#ribcages of stilled titans

[mumblelard]

gladys or lemon flavored last days

i never could get the hang of wuersdays

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss. 

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live. 

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.” 

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.” 

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks. 

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice. 

levi makes his way towards the door. 

“levi?” 

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t. 

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought. 

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.” 

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting. 

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter. 

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle. 

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess. 

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say. 

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first. 

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red. 

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you. 

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice. 

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness. 

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned. 

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety. 

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?” 

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.” 

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.” 

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.” 

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.” 

“five—” 

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

[nelapanela94]

“Look, Lewis…” you say.

“Levi,” he corrects.

“Right, Levi.” You place a thumb on your lips. “That’s nice of you to ask,” you ponder, “but I kind of have a no-dating policy with customers.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I can’t afford to buy anything you’re selling.” He turns around, his eyes gliding the perfectly sanded, tainted surface. It’d look great in his office, the rivulets of wood flowing under the morning light. Too bad that one year of his salary is not enough. And he’s not in need of a new desk. Treasury would not approve. Not after the fuss he made to procure fine tea. It is a fundamental need; their underdeveloped taste buds don't understand it.

You bite the inside of your cheek and say the evident. “A soldier.”

Not just any soldier.

“Survey Corps.” He breezes to the window, sweeps a finger along the sill. No grittiness. He smirks. Tries to play it cool. Deep inside, his nerves are wrecking him. His heart hammering in his ribcage, he can hear the beating behind his ears. Slaying titans is appeasing compared to being near you. Entering your woodshop was a mistake.

Why did he listen to shitty-glasses?

The paper wrap crisps in your sandpapery hands, and you flash a winsome smile. They’d look lovely on the counter desk. Pouring oranges and reds.

“Dahlias are my favorite; how did you know?”

He balls his hands in his pockets, turns around, shrugging, and opts for a wee lie. “You look like a dahlia person.” He coughs in his fist to dissipate the heat under his cheeks and curses at himself for coming up with the most slow-witted explanation he could’ve come up with. But the reality was so much worse. The creep lurking around was not the concept he wanted you to have of him.

Your eyes flick down, as you rock on your heels, curling your toes inside your boots. The invitation still lingers in the air, and military men are not out of your list. He’s handsome, primped and smells great. Gray eyes and (e/c) eyes meet, bursting his heart in a collision of stars. He’s fidgeting, cheeks feverishly blushing.

A dainty chuckle breaks from your glossy lips.

“I’d like to have tea with you.” You say; his eyes are quivering. “It’s a date, isn’t it?”

Levi’s eyes snap with startlement. “Y-yeah.” Tendrils of sweat trail down his spine. He takes a deep breath, his eyebrows mellow. “It is a date.” He smiles.

[101maverick]

one shot with comic dick grayson where you guys get into a small fight and it gets to the point that when you spar together, he purposefully pins you to the ground to make you listen to his apology🫢

A/n: ooooohhhh this is juicy! Perfect angst material eheh🤭 imma have fun with this one >:) Not really sure about the “comic” part tho, cause i’m still at the start of my comic journey, but I’ve seen panels here and there on tumblr so imma see what I can do for u

Word count: 1400

There’s Something in Your Eyes

You are being stupid, really.

Logically, you know Dick loves you.

Logically, you know there is nothing going on between them.

Logically, you know Dick is an extremely influential hero, and that basically everyone in the hero community looks up to him since he’s been in it for forever, which makes it normal for him to have had many flings with people he still to this day works with.

However, logic doesn’t stop jealousy from burning in the pit of your stomach every time you see him interacting with one of them.

It’s not even one particular event that sets you off, more so a series of tiny little things.

Each reunion, each debrief, each cheesy quip, each mission, they all pile up until what was once only a tiny twinge of jealousy has turned into a gaping hole in your chest, out of which comes only anger and insecurity.

You aren’t an intergalactic princess like Koriand’r.

You aren’t an historic sidekick partner and lifelong friend like Barbara Gordon.

You aren’t some charming top-model or Lord-knows-what-else that his past stories surely are.

You’re just you, and while you don’t necessarily think badly of yourself, nowadays you aren’t sure that ‘you’ is enough.

And all of this is so unfounded that you feel silly at the thought of even voicing it, and you really didn't mean to make a fuss, but when Dick comes home after the umpteenth space mission with the Titans, raving about Starfire's intergalactic ambassador skills, you can't help the irritated quip that makes it's way past your lips.

“Cause she’s always so amazing, isn’t she?” You huff. Satisfaction coils in your gut, a bit of the tension inside you easing as a bit of your pent-up frustration finally finds release. You stifle it as best you can.

At that Dick looks up at you, startled. You feel your previous satisfaction wither right alongside the happiness in his eyes.

You are in your shared apartment’s kitchen, the island between you as he sits on a stool while you lean against the counter.

“What?” He asks, confused. His expression is rapidly morphing, reminding you of something awfully akin to a kicked puppy.

You backtrack as fast as possible. “Nothing, don’t think about it.”

Shame colours your cheeks, and their sting joins the burning of your mounting shame, bubbling under your skin. You turn your body away from him, not wanting him to see.

Dick isn’t having that though, because your boyfriend, your sweet and perceptive boyfriend, sees the way your shoulders are hunched and your brow is slightly furrowed and immediately clocks what your remark was all about.

He shoots you a concerned glance. “Babe, you alright?” He asks while sliding off the barstool, making his way around the kitchen island. Ever the tactful one, as always. “If there’s something bothering you, we can talk about it—”

You cut him off. “I said it’s nothing. There’s nothing to talk about.” The irritation in your voice is a poor shield to hide behind, a hastily put-together cloak of dryness and hardened stares for your shame to shroud itself in.

Dick remains standing there, halfway around the kitchen island, as you make your exit to the bedroom.

————————————

The day passes, and you keep your distance. Just the thought of how Dick would react to you voicing your insecurities, the absolute hurt that would mar his features at his girlfriend accusing him of cheating of all things, makes the flame of shame and self-hatred re-ignite in your ribcage, inflaming your lungs with every breath.

You manage to deflect any attempts at confrontation in the car, spending the whole ride to the Manor looking out the window and blasting music through your earphones.

————————————

It all comes to a head in the Batcave, obviously.

You’re training in a corner of the gym area, going through your usual routine. Dick comes up to where you are and stands there, waiting for you to pay attention.

After a solid five minutes of him standing there unmoving and of you stubbornly ignoring him you cave and pause your reps. You keep your eyes stubbornly fixed ahead of you.

He tosses you a roll of bandages. “You up for a spar?” His voice is quiet. Your resolve breaks.

You grab the bandages and swiftly wrap your hands. He stays watching you the whole time. You wonder wether his gaze is damning or merely analytical.

When you’re done you move to the training mats. Getting into position is reflex by now, readying your stance and falling into a weird stand-off, both waiting for the other to swing first. You keep your eyes fixed to a spot above his shoulder.

You attack first, lunging at him and throwing a right hook, meanwhile trying to kick his feet off of him.

Dick swiftly avoids your punch, sidestepping it and catching your entire arm in his grip. He uses that to leverage your body over his shoulder, rendering useless your attempt at getting him off-balance.

You recover in mid-air, landing in a roll and getting back up while he’s still in the process of turning toward you, and manage to land a punch to his stomach.

He sputters but manages to step aside in time to avoid your other arm coming to enclose on his waist, and your momentum makes you loose your balance.

You go for another roll, but before you can do more than turn on your back you find yourself locked into a full-body pin.

Dick’s almost laying on top of you, his knees on either side of your hips, his chest pressing on yours so his bodyweight weighs you down too much to get up.

His forearms are laying on either side of your head, though. You could easily slide your arms out from where he’s got them pinned against your sides and make him loose his balance, if you wanted.

Trapped like this, though, your face inches from his, you have no choice but to stare right into his eyes.

What you find there stops you from fighting.

His expression his open, his brows slightly furrowed. In those oceans he’s got for irises swims something you aren’t sure you know the name of, but it doesn’t burn you and you aren’t sure you like that. Aren’t sure you want the unfamiliarity of it to keep festering.

Dick Grayson reads people like one does library handouts, laid bare with all their weathered discolouration and all their folded corners for whoever comes across to see. You are no exception.

So why, just why in the hell doesn’t his gaze burn? Why doesn’t it scorch you with the familiar flames of hatred, resentment and anger?

You want to turn away. You do, really. Aren’t sure you can keep looking into those mariana-trench deep wells of something you can’t name without drowning. You steel yourself, though. You have a feeling that looking away would be too much like a condemned man flipping the switch of the electric chair himself. You’re gonna leave that job to him.

“You know I hate it when there’s something wrong but you won’t tell me about it.”

His voice is soft. It doesn’t burn. That damned something permeates it, as well.

“You already know everything you need to. What’s the point in making a bigger fool of myself?”

The shame stings your cheeks. The way the something remains plastered on his face unperturbed instead of giving way to something fiery soothes it. The lack of condemnation rips the confession from your lips.

“I’m sorry.”

The admission. You’re right, it says. Everything you read in that torn-up book of my soul is true. Add another tear to it’s pages. Rip it to shreds.

How could you? How could you have, even second-handedly, doubted his loyalty? How could you have been so self-absorbed and childishly jealous, when that forsaken something embeds itself into every fibre of his being? While it washes over you to soothe every burn and extinguish every flame you yourself caused?

Dick’s expression changes. It morphs. The something is joined by something else now, not unlike a breeze parting clouds previously hanging in a greyed sky.

“It’s okay. I just wish we’d work together when there’s something bothering one of us.”

It’s okay. Absolution.

You think the sky would’ve parted. You think you should be hearing trumpets right now.

You are reminded, then, that there is a whole world outside of this cave. That who you have in front of you is just a man, and that the universe is filled with something bigger than yourselves.

But even with this knowledge at the forefront of your mind, here, with Dick’s forearms resting on either side of your head, your entire universe boils down to him. To his almost-creaseless brow. To his something-filled irises.

And in this moment of clarity you realise that right now, with all your little hurts bare to see, his entire universe boils down to you.

“Yeah. Let’s.”

You wish you had more to say. You wish your brain could come up with something more substantial.

You hope the something shining in your eyes is enough.

It feels a lot like love.

————————————

A/n: I hope you enjoyed!! I absolutely loved writing this, it was so fun and I just love angst hehe If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

[ninibeingdelulu]

Silence ✧

Plot: You, one of the nurse of the Task Force 141, take care of his injury.

A/N: Guys— I know I said I’m gonna take a break but this have been in my mind and I wanted to share it with y’all😭 so my final post until exams is gonna be abt kaiser!!

It's been another one of those brutal ops that left the boys of Task Force 141 pretty banged up as usual.

Holed up back at the safe house, you're the only nurse on duty tonight handling their medical needs post-mission.

The door to the makeshift triage bay suddenly kicks open with Lieutenant Ghost himself stalking inside with that icy unreadable vibe he always gives off.

Like he's some sorta apex predator assessing any potential prey in his vicinity even among allies.

With his usual skull baclava, he head toward a chair without a word. Then he just calmly lifts his bloodstained shirt exposing that frighteningly huge, scarred torso built like some kinda walking brick shithouse.

You can't help the nervous gulp escaping as those piercing steel-black eyes bore straight through you standing there frozen.

Sizing you up like some helpless little rabbit ready to be ripped apart by those massive bear-paw mitts clenching fistfuls of shredded fatigues.

Until your medical training finally clicks into autopilot gear catching sight of the nasty bullet graze scorched across his lower abdominal slabs.

Gnarly enough to require patching up judging by the steady trickle still seeping out between those ridges.

You give the subtlest shake snapping out of it then retrieve the first aid kit heading over.

Carefully avoiding those glacial irises still tracking you as you silently kneel before the seated Lieutenant without uttering a word.

Once situated between those tree-trunk thighs you get to work cleaning and disinfecting the jagged wound with the antiseptic wipes.

Ghost barely even flinches when the alcohol solution hits that raw patch of burger meat - dude's an absolute stoic savant when it comes to playing through pain.

At least until you hear the faintest hiss slipping past those clenched jaws when you apply slightly too much pressure against the tender injury.

Instantly you freeze then murmur a hushed apology, letting your touch turn gossamer light yet still effectively cleaning the gash while he stays utterly motionless.

Something about the close proximity between you both suddenly amplifies, like both your heartbeats are syncing up while you focus on meticulously wrapping those sterile bandages around Ghost's midsection.

Even through all that scar-tissue cratering his abdomen you can feel the searing warmth radiating off in pulsating waves.

Against your better judgment you chance a glance upwards to check if everything's still good on his end.

But the second your gaze meets that utterly primal smokey-black stare piercing straight through you, it's like every nerve ending in your body ignites simultaneously.

Those razor-sharp raptor eyes hungrily drink in every subtle shift and flex of your form positioned so vulnerably below him.

Heart thundering against your ribcage now as realization dawns about just how terrifyingly easy it would be for those titanic arms to completely overpower and snap you like a damn twig.

Yet a deeper core-level current also hums between the charged particles gathering unbearably thick in the air around you both too.

Stoking thrills of a different sort pulsing through your veins beyond just the mortal peril his presence typically broadcasts.

By the time you finish securing the gauze wrappings and carefully rise back upright, your throat's gone bone dry.

Forcing you to swallow hard glancing away while reminding him not to overexert. To diligently rest and hydrate sufficiently over the next few recovery days so you don't hafta come redress this all over again.

But the second your back's turned gathering those scattered supplies, you audibly inhale feeling Ghost's furnace-like proximity crowding up against you from behind.

