#no more beige and grey and white please

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- MDNI- NSFW- fun chap- heavy smut chap- oral, m and f recieving, fingering, jerking off, explicit sex, rough sex, choking etc. Reader, 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 8.8k

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part Three =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

♡ Part Four ♡

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo.” You say with a smile, it’s Thanksgiving and here you are with your resident Doctor’s arm around you, as you hand his lovely mother flowers, in awe when they invite you in.

You’ve seen rich people but holy fuck, Satoru’s family is the type of wealth you just hear about, some decadent mansion all modern in creams and beige tones, so lovely it’s insane, spotless. The ceilings are so tall, you tilt your head back, eyeing the chandeliers and the winding staircases, several stories tall. It’s almost as if you’re transported into some royal castle.

“I know, pretentious.” Satoru huffs, making you break out of your reverie, you look up at him, in a stark dark blue dress shirt and slacks, looking like a million bucks as always.

“It’s beautiful.” You say, and his parents smile.

“Satoru is… something else.” His mother says, earning a snort for him, he clearly got the eyes from her, she’s stunning, and the hair from his father, just as tall as Gojo.

“It’s nice to see he’s having a life aside from work.” His dad says, Satoru snags you against him, you feel yourself heat up at it, hard to remember it’s a little harmless ruse when you want it to be real.

The car drive here, his hand on your thigh, as you all zipped around in his sports car was so intense, honestly you don’t have family to go to tonight either, so you truly don’t mind. Maki, Yuta and Toge all had their own things, and were throwing a friendsgiving this weekend anyway. But it’s intimidating to be sure, even though his parents seem very kind.

“Come on in, have a drink.” Mr. Gojo says to you, and you nod.

“I could use one after driving with Satoru.” Satoru sticks his tongue out, Gucci shades lowered on his nose as he glares at you.

“I drive perfectly, thank you.”

“No, too fast, scared the shit out of me.” You stick your tongue out back, earning his mother’s laugh as she puts her arm in his, and he kisses her affectionately on the top of the head.

When you walk into the beautiful kitchen you see a gorgeous dark haired woman, petite and elegant, along with who you recognize as Shoko Ieri, another doctor, but she worked in the maternity ward. So you’re not sure she’d know you, but when you walk in she smiles tiredly, rivaling Yuta for the eye bags, she brushes back dark brown hair and walks up to you.

“Hey! You’re the star intern, hmm?” You flush at the praise.

“Oh I don’t know about-”

“Why the fuck is she here? Ugh!” Satoru pouts now, crossing his arms, and the brunette crosses her arms, raising a brow.

“Because they invited me, shithead.��� She says, Shoko snorts in laughter, Satoru’s father gets your attention.

“Red or white, dear?” He asks, as Satoru and the girl stomp to each other, arguing already.

“Um… white, please. Thank you!” He pours you a little glass and you sip it, tasting the tart grape on your tongue. “Delicious.”

“It’s the family vineyards.”

“You have vineyards-”

“Oh whatever Gojo, you are so stupid. You act like because you chose surgery you know so much more!” She’s shouting.

“True, he’s a pretentious ass.” Shoko pipes in.

“Yeah fuck you both, pussy doctor and mommy doctor.” He snorts, looking at you then, seeing your clear confusion. “Pipe in here, intern.”

“I think all doctors are important, and gynecology and maternity doctors literally bring in lives.” Satoru glares now, brows lowering over his glittering eyes, peeking up under those shades.

“I love her already. You’re too good for him.” The brunette says, and Satoru scoffs.

“Now, now kids. Get along, it’s a holiday.” His mother says, and Satoru stomps over to you.

“You’re supposed to have my back, brat.”

“But you’re wrong on this. Also, why so mean? Is she family?” You peek behind his tall frame at her.

“I’m Utahime, his ex wife, thank god. And this… is my wife.” Utahime snatches up Shoko, kissing her cheek, and Shoko smiles just a bit. “You know her though!”

“I do. Oh, oh…. Oh!” You let it sink in, as you look at Satoru, then her.

“Yeah the failed arranged marriage.” Satoru says, turning the glare to his parents.

“We thought they would be perfect together, we had no clue they’d hate each other so much. She burned a whole car of Gojo’s down.” Mrs. Gojo shakes her head with a sigh, Utahime snickers.

“She also bleached all my Gucci shirts. Bitch.”

“Oh you’re the bitch!”

“I can’t believe you two were married.” You say, and Utahime sighs.

“It was a miserable couple years, but it led me to her.”

“Cheated on me with her-”

“You make women run.” Shoko says, and he takes your glass, downing the wine in one gulp. “See!? Oh god speed.”

“She’s not going anywhere.” Satoru pulls you to him again, and they all study you, as he leans down, tilting your chin up, planting a kiss on your lips, you taste the sweet wine on him mixed with Satoru himself. “Right Sweets?”

“Right.” You murmur, hating how much you mean it.

“Well let’s hope so, hey if not we could have a third.” Utahime teases, and Mrs. Gojo snorts her drink almost. “Sorry Mrs. Gojo, she’s pretty though.”

“Um… thanks.” You manage, giggling. Mr. Gojo pours you a drink now, another one for Satoru. “You all seem fun.”

“Fun!? Jesus. Mom, show me like… something you knitted I don’t know. I need to get away from them.”

“Let’s go, Toru.” You think the nickname is adorable, as he gives you all a middle finger now, stomping away.

“Are you sure about him?” Shoko asks, you sigh.

“He’s great, it’s very new but I really am… enjoying this.” It’s all true, you are enjoying this, up to and including whatever juicy drama there is.

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’d love him to be happy, even if he’s a shit.” Utahime comes and puts a hand on your shoulder. “Come on, let’s help get things together.”

*****

Your back is still throbbing a bit from the spinal tap, Satoru notices. A soothing hand on your back as you all are finishing up dinner, now they are serving dessert at the elegant table. “You all right?” He murmurs.

You nod, smiling and putting a hand on his thigh, fuck everything feels so natural about this, about the doctor you don’t truly know yet, but you’re noticing every little thing. He’s clearly a Mama’s boy, he seems to adore his mom, he and his dad seem to have a good relationship but it’s clear him and his mom are extremely close, surprising you since they pushed him into a marriage.

When they started explaining it, it sounded like the families knew each other forever, two of the elite families there are, business conglomerates surely. And when Satoru and Utahime grew up, they just sort of agreed to it to please their parents, not knowing they’d despise each other. Utahime and Shoko are sickeningly cute together, and clingy.

“You sure? Wanna lay down?” He murmurs, you shake your head, Satoru’s mom smiles at you both.

“I’ve never seen you so close with someone, Toru.”

“Certainly not her.” Satoru points to Utahime who rolls her eyes.

“I’ve never seen you so close to someone either.” Shoko says, sipping on her wine and smiling at you.

“She smells good is all.” Satoru teases, making you giggle.

“Are you tired? You all should stay the night, it’s a long drive.” His dad says, you feel yourself heat up at the thought.

“We can stay, is that cool with you?” He asks, you are a little buzzed and so is Satoru, so you nod then.

“I have nothing to sleep in though!”

“I have some pajamas you can wear, don’t worry.” She looks to one of the maids then. “Can you set them up a room?”

A room with Satoru… alone?

Fuck how can you make that, you can’t even stop thinking of fucking him every time you’re in his office, every time you’re in the elevator, when the backs of your hands would touch, when his shoulder would brush against yours. When he’d shoot that sarcastic little smirk at you, when those blue eyes would get lidded just a bit if you two got too close…

It’s too much.

“That would be amazing, thank you. I did a spinal tap and I’m a little beat from it I guess.”

“Everything okay?” Shoko asks.

“Her brain is dramatic and stressy.” Satoru gets a nudge and scowl from you, he snorts, sipping on his chocolate wine, of course he had to have the sweetest concoction there was.

“My brain is indeed stressy I guess.” You roll your eyes. “Can I help you clean up Mrs. Gojo?”

“Oh no, we pay for that, don’t worry. Satoru, run her a bath, would you? She should relax after that. I’ll have her pajamas sent up.”

“I love your mom.” You whisper, he chuckles, Mrs. Gojo smiles.

“I’ll run her one. C’mon, intern.” You say your good nights, Satoru snatches up the chocolate wine bottle with a grin and you follow him up with your own glass that one of the butler’s tops off.

“Damn I could get used to this.” You tease, walking up one of the flights of steps with him, he snatches up your hand with his free one, precariously balancing his wine bottle and his glass in one arm.

“The princess life? Is that what you’ll be, a pillow princess?” Satoru shuts the door behind you, the bathroom - one of many - is breathtaking, the tub is fit for a Princess indeed. You sip your wine, running a fingertip down his chest, earning his little purr that makes you laugh.

“I like to please too, thank you very much.”

“I’m a giver, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure Hojo.”

“You don’t believe me!?” You sigh, leaning too close, after last week’s kiss at the bar, you’ve tried to keep a little distance, he makes it hard to focus on anything, and you’re scrubbing in on another surgery Monday, you want to make sure you have your wits about you.

“I believe you to be very giving, if memory serves.” He exhales when you step back, turning. “Could you unzip me?”

He brushes your hair back off to your shoulders, unzipping your dress slowly, revealing the smooth skin of your back to his eyes, his fingers drift down your spine, between your shoulder blades, plump lips pecking sweet kisses as the dress falls to the floor, leaving you in just lacy panties. Satoru’s fingers brush over the place he’d injected earlier.

“Does it feel okay? Hurt?” He murmurs, you shake your head, biting your lip when he drifts his fingers down your hips, goosebumps rising, your eyes flutter closed at the sensations.

“You did really well, and my head feels a million times better. Ah!” Satoru’s fingers press into your pelvis as he pulls you back against him, kissing a trail down your shoulders, your breath comes quicker and quicker, trembling from the insane desire his touch brings. “Satoru…”

“Let me see you, pretty.” You nervously turn, Satoru’s surely seen you get dressed but you have had bras on, when your breasts sway just slightly, the nipples pronounced and at attention, his blue eyes widen, the running water softly splashing behind you both, leaving a trail of steam.

“How’s the anatomy now, Doctor?” You tease, to ease your nerves, but he moans softly, dragging you against him.

“I’m sorry.” He says, you blink a bit in confusion, when he’s kissing you passionately, hands gripping the fat of your tits, hungry and messy, saliva dripping from his tongue into yours, nothing like the kisses you both have shared. It’s eager and hot, teeth biting, tongue taking you over.

“Satoru…” You whisper, his lips kissing down your neck now, he bites it so hard you gasp out from the shock, before he curses.

“The water, shit.” It’s too high now, he laughs with you, breathless, running over to drain some of it and turn the water off. He looks back at you hungrily, hands dripping with water, picking you up and sitting you on the edge of the tub, now on his knees between your thighs.

“Fuck.” Is all you manage, when he’s sucking your nipples into his mouth, one at a time, kissing around the areolas as his hands press against your ribcage. Your hands entwine in silky white locks, head falling back at how perfect it feels. “Why sorry?”

“I’m trying to tease you, not attack, but my brain is short circuiting. You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words make you choke up, when his swirling blue eyes look up under those snowy lashes, lips reddened from your kisses. Your breaths come faster, just your panties a barrier.

“You’re beautiful.” He kisses you again, over and over, when the door knocks, and you jolt. He chuckles.

“Baby we’re not teenagers it’s okay.” You feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment at that, and he grins with those big bright teeth, walking up to the door as the maid hands him pajamas and fluffy towels. “Thanks.”

She leaves, and you turn, slipping off your panties, Satoru has seen your bare ass by now, but you hear his soft sigh, peeking back to see he is flushed, adam’s apple bobbing with desire. You step in, turning back around, and he views your entire body, when you sit down and ease in the fragrant tub the bubbles surround you like a veil, but he’s already seen.

“Not playing hard to get anymore?” His voice is husky.

“I’m just enjoying my Princess treatment.” He laughs, setting down the pajamas and leaning over you, hands on either side of the tub, pecking a kiss on your forehead, you sigh at how good it feels.

“I will wait in the room. Want your wine?”

“Yes please.” He smirks and hands you the glass. “Thank you, this is so lovely really, I don’t remember the last time I felt so good.”

“Oh, sweets…” He cups your face, leaning so close, you taste him, your pussy is just clenching around nothing, remembering his fingers now. You nearly drag him in the tub, clothes and all. “I haven’t made you feel good yet.”

“No?” You raise a brow, he just shakes his head.

“No. I’ll see you in the room, enjoy some time.” You nod and he pecks another kiss, this time on your nose, making your heart falter when he walks out, the lock clicking.

You sip your wine and lean your head back, letting the hot water run over you, feeling it sapping all the soreness from your tired limbs. This week has been insane at the hospital, it seems like the holidays along with a full moon were creating all sorts of insane accidents, so this feels so good.

Satoru’s lips felt superb, the memory alone makes you run your fingers down your own breasts, brushing over a nipple. What is it with him? You don’t want to be a notch in his bedpost, you don’t wanna be part of his fanclub, to be so into the man that everyone else is, but you can’t blame any of them. Satoru is not just gorgeous and sexy, he is kind, smart, funny.

It’s hard to find a flaw.

But you want to guard your heart, especially after going through so very much with your toxic ass ex, you don’t want your heart torn apart, and Satoru Gojo is your boss, so you’d have to work with him for who knows how long. At least the year, and you want to work with him, learn from him.

There’s a million thoughts swirling in your head when you’re drying off, peering at the little fancy slip that’s been brought to you, with a note from his mother to keep it. This is basically brand new tagged lingerie, you slip it on over your skin, swiping at the steam that’s fogged on the mirror, peering at yourself before you slip on the fluffy robe over it.

You head out to the halls, you’re led to the guest room by another butler, you realize they must have several, and you step into the luxurious guest room, where Satoru has his laptop out and a pair of glasses propped on the bridge his nose, you’ve seen him wear them every now and then, fuck if they don’t look sexy.

He peers up and smiles, you shut the door behind you then, slipping off the robe, letting it fall in a pool around your ankles, his throat goes dry as he studies you ever so slowly, your beautiful body in this sexy little satin slip. He licks his lips, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table with a click, standing as he drinks in the sight of you.

“Holy fuck, my mom gave you that to wear!?” He asks, and you giggle, nodding, holding out a tag.

“Can you take this off?” Satoru comes now, taking off the slip completely. “I meant the tag!”

“Yeah, no… your skin is even softer, fuck.” Satoru’s hands slide down your arms, gaze making you melt, his eyes darkening as his pupils dilate.

“I have a five date rule, you know.” You say teasingly, he smirks, raising a thin white brow, picking you up then, completely bare against him, he’s shirtless with a pair of baggy white sweats, and you feel him.

“And what date are we on, intern?” He murmurs, pressing you against the wall, you arch your hips earning his moan, his head falls against your chest.

“Date number two at best, mmm.” He’s kissing your neck again, hitting just the right spots that make you inane, breath tickling your skin, tongue flicking against you, tasting you.

“Hmm, so what was the party then? I count it.” He whispers in your ear, you cling to his bare shoulders, head falling back against the wall.

“Then we’re at three dates. You have two more to go.” Satoru chuckles against your collarbone, biting the thin skin there, you’re soaking wet against him.

“Seems like she’s okay with breaking her rules for me.” He carries you to the bed now, you watch how his muscles flex as he’s over you, you swallow then, taking a breath and cupping his face.

“I’m scared to feel too much.” He sighs, resting his head on yours, hands slipping over every inch of your body, as if he wants to commit it all to memory.

“I’m scared at how much I feel.”

“This will be so messy, Satoru. What if we hate each other? And it ruins everything.” He shushes you gently, a finger to your lips.

“We can wait. Two more dates.” You smile tremulously, biting the lower lip to stop it from shaking.

“I’m aching though.” Satoru’s resolve slips, he slams his lips on yours, tongue messy and forceful, breaking through every last barrier you have, he slips his hands down your tummy, making it suck in at the sensation, bracing himself above you with one hand.

“Then let me take care of you, pretty patient.” You gasp out when he’s running his fingertip over your slit, and you make his abdomen tense when your hand slinks down him, under the elastic of those sweats, finding his cock. “Fuck I can’t handle that.”

“Sensitive, Doctor?” You tease, stroking him now, he groans, sinking his finger inside your little hole, making you scream out, before covering your mouth, he grins down at you.

“S’okay baby, this mansion is fucking huge. No one will hear.” You’re gasping when he so easily presses up in that spot past your slick gummy walls, your arousal drooling all down his hand, you hear it squishing in the quiet room. “F-fuck, you’re s’wet… mmm…”

Satoru’s crying out softly while you stroke him, his pretty pink tip peeking out from the sweats, you run your thumb over the slit where he’s got precum oozing. You lap it off your thumb, tasting the salty white substance, and you watch his eyes flash even darker, his lips parting.

“Fuck.” Is all he manages, kissing you again, before he’s kissing down your body, you’re barely able to catch a breath when he’s kissing between your breasts, down your tummy, his big hands spreading your thighs.

“Satoru… what’re you-ah!” His tongue flicks up your slit, you start gushing wetness out of your hole as a result, earning his smirk.

“Mmm, do you want me to make you feel so good, pretty?” He asks now, handsome face flushed, you nod, watching how his fingers press into the plush of your thighs when he spreads them more. “Then how do we ask?”

“Satoru…” He spits on your pussy now, shocking you, your ex was about as selfish as you could get, and any other men you’ve been with haven’t been freaky, more vainilla. “Did you just spit on it!?”

He grins, swirling the spit around your clit, then smacking your cunt, you gasp at the sensation, moaning as it just makes you wetter. “How do we ask?”

“Please.” Your weak little whine ends him, he tilts his head and starts lapping up all the wetness pouring from your cunt, dripping all over his mouth, his chin, burying himself against you. “Ah!”

You scream out, unable to stop the sound, clinging to silky hair, he’s got his eyes shut in concentration, but then his eyes open, meeting yours, you breathe quicker and quicker, hips rolling up for more. “That’s it, fuck my face baby.”

“Fuck your!? Face!? I-ah!” You’re grinding up quicker with his urging, he yanks your hips down, fucking you with his tongue now, swiping inside your velvety walls, nose bumping your needy clit, so you rub more and more on his face, to his satisfied moans. Satoru doesn’t even apparently need to breathe, he’s drowning in your wetness, drinking every bit of you up.

Doctor Gojo is absolutely well versed in anatomy, because you feel yourself cumming before you can even think to tell him, and your cunt is drooling all down his face when your orgasm washes over you, making your skin so sensitive, pussy pulsing around his tongue. You feel his moan, when he leans up, lavishing your neglected clit now, and you violently jerk.

“Good girl, can you cum again f’me?” You’re done for, completely fucked you realize, when he slides two fingers in your needy cunt. “Fuck look at her sucking them up so good.”

“Satoru what the fuck was that? How- oh my god!” Your words are breathy whines, head spinning when he’s curling those long fucking fingers in you, pressing on that damn spot making you see stars.

“I told you I’d make you feel good. No headaches.” He leans on an elbow, hand pressing your tummy, tongue lapping at your clit now, over and over, your thighs squeeze on his head, feeling his soft hair against you while he’s fucking you with those fingers. “Can you handle both?”

“Both- f-fuck!” Satoru sucks your clit into his mouth now, humming on it while still curling those fingers up, and you shatter, this time even more intense then the previous, you feel like you’re falling off the earth as you pull on his hair. “Too much, too much- oh my god.”

You’re soaking his entire pretty face, dripping down your sticky inner thighs and his chin, he drinks you up, licking you from your ass to your damn clit, sucking on the puffy lips of your pussy and nipping them, making you scream out again, body twitching so fucking embarrassing.

What was this man doing to you!?

“Oh my… I… you…” You feel tears pricking your eyes when he kisses and nips your clit now, the biting shocking you with the pain.

“You’re so yummy, I could do it forever.” He says, flicking that tongue in another circle, you whimper pathetically, sniffling. “Overstimulated baby?”

“Y-yes… please fuck me.” He raises his brows, leaning over you, you’re clinging to his back, nails digging in, leaving little crescent marks on his marble skin.

“What, that counts as two dates?” He teases, you can’t even function now, you’re shoving off his sweats, his cock so big it smacks his belly button.

“You’re demonic, I swear to god. What the fuck.” He’s smirking so pleased, but then he whimpers himself, cock throbbing in your hand. “Lemme suck you.”

“Shit, yeah!?” You nod, giggling, and he flips your positions, you kiss down his perfect, sculpted body, he holds your slightly damp hair back as you lap at the tip of him, precum just oozing out of the slit, earning his groan. “I’m gonna embarrass myself.”

“How so?” You take his cock in your hand, stroking him and spitting on it now, making his eyes widen, he pulls on your hair, groaning when you suck him into your mouth, inch by inch.

“Holy fuck it’s happening.” You laugh just a bit, head still reeling from the orgasms and the wine in your system, Satoru’s clearly very experienced, so to watch him falling apart and taking shaky breaths is the ultimate high. “I can’t hold back, can you take me fucking that pretty throat?”

“Mmhm.” You nod eagerly, and Satoru plants his feet flat on the bed, hips bucking up when starts fucking your mouth, his hand tight in your hair. You’re drooling on his cock, making it sloppy wet, your throat bobbing as you take him deep, burning at the stretch of him.

“Oh fuck, never felt anything s’good- I- f-fuck…” Satoru’s a blushing mess, sexy little gasps as he keeps thrusting into your throat, and you breathe through your nose, struggling to take over eight inches as best as you can. He bottoms out in your throat, your nose against the white hair on his pelvis, he’s stuttering, hips faltering. “Do you like it when I use you, baby?”

You’re soaking wet, eager for more, simply humming as your ass is in the air, thighs pressed together. He’s pulling your hair even harder, using your mouth, your throat, his cock twitching as he shoves all the way in again, moaning and leaning his head back.

“C’mere.” He whispers, pulling you off his cock, your cheeks hollow as you release the suction, and he’s bringing you to straddle his lap, your thighs on either side, coughing slightly into your hand. “Your mouth feels that good, how’s this pussy gonna feel? Gonna take me out.”

You just whine and kiss him, sliding against his cock, it glides ridiculously easy with all the spit and drool on his cock mixing with your cunt’s wetness. He’s kissing you desperately, you taste yourself, and he tastes himself, mixing so fucking messy as his tip hits your clit, and you scream out, spasming on top.

“Cumming like that, m’not even in yet.” He huffs, earning your weak little scowl and making him chuckle. “S’fucking cute.”

“In me.” You order, he grins now.

“Two more dates.”

“Don’t you dare. I know you wanna cum.”

“Your rules.” You grimace, and he’s a snarky little ass hole. “Maybe if you beg for me to break your rules.”

“You little shit. Fine.” You slide off him and he pouts, his cock twitching when you grab it in your hand again.

“You can - mm- beg me, can’t you baby?”

“Sure am not.” You keep stroking him now, and he’s yanking on your body, a whimpering little mess under you. “You can beg for me.”

“I don’t beg, I'm… Satoru… Gojo- fuck!” You keep stroking, smiling at him now, and he slips his fingers back in you, as you two both edge each other in a torturous fucking game. “You beg.”

“N-no… you.” You’re stroking his cock faster, spitting down on it, so he uses his thumb to press on your clit, and your movements falter.

“Beg for my dick inside you, for me to stretch you, fill you up.” His words along with his fingers addle your mind so much you’re swirling, blinking to focus, on who could get the other off first. “You competitive b-brat.”

“You’re a… brat… I… no, you beg.” You glare as you keep stroking him, and then he falls apart in your hand, jerking into it, pumping so much cum it’s insane, the sight of the milky ropes all over his cock makes you push over the edge, and you’re cumming on his fingers, crying out against his neck as you bury your face against it.

“Ngh…” Is all you manage, barely moving your hand now, Satoru eases his fingers out, exhaling, leaning back and smirking at you.

“You’re such a mean little brat. You wouldn’t beg so you jerked me off like some teenager!?”

“And y-you did the same.” You say weakly, damn near collapsing. Satoru shakes his head, grabbing a towel, cleaning you both up, you were coated in his cum from your hand to your wrist.

“I was sure you’d fold. Fuck… did that count as one more date?” He teases, and you giggle, when he comes next to you, pulling you against him.

“No, two more to go it seems. Maybe you’ll be more needy then.”

“Me needy- you almost caved. Bet if I edge you all day at work you will.” He whispers, kissing your throat and stroking your thighs, creating networks of goosebumps everywhere he touches.

“You don’t play fair, Doctor.” He tilts your chin up now, eyes so bright blue it’s almost difficult to handle their beauty.

“I want to know all of you.” He says then, making you choke up with his seriousness suddenly.

“You do?” He nods, stroking your hair now.

“What makes you tick, your flaws… Do you have any? Your past. I want to know every bit of this body. Where you’re ticklish, where you’re sensitive.” You blink back emotions but fail, little tears glimmering under the soft can lights of the ceiling. “I’d wait for you, however many dates.”

“Jesus why do you have to be so…” You just kiss him now, again, over and over, salty tears mixing with his sweet taste. “I’m terrified.”

“I am too. God it’s hard to work when all I can think about is you, thinking about fucking you in every position. Bent over my desk.” You can’t handle the images, as his hands grip your ass cheeks. “Eat that pretty pussy out on your breaks.”

“You’re too much, you know?”

“I know.” You try to calm down, to clear your mind, and Satoru’s already semi hard again, you blink in surprise. “Yeah, it’s never that fast.”

“You gonna beg me?”

“No brat.” You both glare then you sigh, stepping off him and slipping back on the discarded slip, holding out the tag.

“Then we call a parlay for the night, clearly neither of us is backing down yet.” Satoru laughs softly, bending down and biting the little plastic holding the tag, it falls off instantly. “What’s that trick?”

“Haven’t you noticed I’m really good with my mouth?” He murmurs, tilting your chin up, you blush when you see how his cock is just so fucking heavy, still glistening from you, so pretty it makes your ovaries ache.

 “I’ve never had it that good.” You admit, earning his satisfied smirk. “Yeah, yeah, you already know you’re that good.”

“Guess what?” He is slipping up his sweats now.

“What, Doctor Hojo?”

He cups your face, bending low at the waist. “You’re the best blow job I’ve had, whole gauntlet. Knew it.”

“Oh I doubt all that.” You eat up the praise however, and his lips kissing yours feel so perfect, it takes so much not to fuck him, god how does he fuck if that’s how he foreplays!?

“Best kisser too.”

“So are you.” He kisses you over and over, you feel your body heat right back up in response, legs wobbly you’re so wet. “Sure you don’t wanna ask for something?”

“Nope.” He snorts, and soon you’re in the bed with him as he’s clicking away at the laptop, glasses back on that perfect nose. “Fuck it’s like we’re married.”

“Ugh, marriage.” He shivers in disgust, you smile a bit, leaning on an elbow.

“Just feels domestic.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t think I’d marry again.” You pause at that, and he’s clicking away at his keyboard now.

“Never?” You ask curiously, running your fingers along the silk comforter.

“God no. I mean I absolutely would date, and have a serious relationship, but certain things I’d never do again.”

“Like the paper?”

“Yeah, the paper, but also I wouldn’t live with someone again.” You don’t know why his words hurt so fucking much, you barely know him and you two aren’t even dating, but it’s like a stab to the heart.

“Oh.” Satoru looks at you now, frowning and shutting the laptop, brushing back your hair.

“That’s a lot to unload on you, I’m fucking sorry. It’s not to say I wouldn’t have a girl like stay with me as much as she wants, I just… would want us to have our own places.”

“But like what if you have kids?”

“Kids?” He blinks at that. “I don’t know, I’ve never considered them.”

“Never?”

“No, why have you?” You shyly look away now, so lost in the passion you forgot you have no clue what he wants.

“So your idea of a serious relationship is…”

“Spending time together, enjoying each other. Talking deeply, sharing things, spending time exploring every inch of each other.” He’s drifting his fingertips across your shoulder. “I can’t marry again though, even if I had kids.”

Shit.

“Was the marriage that bad?”

“It was fucking horrible. You see how much we hate each other. And… well neither of us were faithful.” You pause now, as the words spill from his mouth.

“Oh?”

“I slept with a lot of people.” He admits hoarsely. “Me and her didn’t even… fuck we had sex a couple times the entirety of it, by some forced thing. Parents wanting us to have kids, and it was terrible. I can’t do it again.”

“But if you choose wouldn’t-”

“Baby this is all a tale for another day. We’re just getting to know each other, I don’t need to give you my autobiography yeah?” He’s clearly done with the topic.

“I wasn’t saying you had to.” You pull the blanket up now, mind whirring at him, why do you care so much, you sucked his dick and now what, you want him to wife you up? It makes no sense to be that way.

But something breaks in you at hearing how much the thought of that detests him, perhaps you are old fashioned, you love the idea of getting married, having kids, sure as a doctor it would be a bitch, but you crave a family. Not having parents or siblings can be lonely, and the idea of having your best friend as a husband and then making a little best friend sounds beautiful.

“Have I upset you?” He asks, putting the laptop aside as you shake your head. “I can be too blunt, it’s part of the job. I could’ve said-”

“No, it’s how you feel, and you’re right, we barely know each other. Um, I didn’t mean to pry or whatever.” You turn then on your side, and feel him sink in the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you against him, emotions are in your throat and you don’t know why or how to stop them.

“I’m interested in something serious.” He says softly, you nod, unable to look at him. “That marriage fucked me up, I have my own shit I guess, but it doesn’t mean I won’t take it serious if we get there.”

“I get it, you’ve already experienced a lot I guess.” You say, looking back at his heartbreakingly beautiful face, wondering about him more and more.

“For the longest time I just married my work and fucked around. I guess I also feel horrible for it.”

“But you both did it, you both didn’t wanna be together.”

“Still feels shitty, if that’s what marriage is…”

“It’s your decision, I won’t judge you for it.” He rests his chin on your shoulder when you turn back around. “We’re moving too fast anyway.”

“I did literally drag you here.”

“No, I am glad you did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, fake dating you was fun for the day.” He kisses your cheek, snuggling you against him more firmly.

“Doesn’t have to be fake.”

Your heart falters. “You wanna date me, Satoru?”

He smiles. “I do, intern.”

You giggle. “Then beg me.”

“Oh fuck off.” You’re both laughing now, it feels too easy, too natural to be against him, to be with him.

“Would you date me? Pretty please?”

You look back at him with now sleepy eyes. “I will.”

He kisses you again, gripping your jaw, fuck it all feels so good you just shove down the things you learn for now. “You’re so scandalous dating your resident.”

“And you’re scandalously dating your intern.” He smiles against your bare shoulder, kissing it once more as he hugs you. “Do you wanna come to our friendsgiving Saturday?”

“I’m invited already!?”

“Of course. It’ll be nice I think.”

“I’ll be there. Good night, Sweets.”

“Night Satoru.”

*****

 “What’s in that mind, girl.” Yuta waves a hand in front of your face, you keep checking the phone, hoping for a text from Satoru, dinner starts in about an hour and you had told him to come at four. It’s six and he hasn’t responded or read a text or anything.

“Nothing!” You smile and Yuta’s dark brows draw together, he curiously tilts his head.

“Nothing, huh? Maki, what's wrong with her.” Maki bounces up, hands on her hips, tilting her head so that her emerald hair falls over her shoulder.

“It’s Dr. Hunk.”

“Is not!” You cover your face and grimace. Toge walks in the kitchen now, sitting next to you and putting a glass of punch in your hand.

“Drink?”

“God I love you.” Toge turns bright red, standing now, and you sputter, grabbing his hand. “No, don’t run please!” He’s nervously darting violet eyes, and finally sits back down next to you. “You can’t run from me all the time, we live together.”

“Upset?” He asks, you sigh now, sipping the fruity punch and shaking your head.

“No I’m good, promise.” You rest your head on his shoulder for a moment when the doorbell rings, and Toge opens his mouth. “What is it, Toge?”

