi to be annoyed that Jean left you, but he closes his eyes in irritation.

“And you left her there with him ?” Levi asks, walking long strides to get to you.

“All due respect, sir, but she can handle herself,” Jean says easily and Levi stops to give him a look.

“You questioning me, Kirstein?”

“Well, no, sir-”

“Shut up, Kirstein.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go find my car, Kirstein. Pull up to the front when you do,” Levi says, tossing him his keys. Jean looks flabbergasted for a moment but sprints off to the parking lot.

Of course Levi knows you can handle yourself with Kenny. He just wishes you didn’t have to.

***

Defiance is written across your features, in the furrow of your eyebrows and the crossing of your arms.

He sees Kenny poke your forehead and he sees you wince. It’s an action that reminds him of when he was young, when Kenny would approve of something he did. He would always receive a poke to the forehead as a thank you, or as a job well done.

Seeing Kenny touch you, no matter how small or fleeting, sends him into a rage that he’s been struggling to contain all evening. Your dark eyes widen when Levi roughly clasps Kenny’s shoulder to pull him back and away from you.

He’s so close to the edge, about to fall off an invisible precipice and you both know it. Levi pulls his arm back behind him as his hand curls into a fist, just like the way Kenny taught him all those years ago, but before he can land a solid punch on Kenny’s sneering face. Something pulls him back.

“Levi,” You whisper, your arms tight around him, “Do you need this, Levi? Is this what you need?”

Smoke slowly lifts from his eyes as he focuses on your quiet breaths against him and your fingers tracing his chest. The sound of his blood flooding to his ears quiets with each breath of yours. Levi un-clenches his fist and instead, pushes Kenny away in the same breath. He looks at Kenny long and hard, his eyes calming from a raging, stormy sea. Your cheek is still pressed against his back, arms locked around his waist.

Levi offers him nothing more than a scoff and turns his back on him. You peel yourself from his back, giving him a small smile and dare to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go home, Levi,” You murmur.

“Kirstein’s getting the car,” Levi says and you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Really? I’m surprised,” You muse, “You must trust him.”

“He wishes,” Levi scoffs.

Just as you’re about to comment that you would be surprised if he ends up finding it in this sea of cars, he honks at both of you.

Jean can tell that something has happened, from the tired look on your face and the tension in Levi’s shoulders. He hops out of the driver’s seat when Levi barks at him and you scold Levi for his tone.

“Thank you, Jean,” You murmur, “You’re a good man.”

You kiss his cheek lightly in gratitude and Jean feels his face heat up. He touches the spot you had kissed in wonder.

“Oi, Kirstein! If you don’t get in the car in the next five seconds, I’m leaving your ass here,” Levi threatens with a glare and you stifle a laugh behind your hand in the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet, save for music playing as background noise and your small talk with Jean. Jean notices you looking over to Levi every so often, gazing at him as if you’re looking for something.

“So,” Jean says, to try to lighten the tension, “Do you come to these often? Do you come together? ”

Levi looks like he’s about to say something scathing to Jean but you send him a sizzling glance that keeps him quiet.

“For the last nearly six years… If that’s often, then yes,” You reply, watching in amusement as Jean’s brown eyes widen in shock.

“Six years?!”

“Close your mouth, Jean. You look like a horse,” Levi says plainly and you roll your eyes.

Jean wonders if anyone at all will believe him when he tells them about this evening.

***

As soon as you kick your heels off of your aching feet while leaning against the front door of your apartment, Levi’s arms are around you. Inhaling you in deeply. You relax in his hold, leaning your head against his shoulder as his fingers trace over the delicate veins of your neck.

You can sense his need through the rough calluses of his hands.

Levi tilts your jaw towards his lips, eyeing you for a few moments. Your honeyed eyes are swirling, patient and waiting for him. Your lips are slightly parted and he can’t take it anymore- he can’t take how you still look at him like that. As if he’s pulled the stars from his bleeding heart. His blood has turned to fire, eyes molten and smoky as he pulls you in for a rough, searing kiss.

You turn in his hold, arms wrapping around his head as fingers slide through his inky hair. Levi gives you half a second to breathe before he’s pressing another kiss to your lips and swallowing any thread of a thought that you have. He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripping your hips and your soft sounds hardly register in his mind. He hears you say something, but ignores it, in favor of pushing his lips to your neck. Your sweet spot, the spot that makes your knees go weak. He pulls a small sound from your throat, barely aware of your nails scratching his chest from over his clothes.

Then he hears your voice again.

“Levi,” You say softly, barely above a whisper, “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, muffling your concern with the cool press of his mouth to yours. Your hands are firm against his chest this time, pushing him away lightly. Just a few breaths away. Not too far.

“Levi,” You press, “What do you need Levi?”

He can’t take the sweet sound of his name on your lips. The way it sounds like honey, dripping from your tongue and into the air. His eyes are uncharacteristically wild, tendrils of vivid affection swirling together.

“You,” He finally says raspily, “It’s always you.”

You give him a small smile with glowing cheeks, and he wants to drown in your adoration.

“C’mere, Levi.”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, tucking his face in your neck. You rub his back gently while your other hand runs through his hair the way he likes.

“Today was a long day,” You breathe into his ear, nipping his earlobe lightly. He hums into your neck, his breaths evening out. You pull his dress shirt out from the hold of his pants while still rubbing circles over his back.

“Did you see Jean’s face? Poor kid,” You laugh lightly, “Think he’ll come to one of these things again?”

Your honeyed voice anchors him, and he wants to sink into you.

“He’s a good kid,” You continue, “Like you. Like I know you were. Like I know you are. I know your heart. You gave it to me, remember?”

You snake your hand to his chest and lightly scratch at his left side.

“I need you, Levi,” You murmur, tipping his chin from the crook of your neck to meet his eyes, “Can you feel how much?”

You move his hand first to your chest, where he can feel your heart beating fast. Like a hummingbird. His gaze is sharp, eyes boring into yours and you don’t falter. You lift the skirt of your dress to your waist with one hand and take his hand, allowing him to brush his fingers against your panties.

Levi’s throat goes dry at your unwavering, hazy eyes and rubs you over your panties. He swallows when a soft sigh escapes your pretty lips.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it or what, Levi?” You drawl, a smirk tugging at your lips. He sees the plea in your eyes, your plea for him to come back to you.

His thumb circles your panties once more, avoiding where you need him the most. Your smirk crumbles into a pout quickly and you try to buck your hips into his hand to get him to touch you. You watch him rub circles over your panties, finally getting the friction you so crave. He noses your neck, pressing his searing lips to yours fiercely.

His eyes aren’t so wild anymore, but his touches are.

You fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers slipping with every touch of his lips to yours. You’re uncoordinated and clumsy, getting frustrated with yourself. How is he so good at doing things with his eyes closed?

Levi senses your frustration and lets out a breathy chuckle. His hand is still under your dress, lazily teasing you’ve and you finally open your eyes to unbutton his waistcoat and dress shirt with shaky fingers.

You’re suddenly taken back to a memory of the first time you had seen him. You were one of his firsts and he was far from yours. He wanted to do right by you, and it took time for him to learn what you liked and how to please you and make you sigh in that sweet, breathy way.

Levi pushes your panties to the side, thumb circling your bundle of nerves. You gasp in surprise at the sudden but welcome warmth.

You manage to pull his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving his chest bare in front of you. Hunger floods your senses, hunger for this man in front of you. For your man, who has given you his heart despite his heart being so heavy for so long.

You feel your panties being pushed down your legs when Levi crouches on the floor. His fingers squeeze your thighs and your calves lightly as he looks up at you. You step out of your panties as he tugs you by your hands.

“Come here,” Levi mumbles, pulling you into his lap.

Levi reaches behind you to search for the zipper of your dress with his fingers. He peels the dress off of you easily and you can’t say that he’s looking at you like you’re a goddess in his arms because he looks at you like this every day. All the time. But that’s what this look reminds you of. Before, when you were in your early stages of your relationship, it intimidated you. The depth of his devotion.

But now, it surrounds you and you welcome it.

Just before he sets your dress on the couch to keep it off of the floor, you stop him.

“Let me put it in the hamper,” You murmur, “We’ll forget about it and then I’ll wake up in the middle of the night because it’ll be bothering me.”

That’s one of the many reasons that his love for you runs deep. You can keep up with his need for cleanliness. Levi follows you into the bedroom with his shirt, waistcoat and your panties in his hands. And his eyes on the arch of your bare ass and the curve of your spine.

“Give me that,” You say, turning around to take his dress shirt and waistcoat. You place it in the special hamper, the one designated for dry cleaning.

Levi tosses your black panties into your hamper with an unassuming smirk and you can’t help but wonder how a simple action like that turns your stomach over in arousal. Levi pulls you towards him, littering your hips with fleeting touches before squeezing your ass firmly.

His lips are on yours in an instant, pulling you even closer into his chest. Your fingers spread over his scarred shoulder, fingernails pressing into his skin. You pull a groan from him and trail your fingers down his chest. Scratching where you see fit, scratching over the smattering of dark hair leading into his pants.

Levi snakes a hand in between you, fluttering over your chest. His fingers are replaced by his lips quickly, as your breath hitches with each bite of his lips to your skin. You can’t get enough of his mouth on you, or of the way the shadows fall over his broad shoulders and taut muscles. His other hand brushes against your heated center and your hips buck into his hands involuntarily.

You can taste his longing, hidden in the crevices of his lips, the roughness of his touch against you. The way he slots himself with you, molding into every curve of your body. You hear your own soft moans and calls of his name as his lips touch every part of your soul.

Without a word, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you up. His lips are still on your skin, wherever he can reach. You lock your arms behind his head, tugging his hair back tight enough that it pulls him back. An audible groan escapes his throat when you pull at his hair.

Something you had discovered early on that he liked.

He stumbles for just a step before regaining his balance. You let out a breathy laugh into his neck before pressing a kiss there. Then behind his ear. Close to his collarbones. Along the expanse of his chest.

Levi gently drops you to the bed, drinking you in from above with wide eyes. The voracity in his darkened eyes nearly makes you look away but you hold his gaze. He surges forward, unable to fathom another moment of not touching you.

He grinds into you lazily, your bare center seeking more friction than the roughness of his pants.

“Levi,” You nearly whine, pulling at his belt buckle, “Take it off, Levi.”

“ You take it off,” He drawls, voice low. Your heart flutters and your throat goes dry.

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest and pull him closer to you by his belt. Your movements are slow as you unbuckle his belt and toss it to the floor, and you yank his pants and boxer briefs down in one swift motion.

Levi can’t deny that the way your eyes always widen when you see him strokes his ego.

“Off, Levi,” You say softly and he tosses his pants into his hamper before ducking down to meet your lips- your chest- your navel.

Levi presses a hand to your center and you gasp, the pretty sound floating into the air and reverberating in his ears. He holds your hips steady with his forearm as he circles your clit with his thumb. He hoists your legs over his shoulders while gazing at you with that same tenacious look.

Lust and love mixes together to make your eyes a darkened brown.

You gasp his name breathily, back arching slightly with the first flick of his tongue against your center. He maintains his gaze, eyes piercing into yours and your toes curl at the added intensity. You struggle to keep your eyes open but Levi squeezes your hips every so often as a reminder. He squeezes your breasts, pinching and tweaking.

He pulls his hand away to rub your clit with his thumb as his tongue laps you up. Levi wasn’t always this good with his tongue and with his fingers. It took you both some time to get in sync with each other, in terms of what you both liked.

Time and patience, which you both had infinite amounts of for each other.

Stars are beginning to dot your eyelids, your hands bunching up in the sheets as urgent, broken whispers of his name float into the air. Just as your thighs begin to shake and your toes curl, he pulls his lips away from your aching, empty center and you could scream .

Levi does this often. He brings you to the edge, only to back away. Only to take you there once more. Like clockwork.

The smug smirk on his face makes you want to kiss him. So you do. You pull him into your arms, grinding into his hardened length and hungrily bite his bottom lip. Your stolen release burns in the back of your mind but you give it no attention. Levi groans in pain at your bite and you smile against the kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You lock your legs around his waist, holding him in place and reach in between your bodies to stroke him in your hand. Levi bucks against your hand with a low moan.

“I want you, Levi,” You whisper into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. Warmth pools in his belly at that and he looks dazed for a moment before snapping out of it. Your lips are parted and swollen, brown skin glistening and warm, dark eyes wide and wanting.

“Fuck ,” Levi mutters, “I need to be inside you right now.”

You nod vehemently, parting your legs for him quickly. He looks to your dripping center and guides himself in one swift glide. Both of you groan in unison and Levi stills for a moment when you pull him in for a kiss. You run a hand through his hair, smiling when he groans as you clench around him.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, playfully biting at your shoulder.