Not overtly threatening yet - rather merely an intoxicatingly heady presence amplifying that strange tension crackling across your hypersensitive nerve endings exquisitely.

Those steel-cable forearms extending across both sides bracketing you in while his ragged whisper ghosts up the nape of your neck with a scorching caress.

"Much obliged, then...for always patching us up good as new, Doc..."

The words alone already skated the boundaries of impropriety.

But coupled with that dangerously carnal subtext rumbling just beneath the surface instantly flash-fried your higher cognitive processes into vapor.

You remained utterly petrified in place absorbing the infinitesimal sensations of his titanium frame pressing so tantalizingly close yet not fully against you while Ghost silently withdrew.

Leaving your entire body combusting from the inside out without another word spoken between you both...

[oh-meretseger]

part 9 - Smitten

attack on titan modern college au // Jean Kirstein x fem!reader

notes: I’M BAAACK, still struggling with uni stuff, but had some time to write so enjoy another long smut+fluff and my own little sketch of a modern au Jeanbo [he can have it]

cw: 18+ smut! explicit language, lot of teasing, sending nudes hehe, unprotected sex in various positions, both receiving oral, spanking, dirty talk, and some sweet little fluff at the end(:

wc: 8,6k

Jeanbo

wanna bring that smartass over, Rocky Balboa?

Connie’s out for the night

You chuckled at your phone, the stupid nickname instantly flooding your mind with memories of the brutal physical fight of the previous day.

It started out as an innocent afternoon of studying, the four of you gathering in your dorm for a scientific conference like the sophisticated citizens of the university that you are — but it quickly turned into a boxing match when Jean stole your pen to write "I'm a loser" across your neatly organized notes. Connie and Sasha had no choice but to watch with motionless, completely unconcerned expressions as Jean digged his fingers under your ribcage as a self-defense move, and you (being slightly ticklish) decked your fist into his face as a reflex.

"Pfft, would you be Rocky Balboa?" Ymir scoffed after she stopped pushing you, grabbing the chain of the swing you were sitting on, so she could read the text you were so amused by.

"You phould phee Jean's nose, phe nearly broke it.” Sasha's words fell victim to the giant lollipop filling her mouth, neither of her hands free as she was hanging from the monkey bars, exactly as an orangutan would be casually chilling.

"It was an accident!" you unconsciously raised your hand to your nose, an embarrassed tint of pink dusting your cheeks as Sasha reminded you of the injury you caused to Jean. He kinda deserved it, but you didn't mean to hurt him.

Sasha let go of the cold metal bars, hopping onto the thin dust of snow covering the ground. As if the chilly air bit into her cheeks, they glowed with a vivid red blush even in the dim, grey lights of the winter afternoon dusk. "It was a perfectly executed right hook, but it's okay."

"Hard to believe, with all due disrespect," Ymir sneered underneath the furry trim on the hood of her coat as she pulled on the chains again, pushing you in the swing with such force that your attempts at texting back to Jean instantly failed. "I would knock you out in a second."

"And Mikasa would knock you out in half a second," you grimaced as you digged the heels of your boots into the rigid ground, fighting back against Ymir's evil strength. "So what are you saying?"

Sasha giggled with the stick of the lollipop between her teeth and you smiled. Even though you couldn't see her face, the moment of hesitant silence was enough of a sign — Ymir knew it was true.

"Yeah, sure, in your dreams," she scoffed.

In contrast to your desperate twitching as you fought back against Ymir, Mikasa sat on the other swing like a picture of serenity. Her legs moved ever so slightly as she pushed herself off the ground, the small movements of the swing creating a quiet, but eerie creaking sound that would've sent shivers down your spine if you heard it in a horror movie.

Mikasa's eyes moved to Ymir, gazing at her above the big, red scarf that covered the lower part of her face as it wrapped tightly around her. "We can give it a try, if you want.”

"I'd pay an INSANE amount of money to see that fight," Sasha stated after growing impatient and biting down on her lollipop, crunching on it with loud cracks — like she always did with any hard candy.

"I'd pay you an insane amount of money to shut your goddamn mouth," Ymir snapped back right away with her usual snarky tone.

"Ymir!"

"I'll shut up for a couple hundo," Sasha shrugged while her teeth destroyed the last bits of the candy.

"For like two minutes, I suppose,” Ymir snickered, but as usual, Sasha couldn't be less bothered by her bullying, simply nodding in agreement.

"Pretty much."

You shook your head as you laughed, your eyes glued to your phone's screen while your fingers moved fast to reply to Jean, your heart's thumping even faster. It was beating with an excited joy, much more than just a lustful desire. Something that felt so pure, almost innocent — only a couple of hours passed since you ran into him, but still...

You couldn't wait to see him again.

you

i know you'll be waiting for me with a baseball bat to get revenge

but sure thing🤓 see you in 20

"I'm sorry, Mikasa, we have to reschedule me kicking your ass." Ymir's sarcastic tone earned a roll of Mikasa's eyes, even if she couldn't hide the amused spark in them. "I'm outta here"

"Are you going to volleyball practice?" you blurted out the mindless question, instantly knowing it was a mistake to ask.

"I'm going to your mom, actually," Ymir replied as she pushed your back with a vicious force one last time and you bursted out laughing. Right after Jean, Ymir was the second most skilled 'your mom' expert you knew.

"Right, tell her I said hi.”

"Anything for you, my dearest sweetheart," Ymir sneered as she leaned down to pinch your cheek and you let out a painful squeak. "Have fun getting busy with mullet-man."

"You're particularly vile today," Mikasa pointed out, winning an immediate ticket to Ymir's bullying-train as she grabbed the end of her scarf and with a simple movement, threw it on top of Mikasa's head, covering half of her face.

Then Ymir put her hands into the pockets of her coat and simply walked away without a word.

"Bye, girly pop!" Sasha yelled at her as you were chuckling to yourself at the hilarious absurdity of Ymir's behavior and she just raised a hand in the cold winter air as a goodbye.

"Typical" Mikasa commented, then brushed the scarf off of her face.

"Another date night?" Sasha asked you with a huge grin, her voice quivering with excitement as her hands cheered with small little claps. She was almost more excited than you were.

"Not a date night, just... Just hanging out," you replied as casually as you could, but even your hand couldn't hide your sheepish smile as you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

"Suuuure"

"Leave it, she's in love." Mikasa flicked her hand and Sasha let out a heartfelt laugh while you blushed. It's been long, long weeks since you and Jean's little dates and meetups got regular, but you still couldn't gather the strength to admit to your friends how tragically smitten you were.

But you weren't the only one being teased about him — Jean couldn't avoid all the playful pestering in the past few weeks, either.

BAM!

Jean's head jerked back at the impact after a padded shoulder found him in the most unfortunate slouching position as his focus drifted off for a few seconds, hitting his jaw with full force.

"Eyes on me, Jeanbo!" Reiner yelled back above his shoulder, already skating back to his place.

Jean grunted at the sudden pain, then raised his glove to his face. Reiner's strength met his jaw right at a spot that made his vision go black, seeing stars for a couple of seconds. For a moment, he couldn't even remember what drills they were doing.

"Kirstein!"

Jean shook his head to get his thoughts and senses back together, already pushing himself on the ice to skate towards Coach Levi's voice. The new headcoach had a few very strict basic rules which, as his stern stamp has already won the respect of the team, Jean tried to immediately obey as well.

"You're here to collect dust today, I see," Levi said in a low voice, leaning on the boards with both hands. Jean's skates came to a stop in front of him, but the coach nodded his head to order him out to the benches.

"I'm sorry, Coach." Jean's eyes dropped to his skates as he stepped out of the rink, deliberately avoiding to look at Levi. He almost opened his mouth to add an 'I'm tired', but stopped himself immediately. Shitty excuses were a no-go with Coach Ackerman.

"You look like a dog chewed through you, swallowed, then threw you up." Levi's voice was unexpressive, but his grey eyes pierced through Jean's with a coldness exactly as sharp as the stinging, frosty air above the ice rink. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Coach, I'm just—I'm a little tired." Jean decided not to explain any further, even if Levi seemed to care. He figured the coach wouldn't appreciate his heartfelt story about the little date of yours the previous night, a spontaneous evening walk turning into hours of conversation, irrationally long laughing fits and cuddling as the first snow of the winter was softly falling down on you. Coach Levi probably wouldn't care about how he just simply couldn't go home, unable to break away from you as you both slipped your arms under each other's coats, warming each other up with tight hugs and sweet, deepening kisses — and he just didn't notice the midnight stars above you, even if they tried to warn him about the late hour.

"It's time to decide if you want to keep dreaming awake in the rink or stay forward in line one, then," the coach bluntly replied with his arms crossed. "Understood?"

"Understood." Jean nodded. The coach was right. He didn't come to the rink at least four times a week for nothing. If anything, he felt a little embarrassed about the fact that others noticed a change in his behavior and focus since... Well, since you were in the picture.

"Maybe try focusing on your goals a little more than your girlfriend, Kirstein," Levi added and that stopped Jean in his tracks. He hesitated for a moment before nodding again, then grabbed the board, jumping over it to get back to the rink. The coach's comment sounded like an honest advice rather than a snarky remark — although Jean had no idea how the hell he knew about your existance.

"A girlfriend? I thought we bros were sharing," a guy slammed into the boards next to him with a loud bang and Jean instantly rolled his eyes. Floch was the third player of their line with Reiner, and Jean could've punched all the teeth out of the disgusting pervy grin that was plastered across his face at that moment.

"Eat shit, dumbass," Jean simply responded before pushing him with his shoulder as he skated back to their assigned corner.

"How about getting your head out of your ass, Forster?!" Levi wasted no time swinging his arm, hitting Floch's helmet with the timer he had in his hand, the loud knock on his head only confusing the guy. "NOW!"

Jean touched the spot on his jaw where Reiner hit him and he hissed at the sharp pain. If it was already feeling sore, he could imagine how colorful it was bound to get later.

"Sorry, man."

"It's fine, Reiner," Jean shook his head, knocking his stick on the ice as a sign to get back to the drills.

Though the bruise instantly felt a lot better when your soft lips pressed onto it, kissing it gently as Jean's hips rolled into you with a steady rhythm. His jeans pooled around his ankles and yours were thrown across the room somewhere, your shirt tugged up your chest to let your perfect boobs bounce freely as Jean devoured the beautiful sight with eager eyes. You two just figured the drawer in their dorm was the perfect height for you to sit on, legs spread wide apart, Jean's hands grabbing the flesh of your ass as your hips met at one messy, sloppy wet spot as he slowly fucked into you.

"You're getting so wet, love," Jean mumbled in your ear and you mewled in response, feeling your slick trickling down your ass as the lewd squelching sounds got louder. There was not a time when Jean didn't make you soaking wet, but there was a special something in the way his thick cock slowly dragged in and out of your pussy that just made it drool in response. Maybe it was the way you felt every inch of him taking the sweet time to rub against your spongy, sensitive spot that made you lose your mind. "S'wet for me."

"It just feels s-so fucking good," you moaned, your sweet voice and your warm walls squeezing around him making Jean groan in pleasure. You pressed another soft kiss onto the purple bruise on his sharp jaw, then gently ran your finger over it. "Please keep fucking me so slowly, baby"

"Holy—shit" Jean squeezed his eyes shut as his head started spinning. He was a sight to see as he struggled not to fill you up right then and there. His breathing ragged, a gorgeous flush on his cheeks, small beads of sweat glistening at the line of his soft  hair, a few ashy brown strands falling into your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. You clung onto his broad shoulders for dear life as your eyes wandered down to his happy trail glistening with your mixed wetness, then his throbbing cock, splitting you apart...

"I—I'm so close," you whispered desperately and Jean's lips crashed into yours in a sloppy kiss, his moans into your mouth making you whimper in response. "Hnngh"

"Am I making you feel good, pretty girl?"

"So good, baby," you pressed your forehead to his again and your fingers glided along his stubble, behind his ear, then to the back of his head to lovingly entwine with long strands of his hair. Your big doe eyes pierced through his with such an intense glint of pleasure, your cheeks and lips so plump and burning with heat, Jean felt himself stumble closer to the edge at the beautiful sight. "You're stretching me out so good, please don't stop, I—I'm..."

He tried to squeeze his eyes shut to hold back, last a little longer, but you calling him baby, praising his every movement, and your soft moans against his lips mercilessly whirled his mind even further.

"Fuuu—fuck, I can't," Jean grunted and you let out a devastated shriek at the sudden loss of him inside you as he pulled out. He moaned looking at the string of your clear wetness connecting you to his swollen tip, his cock hard and heavy, slightly bobbing as he got down on one knee in front of you.

"Nooo, what are you doing?" you hopelessly cried out as Jean looked up at you with an apologetic smile, both of his hands sliding up your thighs, large fingers harshly digging into the flesh, his hot breath tickling you as it grazed your sensitive clit.

"I'm sorry, love, I don't want to cum yet," he mumbled into you as his lips already pressed on your puffy lips. You didn't even have a chance to reply as his warm tongue glided through your slit, making your eyes roll back into your hand.

The way Jean could eat you out — how he was practically making out with your pussy, cruelly licking you into madness, his tongue feeling soft, yet so sloppy, so nasty... It just made you lose all control. You caressed the bruise on his jaw, unable to take your eyes off of the gorgeous man burrying his face into your core.

"Oh my fff— God, you're so fucking hot." Your head was spinning as you whimpered, Jean's deep grunts sending such ecstatic vibrations through your center that your fingers had to clutch into his hair for support. As your legs trembled, your fingers tugging on his hair, Jean's composure started crumbling — he moaned loudly at the pleasure, your fingers tugged even more harshly, his moans into your warmth got even louder...

