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kingkaisen · 2 years ago

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FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

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

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

♡ — 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: all actions have consequences, and after the latest life-ruining scandal, the owner of CS Records has the perfect punishment in mind for Eldian Devils, their manager, and you. With all the money and influential power in the world, there’s one person who will make everyone regret their decisions: the rich man.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI || DARK CONTENT — fem!reader, modern au, angst, heartbreak, divorce, marriage, cheating, violence & blood/bruises mention, gun mention, false imprisonment, stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship, manipulation, stalking, drinking, smoking. (Some warnings here also apply to the series as a whole/other parts as well.)

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 13k

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

The smoldering cigarette that rested between Eren Yeager’s bruised lips glowed red when he inhaled it.

It was a disturbingly cold day in Los Angeles, cold enough to force the heat-adapted citizens of Southern California to dig into the back of their overpacked closets in hopes of finding a dusty, old, and unworn jacket.

The ashes that fell from Eren’s cigarette instantly blew away in the chilly wind, making the Handsome Man wish that his problems could disappear just as easily.

With one hand shoved into the pocket of his black hooded jacket, he stared out at the night sky, blowing sweet smoke into the cool air.

He waited impatiently for the apartment door behind him to open.

He wasn’t a fan of unexpected visitors himself, and he didn’t like having to pop up in the middle of the night without giving some sort of notice, but he had no other choice.

For a moment, he figured that no one would come to the door. He had been standing outside for a couple of minutes now.

Suddenly, he heard the locks start to come undone, but rather slowly.

Cautiously.

When the old wooden door creaked open, Eren turned around to face the door, taking another puff of his therapeutic cigarette.

The door didn’t open all the way — the chain lock was still hooked — but it was cracked open just enough for a pair of big blue eyes to peek out of the small gap and stare back at him.

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk,” Eren released a shaky breath. “Please.”

Armin simply blinked at him. A gentle click of the lids. Eren couldn’t tell what the blonde-haired man was thinking — what thoughts were shuttling through his overactive, wise mind — and he was prepared for the door to be slammed in his face soon enough. Should Armin choose to do that, slam the door hard enough to wake up his neighbors and make their alerted dogs bark, Eren couldn’t exactly blame him.

That was why when Armin did shut the door all of a sudden, Eren could only frown, and think about what a stupid idea it was to show up at his apartment like this in the first place.

Just as he stomped out his cigarette and was about to drag himself back to his car and begrudgingly head home, the gentle clinks of the chain lock being unhooked made him halt his footsteps.

Armin Arlert had fully opened the door this time, stepping to the side to let Eren in.

—

Eren’s curious, emerald-green eyes darted across the small, cramped space Armin was forced to call home. It was a cheaply made, poorly lit, brownish apartment that had not seen a spec of cosmetic work since it was built decades ago.

Eren’s closet was bigger than this place.

Even so, there was something quite cozy about it. It was clean, uncluttered, and decorated simply with old, thrifted furniture.

It had the touch of someone who was trying their best.

“Um,” Armin said nervously, shutting and locking the door after Eren stepped inside and entered the tiny living room. “You can have a seat, I guess.”

“Thanks.” As Eren sat down on the squeaky faded green couch, he noticed a yellow blanket draped messily along the cushions, along with an open copy of Stephen King’s Misery novel sitting right beside it.

Although Armin was wearing a white t-shirt and blue plaid-patterned pajama pants, undoubtedly dressed for bed, it was obvious that he was wide awake and halfway through the popular horror book. That particular bit of knowledge made Eren feel better about disturbing him so late at night.

“How did you get my address?” Armin questioned, lingering around near the front door, not daring to sit down next to Eren just yet, as he couldn’t determine whether or not he wanted to punch the brown-haired wife-snatcher in the face and worsen his injuries.

“Mikasa gave it to me,” Eren muttered. “I know it’s weird-”

“Yeah, it is.” Armin interrupted, scanning his eyes over Eren.

