#or ruin enemies' weak points

[dykebehaviour]

⋆ ˚｡✞ ⋆˚sanctified⋆ ˚｡✞ ⋆˚

rebel!ellie x preachers!daughter!reader

✞ summary : you, the preacher’s daughter, falls for the school’s rebellious out lesbian. shame, faith, and first love collide in a slow-burning secret romance that threatens to ruin everything - unless you’re brave enough to choose it.

chapel heat

✞ cw : smut, oral f!receiving, praise/degradation mix, fingering in religious setting, fem!reader, religious guilt, internalised homophobia, emotional breakdown, swearing, drug use.

✞ wk : 1,200

✞ 1 > 2 > 3

it wasn’t supposed to happen again.

you told yourself that after the first kiss, that it was a moment of weakness. a lapse. something you could sweep beneath the altar of your shame and cover in prayer. that if you repented hard enough, if you fasted long enough, if you cried behind enough chapel doors, it would go away.

but ellie didn’t go away.

she didn’t avoid you. she didn’t apologise. she just acted like nothing had changed, like kissing you was inevitable.

and worse - you didn’t tell her to stop.

it starts again in secret.

not planned. not discussed.

just… happens.

the first time after the kiss is in the back stairwell, lights flickering above like they’re about to give up. you’ve just come from a group prayer circle and she’s skipping detention, and when you round the corner she’s just standing there, watching you like she knew you’d come.

“shouldn’t you be with your bible study bitches?” she asks, voice low, teasing.

you bite your lip. hard. “shouldn’t you be suspended?”

her eyes trail down your body. “you always this mouthy, or just when you’re wet?”

you shove her against the wall. you don’t mean to. it’s just…something snaps. the frustration, the guilt, the weeks of wanting and pretending not to want, it all hits you in a hot rush and your hands are fists in her hoodie before you even realise what you’re doing.

ellie laughs. not a big one. a low, breathy thing. close enough you can feel the heat of her mouth.

then she kisses you like it’s punishment.

tongue, teeth, groaning into your mouth when you gasp. her hands snake beneath your uniform, grabbing your ass over your tights like she owns it.

“you gonna tell god about this?” she pants into your neck. “tell him how i make you moan like a little whore?”

you slap her. just barely. a weak, open-palmed hit to her shoulder.

she grins.

“didn’t think so.”

the make outs don’t have rules, exactly, but they have rhythm.

ellie finds you when you’re most ashamed of yourself. when you’ve prayed too long and felt nothing. when you’ve stared at girls’ lips too long in the locker room. when you’ve broken down crying in the confessional just to hear father matthews say you’re still redeemable.

that’s when she kisses you.

it happens behind locked chapel doors. behind bleachers. in bathroom stalls. one time in the art room, her sketchbook open beside you, her lips on yours while you trembled on a desk and sobbed that you hated her.

she just whispered, “i know,” and kissed your throat.

but it’s the chapel where it breaks.

where it really breaks.

you go there one night after your father calls. you’re already shaking when you hang up. he’d found something - some old drawing of yours tucked in a prayer journal at home. a girl’s name scribbled beside it. you’d written, “what if i never stop wanting this?”

he didn’t yell. that’s what made it worse. he just sighed and asked if you were “letting the enemy in.”

you don’t cry until you’re kneeling in the front pew, face hidden in your arms, nails digging into your palms.

and then she’s there.

you don’t even hear her come in.

she crouches beside you, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, paint still on her hands. she smells like weed and lavender and some citrusy hand soap. and something about her being here, in this place, feels like a sin so big it could crack the stained glass.

you sniff. wipe your face. “what do you want?”

ellie doesn’t answer.

just tilts her head. “you praying for me?”

you let out a bitter laugh. “no point.”

there’s a silence. heavy. thick with everything unsaid.

then, quietly, “you looked like you were breaking.”

“i am,” you whisper. “every day.”

she exhales. “yeah. i know that feeling.”

you turn toward her, and she’s already watching you. serious, now. not teasing. not smug. just…looking.

like she sees something soft in you that no one else has earned.

and you don’t think.

you just say it.

“i think i want you to ruin me.”

ellie flinches. just a little. just enough.

then she licks her lips. “you sure?”

no.

yes.

you nod.

ellie leads you to the front of the chapel, to the very altar where your father once stood to preach to your class. she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t mock you. she looks at you like you’re something to be handled carefully, but also like she’s going to take her time destroying you.

she peels your cardigan off first, slow, fingers brushing over your throat where your cross necklace lies.

“you wanna take this off?” she murmurs.

you hesitate.

“no,” you say.

ellie nods. “okay.”

then her lips are on your neck. your collarbone. the hollow of your throat.

you gasp as her hands push up your skirt, her fingers finding the soaked cotton between your legs.

“jesus,” she whispers. “you really want me that bad?”

you nod, shame flooding you.

ellie smirks. “good.”

she sinks to her knees.

she doesn’t tease. doesn’t drag it out.

she hooks your underwear to the side and presses her mouth to you like she’s trying to pull something out of you, like she’s not here to make you come, she’s here to prove that you do.

you’re already shaking when she slips a finger inside you.

you cry out when she adds a second.

and when you come, gripping the edge of the altar like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered, you say her name like a confession.

ellie kisses the inside of your thigh. “that’s it,” she whispers. “say it again.”

you do.

you say it like prayer.

later, she lays beside you on the floor of the chapel, her hoodie bundled beneath your head, her arm across your waist.

you’re silent for a long time.

then:

“am i still… holy?”

it’s not really a question. but ellie answers anyway.

“i don’t know,” she says. “but i think you’re real now.”

you swallow.

“was i not before?”

she looks at you. not smiling. not smug.

“no,” she says. “you were a ghost in your own body.”

her hand tightens around your waist.

“now you’re mine.”

✞ perm taglist : @yasmilks , @frosttbitten , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon <3

[darklcy]

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐭.

────˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚─────

‣ vi x reader | arcane masterlist | 1.9k words | enemies to lovers, angst, not super fluffy but happy end, mentions of low self esteem

‣ you assumed she hated you, but maybe it goes deeper than that when a fight has you taking shelter in her childhood home

‣ welcome back vi lovers! the arcane s2 brainrot is here and im back from my hiatus! (i hope you enjoy i may be rough i haven't written in a while)

Vi was too reckless for her own good.

Self-sabotaging can only carry you through so much, her invisible trophy wall of each violent encounter growing by the day. It was frustrating to see her do this, and yet every time a splotch of bruises formed, or a new line of blood dirtied her cheek, the more her perseverance began to crack. 

The pressure was abundant on her shoulders, you could practically feel it yourself. Whether she pulled you in, or you jumped yourself, the burden was also yours to carry. 

Sometimes you wondered if she disliked you. A simple question of well-being, how are you, earned a chilling glare and passive aggressive comments she meticulously crafted to falter your ego. Maybe she thought you were too weak to understand her pain, or perhaps it was the way your concern pushed through whatever bite she spat at you. 

Or maybe she just didn’t like you.

A bit ironic, seeing her sustainable relationship with the Enforcer from topside, the last person you would’ve thought her to be acquaintances with. And if you observed closer, Vi seemed to carry herself differently around her, this Caitlyn from Piltover. 

Though, there was credit to give. Her marksmanship was unlike anyone you’d ever seen in the lanes. She was light on her feet and agile, shooting her targets with perfect precision. No wonder she bore a badge proudly. 

And you were anything but a fighter. Maybe that’s why Vi looks at you the way she does. She’d marked you as a liability, vulnerable to the dangers of the world. It upset you, the way her nose scrunched up with her glares and cold shoulders. 

Who was she to judge you anyway? Every time you choose violence, you come out broken and bloody, so what’s the point? Whatever. Screw her and her opinions. Who the fuck needs her anyway. 

If only you’d fucked off when she told you to. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this mess. Here. In the ruins of Vi’s childhood home, with a bloody nose and bruised cheek. With Vi. Damn your determination to prove her wrong. Damn those thugs for surrounding her completely, for not giving her a second to get back up. There was no stopping what was to come, that was clear the moment your bags were strewn hastily to the ground and shouts were thrown at her perpetrators. A sock to the face immediately took to the ground. The punk wouldn’t stop pounding hits to your face. Damn you, Vi.

Your pain wasn’t for nothing when Vi dragged herself up and freed you from his grip, knocking his ass to the concrete with a bloodied lip. Your vision was blurry as she took off running with her fingers tight around your wrist. When you stopped to breathe is when you realized your surroundings, confirmed with a stone marked with the names Power and Violet. 

The neon sign that previously towered over this ghost town had been toppled over and destroyed; half the foundations of the house torn to dust. The sight made you frown. The only remaining wall was to your left, sheltering a twin sized bed mattress with a tattered sheet on top. A groan to your side beckoned you to look over, watching as she shuffled to the mattress. In the distance, you could make out the faint echoes of yelling, the vast cliffs muffling the words together into a vague holler. 

“It’s probably best to sleep here. They’re not gonna leave anytime soon.”

Vi grumbled, not missing the hint of annoyance coming from her. She was laying on her side now, back to you and arms circling her stomach. You didn’t respond, instead trudging over to the bed and stiffly laying down beside her, back slightly grazing hers.

Neither of you spoke a word. 

It was hard to tell what she was feeling. She never was one to vocalize her thoughts, especially with you. With Caitlyn, maybe.

“...I didn’t need your help.”

Your shoulders tensed up. 

“I had control of everything. You just messed it all up.”

The fabric of the thin sheets acted as a stress reliever as you gripped tighter and tighter.

“...What the hell was I supposed to do? Seriously,”

“Not interfere? Now we’re stuck here.”

Today was not the day to be dealing with her attitude. You were sore, bloody, and in the worst mood possible to be treated like this. It didn’t help that her words stung, the bitterness stabbing into your open wounds.

“Well, maybe don’t pick fights with a group of guys who are clearly bigger and stronger than you.”

She snapped her body up and looked down on you.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You rolled over to your back, glaring up at her.

“They were clearly stronger than you! If I hadn’t shown up who knows what the fuck they would’ve done?”

“Oh yeah? And what good did you do? Take a few swings to the face?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to be eye level.

“I mean, yeah?! If I hadn’t taken those punches, you would still be on that damn street!”

Vi mockingly put a hand over her heart. “My hero.”

“Fuck off.” You moved to shove her in the shoulder, but her hand snapped around your wrist. Her glare intensified, eyes turning sharp and nose scrunching up. All your anger drowned in a pool of nerves while her fingers tightened, the skin of your hand turning red. She leaned in uncomfortably close.

“You really wanna go there?”

Her eyes bore into yours, not faltering eye contact for even a second. 

You could feel the tension in your neck beginning to ache. You would never win against her, but the thought was intoxicating. After a few quiet seconds, you yanked your wrist back, her fingers marking red indents into your skin. 

She scoffed, nodding her head while moving away from you. “That’s what I thought.”

You wanted to beat her. You wanted to win, just once. 

“What the fuck is your problem anyway.”

Her sharp eyes flickered to yours. It intimidated you every time, like she was the big bad bully in school, teeth grazing her lips as she fought back the retaliation.

You pushed through. “...All I’ve ever done was just try to help. Yet here you are, always pissed at me for no damn reason. What have I done to make you hate me so fucking much?”

Her eyebrows pinched together for a breath of a second. “...Huh?”

You threw your arms up, shuffling forward and standing from the cushion. 

“Every single day, you treat me like I’m some helpless child, like I’m a fucking idiot who can’t do anything. I’m an adult, Vi. Just because I can’t fight doesn’t mean I can’t do anything, for fucks sake.”

She watched you pace throughout the empty house, her eyes heavy as lead. You huff.

“It’s like, every time I try to do anything, you look at me like I’m some stupid child who keeps messing up. I’m tired of it. Either tell me straight up or leave me alone.”

Your spine met stone as you slid down to the floor, her carved name above your head. 

Pulling your knees up, your chin fell to your chest, arms dangling across your kneecaps to finally give your body some rest. Didn’t feel like a victory, but the weight of her burden dissipated just by a little. You’d never snapped back before, never given yourself the strength to stand up to her. Enough was enough. You can’t live like this anymore.

Vi remained quiet, whether she was debating on arguing or not, you didn’t care. The fight of sleep was winning, and your eyelids began to slowly surrender.

“...I wasn’t going to do anything, yknow.”

They snapped back open.

“Earlier, I mean. I wasn’t actually gonna hurt you.”

You don’t move to face her. Vi continues.

“I don’t hate you, you just,” She sighs. “You do things that confuse the fuck out of me, and frankly it pisses me off.”

You scoff. “Like what?” 

“Like jumping into that fight. That was a dumbass move, and you know it.”

“Oh my god. How is that a dumbass move- I helped you out, didn’t I? Besides, I put myself there, why are you the one pissed off? I should be pissed off.”

“Yes. Yes, you should!” She stands up from the mattress to tower over you, her voice beginning to raise.

“You should be pissed off, because you got socked in the face and now, you’re stuck here. Why did you do that? That was so stupid.”

A pinch pulled your brows together. “Obviously I know what happened, I’m literally here. What point are you trying to get at?”

Vi shakes her head and runs a hand through her spiked, greasy hair. 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe how dense you are.”

You watch as she saunters over to the same name engraved stone to slide down the rock, her knees knocking with yours. She’s silent for a moment as you stare at her profile, the hint of a smirk coming up her lips.

“It’s stupid of you to concern yourself with me. It’s my problem, not yours.”

You still didn’t get it.

“But why does that piss you off?”

She turns towards you now.

“I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m getting into. You don’t. You walked into a fight that wasn’t yours to begin with, and in return, you got hurt.”

“So…you’re mad that I got punched in the face?”

A groan leaves her falling chin. 

“I’m mad that you were there to begin with. I’m mad that you got hurt on my behalf, and I’m mad that you’re dragged into this mess. It’s my shit to deal with.”

She pauses to take a deep inhale. “And…I took my frustration out on you, and I’m sorry.”

The tensed muscles of anger faded from her apology, her eyes carrying a softness you’d never seen before. She was being genuine. Open. Vulnerable. 

You sighed with her. 

“Thank you.” 

The quiet that fell over you two now was pleasant. It was nice seeing Vi like this, being used to her thirst for arguing. Your head leaned back against the rock as you let your eyelids close once more. 

“How bad is it?”

Her fingers touch you softly before you peer up at her. She gazes at the blood smeared under your nose with a grimace, her pointer finger stroking the welt on your cheek. 

“It’s fine. Could be worse.”

She shakes her head. “...It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

You scoffed. “It’s completely mine. I’m the dumbass who jumped into a fight that wasn’t mine, remember?”

You smile at her despite the twang in your jaw. Her hand falls back to her side.

“My hero.”

Her lips upturned, the scar on her upper lip flashing itself at you. You don’t miss the way she falters for a moment, relishing the close proximity her face is to yours. Her fingers twitch by her thighs to touch your cheek again, but instead she smacks a hand on top of your head, gently ruffling your hair. 

She stands up to make way back to the bed. “Come to bed. You need rest, too.”

You haven’t moved just yet, the whirlwind of her processing slowly in your brain. Your skin felt hot under your cheeks, but as you shakily stood up to join her, you found the burden of her turning into something else. 

Vi was different, now. Good different. You liked this different. Laying down beside her on the mattress, you don’t turn away from her.

[softaestluv]

prev | blurb directly inspired by this ask to add context! | cw: oral sex, little bit of spiteful, enemy, cocky vibe

The roles are reversed this time, your grip seized tightly around Kyle’s wrist, dragging him along behind you as anger unravels out of your control.

You don’t need to glance back to know the shit-eating smirk he wears on his face. You can tell by the way he takes long strides behind you, not even struggling to match your pace as if your steps are too short and insignificant for him to care.

“Where ya takin’ me?” He asks edges of his words curled tauntingly, like the two of you are playing some sort of game, “Gyms the other way.”

You know that, obviously.

He knows that, obviously.

His stupid voice only makes you more irritated, each syllable dragging a dagger against your skin. You shove him hastily into the first dark closet you find, slamming him against the wall with full force, hope it fucking hurt. You’re determined at this point, fists clenched, and teeth bared, threatening your prey with fangs and claws.

“My turn to make you cum now, okay?”

It doesn’t even take him by surprise, the fucker just chuckles, pleased. “Well, let’s have at it.”

You unbuckle his cargos with a little more vigor than intended, but he’s perched himself against the wall, crossing his arms behind his head like he’s getting comfortable, waiting for you to drop to your knees and suck him off.

It drives you mad, makes you furious, rage pulsing behind your eyelids, so you toss your phone on a spare shelf, pulling up a timer.

He scoffs in disbelief. “Really, you’re gon’ time it?”

You yank his pants to his thighs, hovering your fingers over the band of his boxers, “You made me count, so now we see how long you can last.”

“Good luck with that.” He mutters, indignantly, as if his little game was suddenly ruined.

You fall to your knees unceremoniously, don’t plan to be pretty about the whole ordeal because he doesn’t deserve that. You tuck your fingers confidently into his underwear, tugging them low in one swift motion. An action that makes Kyle inhale a sharp breath through his teeth unexpectedly.

When his cock springs free it’s your turn to snicker, “Doesn’t look like it’ll be too difficult.”

He stands tall, eager, longer than you had imagined him to be. It makes you a little apprehensive, fidgeting on your knees at the sight because you’re not entirely sure you can fit all of that in your mouth, but you mask it the best you can. You’d rather die than let Kyle Garrick know he’s got a big dick.

You don’t necessarily have room to be nervous when Kyle is clearly painfully aroused, darkened tip smeared with a small bead of precum. Your apprehension outweighs his arousal, his smug attitude means absolutely nothing when his cock is leaking and desperate and you haven’t even touched it yet, entirely too excited with your sharp words and combative attitude.

Kyle doesn’t respond to your smart remark, doesn’t have the strength to when your palm engulfs his shaft. You don’t intend to take your time, be gentle in any way because you’re trying to prove a point, so as soon as you start the timer your mouth is on him.

You keep your eyes on his, want to watch the exact moment his smug face crumbles, the minute his ego diminishes into weakness and succumbs.

One broad swipe of your tongue, base to fattened tip, is all it takes.

His eyes flutter for a split second, lips parting to take a deep breath before he conceals it, eyes hardening once again like he wasn’t affected, but you know him better than that, can read him better than he likes to think.

That’s fine, as soon as you wrap your lips around his head his brows crease, jaw tensing, grinding his molars together when you slide lower and lower, taking him inch by inch. You barely get halfway before he’s in your throat, the sensation making you gag reflexively around him.

“Tha’ all you can take?” He snides, tilting his head, “Come on, doll. You can do better than tha’.”

You glare up at him, slightly regretting your situation. You can’t really snarl back when you’ve got a mouth full of his cock. You wish you could tell him to watch his own mouth, you’re not afraid to use your teeth on his precious cock, put him in his place with a few nips. So, you do the next best thing, swallow him down to the hilt, nose pressed to his curly pubes, and suck.

It makes him kilt over, hands flying instinctively to cup your jaw. He curses under his breath, tries to be quiet about it, but you hear it, deep and drawn out.

You build a rhythm, bobbing your head over his length again and again, swirling your tongue around his shaft with each motion. His swollen head kisses the back of your throat with each bob, it stings, each prod burning an uncomfortable stretch that makes tears well in your lashes.

You try your best not to choke or cough around his thick cock. You don’t want to inflate his ego any more than it is, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching fat tears roll down your cheeks. Except when you do look up at him, he’s got his lips parted in a strained moan, the whites of his eyes rolling as you make eye contact.

“Shit, don’t look at me like tha’.” He groans, voice ragged and pinched like it does something to him to see you making a mess of yourself, saliva dripping down your chin.

So, you do the complete opposite, gazing with hooded lids as you slap his cock against the smooth of your tongue. His head knocks against the wall at that, fingers digging shallow indents into your jaw as his balls tighten.

That’s all the sign you need to suction the head into your mouth, fisting his shaft with calculated strokes in tandem. He tries to push you off in response, weakly shoving your head away, but your willpower is a little stronger than his at the moment.

A string of incoherent words slips from his lips, hips involuntarily thrusting into the wet confines of your mouth, seeking out the mind-numbing sensation. He barely gives you any warning before he’s sinking to the hilt in one go, balls smacked against your chin as he lets out a guttural groan.

You swallow it all, licking the salty taste clean from his head as he jerks in overstimulation until he slips from your lips with a wet pop.

“Didn’t even last 5 minutes Garrick?” You mock.

The sight above you makes you chuckle, pride beating your chest because he’s completely spent, eyes lidded and glazed over like his soul hasn’t quite returned to his body.

The timer reads: 3 minutes and 52 seconds.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Hii !! From the smut prompts (stop rolling your eyes, I know Im predicatable!) could I request "Accidentally Sending Nudes", "Sexting" and... a secret third thing (the choice is yours, go hogwild) for Jason x Fat Fem Reader? I'm leaning more towards sub!reader but shes def a little shit about it :3

Thank you in advance if you write it !! 🌼

See, this is why it pays to send in a request with me, because even if I don't answer it right away, I keep requests in my inbox for months and come back to them later!!! (This is from December 2023)

(Also this request is just plain fun) (because Star knows exactly what buttons to push to get me lmao)

DC Titans Requests - OPEN

How would Jason react to you accidentally sending him a nude?

(Jason Todd x Fem!Thick!Reader)

Warnings: set specifically in the Titans!verse - set during season 3/mentions of season 3 plot points; spoilers for major plot points of Titans (including character deaths on the show); this is kind of enemies to lovers? (enemies to fwb, I guess); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader is described as being fat/plus sized; passing mentions of Gar x reader (I couldn't help myself); dubious consent - because of the nature of the trope, Jason sees the reader naked without her explicit consent, and he decides to keep the picture without her consent - but it does spark a consensual sexual relationship between them; passing mention of using nudes for blackmail (that does not happen); this isn't really proofread; (generally, I consider this post to be a fucking mess because it was written in Tumblr but I was still trying to have fun with it lmao.)

...

Jason is minding his own business when it happens.

(For once in life, he is fully, completely, minding his own business.)

He's back in Gotham and he hasn't seen you in months - and if asked, he would say that he hasn't thought about you. He doesn't have time to think about you because he's been too busy with this therapy bullshit, training, trying to get back his title of Robin. Trying to get back in the cape. (And trying to get back in Bruce's good graces.)

But that's not exactly true. He's thought about you a lot.

(Most of those times have been with his hand around his cock, but again - he won't admit that.)

There is an occasional time that you cross his mind and it's because he's wondering genuinely how you're doing - wondering if you're well, how your training is going, wondering if you're doing okay under the Dickhead's reign. But he can't ever pluck up the courage to text you and simply ask. Because that would be admitting that he cares, and that would make him look like a weak little prick.

And that's why he's so damn surprised when you text him first.

He hasn't heard from you since he left the Tower (well, since he stormed away from Donna's funeral in what you called a 'toddler fit' - something that ended in a rather vicious text argument between the two of you). In fact, the last thing in the text history between the two of you is you calling him a 'giant, petty, whiny baby who can't deal with his own emotions'.

(You had no clue what had happened between him and Rose, so that did inform a lot of your opinion on the matter.) (And that was probably the reason why Rose still had all of her teeth after you had seen her at the funeral.)

But all of that was aside from the point.

The point being - Jason found himself smiling when your contact name popped up on his phone.

He has you in his phone as 'Pretty Girl' - along with a contact picture of you sticking your tongue out at him in response to having his phone shoved in your face with the knowledge that he was taking a picture of you. (That tongue always makes him think certain things, so even though you intended for it to be some rude thing to ruin the picture, it makes it so much better for him.)

(1) new photo

That instantly catches Jason's attention.

Perhaps you were sending him a picture just to flip him off, or sending him a picture of a dumpster to ask him if it reminded him of home - a common joke you used to make when he still lived at the Tower.

Jason grabbed his phone and opened the message, expecting another tired joke, and-

Holy fuck.

The last thing he was expecting - your naked body. Your gorgeous naked body.

(He likely would have expected a nuclear blast or for the Joker to clean up his act and actually become a decent, sane citizen before he expected this to happen.)

Jason brought his phone closer to his face, making the picture full screen in order to examine it better - he needed to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, or that this wasn't some weird dream. But fuck, he definitely wouldn't be able to dream up this.

You were so perfect - so fucking perfect in a way that was so very real.

The picture was a fucking stunning side profile of your body - rolling curves, lacy underwear that could clearly barely contain your impressive hips with sweet little stretch marks jutting out from the fabric (jagged little marks across the softness of your skin that made Jason want to act up) - soft fat for him to grab onto, and the perfect teardrop shape of your breast, now bared to his eye in a way that he had only dreamt of before. Something that he had stared at through the oversized tee shirts you wore to bed without a bra, just wondering what you looked like underneath.

And fuck, this was so much better than anything he could have dreamt up.

Jason's cock began to harden almost instantly, and laying in bed, he reached over to his nightstand for some lube, ready to milk that picture for all it was worth, when-

His phone buzzed again.

Pretty Girl: 'Delete that.'

Jason hadn't even considered that you had sent it to him by mistake. He had been far too busy enjoying to even consider the intention or the psychology behind it.

So, he took his hand off the waistband of his sweats and texted back the first thing that came to mind.

'No.'

(He didn't hear your annoyed growl on the other end, frustrated at his downright typical Jason behaviour.)

'It's not my fault you made a dumbass mistake. Besides, it's the least I get after all the nagging from you.'

Then, something else came to mind as the bubbles popped up, meaning you were busy formulating a reply - an annoyed one, no doubt.

'Who did you mean to send it to anyway? Who are you fucking whose name starts with J that's not me?'

(You hesitated.)

Pretty Girl: 'I didn't type in J.'

'???'

Pretty Girl: 'I typed in G. And it turns out the first contact that popped up was Giant Baby. That's you.'

Jason felt annoyed and insulted on all levels. The fact that you were going to Tiger Boy for dick instead of him, and the fact that you had used such a mocking contact name for him. But when he realised that such a pathetic string of events had caused him to accidentally see you naked, he couldn't be too upset.

'I'm still keeping the picture 😈'

Pretty Girl: 'You're such an asshole' Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me one'

'Fine, I'll owe you one'

Jason shrugged it off, thinking he had won, until -

Pretty Girl: 'No, you owe me a cock.'

This made Jason's stomach jump. You couldn't possibly mean-?

Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me a picture of your dick. You know - an eye for an eye type stuff.'

Jason wanted to ask questions - what did you plan to do with the picture? Should he shave his balls first? Did you want more than one?

But his cock got even harder at you asking for a picture, at you demanding to see his cock, and he couldn't properly think - he couldn't even reason that you might later blackmail him with the picture.

