#the Marcos mention? my first pause

[gael-garcia]

El Conde (2023), dir. Pablo Larraín

[dixons-sunshine]

Yielding Isn't My Middle Name—Chapter Two | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: You and Daryl get a little bit more insight on your ambushers. The leader, Liam, is extremely suspicious, but you just can't figure out why. And to top it off, a certain secret of yours gets revealed that changes everything.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries.

Word count: 3.6k.

A/n: It's finally done. I powered through and got it done. Yay me! However, this chapter is pretty boring with limited action, but I hope y'all like this nonetheless!

Taglist: @dixons-girl89, @jupiter1700, @enlightndone, @shadowcitrine, @ddamm (comment/DM/inbox to be added!)

“I know, it's a lot to take in at first.” With a grand gesture and a big, inviting smile, Liam proudly showed off the beautiful landscape behind him, putting all of the luxuries they had on display for you and Daryl to see—well, as far as luxuries could go in a world ran by the undead. “But I promise you, as soon as you get settled into your new...” There was a slight pause before he continued. “...chambers, a wonderful life most certainly awaits you.”

The leader's voice barely reached your ears. The whole scenario baffled you; if they wanted you to join their community, why feel the need to ambush and kidnap you? Why tie you up and throw you in the back of a van, with a sack over your head to obscure your vision, most likely as a way to ensure you didn't know what turns they took? And why wouldn't they just ask you whether or not you wanted to join the community in the first place?

A million thoughts ran with the speed of light through your mind, but there was one thing you knew for sure; you didn't trust this Liam guy, and you certainly didn't trust this community. You could immediately tell that something was off. You couldn't figure out just yet what about it unnerved you so much.

“Dave, Marco.” At the sound of their names being called, the two guys who stood beside you and Daryl perked up, their backs straightening as they regarded their leader. “Make sure that the cooks make enough food for our newest additions. And,” he began, looking at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. Whether it was real or not, you didn't know yet. “Call up doctor Miller and tell him to expect two patients.”

“Why two?” one of the goons questioned. He looked at Daryl in disgust, something that irked you beyond belief. “Only the sexy lady here seems like she needs it.”

From the corner of your eye, you could clearly see Daryl tense up. To the untrained eye, they wouldn't even have noticed the way the archer's body language shifted, but you caught it. Of course you caught it. You knew Daryl better than anyone, and you knew that he was getting more pissed off by the second. One wrong move, and that man was more dead than the monster's that roamed the earth.

“Jesus, Dave,” Liam reprimanded him, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in disappointment. “You knocked the guy out with some hardcore stuff. We don't know how much of the fumes he inhaled. I don't want to take any chances. Our guests need to be properly checked out.”

Dave grumbled something under his breath, but ultimately agreed. However, right before he and the other man, who you assumed to be Marco, walked off in the direction of a small building, he stopped next to Liam and whispered something in his ear. The leader nodded before waving him off. They left and soon disappeared, and your attention quickly got drawn to the leader again.

Liam turned back to regard you and your husband. His lips formed into a tight smile, his eyes squinting with the pull of the muscles. For some reason, the action sent a shiver up your spine, and definitely not the good kind you'd experience when Daryl softly traced his fingers over your back. You had a lot to be wary of, and this Liam guy certainly didn't make a very good first impression on you or Daryl. You were sure that your husband wanted to lunge at the man and pound his face into the ground with his bare hands, and you definitely didn't blame him. You wanted to do the exact same thing.

Liam motioned to someone over your shoulder. In moments, somebody was grabbing at your shoulders and hoisting you up onto your feet. You stumbled a bit, not tumbling back to the ground only because Liam stepped forward to steady you. You instantly jerked back, moving away from his touch. You would've punched him for even thinking of touching you when he was the reason you were probably light-years away from your friends and family, but the rope tightly binding your hands stopped you from doing so.

You heard grunting coming from behind you. You spun around and saw the same goon practically manhandling your husband, forcing him up to his feet. When Daryl struggled against his hold, the man decided that punching him would be a good decision. The sight of Daryl being knocked back down to the gravel unleashed a certain protectiveness in you, and you took a warning step forward.

“You stay the fuck away from him, and keep your goddamn hands to yourself!” you yelled in anger, moving over to your husband and sinking down to your knees beside him. You thanked your lucky stars that your hands were bound in front of you and not behind your back, because it allowed you to trace your fingers over his face, searching for any bleeding. “Baby—”

“M'alrigh',” Daryl mumbled, glaring up at his attacker, his eyes alight with the fire of a thousand suns. “Asshole punches like a girl. No offense, Peach.”

You gave him a small smile. “None taken.” You helped him sit back up with a lot of effort, your hands straining against the rope and getting rope burn in the process. You clambered up onto your knees and carefully stood up, struggling to maintain your balance. Daryl followed your lead, and soon the two of you were stood in front of the leader.

Liam gazed at the two of you thoughtfully, his face unreadable. His green eyes flickered between you and Daryl for a moment too long for your liking before he readapted his smile. “Sorry about that, mate,” he began, his gaze landing on Daryl before moving over to the goon that had just attacked Daryl a few moments prior. “Peter just doesn't know how to behave himself.” The aforementioned man cowered under his leader's gaze, something you instantly picked up on and locked in the back of your mind. “Don't worry, he'll be punished appropriately.”

“Sir, please, I'm so—”

“Save it,” Liam snapped, glaring at the man harshly. “You know the rules, Peter. All actions have consequences. Those are the rules. If I ease up on you, the next person will expect me to do so and order will be disrupted.” He stopped for a few moments, simply staring at Peter with an unreadable look in his eyes. “You are dismissed. I expect you to be in my office in two hours. If you're not, well, you know what will happen.”

Whether that last part was a warning or a threat, you didn't know. However, what you did know was that for whatever reason, this Peter guy was deathly terrified of his leader. He visibly slumped and averted his eyes from everyone as he hurried away, practically bolting as if being chased by something.

Now being left alone with Liam, your eyes locked with the man's green ones. You couldn't quite place your finger on it, but there was something wrong with the man in front of you. He reminded you a lot of the Governor, the more you thought about it, but at the same time, he was different. It annoyed you to no end that you couldn't quite figure out exactly what about the green-eyed man made you feel cautious.

Well, his men ambushed and kidnapped you and your husband, so that was a pretty good place to start.

“Once again, I am so incredibly sorry about that,” Liam started, his face adapting a look of sympathy. “Peter is a rather new addition to my ‘police force’, so to speak. He hasn't quite learned that we don't resort to violence unless it's an absolute necessity.” He stopped for a second, looking at you before sighing. “Miss, I truly am sorry about what Peter did to you as well. Please excuse me for saying this again, but you do look like shit.”

You couldn't understand what this man's deal was. Merely a few minutes ago, while he was surrounded by multiple of his men, he had seemingly mocked you about the injuries you had sustained. However, now he was apologizing and being sympathetic? What was this man's motive?

“Now, Daryl and Y/N, I believe?” Liam began, successfully gaining confused and guarded looks from both you and your husband.

“How the hell do ya know tha'?” Daryl barked defensively, straightening his back to appear larger—almost as if he was facing a bear.

Liam's lips twitched up into a small wicked smirk at the archer, but he very quickly disguised it with a welcoming smile. “I know a lot of things, mate.” He shrugged his shoulders and motioned to the farmland surrounding you. “I need to know things to keep my people safe. They depend on me, you know?”

“Still doesn't answer my goddamn question,” Daryl practically growled, taking a threatening step towards the man. “How the fuck do ya know our names?”

Liam didn't falter under the Dixon man's harsh glare. If anything, he straightened his posture and met Daryl head-on, his height adding an advantage over the archer. However, having known your husband for a long time, you knew it was time to intervene before he started a fight he wouldn't be able to finish. His hands were tied and Liam had who knows how many people to back him up. The two of you were heavily outnumbered and outgunned.

“Daryl,” you called to him softly, raising your tied hands to gently grip his shoulder. “I really don't think that's the thing we should be concerned about right now. It doesn't matter if he knows our names. What matters is that we have to get the fuck out of here. We do that by playing along for now,” you mumbled into his ear, quiet enough to not alert Liam of your plan.

Daryl glared at the leader of the community for a few moments longer before stepping back, sharing a determined look with you. You gave him a small smile before turning back to Liam, regarding the green-eyed man with a strained, fake smile.

“I'm sorry about him,” you began, your voice sickeningly sweet. You were taking a page out of Carol's book—you were playing the wolf in sheep's clothing, biding your time until you and Daryl could strike back. You could only hope that your earlier outburst towards Peter wouldn't be used to call your bluff. “It's just that we weren't brought here under the friendliest circumstances. And now you know our names and it's a bit creepy. He's being wary.”

“For good reason,” Liam replied with a nod, motioning for you and Daryl to follow him. You shared a look with Daryl before following behind the man, Daryl following close behind. “You can't be sure about the dangerous pricks that are out there.”

“Ironic, ain't it?” Daryl grumbled lowly, glaring at Liam through his hair as the two of you followed behind the leader. He received a slight jab to his stomach from your elbow, and he let out a soft grunt.

“You see, that's why we built this place.” Liam walked on and motioned to the fields on his left. There were multiple people working on the crops; some watering, some picking, and some planting. You couldn't be completely sure, but you swore you saw a faint glint of metal wrapped around most of the workers' legs. Were you just out of it from the pain in your head, or were those shackles?

“Well, built is the wrong word. We found this farm back when everything first went to shit. The crops and the farmhouse were luckily still standing. We... expanded, so to speak. We built the walls to keep the flesh eaters out and built more homes on the property to house our growing population.” He stopped and turned back to you and Daryl. “I hope you don't mind, but you'll have to stay in the farm house with me for the time being. We're busy building new homes but it won't be ready for another couple of weeks, maybe months.”

“Jus' one question 'fore we decide,” Daryl began, stepping forward. “Why'd ya have to bring us here by force? Why didn't ya jus' ask us to come here instead of kidnappin' us?”

Liam stared at Daryl with a blank expression on his face. His face didn't give anything away, and it unnerved you beyond belief. However, he soon gave the two of you yet another smile. You were genuinely starting to wonder if his face was starting to hurt from the excessive amount of smiling.

“There's a reason for everything, champ. However, not everyone is allowed to know my reasonings to the things I do. That's reserved for the people I trust. But do know that I did it for your own goods. Between you and me, that entire building was surrounded by flesh eaters. You most certainly would've died without my men.”

“Wha' the hell do ya know 'bout—”

“Sir? I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but Dr Miller is ready for the new arrivals,” a small, timid woman spoke up, gaining the attention of you, Daryl and Liam.

“Ah, Mariah,” Liam spoke, nodding at her in greeting. He turned back to you and Daryl, using his hand to motion towards the woman. “Please follow her to Dr Miller. He'll make sure to patch you up and ensure you're fit and ready for tomorrow.” He walked a few steps backwards and clapped his hands twice. “Welcome to Sunny Meadows! Come meet me in the farm house once you're done.”

With that, he turned around and stalked off, leaving you and Daryl alone with the woman, Mariah. The aforementioned woman turned to look at the two of you. She was nervously fidgeting with her hands, her posture slouched and her eyes couldn't decide whether to focus on you, your husband, your wounds, the ropes tying your hands together, or the ground. You were confused by her obvious fear towards you. What people was she used to dealing with? Did she really think that you were going to hurt her?

“Please follow me,” she stammered out with a nervous squeak, turning around and speeding off into the direction of the very same building those other men, Dave and Marco, had disappeared into earlier.

You hesitantly started following her. Daryl grumbled and followed your lead, glaring at any person who dared to lock eyes with him. You had to withhold your chuckles at your husband, knowing that it was neither the time nor place for that. Under normal circumstances, you'd laugh at your husband's antics. But not now. Not when your main priority was getting the hell out of that place.

You soon arrived at the makeshift medical building. You followed her in, taking in the pure doctor-like feel of the building. If you didn't know any better and somebody had blindfolded you and brought you here, you would've believed that this was a legitimate doctor's office. But you did know better.

A man, who you presumed to be this doctor Miller character everyone was talking about, placed a syringe down on the table and gave you all inviting smiles. “Welcome!” he greeted you enthusiastically—and rather loudly, too. You winced at the sound, being painfully reminded of the incessant throbbing in your skull. “You both look rather terrible. Who should I focus on first?”

“Owen,” Mariah began in a soft voice. “If I may, maybe the woman? She took quite the beating.”

“Peter?” the doctor inquired, shaking his head and sighing when Mariah nodded. “That man has sent more patients my way than any scavenging trip accident has. I don't even know why your husband still keeps him around.”

Wait, husband? Liam was Mariah's husband? Then why was he treating her like that? Why was she so scared of him? A million different possibilities ran through your mind for the obvious fear the woman held towards her husband, and none of them were good. Daryl's ocean coloured eyes locked with your eyes. He visibly shared the same confusion as you. However, the doctor's orders caught your attention.

“Mariah, is it really necessary to have their hands tied? I can see the irritation from here. Please remove their binds.” Doctor Miller stopped for a moment, regarding you and Daryl with a thoughtful look. “Sir, ma'am, speaking from experience, please don't try to run or attack once those binds are removed. Whenever there's a new addition, the walls are very guarded. You'll be shot instantly.”

Mariah gingerly removed the ropes from your arms and tried to remove Daryl's. However, your husband flinched back at the foreign touch, making the woman confused. You simply gently pushed her aside and moved over to him, starting to untie his binds. This time, Daryl stood still, and in no time at all, his hands were freed. He rubbed his wrists, the rope burns visible.

“Alright,” the doctor started. “Ma'am, please lay down on the bed. I'll tend to you shortly. Sir, you may take a seat on that chair next to the bed while you wait.”

You looked out of the window and weighed your options. However, the doctor wasn't lying; there were multiple guards patrolling the walls in the distance. There also were guards walking up to the makeshift medical building, most likely being sent to ensure you and Daryl didn't try anything.

You had no other option. You had to continue playing along.

You slowly walked over to the bed and laid down. Daryl hesitantly plopped himself down on the chair next to the bed, his eyes darting around the room. He was clearly trying to think of an escape plan, but he wasn't succeeding.

“Alright,” Doctor Miller began, walking out of the side room and rolling a machine out with him.

You instantly knew what that machine was. “No, doctor, you can't. No, don't—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Daryl stood up from the chair and glared at the doctor, his mind instantly assuming the worst at your reaction. “The hell is tha'?”

“Sir, please relax.” Mariah walked up to the side of the bed, grabbing a tube of some sort of gel from the drawer. “We have some new equipment we've been wanting to test out. We found this ultrasound machine yesterday. We just want to test it out and make sure it works.”

Your heart stopped beating. All at once, thoughts of your unborn baby flooded your mind. You couldn't believe that you had forgotten about the fact that you were pregnant. With everything that happened, your mind neglected to remind you of that pivotal fact. And now everyone was going to know, including your husband who you had yet to tell.

“Doc, I don't think that's a good idea,” you warned him, pleaded with him, but the man didn't listen.

“Nonsense. This'll be over before you know it. It won't hurt, I promise you.”

“Ma'am, can I lift your shirt?” Too frozen to answer her, you simply stared. Deciding for you, Mariah lifted your shirt a bit and opened the tube with the gel. “This might be a bit cold.”

The cold was the least of your worries. You had taken quite the beating. What if your baby was hurt? What if your baby was dead? What if the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat? All of those thoughts flooded your mind, so much so that you barely heard Daryl talking to the doctor.

“Why does she need'a do tha'? Can't some other chick do this?”

“I was going to ask someone to come in today to test it, but she's here now. Might as well get it out of the way.” Doctor Miller started with the exam, placing the object on your stomach and moving it around. At first, the screen didn't pick up a thing, and that made you want to cry. However, the steady thumping of a heartbeat could soon be heard, and a small figure appeared on the screen.

“Oh, wow. That's a strong heartbeat,” Doctor Owen Miller told you with a smile, the ultrasound depicting a growing baby. “Congratulations, you two.”

Your heart was attempting to jump out of your chest. It was amazing to you that the little blob on the screen would soon develop into a baby, your baby. You would pick out their name and scavenge for things for your little one, and you're sure Daryl would—

Oh, god. Daryl.

Slowly looking over to your left, you locked eyes with your husband. Instead of finding the love, affection and adoration that usually swam in his ocean coloured eyes, you found something else. You found anger, shock, worry, but above all else? You could see a renewed sense of determination in his eyes.

The archer was pissed at you for hiding your pregnancy and convincing him to let you wander beyond the walls, but he couldn't think about that. He had to get you to safety, away from these monsters. He had to keep you and your unborn baby safe.

The doctor should've heeded your warning. The doctor never should've insisted to take an ultrasound. Because of doctor Owen Miller, Daryl Dixon was determined. Daryl Dixon was going to tear that whole place apart, and anyone who dared to lay a finger on you would meet an agonizing end.

The people of Sunny Meadows were going to pay.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 36 - Hibiscus 1

Summary: The bun in OUT of the oven. Mihawk and Shanks meet another female they'd burn the world for.

*warnings* childbirth. I'm no doctor so I tried my best!

Notes* There’s a lot that happens in this chapter! I've got one more planned to wrap this monster of a fic up and then an epilogue with an open ending if I want to come back to this and do little one-shots or what have you. I really hope everyone who's been with me through this has enjoyed! ❤️❤️

Peppermint Tea Masterlist-> HERE

A scream rips from your throat, chest heaving as tears stream down your face when pain arcs up your back. Both of your hands are occupied, Mihawk on one side and Shanks on the other. This was hour two of your labor, the Red Force having arrived on Sphinx Island just in time for your water to break, sending you and the two men that had done this to you into a panic. Mihawk did a good job of hiding it, but Shanks could see the anxiety lingering in those golden eyes. The redhead wasn’t doing a great job of hiding how worried he was, but he was here and that was all that mattered right now. 

Marco, bless him, stood at the end of the table, hands gloved and surgical mask on as he peeked between your legs, “Just a little more, _. I can see their head, you’ve got this.” 

The ex-commander of the Whitebeard Pirates hadn’t thought that he would wake up this morning and deliver a baby, especially a child made from two of the most powerful men in the Grandline, but here he was. Not that he was complaining, mind you, he was a doctor, and that meant it was his obligation to help those in need. After having the three of you in his office, he decided that they needed all the help they could get. 

You grit your teeth, brow furrowing as you do as instructed. There was so, so much pain, and if you hadn’t been coated in your boys’ haki, you were sure you would have burst into snowflakes after the first contraction had hit. You weren’t used to pain. You had always been careful your entire life and cautious, so this was excruciating. You gripped their hands harder, nails biting into their flesh as you pushed again. 

The morning after your reunion with Shanks and Mihawk, they had taken you aside and listed off the men and women who they knew to be doctors. You had immediately declined the help of Tony Tony Chopper, not wanting an underage reindeer to be the one to deliver your baby. Crocus and Dr. Kureha were too far away, and closer to your island than where they were now, so that had left Marco the Phoenix. 

Shanks had told you that he was a good man, and one that could be trusted to keep you and their daughter a secret, so in the end, it had only been logical that they would contact him and see if he could help. The redhead had grinned and disappeared, only to come back with a snail transponder that was already ringing. 

Ca-lick

“Shanks, this better be good and not another attempt to get me to join your crew.” 

The redhead had laughed sheepishly, especially after seeing the looks that his treasures had sent him, one of curiosity and the other annoyed. He hadn’t ever mentioned to them that he had tried to recruit the Whitebeard member. 

“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve actually got a favor.” 

There was a curious pause on the other side of the phone, and then Marco’s exasperated voice. 

“...What kind of favor?” 

Seeing the hesitation on Shanks’ face, you rolled your eyes and snagged the snail away from the redhead. Mihawk couldn’t have been more proud. 

“Hi, Marco. My name is _. I’ve known Shanks for a while now, and well. I’m having his baby, and he said that you could be trusted. So, could you help us?” 

There was another silence over the phone, and if they were at Sphinx, they would have seen Marco’s jaw drop in shock, and then smooth a hand over his face as a weight settled over his shoulders. 

“That’s some favor. You must be something special to have gotten him to stay loyal.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, though you glared at the redhead, who wilted further when Mihawk joined you with his own piercing look. 

“I can’t take all the credit, I had some help keeping him in line. You’ve met Dracule Mihawk right?” 

All you knew about them knowing one another was what the warlord had told you about Marineford, which was before the two of you had met. You understood that it was a huge battle between the navy and pirates, and you’d been surprised that Mihawk had fought for the Marines at first, but he’d explained what his duties as a warlord entailed, so you kind of understood. It’d make you giggle when he admitted he left, he refused to say escaped, when Shanks had shown up. 

“...An emperor and a warlord? Should I be worried about my health?” 

You could hear the joking tilt in Marco’s voice, and it made you like him even more. The two of you spoke for a while longer, the doctor in him coming out and inquiring about your health before he’d given the okay. 

“Sounds like to me you’ll arrive at Sphinx about the time for you to give birth. Stay off your feet as much as you can these next weeks, and I’ll send Shanks the coordinates to the island. It was good to meet you, _.” 

You’d smiled and thanked the doctor, and then ended the call. Mihawk had taken it away to set aside, and then the two of you rounded on Shanks, twin glares that had the redhead shrinking away. 

“I think we should remind our dear Shanks why he stays loyal to us, don’t you think, my dear?” Mihawk had rumbled and advanced on the other man, a possessive gleam in his golden eyes. You’d gotten quite the show that morning. 

“Fuck both of you,” you snarl hotly and glare at both men, eyes alight with fury as you take short, stuttering breaths, trying to keep yourself from passing out from the pain. Marco was a doctor, and a good one at that, but childbirth wasn’t something that he did very often, so he didn’t keep very strong painkillers on hand, “We’re never having sex again.” 

Shanks can’t help but laugh, though it ends with a wince when you squeeze his hand so hard his bones ache. He didn’t realize that you had such a good grip. 

“You say that now, my love,” Mihawk murmured beside you, and you gave him a smile full of teeth. It was not a nice one. 

“I’ll castrate you both.” 

Marco glared at all of them, eyes narrowing in on the two men, “And I’m going to help her if you two don’t stop distracting her. Come on, _. You’re almost there.” 

You scream again and put all of the strength you’ve got left into the next push, and then you feel a sudden relief, fluid and blood leaking from between your legs. All you want to do is sleep, but then you hear a piercing cry, and all that exhaustion leaves you in that moment. Your eyes snap open, and you look across the room at Marco and the screaming baby that he holds in his arms. 

“Oh.”

You pry your hands from your boys and hold out your shaky arms, tears of elation in your eyes when Marco rounds the bed and offers you the bloody bundle. You feel something in your chest click into place when he settles the babe against your chest, and then Shanks and Miihawk are there, pushed close so that they can see, too. 

“A healthy girl. Already has a good set of lungs on her,” Marco says, and you raise the blanket that holds your daughter, cleaning off the gunk that clings to her little face. You smile when she opens her eyes, and then hear a gasp behind you. You look up to see Mihawk staring at their daughter with a rapturous look on his face, ringed eyes wide as he reaches out to gently rub his thumb over her cheek. 

“Your eyes, darling,” you say, and then you are wiping at her hair, expecting the red of blood to fall away and reveal dark hair, but the tint just doesn’t want to leave. You lick your lips, eyes going wide as you look at Shanks, “And your hair.” 

Marco watches the happy couple, throuple, really, with a small smile, though he is a little confused because that’s definitely not how genetics work. He wonders if it had something to do with you. Regardless, the three of you had made a beautiful child, and he was sure that she would turn heads when she got older. He steps forward with an apologetic look. 

“Not to break this up, but I need to stitch you up, _.” 

You grimace at what he says and reluctantly hand your daughter off to MIhawk who takes her with gentle hands. He steps back and Shanks takes his spot, offering you his hand when Marco crouches between your legs to clean you up. You wince at the feeling, but it is nothing compared to birthing your daughter. 

Mihawk stares down at the babe in his arms. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of her, for she is the sweetest, and most beautiful being he has ever laid eyes on. She is pale, fair-skinned like her uncle Tomura, but her eyes and hair were all his and Shanks. She was a perfect combination of the man and woman that Dracule loved, of all three of them. For the first time in decades, he feels his eyes grow wet, a lump in his throat as he holds his daughter close. He would burn the world for her if she so desired. 

“Mihawk,” you call to him softly, and he is at your side in an instant. You reach for him and pull him close so that you can press a kiss on his cheek. Shanks is next, and then the three of you are staring at the babe that rests in her father’s arms. She stares up at the blurry figures that she has felt all her life, garbles some nonsense, and promptly closes her eyes. You snort and Mihawk pulls away, reluctantly handing her over to Marco when the doctor asks for her. 

“I’ll just be in the other room. Just a quick check-up and I’ll clean her for you, too,” He assures them, and then he is gone, leaving the three of them alone. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” Shanks asks and crouches by your bedside, dark eyes curious and concerned. You give him a tired smile, eyes feeling heavy. 

“I’m okay. Exhausted and still hurting, but it’s not bad right now,” You murmur, and despite your tired mind, a thought pops up, “We never thought of any names.” 

Shanks laughs, the sound a little wet, and you look over to see tears in his eyes as he reaches out to cup your face in his hand, leaning in to press a kiss to your brow, “We didn’t did we?” 

“I did,” Mihawk says, and rolls his eyes when his two lovers give him a look, lips turning up in a tiny, bemused smile. 

“Care to share with the class?” Shanks grumbles, and Mihawk flicks the other man’s forehead in retaliation for the attitude. 

“Joyeuse,” He says as Marco enters the room, and you reach for your daughter, settling her against your chest and watching her latch with a fond expression, though your eyes widen when Mihawk continues, “Dracule Hibiscus Joyeuse.” 

“Bit of a mouthful, but I love it,” Shanks says, and you nod, still in a bit of a daze. You flick your eyes over at the redhead who is smiling so wide that it would blot out the sun, “We’ll call her Joy for short.” 

“Darling, what do you think?” Mihawk asks, and you can hear a hint of nervousness in his tone. Wanting to dispel that quickly, you smile up at him, eyes filling with tears once more. 

“It’s beautiful, but Dracule? Not Delemur?” 

He’d told you your family name on the night he had come clean about his connection to your past. You weren’t complaining, but you were just a little confused. You blink when he smiles down at you, leaning forward to kiss you before he pulls away. 

“Of course, darling. You will take my last name as well, once we find someone to bind us.” 

Bind us. 

“You mean you want to get married?” you blurt a little too loud, and wince when Joyeuse makes an unhappy sound before falling silent again as she nurses. 

Mihawk suddenly looks a bit taken aback, and you watch him lick his lips and stand straight. You realize that other than that awful day you sent them away, this was one of the only times you’ve seen the peculiar man nervous. 

“Yes, if that is agreeable to you.” 

Shanks can’t help but laugh at the scene before him. He and Mihawk had talked about this before, and since he didn’t really have a last name, it only made sense that you would take the warlord's name. 

“Look at what you’ve done, baby. Got the hawk all worked up,” He teases with a grin at the other man, “Relax baby, you know that she’ll say yes.” 

You don’t even have to think about it. You’ve imagined this far too many times to ever say no. 

“Of course, I’d say yes. Why would I not?” You ask, and the warlord looks away, a blush staining his cheeks. 

“Our past, my love. I would understand if you would not want to marry the man who lied to you for so long,” He says, and you soften immediately. You adjust Joyeuse in your hold and reach out to snag his hand, holding it tightly and bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. 

They had talked about their mistake of keeping secrets in the two weeks it had taken to make it to Sphinx Island. They had promised to never lie to you or each other, vowing that, even if it was something that would make the other mad or upset, it would be spoken about. 

“It would make me very happy to be your wife, Mihawk,” you say, and your tone is soft, but brokers no room for any kind of arguments. 

Shanks beams when he watches the warlord swoop down and seal his lips against your own in a kiss. It makes his chest alight with happiness to see the two of you and his daughter like this. He had a family now, and there was nothing in heaven or earth that he wouldn’t do for them.

You yawn loudly when Mihawk pulls away, feeling the exhaustion creeping up again. Your daughter has eaten her fill and you allow the warlord to take her away when you look at Shanks, brow furrowed. 

“Don’t you want to hold her?” 

The redhead licks his lips. He wants more than anything to hold his daughter, but he doesn’t think he would be able to do it properly or without hurting her. So he gives you a weary grin and gestures to the empty sleeve at his side, “I don’t think I can, sweetheart.” 

Dracule frowns, looking stern, “Nonsense. Sit, Shanks.” 

The redhead does as ordered quickly, recognizing that no-nonsense tone that his lover adopts when he refuses to back down on something. He steps closer and adjusts Shanks’ arm, and Marco helpfully hands over a folded towel to make a sort of nest in the crook of his arm before Mihawk carefully lays his daughter against the redhead’s chest. 

Shanks can’t help but hold his breath, eyes wide and fearful when she is sat down. He tightens his arm, worried that she might fall, but Joyeuse just makes tiny baby sounds and drools against his shirt, content as can be. He doesn’t realize that he is crying until his eyes go blurry, his lip tucked between his teeth to try and stop the sob that wants to wrack his chest. 

“Gods she’s so tiny, “ He whispers, and Mihawk snorts from where he stands behind him. He leans down to reach out, trailing the back of his knuckles along her cheek. Joy opens her eyes at the touch and glares up at her fathers, which only makes Shanks let out a wet snicker. 

“She already has your looks, Hawkeye.” 

You watch them from where you lay in the bed, heart light with contentment. You can’t help but think that her name fits your daughter. She would bring these two men so much joy in the years to come, and you couldn’t wait for the three of you to get back home and discover what parenthood entailed. However, thinking about your home makes your heartache. You would no longer be safe on your island. Too many people knew about it now, and you were certain that the Big Mom pirates had destroyed everything that you had worked so hard to build. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Not in too much pain, are you?” Marco asked when he heard you sniffle from the bed. Shanks and Mihawk zeroed in when you sniffed again and raised a hand to wipe at your eyes. 

“It’s manageable right now. That’s not what I’m crying over. My home, my island isn’t fit to raise her, not anymore,” you say and by the looks on their faces, they knew it to be true too, “Where are we going to go?” 