Despite their only source of light coming from the dim lamp next to the couch, Armin could make out the fresh, red cuts and bruises on his face quite clearly.

The colorful injury to the right side of his mouth was directly below the one underneath his bloodshot eye, and right across from the large bruise on his aching jaw.

But that wasn’t nearly as alarming as the absolute misery visible within his watery eyes.

Even so, as Armin slickly glanced down at Eren’s fists, noticing the black-and-blue marks across his knuckles and the dried blood coating the black ring on his right hand, it was obvious that he didn’t go down without a fight.

“You could have just asked Mikasa for my phone number if you wanted to talk,” Armin shifted his feet.

“No. This is something we need to talk about face-to-face.”

Armin walked across the squeaky wooden floor, and he sat down on the furthest end of the couch, as far away from Eren as he could get.

He placed a blue bookmark in between the pages of his novel before closing it and bringing his knees to his chest, pulling the yellow blanket across his shoulders.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

When those words fell from between Eren’s lips, Armin whipped his head in his direction, his ocean-blue eyes wide with shock.

“You’re . . . sorry?”

“Yeah,” Eren ran his hand over the lower part of his face, sighing heavily. “I can barely eat or sleep, Armin. All I can do is sit around, feeling like shit, thinking about how I stole your wife. I didn’t get why it was such a big deal until she cheated on me. I just . . . I really fell for her, you know?”

“It’s okay, Eren.” Looking away from the bruised man, Armin’s gaze dropped down to the raggedy floor. “You don’t have to lie to me to garner sympathy and earn my forgiveness.”

“What?” This time, Eren was the one to look over at Armin.

“Just be honest,” Armin paused. “You thought she was pretty, and you wanted her all to yourself. She was a prize. You don’t have to claim that you were in love with her to make me forgive you. I’m over it, I swear.”

“But it’s true. I was in love with her.”

“How? You barely knew her. I know relationships move fast in Hollywood, but . . .”

“I did know her,” Eren said. “She was a theater kid back in high school, and before all of this, she wanted to become a playwright. You both worked at that little bakery to get by in a rough New York neighborhood. She snores a little in her sleep if she’s been drinking. If she doesn’t set an alarm, she’ll wake up late, no matter what. She fucking sucks at driving and cooking, and she burned grilled cheese a couple of times. She tilts her head when she’s listening to people talk. She loves card games, even though she tries to make up her own rules. She loved playing outside as a kid — still has a little scar on her knee from it — and her mom always told her to come home before the streetlights came on, and dinner was always ready. Her favorite color is-”

“O-Okay, I get it. I was wrong.”

Aside from the gentle hum of the space heater sitting on the floor next to the couch, all noise ceased for a moment, until Eren spoke up.

“I wanna help you out, Armin.” Eren leaned back on the couch. “I have more than enough money to-”

“No.” Armin was quick to interrupt him. “Thank you, but I’m okay. Mikasa already offered. Several times, actually.”

“What about a better damn job, then?” Looking at the blonde once again, Eren’s eyes drifted down to Armin’s hands. “I could find you a nice job as an entertainment manager or agent. You helped Hollywood discover Y/N, and it could really be a nice career for you. There’s better insurance, a lotta other good benefits, and you can find a better place to live-”

“No. I’m not some poor pathetic person who needs saving, okay? I know it looks rough, but honestly, this is the most comfort I’ve ever had financially. I’m fine-”

Suddenly, Eren grabbed Armin’s hand. He ran his eyes across the scars and scratches that littered his skin from years upon years of hard work, along with his calloused fingertips.

“I never said you needed saving, did I? I just think that I owe you, and you owe it to yourself to live a life that isn’t so fucking shitty. Just look at your hands.”

Armin didn’t answer, but he didn’t snatch his hand away from Eren either.

“Just think about it, okay?” Eren dropped Armin’s scarred hand, and pushed himself off of the couch, wincing as he did so. As he headed towards Armin’s front door, mumbling a low “I’ll see you later,” his footsteps halted once Armin asked him a simple question.