No, instead, he found himself ripping down his pants and turning on the bedside lamp for good lighting, pumping himself up to peak rigid hardness and grasping the base of his cock in hand. And then, without hesitation, he snapped a picture for you. He made sure to get his abs in the photo - a collection of his best assets, with his pants pulled down to mid-thigh, showing off his tight stomach, the deep V leading down to his dick, and his thick seven inch cock in hand surrounded by some well-kept dark pubic hair.

(He was proud of it - and that ego was one of the things that annoyed you most about him.)

He sent it without hesitation and then you began typing several times and stopped once again. Jason's stomach churned with nerves until -

Pretty Girl: 'Fuck you' Pretty Girl: 'I thought it would be smaller'

Jason had no clue how to respond to that, and he was busy racking his brain for some clever reply, when -

Oh. Oh fuck.

(1) new photo

You had sent him another picture. And this time it was definitely on purpose.

It was a view between the plump, beautiful thickness of your thighs - your hand was inside the pretty lace of those panties, and your fingers were visible working on your clit while your needy hole dripped wetness onto the fabric.

So you had liked what you had seen.

Pretty Girl: 'What would you do if you were here right now?'

Jason's brain short-circuited then. He thought of so many things - eating your pussy until you screamed, flipping you onto your stomach and fucking you until you begged him to stop, gripping onto those gorgeous thighs, pinning them to your chest and pounding into your cunt until you finally surrendered and said that you had liked him all along, fucking your smart little mouth to finally shut you up-

Pretty Girl: 'Come on, Jay. Don't disappoint me.'

Oh, he won't.

(Another thing Jason won't admit - he came back to the Tower just for you.)

...

DC Titans Masterlist

[lucysarah1875]

Mounting Spring Ch. 12

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Warnings: Omegaverse, age gap, arrangemarriage. Ao3 link to the whole work.

“Did you hear the screaming?” A cadet whispered to Floch, voice barely above a breath, yet just enough to make Armin and Jean glance over.

Floch scoffed, arms crossed. “Who didn’t? Sounded pathetic.” Then, with a sneer, he added, “Did you catch the smell on her? Disgusting.”

“Are they talking about Y/N?” Sasha asked under her breath. Armin only shrugged, uncertain as a beta, but Jean gave a slight nod—so small it was almost imperceptible, careful not to draw attention.

“She needs to learn her place,” someone muttered through clenched teeth, the words laced with quiet resentment, as if the situation irked them more than it did Captain Levi himself. “If she were my omega, she wouldn’t even think of stepping out of line like that.”

The men murmured their agreement, though none dared to raise their voices. No matter how much they sneered at the Captain’s supposed weakness, none of them were stupid enough to let him hear.

Armin sighed, his exhaustion laced with quiet sympathy, while Sasha murmured uneasily, “So… they’re still fighting?” The tension had lingered in the air since their return from the capital.

Nearby, Levi stood, papers in hand, issuing orders as he scanned the lists before pointing ahead. Yet his focus wavered. His mind was elsewhere—everywhere except here.

“Sir.” A cadet approached briskly but without urgency, saluting politely. Levi gave a curt nod, granting permission to speak.

“We retrieved the supplies from your chambers as ordered, sir.”

Another nod.

“Uh…” The cadet hesitated, hands clasped behind his back, legs stiff in a formal stance. His voice wavered as he searched for the right words. “Your… wife.”

The last word came out uncertain, as if the young man sought confirmation.

“Yes,” Levi replied, clipped and impatient, unwilling to waste time on semantics.

“She insists that the pet be taken with her.”

“Yes.”

Silence settled over the group like a thick fog. Several scouts exchanged glances, some rolling their eyes. Even among those who had transferred into the Survey Corps from other divisions—many seasoned soldiers—doubt simmered beneath their obedience.

“Sir…” One of the older soldiers stepped forward, his voice calm but edged with unspoken challenge. “If I may speak freely?”

Levi didn’t grant permission. He simply stared, dead-eyed, daring the man to continue.

The soldier swallowed but pressed on. “The horses may not take well to the animal’s presence.”

More silence.

“And… she doesn’t know how to ride. This could slow us down.”

Levi remained silent, letting the words hang, waiting—because he knew the real reason behind this sudden concern. And sure enough, the soldier cracked under the weight of his stare.

“I’m only suggesting, sir, that if you need us to step in and handle the matter—”

“Are you implying I’m incapable of handling it myself?”

Levi’s tone was flat, unimpressed, yet laced with quiet danger. One hand rested on his hip while the other held up the clipboard, flipping through pages as if this was any other mundane conversation.

A flicker of unease spread among the men. They weren’t stupid. Levi knew better than anyone how quickly rumors spread about high-ranking officers. The moment he raised his voice, the moment he let this conversation turn into an argument, it would become fuel for the fire already burning around him.

He could already hear it. Every alpha who had come across her since their return had caught on to the scent. And Levi… Levi was in no mood for this nonsense. He hadn’t been for months.

His ego had taken a hit—whether he admitted it or not. And no matter how much restraint he practiced, he wasn’t about to let vultures circle, thinking they could pick at his pride like scraps.

“We’re only making a suggestion, sir,” the soldier tried again, this time more cautious.

Levi’s gaze sharpened.

“Limit yourself to doing what you’re told,” he bit out, each word precise and edged with resentment. His patience was already paper-thin, and after recent events, it had only frayed further.

He had explained it to her once—the night they first met. Being Humanity’s Strongest had its perks. One of them was that he couldn’t care less what people whispered behind his back. But another was that very few had the guts to say anything to his face.

That had been true—until now.

For the past two months, the whispers hadn’t stopped. His name, her name, their relationship—it had all become the military’s favorite new topic.

She’s still unclaimed.

She comes and goes as she pleases.

Her scent isn’t his.

It smells like someone else.

The rumors even reached the higher-ups. The military board had questioned whether he was being “demanding enough.” His own soldiers whispered that he was too weak to keep his own mate in line.

For a long time, he had considered himself her only ally in all this. Perhaps she didn’t see it that way.

And maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t have minded enduring the scrutiny, the judgment, if he felt they were working toward something together. If he believed they were striving for mutual understanding.

But now?

Now, his instincts were livid.

‘Walking up to me, stinking of that brat.’

His inner alpha snarled. The same part of him that had allowed her freedom, that let her choose what she wanted from the kitchen, that had tolerated her sitting beside him during training—because she had willingly smelled like him once.

That same part of him was now furious.

Brat. That was all the younger, lesser alpha was to him. Barely past adulthood, and yet still bold enough to challenge him for her.

And she let him.

She had asked for freedom. He had given it. And in return, she had betrayed it. And now, openly, she was challenging him.

His rational mind should have focused on his duties. But instincts didn’t listen to logic. His alpha was restless, pacing like a caged lion, ready to lash out.

Somewhere, the distant part of him—the one that still functioned as a human rather than a territorial beast—whispered that he needed to sit her down and talk. Rationally. Like adults.

But that voice was distant. Faint. Like an echo in a dream that held no weight, no power.

Maybe this was why. Maybe it was the years without a mate. The ruts that came and went without relief. The absence of an Omega in his life.

And now?

For his body, a potential mate in the peak of her youth had waltzed into his territory, an he had provided for her. He had made space for her. He had given her security.

She had shown signs of choosing him.

And then, another alpha—younger, weaker, insignificant—had walked in, pissed on his territory, and acted like he had a rightful claim.

‘You’re one lucky bastard I don’t have you within arm’s reach.’

Alpha monogamy was a curse to some, a blessing to others.

To Levi, at this moment, it was nothing but a slow-burning rage.

Inside Levi’s chambers, the air was thick—not with tension, but something heavier. Something that sank into the skin, clung to the bones.  

Y/N sat on the window frame, perched like a defendant waiting for sentencing. Absentmindedly, she broke off a few crumbs of her bread, leaving them near the sparrow’s nest she had once drawn. The first bit of art she had created here. Now, it held three newborn pigeons, fragile and unaware of the world beyond their small sanctuary.  

She watched the courtyard with a slow, detached melancholy. The sheer number of soldiers outside was surprising—only a few years ago, the Scouts had never been this many. Her gaze trailed to the office, where Levi’s door swung open and shut like a revolving door. Soldiers came and went, carrying boxes, blueprints, stacks of reports.  

They moved freely.  

She hated it.  

Perhaps it was the way they carried themselves—so sure, so certain of what to take. Of what belonged to them. Perhaps it was the simple fact that they had a freedom she couldn’t even dream of.  

A scoff escaped her lips, bitter and quiet. Her forehead pressed against the glass, its cool surface slightly uncomfortable, probably leaving an oily smudge that Levi would notice. That would probably irritate him.  

But by the time he returned, this window—this entire room—would be nothing but a memory.  

She let the thoughts settle, accepted them even as they cut deep. She had ignored every warning sign, every uneasy shift in the air. Maybe a wiser woman would have noticed it sooner.  

A wiser woman—or a better wife?

Wives always knew, didn’t they? The old stories said so. They knew from a stain on a shirt, a change in scent, a hidden bank account.  

Would a better woman—a better mate—have realized that Levi had been planning this all along?  

What was I supposed to compare him to?

The Levi of the past two months was the only Levi she had ever known. There had been no “before” for her to measure against. No habits to track, no patterns to decipher.  

If he changed his scent, how could she be sure it wasn’t just preference?

If he came home late, wasn’t that just his duty?  

If he hid something, how would she even know where to look?  

If Levi had a secret account somewhere, she wouldn’t even know the name of the bank.

But just then, she remembered her last fiancé. A smile tugged at her lips — not one of joy, but of bitter amusement, as if laughing at herself.

‘Maybe I really am as foolish and naive as everyone says.’

Even all of Levi’s wisdom, she thought, might never have led her to any different conclusion.

‘I never thought I’d miss this place.’

Not this place exactly. She had packed quickly, but most of her belongings had remained untouched since the day she arrived. Nothing here had ever truly belonged to her. It all felt borrowed, like slipping into her mother’s heels as a child—too big, too foreign, an illusion of something she was supposed to grow into. Usually kids forget that dream by the time they grow old enough to fill them.

Except this time her mother had long since sold those shoes, and the dream had been lost with them. The dream had vanished before she could outgrow it.

She wouldn’t miss these chambers. What she would miss was the fragile hope that one day, she might have fit into them.  

And now, it was happening all over again.  

The same suitcases. The same hairstyle. The same clothes. The same long journey to yet another unknown destination.  

It was like reliving a nightmare she couldn’t outrun.  

A small bag of essentials sat at the base of the window, packed and ready for the trip. She hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, curled in on herself, knees to her chest, fingers gripping the letters from her siblings.  

‘I’m doing this for you.’

The words echoed in her mind, but the strength they were supposed to bring never came. 

Then, the door swung open.

The shift in sound was subtle, but enough to pull her out of her thoughts. Slowly, she turned.

Levi stepped inside, appearing distracted as he moved toward his belongings, intent on putting away the last of them before their departure. When their eyes met, he opened his mouth—only to close it again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression unreadable.

He hated this. Hated being met with teary eyes and resignation. Anger, he could handle. Defiance, frustration, even hatred—those were easier. But this? This quiet, lifeless acceptance?

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.  

“You done packing?”  

His voice was steady—too steady. The forced calm surprised even him. Avoiding the conflict was either intentional or instinctive. Addressing it would require emotions he didn’t have the time—or the willingness—to offer.  

Too angry to talk.  

Too tired to pretend.  

“Yes, sir.”  

The words made him freeze.  

For the first time in a long time, his body went completely still. A sharp, unbearable frustration clawed its way up his throat. For a moment, an absurd, childish urge consumed him—to throw himself on the floor, kick, scream, cry like a sleep-deprived toddler.

‘I wish I could just sit there, with watery eyes and expect the world to fix itself. But since I can’t—since I don’t—I'm the bad guy.

Fine. Whatever.’

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”  

Y/N slid off the windowsill, her feet meeting the ground. Levi moved around the room, checking everything—closing doors, locking windows, securing whatever was left behind.  

She stood in the middle of the office, watching him move, just as she had on the very first night.  

Curious eyes, like a kitten watching something it didn’t understand.  

Back then, she had stood in this same spot, watching as he rushed around, setting things up. Now, she watched as he dismantled it all.  

Hidden drawers she had never noticed before appeared as he pulled them open, retrieving money, keys, and even a gun. Small things, tucked away in places only he knew existed.  

The only sound breaking the quiet was the restless scratching of her cat in its carrier, desperate to be freed.  

Levi slung his pack over his shoulder, shutting the last of the windows. As the room fell into darkness, the finality of it settled deep in her chest.  

This was it.  

She bent down to grab her bag—but before her fingers could close around the strap, Levi’s hand shot out, gripping it first.  

“Give me that,” he said, hoisting up both her luggage and the pet carrier without waiting for an answer.  

She hesitated before moving toward the door, glancing back to see if he was following. He was—only pausing briefly to shut off the master valve in the bathroom.  

With a final patting at his pocket for the keys, he stepped out into the corridor and locked the door behind them.  

She stood there, waiting.  

It was an odd, familiar feeling. The uncertainty of standing in a hallway, waiting for someone to tell her where they were going.  

‘Like a pet.’

One that would develop an inexplicable fear of luggage.  

‘Or more like a dog,’ she corrected bitterly. ‘One whose only trick is to wait and follow.’  

As they moved through the halls, soldiers instinctively moved aside, pressing themselves flat against the walls as Levi passed. Some carried heavy crates, others stacks of paperwork, but the entire facility buzzed with urgency.  

Outside, the courtyard—once a training ground—had transformed into something else entirely. Carts. Horses. Boxes upon boxes of supplies waiting to be loaded. It was chaos. A military carnival.  

“Wait here,” Levi instructed before disappearing into the crowd.  

‘See? I just need a leash.’

The thought was sharp and cruel, cutting through her remaining pride like a dull blade.  

She watched the organized disorder unfold around her. Soldiers had direction, purpose. Even the ones running back and forth with last-minute additions knew where they were going.  

She did not.  

She was just standing there. Again. Watching life happen around her, but never to her.  

The comparison shifted from a cruel coincidence to an outright insult to her sanity. Levi had left—probably to retrieve the horses—and she was still here.

Just there.

It felt eerily familiar. Like standing on the chapel porch that day—only there was no chapel this time. No empty streets of a forgotten town. No rain.

Instead, the world had been replaced with this—a bustling military facility, an endless sea of strangers, the scorching heat of early summer or late spring (whichever name you preferred).

And this time, there was no blissful ignorance to shield her.

This time, she knew.

She knew that Levi would not—could not—suddenly pull a pretty house out of nowhere. That there was no hidden well of romance waiting to spill from him. That any unconfessed devotion was likely never there to begin with.

At least… that’s what she told herself.

A sharp voice cut through her thoughts.

“Wait—I’ll do it, just—UGH.”

A soldier dropped a box near a cart before rushing off to help someone else.

For a brief moment, Y/N’s eyes flickered with purpose. She glanced at the small package, then at her own luggage. Levi’s luggage.

“I can do that.”

The thought came easily, naturally. It wasn’t as if their belongings were unbearably heavy.

So she moved, loading what she could onto the wagon.

The small box was the last thing left. She reached for it—

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

The scream tore through the air. The shock snapped her out of her daze, and she looked around frantically for the source, nearly dropping the box in her hands. But the moment she realized the scream had been directed at her, she caught herself—tightening her grip just in time to keep it from falling. The soldier, startled, had instinctively reached out in fear, but now ran his hands through his hair, as if trying to comb away the surge of adrenaline.

“Don’t touch that!” he barked, nearly stumbling over himself as he rushed forward. “Those are—”

He snatched the box from her hands with practiced urgency, holding it as if it might bite.

“Thunder Spear munitions,” he hissed, setting it down with exaggerated care. “They’re primed and unstable—one drop and we’re all just a stain on the dirt, you get that?”

Y/N froze, hands mid-air, as if still holding the weight that was already gone. Her breath caught in her throat, and heat rushed to her cheeks—not from shame, but from something sharper, smaller, meaner. Like being scolded in front of a classroom full of strangers.

“I… I was just trying to help,” she said softly, but the words felt like paper in a storm. Insufficient. Drowned out.

The soldier scoffed, checking the box for damage with exaggerated flair.

“Yeah? Try helping by not getting us killed next time.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Clearly,” the soldier snapped. He glanced around with a sneer. “Where the hell is the Captain, anyway? Or is Levi just letting you wander around today?”

That one hit lower than the rest. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. The need to defend herself tangled with the guilt crawling up her spine. Searching for Levi around, as if she was a toddler painting someone’s wall. 

Footsteps behind her. Heavy. Sharp.

The soldier noticed before she did. His spine straightened. His mouth snapped shut.

Levi’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Who the fuck are you talking to like that?”

He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Despite the height difference, the other soldier averted his gaze and bowed his head in submission.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry—sir, she—”

“She?” Levi snapped. “Who the hell leaves artillery unguarded in this fucking mess? That’s your job.”

His voice sliced through the tension, putting the soldier in check. The few onlookers who’d dared to glance over quickly looked away, pretending not to notice. No one wanted to be next.

“It won’t happen again, sir. I reacted badly, sir. It got the best of me—”

‘Sir,’ she added silently, noticing how the word clung to the man’s mouth like a nervous tic. She stayed quiet behind her husband, watching him take control. Even though the soldier was the one being scolded, the guilt still pressed heavy on her chest.

“I’ll get the best of me if I ever catch you talking to her like that again — you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

As if multitasking was a reflex, Levi’s eyes caught something near the cart to their left. In one swift motion, he moved over and snatched up the item she had mistakenly loaded. The way he grabbed it — firm, frustrated, controlled — made it clear: he didn’t want the other soldier to have the satisfaction of seeing her get reprimanded.

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to follow it,” he muttered as she hurried to keep pace with him across the field.

“That wasn’t our cart. It’s this one.”

He tossed the belonging into the correct wagon.

“Get in. You’re riding here too.”

“I’m not riding?” she blinked, confused. From what she understood, the carts were meant to travel behind the formation — slower, delayed. For a second, panic surged through her. Was he really leaving her behind to ride with strangers and supplies?

“You don’t know how to drive it, and I’m not testing your endurance under the summer sun for hours,” Levi said flatly, doing something far too ordinary for his rank as he adjusted the loaded goods.

“You’re going with the groceries,” he added with a faint huff of air as he secured the final piece.

“I’m… not going with you?”

The fear in her voice made him freeze mid-motion. He looked back and frowned.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said bluntly, as if the answer should’ve been obvious.

She tensed, ready to protest — Alone? With them? Her heart began to race. She knew he was still angry, but—

“Of course you’re coming with me,” he added, as though any other possibility was absurd.

‘Maybe if your face gave anything away, I’d have known that,’ she thought, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She climbed into the cart, still unsettled. The wood creaked under her as she sat, eyes narrowed toward Levi as he adjusted a strap near the front.  

"You said the carts were leaving later," she said, testing the water.  

“They are,” he replied without looking up.  

“But we’re taking some now?”  

“Obviously.”  

"Then why are we leaving now?"

He didn’t look at her. "Some go early."

"Some?"

"Necessities."

She blinked, trying to put the pieces together. "So... the rest catch up?"

He gave a nod. Not a word — just that small, stiff movement.

She glanced around at the bundled supplies, the sacks, the wrapped crates. “How far are we going?”  

“Far.”  

She paused, unsatisfied. "Far like... how far?"

Levi's jaw tensed. "Far enough."

“That’s not an answer,” she muttered. “If we need groceries, this isn’t just a patrol, is it?”  

He stood and turned to her. “No.”  

Her brow furrowed. “Then what is it?”  

Silence.  

“Levi.”  

“Maybe.”  

“Maybe what?”  She folded her arms, lips pressing together. "You’re really committing to this one-word thing, huh?"

He exhaled through his nose, clearly deciding whether or not to humor her. “Maybe not a patrol.”  

“You’re exhausting,” she grumbled. “So… how long?”  

He looked at her. Really looked at her, dead eyes whispering ‘Drop it now,’. As he was far too busy for this almost toddler interrogatory.

“Three weeks.”  

Her mouth parted. “Three—”  

Her breath caught in her throat. Three weeks. On the road. She’d packed like they were going to camp out for a weekend, not half a month in motion.

Before she could respond, he tugged the last strap tight and stepped back from the cart.

“Wait at the cart.”  

“What?”  

He was already walking away, back straight, steps purposeful.  She blinked. "Wait, like—wait until when?"

“I mean it. Stay here,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t move.”  

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. He was already gone.

Reluctantly, she sank back into the cart. The curved arch of the roof offered more than just shelter for the food; it gave her a break from the blistering sun too.

“Shh, Clauwy. Behave,” she whispered, nudging the crate where the cat was kept. Sensing the sudden lull in motion, the feline let out a loud, annoyed meow and began rustling around in protest.

‘Three weeks?’ she thought, resting her head against the side of the cart. ‘We’re really going to the end of the world, aren’t we?’

"Knock knock."

The fake door knock made her peek out from behind a stack of crates.

Hange leaned casually over the edge of the cart, grinning. “Enjoying your suite? First class, huh?”

It coaxed a laugh from her, soft but genuine. “Commander.”

“Oh, please. It’s Hange,” they waved off with a dramatic roll of their eyes. “Here, scoot over. I brought you stuff.”

She half-crawled toward them — the roof too low to stand — and held out her cupped hands. Hange, still dressed in their full formal trench coat despite the sweltering heat, began unloading their pockets like a magician at a festival: chocolates, candies, gummies, tea bags — a strange but generous collection of comfort.

She blinked, surprised. “You brought all this… for me?”

“Of course. It’s going to be a long trip, and you’re going to need the calories,” Hange said matter-of-factly, still digging in their coat like a bottomless satchel.

A blush crept to her cheeks as she looked down at the pile of sweets in her hands. “Oh, um… I’m not expecting. Yet.”

Saying it aloud felt like pressing a finger to a bruise.

To her surprise, Hange burst into laughter — warm and unfiltered. “Please! Haha — of course you’re not! I do know how babies are made, you know.” They grinned. “And believe me, you'd be surprised how much Levi actually tells me.”

She flushed deeper. “But—why—?”

“Why am I bringing you snacks and tea like you’re already nesting?” Hange shrugged, smile softening. “Your body’s still adjusting — with the season change, the sudden travel, the stress. Hormones don’t wait for invitations. Eat a lot.”

They gave her a few affectionate pats on the arm and reached into the cart again. “Also brought you a pillow and some blankets. Once we’re past the walls, it might get cold at night.”

She moved aside to receive the bundle — the pillow softer than any military issue she’d touched, the blanket too gentle to be standard gear. “Thank you,” she murmured, touched. “You really didn’t have to—rearranging all this and—”

“Oh no,” Hange interrupted, waving their hand. “That wasn’t me! Levi’s the one who sorted the cart so you’d have space. The pillow and all that? Also from him. Most of those chocolates?” — they nodded to the pile in her lap — “He swiped them from the banquet at the Capital. I just saved them in my coat.”

They tapped the side of their nose playfully. “Don’t tell him I told you. He’s shyer than he looks.”

“Ah...” she didn’t blush this time — didn’t even smile at first. Just let her fingers brush the soft fabric of the blanket, her eyes drifting to the little wrapped chocolates. Most likely free offerings at one of the hangouts.

‘He really did all that?’

She exhaled a tiny, amused breath. “Alright,” she said softly, a smile blooming at the corner of her mouth. “I won’t.”

Hange leaned in closer, resting their arms on the cart’s edge so they were at eye level. Their grin faded slightly into something more sincere.

“Could you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” she said quickly — too quickly — eager to help, or maybe just glad to be asked.

“Don’t disappear like that again, okay?”

And suddenly, it wasn’t a friendly favor anymore — it was a reckoning.

Her gaze dropped, fingers tightening around the edge of the pillow in her lap. Her spine straightened instinctively, posture stiffening the way it had back when authority meant punishment.

“Yes, Commander,” she said quietly, the words shaped by shame more than obedience.

Hange sighed. Not impatient — but as someone tired of watching two people tiptoe around their own hearts.

“That’s not what I meant,” they said, softer now but still steady. “I’m not giving you a demerit.”

Still, she couldn’t look at them. Not yet. She straightened a little, spine going stiff — as if she were standing at attention rather than sitting in a hay-lined cart. “It won’t happen again,” she said quickly, automatically. Her tone clipped, formal — the way a soldier would answer a reprimand.

But Hange didn’t smile. Not this time.

“You know…” they started, still casual in posture, but there was something in their voice — a line tightening. “Levi was very worried.”

Her gaze dropped. She didn’t say anything.

“I know why you left,” Hange continued. “And honestly? I don’t even blame you. It’s a lot. Everything’s a lot right now.” Their tone remained quiet, “But next time, let him know where you’re going, alright?”

She swallowed, her fingers fidgeting with a corner of the blanket.

“And I would appreciate,” Hange continued, with a pointed raise of their brows, “if you didn’t make my best soldier that stressed again.”

There was a pause. Just enough for her to feel the weight of it.

Then Hange softened — just a little. The teasing spark in their eye faded, replaced with something quieter. “He’s not just my subordinate, you know. He’s my friend.”

The words landed with surprising gentleness. “I don’t like seeing him like that.”

She looked up, startled by how sincere the words were.

Hange gave her a small shrug, as if trying to lighten the mood but not quite managing to push the emotion aside. “Levi’s not a bad man. He may be... emotionally constipated, sure. Grumpy as hell. But if you want something — and if it’s even remotely within his power — he’ll do it.”

They tilted their head, smirking faintly. “He’ll complain the whole time, because that’s who he is. But he’ll still do it.”

She couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through.

“He’s not that type of man,” Hange said firmly. “He’s not out to control you. Or trap you. Or make you smaller than you are.”

Her breath hitched at that last part. Something in her chest loosened — and hurt — all at once.

"Shorty would rather skip the two hours of sleep he gets to take you wherever you want to go and make sure you’re safe, than forbid you from doing something," Hange said. "So… next time, just ask him. Alright?"

Silence lingered for a moment between them, warm and heavy like the air before a summer storm.

“...Okay?” Hange added, as if not sure whether to break the weight of it or not.

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

”ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!” The brunette gave a few loud strong pats on the omega’s upper arms making her open her eyes open up in shock. “I’m glad we could set this straight! I leave you to settle in!”

Shaken slightly by the motion of the gesture, she chuckled to herself. Just for a second, it all felt a little less heavy — a tiny reprieve from the unresolved tension still pressing on her chest.

She waited. Longer than she expected. But eventually, the telltale sounds of horses shifting and soldiers mounting echoed through the camp. The Scouts were moving. Through the crowds, she began to pick out the figures of the Special Ops squad preparing to lead.

“Y/N!” Sasha’s voice startled her as the girl ran up to the cart, bright-eyed and already energetic. “Since you’ll be in the cart... share your snacks with me?” she asked with a hopeful grin.