You don’t think you could live on a ship, and while Gloom Island could have been an option once upon a time, Mihawk had gotten word that the warlords were to be disbanded after the mess that happened in Dressrosa. It was a relief that he and Perona hadn’t been there when the Navy had shown up to try and arrest him via Buster Call. It had infuriated the now ex-warlord to know that his home for the past decade had been destroyed, all that knowledge lost to the ages, all his worldly possessions lost to the sea. 

“You can stay here for a while? Sphinx is too poor to be on the navy’s radar, and the people here won’t pass up the added protection,” Marco suggests with a shrug, “Plus I’ll be able to keep an eye on you and Joy.” 

It’s not a bad idea, but it still wouldn’t be a long-term solution. Regardless, you gave Marco a kind smile and dipped your head in a nod. 

“Thank you, Marco. I’ll make sure they stay on their best behavior.” 

Shanks makes an affronted sound and Mihawk rolls his eyes at your quip, lips pursed in a pout, though he’d never call it one. 

“We’re not that bad,” Shanks grumbles petulantly, and his daughter fusses at the tone. He winces and drops his tone into a whisper, “Sorry sweetheart, your momma is being mean to your daddy.” 

You roll your eyes at them and share a look with the doctor who laughs and goes to step out of the room, “I’ll be back in a while. I’m going to see if I can’t find you a house to settle down in. I won’t be far if you need me.” 

-----

Marco indeed finds the four of you a house near the shore that’d been abandoned for a while. It needed some work done, but it wasn’t like the Red-Haired pirates were doing much right now and had gladly volunteered to fix it up. They had fallen head over heels for Joyeuse once they had been able to meet her. Marco had kept you in the small operating room for a week, just to make sure that you and your daughter were healthy enough to start moving around. 

You needed help, a lot of help actually, but Shanks and Mihawk jumped into action the second that they noticed you needed something. Joy grew stronger every day she was in the world, big golden, ringed eyes curious about everything around her. Her hair had darkened as well, and now was only a shade darker than Shanks’ own. You couldn’t help but wonder how else she would change as the years passed by. 

Mihawk and Shanks flanked the two of you as you waddled into your new home. Shanks’ crew had done a fantastic job with remodeling the house. It was quite a bit more modern compared to your cottage, but that didn’t bother you. You were just happy that you could sit down on a comfy couch while your boys took care of Joy. 

Yasopp, who had taken one look at her and burst into tears, blubbering about how cute Usopp had been when he was born, brought down your fur children, and they would finally be meeting your daughter. 

Hank carefully crept forward, nose sniffing loudly. He had known that you were carrying a pup, had known even before you did, and it filled the old dog with glee to know that you had finally given birth. He carefully climbed up the couch, his upper body close to his mother, and took in his new sister with big brown eyes, and then glanced up at you when your hand came down on his shaggy head. 

“This is Joy, Hank. You’ve gotta protect her like you did me, okay?” you whisper and the dog whines, nudging forward to sniff at the pup and memorize her scent like he has done for you and the two men who had become a part of their family. Hank would make sure that nothing would come to harm his baby sister, he was the eldest after all. 

A loud meow introduces his little brother, and Hank watches the orange fluff ball jump up on the couch, big golden eyes searching out their mother when he finally realizes that there is something in her arms. Sukuna eyes the babe, eyes narrowing as he flicks them up to you and yowles again. 

Joy grumbles and cracks her eyes open, meeting the gaze of the loud thing that wouldn't let her sleep. Sukuna and she stared at each other for a while, the cat slowly deciding that the kit wasn't too bad since she was being so quiet, and began to loudly pur. You can't help but laugh softly when Joyeuse goes straight back to sleep. 

You adjust your daughter so that you can scratch behind the cat's ears, and Sukuna just purrs louder for you. It makes you happy that they had accepted Joyeuse so quickly into the tiny pack that the three of you had been, and couldn't help but think about how much it's grown in the past couple of years. 

What once had been just you and Hank had turned into you Hank and Mihawk. And then he had brought in a tiny, angry kitten and an ornery goat. Shanks had come along as if he was always meant to find your tiny island and with him the gift of your chickens. There was just one thing that you felt that was missing. Your brother, Tomura. The man that you could hardly even remember. 

“Darling, is something wrong?” 

Mihawk's voice brings you out of your thoughts and you glance up to give him a small smile, shaking your head. 

“Nothing wrong, per se, but… Mihawk you told me about my brother. I want to meet him again. Joy should know her uncle.” 

The ex-warlord purses his lips. He hadn't mentioned the marine because he was selfish and wanted to keep you all to himself, but he should have known that you would ask about your brother at some point. 

“He is waiting for us at your island. I didn't want to overwhelm you with someone new after what happened,” He says and joins you on the couch, taking Joyeuse when you hand the babe over so that you can stretch your arms over your head. 

“Then I'll talk to Marco about my brother coming here,” you say, and Mihawk gives you a look over his daughter's head. 

“He is a vice-admiral in the navy, my love. Do you really think that would be wise?” 

You frown and cross your arms over your chest. You don't want to do anything to get Marco in any kind of trouble or put Sphinx in the eyes of the military, but Tomura was your brother. You couldn't just leave him out of your life, “Can I call him, at least?” 

“Who do you want to call, sweetheart? The most important people in your life are right here,” Shanks teases when he walks into the living room. He'd been busy catching up with Marco and getting the down low about what was happening around the island. Turns out not much. 

“My brother, Shanks. I want to get to know him again, and he deserves to know that he's got another family member,” you tell him and the redhead makes an ohhh sound, his dark eyes wide as he smiles. 

“Don't worry about that, baby. I called him before we even made it to Sphinx. He'll be here in a week or two,” Shanks says proudly, and shrugs at the annoyed look that Mihawk gives him, “We can't keep them apart forever, you know.” 

Mihawk sneers and rolls his eyes, “And why didn't you mention anything?” 

Shanks just beams and steps close to you, sliding his arm carefully around your stomach as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, “It wouldn't have been a surprise if I had.” 

You snicker and tuck yourself closer to the redhead, elated that you would see your brother in the next coming weeks. Your life has changed so much since meeting Dracule Mihawk, in ways that you'd never expected, but you wouldn't give it up for the world

Tag list: @writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom @mfreedomstuff @caniseethefourthsword @olenoname @glitterystarfishfestival

[alexa-fika]

First off i love all of you one piece fics. I just recently got into the fandom again and i found you fics and they are just amazing

I wanted to request whitebeard crew x teen reader

This js kinda based of my cat, so here's the backstory, we originally had 2 cats until recently when my mom brought back a "stray", really cuddly cat and we all loved it, unfortunately later it turned out that this stray was already someone's cat so we gave it back, but while it was here one of the original cats was really jealous. Usually she hates being picked up except when it's me, but while the "stray" stayed with us she became really mean and not even I was allowed to pick her up

And I wanted to ask if you could write something similar to this, were the whitebeards maybe pick up another teen or just a new crewmate and the reader is kinda jealous/mean and scared the they might be replaced (abandonment issues) and maybe add one person they usually have a great relationship with but suddenly they completely avoid/ignore them and won't let anyone be near them.

I hope you can work with this, sorry for writing so much

Have a great day/night and know that you are amazing!! <3

First Envy (teen!Marco x winged!teen!reader)

A/N . Throwing a tantrum because I left the app to get a pic of young marco to share and tumblr deleted my progress. Anyhow something about young marco just tickles my fancy, he’s just such a goofy guy and even more lovable

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc characters both!

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

“Come on, Dokucha! Join the party!” Vista called excitedly

“You can’t drink yet, but there are a lot of other things you can do; we have set up a lot of games since we have more kids around,” he prattled on, only to pause and wince at the glare the teen sent their way.

“Okay… I’ll leave you be then,” he muttered as he backed away from them and turned around, making a quick exit.

Dokucha sighed, watching from their place on the nest as the rest of the crew below them partied; what brought a scowl to the face, however, was the center of the celebration: their newest addition to the crew, Momonosoke.

They enviously observed as everyone fretted over him, ensuring he didn’t run anywhere dangerous or, God forbid, fall and start crying. Oh, the cries. Every time they cried, it was as if everything had to stop in order to check on him.

“If you stare any harder, Momo won’t survive-yoi!”

“Huh?” They snapped their head around at the sound only to see an empty space beside them rather than a person.

“Up Here-yoi!” Marco laughed as he called to the teen, his devil fruit activated as he used his wings to hold himself upside down in the air.

“Agh! Marco! I told you to stop doing that!” they called, scurrying back to make space between them.

“Haha! But your reactions are just the best-yoi!” he cackled, righting himself up and perching on the railings of the nest.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was lonely down there-yoi! I was missing my best mate!” he called jovially.

“Din’t seem that way, you seem to be just fine with the new people,” they sneered, taking hold of a rope and swinging themselves to an adjacent crow’s nest, their wings flapping on instinct behind them.

“You mean Momo? Well, it is refreshing to have new faces, not to mention that they are quite adorable!” he gushed, a small blush on his face as he did.

“Then, by all means, please go and spend your precious time with them.” They scoff, turning away from them, earning Marco a frown as he glided his way down, straight onto Whitebeard’s shoulder.

“Hey Pops! Something’s going on with Dokucha.”

“Hah, What do you mean?” he grumbled, looking up at his youngest

“Well, they are kind of snappy-yoi”

“They are always snappy, Marco,” he called with a roll of his eyes.

“Huh? No, they’re not. I mean, they aren’t a ray of sunshine, but they aren’t snappy, either. But now they seem to have been avoiding me. They seem to have been like this since Momo arrived,” he mused as a thought hit him.

“Are they jealous of the baby-yoi?!”

“Marco, you idiot!” he growled, bringing his fist down on the armrest of his chair, scaring Marco enough to make him jump off the older man’s shoulders.

“P-Pops?” he called as he took to hovering in front of the man.

“They’re scared!” he snapped.

“Of a baby?!” he cried.

“Listen Here, Marco, the kid has been here for a month. Do you remember where we rescued them from? How they were?! They were close to dying with their wings completely mangled! They are still trying to get used to the fact that not everyone out there is an abusive bastard that will sell them for some spare change!” Whitebeard barked

“T-They think we’re going to leave them?! But we aren’t! Can’t you talk to them, Pops?”

“That’s no good; they won’t listen to me,” he muttered as he tilted his tokkuri all the way, u,p, taking in every drop of the sake inside.

“What is that supposed to mean-yoi? Who would they listen if not you, Pops?” he asked as he flew closer to the man, his worry increasing as time went on.

“You! You Moron!” He boomed

“Me?!”

“Marco, I took them in, but they only trust you at this moment; they relate the most to you physically,” he started, gesturing to his avian features

“And you are the closest in age to them, too,” he finished. It was a small detail, seeing as the next youngest, Vista, was only 2 years older than Marco, standing at seventeen, but it seems that to the thirteen-year-old, this was a significant gap that his older sons were still unable to cross. However, he thought this to not be the defining factor, unlike the features that they both seem to share, Especially now when the teen found themselves in a stage where they had to re-learn everything that had to do with their wings as the appendages slowly grew back, as such they did the most reasonable thing and looked for the person who could guide them, Marco.

“I thought I told you to leave,” they snarled, hearing the flapping of wings behind them and the breeze of wind that came from them.

“You did-yoi.”

“You talked to the old man? He put you up to this?”

“Not really-yoi, he did made me realized you might be feeling lonely though!” he called flying In front of them, giving them no other option but to pay attention to the teen.

“You know we’re just excited for Momo to be here, right? We’re happy you’re here too,” he asked, getting excited as they hummed in response, knowing that they had caught their attention.

“You’re one of us, too,” he grinned, putting himself upside down once again.

“Besides! can’t imagine being without a flying buddy! t was starting to get on my nerves to be the only one able to do air scouting-yoi!” letting out a snicker as he noticed their bashful response at his honest words.

“I can’t really do much of that right now, though,” they muttered, glancing at their tiny stubby wings.

“You will, but you still won’t be able to beat me, so don’t get your hopes up,” he teased.

“As if! give it a few months, you will be eating those words!”

“You’re on-yoi.”

“Ha! I don’t need them to beat you now!” They smirked, taking hold of the ropes once again as they swung away, grabbing a hold of another rope as soon as their current one ran out, effectively gliding around the ship with little to no effort.

“You better not regret taking me on-yoi.” He called as he righted himself and propelled himself forward right after Dokucha.

“Ha! You show that prick, Dokucha! Someone has to put him in his place!” Fossa grinned as his crewmates joined in, cheers and whistles sounded across the Deck as the two avians traversed the ship, their own glee evident.

Look at this goofy guy

Was trying to find the one of him upside down but this will do. Also this fic just made me realized that Marco isin’t the oldest one in the crew :p I had thought he was older than the other commanders but theres like five older than him.

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[grandlinedreams]

| had to write this so bear with me, special thanks to @jesterwriting for cackling abt this w me on discord lmao

[!]: AGELESS AND MINORS DNI.

[Heads up!: brief mention of nsfw activities, an injury, cursing, afab/fem aligned reader ig, marco is so fucking tired]

Ace is insatiable.

His hips rock against yours, unfaltering even for how tightly you're wrapped around him, pupils lust blown as he watches you writhe.

"Feel that good, huh?" His laugh is low and breathless, the press of his lips to your jaw before he reaches, warm palm against your leg as he pushes, aiming to part it further so he can sink deeper ㅡ

Pop.

It's a muted sound, muffled ㅡ and the following cry from your mouth is not one of pleasure, but of pain. Ace freezes above you. "Babe?"

You don't answer, eyes shut and jaw locked against a whimper as agony radiates from your hip into your leg. "My hip," you manage, breath shallow, "what did you just do?"

Ace's heart stutters in his chest. "I don't know, I ㅡ baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

He means it, you know he does, but it's hard to comfort him when you want to pass out from how badly it hurts.

Sliding out of you, Ace still hovers, hands raised hesitantly as he tries to think of what to do. "Marco," he says, "we need to get Marco, he can fix thisㅡ"

"Ace." Even with your face pale and pinched with pain, you manage to glare. "We're both naked right now. Put some clothes on."

He scrambles to find clothes to put on before he moves to help you, expression guilty. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs, kissing your temple. "You can hit me if you want to."

"Not gonna do that," you say, "but you can come up with what we tell Marco as to how this happened."

ㅡ

Marco wakes to the sound of a fist against his door. Not quite banging, but a forceful knock accompanied by a familiar voice that cracks at the end. "Marco, we need your help, this is an emergency."

Knowing Ace, it's either beyond serious or beyond stupid ㅡ and the older man sighs before he sits up. "Alright, I'm up."

Striding towards the door, he opens it to find a teary-eyed Ace, you carefully cradled in his arms. Given the late hour, there are only a handful of things it could be, and Marco sends up a silent hope that it isn't any but one of them as he tries to keel the exasperation out of his tone. "What happened?"

Ace flounders, cheeks pink. "You see, we ㅡ I ㅡ"

You turn towards Marco. "The idiot did something to my hip on accident," you manage, hissing when Ace jostles you by adjusting his grip on you. "Heard it pop, if that helps."

Marco blinks, glances from you to Ace, then sighs. "He probably dislocated your hip. It's an easy fix, and you'll be fine. But I'd suggest less...vigorous activity if it's going to end like this."

It's as close to alluding to knowing exactly what you were up to as you're comfortable with, your own face flush despite everything.

True to his word, it doesn't take Marco long to pop it back into place ㅡ and with a quiet thank-you and plea to not mention this to anyone else, Ace takes you back to your shared room.

"I'm really sorry," he murmurs as he settles down first, pulling you over him and peppering your face with soft kisses. "Hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted to do."

"I know," you soothe, "but you get carried away sometimes, you know?"

Even for the ordeal that you've just been through, Ace still finds it in him to smirk at you, eyes glinting. "Hard not to when you sound so good, babe."

"Don't," you intone, "one sex-related injury is enough to last a lifetime."

"I wasn't gonna do that," he protests, "but we didn't get to finish." He pouts up at you, devious fingers sneaking up your shirt. "You can be on top, you know I like the view either way."

You want to swat at him for his continued antics, but the rough heat in his voice and warmth of his body under yours has want starting to thrum in your veins again.

"Fine," you relent, leaning down to pause against his lips. "But if I ever have to explain anything related to our sex life to Marco again, I'm going to kill you."

[metalmonki]

Objection! Part 10

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

4.7k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the dim hospital room. I sat still, my fingers laced together, resting on my lap. The chair was stiff and uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t leaving. Not now. Not until she woke up.

Y/N looked so small in the hospital bed, her face pale against the stark white sheets. I had braced myself for bruises, for some visible proof of the nightmare she had been through, but there was nothing—just the eerie stillness that came from the drugs still lingering in her system. The doctors had assured us she would wake up soon, but every passing minute felt like an eternity.

Sonny had been the one asking the doctors all the right questions, demanding more when vague reassurances weren’t enough. I had stayed quiet, letting him take the lead. It wasn’t my place to interfere. I had no right to claim any authority over her—not in Sonny’s eyes, not even in my own. It was enough that he had let me stay.

Olivia had come and gone, updating us on Marco’s arrest. He was locked away in Attica with no bail. That should have given me some peace, but then she mentioned Jack McCoy bringing in Peter Stone to handle the case. Anger had flared in my chest at the thought of being sidelined, but Olivia had shut it down quickly. You’re too close to this, Rafael. You were his main target, he used her to get to you. And deep down, I knew she was right.

Now, the room was silent again. Visiting hours had passed, and Sonny had reluctantly gone home to shower and eat. He had promised to be back soon, but I barely registered his departure.

Alone with Y/N, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the edge of her bed. My eyes traced every familiar feature—the curve of her lips, the way her eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, the steady rise and fall of her chest.

I swallowed hard, gripping the blanket as I exhaled shakily. “You scared the hell out of me,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t stir.

A humourless chuckle escaped me as I ran a tired hand down my face. “I should have told you,” I said, my voice rough with exhaustion. “I should have told you a long time ago. But I was a coward. I told myself it was better this way—that you deserved something simple, someone who wouldn’t complicate your life. Dios soy un idiota” (God I’m an idiot)

I shook my head, my jaw tightening. “But I love you.” The words felt heavy, like they had been waiting too long to be spoken. “I have for a long time. And I will protect you, from this day forward, even if you never hear me say this.”

Hesitantly, I reached out, letting my fingers brush over the back of her hand. She was warm. Alive. And that was the only thing that mattered.

I stayed like that, my hand resting over hers, as the hours stretched on.

Sonny was so quiet when he came back that his voice startled me, making me jerk back from Y/N’s bedside like a guilty teenager caught sneaking out. My heart pounded as I turned toward him, but there was no anger on his face, no judgment. Just quiet understanding.

He sighed, settling back into the chair across from me. “Relax, Barba. I’m not gonna yell at you.”

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to unclench my fists. After a brief hesitation, I reached for Y/N’s hand again, letting my fingers curl around hers. Sonny watched but didn’t say anything at first, just resting his elbows on his knees as he studied me.

Then, after a long pause, he asked, “When did you realize it?”

I frowned. “Realize what?”

“That you love her.”

The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, trying to gather my thoughts. When had I realized it? Had it been all at once, some grand revelation? Or had it crept up on me over time, settling into my bones before I even understood it was there?

Sonny must have seen the conflict on my face because he kept going. “Why her? And why the hell didn’t you tell her?”

I let out a heavy breath, running a hand over my face. “Because I was afraid,” I admitted. “Because she deserves better than someone like me—someone who lives in a courtroom, who puts work before everything, who ruins every relationship he’s ever had.”

Sonny scoffed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I shot him a look, but he only leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Look, I get it. You think you’re protecting her. But you’re wrong. You think Y/N doesn’t know who you are? That she hasn’t already decided you’re worth it?”

His words settled deep, but before I could respond, he smirked. “You know, we had a bet going. Well Finn, Amanda and Nick did I wanted no part of it.”

I blinked. “A bet?”

Sonny chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. Back in the squad room, her second day working with you. Finn, Amanda, and Amaro—they all bet on how long it would take before you two figured it out.”

My stomach twisted. “Figured what out?”

“That you were in love with each other.”

The air felt too thick in my lungs. “You’re joking.”

Sonny grinned. “Wish I was. Amaro said a month. Amanda gave it three. Finn? He was the only one who said it’d take over a year. He figured you’d be stubborn about it.” He paused, tilting his head. “Looks like he was right.”

I let out a quiet laugh, though it was more disbelief than amusement. “And Y/N?” I asked cautiously. “What did she say about all this?”

Sonny’s smirk softened. “She never denied it, Barba. Never. If anything, she just got flustered whenever we brought it up.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “She loves you, man. I know it. Even if I don’t want to believe it.”

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around Y/N’s hand.

I wanted to believe him. God, I needed to believe him. But right now, all that mattered was her waking up.

And when she did, I had no intention of letting another second slip by.

Sonny asked me again, his voice quieter this time. “When did you realize it?”

I exhaled slowly, staring down at Y/N’s hand in mine. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the silence between us, a reminder that she was still here, still fighting her way back to us.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t some grand moment of clarity. It wasn’t like the movies where everything suddenly clicks into place. It just… built up over time.”

Sonny didn’t interrupt, just watched me, waiting.

“I think—” I hesitated, struggling to put the weight of my feelings into words. “I think I was already in love with her before I even realized it. It wasn’t one thing. It was a hundred little things. The way she argued with me but always listened. The way she laughed when she thought no one was paying attention. How she never backed down, even when she was scared.”

I let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “By the time I understood what I was feeling, it was too late. I was already gone.”

Sonny nodded slowly, as if he’d expected that answer. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

I looked at Y/N’s face—still, peaceful, but too pale under the harsh hospital lighting.

“I’m going to tell her,” I said firmly. “As soon as she wakes up, I’m telling her everything.”

Sonny huffed a laugh. “About damn time. But I’m telling you now. You hurt her, you put her in harms away again I will make sure you pay.”

…

Sonny and I must have dozed off at some point, exhaustion finally catching up to us despite the uncomfortable hospital chairs. The steady beeping of the monitors and the low hum of the hospital had lulled us into a restless sleep.

Then, a soft whimper broke through the quiet.

My eyes snapped open, my body jolting upright as I turned toward the bed. Y/N shifted slightly, her face contorted in distress. Sonny was already moving, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as we both surged to our feet, leaning over her.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” I said quickly, my voice thick with sleep but urgent with reassurance.

“Y/N, it’s me,” Sonny added, his hand resting gently on her arm. “You’re safe. We got you.”

Her glassy eyes darted between us, blinking rapidly as if trying to piece together where she was, what had happened. Then, as realization hit, her entire face crumpled.

A choked sob escaped her lips, and before I could say anything else, she broke down completely.

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she clutched at the thin hospital blanket, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. Sonny immediately reached for her hand, murmuring reassurances, while I felt frozen in place, my chest tightening at the sight of her like this.

She was here. She was alive. But she was hurting.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to push past the lump in my throat. I reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re safe now,” I whispered. “I swear.”

She didn’t say anything, just squeezed both our hands so tightly it was as if she was grounding herself in our presence. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

…

Y/N's P.O.V

When I finally felt steady enough to breathe without sobbing, I forced myself to look up. My eyes flickered between Sonny and Rafael, both of them hovering over me, their faces drawn with worry. My heart was still racing, my body trembling, but their hands in mine were real, solid. I wasn’t alone.

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. “What… what did Marco do to me?” My voice cracked, and I hated how small I sounded.

Sonny and Rafael exchanged a glance—one of those silent conversations that spoke volumes. It made my stomach twist.

“Y/N,” Rafael started gently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “He drugged you. Knocked you out before you could fight back.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. That explained the fog in my head, the exhaustion weighing me down like an anchor.

“He hid you beneath the docks at Coney Island,” Sonny added, his voice tight, like he was still holding back his anger. “Left you there to drown when the tide came in.”

My stomach turned violently, nausea clawing its way up my throat. The idea of being trapped, helpless, slowly swallowed by the ocean—God.

“But he didn’t—” My voice broke, and I forced myself to meet their eyes. “He didn’t hurt me? In any other way?”

Rafael’s grip on my hand tightened. “No,” he said firmly.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my body sagging against the pillows. My hands were still shaking, but at least now, I knew. I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

A beat of silence passed before I whispered, “I was so scared.”

Sonny let out a shaky breath and reached up, smoothing my hair back like he used to when we were kids. “I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”

I turned my gaze to Rafael. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Regret? Maybe both.

“You saved me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“We weren’t going to let anything happen to you,” Rafael said, his voice thick with emotion.

I squeezed their hands again, grounding myself in their presence. I was safe. I took a shaky breath, letting their words settle, but one more question burned at the back of my mind. My fingers tightened around Rafael’s hand as I turned my gaze between them. “Where is he?” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

They didn’t have to ask who I meant.

“Locked up,” Sonny said immediately, his voice firm and sure. “Attica. No bail. He’s not getting out, Y/N.”

I let that sink in. Marco was gone. He couldn’t hurt me anymore. The fear still sat heavy in my chest, but it wasn’t as suffocating as before.

Sonny must have noticed the exhaustion weighing on me because he gave me a small, reassuring smile and leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest, okay? We’ll be back in the morning.”

I frowned slightly, not wanting them to go just yet. But before I could say anything, Sonny smirked and added, “Not like we’ll have much of a choice. No doubt the whole squad will be here first thing.”

Despite everything, I let out a small, tired laugh. “And Ma?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started,” Sonny groaned. “I basically had to threaten to drive to Staten Island and take Ma’s car keys to keep her from driving up here tonight. And I’m sure by now she’s called our sisters and probably Dad, too.”

I sighed, a small smile tugging at my lips. “So, basically, I should expect an invasion first thing in the morning.”

Sonny grinned. “Oh yeah. Prepare yourself.”

Rafael squeezed my hand gently. “Get some sleep, querida. We’ll be back soon.”

I nodded, the weight of everything finally settling into my bones. As I let my eyes slip shut, I felt their presence beside me, steady and unwavering.

…

By the time breakfast arrived, I was feeling a little more like myself. The woman who brought in the tray of food gave me a warm smile, setting it down gently, and not long after, a nurse came in to check my vitals and draw some blood, to make sure the drugs where clearing my system she said. She assured me everything was looking good and that I just needed to rest.

Once she left, I sighed, settling back against the pillows. The food wasn’t great, but I forced myself to eat it, knowing I needed the energy. I had just pushed the tray aside when the scent hit me.

Cannoli.

Fresh, homemade cannoli.

I barely had time to brace myself before the door burst open, the sound of hurried footsteps and overlapping voices filling the room. Sonny strode in first, his expression tense but relieved, followed closely by Ma, our sisters, and Mia, who was practically bouncing with excitement. The second Ma laid eyes on me, she let out a dramatic gasp, her hands flying up as if she’d just seen a ghost.

"Oh, tesoro mio!"she cried, rushing forward like a woman on a mission.

I barely had time to react before she was on me, cupping my face between her warm hands, her sharp eyes scanning me up and down like she was expecting to find some horrible injury the doctors had somehow missed. She turned my head left, then right, then smoothed my hair down as if that would somehow fix everything.

Then, with a dramatic shake of her head, she declared, "This—this is why you shouldn’t be doing a man’s job!"

I groaned internally. Here we go.

"Ma—" I started, but she wasn’t finished.

"I told you, didn’t I? I told you!" She threw her hands in the air, as if pleading with the heavens. "You should be a nurse! Or a teacher! Something safe! Or better yet, find a nice, wealthy man to take care of you!"

Sonny groaned, rubbing his temples like this was a conversation they’d had one too many times before. "Ma, not now."

But she wasn’t listening to him. She never listened when she was on a roll.

"You look pale! You need to eat!" she announced, already rummaging through the oversized purse slung over her shoulder. Within seconds, she pulled out a foil-wrapped container, peeling back the layers with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The rich, sweet scent of fresh cannoli filled the air, and before I knew it, she was shoving one toward my face.

"Here. Eat, eat!" she insisted, her voice leaving no room for argument.

I huffed a laugh despite myself, shaking my head. "Ma, I—"

"No arguing!" she interrupted, eyes narrowing in warning. "You need to keep your strength up, poverina!"

Mia, who had climbed up onto the edge of my hospital bed with all the grace of an energetic seventeen-year-old, giggled at the scene unfolding before her. "You might as well just take it," she said with a knowing grin. "Nonna’s not gonna let up until you do."

I shot Sonny a desperate look, silently pleading for help, but he just smirked and shrugged like I was on my own. Traitor.

Defeated, I took the cannoli from Ma’s expectant hands and bit into it. The crispy shell cracked slightly under the pressure, giving way to the creamy ricotta filling, rich with hints of vanilla and citrus, and the perfect touch of chocolate. It was heaven.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the familiar taste of home. When I looked back up, Ma was beaming like she had just personally saved my life.

"See? Much better!" she declared, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I couldn’t help the warmth that spread through my chest. The chaos, the fussing, the smothering concern—it was all so familiar, so them. No matter what had happened, no matter how close I had come to losing everything, I knew this much was true.

I was safe. I was loved.

Shortly after, the door swung open again, and in came Olivia, Amanda, Finn, Amaro, and Rafael, all armed with balloons and flowers. The room was already crowded with my family, but somehow, they all managed to squeeze in.

"You guys didn’t have to come," I said, shaking my head. "As soon as the doctors confirm the drugs are out of my system, I’ll be on my way home anyway."

The room was already a whirlwind of noise and movement, but in the middle of it all, I caught a flicker of something on Rafael’s face—concern, hesitation, like there was something on his mind he wasn’t saying. But before I could dwell on it, a strangled noise cut through the chatter.

Amanda.

Her face scrunched up in clear discomfort, her nose wrinkling as she fought off what looked like a serious wave of nausea.

I glanced at her, then down at the half-eaten cannoli in my hand. My mind connected the dots in an instant, and my eyes widened as realization hit me like a freight train.

"Amanda," I said slowly, my lips already curling into a knowing grin. "Are you pregnant?"