“Who beat you up, Eren?”

“That’s none of your business,” Eren paused. “All you need to know is that soon, I’ll get them back for it. I’ll make their asses suffer.”

Eren placed his trembling, bruised hand on the doorknob.

“Was it Connie’s men? Did they beat you up because of her?”

Armin’s question startled him to his core.

Eren whipped his head around so fast, that his low man bun almost came undone. How exactly did Armin know about Connie and his group of bastards?

“How did you know?”

Armin smiled sadly. “Because they beat me up too.”

—

Between the nightly hours of four and nine o’clock every Friday, Jean Kirstein could be found working in the recording studio inside of CS Records, creating new songs for Eldian Devils — or, for himself, as of late.

Levi Ackerman was parked on the other side of the street across from the tall building at 8:50 P.M., sitting in his newest black car. One that the local paparazzi hadn’t been taught to recognize just yet.

Black hood. Black jeans. Sunglasses too, despite it being a dark, starless night.

And he waited.

He sat in the driver's seat, watching the entrance.

And he waited.

Seven minutes later, Jean strolled right out of the studio, pushing the glass door open with one hand, and holding a white styrofoam cup filled with soda with the other.

“I’ll see you later, have a good night,” he called out to the freckle-faced blonde receptionist behind the white-and-gold marbled front desk.

Jean exited CS Records, sipping on his drink as he turned left once he made his way out of the front doors, on the way to his car.

He hated parking in the parking garage.

It was a bit less safe than the public L.A. streets — bright lights from nearby buildings, ordinary citizens walking up and down the sidewalks, cars zooming by almost constantly.

Even so, Levi was rather wise.

And tonight, at least, Jean should have taken his chances with the parking garage.

There was a dark alley in between two buildings that Jean had strolled by rather often. It was the kind of spooky place that most people wouldn’t dare wander into, as the bright lights of the city didn’t reach into the shady, deserted passageway, home to rusted trash cans and leaky, wet pipes that smelt of sewage water.

While young, impressionable children might have walked across the street to avoid the silly monsters that they imagined would be lurking in the darkness of the alley, most adults just walked on by.

Nothing to see. Nothing worth a single glance.

And that’s what Jean did.

Maybe, if he did bother to turn his head to the left and look into the creepy alley for even just a split second, he would have noticed Levi standing there, blending in with the engulfing darkness.

When a hand reached out and grabbed Jean by the collar of his dark-red shirt, his drink fell to the ground with a gentle thud.

Even Jean himself truly could not say whether or not he had made some sort of noise as his manager casually dragged him back into the alley, as if he was nothing more than a bag of garbage.

However, once Levi tossed him on the cold, wet concrete, and landed a swift kick to his jaw with the heaviest pair of black combat boots he could find, Jean’s short yell would have surely grabbed the attention of anyone nearby.

If only the blaring radios, rumbling engines, and squeaky tires from the cars speeding down the road weren’t so deafening. If only the loud chatter from the local L.A. citizens wasn’t so noisy. If only someone bothered to look down the alley.

Levi kicked Jean in the chest this time. His hands were in his pockets as if he was simply kicking a rock down the street.

When his boot slammed into Jean’s stomach, and blood spewed out from his client’s mouth, that was when Levi removed his hands from the pockets of his jacket. He took off his sunglasses, tossing them in the little splatter of Jean’s blood.

Jean struggled to look up at the man looming over him. But, when his bloodshot eyes did finally manage to glance up into Levi’s dark ones, he was certain that he had never seen such an intense amount of deadly hatred in someone’s eyes before.

The simple fact that Jean had the nerve to look at him only pissed him off even more.

Levi kicked Jean right in the face again. Then, he pressed his bloodied face against that unforgiving, dirty concrete with the bottom of his boot.