“Don’t give her food,” Eren interrupted flatly, walking past with his hands in his pockets. “It’s a trap.”

The titan shifter barely looked interested but somehow still managed to side with the omega.

“No! Don’t listen to them, Y/N!” Sasha cried in protest.

“Did you bring the baby?” Mikasa leaned into the cart, scanning for signs of movement. Her face fell slightly when she saw no sign of the cat.

“Clauws? He’s in his carrier for now,” Y/N replied. “At least until we’re on the road. Maybe you can give him a walk if we stop somewhere.”

That thought made Mikasa light up immediately.

“What are you all doing here?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Jean puffed out his chest, dramatically smoothing his hair with one hand. “I’ll be your driver on this fine journey,” he said, adopting a terrible imitation of a Mitras nobleman. “At your service, m’lady.”

She laughed. “Thank you, Jean. You’re a sunshine.”

“Heh—thank you, thank you,” he said, bowing slightly as if awaiting applause.

Connie and Armin watched him with secondhand embarrassment, as the two male betas of the team. ‘We can see his tail wagging’, they both thought silently.

“Are you excited, Y/N?” Armin asked, shifting the focus with his usual calmness.

Her smile faltered. The tension returned, creeping in under her skin. She turned toward him slowly. “Huh?”

“You’ll be the first civilian to see the ocean!” Armin explained, visibly thrilled. It seemed like he was more excited about it than she was. Maybe because he’d been dreaming of it for years. “It’s the largest body of water in the world. And it’s salty!”

She blinked. “Salty?”

“Yes! And the fish are incredible!” Sasha added, clearly impressed with her own contribution.

“The sea snails are pretty too,” Mikasa chimed in softly.

“They’re called seashells,” Armin corrected kindly, unable to help himself. “You’ll love it, Y/N. It’s breathtaking.”

She nodded slowly, trying to absorb all the information. It still didn’t feel real.

“The animals outside the walls are huge,” Sasha added. “The deer, the bears—they’re way bigger than what we’re used to.”

“Big?” Her stomach dropped slightly. “Like... how big?”

“Oh, nothing compared to titans,” Connie jumped in quickly. “You might find a few old footprints, buried deep in the ground—but no worries. The wild makes everything feel tiny by comparison.”

The excitement turned into unease. Her expression shifted.

“Wait... how far are we going from the walls?” she asked, anxiety creeping into her voice. “I thought we were only going a few meters out.”

Jean laughed. “No, silly! We’re going all the way to the coast. End of the island. We’ll be there for the rest of the year!”

Mikasa’s eyes widened as she realized the others might be saying too much. She started signaling them from behind Y/N’s back—but it was too late.

“We’re building a port and a railway line,” Armin added eagerly. “It’s part of the coastal expansion. Once the ships start arriving from overseas, we’ll have a chance to negotiate with them, explain our intentions—”

“What?” she asked, stunned. “And... What about titans?”

“We eliminated them all,” Mikasa cut in quickly.

But Armin and Jean chuckled, clearly confused by the panic in her voice.

“I mean, yeah,” Jean said. “But some might come from Marley, so you never really—OW!”

Mikasa pinched his side sharply, twisting the skin through his jacket.

“No titans,” she said flatly.

“None. Whatever you say, Mika,” Jean gasped, rubbing his ribs. “Message received.”

The rest nodded awkwardly, pasting bright smiles on their faces.

“Yep! Not even one!” Connie agreed quickly.

“What do we do?” he whispered to Jean as Y/N’s face twisted into a mixture of fear and shock.

“Wait... so we’re not coming back? For a year? GUYS?!”

Before anyone could say more, Levi’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Everyone to your places. We’re leaving.”

The cadets scattered immediately, disappearing like guilty roaches. Levi, unaware of what had just unfolded, approached the cart with calm exhaustion in his posture.

“Come on,” he said, voice quieter now. “Get in.”

But she didn’t move. Instead, she stepped down and approached him.

“Levi, please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go. Not for that long.”

He sighed loudly. “We talked about this. It’s final.”

“Please, Lev—” She gripped his arm, trying to meet his eyes. “Please.”

He froze. His whole body went stiff. He hated this — public attention, the eyes shifting toward them, watching. Her watery eyes, the pleading voice, the touch — all of it made him feel exposed, vulnerable, off balance. “Don’t do this in public,” he muttered. “I already told you — it’s decided. Don’t beg me.”

He placed his hands on her upper arms and gently pushed her back, forcing her to release him. “Don’t make this harder.”

“Levi—” she tried again.

But the pressure was too much. His already-fraying nerves, the constant watchful eyes — it tipped him over the edge.

“Enough, Y/N. Get in the cart.”

There was no softness in the words. Just steel.

The cadets, now a few meters off, watched in silence.

“We fucked up,” Armin whispered.

“Great,” Sasha muttered, “They’re divorcing. We’ll be motherless again.”

“You have a mom,” Jean replied dryly.

“Yeah, but she’s sick of my ass.”

“I wonder why,” Connie added.

“She can’t divorce,” Eren said flatly. “It’s not even legal.”

Legal or not — wanted or not — the formation began to move. Levi and Hange led at the front, just like always.

“What’s the matter now? You two are fighting… AGAIN?” Hange emphasized the word as if the couple’s inability to make it work was taking a toll not just on them but on the general public. Like two parents who refused to let it go, their constant bickering only produced more harm than they believed splitting up would.

The brunette was nearly exasperated—they thought they’d taken a step forward on the Captain’s behalf by giving the girl the items Levi had gathered during the weekend meeting. They’d seen him stuffing everything that was offered for free into his pockets, and when they asked why, Levi’s response had been a mix of muttered excuses—tinged with irritation, pettiness, resignation, and just a bit of shame. The look on his face as he picked things up, claiming he’d give them to her once he got back to the hotel, said it all: “Yeah, I said something bitchy—true, but bitchy—and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Of course, her sudden disappearance—and everything that followed—left the improvised apology gift completely forgotten. Hange had thought they could smooth things over in his favor with the gesture, only to realize their attempt at a single step forward had somehow become three steps back.

”Fuck me,” they muttered exhausted.

Levi, exasperated but in a rush, kept walking, pushing soldiers aside as he slipped through the crowd. “She thinks this is a matter of begging me!”

Hange did their best to keep up with the short man—who, despite his lack of height, was mighty even for brisk walks. “She thinks I’m enjoying this bullshit, that if she keeps begging, I’ll eventually give in!”

“Well—Oops, sorry,” the commander interrupted whatever half-hearted, empty advice they had been trying to come up with, their social obligation as the Captain’s friend momentarily overtaken by nearly colliding with a cadet carrying Thunder Spears.

“I’m not doing this on purpose! It’s not like I’m holding back what she wants just for the sake of it, as if it’s some sick power play. She keeps begging me, like that’s all it takes, like I’m refusing just to be an ass. I don’t enjoy hearing her beg—”

Levi stopped abruptly—not just walking but talking, frowning deeply.

“I’m listening,” Hange affirmed, as if the short man had stopped for lack of feedback.

“Yeah, I know. I just never thought I’d say that about a woman.”

The commander closed their eye and scoffed a chuckle. “You for real? That’s what’s throwing you off in all this?”

“Give me a break,” the Captain said before cursing under his breath. “It’s like hearing Erwin say he doesn’t like being seen as a paternal figure or some shit. Goes against every single fucking kink I’ve ever mentioned before.”

As they walked out to take their place in the formation at the front, Levi somehow picked up the conversation without needing a cue.

“I told you to tell her beforehand,” Hange said, adjusting the strap on their horse.

“I was planning on it,” Levi snapped, yanking his own strap tight. Their faces barely visible over the saddle as they moved, but their tone carried. “I was planning to tell her everything in detail—until she decided to lie to me and disappear for hours with another man!”

“That’s exactly why I told you to tell her sooner!” Hange repeated, echoing words they’d said nights ago. “She’s confused.”

“She’s confused?” Levi scoffed. “Imagine how confused I was, finding out she lied about where she was.”

“You lied too.”

“I didn’t lie. I… avoided certain parts of the truth.”

Hange rolled their eyes so loudly, it was almost audible. “You’re sounding so much like Erwin right now.”

“Don’t bring Eyebrows into this,” Levi muttered, as if the comparison alone—especially in anything remotely romantic—was a mortal insult.

He said something under his breath, but it was completely unintelligible.

“What?” Hange asked, leaning over their horse’s neck with a squint. “I can’t hear you when you grumble like a sewer rat.”

Levi repeated it. The exact same way.

“Stop grumbling and just say it, dammit.”

Finally, after one last gritted attempt, the sentence came out clearly. Hange’s eyes (if they’d had two) would’ve gone wide.

“You didn’t hug her back?!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Levi shot back, climbing onto his horse in one swift motion.

“HUG HER?!” Hange nearly screamed, following suit and swinging onto their own. “WHY the hell did you push her away?!”

“Because it’s hard for me, alright?!” His voice cracked under the weight. “For fuck’s sake—it’s hard. I felt everyone looking at me and I couldn’t — I just fucking couldn’t, okay?”

Hange threw their hands to their face in mock-sobbed despair. “How did a man like you manage to get married with these social skills?!” They asked, sarcasm layered thick. It was meant to tease—one of their usual back-and-forths, laced with roasting affection.

But Levi didn’t fire back. This time he didn’t give a smartass reply, rolled his eyes or doubled the bet.

Instead, he gripped the reins so tightly that the leather creaked under the pressure.

“Because they forced me into this,” he muttered, and for once his voice wasn’t sharp. It was bitter. Broken. “You think I don’t know I suck at this? That maybe I’m aware I don’t have the time or the emotional availability to give?”

Hange went still. That pulled the humor out of the air.

But inside the moment, everything quieted.

“I know I’m fucking it up,” Levi continued, voice low but trembling with restrained fury. “Everyone and their damn mothers keep reminding me. But I’m trying. I’ve been trying since I stepped into that chapel and waited there for hours.” His jaw clenched. “I know it’s shit. But this—” he looked away, swallowing hard— “this is me trying.”

He let out a low, guttural curse. “Fuck.”

The field fell into a quiet so stark it was almost unnatural — the kind of silence that is deafening. The grass rustled. Hooves thudded softly against earth. Somewhere, cicadas droned in the heat.

But all she could hear was Levi’s ragged breathing, uneven and fast, slowly evening out as the fire inside him cooled to ash.

Ashamed, he looked away — not from Hange, but from himself. As if just saying it out loud made it all worse.

But maybe… maybe it didn’t.

Maybe it was the first right thing he’d done.

Hange, who knew all too well what it felt like to be forced into shoes they never asked to wear, finally said, quietly:

“I know.” Just that.

They reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder—firm, grounding, comforting.

“I know,” they repeated.

One deep breath. Then the formation began to move.

At first, the journey was rough. Every part of the cart rattled and shook with intensity as they made their way through the forest, crawling slowly along narrow, uneven paths. The terrain forced the convoy to a near crawl.

Eventually, the structure of the Scouts’ facility disappeared behind them — the same way it had once emerged from the fog during a spring rain. Now, it vanished into the trees with no fanfare.

She remained inside the cart, tucked away in its protective shell. There wasn’t much to hear aside from the rhythmic rustling of wheels grinding over dirt. Then, finally, they broke through the forest and onto a wide, open road.

With most of the road ahead now paved or packed smooth, she opened Clauw’s carrier and let the cat out. Still, she clipped on his harness and leash — just in case. Tight as it was around his furry frame, it didn’t alter his appearance much. Clauw was long-haired and thick underneath — he had never skipped a meal in his life, and it showed.

Despite his newfound freedom, he curled into her arms and stayed there. Maybe because he was old now. Maybe because, for all his size, Clauw had always been a timid cat. He seemed used to traveling — a product of having been dragged with her everywhere since childhood. Their bond had only deepened with time, and his presence calmed her more than she’d realized.

She bent down and kissed the side of his face. He purred in her lap, and she clung to him like an anchor — something steady in all this unfamiliar motion.

Peeking out from the cart occasionally, she began to recognize the route. They were taking the Trost road — the same path described in old newspaper clippings about the retaking of Wall Maria. First Trost, then the elevators leading up to the restored gates.

“Y/N!”

Jean’s voice called out from the front seat, where he’d been driving. “Come on out! We’re about to pass through the only Wall of the trip. It’ll be fun!”

At first, she ignored him. But then, with a sigh, she changed her mind and crawled out to take the seat beside him.

Jean greeted her with an exaggerated grin. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

As a child, passing through the walls had always thrilled her. They broke the monotony of endless countryside views and the mindless rounds of I Spy — back when the entire world outside the window was just varying shades of wheat-gold ochre.

Now, the strong wind funneled by the tunnel blasted against her face. She instinctively held her head and her dress down as they passed beneath the towering gate. She squinted up, just catching a glimpse of the battlements — and then they were through.

The town of Trost greeted them with crowds. People clapped and cheered, shouting wishes for safety and luck. The formation slowed at the checkpoint, where the sealed gates loomed tall and final, the sun already sinking.

To her surprise — or perhaps not — children ran through the streets chasing after the wagons, hoping to catch a glimpse of the infamous figures in the lead.

“Captain Levi!” they called. His name echoed with Hange’s and Eren’s, cheers overlapping into one noise.

She noted, unimpressed, the way young women in the crowd blushed and swooned. Her brow arched. ‘From far away, he’s a masterpiece. Up close? Monet.’

As they approached the front gate, the formation halted.

“Are we stopping for the night?” she asked, climbing down to stretch her legs. Jean hopped down too.

“Nope,” he replied. “We’re pushing through. Gonna ride straight through the night and reach Shiganshina by tomorrow afternoon.”

She frowned. “All day? Isn’t that exhausting?”

Jean shrugged like it was obvious. “We’re soldiers. If we can’t pull one all-nighter, we’re in the wrong profession.”

The rest of the squad gathered nearby. Mikasa approached with hopeful eyes.

“Want to let him walk a bit?” she asked gently, already reaching for the cat.

“Please. Thank you,” Y/N murmured, handing Clauw over. The relief on her face was subtle but present.

“Y/N,” Levi’s voice cut through from ahead.

He was a few paces forward, hand extended, arm out — waiting for her.

She took a steadying breath and followed.

“Riko will show you the garrison’s girl restroom so you can freshen up,” he said, barely glancing back. “I’ll bring something for dinner.”

“But...” she glanced around the formation. “What about the rest of you?”

“We’re working.”

“And food?”

“We’ll eat crackers on the move. Just go with Riko.”

His words left no room for negotiation. The grey-haired soldier appeared beside her, already ready to escort.

She nodded and followed.

After washing up with cold water and wiping herself down with a damp cloth, she emerged to find Levi waiting, arms crossed. Without a word, he handed her a wrapped pair of jam-and-cheese sandwiches and a water flask.

She blinked in surprise but accepted them.

The rest of the journey blurred. The sight of Wall Maria — long since restored — was haunting. She’d been old enough to remember its fall and now, seeing it again, there was something almost sacred about it. The ruins that remained felt ancient. Ivy clung to shattered buildings. Window frames sat empty. Still, people worked in the fields nearby, greeting the formation with quiet gratitude.

Compared to Trost, there was a peacefulness here. A kind of countryside calm that felt stolen from a dream.

She stayed awake into the night. Not tired, not hungry — not really anything. Just empty. The summer air was lukewarm, not cool enough to need a sweater, not warm enough to bring comfort.

She shared one sandwich with Sasha and nibbled on the other. It was tasteless, but she forced herself to eat. Eventually, she curled back into the cart — but sleep never really came. Everything woke her: the scratchy blanket, the movement of the wheels, the constant voices outside, the birds, the owls, the night insects.

By the time they reached the next sealed gate, dawn bleeding into the sky, something shifted inside her.

She looked back, trying to see the walls they’d left behind.

But Wall Maria was gone.

Just like that.

Swallowed by distance.

And then the thought came — plain, quiet, terrifying in its honesty:

‘That’s how far I am from home.’

As soon as the realization hit her, it became undeniable—unstoppable. Her chest tightened, her hands trembled. The broken gate had been sealed by Eren’s titan form, and the formation was now being lifted to the top of the walls, preparing to descend on the other side. The very same elevators that had brought them up would now take them down into the unknown.

For the first time in her life, she was seeing beyond the walls.

Fear struck hard.

‘Don’t look down,’ she told herself.

But, of course, she did.

Her breath hitched as she took in the staggering drop from the top of the wall to the endless stretch of grass below. The sheer height made her stomach twist.

And speaking of colossal things—her mind, in a cruel act of betrayal, reminded her of all the horrifying stories she’d grown up with. The monsters beyond the walls. The titans. Every worst-case scenario she’d ever been taught came rushing to the forefront of her thoughts.

Instinct took over. In a blind scramble for safety, she backed into the elevator shaft, clutching her cat against her chest like a lifeline and gripping the column beside her as if it were the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the abyss.

Armin, always perceptive, noticed immediately and approached with concern.

“Y/N… are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I just need some fresh air,” she said quickly. But her wide eyes, clenched teeth, and bone-white knuckles gripping the metal told a different story.

Like ducklings following their leader, the rest of the squad trailed after Armin, equally curious and confused.

“Fresh air?” Jean muttered, frowning. “On top of the walls?”

You could practically hear the collective thought process: ‘There’s no place with more air than fifty meters above the ground, standing on the last wall of Paradis.’

Mikasa knelt beside her, eyes scanning her carefully. “Are you dizzy? Is your blood pressure dropping?” she asked, noting how Y/N was slowly sinking to the ground.

Between ragged breaths, Y/N choked out, “I can’t go out there… I’m not going out there.”

Sasha’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Oh! You’re scared! But there’s nothing to worry about! We’ve been in Levi’s squad for a while now!”

Connie nodded enthusiastically. “The Special Operations Squad! Nobody better than us!”

Y/N looked up at them, still unconvinced. Armin added, “We’ve been serving under Captain Levi for nearly two years. You’re safe with us.”

She hesitated, frowning. Something about that number didn’t sit right. “Two years?” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “What happened to the last squad?”

The air shifted.

The six teenagers exchanged glances.

“Uh…”

“Ehm…”

Mikasa, deciding it was time to intervene, stepped forward, smoothly pushing Armin aside as if shielding Y/N from whatever dumb thing he might accidentally say next.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” she assured her with quiet confidence. “Captain Levi and I are the strongest. If anything happens, I’ll protect you.”

It was meant to be reassuring. But it had the exact opposite effect.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm. “So… there’s a chance something will happen?!”

—

“Captain…”

Levi turned, still mid-discussion over last-minute battle plans when Mikasa’s voice interrupted.

“What?” He frowned, hands on his hips. Whatever it was, it had better be important.

Mikasa hesitated, glancing toward the elevator. “We think you should check on Y/N.”

—

“I’M NOT GOING.”

Y/N clung to the elevator’s frame like her life depended on it, legs locked, refusing to step foot outside.

Levi stood beside her, “I told you, you need to come with us,” he repeated, voice low and firm.

“NO.” She shook her head wildly, gripping the metal tighter. “I don’t want to die!”

Levi exhaled sharply, trying to keep his patience. “I already told you, there are no more titans. I wouldn’t take you out if there were.”

“How do you know?! Have you even looked outside?! IT’S HUGE OUT THERE!”

Levi stared at her, deadpan.

He had spent more time outside the walls than inside them. And yet here she was, explaining it to him.

His pride crumbled. His instincts as an alpha did, too. Only adding to the recent events.

His inner alpha bristled slightly at the scent of her fear. It stung his pride—not just as a soldier, but as a mate. Alphas were supposed to be a source of security, a symbol of strength. Omegas chose alphas based on their ability to protect them and their offspring. Normally, his reputation alone was enough to reassure anyone, let alone his own wife.

Yet here she was, outright terrified, and his presence wasn’t helping at all. But right now, standing beside his mate, all he could smell was her fear.

It was a blow to his pride.

“Y/N,” he said, this time searching for any grain of patience, love and support inside him. His voice sounded almost soft and calm. “I wouldn’t take you if it wasn’t safe.” His tone was measured, steady. If she was his, then she needed to trust him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Without hesitation—without even thinking—she blurted out:

“NO.”

Silence.

Dead. Absolute silence.

Hange, who had wandered over to investigate, let out a wheezing laugh so intense they had to clutch their stomach.

Levi, meanwhile, just stared.

A sharp "Tch—" escaped him as he scratched the back of his head, trying to mask the sting. Ouch.

Hange, still gasping for breath, spread their arms dramatically. “Ah, no worries, my dear! Your fear is simply due to the unknown! That’s perfectly natural! But have no fear—I’ll teach you everything about titans, and I will keep you safe!”

As if spring had just arrived and they were a pair of rutting bucks trying to prove themselves, both alphas now stood in front of her. There was an unspoken challenge in the air. Two alphas—Hange and Levi—instinctively competing to reassure the terrified omega. A display of dominance in its most ridiculous form.

Y/N blinked. Then, in the flattest, most unimpressed tone imaginable, she deadpanned: “How are you gonna keep me safe? You can’t even spot titans—you’re missing an eye.”

Hange’s proud smile froze. Their face fell into an expression of sheer offense and heartbreak.

Levi choked on a laugh. He tried to hide it—tried so damn hard—but his shoulders shook, and a muffled snort escaped before he could stop it.

“Don’t laugh, you asshole,” Hange hissed at him, glaring.

The three alphas—Levi, Hange, and Mikasa—stood together, momentarily humbled. If this were the animal kingdom, they had just been denied their mating rights.

“She’s in shock…” Hange sighed, observing the omega’s state. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her face drained of color despite the summer heat, and her translucent eyes darted around in panic.

“Tch. Let’s just get this over with.” Levi’s voice was monotone, unreadable, his plans undisclosed.

The girl’s grip tightened where she sat, her head shaking in frantic denial. Just as Levi shifted slightly, Armin stepped forward, planting himself between them with his arms stretched wide.

“Give her some air!” he urged, casting a firm glance at Levi before turning to the trembling omega. “I’ll handle it. Let me talk to her.”

To everyone’s surprise, Levi didn’t argue. He simply muttered, “Alright,” and walked away.

That threw Armin off. He had expected resistance—some insistence that Levi knew best how to deal with the situation. But the Captain left without a fight, leaving Armin no time to dwell on it. Instead, he turned back to the girl and knelt beside her.

“I’m NOT going!” she cried, her voice raw with fear.

Armin placed a gentle hand on her back, his tone soothing. “It’s okay. No one’s going to force you. I just want to keep you company.” He paused, studying her trembling form. “Would it help if I talked? Maybe something to help you breathe through this?”

She gave a hesitant nod.

While Armin searched for the right words to comfort her, Levi continued on, ignoring Mikasa as she trailed after him.

“You’re seriously not going to do anything?!” she snapped, as if Y/N were her own mate in distress.

Levi, accustomed to the cadet’s insubordination, didn’t even spare her a glance. He crouched by his belongings, retrieved a thermos, and poured steaming tea into the lid, which doubled as a cup. Then, from a small travel pouch, he scooped in sugar. More than a few spoonfuls.

Mikasa grimaced at the excessive amount. “Ugh.”

Meanwhile, Armin kept speaking. “You know… I froze in shock too. Back in Trost, during my first real battle.” His voice was calm, almost nostalgic.

She blinked, still breathing unevenly. “Really?”

Armin chuckled softly. “Yeah. Some soldier I was, huh?” He shook his head, offering her a small smile. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not going,” she repeated, though her voice wavered. “I want—”

Her lips parted slightly, the hint of a response forming before Levi interrupted, pressing the makeshift teacup into her trembling hands.

She blinked at it, then at him. "What—what is this?" she asked, her voice shaking almost as much as her hands. She looked utterly confused, and Armin, just as baffled, shot Levi a questioning glance.

"Drink," Levi instructed flatly.

Hesitantly, she brought it to her lips and took a small sip—only to immediately grimace, pulling away in disgust. "Ugh! It's sweet. Even for me."

"Good. It'll keep you from fainting," Levi said, crossing his arms as if that settled it.

Armin caught on first. It wasn’t just tea—it was a calculated act of reassurance, a way to ground her and replenish her sugar levels after the shock. Levi was helping in his own way. Armin nodded, subtly encouraging her to drink. Levi, satisfied that his job was done, turned away and resumed his duties.

Minutes passed. The soldiers began to hurry as the descent was imminent. Armin continued talking, filling the space with calm words. “The sea is beautiful, and—” He trailed off, noticing the familiar tension creeping back into her frame. Her breathing swallowed again.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “I’m not going anywhere. Even if you’re not ready, I’m sure everyone will underst— Wait, are you okay?”

She hunched forward suddenly, making Armin’s stomach drop.

“I just… feel really tired…” she mumbled.

Armin exhaled in relief. “That’s from the hyperventilation. You’re finally calming down—”

She had started to slump forward.

Alarmed, Armin reached for her, only to watch as Levi reappeared out of nowhere, catching her effortlessly before she could hit the ground. Her head lolled against his stomach, motionless.

Panic surged through Armin. "Levi—?! Should we—"

Levi, calm as ever, merely shifted her weight with practiced ease. Placing his hands under her arms, he hoisted her up, adjusting her against his chest. One hand supported her back while the other slid beneath her legs, holding her as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Problem solved," Levi declared smoothly, his tone entirely too casual for the situation.

Still carrying her effortlessly in one arm, he reached down, grabbed a small cat that had been loitering nearby, and plopped it over her back.. The cat barely protested, curling into her limp form.

"You too, little shit," Levi muttered at the feline, then turned on his heel, striding toward the designated departure zone.

Armin could only gape. "What—what did you do?!”

Levi didn’t even look back. “Gave her what we give soldiers when they’re severely wounded.” He shrugged. “By the time she wakes up, we’ll be too far for her to freak out.”

It was quite the sight, though the rest found it obvious. Levi, walking around with her perched against his chest as if she weighed nothing—settled along one of his forearms—grabbing his own equipment and barking orders, all while balancing her and the cat on his left arm. He took his place to descend on the elevators, each gust of air that hit them making him scoff and grimace in pure disdain.

Every single time the strong wind swept across their faces—which, considering they were fifty meters above ground, was rather frequent—he caught the stench. The lingering scent clinging to her like a brand, a reminder of his failure. She being asleep, unable to find peace because he hadn’t been able to give it to her. His incapacity to speak the truth. Her scent muddled with someone else’s. Having her so close—her neck right beside his face—was torture.

‘This is stupid,’ he thought sharply. ‘Wasting brain space on this.’

But when he finally stepped into the cart to let her rest, he paused. He glanced behind him, as if someone might’ve followed, then let the intrusive thought win. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he bent down and pressed his neck against the curve of hers, rubbing it quickly —first one side, then the other.

Then her wrists a bit too on both of his neck sides. Brushed them against his skin, just lightly. The places where pheromones lived most strongly.