“I…” He trails off, gulping.

“It’s Dr. Hunk!” Maki exclaims, Toge tenses, glaring his way, surprising you.

“Do you not like him?” You ask softly, and he just stands up now, as Yuta covers his face and sighs.

“You’re clueless.” He tells you, and Satoru now saunters in, grinning with a big bouquet of flowers.

“Oh you didn’t have to.” You say, he hands them with a bow, patting Toge and Yuta on the head like little kids, towering over you all.

“Of course I did. Hey interns.” He smiles and Yuta rolls his eyes, Toge however glares, and Satoru raises his brows.

“Thank you, Satoru.” You take them and lean up, kissing his cheek, the past couple of days you’ve just texted, after his parents home, so much felt new and so many things still unsaid still.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Your three friends watch curiously as Satoru kisses you right in front of them, then gasping as Toge accidentally pours punch on him. “Shit, this is so expensive! Ugh!”

“Accident.” He says, smirking, and you glare at him.

“Toge!” Yuta and Maki snicker too, and you shake your head. “You all are so embarrassing, I can’t bring anyone home?”

“Sorry, can we wash it?” Maki offers, tearing up from her laughter. You’re dabbing at his shirt with the napkins.

“I have to have these dry cleaned. But I mean… it’s dark so I think I’m okay.”

“I’ll get the stain out, I have something you can wear for a few.” You scowl at your friends. “And behave!”

“Yes Mommy.” Maki teases, you scoff, dragging Satoru up the stairs, digging through your drawers, where you had a ton of shirts from your ex.

“I’m not wearing your ex's clothes!”

“What do you care? Just long enough for the stain to come out.” Satoru takes off his shirt now, revealing the chiseled chest of his, and his sculpted abdomen, your eyes drift lower, remembering how big he is, picturing how good he’d feel. “Cat got your tongue, intern?”

“You’re an ass. That's why Toge did it. And you’re late.” Satoru sighs now, walking up to you, picking you up effortlessly so that your feet just dangle.

“I had an emergency at the hospital, I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

“A little.” You pout, and he laughs now, picking you up fully, your legs wrap around slender hips.

“Toge did it because he’s in love with you.”

“Oh god he’s not! He’s my friend.”

“Mmm, sure thing. You’re oblivious, I bet you don’t know how much I like you either, huh?” His words get you off guard, when he’s pressing you down into your bed, that sinks under his weight.

“You like me?” You ask, he nods.

“I like the fuck out of you. Like is a shitty word for how I feel.” You feel the damn same, fuck more than you understand or want to say.

“I like you too, a lot. Even if you’re a dick.” He smiles at that.

“I was worried, after that conversation, you’ve been distant?”

“I didn’t mean to be. I thought we should cool off?”

“You are really hot, especially here.” He presses his length against you under those slacks, you whine out, arching your hips, earning his hands tightening against your hips, thumbs pressing into your pelvis. “Don’t wanna cool off.”

“No?” He shakes his head. “Miss me?”

“Fuck yes I missed you. That little ass running around in those scrubs.” You giggle now, caressing his face. “Should I make you forgive me for being late?” 

“Hmm, you wanna make it up to me?” You ask, and he nods, kissing your lips deeply, you melt right under him, grinding up for more as he slips your velvety little red dress up your thighs.

“Don’t we have one more date before I can hit?” He teases, you roll your eyes at him.

“Are you gonna hit and quit?”

“God no. Can only imagine how good you feel around me.” Satoru’s eagerly unsnapping his pants now, and you can’t believe the insanity of the moment, his fingers rubbing your clit over your panties, finding you already soaked. “Just from kissing?”

“I love kissing you.” He pauses then, eyes burning bright blue, darting back and forth across your face.

“I love kissing you.” He whispers back, white lashes casting shadows over his cheeks when he sinks two fingers right in, it’s a stretch but you’re craving it, slick and soaked. “Want me to eat you out again?”

“Yes, but I also want that dick.” He grins, sucking his fingers, cheeks hollowing.

“But you taste s’good.”

“Please… please…” You’re hastily shoving your panties off, and he’s pulling his cock fully out, a tangle of limbs.

“Condoms?” He asks, you curse.

“Shit, no! I could ask Maki but oh my god…” Satoru’s rubbing his cock against your slick folds now, and you’re fucked up already.

“I always use one, I’m good if you’re…”

“Me too. Yes please, I need- ah!” Satoru slides in you, stretching you more than you’ve ever been, so deep you feel insanely full, damn near sobbing as you feel him inside you. Your eyes lock, and his mouth parts, head tilting back as he sinks deeper, until he’s against your cervix. “Oh my god…”

He exhales, lifting a leg up, gripping your ass through the fabric of the dress you’re still wearing. “You’re so tight, fuck baby.” He moans now, resting his head on yours for a moment, your walls are fluttering at the invasion of his huge cock inside of you. “Need a sec?”

“S’big… It’s s’much.” You adjust your hips to it, stuffed so full, he kisses you, pulling back out, then slamming deep again, and you can’t stand out good it feels, you’re clinging to him, nodding now. “I can take it. Please.”

“Fuck.” Is all he manages, lifting your thighs and fucking into you now, hard brutal strokes that make you blinded as he uses one hand to brace himself, the other yanking at your dress, pulling your tits out and lavishing them with his tongue. Your hands dig into the sheets under you, head sinking into the pillows, letting out a moan so loud he claps a hand on your mouth.

You scream out against his hand as he pumps you so full, drooling tip slamming on your cervix, you feel yourself cumming all over him, making him gasp, slowing as he feels you pulsing on him. He eases his hand off your mouth now, long fingers wrapping your delicate throat.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this, can I?” You nod eagerly, thighs shaking as you recover from your orgasm.

“You can resuscitate me, go for it.” He laughs breathless, squeezing your throat now, fucking you harder as he leans up, watching your every expression, watching your eyes roll back and your mouth open in an O.

“So pretty, fucked out already baby?” He taunts you, squeezing harder, and you feel fuzzy, lightheaded as he works you, hips pistoning and hitting spots you never fucking knew existed, the choking making every sensation heightened. He leans over you, pressing in deep and rolling his hips. “Cum again, lemme feel her.”

You’re obeying before you can think, he watches your silent cries as your face reddens from his grip, as your eyes roll back in your skull, cumming in a silent, breathy cry while he presses on your pulse point, squeezing so tight. You feel your ears ringing, blood rushing to your head when he releases you, moaning and kissing you deeply, when you try to suck up air.

“F-fuck it’s s’good, Satoru… I…”

“Feel perfect, baby. Sloppy little cunt, hear her?” Of course you do, you weakly nod, gasping again as he’s lifting your thighs up so high, smushing them against your breasts, you hear the wet smacks of his cock railing you, hear his balls smacking on your ass, hear each breath as you all try to conceal your moans. “Never f-felt anything like you.”

He’s leaning all his weight on you now, hips rolling again, making you sob it’s so fucking good, you’re struggling to breathe, clinging to him tightly. “M’gonna cum again, ngh.”

“Yeah, you’re so easy for me, hmm?” You can’t even glare at his teasing, you just nod. “Such a good girl now, dick made you shut that mouth finally?”

“Shut up g-god.” He’s cupping your face with his big ass hands as he sinks so deep you scream into his lips, shuddering as his curved tip drags on another spot, he’s finding every single one you have, working them when you shiver, when you jerk.

“Birth control?” He asks, and you nod weakly. “Perfect, because no way I’m pulling the fuck out.”

You’re getting fucked even harder now, the sounds of his pelvis smacking against your thighs and the squelching wetness of your cunt stupid loud, his snowy lashes lower over fucked out eyes as he studies you. He slows for a moment then, whimpering like he did last time you sucked him, right in your ear, pumping your cunt so full then, coating you entirely.

“Feel so p-perfect, cum w’me baby please.” He whines the words, and pumps more cum, as he’s fucking you still hard, and his white sticky ropes are dripping out of you, you yank him in for a kiss, crying out your pleasure into his plush lips, he devours your mouth, still pumping.

He’s easing now, hips are stuttering, and you’re crying out. “Too much…”

“I know but it’s too good.” He’s easing your thighs, now sore as fuck, brushing your cheek gently, feeling your aftershocks. “I’m ruined. You’ve ended an era.”

“Whatever.” You snort, rolling your eyes, but he cups your face again, brushing back your hair.

“No, it’s never been like this.” He entwines a hand with yours, and you struggle not to completely fall into his madness, but it’s damn near impossible.

“Me either. I haven’t done…”

“No one has cum in you?” You shake your head with a nervous gesture, biting your lip, he gently pulls it from your teeth. “Don’t worry I’ll fill you up every day.”

“You’re full of it. You’ll go back to Hojo blowjob breaks.”

His eyes narrow as he eases out of you, exhaling at the mess you two have made. “Only from you.”

“I don’t know if I believe it.”

“No? Then you’ll have to see.” He kisses down your body, still half in your dress, you’re thankful the material doesn’t wrinkle.

“Can a Hojo be loyal?” He leans up and looks at you, brows together.

“I will never cheat like that again. That was… a fucked up time.”

“I was kidding! And I wasn’t talking about that, I meant like Miwa.” He exhales then, and you frown. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t tease.”

“No, it’s understandable. Well baby let me tell you.” He keeps kissing up your thigh now, and you’re throbbing at how sore you are, he pulls open your puffy lips to watch his cum pour out of you. “You’re all I want. Look at this slutty pussy.”

He laps some of his cum out of you with the hot tip of his tongue, you gasp at it, oversensitive and he’s such a freaky ass, you can’t believe what he’s doing, grinning up at you. “Satoru-”

“Hate to break it up lovers, got an emergency.” Yuta's voice came from the door, you quickly fixed your dress, Satoru got on his pants, coming up to you and pulling you against him.

“Don’t let this be just once. Want you over and over.” You moan now, hands sliding up his bare chest.

“I’m dripping your cum.” You whisper, he huffs now, fingers slipping back inside your cunt, you cover your mouth not to scream.

“How much of an emergency?” Satoru asks tersely.

“Well Maki is about to kill her ex. He just showed up.”

“Shit.” You curse yourself, taking Satoru’s fingers and sucking yourself and him off them, he snatches you by your hair, kissing you again.

“I’ll fuck you in front of him, maybe he’ll stop?” Satoru’s smirking again, and you laugh, snatching up baby wipes and cleaning yourself quickly.

“Oh no, he’s persistent. Come on.” You drag him, still shirtless, and Yuta is shaking his head as he looks at you. “What!?”

“Where’s the five date rule, champ?” He teases.

“Oh stuff it. I can’t believe he’s here.” You three go down the stairs, where Maki currently has him in a headlock, and you can’t stop the giggle that escapes. She frees him now, and his eyes lock onto you, then to Gojo, glaring now. “Mahito, get the fuck out.”

He brushes off his shirt, glaring at Satoru with deadly ice blue eyes, and Satoru holds you against him, still shirtless, smirking. “Hi there, I’m new boyfriend.”

“Satoru…” You whisper, and Mahito walks up to you now, giving you the biggest, most pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“Sweetheart, let’s talk. Please?” He pouts now, taking your hand, you shake your head at him.

“What are you even doing here!?”

“Just talk to me.”

“Out.” Toge orders, pointing to the door, but Mahito doesn’t budge, just staring at you, his light blue hair a disheveled mess.

“Please.”

“She’s too busy buddy.” Satoru pats him on the shoulder, only for Mahito to punch him, you gasp then, and Satoru’s eyes are terrifying then, the entire room holds its breath as you watch Mahito back up.

“Shit.” You mumble.

“He’s gonna die.” Maki whispers to you, and then she grins. “How was that dick though?”

“Maki!”

A/N- took a departure from the hospital hehe, now you know who her ex is ;) Lots of drama ahead from that messy convo abt marriage too. Can't wait to hear your thoughts!!

Taglist: @lost-resonance @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine  @antisocialinlw @meg3mis@miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @shadeowz @gojo1228 @nanasukii28 @jaeminaur @httpstoyosi @angel1of-death @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @san-it-is-i-guess @pelicanpizza @gojo1228 @ducky1232 @unikornboop @inthedarkshadows000 @eclecticmentalitypersona @burguhndy @levislug

Part Five

[jillsandwhichs]

Sunday morning

Chapter 13 to Joel Miller x Reader Smutshot Collection

Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You and Joel wake up a bit late on a Sunday morning. However, instead of getting up and being productive, the two of you use your time for something a bit more fun - making a baby

Status of your guy's relationship in this one shot: Engaged

WC: 2.1k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Making out, Dirty talk, Fingering, You finish, Unprotected P in V, Missionary, Breeding kink, He finishes inside of you, Aftercare

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Waking up, you blinked a few times to clear your eyes up. As you did, you saw the excessive amount of sunlight pouring in through the cheap beige curtains attached to the window to the right of your bed. It was nice. Cozy. You liked it. You remember the day you and Joel bought them together, it was shortly after you put the official down payment on your guy's house. You are so happy you two got this place, it was the best purchase of your life.

Yawning, you then rolled over to your left side, now facing Joel. He is still asleep and oh, how peaceful he looks. Joel rarely looks so calm. It makes you happy. You smiled to yourself, then went from looking at his face, to his outfit. To bed, he wore a grey work t-shirt and his black & white boxers, which you think he looks great in. You smiled even harder. To sleep, you wore a thin yet tight tank top with just some panties. It gets warm at night, so.

You then set your hand upon his face, caressing his cheek lovingly. You wish you two could do this all day, all of the time. Physical touch is so beyond important to you. As you touched his face, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, hoping to wake him up. You aren't sure of the time but, it's definitely later in the morning considering the sun is at its peak and shining through the window brightly.

Right as you kissed him, you felt his lips curl into a smirk, then his hands skillfully swift behind your back, pulling you into him as his arms stayed wrapped around you. Giggling, you did the same except, you swathed your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss furthermore. "Mmm," you murmured out, playing with his brown hair, "Hi." You said to him, officially pulling away from the kiss and looking at him again. "Hey baby." Joel whispered to you, his voice deep and growly from still waking up.

You felt his hands rubbing your back carefully, which you love him doing. Feels so detoxing. "Sleep well?" "I always sleep well next to you sweetheart." Joel replied to you, kissing you again before pressing his forehead against yours, "You?" "Always." You smiled, your teeth flashing, which made Joel gleam again. "My beautiful girl." Joel said in a tired manner, which made you feel weak. You love how deep his voice is, especially when he first wakes up. "Mmm." You then mooched his lips lovingly.

As the two of you were kissing, you ran your fingers through his soft hair and his hands slid down your back and onto your butt, where he softly stroked it and at one point, squeezed it whilst pulling you against his body. Once the making out died down for a moment, you asked him to check his watch, being curious on the time. "It is," he glanced down at his watch before speaking, "10:30." "Should we get up? We never lay in bed so late..." "You're right but," he then got on top of you, pinning you beneath him, "It's Sunday, we ain't got much to do baby," He had a cocky smirk appear on his face before he then brought his head to the crook of your neck.

"Ha," you laughed, then quickly moaned as he began to suckle on your neck. "Oh." You said softly, moving your head to the side, giving him more space to kiss along your throat. As he left hickies along your neck, you laid there, hands on his biceps and your legs spread open, having him lay between them as he was on top of your body. "Joel..." You sighed out softly as he switched to the right side of your neck, now covering that part in love bites. "Feel good?" "Yes." You responded, biting your lower lip.

It always feels good, anything Joel does to you feels fantastic.

Whilst he was on top of you, he brought his hand down to your panties and kissed your forehead. "God I need you," he whispered against your head before slipping his hand into them, running his finger through your wet folds. "Feels like you need me even more though, hmm baby?" The way he said it, ugh, you're all his. You nodded and played with his facial hair, "I do." "I know, I'm goin' give you what you want."

Suddenly, he pushed two fingers inside of you. You gasped and gripped onto him harshly, not expecting it. "Oh fuck." You bit your lower lip. Whenever Joel fingers you, it's intense. It's a lot. He doesn't ease up and you love it. "Shh baby, just let yourself feel, feel it real nice." He began to shove his fingers in and out of you. As he did that, all you could do was gaze at him with lust reminant in your eyes with your mouth gaped open, occasional noises coming out.

Joel leaned down and kissed you, his tongue entering your mouth as well, sliding against yours as his fingers worked their magic. You held onto his biceps, practically digging into them with your nails, hell, maybe even drawing some blood but you didn't check. "You're so tight baby, fuck." He grunted into your mouth, his fingers picking up in their pace and hardness in which they moved into you at. "Uh-huh, fuck, right there." You panted out to him.

"Is that where it feels good? Huh?" He curled his fingers within your clenched walls with each thrust of his digits. "Yes..." Was all you managed to say. He knows what he's doing and he knows he's doing is amazingly. You spread your legs further open and tossed your head to the side, which Joel took advantage of, now suckling on your collarbone as he fingered you passionately.

Around him, you tightened yourself. Doing so made it so you could feel it more, more deep inside of you. It made your stomach so flips and your heart face the more it went on. "Oh?" Joel cooed out against your ear, kissing it sweetly, "You close?" He asked you, now moving his fingers at such a rapid pace, you couldn't really form a thought. "Uh, I-" you attempted to spit out, but you failed. He snickered real sexily against your ear before then using his other hand to turn your head to face him. "Cum for me then sweetheart."

The eye contact. It was something else. He was forcing you to look at him, his hand firmly on your jaw. You knew that if you were to even try to attempt to close your eyes, he'd stop his movements. So, you gazed right into those devilish, lustful eyes of his. "All over my fingers baby, do it." Were his final words before it happened, your inevitable, ecstasy-filled orgasm.

Your moan was loud and lethal as you came, but you sounded so angelic to Joel. He released the grip on your face as you came and instead kissed you, his kiss soft and caring. His fingers slowed down inside of you before he slowly drifted them out of you, bringing them up to his lips and licking your juices off; He always does that, you find it attractive in a way. "Oh goodness," you laughed out, "That was good."

Joel glanced down at you with fierce eyes before speaking up again, "You think that was good? Honey, I'm 'bout to make it so your ass can't walk." Joel then tore your panties off, down to your ankles and past them before he threw them on the floor. You giggled and he pulled his boxers down, his hardened length being revealed. "Mmm I'm so glad we decided to stay in bed." "I know you are." He said as he then grabbed your legs, holding each one in his arms.

"Wait, are you not going to get a condom?" "Since when we need one? You know baby-" "Joel, I-" you tried to pause him, knowing where he was going with this. He wants a baby, badly. You do too but, you're just nervous. "Darlin', I want this, you want this... Let me get my soon-to-be wife pregnant with my baby." He muttered to you, his voice so convincing. You bit your lower lip, "Such a persuasive man." You reached your hand up to run it through his facial hair. "Mkay." You whispered.

You swear you've never seen Joel's face light up so fast. He guided himself to your entrance before he entered himself into you, his erect member sliding into your sensitive & slippery hole. You let out a deep sigh as he did. It felt good. You love when you guys don't use protection however, it's rare.

With your legs propped up in his arms, all you had to do was lay there and take it. And oh, Joel's gonna give it to you.

Sliding in and out of you, the man hardly wasted time. He thrusted into you roughly, his noises hot and heavy as he did. "Gonna make you a momma, hmm? That what you want baby?" His accent was hefty and clearly audible, which turned you on even further - if it were even possible. You kept hold on his arms as he moved into you, it was the least amount of support you could seek. "Gonna get this belly all swollen and big, fuck, you'll look so pretty." His dirty talk, fuck you relish in it.

His hands gripped on your legs tightly, keeping them tracted as he moved his hips coursely. All you did was moan and watch him with intense need. You've never been so horny before, you're sure. "I needed this," you moaned out to your fiance, assuring him that you're enjoying all of this. You saw a slight smile form on his face before he drew himself to your face, kissing you passionately as he fucked you, hard.

In between kisses, he spoke. "Can't wait to get you pregnant... Can't wait to see my wife be a mommy to my child... Fuck." He's so into it, it was making you fall for the idea further. "I want your baby, just yours... Need it..." It's the idea of it - the fact your love making is so passionate and the fact you two are truly ready to be parents. Plus, the idea of Joel cumming inside of you is one you practically daydream about.

"Oh baby," Joel then dropped your legs and instead lifted you up for a moment, slithering his arms to be around your back, hugging you tightly as he pumped himself into you. You hugged him back, both wrapping your arms and legs around his. He moved into you so deeply, you swear you could feel his tip in your stomach, that's how good it was. "Cum inside of me Joel... Please... I need it." Your begging was all he needed to hear.

"Jesus Christ," he said, burying his head into the crease of your neck. "You take it so well." He panted, kissing your shoulders as he fucked you so fast, until he finally came.

As Joel finished within your closed in walls, you held him close, playing with his hair and kissing the side of his head. It felt perfect, his semen leaking into you and hopefully, getting you pregnant. You don't regret it, not one bit. You felt his lips go against your collarbone, then trial up to your face where he then kissed your cheek. "That was fuckin' great." He said to you. "Yeah it was." You glimmered and unraveled your legs around him, freeing him.

He pulled away from you and looked down. The bed was a mess, your sheet was drenched and the blanket was on the floor. You laughed and closed your legs before sitting up and tilting your head at him. "Look what you do to me babe." "Mmm," he nodded and grabbed your chin, "It's what I do best." He then kissed you before pressing his forehead to yours. "We oughta get ourselves and our room cleaned up, what'dya say darlin'?" "You're right." You then tried to stand up, and ultimately failed.

You immediately sat back down on the bed once you felt how wobbly and weak your legs were. Joel took notice and snorted. "Told ya." He kissed your cheek before standing up, going towards the dresser and grabbing you out some new clothes. "Let's get you dressed baby, I'll do it all for you."

You cannot believe you'll be married to this man soon and hopefully, with his child.

[monicfever]

omgg youu are talented at writting 😭😭 could youu please write more of dex?? YOUU ARE AMAZING ♾️♾️🤍💘

orbiting you quietly. 𝜗𝜚 ben poindexter.

working side by side in the hum of routine, dex moves through every task with quiet devotion, chasing the warmth of your praise like it’s sunlight — like it’s the only thing that keeps him alive.

brooklyn was grey that morning.

heavy with a kind of lightless fog that pressed low against the buildings, as if the city itself had given up holding its head high. the brooklyn suicide prevention center sat quiet near the corner of a long, cracked street, tucked between a shuttered deli and an apartment complex that hadn’t seen fresh paint in a decade. the building didn’t look like a place for saving lives, it looked like a place people went to disappear.

inside, the walls were an off-white that had seen too many winters, too many cheap coffee spills and curled bulletin board notices pinned and forgotten. it smelled faintly of disinfectant and the ghost of burnt toast. there were dying plants on windowsills, drooping toward the glass like they, too, had tried to leave and failed. phones rang in soft cycles, never urgently. voices murmured behind the fabric walls of cubicles. sometimes crying, sometimes silence.

dex’ cubicle was third from the end in the west corridor, just past the breakroom that always smelled like someone else's soup. his space was a picture of immaculate restraint. not a pen out of place, not a single paperclip skewed. everything was lined up, corner to corner, colour-coded sticky notes stacked with precision. the monitor sat perfectly centered. the chair never spun when he stood up. it was rigid, obedient. just like him. he liked it that way.

he liked the quiet, the way the lights buzzed just barely too loud, like something inside the walls was always alive. he liked the uniformity, the structure, the rules. the way the day folded itself into clean, containable blocks. thirty-minute calls, ten-minute breaks, scheduled wellness checks. everything measured. everything expected.

predictability was peace.

it didn’t matter that most of the people he spoke to were crying, or silent, or on the edge of not breathing. he followed the script provided, voice smooth and sterile, each word handed over like a prescription. detached, impersonal. it was what they trained him to do. dex was good at following orders. he didn’t feel bad about the calls. he didn’t feel much at all. maybe once, in a different life, there was guilt or something like it. now it was just static.

the carpet was grey and frayed near the corners of the hallway, the breakroom door had a squeak that made his teeth itch, the clock above the main desk always ran four minutes fast. he catalogued these things without meaning to, without wanting to. everything filed away neatly in his mind.

the building itself felt suspended in time; dim, slow-moving, tired. there was something haunted about it. not by ghosts, but by the weight of too many stories stacked on top of each other. hundreds of voices funneled through the same lines, all pleading into the same nothing.

the walls didn’t echo. they absorbed. every whisper, every sob, every broken breath swallowed whole by the cubicles, the stained ceiling tiles, the thin industrial carpet that dulled footsteps. it was a quiet that wasn't peaceful. it was the quiet of restraint. of things left unsaid. the lights overhead hummed with the same tired persistence as the people beneath them. no one spoke loudly here, no one laughed. even the breakroom felt like it existed underwater — muted, slow, beige.

outside, the city moved fast. horns, trains, voices, music leaking from passing cars; but inside this building time collapsed inward. minutes dragged like wet cloth. hours disappeared without a trace.

dex sat at his desk like he’d always been there. spine straight, hands still, eyes fixed on the screen even when nothing was moving. he was good at this part — the waiting. the stillness. he could out-sit anyone. sometimes he watched the light change. the way it crept across the floor from the narrow windows, cold and pale in the early hours, yellow and foggy by late afternoon. it gave the illusion that something was shifting, even if everything else stayed exactly the same.

his headset rested just behind his ear; ready. not because he wanted the calls, but because he wanted to be seen. wanted them to see him. to see how composed he was. how exact.

the others here had softness in them. he could hear it in their voices, the way they said i’m sorry like they meant it. the way they let themselves feel for the strangers calling in, bleeding into the phone. dex didn’t bleed. he couldn’t.

but he was clean. efficient. dependable. and he thought — he hoped — that maybe that meant something to them. maybe that was enough to be worthy of a second glance. a quiet compliment. a fleeting you’re doing good work, dex. he would carry those words like a relic, polish them smooth in his mind.

this place didn’t need to be warm. it just needed to hold them both. him, and the one person he couldn’t stop wanting to impress.

you.

sometimes dex thought about how many people had whispered their last words into this building. he didn’t feel sad about that either. he didn’t come here to feel, he came for control. for order. for the soft, rare moments when they noticed him. that was the only thing that made him real lately. not the routine. not the script. not the careful stacks of paper or the alphabetized tabs on his desktop.

just them.

and he tried. god, he tried. arrived early, stayed late, kept his stats high, his reports spotless. he kept hoping they’d stop behind his chair again, hand resting on the edge of his cubicle, voice low and even, saying something — anything — that he could replay in his head later when the calls were over and the building had emptied and he sat alone in the quiet.

he was good. he had to be.

not just clean numbers and flawless reports. not just the voice he used on the line, untouched by emotion. it was in the way he sat, the way he breathed, the way he never left a single thing out of place. perfection was the language he spoke, and he spoke it for them.

they moved like the building belonged to them. not in any loud or arrogant way, it was quieter than that. the way people naturally shifted when they were near, like water parting around a steady shape. dex watched it happen every time. watched the way they drifted through the halls like gravity bent around them. watched how their presence could calm a room. they didn’t know what they were doing to him. or maybe they did. he couldn’t tell.

sometimes, they would stop behind him, just briefly. a word or two dropped like gold coins.

“you handled that one well.”

“i like the way you log your notes.”

simple. professional. casual, even. but dex would carry it like scripture. would repeat it in the quietest part of his mind, over and over, until the syllables wore grooves into his brain. he didn’t need kindness. didn’t need warmth. he just needed recognition.

his entire body was tuned to their presence. their steps, the scent of their cologne or shampoo, something clean and unplaceable. the way their hand sometimes grazed the edge of his cubicle wall when they walked by, fingers dragging for half a second too long. he lived for the scraps. he worked like he was starving. like praise was food, and only they could feed him.

and when the building emptied, when the phones stopped and the lights flickered tired above him, dex would still sit there. alone in the hush, thinking of them. always them. thinking of the way their voice sounded when they said his name four days ago. thinking of how it might sound if they ever said it a little softer.

he stayed late under the lights that buzzed just a little louder when the building thinned out. his monitor casting a pale blue glow across his face, making the hollows under his eyes look deeper, sharper. the clock ticked quietly, but he didn’t hear it. he was thinking. not about the calls, not about the woman he’d just talked off a ledge with a voice that didn’t waver once. he was thinking about the way they’d paused near his desk that morning. just a second. just long enough.

they didn’t say much. just glanced down at his screen and nodded, slow and approving, before moving on. “doing good.” that was all. but it played in his head like music.

he had written it down — he always did. kept a private document hidden in layers of folders on his desktop, buried beneath fake names and acronyms. a log and date of every word they’d ever said to him. every smile, every glance. he read through it when the office got too quiet, when the night pressed in too close. every compliment was a wound he reopened on purpose.

he thought about them on the subway ride home. standing, always, even when seats were open. gripping the cold metal pole with his hand, staring straight ahead but seeing only their face.

he wondered if they ever thought about him. if they ever wondered why he never took days off. why he never made mistakes. why he was always exactly what they needed. he didn’t want anything from them, not really. not in the way people always assumed when they used words like ‘infatuation.’

he just wanted to be good enough. good enough to notice. good enough to need.

if that meant becoming hollow and perfect, if that meant learning every single thing about them and storing it behind his teeth like a secret, he would do it. he was already doing it.

and he was so, so good.

the next morning was pale and brittle.

the sky outside the narrow windows was washed-out, barely blue, the kind of color that felt unfinished. snow had started to fall again — thin, soundless flakes drifting sideways past the glass like ash. it hadn’t stuck to the pavement yet, but everything looked muted, quieter than usual. like the world was holding its breath.

inside, the office was already alive with low chatter, the occasional cough, the creak of desk chairs. cubicles stretched in neat rows under the ceiling’s low sprawl, each one its own little box of half-lives and coffee-stained reports. someone was crying softly into their headset two aisles over. someone else was typing too fast.

dex’ corner was untouched, still perfect. clipboard aligned to the edge of the desk. pen uncapped, resting parallel. his chair didn’t squeak when he moved. he was already mid-call, voice low, steady, pulled taut like string. “...and that’s okay. it’s okay to feel that way. what matters is that you called. we’re gonna walk through it together.”

his tone didn’t change. it never did. he could’ve been reading from a cookbook. his eyes flicked to the clipboard in front of him, following the script like a ritual. mechanical, precise. not because he cared, but because they might be listening.

and then — that shift.

that unmistakable flicker in the air, subtle as a change in pressure. he didn’t look up, not right away, but he felt it. recognized their footsteps. the way the light seemed to change. they were close. he heard the soft drag of their steps, the gentle creak of their weight against the wall of his cubicle; then a pause.

they leaned against the edge of his workspace, not speaking yet, just watching him. dex’ breath caught, but he didn’t let it show. his fingers tightened faintly around the clipboard. he kept reading word for word. “you’re not alone in this. i’m here. just breathe, okay? can you do that for me?” his voice was warmer now. emotional. almost convincing. he could feel their eyes on him.

then they smiled. not big, not loud. just a small, knowing thing. patient. dex swallowed. his heart, previously so even and quiet in his chest, now thundered. not because of the caller, not because of the script; because they were listening and he wanted to be good.

their gaze moved over him with that quiet kind of focus that made his skin feel too tight, like he wasn’t meant to hold this much attention. his voice stayed even, but his fingers tapped once nervously against the clipboard. “yeah,” he said into the receiver, eyes fixed on the words in front of him but meaning none of them. “you’re doing the right thing. just stay with me a little longer, okay? we’ll take it one step at a time.” his throat felt dry. out of the corner of his eye, he saw you mouth something.

you’re doing great.

just that. silent. lips forming the words like a secret meant only for him. his grip tightened. his heart stuttered. he nodded once — tiny, instinctive. not for the caller. for them. always them.

they stayed for a moment longer, arms still folded, eyes warm but unreadable. listening. watching. then they pushed off the edge of the cubicle with that same soft grace they always moved with and walked away, further down the row to check on someone else.

their absence was immediate.

like breath pulled from a room. dex exhaled slowly, blinked, refocused. the caller was still speaking, shakily, and dex responded automatically, voice instantly flat again. but in his chest, everything was loud. frantic. glowing.

they said he was doing great.

he would hold onto that for days.

the call dragged on, the voice on the other end of the line scared, low. words spilled out of him with an eerie precision, as if he were reciting a mantra, something hollow and detached. “i’m still here. i’m not going anywhere.” but the words felt empty. inside everything was burning, frantic. a sharp, throbbing pressure in his chest. every thought, every heartbeat, seemed to be pulling him in a direction he couldn’t resist. his mind kept circling back to them, to the way they’d looked at him, the way they'd smiled before walking away. he wanted to grab onto that moment, hold it tight, feel it slip through his fingers. it wasn’t enough. it would never be enough.

the girl on the line was still speaking, but her voice barely registered. his eyes flickered to his screen, gaze sharpening, almost predatory. then he leaned closer to the mic, voice dropping lower, quieter, colder. "maybe you should just do it." he murmured, tone so dark it almost tasted like metal. "make it stop." the words felt raw, too raw, but he couldn’t stop them. he wanted to hear them. he leaned even closer, breath steady. "what’s stopping you? go ahead. make it quick. you think anyone cares? clearly not, if you needed to call a stranger for help."

the words hung in the air, the silence between them thick and oppressive. the girl’s voice on the other end stuttered, a soft whimper escaping her lips. dex didn’t care. and then, the call ended with a sharp click, the silence ringing through his ears.

he blinked, fingers hovering over the mouse. the room was suffocatingly still. for a moment, he sat there, the weight of the words lingering in the air. but before he could process what had just happened, the sound of footsteps approached again. he didn’t need to look up. he already knew who it was.

their voice, soft and uncertain, broke through the quiet. “hey, uh, dex...” they sounded almost hesitant, as if they were trying to be careful not to disturb the fragile calm of his world.