“Why? You gonna cum or somethin’?” You tease, earning yourself a squeeze to your hips.

“Shut up.”

Before you can say anything back to him, he lifts himself up over you, arms around your head. His hair falls into his eyes, tickling your heated cheeks and he shallowly thrusts into you. It’s the sweetest burn, the way he fits in you.

Your eyes begin to water when his thrusts get deeper. You subconsciously tilt your head to the side, away from him and Levi kisses your neck. He nudges your jaw with his nose to pull your eyes to him. You crane your neck up to press a kiss to his lips but he pushes himself into you particularly roughly and you moan into his mouth.

Levi pulls you up into his lap, arms tight around your hips and you hum. His lithe fingers are everywhere- cupping your neck, holding your thighs steady on either side of his waist, your scalp.

You’re gasping his name as he pushes into you and murmurs soft notes of encouragement into your neck. He watches as he slides in and out of your wetness with darkened cheeks. Nails scrape his back and he winces for a second but pays it no mind. Your soft breaths and whines of his name against his neck are distracting enough.

Levi rubs your folds lazily as he thrusts up into you. All you see, hear and feel is him and you’re overwhelmed. You raise your head to meet his searing eyes with an arm hooked around his head and sloppily press your lips to his.

Heat pools your belly once more, and you can nearly see stars about to burst behind your eyelids once more. Levi can sense that you’re close, in the way your legs quiver around him and in the way you clench around him. He rubs your clit in tight circles, coaxing you to the edge. Where he’s right there to catch you.

“Good girl,” Levi whispers, and your eyes widen like they always do.

He holds you tightly when you cum with a soft gasp and shaky legs. You’re panting broken notes of his name into his skin. Levi peppers your face with kisses. He’s still inside you and you give him a devilish smile.

You push him down to the bed and dig your nails into his chest teasingly. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. You stretch your torso, your hands skimming your sides and brush your fingers over your clit to tease yourself. Levi groans and plants his hands firmly on your hips. Squeezing your ass and your thighs as he pleases.

“You feel so good, Levi,” You breathe, as if it’s a secret only for his ears. You start to rock against him, hips dragging across his heated skin. The friction from his skin sends a shudder up your spine and Levi slides his hands over your sides before squeezing you.

Levi loves the way your eyes shine with desire and an undercurrent of trust. He loves the way your brown skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, the way you’re clawing at him for something to hold on to. Levi pulls you close to him, kissing up and down your chest.

You find a rhythm and ignore the way your thighs burn as you take all of him in. The only sounds in the four walls of the bedroom is the sound of your skin slapping on his and his shaky breaths. Levi is always so composed- seeing him come undone by your hands sends another pool of heat into your belly.

“Shit,” Levi groans, throwing his head back and tightening his grip on your thighs. His hooded eyes are trained on you, watching you bounce as your legs slowly begin to tire out. But you’re determined, he can see it in your face. He loves watching you like this- determination and desire mixing together. Levi rubs your clit with his thumb and you gasp, your legs beginning to shake once more. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flat against him, thrusting into you.

You clench around him without meaning to and he moans breathlessly in your ear, feverishly pressing his lips to your throat to stave off his climax until yours. You can feel how close he is, in his sloppy thrusts, the way his legs jerk against yours and you breathe him permission for him to cum inside of you.

Levi gasps your name into your skin as he cums, his stomach tightening as you feel warmth inside of you and beginning to leak down your thighs. He’s about to pull out but you stop him with a tug of his wrist.

“Stay,” You mumble and he swallows. He’s sensitive, but he stays. He flips you over so you’re under him and rubs at your clit lazily while his lips find your salty skin. Your senses are deliciously overwhelmed as Levi engulfs you.

“Levi,” You nearly cry, water gathering in the corners of your eyes. You’re overwhelmed by the love you have for him, by the love you feel and see in his grey eyes. Your nails are piercing against his bicep but he hardly feels it. You’re so close , and he needs to feel you come apart under him.

Your grip is tight around his arms, lips parted as your back arches when you finally cum for the second time so far.

“Good girl,” Levi murmurs again, kissing your hairline, your heated cheeks and your chin.

You rub your foot up and down his calf with a small smile. You hold him close to you, enjoying his warmth as it lights you up from inside out.

“We should go shower,” You murmur, rubbing a hand over your face.

“Why? You thought we were done?”

“You’re right. How stupid of me,” You muse, earning yourself a pinch to your waist.

“You’ve said worse.”

***

Fatigue settles in your bones after the fourth, or was it fifth, orgasm of the night. Your eyes are heavy, both from the events of the day as well as the events of the night. You hear Levi panting next to you, exhausted as well.

But you can’t rest. Not yet.

“Levi,” You nudge his shoulder, “We have to shower.”

“Give me a minute,” He says hoarsely.

“Can’t believe you seduced me into sex before washing up after the gala. You’ve made me lose my marbles.”

“Me?” Levi says, flabbergasted.

You hum, closing your eyes for a few minutes. You feel Levi’s weight shift and he carries you to the bathroom on shaky legs. Once you’re under the warm water, you groan as it soothes your sore muscles. You feel heavy, but weightless at the same time. Levi holds you up with your back to his chest and washes you down with his shower gel quickly but effectively. It smells just like him and you inhale deeply.

You swear you could fall asleep like this, and Levi knows it. You’re beginning to yawn widely enough that your eyes water. But you open your eyes to take the gel from him and lather him down slowly, taking your time with the dips and crevices of his body.

You even manage to sneak a kiss onto his bruised lips in between.

Levi holds you under the spray of the water for a few moments, with your head over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. His heartbeat is even and steady, so close to lulling you back to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Levi says softly but firmly, “Still have to towel off.”

You give him a noncommittal answer but pull away from him and wait for him to give you your towel. His dark hair is slightly damp, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water and from you . You can’t help but run your fingers through his hair as he wraps a towel around his waist and around you. Your limbs feel pliable, and damn, you are so tired.

Levi holds the implicit, unwavering trust you have for him in the palm of his hands and carries it carefully but confidently. He moisturizes the both of you, knowing that you hate waking up to dry skin.

“Raise your arms,” Levi murmurs and slides a sleep shirt over your head. He pats your head when you look up at him with a sleepy smile and nearly closed eyes.

“C’mon, it’s bedtime for us,” Levi says, carrying you to bed and drawing the covers over both of you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder as a goodnight and wraps himself around you. His legs intertwine with yours, and he draws you close to him. You’re fast asleep in minutes, your hand loose around his.

***

It’s the middle of the night when you wake up to a cold bed. You rub sleepiness out of your eyes and stretch your muscles, feeling every inch of the delicious soreness. Especially in your legs.

A soft but unsurprised sigh leaves your lips when you see the empty bed and the faint glow of the lights in the living room.

Levi is sitting on the couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly. His eyes are tired but you can tell his mind is spinning.

You wordlessly take one of his favorite teacups from the kitchen cabinet and start making tea for him. It’s a teacup that you had bought for him, painted black with gold accents. It reminded you of him.

He lifts his head a little at the scent of his favorite tea.

You bring his teacup and the teapot in a tray to the coffee table and tuck your bare legs under yourself to sit a few inches next to him, unsure if he wants space. When he says nothing for a few minutes, you assume he wants to be alone and you press a kiss to his hair. To leave and go back into the bedroom.

But he tugs your hand gently and so you stay.

“Come back to bed, Levi,” You murmur softly, fingers in his dark strands of hair.

It’s 3:18 AM and Levi drinks his black tea in his overhanded manner, leaning into your touch.

“Can’t stop thinking,” Levi finally says, “About Kenny.”

You’re not surprised.

“He asked me if I would take care of you,” You muse. Tension immediately fills his shoulders but you press your fingers into his muscles to calm him down.

“He told me that your mother would like me.”

Levi cracks a small smile at that.

“I told him to leave us alone, unless you want to see him,” You reply, “Then I told him I’d break his wrist if he touched me again.”

Levi kisses your cheek.

“Do you? Do you want to see him?” You ask, pressing a finger to his cheek.

“I don’t know,” Levi says honestly.

“It’s okay if you do. You don’t need anyone’s permission or justification but your own if you do want to see him,” You say firmly.

“Come with me. If I decide that I want to,” Levi breathes.

“Of course,” You nod determinedly.

He presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his forehead on yours.

“He did this, too,” You murmur, poking his forehead, “Oddly affectionate for a man with asshole tendencies.”

Levi lets out a soft chuckle.

“I saw,” Levi says, “He used to do that when I was a kid.”

“I figured.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, tracing patterns over the scars on his chest. Sleep is threatening to overtake you with the steady hum of his heart against your ear.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.”

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagine #snk imagine

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that-soccer-guru · 4 years ago

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Any advice for a 30 years old woman who win the us green card lottery and want to come in few months please ? ( I will be by myself and i’m working very hard to improve my English)

Oh, well, first of all, congratulations!

I'm not going to lie to you, it's not easy to be here. The first thing I think most immigrants can agree with is that the United States is a cold and lonely place (yes even in the warmest of places, it's not our home and it feels like it). We leave our families, our language, all we've known, behind. And I think one big piece of advice I can give you is to make sure you're prepared for how lonely lone can feel. Please make sure you take care of your mental health, of your physical health, and your emotional health. Whether that is making sure you can always talk to your family if need be, or to a friend back home, it matters.

Reach out to your community too! We were all here on a first day once. We know how hard it is. Getting a job, adjusting to a new way of life, but communities always find a way to rally around eachother. Whether you're Latino, Asian, African, there is a place where all your people call home, and where someone understands what you're going through and will give you a hand. Look for the area where the people who've come before you live and work, and you'll always find someone who will help you there. One day, if God forbid you get into a pickle, you'll be happy that you befriended the owner of the corner-store or the nice ladies who run the shop down the block.

Keep up with the news of whatever city you want to go to. How rent works, the places to avoid, the neighborhoods to avoid until after dark all that. But also the mundane things, how parking rules work, schedules for garbage where you're in, make sure you program national holidays in your calendar. You might think its weird and trivial but it saves your butt. If you don't have a Twitter get one and get to following the local things, public transportation, your congressperson, that kind of stuff is good, and congressmen and women often put out info on local organizations that can help with ESL (English as a second language) programs, food programs, that kind of stuff.

Make sure you have your important paperwork before you get here. Diplomas, emergency info, health records, names of medications, referrals for special health conditions, all that's gonna come in handy at some point, and even if it doesn't it's better to have too much than to want for much.

Finally, put your name on a bill, cable, electric, phone bill that sends stuff to your house, whatever because the next thing is to get a bank account ASAP. Find out which bank has branches all over whatever city you're moving to and get yourself a checking account. It's important for jobs that pay with checks and direct deposits, and it'll make it easier on you to get around learning how to file your taxes, how to get all your benefits if you need them, in the future to file for naturalization if that's something you want to do, etc.

I'm sorry this was so long, but it's not an easy thing, uprooting and moving to a new country. If you have any questions or you need anything PLEASE don't hesitate to send me a message bud. I'm always checking my phone and I'd hate to think you're feeling alone out here. (I also don't know where you're moving from or to but I'm hoping all this advice is universal)

If anyone else knows something I missed, the replies are your friend!

#not woso #important things though #being an immigrant is hard brah but it's worth it once you get past the first hard few months #congratulations bud and I believe in you!#moving to the USA kind of things #thanks anon #anon asks #answering asks #that soccer guru answers

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years ago

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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 17 - In Which Max Embarks On Her London Real Estate Empire

“This house is fucked,” Anne says, appearing from the dank of the basement to stand next to Max.

The Hennessy house is, in fact, fucked. Cuz Anne may not be the licensed home inspector – he's coming in the week – but she's been in enough dilapidated, crumbling flops to recognize the stain of mildew growing up the cellar walls. Enough to recognize the scent of mold as it seeps from the dripping stones.

“Surprised this shit's still standing, to be honest.”

Max makes an elegant shrug.

And Anne's never known anyone who could make a shrug look fucking elegant. But she supposes that's the thing about high-class Johns. They want their prostitutes to be elegant in every fucking thing. Pretty little pieces to look at and fuck and pretend are the rich, glamorous sort of women they've been told they deserve – but ones who love them, ones who want them. Before remembering that they're just street trash corner girls and throwing them away.

The ones that don't want a bit of rough, anyway.

And Max is a master of the kind of effortless grace that half the fuckin rich bastards can't come close to matching. Anne admires it. Though it ain't really effortless, is it? Max being Max took as much work as Anne being Anne ever did. Maybe more – Max couldn't just murder her way out of a sticky situation, she had to learn finesse.

But they're all just managing outside perception, ain't they? Just like the Hennessy's with this fucking house.