She hesitated just for a second, her expression unreadable, before a smirk—one I knew all too well—spread across her face. Then, she nodded.

Chaos. Absolute, immediate chaos.

Olivia gasped, her eyes lighting up. Finn clapped Amanda on the back with a proud laugh, while Amaro’s face split into a grin, giving her one of those quiet, brotherly nods of approval.

Sonny, standing just beside me, froze.

For the briefest moment, barely a heartbeat, I saw something flicker across his face. A look of heartbreak—raw, aching, there and gone in an instant.

Then, just as quickly, it was buried. He pulled himself together, pasted on a grin, and jumped straight into interrogation mode. "Does the baby’s father know yet?" he asked, folding his arms like he was about to personally hunt the guy down if the answer was anything less than satisfactory.

Meanwhile, Ma had her hands over her heart, already launching into a passionate speech about the joys and struggles of motherhood, rattling off old family sayings and promising Amanda she would never sleep the same again.

I just sat there, watching the chaos unfold with a wide grin as Amanda rolled her eyes at all the attention.

"That explains the face you made when you smelled the cannoli," I teased, nudging her playfully.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don’t even talk about it. Just the thought makes me want to hurl."

I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest, warm and unburdened.

For the first time since everything had happened—since the fear, the uncertainty, the pain—I felt it.

A moment of pure, simple joy.

And after everything, that was exactly what I needed.

…

Rafael’s P.O.V

As the celebration continued, I pulled Sonny aside, lowering my voice so the others wouldn’t hear.

"Give me your keys," I said.

Sonny frowned. "Why?"

"I want to clean up Y/N’s room if you haven’t already," I admitted. "After everything, she should come home to something… normal."

Sonny let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he fished the keys from his pocket. "Just stay out of her underwear drawer, Barba," he teased, handing them over.

I rolled my eyes but took the keys without another word.

The drive to Sonny’s place was quiet, giving me too much time alone with my thoughts. When I finally arrived, I let myself in and made my way to Y/N’s room. The mess was worse than I remembered—clothes scattered, books out of place, the bed unmade from the last time she slept in it. We had torn through everything, desperate for any clue that could’ve led us to her.

I sighed, rolling up my sleeves, and got to work.

I made her bed, smoothing out the sheets with deliberate care. The fabric was slightly rumpled from where we’d torn through the room in our desperate search for answers, but I pulled the blankets tight, tucking them in. I fluffed her pillows, setting them neatly at the head of the bed, making sure everything looked just right—just hoping it was how she liked it.

It struck me then, standing there in the quiet, how little I actually knew about the details of her life. I knew her wit, her fire, the way she held her own in an argument, how she carried herself with an unshakable confidence even when the odds were stacked against her. But this—this space, the things she surrounded herself with—felt like a different kind of intimacy. One I had never really considered before.

My eyes landed on a small, worn plush toy resting on the floor near the nightstand. A chinchilla—of all things. Its fur was faded in places, one ear slightly bent in a way that suggested it had been held tightly, repeatedly, over the years. I crouched down, picking it up carefully. It was soft, delicate, clearly a childhood favorite. I wondered if it had been a gift, or if she had picked it out herself as a kid. Did she still reach for it when she had nightmares? When the weight of the job got too heavy?

I brushed off a bit of dust before placing it gently on her bed, tucking it against her pillow. It felt like putting a piece of her back where it belonged.

Turning my focused on the clothes strewn across the room—crumpled on the floor, draped over the chair by her desk, kicked halfway under the bed. I gathered them up, sorting them into piles: shirts, pants, underthings. I hesitated over a worn Backstreet Boys sweatshirt before folding it carefully. Had she been a fan? I didn’t even know what music she liked, who her faviroute artist was. That realization sat uncomfortably in my chest.

I bundled the laundry into a basket and carried it down to the building’s laundry room, starting a wash cycle before leaning against the machine. The rhythmic hum filled the silence, but it didn’t quiet my thoughts.

When I returned to her room, my gaze fell on her bookshelves—four of them, floor-to-ceiling, overflowing with books that had been thrown into disarray. Some were lying sideways, others stacked hastily, their usual order ruined. I had seen her collection at the office, had watched her run a finger along the spines as she searched for a title, but I had never really looked at them.

I ran my fingers over the covers as I picked them up, flipping them over to scan the summaries. Classic literature. True crime. Philosophy. A few well-worn romance novels that looked like they had been read and reread a dozen times. That caught me off guard. Did she believe in love stories? I had never thought to ask.

I placed each book back in its rightful place, aligning them carefully. I had assumed she organized them alphabetically because that was how she did it at work, but now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe it wasn’t about efficiency. Maybe it was about control. About having something in her life that stayed exactly the way she put it.

Her desk drew my attention, torn apart by Sonny. Papers scattered across the surface, notes scribbled in the margins of case files. A half-finished crossword puzzle. Pens rolling near the edge. A mug—long since emptied—sitting precariously close to toppling over. I reached for it, turning it in my hands. The logo was faded, the words barely visible. A souvenir from a vacation? A gift?I set it back down, wiping the desk clean.

I had spent years working beside her, but in this moment, surrounded by the details of her life, I realized how little I actually knew her. Not just the Y/N I argued next to in court, not the ADA who fought tooth and nail for justice, but the woman who curled up with old paperbacks, who kept a childhood stuffed animal on her bed, who left crossword puzzles unfinished.

By the time I retrieved her laundry and started folding, the room looked untouched, like the chaos of the last few days had never happened. But in my chest, something had shifted.

And that was when the front door opened.

I froze. Footsteps echoed across the living room, and before I could react, Y/N stepped into the room.

She stopped short, her eyes scanning the room before landing on me. Confusion flickered across her face before realization set in.

I swallowed, guilt washing over me.

"I—" I hesitated, then exhaled. "I’m sorry. We tore your room apart looking for clues during Marco’s sick scavenger hunt. I just… I wanted to fix it."

Y/N looked at me for a long moment before stepping fully into the room. She didn’t say anything right away, just glanced around, taking in every carefully placed item, every straightened surface.

Then, finally, she met my eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Y/N sighed, leaning against the doorframe as she watched me fold the last of her laundry. "Before I left the hospital, Stone stopped by," she said, her voice quieter than before. "He wanted to check in… and let me know he’d need a victim statement from me."

She said the word like it didn’t quite belong to her, like it tasted wrong in her mouth. I saw the way her fingers curled into her sleeves, the tension in her shoulders.

I set the folded shirt down and straightened, meeting her eyes. "I know," I said gently. "He spoke to me too. He wants my statement tomorrow."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Why?"

"Because I’m a victim too," I admitted. "Not in the same way as you, but Marco dragged me into this just as much as he did you. He already got Liv’s statement, along with Finn, Amanda and Amaro. It’s just you, me, and Sonny left."

She let out a slow breath, nodding. "Right."

I hesitated before taking a step closer. "Y/N… you don’t have to do this alone. If you want, I can be there when you talk to Stone."

She studied me for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if she would accept or push me away. But then, her lips quirked just slightly, a ghost of a smile.

"Thanks, Rafael," she murmured. "I might take you up on that."

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight @chriskevinevans @svzwriting29

[not-5-rats]

Marco x Poet Bug, they'd be so cute, they'd be so perfect...they'd be so sad (lil warning I'm no poet, so any mentions of poetry/ attempts are gonna be poor at best- also the flower meanign are at the end!! ^^)

So this is set in a universe where Bugs time with the boys lasted a bit longer so they spent more time with the boys, apart from that most is the same...oh and Bug didn't run into Marco before the arena! They just ran in on their own!!

☆×.------------------------.×☆

"To my darling Lotus"

☆---------------☆

It'd been a while

He'd been busy recently, he'd go off on an adventure then when the time came for him to return home he'd be dragged off elsewhere. This lead to an...extended period away, it was hard, on both Bug and Marco

They hadn't been close for long but the time they'd spent together was unlike anything either had ever experienced. It was awkward when they first met, given Bugs initial hesitation to interact, but they quickly got over that when Marco noted the poem Bug was writing from their spot on the bed. The two quickly bonded over discussions of poetry, as well as other things...though poetry was the primary subject of their talks It was clear from the beginning...that the two were doomed destined to meet.

The two used to spend every moment Marco was home together, no matter what they had to do they stayed together. Like two beetles scuttling through life side by side. But now...he was barely around...I guess that's why he was so shocked when he found it

Marco had finally found time to come home, after a few months he could finally return. He hadn't expected much, maybe a hug waiting near the door, or an update on how everyone's doing, but what he found in the hutt was less than that...he found nothing.

There was nobody home, not even a hint of life left in the home. Marco paused in the doorway for a moment, trying to think of where everyone may be? Maybe they were napping, or maybe they were out! So they made their through the house, gently knocking on each door and when he got no response they'd peer inside...only to find nobody there. Each time the door closed Marco's mind grew worried, his footsteps became hurried and harsh on the floor, until they ended up back in the main room

They tried to stay calm, tried not to assume the worst but...well Bug didn't do this, they always knew when Marco was hoping to return so they always left some kind of sign...but today there was no sign!...at least Marco believed there wasn't, as they began to look around once more he spotted it

A small note lay on the small table just by the door, breathing a sigh of relief Marco retrieved the paper and peeled it open...but as he read the dread sunk back in

☆---------------

'To my darling Lotus,

Things haven't been perfect since you left, Timmy's in a bit of bother and I have to go help him out. I don't want to tell you where I'm going, as I don't want you to try and follow me, I need you to stay safe even if I cannot do the same. I hope to see you soon my love, however if I don't-

If I bid farewell to tonight's moon

Then never greet tomorrow's sun

Do not cry for what my future holds

But smile as you think of all I have done

~

Your life will move on, days will pass

The sun will shine, the moon will shift the tide

But as long as you keep me within your mind

I shall remain here with you, right at your side

~

Even if I never say those words again

Or if another tells you what I cannot

No matter how long my body lays still

I love you dearly and that love shall not rot

I love you Marco, even if I'm not here, I love you

Farewell for now

- your sweet Cyclamen'

☆---------------

...unfortunately Bug didn't come home, they never got out of the arena. Bodie and Timmy returned, the told him all about what happened...all about how their lover met their end

Marco tried to accept what happened, they tried to listen to what Bug asked of them...but they struggled. Life seemed to still when he realised they were gone, forever, they would never return. He would read their poem every night, their voice reading it out in their mind...except slowly it shifted, as his memory betrayed them, their voice began but a faint idea as the voice changed to their own. The day he forgot what they sounded like was the day they lost themself, he didn't want to forget, it was one of Bugs final asks...no...they couldn't forget

Time passed as Bug said it would, and Marco kept his promise, they remembered Bug and made sure others would know the circumstances of their death, they died doing what they saw as right...they deserved to be remembered, much more than he ever would

☆---------------☆

Flower Meanings -

Lotus;

Purity

Calmness & Awareness

Wisdom

Rebirth - coming out of a dark, harsh state and emerging into a life of joy & light (new beginnings)

Cyclamen;

Everlasting Love

Sincere Affection

Tenderness ans Care

Love that will withstand Rough/ Challenging Situations

[jisokai]

You always thought the circus was where you yearned to be. At least, until it finally let you in—and introduced you to Hanta Sero.

[circus AU where seamstress!reader and acrobat!sero realize that their lives have been running parallel for a long time, and it’s up to you to weave them together]

part 3: that we’ll string together.

sero hanta x reader ch 3/6 | 14.7k words | masterlist | ao3 cw: more mentions of a deceased family member and grief (that is poorly repressed) notes: songs are memories by maroon 5, counting stars by one republic, yellow by coldplay

the five times sero reaches for you.

✰.

"Marco constructs tiny rooms from scraps of paper. Hallways and doors crafted from pages of books and bits of blueprints, pieces of wallpaper and fragments of letters.

He composes chambers that lead into others that Celia has created. Stairs that wind around her halls.

Leaving spaces open for her to respond."

-The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern

Davide appears in your studio unannounced.

“You hate me!” he accuses in drawn out Italian, walking through the garage door. It’s warmer than yesterday by a few degrees, but you’re still huddled in a jacket as you hunch over your sewing machine.

“Only a little,” you promise.

He gasps. “You won’t even deny it?”

“That’s what you get for making assumptions,” you say, still refusing to look at him.

Davide huffs as he struts over and pulls out the chair across from you. He sets down his coffee to cross his arms, wrinkling the sleek sleeves of his blazer. “We’re a throuple but somehow I'm always third wheeling you and Chia.”

You finally cave, eyes raising to meet his blankly. They're the icy blue of the sky during a winter day: cold and sharp and uncomfortable to experience for too long. Every blink is a reprieve.

He sighs dramatically, head tilting back with a whine. “Tucano, are you really leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your chest tightens. “It was just an offer, I haven’t made a decision yet. And I was going to tell you next time I saw you.”

“Which was going to be when, exactly?”

You pout. “Sorry. I’ve been busy with the dress and the show and everything. I told Chiara first because she was free that day.” And because she’s less dramatic.

He gives you a pained look before softening with another sigh. “Babe, you know I’m never going to stop you. Seriously, how is this not an immediate yes? I mean, yeah you have some commitments lined up and some of them are my fault—” Orders for drag costumes in March, for him and a couple friends, “But we’d never want to keep you from being where you should be.”

This is the duality of Davide: a thin veil of vanity draped over a deep heart, someone who loves to talk about himself, always redirecting the conversation to his own feelings and stories—only to stare right through you and your own private thoughts in an instant, when he catches a ripple of hesitation on the surface. It's a friendship best described as whiplash. 

Your heart stings; his earnest sentiment settles as a squeeze of pain. “I know,” you say honestly, “but… there are other reasons to stay.”

Davide’s tanned face twists into a scoff, the shake of his head bouncing tight coils of hair. “Glad to know I mean nothing to you after all.”

You roll your eyes. “Dramatic.”

He pauses, watching as you rotate the fabric and slide it through the needle again. “Then what is it? If it’s not your friends and not your work.”

You bite your cheek, breathing deeply to steady your quickening heart. “It’s—” you stop when you feel stinging behind your eyes, blinking rapidly to avoid the buildup of tears.

“My abuela,” you manage softly.

Davide doesn’t respond and you don’t look at him, determined to keep your eyes glued to the fabric and out of his sight. The texture of the lace—rough beneath your fingers—grounds you in your anticipation for his response.

“What about her?” he finally asks. His voice is so flat you laugh in surprise. “Is she haunting you? Telling you not to go?”

Your face twists between a smile and grimace. You shake your head.

He sighs. “Babe, you have to help me out here. What’s going on?”

You stop, the fabric and needle coming to a halt as your face pinches. You exhale. “I… I can’t leave her here. I already took her from home, so she could live longer with me instead of with the whole family around. And then to just… just leave after she died—”

“Tucano…” he says quietly, the nickname another punch to your stomach. “If your nonna is in Italy… you know she’s only here for you, right?”

It’s a painful, cruel reality that she’s watching over you instead of resting in her homeland. Maybe because her ashes are in your living room, never mailed home or brought in person like you should have. Instead she’s sat in her little wooden box for the last few months, trapped and lonely. The thought of taking her to Japan makes you ache with guilt. The thought of bringing her back home floods your body with fear.

“This isn't like you,” he adds softly. “To get so hung up on things. You're normally so excited for change.”

It's true. Change is exciting and chaotic, something you reach for easily. You enjoy novelty, prefer it over the steadiness of monotony. But this change is frightening—one entirely up to you.

“Do you want to make a list?” he asks after your silence. You nod meekly.

“Okay,” he starts. “Your weird guilt around your family is a con. And the fact that you’d be leaving me behind. You have a steady career that you might have to restart, and if you hate the circus you’ll be stuck there for however long your contract demands.”

“I won’t hate the circus,” you argue.

“Uh oh—”

“And I’d have to learn Japanese,” you interject, ignoring his side-eye. “Which has an entirely different alphabet.”

Davide hums thoughtfully. “I didn’t consider that. But a lot of them speak English, yeah?”

You nod. “A couple of them know Italian, too. And one of the acrobats speaks Spanish.”

“Ooh, another point for the circus.”

You nod slowly, trying to push your other thoughts about Sero aside. You spent an embarrassing amount of time last night… researching the performers, looking up their names from the booklet and scrolling through articles and social media posts. You learned that Todoroki’s stage partner is his brother and that Midoriya has constant reports of spending the off season recovering his overused arms. Sero was elusive, only small mentions in articles. He must be secure in his position with Hoshi no Sākasu, not interested in marketing himself independently.

You learned that his first name is Hanta. You read it quietly to yourself, the Spanish way with a silent H. It doesn't have any particular meaning, but you couldn’t help noticing that it rhymes with canta: sings. And the letters you spoke, everything following the H, nestles neatly into the word fantasía.

Fantasy.

“Babe?”

You blink, shaking your head as you remove yourself from your thoughts. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was asking what other pros there are,” he answers, piercing blue trained on you skeptically. “What got you lost in thought?”

You purse your lips, not wanting to answer. He raises his eyebrows with glee. 

“The longer you take to answer the worse it gets,” he nearly sings.

You huff. “I was just thinking about some of the performers. They’re nice.”

He scoffs. “Already finding my replacement?”

“Yeah, one’s that aren’t so accusatory.”

He kicks your foot under the table. “So? What are they like? You think you could work with them?”

You nod. “Yeah, at least from first impressions. Everyone I’ve met is nice, and they seem close to each other. There’s a big range of personalities though.”

“Mmm, so that’s a pro I suppose: that you already have an idea of what the work would be like. And you’ve already worked for them so you know their process. It’s a circus, which is your dream, and it would get you out of Italy. I think that would be good for you.”

You don’t ask him to elaborate on the last point. “I think it’d be a challenge to continue working in their process, but in a good way.”

“So maybe a pro and a con?” Davide asks. You shrug. “Oh! Another con: you’ll get caught in a romance with one of the staff, but it won’t last and you’ll awkwardly be around your ex for the rest of your contract.”

You face flushes immediately. Not because of the comment—one you’d normally scoff at dismissively—but because your brain flashes with an image of Sero. You want to bury your face in your hands. What, you dance with a guy and watch his bondage performance and suddenly he’s your fantasy man?

Fantasía.

“No fucking way,” Davide says. His eyes are wide as they watch you, mouth gaped and half grinning. You flush harder and step on the pedal again, shoving your head down as you work impatiently. “There’s no way that’s already happening. Who is it?”

“No one,” you grumble.

“Babe, please. You could at least try to act convincing. This is embarrassing. And offensive.”

Your heart thumps erratically in your chest, on the brink of sweating despite the chilly air coming in. “It’s really nothing,” you say again.

“Just spill it, I don’t feel like drawing this out.” He pauses before his eyes widen again with excitement. “Wait, does Chiara know yet? Holy shit, you have to tell me.”

You grit your teeth, jaw clenched in a mixture of irritation and embarrassment.

“I said it’s nothing,” you repeat. “Not even close to a romance. But there's this guy who speaks Spanish… We danced bachata together the first night of the festival. He didn’t know I was the costume designer, but we talked more yesterday.” You try to emphasize yesterday. You don’t mention the heat of his skin, the ghost of it that still lingers sometimes.

“You’re going to leave me for a man?” Davide accuses, voice raising. “Not even that singer woman you have weird romantic tension with?”

“Shut up,” you whine. “I said we’ve known each other for two days. But if you need any more reasons for my interest in him, he performs on aerial silks.” Davide hums. “And he knows that book I love, it’s a childhood favorite for him too.” 

That pulls a gasp from your friend. “Oh my god. It’s some horrible fated romance, I just know it. You two were meant to be together since you were born.”

“You have to stop,” you say. “Either encourage me or stop me, you can’t do both.”

He laughs. “I’ll tell Chia to pick whichever side I don’t.” 

You kick him under the table. Hard. He yelps.

He relents after more teasing, eventually letting you grill him about his life while you work: a show you missed and the latest news on his own complicated romance—a love triangle involving his co-workers at his day job. Eventually the two of you sit in concentrated silence, you running fistfulls of fabric through the sewing machine and Davide furiously typing emails. This quiet intensity is the other side to your friendship, a stark contrast to the noise of excited bickering.

He leaves around noon, with a threat to repeat his actions if you don’t keep him updated. You shoo him away dismissively and he tells you he hates you. Even after he's gone, you're left smiling to yourself, in the lingering essence of your friendship.

You’re late to your meeting with Kendou. Twenty minutes after the show starts you stumble in, clutching a paper bag of pastries in one hand. She’s neither angry or amused as she turns to look at you, arching a brow at the clear evidence of your lack of urgency.

“Good to know you’re not ghosting me.”

You grimace, holding out the bag like a peace offering. “Sorry. I was in my head and then I needed moral support.”

She takes the offering skeptically, pulling one of the sfogliatella carefully between two fingers as powdered sugar rains onto the table. Her eyes meet yours, returning to the flaky, cream-filled dessert in hand. “And it had to be the messiest thing you could find?”

“I could’ve picked something bigger, to force you to eat it in a hundred bites.”

You sit next to her and drum your fingers on the table. You don’t take one of the sfogliatella for yourself, your stomach too tight to eat. She doesn’t comment on it.

“Well, there’s nothing that warrants the need for moral support,” she says after a bite. “I’m just going to answer your questions.”

You want to argue that answers are scary. This whole situation is scary, talking as potential co-workers instead of an artist and their client. Any decision you make is terrifying, whether it’s to remain stagnant or step into the unknown.

Instead you ask for the job overview, clinical questions of work hours, salary, benefits. You gather that you would work alongside the cast of Gōyoku for a year before having the opportunity to join the design team in preparation for the next show. They want an expert in sewing, someone who knows how to work the finer details of a costume: your feathers and beads.

The conversation slowly devolves into sketching an idea of what your timeline would look after the circus leaves Milan. Speculating details for moving to Japan: visas, bank accounts, language barriers, secondary work. You ask about the environment and work culture, contracts, connections. You try to put every answer she gives you neatly into the pros and cons list you started earlier, but a lot of them sit in grey territory. The ghost of Davide’s voice gripes over your shoulder, your own internal monologue joining to argue with him.

Kendou watches as you thrum your fingers and think quietly, avoiding her gaze. Eventually she says, “Y’know it’d be more efficient if you told me what you’re worried about? So I can answer your actual questions instead of walking around them.”

Your face twists in apprehension. “It’s… I don’t think there’s anything you could say—to help me make a decision at this point.” 

She blanks at your honesty. You don’t know how to admit that you’re only pretending to care about the logistics and the money, to trick yourself into putting the decision anywhere but your conflicted heart. You sigh as you run the words through your head, chest heavy with guilt for wasting her time. At the very least it got you here, finally saying it aloud.

“I think I just need time… to think,” or feel, really. Understand what you’re feeling in the first place. 

She looks at you with an unreadable expression, green eyes swallowing you like the sea. You avert your gaze. “...’Kay. You think June is late enough?”

Three full months, plus some. You nod slowly. “Thanks.”

You’re a harpooned fish, pierced by her observance. She can see your writhing and thrashing despite your collected exterior. It reminds you of your conversation with Davide. Why are you always befriending these kinds of people?

“You could talk to Touya, the older Todoroki brother,” she suggests. “He had some reservations about joining too. He doesn’t speak English, though, so one of us would have to translate for you.”

You grimace at the thought and shake your head. “That's too much.”

She hums, unbothered. “Okay. But it’s okay to change your mind. And you can talk to anyone.”

The door slams open.

“Momo, I have the rest of my ideas for the—”

Your eyes lock with Sero’s, his mouth immediately shutting when he glances up and notices you. His face is flushed, likely just having finished his act, and slightly panicked. You swallow at the visual ambush, features schooled to appear calm as you take in the tightness of his costume, the glittering details of feathers and jewels. You remind yourself that you saw this yesterday too.

“Next one over.” Kendo’s voice is urgent, almost stern. It catches you off guard.

He nods curtly, eyes lingering on you before he fumbles to close the door. “Shit, sorry. I—sorry, thanks.”

You frown at Kendou after the door slams shut. She smiles innocently and changes the topic.

You don’t linger after your conversation ends, wanting to be gone from the tents and circus monkeys, wanting space to clear your mind. But you can’t hold yourself back for long, returning when the tents of the festivals open, spilling ambiance and light into the plaza. You let your anticipating heart guide you to the quiet row in the back, that splash of red and green whispering your name.

A wave of relief floods your veins when you spot it, still sitting quietly adjacent to the potter’s stall. You try to breeze by inconspicuously, unsuccessful given your excitement. Once you reach the entrance, you pause with a sudden apprehension. Your hand hesitantly reaches for the front flap, fingers carding through soft green feathers. You exhale and dart inside without another thought.

It’s different this time.

The interior is still a tent, though much more vast than what should be possible from the outside dimensions. Instead of shelves lined with an assortment of trinkets and paraphernalia, there are tables scattered throughout the space. Thick, wooden frames with intricate engravings sit next to rickety plastic, a tablecloth strewn atop. Some are low coffee tables, while others are tall like a standing desk.

And they’re filled with bottles. 

Mostly glass, cylindrical and curved, but in every shape and size and color. There are jars and tins as well, a couple aluminum cans and the occasional vase. Some of them are tipped over, laying sadly on their sides, but the rest stand comfortably on the various surfaces in the room. They glimmer, reflecting the dim twinkling of the fairy lights illuminating the space, tinted with warm orange. Some of them reflect each other, stretching colors across their hard surfaces.

You step forward hesitantly, unsure how to react to the change. Part of you is disappointed you didn’t stay longer yesterday, missing the opportunity to thoroughly explore all the ornaments on the shelves. The other part of you is elated, heart skipping with excitement that there’s more.

Your finger traces the edge of a deep mahogany table, the tip swirling through the curve of an engraved leaf. The color is dark, rich, warm to the touch. The bottle resting on the corner is glass, straight at the base and curving gently towards the top. You think it may have held sparkling water. It’s bare of any label, and the cap is gone, it’s body empty except for your transparent reflection. You tap your nail against the surface, the clink in response soft and bright.

Next to it is a mason jar, its bumpy glass surface stained blue. It has a metal lid that calls for you. You reach carefully over the tall bottle at the corner, careful not to bump it as you lift its smaller companion. It’s heavy, weighted as you notice a dark liquid sloshing inside from your disturbance. You hold it to eye level, squinting in confusion—and nerves. You glance around the room, behind you towards the front, before turning back to the jar and the table in front of you. Only a moment passes before you succumb to your curiosity and twist the lid open.

You are hit with an overwhelming scent of salt.

It’s almost as if the entire ocean is attempting to sprout from the small container—thick, dense, and hot air roaring upwards and across your face. A faint breeze rushes through your hair and the folds of your clothes, touching gently at your skin. The crashing waves flood your ears, paired with the cries of the birds. It feels like pressing the conch shell to your ear the previous night, immediately transported to the beach.

When you look up, you are there.

You audibly gasp, confronted by bright sand and crystal blue water. The sky is massive before you, knowing no bounds—especially not the bounds of a tiny market stall—as it rolls on endlessly, populated with innocent and fluffy clouds. The seafoam beneath matches, white and soft and spreading along the water. You turn to take in the width of the view, ground shifting beneath your feet. More sand, tiny and endless, softly spilling in response to your shuffling. A couple birds fly above you, black and unrecognizable.

You take a careful step, mind incapable of understanding the scene before you, how you got here. Your movements don’t break the image, letting you amble forwards towards the water. You look down to the jar in your hands, illuminated by the sun above. Experimentally, you twist the lid back on.

And you are back in the dim light of the tent.

You blink in shock at the change, lightly twisting the jar back open and lifting the lid, immediately pulling you back to the shore. You remind yourself to breathe, heart stuttering and breath hitched at the impossibility of such an experience. The warmth and stickiness of the air is home, somewhere you couldn’t go, haven’t let yourself go. The sound of the ocean is a lullaby in your memory, singing you to sleep more often than your mother. It’s voice is sweet and nostalgic, but it becomes too much after another moment of listening. You cap the jar.

You return it to the table, by the edge so you can easily find it again. Behind it there are hundreds of containers waiting to be opened next. You reach for a slim bottle, tall amongst the others. Its glass is frosted and tinted, though you aren’t sure with what color. 

No scent wafts out, but opening it brings you a violent wave of nausea. You feel sick to your stomach, eyes immediately scrunching with the pain. The bottle nearly falls from your hands. The feeling doesn’t subside as you breathe deeply, but you manage to open your eyes.

More blue—the clear brightness of the sky—but this time you’re fully encased in it, floating upwards. The air breezes past you, as if falling while you float through the atmosphere. Your rolling stomach hardens, still uncomfortable but subsiding as your focus darts around you, trying to ground yourself in the sight of the ocean, a forest, a city—anything.

The end of the sky never appears. Instead you float with your nausea and what you realize is a desperation, one you don’t understand. You feel like you’re calling for someone, crying for them to see you, to answer. The flood of emotions are intense but foreign—like they're real, but someone else's. You exhale shakily, trying to center yourself in a plane that has no relativity. At the very least you can feel the bottle in one hand, its cap heavy in the other. You pull your hands towards your chest, weak from the pain.

A pink dust spills from the bottle, flurrying upwards with you. It’s sparkling, shimmering in the sunlight. The colors disperse throughout your vision, like rosy tufts of dandelion. For a moment you think they are the stars of daytime. Then you are filled with an incredible sensation of love. It’s so overwhelming that you choke, the beginning of a sob. The feeling is so tangible in your heart that you can’t deny its reality, despite having no idea of its origins.

A sudden rush of tranquility washes over you, nausea quelled as you simply exist beautifully in the expanse of the sky. Eventually the bottle has no more magic to give, its last puffs of sparkles emptying above you. You watch, completely taken, until your body has a weight and your neck has a pain of discomfort. Within seconds you are once again standing in the space of the tent, now hazily blinking at the string of lights tethered to the ceiling.

Now with some fear, you continue through the jars, still unsure what they mean or even are. You’re taken to a forest of bamboo and maples, walking along a path lined with stones and rays of light filtering through rustling leaves. Next you are swallowed by searing heat, body alight with fear and calling for a brother you don’t have, swimming through flames of blue and red. After being thrown into the bustling streets of Tokyo, and then feeling your own body harden like a mountain and tear through knife-sharp shards, the pattern becomes apparent. The small jars are places, and these taller ones are… fragments of memory.