“yeah?” he responded, his voice clipped, sharper than he intended.

there was a pause, and then the words came out in a rush. “there’s a birthday party for michelle today. you know, just something small after hours... cake, some decorations. i’ve already asked everyone else, but they’re busy. i was wondering... if you have a few minutes... maybe... you could stay and help me set up?”

it was simple. innocent. but something about it made the blood rush to his head, made his stomach twist in ways that felt dangerous. his fingers tightened around the clipboard, the edges digging into his skin. he exhaled slowly, forcing a calm he didn’t feel, as his gaze finally lifted, eyes locking onto theirs. “sure,” he said, too quickly. “i’ll stay. no problem.” the words came out almost too eager, but he didn’t care. staying was all that mattered. staying meant being close.

they smiled then, the faintest curve of their lips, and it felt like a brief moment of relief — like they had just thrown him a rope, and he was grabbing onto it with everything he had. “thanks, dex.” their voice was light, but he could hear the warmth beneath it.

he nodded, his throat tight. "yeah. no problem."

they walked away after that.

stay and help me.

it wasn’t much, but to dex it felt like an invitation. an opening. an opportunity to be needed, to prove he was worth something. to make himself useful in a world where he often felt like a shadow fading into the background.

he clicked through the tasks on his screen, the words blurring as his thoughts spiraled, his focus split between the calls he needed to take and the thought of them, standing just out of reach.

it wasn’t long before the workday was winding down, the office growing quieter. the last few calls filtered through, voices distant and hollow, but dex barely heard them anymore. his eyes flicked towards the clock, then back to his screen. the tension in his chest was building again.

when his final call ended, dex was already standing, his movements quick. he grabbed his jacket, almost throwing it on, hands moving with a frantic energy that was out of place in the otherwise calm office. he didn’t wait. he couldn’t wait. he found them just as they were finishing up something at their desk.

“ready.” he greeted, voice a little too sharp, too eager, like he was afraid they’d change their mind.

they looked up, surprised but with that same soft smile. "oh, you’re ready to help?"

"yeah," he replied immediately, "just tell me what to do."

they hesitated, eyes studying him for a moment, and it sent a thrill through him. did they notice? did they see how much he wanted this? how much he needed their attention? "okay," they said, voice warm, like the invitation had never stopped. "follow me."

dex nodded, following closely behind them as they made their way to the small break room where the party would take place. his steps were almost too quick, matching their pace, but just enough distance to leave room for that sliver of space he knew he couldn’t invade. yet. he watched them move around, setting up with a practiced ease, and for the first time in what felt like forever, dex found himself... still.

when they turned to him, asking if he could hold something, the smile they gave him was warm and kind, and for a moment, it felt like they were looking at him in a way they hadn’t before — like he mattered, like he was someone they wanted around. “thank you.” they said again, their voice softer now, with that subtle approval he craved.

dex nodded, his throat tight, chest swelling with something he couldn’t name. "anything for you." the words slipped out before he could stop them, raw and needy, and he almost winced at the intensity in his own voice. they didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they did, but they didn’t care. they just smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart race.

as they continued to set up his thoughts began to race again. he was so close now. so close to what he wanted, to what he needed. he would stay close. stay useful. stay needed. and maybe, just maybe, they would notice. maybe they would see him as more than just the guy who followed the script, more than just the quiet one who stayed in his corner. maybe, this time, he could be someone they wanted — someone they couldn’t ignore.

the world outside the room faded into nothing. dex moved with urgency, hands trembling slightly as he helped set up the decorations. he tried to focus on the task at hand, but all he could feel was their presence, the air thick with the faintest traces of their scent. their laughter, light and easy, drifted through the room, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at them, catching the way their eyes sparkled when they smiled.

stop it. just focus. he thought, trying to reign in the overwhelming pull he felt. but the more he watched them, the harder it became to pretend. they passed by him again, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of their proximity. "could you grab that box over there?" they requested, their voice easy, casual.

"of course." his hands reached for the box a little too quickly. it was a simple request, one they probably didn’t think twice about, but to dex, it was like a direct command — and he would always listen to what they had to say.

when he placed the box down they gave him a soft smile, and for a moment, it was like time slowed. "you’re really helpful." the words hung in the air for a heartbeat too long, and dex felt a jolt of something sharp, something electric course through him. he swallowed hard, trying to mask the way his heart was pounding in his ears.

"yeah, no problem." he managed, hands clenching at his sides, aching to touch, to do more. instead, he forced himself to look away, focusing on the task in front of him. they moved around the room, busying themselves with small tasks — hanging up a banner, setting out plates. dex watched every move, every glance, every soft chuckle that escaped their lips. it was like he was drowning in them.

they went about their work and would ask him the occasional question, tone light and friendly. "hey, you’ve been working really hard lately, huh?" they glanced at him as they placed a stack of cups on the table. "i’ve noticed. you’re kind of a perfectionist, aren’t you?"

his breath caught, and he forced himself to laugh, though it felt hollow in his chest. "i try," he said. "it’s just easier when everything is orderly."

they smiled again, that soft, warm smile that made his stomach flip. "i think that’s why you’re so good at your job," they said casually. "you really care about getting things right."

the words cut through him, each one a needle pinning him to the spot. they think i care. they notice. he swallowed hard, "i do.” he didn’t. not about the job. not really. but the praise, the validation from them, that was everything. they didn’t seem to notice how much their words affected him. to them, it was just casual conversation, the kind they had with everyone. but to dex it was like they had just handed him the most precious gift.

the conversation moved on and dex felt the unease growing inside of him bubbling. it wasn’t enough. nothing would ever be enough. he wanted more, needed more. all of them, all of their attention. he wanted to be the center of their focus, to be the one they turned to when they needed something — anything. he watched them move across the room, taking charge, organizing. every word that fell from their lips, every simple instruction, was a rule he had to follow. even the smallest request sent a surge of something sharp and eager through him. he stood a little straighter, waiting for another moment, another task. anything.

"could you help set this up over here? just grab a few of the chairs and bring them over." their voice was light, nothing extraordinary, but to him, it was everything. "you got it." his hands were already moving before the words left his mouth. it didn’t matter that the task was small, that it was nothing more than setting up chairs. what mattered was that they had spoken to him, asked him to do something.

when he returned with the chairs, he set them down carefully, making sure they were perfectly aligned, just like everything else in his life. "thanks." they said with a smile that seemed to stretch a little longer than usual, just enough to leave his heart racing in his chest.

"anything." he smiled, and it was friendly, the kind you’d offer to be polite, but the word hung in the air more than a simple response. anything for you.

the evening wore on, and he stayed close, just enough to be in their orbit. he couldn’t get enough of the feeling — of being needed, of doing something for them, of being the one they called on. nothing else mattered. not the calls he’d taken, not the people on the other end of the line, not the world outside this room. it was only them, only their presence that filled his mind, their every word and smile that kept him tethered to this moment, this small piece of purpose.

everything for them. only for them.

the conversation faded into a low murmur behind him, like waves crashing against a shore he no longer stood on. dex wasn’t listening. not really. his eyes were on them again — the curve of their spine as they leaned over a table, the easy grace in their movements, the way they gestured with one hand while the other cradled a clipboard to their chest. he could watch them forever. he wanted to.

in the quiet recess of his mind, the scene shifted — subtly at first. he imagined them turning toward him with that same warm smile, but softer now, like it was just for him. no crowd. no task. just their voice, low and familiar, asking him to stay a little longer. maybe they’d brush his hand when passing by, fingers lingering just a second too long. maybe they'd whisper something just for him — something secret, something his. maybe they’d need him in a way that wasn’t about chairs or lists or neat rows of order. just him. only him.

his chest ached.

dex blinked. the room snapped back into sharp relief — they were still across the room, still organizing, still unaware of the spiral he’d disappeared into. that was fine. that was better.

he cleared his throat, tugged at the hem of his shirt, forced his feet to stay grounded. one step at a time. one small task at a time. he could manage that. he had to.

he looked back at them — not too long. just enough. “let me know if you need anything else.” he said, louder than necessary, voice steady now, composed. it wasn’t just an offer.

it was a promise.

★ a / n : thank you sm for this sweet message

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.27.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[staticbleeding]

⛧°。 ⋆Waiting on the Stars ⋆°⛧

+:｡.｡　teen Stanford Pines x gn reader　｡.｡:+

I really want to turn this into a multipart story if this gets good enough reception so let me know what yall think! warnings : strong language, suggestive language, the usual teen shit pt.1 pt.2

1972 Moving to the small town of Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey was not how you expected to start your senior year. Not long into your stay however, a certain twin catches your attention, or maybe you caught his. Will this be a journey among the stars? Or another tale lost to time?

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Your shoes squeak quietly against the vinyl floors of the halls as you walk to the office. Glass Shard Beach High School is painted on big letters against the walls. Eyes bare down on you as if you had a third arm. No one moves to this town. Let alone a new student in their last year of highschool. The walk to the office was filled with whispers and stares. You do your best to keep quiet and ignore the anxiety boiling up inside you. "It's only one year. Just survive one year here then you are gone from here", you mentally console yourself. You stop yourself in front of a door with big letters saying 'Office'. Opening the door, you are met with a dingy room that smells of old paper and sweat. Off to the side of the room is a big desk that sits an older lady with curly grey hair and thick glasses that looks like they can fall off at any movement. She types away at a typewriter that looks older than herself, "Um excuse me? Am I supposed to get my schedule here?", you speak for the first time since entering this dull building. The lady looks up at you with a sweet smile forming on her aged face. "Yes! What's your name dear?" she says in a sweet voice. You smile at her, "(Y/N)(L/N)". She opens a big filing cabinet that looks like it hasn't been dusted in centuries. She pulls out a beige file that has your name on it, a thin piece of paper falls out as she opens it. Handing you the paper along with a map, she welcomes you to Glass Shard. Bidding the woman goodbye, you walk out into the hall and navigate yourself to your first class.

Physics is written in big bold letters "You gotta be fucking me" you groan out. Opening the door you are met with eyes immediately on your form. Despite the eyes watching every move you walk up to the teacher sitting down at his desk at the front of the class. "You must be the new student. My name is Mr. Barron and I will be your teacher for this year. What's your name?" the balding man takes your hand to shake. As you shake the sweaty hand of the older man, your name falls from your lips. "Everyone this is your new classmate (Y/N)! Be nice for once please", turning his attention back to you, "go ahead and take a seat next to Stanford". His hand directs you to an empty seat next to the said kid. You sit down and look over at Stanford. Thick glasses sit on the strong nose of the man. A white button up is adorned by a red bow tie is tied perfectly against his neck. His hands are busy drawing in a notebook that looks to be filled with art and many ramblings. "Hi Stanford" your voice whispers out to the man that hasn't looked at you since you sat down "Please call me Ford" Stanford says in a quiet voice trying to ignore your gaze on him "Oh okay Ford" You smile at the nerdy looking man You gaze at his artwork, "You are really good at that", pointing at his current drawing of some sort of creature. A light red dusts the mans face. You start to notice more features of Ford's. His square jaw, the little indent on his chin, his glasses that he keeps pressed close to his face. He clears his throat and whispers a small thank you. Nodding your head, you turn your attention back to your books in front of you. His gaze strays to you throughout the class. Stealing glances at you as your focus is elsewhere. Taking in every detail of your face and mannerisms. The way your hair falls, your little laughs at the teacher's jokes, and the way you looked so focused on your notes. Who are you? What led you to this town? Questions circle his head as he watches you gather your books and backpack as the bell rings. That night he went home and sat awake, drawing in his notebook wondering what made you so interesting to him. Weeks go by as you get into a rhythm of going to classes and trying to get used to your new home in Glass Shard. Becoming more and more accustomed to the new town and starting to make more friends as the days come and go. The words shared between you and Ford slowly become more and more. Your first block interactions with the man becomes some sort of normality to you. A part of your everyday routine. He starts to get more accustomed to your presence, wanting more of your presence near him. He can't help but take note of the small quirks of yours. The way you lay your head down during the morning announcements trying to get one more minute of sleep, or how quickly you gather your things as the bell rings to rush and meet with your friends before your next class, or the way you look down when the teacher asks for an answer to a question. He finds himself waiting for the next moment he can get with you. But that's all he gets with you.

Walking along the boardwalk of the town you've started to get accustomed to, you look up and see a dingy looking sign. Pines Pawns Without thinking, your hands push against the creaky door. A bell rings above your head signaling your presence in the space. Your eyes meet the wide eye look of your classmate Ford sitting behind the counter. His gaze looks over you. Seeing you outside of the classroom wracked his nerves instantly. His palms begin to sweat and stick to the pages of the magazine in his hand. "Oh Ford! Hi". You smile towards the man you grew to know in your brief interactions. "(Y/n)?? W-what are you doing here?" He stutters out, quickly clearing his assortment of Cryptid Weekly magazines that are spread out in front of him.

"Thought I would finally pop my head in here after walking by it for awhile." You smile at the blushing man "Oh um...well this is it. My family store.." He scratches the back of his neck and looks away from your prying eyes. "Weird seeing you outside of school. I started to think you lived there." You joke with the blushing mess in front of you. A part of you weren't joking. You swear you have only seen the man walking in the halls with his twin and back to class. Never outside. You see the man tighten up and look down at the ground with embarrassment filling his body. "So what kinda cool stuff do you guys sell?" Sensing the incoming awkward silence, you fill it in. Looking around you spot gold chains, fur coats, and various diamond rings you for sure knew were fake. "Just..stuff. What would you call 'cool stuff'?" Ford says with a small smile. "Like dinosaur shit, shrunken heads, fairy dust? I ran out of all of my fairy dust last night. Need a refill man." You joke as your fingers graze against a fur coat that was definitely needing a wash. "None of that here unfortunately. We do have crystals however. Fake of course, but pretty nonetheless." the man looks towards you at that last part. Leading you to the back of the shop, he shows you a small crystal that definitely is plastic. You gently grab it from his hand. Your fingers graze over his. The thought that this is the first time you two have ever touched crosses his mind and he immediately looks down and tries to focus on anything else. You soon find a couple of crystals that would look nice in your room. Buying them and leaving the store left a silence Ford wishes would swallow him whole. He watches as you leave the shop with a little jump in your walk. The first time he has seen you outside of school and he spends the entire time a stuttering mess. "Nice going Ford." He mutters to himself and waits for the time the store closes. He doesn't hear his Ma scamming another person with her phony 'readings'

He doesn't hear Stan call dibs on the shower first

He walks to his shared room like a zombie and lays on his bunk. Looking up at the posters that are stuck to the bottom of the top bunk, Ford thinks about how you laughed and joked with him, how your fingers felt grazing his, how your eyes looked when you smiled. Slowly his eyes close and he drifts to his now usual nighttime routine of seeing your face smiling. Not cause of some stupid joke someone made but cause of him. He can't help but wish he had more confidence to talk to you. Ask if you want to go to the beach sometime. Maybe this is more than just a simple curiosity. He groans and hides his blushing face against the pillow. Silently wishing you would leave his mind. But you don't.

Little did he know, that you were thinking of the interaction yourself. Wondering why he stood out to you so hard.

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Shit this was the first full story I have written in like 3 years?? I hope y'all enjoy and if it's liked, I will love to have more parts. Baii <3

[callmerid]

"Late Mr. .Carson?"

Gareth

This day was going splendidly. Amazing. Could not be better.

First, I was awaken ever so rudely by Nikolai's entourage, then on the way to college, some idiot with obvious eye problems managed to get himself nearly runover by Medusa. And now I was going to be undoubtedly late to criminal law.

Kayden's class.

Considering how much of a prick he is to me on usual days in class, today would just be worse. Funny, he's more than happy to be with me outside of class but the moment were on campus its all "Carson" this Carson that. I fucking hate how he calls me by my last name.

I sighed deeply as I stood in front of the lecture hall. Here goes nothing. Ugh

I opened the door to the lecture hall stepping inside, my gaze flicking over the classroom as finally landing on Kayden. He stands leaning on his desk, a PowerPoint presentation appearing to be on behind him.

He was clad in a crisp white shirt with blue stripes and beige dress pants. His grey eyes and square jaw stirring something inside me. Handsome Asshole.

"Your late Mr. Carson"

I meet his eyes.

"It appears so" I pause looking at him. I hold my head high

" Apologies"

"You will be receiving a absent remark on today's class" he replies

I grit my teeth.

I flash him my most charming smile, dimples and all that.

"Even though we can all see that I'm standing here?"

"I'm sure you're aware of my attendance policy, more then 10 minutes late is a absent." he makes a show of looking at his watch "It appears you're 15 minutes late however, take a seat before you disrupt my class further Carson."

I swear I don't know how I allow this prick to touch me.

I shoot knives, daggers, sledgehammers every destructive weapon you can think of at him with my eyes.

Later that day.

Moka purrs, her fur soft beneath my fingers as I pet her. My attention is snatched as I hear the door open.

I turn to see my professor at the doorway. Coincidently the man I'm fucking too.

"Hi Baby" he speaks as thought everything is peachy.

I don't bother acknowledging him , I turn away from him refocusing my attention on Moka as is she's the most interesting thing on Earth. ( she totally is )

I can feel his gaze on me, I hear his steps and feel him come closer.

"What's wrong now" he sighs

Almost like he's fed up with me.

My anger only increases.

"The other day . . . Zara was late to class, later than I was." my voice sounds surprisingly composed. "You didn't say anything then."

"Ah, so that's what this is about. " he seems to realize. "Zara had a valid excuse, what's yours?"

"Oh how about the fact that..." I trail off.

What is my excuse? I woke up on the wrong side off the bed this morning? Nearly ran someone over?

Well I really didn't think this through.

"I'm waiting" he raises a brow

I turn around to face him.

"I'm feeling quite forgiving today, so I will ignore the fact that you were being an absolute jerk. Again" I try to save myself.

"Is that so? Should I be grateful?" he stalks towards me.

"Absolutely" I reply as his hand snakes around my neck clutching my neck.

I peer up to look at him as his breath fans my face.

"And how may I show my gratitude?" he whispers in that seductive voice of his.

"I might have a few ideas" I whisper.

And then his lips are on mine.

(This is my first piece of fan fiction ever show some love please! )

[backwardshatnick]

𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺: 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗈

in which they achieved their daily steps on a first date.

pairing: call centre representative!matt x customer!reader wc: 2.4k notes: yayyyy, they finally went out on a first date! click here for the masterlist :) divider by strangergraphics <3

It was an early afternoon, the campus skies still painted bright blue with the university buildings casting great grey shadows on the concrete. The steps outside the Physics department were littered with tired students, dark circles visible as they dragged themselves out of the exam hall with the leftover energy they had from their 7th can of Red Bull this morning. Among the horde of hoodie-wearing students was Peony, clutching a crumpled formula sheet with a half-melted Cadbury bar and a plastic ruler placed in the pocket of her cream-coloured flannel.

And then she saw him.

Matt stood a little ways off, just past the bike rack, the curls on his hair springing out in all directions underneath his green fitted cap, clad in a matching green and beige flannel while he held something awkwardly behind his back as he almost tripped at an unsuspecting curb.

“Oh, crap,” she muttered under her breath, approaching with small and slow strides, “Please don’t tell me that’s—”

“A Peony for your thoughts?” Matt blurted out, stepping forward with a slightly crooked smile and revealing a slightly-too-large bouquet of pink peonies and a few white baby’s breath at the sides, all wrapped together in sandy cellophane.

Peony blinked in confusion, a laugh threatening to leave her rosy lips, “That’s a lot of thoughts,” now mentally counting the amount of peonies that were in the bouquet.

They were nine stems of it.

“I panicked,” he truthfully admitted, his left free hand scratching the back of his neck, “I was going to get just four of them but the florist scolded and upsold me. Saying some stuff about even stalks being bad luck or for funerals and something about baby’s breath symbolising innocence and purity… or whatever.”

She now stared at the bouquet before moving on to look at Matt, whose cheeks crept red and more crimson when their eyes met, “You researched flower symbolism?”

“What, no!” he deadpanned and cleared his throat upon realising the crass tone, “I got bullied by an old lady in a gardening apron and hat. Consider this a post-exam reward.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of Peony’s mouth, sincere and warm but heart still stubborn to thank him, choosing to tease instead.

“You do realise that giving someone flowers after an exam doesn’t undo the trauma, right?”

Shrugging, Matt passed the flowers further into Peony’s hands, “What can I say? As a Comms major, bringing gifts is still a form of communication.”

Peony finally took the bouquet into her embrace, careful to not let the brittle baby’s breath and peony petals from falling apart and careful to not let Matt see her flushed pink cheeks as she hid herself behind the wrapping paper, “Thanks, Bernard.”

He groaned and playfully rolled his eyes, “Are we really not done with that yet?”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to forget a guy who flirted with me through Ethernet puns.”

“God, please just delete that,” he answered, regret evident in his voice as he led the way to walk towards the quad, “Anyway, real-life me is way cooler. Or, like… slightly less prone to internet flirting. Trust.”

“Noted,” she grinned, “I do miss Bernard, though. He was so mysterious and so dreamy. All tech bro vibes. And you? You just tripped on a curb.”

“I was distracted! I was holding out a bouquet with your name screaming all over it, it’s an awful lot for a man to handle!”

Peony finally snapped and let out the chuckle that she had been keeping in, finally understanding that Matt did not need to be a time traveller to hand her the flowers prior to her exam, because his presence after battling pages and pages of drawings and calculations was more than enough to make her forget what the formulas that she had now folded in her jeans were about.

They kept on walking, the air buzzing not only with fluffy dandelion ‘parachutes’, but lowkey with giddiness. The awkward tension of a first date between them accompanied the late spring atmosphere, a metaphor towards something that was about to blossom.

Peony and Matt walked side-by-side along the trees and square, passing by some sculptures and statues of great American physicists and chemists in silence, until she nudged him playfully with her elbow. He shifted his focus from the figures and looked at her and smiled, a little unsure, but certain of one thing.

He enjoyed this.

And Peony who was holding a bouquet of her namesake flowers and was pretending to not notice how close their hands were brushing against each other, was certain that she enjoyed this, too.

Though Peony had promised that she would be picking the place and Matt who tried to act confident had trusted her, it was a big mistake on their part.

Why?

Because fifteen minutes after meeting outside the Physics building— Peony with the soft pink peonies awkwardly cradled in her arms and Matt with his long fingers of silver rings shoved in his pockets, they somehow had already circled the same courtyard at least three times.

“I swear it was open the last time I passed by it,” she defended herself, pointing at the closed bakery door, “Or are they just closed because finals are almost done.”

Trying to reduce the strain, Matt cracked a joke using his best breezy and nonchalant voice, “It’s totally fine, Peony. Circling buildings is a great way to build suspense. And I like suspense.”

“This is hella humiliating.”

“Well, I’m just glad I’ve worn in these Nikes. I feel like I’ve done a billion steps already and we haven’t even sat down.”

Shooting him a guilty look, Peony answered, “I did say I’d pick. So that’s on me. Sorry, Matt.”

“And I believed you, so that’s on me too.”

The both of them paused again in the middle of a random square, both looking left and right for a miraculous place that they have yet to notice and pass by throughout the time that they had been circling campus as the gentle midday breeze rustled her braid and Matt's small silver hoops.

A random college freshman who was riding a rented yellow electric scooter had whooshed past by, the side pocket of his backpack carrying a teal Tupperware bottle, its body condensing with beads of water, tempting Matt’s dry throat.

“Okay. You know what? We’re going back to the campus café, where you work. I need a lemonade from them before I go feral,” he said, not waiting for an answer as he pulled Peony’s hand into a gentle grip before the gaps between her fingers were filled with his while she bit back a smile, heart racing unquestionably at his naive gesture.

As per usual, the main entrance to the Coffybara always jingled whenever a patron walks in and Peony had immediately covered her head with her grey hoodie and the bouquet when they went in the café.

But it was too late.

From behind the counter, Hessie, who was lucky enough to finish her exams a week earlier than Peony, had already clocked the flowers, the awkward tension and the way that Matt tried to stand like a normal person and failed.

“Well, well, well,” she sing-songed, “Who do we have here?”

Matt blinked and kept his fingers crossed in his jeans pocket when met with the brightly lit brown eyes of Hessie’s, “Please don’t bully me by calling me Bernard.”

Hessie gave the both of them a knowing smirk until Peony had cracked to give her an answer.

“I- I didn’t pick this place. He did.”

“Guilty,” Matt replied, taking out his right hand from his pocket to raise it, “I am in dire need of your passionfruit lemonades again.”

Once Matt had gotten his lemonade and Peony with her hot hazelnut latte toasting her hands, both of them exited the coffee shop and settled for a wooden bench a few blocks away from the building, the view of the parking lot and the faded lavender and sleepy orange skies greeting them alongside the sunset chorus of birds flying past to head to their breeding grounds.

“I’m never showing my face there anymore,” Peony said, removing the grey hood of her jumper underneath her beige flannel, causing her hair to look even more tousled than it was from the wind.

Matt swallowed a large sip of his ice cold lemonade and turned to Peony, fixing the strand of her hair that had somehow found its way to stick on her forehead, “It was worth it though. Want a sip of my lemonade?”

"No thanks, I've made enough of your drinks to know what they taste like. You really have a kid's taste buds, Matt."

He scoffed, taken aback at Peony's remark, "Well, you have a granny's taste buds then with that lukewarm drink of yours."

"Hey!"

"So when exactly was the last time you passed by that bakery?" Matt asked, his right shaking the leftover ice in his plastic cup as they both continued walking around the courtyard of the adjoining campus where it bore the main library and a multitude of buildings for Biochemical research.

Peony laughed awkwardly, the rise and fall of her chuckles sounding a tad bit too abashed, "Now that I think of it... Maybe it was in freshman year?"

Matt stared at the wrapped bouquet in her clutch and looked at her in disbelief, "This is how you repay someone for upsold flowers, Peony? With an accidental cardio?"

"I'm just helping you achieve your daily goals. Gotta build character and calves too in the process."

For a moment, they continued striding in silence, Matt kicking stray rocks away from his path while Peony let the breeze gently tug at her flannel where it carried the familiar faint smell of the café.

After adjusting the sleeves of his own flannel and fidgeting with its buttons, Matt finally asked, "So, how was your exam today?"

"Good," she nodded, "Thankfully the exam hall didn't smell like burnt erasers like how it usually does when we have to take our exams. Didn't cry one bit too today."

"Solid A+ performance," he answered, solemnly impressed, "I only got to cry internally today because I forgot my own username for work."

"That's because you have a lot of names, Matthew!"

"I so do not!" Matt defended himself, "The form asked for a professional pseudonym so we won't get doxxed that easily and all I could think about was my own middle name. And my grandpa's."

She laughed, the sound tittering sharp and bright like a skipping stone in a pond, until she faced him, "You don't sound like a Bernard though."

"Yeah? What do I sound like then?"

Peony was about to give him a fully honest answer, but her half-open mouth had closed itself again, giving him a pause which was followed by a cheeky smirk, "Someone who talks too much with his fingers and fails to give a real Insta username. Absolute ghosting king."

Matt almost choked over his own saliva, blinking before answering, "Hey! Listen, I was just— Fuck, sorry, okay. I had a whole plan going on but I just, let's say, lost the momentum."

"Sure, Bernard."

"Don't you dare start this again," he warned.

The peonies had held up surprisingly well in her grasp, the petals still upright and ravishing with its inner whorl still intact.

But the human Peony was the absolute complete opposite. During their mindless walk back to Peony’s campus, she had already started shaking her feet in between saunters, similar to how a dog would shake off excess water from its paw. Matt noticed the slight limp in her walk and grabbed her arm to let her pause.

“I can drive you home if you’d like,” he offered.

She blinked at him before shaking her head, “That’s fine. We’re just two blocks away from my dorm, anyway. Are you tired?”

“Nope,” Matt denied, “I’ll walk you home. Gentleman’s honour.”

He flicked his eyes towards his hand where it had recently clutched on Peony’s arm and shifted lower to where her hand was, staring at it for half a second as if considering something— until he chickened out.

The air had cooled just slightly, the both of them walking out together with their hands crossed over their chest and through the gusts of air Peony said, trying to sound nonchalant, “So… Thanks for wanting to be dragged across campus against your own will.”

“And thank you for not calling campus security to report a suspicious man with too many flowers in hand,” Matt answered, the lopsided smile on his face bright and genuine.

Pausing at the fork in the sidewalk where the road splits to the student housing and the students’ car park, they both had uttered the same word at the same time.

“Well,” they echoed, “Wait, you go first.”

“No, you!”

“You!”

Peony glanced at him through her lashes and teased, “Damn, you still talk too much for a nervous guy.”

“I am still nervous,” he admitted, regret catching up after as he allowed the words to digest in his head.

She blinked for quite a bit, letting the silent settle in until she gave him her signature smile, “Good. Maybe keep it that way. Thanks for the flowers... And goodnight, Matty.”

Peony turned and walked away, slowly but steadily with the bouquet bobbing slightly with each step she took on the staircase leading up to the main entrance.

Matt sent her off with a goodbye wave, not leaving until he made sure that Peony was safe and sound in the lobby of her dorm. Once she rounded the corner with the turnstile letting her in, he finally moved and rubbed his hands together, attempting to warm them as the giddiness coursed through his veins, rendering him weak in the knees.

He strode towards an empty wooden bench by the rubbish bins, now taking a seat as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to send her a DM whilst giggling.

Next time, Im picking the place. No cardio. Just you, me and a table in the middle of a restaurant that actually exists.