“Too busy keeping up appearances to fix the rot in their own fucking foundations. Idiots.”

Max laughs. “If this was a book, I'd say the symbolism was a little too obvious.”

She and Jack have taken to viciously dissecting the latest in pop literature as part of something that could maybe eventually be called a book club. If they can ever bear to admit they're more friends now than just business partners.

Speaking of business. “The house is gonna be a bitch and a half to fucking fix. Wonder how the fuck they missed it.”

“I'm certain the previous owners never ventured below the ground floor,” Max says thoughtfully. The cavernous downstairs kitchen is dusty enough to support that particular theory. “And even if they had, I doubt they had the money to do anything about it.”

“What, so now we gotta pay for their mistakes?” Anne snarls. “Shoulda got a better deal on the house if that's the case.”

Max hushes her gently. “Mr. Scott has done admirably in that regard. Even if we demolished the entire house and built a new one in its place, we'd come out comfortably ahead. Besides, it's not as if we bought the place with the intent of flipping it. Or, God forbid, actually living in such a home.”

Cuz that ain't where the real money in London real estate is, Anne has learned. Apparently, a lot of these buildings are worth as much as they are cuz of the land they're on. Just the physical area they take up, nothing to do with the rotting abandoned husks sitting on top of it.

Even more fucked up is the fact that the fucking air above them is worth money.

So there's plenty of rick fucks who buy up London property just cuz the valuation keeps going up as more and more of them buy property. Let it sit empty so fuck all can get built in one of the biggest cities in the word and the valuation on your investment just keeps fucking rising. “A most elegant con,” Jack'd called it.

At least until the house of cards it's all built on topples. And then they're fucked. Which is why Max isn't planning on them getting into the actual real estate business. The actual buying and selling of physical properties. That, they'll leave to much stupider marks.

“C'mon, let's get out of the cellar before we get fucking mold in our lungs or whatever's supposed to happen.”

Max finishes up the notes she's taking in an expensive notebook with an even more expensive fountain pen, her neat cursive stark on the page. Only Max could make a to do list look that intimidating.

But she smiles at Anne. “I suppose I can be finished with my evil plotting. For now.” And she leads Anne up into the better kept parts of the house to collect Mary, whose been taking photographs of the now empty rooms.

Cuz what Max is selling ain't real estate. It's potential.

They're brokers of a shiny golden dream, ephemeral and fleeting – so you'd better sign up quick. Cuz the place might look like a wrecked hulk now. But just imagine what it could become.

Not that there ain't work to be done to set the stage. As part of selling that dream, Anne and Charles have spent most of a week moving abandoned furniture out of the derelict rooms and into their own house – the pieces Jack likes, anyway. And there's a particularly decadent credenza ended up in the esteemed councilor's luxurious rowhouse, courtesy of Jack. And Max. And Mr. Scott.

A little grease to get wheels in motion on planning permission for the upscale boutique hotel spa Max wants their marks to replace the former Hennessy house with. The dream they're selling for this particular property. Like a bed and breakfast, but no poor people (non-millionaires) allowed.

And a few of the more valuable but less tasteful items end up in various high-end antique shops. Essentially, Anne and Charles have been delegated to movers and then builders. Cuz they spent the next week stripping the wallpaper and throwing out heavy, motheaten brocade curtains and other assorted shit. And then they'd painted all the newly revealed plasterwork off white – but the kind where it looks worn out already, not fresh and new. Distressed, Mary'd called it.

And Anne don't exactly understand how making the place look shittier makes it more valuable. Especially when it's just gonna get torn down anyway. But Anne does have to admit that the house is something like hauntingly elegant this way, with Mary's staging and the surprisingly bright sunlight streaming through sheer white curtains. There may or may not be light rigs outside helping the notoriously weak English sun along.

And when they get to the ballroom, Max's painting – the one she got from Jack – hanging above the fireplace, catching the eye even from across the room. It's fucking breathtaking. They're gonna sucker some stupid rich fucks for sure.

#i travel troubled oceans #chapter 17 #black sails #anne bonny/max #charles vane/jack rackham

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girlmeetsliv3 · 5 years ago

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No Time to Die

Trigger Warning: Some heavy stuff and dark things ahead.

It was bittersweet really. Wasn’t love always bittersweet? That’s the way he made it. So sickeningly sweet one moment and so appealingly bitter the next. Perhaps that’s why he was so attractive? It was the chase. The thing we are all taught from a young age – men are wild animals. One must try to tame them. They must be tamed or else they will leave and abandon you. Or perhaps was that just the way you were raised? Hm. Something to think about, no? Does it matter? It doesn’t really change anything at the end of the day. But at the same thing, it could’ve changed a lot. You would like to think that you wouldn’t have fallen for him. That you could’ve resisted it: the beauty, the grace, the way words rolled so smoothly off his tongue. Or are you fooling yourself once again? The way you’ve done so many times before. To be fair, you wouldn’t be the first to fall for his charms. He, after all, was an expert at luring in prey. Seducing them to the dark side. Sweeping them off their feet so fast that they suffered whiplash. It was impossible to resist really. After all, you’ve always been weak for clichés.

Oh, and he was a cliché, wasn’t he? The way he strolled into that bar: dressed all in black with an aura that exuded power – danger. The type you had read, heard, and seen in just about every form of entertainment targeted towards naïve, inexperienced, young women. Of course, you made eye-contact. Of course, he smirked. Of course, he then ignored you and chose to nurse a drink at the bar, that you would later learn he hated. He hated the taste of whiskey, how it burned when it went down, but it was part of the image. Part of the illusion. If he had ordered something else – perhaps the fruity drinks you knew he preferred, would you have fallen for it? The image of him you’d created inside your head. Probably not. It’s okay though, you fit the image inside his. The ideal. Boy, he could probably smell you a mile away: the hard-headed girl with strong opinions, a tough outer shell but such a soft inside. The type that was so willing to bend and mold into whatever anyone wanted. Into anything that guaranteed attention and affection. At an age where a smile or a kind word can be so easily misunderstood. Where one is still under the illusion that “bad things happen, but not to me.”

What was it again? That he said? Ah yes, something about the weather. It was raining and the air outside was so suffocating that you couldn’t stand to be outside for more than a few seconds. But you went, outside didn’t you? He wanted a smoke and asked if you would go with him. You immediately agreed and then tried to play it off, cheeks blushing a bright red due to your awkwardness. “You’re cute.” He said, before leading you towards the front entrance. Remember thinking how you thought that you would be safe if something went wrong because there were people outside? If only you’d known that as long as you were with him, you were never safe. Oh, how you smiled and laughed even as the toxic smoke-filled your lungs. Even when it reminded you of broken bottles, broken promises, and broken families. It didn’t matter, because he was oh so perfect and he would only want you if you were the same. So, you tried to be. You smiled, but not too much. You laughed, but not too much. And you talked, but never more than him. It worked, didn’t it? You exchanged numbers, he promised he called, and he did; two weeks later, but he called.

What was it that he said? “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” It was so stereotypical – fictitious, fabricated, fake – but of course, it was he was feeding you lines after all. Everything that it took to ensnare you in his web. Remember the party? You poured so much time and effort into your outfit and makeup but still went in a pair of ripped jeans and blouse because god forbid it to look like you put effort into your look. He couldn’t know that it was for him. But he did know. Of course, he did. He saw the way your eyes lit up when you saw him sitting on that old leather couch sipping on some shitty craft beer. But he ignored you. All night. Barely even spared a glance your way. Good thing you had brought your friends because you had assumed as much. He may an expert at the game, but you were aware of its rules; enough to last you the first couple of rounds. Hell, didn’t he call you the next morning? Shocked that you hadn’t approached him at the party. Shocked that you hadn’t even texted him when you had arrived. You had won, hadn’t you?

The date was nice though, you can admit that much. You expected some fancy restaurants and maybe a movie. One that was good enough to watch, but not too good that it would absorb all your attention. How was he supposed to kiss you during a scene then? Or do that cringey thing where he asked to hold your hand or leaned into you. He didn’t though, take you to a fancy restaurant that is. He took you to the beach. A moonlight picnic on a private beach. So, the two of you could talk, “without the pretense of small talk or a movie to bother us.” Talk you did, for three hours, the time passed by so quickly. The two of you practically knew everything about each other. He had said that he’d never connected to someone the way he had to you. Oh, how your heart had fluttered, and eyes shined as he stared so deeply into you – too deeply some would say. Remember the joke? Sure, at the time, it seemed funny but now it's not so funny is it? At the time, it seemed like he was playing into a trope, but now that same phrase keeps you up at night.

“I bet we could do just about anything here. Not like anyone could hear or see us.”

“What kind of things are you thinking about, huh? Perv.”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know…they’d probably have you running for the hills.”

“Ooh, scary.”

The images that pop into your head nowadays are scary. Isn’t that why you can’t sleep at night? It wasn’t scary that night though, not with the way the glowed so effortlessly. The full moon capturing his beauty so eerily, you wondered if he was something out of your imagination. He probably would’ve been delighted if you had ever expressed those thoughts. That was his goal after all: to be your knight in shining armor. The one you had waited for all these years. The one that was there to save you. Oh, how you longed to be saved. Who’s going to save you now? You didn’t have to worry about anything with him. He was always there whenever you needed him. Even when it made absolutely no sense for him to be there. Like how he was able to be at your house in under ten minutes when those burglars broke in. Wasn’t he supposed to be out of town with his friends? Or how about that time you and he fought because your mom was hospitalized yet again. It was so sweet when he showed up at the hospital room with a “get well soon” card, balloons, and flowers. So sweet that you forgot the fact that you had never mentioned what room she was staying in, the hospital, or the fact that she was even sick.

He just knows things. Is what you had always said, trying to justify it to yourself. Like how he guessed your astrological sign and then from there your exact birthdate – on the third date. How he knew your favorite sweets and scents; “You just smell sweet. So, I assumed you like sweet things.” Your favorite color? “You seem like a baby blue person.” Your favorite food? “Whoever doesn’t like this has no taste.” Ah, yes. Even that. “My ex was about the same size, so I just guessed.” That one had hurt you a bit. It implied that he had a type, that you weren’t special. He must’ve seen the look on your face for he leaned in real close and mentioned how he couldn’t wait to see it on.

“Just the image in my head has me almost collapsing on my knees.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Funny.”

It was a funny thought: that you would ever get to be in control of that. Oh no, he needed to be in control. He once told you that nothing got him more riled up, then having you submit completely to him. To the point where you placed your life in his hands. Remember when you did that? Just to please him. When you were shaking with fear at the thought of his hands around your neck, but he had asked so nicely that you couldn’t say no. It was only a one-time thing, right? Like the marks? Like the bites? Like the pain? But all of that was better than his words. Then the disappointment in his face when you failed him, yet again.

“Didn’t I say you should call me when you got home?”

“You know how dangerous it is to be out at night.”

“If your boss is that insufferable then just quit already. How many times have I told you I can maintain us both?”

“If your friends are so annoying why do you keep hanging out with them?!”

“I told you it would be cold outside, but no. You wanted to wear that dress.”

It was the dress you’d worn when you first met. Of course, it was special, and you wanted to wear it as much as you could. You did like wearing until “I don’t know it looks kind of suggestive.” You being the fool that you were asked him to elaborate, “Suggestive of what?” He had said so casually as if it was a truth of the matter, “Suggestive of sexual availability.” What? “You look like a slut.” You had locked yourself in your room that night and cried. Not because of what he said, but because of how it made you feel. Mother had always said men didn’t like sluts and here you were dressing like one. You were so foolish. You threw out all your short dresses and skirts in your fit of despair, but you kept the white dress. It was oh so pretty and you couldn’t ponder getting rid of it. So, you tucked it away in a little corner of your dresser, where one would have to actively look for it to find it. It was a hiding spot you had discovered years ago, and it was where you kept all your precious items hidden.

You would come to regret such a decision when he had found it years later. Truth be told you had forgotten about it, but he wasn’t having it all. Even when you explained its significance to you. “So, you want to cling onto your old life, then? The one you had before us?!” It was no use. He would never understand. There were many things he “didn’t understand,” but that was okay because there would be many things you didn’t understand either. Like how he found out about your admission into the university when you hadn’t even told anyone. Or even spoken about it to him. How he always knew where you were. Even though you had triple-checked your phone for a tracking device. You weren’t too sure he hadn’t put one inside you. You still aren’t too sure he didn’t. Which is why going through metal detectors still freaks you out so much. Just another thing to add to the list of ever-growing things that haunt you.