Part of you wants to stop, concerned about experiencing these intimate details of lives—lives that belong to the circus, their crew and performers. But the other part barrels forward, hungry to live and breathe and absorb all of the memories before you.

The first clear memory you see is Sero’s.

The bottle is dark, sleek and mysterious with a golden lid. When you open it, you’re on the back porch of someone’s home, feet swinging against the bench as small hands clutch the half of a maracuya. Your skin is wet, drying in the warm sun behind you. Rapid Spanish filters in the background, a large family caught in an animated conversation. The fruit in your mouth is sweet, slightly sour and with crunchy seeds. You feel yourself smile into the peel, puppeting the actions of the character you’re inhabiting.

You—Sero—stand abruptly, surprising yourself, the empty skin of the fruit rolling down your lap and to the floor, eventually hitting the sand beneath the platform. Your feet move quickly, darting through the open door at the back of the house, sliding striped rugs beneath you and avoiding the bump of bodies in the crowded spaces of conversation. You hear gasps, one deep call for your—Sero’s—name. But eventually you stop, legs standing wide before the front door, a short and old woman making her way inside. Her face is wrinkled, a soft smile playing on her lips as her eyes meet yours.

“Abuelita!” you hear yourself shout.

You slam the cap on the bottle and twist furiously, wiping the memory away. Your real body stands in the dim of the tent, heart racing and with clammy hands. There's a tightness in your chest as you inhale and your eyes prickle with tears. Your hand shakes as you press the jar to the table.

This is a circus of cruelty, you decide.

You should leave; you were right earlier, that this is too invasive. So invasive that it comes full circle, forcing you to confront your own unwanted memories. Even so, you make no move for the exit.

Instead you glare at the bottle with accusation and reach for one of the stout jars. You don't open it immediately, arguing with yourself before finally pulling the lid. Snowy winter mountains greet you, reminding you of trips to the Alps. They’re cold and callous and quiet, a reprieve from the noise of family and decisions.

As you trudge through the fluff of snowfall you feel the urge to throw a tantrum, to whine and kick the ground, scattering white powder like autumn leaves. Your grandmother is normally just a lingering thought, the essence of a feeling burrowed uncomfortably in your chest. Uncomfortable, but small enough to ignore.

You come to a stop at that thought. Your heart continues to race, speeding up instead of slowing at your stillness. This feeling scares you, its enormity and intensity, so powerful you wonder how you haven’t let it take over. Is this the first time you’ve ever sat with this… this tangled knot of grief? Even one second is too long and you start treading forwards again, offering a physical explanation for these symptoms. The mountains are still too calm, too quiet, and you leave the cold to stand in the warmth of the tent once again.

The room is also silent, unmoving, but the shining jars distract you, pulling your attention away from your thoughts. You stand with them silently, eyes roaming the many options—the many perpetrators of your distress. The mason jars—innocent containers for locations—are safe, you decide.

A red lid stands out to you, the body wide and clear. It’s filled with beads, clicking gently as you pull the jar to your face for inspection. It takes you to a bustling American city, you guess New York from the looming buildings and grey skies. For the first time you pass a window. The room behind it is dark enough to cast your reflection. Momo’s surprised face blinks back at you.

You walk around the table looking for more innocent memories to invade, nearly missing a small bottle close to the center. When you take a few steps it reveals itself, originally shadowed by the larger jar in front. The exterior is a sharp lime green, recognizable despite the warmth of the dim light. You know this color by heart. You pause while reaching for it, when you realize the shape of the bottle is the same as Sero’s.

You stare skeptically, heart thumping in alarm but arm itching to see what it holds. You try to reason with yourself, remind yourself that you’re looking through other people’s memories, invading their privacy. Even if you can only place two of them so far, that’s still two too many. Hell, everything you’ve seen is more than you should have.

But the color—that bright chartreuse… a devious part of your heart yells that it’s a sign. It’s meant for you. 

You have no strength. You open it.

The smell of citrus overwhelms your senses, paired with warm light streaming in from a window. You’re sitting on a stool—on your own hands—as gentle fingers card through your hair, pulling and pinning it back in place. A murmur floats through from the neighboring room: muffled bickering. Your ear itches, and you dip your head to meet your shoulder to relieve it.

“Oi!” a voice barks behind you, the stern chide of your grandmother. “Quédate quieto, tú tucán.”

Sit still, you toucan.

You frown, eyes teary from the discomfort and the sting against your scalp as abuela tugs your head back. “Pero me duele,” you whine. But it hurts. “Y no quiero ser un tucán.” And I don’t wanna be a toucan.

The part of you watching as an observer, as an adult looking over a decade in the past, feels a panicked jolt in their heart. This is the exact sort of memory you feared, one that would bring you back to your family without any warning, throwing you into abuela’s mandarin-lemon perfume and wrinkled hands. You think this could be the cruelest memory for you to relive, the evening before your first parade in the Fiestas de Quito. You’re visiting an aunt, a regular parade performer who invited your family to join.

Your younger self thinks toucans are weird, with their large beaks and boring bodies. Abuela uses the nickname because you’re easily fussy and angry, ready to peck both literally and metaphorically. Chiara adopted it when she overheard you on the phone at work, claiming it still suited you.

You eye the head garments on the desk in front of you, the vibrant beak attached to a stick for you to hold to your face, a reddened tip that fades into blues and greens, swathed with a hint of yellow and orange. The front of your costume has a matching lemony yellow along the chest, but the rest is loose black fabric falling over your shoulders and back. You feel yourself frown at the sight, your younger self internally grumbling that they wanted to be a macaw. The fabric is itchy anyways, and you’re scared to dance out in the road with your family.

“I’ll stop calling you Tucán the day you stop fussing like one.”

You only frown further, temper rising as if your body wants to prove her point. A cry bubbles in your throat, nearing painful as you swallow it down. Instead you let tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. At a particularly harsh tug on your hair you ball your fists beneath your thighs, knuckles aching at the force. The headpiece is heavy and itchy when it's secured in place, and the pins dig uncomfortably in your scalp.

But then it’s done. Abuela’s hand comes down to your shoulder and squeezes gently, her warmth seeping through the rough fabric and into your skin. Her touch is firm but gentle, the touch of a grandparent. You turn to look at her carefully, accusatorily. Her face is soft, a fond smile tugging at her lips when she notices your teary eyes. She steps forward to hug you, encasing you in warmth and citrus. You bury your face into her shoulder, easily welcoming her despite your earlier annoyance. She hums, patting your head carefully.

“Lo siento,” she apologizes quietly. “You did good. Let’s try to have some fun, okay?”

You nod as she pulls away, already missing her warmth. Your hand timidly reaches for hers. She takes it easily, holding firmly as you slide off the stool and collect the beak from the table in front of you. She gives it a squeeze as you make your way to the next room together. You find the memory ironic, since the parade was a disaster; you fell and broke your ankle near the end, carried the rest of the way crying in abuela's arms.

But here with her hand in yours, you can't help but believe it might be different this time.

How long has it been since you two held hands? Your most recent memory of interlocked fingers was after she had passed, her hand limp while you squeezed it violently—on the phone with emergency services. But when did she last reach for you? Was it here in Italy, or years ago back home?

In this memory before you, her hand is rough and wrinkled, skin cracked and scarred—the telltale signs of a weathered person. She's always been worn to you, always old in your memory. Unlike the jagged surface of the earth, which fades into softness, smoothness, as it ages, people are soft from the start, warm flesh covering the sharpness of bone. Time pulls that cushion thin, until it is stripped away entirely.

Until the people themselves are stripped away—from your life and your memories.

When you blink awake in the tent, you’re kneeling on the cold ground, bottle clutched atop your thighs. Your cheeks are wet, eyes heavy and burning. There’s a similar burning in your heart, an ache and a longing that overwhelms you, makes you feel incomplete.

But there’s also a sense of peace, one you think you haven’t felt before. There’s a quietness to your pain, one that holds appreciation. It's almost content. Despite the stinging in your heart, the muscle sits still, beating slowly. Your head is clear, like you’re actually living. As if this pain is an affirmation that you are alive.

You bring the opening of the small container to your nose, breathing in light and citrus once again.

The following day, you come to the circus ready to demand answers. You want to furiously ask who is crawling through your memory, putting special moments in bottles to be experienced by someone else. You want to ask why—why they would do this. You want to ask how—how the hell it’s possible to whisk you away to another world. And who—who’s doing this?

You want to ask if it’s all for you.

You immediately turn around once you reach the entrance. Your stomach hurts, squeezing at the thought of asking your questions, at the thought of receiving answers. The coward in you leads you to a nearby cafe, hoping that an hour in brooding silence will help you muster the courage to stomp back and interrogate the entire cast. 

You sit by a window nursing a hot drink, staring at people as they walk by in their coats and boots. The mug heats your hand and lips, smooths over the unsteadiness in your chest.

After some time a hand obstructs your vision, eyes forced from a garish skirt you were admiring on someone walking across the street. You’re annoyed by the diversion of your attention, then panicking when you turn to see the hand’s owner. Any shield of peace you had started to build immediately collapses at the sight of Kaminari—the friendly blond and one of the puppeteers.

“Hey!” He exclaims. “Whatcha doin’ here?” 

You smile nervously by habit, unsure how to react to the ambush. Before you can come up with an answer, he asks, “Are you coming to hang out backstage again?”

You pause, suddenly embarrassed by the question. Are you being annoying? Hanging around their cast members and pretending for a moment that you're one of them? You don’t know what to say, not ready for the reaction that will arise if you affirm or deny his question. The answer is opaque even to yourself, unclear where your heart and mind are willing to compromise.

“I’m not sure,” you say honestly.

His expression doesn’t change, still an open curiosity. He blinks, as if your answer is one he didn’t prepare for.

“Oh,” he says. A silence lingers awkwardly for a moment. “You should come! If you have the time.”

Your chest crumples at the response. You don’t know why or what it means. Then you frown, realizing that the show has already started. “Wait, why are you here? Don’t you have to get ready?”

He hums in denial, the fluff of his hair bouncing as he shakes his head. “Not yet! Since I’m one of the last acts they sent me on coffee duty,” he finishes with a pout.

His head turns as an order is called, the barista slipping the last cup into a drink carrier on the counter. He turns and smiles at you. “That’s me. Help me carry them?”

You’re surprised by the request, glancing at your nearly empty mug. Kaminari doesn’t wait for an answer, already walking across the room. Body moving on its own, you down the rest of your drink and scurry to follow him. He hands you a carrier, taking another in his hand and a box of baked goods in the other.

“Yay,” is all he says, smiling warmly before leading you outside.

Your eyes narrow as you watch him, walking with a slight bounce in his step, face soft with contentment and eyes curiously taking in the surroundings of red brick, cobblestone roads.

“Your circus can’t afford delivery?” you ask, wondering why they would send a performer and not a random stagehand.

He giggles, shaking his head. “They send me on errands to get me away from the stage. I get antsy waiting for my act.”

Like a dog, you think.

You two stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green. Kaminari uses the pause to awkwardly balance the pastry box on his arm carrying the drinks, pulling out his phone to check the time. You wonder what his carrying strategy would have been had he not run into you.

“I would’ve stacked them all on top of each other,” he answers when you ask.

A vision of him tripping on the sidewalk, twelve hot drinks tumbling to the ground and splashing against his skin, flashes through your mind. You decide it was a very good thing that your cafe brooding was intercepted, even with your nerves still sitting in your chest.

You enter backstage mostly unnoticed, everyone preoccupied with watching the show on the screens or preparing for their own acts. You help put the drinks on one of the tables, near an armature that some of the athletes use for stretching. Sero’s backside is facing you as he hangs from one arm and then the other, warming his shoulders for his act. He speaks casually to the poi artist—Bakugou, standing with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

You avert your eyes, not letting yourself get lost in the ripples beneath Sero's costume, the way his muscles shift when he switches arms. His body looks weightless, light as he tugs and swings with ease, despite being dense with lean muscle.

You wonder how he would feel if he knew your eyes trailed his form like this, especially after last night—after you crawled your way through his memory, to live his own life for an instant. Would he grimace, losing that meaningful sheen in his eyes when they stare into yours? 

When you look away you lock eyes with Uraraka. She must have just finished her act before you entered, laying on one of the lounge chairs. She lifts a hand lazily to wave. You wave back.

“Hanta!” you hear from beside you, Denki’s cheeky voice. You don’t understand the Japanese that follows, but watch as Sero turns around, a flash of embarrassment crossing his features before he hesitantly walks over.

You frown slightly at the call of his name, eyes moving down to the table as you think.

Not Hanta with a silent H, Hanta with the H, soft and breathy.

Hanta.

“Huh?” you hear him beside you. You look back up and catch a face of surprise. His cheeks are pink, flustered. Confusion washes over you briefly before it turns into embarrassment, realizing you must have said his name out loud.

“Sorry!” you say quickly. “I just—I assumed it was ‘Anta, the Spanish pronunciation. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

God, this man needs a break from you.

His mouth moves slightly, lips pressed as if suppressing something. Kaminari laughs beside you and you feel another wave of embarrassment. Your knowledge of Japanese culture is sparse, but you have the decency to recognize that you aren’t close enough to be whispering Sero’s given name to yourself.

He shakes his head, coughing gently before he assures, “It’s fine, I prefer it anyways.”

You nod dumbly, swallowing as warmth bloom in your cheeks. Kaminari hands Sero his order, slender fingers removing the lid of the dark drink before holding it to his nose for an inhale. You look away, hand slipping into your pocket to clutch the green marble between the fabric. Last night you took that bottle with you, the one with abuela tucked away inside, but when you left the tent it became nothing but a small glass sphere. You want to yank it aggressively from your pocket and put it on display, demanding answers for what you saw… and why you can’t have it again. Your stomach tightens.

Others filter over, thanking Kaminari for the drinks and rummaging through the box of snacks. You relax at the sight of Momo, talking animatedly about the show tonight. Shouto and Touya make an appearance shortly, acts finished. Sero is quiet, you notice, more subdued than the previous days. You can overhear his conversation with Kaminari, but it’s incomprehensible, rapid Japanese, as you try to maintain yours with Momo.

Your eyes lock once, but he looks away first. Your stomach clenches again.

You wait with Momo before her act, near the opening towards the stage. She stands confidently, eager to make her way to her performance.

“I’m amazed by how not-nervous you are,” you tell her.

She smiles softly. “I’m certainly nervous, but more excited than anything. When I first started performing, as a teenager, I could hardly find the courage to stand on stage.”

You stroke your thumb over the marble in your pocket, the memory of your own first performance—your discomfort and your nerves and the disaster that followed. Your face twists with uncertainty.

“Break a leg?” you offer, then regret. Is that a phrase used in the circus? Are you cursing her?

“Thanks,” she answers with a smile.

She eventually parts the curtain to take her place on the darkened stage, leaving you at the edge between the inner and the outer—the carefully crafted world of performance, and the mess of construction behind it. You squeeze the marble in your pocket, taking it out to confirm its existence. In the dim light you can hardly tell it’s green, but there are shiny speckles scattered within, reflecting silvery light sweeping over. They’re layered throughout the clump of glass, everywhere and endless.

You exhale and turn to walk back to the main room. You jump in surprise when you see Sero, shadowed in the corner by the entrance. He bristles when you jolt, marble falling from your hand with a clack and rolling towards him. You feel your stomach drop, filling with dread—the fear of losing something.

“Sorry!” he says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He crouches to pick it up before you can tell him not to bother. His hand pauses briefly before carefully grasping the small object. Your heart buzzes as it rolls to the center of his palm, his fingers folding to gently squeeze it. When he stands, his arm stretches to return it, and you have the urge to shiver when his fingers brush yours. They're warm. Hot, even. When he pulls away, the marble is safe in the center of your cupped palm.

The expression he wears is complicated, but you think he mostly looks confused. “A keepsake?”

You aren’t sure if he means for the circus or something else. You want to ask him if he recognizes it, what it means. How it can hold something so important and so vivid. All you can manage is, “I found it yesterday. In the festival.”

He looks surprised, shooting a sliver of disappointment through your chest. You want to frown at the feeling, your hope fluttering away. You hoped he knew what it was. A part of you hoped that he was the one orchestrating the tent to begin with, that he was letting you in himself.

“It’s pretty,” he says.

You nod. When you tuck the marble safe into your pocket again, you relax.

Sero looks calmer too, shoulders a little lower and face softened. You’re distracting him, you think, from his anxiety for his performance. You smile, an attempt to reassure him. His lips part slightly, eyes gently widening before they crinkle at the edges, teeth displaying in a crooked grin. The warmth that floods through you is palpable, embarrassing, such an intense feeling for someone you don't know. But you grin back excitedly, that bubbling of child-like giddiness strong in your chest.

The tent tonight is empty, void of tables and shelves and little objects to touch or open. Instead it is endless, one never-ending tunnel, stretching impossibly far. The light above is still dim, soft and warm as it casts against the fabric edges, illuminating just strong enough to reveal the floor. A vibrant mosaic swirls below, clusters of colored glass slotting neatly together, white plaster spacing them apart while also holding them together in place. The shards by your feet are a rhythmic pattern of white and yellow and red, the beautiful warmth of a corn snake. It looks alive from a distance, a breathing monster when the light flickers across the tiny tiles. You take a step, and the refraction offers the illusion that it is slithering away.

One more step lands you on the tail, and immediately you are surrounded by bright purple. Tall lengths of purple, like giant knives that bend and sway, streaks of pale gold and neon green running through them. You feel yourself tread forwards, the vibrations of your movement reverberating through your belly, rubbing against the ground beneath you. Your head darts to the side, tongue flickering to smell the air. It only takes you another moment to realize you are the snake, slithering through a sea of grass, grass that is warped by an infrared vision. Maybe stalking, waiting, enjoying the dapples of light that peek through the canopy above you, warming the smooth scales that line down your body.

The change in perspective is alarming, unsettling. But it’s exciting, watching the world through unreliable eyes, instead letting a new sense guide you. There’s damp, cool air resting on your tongue, refreshingly crisp. Your body curls freely, waving through divots in the ground, brushing against a rough stone along your path. 

You fade in and out of animal metamorphosis, reappearing as a human in the tent at the head of the snake, now walking forwards towards the extended paw of a gray wolf, glimmering reflective triangles scrunched into clusters of fluff. When your shoe makes contact with the edge, green and yellow floods your vision and the scent of pine takes over. You walk along soft needles that carpet the ground.

Next you’re a fish darting through warm water, gills breathing deeply as you slot yourself between corals. Then a polar bear, giant paws carrying along endless sheets of ice and leaving indents in the soft layer of powder on top. A dragonfly, world separated in two warped globes as you clumsily land on a bundle of brush leaning into a river’s edge. As an octopus you roll your tentacled body along the ocean floor, curling and grasping a closed mussel in your row of suckers. Your body is heavy and slow as a tortoise, but completely content with itself dragging against dry dirt. And then you’re a howling monkey, grasping swaying branches to swing through a jungle canopy. The air rushes against your face. You feel free.

This trail of other lives, the opportunity to live as another, is almost a gentler, more lighthearted version of what the tent offered you last night. You walk along the path greedily, giddy as you inhabit other species, get to be small or big or something you never imagined.

(Maybe you are all the same—creatures living for their very first time, as earnestly as you can while you try your hardest to survive, or even to live. To make do with the vessels you inhabit and to explore every crevice of what you’ve been offered. Whether it’s the sky or the sea or the dirt, there is a place for you to be.

There are so many places to be, so many purposes to fulfill. How does one choose?)

The next mosaic is a vibrant green bird, the long length of the guacamaya verde: the green macaw, your military macaw. You pause, brain stuttering at the sight. Are these tents really… for you? But why? Who has any reason to go through this effort, to share such… secrets.

Secrets, because that’s what they are. Impossible moments and experiences, precious memories that you can’t even match to their owners.

You step forward, body falling through the sky as you fly in the body of a green macaw. That overwhelming feeling of freedom rushes through you again, chest light against the wind and face soaking in the breeze. The world is expansive and sharp and saturated. You can see the canopy below you, giant fanning leaves and clusters of tall, tall grasses. There are blooms of orange, the flaming flowers of the Llama del Bosque—The Flame of the Forest.

The sky is vast and blue and yours. Endless freedom, endless choice. Nothing holding you down, nothing clipping at your wings to prevent your journey forwards. The joy is uncontainable, bubbling from your throat in the form of excited chirping. You laugh at the sound, manifesting as a squawk that pulls more laughs from your chest.

There’s a response, another call in the distance. Your head twists, neck craning towards the sound. The small ruffles of feathers across your neck brush the skin beneath, making you twitch and shiver, body faltering in the air as your wings tilt. You dip slightly, arcing through the atmosphere as you search for the origins of the sound.

Another green macaw swoops to your side from above, chirping. It's an emerald against the sapphire of the sky, shimmering. Large wings flap beside you, nearly brushing your own. Your heart swells, never having been this close and intimate with a bird before. As a human you are a distant admirer, watching content from the ground as they whoosh above you. But now you’re here next to one, as one, comrades gliding through the sky, chartreuse swathes of paint in a canvas of cerulean blue.

You coast together, soaring through air and wind. Your new friend tilts forward, dipping to swoop to the ground before soaring far beneath you. Your heart rises to your throat with nerves, but you take the plunge and dive down to meet it.

Cold air rushes past you as you find yourself running through the stalls. You yelp in surprise, and the lack of warning before you were removed from the sky. Now you stumble on two legs, trying to slow yourself while simultaneously reacclimating to being on land, body falling forwards as you barely catch yourself.

You’re finally stable, chest heaving as you stand by a market tent, the clink of change and mumbling of exchanges bringing you back to earth. Your body is on fire, tingling with life and anticipation. You turn your head quickly, confused how you arrived here, back through the front of the tent and into the row of artists. Nobody looks surprised by your appearance, not blinking an eye as they pass, caught in their own worlds.

You turn helplessly, body buzzing with disbelief. There’s a giddiness in your chest—the belief in something impossible. Otherworldly.

The red-draped tent stands quietly, unassuming, soft folds spilling onto the plaza floor. You walk towards it slowly, curiously. When you pull the curtain back and step inside again, it’s the small, empty, ordinary space of a covered market tent. A part of your heart clenches in disappointment, wanting to relive that special feeling or freedom and flight over and over again. Then it stutters, painful with an emotion that touches on pride, maybe spiteful glee at the implication that the tent was for you. That it emptied itself after it carried you on your intended journey.

You step back into the markets with a skip, giddiness uncontained. You’re a child again, impatient to move, to do something. The stalls blur as you flit through them, weaving along the people and rows with a thrill.

You see Momo.

The world of glee you’re lost in comes to an end momentarily. You falter, conflicted as you watch her bend to a knee next to a young boy—a fan bouncing with excitement for a photo. You haven’t stayed long enough to see any of the cast the past two nights, running away too soon or too quickly. But here’s an opportunity right before you, a potential answer.

She approaches you first.

“Are you enjoying your evening?” she asks. 

“Of course,” you reply honestly. More words bubble at the entrance of your mouth—vulnerable questions, skeptical demands—but they don’t manage to escape.

“It’s a beautiful night.”

You hum in agreement, and leave it at that.

When the next day comes, you tell yourself you need to stop, that this itch you have to run back, the anticipation you can’t shake off, is a fog over your mind, not allowing you to think clearly. Deluded thoughts of running away start to seep into your brain. You try to remind yourself that it’s not a delusion; they want you, Kendo’s offer being proof. Then you think you’re delusional for believing it.

You wonder if you should take a break, stay away for one night to let your mind reset and have a sense of tranquility. Not this habit of chasing cravings—dreams and fantasies of running away with them, never looking back. How can you do that with a box of ashes in your living room, an anchor chaining you down. You repeat this to yourself, a mantra as you push fabric under the needle, glide scissors through careful outlines of a pattern to stitch together.

But when the evening comes, you can’t stay away.

This time when you pull the flap open and step inside, you nearly trip into a vast pool of still water. You land on a gondola, rocking harshly from your clumsy footing. You manage to grasp the edge of the wooden boat, holding your body rigid as it eventually comes to a still.

Before you is a pond, or maybe an ocean, a clear blue body of water reflecting the brightness of the sky. There’s a faint blush of orange seeping from the horizon, sun hovering a few degrees above the surface. It must be a lake, with the giant, twisting mandarin tree that stands before you. The trunk is thick and sturdy, giant bundles of leaves bursting from the top and sprinkled with clusters of oranges. You’ve never met a tree this massive, at least ten times the size of its standard.

At the base of the trunk, where bark meets water, the surrounding surface is filled with fallen leaves and oranges. They float calmly, mirroring the canopy above. A wind rustles your boat and the branches, leaves chattering—whispering to each other. Two oranges break from their stems, plummeting below. They sink at first, spurting water from their point of impact. A wave rolls through, gentle ripples disturbing the silent blanket of green and orange.

You breathe, citrus and clarity entering your lungs, your mind. Everything is quiet. Still. 

Your eyes sweep the gondola, its dark and empty body. Feet move carefully along the bottom, the vessel rocking with each step. You grasp the handle of the oar once it's in reach, tucked in the elbow of the fórcola, and lift to place the long rod into the divot at the top. You pull experimentally, the bow slicing through blue ripples; you and the boat trudge forward as one—awkwardly curving to the left.

Your movements are unpracticed, never having been the one to pilot a gondola before, only ever the passenger. The boat rocks choppily with your command, switching directions constantly and moving with no predictable pattern. But it’s fun. You laugh when your steering propels you in the opposite direction you intended. The sound expands into the vast space beyond, carried by another breeze that flutters across your skin.

The tree is still out of reach, likely another ten minutes of amateur paddling. But you notice an orange floating in the water, only an arms length away. Quickly you tuck the oar securely before you carefully lean over the edge to grab the fruit.

The pads of your fingers brush the skin—smooth and wet. Slightly bumpy. And then it’s soft. Papery thin, folding under the pressure of your touch.

It opens into the bloom of a lotus flower.

You startle at the change, boat jerking at the force of your reaction. The water jostles, lotus wavering on the rough surface, but it looks calm, unworried. Content to ride out the wave. The air has a stronger tang of citrus, a cloud of orange spreading through the air.

Your miraculous touch persists as you slowly approach the tree, transforming the little fruits into opened flowers, crowns of orange with fiery red edges. They look like layers of sharp spoons, folds of colored paper, licks of flame reaching back for you. But they’re cool to the touch, soft, thin. 

As your boat cuts through clusters of oranges, parting them through the water like lanterns floating through the night, you reach for them, entranced at their unfolding. Flowering. The moment feels too beautiful, too peaceful for you to be a part of it. You don’t understand how your fingers, oftentimes nothing but hurried, rushed, clumsy appendages, could have such a magical effect. How they can transform. Create. 

Reveal. 

As the sun dips down, kissing the horizon, orange floods your vision. The sky becomes the petal of a lotus, red and orange and pink melding into one another, like blotches of ink seeping through cotton. The water is a liquid mirror, a chameleon to the sky, and the little lotus flowers nearly vanish, lost to the quilt of warmth they are sewn atop of.

You breathe deeply, calmly. Fresh, warm, citrus air fills you. You think if abuela were a color it would be orange. That fleshy inside of a limón mandarina: covered in green skin, a citrus that leans a little more sharp, a little more sour than the one you’re surrounded by now. This one is soft, sweet, with an orange skin that matches its inside, with leaves of a deeper green than you’re familiar with. But it’s equally warm, equally loving.

The peace in your heart is unfamiliar, one you haven't known for years. You bask in the balmy light of the falling sun, the hazy glow of a light burning out. You bask in the security of your feelings, your strength, your ability to remember, and to remember with ease.

When the sun finally dips, extinguishing its light into the water below, you are on firm ground. Unwavering ground. Steady ground. There are no lights above you or water beneath, just solid earth.

Your tranquility persists when you step out into the night air, body completely at ease. The world has a new sense of clarity, reality that you can experience freely. Free of shackles to your own mind and fears. Free of questions terrorizing your heart.

Free of embarrassment, when you bump into Sero near the musicians.

He looks surprised to see you, or maybe nervous. You aren’t entirely sure, only able to observe wide eyes, a slight pink across his cheeks, a smile that doesn’t quite split his face. But you take it in stride, lips curving softly as you greet him.

“Hi Sero,” you greet, then pause. “Hanta,” you correct yourself, his given name still unfamiliar to your tongue and mind.

“Hey,” he says. It’s breathy. Soft. You hear clearly over the ambiance of the music and the crowd, somehow.

You don’t respond, feeling no reason to, letting your eyes sweep through the plaza instead.

“Are you… enjoying yourself?”

You hum as you turn back to him. “Yeah,” you say. “Tonight’s been… really good.”

His face twitches, lips tugging higher up his cheeks before they’re smothered back down. His eyes relax. You think his shoulders drop slightly. 

A silence passes through you, a third presence to mediate your conversation. You accept it easily, let it hang in the space as you stand towards the edge of the scene. Moments go by. You let them.

“Care to dance?” Sero—Hanta asks abruptly.

You feel your cheeks tighten, lips stretching as you look down at yourself, your mismatch of patterned pants and too-big shirt. Chunky boots that would crush his toes. Then you turn to him, eyes crinkled with amused concern. You tap your horrible, chunky boot against the toe of his shoe.

“Only if you’re brave enough.”

Sero’s face breaks into a crooked grin. You watch his eyes unfocus, darkness smearing against his skin, hiding in the crease of his eyelids. His lashes are long, you realize, dark feathery strings that frame honest expressions. And his teeth are so bright, boasting a smile that shines.

No more words pass between you, silence still a third participant in your conversation. It’s only long glances, eyes flittering over features. An occasional yelp or grimace when you inevitably step on his toes.

But you’re at ease. At peace. Warm, with his hands on you.

The feeling does not persist to the morning.

In the rising sun you are a regretful creature, face flaming against your pillow—in attempt to suffocate yourself—as you recount the night before. The ability to let go, to exist in the moment and in complete peace, is a distant dream. Now you are embarrassed. Panicked.