Then to Jean's own surprise, he suddenly came undone.

Without warning, hot spurts of cum wet the floor below him, running down his untouched length with a yearning anguish — and that was the time you realized that Jean really, really liked his hair being pulled.

From then on, you made sure to take advantage of this little secret weak spot of his. Nothing crazy though, just lightly grabbing his hair while you softly moaned in his ear about how good he's fucking you, lacing your fingers through his strands, pulling him closer to you as you described to him how amazing his cock made you feel — your sweet voice mumbling these dirty confessions, paired with the heavenly sensation of your delicate fingers running through his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling on it, made it extremely difficult for him not to cum instantly.

"Fuck... You know exactly what you're doing, right?" Jean would huff as he slowed down the stern snapping of his hips, answering the mischievous glint in your eyes with a few large fingers stuffing your mouth full to shut you up for a little while. "M'sorry, baby, I have to."

And as the naughty spark turned into desperate tears in your eyes, you couldn't help but moan around Jean's fingers in agreement. You did exactly know what you were doing. But you just couldn't help it. The more familiar you became with each other's bodies, the more you discovered of all the little things that made Jean feel good. And you wanted nothing more than to make him feel so, so good.

Jean loved making out with you. Even the smallest, soft little pecks made his core tingle that your pretty lips pressed onto his, but the way your tongue danced around his, so eager to feel him in your mouth, just made him melt. Both of your moans and sweet saliva meeting in the sloppy kisses felt so good, so dirty, his cheeks always flushed with a pretty red color that you loved to admire. And the intense eye contact paired with the delicate touch of your fingers on his warm skin didn't help his state.

Touch was another thing you loved to use to your advantage in making a puddle out of him. You could feel the goosebumps that formed on his skin as you gently ran your fingers along the muscles of his arm, fingertips ever so slightly touching him, or when you innocently slid your palm over the shirt that covered his chest, up to his neck — that beautiful, sensitive neck that you loved kissing so much. It was just the perfect height for you to nuzzle into the warm skin, his intoxicating scent filling your mind with a dark haze as your lips kissed him softly, feeling the familiar goosebumps of his strong arms as they pulled you into an embrace.

Jean loved all your gentle touches, the caressing of your hands, the warmth of your tongue on his body. His hands couldn't get enough of you, either — he took every chance to brush his fingers against yours as you passed each other on the hallway, to grab your waist as he slightly guided you through crowds, or to hold your hand under the desk at the library, his fingers intertwining with yours while he kept reading his notes, smiling as he felt your doe eyes staring at him. Even the most innocent touches sent hot tingles through his core, and it made him feel so pervy, but he couldn't help the swelling bulge growing in his pants as the playful spark in your eyes reminded him of what an incredibly nasty girl you actually were. And it was the secret of you two.

The first few times you talked dirty to him left him absolutely dumbfounded. He had to get used to the insane spinning of his mind as you whispered such filthy stuff into his ear, sometimes out of nowhere, in the middle of the most casual public settings.

"I'd love to suck your cock under this table, y'know," you said softly as you leaned close to his ear, and Jean literally choked on his lunch, followed by immediate coughing and an instant strain of his pants as your sudden words wandered straight to his groin. You smiled at his surprised expression, then bit your lower lip as a prominent blush started to spread on Jean's cheeks. Oh, how you loved teasing him.

"Yeah?" he simply replied, trying to play it cool, but you saw right through him. Him being so adorably flustered just made you want to suck him off even more.

"Yeah," you eyed his lips with a half smile, and the sinful flash of your face made Jean grow even harder under his jeans. "You look so good..."

He swallowed with a heavy gulp, all the blood rushing to his lap, right out of his brain. He glanced at Connie, who just got up to get another slice of cake at the counter, and would be back at your table in about twenty seconds. Jean gazed back at your darkened eyes, your pretty lips glistening as you swiftly ran your tongue across it, and had to keep his eyes from rolling back into his skull at the thought of those same lips wrapping around his already rock hard cock, your eyes glued to his as you couldn't care less about the public surrounding — maybe you'd even enjoy it.

"You're a nasty girl, you know that?" he spoke in a low voice, your faces just a few inches from each other as your eyes melted into his, invisible sparks flying and setting both of your bodies on fire.

Your eyes lowered to Jean's lips and you slowly nodded, smiling. "I know."

"You drive me fucking crazy," Jean mumbled under his breath as you turned to Connie with a lively smile, laughing about the way he already had his face stuffed full of cake before he could sit back down — pretending you didn't just offer him a public blowjob half a minute ago in the canteen.

And you did, you drove him crazy as you became more and more comfortable and skilled in teasing him. Sometimes throughout the whole day, with dirty whispers in his ear as you passed him in the hallway, stolen touches as you suddenly grabbed his bicep or his inner thigh, catching him off guard in class, in the library or the canteen... Not only did an electric wave of arousal run through his body, but he almost fainted off his chair when his phone buzzed in class one time and he checked the attachment you just sent him, expecting it to be a meme — one of those that you usually sent to each other back and forth when a class got too boring to pay attention to. You watched from the other side of the classroom as Jean’s eyes widened at the sight of your mirror selfie, his breath catching in his throat. Your phone covered half of your adorably innocent-looking smile, your hair wet as you seemingly just got out of the shower, your naked hips, the curve of your waist and one and a half of your perfect boobs showing as your delicate fingers lifted Jean’s oversized shirt up on your body. To Jean, an undescribable, painting-like beauty.

Jean felt his lips slightly part and his face burn as he gazed at the screen of his phone, the picture of your delicious body making all the blood in his veins rush right to his lap. You bit back your smile as his eyes flicked up to you, his flushed cheeks and pursed lips letting you know you successfully reached your goal. Jean shifted in his seat, slightly adjusting the crotch of his pants as he tried to keep calm, but your playfully glistening eyes piercing through his didn’t help much. The professor loudly explained the basics of property rights in the background, but all he could wonder was if you knew how mercilessly he was going to overstimulate every inch of that beautiful body you hid under that baggy hoodie.

Jeanbo

you’re sooo paying for this later

u little rat

You knew exactly what buttons to push to get him worked up, and even though he felt agonizing pain as he suffered through a number of days with a raging boner, he secretly loved how more and more bratty you got while teasing him. You didn’t even have an idea of how many times you made him palm himself through his jeans in public, or escape to the restrooms to look at your spontaneous nudes and jerk his already hard cock just a little bit before having to go back to his usual tasks. Jean felt like a fucking perv, but he couldn’t help it — you made him turn into a perv, and he couldn’t stop thinking of all the different ways he wanted you.

Jean’s weakness was how only he knew your dirty little secret side. No one else in the world knew how skilled you grew in sucking his cock, giving him the most perfect blowjob he could ever dream of. You took your time to get to know all his sensitive spots and preferences, slowly suckling at his tip with pretty puckered lips, beautiful eyes looking deep into his until he couldn’t help spilling his hot load inbetween your lips. No one else knew what a dirty girl you were, getting bossy with him from time to time when he taunted you on purpose. He thought he’d lose conciousness right then and there when you stuffed your wet panties into his mouth one time, jokingly — even though you were on top, Jean kept teasing you with that shit-eating grin on his face, knowing you’d soon be begging for his cock. Oh, but he couldn’t have been more wrong…

He then slowly melted into a messy, blushing putty as you took charge on top of him, milking his cock in various ways as he just laid there, unable to move or say too much with his wrists tied to your bed, gagged with your cute little panties. Good thing he also loved watching you — he felt like he was in heaven as your gorgeous naked body towered over him, using him for your own pleasure.

That was a weakness you both shared. You loved watching Jean. He noticed pretty quickly how you liked admiring him, be it from afar as you sat on the other side of the classroom, or from up close, caressing his face with eyes so loving, it made him melt. You also loved to admire him in his naked glory — Jean was a man so big and beautiful, your hungry eyes could never get enough of him. He noticed your habit of basically devouring the sight of him touching himself, so he made sure to pay back all the damn teasing with a few mirror videos here and there, of him gently stroking his slowly swelling cock, sometimes through the towel when he was fresh out of the shower, or half naked in his room when he went back home for the weekend, already missing your presence…

His little revenge usually worked, seeing him touch himself in any way made you drool and your mind go blank instantly. You adored getting close to him, looking up at his handsome face, deep into his eyes as you were kneeling in front of him, watching and feeling his cock just an inch from your face before you begged for him to stroke you with it, slap it on your tongue, smear his precum on your lips, then stuff your face full… You were absolutely crazy about this man.

You also couldn’t get enough of his voice. Jean was definitely a talker, and your ability to cum in seconds as he whispered the most filthy, nasty words into your ear was completely new to you.

“S’creamy little pussy’s squeezing me so tight,” he moaned before gently biting down on your earlobe, his thick shaft stretching you from behind with the dirtiest loud squelching sounds. Another delicious groan reached your ear, and your eyes rolled back, knowing you were going to cum in no time. “That’s it, messy girl, cream on my cock f’me.”

Jean was all about being gentle and soft, but he was also quite passionate as he quickly got carried away. It was a beautiful clash of pleasures when his words and praises remained soft and caring while the movements of his hips, strong arms and large hands became rough, almost cruel.

SMACK!

His hand came down on the round of your ass with a harsh slap, and you whimpered in pain as you hovered over his face, your hands clutching his strands of hair as Jean sat on the floor below you, eating you out with a feverish greed. His wet lips mumbled into your pussy before he continued licking your sensitive little knob into insanity. “Mhmm yeah, keep holding onto my hair, pretty girl”

“JEAN!“ you cried out as another loud slap left a stinging pleasure hot on your ass, and your knees felt like giving out as his tongue swirled you closer to your peak.

“Cum on my face, baby, please make a mess f’me…”

Maybe that was the secret to all the otherworldly pleasure you experienced with each other — you both loved making the other feel incredibly good. After a long day of teasing each other, you couldn’t wait to feel his strong, large body wrap around you, his hot skin on yours, soft lips sucking your tongue into his mouth…

“Oh my god… How are you so—so fucking big?” you muttered and Jean chuckled as your jaw stayed fallen open, your pretty eyes staring at his erection as it jumped free from the confinement of his boxers. The sight made your mouth water. Even though you haven't touched it yet, his cock was already so heavy and wet, the flush tip leaking, so messy and eager to be inside you.

“Y’gonna be in shock every single time?”

“Mhmmm”

But what you loved most was how safe you felt surrounded by his thick, muscular thighs, or big arms as they snaked around your naked body, hugging you tightly to his chest, his length thrusting up into you slowly as his honey-like eyes sank into yours, his soft lips uttering secret little praises into your mouth… Words that made you feel like your hearts poured right through your ribs and melted into each other, words that felt so warm, so sacred, only yours...

"I'm only yours…”

Your hand moved on its own as you knocked on the door and your heart fluttered with the most childlike excitement you felt in a long while. The lock clicked, the door opened...

And there he stood in front of you.

You looked up to Jean's face and your heart sank to your stomach. An unexplainable contentment filled your chest every single time those beautiful hazel eyes met yours, his expression softening as he looked at you, his pretty lips curving into a smile and uttering words you could barely comprehend as your mind immediately turned to putty.

"Hey! Come in."

Warmth filled your chest as Jean turned to let you in and Mikasa's words echoed in your mind from earlier. You felt like she might've been right.

He felt like home.

"Will you be playing tin soldier in the doorway all night?" Jean tittered as he leaned onto the doorknob and you shook your head to jerk yourself out of your spontaneous daydream. Jean found it absolutely amusing when you became flustered — he noticed your eyes running down his body and the slight blush of your cheeks didn't escape his attention either as you stared at his face with big sparkling eyes.

"Shut up" you frowned as you quickly looked away, but you couldn't hide your embarrassment from him. "I'm eating your present"

"What present?" his curious eyes followed your movements while he closed the door behind you and you put down the paper bag you had in your hand.

"I brought you a—fuck—AHH!" you let out an irritated grunt as you turned to him, trying to unzip your winter coat, and failing miserably as the fringe of your knitted scarf got caught by the zip.

"Wait, let me help you," Jean snickered at your clumsiness and immediately stepped closer, his warm fingers taking the hardware from your frozen ones.  "Y'little twit."

"Hey, don't make me beat you again," you shot a threatening look up at him, then bit back a smile as he let out a heartfelt laugh. You felt your heart pounding against your chest faster as he stood so close to you, his eyes fixated on your zip with an adorable little frown.

"Your hands went numb in the cold?" Jean's eyes flicked up to yours for a moment and you nodded. Oh god, how your cute red, frostbitten cheeks made his heart flutter.

"Mhm, they always do," you replied pouting as you slipped your hands out of your colorful gloves that Sasha knitted for you. Crocheting wasn't her only craft and your closet got the best out of it. "My circulation's as shitty as it can get. And it's freezing out there..."

"This big ass scarf, I swear to god," Jean murmured, annoyed, as you chuckled, feeling the heat radiating from his face so close to yours. He found you so adorable in your huge, thick coat, big scarf and bigger snowboots. You reminded him of a dressed up little penguin.

And his face seemed so warm and welcoming, you couldn't help sliding your frozen hands on it. "HOLY SHIT, you're freezing, what the fuck?!"

"Ouuu god, and you're burning me." Your shoulders shook with laughter and Jean let you warm your little fingers on top of his stubbled jaw with a smile while he successfully operated your scarf out of the zip.

"There you go."

"Thank you, doctor," you finally unzipped your coat as Jean stepped back, his nosiness turning his attention back to the mysterious paper bag again. "See, it was worth it becoming a neurosurgeon."