What was it about him? Truly? There had been others. Others just like him, but he was something unique. It was uncanny really; how perfect he was. How perfectly he fit you, almost as if he was made for you. He was Galatea and you were Pygmalion – or was it the other way around? At first, it looked like that, but now you aren’t so sure. You did change. How much was for him and how much was for you, that you don’t know. Perhaps he was so good that every choice was made by him, but just like the puppet on the strings; your choice was an illusion. Doesn’t matter now, does it? All of those years of anguish and pain turn to nothing when he smiles at you. What a beautiful smile it is straight pearly whites framed by cherry red lips, how it crinkled the corner of his brown eyes. You could stare at him forever until the smile left his eyes that is. Then all you’d want to do is run.

Running never helped though, but you couldn’t help it. He never blamed you either, it’s human nature or a fighter you never were. Not until the end. Not until you had to be. It’s funny how a moment could seem so eternal and be over so quickly, in the blink of an eye really. You thought the two of you would last forever, that you would grow old together. The image you had fabricated in your head was so perfect, you should’ve known that you would never be able to reach it. Still, that’s the beauty of dreams. The two of you often shared your dreams: in yours, the two of you would be together in life. In his, you’d be together in death. “Right, baby?” There was only one answer. Even if it was the wrong one. Even if saying the words meant bile crawling up your throat and wanting to gouge your eyes out. “Of course.” It’s a miracle that you lasted as long as you did, but you were his favorite – that’s why you lasted so long. None had been able to reach his standards, able to surpass them. You did that and so much more. Remember how proud he looked when the knife pierced through his flesh and right into his heart? It was the first time he ever looked at you – truly looked at you – and not the image of you he had created in his head. You could almost swear those were tears of joy in his eyes if you didn’t know the pain of being stabbed that is.

“I love you.”

I love you too. I love you so much. Please. Please don’t leave me. Please stay with me. Please forgive me. You remained silent and stoic as you watched the life drain out of him. The smile never did leave his eyes, did it? It’s a shame there was no funeral. You would’ve liked to see him one last time, but you can’t really have a funeral with when the body has been incinerated to the point of not being recognized. It’s what he deserved. That way you were certain he was really gone. That he wouldn’t come back and haunt you. It’s okay though, better to feel this than nothing at all – no? After all what kind of ending could you have expected…you never were one for happy endings.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which as they kiss consume.

#girlmeetsliv3 #no time to die #bts x reader #yandere bts x reader #these violent delights have violent ends #and in their triumph die like fire and water #which as they kiss consume

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segenassefa · 5 years ago

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2: On Consumerism, Fighting Demons, and Societies Inevitable Collapse

Quarantine has been lowkey surreal. My constant complaint of never having enough time to do all the things I want/should be doing has now left me bored in the house, bored in the house, bored with nothing but time to get said things done. However, it is a dual edged sword - with the collapse and subsequent reformation of civil society outside my doors, it leaves me wondering – as well as a lot of other people – in the words of Miss Juicy…what the hell we gone do now?

Nearing the end of the first leg of my university career, I should be thinking about getting ready to transition to the next logical stages of adulthood - saving for an apartment, applying for permanent residency, as well as graduate schools and part time jobs. Yet, I’m worried about if these things will even be a possibility within the next month, six months, or even the next year.

On top of ALL of that, the recent BLM protests and the way that people (read: white people, Latinxs, Black men, homo/transphobes, etc.) have shown their asses the past few months is beyond mortifying - especially regarding the treatment of black women and how our value as individuals as well as a collective to society is really perceived.* This is not to downplay the murder of numerous black men in society, BUT who the fuck is riding for black women aside from other black women? And not just the ones who find attractive, or are racially ambiguous, or the ones you feel as if you get “guilted” into supporting and demanding justice for, I mean each and every black woman. I’m just saying, it gets pretty disheartening to feel like the legwork of the revolution is on the back of one category of people, and that your value to society is measured by the amount of emotional labour you’re ready to do for others, or how fat your ass is (but I digress…).

I feel like most people have used material things as coping mechanisms instead of actually facing their feelings and dealing with the things that bother them. Just think of the number of packages that have arrived on your doorstep the past few months. Breaking the glossy seal of packing tape is similar to therapy, until all the boxes are open, and you start feeling like shit again. And now, more than ever, there’s a lot to be bothered about. Western society has dedicated phrases based on the phenomenon of substituting true self-work with figurative emotional bandages (Phrases like comfort eating and retail therapy come to mind).

It’s nice to think that we – the people entering their adolescent and young adult years – will be the one to change these things, but suddenly it’s 2 am, you have twenty different things in your Amazon cart, (who the fuck needs a metal straw cleaning kit?) and you’re trying to see how far you can stretch and grab your debit card before falling off of the bed.

The conflicting messages pushed by society don’t help all that much either. If you look up “Kondo method” or “decluttering my closet” on YouTube, the numbers of videos that come up is astounding. Pages and pages of sweaty-faced, smiling YouTubers monetizing from this kind of faux “minimalism” only to post haul videos a few days later because “I threw everything out and now I have to rebuild from scratch sksksk!”. Does this not just perpetuate a cycle of buying and throwing and buying? I am....confusion, to say the least. Still I watch them, because I’m a hypocrite, and am also easily amused.

I will be the first to admit I have always had a very unhealthy relationship with money, with self-image, and with measuring my self-worth in proximity with “stuff that stems from a complicated relationship with physical self. Follow along:

Growing up, I was a fat kid. We don’t even have to sugar coat it. Think Terrio, but better eyebrows and more hair. Except I was not killin’ em, just myself. I always envied my friends who were able to go shopping at regular stores – read: Hollister, Abercrombie, Urban Outfitters (yes my friends were white), meanwhile I was condemned to shopping in the women’s department.

So, to compensate, I would buy trinkets – things like nail polish, lip gloss, journals, you get the point. My proximity to worthiness was measured not by the things that I bought, but within the act of buying. Growing up with parents who were also financially frugal also altered my relationship with money and blessed me with crippling buyers’ remorse after every purchase, even on things that are important (read: groceries).

But as a kid, buying “stuff” was fun for me – it gave me some sort of purpose, and the acquisition of things (even if they weren’t the same things my peers had) made me feel like, to some extent, I could compete on the same playing field. As I got older, and I started to have real expenses, I moved towards second-hand shopping. I would religiously find myself at Goodwill on weekend, after school, or with friends. I could literally feel an endorphin rush when I would find something that I would consider a “good deal”, and it made me feel (again) purposeful, to be spending money, even if I didn’t need whatever I was buying.

I should also add that the people in my immediate family does not believe in thrift stores (“Why am I working for you to wear other people’s clothing?”, I remember my dad asking me one day), so the act of second-hand shopping was also my form of rebellion.

I began to amass a collection of clothing that would put Kylie’s closet to shame. I began buying things for events and situations that were yet to happen, for other people, for when I lose ten pounds. It was a madness.

In freshman year of university, I had an unhealthy relationship with clubbing clothes. Did I have the figure for clubbing clothes? Absolutely not. The funnier part is, I couldn’t even go clubbing because I wasn’t 19 at the time. And yet I had drawers and drawers full of the stuff. Not to mention that clubbing clothes is incredibly similar to summer clothing and living between Minnesota and Canada meant that these things were barely seeing the light of day.

The moral of this was – I could never figure out my relationship with stuff, This quarantine has forced me to try and break down the compulsion behind my behaviour. I felt like I was spiralling the six weeks that they closed thrift stores, and I knew myself well enough to not try and online shop with the same kind of frequency as that. But the crazy part was, I didn’t die. I didn’t go into withdrawal (ok, I did a little bit, but whatever), and I was able to take the time to go through the things I already owned and find some hidden gems that were routinely buried in the cracks and crevices of my closet. It was like the episode of Family Guy when Peter realizes he has a vestigial twin – alarming and cool at first, but then it’s just alarming and annoying.

Its more embarrassing to realize that some semblance of myself image is tied to the frequency with which I am able to spend money. I would never say that participating in capitalist society gives me some kind of purpose as a black woman because God forbid. Also, considering that a lot of big names companies are actually racist and fatphobic as hell creates a whole new dimension for analyzing the power of my black dollar, sometimes creating another spiral of guilt leading to you guessed it – more spending.

As much as it seems like it, however, this self-reflection was not in vain. In the past month, I’ve cut down my closet from +200 pieces of clothing and shoes to about 40. If you ever want a fun, humbling activity this quarantine, just clean out your closet and be honest with yourself about how often you wear certain things. It was revolting to see the number of shirts, dresses, pants, skirts that I had bought and convinced myself wholeheartedly I was going to wear, only to pull them out of my closet months later with the tags attached *insert Marge Simpson covering her face meme*.

But at the end of the whole ordeal, it felt really good to look at my space and not feel burden or guilt. It was somewhat philanthropic realizing that not only will these clothes make someone else happier (I donated pretty much everything because it’s not always about money), but that my quality of life was not dramatically impacted in owning (or not owning) certain things. The past few weeks, I’ve spent more money on going out and sharing experiences with friends, but still nowhere near the same amount of money I would have spent buying clothes and other material possession.

Youtuber Kelly Stamps has a video on how minimalism “cured” her depression**, and the whole thesis boils down to the idea that owning less things gives you less to compare yourself too, thus making you happier (in a sense) and allowing you to focus the energy and time that would have been centered around maintaining and building your collection of possessions other things.

This still doesn’t break down the root of the issue, but it’s a start. I think when you have traits or patterns that you’ve participated in for so long, it becomes hard to step back and be objective enough to realize that you – yes, you – are part of the problem. I can blame my habits on a lot of things but at the end of the day, it’s important to realize that certain cycles seem never-ending because I actively choose to participate in these kinds of behaviours (accountability is sexy, huh?). While I’m not ready to face all my demons quite yet, it’s easier to do it with a nice wardrobe and a streamlined sense of mind.

Notes

*When I say black women, I mean ALL black women. Not some limited, cis-gendered, heteronormative view of what a woman is. Over here we ride for all those who identify as women.

**She emphasizes that she doesn’t actually means that it cured anything, but rather helped with her anxiety, and in turn, helped with her depression.

Links

That Family Guy Episode

The Kelly Stamps video

#cms #selfhelp?#consumerism

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telltheworld-phff · 5 years ago

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Chapter 49: Atrévete a soñar

Harry hadn’t anticipated that his girlfriend pregnancy would be hard for him as well. He didn’t want to use this card as he knew that a million thoughts were crossing Carol’s mind, and she might or might not have had the time to go over them and come to terms herself of this big life changing moment of their lives due to her completely packed work schedule... and she was the one growing a tiny human from scratch. It was her body handling all the changes that came with it.

He had made a promise that he’d do everything he possibly could to make everything as comfortable as possible for her. She wouldn’t be in need of anything on his watch; he made sure to keep her refrigerator full of healthy food and lots of snacks that she could pack and take to the office with her – sometimes going to the store himself -, he had asked one of his drivers to be alert to any calls or texts from Carol, as he was now on duty to use Harry’s private car to take her to and from work. She was getting nauseous when using the tube and he promptly suggested this new arrangement – which surprisingly, she had accepted without a fight.

He also made sure he was present on her daily life. Calling every day that they were apart and stopping by her place every other day. Sometimes she’d ask him to stay and sometimes she didn’t. Harry didn’t mind all the work to keep the ball rolling on his duty and job and to take care of his girlfriend and baby, nothing was as hard as to deal with Carol nowadays.

She was picking fights on the silliest stuff and that was driving him completely bonkers. He didn’t seem to win no matter what he tried and that besides being frustrating as fuck, also was tiring and annoying. He had to remember that she wasn’t like this all the time nor she would be after the baby was out, but the Prince was seriously considering that this baby would be their one and only child.

For the time being, he had nothing to do but get used to Carol’s mood swings by each passing day. Every day was a surprise where he didn’t know which Carol he’d get. The sweet one, the teary-eyed one, the bitch one or the wicked witch of the west one. He couldn’t deny that sometimes it was difficult as fuck to keep up with her snappy and bitchy attitude for no reason whatsoever.

The cycle seemed to be: she’d bitch him and then start crying because she didn’t really mean it. Or whenever he did something good for her (God forbid he sent flowers to her office just because!), she’d say that he was way too overbearing and fussy.

“Women get pregnant every day and everywhere in the world without your suffocating habits and they end up just fine without your overwhelming concern and need to keep me under your watch all the time.” she had said once.

Just to start crying right after and say that lots of women also yearned for their partner’s support and most didn’t have it at all during the pregnancy. And that he was just by her side, by choice, taking care of them. Loving and cherishing them, regardless of this being an unplanned pregnancy and that she was a heartless and mean bitch while he had all the best intentions on his heart.

Needless to say the couple were arguing more now than ever and most of the time Harry would take the blame or excuse himself out of the room to take a deep breath and to remember that his Carol wasn’t like this.

It also felt very weird to argue with an overly emotional pregnant lady.