“You have a very kickable face, Jean.” Levi’s haunting tone was just as scary as he was, as it was laced heavily with white-hot anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jean coughed out. Who knew it would be so incredibly difficult to speak when your face was pressed to the ground by another man’s foot? “Why are you-”

Levi leaned forward just a bit, applying more pressure, which, in turn, cut off Jean’s words.

“Did you enjoy your time in the studio today, Jean? Writing more songs about Y/N? I heard the last song you wrote was a real big hit.”

When that last word rolled off of Levi’s venom-laced tongue, he raised his foot off of Jean’s head, but only to kick him in the gut two more times.

“Wh-What?” Jean heaved in between his low shouts of utter anguish, his words coming out slowly and painfully. “Why do you care about . . . a stupid song? You have bigger shit . . . to worry about, d-don’t you?”

“Oh, right. I do.” Levi squatted down, staring into Jean’s eyes — which were glistening with anger and hatred. Grabbing Jean’s hair, he lowered his voice as he spoke to the injured man.

“You’re referring to those leaked photos, aren’t you? You think I give a shit about my reputation? I only care about that song you put out. You made her cry, you know that? Now, as your manager, I have a few questions.”

Levi rose to his feet once again.

He kicked Jean with a lot more force. A lot more blinding anger. A lot less care to which body parts his boots connected with.

“Did I tell you to release that goddamn song? Huh? Who the hell do you think you are, doing something like that without running it by me?”

Only when Levi stopped kicking him, did Jean realize that beyond his unyielding rage, he truly wanted an answer.

Jean spit out the blood that had filled his mouth into the small puddle of red liquid beside him, the pool that had formed from his other wounds.

Although his bones and organs ached as he did so, he sat up as best as he could and looked Levi Ackerman right in the eye.

Levi had gained a bit of respect for Jean, even if it was just a small bit. He clearly wasn’t a coward, as he didn’t try to run away, nor did he cry for help.

He only took it like a man, and while his bones might have been on the verge of breaking, his spirit wasn’t.

How admirable.

“I don’t have to run shit by you. You’re nothing more than my manager. You work for me-”

Jean cut himself off at the horrifying sight of Levi pulling his leg back, getting ready to kick him once more with that bloodied boot of his.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Jean sighed. “It was . . . Connie’s idea.”

“Connie?” Levi lowered his foot, a frown of confusion spreading across his face. “That doesn’t make any sense. He hates drama. Says it embarrasses his company. He wouldn’t make you do something like this.”

Jean winced in pain with every single breath he took. Even so, he fought through it as he spoke.

“He would do something like this if it embarrasses Eren even more. And it does.”

Connie risking the reputation of his company for the sake of embarrassing Eren was something Levi could have looked past without a care in the world, truth be told.

But the rumors of an affair that was spread throughout Jean’s song had also embarrassed you.

And he couldn’t let that slide.

“What’s going on between Connie and Eren?” Levi stepped closer towards Jean. “Tell me now.”

“Connie just thinks that Eren’s getting too disrespectful. He’s trying to teach him a lesson, alright? All I know is that Connie made Eren divorce Y/N, and he keeps forcing all of us to make more music.” Jean dropped his gaze to the ground below him.

“Connie really screwed the band over with those contracts. We can’t get out of it. He controls everything — what songs we play, our daily schedules, what we wear, who we can talk to . . . and if you don’t do it, you get beaten up, or worse. I didn’t wanna write that song. I don’t want Y/N to hate me, believe me, but that’s just how it is. Eren . . . Eren’s trying to fight back against all of it, and Connie doesn’t like it.” Suddenly, Jean looked up at the shadowy figure standing in front of him. “But you don’t give a damn, do you? You work for Connie. You’re our manager, so you must know about all that, and you don’t care. Am I wrong here?”

Aside from the noisy hustle and bustle of the sweet Los Angeles nightlife, it was silent for a moment.

“I didn’t know,” Levi said.

Jean raised his eyebrows, but then, after a handful of seconds, he frowned.