"Shit, lucky you, you're in dire need of a brain transplant," he snapped back with the familiar shit-eating grin and you stared back with narrowed eyes.

"Aight, it's final, I am eating your present."

"But what is it?! Let me see." Jean's hand already reached for the paper bag, but you swiftly jumped in and grabbed it before he could.

"Na-uh-uh! It's a present, I have to give it to you," you smiled as one of your hands slipped into the bag, and Jean's heart skipped a beat at your happy, frostbitten little expression. Whatever you'd gift him, he was already melting.

"Ah yeah, silly me." He mirrored your smile while you dropped the paper bag, a familiarly wrapped pack of something remaining in your hands.

"I know you were dying to try out the new pastry shop in town center." Your hands reached out to Jean, but he didn't move yet. His look was glued to the pretty joyful glint of your eyes. "So I got you lemon cake 'cause you said your mom's was your favorite."

Jean's eyes finally left yours and he gazed at the colorful packaging of the cake as you carefully handed it over to him, an inevitable smile growing on his face while his chest filled with warmth as you explained further.

"It's probably not as good, but I figured your insanely sweet tooth might like it," you chirped cheerfully as Jean felt the familiar little butterflies wake up in his stomach, returning his gaze back to you with the most gorgeous, sheepish smile. He was flustered.

He didn't even remember the last time someone surprised him with such a small, yet so thoughtful little gift.

Jean turned to the cake again, looking for the easiest way to unwrap it as he tried to hide the blush he felt heating up his face. He's blushing over a slice of cake, how fucking stupid.

"Thank you— Grab a plate, we'll share."

"Nooo, I got it for you," you grinned, noticing the rosy tint of his cheeks even in the dim lighting of their dorm. "Only for you."

Jean's eyes returned to meet yours again, visibly softening as his cheeks burned with the immense love he felt at that moment. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between your bodies, and your hearts fluttered to the same chaotic rhythm as he leaned down to softly kiss you. The sweet taste of your watermelon chapstick made him tingle inside as you kissed him back, now blushing a whole lot more than Jean was previously.

"Thank you, pretty girl." He spoke softly as your kiss broke, smiling at how quickly you softened under his lips, eyes glistening up at him with desperation for more.

"I hope you'll like it," you mumbled in response, your eyes sheepishly dropping to avoid the intense feeling in your chest woken up by Jean's stare.

As if you didn't regularly fuck the soul out of each other.

It was kind of a weird place to be, casual affection still felt a little awkward between you two because despite the excruciating sexual tension, you still didn't declare any romantic intentions verbally. You and Jean hanging out casually was just that: talking about any and every possible thing, sharing your silliest theories, fooling around... Until one of you couldn't bear the tension of the intense eye contact and being so close anymore, and broke the ice with a touch on the inner thigh, a gentle stroke on the lips, or a soft but eager kiss. And there was no stopping from there.

Getting so close to each other as friends just made it even more of a strange situation, really.

"Speaking of doing favors... Can you please cut my hair?" Jean flashed a forced robotic grin at you and you stared at him for a moment with a genuine confusion furrowing your brows. He laid on his bed in front of you, still having a few small crumbs of the cake he just devoured stuck to his lips. "I don't trust anyone with it anymore."

"Oooh, so this is why you wanted to "hang out"," you sneered at him as your fingers imitated quotation marks in the air, earning an amused roll of Jean's hazel eyes. "You're using me for my insane manual skills..."

"Yeah, I'm with you solely for the free haircuts."

"With me?" you raised an eyebrow and bit back your smile as Jean's smug confidence seemed to suddenly disappear as his eyes dropped to his fidgeting hands. Your heart nervously skipped a beat at the phrase, but you decided to joke it off. "And I'm with you solely for your mullet."

"Knew it," Jean shook his head with a renewed smile. "Taking advantage of my body... How dare you?"

"I'd rather not comment on that," you chuckled to yourself as Jean started rummaging through the drawer of his bedside table, now laying on his stomach. "But I'd love to know how I earned your trust to touch your treasured locks."

"Here you go," Jean reached for your hands with a self-assured look on his face, carefully placing a pair of scissors in it. You gazed at them for a second before meeting his confident stare again.

"But these are regular scissors."

"And?"

"These aren't good, they could damage the ends of your hair," you said, but immediately bursted out laughing at Jean's deadpan.

"Okay, mom, I do not give a single flying fuck about my ends."

"Okay, honey-boo-boo-sweetiepie, whatever you say," you shrugged, getting to your feet as you took to the bathroom with your assigned hairstyling shears in your hand. "C'mon then."

"I'm starting to think you spend way too much time with Sasha," Jean smiled as his eyes involuntarily followed the smooth motions of your hips as you walked away, the sweet tinkling of your laughter sending a wave of warmth through his core.

You couldn't even imagine how endlessly content he felt in your presence.

"And I'm starting to think you lost your mind and share one singular braincell with Connie now," you snapped back, flicking on the bathroom light as a chuckling Jean got out of his bed to follow you. "Trusting me to cut your hair..."

"You said you usually cut your own and it's really good. The layers look pretty," Jean replied as he stopped next to you in front of the sink and his large fingers gently caressed your soft strands of hair. He liked it when you wore it down.

"Really?" you glanced up at him as you felt your face getting warmer and Jean smiled, letting his hands tangle in your hair at the back of your head. He found you so cute.

"Really."

That's how you found yourself spending your Friday night standing behind Jean with the scissors and a comb in hand. He was seated in front of the mirror above the sink, a towel wrapped around his broad shoulders, smiling at your reflection as you furrowed your brows in serious concentration, trying to get a thorough look of his hair before every single snip.

"Just a trim, right?"

"Yeah, just an inch or two," Jean replied, keeping his head perfectly still, unable to scrape the smile off his face as he was watching you. "I'm leaving it up to you, though."

"Do you really trust my skills that much?" you grinned as you slowly moved the comb to grab a section of his ashy brown hair, trimming off the ends to the same length as the previous section.

"I do." Your eyes met Jean's in the mirror for a moment as he responded, and you had to take a second look. His hair was kind of messy, having been brushed and clipped in multiple different directions, but despite looking a bit silly, the playful sparkle in his eyes still made your heart skip a beat.

"You're so handsome," you smiled back at him, lifting your hand for a second to gently caress his warm cheek as he sat completely motionless for you. Jean just chuckled, but even though he always became flustered, you knew how much he liked being praised. "It's a shame you're my customer."

"Oh, so no head?!"

"Nooo," you laughed at the reference and cut another section, moving the scissors to snip the ends a few times vertically as well. "It wouldn't be ethical."

"I forgot my wallet though, can't pay any other way," Jean fake-pouted and you shook your head giggling. Snip. Snip. More and more pieces of hair fell slowly to the cold tiles.

"We'll figure something out, don't worry, pretty boy," your eyes followed your own fingers' movements, brushing them through his hair a few times to see where the section needed to be adjusted. "Are you washing it after?"

"Probably."

"Can I braid it when it's dried?" you asked, eyes lighting up as the sudden thought came to you, but Jean quickly knocked down your enthusiasm.

"You absolutely can not."

"Pretty pleaseee," you grinned at his reflection in the mirror and he let out a small chuckle as your fingers moved on to the sections at the back of his head.

"You wouldn't even be able to braid this length, smartass." Jean found the idea weird, but your excitement adorable. He was also kind of curious how you'd braid his hair, but still. He couldn't let you know that.

"How do you know? Ya knucklehead," you frowned. "I wasn't aware that a world-known hairstylist graced me with his professional presence."

"Yeah, you're the chosen one," Jean grimaced as you ruffled his hair on the side that you were done trimming, the freshly cut strands of hair tickling the skin on his face.

"Thanks for choosing me, your majesty," you replied, quickly pinching his cheek before removing a clip from a section on the other side of his pretty head. Your heart already fluttered at the way his hair looked, tousled and wild...

But it still didn't compare to the warmth spreading in your center as Jean stepped out of the bathroom after a quick shower.

His grey sweatpants and oversized shirt smelled fresh as she stepped to his bed, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your shoulder as you laid on your stomach, typing on your phone. You glanced up at him as he flashed his signature grin at you and as you watched him dry his damp hair with a towel, you felt straight up mesmerized. How the hell can a man so beautiful be real and standing in front of you?

"Who are you texting?" Jean's hazel eyes flicked to the screen of your phone while you shifted on the bed, making place for him to sit beside you.

"Sasha," you smiled as you laid your head on your arm, still watching him. "She asked me to take a pic of this masterpiece of a haircut."

"Wait, let me turn so you can get the back..."

"Nooo, don't turn away, lemme see your face." You opened your camera app, then smiled at him on the screen. Jean was surprisingly unaffected by anyone taking pictures of him, anytime, never being awkward in front of the camera, and of course being extremely photogenic in addition — that handsome bastard. "You look so good."

"No, you." Jean suddenly leaned down to nuzzle into your hair near your ear and you instantly raised your shoulders to protect your neck, bursting out laughing as his stubble and hot breath tickled your skin.

Jean shifted his body to lay down beside you, the heat radiating from him immediately making your core tingle. A warm hand slipped under your shirt to gently slide along your waistline, up to your back while his face stayed close to yours. Your laughter quieted to a content sigh as your arms wreathed around his neck, his soft lips slightly grazing the skin of your jawline, giving you goosebumps.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his deep voice making your eyes slowly close in pleasure. His fingers skillfully unhooked your bra behind your back — although it wasn't a sexual act, at all. Jean's touch felt incredibly loving as his caring fingers glided on your now uncovered back, rubbing slow, soothing circles on the skin. Another sigh fell from your lips as you felt relief fill you, his tender touch and gentle little pecks on your face making your heart flutter.

As your body pressed to the front of his, your soft skin under his fingertips and your sweet scent filling his nose, Jean felt like his heart might burst out of happiness. Your name fell from his lips as he waited for your eyes to meet his.

"Hmm?" you opened your eyes to look at him and Jean smiled at how sleepy your expression turned under his touch.

"I... I just wanted to know if you felt comfortable, y'know—with where this is going." Jean spoke softly and your eyes melted together in a safe warmth.

"What do you mean?" you asked, eyes blinking slowly.

"I mean... I know we've been on a lot of dates, but I still feel like—like, we haven't talked about any labels or anything, so I wondered if—"

"If I felt comfortable," you smiled and Jean pressed the tip of his nose onto yours as he nodded.

"Yeah. I don't want you to feel like we're just fooling around... Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't be so greedy, as if I can't control myself around you," he mumbled, his thumb caressing your lips as his hand on your back wandered up to the back of your neck under your shirt. "Sometimes I feel like I ruined the chance to start out right, to treat you right..."

"I don't know how it should go, but... This feels right," you replied as you held eye contact, then your fingers found Jean's, both of your hearts pounding faster as you held hands. The moment felt so close, so sacred, it made you smile before you quietly chuckled. "But I know what you mean, it's—it's hard to keep my hands off of you."

"Yeah, you tell me," Jean smirked. "I never thought I'd be the pathetic piece of shit who couldn't keep it in his pants for the life of him...”

You laughed wholeheartedly as you shook your head, "Well, I don't want you to keep it in your pants."

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"But it just feels so good," you returned your gaze back to his honey-like eyes, your legs tangling between his. "It's not because I'm a horny pervert, I swear, it just feels so incredibly good to be close to you..."

"I know," he replied quietly, almost whispering as he smiled, butterflies in his stomach flapping around once again. "I feel the same."

Jean tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your foreheads pressed together. A few moments of comfortable silence set between you two and you felt so safe in his arms, you felt like you could easily fall asleep.

"You're so different from the tough little shell that you hide under," Jean whispered, poking a finger on your sternum. "Inside your frozen little heart."

"It's not frozen," you chuckled. "I'm just... I got used to being alone. I didn't open up until we didn't know each other, I don't see the use of opening up to most people, most of the time, you know."

As Jean's lips turned into a pout, you felt the need to explain further.

"I mean, I wasn't lonely. Just alone. I've always been alone," you spoke, then chuckled at his saddened expression. "Don't look at me like that, I didn't mean it as a sob story."

"I know, I get it... I do," Jean reassured you, slightly squeezing your hand.

"Then you know how special this is for me," you mumbled as your lips were just an inch from his.

"I know," Jean whispered. "And I want you to know how special your pretty little heart is to me."

Your eyes met again and you felt your bodies molding perfectly into each other as his arm pulled you even closer to him.

"You should show it off a little more often," Jean smiled and you mirrored him.

"I—I do, I try to. I've never had this many friends in my life before."

"I know. I'm happy to see it... And to be next to you," he smirked. "It did feel like trying to break through a tough layer of ice in the beginning, though"

"Good thing you know how to skate," you joked with a sleepy voice. He chuckled in response — that even gave him an idea for later.

"Good thing I know how to make you melt."

"Yeah, into a small, pathetic puddle," you laughed as Jean watched you, eyes softening as they examined your beautiful features. He felt like he never wanted to take his eyes off of you.

"No, when you melt, you feel more like a... Like a huge summer rain." Jean stared at you, lingering. "Y'know, the one that's warm on your skin and feels like a liquid hug, and you don't mind it soaking through all your fucking clothes..."

"A thunderstorm?" you smirked up at him.

"Yeah, kind of," Jean replied with a half smile. "Like a crazy ass thunderstorm that comes out of nowhere, but feels so damn good in the summer heat..."

"I love those."

"Yeah," Jean mumbled as your lashes batted at him with slow, tired blinks. "I love those, too." He pressed a soft kiss onto your lips before adding, "They make my heart so happy."