His thumb hovered over the send button, but he was not hesitant on sending his message this time, knowing for sure that Peony was the one. With a soft tap on his phone screen, Matt continued his walk home to his car grinning like an absolute fool.

additional notes (lol): the part where matt's buying peony flowers is sorta inspired by @immaqulate's florist!matt bot! i always find myself reminded of it (because it's just that good!!!) and i remember there was a part where he talked about flower symbolism when i was messing with it. also idk if i like this enough..... it seemed too awkward & unrealistic to me sdjhsjds

📤 @httpssturns @oopsiedaisydeer @slvtf0rchr1s @courta13 @a103-chris-mm @mattspillowprincess @izzylovesmatt @loverboysturn

[kingkaisen]

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐄 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

♡ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi, & reiner x celebrity reader

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Following Connie’s murderous attack on two of your ex lovers, one of them fights to stay alive, but the other person tragically died. Your world has turned into nothing but a mess of rumors, sadness, and fear, but there is hope — and hope comes in the form of your remaining lovers who haven’t yet given up on you. But, in the end, your heart will forever belong to your one true love.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI || DARK CONTENT — fem reader, modern/celebrity au, brief sex mention, heavy angst, marriage, divorce, cheating, mentions of violence & blood, gun mentions, miscarriage, mentions of false imprisonment, toxic relationship, manipulation, stalking, murder talk, suicide consideration, illness, hospitalization, & major character death. Some of the warnings listed here don’t necessarily apply to this part, but the series as a whole.

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 23k

♡ — 𝐀/𝐍: Hi everyone! Welcome to part 8, or rather, part 1 of the finale. Shoutout to @spicerackofblorbos for helping me plot this! I can’t believe this series is coming to an end. Please let me know what you think in the comments or in my inbox! There’s one more part after this.

— YEARS AGO - NEW YORK CITY —

“Mom? We’re back.” The front door — old with worn-out creases along its faded white wood — creaked when you opened it. 

If your mother couldn’t hear your voice as you greeted her upon returning to your apartment, then the sound of the raggedy front door announced your presence for you.

“Hey bird,” your mother’s comforting nickname, derived of the word songbird, made you smile. It always warmed you up, just like her cooking did as well. Even with a tight budget, her meals were always exceptional. 

Expensive ingredients grown and processed in beautiful foreign countries couldn’t compare to meals that were made with the love of a mother, who stood over a hot stove, preparing recipes that had been passed down from one generation to the next.

Perhaps, the thought of food was on your mind thanks to the tantalizing aroma of stew simmering in the kitchen a short distance away. A few steps away from the front door usually landed you right in front of the stove — the outdated apartment was rather cramped.

It too had been around for generations and generations.

Stepping to the side, you let Armin Arlert enter your home before shutting the squeaky door behind him.

“Armin’s here,” you called out, but truth be told, you didn’t need to. Armin was always here. He was practically family.

Together, you both made the short stride into the living room, where your mother was sitting on the couch, watching television. It wasn’t the nicest or most modern T.V. set in the world, but even so, Armin’s blue eyes were instantly glued to the impressive screen consisting of moving images. He didn’t have a T.V., and all of the other fifteen-year-old kids his age made it their duty to make fun of him for it.

“Hi miss L/N,” Armin greeted your mother, a soft smile gracing his face, his eyes darting between her and the television.

“Come on and have a seat.” Your mother nodded to the empty spot on the sofa next to her. Her hands were steadily knitting what appeared to be a blue sweater.

Armin politely sat down beside her. 

You sat on the floor as there wasn’t enough room on the tiny, dark grey sofa — your mother despised the depressing color; she dreamed of having a cushiony beige couch with lots of decorative pillows. 

You leaned your head against Armin’s knee, feeling the cool fabric of his worn-out blue jeans against the side of your head. Unbeknownst to you both, your mother saw the gentle display of affection, and she smiled. 

The sight of her daughter slowly falling in love — even if neither you nor Armin realized it yet — warmed her heart. 

“We can switch if you want to sit on the couch,” Armin offered.

“I’m fine. I like the floor.”

Armin ruffled your hair a bit. “Okay,” he said.

Turning his attention toward your mother, who glanced between the small and heavy T.V. and her knitting project, glasses hanging around the tip of her nose, he asked, “What are you watching?”

“The news,” placing both of her knitting needles in one hand, she grabbed the remote sitting on the arm of the sofa next to her and turned the volume up three notches. 

“I know you teens don’t watch the news nowadays, but you both should look at this, now. A kid in L.A. around your age just got arrested for playin’ too rough.”

“Huh?” You wrinkled your nose. “What does that even mean?”

“He was hangin’ out with his friends and ended up pushin’ one of them down a hill. Poor baby got hit by a speedin’ car. Now the boy who did it is gonna go to prison.” 

As you looked at the television screen, the image of a mugshot appeared. It was a teenage boy with sickly pale skin — probably stress-related, you figured — and a shaved head, his hazel eyes shining with tears.

“This story made national news because your generation needs to learn to be more careful. You two are always hangin’ out outside, so just be safe, alright?”

“Yes ma’am,” you and Armin replied in unison.

Several minutes of news-watching passed on by. Your stomach started to rumble, hunger greeting you like an unwelcomed, familiar friend. 

But if you were hungry, then Armin must have been starving. 

Unlike you, he didn’t have breakfast that morning, or dinner the night before. Though the servings were small, it was better than surviving off of small pieces of bread and water like he was forced to do.

Turning around, you glanced back at him. He was fidgeting with his thumbs. 

The sweet smell of food traveling from the kitchen to underneath his nostrils certainly didn’t help the hunger pain.

While he knew your mother would offer him a warm plate, as she always did, he didn’t want to let on just how starved he was. He was too polite to show any indication that he was hungry.

But you recognized the signs. He was your best friend, after all. 

And you knew what to do.

“Mom? Is the food ready? I’m hungry.”

“Hm?” She mumbled, distracted by the news, which displayed the teary-eyed teenage boy in court, handcuffed like a criminal. “Oh, yes. Everything’s ready. You two go wash your hands and get somethin’ to eat. Make sure you turn the stove off.”

After making your filling, steaming bowls of stew, you and Armin decided to eat your food outdoors, sitting on the curb in front of your apartment.

The sky was a darkening shade of blue, orange streetlights brightening up the road — which meant you couldn’t go beyond the curb.

Mom’s rules.

Insects chirped in the distance in the high, green grass nearby. Fireflies started to dance.

“I hate when my mom watches that depressing stuff,” you said, scooping up a soft carrot with your spoon and taking a bite. “She always turns it into life lessons too. Like, I’m not gonna push you in front of a car or whatever. I’m not that stupid.”

“She just wants you to be safe,” Armin paused to swallow his food. “I think it’s kinda sweet.”

“You’re just saying that because she’s feeding you,” you teased, elbowing him gently. “She’s your best friend right now.”

“Got that right.”

For a few moments, you and Armin both ate in a comforting silence.

“Do you have to leave soon?” With a frown, you glanced up at him. “Mom said she wants to cut your hair.”

“Guess it’s getting pretty long, huh?” Armin touched his blonde strands. “I can’t stay though. Work.”

“Really? But what about school in the morning? Can you even work this late? Aren’t child labor laws a thing?”

“Shush, it’s fine.” Armin stood up, and you did the same. “I’m dropping out of school once I turn sixteen next year, so I guess it doesn’t matter if I show up tomorrow tired.”

“Okay,” you mumbled with a little frown. “I’ll take your bowl back inside then since you can’t stay or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Armin smiled kindly. “And tell your mom I said thanks for the meal.”

Suddenly, the fifteen-year-old reached down and plucked a yellow weed out of the ground. 

“Dandelion,” he said. With a playful grin, he stuck it behind your ear. 

“Get that dirty piece of grass out of my hair,” you grimaced, but even so, you didn’t dare remove it. 

“Absolutely not,” his grin softened. Despite his smile, his blue eyes glistened with sadness. He despised leaving your side, even for a work shift. “Well, I bid you an adieu or whatever.”

Your childhood friend started to walk away. 

“That’s the worst French I’ve ever heard, but bye!” You shouted with a small laugh.

However, your amusement quickly died out. 

A stomachache from hunger — which was now gone, thankfully — was similar to the twisting pains of watching your friend walk away, even with the promise of seeing them again. 

As if sensing your sudden sadness, Armin briefly turned around. The orange streetlights illuminated his kind face. 

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled back. “See you later. So long, or whatever.”

With a soft smile, Armin started to walk off again.

The boy you unknowingly loved was gone.

— PRESENT DAY - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA — 

“Good morning everyone, and thank you for watching KTLA news. I am Daniella Robinson, reporting live from outside former CS Records manager Levi Ackerman’s house here in Los Angeles, California. Yesterday evening, police dispatchers received a disturbing phone call from singer and actress F/N L/N, in which she claimed that Eldian Devils band member, Eren Yeager, had been shot. Along with him, a waiter named Armin Arlert was shot as well. Both men were ex-husbands of Y/N, and after being questioned by the police, Y/N claimed that they were apparently shot by her current husband and owner of CS Records, Connie Springer.” 

The breeze blew through the young woman’s black hair. She stared into the camera lens in front of her, clenching her microphone.

“We have not been able to get our hands on the original phone call made by F/N L/N yet, nor reach out to her for a statement, but images of her leaving the police station with Levi Ackerman are currently being posted all over the internet and social media platforms, with some headlining articles claiming that the shocked woman, soaked in blood, looked like Carrie White, a fictional character from a horror novel created by Stephen King. As cruel as those comments are, they pale in comparison to the onslaught of articles, videos, and tweets circulating social media accusing Y/N of shooting the two men herself, or at the very least, conspired with Connie Springer to do so. 

While the police haven’t been able to locate Springer yet, we do know that Y/N is inside Levi Ackerman’s house, whom she has been accused of having an affair with in the past while married to Reiner Braun, an actor. When it comes to the fate of the two victims, Eren Yeager pulled through a very complicated and fatal surgery and is currently in a coma. However, Armin Arlert succumbed to his injuries, and has died around two A.M. this morning. Stay tuned for further updates as they become available to us.”

—

Annie Leonhart had warm hands.

Levi’s living room was cold. The air conditioning blasting throughout his mansion made sure of it. But Annie’s fingertips graced your skin before she wrapped her hand around yours snugly, and she was warm. You were grateful. 

Her sudden, comforting touch reminded you to breathe. To stay in the present.

The mechanical click of your eyelids cleared your blurry vision, which granted you the ability to see her hand holding yours, intertwined fingers resting on your thigh — your legs covered by a pair of black sweatpants you hadn’t seen in a long time. 

It must have been an article of clothing you accidentally left behind after moving out of Levi’s home a long time ago. 

Temporarily living with Levi after Eren got arrested for physically assaulting Jean was, perhaps, the last time a piece of ordinary fabric touched your skin. Nothing fancy. Nothing worth hundreds or thousands of dollars. 

If only you could go back in time.

If only you could have fixed everything back then. 

If only your problems were still revolved around being a heartbreaker, and not witnessing murder.

No.

That wasn’t good enough.

If only you and Armin had stayed in New York City together, spent your days working in that little bakery and sitting on the rooftop of that abandoned building, staring at the beautiful stars above.

But now, you would never get a chance to look up at the stars with him ever again. 

You would never get another chance to stare into his gorgeous eyes, listen to his soft voice, or hug his warm body — his subtle scent of cinnamon rolls washing over you.

He was gone.

He transitioned from this world and into the afterlife not surrounded by loved ones as an old man in a cozy bed as he once dreamed, but surrounded by unknown surgeons — cold, terrified, and in an unspeakable amount of pain. 

Nothing could bring him back. 

Nothing could . . .

“Hey,” Annie softly called out. 

The blonde-haired woman leaned forward a bit. You could see her concerned gaze within your peripheral vision. You didn’t have the energy to turn your head and face her. 

“Your breathing was . . .” Annie paused, trying to search for the right word. “Just try to breathe.”

Breathe.

What a difficult activity that had turned out to be.

Your panic attacks were something Levi had told Annie to watch out for. He gave her quite a few directions as he gathered his belongings, getting ready to leave his home.

“I’m going to pick up Carla and Grisha from the airport and take them to the hospital,” Levi had said earlier. “I have to keep Eren’s parents safe. What a fucked up world we live in.”

Eren forced his family to leave Los Angeles to get away from Connie. They dreaded the thought of living far away from their son, especially when their boy forced them away for their safety, and yet, was staying behind. His poor mother often stayed awake at night, sitting by her cell phone and staring at the television, hoping that her famous, endangered son would survive another night in Hollywood — hell on earth, as she liked to call it. 

Her worst fear had come true.

Her beloved son had been shot and could die at any moment — while she was packing her bags, boarding the private jet with her distraught husband, or during the long flight from Maine to California.

“I’m about to leave,” Levi stepped into the living room after grabbing his car keys. “Come here, Annie.”

Annie pushed herself off of the couch, and the two of them stepped into the foyer.

“Listen to me,” Levi frowned. “I’m not worried about the paparazzi outside. They know better than to step on my property, so just let them take their shitty pictures from across the street. I don’t know where Connie is, but if he’s watching any news channel, then he knows Y/N’s here. He could show up. If that happens, there’s a gun in the storage closet. There are cameras outside as well, so you can see whoever’s walking around my house using the tablet in the living room. Keep the doors and windows locked.”

“Okay,” Annie nodded. “Anything else?”

“Reiner’s on his way,” Levi’s eyes darted away from Annie’s for a moment. “I don’t know if I can trust him, but he’s been calling my phone all morning. He was going to show up here anyway, so I’m hoping he can help you watch and protect her, but . . . keep an eye on him too, alright?”

“Wait, if you don’t trust him, then why would you let him come over-”

“I don’t trust anyone. Not entirely. But in this shitty situation, I don’t have much of a choice. You and him are my best bets. Mainly just you, but I don’t like the idea of you being here by yourself either. I trust him enough, okay? But still . . . watch him. You can’t ever be too goddamn cautious.” Levi unlocked one of the double doors. “I’ll call if anything happens.”

“Okay,” Annie said.

When Levi opened his front door, bright lights from invasive cameras flashed repeatedly. News reporters and paparazzi screamed his name. He shut the door behind him, which muffled the chaos outside. Annie locked it with a sigh, grateful for the silence.

The cold surface of the front door soothed her worries a little when she leaned her head against it.

She wasn’t used to dealing with stuff like this. 

When it came to protecting others as a women’s rights advocate, her work usually revolved around starting protests. Creating petitions. Hosting fundraisers. Telling misogynistic men to go to hell. 

As a stunt double, she’d fill in for celebrities during action films, and she had incredible skill when it came to parkour and martial arts, but beyond that, she wasn’t involved in celebrity scandals or murder tales happening in real life. 

Along with that, she barely knew you. 

You both spent time together, going out to dinner, grabbing drinks, or playing cards at Levi’s house, but it was never alone. It was always with the others: Mikasa, Sasha, Reiner, and occasionally, Levi. 

She didn’t mind watching over you. It was the right thing to do. 

But . . . if Connie came through Levi’s door with a weapon, would she put her life on the line for yours? 

Her life?

Annie touched the lock on the door. 

Who could blame her for wanting to leave? For not wanting to be your security guard and risk her own life?

She started to unlock the door, started to reach for her phone to call Levi and tell him that she couldn’t do it — but she didn’t.

She took her hand off of the lock.

If she left you alone and something happened, especially at the hands of your crazy, murderous husband, she would never forgive herself for leaving a defenseless woman behind with nothing but a gun you didn’t know how to fire.

Annie sighed once again. Taking the hair-grip off of her wrist, she pulled her hair into a low ponytail.

How likely was it for Connie to show up, anyway? With the cops looking for him and several potential witnesses with cameras and microphones outside, it was highly unlikely. 

Not to mention, it was Levi Ackerman’s house.

And Levi was truly a dangerous man.

“You can leave.”

Annie was startled by the sound of your voice, but the calm woman kept her composure. 

Slowly, you walked into the foyer, your hands in the pockets of your sweatpants. You coughed dryly. While you weren’t actively contagious or dying, you were still under the weather — someone who should be in bed, resting and recovering.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine,” You gave Annie as much of a smile as you could muster, which amounted to a half-hearted grin. 

One that — despite barely knowing you — she could see right through.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Annie said, stepping toward you and away from the door. “Come on, you should be in bed. Levi didn’t wash those sheets for nothing.”

Pressing a warm, comforting hand against your back, Annie started to guide you in the direction of the guest room, but before you both could make it far, frantic knocking occurred at the front door.

Based on the way the noise from outside picked up, along with the flickering white camera lights peeking through the curtained windows, Annie gathered that it must have been Reiner.

Even so, she ran to grab the tablet off of the living room coffee table first, and when she opened the camera footage, she saw a worried, kind-looking man impatiently waiting for the door to open, trying his hardest to avoid the cameras snapping rapidly from a distance.

Annie opened the door and practically pulled the man inside by his forest green jacket before shutting the door back and locking it. 

“Reiner,” you called out, and those gentle eyes of his locked with yours.

“Oh my god,” he sighed with relief. Blinking, a tear fell. 

Reiner walked over and wrapped his arms around you, giving you a comforting hug you so desperately needed.

The tall, gentle man rubbed your back soothingly, and you exhaled. Only then did you realize you were holding your breath.

“I couldn’t see you in the hospital,” Reiner leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “I tried, but Connie was in the lobby. Wasn’t sure you’d wanna see me anyway, but I had to see you now. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m sorry for your losses, Y/N. Both Armin and your baby.” 

“Reiner . . . you should leave Hollywood as quickly as you can.” 

“I’m not leaving without you-”

“Stop. Yes, you are.” Pulling away from him, you looked into his eyes with a glassy gaze. “Connie shot Eren and killed . . . Armin because of their affiliation with me. He’s gone fucking crazy and you need to leave. I need to find Jean and tell him to leave too, or not to come back if he’s already gone. I-I haven’t seen him lately. Levi should go as well. Everyone should, even Annie and Sasha and-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Annie interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. “Let's say we all move to Maine or Rhode Island, and for a while, we’re safe. Then what? We change our appearances and identities? Hide for the rest of our lives?”

“She’s right,” Reiner looked over at Annie, then stared back into your eyes. “Connie left you alive. Make him regret it.”

Several hours had passed.

Sitting at the breakfast nook in Levi’s kitchen, you couldn’t help but think about the good memory, a fleeting moment of happiness, that had occurred around this table, long ago. Drinking and playing cards with the others while Levi cooked steak a short distance away. 

Even he had managed to smile that day. 

Now, on this horrific day, Reiner was making homemade baked potato soup for dinner — his mother’s recipe. He knew how much you loved her cooking. A recipe for disaster, she called it, and meant it literally. 

“Whenever I was sick or feeling down, mom would make this for me,” Reiner said softly as he chopped up some potatoes. 

While Reiner cooked, Annie got up from her spot in the booth-like breakfast nook, turning around a bit as she opened the blinds, peeking out of the window.

“Everyone’s still out there,” she announced. “I think there are more reporters now, actually.” 

“My fault,” Reiner said, tossing a kitchen towel over his shoulder. “The world knows I’m here now, too. Not to mention they know Levi left and will return. They probably plan to bombard him on his way in.”

You had no idea what time it was, but nighttime had arrived, and Levi hadn’t called. 

It was odd, to say the least.

“I hope Levi’s alright,” you mumbled. 

Folding your arms on the table, you rested your head on them as if to hide and avoid being seen.

“I’m sure he’s just busy. He said he’d call if something happens, so I’d say him not calling is a good thing.” Annie closed the blinds and sat back down. Reaching out, she touched your hand. “How are you feeling?”

‘I feel like Eren’s going to die and Levi’s next. Then Connie will pick us all off one by one because no one is taking me seriously when I say everyone should leave California. But I also don’t give a damn. I just want to die so I can see Armin again,’ you thought. 

“Fine,” you lied. “Just worried.”

Suddenly, the tablet — which Annie had brought into the kitchen, not wanting to be far away from it — dinged, alerting everyone of detected motion around Levi’s front door.

Someone was right outside.

The distant, invasive shouts coming from the reporters and paparazzi camping out on the street had increased in volume, along with the flickering lights, which shone through the blinds.

“Must be Levi,” Reiner grabbed the tablet off of the kitchen island to double-check, but as he did so, the person outside knocked on the door. 

Levi wouldn’t need to knock. 

He had a key.

“Who is it?” Furrowing your brows, you watched the man frown in confusion.

“It’s, uh . . . Jean,” Reiner faltered worriedly. “He looks terrible.”

Opening the front door yourself was an idiotic idea, one that resulted in blinding lights and overwhelming shouts of your name. You grabbed Jean’s wrist. He winced in pain.

Letting go wasn’t an option. With cameras both snapping pictures and recording live for the entire world to see, releasing Jean’s wrist would lead to speculation and rumors. 

Why did Y/N let go of his wrist so suddenly? Did Jean yank himself away from her? Were they secretly hooking up and she had forgotten that people were watching them, so Jean pulled himself away? Is wrist-grabbing a secret code? Why is Jean at Levi’s house to begin with? Are all of Y/N’s ex-partners in on something? Did they . . .

You had no choice but to pull Jean inside and shut the front door behind him.

If there was any doubt that you might have been inside Levi’s house before, well, you gave the world confirmation just now. 

Looking up at the tall man, you had opened your mouth to speak — to ask him what he was doing here. Where he had been. Why he flinched when you grabbed ahold of his wrist. But at the sight of him, your jaw simply hung open in pure horror. 

Eren’s sudden disappearance upon hearing about your hospital stay had abruptly ended the Eldian Devils tour, but Jean Kirstein hadn’t been by his side during the last few shows before then. Every promo picture and trending Twitter video showed Eren on stage rocking all by himself under the guise that Jean was “sick” and unable to perform. In reality, Connie’s Silent Men just weren’t careful during their routine beatings and had given him injuries that no amount of makeup could fix, so they kept him out of the spotlight. 

However, Jean’s whereabouts were unknown even after Eren ended the tour, and no one truly cared.

No one knew that they should have cared.

Slowly, your trembling hand covered your mouth. It was a subconscious act. A result of shock.

“Jean,” Reiner called out, stepping into the foyer. “What the hell happened to you? Where’ve you been?”

Jean could hear the man speaking, but his bloodshot eyes only stared into your sad ones, not bothering to look away. 

But your eyes did. 

You scanned his entire body — every bruise, every scar.

Much like Eren was when he visited you in the hospital, Jean was thinner too. Hollow cheeks right underneath his dark undereye circles. His long-sleeved, dark blue shirt was loose around his upper body. His black jeans were baggier. While certain visible parts of his pale body were black and blue with old bruises or bright red from fresh scars, it was nothing compared to his hands.

Jean cherished his hands more than anything. 

He cherished them more than any other body part. More than his fans. More than money. 

Anyone could say what they wanted about him, that he was a homewrecker, attention seeker, living in Eren’s shadow — it didn’t matter. As long as he was acknowledged as a musician.

Playing instruments and making music was what made Jean Kirstein Jean Kirstein. He needed to stroke the keys of his piano, write lyrics, or layer chords just as much as he needed to eat and breathe. Connie knew that. 

He knew that making music meant everything to his former best friend.

“Connie hurt you, didn’t he?” You cupped Jean’s injured, bandaged-wrapped hands with your own, eyeing his scratched fingers that were formerly twisted. Someone must have given him medical attention.

“Not directly,” Jean coughed dryly. He hadn’t spoken in a long time. “His men did. Per fucking usual.”

“What happened?” Your eyes ran across his ruined skin. “Tell me everything.”

You, Annie, and Jean were all sitting at the breakfast nook while Reiner continued to make his soup over the stove, ensuring that there was enough for Jean to have some as well, and Levi, once he returned.

Jean eyed the cup of water sitting on the table in front of him. The droplets of condensation slipped off of the cool glass and pooled around the circular bottom, spilling over onto the coaster. 

He wanted to drink the refreshing water you kindly made him, but with the state his hands were in, he was certain he’d drop it. And he didn’t want to ask for a straw. He didn’t want to ask anyone for anything.

No one had ever given a damn about him before, especially you. Not that he could have blamed you.

Jean spoke of the inhumane treatment that Connie had put him and Eren through during their last-minute tour. As he described the abuse — a look of anger, sadness, and disappointment on your face in the form of a clenched jaw, furrowed brows, and glassy eyes — it had confirmed one thing: you had no idea what was happening to him and Eren. And he was relieved. 

“I was living in his house . . . I married him . . . and I didn’t know that he was still treating you guys that way. I should’ve known. I don’t why I just assumed he’d stop.” Your hands started to tremble. “I’m so sorry, Jean.”

“What happened after you couldn’t perform anymore?” Annie asked plainly. “Where’d you go?”

“I was being punished,” Jean smiled sadly in disbelief. “Those assholes blew my pupil, so I couldn’t go on stage or be seen in public, and the company had lost a lot of money trying to make up for my absence — refunding people who bought meet-and-greet passes to see me — but it wasn’t my fault. But they locked me in the recording studio anyway and fucked up my hands so I . . . couldn’t play anything. Kept me locked in there for weeks until now.” 

You shuddered. 

“Jesus,” Reiner exhaustedly rubbed his eyes with his hand. His grip on the stirring spoon tightened. “That’s sick, Jean. I’m so sorry. We had no idea.” “How’d you get out? Did they let you go? Have you seen Connie today?”

Jean shook his head, answering your last question first. 

“I haven’t seen him. Uh . . . Levi found me. I guess he was the only one who noticed I was missing.” Jean’s eyes glistened with sadness. Being forgotten hurt more than his festering wounds.

“Anyway, he got me out of there, fixed up my hands, stuck me in a car with a driver, and told me to come here. He told me what happened too. I’m sorry for your loss, Y/N. Armin was a good person, far as I know. He deserved to live a long life.” 

Your eyes darted down to your lap. Your throat was dry — a lump had formed in it that was practically painful and felt as if it strained your neck. It wouldn’t go away. Right now, you needed the glass of water sitting on the table just as much as Jean did.

“Levi said he was going to the airport to get Carla, then to the hospital,” Annie blinked, her face emotionless as she spoke plainly. “You’re saying he also stopped at CS Records, got past Connie’s security, and freed you? That doesn’t seem right.”

“I agree.” Reiner pulled down several bowls from the cabinet across from the stove. His tone, however, wasn’t exactly accusatory but filled with curiosity. “How’d he know where to find you in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Jean shrugged. “But think about it, big guy. Levi and Connie used to be pretty close. There was a time when CS Records was nothing more than the band, Connie, and Levi all working from a cheap rented-out studio. In a way, Connie owes a lot of his success to Levi, I guess.”

“So Levi pretty much knows how Connie thinks,” Annie said.

“Yeah. Got that right.”

Hot baked potato soup was poured into four white, glass bowls. Reiner served everyone. When he made his way over to Jean, the bowl clinked gently as he sat it down on the table in front of the injured man. Discreetly, he put a straw in Jean’s drink and moved the glass cup closer toward him.

Jean looked at him with his light-brown eyes, casting a grateful glance as a silent thank you.

Reiner gave him a nod. 

Jean watched as the blonde-haired man whispered something into your ear, and then motioned for Annie to grab her soup and follow him out of the kitchen.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Jean watched you move from one side of the breakfast nook and scoot around the booth until you were sitting right beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you eat,” you grabbed his spoon, scooping up a bit of soup with a tiny potato chuck in it.

‘Oh, I get it,’ Jean thought. ‘Annie and Reiner must’ve left so I wouldn’t feel so embarrassed about being spoon-fed like a baby. This fucking sucks.’

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said caringly as if reading his thoughts. “We all need a little extra help sometimes.”

When you raised the spoon to his mouth, Jean hesitated. 

“Come on,” your encouraging words were followed by you darting the spoon toward his lips a bit more. 

Finally, he took a bite.

“I understand how you feel,” You said, lowering the spoon back into the bowl of soup. “Levi had to help me bathe. Scrubbed me down because I couldn’t do it myself. Like I said, sometimes people just need a little more help.”

A tiny wave of relief washed over Jean. Your words helped.

Silently, you fed Jean another bite, then several more.

“Your own soup is gonna get cold,” Jean nodded in the direction of your steaming, awaiting bowl across the table. 

“There’s a microwave here,” you said bluntly. 

“Alright, smartass,” with a teasing tone, Jean smiled a bit. 

“Excuse me?” You said with both shock and playfulness. “Alright, fine. Since you wanna call me that . . .”

Your words trailed off into a curious silence that piqued Jean’s interest. Scooping up another spoonful of soup, you guided it towards Jean’s mouth. This time around, you decided to coo and sing at him.

“Here comes the airplane, open wide! You can do it!” 

“Y/N, I swear on my mother that I will bite your hand. I can’t fight you right now, but I’ll chew the hell out of your finger.”

Suddenly, you laughed. 

It was that big, beautiful laugh that no one had heard in what felt like a lifetime — the wholehearted chuckle that your nauseating media-training classes had driven out of you. 

The version of yourself that used to experience such joy had died a long time ago — suffocated to death by the pressure and weight of fame, torturous love, and neverending misery. 

To hear it again was a blessing. 

You didn’t know if your soul allowed for such boisterous laughter anymore. 

And for Jean, witnessing such a sight made him feel like he was falling in love all over again. 

The corners of his mouth twitched. He was heartbroken and joyous at the same time. He wanted to cry and laugh. 

The sound of your laughter had attracted Reiner, who stood in the archway of the kitchen, grinning. He was happy to hear your laugh again as well, even if his heart did sting a bit from jealousy.

After all, he wasn’t the one who caused it. 

“Sounds like someone’s cheered up a bit,” Reiner said softly. 

“Tell . . . tell Reiner what you said,” you huffed out, attempting to control your laughter as you gently tapped Jean’s arm. By now, your cheeks were hurting. It was a beautiful feeling.

“I think you’re the only person who would find that funny, Y/N.” Jean grinned, rolling his eyes playfully. Memories of you — the old you — laughing at the smallest, most insignificant things flashed in Jean’s mind. 

Witnessing the look of disgust and sadness on Eren’s face when he accidentally dipped his chicken finger in cocktail sauce instead of ketchup and ate it made you nearly do a spit-take with your water one day during your brief time touring with Eldian Devils long ago. 

Coming across a mediocre meme online had you clenching your stomach and finding the nearest person to show. 

You were just that sort of person. Or, at least, you used to be.

If human beings had true individual purposes and Jean’s was to make music, then yours was to laugh.

“Y/N, can we talk for a sec?”

Reiner’s sudden serious tone snapped Jean out of his pleasant thoughts. 

The last few huffs of laughter died out, your smile faded away, and you nodded. 

Scooting out of the booth, you followed Reiner — grabbing your soup and bringing it along with you.

From what you knew about Levi, he wouldn’t be too pleased with you eating such an easily spillable meal on his couch, but Reiner didn’t want to chat with you in the formal dining room. It would have been too odd, he figured.

“I know now isn’t the right time, but maybe when things are . . . better,” Reiner paused, “I was hoping we could go out for dinner and talk about everything.”

“By everything, do you mean us?” You sat the bowl of soup down on the coffee table. You had lost your appetite again. “It might not be the conversation you’re hoping for, Reiner.” “I know. I just want to know what happened. How did you go from loving me to marrying Connie? Did he really get in your head that much, or did you really love him?” 

Reiner’s words carried a harsher, heavier tone than he had intended. And when he was met with silence as a response, your eyes fixated on the unlit fireplace, Reiner sighed softly.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought any of this up right now. It’s selfish.”

“It’s fine.” Turning to look at him, you tried your best to smile as a way of easing the tension. “I mean it, it’s fine. You deserve an answer.”

“You don’t have to give it to me right now, though. I can wait.”

Reiner was always that type of person — the kind-hearted lover. The savior of some sort. He was even the perfect ex, oddly enough. 

“I do love you, Reiner,” you said softly, yet sternly. “Just like I told Eren; I love all of you. I thought I didn’t. Tried to convince myself that I kinda hated all of you, but I realized that wasn’t true.”

“What made you realize that?”