“I guess that doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “Y/N’s the only client you give a damn about now. You don’t even give a damn about yourself. Your life is ruined, and yet, here you are, worrying about her.”

Those bold, brave comments would have earned the poor musician another kick or two, and he tensed his body in preparation once he saw Levi shift his stance a bit, but the kick never came. Instead, Levi spoke, and he did so rather calmly.

“Why is Connie putting the band through hell and no one else? All of his other artists get to live their lives and do whatever the hell they want.”

“It’s our punishment for embarrassing him with our behavior, I guess. For drawing all of this negative attention to his label all because of a girl. Connie doesn’t like drama unless he’s directly behind it. If I’m right, then that can only mean that he’ll punish Y/N soon enough for the new cheating scandal. And you.”

Was that truly it? Was Connie truly so power-hungry, he’d willingly control people, cause drama, and embarrass the artists of his company, because he was pissed off over them accidentally embarrassing him first?

Would he do anything to get the upper hand, even if it meant not allowing the very artists who made him wealthy to have any sort of freedom?

How deranged.

And, now, because Levi wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation, which ended up embarrassing Connie’s company, the two of you were next.

“That asshole doesn’t scare me,” Levi clenched his jaw. “I’ll be damned if I let that dumbass try to control me or her.”

“Really? You think he gives a shit about the law, Levi? Or being a good person with morals? Think he won’t shoot you in the face and force someone else to take the blame if you refuse to listen to him? He did warn you at that meeting a long time ago, remember?” Jean’s tone suddenly softened, his bloodied face becoming pale with worry. “And now, he’s so pissed off to hear about you and Y/N hooking up, and you leaking the photos, I’m sure he’s . . . already started.”

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to leak photos of myself sleeping with a married client? What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Levi paused, “And what the hell do you mean? What has Connie started? Started punishing us?”

Jean’s expression changed into a look Levi couldn’t recognize.

“Levi, do you even know what Y/N has been doing lately?”

—

TWO DAYS LATER – LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

“Our next guest here on The Nights With Flint Show has stolen everyone’s heart with their touching rags-to-riches story. This baker-turned-singer-turned-actress has raised the standard when it comes to natural, raw talent, and the world of entertainment just can’t keep up! She has achieved three Billboard Hot 100 number-one singles, and her next album, Heartbreaker, is available for pre-order now. You know her, you love her — Please welcome, F/N L/N!”

As an artificial smile graced your burning, beautiful face — which was sore from hours upon hours of beaming in front of invasive cameras — the live audience consisting mainly of middle-aged men and women applauded when you walked out from backstage to join Flint Davidson, the infamous Las Vegas talk show host who once interviewed Eren Yeager himself, right in the same purple, velvety couch that you elegantly sat down in.

The bright studio lights shined upon his unnaturally tan skin and porcelain veneers as he welcomed you. The enthusiastic man seemed like a wax figure. A puppet. But even so, his unnerving smile wasn’t fake, unlike yours.

He was a product of fame and money, and those empty blue eyes of his reflected his vacant soul when he stared at you, his very special guest for tonight’s show.

Greetings were exchanged. Sugary, false manners with a touch of family-friendly humor were displayed perfectly, just as you had been taught to do.

Typically, it was muscle memory — how to be perfect. But, as you mindlessly chatted about how lovely it was to be in Las Vegas again, perfection wasn’t the driving force behind your admirable behavior this time.

It was fear.

“Well, Flint, the last time I was here in Las Vegas, I was watching your show from my hotel room. Now, I’m actually sitting here with you. It’s a dream come true. I must say, you’re even more handsome in person!”

“Oh, no need to butter me up, I’m gonna see your new movie, I promise! I’d be a fool to miss the sequel to A Game of Darkness. They actually gave my role to you because they said I couldn’t act — whatever that means — but don’t worry, I’ll still watch it, even if it hurts!”

The audience laughed lightly at his corny jokes, and you did as well. An entire week’s worth of media training was dedicated to mastering the Ideal Laugh.