One last sniff to her hair. A deep inhale.

His scent, now faintly tangled with hers, made something primal inside him settle.

His alpha—restless and bitter just moments ago—nearly purred with satisfaction.

The sensation made Levi want to crawl out of his own skin.

One part of him screamed victory, as though he had just reclaimed something sacred. The other part wanted to grab a mirror, look himself dead in the eye with a judgmental glare, and growl, “Why are you like this?”

Still, he did what he could to make her comfortable. He laid her down gently, adjusting the pillow beneath her head, and pulled a blanket over her sleeping form.

Then, without a word, he turned away and disappeared back into the chaos of duty.

—

‘The patent leather shoes as I jumped the rope, my muddy, stained knees, bruised as I ran through the park. Most of my friends and I would sprint down the streets after being picked up from the girls-only school, racing to see the displays in the fancy wedding dress store, to admire the new designs.

We were wealthy enough for my mother to take offense at the idea of my sisters and me learning how to cook, but not enough to afford private tutors. There was a time I was truly free, saving all my dreams inside the rooms of my dollhouse.

Little by little, I started to grow up, and my freedom disappeared—like the soap bubbles I used to pop in the backyard.

All children born of a traditional Alpha-Omega couple were born with three possibilities. There was always a chance the daughter would present as an Alpha too. A Beta child would be considered a disappointment—destined for the working class.

There was a time I stood a chance.

But little by little, without even realizing it at first, I was told not to run like a savage. That girls like me didn’t do that. That we didn’t ride horses, or climb monkey bars. But what never changed was the thrill of rushing with my friends to see the dresses. One day, it would be our turn. Each of us would have our own design, ones we used to draw in crayon on scrap paper. Mine were always the most praised.

Little by little, I forgot I was allowed to have bruised knees. Forgot I used to outrun my cousins. I began to shrink into the mold, just as the ruffles on my dream dress were ironed stiff into place.

The dress I tried on—the one that made my mother cry tears of joy—made me feel so pretty that I forgot I had ever wanted anything else.’

“Do what he tells you, alright? No sass-mouthing, Y/N,” her mother said, fingers weaving through her hair in the dim morning light.

The cart was already waiting at the front.

“Alright,” she replied, lifeless.

“And try to smile. A happy wife makes a happy husband.”

“Alright.”

“Show interest in what he does... but not too much. When they come home from work, they sometimes want peace and quiet.”

Her mother secured the final braid, her voice soft and far away. Her hands, though warm, moved over Y/N’s arms with a kind of absent care. “...How will I know?” Y/N turned slightly, glancing at her over her shoulder.

“You’ll learn, with time,” her mother whispered. “Learn what he likes, what he doesn’t. He’ll show you when you make a mistake. And you’ll learn.”

“Mom… I don’t want this.” Her voice cracked into a sob. “I’m scared.”

Her mother hugged her then—still her child, no matter how old. Kissed her face gently. “As your mother, it’s my duty to tell you: we don’t get to choose where we live. We live where they let us.”

‘I always thought it would be easy for me. That this was my place, and I’d learned it well. That this was my role by nature.

But if this is my place by nature... why did I have to be forced into it?’

The memories twisted, blended, folded in on themselves. She ran—ran in her little patent leather shoes down the street. Her friends ran ahead, laughing. But she couldn’t catch them. They had already grown out of her reach.

When she woke, she was sobbing.

Disoriented, she scanned her surroundings, panic swelling in her chest. She crawled out from the blankets, her body sluggish with sleep, and found herself in what looked like a campsite. A few tents around her. The sky glowed faintly—dawn was near. Trees towered all around, thick and tall, enclosing the clearing like ancient sentinels.

She turned in circles, barefoot, heart racing. Until she collided into something solid.

“Calm down. It’s all safe,” Levi muttered, standing in front of her. His hands hovered just over her arms, not touching—but close.

Her panic curdled into something hotter. Her eyes widened, her breath coming fast and sharp—and then the fear became anger.

“What did you do?!” she screamed, fists pounding weakly against his chest. “I told you I didn’t want to come! I told you!”

He didn’t stop her. The impacts were small. Harmless.

“There’s nothing out here. See?” he said quietly, like he was trying to reason with her. “You just needed to rest.”

“I’m not a kid! Don’t put me to sleep like one!” she shouted, her translucent eyes turning toward what she guessed must be north.

And there—where walls had once loomed—was nothing.

Kilometers and kilometers of nothing.

He thought the outburst was just anger — fear of being there, maybe. But for her, it was the collapse of everything she had ever known.

Her mind resisted the truth for even a second, but the cruel thought of having to stand this — this nothingness — for an entire year, tore her apart.

“No, no, no,” she repeated in raw denial, sobbing messily as the weight of it all crushed her.

The cries confused him. Finally, Levi gripped her arms — gently, with no real strength — as if trying to shake her out of the shock.

“It’s not the end of the world, brat. Come on,” he muttered, exhausted.

To him, it felt like watching a toddler refuse to go to kindergarten.

But as her emotional state didn’t seem to improve — not with anything he said, or did, or tried — Levi grew helpless.

No one likes watching someone cry like that. There’s no comfort to offer. No quick fix for despair. Just one salty stream after another.

“Don’t cry like that, damn it. No one died. It’s all fine,” he said. “You’ll like it. They’re building houses and all that shit. There’s nothing out here to be scared of anymore.”

But titans were the last of her worries.

And Levi had just said the word that nailed the issue — fear.

She imagined her life like this. Like the past few days — isolated, empty, in the middle of nowhere. With no one to talk to, unless she could tolerate the scrutiny.

“I’m scared,” she sobbed, “I want to go home.”

She was scared of returning home too late, of having missed everything with her mother. Of coming back without a child. Of never fitting anywhere again.

“Y/N, listen to me.” His voice rose, trying to snap her out of it. “There’s nothing out here. What are you so scared of?”

He shook her slightly — not hard, just enough to try and make her focus. But they were speaking two different languages. Living in two different worlds that could’ve been so easily connected, if only one of them had the right words.

His hands gripped her arms again — not roughly — but her skin was already bruised.

She was scared of what he’d do once they were alone, after the scene she was making. Scared of opening the wrong drawer in their shared quarters. Scared of living in a place she was merely allowed to exist in. Scared of stepping fully into her mother’s shoes, of hearing herself one day say the same resigned words.

It felt stupid — ridiculous even — that the very role she had trained her whole life for now terrified her.

“Of you,” she whispered.

Those two words echoed louder between them than any scream.

Levi’s hands, which had been trying to steady her, fell away. Slowly. Like he’d just been burned. Almost ashamed.

It hit him in the heart — a clean, precise shot — and silenced any argument he might have had.

A knot rose in his throat, nearly choking him. His lips pressed into a hard line.

A stupid thought crossed his mind: ‘This would be ten times easier if I were the asshole everyone thinks I am.’  Maybe if he cared less, her words wouldn’t have cut so deep.

The silence of the wilderness was all-encompassing.

“I didn’t want to yell at you,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Not the other day. Not in the bedroom.”

Her sobs quieted. She didn’t raise her eyes, but the words confused her—startled her enough to pause.

“The night with the ink mess,” he continued, “that was me bitching. I stand by what I said, but it was a shitty way to say it.” He exhaled, frustrated. “And my stubborn ass thought I’d find a less shitty time to explain all this crap. But then you lied. You disappeared. And I got so fucking angry—” He stopped himself. “I’m still fucking angry.”

Levi cut off, as if even trying to speak was pushing his limits.

“I know it sounds hypocritical, after I slammed a drawer and shout, but…” he hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not like that.”

The implication hung thick in the air. He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall to the back of his neck, scratching absently—like he might find relief in tugging out a particularly stubborn hair. A bitter scoff escaped his lips.

“I guess I’ve gotta prove that,” he muttered. “Until death do us part.”

That line — half-joke, half-confession — snapped her out of the spiral she’d been in. It didn’t feel like a demand to trust him. Or a challenge. Or some dramatic vow. It felt like what it was: a quiet promise. One he’d have to prove every single day, not just once, but over and over — to her, to himself, maybe even to the kind of man he wanted to be.

For the first time in a while, she looked up. Met his eyes. And then, softly — her voice scratchy, like it hadn’t been used in years — she said, “I promise you… nothing happened between us.”

Levi let out a humorless breath. Almost a laugh. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m not naive.”

He didn’t smell anything on her. Nothing out of place. If something deeper had happened — more than a kiss, more than talk — her scent would’ve told him. But still… something in his voice hinted at how close betrayal had felt. How easily imagined.

The tone stung. She heard the hurt behind it.

“I… I’ve even been burning his letters,” she added quickly, like it might patch something.

“Letters?” Levi cut in sharply. “Die—? Some bullshit? Diederik? I thought he was a cousin or something with how often he sent them.”

She tensed, shrinking slightly. She hadn’t expected him to remember. Or connect it so quickly.

“You knew he was sending letters to my place and didn’t say a word?” he asked, tone sharper now but not fully furious — more baffled. “The fucking audacity of that asshole to send letters to my house.” He swore under his breath. “Is that how you arranged to meet him?”

“There wasn’t any arranging…” she mumbled. “He left me a note under the hotel room door. I told you — I’ve been burning the rest.”

Levi didn’t explode like she feared. Instead, he just frowned deeply, dragging a hand over his eyes and pressing into the sockets like the pressure might keep his temper down.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You went to meet with a guy who sent you letters you didn’t answer, tracked you to a hotel, left notes under your door…” He trailed off, grimacing. “Holy fuck, you’re alive by a miracle.”

“Well… now that you put it like that,” she said, trying and failing to smile. Her voice cracked. “I—I just wanted to talk to someone. Like a friend. I didn’t know him like that.”

Talk to him… like a friend? Is she stupid? He was completely lost in her train of thought—because he couldn’t recall a single lifetime, or universe, where you could go talk to your ex-fiancé as a friend.

“Didn’t you spend the whole previous day at your friend’s house? Didn’t that help?”

But the moment the word friends left his mouth, she broke eye contact. Her face twisted in pain, sharp and unfiltered. Like he’d just stepped on something raw. As he tried to piece together the last few days, Levi realized he was unraveling a pattern of missing information.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

‘Oh no. We are not doing that.’

He put both hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently backwards until she almost fell onto a loose log. The Scouts had sat there earlier that day. The bonfire was out, the pot left to dry with the serving spoon still in it—cleaned after they’d eaten the stew. Legs spread, Levi sat down beside her with a demanding presence.

“Why did you lie to me? Why’d you say you were meeting your folks when you weren’t?”

Facing each other, Levi studied her tight-lipped, apologetic expression, searching for something real beneath it. “I’m not throwing some shitty punishment at you or anything. I just want to know why you looked me in the eye and lied.”

She hesitated—doubt in her eyes, but no real reason to keep it in anymore, except maybe fear of what might come next. “I thought… if I told you my parents weren’t going, you wouldn’t take me to Mitras.”

“So your parents were never gonna be fucking there?”

She shook her head slowly. Then, as if something clicked, her mind reached for a memory—his words on their first night.

“No…” she murmured, “My family’s at the countryside house. It was too short notice for them to come to the capital.” Her words were sluggish, either from the exhaustion of a recent forced sleep or the weight of everything pressing down on her. “And… my mother’s pregnant.”

Levi frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as the pieces didn’t quite fit. ‘I saw her, what—a month ago? She didn’t even look pregnant.’ Logic kicked in. A woman that far along shouldn’t travel, sure. But something still felt off.

“Ah,” he hummed, a vague noise of forced acknowledgment. “Congrats.” Then, seeing the sadness on her face, he quickly added, “I guess.”

“I need to go back,” she said, fiddling with her fingers in distress, picking at the skin beside her nails. “My mom needs me. She’s having a difficult pregnancy.”

Her voice was steady, but her reasoning made no sense to him.

“And what are you gonna do there?”

“Look after my siblings, of course.”

A hum of mild surprise echoed in his throat. “Ah… You got more than your little sister?”

“We’re seven in total.”

“Seven?!” He reeled back in shock. “Damn. How old is your mother?”

The question confused her. Most of her friends came from big families. “Thirty-nine… almost forty, I think.”

Levi did the math in his head, blinking. “Your mom’s six years older than me and has seven kids?” He looked genuinely thrown, while she just blinked at his reaction, like it wasn’t that strange at all. That only confirmed it. “Holy shit. Your folks really didn’t waste any time, huh?”

That earned a quiet chuckle from her. “The doctor said my mom shouldn’t be having more children… she’s lost too many pregnancies already. Mae was even born premature.” Her voice cracked. “I’m scared she won’t make it…”

Levi softened slightly, trying—awkwardly—to offer comfort. “I’m sure a good doctor’ll find a way to end the pregnancy and make sure your mom pulls through. Don’t worry.”

But the way she looked at him—confused, regretful—made something click.

“‘Cause that’s the smart thing to do,” he added. “Especially when she’s got a bunch of young kids who need her more than a newborn does.”

“My… family believes the more, the merrier,” she whispered. “A child is always a blessing.”

Levi let out a long, heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. The whole situation was simple and infuriating at the same time. “Right. Your dad’s allergic to wrapping it up and doesn’t give a fuck. That’s the real problem.”

Her face turned scarlet. She stammered, “Why would you say it like that? Gosh—” she dropped her voice, “They’re married, after all… it’s normal. Plus, they’re mates. What do you expect them to do?”

“Well, for starters,” Levi said dryly, “I know your family owns two houses. He could spend a week or two a year in the other one and not get her pregnant. Problem solved.”

But even he knew that wasn’t the real issue. That was just surface-level.

“Then again, that’s clearly not a solution for a man who doesn’t give a fuck about his family.”

The blow landed.

“He does care about us,” she insisted, defensive now—though he hadn’t said them, just her father.

“If he cared,” Levi said coldly, “he’d know that his other six brats need their mother a hell of a lot more than he needs to go raw for a week.”

For the first time in her life, someone had said it — had placed the blame on the other party in the relationship.

His words still hurt. Maybe because defending her family’s dynamics had been written into her since childhood, stitched into her with years of quiet teachings and expectations.

But somehow, his bluntness opened a door — just wide enough for her to voice something that had long lived in the back of her mind as nothing more than an intrusive thought.

“To be honest… I don’t think they should be having any more kids either,” she admitted.

The words felt light — like letting go of something she didn’t know she was carrying.

“But it’s done,” she added, quieter now. “And my siblings need me.”

“You know,” Levi said, resting an elbow on one knee, his voice low and rough, “I don’t usually say this to anyone but myself, but… that’s not your responsibility.”

Her head turned, brows creased. “How can you say that? They’re my little brothers and sisters.”

A soft, resigned scoff escaped his nose. Because in her, he saw it — for the first time. That same thing that lived in him. Blind loyalty. Crushing duty. That instinct to carry burdens that were never yours to begin with.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm but not unkind. “You’re their sister. Not their mother.” He leaned forward, gaze steady. “I know it sounds fucking selfish. I’m sure it does. But if you let yourself become a slave to your parents’ bad decisions… then the day your mother dies, you’ll be the next one in line to be your father’s wife 2.0.”

She played with her ring, turning it around her finger without taking it off. It had become a habit since it used to be loose. Now it fit snugly—tightened by Levi’s makeshift fix. Her breathing was soft, quiet, as his words slowly sank in and took root in her mind. It would take a lot of care and time for that seed of self-identity to grow into something real, but it was a start. Like a frozen pond in midwinter—beneath all the thick, harsh layers of ice, there was still life.

She frowned deeply. “You’re right… it’s just—it’d be easier to feel less useless if I could help, at least like that.” But her voice cracked at the edges. Levi’s mind went straight to how he’d told her she needed to start helping around. He was about to tell her it wasn’t that serious—but then, like the final drop that overflows a full glass, she broke.

“I should’ve used my time in the capital—wasted on meeting Die—to go see the doctor my friend told me about.”

“A doctor? You feel bad?” Levi asked quickly, alert. “Oi—oi, what’s the matter?”

He bent down, trying to get a look at her face. She was sobbing again, wet and broken. She shook her head, unable to speak.

“Why would you go see a doctor if you’re not sick?”

“Because I lost my heat,” she whispered, “and maybe I can’t get pregnant… like my mom.”

“What?” he said. “Why are you saying that bullshit? Your friends told you that?”

She nodded slightly. “Well, fuck your friends,” Levi said immediately. “You’re young. You’re stressed. You don’t need a damn doctor.”

But his words barely scratched the surface of the storm inside her. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap.

“It’s just—” she sobbed, “I can’t even do the one thing I’m supposed to do right.”

“Oi—”

“No, but—” her words stumbled over themselves as her breathing quickened again. “It’s the only thing I’m meant to do and I can’t even do it! Why is my body betraying me like this? If I’m not a mother, then what am I supposed to be?!”

Her hands flew up to cover her face as her cries broke open again, muffled by her palms. She curled forward, shoulders trembling.

Levi sat there, speechless. His gut twisted. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m so bad at this.”

But then—he reached a hand to her back, steady, warm. “This is gonna sound cringe as hell,” he muttered, “but... you can be whatever you fucking want, Y/N.”

She flinched slightly, moving away—not to reject his comfort, but as if she didn’t think she deserved it. Like this heartbreak was punishment.

He kept going, even as she turned.

“Listen to me. You’re young. We’ve got plenty of damn time to figure out if your heat comes back, or if you can get knocked up. And if not? We’ll deal with that. And if nothing works? There’s still a whole lot more in life than pushing out kids. A hundred other kids out there who’d be lucky to have someone like you.”

“Don’t act like this isn’t an inconvenience,” she said bitterly. “An alpha with an omega who can’t even go into heat...”

That short-circuited something in him.

“You think I care about that?” he asked sharply. As she wouldn’t look at him, she wouldn’t answer either. He reached out and gripped her face, gently but firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You think I care that you lost a heat?” he repeated. Their faces were inches apart. The raw pain in hers answered for her.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N. I haven’t even thought about that.” His voice was low and rough. “I don’t give a shit. I care that you’re a crying mess because of some bitch you call a friend.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “Do I look like someone who goes around saying shit to make people feel better?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“C’mon, Y/N. Half the time I can’t even say the shit I should say. You think I suddenly got the social skills to lie?”

Between sniffles, she laughed.

Their eyes met. Her cheeks flushed—whether from crying or their closeness, neither could say.

“Don’t you think this all would’ve been easier if I’d had my heat in spring?” she asked, teasing softly now.

“No,” he said immediately. “Have you seen how damn controlling I am? The country’s a mess, and the thought of leaving you behind, knocked up with my kid, while I ride off to the end of the shitty world—” he quoted her, “—is already making me want to rip my hair out.”

She laughed again, and wiped at her face.

“I’m sorry about all this.”

“I’m sorry I wasted money on a cart for you to visit those bitches,” he said dryly. “Next time, spit in their faces.”

“Levi!” she scolded, laughing through the last of her tears.

After a rare moment of closeness, they both leaned forward, gently bumping their foreheads together in silent support. Her breathing was still uneven, but it was calming, slowly syncing with his. Breathing the same air, their scents mingled. His hand, still cupping her cheek, moved to stroke her face gently. He still couldn’t find the right words. But this was something.

They sat there a little longer.

Eventually, she leaned her head against his shoulder. Her fingers played with her ring again, but this time, there was peace in it.

The gold thread shimmered softly in the first light of dawn.

“I should’ve taken the ring to get resized when we were in Mitras,” Levi muttered, annoyed at himself for missing the chance.

But she just smiled, more tenderly this time. “It’s alright. I like it like this.”

Levi frowned, unsure if she really meant it.She held her hand up and spread her fingers, admiring it.

“They say rings match the marriage. That’s why people want the biggest, the fanciest. But I think ours matches us pretty well.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds as Levi squinted at her, trying to process the statement.

“Shitty?” he offered.

She laughed brightly.“No, you idiot,” she grinned. “It’s not meant to fit. But we try to make it work. And that’s more than a lot of people can say about their arrangements.”

He hummed softly, nodding. “Yeah… that sounds way more poetic.”

—

From a safe distance, just beyond the tree line, the remnants of Levi’s squad were half-huddled, half-loitering, trying to stay out of sight.

Or at least, most of them were trying.

Sasha groaned, arms crossed over her stomach. “Can I go have breakfast already? I’m literally dying.”

Behind the cover of a tall tree, Hange peeked around the bark like a spy in a bad disguise. “Give them some time,” they whispered, voice full of mischievous reverence.

Armin yawned as they were supposed to start their duties and squinted toward the couple at the camp’s edge. “Weren’t they, like, screaming at each other last night?” He tilted his head. “And now they’re cuddling? That kind of emotional whiplash causes unpredictable attachment models in kids. Has anyone considered that? I could develop toxic anxious attachment,”

“Dude,” Connie muttered, elbowing him, “don’t blame your anxiety on them. You already had that before the marital drama.”

The group snickered.

As the omega and alpha pair sat quietly under the early morning sky — heads bowed together, peaceful — as they waited for them to be over so they could carry on with their duties.

“So… how’d they make up?” Jean asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hange turned around from peeking, smirking as they casually raised both hands—left hand forming a ring with their thumb and index finger, while the right index and middle fingers thrust through the circle.

A chorus of gasps followed.

“No way,” Sasha whispered, nearly choking on nothing.

Mikasa frowned, blinking slowly. “But… we don’t have a bed here.”

“As if a bed’s ever stopped anyone, sweetie,” Hange said, not even glancing back.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Armin muttered, mostly to himself.

That made Hange turn fully around, eyes glinting behind their glasses. “Look at that,” they said with a satisfied sigh. “Levi was right. The shy ones are the worst.”

They smirked. “And why, dear Armin, were you listening in the first place? Hm? You little voyeur.”

Armin froze, color rushing to his ears. “Wait—what?! No, I— That’s not what I—! I was trying to sleep!”

“What’s a voyeur?” Sasha asked, squinting curiously.

“Eh…” Hange shrugged. “A type of bread.”

Author’s Note 💔: Hey friends 💌 I’m not gonna lie, writing this chapter was bittersweet because… Tumblr nuked my blog. Five whole years of headcanons, over 200 posts, and I was this close to hitting 10k followers. And yeah, I’ve never been one to obsess over numbers—some fics did well, some didn’t—but what I truly treasured was the community we built together 🥺💕 I’ve gotten the sweetest asks over the years. One person told me they used to read my fics while pregnant and now they read them to their kid. Like, hello?? That kind of thing stays with you forever. Losing all of that without warning? It broke me. And apparently, I’m not alone—Reddit is full of people saying their years-old accounts were randomly deleted too. Support won’t answer, and (get this) I even got banned from the support page for just asking why my blog got taken down 🙃 But despite everything, I’m still here. People always asked me, “Will you keep writing after the manga ends? After the anime ends?” And my answer has always been: “I’ll keep doing this as long as it’s fun for me.” And guess what? It’s still fun. So here’s a 15k word chapter because apparently I cannot shut up 📝💀 If you’re looking for me, I’ve made a new (very improvised) tumblr: lucysarah1875 And I also have a lil discord server in case you want to hang out/chat/cry about Levi with me 😭 Just shoot me a message at lucysarahc on Discord and I’ll send you a fresh invite link since they expire faster than Tumblr’s mercy. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love, comments, and support you’ve given me. It means more than I can ever express T-T Okay okay, enough rambling. Enjoy the chapter 💕 — Lucy <3

Tag list! (Please, if you got this notification. I'll be using this blog until further notice): @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr

[sunflower1experiment]

Chapter 7...?

Prev

Tw// Blood, imagery of gore, neck fracturing, death.

Do you, even remember what happened?

What did you see

You pulled the lever, yes that is correct.

You had the evidence... No that is incorrect.

You had the evidence, and gave it to another but carried some of it just in case, Correct.

They shot Harley, creating a reaction of you running to his aid to cater to him, but then you were taken away. Leading to the ruin of this plan but not the backup plan, so where and what does this mean to you? Did the plan work, it obviously did yes?

If that were the case to begin with: Why did he find you bleeding? Not just that but your body was mangled to the point of needing dire medical attention or a mercy kill.

Next was the hour of joy, you started running through the building, warning everyone to evacuate, Rich was the first to notice your panic and starts to question your erratic behavior. All you could do was breath anxiously while tears start to flood your eyes for the final time. Then you both flinch when ushering screams fill the ears of everyone in the room, you then move past him upstairs.

"Hurry up!" You order the others; it felt so futile by the end of your outburst of determination to protect your fellow workers, was it even worth it?

Were the toys safe? They are safe, Correct, and incorrect..

They will suffer the consequences of eating human flesh, while your creation suffers the injuries of Prototype for protecting the "heretics", thus.... mistaking you as an enemy.

Weeks ago

Wandering down the hallways of no man's land, carrying your notes for the mapping of this prison. This was the plan you had written down for yourself, for the children and toys.

Gather food

Check the secret exit that Harley showed you years ago

Make sure Doey and the children are mentally prepared for the process.

Get it ready to leak the evidence.

Keep Poppy away from Prototype.

Go see Harley one more time....

The first few words are crossed out, you love that man, truly but you couldn't see him again. Not now, "Not yet.."

Had you paid attention you would have felt the presence of another, maybe even register the smell of flowers that lured you further towards the lab. Upon realizing the mistake and scent your mind immediately panics, was it really down here!? With a turn you gasp as robotic hands begin strangling you, your mind panicking and trying to create an image of the figure before you.

It suddenly drops your body; you gasp then try to rise up until its clawed hands jerk upward, pulling you as well, your panicked gasps and grottily cries would be in vain. The uncomfortable feeling, the sounds of a loud snap fill the room. Then it drops you when it realizes the error of its actions. Because it felt fear, from your blood...?

You gurgle pathetically, trying to speak while it begins to try and fix whatever it could, but it only made everything worse. Your screams and cries caused it to panic, it could hear you but couldn't recognize the being who had created it. Suddenly a bright idea came to mind, what if...

In the midst of all that pain, you hadn't realized Harley had found your body, his weak cries and apologies mixed with blaming your naivety made your vision blur. Your hand weakly moves, to cup his TV head before he gently presses it against your cheek. In this twisted comfort, you felt that maybe somewhere in that cold heart of his, Harley may have loved you in some twisted way.

It returns the night of your last breaths, carefully catering your remains, like Harley's procedure...

Next was your skin, it was human flesh, not perfect, not beautiful, it reeks, doesn't smell like flowers...so it grabs whatever seams, cloth, flower petals even and stitches this new body together.

All for your sake, it owes you that much for creating and dying in its hands.

It was no longer it.

No, it was merely functioning from your blood and using the memories of the cells that you gave it, this strange phenomenon of science created a thrill within Harley as he watches this masterpiece recreate you. Just like what he did with the children, Prototype shouldn't see this. Otherwise, he would hurt you too, so he watches in awe as this robotic being practically performs his own work, using a Poppy flower and catering your organs.