Your eyes flickered down to your shoes. A smile of regret flashed across your exhausted face. “When I successfully pushed everyone away and forced myself into a loveless marriage. When I almost died. When I lost my . . . kid. I wanted someone to be there — You, Levi, Eren, Jean . . . Armin — I just needed all of you. But I can’t have all of you.”  

“I think . . .” Reiner paused, his eyes squinting a bit as he thought about his words carefully before uttering them. “I think that, even so, you loved Armin the most. We were all fools to think otherwise. I saw the way you touched him . . . hugged him the longest the night you told all of us to leave you alone. . . kinda pieced it together then. He was your soulmate.”

Soulmate.

What a horrific word.

The boy you had grown up with, the dandelion-plucking, hardworking, beautiful blonde-haired baker from New York — the one with the scarred hands and a sweet smile, who smelt of cinnamon and enjoyed reading. 

He was the other half of your soul, it would seem.

He was the human part.

And he was gone.

He appeared in your imagination bittersweetly. Standing in the high grass underneath a darkening evening sky was Armin, seven years old with a big head and even bigger blue eyes, holding his tiny hands out so the nearby fireflies would land on his skin.

The second grader wasn’t interested in catching them in a jar to keep as a pet like you were. 

Then, Armin was a teenager, grabbing your wrist and taking you to the breathtaking rooftop of an isolated building to look at the stars, rambling on and on about his dreams, which were rather grand for a poor person.

Lastly, Armin was an adult. He rolled cinnamon rolls. He flipped burgers. He poured concrete. He kissed you. He loved you. He married you. And he waited for you to come back to him.

And he was gone.

Your one true love was dead.

It took Reiner’s large hands gripping your shoulders to snap you out of your overwhelming memories, and only then did you realize that tears were pouring from your eyes, your breathing unsteady as heartbroken sobs fell from between your lips. During such a moment, you weren’t in control of your own body.

Armin was. 

The thoughts of him were wreaking havoc.

The burning feeling in your chest — you couldn’t take in enough air. Couldn’t catch your breath. 

You thought about his look of fear when the bullet from Connie’s gun pierced him.

Annie appeared at your side suddenly, kneeling next to your leg. Her warm hands held onto your trembling ones. She was speaking, but you couldn’t hear what she said. 

You thought about the blood pouring out of Armin’s body.

Screaming sobs made Jean’s ears ring as he rushed into the living room. Drool fell from the corners of your mouth.

You thought about how scared and lonely Armin must have felt, dying on that operating table as a result of your mistakes. 

You killed him! First, you killed his soul by breaking his heart, and then, your chaos involving Connie led to his death. It was all your fault. You might as well should have been the one holding the gun, firing it. 

‘It’s all my fault, all my fault, all my fault,’ you thought. ‘Armin’s gone. Never coming back.’

Tears blurred your vision. 

“What the fuck did you do, Reiner?” Jean shouted above your sobs. “She was fucking laughing a minute ago, and now she’s-”

“I didn’t do anything,” Reiner argued back, but his words were riddled with guilt. “We were just talking and she started crying. What do we do, Annie?”

“How should I know?” Annie frowned, trying to steady your violently shaky hands. She felt just as guilty as Reiner. She was supposed to know. 

One of the front double doors suddenly opened and slammed shut. Jean whipped his head around, startled, and walked into the foyer to see a pissed-off Levi Ackerman.

“What the hell’s going on?”

Jean could barely hear him over the sound of your cries, but he knew that the man was asking the most obvious question. Without waiting for an answer, Levi furrowed his dark brows, gritting his teeth as he swore, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown.

He took off his jacket and tossed his keys somewhere. 

Three people whom he trusted to look after you had failed. You were on the verge of a mental breakdown, and here they were, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights when he stepped into his living room. 

“Move,” he ordered Reiner, who pointlessly rubbed soothing circles onto your back.

As much as Reiner wished he could be the one to comfort you, to soothe your sobs and cries, he defeatedly rose from the couch and let Levi take his place.

Levi put one of his legs behind you, stretching it out over the couch cushions. With his entire body facing your side, he reached up, grabbed your shoulder, and slowly, cautiously, pulled you toward his chest. Once your cheek hit his heart, he started to ease back, laying down on the sofa with your body in between his legs and your head on his chest.

Annie grabbed your legs and put them up on the sofa.

Levi’s hands soothingly rubbed your shoulder. “I know,” he whispered. “I know. I got you.”

He didn’t bother with shushing you or telling you that everything would be okay — pointless and meaning acts that provided little comfort. 

He couldn’t promise that everything would be alright.

But he knew that you were hurting. 

And he wasn’t going to let you go through it alone.

“I got you.”

—

It was between midnight and one A.M. when Levi’s eyes lazily fluttered, the click of his lids opening his sharp eyes to reveal a blurry, white, high ceiling amongst the darkness. 

His muscles were sore. As he tried to shift around, he felt the weight of something preventing him from moving.

It was you, fast asleep on top of him. 

He was still on the living room couch, still dressed in his day clothes. 

‘I must’ve fallen asleep too,’ he thought.

Last he could remember, you were starting to calm down, and Reiner tossed a blanket over you. 

Then, the three useless caregivers went home. 

Reiner invited Jean to crash at his place, seeing as the musician could barely use his hands, and Reiner had his own security in light of Connie’s chaos as of late.

A small sigh fell from Levi’s chapped lips, his throat as dry as the desserts he once visited during his time in the military.

He was dehydrated thanks to all the running around he did yesterday, forgetting to drink a sip of water, and yet, he had to pee badly enough to have had a toilet appear in his dream.  His bladder ached from fullness, but he didn’t want to disturb you. 

Levi glanced down at your head pressed against his stomach, more so the outline of it due to the darkness, the moonlight peeking through the drawn curtains of his big living room windows as his only source of light, and he smiled softly. While watching you, he studied your rhythmic breathing — the easy rise and fall of your shoulders.

However, as all good things must come to an end, Levi’s phone started to ring. 

Your eyes fluttered open, a sleepy frown gracing your face. The absence of your warmth as you sat up made Levi frown as well.

Just like that, Levi had pointlessly risked receiving damage to his bladder, because whoever his midnight caller was had disturbed you anyway.

That’s when it hit him.

If someone was calling him at such an ungodly hour, it couldn’t have been good news.

His stomach dropped at the realization, his phone ringing, screaming to be answered, and meanwhile, you were staring at him with wide, worried eyes that held both exhaustion and dreadful anticipation. 

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Levi spoke with an unusual hoarseness, his voice low and raspy from both waking up and unquenched thirst.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket. His stomach dropped when he saw the caller ID. It was Carla.

“Who is it?” You asked.

Levi didn’t answer. He didn’t let his internal worry be reflected upon his face, either. With an expression as blank as a new sheet of paper, he tapped his screen and answered the call.

“Hello?” He gave a small cough.

You could hear Carla speaking, but you couldn’t make out the muffled words coming from Levi’s phone, which he pressed against his ear with a firm hand. His hands weren’t trembling like yours. 

Despite the quietness, it was impossible to hear Eren’s mother talk to Levi thanks to the thumbing of your heart, which echoed in your ears. 

Levi’s face suddenly paled in color.

“We’re on our way.” He hung up the phone.

“You need to get dressed, Y/N.” He rubbed the lower half of his face with his hand.

“Why?” A tear rolled down your cheek. Your question hadn’t yet been answered, but your soul knew. “What’s wrong?”

Levi’s eyes wouldn’t meet yours. He had no idea how to process what Carla just told him. 

The woman who spoke to him moments ago with a croaking voice and devastating news had told him that the boy he had known for years — the aggressive kid with a kind heart, the one whose family adopted his cousin, the boy who cried on his shoulder when Marco died and Connie went to prison, the person who gave him an insanely fancy mop for his birthday and would always unintentionally mimic him when they were younger, simply wanting to be like him — he was dying.

The doctors estimated that he only had two more hours to live.

“We need to go see Eren.”

The implication was obvious, just as obvious as the fact that Levi was holding back his tears.

Right now, you wanted to find the gun you knew Levi kept somewhere, stick the barrel into your mouth, and meet Eren in the afterlife — greet him once he arrived.

By now, you were out of tears. 

All worn out and dried up inside from mourning one love, and your body could no longer process how to grieve another. 

Numbness ran through your veins. Settled underneath your cold skin. Buried itself into your aching bones. 

The tiny part of your brain that could still function right now presented a horrific, intrusive thought, that perhaps you simply didn’t cry for Eren because you planned on meeting him in Heaven or Hell or another life or wherever your souls went after death soon enough. 

And you’d see Armin too.

All three of you, free from pain.

Maybe you would see your mother again, or meet Eren’s old friend, Marco.

Suddenly, a heartbroken smile appeared across your face.

It was brief, but Levi saw it, and it shook him to his core.

Getting off of the couch, you went into the guest room and got dressed. Your dragging footsteps echoed down the dark hallway.

—

“Y/N! Please give us an autograph, please!”

“Y/N! Y/N! Turn this way!”

“Y/N, is it true that you are the reason Eren Yeager is in the hospital right now? Did you have a hand in the shooting?”

“Y/N, what are your thoughts on being called Carrie White? Is it true you’re going to star in Hander Tapper’s new horror film inspired by your photos? Y/N, please answer!”

Fans and paparazzi alike crowded the brightly lit hallways of the hospital. Pests, they were. Security guards and local police officers held them back like bug exterminators, letting you and Levi squeeze through into the blocked-off, spacious sage green and brown waiting room where a teary-eyed Carla Yeager sobbed into her hands.

She was sitting in a wheelchair, her husband, Grisha, gripping the handlebars as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“She fainted,” Grisha croaked out. 

Levi approached them first. 

Crouching down, he hugged the unconsolable woman, rubbing her back gently. 

You went for Grisha, hugging him with a face as blank as a blind man, deprived of any and all emotion. 

Only then did you realize that there were other people in the waiting room. 

You recognized some of them as distant relatives of Eren’s family that you had once met. Aunts. Cousins. Even the dear uncle he was named after. He sat in a chair tucked away in the corner, tear-soaked face hidden behind his hands as he thought about the times he carried his nephew on his back and spun him around.

Jean was there too, fixated on his phone. He pressed a button, put his device against his ear, and mumbled into it. From where you stood, you could only make out a few words.

“Mikasa . . . emergency . . . Eren . . . call me back . . .”

“Go see him,” Grisha sniffled, pulling away from the hug.

Levi appeared at your side. Grisha’s sad eyes darted in his direction. 

“H-He shot my baby boy . . .” blinking rapidly, tears streamed down Grisha’s red-stained cheeks even harder, soaking the collar of his white ironed shirt. “That’s my baby boy.”

Suddenly, a freckle-faced woman with big, black, curly hair walked over and wrapped her arm around Grisha.

Her frown lines were rather deep, the crinkles by her eyes much more detailed than they should have been, for her youthful, light brown eyes had shown that she was younger than she appeared to be.

Misery had aged her.

Call it a gut feeling, write it off as a lucky guess, but somehow, you knew that you were staring at Marco’s mother.

Levi’s calloused fingertips graced your wrist as he wrapped his hand around it. 

“Come on,” he said softly.

Two slow footsteps in the direction of the nearest nurse were interrupted by the miserable woman’s voice. 

“Wait,” Marco’s mother called out. 

Leaving Grisha’s side, she approached you and Levi.

“Seeing Eren in such a state will be traumatic,” she warned, her voice raspy. “Sometimes we think seeing someone before or after they pass is the best choice, but consider that this will be the last time you see him alive, and determine whether or not you want that image in your head. Please think about it.”

She spoke from experience. The trembling weary in her voice was a telltale sign. 

“We have to say goodbye,” you spoke plainly. 

“He has a tube down his throat, wires connected to him, machines hooked to almost every part of his body . . . I beg you to think about this.”

“I understand,” you replied with as much compassion as you could muster, but Eren could pass away at any minute. This conversation was a waste of precious time. “I want to see him anyway.”

The woman nodded sadly.

After all, you had seen Eren get shot. Witness the blood pour out of him. Saw him fight to stay alive. 

You had already witnessed Eren in a state that would traumatize you forever.

After approaching the awaiting nurse, you and Levi were escorted down the twisty hallways. This part of the hospital was rather different. 

The white walls were decorated with stained glass of angels, pinned-up flyers containing advertisements regarding churches and grief counselors, and other religious symbols of the afterlife.

It was as if the hospital was declaring Eren to be deceased while his heart was still beating.

Levi held your hand.

Only then, feeling his grasp, had you realized that you were trembling again. 

But at least you weren’t alone.

The nurse slowed her footsteps as she guided you both to a doorless room. The dark-skinned woman smiled sympathetically and walked away.

Marco’s mother spoke with honesty. 

Eren was strung up like a puppet. It was a struggle to walk to his bedside, cords and wires decorating the floor and proposing a tripping hazard to anyone who wasn’t careful, but the nurses tending to the beeping machines walked over them with expertise. 

However, the miserable woman didn’t detail that the hardest part about seeing Eren like that wasn’t the tube down his throat. It wasn’t the wires hooked to his body and the machines, or the constant beeping that you didn’t know the meaning behind and were too afraid to ask.

It was the look on his face.

His eyes weren’t open of course. His skin was pale. Dark circles settled under his eyes. Cheeks were hollow, as he was skinnier than he ever should have been.

Truth be told, he was casket-ready. Physically, at least.

His face told a different story.

Maybe it was your imagination. Maybe it was the natural state of his face. You wouldn’t know.

But his eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was stuck in between anger and fear — pissed off at the fact that he was dying and couldn’t do anything about it, or, perhaps, terrified of what would await him after death.

‘He’s a fighter,’ you thought.

If only one could live if their will was strong enough. If only the universe worked that way.

Leaning down, you pressed your soft lips against his forehead. 

If he was awake, he would have smiled. Affection from you had always reduced the rowdy rockstar into a shy, blushing mess.

Pulling away from Eren, you noticed little droplets on his face. 

You were crying; your tears fell from your eyes and splattered onto his skin.

Gently, with a trembling hand, you wiped it off. 

“Sorry,” you whispered to him.

You turned around to face Levi, but he was staring down at his hand, which held Eren’s, positioned carefully so as to not touch his pulse oximeter.

“I’m sorry, Eren,” Levi mumbled weakly. “I failed you.”

You took a careful step back. It was obvious that Levi had the courage to say goodbye first. 

He took your former spot, leaning down to speak to the dying man, uncertain whether or not he could hear him. It didn’t matter. 

He said what needed to be spoken.

“I was supposed to protect you from all this.” A tear rolled down Levi’s cheek. He placed his hand on Eren’s head. “You needed me to be there for you, and I wasn’t. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me for it. You’re too damn young to-” 

Levi couldn’t continue. 

He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. 

Without casting a glance your way, Levi stroked his thumb over Eren’s forehead and left the room.

It was your turn to speak. The lump forming in your dry throat made it nearly impossible, every word requiring effort and great strain, but you had to do it. 

You had to say goodbye, a bittersweet opportunity you didn’t get with Armin.

You stood by Eren’s bedside, the machines beeping as the nurses walked from one side of the room to the other, and you leaned down.

“Eren, it’s Y/N. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m here,” weakly, you sniffled. “Uh . . . everyone’s in the waiting room. You’re not alone, okay? So don’t be scared. We’re here. If I know one thing about you, it’s that you’re fighting like hell to stay alive, aren’t you? No one knows how to fight like you do. You even fought for me once, and I’ll always be grateful for that. Thank you for loving me. And I love you too, okay? So don’t ever doubt it. I’m still hoping that you’ll wake up, but . . . if anyone deserves to rest, it’s you. And . . . maybe I’ll see you soon, Eren.”

Once again, you kissed Eren’s forehead. 

When you left the room heavy with the aura of death, you didn’t return to the waiting room with the others.

Instead, you walked down a bright white hallway with a big medical cart in the middle of it, but deprived of fans and paparazzi, and stepped through the automatic see-through doors, exiting the hospital and walking into the darkness.

It wasn’t odd to see a person walking down the streets of Los Angeles wearing a hood. None of the late-night drivers knew that Hollywood’s biggest heartbreaker was the one teetering dangerously close to the road, walking along the curbs of the busy streets.

It took about two hours of walking through the city to reach your destination. Even among the honking cars, screeching tires, rumbling engines, and booming radios, you could still hear your phone ringing in your pocket. 

You pulled it out after a while.

Eleven missed calls from Levi.

Eight missed calls from Jean.

Darting your eyes down to the bottom of your notification screen, you had a handful of text messages from both of them, but you didn’t bother to read them.

Everyone was either looking for you or trying to tell you that Eren had died.

You put your phone back into your pocket.

Darting across a spacious road that wasn’t busy, orange streetlights as your source of light due to the absence of any headlights from nonexistent cars nearby, you cut through the abundance of trees — this particular foresty area was drastically different compared to the rest of the bustling city.

There, grass and leaves crunched under your feet as you made your way over to the faded green bridge, covered in vines, towering over a body of water.

It was a hidden location that Mikasa had often spoken of, quite different compared to the rest of L.A., but of course, the adventurous woman adored it. She’d often take you here for a quick lunch as a way to free you from the hustle and bustle of the suffocating city, if only for a meal’s worth of time. 

Truth be told, coming here wasn’t your intention. Your soul led you here; your body was along for the ride.

Or the walk, rather.

Approaching the middle of the isolated, raggedy bridge, you sat on the ledge and swung your feet across. 

‘What now?’ you thought. 

The cold water below flowed slowly. Your hands gripped the edge of the ledge. Your mind was split in half — part of you wanted to hang on for dear life, while the other half wanted you to push yourself off. 

It sounded so freeing. Death did. 

Maybe you’d see your mother and father again. Maybe you’d see Armin and Eren. Maybe . . .

Once again, your phone started to ring. 

Why you hadn’t muted it, you couldn’t be certain. 

And why you decided to pull it out now, you wouldn’t ever know. 

Maybe it was to get confirmation regarding Eren’s fate. Maybe a small part of you wanted Levi to talk you out of it. Perhaps, it was so if you did decide to make that body of water below you your official place of death, you would at least be able to die knowing you had spoken to Levi one last time. 

Why that mattered to you, you had no idea.

“Hello?” You said. 

You braced yourself for the heartbreaking news by looking at the water, thinking about how badly it would hurt to come in contact with it, but you were ready.

“Are you okay? Where the hell are you?” Levi rushed out over the phone.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” 

It seemed as if your decision was made: to not haunt Levi by making him aware of your impending demise. 

“Where are you, Y/N?” Levi insisted yet again. Even with an unsteady connection due to your shady location, you could hear the worry in his voice.

“Did you call me because he . . .” 

You couldn’t finish your question. You could only think about the water.

“No, I called you because I can’t fucking find you,” Levi replied. After a beat of silence, Levi continued to speak. “His condition has improved slightly. He’s still holding on. Must’ve been you.”

Miracles — what a stupid fucking concept. A cookie-cutter, mechanically human response to a pleasant aftermath of devastation.

One, specifically, you did not believe in. 

One person’s miracle was another person’s tragedy, more often. People would call it a miracle when someone survived a deadly car crash, even though they caused it, and the person they hit going 90 miles per hour was dead.

Your fans often claim that your music, your utter existence, somehow saved their life. That you were a miracle. But here you were, sitting on the ledge of a raggedy green bridge.

But . . . maybe, just maybe . . .

“Y/N, please tell me where you are.” 

Levi — with his serious, and yet increasingly worried tone — snapped you out of your thoughts.

“I’m fine, I swear-”

“Then why won’t you tell me where you are? Why wouldn’t you answer your phone?”

“I just wanted to be alone,” you lied — well, not entirely. It was the truth, as you did desire solitude. “I’m sorry.”

Right now, you figured that he and everyone else should have been worried about Eren. Not you. 

But . . . maybe, just maybe . . .

“Are you safe?”

The concern and utter fear in Levi’s voice had revealed one thing to you: he cared about you more than he had ever expressed with words.

Perhaps that was obvious. It should have been.

He tried to save you from Connie.

He banded together with your other lovers, but his intent was never clear. Was he trying to win your heart, or did he simply want you to be free?

He fucked you during that one drunken night. You carried his baby until you lost it. He took care of you like someone would care for a loved one.

But he never said he loved you.

What was Levi Ackerman fighting for?

But . . . maybe, just maybe . . .

The way he said those three words — not I love you, those were unspoken — but the way he asked if you were safe. He said it with love.

And, for now, that was enough.

“Not really,” you admitted. You could hear his breath stagger over the phone. “Can you come get me?”

“Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

The phone call ended. 

Not wanting Levi to know your exact whereabouts, you made your way to a nearby diner as quickly as you could before sending him the address.

Sitting on the curb waiting for him to arrive was rather odd. You were hungry. The smell of fresh coffee and buttery pancakes flooding from the 24-hour eatery made your stomach rumble. Desperately, you wanted to yank that door open and order three servings of whatever the old man behind the counter was cooking.

With your head down, and hood up, you looked and felt like a homeless person, not the glamorous celebrity who was currently on the television inside of the partially empty diner.

It was an entertainment news station displaying footage of you and Levi arriving at the hospital. Even though it was around four A.M., those nosy headline-seeking reporters wouldn’t give it a rest. 

But, then again, a famous rockstar was dying.

What happened between you, Connie, Eren, and Armin was the biggest news in the world right now. 

But, even with your face plastered on the television while you sat outside of the little restaurant, you realized that you were both. 

A homeless person and a glamorous, rich celebrity.

You’d have to purchase a home once again after selling your last one — assuming you still wanted to live. 

Levi’s familiar black vehicle pulled up in front of the diner much more quickly than you had expected.

You got into his car, and thankfully, he didn’t bombard you with thousands of questions.

Instead, you looked over at him as he started to pull off, and asked, “Is he still alive?”

“Yeah,” Levi replied, his eyes on the road. “The next twenty-four hours are crucial. He could go either way. But there’s still a chance he could pull through.”

“What changed?” You fidgeted with the string of your hoodie dangling across your chest, looking out the window. “How did he go from having only two hours to live to possibly being able to pull through?”

Levi didn’t respond immediately. It took him a moment.

“I don’t know, but I’m not optimistic.”

“What?” You whipped your head in his direction and looked at his side profile — his jawline sharp as he clenched and unclenched it. 

“Sometimes, a person’s condition improves before they die. It’s fucked up. It gives you false hope that the person will make it. It happens all the time.”

“I take it you’ve seen it happen to someone, hm?” 

Your accusation made Levi grip the steering wheel a bit tighter. 

“My mom. Cancer,” he answered dryly. “Anyway, I just wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what’s happening now, but who the hell knows? Those damn doctors surely act like they don’t.”

You didn’t respond. 

Neither you nor Levi said anything else during the drive back to his place.

The sky was an inspiring canvas painted with soft orange and blue colors as the sun started to rise. With a yawn, Levi arrived at his home, grimacing at the sight of a few lurking reporters and paparazzi still camping out around his place. 

There weren’t as many as before — several of them flocked to the hospital upon discovering Eren’s worsening condition and you and Levi’s presence there. 

“Wish I could run over these bastards,” Levi mumbled. “I wouldn’t mind going to prison for that. I’ll smile in my mugshot. I don’t care.”

A soft laugh escaped you. 

Levi’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of it. 

—

The rest of that day was a challenging blur. 

Trying to eat. Trying to sleep. Left to wonder. Left to wait.

Not knowing if Eren would live or die.

Not knowing if you would live or die.

Eventually, one day led to another, and that day led to the next. And the next.

You’d eat breakfast — something quick. Something easy. Usually, eggs or oatmeal prepared by Levi. Then, you’d visit Eren at the hospital. Say a few words.

At one point, a young nurse asked you to take a picture with her. It was fine, though. You were used to holding back tears and faking a smile.

Even though Eren had survived beyond what the doctors had twice predicted, he was still in a coma. He still wasn’t out of the woods.

After visiting Eren, the rest of your day would typically amount to trying to divorce a missing person, arranging Armin’s funeral with Levi, and being involved in the ongoing investigation into what happened that night with Connie. 

He was still nowhere to be found.

But he was working — using his money to work in favors from a distance.

You might have revealed to the public that he was behind the shooting, sure, but the billionaire used his power to once again influence the justice system.

And just like that, the finest investigators in L.A. had millions of dollars, and there wasn’t any surveillance camera footage of his car on the road that night. 

When you watched the police department hop on live television and indirectly detail how Connie Springer couldn’t have been involved, you had expected all of it to fall back on you.

“He’s going to put the blame on me, isn’t he?” You asked Levi with a face full of tears.

“I won’t let that happen.” 

Levi’s words were comforting, but did they truly have meaning? Was he planning on influencing the justice system with millions of dollars as well? After all, he hadn’t achieved billionaire status like Connie had. Plus — he was unemployed from the very job that made him wealthy. Just how much money did he have in that savings account of his? Did it have anything to do with investing? Did he have other, secret ways of making money?

—

Going out in public was dangerous if Connie wasn’t behind bars, but you’ll be damned if let fear force you into missing Armin’s funeral.

It was a quaint ceremony — it had to be that way, not only because Armin wouldn’t want anything drastic, but because it was the only way to remain hidden from paparazzi and reporters who wouldn’t mind crashing a heartbreaking ceremony for a few pictures.

The majority of the people who showed up amounted to coworkers. It made sense. He was always working, and in a twisted way, his fellow waiters, construction men, and other peers from his previous jobs were his family.

There was nothing — nothing — quite like seeing them lower Armin’s casket into the ground.

It was a sight that took the strength out of your legs, frying your brain until simple functions like walking were a challenge.

It should have been Connie in there. That’s what you thought. That’s what you wished.

Especially when you decided to open the pile of letters collecting dust on your nightstand a few days later.

“How the fuck can he do this to me? How the fuck is this possible?” Tossing down a stack of paper on the desk in Levi’s dark home office — where he sat behind it, typing away on his computer before you stormed in — you continued to both shout and cry.

You were so sick of crying. Tired of tears. 

With brows furrowed in confusion, Levi picked up the letters that were previously folded three ways, indicating that they came in envelopes that had arrived in the mail.  

It made sense.

The entire world knew that your current residence was with Levi. 

Including him.

Unable to sit in any of the black chairs in front of his desk due to your horrific anxiety, you slowly paced back and forth as he read the letters from the bank and collection agencies. 

In short, you were broke, just as poor as you once were when you arrived in Los Angeles as a former baker from New York who had to split sandwiches to survive. 

Connie naturally owned everything that belonged to his artists. Blame the shitty contracts.

But, in your case, you married the bastard. He had his hand in everything tied to your finances. Tied to you. 

And he took it all away.

“Y/N-”

“It’s my fault.” You cut Levi off. Abruptly, you stopped pacing. “I know, okay? I don’t . . . don’t need to hear you say it. I didn’t protect my finances from Connie when we got married, I just . . .”

“You just thought you were the one who had him trapped, not the other way around.” Levi put down the letters. His face was unreadable. “We need to find out if these letters are even real.”

“It’s real,” you said with a sniffle. “I called every fucking number they listed. It’s real.”

“We should’ve seen this coming,” Levi paused. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. 

For someone who always claimed to only want wealthy people associated with his name, Connie certainly didn’t mind leaving his enemies to rot in poverty.  

A deep, shaky breath escaped from between your lips. Slowly, you sat down in one of Levi’s chairs as you said, “It’s my karma, right? For marrying him for wealth . . . tricking him with a baby that wasn’t his . . .”

“Does he know?”

Levi’s eyes darted away from yours. Aside from when he cared for you that night after Armin and Eren were shot and you confessed a truth he already knew, neither one of you talked about the fact that you once carried his baby. 

“Uh,” you sniffled once again, shifting in your seat. “I don’t know if he knows the baby wasn’t his. If he knew it was yours, he might-”

Levi interrupted you, but not with words. 

It was with a dry, yet soft, laugh.

“Shoot me like he did Eren and Armin. That’s what you were going to say, right?” Levi paused. “He’d never.” 

You opened your mouth to speak. You flickered your eyes across the room, feeling rather puzzled as you started to piece things together.

“Levi?” You spoke with caution, preparing to ask a question you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answer to. “Why hasn’t Connie come after you yet?”

Levi didn’t answer.

You spoke again.

“Aside from being fired and getting a letter threatening your friend, Connie has left you alone. Tell me why.” You bit your lower lip. “Jean and Eren were basically tortured. I was imprisoned. Reiner’s family could have burned to death. Even Armin was beaten, and yet . . . you sent Erwin to rescue me. You stormed Connie’s house with everyone else. You embarrassed him by getting caught sleeping with me, making his company look bad or whatever the hell it is he was always saying. You pissed him off more than anyone else, but you . . . you and your cousin, Mikasa, were always just fine. You still have your nice house even without your overpaid job. There isn’t a scratch on you. You haven’t been locked away. Your loved ones are fine. Tell me why.”

“What are you trying to say? What exactly are you accusing me of, Y/N?”

Suddenly, you pulled out your brand-new phone, the one Levi had purchased for you. 

Your old phone was still with Connie. 

Unlocking your new phone and tossing it on his desk, Levi darted his eyes down at it, then back up at you.

“I always thought it was kinda funny how my stalker took photos of us from right outside your house. But, surely you didn’t have anything to do with it, because why would you get yourself in trouble, right? Unless you knew nothing bad would happen to you. And you knew it would make you look more innocent.” You nodded down at the phone. “Open it. Read my recent messages.”

Levi hesitated, but then, he picked up your phone and scrolled through the recent thread of messages and photos from an unknown number.

The texts were all similar in nature. Different variations of someone claiming they were watching you while snapping pictures of you in public.

“What the hell does this have to do with me?” Levi’s frown deepened. “You think I’m somehow behind you getting stalked? Or do you think I’ve been working with Connie this entire time? Which is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s both. Maybe you’re behind everything along with him.”

Levi’s glossy eyes glistened with hurt. 

“I promise you that I’m not working with Connie. I’m not the one stalking you, either.”

“Then why hasn’t he come after you?” By now, your hands were trembling again. And although it was cold in Levi’s office, that wasn’t the reason why. Once again, you sniffled. “Why won’t you answer me?”

Amid Levi’s silence, you got up from the chair. “Okay, that’s it. I’m fucking leaving.”

You didn’t have any place to go, truly. Instead of money, you had to rely on hope, that maybe Reiner, Jean, or Annie would let you stay with them for a little while. 

Assuming you could trust anyone right now.

“Wait,” Levi called out defeatedly. “Don’t leave.”

Slowly, you sat back down.

“I’m not stalking you, and I don’t know who is. I’m not working with Connie either.” Levi’s voice softened. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not guilty of some things. I’ve been with CS Records as a manager since the beginning. I saw everything he did become successful. I knew how he treated people. I knew what kind of monster he was, but I didn’t do anything about it. He made me one of the richest managers in Hollywood, so I kept my mouth shut. I let good people get hurt. I told myself I couldn’t do anything about it because he could kill me and make it look like an accident, but that was just an excuse. I didn’t start pissing him off until you came around, and I just wanted to protect you.”

“That’s why you were apologizing to Eren when you were saying your goodbyes. He’s one of the people you let get hurt.” You glared at Levi. “Still doesn’t explain why Connie leaves you alone.”

“He leaves me alone because I have evidence. I’ve been collecting it since the day he made Eren and Jean sign their first contract.” Levi made unwavering eye contact with you. It sent a chill up your spine. “He doesn’t know where it is, doesn’t know what it is, so he can’t destroy it. But he knows I have it.”

“Seriously? That doesn’t make any fucking sense! How the hell does he know you have evidence but doesn’t know what it is?”

“I alone am a piece of evidence, because I’m a witness to almost everything he’s done.” Levi got up from his seat. He walked around his desk and leaned back against it, and he looked down at you.

“Listen. All you need to know is that Connie doesn’t touch me because he knows I could ruin his life. He knew I’d be fine if he fired me. I’m smart with my money. Anything else would be crossing a line with me, and he knows that.”