He tried to remember that this was just a very hormonal version of the woman he loved. Also a test to see if what he felt for her would come out stronger after this trying time. It’s easy to love someone when everything is fine, but true love is proved when the wind is blowing hard and you have not choice but hold onto each other to make sure you (and her) are safe.

He knew that she was stressed with her Masters degree, still keeping top grades whilst having a full time job and working a scary amount of hours every week (which he had already asked her to take it a little bit slow) and also travelling with her project.

He did want her to take a break and take it easy. If it was up to him, Carol would spend her days resting and sleeping to her heart’s content – as she always complained about how sleepy and tired she felt – but wouldn’t dare to even think about suggesting about quitting her job. She’d throw a massive fit and say that she would keep earning her own money as she didn’t need or want his thank you very much.

Some days, and those were rare, Harry was lucky enough to get glimpses of his girlfriend – and that’s what helped to take a relieved breath: knowing somewhere deep down that ugly surface was his sweet and loving girlfriend.

She usually would ask for very weird combinations of food – which he’d always go fetch for her; and have an insatiable sex drive — that he’d be more than happy oblige; and apologize non-stop for being a bitch on steroids to him.

He would forgive her – of course, as there wasn’t anything to really forgive her for - and they would get to chat and try to plan their future as her bump would only grow from now on and they needed to strengthen their relationship and become a real team to face, first and foremost, their parents and then the Institution Harry belonged to.

“What do you want to do?” Harry asked in one of the few blissful nights where they hadn’t argued over meaningless things. They were relaxing on his bed, after an afternoon full of amazing sex that left both of them exhausted. He was lying on his back and had his hands leisurely caressing her thighs.

“Obviously I want you around and to keep the baby.” she was eating ice cream straight from the box. “The big question is: what can we do?”

“Well… I don’t even know what our options really are. Everything I think I know is just wishful thinking. We would need to face a meeting with the Firm and its minions to know for sure. I know that my father and grandmother will demand a wedding.” he side-looked at her, half expecting to have a flying spoon over his head.

“I really don’t want to get married on these circumstances.” she replied and he waited for her to finish. “I do want to get married someday but not just because you knocked me up. It’s the 21st century after all.”

“Although I am part of and represent an Institution that is stuck ten centuries behind. But never mind.”

They both laughed at that.

“I will ask permission for you to move in with me. Don’t think gran will oppose much to that as Kate and Will did it. Before you start your feminist rant...” he laughingly cut her speech, knowing that she’d come up with something to refute. “I know that you love your flat and that it is comfortable enough for the two of you and that you can pay all the bills with money to spare but...” he pecked her lips, to distract her – lest she started to yell at him after a perfect day - and stole some of her vanilla ice cream, making sure to avoid the weird toppings she added in there. “It’s not safe. For any of us. And if we would try and make it safe, it’d cost way more than renting a moving truck and a storage unit for your things as obviously we don’t need new furniture here, except for baby things.”

He could actually hear her mind running wild with thoughts and ways to refuse his offer.

“At Kensington we already have the privacy, the security system, bullet-proof windows, armored cars and 24/7 people on call whenever he or she starts screaming in the middle of the night and we need a rest.”

She smacked his shoulder playfully.

“But…” he continued. “If Gran says we can’t stay here, then I would gladly buy us a house. And pay for the security system and features.”

“You’re insane.” she stated.

“Why you say that?” he was confused.

“Buying a house just for this...”

“”This” Carolina” - he pointed his finger between them to emphasize his point - “is my family and I very much intend to be close by even though you seem to not stand to look at me for more than a few seconds these days. You would help me choose somewhere suitable for us, that has everything we need, and then we would move in together and not marry right away as it seems to be your desire.”

“Why do I sense there are other options that you’re hiding from me?”

“Well… The options of what we will be advised to do are endless. If we start playing “what ifs” and imagining scenarios that might be presented to us, we’d be here all night. There are, though, some options that stand out from these possibilities… For example: I might have to renounce my title.”

She had a shocked expression on her face.

“Says that Pa and Gran demand a wedding and we say that we don’t want to marry under pressure. We might be denied the request of you moving in. So then I’d need to move out and with that – no wedding, kicked out – the press will have a field day, change the public’s view on me and as I’d just be the prince who tarnished the name of the family, again mind you…” he laughed and continued. “Thank heavens Will and Kate have already two children to claim the throne and out goes Harry.” he joked.

“I’m sorry.” she said, already drying the tears after what he said.

He talked about it as if it was a joke but being part of royalty were what made Harry who he was. Give up on it because of her wishes was a very hard thing to do. She considered in that moment if she shouldn’t let go of her stubbornness and just get married so he’d get to keep everything that was rightfully his.

“In that scenario our child wouldn’t have a place in the succession line. We would have more freedom. This part is what I like the most of this option.”

“What do you want to do?” she asked him sincerely.

“Honestly I’d like to marry you. Pressure or not, if you were up to it we would go to the town hall tomorrow.” he waited until the shocked expression on her face faded. “We could live somewhere else than Kensington – don’t care much for that part. I don’t want our children to have titles. it’s a fucking burden to bear, but he or she will be upgraded to prince or princess whenever father is King anyway.”

“Do you think our marriage would work? I personally don’t think I’d be able to face a divorce. I want all of ‘until death us do part’.” she finished the ice cream and left the empty box on Harry’s bedside table and turned to look at him.

“Of course it would…” she looked at him pointedly and asked him to think with his mind and not heart. “Ok… thank you for the reality check. I think that we are very good to and for each other. Relationship is something you build and take care of each day. As long as we’re both committed to our success, I do believe we could go forever. We’re both children from divorced parents and I think we agree that we wouldn’t want that for our children. But also we wouldn’t want an unhealthy environment for them to grow up at, just like we did. So if it came to a point where our relationship became toxic, we would need to separate our ways.”

“That’s a more sensible response Mr. Wales.” she pecked his lips again.

“I don’t think it’s healthy for us to keep guessing what might happen. It’s way too many options. It’ll drive us crazy... I would rather think and chose something that is actually given to us to think about.”

“Do you think you can have an appointment with The Queen after my 12th week milestone?” she was biting her lips as a nervous trait.

“I shall see to it.” he answered.

“Then we will be presented with options and decide what’s best for our family.”

“Ok...” he helped her to lie down. She was wearing one of his pajamas shirts and her ten-week bump showing. He caressed it and then placed a soft kiss on it.

“I do want to tell my mom first. Can we?”

“We can do whatever you want, darling.”

“So after we pass that milestone, I will call her and then we will sit with The Queen to discuss.”

“In the meantime I will do my best to keep you hidden.” he said.

“Which won’t work as we have Tommy’s Christening to attend.” she laughed.

“And are you OK with that?” he was still caressing her bump. “I know that you want to go, but don’t you think it’d be better if you stayed home? Or maybe just attended the reception afterwards? There’s a great chance of being spotted. Are you ready for it? Your life as you know it will be forever changed… and for that I am deeply sorry.”

“Well… I don’t want to miss it and sooner or later I will be spotted. We won’t arrive together or sit together during the service. But I do think the press will put 1+1 together and link me to all other photos… As I will be the only unknown person there. And I know what I’ve signed up for upon agreeing to be your girlfriend and carrying your child. No one will ever be ready for that. And I will need to rely on you a lot.” she sighed.

(…)

Carol had asked Hailey to design something for as she had no idea what to wear on a Christening. She had been flattered when Lara had sent an invitation that said “Honorary godmother” for her, she truly wasn’t expecting an invitation to such an intimate and formal event.

She was at her sister’s studio – which was a spare room at her house – surrounded by lots of fabrics, sketches, pictures and at least three sewing machines. This was the last fitting of the pink dress Hailey had said would work for a morning event.

“You really should stop eating junk food Carolina.” Hailey said when noticed that the dress wasn’t closing as smoothly as it was three weeks before. “You’re getting chubby.”

Concentrating on not laughing or spilling the beans, she simply nodded.

“Thank goodness the Christening is in two days or I’d have to loosen up this dress, again.” Hailey said clearly irritated. “Never show up on time on fitting days and when you do show up, you’ve gained weight. Good Lord.” she mumbled to herself and when finished, she let Carol look at herself in the mirror.

She was in awe. Even barefoot, without her hair done and make up-free she was feeling pretty. Which was a first ever since she learned she was carrying her bundle of joy. The dress had 7/8 sleeves, the front had a draped finish and the skirt that ended just above her knees was made of feathers in the same colour.

“It’s amazing, Hailey. Thank you” Carol said turning around to see. “I think I want you designing my whole wardrobe.”

“Let’s not get carried away, shall we?” Hailey joked. “Now you just need shoes and accessories. Please don’t ruin my creation.”

“I might stop by at Harrod’s later and see if I can find anything.”

“Maybe go with a big hat to cover your face?” her sister offered knowing that Carol would have her life turned upside down any moment now.

“That’s exactly what I am going for.”

(…)

Carol had asked for a day off on Friday before the christening and packed everything she was going to need for the weekend affair. All godparents (Harry, Skippy’s sister Victoria, Lara’s brother Henry, Eugenie and Jake Warren) were to check in at the luxurious Luton Hoo Hotel for a welcome luncheon and to rehearse (Carol didn’t understand why a Christening would need a rehearsal but didn’t comment on it). Then the other guests would arrive on Saturday at noon for the Service and then attend a brunch afterwards. The godparents were expected to stay at the hotel and enjoy it’s spa, checking out only on Sunday evening after a thank you dinner.

Carol had to pack way too many outfits and right now she was fitting well into only half of her clothes because of her bump. She was accompanying Harry for the three day stay as per Lara’s request. The brunette had bought a small golden bracelet with Tommy’s name engraved as a gift and hoped his parents would like it.

Harry asked Bill to carry Carol’s luggage to the waiting car while he kissed his girlfriend and – when he checked they were truly alone - her bump.

“You both ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes! I need to see that little red headed cherub!” she said happily.

They went to the car, both sitting on the back seats, buckling up and talking animatedly about the party and Harry explaining what was expected of her. This was Carol’s first formal encounter with people he had known his whole life. Most of them were daughters and sons of his parents’ friends and they all have been a tight knit group ever since they were born.

Skippy and Lara had opted for a small gathering of closest family members and a few selected friends – Carol was so relieved about it, she didn’t think she’d be able to face a big gathering right now. Thankfully she knew some of the guests that would likely attend as she didn’t want to be left alone while Harry was on godfather duty.

“So Eugenie is coming?” she asked.

“Yes… She’s also a godmother, remember?” he replied.

“Oh thank God. I think I only know her and Jack and Jake and Zoe. Are you sure Arthur and Alessandra are not attending?”

“Yes. Alessandra had to do something in California and Arthur went with her.” he traced the worry lines on her forehead. “Don’t stress too much, Carol. I will be by your side most of the time.”

“I know… it’s just…” she started and he waited. “Nevermind.”

“What is it darling?” Harry said holding her hand.

“I can’t help but feel inadequate to attend such an event.”

“It’s the Christening of your friends’ kid. How on earth can you be inadequate?” he was confused.

“Said friends are aristocrats, barons and baronesses... Close enough to the monarchy… and I’m… I’m just… me.” she said, not looking at him.

“Carol, trust me. Your accomplishments are way greater than what any of us will ever have. You fought your way through life to get to where you are now. We all just had it all handed to us on silver spoons, quite literally. If not actually handed, doors were opened because of connections and surnames.” he kissed her temple. “Also, if anyone think any less of you, it’s their loss. You did point out a few days ago that we’re on the 21st century after all.”

“Hopefully I won’t embarrass you. I don’t know a single thing about etiquette.” she said, biting her lower lip.

“I’ve done my share of embarrassment enough. Nothing you do will ever beat my Vegas trip. Don’t worry. If anyone treats you badly, let me know. Or just go find a familiar face to chat, Ok?”

“Ok. Thank you.”

“You’ve got it. Just keep your charming self and you’ll be fine.” he added kissing her knuckles.

She admired the change in the scenery as they left busy central London to the countryside on their way to Luton. Carol was still feeling uneasy, but decided to have some water to try and calm her stomach. Being driven on the “wrong” side of the road still scared her and she was trying to believe in what Harry had said and not what her mind was shouting at her.

The hotel was a newly renewed manor and it’s perfect tended lawn and lakes were quite imposing. Harry offered his hand to help her out of the car and they went to the lobby to check-in. He usually asked Bill to do it, but wanted to give some sense of normalcy to his girlfriend, so decided to do it himself. He obviously understood that Carol knew who he was and knew that he had some privileges and hadn’t to bother with some tasks as everything he could possible need would’ve been taken care of in a matter of seconds.