When it comes to, it sat up and stared at the mirror.

Despite everything...

It was you...it was still you...

Doey moves closer, Poppy does the same. Everything was quiet, the medic was the first to move over, carefully removing the cloth until the figure gasps awake. Doey shields the toys while they let out little screams in panic, but it only got more strange..

The figure had...food?

It slowly rises up, a bit wobbly before the cloak fell off, revealing a doll like figure, LED eyes and...two sets of hands. Uncomfortably, Poppy speaks with a shake in her voice. "U-Um, who are you? If you...don't leave we'll...We'll have to kill you." She didn't know what the hell to say, she was just a kid! The figure merely walks forward, revealing the same-colored orbs, you had...

"Hello, Poppy..." You say with a calm smile, with a quick blink your attitude changes as you cheerfully wave. "Hi Doey!"

"Mz!?" What happened to you!? They get ready to run to you, but you shush them gently and motion for them to move back. Too much loud noise outside of the base would attract enemies, luckily you weren't followed by anyone, but you won't take any chances.

As you place the food down, and walk along the floor of safe haven, you were met with Doey's happy nuzzles. "You're alright!? Poppy said you were a goner! I sorta, believed it."

"I did too, but..." You look at your fingers, "My...creation saved me? It made a fatal mistake but recognized me because of the blood cells I implemented within its code." Doey hums, now noticing the huge difference from months ago, so much happened over the passing months and weeks, it was hard to believe the hour of joy was practically so long ago. "How long was I, gone from here?"

"About, four weeks, and....two days, it was honestly not so bad since we had food that lasts for a long time. Even water, how did you do it?"

Doey asks, once more laying on your lap tiredly, Dogday soon moves over and enjoys your warmth too. "I... I guess, my creation did this. It probably found a way out, during my sleep my memories were contorted. Harley saved me but my creation, must've suffered some damages while protecting the toys and the innocent workers. Floral...that was its name, yes. I....that was what I wanted to name my child."

He looks at you while Dogday leans in, nuzzling your hand sadly. "I'm sorry Mz..."

You hug him close rubbing his soft ears while Doey hugs your body close, the two were the most responsive when it came to affection. Same with Kissy, she was patient with it but always very affectionate nonetheless, when things slowly calmed down you began working on the food. "Does Floral have any...cooking parts?"

You pause at the Bobby's question, "Like a pan?"

"Yea, most robots have switchy thingies." Switchy, things? You truly were stunned by such questions that you nearly forgot that Floral could actively hear this, it was searching for whatever Bobby met and your LEDs made an 'X' symbol. "Nope, sorry sweetie. but I can make fruit...bowls?"

"Okayyy." She hugs your leg, more of the critters start scampering over. A catnap holding your foot then Bubba was laying in your lap. "The critters missed you a lot."

Hoppy chuckles, "I know Dogday did, he was so worried about ya."

"Hoppy that is rich coming from you, both you and Kickin were practically waiting impatiently for Mz. Don't get me started on Bubba." The mentioned elephant gave everyone a side glance, "And what of it? The food Mz makes is way better than Doey's cooking."

Doey makes a dramatic gasp, then he holds his chest. "How dare you, I'll have you know I learned from the best chef ever. Poppy." Poppy had to hide her giggles while Kissy shook her head at their silly teasing. You couldn't help but chuckle at them for finally acting like kids for once.

In the midst of the lighthearted banter, you genuinely felt saddened by the fact that you had these kids worried. You are the only adult after all, Poppy was the second eldest with Doey right behind her. So, you needed to enact this plan soon, otherwise you'll be stuck here until everyone starves or dies.

"I have to go back up." They stop and stare at you with scared eyes, "Not today but someday, you all need to be catered to and trained for up and out there, these upcoming days will be brutal now that Prototype knows of my escape. But he is simply not after me, he's after Poppy..."

Poppy flinches when you stop talking, it can't be right. Why her of all the toys? She didn't realize how bad things were since the hour of joy, she only knew of it somewhat but, she didn't know what it meant or how far he'd go. You had told everyone about your knowledge which was why you both collaborated with Ollie.

But you didn't know about Ollie, and even if you did know, you probably would have trusted him back then, but now. She isn't sure, what she fails to understand is that if you had heard his voice before. This whole situation up to now would have changed, maybe it's a good thing, or a bad thing. Who knows.

While placing the fruit bowls down you feel Doey laying in your arms again, "Alright Doey, why are you so affectionate?" He merely shrugs and comfortably hugs you. "You're the only gentle voice that didn't lie. Thank you, Thank you....I'm happy you're here..."

You pause, hugging the doughman close, it wasn't just him talking...you could feel Jack and Matthew, but those last words were definitely from Kevin. He was a very sweet boy, just always rugged and playful, always in need of something to do. "Me too kiddos, me too."

The hours pass by, and the smaller toys were asleep. Careful to cover them and make sure everything was calm; Floral starts to emit a calming pheromone that made the air cool, the safe haven felt, nice. You had to sit beside the door while Boogie bot went to bed, your eyes look at your pair of hands. "......Why?"

'Because you didn't want to die...'

"No, why did you do that?"

'......You told me to..'

"No I didn't, I never gave the order."

'Yes, you did, we are connected by blood. I may have not recognized you, but your blood cells told me to, you were so rooted in self-loathing you hadn't realized how deep it was. I could feel every cell, pumping with anxiety! Rage, Love, Hatred, when you...when I...I could feel the fear, for once I was scared. It didn't affect me before because all I felt was defeat in my circuits that danced with your blood.'

You lean back on the door, some oil mascara dripping from your face as you sigh weakly, 'I only did what I had to do...'

"No, thank you...this was the wake up call I needed. I hate how it had to come to this; we may not understand the pain of these children. But we have to do everything we can to help them and make sure they escape...even, even if I have to lose my humanity."

Floral remains silent after that; you hug your knees close then smile lightly as a sweet doughy hand holds yours. With a gentle squeeze you sit there, rubbing Doey's hand slowly with your thumb.

These children, they're your children...

And you'll do everything and anything to protect them

[highprettybabyy]

Seeing Red

Part 6 - Please Don't Die

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: they go house hunting and things go sideways.

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: a bit more angst because why not

word count: 2.8k

Part 5

—//—

The street was quieter than expected.

That was your first clue something might be off. No dragging footsteps. No guttural moans carried by the wind. Just the low rustle of breeze through trees and the faint creak of an old street sign swaying lazily above the cracked pavement.

You and Jenna slowed your bikes at the edge of the block, shoes hitting asphalt almost in sync. She scanned the rooftops while you pulled the crumpled flyer from your jacket pocket and looked up at the actual house - or what was left of it.

“This the one?” Jenna asked, coming up beside you.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, holding out the page for her to see. “It’s a match.”

Or, it had been.

The front porch had collapsed inward, boards snapped like ribs. One of the support beams was cracked in half, crushed beneath the weight of a massive tree that had fallen straight through the second floor. Glass crunched underfoot as you moved closer, boots skimming along the edge of a splintered welcome mat now buried beneath debris.

You gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Jenna frowned. “Looks like a hurricane came through here.”

She crouched near the foundation, lifting a cracked plank with her knife and peering into the ruined understructure. “This place is a coffin waiting to happen.”

You exhaled slowly. “Was really hoping this one would hold up.”

“Me too.” Her voice was neutral, but you caught the flicker of disappointment behind it. She’d been hopeful too - just quieter about it.

Still, neither of you wasted time mourning it. You were already moving - circling the house, checking sightlines, exits, rooftops, scanning for movement. It felt easy. Natural. Like you’d always done this together.

You split off briefly to check the detached garage. Jenna scouted the overgrown backyard, her boots making almost no sound in the grass. She moved with purpose - sharp eyes, quiet hands. You heard the soft click of her rifle safety disengaging for half a second, then a whisper of breath as she flicked it back on.

“No good,” you said when you met back at the front. “Too many structural weak points.”

She nodded. “And there’s a crawlspace behind the fence. Not safe.”

You both paused for a beat, standing there in the soft hum of the late morning, the wind tugging lightly at your clothes.

Then Jenna reached for the flyer in your hand.

“Cons: compromised roof, unstable foundation, one tree through the guest bedroom.” She flipped the flyer over and scribbled it down with a stub of pencil.

You snorted. “Pros?”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Nice hydrangeas out front.”

You chuckled, then nudged her shoulder. “On to the next?”

She tucked the flyer away. “Lead the way.”

-

The next house was three blocks down - a squat, single-storey thing with boarded windows and a cracked chimney. You climbed the fence while Jenna boosted herself up with the help of a low brick wall. The gate squeaked but didn’t break.

Inside, it smelled like damp wood and dust.

You moved through it fast - room by room, tight corners, open hallways - Jenna taking point while you swept behind. Neither of you had to speak. You knew the routine. Doors first, then windows. Look for water lines, cracks in the walls, attic space, floor rot, cellar access. Rinse and repeat.

“This one’s clear,” she said eventually, voice low.

“Not bad,” you replied, glancing up at a patch of black mould blooming across the kitchen ceiling. “Still smells like a swamp threw up in here.”

Jenna looked at you, nose wrinkled. “It’s the carpet.”

You kicked it gently with your boot. “What’s left of it.”

She cracked a grin. “We’ll put it down as a maybe.”

You ended up checking four more houses that afternoon.

Some were too cramped. Some had broken locks. One had a basement you both noped out of the second you heard that echo - not quite a growl, not quite a moan, but close enough.

You stopped writing cons by the third one. Started using symbols instead. “ 🐳 = flooded.” “⚠ = damaged.” “ 😵 = smells like death.”

Jenna drew that one.

By the fifth house, you weren’t even trying to be quiet anymore. Not unless you had to. It was strange - moving through the ruins of civilisation with someone again. Someone who didn’t need everything explained. Someone who moved with you.

You climbed through a broken front window while Jenna secured the back door. By the time she reappeared in the living room, you were kneeling over a gutted fireplace, scanning for loose wiring.

She leaned in the doorway and crossed her arms. “You always take the electrical stuff so seriously?”

You looked up at her. “I’m not giving up my coffee machine when we find a house.”

Jenna smirked. “Apocalypse priorities.”

“Say that again when I brew you a cup.”

She held your gaze a little longer than necessary - not teasing now, just curious. You caught her eyes flick to your mouth, then back up. A breath passed between you. Quiet. Steady.

You stood and dusted off your hands. “Not it,” you said, nodding toward the sagging roof.

“Definitely not it,” she agreed.

Back on the bikes, the air cooled slightly as clouds drifted across the sun. The wind picked up. You adjusted your pack, feeling the familiar weight against your spine, and glanced sideways.

“So,” you started. “What do you think? How long do these things last?”

Jenna turned toward you, a brow raised. “Zombies?”

You nodded. “Assuming no head trauma. How long before they just… fall apart?”

She thought for a moment. “Six months. Tops. The fresh ones are strong, but that’s adrenaline. After that, muscle decay’s going to hit hard. No food. No oxygen. No brain.”

You hummed. “I say three.”

“Three?” She scoffed. “You’re optimistic.”

“They’re already rotting. The moment they turn. It’s just delayed. Something in the virus slows it down.”

“And when’s the last time you saw one that far along?”

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “We haven’t. Yet.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes playfully. “You think you’re gonna win a Nobel for zombie decomposition theory?”

You grinned. “I’m just saying - if we make it to Christmas, they won’t.”

She chuckled. “Bold of you to assume we’ll be around to find out.”

You paused, looked at her sideways. “Well, I plan to be.”

That quiet settled again.

Not heavy this time. Just full.

And when she smiled at you, soft and crooked, you smiled back.

Together, you turned down the next street.

-

The sun had started to sink behind the rooftops, spilling honey-gold light across the street as you pedalled slowly ahead. The silence was changing - less of a threat, more of a hush. A settling.

Jenna pulled up beside you at the end of the cul-de-sac, scanning the last house on the map. She didn’t even get off her bike.

You did.

You stood beside the rusted gate, hands braced on the handlebars, squinting at the peeling paint and crooked shutters. “Well?”

Jenna didn’t respond right away. She was still looking around, but you could tell by her posture - half-tired, half-bored - that this one was another no.

You sighed. “Alright. No more for today.”

She gave a little nod, but said nothing.

You paused. Watched the way her jaw shifted. She was trying not to show it, but the exhaustion was there - in the tightness around her eyes, the slump in her shoulders. She hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of dried fruit since midday. And neither of you had slept properly in days.

You cleared your throat and adjusted the strap on your shoulder.

“My place isn’t far,” you said casually. “We could crash there tonight.”

Jenna turned her head toward you.

You shrugged. “It’s secure. Reinforced. Two-storey. I’ve got rainwater collectors and a half-decent mattress.”

She hesitated, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” You raised a brow. “You gonna sleep in a tree again?”

She shot you a look - but it was mostly smirk.

Then you tilted your head. “I’ll cook.”

That made her blink.

“I’ve got canned potatoes. Lentils. Spices. Some ham. I can do a warm meal. Might even toast the bread if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have heat?”

You tapped your temple. “Solar panel battery backups. And I rationed my last camp stove cartridge for emergencies.”

Jenna folded her arms. “And this qualifies as an emergency?”

You grinned. “You look like someone who hasn’t eaten a hot meal since the world fell apart.”

She didn’t deny it.

You leaned closer, voice dipping just a little. “Come on. Warm food. No tree roots stabbing you in the back. Real pillows. I’ll even let you have the couch.”

She stared at you a moment longer. Then: “I’m not cleaning up after.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Another beat.

Then Jenna swung her leg back over the bike and adjusted her gloves. “Alright.”

You laughed, pedalling ahead. “Try not to starve on the way.”

-

You were less than five minutes from home when it happened.

The neighbourhood was familiar - rows of overgrown lawns, shattered windows, the wind knocking an old windchime somewhere out of sight. You were already starting to relax. The streetlights were crooked, long dead, but the amber glow of the setting sun was enough to guide you. You could almost smell the spices you’d stashed in your pantry. You were already thinking about the lentils. The warm meal you’d promised her.

You were thinking about the smile she’d given you, rare and quiet, like she didn’t know she’d done it.

And then you heard it.

A shuffle. A grunt.

Too close.

Too fast.

You didn’t have time to shout.

It was on you before you could even draw your machete - tall, still heavy with muscle, a face not yet rotted, jaw twitching with feral hunger. One of the fast ones. One of the fresh ones. It lunged with no hesitation.

The impact sent you crashing backwards, your bike clattering against the pavement. Pain shot through your leg - something tore, something snapped - and then the edge of the curb slammed into your back, knocking the breath clean out of your chest.

“Y/N!”

You heard her shout before you could even register where she was. Your vision blurred as the weight pressed down on your abdomen, hot breath on your throat, teeth snapping inches from your face.

You screamed.

Your hand found your blade.

Instinct took over.

You shoved upward with all the strength left in your arms, the machete piercing through the side of its neck - not clean, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send it reeling.

Then Jenna was there. She moved like a strike of lightning - her rifle swinging down too close to your ear, the butt slamming into the zombie’s skull with a sickening crack. You heard the sound of bone giving way. The creature dropped, twitching once before going still.

Everything was silent again.

Except for your breathing - ragged. Sharp. Wet.

And the pain.

Oh God, the pain.

You curled sideways, arms wrapping tight around your midsection, but the burning in your abdomen was already spreading. You touched your side, and your hand came away soaked.

Jenna dropped beside you in an instant. “Shit. Shit- Y/N- where are you hurt? Where-”

“I don’t-” you panted. “Leg… side- fuck-”

“Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. Just-just breathe, alright?”

You were already trying not to pass out. The world kept tilting. Black dots danced at the edges of your eyes.

Jenna pressed a cloth - something, her sleeve maybe - to your stomach. “Stay with me. Where’s your place?”

You blinked, blinking hard, trying to focus on her voice. “Two streets down. White siding. Solar panels.”

She looked up. Calculating.

“I can get us there,” she muttered. “But you have to stay awake, alright?”

You groaned. “No promises.”

She ignored that. Her hands were already under your shoulders.

The pain was indescribable when she moved you. Your leg throbbed, your vision went white, and you screamed - not just noise, but a sound torn out of you like it didn’t belong to anything human. Jenna flinched but didn’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering. “I’m sorry. Just hold on. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t walk, not properly, but you gave her directions between choked breaths.

“Left… behind the blue car…”

“Yeah, I see it. We’re close. You’re doing so good, Y/N. Just a little more.”

Every step was a fight not to black out. You kept blinking, forcing your mouth to stay open, kept talking just to make noise. Your ears rang. Your ankle felt like fire. You were fairly certain you’d torn something deeper than you wanted to admit.

Jenna kicked the door open when you finally reached your house.

You didn’t even register the stairs.

You didn’t remember the couch.

You remembered Jenna’s boots slamming against the tile.

The sound of your own breathing - gasping, hitched, like your lungs couldn’t decide what they wanted.

Then there was fabric. The scratch of the blanket. The cold against your back. You were lying down. Your eyes fluttered open for a second, catching the ceiling above you - cracked paint, water stain, familiar. Home.

“Stay with me,” Jenna was saying. Over and over. Her voice was everywhere. Beside your head. Near your stomach. Somewhere by your hands.

You tried to speak. Only managed a whimper.

She was kneeling next to the couch now, her backpack already tossed aside. “Where’s the kit? Y/N, talk to me- where is it?”

“Pantry,” you rasped. “Bottom shelf. Behind… the rice.”

She was up before you finished the sentence, vanishing into the back of the house with heavy, frantic footsteps. You blinked slowly, the world pulling in and out like a tide. Your fingers curled weakly against the couch cushion. It felt like something was leaking from you - not just blood, but strength. Time. Whatever thread you were holding onto was fraying fast.

Jenna returned in less than a minute, the kit slamming onto the glass coffee table hard enough to rattle it. She pulled it open with trembling hands, her gloves discarded, hair sticking to her face.

“I need to see it,” she muttered. “I need to see.”

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t have the energy.

She peeled up your shirt. Her breath caught.

“Oh my God.”

It was bad. You’d seen enough injuries in the last two months to know. The wound across your abdomen wasn’t just deep - it was jagged. Torn. The blood had already soaked through half your shirt, down the side of your hip.

Jenna’s hands hovered over it, then shook once before she snapped on latex gloves from the kit.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. We’re fine. You’re fine.”

You weren’t. And she knew it. But you let her say it anyway.

She cleaned the area - iodine, gauze, more gauze, more blood.

Then she picked up the needle.

You flinched.

“Y/N.” Her voice cracked. “I need to stitch this.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

You blinked, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s okay.”

She knelt beside you, knees pressing into the floor, hand on your waist.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Then the needle sank in.

You screamed.

It ripped out of you like fire - a sound so loud, so sharp, it made Jenna jerk back, her whole body tense.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- please just- don’t move-”

You couldn’t help it. Your body twitched, convulsed slightly as your hand slammed against the back of the couch, trying to brace against the pain.

She was crying now. You could hear it in her voice, even if you couldn’t see her face.

“I can’t numb it- there’s nothing to numb it, Y/N, I’m sorry- I need you to stay still-”

You whimpered, your whole body shaking. “I c-can’t- Jen- please-”

“I know, I know-” She bit down on her own sob. “But I have to-”

She pushed the needle in again.

You cried out, louder this time, a strangled sound that felt like it broke you in half.

Her voice cracked. “Please just pass out. Please, Y/N. Just-just go under, I’ll handle the rest- just let go-”

“I’m trying-” you gasped, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I can’t do this if you keep-” Her voice failed. “You’re going to tear more- God, please. I've got you, I got you, please- Y/N-”

The next stitch went in.

And something snapped - not inside your body, but in your mind.

The pain blurred. The light dimmed.

Everything tipped sideways.

You stopped fighting it.

The last thing you heard was Jenna’s broken sob as she gripped your hand tightly in one of hers, the other still working.

“Please don’t die,” she whispered.

And then-

Nothing.

--//--

Part 7

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 10/?)

Any action can be justified, as long as the right words surround it. And, for your luck — or ruin — Silco was a master at turning manipulation into art.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,9K

Warnings: use of drugs as medicine (shimmer), description of injuries, suspicious medical operations, Singed is the warning itself, character near-death, threats, threats with weapons, explicit references to scientific experiments without consent, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 9

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The laboratory door was shoved open with such force that it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the cramped space and plunging everyone into silence. Silco entered, carrying the limp body in his arms, his muscles rigid, his eyes alight with restrained fury. Behind him, Sevika, always steady, now visibly shaken—a rare occurrence that Silco chose to ignore. He couldn't afford to consider the weakness of others when he himself was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse.

The metallic smell of blood and the dampness of rain still clung to his skin, a shadow of what he had just witnessed. The warehouse, that grotesque scene of carnage, remained vivid in his mind—a blur of bodies strewn about, blood-soaked chains, and her—his girl—standing at the center of it all, a living specter of death. He didn't know if the blood dripping from his arms was hers or that of her enemies. In that moment, it didn't matter.

He crossed the lab in firm, almost aggressive strides and placed the body on the metal table. The sound of the soft impact made his jaw clench; she looked so fragile lying there, in stark contrast to the devastating force he had witnessed minutes earlier. He brushed the damp hair away from her face, his fingers trying to remain steady but trembling ever so slightly.

He had considered every possibility when he enlisted Singed, more specifically his skills, for a potential operation before the night's invasion. If she were injured, immediate intervention would be crucial. He knew his own hands, steady enough to suture a superficial wound or apply a tourniquet, were not equipped for more complex procedures. Singed, on the other hand, had neither moral nor physical limitations preventing him from doing what was necessary.

And that was precisely what Silco needed now.

Sevika began strapping her arms and legs to the table, following instructions Silco had given before they even arrived, to prevent her from moving during the procedure should she regain consciousness. Still, seeing her restrained, vulnerable, made something churn in his stomach—something he ignored with practiced ease.

Silco stepped back, watching as Singed inspected the injuries. The doctor was meticulous, his deft fingers peeling back torn fabric to expose the wounded shoulder. The blood still flowed, though less now, congealing into dark patches that Silco had to look away from momentarily to rein in his rising anger.

"The shoulder wound is deep but not fatal." Singed began, his voice controlled and almost indifferent. His eyes moved over the rest of her body, examining the cuts and bruises. "The bruising is of no concern. The nasal bleeding suggests severe exhaustion. But..."

Singed's rare furrowed brow immediately caught Silco's attention. He stepped closer again, leaning over the doctor, his gaze burning with an implicit threat.

"But what?" Silco demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

"There's something unusual here." Singed said, pointing to her hands, still bearing the marks of the chains' grip. "The adrenaline levels are far beyond normal, even for a combat situation. This isn't just physical exhaustion. She's pushed past the natural limits of the human body. Forced the muscles, the organs... even the heart. Anyone else would have been dead hours ago."

"But she isn't." Silco interrupted, his voice cutting. His eyes gleamed with determination, and there was something else — something deeper, more dangerous. "She will not die."

Singed lifted his gaze to Silco, his eyebrows knit in what seemed to be a mix of irritation and fascination. "It's impressive, to be sure. However, if you want her to stay alive, certain... methods may be required."

"Do whatever is necessary." His voice was low and grave, laden with an authority that brooked no argument. He turned to Singed, who approached with his characteristic inhuman calm. "Everything. No restrictions."

Singed cast a brief, analytical glance at Silco, as if evaluating the intensity of that command. "I believe I can stabilize her quickly." he replied, his tone almost casual. He began preparing his instruments, pulling a metal table stocked with medical devices. Before doing anything further, however, he held up a syringe containing a greenish liquid, a sedative, and handed it to Sevika, though his eyes remained fixed on Silco.

"But it will be... grotesque." Singed said, with the cutting precision that defined him. "And considering your... close relationship with her, you might not handle it well."

Silco's teeth clenched tightly. The insinuation was obvious, and Singed seemed to take a certain amusement in testing his limits. But this was not the time for confrontations. The anger simmered beneath his skin, as always, but he controlled it, only because he had to. That didn't stop him from issuing a threat.

"Choose your words more carefully, doctor."

Sevika, always the voice of reason, stepped forward. "The longer you waste time here, Silco, the faster she dies." The syringe was still in her hand, and the weight of logic in her words was enough to make him stop.

Silco cast one last lethal glare at Singed before turning abruptly, grabbing and dragging a chair closer to the table. He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face, as if holding his fury in check through sheer force of will. His eyes, however, never left her body. Sevika, meanwhile, positioned herself behind him, keeping a silent vigil over Silco as Singed began to remove the bullet from her shoulder.

Silco remained still, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. He wouldn't look away, no matter what came next.

Somehow, this was all he could do for her now: be there. And in the grim silence of the laboratory, he made a silent promise. If she survived, those responsible for this would pay with interest. And if she didn't survive... well, the promise would still be fulfilled. In blood.

The sound of the small projectile hitting the metal tray was like a hammer striking Silco's already frayed nerves. He watched impassively, though the slight tremor in his leg betrayed the mounting tension in his body. Every meticulous movement of Singed was a test of his patience; every second seemed to drag on. The needle pierced her flesh with almost inhuman precision as the scientist stitched the wound. Each pull of the thread made her skin twitch, and Silco felt as though it were his own shoulder being sewn back together.

When Singed reached for the next syringe, Silco already knew what was coming.

The purple gleam of Shimmer in the cold laboratory light was unmistakable. Silco felt his muscles tense even further. He knew exactly what would come next—he had witnessed it countless times before, and he himself knew all too well what it felt like, even if only briefly. The agonized screams, the contorted flesh, the muscles locked in unbearable strain.

He saw the needle pierce her vein. The purple liquid slid in, merging with her blood, vanishing from sight. Silco gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable. He knew what was about to happen. The scream. The desperate gasping. The body writhing, struggling against the unstoppable.

But none of that happened.

The room remained silent, so heavy that even the sounds of Zaun in the early hours of the morning seemed distant, muffled. Silco leaned forward, his brow furrowed. He watched her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall erratically, to show any sign of reaction. But she remained still, like a statue carved from marble. Silco caught a glance at Singed, a rare expression of confusion crossing the scientist's face. This wasn't what was expected.

When the man leaned down to check her pulse, time seemed to slow. It was a simple gesture, something that should have been over in seconds. But Singed lingered too long, his fingers pressing against her neck as his face remained impassive, his gaze lost in some distant point.

"Speak, Singed!"

When Singed finally did speak, Silco wished he had stayed silent.

"No pulse."

For a moment, Silco remained frozen, his eyes fixed on her face. There was something terribly wrong about seeing her like this, so still, like a broken doll. Her breathing, something he'd always thought constant and immutable, was now gone. And with it, it felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away.