Practicing in front of your instructor.

Practicing in front of the mirror.

Practicing until you could no longer recognize the difference between your real, wholehearted chortle, and your phony one.

“Your natural laugh is rather boisterous at times.” Your instructor once said, pursing her lips as she squinted her eyes. “We will work on changing that promptly.”

Now, your soft laugh was as pleasant as a flower dancing in a gentle breeze.

It was perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect-

“So, let’s talk about something a little more serious.” Flint Davidson looked at you — no, Flint Davidson looked through you — and his smile faded away.

He truly looked like a puppet now.

“The story goes that you were accused of having an affair with Jean Kirstein while you were married to his bandmate, Eren Yeager. And recently, you were caught cheating on your new husband, Reiner Braun, with your manager, Levi Ackerman. Now, I heard that Levi Ackerman allegedly released the photos of the affair himself. Is that true? And-And we aren’t here to judge you, I mean, you’re drop-dead gorgeous — isn’t she, folks? Who could stay away from her?”

Another round of applause erupted from the audience, but you couldn’t help but wonder how many attendees truly agreed with that statement, or were just mindlessly doing what the big, red, hidden APPLAUSE sign told them to do.

“I appreciate your kindness, and thank you for giving me an opportunity to just be honest and clear everything up,” you gave a small sigh, one filled with false regret. A damsel-in-distress kind of sigh.

Your next few statements weren’t truly your statements at all, but sweet lies drilled into your ventriloquist-dummy mind repeatedly over the last three days.

Who knew what would happen if you didn’t say what he wanted you to say.

You were just as much of a puppet as Flint Davidson.

And it had to be perfect. You had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“What Jean wrote in his song is regrettably true. I was having an affair with Eren’s bandmate, and Eren rightfully divorced me because of it. I’m just happy that Jean’s song was catchy, at least!” You laughed. The audience laughed with you. Flint Davidson laughed with you. It sounded like the theme song to the innermost circle of Hell — if it had one.

“When it comes to Levi Ackerman, I’m absolutely horrified that he would do something like this. You see, that night, I was drunk and upset. I had just heard about Jean’s song, and I was also the victim of a very serious break-in. Levi used my vulnerability to his advantage, and we made a huge mistake. And for him to leak the photos, well . . . I guess that was his way of trying to put himself in the spotlight. Working for famous people and not being that much of a famous person yourself must have made him jealous, and this was his only chance to truly get his name out there as a talentless individual.”

“I see.” Flint nodded along to your dishonest words. “And if I’m correct, you released a few record-breaking songs about your own experiences with Jean and Eren, am I right? How do you think they felt about that?”

“You’re absolutely correct, and I have no idea how they felt. I haven’t spoken to either one of them in a long time, which might be for the best.”

Flint Davidson smiled cruelly.

“Well, why don’t we bring them out and see how they feel, shall we?” “Everyone, please welcome the two members of Eldian Devils — Jean Kirstein and Eren Yeager!”

Even when your stiff body became heavy with dread, your face couldn’t reflect the absolute terror you felt. Instead, a soft gasp escaped from between your slightly parted lips. It was a pleasant, little gasp, as if to say “Oh, wow! Flint, you didn’t!”

As the audience erupted into yet another round of nauseating applause, the two puppets walked out from backstage, imaginary strings belonging to CS Records controlling them, just as they controlled you.

“Welcome, boys! Welcome!” Flint greeted them both with a handshake. “Have a seat! Y/N won’t bite!”

Jean sat down next to you on the couch, and Eren sat down beside him.

Their choice of seating was intentional.

Neither one of them would look you in the eye, nor did they greet you.

That was also intentional.

You could only hope that the camera wouldn’t pick up on the gentle, yet staggering breaths blowing out from between your slightly quivering lips, as you tried to calm yourself down. If anyone noticed the way your hands were desperately trying to tremble, it could have been disastrous for you.

For all of you.