He also didn’t want to scare her away – or let her think that he was incapable of doing things for himself. He wanted to tone it down a bit, and let her see that they could mix her humble upbringing with his luxurious and privileged one. He was set to make an effort and be more hands-on on tasks that the rest of the world did on a daily basis.

“The rest of the world don’t go to a 5 start hotel for the weekend.” he thought to himself, shaking his head, while signing the paper the receptionist gave to him.

She couldn’t help but notice the clear shift on the staff behaviour when they spotted Harry. They all bowed or curtsied to him, all of them curious – but obviously not asking – as to who she was. Harry intertwined their fingers while he spoke to the attendant at the lobby, to reassure her. Bill and the other bodyguards appearing just seconds later with their luggage and attentively looking around the seemingly empty lobby.

Apparently they had a paparazzi free travel and he was thankful for that. Harry had booked the mansion state suite for them, which was bigger than her whole apartment. Their California king bed was so inviting and she wanted to take a nap so badly but knew that she couldn’t. As she was travelling comfortable – another reason to have been looked upon by the staff -, she knew that she’d have to change for the luncheon.

Soon, some of the hotel staff was unpacking their luggage and organizing everything in the walk in closet in full speed. She didn’t even have the time to ask them to leave it – as fast as they came, they were gone.

Harry was on his phone and she didn’t want to listen to his conversation, opting to go to the bathroom for a quick shower to help her to stay awake. It might have been the car movement that had her so sleepy. The bath robe available was so soft and slightly warmed that it almost made the somewhat “wake up” cold shower ineffective. She styled her hair in a sleek ponytail and opted to wear one of the dresses that concealed her growing belly. She applied make up – making it simple – and went to the bedroom to fetch both Tommy’s gift and her heels.

“You look amazing darling.” Harry said when he spotted her yawning. “Tired, huh?”

“So much...” she whispered.

“I will try to find an excuse for you, and then you both can rest a bit.” He said, kissing her neck while resting his hands on her belly.

“Good luck with that.” she laughed.

He helped her with her shoes and changed clothes as fast as he could to go to one of the banquet halls where the invitation said the luncheon would be held. He had one hand on Carol’s lower back, protectively and also to guide her through the doors. He could hear the footsteps of his bodyguards behind them and made a mental note to ask Bill to increase the distance between them a little bit. This was going to be a stressful event for Carol and he didn’t want her feeling suffocated.

Their heard Tommy crying before they arrived at the hall. Exchanging a concerned look, they hushed to the Victorian styled room. Lara was holding her cherub, pacing the room, making soothing noises while Skippy was searching for something inside the diaper bag until he retrieved a pacifier. Carol went directly to Lara.

“Carol! I’m glad you came.” Lara said, side hugging her friend while rocking the little boy and looking for her husband. “I’m sorry. He’s fussy today.”

“Is he okay?” Harry asked concerned.

“Don’t mention it! Hi Tommy.” Carol said in a sing-song voice, caressing his red locks. “Auntie Carol is here.”

“He’s fine mate. Have just woken up.” Skippy replied when arriving with the pacifier, giving it to his son who stopped crying immediately. He greeted his best friend and Carol, asking them to make themselves comfortable while they waited for some people to arrive to start serving the food.

“Carol” Lara asked after a few pleasantries were exchanged. “Do you mind coming with me?”

“Sure.” Carol handed her clutch to Harry to hold, grabbed Tommy’s diaper bag and followed Lara to the nearest bathroom that smelled like lavender which immediately made her head hurt and her stomach to turn, even before pregnancy she hated the scent to lavender.

Thankfully she hadn’t eaten much until now. The room was large – like everything in this hotel it seemed -, with marble sinks and stalls, gold details, everything screaming “tastefully luxurious”, it also had two deep burgundy upholstered chairs

“It’s my turn to change this little man’s nappy and I think he’s getting hungry.” Lara said happily undoing his onesie buttons, while Carol handed her the wipes and a clean nappy. “I’m glad you came. We won’t have much time to catch up this weekend, though. But we should go out sometime. Maybe lunch?”

“We’ve been busy, haven’t we?” Tommy smiled melting both women’s hearts. “I wish I was busy with this little man… Office work is so boring.”

Carol disposed of the used diaper and arranged everything back into the bag while Lara sat on one of upholstered chairs and got ready to feed her baby, Carol sat across from her friend. She watched at how lovingly she talked to and looked at her son and how happy the infant latched on.

She noticed in that moment that she wanted that so badly. Her love for her child was already one of the strongest feeling she ever felt. She knew that her baby was her reason to believe in a better tomorrow and to fight for it. She knew she’d move heavens and earth to make this child protected. Her mama bear instinct kicked right in at full force.

Her hand unconsciously went to her bump caressing it. She wanted to be a mum and in that moment she finally figured out that she was going to be a mother in a few months’ time. She wanted to feel the first kicks, she wanted to hold her baby close to her and get to know everything about her little bundle of joy: his or her preferences, mannerisms, personality, dreams...

“Why are you crying?” Lara asked after she looked up at her friend and saw the brunette with tears on her eyes.

“It’s nothing...” Carol said drying her tears.

“Carol… Is anything the matter?” Lara was preoccupied.

Carol got up to fetch a tissue and dry her tears. She took a deep breath and smiled at Lara.

“I’m pregnant.” Carol blurted.

“Beg your pardon?” Lara looked at her with a shocked expression on her face.

“I’m pregnant.” Carol repeated slowly this time.

“What is it with us and bathrooms when it comes announcing pregnancies?” Lara laughed. “How far along? You weren’t planning to tell me, were you?”

“I’m ten weeks along, we found out a couple of weeks ago. And no, no one was supposed to know before the twelve week mark… but seeing you with him, I just realized that I want this so badly and these damn hormones made my mouth talk faster than my brain could think.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is well kept. I’d hug you but master here is hungry.” they smiled and Carol sat down again. “How are you feeling?”

“I didn’t have many symptoms before I found out, but then, I became tired, breasts sore, sleepy and snappy.” they laughed and Lara commented it was very normal.

“And how’s Harry?”

“Over the moon. I think he wants to spread the word like wildfire… He’s wanted this for so long.” Carol smiled caressing her bump. “But he’s into an overprotective mode that is annoying.”

“Expected. He will be like this for the rest of your lives… Stop fighting it and get used to it, Carol. After everything that has happened to his family, it’s quite obvious that he won’t let anything of the sort happen again.” Lara said. “I’m glad for you. They will be close in age!”

“Thank you for not pointing out the out of wedlock implicit in this news.” Carol said when Tommy unlatched and smiled at his mum.

“Well… you’re welcome? What are you guys going to do about it?” she gave the baby to Carol, together with a burp cloth while she clasped her nursing bra and adjusted the dress again. Carol was gently burping the baby.

“We will know for sure in two weeks. I’m trying not to think about it just yet.” she sighed.

“Do try to enjoy the peace while it lasts. We are definitely scheduling a lunch date after you have “The talk” and I will be all ears for you.” she kissed her friend’s temple.

After the baby was properly burped, the ladies made their way back to the hall where Harry had a glass of scotch on one hand, talking to Jake, Skippy and Jack, probably about football. Carol and Lara took their turns to greet the new comers, with Zoe and Eugenie cooing over the baby on Carol’s arms. Harry’s eye twinkled admiring his girlfriend thinking that soon, it’d be their baby on her arms.

Carol stood beside Harry, playing with Tommy only half listening to what people were saying around her.

“I see that Tommy’s stolen my girl.” Harry joked, caressing Carol’s lower back.

“I think it’s the ginger hair.” Eugenie joked.

“Of course it’s the ginger hair – and the cute face. It’s nice to look at one for a change.” Carol joked.

“Ok, gotta keep you too separated. You girls teaming up will be the death of me.” Harry joked.

Reluctantly Carol gave Tommy to his father while Harry introduced her to the people he knew. Basically everyone in the room was a Lord/Lady or Baron and she felt a little intimidated but didn’t let it show. Carol first met Skippy’s parents and his stepmother, she knew his father was one of Prince Charles’ best friend – and he was studying her. Clearly his friend would know that his younger son had a new girlfriend by this evening. She was polite but let Harry do the small talk. Then it was Lara’s side of the family, she was introduced to her father and brother. Skippy’s sister was the easiest to get along with… she shared the same sense of humor as her brother’s.

Carol was relieved when she found her assigned place at one of the round tables spread against the hall. It had a round floral vase in the centre, cutlery (lots of it) were made of silver and the glasses were crystal. Harry was sitting at her left and Jack at her right, followed by Eugenie, Jake and Zoe. Knowing everyone made things easier for her and Eugenie kindly asked her boyfriend to exchange places so she could sit by Carol’s side. Both of them engaged on a conversation during the first course. Eugenie was discreetly pointing to the right cutlery without anyone noticing and Carol gave her a polite smile as a thank you.

“Don’t need to be nervous, Carol.” Eugenie said at some point. “You’ll get used to it. And thankfully the only members of the Royal family here will be Harry and I. You’ll do just fine.”

(…)

Carol excused herself from the rehearsal. She wouldn’t play an important part during the ceremony anyway and she wanted a nap. Lara, now being even more empathetic with her friend, didn’t fuss about it and Carol went to their luxurious suite and straight to the bed, not even bothering in changing clothes or removing her make up.

She woke up later with feather-like kisses on her face and slowly opened her eyes to a very handsome Harry.

“Hi.” he said smiling to her.

“Hi” she answered back.

“I’ve missed you” he said nuzzling his nose on her neck, giving her the now familiar goosebumps.

“It’s been only a couple of hours.” she caressed his beard.

“It looks like an eternity for me.” he was laying on the bed beside her. “Did you get the rest that you need?”

“I did, yes.” she yawned and stretched. “Fully charged now.”

They shared a laugh and Carol positioned her head on his chest and one of her legs between his. He instantly held her, playing with her hair.

“I’ve asked Lara for you to enter through the back door tomorrow. I think I’m not ready to share you with the world just yet.”

“Thank you.” she whispered.

“My heart almost skipped a beat when I saw you with Tommy today.” he said and she could hear the smile on his voice. “My girl with a ginger baby on her arms… If you weren’t pregnant already you’d be getting tonight.”

They both laughed hard at that.

“Don’t be so cocky.”

“It’s just… you know that you’re giving me something I’ve wanted for a long time. Don’t you?” he said after a while. “A family of my own to protect, to take care of and provide for. A child to teach lots of things – someone to be a better version of myself. Thank you, Carol. I know this is hard for you. But I promise to be there every step of the way.”

She was crying after he finished his speech and he knew it. He didn’t mention or made fun of her because of that, but he only held her tighter and kissed her temple.

(…)

Carol woke up early on Saturday morning. It took her a while to untangle herself from Harry’s arms but she managed it. Putting on the robe to cover her now naked body, she went to the living room space of their suite and asked for breakfast to be delivered for them. She took a quick shower and started setting up her make up and hairdresser station on the bathroom vanity when Harry woke up and went to her, hugging her from behind.

“Morning.” he said trying to open her robe and receiving a playful slap afterwards.

“Morning!” she replied.

“Do you have time for a quickie before you start making yourself even more beautiful?” he asked seductively.

“Now now Mr. Wales… we did have four very “longies” last night. You can’t possibly be still horny.” she said looking at him through the mirror.

“Well… your bigger breasts make me hard. I can’t help it.” he said circling her nipples with his thumb.

“If we start, we are going to be late. So, your Royal Horniness, keep yourself together and we shall deal with it afterwards.” she fastened the robe belt again while he pouted and sat on the counter.

“Why do you need all of this?” he asked pointing to all of the make up she brought, changing the subject and concentrating hard on other things so he’d get rid of the boner he was sporting at the moment.

“It’s not even enough and I want to look nice today.”

“You look nice every day.” he said while watching her washing her face and applying some lotions.

“Thank you.” she said looking at him and pecking his lips.

She started to apply her make up and he didn’t even wanted to ask what all of those things would do, deciding to take a shower before breakfast. She finished faster than he thought, given the amount of things she applied and they enjoyed the perfectly cooked breakfast before changing clothes.

Harry wanted a picture of Carol wearing that pink dress and noticed that if she placed her hand on her belly, they could see her small bump that seemed to grow by the second. He smiled when mentioned it to her and she said that she would likely have a very big bump.

“You will be a very sexy momma.” he commented while holding her clutch and the present that they had forgotten to give on the day before and went to their friend’s suite.

Skippy opened the door to their suite and informed Carol that Lara was in the bedroom nursing. He and Harry stayed on the living room while Carol went on the search of the baby.

“Morning sunshine.” Lara said when Carol opened the door.

“Good morning!”

Tommy looked around and smiled at Carol before turning and latching once again.

“As soon as he finishes, can you dress him for me, please?” Lara asked and Carol agreed.