He stood up without thinking, the chair behind him toppling over with a dull thud. His hands found the metallic edge of the stretcher, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Silco leaned over her body, searching for any sign of life, any movement, but all he found was cruel inertia.

But soon the shock was swallowed by a wave of fury. The rage surged like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming every rational thought. He lifted his gaze to Singed, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity, like embers fed by pure hatred. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew it wasn't the scientist's fault. He knew Singed had done everything in his power. But in that moment, logic didn't matter. He needed a target, something to unleash the anger that threatened to devour him.

Moving quickly, Silco advanced. His hand was already outstretched, ready to grab Singed by the collar and drag him to the ground, but he froze mid-motion.

Something stopped him.

A firm pressure around his neck.

Her hand.

That same hand which, just seconds earlier, should have been limp and lifeless, now gripped him with superhuman strength. He felt her fingers tighten further, nearly crushing his windpipe. The straps that had once bound her to the gurney were now shredded, hanging like torn pieces of cloth. Her arm trembled slightly, as though acting purely on instinct, but the power emanating from that grip was brutal.

The world around him seemed to shrink, becoming an indistinct blur of shadows and cold lights. The crushing pressure around his throat was all Silco could register. Every breath was a losing battle, each attempt to draw air another step closer to despair. He had felt this before. The grip of fingers around his neck, cruel and unyielding, awakened memories he'd rather leave buried.

Vander.

For a brief moment, he wasn't in the stifling, tension-laden laboratory. He was back at the river, cold water lapping at his face as calloused, determined hands tried to wrest his life from him. Silco felt the same desperation, the same primal panic that had taught him a bitter lesson: survival required more than strength—it demanded conviction.

But this wasn't Vander.

Her eyes, once so alive, now glowed with a cold, empty white, as though some strange force had torn her soul away and left only a violent husk. There was nothing human in that gaze, no spark of the woman he had known. Only raw, merciless strength, now squeezing his throat with the promise of imminent death.

Her fingers were claws, digging into his flesh. Pain radiated in waves, but Silco didn't look away. Even as darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he refused to blink, to give in. A sudden movement to his side caught his peripheral attention, even as his sight started to blur. Sevika. He saw her move, syringe in hand, and in an instant, she plunged it into the woman's neck.

The effect was almost immediate. The grip on his throat loosened, and Silco fell forward, gasping, gulping air in desperate, ragged breaths. He pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the sharp pain from the pressure her fingers had left behind. His lungs burned as they tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, she was collapsing, her body going limp as if the string holding her up had been cut. The arm that had once gripped him with such force now hung lifelessly at her side.

"Interesting." Singed murmured, leaning closer for a better look, the gleam of fascination in his eyes growing stronger. "Perhaps the shimmer triggered some dormant reaction in her blood. That would explain the initial absence of vitals and the sudden attack. It might have acted as a reagent."

Silco raised his gaze from where he knelt, his hand still resting on his neck as he struggled to steady his breathing. At first, he didn't understand what Singed was trying to say.

"It's the first time I've seen anything like this." Singed continued, his tone almost fascinated. "No rejection. On the contrary... it's as if her body has assimilated the shimmer, incorporating it naturally."

Silco didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on her once more. Now, her chest rose and fell with regularity, the rigid lines of pain and tension on her face softened by stabilization. The contrast was almost disconcerting, considering the deplorable state in which she had arrived.

He then noticed Singed's gaze on him, an inquisitive glint that Silco knew all too well. "Sevika." Silco said abruptly. "Return to The Last Drop. Make sure things don't spiral out of control while I'm here."

Sevika hesitated for a moment, the concern evident on her face, but eventually complied. She let out a low sigh before leaving, the heavy metal door closing behind her with a resounding clang.

"You found her." said the other man in the room, almost accusatory. "I thought she'd been dead... for years."

"So did I." Silco replied, his voice lower, almost introspective. His eyes wandered back to her. "We were both wrong."

Singed picked up a scalpel and pointed to the stitches he had made on her shoulder.

"Look." Singed leaned in closer, his tone almost too clinical, as though he were discussing a machine. "The tissue is already healing, and I believe her internal organs are beginning the same process. If her body continues to react this way, it's likely she'll be fully functional in a few days. It all depends on how sustained the regeneration is. But I recommend administering small amounts of shimmer to stimulate what's already in her bloodstream."

Silco nodded slightly, the motion short and nearly imperceptible. It was always Singed's universal solution, yet the idea of introducing more of that substance into her body unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Singed, of course, either didn't notice — or cared even less.

"I assume you'd like to start the research immediately, correct?" Singed leaned over to organize his instruments, his voice almost casual. "Now that we finally have access to her, I can collect some blood samples. If I start the research now, I should be able to replicate her genetic formula within a few months. A significant breakthrough, considering the potential it could unlock."

The words lingered in the air, laden with a weight Silco did not want to bear. He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, feeling the pressure pulsing in his temples. Years ago, he wouldn't have thought twice. Having access to what she represented was the key to something greater, something he desperately sought—to make Zaun into something Piltover feared. That was why he had searched for her in the first place.

And it was also why the crushing sense of failure when he heard of her death had felt like a blade piercing through his resolve. Days, weeks of anguish gnawed at him, but eventually, he moved on. He buried the weight of that obsession under layers of new plans, new strategies. Until that damned day at the brothel when he found her—like a ghost. Like a specter torn from a nightmare or a dream, she was there, alive.

That fragile, motionless body now seemed so distant from the storm raging in his mind. He was not a man prone to sentimentality or hesitation. Since taking control of Zaun, his choices had been driven by logic, necessity, and, above all, ambition. But now... now, it was different.

He had allowed something he had sworn never to do again: to care.

She should have been just another piece on the board, a means to an end. That's how Silco saw the world. Every person, every action, existed to serve him, to help him achieve his goals. But she defied that logic. There was something about her—her strength, her resilience, perhaps even her stubbornness—that had pierced through the walls he had so carefully built over the years.

And it infuriated him.

He couldn't afford to falter. There was too much at stake, and he knew that any emotional attachment was a weakness that could be exploited. Yet, as he watched her, her features softened by induced sleep, Silco felt a pang of something he couldn't define. It wasn't just concern; it was possessiveness. She wasn't just important to his plans. She was important to him.

"Begin the research." his voice came out firmer than he expected, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. "Keep this under strict secrecy. To anyone else, it's just medical monitoring until her full recovery."

Singed nodded without question, moving mechanically to prepare another syringe. The scientist didn't care about the emotional or political intricacies of the situation. To him, she was a case to solve, an experiment to conduct.

He didn't take his eyes off her. There was something almost ironic about how peaceful she looked now, lost in that dreamless sleep where nothing could reach her — not pain, not despair, not even him.

Silco was a selfish man. Ambitious. Those words had been used to describe him so many times that he had embraced them as part of who he was. But he was also a man of conviction. And that conviction drove him forward, compelled him to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. He believed in it. Zaun needed to believe in it. And now, she would need to believe in it too.

He would convince her. He would show her that everything he did was justifiable, that the ends always justified the means. He would make her see that the true enemy wasn't him, but those who lived above — the wretched people of Piltover, who had oppressed Zaun for so long. They were responsible for everything. For her wounds, for the blood she had spilled, for the suffering that bound them together.

Silco leaned in, letting his fingers trace her face in a tender caress.

He would shape her. She would become something they feared. Something they could never destroy again.

Just like him.

[...]

Seven days.

Seven damned days.

Time seemed to have acquired a rhythm of its own, dragging on like dead weight. For Silco, every second since she had entered that comatose state had become a needle stabbing beneath his skin, a constant reminder of something slipping beyond his control.

Silco hadn't slept in four days. Sleep was a dispensable necessity, something he replaced with sheer determination and generous doses of whiskey and bitter coffee. His mind remained occupied with work—constant updates from Sevika and Singed, Jinx's occasional explosions that decimated critical parts of his operations, and the ever-growing pile of administrative problems that never seemed to shrink.

The weight of exhaustion seemed to triple as soon as Silco crossed the threshold of his office. The wood, so familiar, felt suffocating, as though it had absorbed his weariness. Each step toward the chair was labored, his muscles protesting the effort. When he finally sat, a heavy sigh escaped him, echoing in the silent room.

The lack of sleep was nothing new, but the last few days had tested the limits of his endurance. His mind, so sharp under normal circumstances, now felt like a whirlwind of disconnected thoughts, as if every idea had to wade through dense fog before taking shape. Fatigue pressed on his shoulders like an invisible weight, and irritation simmered beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

He rubbed his temples with his fingers, pressing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to clear his mind. The torturously long nights blended together, with no clear beginning or end, and he wondered how much longer he could maintain this insane routine before his body finally gave out.

But there was no choice. Not while she remained in that state.

Thinking of her brought a wave of frustration and restlessness that he couldn't suppress. Her body was healed—the shimmer injections had done their job impeccably, regenerating even the smallest damages in record time. Singed, to Silco's annoyance, had been right about the treatment's effectiveness. But what Silco couldn't bear was the fact that, despite everything, she still hadn't woken up.

This waiting was wearing him down.

She now slept in his room—a practical decision, or at least that was what he told himself. Keeping her close made it easier to monitor any changes, allowed him to personally check every detail of her condition. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just that.

He had to admit, the sight of her there, in his bed, was something he would normally find... pleasant. Almost comforting. But under the current circumstances, the context made any such satisfaction impossible. She was there, but she wasn't.

Silco leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest against the backrest. His gaze fixed on the ceiling for a moment, and slowly, the burden of keeping his eyes open became a weight he no longer cared to bear.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The ceiling was bare, devoid of any detail that might catch your attention, yet you stared at it anyway. Your mind was active, buzzing with questions, while your body seemed trapped in a state of lethargy. It was as if you were floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your thoughts insistently blending together. How long had it been since your last concrete memory? Days? The warm sensation of an embrace was the last thing that lingered before the void.

You tried to move your hands, feeling your fingers curl with some difficulty, as if every muscle had rusted. A deep inhale brought the scent of the room into sharp focus: alcohol, cigarettes, and something metallic in the air—a clear sign of where you were. Yes, The Last Drop.

With effort, you shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. At first, your legs didn't cooperate. Your initial attempt to stand was clumsy, your knees trembling under the weight of your own body. But you persisted, and on the second try, you managed to steady yourself.

Only then did you allow yourself to take in the room around you. It was functional, simple, devoid of personality or any attempt at making it feel welcoming. Minimal, practical furniture—just enough to serve its purpose. However, the balcony caught your attention. As you moved toward the opening, you realized it overlooked the interior of The Last Drop—directly above the club. The bar, the dance floor, every detail below seemed meticulously positioned to be visible to whoever owned this space.

And you had little doubt who that was.

Leaning against the railing, your eyes scanned the scene. Lights pulsed in rhythm with the muffled music that reached you even up here. A sense of familiarity and unease traveled down your spine. This wasn't a place you wanted to be, but it was the closest thing to "home" you had left.

You then moved to a nearby mirror to check your appearance. You lifted the hem of the shirt you were wearing, revealing the smooth surface of your stomach. No sign of cuts or bruises—not that you had really expected any. But something felt off. Your body felt... strange. As if something had changed, something beneath the surface you couldn't quite identify. It was as though everything either responded too quickly or too slowly, like a suit tailored improperly. You tried to dismiss the discomfort, chalking it up to the simple fact that you had nearly died—again.

It was almost comical, in a way. Every time it seemed like death had finally come to claim you, something or someone always pulled you back.

You moved toward the door—or what you assumed was one. There were no clear markings, just a discreet handle breaking the uniformity of the wall. The wood creaked faintly under your hand as you pushed it, revealing Silco's office in all its familiar, somber atmosphere.

And there he was, naturally, at the desk. Silco, slumped against the chair at an angle that looked uncomfortable even for someone like him, someone seemingly accustomed to discomfort. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes closed, his body relaxed in a way that was almost unsettling. He was asleep.

You stepped into the room with light, almost soundless footsteps. Your bare feet made no noise, as if you were afraid of breaking the rare moment of calm. Only after stepping away from the door did you notice something that had previously gone unnoticed: the entrance to the room was nothing more than a false wall. A small, discreet pull handle blended into the surrounding irregularities. If you hadn't just come through it, you never would've noticed.

Clever.

Close to the office, functional for someone like Silco, but also strategic. A possible escape route, if needed.

Your eyes returned to him, caught in a sleep that seemed as rare as gold. He'd also been asleep the last time you saw him. You moved closer, hesitant, with the words he'd spoken when you fainted in the warehouse lingering in your mind like a persistent shadow. During those fleeting moments when you were semi-conscious, although it was more like sleeping, you could still remember. It was as though he was there, speaking to you. Not in dreams, but on the threshold of reality.

You could swear you heard him.

Silco had spoken, perhaps believing his words were nothing more than echoes lost in the void, but they stayed with you. In moments of delirium, you felt the weight of sentences laden with a concern he would never openly admit. And on a few rare occasions, you could almost swear you'd felt a touch on your face. Hesitant, fleeting, like a breeze barely noticeable before it vanished.

He had been an anchor. While you fought not to succumb to your own mind, he had remained there. And now, as you watched him sleep, that realization felt overwhelming.

You stopped a few steps away from the chair, unsure of what to do. Part of you wanted to touch his shoulder, wake him, tell him you were fine — or at least try to convince him of that. But the other part, the one still harboring resentment and distrust, hesitated. So, you decided to come up with a third option. But, of course, something went wrong.

It all happened too quickly for you to react. One second, you were adjusting the strand of hair that insisted on falling over his face, and the next, your hand was being gripped tightly, your body shoved against the desk. The impact reverberated down your spine, and something cold and sharp pressed dangerously against your throat.

Silco stared at you, his eyes blazing with fury, but there was something else there, an emotion hidden behind the intensity. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it swirled in a chaotic storm as wild as his uneven breathing. And then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, something shifted. The anger in his eyes was replaced by palpable shock, and then by something deeper: realization. The blade's pressure on your throat eased, still present but without the imminent threat from before.

A smile formed on your lips, defiant and slightly teasing, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Is that how you welcome someone?"

Your hand, ignoring the danger, rose again, and your fingers gently brushed over the scars on his face. The rough texture of his skin told stories you didn't know, yet there was a curiosity in your touch, a silent acceptance.

"You haunted me even in my sleep, you know?" you continued, your tone softer now, almost a whisper. "I didn't know you were the talkative type when no one's looking."

And yet, Silco remained silent, his muscles taut as if he were waging an internal battle.

Then, with a movement that nearly stopped your heart, he drove the dagger into the desk, the blade embedding itself in the wood mere inches from your head. The sound echoed through the room, the vibration rippling across your skin like distant thunder. You opened your mouth to protest, ready to comment on how close he'd come to hitting you, but the words died in your throat.

Shock froze you for a second. The kiss was urgent, hungry, as if he were desperate for something only you could provide. His strength kept you pinned against the desk, one hand braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his body against yours — the weight, the heat. He kissed you like a man on the edge of despair, as if that moment was the only thing keeping him alive. His lips moved against yours with an almost overwhelming intensity, stealing the air from your lungs before you even realized you were breathless.

He tasted of restrained fury and something profoundly human, something he likely wouldn't admit even to himself. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you tried to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation.

But there was no control here. Not in this moment.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers pressing against your skin with a firmness that left no room for doubt. He was everything you could feel—the heat, the strength, the overwhelming weight of his presence. And yet, there was something more. Something that wasn't anger or need, but something deeper, more visceral.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silco pulled his mouth away from yours, but not completely. He kept his forehead resting against yours, your irregular breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. The heat of the moment still hung in the air as he fought to regain a shred of composure. His eyes, those unmistakable, vibrant irises, opened—cloudy and unfocused—staring at you with an intensity that almost seemed to burn.

"Talking too much, dove." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough and gravelly, still heavy with the intensity of the kiss. "Not that I expected anything less from you."

A faint, ironic smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the arrogant bastard you knew so well. But there was something else there. An unexpected softness, a rare tenderness that caused faint wrinkles to form at the edges of his eyes, breaking the usual coldness of his expression.

You rolled your eyes and let out a low laugh, the provocation slipping from your lips with ease.

"And this is the part where you admit you missed me."

Silco's eyes flickered at your teasing, a mix of surprise and something deeper, almost gentle, flashing in their depths. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, one brow arching in an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement.

"Missed you?" his voice carried a tone of disbelief that fooled no one. "You should be grateful you're still alive, you reckless woman."

Despite the harshness of the words, there was no real severity in them. On the contrary, there was genuine relief beneath his firm facade—a relief intertwined with something that resembled fear and gratitude. All of it mingling together in a cocktail of emotions that Silco probably didn't know—or didn't want—to express.

His hand, still firm on your hip, didn't ease its grip, as though he needed it to ensure you wouldn't disappear again. But the other rose to your jawline, tracing a gentle line along it with his thumb. It was an almost reverent touch, contrasting with the strength of his hold. His eyes traced every curve of your face, lingering on the details as if he wanted to commit them to memory, perhaps afraid this chance might not come again.

"I've got a pretty good guardian angel."

You teased back, making Silco let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"I think I might have missed your insolent mouth." The arrogance returned to his eyes, but this time it carried a peculiar warmth. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmured, "But don't think for a second that means I'll go easy on you, dove."

His words were followed by a light nip at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The gesture carried a hint of playfulness but also an intimacy that spoke of something deeper, something the two of you shared without needing to put it into words. There was a charge in the air, a mutual understanding that said more than any conversation could. He was Silco, a complicated man, and you knew that nothing with him would ever be simple. This tenderness hid something. It was laying the groundwork for something you already knew you'd hate.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."

You replied with a touch of provocation, your words carefully chosen to echo his from moments earlier. The slight smirk on your lips was defiant, but you knew your attitude would only irritate him more. And it worked. Silco sighed, a deep and exasperated sound that seemed to convey everything without the need for words.

"For God's sake."

He pulled back slightly, relieving just enough of the weight pressing down on you for you to catch your breath, but not enough to allow any chance of escape. The arm he braced against the desk beside your head felt like a barrier, while the other rested near your waist, a constant, dominating presence. It was a minimal concession, but an intentional one—a reminder of who still held control of the situation.

The two of you remained like that for a long moment, the silence broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the office. Silco's eyes were locked onto yours, and it was impossible to ignore the intensity in his gaze, as if he was trying to extract answers from you with sheer will alone.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Why did you run?"

The question came out low, almost a whisper, but it carried a tension that didn't need volume to be felt. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite place. Perhaps disappointment.

"Why would you put yourself in such danger, knowing full well the risks? You're no defenseless damsel, so don't try to tell me you did it by accident." His tone was firm, but not without reason. "You made a choice, and you chose to leave. So I want to know why."

You knew this moment would come, but you never imagined it would be like this. The situation was so absurdly contradictory — an interrogation at his desk, with your bodies in alarmingly close proximity — that the context almost distracted from the implicit danger in his words. Silco had always been a man of control, and the idea that you had defied him to the point of running seemed to deeply unsettle him. A small part of you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

You opened your mouth, trying to formulate a coherent response, but nothing came. Part of you knew he was right. If you hadn't made that impulsive decision, the abduction would never have happened. Ultimately, you were to blame for putting yourself in this position. But that didn't absolve him of his share of the guilt.

"I don't know..." you said casually, diverting your gaze from his eyes for a brief moment. "A momentary lapse of judgment that went horribly wrong. That's all..."

The instant you saw the shift in Silco's expression, you knew you'd made a mistake. It wasn't a subtle change. It was as though a silent storm had swept through him, extinguishing any remaining trace of patience. The grip on your waist tightened, and you felt his fingers press into your skin like sharp claws — a silent warning. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, a mix of disdain and admonishment, as if he were deciding, in that very moment, what kind of lesson he would teach you for your evasive answer. You knew this was only the beginning.

"I don't appreciate lies." he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a hidden edge. It was the kind of tone that made your stomach twist, a subtle warning that you were treading on thin ice. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you could feel the implicit threat in the proximity. "Least of all from you."

The weight of his words hit harder than you expected, their meaning hanging in the air, inescapable. He was dead serious.

"The last person who tried to deceive me..." Silco paused, his tone dripping with cruel irony. "Didn't meet a very pleasant end."

The pause he allowed was long enough for the gravity of his words to sink in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone. His grip on your waist grew even tighter, as if to reinforce the point that he could squeeze harder, both literally and figuratively.

"I'd hate for history to repeat itself."

You stared at him, refusing to look away, even as the weight of the tension between you grew heavier. Silco had this almost supernatural ability to turn every word and gesture into a minefield. The hostility that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface between the two of you was beginning to emerge — quiet but undeniable. It was a violence that didn't need words or actions to manifest; it existed in every glance, in every movement, and in the deafening silence that filled the space between sentences.

It was like a shadow in the corner of the room. Always there, always present. You knew it wouldn't disappear, no matter how many lights were turned on. If anything, the darkness only seemed to give it more space to grow.

"Are you threatening me, Silco?"

Silco's smile was a spectacle in itself, but not in any comforting or reassuring way. It wasn't a smile born of genuine humor, much less kindness. A tight pull of his thin lips, almost mechanical in precision, exposing his chipped teeth as each word left his mouth. There was something about the way that smile lingered on his face that sent a chill down your spine—a visceral reminder of who he was.

"Am I?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost innocent, but the sarcasm in his voice gave him away. "Oh, I thought I was merely offering a simple observation, dove. You know, a little advice, from one... friend to another."

He pronounced "friend" with a clarity that felt unbearable, savoring every syllable as if the word itself was laced with poison. The sound of it carried acidic venom, a curse disguised as courtesy.

"Friends?" you teased, tilting your chin upward and leaning closer to him again, letting the weight of the suggestion hang in the air between you. Silco didn't back away. He allowed the proximity, but the gesture was accompanied by an almost imperceptible movement: the hand that had rested on your waist slid away, as if he already knew what was about to happen.

Your eyes caught the detail, but you refused to be deterred. The hand resting on the table moved subtly, almost instinctively, until it neared the dagger Silco had embedded in the wood moments earlier.

"I thought we were past this part."

And then, in one swift, precise motion, you pulled the dagger from the wood and spun it, pointing it directly at his neck. The blade's gleam caught the room's light for a split second, but any sense of triumph you might have felt evaporated just as quickly. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt the unmistakable cold steel of a gun barrel pressing against your chin.

"Getting predictable, dove? I thought you were better than that."

Silco's voice was a low, sharp whisper, dripping with that infuriating confidence that always seemed to follow him. He tilted the revolver slightly, forcing your chin higher. The gesture was as casual as it was cruel, a clear demonstration that he was in control of the situation, even with the blade dangerously close to his throat.

But you didn't back down. On the contrary, your fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger, and you felt the blade press even closer against Silco's neck. One slight movement, and it would all be over. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, the subtle tension in his muscles betraying that, no matter how composed his face remained, he could feel the danger.

"You're far too confident, aren't you?" Your voice came out low, carrying an almost theatrical calm. You pressed the blade harder against him, feeling the faint resistance of his skin. "I could kill you right now... you saw what I did in my apartment, didn't you?"

"You could." Silco replied, tilting his head slightly as if offering you a better angle. "But you won't."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

Silco, being Silco, seemed to revel in the danger. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart raced, and it wasn't just from the threat of the weapon pointed at you. It was the entire moment: the suffocating proximity, the piercing gaze, the way he commanded every second of the situation.

"You don't hesitate." he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "So, I wonder, why did you hesitate that night?"

The words hit you like a blow, catching you completely off guard. He knew. How, you had no idea, but he knew what had happened that night, just before your escape. You blinked, trying to process it, but before you could form a question, the distinct click of a revolver being cocked snapped you back to reality.

And then he fired. Without hesitation.

The dry click echoed in your ears, and your body flinched instinctively, taking a moment longer to realize there was no bullet in the gun. But Silco didn't seem to care; in fact, a faint smile formed on his lips, as if he'd merely proven a point.

"You had my loaded gun and no one to stop you. What made you change your mind?"

"How did you—"

"Just answer."

Curiously, something inside you gave way. Without fully understanding why, you let the dagger fall from your hand, abandoning the weight of the threat you'd raised against him. Perhaps it was the fact that Silco's gun no longer seemed like a real intent to harm, but rather a statement of control. That gesture, that silent lesson he always managed to deliver, disarmed you in a way you hated.

You weren't one to stay silent, much less back down. You always had a retort ready, a sharp provocation, something to keep the dynamic balanced. But now, in this moment, there simply wasn't the will to act like a defiant brat. Not when the tone of the conversation felt so serious, so charged with tension.

Still, the feeling was uncomfortable. You were on dangerous ground—not in the line of fire anymore, but treading on thin ice, and you knew that any wrong word could send it all crashing down.

"I... I don't know." You sighed deeply, turning your head to the side, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The admission slipped from your lips with a weight that felt disproportionate to the lightness of the words. "But this time, I'm telling the truth."

That sentence felt far too intimate, more intimate even than the position you were in.

"I wanted to do it... but I couldn't. I just... couldn't. It seemed easy the first time, but now... I froze. And I have no idea why."

It was a lie. You knew exactly why. But some truths were better kept locked away, hidden behind unbreakable walls.

Silco remained silent, and then, slowly, he moved the revolver to the side, setting it down with a gesture that seemed almost casual. He took a few steps back, finally releasing the tension between you. It was a relief, and yet, an unsettling emptiness. You took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the table, the weight of your own confusion now resting heavily on your shoulders.

"Is that what caused the outburst that made you run?"

"In part. I just wanted... to disappear." You admitted, though the bitter taste of honesty was almost unbearable. Part of you hated to confess it, but there was no room for lies now. "To get away from you." The words came out softer than you intended, almost as if confessing a sin to the devil himself.

You expected an outburst of anger, perhaps some sarcastic remark, but what came was completely different. Silco leaned in slightly and raised his hand, gently touching your chin with a disconcerting tenderness. You instinctively braced yourself for a rough grip, something that matched his cold, ruthless demeanor, but the touch was soft, almost... careful.

He forced your face to lift, compelling your eyes to meet his. The look he cast in your direction was rigid, controlled, but there was something deeper beneath that mask of ice. It wasn't anger that you found there, but an almost palpable disappointment, a kind of emotion that seemed misplaced in a man as dangerous as him. It was that, more than anything, that made your heart race—not out of fear, but something far harder to define.

"Don't ever do that again." The words were spoken with a chilling calmness, but the tone was absolute, unquestionable. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

You should resist. Every fiber of your being screamed at you not to submit, to hold onto some shred of control over your own narrative. But the moment his gaze pierced through yours, any trace of resistance was crushed. You simply nodded, too drained to defy him.

When Silco extended his hand, you hesitated for a moment, but soon took it. The gesture was surprisingly natural, almost intimate. He pulled you up to your feet and, in silence, led you back to that false wall. The groan of the door as it opened echoed in the space, but his attention never wavered from you.