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. | chapter 21

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.8k Summary: day 163 - also know as the day your world changed Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - mentions of violence, death, bloodshed; miscommunications; amnesia trope; angst af

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 21

Bergamot. 

He smells like fresh dirt and home and bergamot.

A pair of arms cocoon around you, holding you in place. Cradling the back of your head, lifting it from touching the ground, is a strong palm. 

Sounds of the outside world are muffled; distant.

Here all you can hear is the wild thumping of your heart, your blood strongly coursing through your veins.

I am alive.

I am alive.

I am alive.

The crash happened so fast—

Falling from the sky. Sliding across the forest floor. Rolling over and over and over—

Until your body stopped abruptly against a cushion of muscle.

When the dust cloud settles, when the fog fades into vapor, you open your eyes.

Shades of deep, vertical brown overtake your vision. It's so vibrant, familiar yet new. For what feels like hours you stare at a small bug, a speckled ladybug, crawling in circles until it decides to head north.

With each passing exhale your attention travels with it — up, up, up — when causation connects:

One of the mighty tree trunks of the forest broke this violent fall.

(But not just for you — he was the one to take the brunt of the damage.)

He...

When your lips part, your mouth is dry.

Constricted, confused lungs try for their very first breath.

Inhale.

Breathe.

Stay with me.

But that isn't your voice; not in your mind's eye.

Blurry images flash along your vision, sprinkling red, black, and silver against the brush and trees of the forest.

No matter how many times you blink, squeeze, tear up, the visuals scatter like materialized pins and needles.

They won't go away. They clip to your peripheral, forcing you to confront what's ahead.

Nothing is linear. Nothing is clear.

Nausea, relief, uncertainty, rage — these emotions assault your senses. Emotions. Mind.

It’s like waking up after a horrible dream.

One you’ve been kicking and screaming to leave the minute it started.

Let me out.

The freefall plays over and over, a never-ending loop of sickening weightlessness, without a means to jolt yourself awake.

Let me out, let me out, let me— 

Something mirrors your heart beat and fractures in its own rhythm, pounding erratically against your chest.

Your heart still beats, but not as panicked — not as heavy — as this.

As... his.

Him — the one who broke your fall.

(Levi.)

Without thinking, your trembling hand rises past his ribcage, up his arm, to his fingers resting on your trembling shoulder.

Then you realize it isn't your body that's shaking.

It's Levi's.

Quivering like a leaf, gasping for breath as if he’s run a marathon. 

He doesn’t move. He’s frozen in time, right where you left him.

(I’m sorry.)

Over and over, you replay precious seconds in the back of your mind — fractured memories you’ve only just begun to uncover.

Falling.

Darkness. 

(James? James, shit, wake up—)

A voice crack.

Hopelessness.

Instinctively your arms surround him, as if dissolving him into your very pores will somehow help with the confusion in your gut. 

Even when your fingers raise hire on your shoulder to glide along his, he doesn’t relax. 

If anything, his ivory muscles forge into steel.

Prepared, like you’re the enemy.

They do not soften when your fingers curl, timid and experimental, around his hand for reassurance.

(Wake up.)

They do not yield when you exhale, slow and steady.

They do not rest when you squeeze, as if to offer a sign of life.

(Please, James, don’t do this to—)

“Levi.”

Two syllables — you murmur his very name, realizing the severity of all that you’ve missed.

The dampness of the Underground City right above your heads;

The heat of the sun on a riverbank of the surface;

The light of the morning, just outside an open window, glittering over a bare shoulder;

All puzzle pieces, scattered across a large table.

They fit together in a way — you just need to figure out where.

When you inch your face away from his body, you see it: those blue-gray eyes, pupils dilated and whites wide, staring straight through you.

(As though lost in another time, in the same nothingness you’d lost yourself in for months.)

His chest heaves in and out, trying to catch a breath that just won’t come.

Wretched, heavy gasps contain the fear.

The panic.

All while reliving, too.

“Levi?” you ask once more, softer this time.

A sharp battle cry sounds above your heads. You glance high to witness the silhouette of Petra flying through the canopy of trees with a trail of steam behind her, swords extended.

The titan has been defeated. 

The forest floor quakes and shivers with its demise.

Except that isn’t how the mission happened last time.

The realization is a chilling thought creeping, infecting, the back of your mind as you return your attention to the captain in front of you.

“Levi.” 

You urge firmer this time, but it’s no use.

Levi Ackerman continues to stare ahead, but he blinks. Rapid fire, as if trying to return to his body.

This face.

You gravitate towards this face that consumes every waking dream you’ve ever had.

Caging his face between your palms, you finally snap with a command.

“Levi, look at me.”

His gray eyes shoot down, catching yours, and your entire world feels warm again.

The light in a never-ending darkness.

Your past is your present and your present tumbles into your past.

An undiscovered constellation of points in your memory that haven’t quite lined up yet, but him…

All you know is that you have missed him, this incorrigible man, lying beside you.

And all this time, it is Levi Ackerman that holds the frame of the puzzle you have been trying to solve.

Instinctively your thumbs run along his cheekbones, causing his eyes to grow impossibly wider.

Unwise, perhaps, but the softened motion brings you comfort unlike anything else, tethering bits and pieces together in the mind by touch alone.

Bits and pieces, to bigger pictures —

You — a nobody from the Underground City, meant to die by the hands of greed and saved by ones of promise.

You — a formidable fighter, a friend, a colleague, a lover.

You — Lieutenant James, member of the Special Operations squad in the Survey Corps.

Maybe you don’t have the whole story yet, but whoever she is… whoever you are…

She’s supposed to be right here.

Levi’s eyes flutter over your face as if to search for injury or damage, but he doesn’t remove his arms from your body. The captain continues to cradle you as if you'll disappear, dissolve, into the mist that swallows your very waking daydreams.

So you lean closer, murmuring just under your breath with pure wonder.

Recognition.

“I know you.”

‘You know me.’

You recall standing right in front of him months ago, begging in a stable.

Those fateful few months before you really knew how close you were to the truth.

'You know me, but you won’t help me. Why?’

That doubt on his face, deeply ingrained in curbed expectations.

It's a memory you haven’t been able to shake, not since you awoke from the hospital.

Now it twists into something much darker.

‘Because you finally have an out.’

Profound sadness infects your stomach when one jagged edge aligns with another.

The memory, fresh as morning dew on a weed, sprouts before your very eyes.

Yes, you do know him.

Yes, he wouldn’t help you.

Because you’ve been down this road before.

But not like this.

Not wrapped up like two star crossed lovers.

(That’s why you hate me.)

— suddenly your back meets the ground.

A pair of hands abruptly push you, knocking you down to the forest floor with a whoosh of a small oof from your lungs.

Your eyes connect with the bright blue sky, the twinkling of green leaves, the expanse of a bird's wing flying high above.

I know this place.

Why can't you say it out loud?

In a hasty cloud of dust, Levi's boots keep up dirt as he scrambles off of you.

To steady himself, his pale palm presses to the tree trunk. He heaves once, twice, before exhaling fully.

Breath finally returns to his body. What once was pale now has color.

When you eventually turn your gaze to him, he glares directly at you, but it isn’t cruel.

Feral, maybe, and diluted in his own confusion, but not cruel.

(You’d never witnessed someone so beautiful in your life.)

In a new light, you finally see him — a mirror image of two worlds, old and new. Of what your body misses to its very core. Of what your mind wants to remember, to know as intimately as it once did.

Slowly you roll to your belly and push up with your arms. You draw up on one knee, your hand instinctively raising to graze your neck.

There.

The silver pendant, tiny and profound, remains intact. 

The fall didn’t destroy it.

Immense relief floods your system, and your fingers cradle it like a lifeline.

'You don’t own anything. Now you do.'

That melodic baritone guides your ghost of a hand, adhering one more piece to the puzzle.

A fuller frame.

All you want to do is run to him, speak to him, hear his voice, but all you can do is watch as he cycles through the motions of getting his shit together.

Struggling through stages of anger, betrayal, relief, and longing — 

Before addressing you as Captain Levi would.

Because he doesn’t know.

He didn’t hear.

(You didn't say.)

“Are you out of your mind?”

An ironic question, all things considered. 

Your lips part to answer, but his finger raises to warn against that judgment.

A curtain of dark fringe hangs over his eyes, shoulders heaving.

“Direct insubordination against your superior,” he spits, but the edge to his voice is frayed.

He’s barely hanging on by mere threads. You want to knit them back together so badly.

“And endangering the entire squad–”

“Levi—"

“Oluo would have been fine, but you? You weren’t ready.”

Standing on both feet now, you ignore the dirt and debris on your white uniform and take a step forward in earnest. 

“Levi, if you would just—”

“I didn’t ask you to speak, James.”

His bark is as cold as ice, causing you to stop your pleas right in their tracks.

Your own wide eyes stare at him as he reprimands you, seemingly unhinged by what has transpired.

Your mouth shuts into a thin line, willing yourself to hear him out.

To hear him.

Piece by piece, the image fills—

“Commander Erwin was wrong to put you back in the Scouts," Levi growls. It’s spoken as if to convince himself of that very truth. “Abandoning your horse, defying my orders, acting without any regard for your fellow squad mates—”

He seethes, a flicker of rage fluttering across his face.

“—the recklessness of your actions could have cost not only your life, but the lives of my squad.”

“Our squad,” you correct boldly without realizing you’ve said the words out loud.

Wrong answer. His anger only grows.

“My,” he corrects viciously, “squad. You are a—”

“—Lieutenant, which is practically the same rank as you,” you blurt with your own anger, the adrenaline flushed through your veins as newfound familiarity seeps into your veins. "The titles don't mean anything. It's just shit made up for people like us."

“Excuse me?” he growls, and you don’t let up.

“And I know Commander Erwin has always favored you more, but you only pull ahead of me by two goddamn months in the Scout Regiment,” you desperately rasp, the excitement too great, “so shut the hell up and listen to me, Levi Ackerman, because I know you.”

Exhaling your frustrations in heavy heaps, you refuse to cower.

There is no reason to fear this man. There never was.

"I know you," you repeat, defeated.

As if you've confessed at the foot of his altar.

Levi, despite all of his anger, turns his chin sideways with a growing bewilderment. 

Now that you speak, you can see the dots connecting behind his very eyes. 

All you can do is hope — all you have is hope.

When he doesn't say anything, you step forward and continue.

"This whole time. This entire time you've tried... you tried to shut me out because you knew that if you did, I'd walk away."

"What?" Finally, he speaks, but his voice drops with caution.

"You said you wouldn't shut me out."

"And I didn't."

"But you wanted to give me an out, right?" you remind. "That's what you told me the day in the stables at the cadet camp."

His teeth grit. "I told you—"

"That day, you agreed to give me a second chance, but you hoped I'd get too scared in the forest and run the other way. Except I've seen things and—"

That grit dies instantly. "Wait, seen things?"

"Yes, I've seen pieces, Levi," you admit. "Pieces."

"Of—?"

"Us. Of my life." Your fire dies. "Of our life."

His jaw clenches so hard that his teeth could shatter.

Your shoulders drop, defenseless. Your hand touches the back of your head, trying to feel for where you might have hit it on the ground back then.

"You ran from me in that hospital in Trost when I woke up. You saw I couldn't remember you right away, so you thought..."

A small laugh of relief exits your mouth before you can stop it.

There are so many black spots in your mind's eye, but…

His face paves the way.

Four hearts, staring up at a skyless night; now only two remain.

"Damn it, you really thought I would never remember you when you were my entire life."

Falling.

All you’ve ever done is fall.

On your back, as a child in those fighting rings in the Underground City.

On your side, struggling to learn the inner workings of stolen ODM gear while a rambunctious boy with ash-blonde hair laughs to the sky.

On your front, when two strong arms pulled you on top of him, lips crashed to yours.

Yet Levi always held out his hand and picked you up.

Now his fists are translucent, tight at his sides, as your eyes meet.

“And so you pushed me around in hopes that I'd leave you here," you conclude sadly, "all while you blamed yourself for the rest of your days for my mistake — right?”

It’s as if you’ve confessed you’re a titan in the flesh.

Levi staggers back, the clink of his ODM gear rattling as he moves.

His eyes flutter all over your face, studying, searching—

“What the hell are you saying?” the captain croaks, unlike himself.

He stares, clearly waiting for the final blow, like you hold his entire life in the palm of your hand.

Oluo and Petra are somewhere.

And wherever they are means Gunther and Eld are likely not far behind.

They’ll approach at any moment to regroup with the Captain.

But you need him to understand—

Levi's jaws clenches again; an overwhelming flurry of emotion settling on his tongue.

He looks two seconds away from detonating.

"What did you remember?" his voice cracks, the facade shattering. "Just say it, damn it, what the fuck did you remem—"

“James!”

The panicked voice of Oluo shouts from the sky.

Petra follows not long after, attaching to the base of the tree trunks to softly find a landing on her feet.

The rest of the squad follow suit, eyes wide.

“Whoa, are you alright?” Oluo repeats, rushing forward. “The hell just happened out there?”

“Her gear got caught,” Petra replies with equal urgency. “I saw it when Captain Levi took off after you two.”

“Her gear?!” Oluo yelps.

The two of them rush over while their hands reach out, swiping your emerald cloak up and away.

They duck their attention to the gear to assess the damage.

The ODM canisters don’t look particularly busted, but the wire dangles helplessly without its spike.

You note just how nervous everyone looks.

Because everyone knows the story, you realize deep in your belly.

The story where a member of the Levi Squad fought titans and got her gear stuck, resulting in a catastrophic head injury where her memories were no more.

The one where they nearly lost one of their elite, only to result in that woman becoming a completely blank slate.

Someone that they'll never get back.