“We forgot to give you his present yesterday” Carol gave the small package to her friend. “I hope you like it.”

Lara opened it and thanked her friend for the bracelet. It was very delicate and simple, one that she’d buy herself for her son if she had thought of that and clearly a very well thought present for him.

“I loved it, Carol. Thank you so much.”

After the baby was well fed and burped, Carol dressed him carefully and combed his hair to the side. She then fastened the bracelet on his arms and left Lara alone so she could finish getting ready for them to leave. Upon entering the living room again, with Tommy smiling and happy, Harry’s heart filled with emotion.

“You’re going to kill me.” he whispered to her.

“Why?”

“You with him on your arms, you being so lovely to him and carrying our baby… I can’t wait until it’s our turn.”

(…)

Harry and Carol rode together with Eugenie and Jack to the St. Albans Cathedral. The car stopped first at the back entrance where Carol jumped off and quickly entered the church, finding her assigned place. And then stopped at the front of the church and sure enough, lots of photographers were waiting for them there. Harry and Eugenie waved and entered the church, waiting for Skippy and Lara to arrive. Harry was shifting his weight and looking where Carol was sitting still alone.

“Calm down, Harry. She’s just fine.” Eugenie mentioned.

“I don’t think having her here is a good idea.” He replied.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think she’s ready for what’s to come from the media once they realize who she is.” he sighed.

“It’s not going to be easy, we know that. But you love her and she loves you… and I think she’s a very strong woman. With our support she’ll do just fine.” Eugenie side hugged her cousin.

“Thank you for “our support” part. It means a lot.”

“I really like her…”

“So do I…. Jack, would you mind?” Harry asked.

“Right on it...” he pecked Eugenie’s lips and went to sit beside Carol. It was pretty obvious how she had relaxed after seeing a friendly face and they both started chatting right away.

(…)

The Service was very right to the point but beautiful and moving.

Lara had asked someone to decorate the church with lots of flower arrangements in a mixture of white Casablanca lilies, tulips and Lily of the valley. Tommy was as happy as he could be, trying the eat the program on his mum’s hand and smiling, up until the water touched his head but his daddy soon made him stop crying and cheery again.

Carol was paying attention and making sure she held the best posture as possible, as she knew that some of these people had Prince Charles on speed dial and she wanted to make a good impression.

Even though when you meet him you’re going to announce you’re pregnant… Not the greatest first impression will come out of that.

She shook her head to clear off these thoughts and smiled at her friends when Skippy waved at her from the altar. She was really fighting the urge of placing her hands on her bump and making a mental note of asking Harry how christenings were done in his family. She knew what they shared with the press, but didn’t know how the ceremony was held.

Lara requested everyone present to take a group picture, together with the priest before they left the church. Although Harry had tried to have her beside him, Carol ended up beside Jack on the far right of where he was. After the pictures were taken, Bill appeared signalling it was time to go and Carol left through the back entrance going straight to the waiting car.

At moment, as they had rehearsed, Harry and Eugenie left the church through the front door together with the other attendants and stopped to take a few pictures with his godson as Lara wanted.

Everyone else started to get into their cars to head to the reception whilst Harry, Eugenie and Jack conveniently stayed behind to stop and wave to the press – just to make sure that Carol’s car would be long gone without anyone following.

Jack was the one driving this car and he could see that the Prince was nervous and he could relate to that… He was the one arriving at the family and even then it was very difficult. As soon as they entered the Hotel’s grounds – out of sight of the paps that began following them - Harry got out of the car before it even fully stopped moving and bolted straight through the corridors until he found the reception room. Carol was there, sipping on some water and he immediately hugged her.

“Are you alright, darling?” he was carefully checking her to make sure she wasn’t going to hide anything.

“Yes, just fine… I think I’m still undercover.” she said. “Bill is a great security man, Harry. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t like the idea of you getting discovered while pregnant...” he confessed.

“I know. I don’t either.” she chastely pecked his lips. “Let’s just not think about it, ok? Everything went fine and the other guests are arriving and you have more pictures to pose for.”

Harry went on godfather mode, still making sure Carol was within his eyesight.

The photographer Lara hired was good, getting all the “must have’ shots as quickly as possible and Harry wanted to have one of him, Carol and Tommy. When he saw the picture on the camera’s display, he knew that it was going straight to the mantle of his fireplace.

________________________________________________

A/N: I hope all of you are keeping safe and sane on this quarantine mode.

Thank you for your continued support! I love to read all of the messages you send me and hopefully you’ll enjoy this quit long chapter.

Xoxo

#Prince Harry #Prince Henry of Wales #Duke of Sussex #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Royal Fanfiction #BRF #PHFF #Prince Harry Fanfiction #When you tell the world you're mine #chapter: 49 #royalfanficcollection #royalfanficcentral #British Royal Family

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thechaoscryptid · 5 years ago

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For @mrssakurahatake ❤️❤️ I took a little liberty with this one, and it got a bit longer than expected lol

"Your car slid into a snowbank and I'm the mechanic that comes to tow you"

“Fuck.” Shizune’s heart races as she hits the steering wheel once, twice, three times in anger. “God damn it!”

She knew better than to start a trip during a snowstorm, but no matter how many times her boss had assured her that it was fine if she wanted to be on the safe side, her conscience won out and now here she is, in a ditch because other drivers can’t be trusted--

There’s no blood anywhere, no injuries other than a bruised chest and sense of pride. Well, perhaps a bit of whiplash, but that’s another problem for later. For now, she’s already getting cold and has barrelled so far into the ditch she doubts there’s any chance of getting herself out.

“Dammit,” she says again for good measure, so the blanket of snow knows very well it’s displeased her. “I’ve got to--”

She should calm down, before anything else. It won’t do to be hysterical on the phone for a tow or god forbid Tsunade, who’s sure to give her an ass-chewing anyway after she’s done worrying.

“So close, too,” she groans, letting her head tip back against the seat as she fumbles around the passenger side for her phone. There’s a desperation in the way she hopes she’s still in service range as she digs out the device, only to find it’s in vain.

Nothing.

Still, busy enough road, she reasons, struggling to keep the panic in her throat from rising. Someone’ll be along.

She takes another minute to get her feet under herself before struggling out the door, stumbling toward where headlights whiz by on the snowy road. It’s not their fault exactly, she knows--it’s not like any of them are the idiot who ran her off he road--but she grumbles anyway as she sticks a hand out and waves wildly in the hope that someone who’s not a psychopath will take pity on her.

Snow and ice crunch beneath her shoes as she paces, hood up and attempting to keep herself from being pummeled by the wind whipping across the asphalt. Cars come and go, trucks race past, and as the minutes wear on, she becomes progressively more sure she’s not going to find someone before she goes mad or freezes.

It’s cold, and every whistle of the wind reminds her exactly how stupid it was to start out in the middle of a snowy night.

Eventually, she begins to walk in earnest towards the nearest town. It’s a way away, but she figures if she can keep a brisk pace she’ll make it there by morning. Keeping moving is key, right? She hopes so--it keeps blood circulating, at least, can’t be too bad.

She continues to grumble as she walks, because it’s the holidays. Busy, yes, but where’s the generosity? Where’s the kindness?

“Nowhere near here, that’s for sure,” she growls. Her fingers and toes ache with the cold, but she soldiers on for god knows how long until finally, finally, a beat-up pickup truck pulls to the side and puts its hazards on. Breath clouds in front of her as she shuffles from foot to foot, watching warily as a man gets out and walks toward her with his hands up.

“You lost?” he drawls. “Sort of a shit night to be out and wandering.”

“My car’s ditched,” she says. “And I was tired of waiting for someone to take pity on me and pick me up, so I decided to walk back to town. Is that all right with you?”

“Hey, hey,” he says, and when he’s come close enough to stand in front of her, she realizes he’s got a scarf draped over his shoulder. “Yeah, you picked the wrong town to wreck at.” He rubs at the back of his neck with a hand before realizing he’s got the scarf and shoving it at her unceremoniously. “You look like you’re freezing.”

Shizune’s teeth chatter as she winds the fabric around herself, warmth settling into her cheeks as she sighs in relief. “And your truck looks nice and warm.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, of course.” The man gestures to the cab and Shizune’s on the offer in a heartbeat, climbing up and setting the heater to full blast. When he gets in after her, he sticks a gloved hand out. “I’m Genma, by the way. Any clue where your car is?”

“D-d-down tha-that way,” Shizune says, pointing shakily. “I would’ve called someone, but--”

“Service sucks around here?” Genma finishes for her.

Shizune nods.

“Figured as much.” Genma puts the truck into drive and pulls out onto the road, scanning ahead through the drifting flakes. “I usually try and make a round during every storm because everyone else around here is usually more concerned with where they’re going to help.”

“Such a gentleman,” Shizune mutters.

“Better than leaving you walking, isn’t it?”

Shizune sighs then, letting some of the tension bleed out of her shoulders. He’s right, of course. She would’ve been screwed without him. “Are you going to pull me out, too, I suppose?”

She doesn’t expect him to say yes, not without seeing the accident yet. When she tells him it might be too much, he shrugs. “I can call one of the guys back at work and have them come out with the big truck. Not like they’re doing anything but playing cards anyway.”

“Not even helping out other damsels in distress?”

Genma chuckles. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, pulling to the side when she points out her car. “But at least I have the right cell network for out here. Do I get to know the damsel’s name?”

Shizune gives it, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything more before he hops out, walking down to examine where her vehicle is well and truly stuck. It’s a miracle she didn’t hit any of the trees, she thinks now as his headlights illuminate the roadside.

He echoes this sentiment when he comes back, rubbing his hands to warm them. “Sure you’re not hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed in concern. “We should get you checked out, just in case. That looks like it could’ve been pretty nasty.”

“Are you offering to check me out?” Shizune asks dryly.

“Yeah. I mean no! No, not like--” Genma’s eyes widen, head shaking as he makes the absolutely not gesture, and Shizune can’t help the giggle that bursts out of her at the sheer absurdity of the night. “I swear, PG thoughts only.”

“Oh?” Shizune arches a brow.

Genma tries a smile. “I mean, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t see you’re clearly stunning, but I didn’t come out to pick up women tonight. Well, didn’t come to pick up pick up women.”

“Just save them from certain death, right?”

“See, you get it,” Genma says. He pats her shoulder before pulling out his phone and dialing, tapping his fingers on his thigh until the other end picks up. “Hey, Raidou, it’s me. I’m here with someone who went in the ditch. Have a spare truck?”

Shizune can’t hear what Raidou tells him, but by the way Genma’s mouth sets in a line, it can’t be great.

“All right, thanks. Be there in twenty.” He ends the call and leans back against the seat with a sigh before tipping his head to look at her. “You cool with going back to the shop? Apparently we’re short-handed, but I can come back and get the car. It’s somewhere warm, at least.”

“I--” Shizune wants to protest, but then logic catches up and she realizes that really, that’s her only option for now. She nods again. “That’d be great,” she says.

“Excellent. Now, if I get you coffee, are you going to drink it? Or are you a hot chocolate person?”

“Tea, actually,” Shizune says, though she’d probably take anything warm tonight.

Genma’s nose wrinkles. “One of those people, I see,” he says, though his voice is light and teasing as they pull back onto the road. When he looks over, he’s got a smile on his face as he taps her thigh. “I’m one of those people too, actually. I think I’ve got some stashed away at the shop.”

“Such a gentleman,” Shizune says. She sinks down in the seat as they drive, watching the snow fly by the windows before trees transition to houses, and then to businesses before Genma pulls into a small parking lot. Everything’s mostly thawed by this point, but she rushes to the door just the same, Genma following close behind.

A redhead looks up from his perch behind the desk. “Evening.”

“Rai, this is Shizune. Shizune, Raidou,” Genma says, gesturing between them. “He’ll be taking care of you while I rescue your vehicle. Where’d you stash my tea?”

“Cabinet,” Raidou says, thumbing toward the opposite wall. “Aoba was going to toss it, so you’re welcome.”

“Tell him I’m putting that trash coffee he drinks in the garbage where it deserves to be,” Genma murmurs. He points to the chairs by the window and Shizune sits, pulling out her phone and delightedly realizing there’s service here. It’s only one bar, but it’s service.

“You don’t mind if I call my boss, do you?” she asks, watching him rip open the bag.

He shakes his head. “Of course not. You can use our phone if you want. Probably should’ve offered that first.”

“Thank you,” Shizune says. “Seriously. For everything. Though, you wouldn’t happen to know of anywhere to stay the night, would you? I, uh, probably shouldn’t drive after that, at least not until it’s light out.”

“I mean, you’re more than welcome to stay here,” Genma says. “There’s a cot in the office, as well as blankets, and it’s free. And you get to wake up to this.” He gestures down the length of his body. “But I imagine the snowsuit will make it a little less appealing.”