“Then why haven’t you come forward with all this evidence you’ve been collecting?”

“Because I don’t know if it’ll be enough.” Levi paused. “I give it to the police, then what? He’ll just pay to get it tossed out.”

“If that’s the fucking case, then I don’t get why he doesn’t come after you anyway if he knows he’ll get away with it. Wouldn’t killing you solve that problem?” Your glaring only intensified. Levi, however, remained calm.

“Probably, but I also have the guts to kill him,” Levi replied. 

After all, Connie wasn’t the best shooter. Two out of three of his recent victims had survived. If he tried to murder Levi to get rid of any evidence and the skilled man lived, then the retaliation would have been horrific. 

You raised your eyebrows in shock. Then, your face fell into a blank expression. You chuckled a bit.

“I’m telling the truth,” Levi spoke with sternness, and yet, his voice was soft as well.

“I don’t care,” shaking your head, you could see Levi’s heart break a bit. It was reflected within his intense, sad gaze. “If what you’re saying is true, then you’re still the bastard who stood by and did nothing while Connie abused his artists with contracts and all of his fear tactics. And you let me join that fucked up label as well, and you didn’t say a damn word. Collecting evidence — for what? So you could continue to sit back and do nothing? You’re telling me he won’t touch you because you’re apparently so goddamn dangerous that he’s afraid you’ll kill him, but yet, you don’t have the power to throw his ass in jail? I don’t care if he dies. I don’t care if he goes to prison. But something has to happen to him. You have to do something — you could have done something. What will it take for you to even try? Was-Was Erwin getting shot not enough? Was him torturing people not enough? What about Armin getting murdered? Remember him? The guy who had you as his emergency contact because he trusted you? Or what about Eren? The son of the people who adopted your cousin? Will you finally do something once I die? Is that what it’ll fucking take?”

Once again, you rose from your seat, but this time, Levi didn’t try to stop you.

“I get it. You’re not as rich as him. You can’t influence people to the degree that he can. You give the evidence to the police, he gets rid of it, and then there’s no point. But you should have tried. You should have tried years ago. Hell, even two months ago would’ve made a difference,” you started to make your way towards his front door. He followed closely behind. “You were always fucking lying . . . saying you couldn’t do anything because of his gun or his Silent Men or whatever . . . there was always an excuse. And, let me guess, taking me in and caring for me was your way of apologizing? Was fucking me supposed to make it all better too?”

“Are you serious?” Levi followed you into the foyer. The anger in his voice — an anger you hadn’t ever known to come from him — it made you stop walking and turn around to look him in the eye. But despite his harsh tone, his gaze was filled with nothing but hurt. The amount of pain — you hadn’t recognized that either. “You tried to use our baby . . . my baby . . . as a way for you to get revenge on Connie, and I didn’t say a word. It’s hilarious how you’re pissed with me for not taking down the same bastard you married. You were more than willing to let him continue to be a piece of shit if it benefited you, and I didn’t say a word. You’re no better than I am.” You’re eyes shifted away from Levi, but he continued to speak. “Maybe I should’ve done something a long time ago, but if you can recall, every single one of us stormed Connie’s house, ready to put a bullet in his head, and you told all of us to fuck off. You yelled at us for trying to handle him. Now you’re yelling at me for not handling him. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what you want when it comes to anything.”

“You should have done something long before I got involved with him or with you. You should have done something years before you even met me.” Your voice was softer now. Levi couldn’t tell if your shaky words were laced with guilt or with quiet hatred.

Thanks to the darkness of the foyer and you standing in the dark shadows, whereas he stood in the moonlight spilling in through the nearby windows, he could barely see your face. 

Regret and guilt bubbled up inside of him until his insides felt rotten. It wasn’t a matter of who was right and who was wrong, nothing was that simple when everyone had regrets that kept them up at night, tossing and turning in bed, but Levi knew one thing: he didn’t want to lose you.

“Let’s just sit down and talk about this,” he said. He hated the way he sounded, but he hated the idea of you leaving even more.

“Nope, there’s nothing else to talk about,” you stared at Levi with dark eyes he couldn’t recognize. “All of those media training classes you and Connie put me through told me it was improper to voice my opinions like this. Remember?”

When your hand touched the door handle, Levi’s hand grabbed your wrist. 

“What? Are you gonna imprison me too? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Your jab hit Levi like someone slapped him across his face. As a former member of the military, and as someone who had quite a rough childhood, he was good, old friends with pain.

But nothing had hurt quite like your words.

The ache in his heart had spread to every limp. It was an unfathomable pain he could feel down to his fingertips.

There was an unpleasant prickle of hot tears threatening to fall. His waterline brimmed with them. He wasn’t the type of person to cry easily, but that changed when it came to you.

Everything changed when it came to you.

“It’s late at night. You have nowhere to go and no money to get anywhere. If you want to leave, I won’t . . . I won’t stop you. But you should call someone and ask them to pick you up. If you try to walk, all of the goons with cameras outside will just follow you down the street.”

You didn’t let go of the door handle. Levi continued to speak. “We could also sit down and talk it all through. I made mistakes. I’m human, and a shitty one, but I’m sorry. Me helping you out wasn’t to ease my guilt. I did all of that because I care about you and you know it. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Only a few seconds had passed, but to Levi, it felt as if you were both frozen in time for an eternity, plus an extra minute. 

Your hand released the door handle, and Levi let go of your wrist. Suddenly, you turned around and started to walk away, your shoes lightly stomping against the floor. You walked past Levi as if he was invisible.

“I’m calling someone to come get me,” you shouted, making your way back to Levi’s office to retrieve your phone. “Once I’m done, you can have that phone back. And never speak to me again, got it? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as bad as Connie.”

—

One hour later, Reiner arrived to pick you up from Levi’s house. And, of course, cameras flashed continuously as you made your way to his passenger seat and slammed the door closed. 

You hated to use Reiner this way — even if he didn’t mind it. 

It wasn’t fair to him.

But you had no other option. 

You didn’t know Annie well enough to burden her with this. Jean was too busy with his own recovery. Luckily, Jean was back at his own place, being looked after by hired help. 

Being around Reiner had instantly overwhelmed you with comfort. His aura alone was soothing. The way he looked at you with soft, concerned eyes had created the delusion that, perhaps, everything would be okay someday.

Reiner was silent for the first few minutes. Then, as he made a right turn, he asked that haunting question: “What happened?”

“Connie took all of my money. Made me realize that Levi hasn’t suffered as much as everyone else. When I asked him about it, he told me that Connie doesn’t bother him because Connie knows that Levi isn’t afraid to kill him and has evidence that can put him in prison. He said he hasn’t turned it in to the police because he figures Connie will just pay to get rid of it, which makes sense, but . . .”

“But what?” Reiner darted his eyes in your direction, then back at the road ahead. 

“Levi was in the position to do something about Connie. Even if turning in evidence failed, he still sat back and let everyone join CS Records. Fear is a powerful thing, and if Connie is really afraid of Levi and everything he could do, then Levi could have used that fear to get Connie to do anything — turn himself in, stop being a shitty person, anything. But he did nothing. He’s still doing nothing.”

Reiner knew you. He knew that right now, a lot of your anger wasn’t truly directed at Levi. The poor man was just being used as a punching bag, a way for you to avoid being angry with yourself for not protecting your finances from Connie. It was a way to not take in your new reality: you were poor and homeless yet again.

After all, one could blame Levi for not acting out against Connie’s behavior for whatever reason. 

But you were just as guilty.

Fear was a powerful tool, but so was love. 

If you weren’t blinded by his billionaire status, then, perhaps, you too could have done something about Connie. After all, you knew what kind of man you married.

But you didn’t do anything. 

Everyone else was guilty as well.

No one tried to stop Connie when they had the chance, beyond trying to free you from his grasp. Blame the contracts. Blame the fear of homelessness or death. Those were all valid excuses, but they were excuses, nevertheless. 

And now Armin was dead.

Maybe Levi should have been the one to go toe-to-toe with Connie. After all, if Connie was scared of him, then he had the biggest chance of surviving the chaos that would have ensued by trying to toss him in prison. Reiner couldn’t say. But he felt as if your anger was misplaced.

He wouldn’t admit it, though.

The last thing he wanted was for you to jump out of his car.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Reiner said gently, the nickname not holding any romantic implications, but rather, just a result of his southern nature.

“It’s not alright,” with a sniffle, you folded your arms across your chest. “He’s gonna get away with murdering Armin too. He’s gonna get away with everything.”

—

Reiner set you up in his homey guest room. Promised that you could stay as long as you wanted. But he wasn’t a fool. 

Your heart had moved on from him. 

It belonged to that dead baker in the ground.

Even so, he would be there for you no matter what.

Two weeks later, it was raining. Rarely had such weather occurred in L.A., but for the last few years, it rained more often. 

Your days consisted of sitting on the bay window bench in the beautiful, charming living room, sipping on warm beverages.

One day, you walked into the kitchen, smiled at Reiner, and said, “Your cappuccinos are amazing.”

Since then, a steaming hot cup of cappuccino was always waiting for you on the kitchen counter.

This morning wasn’t any different. You were greeted with your favorite hot drink as of late, and after getting dressed, you both headed to the hospital to visit Eren.

He was still hanging on. Still in a coma. Still teetering between life and death.

On this rainy day, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d see Levi as well. You hadn’t spoken since the day you yelled at him. The pained look on his face haunted you more than you would have liked to admit, it reappeared in your scattered mind whenever you tried to fall asleep at night. After spending those sleepless evenings lost in thought over what conspired between you both, you realized that you were out of line. 

Reiner didn’t want to admit it, but you could see the way his eyes shifted whenever you ranted about Levi during dinner. He chewed on his chicken alfredo and didn’t say a word, but it was obvious that he thought the same thing.

Everyone had done some things wrong. Everyone had done some things right.

Levi had reasons to be angry with you, such as trying to use his baby to trick another man into marrying you for greed and revenge. Even so, he never snapped at you. He didn’t speak to you the way you spoke to him.

But it didn’t matter anymore. You were poor. The world had started to forget about Armin’s murder. Eren’s condition hadn’t changed, so he was no longer appearing in headlines. Everyone had started to paint Connie Springer as innocent, and for the people who hadn’t, they didn’t care. Several billionaires have killed a person or two. Who cared about some random waiter?

In short, the world found other things to obsess over. 

It was tragic and peaceful at the same time. 

Arriving at the hospital, only a few paparazzi lurked outside of the entrance. Fans were still present as they screamed for you and Reiner.

And, both luckily and unfortunately, you didn’t see Levi in the waiting room.

“Hi honey,” Carla greeted you softly, wrapping her arms around you. 

“It’s good to see you,” with a gentle smile, you pulled away from her, and like you had done a thousand times, you asked, “How is he?”

“There are some positive signs,” Carla clenched the piece of tissue in her hand. “Why don’t you go see him?”

The positive signs that Carla had mentioned seemed nonexistent. When you walked into Eren’s room, nothing about the rockstar had changed. But there weren’t any nurses in his room right now. There wasn’t the thick aura of death. The machines hooked to his body didn’t sound so scary.

But he was still there, pale and thin, eyebrows furrowed with a tube down his throat and wires attached to his body. 

This time, you pulled up a chair to sit by Eren’s side. By now, you had gotten more comfortable with talking to him. 

“Hi, Eren. It’s Y/N,” you greeted. Gently, you pulled up on the collar of his hospital gown, straightening it out more. You stroked his forehead with your thumb, and let your fingers run through his hair. 

You didn’t see it, but a finger on Eren’s left hand twitched.

“Hair’s still amazing, don’t you worry. Your mom’s been combing it every day,” you said softly. “I’ve been drinking cappuccinos lately. It’s just one little thing I have to look forward to, you know what I mean? It makes me think about all the things waiting for you when you wake up. All the things you have left to look forward to. I know life has been shitty, but . . . your family’s still here. I’m still here. We aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to wake up, heal, and live a long life, okay? You’re going to be so happy, healthy, and free. We’ll all make sure of it. I’m going to sit here with you for a while — is that okay?”

You ran your thumb across Eren’s eyebrow. Even like this, he was still so beautiful.

Perhaps, the entire world would have been more eager to throw Connie in prison if he had ruined Eren’s face.

Leaning out of your seat a bit, you planted a kiss on Eren’s forehead. 

“I love you, Eren.”

Eren’s finger twitched again.

Thirty minutes had passed. During that time, you sat with Eren, talked to him, and even read him a few pieces of dialogue from a play you were writing in your spare time. It was nothing more than a few printed-out sheets of paper inside of a flimsy folder.

As you scanned over the written stage directions, you flipped the page, mumbling about details you needed to change in certain scenes.

You didn’t notice that Eren had slightly opened his eyes until his body jerked and the nearby machines started beeping.

“What the hell?” Your eyes widened. A nurse grabbed your shoulders, ushering you out of the room as another one grabbed your chair.

Unfamiliar medical terms were exchanged, but from the hallway, you watched as Eren’s body continued to jerk. It must have been the tube down his throat, as they seemed to work quickly to remove it.

More doctors and nurses rushed into his room. More machines continued to beep. 

Holding your folder against your chest, your arms started to shake.

Tears started to fall like clockwork, but this time, they were from utter happiness, as Eren was starting to wake up.

—

The following week was a blur — a beautiful, confusing blur.

“As an actor,” Reiner paused, holding your hand comfortingly as you both sat in the waiting room. “I’ve seen my fair share of storylines involving comas. Television usually gets it wrong, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a polite whisper. “Either way, I’m happy. I can’t wait to see him . . . see him and have him actually respond to me.”

You knew exactly what Reiner was referring to. In movies and shows, patients often awakened from comas and were immediately responsive. You recalled seeing Reiner partake in having to play the heartbroken spouse on the other end of that sappy storyline once.

But, in reality, it took Eren a while to come around. Recovery wasn’t easy.

He had to get the hang of walking again, and other basic skills. Therapy, for both his mental and physical state, consumed his entire hospital stay.

For the first few days, he was utterly confused, and needed time to piece together what had happened to him. According to Carla, he remembered getting shot by Connie.

He remembered everything after a while.

The doctor didn’t want anyone aside from Eren’s parents visiting him during the start of his recovery. 

But now, you could see him.

He was in a different room this time. It was a proper one with a door, free from the symbolic afterlife advertisements and the aura of death.

This was a room that belonged to someone who was expected to live.

You knocked gently, then opened the door.

And there he was.

Only a week had passed, and yet, he looked better. Some color had returned to his soft skin. He looked as healthy as a person who had been shot and survived being in a coma for weeks could look.

What made you smile tearfully was that when you saw him this time, he was looking back at you.

Those piercing, gorgeous emerald eyes locked with yours. 

And he smiled beautifully.

“Eren,” his name slipped from between your lips.

You rushed over to where he sat in his wheelchair — he was undoubtedly sick of laying down, but not well enough to constantly move around just yet — and you leaned down and hugged him.

“I’m so sorry,” your hands were lost in his hair. You felt him weakly hug you back.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, oh my god, Eren. I thought you were gonna die.”

Pulling away from Eren, you couldn’t help but cup his face and kiss his forehead. Truly, you didn’t want to overwhelm him, but you just had to kiss his cheeks as well. And his nose. 

He might have been a badass rockstar, but your kisses made him blush.

After showering his face with affection, you sat down on the side of his bed. He was holding on to a big refillable water bottle. His portable I.V. pole was next to his wheelchair. He had yellow socks on his feet. The furthest corner of his enormous hospital room was filled with get-well gifts, cards, flowers, and balloons, including your own presents that you had dropped off earlier in the week, even though you couldn’t give it to him directly at the time. On the television, the action-comedy film Rush Hour was playing. He must have been watching it before you came in.

All of those little details you had noticed made you grin, simply because it meant one thing: Eren Yeager was alive.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, noticing that he hadn’t yet said anything to you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m . . . o-kay.”

The sudden heartache you felt sent waves of pain through your chest and down to your fingertips. 

He sounded unrecognizable.

It made sense.

He hadn’t spoken in weeks. His throat was also swollen from having a tube wedged down it for so long.

“Good. I’m glad,” you gave him a sad, soft smile. 

Eren’s eyes scanned over you. A look of worry flashed across his face. You seemed different, but that was understandable. 

He had heard about everything that was going on. 

Connie’s disappearance. Jean’s punishment. Your fight with Levi. Staying with Reiner. Your lack of funds. Armin’s death. 

His mother held him while he cried a few nights ago after learning that he had survived, but not his best friend. “I know, baby,” his mom whispered repeatedly, holding her son in his hospital bed as sobbed, wishing he could somehow trade his life for Armin’s.

And he couldn’t imagine how you felt.

Although it hurt to speak, he had to ask.

“You . . . o-okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” you gave a wave of your hand. “I’ll be fine.” 

Eren could see the sadness in your eyes, and not just from everything you were going through, but because you had walked in here with the hopes of listening to Eren run his mouth, only to discover that he could barely speak.

So, instead, he reached out, grabbed your hand, and ran his thumb across your knuckles.

Grabbing his hand, you suddenly raised it to your lips and kissed the spot below where his fingers were missing.

Seeing you make such a loving gesture both warmed Eren’s heart and snapped it into pieces. 

He looked at you with the softest, most loving eyes. 

If only he hadn’t let go of you way back then. If only he didn’t toss his ring and let Connie intimidate him into divorcing you.

If only.

Eren pulled his hand away from you. He stroked your cheek with his thumb. He tapped your nose with his pinky finger. Ruffled your hair a bit. Touched you in any way he could to communicate when speaking wasn’t the best option. It was his way of reminding you that this visit wasn’t the same as the previous ones. He might not have been talkative, but unlike when he was in his coma, he could look at you. Hear you. See you. Touch you.

Soon enough, you laughed. What a lovely sound — it always was.

“I heard you tried to throw a cup at your doctor once you found out he told us you only had two hours to live,” with a playful smirk, you jabbed at his cheek a bit with your finger. 

Eren nodded proudly.

‘That asshole scared everyone I loved,’ Eren thought.

Suddenly, your smile faded. Eren’s grin quickly diminished as well, and he looked at you with great concern.

“Sorry, I’m just thinking . . . I’m worried.” With a pause you carefully considered whether or not you should express your haunting thought. But it had to be something Eren was worried about as well.

“What if Connie comes back and finishes the job?”

Eren’s face of concern changed into anger at the mention of Connie’s name. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched — hearing the name of the bastard who shot him and killed his friend had flipped a switch within him.

But, truthfully, even if Eren could talk normally right now, he still would have met your question with silence.

What would he do, exactly?

As many times as Eren thought he had to courage to take the man’s life, he secretly accepted that he wasn’t that cold-hearted. He couldn’t kill someone, especially an old friend he had grown up with. Someone he would have died for.

Sometimes, he still saw that funny, idiotic teenager who liked to mix all of his food together during lunch and cherished his friend group. Never could he fully accept that the Connie he once knew was gone forever, replaced by a monster who only cared about money and power.

A monster who tried to kill him.

The corners of Eren’s mouth fell into a frown. He looked down at the white floor beneath him. 

“I guess that’s something we should worry about later, huh? Your recovery comes first. He won’t touch you while you’re in here.” Your smile was comforting, but it wasn’t convincing.

After all, this could have been the easiest way to kill Eren.

Connie could hire someone, get them to pretend to be a nurse, enter his room, and shove a pillow over his face until he suffocated.

No one would question his death if he died at the hospital. Especially when the doctors were certain he’d die a long time ago.

“Hey, I have an idea,” you said. “Why don’t we head down to the cafeteria? They have ice cream down there.”

Instantly, Eren grabbed the pole to his transportable I.V. on wheels, indicating that he was ready to go. 

You got up, grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, and started to push him out of his room.

“I don’t even know if I’m allowed to do this, but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

Reaching back with the hand that wasn’t holding on to the rolling I.V. pole, he touched your hand as a way of saying thanks.

Making your way down to the cafeteria was an easy journey for the most part. By now, the nurses and doctors who worked in the hospital had gotten used to seeing you, Eren, and other celebrities roaming the halls. 

But the group of fans gathered outside of the entrance lost their minds when they saw that familiar head of brown hair. 

Their muffled screams were startling. Some of them started to cry. They banged on the seethrough doors, either trying to get inside or catch Eren’s attention, you couldn’t be certain. As you rolled him by, he gave his fans a casual wave. 

That only made them scream even louder. 

Silence arrived once you pushed Eren out of their view and rolled him down a hallway decorated with modern, colorful contemporary art, contrasting against the white walls and floors pleasantly  — rather nice for such a depressing place.

“Wanna play U.N.O later? I have the cards in my purse.” 

Eren could hear the casual excitement in your voice. Of course, you brought U.N.O cards. You loved that game, even if you tried to create your own rules.

At the sight of Eren’s nod, you said, “Great! It’ll be fun. I won’t change the rules this time-”

Suddenly, your footsteps came to a halt.

At the end of the hallway, Levi appeared.

Eren waved at him. Levi smiled, but it quickly diminished when his eyes darted up to you.

The man who was typically sharply dressed looked rather disheveled. Black hair was messy, longer than it typically was, and the dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. He wore a grey long-sleeved hood and a pair of jeans. His phone was in his right hand, and he tapped it with his thumb, ending a phone call, more than likely. In his left hand, he carried a thermal bag. It must have been food for Eren’s parents.

Turning his head around in his wheelchair, Eren looked back at you, then faced forward to look at Levi.

Oh, how awkward it was. 

A wave of heat ran through your body. Pure shame and utter embarrassment. But turning around would have made it worse. So, you pushed Eren right past Levi as you mumbled, “Excuse me.”

—

The rest of the day was spent in Eren’s company. Eating ice cream, playing U.N.O, and watching the rest of Rush Hour made you forget your own troubles for just a few hours.

The rockstar didn’t want to admit it because he didn’t want you to leave, but he was exhausted. You could tell based on his tired eyes and sleepy grin.

So, you let him rest, telling him goodbye and kissing his forehead gently after helping him back into his bed.

Returning to the waiting room, you overheard Carla and Grisha discussing having two bodyguards standing outside of Eren’s door for his safety. After hugging them goodbye, you went down to one of the more private exits of the hospital and stood outside underneath the carport-like shade. You hadn’t called Reiner just yet. He was a busy man, one who still had a career to worry about, and he had clocked in for a sixteen-hour shift on yet another film set after making sure you were able to visit Eren. 

But he promised that he’d send a driver out to pick you up and take you back to his house once you were ready to leave. All you had to do was send a text message.

However, a lump of guilt formed in your throat, preventing you from doing so. 

Reiner never made you feel like a bother. He welcomed you back into his home — back into his life with open arms, even as a friend.

Although you could see the glisten of hurt behind his kindhearted gaze because your heart no longer belonged to him, he never did anything for you because he expected some kind of love or favor in return.

But your lack of independence was starting to get to you.

Never — not once in your entire life — had you truly been independent. 

Maybe for about a year at most, but aside from that, someone had always cared for you, whether it was with diamonds and fine dining or pennies and sandwiches.

So, you didn’t text Reiner. You put your phone back into your purse, unsure of what to do.

That’s when you noticed Levi walking out of the door. Once again, he was ending a phone call. 

Who exactly was he always on the phone with?

This time around, encountering Levi was far more awkward. It was just the two of you, standing outside, alone in the dark, listening to the gentle raindrops splatter onto the ground. 

Levi started to turn around and head back inside, but the sound of your voice made his footsteps halt.

“Wait,” you said. “Don’t leave.”

Levi didn’t move.

“I’m sorry, Levi. I was out of line the other day.”

He turned to face you. Staring at his unreadable expression, you wished that, just once, you knew what he was thinking. 

“That’s your apology?” Levi’s sudden frown was a mix of both sadness and anger. “After everything you accused me of . . . everything you said to me . . . that’s the best you can do?”

Your shameful gaze dropped down to your feet, briefly staring at the concrete ground before looking back up into his eyes.

“I was upset. I was going through a lot and I wanted someone to blame. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, especially after everything you’ve done for me when you didn’t have to lift a finger. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I of all people know how difficult it is to break free from someone like Connie . . . to pick wanting money over doing the right thing . . . and . . . I’m just sorry.”

The rain started to pour harder. It filled the silence until, after a moment, Levi started to speak.

“I forgive you. You weren’t entirely wrong, either. I should have done more, and I should have done it years ago. I was never the kind of person who’d let people get hurt as long as it benefitted me, and how I became this way, I don’t know. I’m sorry too.”

“I understand,” you said. The smile that appeared across your face had erased any remaining aggravation that Levi might have felt in his heart. “Believe me, I get it. I don’t know much about your past, but I know you know what poverty feels like, right? I mean, most people don’t understand how far someone will go to avoid being homeless and starved. That’s where me and you are kinda similar, you know? Along with that, you said you had been collecting evidence since the beginning, right? You might not have done anything with it yet, but . . . in my opinion, it means that you didn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

Connie wasn’t always as cruel as he was now — a simple, yet important fact that was often overlooked by his latest actions. Once upon a time, he was just a ruthless entrepreneur with life-altering contracts. Still a shitty human being, but it was better than who he was now — a murderer. Imprisoner. Torturer.

That came once you got involved with his life and label. 

And that was when Levi, and everyone else, hit their limit. 

Your words made it difficult for Levi to make eye contact with you. He wasn’t shy by nature, nor someone who was easily made to feel anxious or nervous — an effect he had on others — but hearing you say those words, especially after your argument, was touching. 

But nothing could ease his guilt. It was a burden he’d live with forever, something he wasn’t certain he could learn to forgive himself for even after a lifetime of therapy. 

Not until Connie was behind bars or six feet under, at least.

“Y/N, did you really think I took care of you to ease my guilt?”

With a light shrug, you mumbled, “I’d be lying if I said I knew why you did anything, Levi.”

“Really?” Levi smiled sadly. His voice was soft as he spoke. “Are you being serious? I let you sleep in my house. I bought all of your favorite snacks in bulk. The only time I’ve ever tried to fight against Connie was for you. Everything I’ve done . . . you mean to tell me you don’t realize that I love you?”

There it was. That beautiful confession. One that made you want to smile and cry at the same time. 

“Finally. I love you too.” With glassy eyes and a soft grin, you breathlessly said, “Well, it took you so long to say it first, no wonder I didn’t piece it together. I guess I’m not as smart as I thought I was.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Suddenly, as that last word rolled off of his tongue, Levi stepped forward, cupped your cheeks, and pressed his lips against yours.

He didn’t care who might have been watching. He didn’t care if you were an infamous heartbreaker. He moved his lips against yours passionately without any regret. And — god, he could feel your lips wanting to spread into a smile as you kissed him back. 

It was the kind of kiss that made him mourn what could have been. 

He thought about you both losing your baby more than he let on.

And he thought about what his life might have been like if Connie never imprisoned you. If the seed of revenge was never planted within you.

Would you have told him the truth? Would the two of you have had a family, perhaps? Some sort of happy ending? Was it too late to try again?

When Levi pulled away from the kiss, it was only because he needed to breathe. Damn the human body for needing oxygen during such a sweet, cherishable moment. 

As badly as Levi wanted to take you home and toss you across his bed, he couldn’t. 

Not yet.

The last thing he wanted your relationship to amount to was friends with benefits.

You both almost had a child, and yet, he hadn’t even taken you out on a proper date.

Levi’s eyes darted down at his black shoes. He couldn’t see it, but the sight of his cheeks becoming a faint shade of pink and his flickering eyes made you smile even harder than before. Underneath his intimidating and cold personality, he was rather adorable.

“Are you busy tonight?” Levi questioned. He subtly cleared his throat, attempting to play off his sudden awkwardness. “If not, we should go somewhere.”

“On a date?” “Yes. On a date.”

—

Levi was a classy man. Call him old-fashioned, but he preferred the ways of greeting his date with flowers, wearing dresses and suits, fine dining at gourmet restaurants, and being the perfect gentleman. 

But tonight would have to go differently.

After all, you were both giving each other the silent treatment several minutes ago. Now, you were sitting in his car, getting ready to have a late dinner with him.

Half of him had wished that he asked you out tomorrow night instead, giving him time to prepare, but, truth be told, there was something charming about being this spontaneous. 

As he drove down the streets of Los Angeles, struggling to concentrate on the road because he wanted to keep staring at your cute grin — which made him smile too — he wasn’t sure where to take you tonight.

It wasn’t easy. After all, you were both dressed appropriately to visit someone in the hospital, not to go dining at a five-star restaurant amongst other celebrities and rich citizens. 

But, if you went to cheaper, less impressive dining places where your outfits would have been fine, you both would certainly be bombarded by paparazzi and fans who weren’t used to seeing celebrities walk into such common eateries. 

Even so, he was certain you would have preferred to eat at one of the more sophisticated restaurants in town. Levi had opened his mouth to suggest you both go somewhere for a quick wardrobe change so he could properly treat you to a classic steak and lobster dinner, a meal you had rambled about often in the past, but before he could speak, you sat up, staring out of the passenger seat window. 

“Oh, wait, wait, Levi, let’s eat there!”

It was a diner. A tiny, twenty-four-hour restaurant that undoubtedly served bottomless coffee, greasy food, and had an interior that hadn’t been remodeled since the 1970’s. 

It was the same place Levi picked you up from a while ago.

Pulling into the parking lot, Levi could see that the family-owned diner was being run by a chubby old man wiping down a table, who looked like he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Despite living in the heart of all things film and music-related, the man didn’t seem like someone who would recognize you and Levi. Or, if he did, he wouldn’t care. All he cared about was serving his customers delicious food and making sure their bellies were full, no matter who they were.

From what Levi could tell, only one or two customers were in the diner. A younger girl who looked like a runaway, and another old man who was looking forward to completing a crossword puzzle in the morning. 

“I know it’s not . . .” you paused, thinking of the appropriate word. “I know it’s not fancy, but I don’t know. I saw this place the other day, and I really wanted to go inside. The food smelled really good.”

“Then let’s go inside, hm?” Levi smiled softly. He had never smiled so much in one day before.

Excitedly, you swung your passenger door open, and Levi had to grab your arm. “Wait, slow down,” he was rather amused at your impatience. 

“What? What’s wrong?” You frowned. 

Levi opened his center console and pulled out a hat. He tugged it on your head before pulling his own gray hood up. 

Everyone could still see your faces, but maybe the hats and hoods would help against any strollers who might pass by the diner, glance through the window, and see your familiar head shape.

—

Just as Levi had predicted, the old man treated you both like human beings.

The other old man in the diner hadn’t even glanced over to see who entered, as Jeopardy! was playing on the television hanging on the wall, and it held his attention like a moth drawn to a flame. 

However, the young runaway — a brunette teenage girl with the tips of her hair dyed bright purple — didn’t recognize Levi, but she knew who you were. After all, she owned a physical copy of the latest album created by Eldian Devils and a Jean Kirstein t-shirt — a black top with a white line drawing of his lazily cupped hands. His fans adored his hands as much as he did.

Two days ago, she watched your movie, A Game of Darkness, through Netflix on her cell phone as she waited at the bus stop.

But she didn’t bother you. She didn’t freak out.

Instead, she smiled kindly, removed her hand from the pocket of her jean jacket, and waved.

When you waved back, her smile brightened, and she went right back to eating her stack of pancakes.

The Classic. That’s what you had ordered; a burger and fries combo complete with a milkshake you shared with Levi.

Levi had ordered a sandwich with tater tots, but that didn’t stop him from stealing a french fry off of your plate.

Playfully, you swatted at his hand.

“Excuse you,” you said with a grin. “I bet if I took a bite of your sandwich, you’d start scoffing at me.”

“You can take a bite, I don’t care. The problem is that you’d unhinge your jaw and take the biggest bite possible,” grabbing two tater tots off of his plate, he put them on yours. “There. Now we’re even.” 