Except she's screaming in your head, slamming against your skull.

I'm here! I'm here, don't you see? I'm still here!

Eld and Gunther quickly descend next, their feet pattering with the quickness towards where you stand.

The squad surrounds you with a million questions, checking your head should there be damage.

Petra even places a gentle hand on your heart, but it’s hammering.

Alive.

Levi says nothing, does nothing; his chin ducks to his emerald collar, allowing his squad to have their time.

“You scared the shit out of us,” Gunther admits with a sigh.

“The hell were you thinking?” Eld adds.

You sheepishly shake your head, eyes still attached to Levi. “I-I wasn’t—”

“I had it, James,” Oluo counters, cutting you off. “I had that titan. You didn’t need to go back for me and almost risk your damn life.”

“Hate to say it, but I agree with Oluo,” Petra replies with a soft sigh, before pulling you in for a small hug. Your arms remain lamely at your sides. “You didn't need to prove you were badass to us, alright? We know." She lets go. "How did you cut yourself loose?”

“She didn’t.”

Levi’s voice breaks through, stopping everyone in their tracks.

He turns on a heel away from the squad, head remaining in a bow, and walks in the direction they'd arrived from.

“I caught her.”

You note the changes in expressions on the rest of the squad's faces.

Recognition smooths over their tired lines, like the significance isn’t lost on them.

Suddenly they duck their chins, too, as if ashamed for gossiping.

Only you remain with your head up, eyes square on the captain.

He does not look your way.

“Outing’s over. We’ll just have to break Four Eyes’ heart and tell them we didn’t capture any of those bastards today.”

“But we didn’t even make it halfway through,” Eld starts, turning his boot towards the captain with surprise. “We can go further.”

"Wait, we managed to clear the forest?" you ask without thinking, causing Eld and Oluo to glance your way.

Oluo’s eyebrows slide high to his hairline.

Eld’s narrow to a point.

“It… was,” Eld slowly, carefully, explains, “but the mission you — the one that you — Wait.”

"People still made it to the other side after I fell?" you exhale.

They made it.

The Scouts managed to push to the end of the forest.

The mission wasn't all for nothing.

A flurry of confused relief floods your system, yet the squad looks at you with pure confusion.

“...none of us told her about the forest debrief from last year yet, did we?” Oluo inquires, pointing to Petra. “Hey, did you snitch?”

“Huh? Snitch?!” Petra yelps. “What the hell would I snitch about? It’s not like it's a secret to anyone here what went down.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t make it long enough to see the end of it,” Gunther replies, rubbing his chin between his thumb and index finger. “And we all agreed not to bring up said mission when she woke up until she was cleared by that doctor guy she saved.”

“Doctor?” you blurt under your breath, blinking. "That I...?"

That you saved…

Albeit foggy, you remember the other team that fateful day.

Miro squad. 

There were so many names, so much chaos…

You struggle to remember the finer details, but there was someone named Rini.

An older man — or did he just look weatherworn from war?

Was it the same man from Trost?

“Wait. James.” Petra rounds you, searching your face with budding excitement. “Do you remember the last mission you were on? Is that why you’re—”

“I said the outing’s over.”

Levi's command bites off her question, and Petra falters.

“I already have one shithead disobeying instructions. Is this going to become a trend?”

The squad goes silent, turning to their captain.

“Get the damn horses back,” the captain growls. “We’ll reconvene as a group back at headquarters. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” they all respond in unison.

One after the other, they offer a look of condolences to you before ascending to the skies.

Leaving Levi and yourself to remain.

In the back of your mind, you remember the odds.

Forty to eighty.

The screams of terror.

The urgency to fly through the trees.

A formation of horses…

A corner of the puzzle is complete.

Help me.

Why won’t you help me?

“Levi?” you start, and you see his face flinch at your tone. “Can we talk?”

“Not here,” he replies curtly.

“But—”

“I said not here,” he grunts, turning his chin to regard you over his shoulder. “I’m not doing this here.”

When his eyes meet yours, they soften.

Apologetic.

As if he’s teetering on the brink of giving up completely.

“Go back to your quarters,” he urges. “Clear your head. Figure out if…”

Did his voice just crack again?

You can’t help but gravitate towards his orbit, boots gently stepping closer.

“...figure out if you mean it,” he finishes, stronger now. “If you really do remember — any of this. We'll reconvene and debrief back at headquarters, but I told you: I'm not feeding you our memories. If you think you know me, then say it with your whole damn chest and hold nothing back."

His chin drops, his black fringe falling over his eyes.

You can't see what he's thinking, how he's feeling, but the way his voice turns to a whisper breaks your heart.

"I can’t keep up with these false hopes anymore.”

The necklace on your sternum burns.

Although you have a million questions, a thousand apologies, a dozen pleas, and very few certainties, you say one thing in return.

"Yes, sir."

You both stand in silence, awaiting the horses.

He stares at the ground.

You continue staring at him.

I know you.

You're the only certainty I have.

Once the rest of the squad arrives, you mount your horse and keep formation.

The sun bursts free.

There are no more trees clouding your vision.

Ahead there is an expanse of grass, reclaimed by time.

(A new start.)

Levi Squad returns to headquarters without a casualty in tow.

.

[whydoyoucare866]

The Night We Met

PAIRINGS:

Titans! Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce's goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn't know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: I finally figured out a song to base this chapter off, I’m sorry I went so off with their conversation and didn’t really get anywhere with it, I just really want them to bond and I don’t think ahead of writing I just start and see where it takes me, I know this can be really boring but I want this to be a LONG fic and a slow burn and that can’t happen if the whole plot happens in two chapters so bare with me please!

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven't decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Gif credits to Titanstv on Pinterest

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You felt a throbbing pain in your head and started slowly opening your eyes and becoming aware of your surroundings, you were trying to figure out how long you had slept for since according to the sky it was night now and you didn't know if it was the next day now or if you had just slept some hours, now that you think of it, you didn't actually remember falling asleep either, well thats what happens when you cry too much after not sleeping for two days i guess, you decided that you would really love a glass of water right now and started making your way to the kitchen, you hoped no one was awake or at home, after your whole emotional moment with Bruce and Alfred you realized how embarrassing it had been to cry your heart out in front of someone who did not even know you and how much of a big deal you had made things that seriously were not that deep, then you cried more of embarrassment, and then you realized how much of a baby you were being, and realized you were really sleep deprived and really needed some sleep.

You arrived to the kitchen and just as luck would have it, there was no other than Jason Todd, the guy who had to awkwardly witness a girl he didn't know sob her eyes out but while thinking about it you realized that making it a bigger deal than it was would only make it actually embarrassing and would probably ruin any chance of friendship with that guy so you decided that you would let it go and it had never happened.

Jason didn't acknowledge you at all, he was too concentrated on eating what he had cooked for himself earlier and honestly he didn't seem like a very social guy so you just let him be.

You reached for a glass but then decided that maybe you should grab a thermos so you could bring it to your room and not have to make your way over to the kitchen every time you were thirsty, the noise made Jason acknowledge you but he just gave you a nod while he looked at you and you just returned it, you went to fill the water and you could still feel Jason staring at you, the environment was really awkward and Jason looked like he wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted you to leave, well, this was your chance to talk to him, if he didn't want to talk to you back then you would just let him be, no harm in trying to make friends in your own home.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with Bruce?" you asked him

He shook his head and pointed to his ribcage "got stabbed, Bruce wouldn't allow me to go back out there"

"Huh, how'd you get stabbed?" you asked not being bothered by it, you were used to these kind of things

"Harley" he said nonchalantly

"Oh" you said and nodded at him

"Mhm"

"I thought she hadn't been active in a while?" I said, Dick had told me before he left Bruce that Harley hadn't made an appearance in almost a year and it looked like she might want redemption.

"Yeah but Joker was put back in Arkham some months ago, we thought they had broken up but turns out it was just an act and she was just plotting something to try and get him out or get revenge or something like that, and well i may be skilled but Harley is Harley" he said taking bites of his food.

"Yeah I get you, even I am scared of going against Harley"

"You are? haven't you beaten her like a lot of times?"

"Yeah but miss girl is not just crazy and skilled but she's also in LOVE like not cutesy love, but maniac love that's a dangerous combination" you said in an exaggerated way to get your point across.

"I wouldn't call that love" he said while shaking his head before taking another bite of his food which you had no idea what it was.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Obsession I guess, she's like obsessed with him, she would throw herself against chemicals that will probably kill her if he asked for it... oh wait she already did"

"Yeah, poor girl would give her life for someone who just manipulates her and uses her”

"I mean yeah, but I wouldn't call her poor she's still a psycho" he shrugged.

"Maybe, but she's in love, even if you wouldn't call it that i think i would, its not a healthy love but she just loves him in a really obsessive unhealthy way, also if you see it in a way, we are psychos as well" i say before taking a sip of my water.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he sipped what must be coffee from a mug and looked at me curiously.

"Well, what kind of people just beats up other people every night?"

"Well yeah, but we only beat criminals and people who deserve it, they actually kill" he said trying to defend his point.

"I mean, yeah they may kill and we don't, but what's worse? dying or being paralyzed and basically tortured for life?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned and tilted his head a bit, he was intrigued in the conversation now.

"Well do you honestly think everyone will just be fine after being thrown around and beaten up until the point where you know if you give one more punch they'll die? I mean even professional fighters get brain paralysis or quadriplegic or like vegetative state from a bad blow and they have like precautions in those fights, now imagine in a fight where there's no precautions and the only stop sign is either them going unconscious or them not being able to move or them being a step away from death keep in mind that the criminals that you beat sometimes aren't trained or don't even know how to fight like regular thieves and shit, im obviously not talking about criminals like Ivy or Harley and stuff and a lot of the vigilantes have actually killed at least one person, maybe not intentionally but yeah" I explained to him.

"Huh, I guess if you think about it like that you're right" he nodded and took one last bite out of his plate

"Of course I am, I"m always right" I smiled at him

"Sure you are" he rolled his eyes in a playful way and stood up to wash his dirty dishes.

"I am!" I say pretending to be offended

"Uh huh, whatever you say" he smiled at me, "well, uhm its pretty late and I guess I should try to get some sleep, so see you tomorrow, I guess" he said before starting to head out of the kitchen.

"Sure, goodnight" I said to him.

"Night" He replied before finally leaving the kitchen.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26 @mad-die45 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pariahsparadise

[narenohate]

my golden guard! luz au is just kinda funny to me. she's so bad at it that god has to intervene so she stops fucking up.

context blast up there... or down here?

“Through me you go to the grief wracked city; Through me you go to everlasting pain; Through me you go a pass among lost souls. Justice inspired my exalted Creator: I am a creature of the Holiest Power, of Wisdom in the Highest and of Primal Love. Nothing till I was made was made, only eternal beings. And I endure eternally. Surrender as you enter, every hope you have.”

― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

-

Through the red he'd carried her. She remembers it in those minutes. It had just happened, hadn't it?

Why does it feel so long ago, if the pain of the broken rib and the warmth of her own cape still are felt, a residual ghost touch, as if her armor were an amputated limb?

Almost tender was that embrace even as she shook, each breath ripping the fight further and further away from her tight-fisted grip.

Every hair had stood on its end, the buzzing in the air ever-louder as her vision wavered, pain and fear battling for control over her conscious mind.

Each of her captor's steps feels like a stab to her chest.

There's a bloody exhale, preceding a breathless laugh. She feels the underside of his glove, leathery and worn, along her ribs.

She's disgusted by it now, she will forever be disgusted by it. She feels as if she's still in his grasp - she will never not be.

Luz had exhaled then, as she does now, and both times she coughed a mouthful of blood.

"Hush, now. We will be home soon." he told her and it echoes nw. "You had told me once… Your mother knows of medical practices, doesn't she?"

She rasps out;

"Don't bring her into this-" There's an edge of fear to her voice which she loathes, "Leave my mom alone."

"She would like to know her daughter was a hero, wouldn't she?" he asks, and it borders on genuine; "You've made mistakes-"

"Like you!" she regrets it in retrospect- it wouldn't have hurt so much if he hadn't squeezed her ribcage shut again then, to shut her up and hear nothing but her coughing blood.

He walked so slow. Agonizingly so, as if to stretch those last moments for eternity, cradling her somehow even closer, shifting her, knocking out of her lungs every last trace of a breath.

"The Titan greets us to his realm," he said, and against her cheek she felt the bobbing of his Adam's apple, nudging her in that moment to blink the tears from her eyes.

She feels her gaze pulled to it - this horrid doorway before which they linger taunts her for a brief moment, a sea of black tar streaked in deep blues and yellows.

And with a single step, the silence of it swallowed them whole. In the dark now, at least Luz could hear herself breathe-

Yet just as she did then, she smells it now;

Both times did she wheeze, fruitless, in an attempt to clear her sinuses from it. Titan's blood has a powerful, astringent, sulphuric smell.

It clung to her - maybe it is gone in the present because she simply got used to it.

"Clean up, lamb." he said, nudging her. He wanted her to take the edge of his cape, she understood. He made her bleed before - a tooth. The gap of it still stings.

"I hate you." she whispered.

That which surrounded her then was pure black, a realm where his steps slowed even further, dragged down by the brackish tar.

There was a light to guide them. She could not comprehend its source.

"I will help you get over it." he said, his words fading with no echo, as lost as their souls.

She loathed to know how he'd try. Pondered briefly if she'd clamp down on his neck with her teeth.

And then she questioned, to herself; could she even die here?

That which she doesn't know stings her.

A sound of anguish fought its way out of her.

And, though by that point she knows she had realized they were not all alone, Luz came to understand that nothing that heard her had turned to help.