When you rise and check your phone, there is a missed call from your sister. You drag your thumb across the screen to send the notification out of sight. Out of mind.

You arrive at Chiara’s early, letting yourself in to find her sitting in the living room. She grimaces as her eyes sweep over you.

You’re in your dress of stars. Bunches of sleek, dark fabric spill over your figure, elegantly taught against your waist and tightly wrapped around your torso. The shape is littered with glimmering flickers of silver, star-shaped stones and beads and gems sewn delicately into the skirt. A feathery length of ribbon is tied to each one, sheer silk that lifts as you walk, taken by the rush of your movement. The same misty fabric coats your arms in loose pleated waves.

You think you’d look captivating, ethereal even, if you didn’t pair it with a bright red beanie and thick, yellow-plaid coat. You smile, assuming they’re also the source of your friend’s disdain.

“I’m afraid to find out what shoes you’re wearing.”

You pinch the fabric around your thighs and lift, tendrils of frosted ribbons swaying as you reveal your most dirty, weathered, casual sneakers—once white but now grey, or maybe brown. Chiara scowls.

You linger quietly as she readies, heart nervous and distracted. It’s the final show, the last night of the festival. Likely the last night of secret, quiet little tents. Tents made just for you.

After she changes she shoves a jacket into your hands—a matching black with a sheen instead of rough felt and fleece. You pout, knowing you won’t be as warm, attempting to make a compromise that you’ll take it off when you’re inside, but she won’t have it. You manage to argue for your shoes, but she yanks the hat from your head as you exit her home, tossing it behind the door before locking it quickly. She ignores your protests and pushes you towards the elevators.

When you settle comfortably in your seats, jacket shrugged from your shoulders as you expected under the warmth of the canvas top, it nears half an hour to the start of the show. Chiara grumbles next to you at the punctuality.

“Scusami,” you apologize half-heartedly. “I’m excited.”

Her furrowed eyebrows and scrunched mouth soften, features smoothing as she rolls her eyes. You grin. She averts her eyes, glossy nails threading through the pages of the performance booklet.

“Sorry in advance for my lack of enthusiasm.”

“It’s fine,” you tell her. You know she doesn’t understand why you chase these shows. This one is even further from her range of interest, since the masks leave little to be studied from a cosmetic standpoint. “Thanks for coming anyway.”

She scoffs. “Of course.”

Seeing the show a second time in full and in the audience has a special quality. The first had the element of surprise, a suspense that gripped you tightly. This time you’re full of anticipation, and as Midoriya told you when you met—spending time backstage and seeing the hidden parts of the show help you appreciate it more, better understand the amount of work and skill that went into certain acts: to achieve ideal transitions, to tell the story.

Momo's act is executed perfectly for the last time—the last time here, in the city where you made her gown. The last time here, with you in the audience. The last time here, you floundering in uncertainty. You would tear up easily if it weren't for Chiara's nails digging into your arm.

Even after several days of seeing snippets of the show, of catching performers in costume and preparing backstage, you aren't prepared to watch Sero's performance. He's more captivating than the first time you watched him, stealing your focus and your breath as he moves. Would it be weird to ask for a recording? For some way to watch him in the future? Are you going to be cursed with mere flashes of his movements for the rest of your life, wishing you could see him again?

You try not to stare, in case your friend catches you. But you give up in an instant, accepting that you set yourself up for failure.

When the show runs its course and the audience makes to leave, Chiara’s grip on your hand is painful.

“What the hell was that!?” she exclaims over the rushing of the crowd.

“What? The last performance?” You can admit the giant, mechanical puppets were unexpected, but you think they worked well for the show and as promotional pieces.

“The whole fucking show! And shit Tucano—your dress!”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. 

“Do you know that guy, the white haired one doing the handstands?” Her eyes are wide, boring into yours with interrogation. “I think the booklet said his name is—Shigaraki?”

Your face twists in confusion. “We were introduced, but I haven’t spoken to him much.” He’s quiet and kept to himself, though you aren’t sure if that’s limited to his backstage personality.

You make a face when you realize what she’s thinking. Your eyes drop in disbelief, lips tightening in a line when she asks, “Introduce me?”

“You can introduce yourself,” you say. The row finally clears and you step from the line of seats to walk towards the stage. The guard is the same as the one from the first night; this time he doesn’t stop you from climbing up the steps and through the curtain.

The room is in a frenzy when you enter, many of the actors half undressed as they change into their festival costumes for the last time. Some scurry to begin the process of deconstructing the props. Large trays of catered food lay on folding tables near the center of the room, plates and bowls unfinished and scattered around the space.

Momo is by the entrance when you walk in, still in full costume, to give you a hug. The embrace is tender, soft and warm as you carefully bring your arms to her waist to return it.

“What an incredible first week!” she exclaims when you pull away. Her eyes shine with glee and pride. “Quite possibly the best we could have imagined.”

“You deserve it,” you tell her. “I’m so happy for everyone. And it was a dream… to be able to be part of this.”

The edges of Momo’s eyes deepen while her dark irises shine. She blinks rapidly before grasping your hand. “Don’t act like this is our goodbye. We still have Carnival.” The Ambrosia Carnival—happening for the next three days, where the crew and puppets will be paraded.

“Are you going to be free? To get dinner with Kendou and myself before you leave?” she asks.

You nod eagerly. Momo’s eyes sweep to Chiara, then back to you. The looks you exchange are an agreement that you’ll work out the details later.

In the meantime you introduce your friend to the cast. Chiara stands confidently, shaking hands and explaining her work. Her English is more refined than yours, her accent less noticeable and language more eloquent. Sometimes you forget this side of her, used to crass Italian that lovingly insults you—not unlike your sister’s Spanish. Your sister… You briefly wonder if she acts like Chiara when she’s working. Her missed call comes back to your mind. You shake the thought away.

When you return to the present, Chiara is gone from your side. You frown and look around the room, eyes widening when you see her enthusiastically talking to Shigaraki. He looks intimidated, almost cornered, and you watch with uncertainty if you should interfere.

“Is that your friend?”

You turn to Sero’s voice, sending a mental apology to the white-haired man, knowing you won’t move to save him. You hum in affirmation. “Chia. She can be kind of intense.”

You itch to compliment him, ramble on about his performance, the fluidity and the beauty of it. How it still takes your breath away despite having seen it several times by now. Then you remember the way you stepped on his toes last night, your giant boots making your movements choppy and clumsy. You fight a grimace, clenching your jaw at the memory. He deserves the compliment.

“Your performance was incredible, again,” you muster.

His embarrassed smile makes a piece of you tense, wanting to curl your toes and clench your fist as you watch his eyebrows curve upwards, like he’s ready to dismiss it. You bite your tongue.

“Your dress…” he trails off, unsure how to finish. 

You brighten. It’s the first anyone has mentioned it tonight. “Oh! It borrows from Si Estiramos Estrellas Como Seda. I mean, it’s inspired by the fifth chapter. I wanted to play around with the concept of the stars, and I like the way it moves.”

You twist your hips slightly, letting the skirt twirl and sway gently over your legs. The sheer ribbons float along, a delayed trail of strings. An afterimage of your figure.

Sero’s lips part slightly as he watches the rustle of fabric. You think you can see awe, striking a giddy warmth through your chest.

A voice sounds behind you, deep with a rise towards the end that borders condescending. You don’t understand the words, Japanese, but you feel like they’re meant for you. A flash of irritation crosses Sero’s face, eyes darting behind you in a glare that almost makes you nervous.

You turn to see the Todoroki brothers. The younger one speaks when your eyes meet. “Don’t mind Touya, he doesn’t speak English.” He pauses. “And he insulted your shoes.”

You laugh, eyebrows raising curiously. “What did he say?”

Todoroki shakes his head. “It was rather crude.”

Neither Sero or Todoroki entertain your pleading for answers, and you’re forced to pout in your ignorance while the eldest grins to himself. His smile is sharp and glinting, a knife against skin. You remember Kendo’s comment: that he was originally apprehensive to join the circus. You wonder why, with how comfortable he looks with everyone. What held him back, and what finally convinced him?

You don’t ask, instead getting pulled into further conversation about your dress. Sero pesters you to take some of the food, offering a plate that you gently refuse. Only then does Chiara materialize next to you, graciously taking the dish that you won’t.

“Hey—” you try to stop her.

Sero grins. “It’s fine. There’s always extra. Please, take some too.”

Chiara grunts when you shake your head. “There’s no way you're passing up catering from la Brisa.”

You can’t relate right now, stomach sporting faint knots. They were easy to ignore at the beginning of the night, distracted by Chiara’s bickering and the show. But with each minute you get closer to wandering through market stalls, walking your way into that tent one final time. You’re too excited to eat—too nervous, even.

“I agree.” Hanta adds with a grin. He turns to Chiara. “I’m Sero, by the way.”

You pause, frowning as your friend introduces herself after Todoroki. You look at Sero skeptically, then as blankly as you can, ruminating on why he called himself Sero. I prefer Hanta, he told you.

“Tucano?”

You blink, mind returning as Chiara taps her nail against your arm. 

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you were gonna be okay, if I left before the festival,” she says, eyeing you. “There’s a club that just opened, but I need to change if I go.”

You frown. “It’s a Wednesday?”

Her face contorts between a grimace and a look of disgust.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine.” You smile at her gently, gratefully. “Thanks for coming.”

“Always, birdie.” You can hear the softness beneath her dismissal. You wave her off.

When you step in the tent for a final time, you fall.

It’s a plummet of surrender. The void is vast and consuming, the darkness of a night sky. A black piece of paper dotted with needles, a sheet of silken fabric pulled taught, lightness seeping through the threads. Your body burns against the rush of air, a meteor, a streak of fire in the coldest abyss, the vacuum of space and time. You let it take you, pull you through one final journey. The fall is fast and terrifying, stomach heavy as if you swallowed the weight yanking you down. But it’s safe. Free.

You touch land like a blazing arrow, fiery hot as you roll against the ground, body slowing as you tumble through long grasses. They are black, narrow blades that wave in the night, slivers of silver streaked down their bodies like shards of the moon. The vegetation is a cool mist against your searing skin. You roll slowly, turning gently onto your back when you finally lose momentum. You’re left staring into the sea of sparkles you just fell from.

When you sit up, you see that there is no end to the meadow in sight, not until you turn and greet looming, jagged mountains standing over your backside. They’re intense, watchful, protective of the moon, its light obscured behind their sharp figures. It’s all grass otherwise, rolling hills of hair blowing in a soft breeze. All grass, with one large pond carved into the carpet of the earth ahead of you.

You take your time approaching, crawling slowly through the grassland. A childish grin tugs at your mouth, feeling like a lion parading through its kingdom. The greenery rustles under every step, crunching beneath your hands and knees. You think if you were a lion you could feel the roughness of your paw against the fibers, your fur tickling your skin, mobile joints shifting under flesh.

The water in the pond is still, not a single ripple in motion. It’s surface is impossibly reflective, silver glass that captures every detail of the sky in sharp precision. When you lean over to get a glimpse of yourself, it’s not your own face that looks back at you.

The figure is dark, a shadow against the freckling of stars that twinkle from above. The silhouette is not yours. You freeze, heart racing as you are struck with realization.

Without hesitation, moving purely on instinct, you lean to dip your fingers into the pond, fist hovering over a cluster of stars, the face of Lepus’ skeletal form. You pull.

Bright, shining threads float through the air, silken lengths of stardust. They shimmer, glow under the gaze of the moon. You stretch the stars like silk, like you’ve dreamt since the day your eyes read chapter five of that mysterious little book. It’s a beautiful sight, the twisted, bright fibers floating through the night with every cluster you pull. Most shine silver and white. You notice a particularly thick thread with an orange hue—Jupiter, you think. Another is bright red. Mars.

You aren’t sure how to weave your stars and planets, holding the bundle of threads like a tuft of hair near the base. A braid could work, the closest weave you know to an actual rope. You imagine abuela scoffing as she watches you, retaining nothing from all the years you watched her work her loom. When you begin to separate the clusters of string, flitted through your fingers, a hand comes through the water to grasp your wrist.

At the heat of the touch, the searing contact of a palm and fingers over your skin, you are certain that Sero is on the other side.

He tugs you close, body falling through the portal of water, and you are once again shooting through the night sky. This time Sero falls beside you, one hand over your wrist and the other around your waist. Your body is burning again, searing as if his touch is everywhere, pressed deep into your side and holding you impossibly close. His face is still obscured, body still a void of darkness, a black hole. But you have no doubt it’s him. A tremor runs through you, heart beating rapidly as it pumps more heat throughout your body.

The universe is palpable, a tangible surface that you strike together. The stars are scattered beneath you as you are jostled in Sero’s—Hanta’s—protective arms. You want to press your face into his chest, dissolve into him as he cradles you, tumbling through stardust. After two more rolls you come to a still, laying gently on top of him, his chest a steady ocean wave beneath you. One of your arms comes beside him to lift yourself up, peering down. His face is illuminated in the moonlight, no longer a blank mysterious figure. You can see the white of his eyes blown wide, cheeks noticeably darker than usual. You watch him closely, unable to speak or look away as your body tingles, heart still pounding, racing through your chest and throat as you think of something to say. Anything. You feel weak under his gaze, arm a tremoring pillar.

The stars sparkle beneath him, like fine spheres of glass. When you clench your hand to try and steady yourself, shift for better footing, you realize it is glass. Sand. Black sand, the kind that twinkles in the day, a starry sky in the sun. You’re the first to break eye contact, sweeping past Hanta and across the shore. Your shore. The black sand of the Eastern coast—deep and rugged against clear blue waters that look murky in the night.

There’s a tug at your hand: Hanta, having stood without you noticing. You let him pull you, words still frozen as you watch his cautious face. He looks afraid. You are too.

He leads you to the water, your feet—now somehow bare despite still in your cosmic dress—pressing into the lapping waves. They don’t sink until they touch sand, instead pressing against the surface of the water, your sole a hydrophobic pad that can’t break through. Sero pauses once you’ve taken a few steps, turning to look back at you before he continues forward.

The trust is easy, natural. You think nothing of the disappearing shoreline, only looking ahead. It’s easy with him guiding you.

The sky lightens as you cross the ocean, black becoming a deep blue that lifts from the horizon, evaporating as vibrant orange takes its place, eventually fading into bright, constant cerulean. The sun waves through the air, eventually floating directly above you. Your heart steadies, slows, as you jog over the ocean in tandem. There is only peace, bliss. Freedom. It’s just you and Sero and the sound of the water. Sero doesn’t look back, not since the initial step off the shore. Only when a new form of land enters your sight—close enough for you to see sand—does he take another glance. His face is still smothered with worry. Your trust is still firm, but your heart wavers at his uncertainty. What is he doubting?

When your feet touch sand for a second time, tan clusters of shell and stone dust, it is fiery hot against your skin. Searing like Hanta, his hand still pulling yours. You run through jagged rocks and grasses, uphill, towards the back of a house. It’s small, with a sun-bleached deck. It looks familiar.

When you reach the deck, wood creaking under your weight as Sero pulls you through the backdoor, your vision flashes with the memory of a sleek black bottle. Then it’s you, sitting on the bench holding a maracuya to your lips, abruptly jumping to run inside and greet abuelita. You are once again in the warm confines of Hanta’s memory, this time as you. This time with him, to guide you through.

The inside of the house is empty, but you remember your way to the front door. You think he’s going to stop, open it and greet his abuelita. But he only pushes through, pulling you out of his childhood home as quickly as you entered it.

When you fall through the portal of the front door, his touch disappears.

You come to a stop, head spinning from the suddenness. Your ears fill with the thrum of layered chatter, dozens, if not hundreds of people surrounding you. You frown as you look around, at the new scene smearing into focus. A road stretches beneath you, dark pavement a runway for people dressed in a variety of parade outfits, flanked by neoclassical facades. It’s a sea of white in front of you, sprinkled with bright red and occasionally some blue. You’re the shortest in the crowd. When you look down to your own outfit, the layered chiffon of your dress is replaced with loose black fabric, the only color a swipe of lemon yellow across your chest.

You are once again a child about to dance through Fiestas de Quito—as a toucan.

Your head turns frantically, scanning your surroundings for your family. Your heart pounds in your ears, childhood nerves resurfacing despite being over a decade older. You think no matter how old you are, how many years have flown by, reliving this moment will always return you to the delicate glass of a child’s nerves, emotions so overwhelming all you can do is look for someone to reassure you.

The anxiety lifts, releasing from your stomach and your chest and your shoulders when you spot abuela, wrapped in cerulean and yellow fabrics as the blue and gold macaw. Mamá stands beside her with her hand in your sister’s, an aracari and hummingbird.

Your feet act first, scraping the rubber of your shoes against the pavement as you scurry over. Abuela’s hand is warm when you take it, the final balm you need to soothe the prickle in your chest. She smiles at you softly, encouragingly, face wrinkling as she walks forward to follow the next group of performers. Your heartbeat picks up again, skin flushing in preemptive embarrassment from the dance you’ll perform along the street.

But abuela is stable, walking forwards with a calm confidence that makes you think it’ll be okay. Your eyes dart to your sister and mother, stomach squeezing with envy at their shining eyes and hops of uncontained excitement. You feel a squeeze at your hand, a reminder that you’re okay. That it’s okay to be nervous and subdued.

Dancing through the streets of Quito is not exactly as you remember. The beginning is identical to your memory, your nerves churning, feet stuttering clumsily as you falter through your routine. Your eyes sting, lip wobbling as you scan the crowd—full of people watching you struggle through movements you practiced for so long. But abuela holds you firm, guiding you along. The warm, rough touch of her hand is your north star, a constant and a weight that keeps you tethered to the ground. Your other hand clutches the base of your mask, a dowel with that large, vibrant beak—a shield for your burning face.

You don’t remember enjoying the parade, only existing as a torturous memory. Even now, you wait anxiously for the moment you fall and break your ankle, anticipation clouding your heart. But somehow, soon enough you’re having fun, feet and body taking charge as your mind fades into the back. Is it because of abuela? Or even Sero, wherever he's gone? Regardless, you feel the grin on your face, the warmth in your chest as you deliver the practiced movements of your dance. The child in you is gleeful, hopeful. The costume is no longer an itchy cage, but a dressing for your movements as you finally settle into the music and the performance.

Before you know it, your hand is gone from abuela’s, giving you the freedom to twirl. You spin happily, face rushing through the open air. When you recenter to the front of the street, your eyes sweep through the crowd. A boy your age is watching closely, eyes wide with awe and mouth slightly agape. He’s dressed in bright patterned stripes, a contrast to dark hair and eyes. One of his hands is lifted, grasped by the woman standing behind him. Your free hand comes up to wave, passing your excitement through the air with a massive grin.

You watch an excited smile cross his face, expanding like an inhale, and you realize that it’s Hanta.

You don’t continue down the street to the end of the parade route. You don’t fall near the end, leaving the festival shaking with sobs and hiccups. Instead the world fades away in that moment, the crowd morphing around you, sky darkening, music shifting from horns and drums to the strumming of a guitar, all while you hold Hanta’s gaze.

You’re in Milan, flanking the live musicians at the circus festival as you stare at this man—his earnest, nervous expression—and wonder why the world is so cruel for not bringing him to you sooner.

"i'm never writing imagery every again," i say, lying.

when i first wrote this part i was like "this one's my favorite :')" and then i wrote the next part and the part after that and said nvm.

la Brisa is a real ristorante that i've never been to and honestly don't even know if they do catering but i'm so tired of researching that i can't be bothered anymore.

[quinloki]

My brain is very alive rn thinking of mean Marco/nice Sabo

And I just

Fuck dude

That’s so hot

And that led me to the thought of brat tamer Marco and I just…. Also thought of brat Sabo/brat reader….

FUCK

He’d be so patient and so calm about it, and his flames can soothe anything too hard… but later of course, once the brattiness is gone

I’m literally blue screening rn thinking about this Quin

I always go down such a rabbit hole whenever you say something about him T-T

>.>

<.<

Ahem.

cw: gender of reader not mentioned, bondage, edging, voyeurism, biting, use of talons >.> , mdni, 18+

Marco ignores you at first, well, it's not a cruel kind of ignoring you. His gaze finds yours a few times, eyes shifting over your tied up and exposed body, shivering under the scrutiny. You swear you can feel that gaze lingering over your skin.

Most of his attention, however, is on Sabo. The younger blonde has defiance in his eyes and fire on his lips, and Marco begins wordlessly touching and caressing him. Teasing him until his feisty voice is quivering almost imperceptibly with pleasure.

It's a show for you as well, able to see everything of Sabo, trussed up and exposed as you are. You can see the flush of blood under his fair skin, the soft sheen of sweat as he struggles against Marco's touch. The fire in his lips turns snarky as he tries to maintain his brattiness.

Marco grabs his hair, pulling his head back and forcing his gaze to the ceiling. Sabo grumbles, but he doesn't have the leverage to contest the move.

"Only good boys get to cum, yoi." Marco warns. "Are you a good boy, Sabo?"

"Why would I want to be?" Sabo huffs. His cock is throbbing, you can see it, flushed deep red and dribbling with precum. Marco gets him a little closer and then stops. Sabo's body jerks, but he doesn't complain.

"I'm not going to break for a little edging, old ma-aaaahnnngh!" Marco's talons bite into the inside of Sabo's thigh. The sudden pain in the soft part of his thigh has the younger man gasping, and before he can complain Marco's hand is back around his hard shaft, bringing him to the edge again.

Sabo swears, bucking against the mount he's tied to.

You can feel pleasure curling in your own body, just from the show. Marco's eyes keep finding you and you realize he's killing two birds with one stone. When he stops just before Sabo could cum again you open your mouth, letting out a soft sigh of of need you can't hold back.

Marco doesn't let Sabo cool off, jerking his cock in quick, random motions, making him twitch and growl in frustration. Sabo tries to buck his hips, to push himself over with Marco's hand, but the older blond tightens his grip and Sabo swears louder.

"Are you going to be a good boy, yoi?"

"I'm - hngh - not going to... break for you tonight... da-damn pineapple." Sabo growls as Marco lets go of his hair.

He settles himself between Sabo's thighs, kissing the marks from his talons and soothing the wounds with his fire. Sabo's body twitches from the actions, but he's trying to steady his breathing and stand his ground.

Marco's lips move to Sabo's shaft, and he pauses for a second before you hear worried words fall from the younger man's lips.

"Marco, Marco those're your teeth, Marco." Sabo's voice is caught between trust, curiosity, and fear, and if you wonder if the two of them hadn't talked about things before hand.

"Well?" Marco prompts.

Sabo, to his credit, swallows hard, and then the bratty demeanor returns to his face. "Do your best, old timer." He taunts and you see flames flicker along Marco's shoulders.

You can see Sabo's body tense, his eyes fixed on Marco, and the clenched whimper that escapes him when all Marco does at first is lick along his twitching member. Sabo throws his head back, swearing, fighting the growing pleasure he just knows is going to be denied again.

Worried sounds escape his lips and you imagine Marco's dragging his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Sabo's entire body go rigid and he sucks in a breath, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. There's fire coming from Marco's face, his tongue turned to flames and soothing the bite he left on Sabo's dick.

The younger blonde breathes out, swearing, sweating and shivering as Marco soothes him and checks in on him. You can see Sabo nod, and you're glad he's okay - it was hot. Wild, and a little scary, but so hot.

"I think you've been a good boy." Marco says, brushing sweaty hair away from Sabo's face as he nods in agreement. "So here's your reward." He releases Sabo from the mount, helping him to his feet before motioning toward you.

"Cum all you want, our sweet little bird is at just the right height for you."

[shankstea]

my brain keeps supplying whiney jealous shanks and benn who comforts him over his silly little crush on marco, so here *thumbs up*

shanks slumped into the wooden chair in front of beckman, who took a drag from the cigarette dangling between his lips. a deep frown marred shanks’ usually cheerful face, and beckman raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as he observed his captain with a knowing look.

“what’s got you in such a mood?” beckman asked, his voice laced with amusement. he knew that shanks' evident distress was likely to provide some entertainment. “you’ve been brooding ever since we left that town.”

shanks let out a dramatic sigh. “it’s nothing, beck.”

“sure doesn’t look like nothin',” beckman’s gaze was sharp, cutting through shanks’ feeble attempt at nonchalance. “come on, out with it.”

shanks hesitated, eyes flicking toward benn. “it’s… have you heard anything about marco lately?” the words were mumbled, quiet and almost incoherent.

beckman tilted his head, considering shanks with a thoughtful expression. “depends. what exactly are you asking about?”

shanks huffed, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. “there’s a rumor going around,” he began, voice dropping as if even saying the words was painful. “that marco’s been spending a lot of time with someone. a lot of… personal time.”

beckman blinked, waiting for shanks to continue. when the captain remained silent, he prodded. “and?”

“and?” shanks’ frustration bubbled to the surface, voice turning whiny with each word spoken, he lifted his head from the table to glare at his first-mate coldheartedness to his agony, his pain. “and it’s driving me crazy! everyone’s talking about how close they’ve gotten, how they’re always together, how they…” he trailed off, jaw clenching. “how marco might be… interested in them.”

beckman’s lips twitched into a smirk. “ah, so that’s what this is about. you’re jealous.”

“i am not jealous,” shanks shot back, though the redness creeping up his neck told a different story. “i’m just… concerned. marco’s been— well, you know how he is, beck. he’s calm, collected, and doesn’t let anything get to him. but what if— what if this person really means something to him?” the thought scared him.

“and why does that bother you so much?” beckman’s tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

shanks groaned, leaning back in his chair and running his hand through red hair. “because i thought… i thought maybe i meant something to him too, you know? but if he’s getting close to someone else—if he’s falling for them—then what does that mean for us? for whatever it is we have?”

“shanks, you’re acting like a lovesick fool.” beckman chuckled, a deep, rich sound that only served to irritate shanks further.

shanks scowled, but beckman’s laughter was contagious, and eventually, he found himself cracking a reluctant smile. “maybe i am,” he admitted, voice softening. “but i can’t help it, beck. the thought of marco with someone else… it gets under my skin.”

“then maybe you should do something about it,” beckman suggested, his eyes narrowing slightly. “instead of moping around and listening to rumors, why don’t you go talk to marco? find out the truth from him directly.”

shanks exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “yeah… yeah, maybe i should, you're right.” he shot beckman a grateful look, eyes sparking at the mention of speaking with marco. “let’s turn course—”

beckman stopped him, standing up and giving shanks a light pat on the shoulder. “alright, captain, that’s enough of it. just call him.”

shanks slumped in the chair, sadness overtaking him. “right," he clicked his tongue. "that’s easier and quicker.”

and here he was, all thoughts and happiness of seeing marco again crushed by benn beckman once again.

as beckman headed to bring the den den mushi from shanks' quarters, he was halted. “hey, beck?”

“yeah?”

“do you think… do you think i’m overreacting?”

beckman paused, a soft smile on his face. “maybe. but when it comes to feelings, shanks, there’s no right or wrong way to react.”

[igglemouse]

Episode 2 ~ Silent Struggles

Narrator: One thing Alonso did have going for him was his loving wife, Ines. Nessie had, for him at least, been the model wife. Whenever he asked her to sacrifice for him she did so willingly and her loyalty to him was so thorough that he was sure she would die for him. He found that he would do the same for her, perhaps she was the only person in the world he would take a bullet for. Despite all of his faults, and they were many, he had never betrayed her trust. Their bond was strong and even stronger since she was also one of the few people that could openly question him.

“Ah, are you having another existential crisis mi amor? I see you looking at the map,” she said, sauntering by with her phone firmly in her hand but stopping because she could tell something was bothering him. Any time he hovered around some piece of art in the house it was because something had been rolling around in his mind. 

Alonso took a good look at her, so glad that he had married a woman who had aged with grace. "You should be just as worried as I am, they are your children too.”

"Are we talking about the kids again? Which one this time?”

"All of them...” he paused to correct himself. “None of them, since exactly none of them are worthy of what I’ve built. I rule over a kingdom with no one to pass it down to.”

"Marcos is, he’s-” a short but sharp grunt had cut Ines off.

"We’re not talking about Marcos.”

"Alright then...” Ines had expected that. Nothing gets Alonso riled up like the mention of his first born. “Who are we talking about? Felipe? Catalina?”

"I am just worried. I love them, you know?” His tone softened at that as there was a lot of truth to that, but he wasn’t being entirely truthful as his love only extended to two of his children. “Felipe and Catalina, that is. I love them with my soul. Felipe tries, he really does, but the boy is weak-”

"Felipito is who he is. He couldn’t harm a fly, the boy’s knees tremble at the sight of blood and Marcos is-”

"We are not speaking about Marcos,” there was more of a soft firmness in his voice this time. Drawing an exhausted sigh from Ines’ lips and pulling up her phone again as she was done with this conversation. She had a complicated relationship with Marcos but that was, in her mind, entirely the fault of Alonso.

"Fine,” she concedes. Alonso always thought that ignoring Marcos would change the situation somehow but... “Catalina is an option, she’s a lot stronger than you or anyone gives her credit for but she’s a she and you don’t think a woman is capable of handling your business. So what options are you really left with?”

That was a question that Alonso hadn’t found an answer to. “I’ll think of something,” was the best he could offer.

Index - Next

[womanofwords]

Nerd Juvie (Chapter 4)

"Do you know how to tie a tie, Marco, or do I need to help you?" It was an innocent question, but it felt so mocking. I watched, paused, and rewound the YouTube video on how to tie a tie, to no avail.

"Yes," I admitted. Dad came in and tied my tie for me.

"Sit up straight in court," he told me.

"Yes, Dad."

"And no outbursts."

"Yes, Dad."

"This is your first offence. You might just get house arrest or community service."

"I don't want to pick up trash."

"Would you like to go to juvie? Because that's what you're looking at. You'd better hope for litter duty."

(PAUSE)

Court was boring. My charges were read to me slowly in juvenile court, and I pled guilty to everything. I didn't have much of a chance of pleading my innocence, given the evidence against me.