"You need to rest." His voice was more controlled now, but it still carried a note of authority that couldn't be ignored. "Your body's been through too much. I don't want you passing out again."

"And you? You need sleep too. You look like you haven't closed your eyes in days." You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, this room is yours, not mine."

Silco raised an eyebrow, his expression slightly skeptical as if weighing your words. "Are you suggesting I sleep with you?"

"Well..." you began, tilting your head and letting the smile spread across your lips. "You kind of already do."

The tone was unapologetically playful, a deliberate provocation you knew he wouldn't let slide without a reaction. Silco's expression shifted, and he huffed, rolling his eyes. Despite his apparent irritation, something in his demeanor betrayed him—he wasn't truly bothered. Maybe, just maybe, he was even amused, though he would never admit it.

"But yes, I do want that."

He remained still for a moment, the silence hanging heavy between you like a drawn curtain. Then, without a word, Silco stepped forward. You felt the immediate shift in the atmosphere—subtle but undeniable. Your body reacted instinctively, stepping back as he advanced. Silco didn't need words to convey the control he wielded. You held his gaze, but it was hard not to get lost in the sharp contrast between the blue and orange of his eyes. It was like staring into an abyss and feeling a strange, reckless urge to leap.

It was only then that you noticed the low, definitive click of the door locking behind him.

Silco stopped in front of you, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow—threatening, yet strangely captivating. He tilted his head slightly, assessing your expression with an almost clinical interest, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story. You had the distinct sensation that you had walked willingly into some sort of trap, one you had set for yourself, heedless of the consequences. And he seemed ready to savor every second of it.

Part 11

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, we will have smut in the next chapter, just wait. Now with all the information thrown in the previous chapters, have you figured out why Silco was interested in her years ago? I made a small arrangement on how the story will unfold and in theory it will have approximately 30 chapters, but it can change either more or less. Which means we will have a long way to go.

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[lou-struck]

Snatched Up

Keigo Takami x reader 

~ Your quiet afternoon of tending to your little rooftop garden when suddenly you find yourself face to face with a villain on the run from your boyfriend. 

W.C: 2.3k

Warning; Kidnapping, violence, a bit of self defense, mention of injuries but pretty pg.

It feels like it’s been years since you last made it up to the roof, the harsh early winter months made tending to your little garden impossible, but now as the worst of the winter storms have subsided, you are ready to get back into the swing of things. 

The steel door to the rooftop is far heavier than you remember it being, but as soon as you step out, the chilly late winder air surrounds you as you look over what once was your lush little rooftop garden. 

The beds are mostly empty save for a few weeds and a few little green scapes from the garlic you had planted in the fall peeking out from the dirt. But seeing just the tiniest bit of life in your beds warms your heart as you grab your little bucket and gardening gloves and prepare to get to work.

The job is easy this time around, by the time you finish plucking the little green weeds, only the button of your bucket is covered in leaves and roots. Tossing the little scraps into your little composter, the blaring sound of sirens riding the wind reaches your ears. Although you may be too high up for people watching, your curiosity brings you over to the stone railing as you stare down at the flashing lights from the city below.

Dozens of emergency vehicles zip around the block, horns honking loudly as a few sidekicks stand in the middle of the jammed intersections directing traffic away from your building.

“What’s going on down there?” You murmur, fearing an accident. Instinctively, your hand slides into the pocket of your jeans in search of your cell phone, but find only cloth. 

‘You must’ve left it on the charger’ you think to yourself as an unexpected waves of weariness hits you. 

Something feels off.

Your gut is screaming at you to get off the roof, to get somewhere safe. You start to head back to the elevator access point when suddenly you see a long shadow in your path that definitely wasn't there before. 

This shadow shrinks until you make out a human shape. It moves closer to the door as your ears pick up the unmistakable sound of boots crunching gravel. You are no longer alone up here. 

The door to the penthouse is pretty stubborn and far too loud for anyone to open it without you noticing. So whoever it is got there from either scaling the building or flying in. Someone like Keigo who likes to mess with you when he swoops by the rooftop on his patrol. 

“Is that you Birdie?” You ask hopefully, wondering if your feathered boyfriend decided to touch down to say hello. But when the figure comes into view, your heart sinks. The man standing directly in your path is definitely not your boyfriend. He wears a deep scowl and steps toward you with unbalanced steps, wobbly steps.

You look down and notice that his legs looked to be made of solid metal coils almost like springs.

Did he jump all the way up here?

“Definitely not a bird, Cutie.” he pants scanning your form until his gaze lands on your neck, where a brilliant red feather hangs attached to a dainty silver chain.  Your body tenses up under his menacing gaze as the spring man reaches out and grabs your necklace, “this is nice, super familiar. Where did you get it?”

“Craft fair,” you lie, but you can tell he doesnt believe it for a second, he stares you down with his philips head looking eyes.

“No, try again?” he says, twisting the chain a bit tighter against your neck.

“That’s where I got it,” you lie again, if this man is a criminal, letting him know who you are could be disastrous. Especially for Keigo, a man who has few weaknesses and lots of enemies.

“Really? Because I’m sure that little feather looks very familiar. Almost like it belongs to a certain pro hero who just so happened to just ruin my day.” he grits his teeth as he tears the delicate chain from your neck, dropping it to the floor as if it were worthless. 

The feather twitches slightly as it falls to the floor. Dropping just like your stomach, panicked, you take a large step away from the Villian. “What do you want?”

He shrugs, “I just wanted a place to lay low for a bit but I think you’ve given me a better opportunity.” His arms are as cold as metal as he grabs you roughly. His hand flies to your mouth, the taste of iron tingles your lips as the man smirks. “I don’t think Hawks is gonna give me any trouble if I have their cute little partner as my hostage.”

You try to fight, you really do, your fist pounds against his rib cage but all you hear is the sound of clanging metal. It must be something to do with his quirk. His cold, cruel laughter fills your ears. “Cute, but you’re gonna have to try a little harder to get rid of me.”

Your stomach churns with dread as you realize that with a quirk like his, escaping this man will be close to impossible. You steal another glance down at the feather at your feet and notice that the feather has hardened, sticking out of the ground like a knife. 

Keigo must be close, he must be at least a little aware of what’s going on. But the real question is, will he make it in time?

You try to stay calm, you try to not agitate this clearly unhinged individual, but locked in his iron grip, you see the coils in his legs begin to tense up and he leaps away from your building. As he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, your garden fades from view. 

The loss of the familiar sight is what breaks you, cold tears sting your eyes as you realize that being calm, cool, and collected under pressure isn’t really your thing.

You have flown with Keigo several times, but this isn’t anywhere near as relaxing. There is no soothing beat of the wings or controlled soaring, you’re just being launched rather uncomfortably by this spring guy.

If he wasn’t still covering your mouth you would be screaming your head off, he set you down on the roof of an unfamiliar building. You can’t be far from your little paradise, but now it feels continents away. 

He shoves you down with a laugh and stares down at you with a delighted gleam in his eyes. “I wonder how much birdbrain would pay to get you back? You’re cute for sure, but I'll have to figure out what makes you so valuable…

The way he says that last word makes you sick. “Let me go, or else.”

“Or else what?” he laughs heartily at your threat. “You’ll call your little boyfriend?”

Slowly, you get to your feet, winding up, you send a strong kick to the man’s side. When you first started seeing each other Keigo insisted on teaching you some basic self defense skills. At the time, you thought it was pointless, but now, as your foot comes into contact with the man's side, you find that he isn't entirely made of metal.  He staggers back and wheezes “Why you little~ you’ll pay for that one.” He raises his hand to strike you as a red blur races between you. A single red feather latches around the man's wrist pulling it back. As another latches on to the hem of your jacket, pulling you away from the man. You stagger and sink to the ground as a new figure lands on the gravel between the two of you. 

Large red wings flare out from their back, gleaming like knives under the intermittent clouds. But your boyfriend doesn't look like he is ready to fight, he looks lethal, like the weapon the commission trained him to be all those years ago. 

There is no witty banter as Hawks analyzes his opponent, he doesn't say a word as a flurry of sharpened feathers are sent toward the villain. They tear at his clothes and slice thin, painful scratches on whatever flesh he has. He cries out briefly, as they pin him to the ground. 

A spring quirk like his needs momentum after all, and Hawks threw it off the moment he landed on the rooftop. A small army of support heroes and sidekicks burst through the access door as the Villian is quickly handcuffed. 

“You really should take better care of your things, Hero.” the man coughs from the ground. Although he has been rendered immobile from Keigo’s feathers and the quirk cancelling handcuffs, he still thinks he has enough skin in the game to try and land some low blows.  “This one couldn't really put up much of a fight, if a nobody like me was able to steal them away so easily you may find yourself with a cold bed one of these days.”

Keigo’s eyes are hidden under his dark visor, but you can tell that he isn't even looking at the helpless prey at his feet. With the threat eliminated, he turns on a time and looms over you, his body painfully stiff. “Did he hurt you?” he pants.

Your mouth goes dry as all the adrenaline from the past few minutes fades away leaving you feeling weak, but at least safe. You tremble as you look up at your hero, your Keigo. “I~”

“Did he hurt you?” Keigo asks again, this time far more forcefully than before. There is anger in his tone, but your chest tightens as you realize that it isn't directed towards you but himself. 

Little bits of stone cling to the fat of your palm as you raise your hand gently up to his face. He doesn't stop you from removing the golden visor from his face. His glassy, honey colored, eyes are filled with enough sorrow and guilt for a lifetime. “I’m okay.” you murmur, ignoring the various scrapes and bruises you accumulated since this afternoon began. 

His arms wrap around you like you're made of glass, about to shatter at any moment. "I thought I lost you," he wavers. His anxious breathing tickles your neck. "I felt it when he ripped the feather away, but I should've been faster. You never should've gone through this."

It's you who deepens the embrace, your fingers dig into the fabric of his flight jacket until the flesh turns tight and painful. "But I did," you mumble, voice muffled from his collar. "And you saved me, Kei."

"Still, I should've called you, I should've let you know that there was a villain on the loose by your apartment but I didn't." he says. Briefly, you look over his shoulder to see the villain being taken away by the support staff, this time, he is the immobile one, helpless as he is dragged away from a place he had hoped would be safe. 

Gently, your hand trails up from his back to his shoulder, squeezing the tense muscles reassuringly. "There are going to be things you can't tell me Kei, I know that. But the important thing is we are both safe.”

“Safe,” he murmurs, blinking his eyes back into focus. “You’re safe. But how did he end up on your roof? He was on the run after him and one of his buddies tried to rob a liquor store.”

"This was a coincidence," you say, recalling the look of opportunistic elation on the Spring Villain's face when he saw the feather."I think he was looking for a place to hide out when I was on the roof and he  saw the feather and came to the conclusion on his own. I should've been more careful with it but he surprised me."

“Rotten Luck,” Keigo says, knowing that you aren't explicitly targeted helps calm down his racing mind, but now that a villain has figured out where you live, your days at your cozy little apartment are numbered. “But I heard you gave him one hell of a kick, it looks like those self defense lessons paid off a bit.”

“Just a bit,” you chuckle, “but I think I’ll leave the ass kicking to the real heroes, I've had more than enough action for awhile.”

His eyes soften as he runs his thumb over your scraped knuckles. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m alright Kei, just shaken up a bit.” you say.

“How about we head back to my place?” he offers. “I could make us some dinner, maybe put on a movie?”

“Could I shower?” you ask hopefully, after the afternoon you have had, you definitely could use one, and with the heated tiles and multiple rainfall shower heads, Keigos is just the one you would want to unwind in.

“Whatever you want baby,” he answers, scooping you up gently into his arms and getting to his feet and turning his attention to a passing sidekick. “I’m clocking out for the day, just send whatever paperwork over to my place.”

“Right away sir,” they say, before returning to their job of cleaning up the scene of the crime. 

He steps out into the clearing and spreads his wings. He looks down at you and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” you say instinctively tucking your face into his jacket to protect yourself from the wind. His heartbeat hasn’t slowed since rescuing you, but the sound soothes you as your head rests against his chest, ready to face the sky for the second time today. 

“I’m ready.”

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network@sleepyyshroom, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan @dog55teeth @atigerandabear@anjodedesgostoeerros

[k-hippie]

SIMS 3 WORLD - LOST COVE 2025 - THE 30 LOTS

Lost Cove is rebuilding — slowly, but surely. Residential lots are starting to earn that name again. Less rubble, more walls. A bit more comfort, even ( well not really but well ... )

People are getting older; a couch is no longer a sign of weakness, and a painting on the wall isn’t just vanity. Art belongs in the Maslow pyramid, okay ? And Lost Cove’s people are finally aiming for more than just surviving the next zombies :D

Some homes still look like repurposed shelters. Others, though ? They’re trying. A second floor, a roof that doesn’t leak toomuch, a makeshift stove cobbled together from salvaged tech. There’s life in these places — messy, stubborn, real. Your Sim might move into a prefab shack with bullet holes still in the walls… or a crooked lakeside cabin, half-swallowed by ivy. One house has wind chimes made from old tin cans. Another has bathtub but no door. Nobody’s judging ...

It’s not quite suburbia or mansions yet. Some lots are isolated, off-grid hideouts with a single bed and a compost toilet. Others are communal — a few survivors sharing space and meals, not always by choice. You won’t find a picket fence, but you might find a garden bed dug into a parking lot. It’s not like there are construction workers or architects all over the place. A fresh coat of paint won’t fix everything. But Lost Cove isn’t a singles-only island anymore, either. You can think about having a family, or roommates, or just a life indoors — with more than just plants ( no offense to the PlantSims, again )

All kinds of residential lots are waiting for you in Lost Cove. Cracked, cozy, or chaotic — every home tells a story. Maybe your Sim will start theirs here ...

Lost Cove is a lonely place. Most of the time, your Sim will walk alone — through the ruins, across beaches swallowed by silence, past houses where no one lives anymore. But even in this broken world, there are places where people still gather, drawn by the same need to feel human again.

Those community lots aren’t crowded. They’re not lively. But they exist — half-shelters, half-sanctuaries — proof that the world hasn’t entirely forgotten what it means to connect.

The Bloody Way Bar is often the first stop. It’s not glamorous, but it has stories in its walls. Survivors come to share food, barter, vent, or simply exist near someone else for a while. Then there’s the Nature School, rebuilt with scraps and stubborn hope. Children learn there. Adults meet there. It’s not just about knowledge — it’s about building something, together. And the Dispensary ? It’s where you go when things go wrong — physically or otherwise. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Sometimes, you hear whispers of things buried deeper than wounds.

On Summer, when the sun is high and the day hot as hell, you may have a swim in the Ancient Bath, in the middle of a kinda weird "downtown" ...

Supernatural things are never far away all over Lost Cove ( such as a weird troll statue somewhere in the Main Island ) - Besides the Bloody Way, there is too the Elixir Hut with all sorts of herbs and remedies and the Gypsy Eyes ( nobody remember how they came here ) One day they weren't here, and one day, suddenly, they were there ;)

To get quick & dirty food, you have the Granny Ever Fast ( an old gas station long ago ) and the Wild Diner where lazy sims like to hangout around a kinda sandwich :D For another quality, better to go to the Tiny Freshy Market :D

Even if Lost Cove is a game about solitude and survival, it never fully locks you away. A chance meeting at the Oldy Flee Market, a shared moment at the Hangout Park, or a cold swim that brings you face-to-face with another castaway… These are the seeds of stories. Allies. Rivals. Lovers. Enemies. Every place, every ruin, every firepit is a possible starting point. It’s up to you to decide if your Sim keeps walking alone — or dares to build something new, in the cracks of the old world.

One more time, a HUGE thanks to the lots creators all over the web, especially MTS where to find so great houses ! Credits were credit are due : Aisquared – Anticaph – Flora2 – I May Regret This – MySimRealty – Norn – RubyRed2021

Grab a place and say "Hi" to your new life in Lost Cove !

Download Lost Cove Lots

...

[waokevale]

Some Dwarf headcanons, since they're extremely underrated and deserve more love. (And lore)

I imagine them to be humanoid, but at the same time, very creature-like. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of them just being like Marvin from Looney tunes and straight up having a pitch black face, but I wanted to play with something different. :>

They have thin fur but it does very little to protect them from the cold.

They have night vision and are nocturnal.

They can see very well in warm light, but struggle seeing shades of green.

They regularly visit floor 100 to keep up their ancestors' tradition of Lava eel fishing.

Speaking of lava eels, I'd like to imagine they eat them whole, like that one quote from the Canon-Friendly Dialogue Expansion mod.

They can survive in insanely hot temperatures and are relatively unharmed by lava, but they struggle a lot during Winter.

They are ectothermic or 'cold-blooded', their internal body temperature is similar to that of a reptile, hence why they're especially uncomfortable with cold temperatures.

Winter is actually when their kleptomania is at its highest peak. Due to the scarceness of supplies and foregables and their need to eat a lot more to keep up their body warmth.

They sleep very little and can't hibernate, so instead they have to rely on eating a lot more food than usual, since they burn energy insanely quickly.

Unlike shadow people, they become independent from their guardian a lot quicker. They mature quicker too, but they live significantly shorter. (Still about 20 times longer than a human though.)

They used to keep many stonefish pets throughout centuries, but gave up on raising them after the 53rd one died. (Yeah those don't exactly live very long...)

They were created in a laboratory, which soon thereafter came to ruin. – They don't remember anything of this time and don't know the whole story of their origins.

They're one of the youngest living members of their species.

They of course consume minerals on regular basis; those are very rich in elements which Smoluanu require to survive.

To be able to easily break open said minerals, their teeth are extremely sharp. Almost as hard as diamonds, although they don't use them very often and would rather grind them up with tools.

Their bone structure is at least 5 times harder than that of a human, except for their skull, which is their only true weak point. Hence why they only need to wear protection for their heads.

They have rat-like paw-pads on both their hands and feet to protect them from rough terrain, though they chose to wear clothes over them.

Part of the reason why Smoluanu wear clothes and helmets is to disguise themselves from their enemy. No shadow fiend has ever seen a Smoluanu without their disguise, or so they say...

If it were to come to that a Smoluanu has been spotted without their helm by a void spirit, they would immediately have to kill them. If it was a group of brutes however and they were cornered, they'd be forced to blow both themself and their enemies up.

Dwarf has been collecting the helms of their fallen brothers and sires and keeping them on a shelf as mementos and as a sign of respect for them. They sometimes bring tokens, which remind them of the fallen person and place them inside their helm.

They hope that one day, they'll be able to recover the lost secrets of their ancestors' technology. That's why they appreciate when the Farmer gives them artifacts. It makes them feel closer to their ancestors' history and adds another puzzle piece to their theory about them.

For now though, they like to tinker and make small gadgets, usually nothing as ambitious as Maru, but they sure are trying. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

That's all I have for now. 👍

[sweettoothy]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃

╰ SHOW ﹕ ARCANE !

︵ WARNING(S) ﹕╰ swearing ⸝ violence ﹕ sex

︵ relationship ﹕ Vi x fem!fragile!reader x Caitlyn

NOTE: I shocked myself with this, hope y’all enjoy ^^ also since (y/n) is somewhere in another universe she can’t control this body she’s in, thankfully I hope that helps and doesn’t confuse anybody.

⟣・S2・PAINT THE TOWN BLUE︰

THE SOUND OF laughter echoes in your ears as loud music boomed with constant chatter of criminals and civilians alike. You bobbed your head up and down aggressively as you worked on some sort of machinery, nails long and colored your (f/c) to added to the outfit you were wearing. Your fist aggressively hits the table that you were seated at, your hair dyed an orange color with bright red highlights.

“Pass me another one!” You shouted, arms littered with tattoos and you also wore a pair of goggles, something felt different about you. weird, most likely.

Like a change. And nothing felt good about it either.

“(Y/n).” A woman shouted over the loud music that you played while you drunk from a jug, your boots clank against the floor as you scream the song from the top your lungs, making the woman behind you cover her ears in annoyance.

“(Y/n)!” The woman shouted once more.

The world here looked different, more…ruined and torn. but the city was still active.

You were inside zaun. piltover was taken over and destroyed by the topsiders who went berserk cause of a leak. It was like a zombie outbreak but wasn’t, caitlyn and vi were still alive too but�� they kept their distance from you for whatever reason.

“(Y/N)!” The woman shouted louder, throwing the music box onto the ground.

You burst out laughing and slipped off your goggles, turning towards her. “How can I help you dear friend? did you wanna check out my explosives again? or the money I stole from—“

“No!” The woman retorts, “it’s kris to you. do you know you stole from the same people we’re enemies with?!”

You deadpanned, showing off your pearly whites. “And so on, and so on..even if did steal from them, it shouldn’t matter. we’re enemies may I remind you? so what if millions of dollars were taken from them. piltover is gone all thanks to ME! so you’re welcome.”

Kris growls. “You know they’ll be after us, correct? because you couldn’t keep those filthy hands off that launcher. glad your parents aren’t here to see this…I know they’d be disappointed.” She mumbled lowly under her breath.

One of your eyes twitched when she said this, “you don’t know anything about me.” you say through clenched teeth.

“You’re weak.” Kris retorts. “Weak people make mistakes all the time-- they’ll never get it right.”

You tilt your head, your hair falling against one side of your face as your teeth chatter against themselves with impending anger. “I’ve done what I did for us. you don’t see any enforcers bombarding you with any weapons-- now do you?! I’ve done everything I did to get zaun to this point with you. so I’m not weak, you are because you had me do your dirty work! the entire council I killed was for your sake and zauns so get it right!”

Kris gaze softened. “I know, kid. I just..I’m worried for your well-being okay? I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.“ She says, rubbing the skin above her eyepatch.

You blinked a few times before holding back your tears, “I’ve always looked up to you, Kristy. I wanna help.” you tell her.

Kris opened her arms for you to hug her, and when she did you rushed into her arms and held her close.

This version of you wasn’t as fragile— you seemed strong, headset on ending anything that would get in your way.

A few sobs escaped you.

You felt like the same little girl again when you had witnessed your parents die— Casandra kiramman being the cause of it— sending those enforcers to kill your parents even though they had done nothing wrong.

And then when you first saw her daughter, caitlyn, you knew you had to get your get back. so the fall of piltover was satisfying for you.

Kris wasn’t sure what was going through that mind of yours but she knew you had a good heart. a good heart like yours would say otherwise, though.

“ITS BEGINNING TO FEEL…” You sang in a raspy voice as you spin around in your chair, holding a very dangerous bomb in your hand. “A lot like christmas!” you stomp your foot against the ground hard, the muscles on your body straining as you picked up a heavy box, this version of you seemed stronger, less angry and more..happy. A soft hum leaves your lips as you grabbed your gun, waving it around as you started having visions of a blue haired girl and a pink haired one— her sister wearing an enforcer outfit— the one you didn’t hesitate to kill during the accident in piltover— well, you didn’t kill her, you almost did.

Vi didn’t hate you but she was scared that you might try hurting powder again, her younger sister that was now in a coma because of you.

Caitlyn hated you. despised you.

Of course she hated you. you killed her mother, hurt her girlfriend’s sister— you were a monster, in her eyes.

A monster…her mother created.

A monster she created.

A monster vi created.

They were no angels in your eyes, just demons. the demons you were headset on ending.

“Don’t move.” A soft voice says. “You’re under arrest.”

You don’t turn around as you felt something press against the lower end or your back, it felt like a shotgun but way worse.

Vi stood in front of you, blocking the doorway as she makes sure you don’t leave.

You chuckle. “Wow. what a way to sneak in.”

“Stop talking.” Caitlyn demanded. “Turn around and let vi cuff you.”

You snort, stepping back as you stared at a trembling caitlyn, her gun now aimed at your chest. “I don’t wanna do something I’ll regret. so move!” she demanded.

You stare her directly in the eyes, not bothering to move.

“Just do what she says, (y/n).” Vi pleaded. “You’ve already done enough damage.”

Turning to vi you see she had moved away from the doorway. “You don’t know anything. I thought you understood me, but the second I saw you with her, I thought-- ‘oh she’s just like the rest’. and you are. nothing but a bluebelly in a sock. that’s all.”

“The girl I knew-“

“Knew.” You cut her off. “Yeah. who you knew. that’s not me anymore.”

Caitlyn kicks the bottle of shimmer to the ground, which was full to the hilt. “You’re doing her dirty work again? she’s no savior, (y/n). you killed my mother because of what she had asked you to do?! Kris is just another—“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” You shouted, your head beginning to hurt. “You have zero respect, I made a name for myself. so put some respect on it!”

Caitlyn sees you start to lose it as you hit your fist against the ground repeatedly, collapsing to your knees as tears fall down your eyes—

Tears of shimmer.

Voices felt like they were talking to you left and right, telling you to end it all with everyone inside. But you had to finish it.

Standing up slowly you don’t turn to face vi and caitlyn, your fingers twitching. “Get out before I do something I won’t regret.”

“(Y/n).” Vi spoke, hesitantly making her way towards you and placing her hand on your shoulder. “I know you’re in there. I know you have to—“

“VI!” Caitlyn screams when she sees you head butt her heard, vi yelps and clutched her now bleeding nose.

Reaching into your bag, you grabbed your launcher which was colored red and orange, the belt around your pants loop loosened a bit from falling to the ground. “I’m tired of talking to a bunch of hypocrites who won’t listen.” you say hoarsely.

“Just…” You trail off. “Fucking die. get out of my life. leave me alone!”

You were about to pull the trigger but caitlyn tackled you to the ground.

The two of you struggle for dominance but you get the upper hand while using your shimmer that had already invaded your mind and your veins, you grab caitlyn by the hair and slam her head into the ground.

“Cait!” Vi shouted before she rushed towards you and threw you towards the ground, “stop! you—“

Your eyes dilated as you looked at vi, she looked way too much like the girl you had met when you were younger— it’s like everyone in your life either left you or abandoned you— that’s why you were so happy Kristy too you in.

Like a real mother.

She was the only one you had.

“GET OFF ME!” You screamed and threw vi to the ground and off of you.

You straddle vi’s waist and wrapped your hands around her neck, cutting the air from her lungs. Vi struggles to get you off her, thrashing around in your grip— nails digging into her flesh.

Vi starts to cough, face going blue.

The mascara that was around your eyes were smeared from the tears that you had just cried. Caitlyn finally came to her senses and saw what you were doing, hurrying to her feet she rushed towards you and hit you in the face with her knee.

You let out a cry of pain and fell to the ground, blood rushing down your nose.

This was caitlyn’s chance. She had you right where she wanted you— she was ready to take her anger out on you since you were the cause of this after all.

Caitlyn uses her fist and connects it against your face, punching you repeatedly as tears fall down her eyes, vi coughs as she clutched her neck, gasping for air.