Shizune smirks, then rolls her eyes. “Doubtful,” she says. “I’m sure you’re not so bad.”

“Hear that, Rai? I’m not so bad.” Genma grins wide and leans on the desk with an elbow, pointing at the other man. “Not. So. Bad.”

“She didn’t say you were good either,” Raidou says.

“You wound me.”

“My job to keep you humble,” Raidou says, flipping a page in his book. “How am I doing?”

“Just fine,” Shizune says, walking to rest beside Genma as she glances over. “I’ll stay, if it’s all right, Raidou.” The adrenaline and anxiety is fading and suddenly she’s exhausted, nearly swaying on her feet when she presses off of the counter. “Point me in the right direction, Genma? Or, wait, I should probably pay you fir--”

“We’ll worry about it in the morning,” Genma assures. “For now, it’s your job to rest and let us--well, me--take care of you, all right? Save the ‘what do I owe you’ for later. Just lay down and sleep, come back with a clear head. I promise things will be easier come sunrise.”

#sheep scribbles #mrssakurahatake #genma shiranui #shizune

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ultsoobins · 6 years ago

Text

Lovely - CYJ

part one of my “playlist of the apocalypse” series

requested:

notes:

(please don’t let this flop) this is just part 1! yes it’s kind of angsty but it won’t always be. mentions of murder, drinking. definitely swearing involved. reader and yeonjun live and lose in a post governmental overthrow, i think this is about 2.4k words, it’s basically an introduction!

summary:

yeonjun finds hope and despair in equal portions in an abandoned ticketing booth

track 1 : lovely - billie eilish, khalid

it’s been years since The Rebuilding began, and yeonjun hasn’t had a moment of reprieve since.

every breath he takes is through lungs charred with smoke, by circumstance or by choice, it’s no matter to him anymore. every step he takes is one step closer to or one step farther from his damnation, and the fact that he doesn’t know soothes him in a way that isn’t tangible to anyone else. scars litter the backs of his hands, knuckles bruised from punching walls and punching people alike.

when he sleeps he remembers the agonized screams of his family. he sees with more clarity than he had even in the moment the mangled messes his parents’ bodies had been once the Officials had been done with them, feels with the shock of a thousand lightning bolts the triumphant, repulsive smirk one of the murderers had given while staring down at the bodies before leaving, with yeonjun’s front door torn off its hinges and his heart torn out of his chest.

yeonjun tries his best not to sleep.

he can’t remember a life before the government fell from the inside to officials who wanted complete power. yeonjun’s thankful for his ability to compartmentalize so, so well that he can blank on memories completely - just recalling how light he had felt before the takeover is enough to send him spiralling. God forbid if he began missing those murdered.

his life had been a far cry from the anger, the pain he only registers now.

happiness has become a wronged lover, one that doesn’t want him no matter how much he chases after her.

yeonjun drops the bottle of soju, hears it shatter against the grimy ground. he licks whatever is left off of his bottom lip, savoring the first sip of alcohol he’s had in weeks. the bottle had barely been a quarter full when he’d found it, and the trail of stale blood that had started at it, ending somewhere beyond the wall that separated the dumpster and the building that once was a school, told him that the previous drinker could be found maimed - likely dead - if he took twelve steps behind him.

he’s seen enough dead people in this lifetime. he’s killed enough in this lifetime. he doesn’t bother finding the body - he’d looted one earlier for money, worthless as it is, a barely filled water bottle, and a razor, anyways. instead he mentally thanks them for never finishing their soju and pushes off of the wall, taking note of the darkening sky.

it’s time for him to find a place to stay for the night. Officials prowl the streets like anything once everything is completely dark, and God forbid if one finds him.

as he walks in the shadows, slower than he ever would in the daylight, yeonjun can’t help but wonder why he keeps living, keeps fighting. there’s no reason to live on - his family is gone. his friends are likely gone. with the New Government’s Rebuilding agenda, he knows that they’ll stop at nothing to kill everyone until only those truly, truly loyal to their Cause remain - it’s all part of their plan to rebuild the nation with only families that support the Cause. considering that the only people who would be left - who, by the New Government, are the only ones supposed to be left - are truly just Officials and their families, it’s only a matter of time before yeonjun becomes a statistic - just another rebelling non-supporter.

so why does he fight so hard against the inevitable?

revenge, he supposes as he rounds another corner. for all the lives he’s seen taken from him. he pushes that thread of thoughts out of his mind, leaving it for tomorrow as he always does, knowing that he’ll reach the same conclusion as he always has.

he reaches what used to be a train station and pulls his hood over his head to conceal more of himself. the world, as always, is silent - it’s been months since yeonjun’s heard, let alone seen, another non-Official.

months since he’s seen someone whose throat he hasn’t had to slit.

he prefers it that way - seeing another unloyal person would make him the unluckiest bastard in the world because he’s sure to get attached. after all, yeonjun’s always been a people person - a part of him that hasn’t died, no matter how much he wants it to. even now, even when he knows that attachment is a synonym for heartbreak and that even meeting other new people would set himself up for more pain than he’s already felt, he craves conversation some days.

he decides that it’s still light out enough that he doesn’t have to look for immediate cover, opting instead to find the nearest bathroom. it’s a women’s, but he doesn’t give a damn. he prays that he’ll find some kind of running water, though he isn’t sure if he’s lucky enough for that.

five sinks, five faucets. it’s the fourth one from the entrance that even budges, and yeonjun watches with bated breath as it begins drip, drip, dripping until, suddenly, a single stream of water shoots out.

yeonjun stares for a moment, too shocked to move. then, as if a switch flips, he pulls out the bottle he’d found earlier and fills it up to the brim before taking a sip, two sips, and refilling what he’s just drank. he plugs the drain and lets the sink fill before turning the faucet off, though not before he prays that it’ll turn back on later. as quickly as possible, yeonjun strips down entirely and begins scooping up handfuls of water. he watches in the dirt-specked mirror as the rivulets run down his body, down his ribs that are easily countable and his thighs that are covered in dust.

he almost cries when he realizes that the hand soap dispenser by the fifth sink still has some left in it. yeonjun takes care not to use too much, leaving some for if he ever comes back here - though he knows that isn’t likely. he lathers the soap over himself and washes that off too before scraping out the dirt from underneath his nails into the remaining water in the sink. he pulls his pants and shoes back on before rummaging around in his backpack for the shirt he’d taken from an abandoned clothing store a few days back.

it’s a soft wine color, and he knows that if he had the luxury of caring about his clothes, he’d love this shirt. he pulls it on without giving it a thought, ignoring that it’s a size too large. he pulls out the razor, shaves with some hand soap into the sink. he’s gotten good at shaving nearly dry and not cutting himself. after all, it would be a shame to waste band-aids on something as silly as a shaving nick. the water is dirty now, but yeonjun still watches as he unplugs the drain and it swirls down, down, down into pipes that lead God-knows-where.

he doesn’t turn the faucet back on.

once back in the main station, yeonjun finds a ticketing booth fairly quickly, wondering why this particular town hadn’t switched over to electronic systems. he has no idea of where he is, and he’s resigned to the fact that he likely never will. the door to the booth is locked, but that means nothing to yeonjun.

lock-picking is just one of many, many skills he’s picked up in the past few years. he pulls out his makeshift picking set, choosing three pins and placing two of them between his teeth while going to work with the thinnest of the bunch. it doesn’t work, and he switches it out for a second one, ignoring the taste of metal against his tongue.

yeonjun allows himself to feel a moment of satisfaction at the click he hears once he figures it out. he pulls the door open, expecting dust and years’ old train schedules.

instead, he gets a knife under his chin.

he’s staring directly into another person’s eyes rather than into an empty room like he’d figured he would find. dressed in dark colors just as he is, the person has a black mask on their face that they pull off hastily with the hand that isn’t gripping the knife.

on the flip side, you’re just as floored as he is. when you’d heard the gears of the lock turning from the outside, you’d expected the worst - a New Government Official (or Roamers, as you’ve nicknamed them) out for your breath and blood. instead, you’re staring up at a boy who can’t be more than a couple years older than you.

“what the fuck,” you whisper, taking a microscopic step closer to the darkness of the booth. “you aren’t a Roamer.”

yeonjun’s throat has gone dry, and he blinks rapidly as you draw your knife away, staring at him with just as much shock in your eyes as he has in his. the tang of the metal pins against his tongue brings him back to the moment, and he spits them both out into his hand. Roamer? do you mean Official?

“what -”

“whatever,” you respond even though he has barely made a sound, moving further back into the booth. “come in now if you’re planning to, otherwise i’m leaving you out for them to find.”

he doesn’t say anything, instead brushing past you as he walks into the cramped space. he hurriedly puts his pins back into their set, shoving it haphazardly into his backpack before zipping it shut. you close the door quickly, locking it as you do so.

“how’d you get the key?” he asks, wincing at how hoarse his voice is after ages of non-use. you ignore how gravelly he sounds, instead turning to rummage through the items on top of the booth’s desk. there might be something of importance, something usable to you on it.

searching for something, anything, is a hard feat in the dark, but neither of you dare to bring out a light source.

“found the ticketer’s body by a school,” you eventually respond. “reeked of alcohol, but he had this and a deck of cards.”

yeonjun realizes that you must’ve run across soju-man. he sends two mental prayers for the ticketer’s soul - one for the alcohol he’d found earlier, and one for the key. he realizes, also, that he doesn’t want the conversation to end before it starts.

“you took a deck of cards when you had nobody to play with?”

“who said i had nobody to play with?”

“did you?”

you look up from the desk, meeting his eyes in the dark. your gaze has adjusted to the lack of light, and you’re sure his has as well. “you ask too many questions,” you say easily before turning back, no true bite behind your words. he almost laughs in response as he moves closer to look at what you’re searching through.

“maybe i ask just the right amount.” his voice is closer, now, coming from somewhere above you and to your right, and you realize suddenly that he’s tall - quite tall. and he’s so, so close. without meaning to, you tense at the proximity. he feels it, taking a step back in response.

you immediately feel bad, even though you have no reason to.

“i’m (name),” you start, just as you find a map of the city you’re in. for a moment you’re too focused on the piece of paper to continue your introduction, though the boy behind you waits for you to keep speaking. once you do, the first thing that falls from your lips is “lewisville,”.

“that’s an… interesting last name to have,” is the response you get, and you shake your head quickly.

“no, i mean i’m- we’re - in lewisville,” you tell him. he moves close to you again, tentatively this time. your muscles don’t contract on instinct like they had before.

“i’m yeonjun,” he mutters before gently taking the map from your grasp. you don’t ask for his last name - it isn’t important. finding out your location has shocked you dumb, and fear permeates your numbed being as it hasn’t in years. as your eyes trace over his concentrated figure, you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to ask a question that you’d sworn yourself to never ask again.

and yet you can’t keep yourself from voicing it aloud.

“can i trust you, yeonjun?” your voice is suddenly small, and seems to shrink even more as you trail off once you get to his name. he turns, stares down at you for what feels like eons, fighting a mental battle that you’ll never know the extent of.

he realizes one thing as he mulls your question over.

you’re a scared kid, just like him. it’s why he pushes his fear of trust, his fear of loss, his fear of attachment down, down, down, locking them up as best he can in this moment.

it’s why, against his better judgment, against the deafening screams in his head to deny you and to run, run as far as he can, he nods his head. it’s slow, and would be imperceptible if you weren’t suddenly hyperfocused on his face, but you are and you see it.

“only if i can trust you, (name),” he eventually whispers, and you nod, too. he hands you back the map before sitting down - slowly, so as to not make a noise - on the ground. you follow him, trying to ignore how your fingers, curled harshly around the fragile piece of paper, are trembling.

“i’m from (hometown),” you whisper, and yeonjun’s eyes widen slightly at how far you’ve travelled before he tells you his hometown. you almost gasp at the extent of his journey, as well. your eyes both travel down to the map in your hands, eyes zeroing in on the town’s name and state written across the top in loud red letters.

“how the fuck,” yeonjun starts, pausing as he makes eye contact with you. you shake your head at the question you know he’s going to ask, just as lost on the answer as he is. your hands shake harder, and he leans in, grabbing your wrists between his two hands to stop you, grounding you even though, minutes before, he hadn’t known of your existence and you hadn’t been aware of his. he continues speaking.

“how the fuck did we accidentally end up in the suburbs of the New Government’s capital?”

#yeonjun #yeonjun imagine #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun scenario #yeonjun scenarios #tomorrow x together #txt scenario #txt #txt scenarios #tomorrow x together scenario #tomorrow x together scenarios #txt imagine #choi yeonjun #txt yeonjun #tomorrow x together imagine #tomorrow x together imagines #billie eilish #khalid

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