"Typically, the offender is sentenced to serving time in a juvenile detention facility," the judge said, looking down her nose and a pair of half-moon wire glasses at me. "But this is not a typical case."

"I'm sorry, Your Honour," I said, head down.

"Luckily, salvation has arrived for you. There is a place that will take troubled yet gifted teenagers like yourself, and that is where you will be spending the next six months. It is called The Lazarus Institute."

"I doubted you would have; it's very new," she said, her German accent getting stronger. "It was built just five years ago by Dr to preserve the minds of young geniuses going down the wrong path. Like a juvenile facility, you will be eating, sleeping, and living there. However, the focus is on rehabilitation, not punishment."

"So, no jumpsuit?" I asked.

"No. You can wear your own clothes."

"No smashing rocks?"

"No, young man. Instead, you will be sharing a room with another lodger and being enrolled into therapy, as per Dr Lazarus' request."

Mom sobbed behind me. "Thank you, Your Honour. Thank you so much."

So, just a cushy institute where I'd talk about my feelings? Sweet.

"Thank you for your mercy, Your Honour," I said, lowering my head.

"Don't mention it. Report to the Lazarus Institute in a week's time. That is the order of this court." The gavel crashed to Earth; court was over.

I got off lucky.

If you would like to read the other chapters, see Masterlist.

[izdatazn]

S.U.I.T.S: Outbreak

XEANIDES 3 - TAVERN

Asuka walked through the hallways accompanied by three other people. There were two other females and another male.

"Would you look at that," teased another member, "Your boy toy is not here, so you're finally hanging out with us after two years, right Yoon Bora?"

"Shut up, Takahashi Amane," blushed Asuka. "I'll have fun with my boy toy as much as I want."

"She neglected us and has been having wild rides with that boy toy of hers," persisted Bora. "I'm surprised you aren't pregnant yet."

"Why am I the only male in this group gossiping about Asuka's boyfriend?" he shrugged his body. "I feel disgusted."

"Oh, shut your mouth, Hien Ngo," retorted Asuka. "You're just jealous that he isn't your boy toy. And no, I'm not giving him to you."

He's always interested in gossip.” Amane teased Bora, and Asuka agreed with her as they observed Hien's confident and sassy walk in the hallway.

Asuka first encountered Takahashi Amane during her time in middle school when they were assigned to evaluate a damage report in Hokkaido. Since then, they have formed a strong bond, despite the significant age difference of sixty years between Amane and Asuka.

As for Yoon Bora, Asuka became acquainted with her through Lee Miyoung while on a scouting mission in the outskirts of Busan in their first year of high school. Amane was with Asuka when they met Bora. Following that encounter, Bora decided to join Asuka's crew. Interestingly, Bora is around the same age as Lee Miyoung.

Regarding Hien, Asuka and her team were investigating an anomaly on Jeju Island. By chance, Hien was also visiting Jeju Island for vacation and they coincidentally met in a cafe. The crew and Hien quickly became close friends, officially forming a squadron. Hien is slightly older than Asuka by ten years.

Asuka's squad entered the living room, where an eerie silence enveloped the space. Eight individuals stood together in the center of the room. Taking the lead, Asuka stepped forward, positioning herself in front of the group. With her teammates standing faithfully behind her, she meticulously examined each person's name tag displayed on their chest.

"Who do we have here?" Asuka inquired.

"My name is Ioana Adept from Romania. I am 24 years old and the leader of the Firebolt squad, specializing in assault," Ioana answered.

"I am Carla Muller from Germany. I am 20 years old and trained in heavy weaponry," Carla answered.

"I am Jean Monet from France. I am 19 years old and the second squad leader, specializing in support," Jean answered.

"Antonio Romano is my name from Italy. I am 21 years old and trained as a sniper," Antonio answered.

Asuka seemed impressed by their confident voices and inquired about the other four individuals standing behind the younger ones.

"I am Talia Cohen from Israel. I served in Israel's Sayeret Matkal for 15 years. I am 36 years old and I am the leader of the Cyclone Team," Talia informed.

"I am Chloe Pernet from France. I served in GIGN, the Gendarmerie Intervention Group, for 10 years. I am 32 years old," Chloe mentioned.

"I am Deepak Chopra from India. I served in India's MARCOS, the Marine Commandos, for 16 years. I am 39 years old," Deepak answered.

"I am Ricardo Vicinelli from Italy. I served in the Italian GIS, Gruppo di Intervento Speciale, for 5 years. I am 29 years old," Ricardo said.

Asuka applauded and praised, saying, "Your voices were excellent, everyone." She was the only one clapping among the group gathered in the living room. "However, this alone won't take us far, especially when considering the younger ones." Asuka continued, looking at each person in the room, "I share the same opinion as Kobayashi and Kumiko. I disagree with Daisuke and Zion about humans not being involved in the mission due to their lack of abilities that we SUITS agents possess. Even with the technology provided to you, it will not be enough to tackle the problem ahead." Asuka paused for a few seconds and then continued, "Look out for each other. Take care of each other's well-being because I am not hopeful that I can bring all eight of you back in one piece, including the 250,000 humans on this fleet.”

“With that out of the way, Admiral Hannibal, are you there?” Asuka asked.

"Hello, Team 2. Admiral Hannibal of the Magpie fleet here, speaking to you from The Horus, The Magpie’s Capital Flagship,” greeted Hannibal as his massive holographic figure materialized in the living room. "Today is January 20th, 2082, in the Earth Time Zone, five days since our departure." 

Hannibal, renowned as Rome's fiercest adversary and leader of the Carthaginian forces during the Second Punic War, was eventually defeated by Scipio. However, he was revived by SUITS, had his memory erased, and put into a dormant state until recently awakened. As the second of the seven Admirals of The Establishment's defense fleet, Hannibal was selected for the mission on Asuka’s mission.

“What is the estimated arrival, Admiral?” Asuka asked.

"Admiral Hannibal replied, 'We still have a full Earth day left to reach our destination. However, we have plenty of time to explore Xeanides, an impressive hub located in the Milky Way Galaxy. Xeanides is an ecumenopolis, which means it is a city that spans across the entire planet, leaving little to no available land for exploitation. Xeanides heavily relies on imported food and raw materials from other planets. It is considered a neutral planet, inhabited by trillions of residents from diverse backgrounds, all making a living on the planet's surface and underground. The underground area extends to as much as fifty levels deep, while the surface continues to be expand upwards. On this planet, both our allies and enemies coexist, as it is greatly influenced by both sides. Being the hub of the Milky Way Galaxy, Senators and Delegates from active planets gather at the Chamber Rotunda," Hannibal continued. "The Magpie fleet will keep a safe distance to avoid drawing attention from the local residents of Xeanides. Asuka and her teams will fly in with their stealth ship, as it is more preferable than triggering an alarm for Xeanides's Defense Fleet.”

"Our Forward Operating Base is actually a tavern owned by Rax's brother, Xas. It's situated atop the urban sprawl, which is fortunate for all of us. At least for now, we don't need to delve into the depths of the underground," Asuka explained. "By the way, Nehir, when was the last time you visited Xeanides?"

"In the year 1460 of Earth's calendar," Nehir replied, recalling her past experiences working in SUITS. "I was just beginning my journey when I was assigned, along with a few thousand others, to intercept General Viphon's attacking fleet in the Majoris Galaxy. However, for some unknown reason, a few of us were redirected to Xeanides." Nehir continued, "Fortunately, Xas's small tavern provided us with a sense of familiarity, as if we were back on Earth. I am genuinely looking forward to meeting the asshole.” Nehir chuckled.

The Magpie Fleet emerged from lightspeed at a safe distance from Xeanides territory. Asuka and her companions boarded their Sparrow class stealth starfighter. The pilot detached the starfighter from the Horus's hangar bay and descended into space. Asuka stood on the bridge, observing The Sparrow as it approached the bustling hub of the Milky Way Galaxy. It was Asuka's and a few others' first time witnessing the grandeur of a city planet where the space around Xeanides was heavily congested with various starships and space cargo coming and going.

“This is the The Sparrow’s pilot, Vu1tur3, to Xeanides Space Traffic Control Line Director requesting to dock.” The pilot spoke.

“Request granted. I will send the coordinates to you.” The Line Director answered. “Welcome to Xeanides.”

The Sparrow gracefully swooped past the busy traffic in the controlled areas of space as it made its descent towards the city planet. Asuka and her companions were filled with awe as they reached the atmospheric levels and witnessed the stunning beauty of the surface. Towering skyscrapers and unique landmarks were scattered all around, creating a breathtaking sight.

Guided by Xeanides’s Air Traffic Control, they were directed towards a particular busy skylane. The pilot followed the crowd. It was during this journey that Asuka caught sight of a pyramid-like structure followed by a peculiar pantheon-shaped building. However, that was not the only thing that captured her attention. As the Sparrow flew past, she noticed a majestic temple strategically positioned, impossible to miss.

Curiosity got the better of her and Asuka couldn't help but ask Nehir, "Is that what I think it is?"

Nehir responded, "Certainly, what you have just witnessed were the Egyptian Pyramid and the Greek Pantheon. On your right side, you can see the Angkor Wat temple from the Khmer Empire and the Sigiriya rock fortress from Sri Lanka. What you learned in school only provides a basic understanding. The Khmer Empire, Egyptian Empire, Greek Civilization, Mesopotamia, and even Atlantis were highly advanced societies that existed much earlier than originally believed, all thanks to SUITS. Mesopotamia and Atlantis served as the epicenters of technological advancements. Each of these civilizations played a crucial role in successfully thwarting the initial invasion of the Sol System by General Viphons and Zolxi. Our advanced prehistoric civilization, with its futuristic technology, deemed their menace highly perilous. As a result, the decision was made to wipe the memories of the population, turning them back into hunter-gatherers, and embark on a journey through the cosmos to continue the fight against our adversaries.”

"And where are they now?" inquired Asuka.

"Who knows, they're probably extinct," answered Nehir. "Whenever I am assigned to a location, I typically discover our ancestors' structures on various planets."

"What about that temple?" asked Asuka. "It seems to be much larger, taller, and wider than the Pyramids, Pantheon and Angkor Wat combined."

"That specific temple is owned by the Father and his cult, which they are named as The Keepers of the Ancient One," Nehir responded. "The Father holds significant importance as one of our main targets, referred to as The King of Spades."

"Then that implies..." Asuka whispered.

"Yes, The Father is already aware that we will be arriving on Xeanides, thanks to his personal connections," Nehir cautioned. "We must stay away from that territory and any of the smaller temples he possesses."

"Understood," Asuka replied.

The Sparrow smoothly maneuvered out of the crowded skylane and gracefully entered a less congested one, making its way towards the intended destination. After a few minutes, it started descending, enfolded by medium-sized skyscrapers. The Sparrow touched down on an unoccupied landing port, guided by the port instructor. Despite the scarcity of other star or cargo ships docked in the port, the ground level appeared bustling when Asuka observed through the transparent window of the bridge.

Asuka joined the other teams as they prepared themselves in The Sparrow's hangar bay. The smaller hovercrafts positioned themselves in the hangar of the bigger hovercraft carriers. She gathered around Miyagawa Akane, Imani Zammit, and Nehir Dogan.

"Do you think it's too flamboyant to have four massive vehicles rolling out of the port?" Asuka asked, worried.

Nehir laughed. "Do you really think our vehicles are drawing attention, when the city-planet has more interesting things to look at than four random vehicles? We're just another group of species from a random planet, participating in a little vacation. We’ll be fine.”

"If you insist," Asuka said, breaking away from the group and stepping onto the bridge of her hovercraft. "This is the Lady Himiko, a Super Heavy Hovercraft Carrier, reporting for duty."

"The Ryujin, a Heavy Hovercraft Carrier, is online," Akane declared.

"The Ifrit, another Super Heavy Hovercraft Carrier, is stationary and prepared," Imani announced.

"The Tengri, a Super Heavy Hovercraft Carrier, is activated," Nehir added.

Asuka's Lady Himiko, followed by Akane, Imani, and Nehir, launched out of The Sparrow's hangar. They followed the designated signs that led them out of the port and onto the empty highways. As they looked at their map, they realized that the tavern was their intended destination. However, Asuka could already see the massive tavern in the distance through her window.

"You didn't tell me the tavern was this big, Nehir," Asuka remarked.

"It's been a while since I last saw it," Nehir replied. "It used to be a small, crappy hut instead of this massive infrastructure. Did the tavern become popular after I left?" he wondered aloud.

"Scout the perimeter, which is five clicks away from the tavern, and once you are finished, return to our designated destination," Asuka instructed. The three vehicles veered off in separate directions. Diwata and Anita Patel launched their own hovercraft from the Ryujin's hanger bay and also veered away. Li Fen remained behind while Asuka's vehicle continued until she reached the tavern.

She parked Lady Himiko in an empty space next to the tavern and proceeded to gather her team - Firebolt Unit, Cyclone Team, and Li Fen's team. Suiting up, they all stepped out of the vehicle and made their way towards the entrance. Firebolt and Cyclone closely followed behind. Despite the chaos that engulfed them, the front area of the tavern strangely remained calm, which struck Asuka as peculiar given the typically disorderly atmosphere of her surroundings. Li Fen's team carried out patrols in the nearby areas and then signaled to Asuka that it was safe to proceed, while her team stood guard around the perimeter.

Out of nowhere, a quartet of inebriated beings stumbled out from the tavern, engaged in their own unintelligible conversation. These creatures possessed elongated faces, slender figures, and were decked out in armors and harnesses. As they spotted Asuka and her team, they mumbled incomprehensible words towards them. Completely baffled, Asuka's helmet's user interface swiftly detected and translated their language in real time.

"Look, water sacks!" one of them laughed. "It's been a while since we've seen one!" The first creature continued to laugh.

The second creature chimed in, "You know, human meat has a high price these days! And there are four of them!" The second creature laughed. "Seems like we're going to get rich tonight!”

"Whenever you are ready, Asuka," Li Fen spoke. "I am in position." Asuka observed Hien's slight movement and promptly halted him, discreetly instructing him not to initiate the attack. She subtly directed the other teams to refrain from aiming at the adversary in front of them. The team held their ground while the four creatures brandished their weapons at them.

“I wonder if their meat is tasty like the previous one from long ago.” The second creature growled. 

They were suddenly drenched with disgusting water from inside the tavern, leaving them soaked. After a few seconds, they felt intense pain from the liquid that had been thrown at them and quickly moved away. Another creature, covered in scales and with four mechanical legs and three tails, emerged from the tavern, holding an empty bucket.

"Don't you dare start a fight outside my tavern!" the creature growled. "I don't need any trouble from the local security!"

The creature then noticed Asuka and her teams, who were standing there. "It's been a while since I've seen water bags like you walking around," the creature grunted, as it turned around and walked sacks into the tavern.

Asuka and the others followed the creature inside the tavern, which appeared empty despite its large size. "Are you Xas?" she inquired.

“Who is asking?” The creature snarled.

“I am.” Asuka began.

The creature interrupted, saying, "I come from the backwaters system of a backwater planet known as Terra." It tossed the bucket aside and continued, "I am aware of your origins, and inform your companions to enter. They are wasting their time as my home is well-protected." The creature proceeded to climb over the bar, adding, "Furthermore, you can remove your helmet now. The air inside the tavern is safe to breathe unlike the outside." Asuka complied and removed her helmet as she stepped into the tavern. The two teams discreetly spread out to confirm that the interior was clear. As she approached the creature at the bar, Xas inquired, "How is my detestable brother, Rax, spending his time on that backwater planet?" Her team joined the creature at the bar, where it reached for some bottles, and stated, "And yes, I am Xas, the proprietor of this tavern."

"So you know our mission?" Asuka asked.

"I received the message from Zion 400 days ago," Xas answered, mixing the liquid with another one. "While I was waiting for your arrival, I cleaned up the place."

"It doesn't look clean to me," Hien answered, looking around.

"Well, you see, things can get quite chaotic when you have a tavern that attracts people from all corners of the globe and even the underground," Xas chuckled heartily. He effortlessly slid a drink down the bar to Amane, all the while preparing the next one. Xas continued, "By disguising it as a tavern, my place can serve as your headquarters. Your living quarters are located one level below. It's wise to remain hidden from the inhabitants of this planet, as they perceive you as insignificant, much like the ones who came before." Xas laughed again.

"That's good to know," Hien said, questioning as he removed his helmet and reached for the drink, while Xas slid the next one across the bar.

A device attached to Asuka's right temple quickly pinged, alerting her. "The third floor is clear," Ioana spoke.

"The second floor is also clear," Talia informed.

Asuka stole a glance at Xas, who was already on his fourth drink. He spoke, chuckling, "See? What did I tell you? It's completely safe." Asuka remained silent as Xas continued to explain, "Just because you're hiding the Hub attached to your temple doesn't mean I don't know what's going on. It doesn't require a genius." He persisted, "Take it off and show me."

Asuka smoothly detached the magnetized device from her temple and presented it to Xas on her open palm. The device, referred to as the Hub, was a compact secular gadget that served as a neural inference tool. It was connected to SUITS' central network, offering a vast array of applications such as 3D visual holographic communication for both nearby and distant interactions, 3D navigational maps, information gathering, health diagnostics, visual playback, and numerous others. Asuka then returned the Hub to her temple. 

"Compared to its predecessor during my time in SUITS, this model is more advanced," Xas grumbled, improving the grammar. "Make yourself at home. If you have any questions, I will entertain the guest upstairs," Xas slammed the last drink on the bar and walked away.

"How does it taste, Hien, Amane?" Asuka asked.

"Surprisingly, I haven't died from this disgusting drink," Hien answered. "It's actually not bad."

"At least it's undrinkable," Amane answered, pushing the drink away. "But I can't promise anything if something happens to you the next day."

"What's the situation in the outer perimeter?" Asuka asked.

"It's secured," they answered one at a time.

"Do you still feel suspicious?" Amane asked.

"Did Xas purchase any of the land around his tavern?" Asuka wondered.

They left the bar and proceeded towards the stairs that descended to the lower level of the tavern. The area below felt snug and offered enough room to accommodate a large number of people in the expansive main room. In the middle of the room, a round table stood out as the central focal point. Another stair lead to another level. However, that wasn't the sole distraction; Asuka spotted ancient hieroglyphics and symbols inscribed on the walls as she crossed the room.

"Initiate scan, Lady Himiko" Asuka commanded, turning around to face forward. The Hub, attached to her temple, emitted a ping and began scanning the room.

Lady Himiko responded, "Unknown language."

"But these are Egyptian hieroglyphics, Chinese writing, Sumerian cuneiform, and Scandinavian runes," Bora argued, touching the wall. "These are not unknown languages."

Asuka explained, "These writings existed before the discovery of ancient civilizations. They are a combination of written languages used by our Ancestors who existed before the ancient civilization." Asuka turned around and directed her attention towards the wall, becoming suddenly aware of the small slits that ran across it. "Certain writings and drawings in this collection show variations from the writing we don’t see in present-day ancient civilizations." She carefully observed the slits, taking a few steps back as her Hub highlighted them, causing them to grow larger and connect with a few other slits. Eventually, they formed a triangle shape that extended to every edge.

“Lady Himiko, what lies beyond that wall?" Asuka inquired.

"It is unknown," Lady Himiko eplied. "The entrance door is enchanted with a spell that cannot be forcefully opened."

"What about these three holes located on the edges of each triangle?" Asuka asked.

"They are ancient artifacts used to unlock the tomb," Lady Himiko answered.

"Artifacts can encompass various items," Amane added. "Such as a talisman, amulet, or totem."

"What secrets are they concealing?" Asuka approached the inscribed wall and touched it. "What is hiding behind here?”

[niaxbailey]

A warm smile danced into place as Cali stopped in their task to offer Nia some reassurance, and her hand tapped her friend's in a soft affectionate pat. "I don't really know, honestly... I hope not. I haven't heard anything of that nature, but—" a shrug briefly decorated her shoulders. A wordless indicator that some things were still a little up in the air in the wake of the storm. Her expression didn't seem any less flabbergasted for a long moment and her umber gaze dropped down to look towards Cali's exposed ankle. "Girl." Nia sucked in a breath and shook her head. "I love you, but that's crazy." Mention of Marco did manage to pique her interest, biting back a subtle smirk. "I see." A low pensive hum settled in her throat as she picked up a wayward food wrapped with her tongs. "Rain and my silk press don't get on. So. You don't have to worry about me trying that stunt." A chuckle parted her lips. "Are you really good? Your ankle?" She'd pause long enough to watch Cali, silently trying to gauge if she had a limp or not. "Now I really am thankful all I did was embarrass myself during the storm." As she stepped forward along the beach at a slow, steady pace Nia side-eyed Cali. "So, Marco was okay too then? Can't believe both of you were out there. The hell." She exhaled an exasperated puff of air. "Sorry, it's done and you're fine... I just. Fret." A smile was offered towards Cali, "Is there an estimated time frame of living down here before you get used to this?" This being the severity of storms. "I felt a little like a kid going through their first thunderstorm."

"I don't know how, I mean the garden took a hit but it's not like I deal with it anyway. Someone is coming next week to clear that up but I just got lucky otherwise, I think." It wasn't the first hurricane Cali had been through and she was sure it wouldn't be last, but at least this one had left her relatively unscathed, minus the self inflicted ankle injury.

Nodding, Cali glanced at her friend with a sympathetic look as she grabbed another piece of garbage with her tongs and tossed it into one of the trash bags. "You looked insanely hot, but yeah, I can't imagine it's great hurricane weather attire. It was not being able to get dry that killed me. I sat in about three blankets." Nodding, Cali reached out with her free hand to gently squeeze Nia's hand. Having lived in a hurricane state her whole life, she was used to the stresses, but that wasn't the case for people like her friend. "Is everyone alright? No one got hurt or any serious damage?" Leaning down to tie another full bag of trash, Cali nodded before unrolling another bag. "Yes, you heard right.."

Shaking out her bag and reaching back for her tongs, Cali lifted up her left foot and lifted her leggings, showing the bandage she still had wrapped around her ankle. "When we heard about it, I ran to work but I wanted to get back to the school so I ran for it. The storm wasn't at full pelt or anything but I got knocked over and twisted my ankle. It's totally fine and Marco found me and helped me back." Clearing her throat as her voice caught around his name, she put her foot back down before focusing on the job they were doing. "But yeah, do not recommend doing that. For next time, you know."

[the-witch-of-one-piece]

Dad Ace x Mom Reader: Did you feel it?

Hello my lovely spirits! I enjoy writing Ace as a dad I think it fits him so well! He and a few other op characters would be fathers of the year!!! I hope you enjoy this fluffiness may it warm your heart! This is part 2 of Dad Ace! Part 1 is right here is you would like to read it ! I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Children (don't read if you don't like children)

You observed your 6 year old who seemed to be fixated on your stomach. “Momma, does it hurt?”

“Does what hurts?” Asking him, his head cocked to the side.

“When the baby moves around,” S/n responded, for months he watched your stomach grow. He watched Ace always talking to your stomach, rubbing your belly, and hear his father say 'they moved.' You asked him a few times if he wanted to feel the baby, he declined. You didnt want to force him or make him feel uncomfortable.

“No it doesn’t hurt, they are just trying to get comfortable.” compared to the first pregnancy this baby was calmer. Your son seemed to do somersaults all day and night while pregnant with him, not to mention him pushing on your bladder where you had to go to bathroom every 5 mins.

Ace walked into the living room catching some of the conversations. “When your mom was pregnant with you, you liked to stretch often, sometimes even staying in the positions you stretched in. Your mom would have a bump and it reminded me of a little volcano.”

“Really?!” s/n picking his head up looking at his dad.

“So thats what my stomach reminded you of?” raising your brow at him.

“Awwww come on babe it was just a joke.” Ace lightly chuckled at you pouting expression. He couldn’t deny how cute you were pregnant. Ace took a seat next to you, his hand rubbing the top of your stomach feeling the small kicks against his hand. “Hey bud, come here.” Ace had a bit of an idea to help his son get comfortable around the baby growing inside your tummy. He followed his instructions, making his way to you both. “Do you remember what Uncle Marco told you about the baby inside your momma's tummy?”

“That the baby could hear us talk.”

“You are correct, when the baby is born they will recognize the voices they hear in your mommas tummy. If you talk to your momma's tummy it gets the baby really excited too. Here place your hand right here.” removing his hand from your stomach, feeling a smaller hand in the same area. “Now try talking to the baby.”

Your son paused for a moment thinking about what to say. “H-hi baby, it's me S/n I’m going to be your big brother. I can't wait to see you.” moments after the sweet little response he felt a small movement against his palm. The 6-year-olds eyes widen looking at you then at Ace “I felt them move!”

“See the more you talk to the baby the more they will know your voice.” Ace smiled ruffling the little one’s hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the last few months of your pregnancy your son was more active about speaking to the baby telling them stories, he would enjoy feeling the baby move. Just how Ace got the baby riled up, your son had the same effect.  Your son waited anxiously knowing his sibling was finally here after the long wait . Ace came out of the infirmary, his son lifting his head. “Do you want to meet your, baby sister?” “A sister.” he got up from his seat taking his dad's hand, as they made their way to the infirmary.

Seeing Ace and your son opening the door. They made their way to the bed “she just fell asleep.” you adjusted yourself slightly on the bed. “She looks just like you, when you were a baby.” seeing the new born with freckles peacefully sleeping in your arms.

“She is really pretty.” he softly said. As soon as your son spoke your daughter seemed to move a bit more. She couldn’t open her eyes just eyes, your sons eyes sparkled just a bit “Dad she remembers my voice.”  he said with a bit of excitement the biggest cheeky grin on his face.

“See like we told you, she could hear you in your momma’s tummy.” Ace smiled. Few moments later your son sat down with Ace on the sofa next to the bed,  Ace then carefully placing the newborn in your sons arms.

“I’m you big brother S/n. I was the one that used to tell you all those cool stories.” he softly said. “I’m going to show you the ropes when your able to walk and talk. If you ever need me I will be there for you, like a big bother should.”

Ace looked over at you with tears coming down from your face from the touching moment between your son and daughter. Your hormones still a bit frazzled. Ace leaned over giving your hand a squeeze. “You did amazing today ______,  I’m so proud of of you. Thank you for bringing our kids into this world.”

Tagging: @undercoverweeeb @fireflykaizoku @kristaline2dmensimp @iloveportgasdace @athenatakami

[scaredpigeons]

Dark Necessities

Levi x Fem!OC

Word count: 12.6k

Synopsis: in an AOT AU where we just… don’t talk about the bad stuff… Rae is a short, sweet Cadet who joined the Survey Corps at 13. Now 18, a drunken dare puts her right into Captain Levi’s line of sight. What happens when you put two intoxicated pining idiots in the same room together? This mess and more.

This is the prelude to a much larger smut series, including my other fic, when its love if its not rough it isn’t fun, which i will link here.

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ minors DO NOT INTERACT

Age gap, Smut, dubcon? (both parties consumed alcohol) dry humping, grinding, mentions of knifeplay(sorta), (proper)choking, swearing, Levi writes poetry, Marco is alive and adorable, masturbation, fingering, mentions of virginity loss, mentions of blood, slight overstim, alcohol consumption, Erwin Smiths massive hands, sex, creampie, lil bit of degradation, pet names, themes of bdsm, levi pretty in love lol.

TRIGGER WARNING: Rae is turning 18 in this fic. Levi does indeed mention starting to have less than pure thoughts about Rae when she was 16 yrs old. He knows it was gross and creepy, we know its gross and creepy, it’s just a tidbit of information that adds to Levi’s general shame about his attraction to Rae. Levi does NOT act upon those thoughts, and in fact mentions the fact that he drank himself stupid with the guilt of even having them.

I don���t need to explain why I really enjoy writing and reading sorta skeevy sketchy age gaps for my pairings, if it is something that bothers you, please click away. I kindly remind everyone that you are responsible for the content you choose to consume. Thank you and I love you😊🖤

"I dare you to sneak into the Captains office and find out what's in those little black books he keeps locked up!" 

 Rae usually wasn't so stupid. She would swear on her life, her mother raised her to have a sensible head —always held high— on her shoulders. 

 Apparently all she needed to lose her sense of right and wrong (and stupid) was a little (a lot) of good old fashioned Liquid Courage. 

 Rae had never really celebrated her birthday since joining the scouts. It wasn't important; she had to train, to learn, to protect and see what the world had to offer. Working closely with section commander Hange however…left little room for secrecy. 

 All the higher ups had access to everyone's files, of course. So when the weekend of Rae's 18th birthday was approaching, Hange was practically vibrating. 

 "Raaaaaaaeeeeeee~" 

 The girl in question rolled her eyes at her paperwork, knowing what was coming. 

 "Yes, Hange?" 

 They smirked, grasping Rae's shoulders from behind and giggling in her ear. 

 "A little birdie told me someone's turning 18 on the weekend~" 

 Rae sighed, smiling. "Did the little birdie also tell you that someone has never made a big deal about her birthday, and isn't planning on starting now?" 

 "But this..!!!!" Hange paused, flailing their arms in front of her face. "This is your 18th!!! You're becoming a woman!!! It's to be celebrated! Not ignored!!" 

 Rae couldn't help but scoff, "Hange, you said the same thing about the first time I bled. And besides— Jean’s 18th birthday was a month ago, why didn't we celebrate for him, huh?" 

 Hange laughed then, a sharp giggle followed by a snort. Adorable. 

 "Everyone knows boys don't become men until age 25." 

 They rounded the table, grinning like a madman. 

 "And besides..." they said, fiddling with their overdue paperwork. "I got you a couple presents~" 

 ——

That's how a small group of her closest friends ended up drinking Hange's "presents" (which ended up being three very large bottles of cheap, but very effective liquor) after dinner in the mess hall. 

Rae leaned against Jean, who leaned against Marco at the end of the bench seat. Across the table, Mikasa and Armin were giggling at Eren, who could not hold his liquor to save his life. 

 Beside them Hange was giggling at Moblit, who was swearing up and down that he was NOT drunk, despite his slurring words and reddened cheeks. Off in the corner, Ymir was sipping her drink, watching Historia tell a very animated story. 