In the dark, something moved. It was the hair standing on end, it was the light coming from nowhere.

She felt Belos move slower and slower. Did her eyes close? Or was the world simply so dark?

"Luz, quiet." she heard, and so still she became, nothing but the beat of her heart did she hear - for he'd sounded terrified.

Suddenly she understood, and it was clearer and brighter than the sun.

She heard it, paws heavy, wingtips dragging along the muck, and she understood it even before the smell of its rotting corpse reached them.

"Run."

That sets it off, alright.

The silence dies with that lonely word, whispered with bloody and bated breath.

It tore through the air and filled up her ears with a high-pitched ringing sound; A roar like she'd never heard before spelled their fate, set off the hammering of the chase;

In the dark, the mud rippled. The smell of rotting flesh and mold made her dizzy, pulled from Belos some sort of angry shout, that which was lost in the cacophony of the chase as soon as he let it out.

She only felt it from how close she was to his throat.

For once he'd obeyed, for once he'd heard a plea from her.

It mattered not.

To the ground they fell, and to her skin it clung, sticky and thick, pungent in smell, so terrible that Luz could taste it as she breathed in with an open mouth.

It slowed down its chase, and catch its breath it did not, though all around her in a circle did she feel its footsteps, rippling along the mud.

Along with their fate, it brought the light.

At first her vision's return was the catalyst for nothing but Belos' hand grasping onto hers, his eyes wide and teary as he pulled her close…

And then pushed her in front of him, almost, as their Lord fell upon shared view.

Luz thought, for a moment, that the sun perched between its horns would be a light shining upon a clean skull - for very clearly did she know what a Titan ought to look like;

And that was nothing of it.

Its skull was at first like shifting sand, but as her eyes focused on that white thing, Luz's mouth fell agape;

God's face was almost fully made of maggots. They blended with god's bones, the same color, separated only by the shadows Its Light cast upon its own visage.

It pushed against her head. It is God. It is the Devil. It is, for a second between her tears, her father in a hospital gown, the tubes coming from his nose like over-engorged, misplaced tapeworms.

Its flesh rippled as it got closer to them, something crawling in it. Clumps of oily black fur, strands clinging to greenish, gangrenous wounds.

Bile rose to the back of her throat just then, as her gaze drifted to the cut which sliced its chest open, and found nothing inside.

She knelt.

it was no conscious choice. She was told, and though she obeyed, never did she hear the order.

She opened her mouth, but instead of pleas, blood was all that flowed.

When the light is cast upon it, the red is all too bright, for the brief moment before Limbo swallows it.

The thing she looked up at was not her mother's God.

Padre Nostro rang in her ears nonetheless, Belos' hoarse voice praying under its rushed breath.

It let her look at him, pushed oh-how-pathetic-is-this-really-all-you-settled-for through her mind; Though he knelt, it was not without struggle.

He fought back, thrashing against the invisible binding which Luz found didn't truly hold her down.

God's understanding of her pushed the brain against the sides of the skull. She knew then that the little barriers between the bone and the skin and the brain were all shaky and jittery.

Out the deepest breath, a shaky hand reached out almost gleeful, and between her fingers she gripped his hair.

Not a word was said. Luz refused to let her eyes shut from the pain, even as it grew, for she had for very long wished for this;

With strength she hadn't known she had, she pushed Belos' head onto the mud.

Bow she did not, when she tasted her blood all over her mouth. She let it stain his cape and his hair.

It dripped and dripped. There came a muffled plea. She knew he told her this would not last. She also knew, without rhyme nor reason to explain it, that he'd remember this.

And yet, she kept pushing.

There was darkness creeping in slowly, overcoming the edges of her vision.

And yet, she kept pushing.

And for an eternity, she held him there. In the dim and the quiet, where it was only their breath and the buzzing of the flies and the smell of rotting flesh, she was reminded, bitter and vengeful, of their shared chambers.

She kept his head under the mud until he stopped thrashing.

Almost against her will, her head tilted up, and she met it eye to eye. Such a solution was hardly even temporary, she knew, and it knew as well, as it stared back.

Its eyes were empty sockets, yet she knew it saw her.

A blind thing could not hold such a hateful gaze.

Oh, what she'd done; Such small revenge for such grandiose malice.

The pressure of its words filled her mouth with copper.

It is dying. Its last breaths are being wasted here, with Its killers.

It is pain and desolation, it is hatred, and it is something too quiet to be wrath as she'd call it.

God knelt. It was Helios before, it was Nhanderu before, it was Kronos as Horus and a thousand other voices in name.

Luz heard screaming. Much louder, much more than just her own, though her throat hurt and she knew she was part of that unseen cacophony.

Her eyes could not shift from the maggots. Closer, closer, came a hypnotic dance as Luz dragged her body on its hands and knees.

For a second she did not understand it; And then, as her face rested against the pale bone of a snout, so cold it stung, it came to be that she knew it; the last shred of its power, the last bite of its plate - The last name of this God.

To know it was the same as her own overwhelmed her with a foreign, resentful grief.

An oversized paw tilted up her head with only its claw.

God held the sun between its horns. She stared transfixed, and laid trembling fingers over its talon, fruitlessly trying to keep its tender, cold touch.

Its wings spread open, a membrane full of holes and veins.

Which of them screamed? She wasn't sure. Everything faded, except for the sun, and the paw which was raised up to it, gripping onto the flame; Though its shape changed, its glow never dimmed. It was sharp and jagged. It was God.

And then, God stabbed the soft spot where spine snaps into skull.

-

Luz Noceda breathes in. That's the first sign that something is terribly, horribly wrong.

The second one? It's not the pain, but instead the fact that she can hear again, see again-

And her god is nowhere to be seen nor found.

She is doubled over. Her skin is opening up. The base of her skull, where God killed itself and killed her too, is on fire.

A whimper slips off with her breath, but with the next inhale, it turns into a cough. Her rib- no. It's further. It's more.

Everything is too much - she is light and defenseless, armor lost somewhere in this battlefield, and she is soft and shaky, hand on her chest, reaching for where it hurts. She knows something clattered to the floor when she awoke.

And then she remembers Belos.

Painfully, she manages to pry her eyes open, and figures that the thing on the floor – clean wood, worn out, its polish long faded – is an Azura figurine.

The cheap plastic meets her grimace with a blank, crooked, off-the-mold smile.

Her ears are buzzing. Did her brain hatch into flies?

"Mija, did you choke?"

At first hardly do those words register. But then, she realizes she had not been sure of whether or not her little stunt killed the emperor.

So she forces her spine to straighten, turns her head to face her mother.

She looks the same as she did a year ago, when she left Luz at the bus station to go to a summer camp- she looks the same as when Luz abandoned her.

The piercing burn of the blade stays, a cloying reminder of the mantle which befell her that day.

Though she is not there, Luz knows, clear as day:

Elsewhere, far away, at this moment, in a throne room occupied by only a grimwalker, sitting at the foot of both his metamorphosis, his death, and the throne of the emperor which he worships, the heart of a Titan with a thousand names stops beating.

[uhohdad]

my heart and mind want König and reader to end up together

my pussy kinda wanted to see Titan railing reader though (RIP bozo he deserved it )

You suck in a sharp inhale at the pressure on your wrists, your eyes shooting open to be met with Titan’s menacing smile, carnivorous canines displayed proudly as he leers over his prey.

He got you when you were vulnerable. When your most valuable asset in the arena, your wit, was disarmed.

You’re frozen, still trying to reorient yourself from the transition of sleep to wake. Slow, careful breaths as you fight through the drowsy fog clouding your brain.

He’s got you fully restrained, his knees resting on either side of your waist and his hefty weight planted firmly on your stomach. Massive biceps tense as he pins you to the dirt, gripping your wrists with such force you’re sure he’s threatening to crush your bones to dust.

Your jaw clenches and a swallow catches in your throat. You’re still, eyes wide, only hard blinks as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“Were you having a bad dream, Nine?”

He tilts his head with a hum, his arrogant smirk thickening around a teasing purr.

“Was it about Lover Boy?”

Titan scoffs, his eyes narrowing for a moment.

“That was some quick thinking back there, Nine. Can’t wait to see how you think your way out of this one.”

He gives his signature, gut-twisting laugh, razor sharp canines on display as his core shakes. He ends on a condescending, drawn-out sigh.

“You don’t want to call Lover Boy’s name?”

A sickening grin unravels on his face.

“It’s okay, Funny Girl.”

Titan leans in until he’s inches from you. His eyes narrow, and when he speaks, he purrs every syllable, his warm breath tickling your cheek.

“I’ll just make you say my name instead.”

THE OTHER TITAN DRABBLES YOU KNOW YOU WANT, FUNNY GIRL

Konig x Reader Hunger Games AU

[marcobodtlives]

Here's a sad thought.

You know how titan shifters take the memories of the previous one? So, when Armin ate Bertholdt and took the colossal from him that means he more than likely saw the memory of what happened with Marco, and didn't say anything.

Not to Jean.

No one.

YEAH! THIS IS ON MY MIND CONSTANTLY 😓

24/7 RENT FREE

I say this to everyone I know who watches AoT and I believe it wholeheartedly.

Thank you 🥲 I think about this fact so often and I have so many headcanons about it!!!

Here they all are beneath the cut, I hope you like: 🥹

I reckon Armin would have had flashes of it, felt so sick, picked up Bertholdt’s lingering guilt, and then been utterly torn between telling Jean and keeping it to himself.

I think Armin and Jean are close, particularly so after their planned kidnapping in season 3. I think Armin has always reminded Jean of Marco, and I think a small part of Jean knows that Armin means a lil more to him because it’s the last shred of Marco that he feels he still has.

Marco and Armin were close. They were both smart, inquisitive, caring individuals that wound up being the ones keeping their chaotic friends in line. He might be short, blond, and lack the freckles Jean loved, but Armin is as close to Marco that Jean has - and Armin knows that too.

After Marco’s death, Armin notices how heavily it’s impacted Jean, and he reaches out. Extends an open line, lets Jean know that he’s there for him if he ever wants to talk - really talk.

After their planned capture in season 3, after Armin kills to save Jean’s life, after Armin’s sacrifice in Shiganshina, he’s torn.

On one hand, Jean was closest to Marco, was the one who took his death the hardest, the one who sees him and mourns him more than anyone else. Jean is the one who keeps Marco’s memory alive, he’s the one that fights the hardest to keep Marco from becoming ‘just another comrade we’ve lost.’

Jean has said “he died all alone, without anyone knowing or seeing.” Armin knows the circumstances of Marco’s death kill Jean, rock him to the core.

Armin knows Jean is the one who deserves to know the truth more than anyone.

But Armin also knows the other side to Jean.

Armin knows Jean feels the weight of every death. He knows Jean wakes at night, hands clamped over his ears. He knows Jean’s sketchbook is full of sketches of Marco, and he knows they’re becoming less and less accurate as time goes on.

He knows Jean would fall into a hole, so to speak, if he found out the truth. He knows Jean would need answers, he knows the fury of it all would compromise Jean in the field.

When they reach the ocean, he almost says something. They aren’t in immediate danger, it’s been over a year, they have their answers. Logically, it would be the best time to say something.

But he sees Jean with Conny and Sasha, sees their smiles, the carefree way they laugh as salt water twists their features. And Armin realises… he can’t do this. He doesn’t have the heart to sit Jean down and explain that his best friend of three years was held down and fed to a titan by three of their fellow cadets-turned-traitors.

Murdered. He can’t tell Jean that Marco was murdered. He just - he can’t do that. It’s hard enough seeing it himself when he closed his eyes, he can’t tell Jean and subject him to that truth.

He doesn’t need to fuel Jean’s nightmares by giving him more context. He isn’t going to be the gasoline to Jean’s trauma-fire.

He can tell the truth when they’re stable again. When Paradis isn’t under threat, when there’s peace and hope. When Jean has the time to heal without fear and uncertainty dancing over their heads.

Then they go to Marley. Then Eren leaves. War is declared. They’re fighting for their lives. Again.

Then Reiner and Annie are honest.

And Armin is reminded why he didn’t tell Jean when fists start flying and Jean ends up in the woods with his hands over his ears.

But he thinks maybe things will be okay, when Jean saves Reiner’s ass as they hang from Eren’s ribcage.

[justsescape]

[Welcome back to The Throwback Drabble Zone with Kasumi!]

“Oh, Senpai! Uh, well I… I went a little crazy,” Kasumi giggled. Her ponytail swayed back and forth like it was being massaged in a breeze. “I know you ordered a week’s supply, but it all tasted so good that I just… uh, I just kept going…”

Her room told the rest of the story. Emptied vials littered the floor like breadcrumbs, as did her broken bras and torn button-up shirts. The top she was wearing wasn’t to last either; as she drew a sharp breath, the uppermost button popped off like a champagne bottle’s cork. Kasumi’s gigantic bust drooped another inch and jiggled like gelatin upon a countertop – and another whole foot of pale, gelatinous cleavage eagerly poured through the newfound opening with every intent to spill out entirely. Surely that would be inevitable. The remaining buttons shivered with fear.

“They’re bigger than watermelons now…” Kasumi toyed with the red ribbon on her head; her blush was rapidly taking on a similar hue. “Senpai… there’s a side of me that’s concerned with how I’ll perform on the gymnastics team at university. You know, with such a large… chest hanging off of me like this…”

But in spite of her trepidation, her hands were quick – no, downright eager – in how they groped either side of her titanic boobs like she was holding an accordion. Fingers dug into their heft like they were preparing pizza dough; fat bulged around her grip in response. Of course, there was still that layer of fabric in the way of true skin-on-skin contact, but it was wearing thinner and thinner by the moment. And what wasn’t thinner was becoming darker. A few streaks of moisture had slid from the nubs of her nipples and stained her shirt from the inside out.