You felt tears brim your eyes, legs shaking as caitlyn continued to hit you, the blood from your nose now splattering against your chest and face. You clawed at caitlyn’s face, scratching her cheek.

But then…she stops. Her eyes landing on your orange and red ones as she sees your bloodied face, the tears that were falling down your eyes which was shimmer making her regret hurting you.

“Your mom did this to me.” You cried. “So the way she hurt me I wanted to hurt you. make sure you didn’t have any parents.”

“But why?! I had nothing to do with what she-“

“I SHOULD’VE KILLED YOUR DAD WHILE I HAD THE CHANCE!” You shouted, “then maybe you’d really feel how it felt to lose everything, you bitch!”

Your mouth finds her finger and you bite down hard, feeling something crack.

“Shit!” Caitlyn shouted and pulled away from you, a few tears escaping her eyes as she saw you lay on the ground.

“We have to go.” Vi tells her. “We can’t save someone we’ve already lost.”

Caitlyn stares down at you, anger fueling her. “I’m not letting her get away again.”

You stare at the bomb that lays beside you, “yeah…me either.” You then rushed over and grabbed your launcher, aiming it at the two of them.

“I’m not gonna deal with this again.” You spoke hoarsely, blood still dripping down your nose and onto your face. “I’m done being your puppet.“

Pulling the trigger you see the bullet leave the launcher, vi covers caitlyn and the both of them hurry out the window.

The bullet misses and hits an abandoned building.

“No!” You screamed. “No, no, no! that’s not how it was supposed to go!”

You had missed the shot again.

“Eyes on the target.” An enforcer says from a walkie while sitting on another building.

Caitlyn stares at a bloodied you and turned to vi, nodding.

“Take the shot.” She tells him.

The enforcer pulled the trigger on your gun, aiming for your head. but you saw this and dodged—

Sadly…

Your hand didn’t.

The bullet shoots off two of your fingers, making you look in shock— the blue electricity from the crystal flickering. You stare at your hand, tears escaping your eyes.

Did they go too far…?

You ran off, disappearing from their sights.

This was only the start of something worse

END OF CHAPTER FOUR

[physalian]

10 Character Dynamics the World Needs More of

Me handing out character dynamics like free samples at the Mall Food Court: “Take one! Or two! You’ll love it!”

I don’t care how many times these tropes have been done – write more of them. Write all of them. Fill out your author bingo card one by one.

1. “No one gets to kill you but me, Old Friend”

This. Right here. Primo rival content that I *live* for. All the juicy history between two old frenemies, the character drama, the backstory, the titillating unknown of what drove these two to rival status, bitter enemies that respect the heck out of each other, to the point that hell hath no fury should one get knocked down without the other’s consent.

And, of course, the moment where it seems all bets are off, when the rival comes to save their ass only to hand it back to them at a later date. The angst! The shipping fodder! Need I say more?

2. A bigger, badder villain, and their minion

You, reader, spend countless hours hating the guts of the big bad villain. They’re evil, they’re vile, they’re sadistic, heartless, irredeemable bastards. They killed your favorite character for shock value. The big bad moustache-twirling antagonist… is actually not the biggest fish in the story.

Either they’re coerced into doing evil as a puppet of the Bigger Bad, a tragic villain in their own right, or they have some reservation, some line even they won’t cross, someone else’s boots they have to kiss, someone who features in their nightmares, as they feature in the heroes. They end their stories dispatched without a thought by the Bigger Bad, or redeem themselves in death by taking out their masters. It never gets old.

3. A leader and their lancer: besties

You know what’s better than leaders and lancers who have zero faith in each other and are constantly bickering about who should be in charge? Leaders and their right-hands who adore each other (platonically). They have each other’s backs, they know each other’s greatest strengths and weaknesses and are each other’s perfect covers.

They can communicate with looks and vague gestures alone, they compliment each other’s flaws and misgivings, build up the rest of the team when they’re down on their luck, and should misfortune strike either, they pull out all the stops and show off exactly why they’re not to be trifled with, so that even the villain is afraid.

4. “I don’t even know who you are”

Oh, but you will. This one twists the knife, robbing the avenging hero of the importance in this world they’re desperate to maintain. They are their own hero, the sun revolves around them… but not to this one asshat that ruined their life and doesn’t even remember doing it.

An entire identity built upon the finding, fighting, and overcoming of this wrongdoer, every other goal in life cast aside for this one impossibility. Either the villain toys with the hero to make them irate, or gets suckerpunched by some pissant fueled by vengeance and spite and divine purpose to dole justice where justice is due.

6. The jaded badass and their naive ward

If the last 8 years of media is anything to go by, we still love this trope, whether it’s in a galaxy far, far away or a fungi-zombie post-apocalypse, or in the twilight hours of an era of legendary mutants. The best part of this trope? You get two often contradictory character types in one body. The pessimist, PTSD-ridden master of old with no living friends left and at least one dead love interest *and* beneath all that, still lies an atrophied heart of gold just waiting to be nurtured and revived.

The naive ward gets a hard lesson in how crappy the world can be, but also in how there’s still some goodness left, if their guardian cares about them. The jaded badass in turn, learns how good the world can be, that there’s something still worth fighting for beyond the next bottom of a bottle.

6. The enemy of my enemy (is my friend)

Similar to the “old friends”, this trope is often a result of the minioned Big Bad realizing they don’t want to be evil anymore. Or, bitter old rivals, sides of a war that have been fighting for generations, ideological polar opposites, fundamental polar opposites all come together when: Some evil schmuck managed to scare them both.

Doesn’t matter on what shaky ground this temporary alliance is built, or how long it lasts, equally-competent badasses on both sides finally work together and compliment each other’s strengths, and compensate for their weaknesses, in a way their teammates never could.

7. The irredeemable villain’s only wholesome connection

Not so irredeemable anymore, now are they? This trope messes with your head, taking a character you know has done heinous acts of terror, but who cares unflinchingly, unabashedly, about one thing – either their lover, their pet, their relative, or their kid.

This exists independently of the heroes and is not the same as an “oops I guess I’m your father” reveal. I’m talking this character who everyone is convinced cares about nothing and no one but themselves and their ambition still has a place in their soul for something they want to protect, they want to be loved by, or that they must spare from their atrocities.

8. Platonic Heterosexual Friendships

These two have seen each other at their most vulnerable. They’ve shared fears, dreams, desires, know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. They’ve seen each other exhausted, frazzled, dressed up, dressed down, bloodied and broken and like a raw, open nerve. These two would die for each other, they would live for each other, and yet.

They’re not in love with each other. They’re wholly comfortable in each other’s spaces without lust and desire mucking up the atmosphere. Neither is the one, neither wants to be the one. They remain together not for the bonds of romance, but for the bonds of friendship, and nothing could be stronger.

10. The Ace and their best friend, the Self-Proclaimed Slut

These two respect the f*ck out of each other. One never mocks the other for lacking desire and in return, they’re never mocked for their promiscuity. They’ll never walk in each other’s shoes, but they don’t need to, to understand that’s just how some people are. They’re each other’s safest spaces when the world doesn’t take either of them seriously.

They’re each other’s biggest defenders against the bullies, presumers, the holier-than-thous who think they have it all figured out. They’re the perfect compliment to give advice on everything from relationships to the best outfits for an outing because there’s *zero sexual tension* between them. Or, maybe, if the stars align, they’re something more.

10. The redeeming villain, and their staunchest skeptic

This villain has lost everything – their home, the respect of their people, their worth, their evil ambition, their identity, and has begun working their way up from rock bottom doing everything in their power to show the heroes that they’re serious. They make amends, they break their bones proving themselves, they’ve swayed everyone they’ve wronged in the hero camp.

Except one. The one character that was probably their first defender, and got burned for it. The character that was naive enough to think this villain could be saved, and was wrong. The character that won’t be duped again without some serious drama and soul-bearing between them.

Now tell me which ones I missed!

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1553

Chapter 23:

With little time to spare, everyone rushed to find thick branches or tree roots they could somehow detach.

Then, they proceeded to wrap it with cords, leaves, or vines; each adding their little own touch to them. At the same time, Lilia was commenting on how she hated the brooms and flying due to how often media associated with witches.

The only one not participating was you, who simply kept guard; ready to blast magic at anything that moved.

When everyone had done the couple ritual, where two witches enchanted and exchanged brooms; only then did they notice you with no broom in hand.

"Wait, Y/N doesn't have a broom," Alice pointed out, earning the coven's attention.

"Can't we make her one?" Teen asked, surprised by the fact that you had remained quiet and broomless.

"Only if we were am even number. We can't give her one of our own brooms, " Jen explained.

You waved your hand dissimively to ease the worries of your coven. "I don't need it either way. I can use my magic to fly, " you explained, earning different expressions from them.

Teen smiled in excitement. "Wait, you can fly with magic?"

Jen scoffed. "Of course you can,"

Alice seemed interested. "If it is a spell that allows you, we should be fine,"

Surprisingly, neither Agatha nor Rio seemed to agree with the idea.

"Absolutely not," Agatha argued. "We need to stick together, and she can't match a broom's speed."

Rio nodded faintly. "Better her riding with someone. She can join me. "

"Safest option is with me." Agatha disagreed, arguing with Rio while you stood not so far away; having no saying even though the topic was about you.

Before anyone else could comment or extend the argument, one of the Salem Seven appeared almost out of thin air; close to Alice and Teen.

The protection witch, though, acted fast and used the broom to smack and attack the corrupted witch; sending them on the ground.

Just then, Lilia took notice of something by the end of her peripheral vision.

"Agatha!" She exclaimed as another Salem Seven witch had appeared and now too close to its original target.

This time, you were faster to react.

Sliding on the muddy ground, you managed to cover the distance between your lover and you. As you pushed your legs to stand up, you extended your left hand and wrapped it around Agatha's waist; pulling her closer to your body that was positioned sideways but also further away from the enemy.

At the same time, white magic had gathered in your right hand, and you extended it forward; placing it on the chest of the cursed witch.

Your magic worked like a powerhouse, causing pain to the mind hired witch while also sending them flying back; quite a distance.

The force and momentum of the attack had even caused a weak wind current that moved some of your strands back while you stood there, holding Agatha by the waist.

Agatha had not expected the blind attack from her sworn enemy, so to speak, and neither your interference. Yet here she was, both hands grasping your upper arm as the sudden pull had her losing her balance; resulting in her slightly leaning back.

She stared at your profile for a moment longer, surprised by your attack but also the position you two were in; momentarily forgetting the grave danger that was approaching.

"How did you do that?" Alice questioned, the first to break the odd silence and also ruin your little mood.

You helped Agatha stand properly and did not fail to glance at Rio first, taking notice of the face she pulled. It was her silent way of saying 'not bad' along with the lines 'I am impressed'.

"I find hurling and throwing your magic from afar rather risky and also makes it easier for the enemy to dodge or block" you explained as you turned to face her, your hand still wrapped around Agatha's waist and her hands still holding your upper arm for dear life. "Instead, unleashing your magic in close quarters has a higher chance of success, and the impact is more powerful."

Teen looked at you as if seeing their idol live on stage, his dark eyes glowing with interest. "Wow," he exclaimed, unable to find where to start his questions.

Jen cleared her throat, having enough of the unnecessary talk. Mind hived witches were after them, and she would love to get as far as possible from the danger.

"Think we can finish this later," she commented. "We need to go,"

"We still haven't decided who will fly with Y/N.

"She can fly with me," Teen said, lifting his hand halfway as he spoke. "I have never used a broom before... I mean an enchanted broom cause I have used normal brooms at home -"

"Enough, kid," Agatha said, lifting her hand to silence him. "Let us go. She flies with you. "

Rio looked at Agatha, clearly not fulling agreeing but said nothing. Instead, she watched you walk towards the teenager, the two of you exchanging a smile.

"Let's do this," you told him as you both held the broom in your hands.

Wasting no more time, you all started to run towards one direction. One by one, everyone jumped on the brooms and mounted them; quickly gaining height.

"Wait! How do I-"

You interrupted the Teen. "On my mark, mount the broom," you instructed, and as Lilia took flight, your chance arrived. "Now!"

Without hesitation, he jumped and mounted the broom. His hands held it for dear life just as you managed to mount the broom right behind him.

"Wow!" He exclaimed as the broom slowly started going up while also gaining more and more speed.

At the same time, you could hear Lilia laughing from joy and Alice having the time of her life, both exprtely navigating the broom.

The ones having he easiest time were Agatha and Rio, who have also taken the lead and had the most experience flying on brooms.

It was hard, at first, with the low branches, and the boy had stated to worry; feeling the loops and sudden moves would throw him off, even if your hands were around his waist.

"Oh, God!" Teen exclaimed.

Lilia was amused. "Try praying to the Divine Mother, kid," he advised the future witch.

Just then, an opening was presented, and one by one, the coven flew up; heading for the night sky.

Teen hesitated, seeing the claw like branches and the fact that he had to fly almost straight up; his mind reminding him of what gravity would do if he tried.

"Please, divine mother," he prayed and dared to closs his eyes as he tried to guide the broom up.

He felt a cold ethereal touch on top of his hands and then the sudden feeling of your stomach dropping while the pressure and change of air hit you all in once.

Thankfully for him, the up way was short and before he knew it; the broom was vertical again, and he could feel the cold night air against his cheek and curly hair.

Opening his eyes, he was left in awe at the beautiful sight of the Red full moon right next to everyone.

He looked down, noticing how small the trees looked, how normal the road seemed, and how fast you were going.

It was then he saw an extra pair of hands placed on top of his, remembering this ethereal feeling of magic he felt when he prayed to the Divine Mother for the first time. He turned to look above his shoulder, seeing you leaning against his back and having a smirk on your face.

"You're welcome, kiddo," you told him, making him smile faintly as a thank you. "Eyes forward and don't you dare close them again"

He nodded. "Yes ma'am"

As the coven flew in formation, Agatha took a moment to breathe the cold air and be reminded of the sense of freedom she had been denied for so long. Broom flying was always so freeing, offering a sensation few things could truly match.

But then she dared to look at her right and saw Rio, in all her supernatural glory, riding that broom; her face screaming confidence and raw power as the wind blew back her hair.

Conflicted and defeated, Agath tried to look at her left and take some comfort in the blood red moon when she noticed you and Teen gaining speed.

You giggled faintly as you were trying to instruct the boy how to hold the broom and how to command it.

At that moment, you seemed to be happy and relaxed, clearly enjoying teaching him. He was also chuckling faintly as he absorbed everything you told him, doing his best to make you proud and show you that he was paying attention.

Agatha could not help but imagine you, being the same to Nicholas had he ever the chance to grow. Spending time with him, teach him the brooms, the stars, and so many things.

Her heart felt heavy, and she did not dare to trail further down that path. Instead, she looked forward again and tried to focus on anything but you with the boy and Rio.

Chapter 24

[vinnyvamppp]

Hello love , been lurking around ur work for a while and am so love with what you write 😘😘😘🥰😍. Anyways I have a little request to ask , if you could write a powerpuff girl (buttercup) reader . She is described as a "tough hotheaded tomboy". Her signature color is lime green and her personality ingredient is "spice". Her powers include Superhuman Strength , Superhuman Speed, Superhuman Durability (shes basically near invulnerability) , Superhuman Stamina ,Flight, Heat Vision , Ability to breathe and survive in space , Energy projection (bright green)Super senses (sight and hearing)Night Vision, Tornado Generation, Fire generation (green) [Buttercup can generate fire through her hands]X-ray vision , Invulnerability against extreme temperatures , Supersonic Screaming. Other signature abilities she displays are Ball Blast, Black Hurricane, Green Laser Beams, Energy Orb (colored light green), Thunder Clap.

She would not be down with the guardians being so damn weak that wouldn't even bother to work with them , but it would be so fun to see their reactions , main mark , and cecil to her not only better powers but also her tough girl personality. She in some moments is heavily underestimated because she's seen as extremely cute and princess like and that gets her blood boiling to the point she has to prove them wrong ( which she always does)

Am not gonna sugarcoat it she is dominating the invincible war , as she will be able to basically go against most of the invincible variants and she about that life and sinceshe'sknown to never back down from any fight no matter how powerful the enemy thinks they are , but I mainly wanna see her go against sinister mark , Mohawk mark and lensless mark (if you can write her fight against them pls) .

Can't wait to see what you'll do with this .🥰🥰😘

Spice & Distruction (ง'̀-'́)ง

Warnings: Nothing aside from the usual gore or violence. (Couldn't find a worthy picture for this UGH!)

Note: Oh, I like this one. An overpowered bad bitch that constantly overachieves because -- why not? I got you, took some creative liberties, JUST IN CASE send in another ask if you want it to be longer or a pt2 using more of her powers! Word Count: 1,600 Invincible!Variants x Buttercup!Reader

The city burns below you. Columns of black smoke curl into the sky, blotting out the sun. The skyline is shattered—skyscrapers missing their tops, entire blocks reduced to craters. Blood stains the streets. Screams echo between the ruins. Buildings remain tilted, each vibration from footsteps threatening to topple them over. The skies were set ablaze, a scent of blood and perish lingering in the humid air. And above it all? The Invincible War rages on.

Hundreds of Mark Grayson variants are tearing the world apart, ripping through defenses like wet paper. The Guardians of the Globe, Earth’s so-called strongest heroes are getting obliterated. Monster Girl’s body lies motionless, halfway through her transformation. Rex Splode? Crushed. Dupli-Kate’s been rag-dolled through a building, and even Mark, the real one, is stretching thin in assisting against his murderous duplicates.

Pathetic.

Your eyes scan the scenery, bored after obliterating such challenges with ease. You hover in place, arms crossed, neon-green energy crackling around you like wildfire, its crackles threatening to descend at any moment. The vibrancy in the green hue of your costume made you a noticeable target. Perfect. Cecil’s voice crackles in your earpiece. “We need backup at—.” You roll your eyes. “Shut up, Cecil.” You grit.

Then you dive, cutting through the air like a knife. For Mohawk Mark, with your abilities, easy diff. Your target stands amidst the carnage, a towering, muscle-bound Mark Grayson with a jagged mohawk. His bloodstained fists flex at his sides and at his feet? Bulletproof, broken, and groaning per usual.

Mohawk Mark plants a boot on Bulletproof’s chest, grinding him into the pavement. A low chuckle rumbles from his throat. Yeah, no. “Yo, Knucklehead,” you call. He barely turns before—.

BOOM.

Your fist slams into his jaw. A sonic boom erupts.

Mohawk Mark is launched like a missile, his body smashing through two skyscrapers, leaving a trail of shattered glass and bent steel in his wake. By the time he skids to a stop, half a city block has been destroyed. You land in front of him, dusting off your knuckles. “Damn. That all you got?”

A deep, inhuman growl rumbles from his throat. Mohawk Mark rises from the rubble, brown eyes darkening. His lips curl into a sneer as he wipes blood from his mouth. “Little shit, you just made the biggest mistake of your life,” he snarls. Lunging at you like a rabid animal.

His fist swings, blurring the air around it, fast enough to shatter concrete on impact. You don’t dodge. You catch it. It would be enough to reduce someone to a bludgeoned mess. The street beneath you fractures on impact. The sheer force sends cracks spider-webbing across the pavement. But you don’t move. His eyes widen just a fraction before your grip tightens around his fist. His bones creak. His jaw ticks as he attempts to resist you in a classic game of strength. You smirk. “Try harder.” And then, with a single motion, you twist his arm—

SNAP.

The sickening crack of bone echoes through the street. Mohawk Mark howls in agony, his entire body jerking from the pain. Before he can recover, your other hand ignites a bright, emerald-green flame roaring to life in your palm. His eyes go wide. Though this is what he wanted isn't it? A challenge? Too bad he was on the receiving end.

“Night-night,” you taunt, then blast him point-blank. The explosion is instantaneous. A shockwave obliterates everything within a two-block radius. Cars flip. Buildings sway. Flames consume the pavement as Mohawk Mark’s body is launched sky-high, disappearing into the clouds.

Gone.

You shake your head. “Too easy.”

Against Lensless Mark, its a medium diff, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

A low whistle cuts through the destruction. You don’t need to turn around. You already know. Lensless Mark.

He stands atop a collapsed building, arms loose at his sides, head tilted in amusement. No goggles. A mask. Just those cold, giddy eyes staring into you. Like you’re something to dissect. His voice is smooth, almost lazy. “Huh. Dude! You’re still standing.”

You roll your shoulders, cracking your neck. “You gonna stare all day, or—”

THWACK.

He’s on you in a blink. You barely tilt your head before his fist slices past your cheek so close it burns. You counter. Your Thunder Clap erupts like a bomb. A wave of force flattens an entire block. Windows explode. Asphalt rips apart like paper. Lensless Mark is blasted back, flipping mid-air before catching himself. He lands with a skid, leaving deep trenches in the pavement.

And yet, he’s smiling. Taunting even as he cups his face within his hand. “Cute,” he murmurs, wiping blood from his lip. “Let’s see how long you last.” Then, he vanishes. No sound. No wind. Nothing. Your eyes barely register movement before—.

FAWUMP.

His fist buries into your stomach. A shockwave detonates around you. The sheer force launches you through six buildings in a row, concrete and steel shattering on impact. You slam into the side of a skyscraper, embedding deep into it. Your ribs ache. Your jaw tightens.

Oh, hell no. Second offense after calling you cute within the first few minutes. He’s done for.

You ignite mid-air, green flames roaring to life around you. Your fingers spark, gathering energy into a pulsing, neon-green orb. You grin. “My turn.” Then, you hurl the Ball Blast. The explosion is blinding. A nuclear-green fireball engulfs the entire street. By the time the dust clears?

Lensless Mark is on his knees, coughing blood. His hands tremble as he tries to stand. You land in front of him, arms crossed. “Still think I’m cute?” you asked, feet slowly carrying you towards him. He wheezes. Glares. Then, lurched one last time. Big mistake.

Your eyes flash. Twin green laser beams punch straight through his chest. His body locks up. His breath stutters. He stares at you, mouth open before collapsing.

Game over.

For Sinister Mark, you might’ve finally met your match.

A slow clap echoes from above. You look up to see Sinister Mark. Truly an unorthodox and brutal version of the Mark you knew.  He floats in the firelight, arms crossed, face grinning with unreadable eyes. Studying you.

He’s the only one who didn’t rush in like a brainless brute. He’s watching. Calculating. “You’re different,” he finally says, voice like steel. You smirk. “And you’re not as dumb as you look.”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s entertained. Then he moves. Faster than anyone before him. You barely register the attack before his fist slams into your stomach. The moment his fist met your ribs, he felt the give of muscle beneath his knuckles, you heard the wet thud of the impact.

CRAAAAACK.

The pressure rips through the entire city. Buildings collapse. The sky shatters. Your body rockets through mountains. Pain pulses through your ribs and adrenaline surges, cushioning the blows.

You stop yourself mid-air, blood dripping from your lip. You wipe it off with the back of your hand. He approached you, flight only stopping when he was within a reasonable distance. That smile creased his cheeks in amusement. Instead, you return a grin of your own. “Oh, you are gonna be fun.”

You launch, sending an ear-drilling scream in his direction as he vibrates. He was tough, but every environment was your domain and it would bow to your will. ... REACTIONSSSS

The battlefield is silent. No more shockwaves. No more fists colliding at hypersonic speeds. No more Invincible war variants tearing through the air. Just the whine of the wind as it howls through a city that barely exists. The other heroes managed to blow a hole through the gaping damage caused, but not without failure.

Skyscrapers? Leveled. Streets? Shattered, scorched, and barely recognizable. The very foundation of the Earth itself has been cracked open, glowing fissures spreading from the sheer impact of the fight. Smoke billows into the night sky, the stars barely visible through the debris still falling like radioactive snow. People began forming shelters as homes were lost. You were bruised, battered even, but still standing, that's what mattered most.

Mark hovers above the destruction, completely speechless. This wasn’t just a battlefield, this was a massacre. His eyes scan the carnage below, there were craters large enough to be seen from orbit, remnants of entire blocks reduced to molten rubble, the burnt-out skeletons of skyscrapers barely holding onto their last foundations. And the bodies. Mohawk Mark? Gone. Lensless Mark? Gone. Sinister Mark? Fucking obliterated or disappeared to who knows where. Not a trace of them left.

His stomach twists. It’s not fear. Not exactly. But it’s something. Something close. He finally speaks, voice hoarse. “...What the fuck.” You don’t even look at him. Just crack your neck, letting out a breath that warps the air from the sheer heat still radiating off your body.

“You’re welcome,” you mutter.

Mark... doesn’t even know what to say to that.

Cecil watches through a satellite feed, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. Around him, the Pentagon’s war room is in chaos. Analysts are frantically running calculations. Field agents are double-checking sensor data because the readings don’t make sense. Some poor bastard in the back is throwing up after seeing the destruction.

But Cecil? He just takes a slow, steady breath, partially in relief. He doesn’t flinch at the mushroom cloud of energy still lingering where Sinister Mark used to be. He doesn’t react to the seismic activity that your fight triggered, or the fact that the city’s entire power grid is fried from the electromagnetic pulses generated by your attacks.

He just exhales. “…Son of a bitch.” Donald, standing nearby, clears his throat. “Sir, the damage assessment—”

“I know the damn assessment.”

Cecil’s fingers tap against the table, his mind already racing. Because this? This changes everything. You weren’t just stronger than the variants. You were dominant. You tore through them and you were still standing. “Jesus Christ,” Donald mutters under his breath. “If she ever decides to turn against us—” Cecil gives him a sharp look. “Then we better pray she doesn’t.” I swear I finished this yesterday and spent an hour unable to find an image deserving of this story. I HOPE WHOEVER REQUESTED ENJOYS THISSS.

[mearcairz]

Hello tumblr let me take a moment of your time to put you onto my worst enemy

looks like a normal tree right? WRONG

these things are sent straight from the bowels of HELL with the SOUL PURPOSE of ruining my entire week

LIKE LOOK AT THEM WHY DO THEY MOVE LIKE THAT

now, i can already hear you typing,

“Xavier, the evermeans are one of the weakest enemies in the game, you are a coward and your bloodline is weak”

and while i do see your point, you are objectively WRONG and i am going to show up to your house WITH A HAMMER

Listen, when im trying to enjoy a nice little stroll through the virtual forests of Hyrule, yknow trying to get myself immersed with the game, the LAST thing i need is THE WEIRD COUSINS OF THE ENTS FROM LORD OF THE RINGS BURSTING OUT OF THE GROUND AND SCARING ME NEARLY HALF TO DEATH WHILE IM TRYING TO ENJOY MY BOWL OF CHICKEN RAMEN AT 3 IN THE MORNING

I hope you can all see my frustration with these ABOMINATIONS TO GOD and i will NOT be taking any constructive criticism GOOD DAY SIR