 Sasha and Connie had disappeared a while ago into the kitchens, searching for food to help reduce the future hangovers. 

 Suddenly, Hange and Moblit were banging a tune on the table, drunkenly singing an old dancing song. 

 Jean suddenly jumped up, nearly knocking Rae over in the process. 

 He looked from Marco to Rae and back, before turning completely to Rae. 

 "RAEBY!" He shouted. "You MUST dance with me immediately!" 

 Rae giggled and grabbed his hands, hoisting herself up less than gracefully. 

 They stumbled their way to the middle of the mess hall, and Jean began twirling her around. 

 Rae lost herself in the lyrics of the song she'd never heard and the warmth spreading through  her body. 

 Hange and Moblit chanted along with the pounding of their fists on the table; something about a girl from a far away land, cool breeze on warm skin and an unforgettable smile. 

 Jean grasped her waist tightly, holding her hand as he jumped around with her. 

 Laughter surrounded them as they stumbled around together, and Rae could say with confidence she had never been so light. She was high on happiness, on the joy of being around people she loved. 

 The song was reduced to just the beat and a wordless tune, and Jean twirled Rae out of his arms into the open space in front of them. 

 "DANCE SOLO!!!" Hange screamed. 

 The warmth in her cheeks did nothing to stop her hips from moving. With her arms raised high, she moved herself to the beat, earning whoops and hollers from the drunken audience. 

 She jumped and twirled, her boots long forgotten by the tables, sock clad feet slipping on the cool stone floor. She spun and spun until she hit a wall. 

 Only the wall caught her. 

 "Careful, Cadet." The wall said. 

 Rae looked up at Commander Erwin Smith with hazy eyes and a warm face. 

 "Commander! You're not a wall!" She giggled. 

 "Might as well be." A whiskey-warm voice mumbled behind them. The Captain. 

 The rest of the room fell quiet, all eyes focused on them. 

 The Commander chuckled and guided Rae to a table, letting it stabilize her while he took a box from Levi. 

 "Hange informed me that today was your birthday, Cadet Williams." He smiled warmly, handing her the box. "It was insisted upon by them that because this birthday you become age of majority, a gift was necessary." 

 His formality and Captain Levi's cold stare of indifference almost sobered her up. Almost. 

 "Commander! This is... an honour, really. You didn't have to." She took the note from the box and inspected the inscription. 

 "To Cadet Rae Williams," the Commanders strong and loopy script began, 

"Congratulations on reaching your 18th year. Observing your progress as a scout has been a wonderful experience. We all look forward to many more years of your dedication to the cause. 

 Sincerest Regards, 

 Commander of the Scout Regiment 

Honourable Leader of the Survey Corps 

Erwin Smith." 

 And Just underneath, in scratchy, hastily scribbled black ink, a simple "-Levi" 

 Rae smiled, a strange warmth blooming in her chest before turning to the box. Wrapped meticulously in plain brown paper, tied up with a bow of twine—that had to be Levi's handiwork. The commander lacked the patience for such delicate precision. 

 As careful as her shaking fingers could, she unwrapped the gift, and gently lifted the lid from the top. 

 She gasped rather loudly as her eyes fell upon the brand new boots. 

 Fine leather, moisture resistant lining, the perfect shade of brown. 

 She lifted one of the boots from the box, inspecting the sole, hoping, praying-

 "I believe I overheard you expressing an interest in the 5cm lift impact absorption soled boots, yes?" The commander said, looking intently for a reaction. 

 Lost in the joy of the evening, Rae seemingly also lost her senses, squealing, and throwing her arms around her commander's waist, nuzzling her face into the soft cotton of his shirt. 

 "Thank you thank you thank you!!!!! Fuckin’ amazing I don't even- ugh!" She all but shouted into Erwins stomach, "I don't deserve so much kindness." 

 Everyone's eyes were wide with shock, as if a man had been struck by lightning. The silence was interrupted by Captain Levi roughly clearing his throat. 

 "Ahem- well," the Commander was red now, placing his obscenely large hands on her shoulders (-when did his hands get so big? Why hadn't she noticed before?) and creating an appropriate amount of space between himself and Rae.

  "I'm very glad that you enjoy your gift," Erwin started. "But I think the lot of you had best cool down now. It's getting rather late, I wouldn't want you waking the other cadets." 

 Rae gave an exaggeration of a salute, scrunching her nose at Erwin with a little smile. 

 He smiled back and made his way towards the exit. 

 Levi lingered, glaring at the group, Especially Rae. 

 Eren in his intoxication, boldly shouted to the Captain, "Hey Levi! How's it feel knowing Rae's gonna be taller than you now?" 

 The laugh that bubbles from Rae's throat could not have been held back, even without the presence of alcohol in her system. 

 And oh, if looks could kill, poor Eren would be dead a million times over. 

 Rae and Levi were the same height exactly. 160 precious centimetres from the ground, yet Rae herself lacked the intensity and intimidation that made Levi seem taller than even Erwin at times. 

 Levi moved towards her, getting in her personal space, perhaps for the first time ever. 

 Rae breathed in, he smelled of lavender and mint, like campfire smoke and crisp air before the rain breaks. She might have enjoyed the scent of him, if not for the fear coursing through her. 

 He leaned in, right next to her ear, and she swore she could feel her blood rush downwards. 

 "Don't think you're special," his low voice rumbled in her ear. "He bought me the 7cm soled boots last month, limited edition charcoal black." 

 And with that he was gone. Like a feather, whisked away in the cool breeze. 

 Only it wasn't cool. 

 It was suddenly very, very hot in the mess hall. 

 "Alright! Who's up for a game of truth, dare or drink!" Hange shouted. 

 And that's how Rae ended up creeping down the hall dedicated to the Higher ranking soldiers' offices and living spaces. 

 She knew where the Captains office was, Hange had her deliver reports to him quite frequently, but this... this was dangerous. 

 The door was cracked open, and when she looked in, only soft moonlight filtering through the curtains greeted her. 

 The captain's office was almost... homey? The large window facing the training grounds let lots of natural light illuminate the desk and chair in front of it. The east and west walls of the room held massive ornate bookshelves, the wood they were made from was strong and dark. 

 Beside the bookshelf to the right, a closed door, perhaps his living space? 

 To the left, a small green couch and tea table, placed upon a faded royal purple rug. 

 There was an extra chair by the doorway, with a little end table beside it, holding a couple books, their dog eared and worn pages showing they were well loved. 

 She let the door fall back, cringing when it creaked, but didn't shut. Rae scanned the room for her target- 

 -there! The second shelf on the right, glass doors, usually locked, were now open, barring the contents of the shelf to the room. 

 She glanced at his desk, the keys he carried everywhere were set carefully next to one of her targets. The little black books. 

 Ever since joining the corps, rumours had floated around about Levi's collection of books—some would say they were journals, filled with names of cadets who'd caught his rage, cadets to be punished at a later time. 

 Others would say the books were a set of novels, with covers painted black to hide what he was reading. 

 Giggles circulated about what indeed Captain Levi read in his spare time, from gorey horror to sappy romance, people guessed it all. 

 The book on the table was open. A pen laying next to it. So she supposed it was a journal of sorts. 

 That was enough, right? She could go back now, safe and sound, and tell the group the books were journals. 

 Right? 

 The more she thought, the more Rae knew it wasn't enough (especially for Hange) and the more her curiosity grew. 

 Rae leaned over the desk, turning the journal towards her, eyes flitting across the black ink. 

 "For as fair as she is with my yearning to touch her 

I shall not wither such a flower, this acid rain will not water her roots

Silk soft upon raven's wing, a gaze burning like ice 

I too burn to sink these claws within the snow of her flesh

Little white dove of my caged heart

To tear her apart and crawl within 

In the prayer that her soul might warm me

The cold within me burns for her, yes 

So my distance I keep close to my chest 

I will never tarnish such a being 

Being the creature that I am" 

 The click of the door closing pulled her from the page. 

 "Speak of the Devil herself." 

 Rae whipped around, facing Levi. 

 His shirt was ruffled, untucked, the top three buttons undone. His left hand held a half empty bottle by his hip, liquor much more expensive than what she'd been drinking earlier. 

 She'd slightly sobered up during the game, sipping water and munching on crackers with Sasha, but the heat in her cheeks felt oddly reminiscent of earlier in the evening, when she was laughing and dancing with her friends. 

 Rae stuttered when she finally spoke. 

 "Captain... I'm-" 

 "Shut up, will you?" He barked. While Levi brought the bottle to his lips and pulled more liquor in his throat, Rae found herself wondering aimlessly what it might feel like to be liquid fire coated in glass. 

 The Captain finished his swig and toed off his boots, kicking them to the corner. They stood out against the still perfection of the room. 

 Rae forgot to breathe as he made his way towards her. She was at the front of his desk, her bottom pressed against the edge. She thought if she could slip into the wood of it and disappear, she just might. 

 But that was irrational and irritatingly impossible. 

 So she stayed incredibly still as he finally stood before her. 

 He looked her up and down, "You're lucky." 

 "P-pardon?" She squeaked. 

 "You're not wearing your boots. I don't fuckin' like dirt in my office." 

 "Oh, right. Sir." 

 He leaned forward, and the bottle of liquor was placed audibly on the desk. 

 Only he didn't move away. 

 His hand stayed resting upon the desk beside her, the other coming to match it. She was caged in. 

 "You've been drinking," Rae whispered, eyeing his mouth, the moonlight behind her revealing a slight sheen on his bottom lip, from where he'd licked off residual liquor. 

 He scoffed. "So were you, only I wasn't celebrating." 

 She finally met his eyes, which were hooded, but no less intense. 

 "What was your reason for drinking then, Captain?" 

 His eyebrows raised and a low hum vibrated from his throat. "Breaking into my office, then asking personal questions like that? Quite bold tonight, aren’t we?" 

 His leg shifted forward, his knee coming between hers. The touch sent shockwaves up her spine. 

 "I'm always rather bold, Captain, if you acknowledged my existence for more than two seconds at a time, you might've already known that." 

 Was she flirting? Had the cheap booze eaten at the part of her brain dedicated to self preservation? 

 Rae was unsure. All she knew was that she was hot. Levi standing so close made her feel hot. She had spent years working on her confidence with soldiers of higher authority, she was not about to be intimidated by him now, despite the aching between her legs. 

 His stare bore into her soul, and she thought a whisper of a smile crossed his lips. 

 "I've been watching you since the moment they shipped you to this dump." 

 Her heart stopped. What was he saying?

 "I'm not some predator, calm down." Levi chuckled darkly at her startled expression. 

 "I saw potential in you, strength. A good head on your shoulders, actual fucking brain cells to rub together." 

 Her cheeks burned. She'd always had a little crush on Levi, he was an idol to many younger cadets who showed up to serve. But ‘Humanity’s Strongest’ didn't have time for little girls still needing to grow up, still learning about life. But knowing that he had actually noticed her all these years... her heart swelled. 

 "Why didn't you...?" She murmured.

 "Why didn't I say something? Take you under my wing? Train you personally?" He questioned, tilting his head side to side mockingly. "Because I didn't need some little brat being groomed under me, losing all their sense because 'humanity's strongest' sees potential." 

 His face came closer to hers, and she could feel his breath on her skin, smell the whiskey on his tongue. 

 "And Maria, did I thank myself for that. Two years ago, the day you came back from your summer leave; your hair had grown and... your hips... fuck, I nearly drank myself to death trying to chase the disgusting thoughts from my head." 

 Rae knew he could feel the hitch in her breath, because he smirked, eyes dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. 

 "You just kept getting smarter, wittier, stronger, I knew if I had sunk my claws in you when you were young, I would have ruined you." 

 His eyes rolled back into his head then, out of displeasure or something else, she couldn't be sure. "And now... you're 18... and Glasses won't stop squawking about how you're a woman now, how you're grown and strong and ready for the world." 

 He moved forward, and took a long deep breath from the base of her neck to her earlobe. 

She shivered as her blood continued it’s sprint southbound. 

 "Drowning my demons isn't working, Rae." His hand came to her throat, almost touching, a breath away from meeting the delicate skin that was quivering in anticipation for it. 

 “Intelligent men know demons can swim in liquor, Captain.” She whispered into the heat between them.

 He scoffed. "Men are disgusting creatures, their minds are drowning in filth, they take what they want and they-"

 "What about what a woman wants?" She interrupted. 

 Levi's eyes widened as she pressed her throat into his hand finally, closing the distance he so stupidly left. 

 "As a woman, am I not allowed to decide-" 

 Apparently interrupting each other would be a common theme for the evening. 

 Levi crashed his lips into hers.

 He consumed her senses, filling her entirely until all that ran through her mind, her lungs, her veins, was him. 

 She let him, Walls, did she let him, and she almost cursed herself for how good it felt. 

 His lips were soft, plush and smooth, so unlike the chapped and rough lips she'd chastely kissed before. 

 There was nothing chaste about the way Levi’s tongue dipped into her mouth, about the way he sucked and nipped at her lips like a man starved. 

 He tasted like liquid amber, like fire and sin and everything Rae hadn't known she'd needed until now. 

 When he finally pulled away from her, a small string of saliva pulled and broke between their lips in the moonlight. 

 Rae could feel his ragged breath across her face, and through the fog in her mind, could see the way he was practically vibrating in front of her. 

 "You're shaking." She said; quiet and small. 

 He looked from her glistening lips to her eyes, wearing an expression of wonder that she'd never seen cross his features before. 

 "The thought of kissing you has haunted every dream, nightmare and waking moment of mine for some time now." 

 She smiled softly, despite herself and her current situation. 

 "You're quite talkative when you drink, Captain." 

 His face darkened then, the kind of dark that shot straight to her core, her breath stuttering with something much different than fear. 

 "Liquor loosens lips and legs alike, I suppose." 

 If he were anyone else, his smirk would have earned him a playful slap on the shoulder. The captain moved before she could even react. 

 His hands found their way to the plush of her hips, and his leg between hers lifted up, up, up, releasing a soft whine from her throat as he pushed her core against the hard muscle of it. 

 Her hands flew to his forearms as her hips moved and slid against him, and he captured her lips once again. 

 Levi greedily swallowed her moans as he guided her hips to grind down on his upper thigh over and over, giving her the sweet friction she craved since he first stepped close to her. 

 "I want to ruin you." Levi breathed against her lips. 

 "Please," she whispered between laboured puffs of air. 

 His hands gripped her hips harder, and she prayed she'd have bruises in the morning to ghost her fingertips over- a reminder that she hadn't been dreaming. 

 "Fuck-" He cursed, and she could feel the hardness in his pants rub against her hip as he moved with her. 

 She almost asked if what he felt was akin to the screaming pleasure racing through her body, but with each push and pull and grind- her vocabulary packed it's bags and left, leaving behind only broken curses, soft pleas and his name. 

 "I want to tear you apart," he growled. "I want to break you, fuck into you until you scream, until you cry, until you forget your own name." 

 She keened, the pleasure was building in her, turning her eyes blurry and filling her brain with deep, lust filled fog. 

 She cried out into the still air of the room as he grabbed her legs, throwing them around his waist and driving his clothed cock against her core. 

 As her back hit the solid wood of his desk, she surmised that if it were anyone else, she might have giggled at the inherent virginal silliness that was dry humping. 

 But the way Levi's hands guided her hips to slide her core over his cock was anything but virginal or silly, regardless of the layers between them. 

 Rae looked at Levi, and despite their shared height he seemed to tower above her, eyes glazed and brow furrowed as he took and gave, pushed and pulled. 

 "I'll fucking destroy you, little girl." His voice was strained now, and the thought that he was just as gone as she was wound the coil inside her even tighter. 

 "Please... Captain, I..." 

 He reached for her then, his cool fingers wrapped themselves around her throat; proper this time, gripping the sides deliciously. 

 "I want nothing more than to fill you up with everything disgusting and rotten inside me. To rip you open and tear what innocence you have left from your pretty little insides," 

 He was truly killing her now, the words tumbling from his mouth was the most she'd ever heard him speak, he was usually so silent and stoic- save for punishing disobedience and stupidity. 

 "Captain," she murmured. "I'm gonna-" 

 Her thighs trembled as he continued grinding against her, his words dripping sickly sweet venom into her very soul. 

 "I want to coat your insides with my sin, my shame. I want to mark you, to fucking claim you." 

 The pressure between her legs was growing too fast, she clawed at his wrists, the one by her throat and the one still guiding her hips. 

 "Levi-" she croaked. 

 He groaned, "I'll carve my fucking name into your perfect skin if I have to. So anyone who dares to touch you knows who you fucking belong to." 

 Her orgasm seemed to dip a toe in the water, teasingly testing before it was to jump into the cool depths, away from the hot summer's day. 

 "Levi!" She cried, "I'm-" 

 "Mine." He growled. 

 And the wave crashed over her, shocking her whole body until her vision blurred white, soaking through her mind and panties alike. 

 An orgasm that strong was meant to be savoured, and so Levi kept going, working her through it with no regard for himself. 

 The shockwaves of pleasure pulsed and pulsed, around the third wave she found her voice and let loose a broken sob. 

 Levi cursed under his breath, the hand at her throat returning to her hip, then he leaned over, latching onto her neck, biting the soft skin between it and her shoulder. 

 If she hadn't been so caught up in her own pleasure, the ringing in her ears, the wetness seeping through her underwear, she might have noticed the growing damp spot on the front of Levi's pants, and the way he groaned into her skin as he slowed the grinding of their bodies. 

 As he stopped, the only sound in the still air of his office was their heavy breathing. 

 Rae thought it was rather shameful that the roof covered the dark of the sky, that she couldn't look up at the stars and compare them to the ones that had just flashed behind her closed eyes. 

 She waited until the air she pulled into her lungs was smooth and unlabored before she looked at him. 

 It seemed as if he himself was looking up at the stars, glassy eyes full of wonder, face content and euphoric. 

 Only he wasn't gazing upwards, through the roof. 

 His eyes met hers as soon as she looked up,  As if he had been looking the whole time. 

 Ever so slowly, she sat up, and he seemed to unfurl himself from her, like flower petals unravelling from the safety of their buds, and he stepped back. 

 Her head was swimming with everything and nothing, too many words to speak, yet no voice to push them into the air. 

 They seemed to stare at each other for eternity. His eyes held more emotion than she'd ever seen in him before. 

 Suddenly, everything came crashing down upon her. 

 Captain Levi had admitted he'd seen her potential from day one. 

 (Captain Levi writes poetry?) 

 Captain Levi was attracted to her. 

 Captain Levi had kissed her. 

 (Poetry, actual poetry. And it was actually really beautiful?!?) 

 Captain Levi had made her cum without removing a single article of her clothing.

 Captain Levi was surely far more intoxicated than she was. 

 All the racing thoughts blurred together into one (stupid) resolution: 

Captain Levi surely could not have meant anything he'd said, he was only drunk, and would surely regret everything when the sun rose. 

 Right? 

 He must have seen the gears turning in her head, the fear in her eyes, because he took a step back. 

 It was a small, shuffled step, one that any sober person would've realized he did not want to take. 

 Really—if anyone else was in the room, they would have seen how his whole body leaned towards her, as if she had her own gravitational pull. 

 It was as if when he held her, touched her, tasted her at last, it wasn't enough—and it would never be. 

 Rae was much more coherent than Levi was, but still drunk. So that step that Levi took confirmed her every fear. 

 And she ran. 

————

She knew she'd fucked up. 

 Rae was a smart girl. She'd made some questionable decisions as of late, but she would always take pride in her intellect. 

 So the next morning, when she'd woken to the screaming sunlight, and a pounding headache, She knew. 

 But it seemed the universe just wanted to keep reminding her, over and over again. 

 Her day off was spent showering, nursing her hangover with the blackest cup of coffee she could brew, and a trip with the girls to the wildflower fields for an afternoon picnic. 

 Her headache was nearly gone, and the cool breeze sifting through the flowers and long grass helped clear her mind considerably. 

 The huge willow tree they sat beneath kept the sun from her eyes, and shone dappled golden light onto her beautiful friends.

  Rae assumed the trouble from the previous evening was behind her, she could think about it later. The walls in her mind had built brick by brick in the night, caged doors and the issue locked tight behind them.

 She tucked her hair behind her ear, pulling it over one shoulder to messily braid while Sasha arranged the snacks she'd prepared. 

 They were all in their casual clothes, a treat often taken on their days off. 

 The women in the Corps were all beautiful and powerful, but sometimes they just wanted to feel pretty, you know? 

 Mikasa donned a beautiful dust pink dress, one she'd purchased a few years ago for a semi-formal dinner the commander had brought a few of the top cadets to. 

 Her red scarf laid delicately across her shoulders like a sort of shawl, complete with sheer white stockings and her brown boots, she looked like a completely different person; less rigid, more at ease.

 Historia and Ymir seemed to colour coordinate, Historia's baby blue bell sleeve cotton dress complimented the blue of Ymir's new slacks, her crisp white button up matching Historia's little sheer white gloves and sun hat. 

 Sasha had a high necked cream coloured blouse tucked into a burgundy mid length skirt, and she'd worn a couple of the bracelets she and Connie had made from little beads and twine a couple years ago.  

 Rae had opted for a pretty outfit as well, not that she had many. Her white off the shoulder blouse looked lovely tucked into the pine green longskirt she bought last autumn. 

 The women had chided her when she'd shown up for the walk, they had to wear that colour almost every day of the week! Ymir had sarcastically questioned if she'd given up on having an identity outside the scouts. 

 "I think it's nice!" Rae defended. It was flowy and soft, it suited her figure. "I happen to like this colour." 

 Pine green reminded her of hope, of flying through the tall trees, and it brought a strange warmth to her chest. 

 She chuckled at the thought as her fingers pulled through her tangles, twisting the three sections together. 

 She had just pulled a loose ribbon from her skirt pocket when Mikasa piped up. 

 "Rae, what's that on your neck?" 

 Rae furrowed her brow. "What?" She touched her throat, feeling for any bumps or scrapes. 

 "No, not there," Mikasa scooted closer, her cool fingers lightly brushing against the smooth skin covering where her neck met her shoulder.  "Here." 

 "Woaaah! Rae!" Sasha said, nearly crushing the bread to get a closer look, "it looks like something bit you!" 

 Rae's thoughts filled with the smell of lavender and warm embers, the taste of whiskey and mint lingering on her tongue. 

 The flimsy walls she'd drunkenly put up last night broke, and all the memories from Levi's office came crashing through. 

 Rae winced when she looked at the mark, blood rushing to her face, setting her ears on fire. 

 In her memory, the Captain had nibbled on her neck while she was at the height of her climax. The mark on her neck told a different story. 

 Angry red teeth marks surrounded a fading purple bruise. 

 It was so bad. 

 But holy fuck was it hot. 

 Rae mentally slapped herself. She couldn't think like that. She just needed to forget about the whole thing, and it would be okay. 

 She quickly flipped her braid over to cover the mark. "Oh, it's nothing. I've been scratching in my sleep, it's really not a big deal." 

 She quickly tied the end of her braid with the ribbon, trying to calm the flush in her face. 

 Ymir noticeably rolled her eyes. Historia gave Rae a knowing look but kept quiet, nibbling on her slice of bread with jam. 

 "You sure? I've seen bites before, this one time, Connie and Jean had this competition where they-" Sasha started. 

 Mikasa cut her off gently. "You're okay, right?" 

 The genuine worry in her friend's eyes touched her, and she suddenly felt a sickening guilt for the lie she was forcing herself to tell. 

 "I promise, I'm okay." She said (semi) sincerely. 

 Mikasa looked like she wanted to press more, but nodded once, and went back to helping Sasha dole out the cutlery. 

 The day ended without further questioning, and Rae felt like she might be in the clear. 

 Then the week proved her wrong. 

 Hange fell ill, and Moblit was too swamped with their combined paperwork to take over training and extra duties. 

 Erwin made the delightful decision that Hange squad and Levi squad could merge for the week while Hange recovered. 

 Which meant captain Levi would be training her, overseeing her extra duties and activities, assigning jobs and chores as he saw fit. 

 She cringed with images of him subtlety punishing her for her transgressions in his office; assigning extra stable duty, dishes every night, making a fool of her during sword training; using her as an example of poor form, (she really needed to work on her grip strength) or even pairing up with her during hand to hand training for an excuse to kick her into the dirt. 

 In all honesty, by the end of the week, she would have preferred all of that, and worse compared to what actually transpired. 

 It was as if she didn't exist. 

 He didn't look at her, didn't speak to her. When assigning partners for sparring, assigning duties and chores; he referred to everyone by their last names, not even glancing from his clipboard.

 Her only solace through the entire week was Marco. 

 The man was some sort of empath- Rae was sure. She didn’t speak a word about the turmoil coursing through her, but it was as if Marco knew; just by looking at her. 

 Mid-week, Rae was brushing her horse Alistarr when he came up behind her. 

 Rae and Marco were incredibly close, and had been for nearly 5 years, so when a warm pair of hands wrapped themselves around her, and a mop of dark hair flopped onto her shoulder, she only jumped for a moment before relaxing into his hold. 

 “This week has been hell,” He sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss Hange.” 

 Rae chuckled and wriggled from his grasp, dropping the brush into Alistarrs’ bucket. 

 She turned to him, giving him a proper hug. He slumped over her, giving an exaggerated whine. 

 “There there.” She giggled, patting his back. “Oh, you poor baby. I know, I’m feelin’ it too.” 

 He laughed, pulling back to look at her. “How are you doing?” 

 She smiled brightly at him, bringing a cool hand to his cheek.

 “When I get to look at this cute freckled face, how could I be anything but happy?” 

 Marco must’ve seen her smile not reach her eyes. 

 Her round cheeks were swallowed by his palms, and he began giving quick gentle kisses to her face. 

 Rae was a very physically affectionate person, and thankfully most of her friends were too, or at least put up with it. 

 And if Rae was over the top with her affections, Marco was over the clouds. 

 He kissed the tip of her nose, both of her cheeks, and a big exaggerated one right in the centre of her forehead. 

 She giggled as he swiped his thumb across a tiny bit of spit he’d left behind. He stepped back, crossing his arms and eyeing her dramatically. 

 “Seriously Rae, what’s going on?” 

 She turned to put away her bucket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m completely fi-“ 

 She was cut off by Marco’s screech as he fell to his knees. Before she could react, Marco was flying towards the ground from a swift kick to the head. 

 “Bodt,” growled Levi. “I don’t remember writing ‘fuck your fellow cadets in the stables’ into your schedule today.” 

 Marco groaned, rubbing the side of his head. “We were just-“ 

 “I have eyes, cadet. Keep your hands to yourself and get your ass to the kitchens.” 

 Marco stood slowly, glancing between Rae and the Captain. “But sir, I’m not assigned to kitchen duty until 4.” 

 “Well I just decided you’re doing a double shift. Now move.” He barked. 

 Marco scrambled to move, halfway through his exit he gave a hasty salute, then ran the rest of the way to the dining hall. 

 Rae’s jaw audibly cracked shut when Levi looked at her. 

 Levi had to have known that Marco was her best friend, that forehead kisses and the like were normal for them. So why had he been so cruel to Marco? 

 And what would her punishment be? 

 “Be in my office at 7pm sharp, this Friday, cadet.” He said, voice flat, distant. 

 Her blood ran cold. 

 “Sir?” She squeaked.

 His face was void of emotion, so unlike the face that was burned behind her eyelids, that look of wonder that she’d been trying so hard to forget. 

 “That is an order.” 

—————————

If hell was a tangible place, Rae supposed that it might feel something like the two days leading up to this point. 

 Time seemed too slow and too quick all at once. 

 Her mind kept flipping back and forth between emotions. She was anxious to see him again, he’d made himself rather scarce since the stables. Despite her attempts to forget her memories, her feelings from that night, she just couldn’t. 

 The moments when she’d catch her reflection in a passing window or mirror, when she’d drag her fingertips across his fading mark, thighs twitching in remembrance, the hours seemed to tick by at a snail's pace. In these moments, she felt as if that evening would never come, that she’d be tormented forever in this limbo of what if. 

 The fear was what made the time escape her. 

 Despite the almost foreign ache between her thighs at the thought of him, the thought of confrontation with him scared her half to death. 

 He had yet to punish her, to express his disinterest, disgust, or disappointment in her. She thought perhaps he was waiting, giving her time to come to terms with it before he let her down hard. 

 Because that was the only option in her mind. 

 Friday morning, she, like her walls days prior; finally broke, the guilt and indecision and turmoil was whisked away with the sunrise. 

 Her hand travelled beneath her cotton sleep shorts, fingers finding their way between her folds. The wetness there did not shock her, she had been thinking about him non-stop. The fear and the lust even transferred to her dreams. 

 It was him she thought about as her fingers circled and pushed on her clit; she couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to. 

 His rough hands, his deep voice.

 The way he tasted, the way he smelled. 

 Walls, did she want him. She’d scream it to the sky. She wanted every sick and twisted thing he’d drunkenly said that night, despite her idea that he didn’t mean a word. 

 When she came, it was quick and sharp, and his title, not his name spilled from her lips. 

 Oh Maria. She thought. The last thing I need is a thirst for authority figures. 

 As she readied herself for the day, she avoided the thought that perhaps it was too late to save herself from said thirst. 

 The high she had from her acceptance of her feelings, (along with a trusty orgasm) had pushed her through the day, but it seemed to fizzle and die out as she stood in front of Captain Levi’s door. 

 She was early, fearful of inducing his wrath even further with tardiness. 

 Rae knocked twice, and from inside she heard him call for her to enter. 

 She went in, closing the door behind her. 

 His office was the same as she remembered, only this time Levi’s desk was illuminated by two bright oil lamps. 

 The warmth from the light flickered across his pale face, casting shadows under his eyes, which were scanning the stack of paperwork in front of him. 

 “Sit.” Levi gestured to the chair in front of the desk without looking at her. 

 She did as she was told, fiddling with a button on her uniform in the silence. The top of his desk stared at her. ‘Remember what you did here?’ It teased.