“Can you even imagine me doing parallel bars with these?” Another button flung free of Kasumi’s shirt; the way she wobbled, it was like she was recoiling from firing a gun. Coincidentally, you heard the stray button whizz by your ear like a bullet. “Ugh, they’re just bursting out… I bet they’d still jiggle like crazy even if I had my leotard on!”

Little was left to the imagination now. Without the support of a full shirt, Kasumi’s tits were transitioning from perky spheres to heaving teardrops – and you could even spot a few veins surfacing upon her pale skin. Two semicircles of areolae were also beginning to rise above the fabric like the sun over the horizon; it would only take another popped button or two to reveal her nipples in all their glory.

“…but on the other hand, Senpai~…“

Kasumi approached you in the same way a model might slowly walk down a runway. It only took a few meandering steps for her impressive boobs to meet with your chest. They squished, compressed, pancaked against your ribcage, as soft as pillows and as warm as a campfire. “I just couldn’t wait to see your face now that I’ve blown through two-thirds of the alphabet~!”

The fragrance of her deodorant gave way to the sweet, sweet smell of her milk. It was strong, it was humid; it hung around you like a fog over a mountaintop. Kasumi’s gaze met with yours. Hers was the kind of sly grin that she never could have managed before – but the years had stripped her of her innocence just as much as they were stripping her of a fitting wardrobe.

“And if I’m too much of a cow to be a gymnast in the Olympics, well… at least I can use my flexibility with you in bed~”

[cosmica-galaxy]

Ta-dah! The "Pseudo-Dragon" of the large mimic world! = + These speaker mimics are the large mimic variants of the usually lovable and friendly speaker mimics, this version is corrupted by the "death spiral" illness. + These large mimics have received the nickname "pseudo-dragon" because of their inability to revert their arms back into a normal state and their ranged attacks that they preform on their prey and targets. Their height is around the size of a 4 story building with a wingspan of 53 feet, or about a full length of a semi-truck with a trailer. + These airborne large mimics are VERY deadly and are the "dragons" of the mimic world. They have been recorded and documented hunting down prey items by striking them with a radial blast from it's lateral mouth or picking them up high into the air and dropping them. They are also known to crush prey and vehicles in their claws. + These large variants seem to be stuck in a constant state of flight, as they can no longer turn their arms back to a normal state, giving them a "wyvern-like" appearance. The wings are usually made up of a thick membrane and covered with whatever their arms were coated with prior to their spiraling transformation. + The range of the sound this large mimic produces is similar to the maxed out output of a normal speaker mimic, but with far greater range. The large mimic can focus the sound to a point and can wipe out a battalion in a single blast. It still carries the sound immunity of it's smaller brethren. + This mimic is also covered in a very thick hide that makes it hard to penetrate the outer skin, but it still suffers the symptoms of the spiraling illness in some places on it's body. Mainly where the ribcage resides. This could be because of the strain it takes to force out a sound-based blast with such regularity. Samples from these wounds also show they are acidic in nature and that the beast is digesting it's own flesh, similar to other large mimics. + The bite and claw strength of this large mimic makes it capable of crushing vehicles and sizable prey with the force of a industrial hydrolic press.

+ The head of the mimic has also mutated and has produced multiple mouth-like orifices on the head structure. An autopsy report from a deceased corpse of this large mimic showed that each of those little mouths had their own vocal chords as well as jaw functionality. This could be the answer as to how this beast could fire off so many sound-based attacks without tiring out. + The altitude of this beast's flight limit is not known, but they are known to be especially aggressive towards airborne units and skibidis and will target them over units that are on the ground. + Due to their thick skin and immunity to powerful attacks, these are easily one of the most dangerous variants of large mimics. The corpse that was taken in for research purposes had to be downed by a TITAN of all things. Use extreme caution if one of these mimics is hinted at being in the local area.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

"Stop pretending that you’re fine! You need first aid!" with Levi obvi. You can do either one saying it 😗

drabble me up, Scotty 👉🏻👉🏻 (sorry that sounded funnier in my head I'm gonna leave now)

DRABBLE ME UP SCOTTY 💀💀

send me some drabble prompts!

First Aid | Canonverse Fluff Drabble

✧ word count ➼ < 500 ✧ notes ➼ canonversef, protective!levi

Expeditions were dangerous. You knew this. Levi knew this. He regularly tried to keep you from going on them, but you were stubborn and you were another soldier in the Survey Corps, so he technically didn't have any real way of stopping you.

You felt an overwhelming need to prove him wrong and that you didn't need his protection on the battlefield. Unfortunately, that stubbornness ended up exposing you to careless mistakes and before you knew it, you were flying through the sky after getting yanked out of the air from a Titan grabbing onto your mobility gear.

Luckily, you were able to detach and adjust before you got slammed into the ground, but you still found yourself flying through the trees at speeds too fast for you to comprehend.

You felt a strong pair of arms catch you as you were flying through the sky, gradually slowing down your fall so that you didn't end up sliding against the rough terrain. When you were able to finally reorient yourself and open your eyes, you saw a pair of intense, but worried gray eyes staring back into yours.

Your entire body hurt. You were all scratched up and you felt a stinging pain in your side, accompanied by the warm, wet feeling of blood seeping through your shirt. It wasn't anything fatal, but it was bleeding quickly enough to quickly bring a worry to Levi's eyes.

"P-Put me down, Levi," you muttered. He was currently carrying you bridal-style after catching you.

He gave you a skeptical look but slowly lowered your legs so that you could stand.

However, you quickly stumbled, barely able to put weight onto your legs without your entire ribcage in addition to the wound on your side screaming in pain. Levi quickly caught you, having expected this.

"Let's get you back to base," he said quietly.

"But what about the others?" you asked, referring to the other Scouts that were working on clearing the area you were previously in.

"They're capable and more importantly: not injured. We're getting you back to base," he said sternly.

You scowled at him.

"I'm fine, Levi, I can still help-!!!"

You stumbled forward and he had to catch you again.

"Tch, quit pretending that you're fine, _____!" he scolded, getting irritated at how stubborn you were. "You need first aid."

You were breathing heavily as you felt the pain reverberating throughout your body.

"...Fine," you eventually admitted, "but this doesn't say shit about my ability to be on the battlefield."

Levi gave you a wary look.

"I wasn't going to say that it did. Is that why you've been recklessly charging into shit?"

You glanced away, frowning.

"You're such a dumbass," he said with an eye roll. "I never said you were incapable, just reckless."

He glanced at you as a slight pout formed on your face.

"Now let's get your reckless ass back to base so I can get you patched up."

[habeascorpseus]

thinks about chip and the ship of theseus paradox and like... okay. youre the captain of a ship- which means inherently the question comes up every so often. your ship has been damaged by storm and titan and enemy combatant alike. at first that meant scars on the hull and new nails in the deck. then masts and rigging were replaced, the deck becoming a patched checkerboard of scrounged up planks and splintered wood. then half the ship was lost and replaced, and once again the ship looks like new, but the wood is off color, and the ropes a different fiber, and the lamps are mismatched like the mugs in a cupboard of a college dorm. it's still your millenium chipper Albatross, you think- mostly because you never really had time for philosophy living most of your formative years in a criminal gang. and also because you dont want to think about how if it's not the same, then what are you? you are missing two body parts. a pinky, and your heart. the pinky was replaced in the defeat of one of your enemies and the prosthetic rests against the stump of your finger in black metal with his gold insignia inlaid into it. it's warmed by the heat of your body but is never equal to it's temperature, most noticably on the hot days, when you squeeze your hand into a fist and feel the metal burn against your palm. you dont know if it's loss changed you. you like to think it hasnt. your heart? that's an entirely different story. when you look down at your hands, your skin is pale and lifeless in a way you've never been, there is no subtle weight or pulse in your ribcage reminding you you're alive, no rise and fall of the chest to signify you are anything but dead. your best friend gillion looks at you with pity in his eyes and tells you that no matter what happens to you, he still cares- you dont like that he feels the need to remind you of this in the first place. your guide, your observer, and your tormentor stands in front of you with his hand outstretched, an oversized heart resting in his palm, still pumping and oozing sanguine liquid against his skin. if you take the heart you'll be alive again- but what will you be? who will you be? youve been reborn so many times before: stepping foot on the black rose, then washing up on the shore after it sank, burning down the warehouse you were forced to murder your first person in, and again when you chose to forget it- but this is the first time it's come after permanent loss. even if you take the heart, it will never be you- not like the gradient of mismatched planks that make up the deck of your ship. it might always rest too heavy, or maybe it will beat too loud. you might be alive, but there will be something permanently off- are you kintsugi, or a faded photocopy 20 prints in as the ink runs dry? with each part replaced, are you building yourself or losing fundamental parts of who you once were? are you still kind, or merciful? are you still an innocent, or worth protecting? is it any wonder that when you dreamed of arlin, he recoiled? when you meet again, will he even want what you've become?

[spaceprincessem]

coming out of my cage to post for robstar week (@robxstar) because i recently rewatched teen titans and i love robstar so bad. wasn't feeling very creative and they just helped me write some lil fun self-indulgent things 💖 now i can share with all of you

day 1 - friends to lovers

she's the tear in my heart

It wasn’t long after the completion of the Tower that the roof became their spot.

Robin loved to watch the sunset over the bay and Starfire found freedom in the star speckled sky.

The first few nights, when they were just beginning to understand how to coexist with each other he’d always find her staring up at the sky late into the night. He wondered if she missed being part of the greater universe, flying past galaxies and spinning through the vastness that both terrified and humbled him.

He didn’t have to ask if she was missing home.

There was a deep longing, a sadness that shimmered in the shadows of her eyes, one that even the brightest smile couldn’t chase away. 

These days she calls Earth her home and Robin’s never been more thankful to exist in the same place as someone else.

“Hey,” he smiles, finding her knees tucked up to her chest right on the edge where she always is.

“Hi.” She returns the smile, warm and soft and something that is just for him.

It makes his heart beat harder, a traitorous pitter patter he’s long given up the fight to stop. Batman taught him a lot of things, but never how to defeat a hunger that runs so deep that he feels the ache in his bones. How to unwant someone because being with them isn’t something you’re allowed to have.

He takes his place next to her, touching as much as possible; a searing line of heat from shoulder to hip bone. 

There’s a steady hum beneath his skin that wants and wants and wants.

It’s late or, really, just very early. Dawn will be breaking over the city soon, their horizon one of the last to see the sun rising in the sky. 

“You know,” Starfire says quietly, “it has been a year since we all met.”

Robin knows and not just because they all agreed to celebrate the anniversary of forming the Titans and their friendship. He will never forget that fateful day. As much as he hates to admit it, he was a little lost in the shadow of Batman, needing to set off on his own. New town and a new start.

He wasn't expecting to find his family.

Or the love of his life.

But he keeps that close to his chest; locked up tight with no chance of seeing daylight.

“Best day of my life.” Robin admits.

He can hardly stop himself from admitting deeper truths when Starfire is by his side. She tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder as she eyes him curiously.

“Okay.” Robin laughs, “maybe best is a weird way to describe it, but I got to meet all of you, and I’m honestly not sure where I would be if we hadn’t.”

Probably in the depths of Slade’s clutches, destroying a city instead of saving it.

“I have also thought about that.” Starfire says, her gaze back on the sky.

A coil white hot and wicked slithers through Robin’s ribcage. He doesn’t have to ask to know what she’s imagining. The Citadel. He’ll never forget the way she said prize as if her agency didn’t matter. 

As if Starfire didn’t matter.

A royal princess that paid the ultimate price; sacrificing her freedom for her planet and people. She was starved and restrained, terrified out of her mind because of the horrors that awaited her. It still makes Robin sick to his stomach. 

Without thinking he presses closer and Starfire unwinds, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the tower as she takes up the space Robin offers her.

“I do not often have nightmares anymore of what could have been,” she says quietly, “but I suppose on such occasions it is not a surprise.”

Robin takes her hand, the need to touch and comfort too great. Something in his skin settles when her fingers lace between his own.

“You’re safe,” he reminds her. “You’re here, with us, and I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Robin can see the depths of green in her eyes, like an old growth forest with flecks of gold. Her gaze is heavy — honest — and Robin’s breath catches in his throat. He’s never known someone to have so much faith in him, despite his flaws and limitations and everything he’s done, Starfire believes in him. 

He imagines sliding his hand to cup her cheek, slotting their mouths together like they were made to fit, because Robin knows they were. 

 Not yet

Starfire’s knowing smile relieves some of the guilt and ache in his chest. He owes her so much and maybe one day he can return the favor.

“I believe we saved each other that day,” she squeezes his hand, thumb brushing gently over Robin’s skin.

I love you, Robin thinks unbidden.

“Yeah,” he swallows, choking back the swell of emotions, like the waves of a tsunami being sucked back out to sea, “we did.”

The sun catches over the tower, the water shimmering with the promise of a new day.

“If I recall,” Starfire says lightly, “I promised Cyborg that I would help make his famous three layer cake for our celebration today.”

“Starting at dawn?” Robin laughs as they stand up, hands still clasped together.

Starfire starts to say something, but a loud crashing sound from the kitchen answers Robin’s question. It’s followed by a string of curses causing Robin and Starfire to fall into each other laughing. 

“Come,” Starfire says as she tugs him towards the door, “I believe Cyborg is in need of rescuing.”

Robin just smiles fondly as she leads him back into the tower, counting down the seconds to when he never has to let go.