“One fry equals two tater tots?” You questioned. 

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re smaller.” 

“But they’re wider.” 

“Fine then,” with a small grin, Levi stole another one of your fries. 

You giggled a bit — a sound that would forever make Levi fall in love with you just a bit more. It seemed as if being in the diner had made you forget all your troubles, even just for a little while.

With your hand placed over the circular bottom of the vanilla milkshake in an old-fashioned glass, served with whipped cream and a cherry on top, you slowly slid it across the table to Levi’s side after taking a sip. 

“I’m giving you permission to steal another french fry from me, but you have to dip it in the milkshake.” 

“What for?” 

Dipping your own fry into the creamy dessert, you said, “I had a feeling you never tried it before.” 

“Got that right. I don’t look at a french fry and think, hey, this could really use some frozen sweet milk,” Levi's teasing tone made you tap his leg with your foot underneath the table, kicking him jokingly. 

“Maybe you’d be less grumpy now if you had tried it growing up.” Nodding in the direction of the milkshake, you bit into your own ice cream covered french fry. “Try it.”

Hesitantly, he grabbed another fry — pausing to put two more of his tater tots on your plate — and he dipped the fried potato into the milkshake, careful not to make any of the white, cold mixture spill out of the glass cup.

He took a bite. He raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise for a second, then, he tried to play it off by looking away, avoiding the sight of your amused smirk.

“You like it! I can tell,” you beamed. 

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can!”

Your lighthearted bickering session continued throughout your little date. After debating over the french fry and milkshake combination, you had challenged Levi to see who could tie a knot with the stem of the cherry from your milkshake using their tongue — the ultimate test of a good kisser.

It was endearing to see you this way. 

Watching you cover your mouth with your hand to hold back your loud but enduring laughter so as to not bother the other guests. Listening to you ramble on and on about different topics, such as why french fries should have been considered gourmet food, and at one point, you even told him about your play. He could see the passion in your eyes — the shy nature of sharing something that meant so much to you. Neither the topic of music nor acting had ever made your eyes sparkle like they were now.

And he was honored that you felt comfortable enough to tell him about your real passion: writing.

At one point, hours later, you and Levi had both sat in the diner for so long, that the owner had gone home and his daughter took over for her shift. The other guests had left too, and according to Levi’s watch, it was around midnight.

But neither you nor Levi had grown bored of being in each other’s presence for long. 

Not only had you shared your passions with Levi, but he started to open up as well. 

You asked him about his childhood.

He gave you as much detail as he could, even if he struggled to maintain eye contact as he did so.

He told the story of his beginnings as a boy without a father and a mother who was a sex worker. He touched on the topics of being raised and abandoned by his uncle, joining the military to combat poverty, and then helping out the boy whose parents adopted his cousin form a proper band, and assisting that boy’s friend with the launch of his record label.

When he brought up Hange and Erwin, his two best friends, he smiled.

Once you and Levi eventually left the diner after getting lost in time, he dropped you off at Reiner’s house.

It was drastically different from his own — not necessarily in terms of size, as the place was huge, making it obvious that the man wanted to have a lot of kids someday or intended for his relatives to stay over often — but his home looked like someone plucked a mansion out of the suburbs somewhere in the south and put it in the middle of Los Angeles.

The memory of seeing Reiner star in one of those house-building shows on HGTV several years ago suddenly appeared in Levi’s mind. He remembered skipping through the commercials about it. 

But it all made sense. Reiner probably had his home built specifically for him and his Tennessee-like, big family-seeking needs.

There were so many things he wanted to say before you got out of his car, shut the passenger door, and walked through Reiner��s front door. 

He wanted to tell you that you could live with him again if you wanted. He wanted to ask you out again and plan your next date immediately. He wanted . . . everything with you. 

But for now, he didn’t say a word.

—

— NEARLY TWO WEEKS LATER —

For the most part, your days consisted of the same routine.

Reiner would drop you off at the hospital to visit Eren. Levi would pick you up some nights, and you’d spend time together, going on brief walks in areas deemed as safe from prying eyes and pointed guns, and occasionally, you’d both stop by that lovely diner. 

You both made it a goal to try everything on the menu at least once. The old man beamed adorably whenever the bell above the door would ring, and he’d see you both walk in. You and Levi reminded him of his youthful days when he too was in love with someone. 

After your evenings out, Levi would drop you off at Reiner’s house, leaving the blonde-haired man conflicted, as he was happy to see you smiling again, but heartbroken that he wasn’t the cause of it. 

There was no greater misery than being roommates with someone you were once married to.

On an ordinary Thursday afternoon, you found yourself in Eren’s hospital room once again. His recovery was quite extraordinary. He could function like a regular person. Within the next few days, he would finally be allowed to go home. 

“Erennn,” you called out with a bit of a whine, shoes clicking against the mopped floor as you rushed over to his big window and pulled the curtains open, letting the pretty afternoon sun cast its colorful orange and yellow rays into his room. “You have the nicest view in the entire hospital. You should open your curtains more often. Just look at the sky.”

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Eren said curiously, his sharp eyes watching you as he sat in his chair. He moved the acoustic guitar from his lap and leaned it against the wall. Trying to play it only reminded him of what he lost — two of his fingers and a friend. 

“Is it ‘cause of Levi?”

Growing up, Eren had always been told several facts about his face — that it was perfect. Beautiful, according to science. Even now, the golden sunlight shined upon his gorgeous face, and it made him look like a god had spent an incredible amount of time crafting him. But, he had also been told that he was quite expressive as well, unable to hide even the slightest displeasure.

Everyone could always tell when he was pissed off, irritated, happy, or upset.

During those moments when he wasn’t glaring at someone with utter hatred, he, oddly enough, had a love stare as well. 

Where most people had blank or neutral expressions while interacting with others, Eren tended to stare at the ones he cared for like he was madly in love with them — he couldn’t help it.

It drove his fans crazy too. The way he’d look at every fan as if they were his soulmate, and they would blush and giggle.

And when he looked at you, well, his eyes would soften then too. But there was no mistaking that the love glistening within his gaze was real.

That’s how he was looking at you now. With that love stare.

But there was something else flickering in his eyes as well.

Jealousy and pain.

“How’d you hear about that?” You questioned, walking over to sit on his hospital bed — a bed he absolutely despised because laying down was his least favorite thing to do in such a creepy place.

“Reiner told me.” Eren shrugged. “I don’t think he meant to, but I couldn’t speak well, so he was running his mouth to try to fill the silence. You know how many people do that? They start rambling when it gets too quiet. I know so many secrets now, like my aunt Beth — you remember her, right? — well, she believed in Santa Claus until she was fourteen. Oh, and my mom never made homemade marinara sauce growing up. It was store-bought. She lied. But anyway, yeah. Reiner told me.”

“Oh,” with a gentle smile, you said, “Well, it’s not like I was trying to keep it a secret. I just didn’t know if there was anything to tell. Me and Levi aren’t . . . we don’t have any sort of title. With me still trying to get a divorce, and everything going on . . . I just don’t want to worry too much about romance right now, you know what I mean? All I know is that I like our little dates. It’s a good distraction from . . . everything else.”

Feeling his heart shatter into pieces was almost as painful as getting shot in the chest.

“He’s fucking lucky,” Eren mumbled, frowning a bit. “I’m happy you’re happy, it’s nice to see you smile, but I’m not giving up on you just yet.” 

With a little laugh, you shook your head.

“Eren, you’re worried about the wrong thing. Now isn’t the time for you to be jealous, okay?”

Eren turned his head away from you. Truthfully, the sight of his jealousy-driven antics made your heart skip a beat — the very heart that Eren would always have a place in, even if he didn’t own it.

“Eren,” you called out once again, leaning to the right until your elbow was pressed against the mattress. “Can you look at me please?”

He didn’t mean to act like a child. Truly, he didn’t. He hated himself for it. Armin had just died. You were in the middle of trying to divorce a monster. You were dealing with financial troubles and a lack of privacy from the rest of the world.

The last thing he wanted was to make you feel guilty over being around someone who made you forget your troubles, even for a couple of hours every night, especially when he was genuinely happy for you.

But he couldn’t help it.

He had his fair share of past relationships, hookups, and regrets. At one point, Hollywood could have given him the infamous heartbreaker title, just as they did you. 

But everything changed when he fell in love with you. No longer was he that rebellious rockstar who fucked supermodels and didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. 

He was now the kind of person who found himself blushing when you stared into his eyes. The kind of person who’d both kill and die for you. The kind of person who would do anything you wanted.

And he ruined it by both letting you go and pushing you away.

“I wish I never let that assrat force me into divorcing you,” Eren glared at the floor. “I wanted us to go to therapy — did you know that?”

“Yeah. I did. Connie made you leave me.” 

You recalled the memory of you, long ago, begging Eren to stay with you after you cheated on him with Jean.  

What a time.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You tried again. “Please don’t be jealous.”

After your plea didn’t work, you took matters into your own hands. You leaned off of the bed, grabbed the arms of his wheelchair, and rolled him over toward you. Still, he tried to avoid your gaze, but it was rather difficult with you being so close. 

“Eren, if you don’t look at me, I swear on my mom that I’ll . . .” you paused, pursing your lips. “Okay, I can’t think of anything, so can you just look at me?”

He couldn’t hide his laughter, nor did he want to. 

But, finally, his eyes made contact with yours.

“About time,” you smiled. 

“Why did me not looking at you bother you so much? I don’t get it.”

“Because I thought you were going to die, so . . . I guess I like to look at you as much as I can now. I couldn’t see your eyes for weeks, remember? And losing you would ruin me in ways I can’t even say.”

Your mind drifted back to that night at the bridge.

“Y/N,” Eren ran his hand over his face. For a second, you thought he knew about your dark day, and your heart skipped a beat once again, this time in utter panic.

“You can’t say shit like that to me,” Eren groaned. “How can you tell me not to be jealous and then say-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” interrupting him, you reached forward, grabbing his jaw gently, and rather playfully. “We’re not gonna talk about any of that right now, okay? There are more important things to focus on. For example, you could be getting discharged in a few days, which is a really big deal for a lot of reasons, and your safety is the top priority. You’re gonna have to put up with plenty of bodyguards for now, but it won’t be so bad. I’ll be around to help you out. So will your family, of course.”

“Fine,” Eren mumbled, but then, he suddenly grinned — as best as he could with your fingers pressing into his cheeks, at least. “What do you wanna do today, then? I can kick your ass at U.N.O, we can watch a movie-”

“Kick my ass?” You moved his head back and forth before releasing your grip on his jaw. “Since when?”

“Since before you started cheating. You shuffle the deck in a way that gives you all the draw fours, and I think you hide all the skip cards under your leg,” Eren was grinning even brighter than before. 

“Hush before I shuffle you.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Eren called out, laughing softly as you rose from your spot on the hospital bed to grab the deck of U.N.O cards from your purse. 

“It means I’ll give you an extended hospital stay.”

For a while, you and Eren proceeded to play cards and bicker until it was time for you to leave.

Tonight, you and Levi didn’t have any plans, but you had grown rather concerned when you checked your phone and saw that he hadn’t messaged you yet.

—

One day later, you and Levi found yourselves standing outside of the private hospital exit once again after visiting Eren and the Yeager family. 

Levi had prepared baked chicken and a green bean casserole for them, as poor Carla didn’t have the time or the energy to cook nowadays.

As you waited for Reiner to arrive, you smiled at Levi, and he grinned back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He spoke before you could question it.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” With much intensity, Levi stared into your eyes. “Not here, though.”

Reiner’s expensive, dark green pick-up truck came into view, his car slowing to a complete stop.

When you didn’t hop in immediately, Reiner rolled down the passenger seat window.

“Hey Levi,” he greeted. He looked at him, then at you. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, um,” you stepped closer toward the rolled-down window. “Do you mind if Levi comes back to your place with us? He said he needs to talk. It’s really important.”

“Of course, I don’t mind,” Reiner smiled softly. 

Although, in his heart, he wanted to be your one and only, part of him was relieved to see that you and Levi had worked through your situation, only because if something had happened to himself at the hands of Connie, you’d have someone else to depend on.

—

It wasn’t long before the three of you were in Reiner’s living room. For extra privacy, Reiner asked his bodyguards to stand outside for a while.

Levi sat down in a chair across from the couch, which is where Reiner lounged, while you sprawled out on the bay window bench — your favorite spot in the entire world right now.

“What’s going on?” You asked Levi. “You’re worrying me.”

“I put a lot of thought into what you said, Y/N.” Levi shifted around in his seat. “The police don't care what you and Eren have to say, not when Connie’s making them rich. Every day, the situation dies down more and more, and soon enough, Connie won’t just get away with murder, but with everything he’s done to everyone. And he’ll keep doing it.”

“You’re right,” you mumbled. “He’s completely lost it, too. I’m worried he’ll come back and try to kill Eren again, or . . . any of us. That maybe he’ll change his mind about leaving me alive. We’re all living in fear.”

“What are you suggesting?” Reiner asked Levi, leaning forward until his arms were resting on his around his knees.

“We need to draw Connie out. I have a plan.” 

“What is it?” 

Levi looked over at you as you spoke. He looked you in the eye with that unreadable expression you’ve grown to both love and hate. Casually, he said, “We need to get married.”

♡ — 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

🎟: @consuming-karma @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @nanamochii @bunny2612 @cupids-soul @crazychaoticizzy @ramonathinks @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ventdavi154 @lovelyless-fiction @svftackerman @musegonemad @moonmalice @inciteterr0r @honeybleed @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @mooomuu @micafecitoconpan @beaniebanby @anonymousme23 @theitchbbbb @skit-brentfaiyaz @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @magictrump @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches @sasha-glass @getwaves @deluluvibes @p3nislawd @emery-333

[dribs-and-drabbles]

This Week in The TCW

May 4th - May 10th

Things irl are still stressful...so I'm thankful this week that we've had more shared clothing to distract me from my anxieties. Also, two out of this week's nine items of clothing have been worn twice by the same actor but in different series - you'll see what I mean when you read on.

May 4th - Boys in Love

We start this week not with clothes but bedsheets! I had been wondering if Kit's bedsheets had been used before since they looked familiar but Shane's bedsheets in Ep 3 of Boys in Love definitely have. This ep marked the fourth appearance of these blue, yellow, and red stripy sheets. They were first used in Bad Buddy (Jan 2022), then Never Let Me Go (Apr 2023), and Only Friends (Aug 2023).

The next item I had already spotted in the trailer for the series but shout out to @thistle-bug who also recognised it in the ep. Worn first in The Heart Killers in Nov 2024.

May 7th - My Golden Blood

Ep 9 of My Golden Blood has given us this week's first repeat-wear by the same actor. Neo already wore a white version of this yellow t-shirt in Only Friends - also ep 9 (Oct 2023).

May 9th - Sweet Tooth Good Dentist

This week, we have five items of shared clothing from Sweet Tooth Good Dentist. The first was also worn in Only Friends (Aug 2023) - by Mark as Nick.

And the second is our other repeat-wear by the same actor. Mark wore this shirt previously in Last Twilight (Jan 2024), but it was also worn in Only Friends (Oct 2023) and Wandee Goodday (Jun 2024)

Next up is a shirt I had been expecting since the trailer came out, worn first in The Trainee (Aug 2024).

This white LA Core t-shirt was an unexpected surprise though. Worn originally in Only Friends (Sept 2023) - by Mark as Nick - it was also worn in Last Twilight (Jan 2024), 23.5 (May 2024), and Peaceful Property (Sept 2024).

And lastly, another I knew was coming from seeing it in the trailer. The red version of this blue top has already been worn this year in My Golden Blood (Apr 2025) and The Heart Killers (Feb 2025), but I first noticed the blue in Bake Me Please (Dec 2023). It has also been worn in grey - in Enchante (Jan 2022) and Vice Versa (Jul 2022) - and beige - in Vice Versa (Aug 2022) - as well as white - in Middleman's Love (Nov 2023)

In case it's interesting to know - out of the 24 items of clothing that I knew were going to be worn in STGD before the show aired, we have seen all but one of them now. So hopefully in the last five eps there will be several surprise items of shared clothing for me (and you). I might even make a clothing bingo card for y'all if I have time 😅

Tagged by request: @my-rose-tinted-glasses @benkaben @pigglepiephi @jackandjoker If anyone else would like to be tagged then let me know.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

agere monoma neito headcanons !!

— requested by anon —

— cw: negative feelings towards regression & more specific cws at the end —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

🤍 - an absolute babie! neito regresses but he doesn’t actually have a definitive age range. it’s hard for him to really pinpoint an age, so he doesn’t bother. he just knows that he likes what he likes, regardless of what number he could arbitrarily choose. this usually means that, even when he’s feeling older, he’ll still use his younger regression gear. he makes a point of joking about it, acting as if it’s just a bit he does to be funny. truthfully, he’s very insecure about using his gear around other people but he accidentally regresses quite often and gets really upset when he doesn’t have his gear so he just pushes through and pretends like it doesn’t bother him (even if he isn’t accidentally regressed and he’s just around a caregiver, he still feels weird about it and, if the caregiver is someone he’s super close with, neito is prone to subtly asking, in the least subtle way possible, if it’s okay). no one actually cares as much as he does, but he’s too stubborn to realize that so he ends up stewing in his shame a lot with a pacifier in his mouth (it is, admittedly, very cute to see him pouting about it).

🤍 - he doesn’t love bold colors in his stuff. he’s a bit of a minimalist, preferring stylish chic clothing and toys. he gets made fun of a lot for being a boring beige baby (which he disagrees with! he doesn’t like beige, he likes simple blacks, greys, and whites with an accent of color to keep things looking aesthetically pleasing). he just finds the more colorful baby items to be extremely tacky and an eyesore. he’s a toddler, not blind. his stuff can still look nice even if he’s a little younger when he uses it. in that sense, I think he’s the antithesis of aoyama, who likes brightly colored everything, while still being just as wildly dramatic about it. he likes stickers quite a bit, but he likes putting them in sticker books instead of on his furniture or walls. that said, shinsou’s computer is covered in stickers because neito likes decorating his things. shinsou doesn’t care that much, but he does find it amusing that neito will cover other people’s things in stickers and drawings but refuse to do it in his own dorm with his own stuff.

🤍 - neito is also a pet regressor but he finds this one to be far more embarrassing (and like with his age range, he can’t actually figure out which animal he likes) so he almost never engages with it. he really likes the idea of being a kemonomimi (someone who dresses with animal-like accessories), but it really isn’t his style and he finds going outside of his comfort zone to be unnerving. he already has to adopt so many other people’s quirks and mannerisms to use said quirks with copycat, so he hates when his identity isn’t locked down in a neat box. the only time he’s ever willingly engaged with it was when shinsou dressed in this really cute punk cat outfit with ears and a tail, which let neito dress as a dog and make passing comments to people about how they’re matching. he does really enjoy being called animalistic pet names of any variety— and he specifically likes bunny and ducky quite a bit (calling him ducky/duckling is the easiest way to make him small and he has a lot of duck themed things).

🤍 - he is very attention driven and very jealous when he’s in headspace. he really struggles with sharing anything, but especially a caregiver’s attention. he’ll go out of his way to compete with everyone on anything if it means getting praise and affection. one time, aizawa was babysitting him with eri and he genuinely got so worked up over coloring a better picture for him, despite the fact that aizawa isn’t even his teacher and eri is a literal child. somehow, both class a & b heard about it and teased him for trying to win against a six year old— which, in his defense, he was probably around that age too. the only real exception to this jealousy is shinsou— who he thinks is too cool to compete with. he basically already believes that shinsou is better than him and has completely accepted that. it’s not the most healthy outlook on his friend, but it is a positive that he’s willing to co-exist and share with someone else.

🤍 - he’s extremely picky about what he does in headspace and he gets bored really easily. he likes watching cartoons in french, despite only knowing the bare basics of the language, and he’s absolutely obsessed with movies like lupin the third— anything with that phantom thief trope that he’s based his hero persona on. he really likes spy shows too and enjoys anything with some good action and mystery to it. his favorite book series is sherlock holmes and I refuse to take criticism on that. if he weren’t from like fifty years in the future or whatever, I think he’d really like bbc sherlock and that makes me giggle. I honestly think he likes british tv in general too. idk what it is about him but that seems right.

🤍 - neito is a very ‘go with the flow’ kind of person when it comes to other people. despite what everyone may think, he really isn’t the type to judge anyone for anything. he’s very similar to shinsou in the sense that he doesn’t really care, he just says anything to get you riled up. that means that when he first learned about age regression from a classmate/peer (probably shinsou), he didn’t actually care that much. when he learned that a different peer regressed (bakugou), he did go out of his way to make snarky comments about it. at the time, he didn’t know that he’d start regressing so he was all high and mighty about it and, when he inevitably got a babie brain, he really got humbled.

(cw: talks about discipline)

🤍 - I don’t normally headcanon regressors with rules and punishments because I don’t tend to like them and I don’t feel like many characters I cover would either, but I actually think neito would like the structure and his brazen attitude in headspace is very similar to when he’s older and attention seeking. it’s nothing too extreme— usually just corner time to cool off and think about how mean he’s being— but it is a very common occurrence. he’s very sensitive towards being perceived as “bad” because of a lifetime of people disliking his quirk and generally just having behavioral issues (kids who act out rarely enjoy being labeled as bad; they’re just reacting to a lack of something and neito is no different), so discipline with him is walking a fine line and involves a lot of trying to teach him that there are better ways of getting attention and of expressing his insecurities or lifting up his friends.

(cw: accidents & pull ups)

🤍 - I also feel very strongly about neito having issues with bladder control. he scares easy because of his sensitivities in headspace and he’s easily distracted which makes him prone to ignoring his needs. he’s usually pretty good at catching it when he’s not in his fuzzy/unclear version of babyspace, but he struggles a lot at night with wetting the bed (which gets worse with nightmares after the war). he does actually really like wearing pull ups/being padded and will usually wear them when he’s feeling small even if he doesn’t need to. they just help keep him under <3

[felicitywilds]

The Magiciatron

A couple of posts came across my dash recently in quick succession about Crowley and Aziraphale’s costuming, and boy howdy did they get me Thinking™. The details of those posts are not super relevant, but they did inspire this one and were quite insightful, so I’d recommend giving them a read anyway, as well as the several other posts I have linked throughout where ideas were taken. Please do give those a read/reblog as well!

And then take a look at this post I saw:

“You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

Now kindly consider the fact that Crowley is beside Muriel’s left shoulder (like an angel) and the Metatron is on Aziraphale’s right (like a demon). And notice, like I did, that the lapels on his coat are some of the lowest we’ve seen. Which, for an angel-who-isn’t-Aziraphale, and you know, the literal fucking voice of God, is pretty fucking weird. But I digress.

Because what’s important here is that you’re reminded, like I was, how weird it is that the Metatron is wearing so much black.

Surely the most important angel we’ve ever met-- who up to this point, has only ever been depicted as a brilliantly glowing white head, and is (stage blocking-wise, literally) above inhabiting the typical corporations that other angels have, even while in heaven-- surely he would be sporting the cleanest, purest, whitest clothes imaginable, right?

But... he isn’t. He’s not wearing grey or beige like any of the other angels, or even white like Muriel’s constable uniform, he’s wearing black. That’s weird! Angels don’t wear black! Oh... well except when they’re magicians, of course:

(X, X)

But even in his magician costumes, Aziraphale retains many elements of his angelic nature: the upward-pointed lapels; the white cuffs poking out of his sleeves; the floppy bow ties; the single-button or open jacket revealing the soft gold and velvet vests. This is merely a flashy costume! Don’t worry folks, he’s still the same, good old angel underneath!

The Metatron, on the other hand, does not have any of these angelic indicators. Underneath his magician’s coat-- which is big and loose, falls closed in front of him in a way that obscures his suit, and has extremely downward-pointing lapels-- he wears a dark tie, and a very normal-looking, white, pinstripe shirt. No angelic tartan to be seen, either. It’s a very understated, business-minded look compared to Aziraphale’s flashy stage getups. Also worth noting imo is that in many scenes, the Metatron has his hands in his pockets, which obscures his form even more.

Now this might be indicative of something more, some larger scheme we haven’t deduced yet, but by itself it’s a brilliant move by the costuming department, adding yet another perfectly conniving layer to the Metatron’s manipulations:

Dress him in the magician’s coat and send him on stage, where his tricks are hidden in plain sight...

Engage the audience to participate in a dramatic reveal...

Reassure his volunteer that his props are completely normal by offering them up for inspection...

Have the assistant do all the flashy presentation for him...

So that while the audience is distracted, they fail to notice...

... that a swap has been made...

And then the curtain falls. Show over. Audience fooled. Job well done.

The End.

[forests-fabled-stage]

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑨𝑼 𝑰𝒏𝒇𝒐 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

This blog contains content centered around the Smiling Critters: Forest Fables AU, such as story/lore, character references, and more!

~{ ✧ Be sure to check out this Carrd for permissions and more info ✧ }~

AU Status》 Work in progress

Ask box status》 Open

When making asks though clarify who/what your asking about please ^^

Versions you can ask》 Bigger body, Cartoon

Main Blog》 @darktapufifi

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑵𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒘 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑻𝒂𝒈 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

General Tags》 #sc: forest fables — #sc:ff Lore Tag》 #sc:ff lore Character Tags》 #sillybilly — #musemoose — #fiestyfoxy — #oli owlet — #smiley snailshell — #swirlysquirrel — #betty bucktooth — #fred froghop — #poempony — #horatio spectō — #kaiza kickboard — #NullCaw Asks / Annon Asks》 #sc:ff ask — #sc:ff asks Polls》 #sc:ff poll Art / Work in Progress Tags》 #sc:ff references — #sc:ff art Writing / Stories》 #sc:ff writing Fanart》 #sc:ff fanart

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

-{ The Crew }- (W.I.P.)

Red — MuseMoose (He/Him)

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Orange — SillyBilly (He/Any) — This is SillyBilly, the goofy, childish, comedian of the crew! He is always there to lighten the mood with his jokes, big or small, and even if the jokes dont land, he is willing to make a fool of himself for the benefit of his friends. He brings joy, and sorrow to those that listen.

Yellow — FiestyFox (She/Her)

[ImageNotFound.404]

Green — Fred Froghop (He/They)

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Blue — SwirlySquirrel (He/She)

[ImageNotFound.404]

Purple — Smiley Snailshell (They/Them)

[ImageNotFound.404]

Pink — Betty Bucktooth (She/Her)

[ImageNotFound.404]

White — Oli Owlet (She/They)

[ImageNotFound.404]

-{ The Guests }- (W.I.P.)

Beige — PoemPony (She/They) — A talented poet, PoemPony is better expressing their feelings with a pencil than with their voice, and their friends know that underneath that shy and nervous look there's an artist big and shiny like ink on a page.

Aqua — Kaiza Kickboard (Any/They/Them)

[ImageNotFound.404]

Lime — Horatio Spectō (He/They) — 'In my mind’s eye' is how Horatio starts most of their lectures, those that always tend to fall on deaf ears since that is their curse and their blessing; while he can see and perceive far more than the naked eye and be as wise as an owl, their shrill tone and dismissive attitude end up making people skeptical of their knowledge. Something that frustrates them a lot, but there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow, or in this case, of a parrot.

Lavender — NullCaw (They/Them) — A relaxed chicken who loves to listen, NullCaw is always there for their friends to suck up their worries into their very fluffy feathers. They hate see their friends sad, so they don't mind listening, and don't worry, if you ask them about it 5 minutes later, they've already forgot.

-{ Special Editions }- (W.I.P.) Joke)

Grey — HomicidalHonk (He/Honk/It)

[ImageNotFound.404]

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒔 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

》 Green Dainty Chains》 Cafekitsune

》 @novalizinpeace for PoemPony's art & ref

》 @novalizinpeace for Horatio Spectō's art & ref

》 @novalizinpeace for NullCaw's art & ref

》 @itzsharks-3am-thoughts Creator of Kaiza Kickboard

[lgwifey]

THE ALBATROSS

part five | series masterlist

Richie Boyle x fem!reader

Summary : growing up within a mob family had its benefits, it also had its downsides. one being overprotective parents... who had access to weapons and alibis... the main downside however was the secrecy of it all.

Warnings : violence, gun violence, swearing (shocker), mob/mafia themes, bad 1950's slang, legal age gap ? ( 19/20 & 25), LOW standards, mentions and descriptions of blood, mentions and descriptions of vomiting

"Y/l/n."

A quick blink brought Y/n back to the shop.

She slowly uncurled herself from the fetus position she'd  squished herself into on her favourite armchair, the thick beige coat rested over her body.

She eyes slowly adjusted to the lighting of the room, eventually finding the gruff voice that had called her.

"Shit ! I didn't fall asleep did I ?"

"Yes, you did."

The response was blunt, Francis having returned back to his usual, unenthusiastic self once he'd realised he hadn't got his boss' only son killed.

"How long ?"

"Thirty minute ? How 'm supposed to know, I'm not your babysitter."

The girl sent him a dirty scowl whilst his back was turned to her, quickly dropping the expression when she remembered her main concern.

"Richie !"

She pushed herself off the armchair before any confirmation was given, pulling the coat off her lap and fixing it over her shoulders instead.

As she reached the end of the second room's round table, Francis spoke up again.

"He's still unconscious, but he's breathing."

He added the end on when he saw the terrified look. Normally he wouldn't be so bothered, in his eyes Y/n Y/l/n was a spoilt daddy's girl who hasn't truly worked a day in her life, but the last thing he needed right now was Roy and Y/f/n on his case for an unconscious Richie and over-panicked Y/n.

"Well there's that at least. How-"

"Look Y/l/n, I don't have time to talk."

He pulled the grey trenchcoat over his suit, the dark colours blending together from her tired eyes.

"I need you to stay here with Richie, wait for the boss."

"You're leaving ?"

Y/n twisted around when she heard the confused voice behind her.

Leonard stood with a confused expression, his wrinkles deepening as he patted his previously blood coated hands dry with a hand towel. The youngest of the room felt another urge to throw up as she stared at the large smudges of red coated her boss' white shirt.

Unfortunately for her, this urge was the straw that broke the camels back when it came to her reflux system. As she felt the acidic bile rise through her body, a manic expression masked over her exhausted features, pushing past the concerned gentleman and reaching the small restroom sink just in time to bring up the last day's worth of food.

Turning the cold water on, she let the substance run down the drain as she sat herself next to the toilet incase her body decided she had more in her.

Ignoring the sickly pale and vomiting girl in the little room next to him, Francis carried on getting ready to leave, his fingers darting over the small tape.

"I'll be back ."

The dark blonde ran a hand through his hair, dropping the cassette tape back into the brown envelope.

"Take Master Richie with you."

Leonard worded it like a statement but, even in her state of brain fog, Y/n knew it was more of a question, a beg even.

"This is the safest place right now ."

"We can't move Richie yet."

The choked voice from the restroom called out, Francis rolling his eyes but agreeing with the paranoid nineteen year old.

"Please at least take that, that thing with you."

"Too many hard boys out there."

From beside the toilet, Y/n heard the clicks of the brown leather case.

There was no negotiation when it came to Francis, that much she already knew.

"You've been loyal customers, I depend upon you. Not once have I ever asked about your business. I don't judge, I just don't want to be involved in whatever it is you do."

"English, you know exactly what it is that we do ."

"No sir, I actually don't know anything. I don't know what that is, I don't know why all these gentlemen are looking for it and if they come here I won't be able to placate their suspicions. I'm useless to you, I'm a liability. I only just want to be left alone ."

"But you're not alone English. Like it or not, now you're part of the family."

He opened that case back up, pulling the clear tape out of the brown envelope and waving it in-front of the older man.

"This is a tape from a bug."

From the restroom, Y/n could hear Leonard muttering his usual 'please don't'. This would usually be the part where she'd realise she's oversharing private information and stop - but it wasn't her talking this time.