 Levi continued reading the document in front of him, and when he got to the last page he scribbled a quick signature at the bottom. He placed the papers in his outgoing bin on the side of the desk, then pulled open one of the drawers to his right. 

 He handed her a sheet of paper and a spare pen, and she took note of the intricate detailing on the pens body before looking at the sheet. 

 “This is the Corps sexual harassment report form.” 

 Her eyes shot back to him, her guilt returning tenfold. 

 He wanted to report her? What kind of punishment would she face? Would she get kicked out of the survey corps? Levi was a high ranking officer, would she go to prison? 

 “When you’re finished with that, I can get you the abuse of authority report form as well.” Levi leaned back in his chair. “That one is a couple more pages, sadly.” 

 Now she was confused. “Sir?” 

 He rolled his eyes, sighing. “Sadly, the pigs in charge of this shit care more about the high ranking officers abusing their cadets than they do about sexual assault. It’s disgusting.” 

 “But Captain,” she couldn’t find the words to question him. “I’m just a cadet, I’m not a high ranking soldier, I have no power to abuse..?” 

 His brow furrowed. “What?” 

 “I’ll fill the harassment form if that’s what you’d like, but I don’t think the abuse of authority one could apply to… what I did.” 

 “You think these forms are to be filed against you?” He asked. 

 Her heart was racing now. “Well I just- I… I, you- we-“ 

 “No, Cadet. I’m giving you these reports to file against me.” 

 How could he sound so calm saying that? As if she would even want to do such a thing? 

 “Captain, that isn’t nece-“ 

 “My actions the evening of your birthday were severely inappropriate, I took complete advantage of your inebriated state and need to be accurately punished to the full extent of the law.” 

 It was her turn to furrow her brow. “Captain, that’s ridiculous. You did not take advantage of me.” 

 He stood quickly. “You were drunk!” 

 “So were you!” She stood from her chair as well. 

 He stormed from around his desk, his sock clad feet quiet against the wood floor, reminding her that she had her boots on in his office. 

 “I don’t fucking like dirt in my office.”

 He’d said it so openly that night, like it was something he’d wanted to tell her for some time. Only now, with her boots on, she stood 5cm taller, which to the average person wouldn’t have been much, but to them, it made a noticeable difference. 

 He stood in front of her now, eyes blazing. “Yes, I was drunk. That is precisely the point!” 

 She couldn’t hold back the scoff, which led to him stepping towards her, finger jutting towards her chest. 

 “You were drunk, yes Cadet. But you were only in my office because of some stupid dare!” He was nearly shouting now, and she took a cautionary step back. “I was drunk, too. And when men get drunk, they turn into filthy, perverted lowlife animals who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” 

 Her anger and boldness were ignited, his words were the alcohol to the flame. “Oh really, is that what you were that night Levi? A filthy pervert? An animal?” 

 He faltered a bit, but held his ground nonetheless. “Yes. Because only a filthy animal touches a woman when she doesn't ask for it.” 

 “Who said I didn’t ask for it?” 

 He truly faltered then. “I- what?” 

 “I was completely aware of what was happening, Levi. It was entirely consensual.”  

 He backed up, circling around her towards the couch, the gears turning in his head. 

 “You couldn’t possibly- I mean… what?” He looked so confused. Angry, at himself or her, she couldn’t tell, but she knew now that his distance the past week was for her sake, not his. He thought he’d taken advantage of her. He thought himself a criminal, an animal. 

 “But…” he paused, searching her eyes. “You ran.” 

 “Levi.” She smirked as he twitched at her informality. “You’d just given me the first and only orgasm I’d ever received from another person.” 

 He gawked. The captain, humanity's strongest soldier, actually dropped his jaw ever so slightly, and gawked at her. 

 Something deep and dark inside her woke up, stretched its legs and licked its lips at Levi’s reaction. ‘More’ it purred, confident and hungry. 

 “Plus, it happened to be the best, most earth shattering orgasm of my entire life.” 

 She walked towards him, and he seemed to back in fear, freezing when the back of his legs hit the couch. 

 “I ran because I was overwhelmed.” She moved closer, he backed again until he was forced to sit down, and she hovered over him. 

 “I ran because I was scared.” 

 “Of what?” He questioned softly. 

 The moonlight started to drift in, overpowering the warmth of the lamps and casting a cool hue over his face. His eyes held that deep, powerful emotion again, and she knew then and there; 

 There was no going back. 

 “That you hadn’t liked it.” She moved her legs, each knee coming to rest beside the outsides of his thighs, her hands still grasping the back of the couch on each side of his head. 

 As she straddled him with her newfound confidence, and his cool hands rested softly on her hips, she had another epiphany; 

 She didn’t want to go back. 

 “Did you?” 

 “Did I, what?” He asked her. 

 She let her ass rest against the top of his upper thighs, and slid her hands from the couch to his neck, fingers running along the edge of his undercut. 

 “Did you like it?” She finally broke for the second time that day, and rubbed her clothed core against the crotch of his slacks. 

 He nearly turned feral, latching himself to her mouth and consuming her once more with a searing kiss. 

 His tongue against hers made Rae feel dizzy, and she was growing wetter with each kiss, especially when he broke for a second in between, trying to speak but unwilling to part from her. 

 “I’ll answer,” kiss “your,” kiss “question,” he took her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it towards him as his grip on her hips tightened. 

 The pain sent sparks of pleasure through her, and she groaned when he let it go. 

 “-if you answer mine.” 

 She smiled, grinding against the much more noticeable bulge in his pants. “Ask away.” 

 He was clearly fighting back sounds as she ground against him, but he managed to speak clearly anyways. “Was I really the first person to make you cum?” 

 She was growing Impatient playing these games, she wanted to feel his skin, to feel him. She started working on his shirt buttons while she answered. 

 “Three years ago, at the harvest festival, I met a boy, I honestly don’t even remember his name.” She shucked off Levi’s shirt, throwing it behind her as he got to work on her pants. She kicked off her boots as she continued.

 “All I remember was that he was paying attention to me when I thought no one else was. Now that I think about it,” she said, leaning in for another kiss, “he looked a little like you.” 

 He chuckled darkly into the kiss, pulling away to tug her belt from her pants. “…and?” 

 “He took me back to his house, we were alone; his parents were vendors at the fair, and he took my virginity in his dingy little twin bed.” She shimmied out of her pants, undoing the last of her shirt buttons, tossing that away too. 

 “And how was it?” Levi asked, pulling her back into his lap and dipping his fingers under her breast band. 

 “Dry.” She chuckled. “He fucked me for two minutes before he realized I wasn’t getting wetter, I was bleeding. Poor kids dick shrivelled up and I had to explain what had happened.” 

 He helped her pull her band up and over her head, and tossed it with the rest of the clothes piling behind them. She was bare now, save for her standard issue grey cotton panties, doing little to hide her growing arousal. 

 He grasped her breasts and lightly squeezed, and she groaned at the touch; it felt heavenly after a long day of having them pressed tight against her. 

 “Poor kid didn’t even know what he was doing.” Levi leaned in and gave her left nipple teasing kitten licks as he spoke. “Bleeding is common the first time, but better men can prepare a woman so well; discomfort is the last thing on her mind.” 

 Rae gasped as his hand travelled downwards, and bit her lip when he touched her core through the cotton. “I-I figured as much. Hange had taught us what masturbation was years before that, so I knew it wasn’t good.” 

 “Mmm.” Levi hummed as he stroked circles through the fabric covering her clit. “You knew what your pleasure was. He didn’t stand a chance, did he?” 

 “aAhh-“ she moaned. If she bit her lip any harder she thought it might bleed. “So to answer your question…”

 She bit back a whine when he took his fingers away, but could barely contain her sounds when they pushed her underwear to the side, running through the slick pooling from her. 

 “Mmnn, fuck!” She’d never felt like this before. “Yes. Yes! You’re the only one besides me to- to touch me. To make me cum.” 

 He smiled for the first time in front of her, a genuine smile, deviant, but it met his eyes- and they sparkled. 

 “Good.” 

 Levi began to tease her, rubbing his middle finger around her entrance, then up to her clit, then back again.

 She groaned, tossing her head onto his shoulder. “A-aren’t you going to ans-swer mine n-now?” Her breathing was coming short, the ache between her legs now a burning flame. 

 “Look at me.” He said, and she did. 

 The moment his ring finger breached her entrance, she gasped, and he did so along with her, half in mockery and half in his own pleasure. 

 He pushed in until the last knuckle, wiggled it a bit, causing her to let a strangled yelp from her throat, but she released her breath when he slowly dragged it back out. 

 “To answer your question,” he was touching her entrance again, only this time two fingers stretched into her. He groaned, his eyes rolling back as hers went wide, her walls clutching him tightly, breath once again gone. “I enjoyed it so much I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

 She keened, her face hot, legs trembling, mind reeling at this. And to think- she’d thought he didn’t mean what he’d said, that he didn’t enjoy the moment as she had. 

 She hadn’t even touched him yet, and he looked as if he was ready to burst. He started to pull and push his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace, and she could feel herself clench around his digits. 

 Rae knew how to masturbate, and did so as often as she could to ease her stress. But one thing she had never done was finger herself. 

 Her fingers were just too short, too small. It never felt right, never worked, and so she wrote it off as a pointless act and continued with external stimulation from there on. 

 Levi’s fingers were not short, or small. He had reasonably large hands, his fingers long and elegant, hands delicate enough to write poetry and strong enough to knock someone’s teeth in. 

 Rae had never experienced this kind of beautiful stimulation, and Levi could tell. 

 She was a mess, scrunching her eyes closed and biting her lip with each thrust of his hand. She was dripping, and she knew it. She could feel her slick running down his fingers, covering the rest and most likely dripping into his palm. 

 “Don’t hold back those pretty noises, Cadet.” 

 She shook her head, continuing to swallow moans. 

 There was a pressure building somewhere inside her abdomen. It was small and unfamiliar, but provided a sense of urgency she didn’t understand how to act on. 

 “You can’t keep quiet forever,” Levi chided. 

 She hummed in the back of her throat as he continued thrusting his fingers inside her, and opened her eyes to glance at him. 

 Just like the night of her birthday, his eyes were waiting for her. Something in the steely grey darkened, a wicked sort of look crossed his face and she knew she was in trouble. 

 A yelp tore through her as he cocked his fingers inside her, poking at something inside her that made the pressure grow. 

 “AAah!” She couldn’t stop the half-screech she let loose as he continued fucking his digits into her, finishing his thrust with a quick ‘come hither’ motion, only to pull back and thrust again. 

 “There she is, good,” Levi smiled again, a devilish thing. “Good girl.” 

 His praise made her eyes nearly roll to the back of her skull. 

 “C-captain..” 

 He quickened his pace, his hand on her hip squeezing as they rolled with his thrusts. It was like her body was on autopilot, the urgency was growing with the pressure inside her, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning anymore. 

 “Captain!” She grasped the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. 

 He stared up at her like a starved man, eyes twinkling and breath ragged. 

 “Yeah,” he huffed. 

 “I… I-“ she was blabbering now, “somethings… happening- I don’t know-“ 

 “Yes,” he hissed. “C’mon. Give it to me.” 

 The pressure grew and grew, quicker than it had before, and a mild panic took her. 

 “Levi!” She cried. “Please, I-“ 

 “Cum for me.” He breathed to her lips, eyes wide with wonder. 

 And she did. 

 The pressure released, and waves of sharp pleasure rolled through her insides in quick succession. Her walls clenched and clenched around his fingers, and he slowed their pace, still prodding at that spot within her. 

 The pulses started to slow, and her mouth closed from it’s silent scream. 

 “Mmmm.” He took her lips into another kiss. “There you go, sweetheart, you take it so well.” 

 The pulsing slowed to a stop, and so did he. 

 “I…” Rae caught her breath. “What the…?” 

 Levi chuckled deeply in his throat. “Didn’t know you could do that, did you?”

 “I… I don’t do that… what you did.” She said sheepishly. 

 “Oh?” He said. “So what,” he pulled his fingers from her hole, and quickly circled them on her clit with the lightest pressure. “You usually do this?” 

 “HaAh!” She jumped with the stimulation, body rocking forward, throwing her head to his shoulder. 

 He added pressure, whispering filthy encouragement in her ear. 

 You’re doing so well 

 So good for me

 You came for me so quick last time, what’s taking so long? 

 C’mon sweetheart, give it to me. 

 This was a pressure she was familiar with, and when her heartbeat transferred itself to her clit as she came, she knew she would never replicate such a feeling on her own. 

 His fingers slowed, but didn’t stop, and her body jerked and twitched as he worked her through it, teasing her when he knew it was too much, gentle strokes leaving her whining and nearly drooling onto his shoulder. 

 He pulled her face back to his with his dry hand, kissing her long and deep. She moaned into the kiss, and felt his sharp exhale of contentment fan across her cheek through his nose. 

 Rae stared as he pulled back and brought the fingers that were inside her to his mouth, licking them clean in long, broad strokes of his tongue. Her walls clenched around nothing as he brought his fingers into his mouth and sucked. 

 “Oh fuck.” She breathed. 

 ‘Mmm.” He smirked after he pulled them from his mouth, bringing them towards her lips. “Here, have a taste.” 

 Her mouth eagerly opened for him, latching around his digits with light suction. She wasn’t dense, she knew he was imagining what her mouth would feel like elsewhere, but the faint taste of her own arousal mixed with his saliva was intoxicating. 

 She needed more. 

 It was her who rushed into the kiss this time, her tongue chasing his to obtain more of this new mixture of them, it was brighter there than on his fingers. 

 “Levi…” she breathed into his open mouth. She could feel his cock straining in his slacks, and she rubbed herself along it, reviling in the way his breath stuttered against her lips. 

 “Fuh-fuck,” his hands pushed her from him, her feet finding the soft of the rug again. “I can’t… just-“

 “Just get these fucking off, now.” He nearly ripped her panties in his haste to get them off her body, her stumbling steps out of them were their only salvation.

 Levi pulled her back onto him from the small of her back, the other hand working at freeing his cock from its restraints. 

 Rae suddenly felt nervous. She really hadn’t seen many penises, aside from sexual health diagrams and the harvest festival boy, but even the glimpse she got from his was disappointing to say the least. She wanted so badly to look down at him, despite her nerves. To see what she had been rubbing herself on, what had gotten her off 8 days prior. 

 She bit her lip and looked down, figuring she might as well get it over with before it entered her body. 

 She was almost disappointed at how not disappointed she was. 

 She could say with the utmost certainty, that despite never seeing any others, Levi Ackerman had the prettiest cock out of any man alive. 

 Were cocks even considered pretty? 

 Levi would later go on to tell her that, yes they could be perceived that way, and it wasn’t the first time his had been referred to as such.

 It was darker along the shaft, but still that shade of pale that was so undoubtedly Levi. His tip flushed the perfect shade of pink as he gave a few short tugs to himself. 

 “Can I touch you?” 

 It seemed she would continue to surprise Levi, her boldness in the question, yes. But it was also the question itself; people rarely asked, just acted. 

 “Go head, pretty girl.” He murmured. He released himself, letting his length stand proud between their bodies. 

 She flushed at the praise once more, her head swimming with what was yet to come. Despite her bold question, her fingers timidly found their way around the smooth skin of his cock. 

 “You feel like velvet,” she whispered in awe. 

 He watched her as she looked down, experimenting with him gently. After running her fingertips along a prominent vein, she closed her fingers around him and gave a soft squeeze, earning an abnormal inhale from Levi, but nothing more. 

 The dark thing inside her pawed at its confines, ‘More.’ It demanded. 

 So Rae added pressure and jerked him slowly, always a quick learner, she followed the pattern he’d made when he’d touched himself briefly, down, then pull up with a little twist of the wrist, making sure to pull the foreskin over the head on the upstroke. 

 Around the fifth stroke, a small, deep sound rumbled in Levi’s throat, and after the 11th, he gripped her wrist to a halt. 

 “I need…” he hesitated. “I’m not going to last if you want to-“

 She let him go, finding his worry rather endearing. 

 Levi’s voice was still husky and coarse, “that is, if you want to.”

 She looked into his eyes, and found that he was genuine. If she really wanted to stop here, he’d do so. In his eyes she found a trust that took root, and she knew that it would grow and flourish into something strong and beautiful.

 “Captain.” She said,

 “Cadet,” he retorted. 

 “I want you.” It came out more breathy than she’d intended. 

 The deviance returned to her captain's face. “Where do you want me, Cadet?” 

 Her face grew hotter, whether from the excessive use of their titles, a burning reminder of how much she (and apparently he as well,) enjoyed the power imbalance, or the thought of telling the captain where she wanted him. 

 In my bed, forever.

Over me,

Under me,

In my hands,

Squeezed in my grip.

On my body,

Inside my mouth, 

On the tip of my tongue 

Inside me so completely I can’t think of anything else-

“Please,” she whined instead, loving the chase. 

 Levi loved a select number of things, Tea being an obvious choice, silence, the satisfying crunch of a bone breaking underfoot, there was even an open spot on the list, pulsing and twitching inside him at the way his heart felt right now, it was screaming ‘fill me’ louder than Rae’s eyes were. 

 However, If there was one thing Levi surely loved, it was the chase. 

 “I need you to tell me, Cadet.” He said. “Where?”

 He pushed the tip of his cock through her soaking slit, nudging her clit. “Here?”

 She cried out at the stimulation again, still buzzing from her earlier orgasms. “Fuck, Levi please.” 

 “Oh,” he grinned something akin to a wolf before striking its prey. “I see-“

 He pushed his length down slightly, the head just resting against her entrance. 

 “-You want me here.”

 She was stiff as a board, waiting for him to breach her, ready for the pain, the pleasure, for anything, really. 

 “Levi,” she whined. 

 “Cadet.” 

 She scowled at him the best she could. “Please, I need it.” 

 He tutted at her, “only good girls get cock, and you seem to be forgetting my title.”

 The thing inside her snarled. 

 “The rules in my office will stay the same, Cadet, regardless of attire, or lack thereof.” He was really trying to get her now, and she had not come this far to be teasingly denied any longer. 

 “Say my name, Levi. It’s not ‘Cadet.’” She said,

 He cocked his head mockingly. “Say my title, Cadet. It’s not that hard.”

 Her eyes darkened, but he seemed to not take her seriously, chuckling a deep; “you are adorable, honestly, you rrrrr-“ 

 Whatever he had left to say was cut short by her weight falling, and her silky walls swallowing his cock inch by inch as she sunk down on him. When the stretch ached, but didn’t burn, didn’t hurt, her confidence exploded. 

 “-rrrRae-“ he gasped against her lips as she held his head close, staring into his eyes as she sat until he bottomed out. 

 “Fuck.” He huffed. “You’re so tight.”

 She wriggled her hips slightly, pulling a moan from each of them.

 “You’re so…” she lifted experimentally, crying out into the room as she came back down harder than intended. “…b-big.”

 “Fuck.” Levi repeated, light and breathy, his head lolling against the back of the couch.

 She looked down, the patch of neatly trimmed hair at his base was brushing against her own, they were so close. 

 He was inside her. 

 Levi was inside her and she was on top of him. 

 The dark thing inside her purred. 

 “Who’s adorable now?” She rocked forward, biting her lip to keep from shouting out how fucking amazing he felt. 

 His breath was loud and heavy, “R-Ra-eyy- hah-“ he stuttered quietly, his voice reaching an octave she’d never heard from him. 

 “Remind me again, Levi,” she emphasized her lack of manners with a particularly rough rock against him. “F-fuck. Remind me again, what is it that only good girls get?”

 Her eyes rolled back as his hands squeezed her hips, almost guiding them as she moved. 

 “Mmmmmm,” he moaned. “Ha- fuck. I said only good girls get cock.” 

 He hissed as she circled her hips experimentally, “well, Levi. It looks like I’ve been very, hmn- oh fuck- very bad.” She moaned through it, attempting to keep her mocking tone straight. 

 “So why is it that I’m getting cock?” She slowed to a stop, and something in Levi snapped. 

 “You think this is getting cock, little girl?” The shock of entering her ebbed away, replaced by absolute pleasure, and lust filled rage; she wasn’t going to win so easily.

 The game had only just begun. 

 “I’ll show you what getting cock feels like.”

 Before she could process his words, his cock thrust its way into her, ripping a scream from her throat that he silenced with his fingers, all four shoved in, taking the sting from her bite as she tried to control her noises. 

 He fucked into her with reckless abandon, his mind reeling at the feeling of finally fucking her, finally feeling her pretty little cunt swallowing his cock. There was a twinge of disgust, the part of him that thought that he was filthy and perverted for enjoying fucking into her.  

 Another part of him was taking over, however. It was the part of him that yearned for physical touch, for connection, the part that begged him to give in. 

 He had a hard time saying no when someone begged. 

 Rae drooled around his fingers, her cries muffled, eyes rolling back into her head. She felt so full, it was like he was splitting her in two. Over and over his hips snapped to hers, hard and sharp, but she could tell he was holding something back. 

 She managed to wriggle his fingers from her mouth, her spit coating them and running down her chin.  

 “Please, Captain,” he groaned at her plea, his hips stuttering slightly. 

 “Please,” Rae whined again. “More, I can take it.” 

 Levi’s eyes widened slightly, “really? You think you can take it?” 

 She nodded, face still scrunched up in pleasure. 

 Levi grabbed her hips and threw her onto the plush of the old couch. The new emptiness inside her ached, and she wanted nothing more than for it to be filled once again. 

 He crawled over her, and she wanted to run her teeth along the muscles of his arms, to lick the light sheen from his collarbones. Rae wanted to worship this moment, this man above her with everything in her soul. 

 “I thought you were a smart girl, Rae?” He said.

 “I-“ she stuttered. “I am!” 

 “Smart girls don’t ask for more than they can handle.”

 I’ll make you eat those words, she wanted to say, but the moment his cock pushed into her, filling up all that empty, lonely space; her words escaped her. 

 Well- coherent words, that is. 

 “I- ahHha! Oh, nnn- ah!” He must’ve really thought her to be stupid now, she was babbling; releasing any and every noise at the way he was fucking into her with his hands beside her head and that dark look in his eyes, she was certain her face was displaying an amusing array of emotions. 

 Levi chuckled with a snap of his hips, “that enough for you?” 

 He was still holding back- she knew it. She wanted to rip into him and tear out that dark, filthy thing he let loose the night of her birthday. 

 She shook her head, loose hair falling out of her ponytail, and looked him hard in the eyes. 

 “Levi, give it to me.” She whispered. 

 He chewed on his lip for a moment before he took a deep breath. He leaned in close, and  Rae shivered at his breath and the feeling of his cock shifting inside her. 

 “What’s your least favourite season?” He asked. 

 “Summer.” She said without hesitation. 

 He smiled a soft thing, amused by her eagerness to please him. “If you need to stop for any reason, you say summer.” 

 She was a little confused, why couldn’t she just say stop? If she couldn’t take it, she could just tell him right? 

 Levi’s eyes were twinkling as he watched the gears turn in Rae’s mind. When her eyes met his again, she stopped and stared, the last cog clicking into place. 

 “Oh,” she whispered. “Okay.” 

 Well, she did want the dark and filthy.

 He smirked at her, “Good girl.” 

 He threw her legs over his shoulders, legs dangling as her calves rested on the delicious trapezius muscle connecting his neck and shoulder.

 She squealed as he leaned forward, pushing at her thighs until her knees were nearly at her shoulders.

 The angle pushed his cock so deep her left foot gave an involuntary kick upward as the little twinge of pain racked through her. 

 “Ahhhhh-“ but the pain quickly melted as he rolled his hips slowly, his cock just brushing the deepest points inside her. ”Oh, fuck, fuck.” 

 Levi couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, but if her pleasure was anywhere near the feeling of her tight walls swallowing him up, tensing and twitching as they adjusted to him, he knew exactly how she felt. 

 “Here, sweet girl,” he guided her hands to the back of her knees, “hold yourself up.” 

 She did as she was told, gripping so hard she thought she might leave bruises of her own. 

 Levi leaned closer, drinking in the way she keened at the motion. He licked and nipped and sucked at the soft skin of her throat, whispering at her as he went. 

 “I want to cover you with my marks,” he said, sucking beneath her ear. 

 “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk right.”

 She whined, pleading for him to do just that. 

 “Oh, fuck.” His voice came out all breathy this time, rolling hips as she clenched around him. “I’m going to ruin you, no one will ever compare.”

 I don’t think anyone ever could. She tried to speak the words, but all that rolled off her saliva soaked tongue was a high pitched “please.”

 “Just remember you asked for it,” he growled. 

 Her nails dug crescent moon shapes in the backs of her knees as he started his brutal pace. Her heels tap, tap, tapped against his shoulder blades with the motions. 

 With this new angle, it felt as if he was tearing through her very being, leaving pleasure and carnage in his wake. The velocity in which his hips snapped against hers was astounding, each thrust sending stars to her eyes and unflattering noises to her throat, which all came tumbling out when that new coil inside her twisted and burned. 

 “Such pretty noises…” Levi’s voice was strained but still laced with undeniable sin. 

 “You might want to keep it down though, little one,” he chuckled. “Do you want everyone to know you’re being a little slut for your captain?” 

 She could feel the way her body clenched around him. “oh, fuck.” 

 “Oh, does someone like that?” He asked. “Do you like when I call you out on what a little whore you’re being?” 

 His voice was so low, so deep. She couldn’t stop the arch in her back, the way her hands fumbled and pulled at the couch, desperate for something to hold her down so she wouldn’t float away. 

 She did like it, she loved it in fact, she loved the power he had over her, she loved this new side of him she’d never experienced. He was talkative, his focus solely on her. He was being…almost… sweet, too. 

 That was the unexpected part. The degradation, the dirty talk, the stamina she could’ve guessed. But the way his eyes sparkled when he looked down at her? The way he overlooked the sweat and the cursing and thrashing and just kept fucking into her, going and going until she- 

 “Captain,” she breathed, “captain- lev- levi-I think I’m gonna cum.” 

 “Oh?” His teeth ground into his bottom lip, keeping his own sounds from spilling onto her. “You think?”

 His words were once again accompanied by harsh, deep thrusts that sent her keening, her fingers losing their grip on her legs, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

 “Ah, ahh!” She breathed, “Levi… it’s..” 

 He kept going, harder and harder, feeling his own coil tighten as her walls clenched around him. 

 “You are going to cum,” he whispered against her lips, kissing them softly. “And when you do, you’re going to tell me exactly whose cock is making you cum so hard.” 

 “Y-you-“ Rae stuttered, that tight pressure was pushing at her again, hot and intense and relentless as he fucked her. 

 “Who?” He teased. 

 “You! Y-your cock-“ her face scrunched, the pleasure screaming higher and higher, muddling her thoughts. “Your cock, Levi- C-cap-“ 

 “Cum for me. Say it, c’mon.” He growled at her, thrusting harder still. 

 “Captain Levi!” She squealed, louder and higher in pitch than she intended, as her orgasm slammed through her. 

 It pulsed like before, only this time harder and tighter. Her walls fluttered around his cock, and it just kept going as he did, waves and waves of it ripping through her core. 

 She babbled as he fucked her through it, how it was his cock, his cock that was making her cum, cum so hard, so good, thank you captain, so hard.

 “Fuck..” Levi was nearing his limit, the intensity of her orgasm pushing him towards his own. “Fuck, I’m gonna…” 

 “I wanna feel it.” Rae whimpered. 

 Levi faltered, looking down at her lust blown features, feeling the heat from the panting breaths she released across his perspiring skin. It was almost enough to make him cum, almost. 

 “What?” He asked her, his thrusts slowing ever so slightly. 

 “Inside,” she whined. “I wanna feel it when you cum.”

 “Fuck, Rae- you-“ 

 “Please, Captain.” She moved her hands from her legs to his face, brushing aside a strand of hair with her fingertips. “Please cum inside me.” 

 It was the softness of the gesture, the smallness of her tone, and the plea itself that did him in. It hit him like a loose brick, slamming through his gut until he burst, his cock jumping inside her, pumping her full of him. 

 She gasped as she felt it, his warmth spilling inside her. He gave a few weaker thrusts to work himself through, relishing the breathy whines they pulled from Rae. 

 “Fuck…” he gave one last push before he pulled out completely, shifting back as he spread her thighs wide. 

 “Look at you, pretty girl.” He murmured to the room, not to her, as if entranced. “You took it so well.” 

 “It's warm…” she mumbled, giving a little ‘ah!’ When an aftershock pushed some of the sticky white out of her. 

 She jolted when he ran his fingers along her, scooping up what tried to escape. 

 “Ah, ah, ah,” he said. “No messes on my furniture without permission.” 

 Rae’s stomach fluttered at his words, despite what had just transpired between them. Levi lifted his fingers, bringing them to her lips, and she opened obediently, licking and sucking his cum from them. 

 “Good girl.” He smiled softly. “Come here, give me a taste.” 

 She was confused for a moment, but it faded as soon as his tongue dipped into her mouth, and he kissed her so deeply she forgot to breathe. 

 She groaned into the kiss, the filthy nature of it set her face on fire, the heat creeping down to her ears and neck.

 “Levi…” she whispered as he pulled from her. His eyes were filled with that open wonder again, like she hung the moon and stars, lit the night sky up just for him. 

 “We’ve much to discuss, but for now, we’d best get you clean.” 

 ——

He cleaned her in his surprisingly deep soaker tub, rubbing her shoulders and washing her hair.

 “If you tell anyone I was this soft on you, I’ll toss you from the wall.”

 She’d giggled at that. 

 He’d told her about the kind of relationship he would like to explore with her; the rules and expectations and contracts, the give and take for the both of them. Levi was honest and open, and made sure Rae knew it was much more than some transactional thing.

 “I take this very seriously,” he stated, his stony demeanor was back, save for a softness around his eyes. “We can start this slowly, cautiously, and at any point you would like out, you need only say so.” 

 “Levi,” she started, only to receive a firm stare. 

 “Captain,” he released his hold on her eyes as she continued. “I want this.” 

 She fiddled with a button on the loose shirt he’d given her to wear, “I want you.”

 “Alright then, little dove,” he smirked. “But don’t say I didn't warn you.”