"Some new gizmo the Feds came up with. It records sounds, like a Victrola, but you can hide it because it's only the size of, eh you get it. The hoover boys planted their bug in one of our spots, but what they don't know is that we have friends in high places. Friends who, I don't know...  can smuggle us a copy of the tape. But before I could listen to it LaFontaines crew pull up on us. See we're making moves on them and if they get the tape they'll know how to hit back. Everyone wants this thing."

"So throw it away."

"Somebody's been ratting us out to LaFontaine. Now somebody helped the Feds get a bug on us. If we can listen to this thing then we know where it was planted. Boom. If I can find a machine that'll play this tape tonight, the rat don't wake up tomorrow."

For across the room, a small 'woop' was heard. The two men turned to the noise, finding a deathly looking version of Y/n leant against the restroom's doorframe. She was practically translucent from how pale she'd gone, her usually pristine hair had been tugged into a tangled mess and large bags had started showing through her makeup.

The stress, lack of sleep and amount of blood seen was clearly getting to her.

Francis gave her a look that was an unclear mix between out-right disgust and a bit of confusion, turning away from the haunting figure and back to the cutter.

"Your friend, Mr Boyle, will be here in about three hours. No-one but me or the big man touches this ."

He pointed a finger to the case.

Y/n rested her head back against the doorframe as her throat held an acidic string. It was just an added unnecessary discomfort.

Then again the love of her life was lying in the other room with a bullet wound having been sewn up with embroidery thread so she couldn't really complain.

"But what if the police come ?"

"Get rid of 'em."

"And what if these other gentlemen come ?"

"Get rid of 'em."

Francis walked out of the doors to the front room, pausing just before he closed them to turn around with a final point.

"Because if I get back and that tape isn't sitting right there..."

His words dwindled off, the door closing as the threat lingered.

There was a moment of silence, Leonard just staring at the doorway in a slight panic.

He almost had a heart attack when the left door slammed open again, Francis trapping with a frantic expression - similar to the once he held when Richie was shot under his watch.

Behind him, a high pitched screech was let out for the bathroom as her body shot awake following the loud clash of frames.

"Make sure she doesn't die." He pointed a finger to the wide eyed girl sat on the floor, "'cause I am not getting killed because she's incapable of not choking on her own vomit."

"And one last thing English, welcome to the family."

Y/n tuned her ear to the silence, waiting for the front door to be latched before she spoke.

"He's such a prick. 'm gonna go stay with Richie til he comes 'round."

The girl's voice was becoming murmers, her hands reaching up at whatever was around her to pull herself up.

The chairs in the back room weren't as comfortable as the ones in the second but she wanted to stay and keep an eye on Richie whilst he was unconscious. There was something in the back of her brain telling her to keep an eye out.

part six

Masterlist

[whoredersupreme]

Storm Chasing, Mind Breaking

Summary: Chapter 1 - Shadows in Sunagakure

Summary: As she navigates the complexities of the village’s expectations and her own ambitions, Sorano faces internal struggles about her role and identity, and gets closer to a breaking point.

Word Count: 3,650

Warnings: Self harm, coerced suicide and suicidal tendencies, mentions of death and murder, at best morally grey main character. I don't think anything hugely out of the norms for Naruto but please tread carefully if those sound offputting.

A/N: Self indulgent Naruto/Akatsuki OC story - will there be a second chapter? Doubtful, but hopeful. I wanna get to the good stuff.

Chapter 2 ->

Almost seven months have passed since the last death, and tensions in the desert-village are still high: threads of anxiety and a morbid excitement taught through everyone with something to lose. Sorano plucks the thread, vibrating the questions already ringing about her mind. When would the next be? Where? Who would be left in mourning? Would the collective anxiety shatter into relief, or sharpen?

Skin sticky from the pervasive and oppressive heat, she lay staring at the sandstone ceiling, scrunching the plain white bedsheets between her fingertips as she contemplates the questions surely on the mind of every Sunagakure resident. She should expect this kind of heat by now, with the many years she had lived here. She should be used to it. No one else seemed to mind it very much. Of course, they kept out of the direct sun in the middle of the day - the only time the temperature felt worth it to her - and most left their window open a crack at night, but they were born in the desert, and the desert was a part of them.

Sorano was not born here.

Aggressively, she pushes her hair up above her head, pulling out a few thick, red strands in the rough attempt to free herself from the feeling of being suffocated. Anything for any relief. But she wasn't surprised when no relief came; she was stifled by more than her hair, and more than the heat.

A dull thumping sound begins from overhead, pulling her from her intrusive thoughts. A moth bumps against her lampshade repetitively, leaving a light dusting of its precious minute scales. Beige, like everything else in the small government-appointed apartment. She slips her bare legs off the side of the bed and stands to open the window. The moth needn't be trapped like her, but it will have to find its own way out. She stretches her fingertips out into the dark night, just barely able to graze the outside wall of her building. The walls in Suna are thick, apparently to help keep the insides of the buildings cooler. It seems to her that at night they have the opposite effect, because there is a pleasant breeze brushing against her fingers which certainly doesn't make its way into her room. Even the thickness of the walls feel claustrophobic, separating her from the eddies of air dancing outside.

As usual, she can hear distant conversation from the streets below, some jovial and some argumentative. She can feel the faint buzzing thrum of their minds pushing on the periphery of her senses, but thankfully they are too few and too far to pay any notice to. A peel of laughter cuts the air, reminding her that for most there is still the opportunity for fun in the middle of the desert; for a social life with drinking and dancing and eating and singing with friends.

It does not help her to be this bitter, nor would it help her to have friends.

The floor is rough under her feet as she pads back to her bed, laying on top of her sheets once again and twisting her fingers into the pillowcase so tightly it might cut off her circulation, and biting her lip so hard it might bleed. But not quite that tight, or that hard. She is practiced at this ritual for sleep.

She is hurting herself, more than anyone she actually wants to hurt, with her resentment, but it builds inside her nonetheless. It is an uncontrollable thing, twisting and tumbling around her stomach, boiling like a wild sea in a storm and making her sick sick sick sick sick every time she is called upon by the village. Every time she catches a glimpse of furtive whispers shared between those few acknowledge she exists. Usually, holding onto it only hurts her. But the hurt is hers, and it feels like it could be power, so she holds on anyway.

❈❈❈

In the daylight Sorano walks with a very purposeful look of casual comfortability to the office of the new Boy-Kazekage. More Shinobi than usual appear to be on duty, in an effort to prevent another suspicious inexplicable death, and she supposes to put the civilian population at ease. Foolish. Not a single body had been found in the streets, and the deaths all appeared to have happened at night. Then this must be for appearances alone. There had certainly been more foreign envoys since the former scourge of the sand had taken office, so the need for apparent safety made sense. And it did seem to be working, tension visibly melted off families catching sight of this increased surveillance, full of joy to be together, and for this effort to keep them safe, even as they cast wary glances her way. Hypocritical, given the Kazekage himself was the source of that same fear only a handful of years ago.

She glances at a mother and daughter with hair almost as red as her own, catching the woman brush some dust from her daughters shoulder in a moment of casual comfortability that Sorano lost almost eight years ago. Even her own family couldn't stand to be around her after a certain point, so is it really any wonder these strangers mistrusted her? The buzz of mental energy is worse at ground level, amongst the comparative throng of the night, but if the deaths had caused even more passive aggression towards her on the part of the villagers, it has at least kept the streets, and therefore her head, clearer. Perhaps this is in part why it had been so long since the last...

The thick soles of her oh-so-practical shoes slap with a dull thud against stone steps as she climbs towards the thick wooden doors of her keepers office. She is quite sure he doesn't see himself as her keeper. Perhaps he thinks himself benevolent, embracing this outsider in a way his father never did. Too little, too late. She is to meet her teammates outside before they enter to receive their next mission. Her next mission would be more apt. She is only called upon when absolutely necessary, so in reality the task is hers, and her companions will join as back-up and support. To keep tabs on the liability is more like it. As Sorano understands it, it is unusual to receive missions directly from the Kazekage, but it is the norm to her. She needs to be monitored - perhaps well meaning, perhaps malicious, but either way it is another watchful eye to keep her in line. As far as anyone knows she has never stepped over, or even near the line, it's simply not an option available to her. The line is unnecessary ball and chain around her ankle. Around her throat.

Two pairs of feet come into view above the top of the stairs, close together and angled towards each other, but just far enough away from where Sorano will emerge to know that it is purposeful. She hears their clandestine whispers, and digs her fingernails into her palms as hard as she can, taking a sharp breath of relief at the outlet for her anger, grounding herself with the pain. Plastering a deliberately mild expression on her face she rounds the last few steps and stands a few feet away. The tall man and woman before her have been on her team for two years, but she can count on one hand the number of times they have spoken to her outside of work. She knows from what they think are secret smiling glances, from the way they mirror each others stance, and better yet from her intrusions into their minds, that they are a couple, or at least something akin to it. There is little need to bother themselves forming a bond with her, when every mission gives them time as good as alone.

"Good morning, Goro, Jun." Sorano says curtly, her lips curling into something like a smile because she knows they will never use her given name, and they do not like her to use theirs. Far too familiar.

Goro nods. Jun sneers.

"Morning, Hōraku." Goro is also curt, but it is an acknowledgement, at least.

If she is entirely honest with herself, she hasn't given them, or anyone else in Suna, a fair chance in some time. In years. Earlier efforts to integrate fully or better yet to make a connection have fallen flat shortly after beginning, if they haven't imploded... But they hadn't given her a fair chance either, and in this case she is quite sure that two wrongs do make a right.

"Squad 18, please enter." A flat, almost breathy voice cuts through the tension and Jun pushes the door open, leading the way into the domed office. Many round windows reveal bright and searing light outside, but the room itself is dark and calm, with a lingering scent of sandalwood. For the leader of one of the Five Great Nations, the Kazekage keeps his workplace simple and unassuming. There are a few plants, mostly succulents that can handle the heat, a few shelves stacked with papers and books, and a large wooden desk sitting on top of a small rug. The pleasant scent is the only thing that has changed since she first set foot in here, more than ten years ago.

She would do so much with the space, if it were hers.

Standing side by side with Goro and Jun it is all she can do not to glare at the boy sitting before her. It isn't his fault she's in this situation, but knowing she's here to be used by a child tastes bitter, regardless of how accomplished he is. She is reminded again that just a few years ago he two received fearful glances in the streets, and moreso than her. Now he is the golden boy. The reformed monster. What it is they want her to reform about herself she doesn't know.

"Thank you all for coming, Goro, Jun, Sorano." The Kazekage speaks so softly, it is clear he has never had to raise his voice to command attention. Is it because he used to be so feared, or because he is now so respected? Whichever it is, she envies him both.

"Of course, Kazekage-sama!" Jun speaks lightly, rocking forward on her toes. She looks so pleased and girlish in the moment that despite being half a foot taller than Sorano, she seems small.

The Kazekage smiles slightly, "We have a B-rank mission requiring your talents as a squad." He pauses, and Goro's brows shoot up, just for a moment. The Kazekage spots it the same moment Sorano does. "You may feel a B-rank mission is below you, and in usual circumstances you would be correct. But this is no reflection of the importance of your task, I simply do not expect a need for combat."

As suspected, the mission was for the foreigner.

“We have received intelligence that a high-profile mob boss from the Land of Rivers will be travelling through the southern borders of the Land of Wind a few days from now. You are to ensure that does not happen.” She inclines her head slightly, waiting for him to continue. “This request comes from myself, rather than the Land of Rivers. It will strengthen our relationship to rid them of their problem.”

Goro frowns slightly before speaking low, “So this is entirely pro-bono?”

“If that’s how you would like to think of it.”

Jun jumps in, “It doesn’t matter much what it’s for Goro, an order is an order.”

Sorano can't help but agree with Jun, knowing better than most that realistically they have no choice, but of course Jun would jump at the chance to show the Kazekage how well behaved she is. Sorano is a hypocrite in both her mind and her actions, because she says nothing.

“No, you deserve an explanation,” the Kazekage murmurs, and Sorano feels a small amount of warmth towards him for shutting down Jun’s boot-licking, “it is pro-bono. However, there are many benefits to the village. Allowing him to travel through our land unhindered may appear weak, and as I said, this will strengthen relations between us and our neighbours. You should not underestimate the value in that, simply because it is a smaller land.”

Satisfied, or perhaps mollified, Goro nods.

“He is due in five days. Your squad should leave tomorrow to ensure there is room for incorrect intel. You will receive a packet with a full briefing this evening.” He gives another small, almost tentative smile, before looking back down at his papers and flipping a page. He doesn’t dismiss us, but the effect is the same.

Sorano turns on her heel and leaves the room behind her comrades. Colleagues? They are about to walk down the stairs when Jun looks back, just for a moment, and Sorano, blank-faced, raises her hand in something like a wave.

“We’ll meet by the gate at midday tomorrow.” Jun says sharply, snaps her head forward once more and side by side, she leaves with Goro.

❈❈❈

Sorano's room feels like a trap, about to spring any second. The staticness and stagnation it reflects in her is the trap, and if anything were to spring it would be a breath of fresh air. Her building is unusually busy, a party for someone or others birthday on the floor below her, and although the thick walls dampen the sound to a low thud like that of the moth, the mental noise is too much toomuchtoomuch!

Quick as a slap she takes a knife from her kitchen draw, slicing the blade across her thump deep enough for the blood to flow steadily. It wouldn't do to truly injure herself before a mission but oh, oh relief. She heaves a sigh, flopping back limply on a hard wooden chair and letting her eyes flutter closed as she focuses on the sweet throbbing in her wounded digit. The buzz still intrudes on her, but it is manageable now, lesser than the pain.

Picking up the light brown envelope from where she cast it on the desk a few hours ago, she unwinds the fastening, wrapping the soft white string around her thumb as she does so, stemming the blood flow and increasing the pang. Her skin below the makeshift tourniquet is almost as white as the twine was before the blood soaked through, a hard contrast from the peachy tan of the rest of her hand.

Distraction and first-aid in place, she must read the report and prepare for the mission. Goro and Jun can probably go without, and likely will, since combat isn't expected, but for the lonely woman a strong understanding of her target is essential. Ideally she would have had the chance to watch him and write the report herself, but either he is too unpredictable, or the village leaders think she is, so the task was assigned to someone else.

It quickly becomes clear that while the mission will be a difficult one, the target himself is nothing extraordinary. Not a shinobi, but skilled in combat nonetheless, he has been causing issues at the Katabami gold mine and neighbouring villages since the death of Kurosuki Raiga a few years ago. No matter the tyranny of having such a skilled, albeit deranged, ninja at the head of their operations, the protection he offered must be missed by the locals now that multiple gangs are running rampant. Better the devil you know. At only thirty-three years old, Aoyama Kenta has been making a name for himself as a brutal, inhumane, greedy, mob boss interested only in profit and hedonism, with a single exception of his infant son.

How touching.

Sorano could work with that.

She flicks through the pages a few more times, savouring the smooth surface of the paper under her fingertips and seeking out any minute bumps. She already knows she hasn't missed anything of importance: she is meticulous, and she must be to show the people in Sunagakure she is worth keeping around, to keep their already probing minds from looking any further.

Almost seven months have passed since she last stretched her Kekkai Genkai to the depths of its abilities, but she has been sure to keep it limber.

She lays back on her bed and closes her eyes, letting sight and touch and smell fade away and instead seeking that painful buzzing static of minds. The buzz grows louder and somehow as she embraces it it becomes her whole, the sound of synapses firing all around her, fuzzy, iridescent, shapeless forms moving in and out of her minds eye. They thrum with life energy, a melting pot between chakra and mental signatures, bright and loud and beautiful in their joy, or their despair. She feel where there is a greater depth of emotion, and although she wants to go looking in many directions, following all those threads of thought and chemical signatures, she focuses inwards. The rest becomes a far-away tinnitus-like buzz around her as she finds the mind she is listening for, and attunes to it. This is a rich well of emotion, one she has been working on and cultivating for months. His thoughts sound as a despairing violin, his mind's iridescence closer to that of an oil spill.

It isn't quite the workout or the challenge she would usually chose, as her upstairs neighbour has no genjutsu training to speak of - or any shinobi training for that matter - but he was so dispassionate about everything save for his disgust for his foreign neighbour before she started work on him, and just look at the range of his feeling now. Beautiful.

Through many solitary nights in her apartment, listening to his mind as she was now, she has come to know the man well. Much better than he knows, or cares to know her. People like comfortability, and easy paths through life. Assuming the new neighbour from another village, still just a small girl but holding a power you won’t bother to understand, is a threat, is easy. Certainly it’s easier than welcoming her into a frightening new home when her mother and her siblings disappeared. Than accepting that as a child, she will only become as much of a threat as everyone makes her. Him and many others have taken the easy route.

He is in his late forties, not particularly notable for anything - he works in a weapon manufacturing workshop in the village. He also spends most nights alone in his apartment, and apart from proximity to Sorano, he was perfect content with that. Passing through life like a ghost. He was friendly with many, friends with few, but he didn't mind. He was passive in his own lack of life force. But she had helped him the last few months, to make something of himself. To long for more and to really feel something.

She doesn't always, or even usually, take this length of time with her work, but for the vitriol he has spat at her, for the daily discomfort he has caused, she considers it her return gift to him.

As she listened from the back corner of his mind, he pours himself an over-full glass of sake. It is quickly downed, topped up, downed again, and the remainder of the bottle poured to half fill his cup. He looks at the floor, for a short moment boring venomous holes at the wood and plaster separating him from his secret tormentor, but quickly his eyes fill with tears blurring his vision, and his mind is scattered into misery. It shines brightly to Sorano.

She is about to push a little further, to leave a little calling card to help the story she wishes for to play out, but as soon as she does she realises she will barely have to, it would be heavy handed, even if enjoyable. The probing, parasitic vine she planted, tended, and loved, has done it's job so well, tearing apart the tree it wrapped around and thriving on the remains of its trunk.

--There's nothing here for me. What am a doing drinking alone every night? Nothing I haven't done before. All I've ever done, what's the fucking point?--

Slowly, oh so slowly, she edges into his mind. He must not know she is here, but with his lack of training there was never really a risk of that. With a voice like honey, just under the surface for him to find on his own, she leaves the spark. Would anyone even notice?

--No one would even notice. What do I mean to anyone? What do I mean to the village? Nothing...--

With a finality that certainly brings him relief he stands, and like a whip she comes back to herself, following one floor behind up the stairs to the roof. The sky is a dark inky blue, unmuddied by clouds, and with a waning moon. It will be gone tomorrow night. His silhouette is only visible because the stars cannot be seen behind where he stands, up on the precipice of the building, arms out and eyes closed with his back to the drop.

Guessing that she only has seconds she makes her way over to him, silent as any member of the ANBU. As she raises her hand, hovering it just over his chest, she sees the culmination of her work. Abject despair giving way to joy that he has finally decided on a way out. His brows unknit and a serene smile spreads across his face as only one content with their imminent death can.

This is perfect.

At the height of his relief, she gives him a firm push, and for a brief moment in the second it takes him to fall they are united in ecstasy.

This is art.

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 83 - festive occasions in 1925

We have three celebratory occasions this season: Mrs Hughes’ and Carson’s wedding, of which only two outfits don’t get repeated in everyday situations. Mary’s wedding to Henry Talbot, which is a little on-a-moment’s-notice affair for which also only three people bothered to get new dresses. And Edith’s wedding to Bertie Pelham. Which is poorly-lit for the most part. *sigh*

I’m surprised Violet of all people would get a new dress for Mary’s blitz wedding. It’s a pretty typical Violet deal and also beige, but I’m slightly inclined to forgive that because the curlicue applications on her collar and lapels are gorgeous. And the little bits of darker piping set in to highlight the pattern; it looks really nice. I also get a look at the back construction and the piping that goes around there, and, while the second hat is a repeater, the one for the wedding is new, and it’s a pretty sweet deal with the black and white plumage.

Violet’s final outfit on the show is obviously dusty Crawley purple, but she once again has a nice embroidery around the trim; I think those are black lilies. How goth of you, Violet. Other than that, silk satin, white lace blouse with a scratchy-looking neckline, and – oh, she leaves the show with a darling hat on! A new hat, I think; she didn’t wear this before Edith’s wedding, and it’s got golden leaves applications on cream and more dusty purple, plus a cute buckle and dusty pink feathers. Slay, queen. And RIP, Maggie Smith.

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

Isobel’s church coats for the various weddings were repeaters, so I only have a gloomy, grainy shot of her at Edith’s reception. It’s dark grey and underwhelming, although the fabric has this look of, like, shimmering splinters? Could be voided velvet. The front has one of those deep Vs and the sleeve cuffs repeat the plain fabric, and Isobel didn’t even have the decency to wear a contrasting necklace or a showy hat. Whatevs.

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

Lady Shackleton is nowhere to be seen at Edith’s wedding, but since Henry is her nephew, she’s around for his and Mary’s shindig, and she wears a goddamn beige coat. The mottled weave of it is nice enough, the collar has a cute little flowery embroidery, the hat looks like a piece of postmodern pottery with a lace trim slapped on, and the blouse she’s wearing under that coat is honest-to-god Edwardian, complete with a puffy pigeon chest. Fascinating.

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

Cora has the only new outfit at Edith’s reception beside Violet. Swallowed by the beige curse, she presents this sandy dress with lace at the hem, sleeves, and making up the yoke. Nice lace; love the flower motif and the scallops. But was a color to contrast it really too much to ask? Even dusty Crawley purple would’ve done. The hat is nice enough with more lace applications and white feathers, and the collar is admittedly nifty, two ribbon ties crossing over the throat and then hanging over her shoulders down the back. Still would have preferred to talk about the lady in the background with the golden printed coat and the glorious plumage on her hat.

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

Mrs Pelham has apparently learned simpering from Cora. Her outfit is boring; it’s just plain brown silk satin mostly covering a slightly more interesting lining fabric with some golden beading. I like the ruffled shoulder seams and the flowers on her hat, but please, someone bring me something else than brown before a brown background with yet more brown on top of it!

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

…Huh. Well, Rosamund went all-in for Mary’s wedding. Everyone else is like, “less is more”; she is like “I will compensate for ALL of you!” I think with a subtler hat this outfit might work. The ensemble is very lively with black roses and greenly-outlined leaves on cream, but red is a good color to contrast this, and a tassel element would not be considered unusually busy for the time. I even like the rose. Just put it on a less busy hat, that doesn’t have a curved brim and translucence and a cream trim going on.

For Edith’s wedding, she decided to blend into the crowd after all. I only get this one halfway clear shot of her, and she wears a brown dress with some glittery beading in vertical lines that, under her chest, run into a more intricate pattern of zigzags and curlicues. Where are your red contrast points now, Rosamund? A hat with some feathers, a necklace that may as well be not there, and the lighting is not making this any better.

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

The beige curse also got to Laura. For the church, she was still wearing fur and a reddish rust shade; now, the best I can say about her dress is that its shimmering gives it a bit of a golden impression. At least it’s a nice material, set off against plain chiffon sleeves that coordinate with her hat. It just isn’t much else.

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

Mary’s first wedding guest outfit is the better of the two (bride fashions go into a separate post later), and I cannot fathom that this lovely deep red dress never shows up again after Mrs Hughes’ and Carson’s wedding. It’s Mary’s color! It’s got a stylish asymmetrical neckline! It’s nice material! And it has this cool gathered element on the front! All this makes up such a chic, classy look that I can’t believe she would never wear that again. Not even the hat, a pretty simple and adaptable style, makes a reappearance.

For Edith’s wedding reception, the theme is apparently “brown”, so Mary is already adventurous by adding in gold. And where Edith takes the wild prints and adventurous colors of art deco, Mary takes the sharp, geometrical motives and the metallic looks. Set together from various diamond shapes, this dress ends up looking, while as shapeless as the 1920s do, quite glamorous. I only wish the longer chiffon sleeves were either plain or not there at all.

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

Edith also has an outfit exclusively for Mrs Hughes’ and Carson’s wedding which we never see again, this silvery chiffon and satin ensemble with a boat neckline. I really like this look on her; it’s so simple yet so elegant, in particular that yoke panel and the turquoise jewelry she chose to pair with it. Also, cute hat with an even cuter twig-shaped pin.

Probably the most colorful guest at Mary’s wedding, Edith is the only one who soundly rejects the greys and beiges (well, the shot is from her little outing to the cemetery, but I think she wore this for the ceremony?). We’ve seen this reddish orange dress with little rectangular elements near the end of season 5 when she went out for lunch with Mary, Rose, and Tom, but this time, she pairs it with a glorious dark blue coat with a white and sandy print. Edith also gives a last nod to her Michael-Gregson orange-and-indigo color pairing while looking at her and Michael’s daughter. Thematic congruence!

[xwingsandohs]

did anyone say good omens fanfic x cupid!reader ?!?!?

good evening tumblr. i have many thoughts for the ineffable fandom. can’t get out of my head a cupid!reader that crowley hangs out with now that azi is gone?!?? broken heart crowley?!?! crowley x reader smut ?!? gender neutral reader?!?!? gender bending crowley?!?!? sex shop running cupid ?!?!?!??! 🫣🤔🤭🪽

I wrote a drabble. Please send thoughts. May write a fic 🫣 XOXO, xwingsandohs.

Angels and demons have always been assigned their roles on earth to protect peace and create chaos, but it’s in the 15th century (or so) that the Almighty notices that humans have evolved themselves beyond simple procreation. And so God creates the Cupids, not necessarily a legion of angels and definitely not demonic, but a collection of holy beings powered by Earthly love to bring happiness and prosperity to humanity in new ways.

Where Aziraphale was defined by white hair and golden clothes, Crowley recognised by fiery red locks and sleek suits; this particular Cupid is defined by a rainbow of colours, patterns and flowers for every occasion.

It’s been three months since Aziraphale left for Heaven’s gates, or escalators to be more accurate, and your attempts to foster and create love in London has suffered thanks to a certain lonely demon moping around. Crowley can’t admit he just needs the company.

“Coffee?” You ask, Crowley hums positively. “What would you like?”

“Something strong.” He’s sitting on a lovely green couch in the back room of your shop, sprawled in all his comfort. It’s decorated with a variety of silly cushions, one particular eye-catching one being bright blue with orange tassels.

The room is littered with beige boxes of spare stock and new deliveries, but you still keep it looking bright with a mis-matched collection of hanging prints and printed wallpaper. You keep it on theme with what you stock.

“I know that, silly.” You shake your head and smile as always, you both do this routine most mornings. The coffee bean grinder grunts loudly and you pick out two big mugs from the cupboard. “What shall I try draw in your coffee with the milk? You know I’ve been practising.”

You have been practising. Despite coffee not being the main draw of your high street shop, you have a vision of giving out free drinks to customers if you can master the art of the latte. You’re getting better, actually.

“A leaf.” Your friend responds, standing up and heading towards you.

“You say that every time!”

Crowley picks up the yellow striped mug you’d taken out for his drink.

“I like the leaf.”

He’s nonchalant. He puts the mug back and looks around for the one he wants.

“But it’s easy and I’d like a challenge. Something silly.”

You grin up at him with a little humour, and he looks back to you with a raised brow.

He can’t find the mug.

You look up and find the mug immediately. It’s completely plain and black, with a slightly lighter shade of grey on the inside. He bought it and gave it to you especially for his drinks. You always fight back.

“Fine.” Crowley says with exasperation. “How about….” He looks around for inspiration in your decor, finding little that he wishes to ask for. “A tree?”

“Oh, I know!” You almost cut him off, exclaiming. He doesn’t know why you bother asking, again, this is your routine. His eyes roll and you can sense it without even seeing. “I’ve just remembered something I saw online the other day and I’d like to try it out.”

“Sure.” He rubs across his face with his hands then spins on the spot to head back to a seat on the couch. The milk steamer screeches and he considers it his cue.

“Could you do me a quick favour before I unlock the doors?” He stops, seconds away from reclaiming comfort on the velvet. He’s not your assistant, but you tend to always ask for these little things.

“I know you’re not my assistant, but there’s a pile of online orders printed out that I need to put together. Could you grab that pile from upstairs for me? It’s next to the-“

“The computer.” He finishes. Routinely.

You finish the coffee.

By the time he’s brought down the pile of paper and placed it where you like it behind the till incase of a quiet moment, you’re skipping over to unlock the door and flip the sign to ‘Open!’ Before it hits 9:01.

Then you rush back to grab the two mugs.

Crowley looks around at the shelves and pegs that hold the stock and shakes his head at everything he sees, humans and their rubbish. He does however appreciate the collection of green plants that have found a place amongst the shelves since he’d been spending lots of time here. They perhaps even look happier than his own, or maybe the colourful shelves really bring out their green.

“I wonder what lovely people will walk through our doors today?” You say with a smile, taking your first sip of coffee and smearing the pattern. Your hand holds out the other cup to Crowley.

He shrugs, takes the coffee from your hand and looks down at the pattern. “It’s a…”

“-A seahorse!” He wouldn’t have guessed it really, but when you point it out he notices. It’s definitely an animal of some sort.

“I like it.” He doesn’t really care for it, but you seem to like the labour, he understands that care. “Although it’s a little…”

He’s not going to say the word.

You’re still grinning, you know the word.

“A little…?” You ask.

“You know, it’s…” He doesn’t say.

“Phallic?” You say it. He doesn’t look away from the coffee.

“Phallic.” He confirms with an unsurprising demeanour .

“I know!” You giggle, he shakes his head.

“You really do take this all very seriously, don’t you?” Crowley chuffs as he leans back against the counter and takes his first sip.

“You could say it’s all about passion in this business.”

Well…. What else would a Cupid sell? The bell above the door rings.

“Good morning.” You call to the first two customers that come through the door. They respond politely back. “Welcome to Sugar ‘n’ Spice, let us know if we can help with anything.”

“Actually, we were looking for some bondage gear?” The lady says as her partner shrinks slightly behind her.

“Of course! Let me introduce you to our selection and then I’ll leave you to shop on your own.”

[renthebarbarian]

Ranking the Starfleet uniforms based on how much cunt they serve

TOS show uniforms — 1/10, barely cunt. It’s okay, they were built for comfort and functionality, they don’t have to be cunty

TOS Mirrorverse uniforms — 3/10 cunt for adding knives and little sashes, but at the end of the day these are just regular TOS uniforms with more accessories (the costume budget was extremely limited okay?). Now Uhura and Kirk? THEY are serving major cunt in this episode. 10/10 for both of them.

TMP uniforms — -100000007/10 cunt for the grey and beige onesies. but 6/10 cunt for that one white short sleeved shirt Shatner wore in the “will you PLEASE sit? down???” scene. you know the one.

TOS movies (the red uniforms) — 4/10, a modest amount of cunt. we’re trying to look like we have a costuming budget now but also everyone is old so we can’t serve too much cunt (that’s a lie, you’re never too old to serve cunt)

TNG — 2/10 on the cunty scale, it’s better than the TOS series but they’re still just glorified pajamas. Now if they had kept the skants? Mayhaps a 4/10.

DS9 — also 2/10 because I feel like while these are less flattering to the figure than TNG, they did add the slutty little slit to the collar so, it’s a wash

Voyager — 3/10 because this is the best of both worlds between TNG and DS9’s uniforms, keeping the cunty waist but also the slutty neck slit (they did shorten it tho so boo to that). 28924962681378/10 cunt for Janeway in her tank top (naturally).

Enterprise — there is no cunt here. You cannot serve cunt in a jumpsuit. I’m sorry. However, these are in fact my favorite uniforms because they’re just so fucking precious. Like awwww, look at the little space explorers in their little jumpsuits and matching baseball caps. And they’re purple too, slayyyy. Honorable mention.

Too lazy to get into Modern Trek, maybe part 2???