But the shaky breaths and jittery hands weren’t a result of nervousness. By now, far too many cameras, blinding lights, and gazing eyes have shined upon you for anything to make you nervous.

What was rushing through your veins right now was utter anger.

Only a devil like Connie Springer would put the three of you on stage like this, watching the show from backstage with his crew like a hawk stalking its prey, waiting for anyone to slip up and make a mistake.

It was all intentional.

And you had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

When Eren and Jean sat down, it was with a bit of a struggle, as if they were both old men with bad backs and wobbly knees. Their faces — which held radiant, fake smiles — were minimally covered with makeup that was a tad bit different than the usual quick dust of powder that the majority of men received before going on live television.

You knew exactly what it was when the studio light briefly shined upon their faces from a very specific angle as they adjusted themselves among the cushions.

The makeup was meant to cover their bruises.

Although your face didn’t show anything but an amused grin, you were deeply confused.

For Eren, it made sense.

He had gotten on Connie’s bad side quite often.

But Jean was Connie’s favorite little tool at the moment. It made no sense for Connie to hurt him, and he wouldn’t leave his face covered in fresh bruises right before forcing him to go on the show.

Even The Irritable Eren didn’t receive any recent beatings for the sake of this interview, and his current bruises were about a week old.

But, truth be told, it didn’t matter.

Not one mindless human being who would watch tonight’s show would notice the covered bruises, and if they did, they simply wouldn’t care. Not their problem.

“It isn’t unusual for troublemaking rockstars to get into fights and injure themselves,” everyone would think.

“So,” Flint paused, his voice snapping you back to your overwhelming reality. “The three of you are finally here together — how does it feel? Be honest!”

No one replied immediately. The three of you simply continued to grin like malfunctioning robots, hoping that someone else would speak, and give the perfect response.

“Well, you definitely surprised me tonight, Flint.” The calmness that masked your true anger could have fooled anyone.

The perk of being a professional liar.

“I’m sorry for catching you off guard, Y/N,” he lied, “but I believe everyone is curious to know about the tension between the three of you. Some have even said that all of your public behavior is nothing more than a publicity stunt, but I don’t think I believe that!”

“It’s not a publicity stunt, I can tell you that much,” Jean suddenly spoke up, giving an amused smirk, which then became a serious frown. “Everything that happened between the three of us was real. As much as I wish it was fake for the sake of guilt and regret, it’s not.”

“You heard it here first, folks!” Facing the crowd as they briefly applauded — surely with sore, red hands at this point — Flint then looked over at the one person who hadn’t spoken yet.

“And what do you have to say about all of this, Eren? Do you plan on listening to Y/N’s song about you? Does it depend on the genre?”

Although you, Jean, and the audience laughed softly, Eren did not.

In fact, he didn’t even bother with faking a smile anymore. Instead, he simply sat there, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch as his hand covered his mouth, and he gave the host a death stare.

A death stare was against the pleasant personalities he demanded all of you to have.

A death stare would lead to trouble.

A death stare would lead to unapproved rumors.

More articles.

More embarrassment.

More punishments.

Jean must have realized that too, as he suddenly spoke up once again, doing anything to get everyone’s attention away from Eren and his bad attitude.

“To be honest, I think all of our actions are a result of our love for each other. I know that might sound crazy, but we all care about each other, which is exactly why everyone reacted so strongly towards feeling betrayed.”

“So when this guy,” Flint paused, pointing at Eren as he spoke to Jean, “when this guy punched you in the face for sleeping with his wife, you mean to tell me it was because he cares about you? You and I have different definitions of caring about someone, buddy!”

Jean started to crack his knuckles in his lap. He chuckled nervously.

“Me and Eren were . . . are best friends,” looking at the audience with sympathy-seeking eyes, Jean showed everyone why he deserved to have an Oscar or two. “As his best friend, I betrayed him. Someone he cared about betrayed him. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

The cheers following Jean’s statement dwindled once Flint turned his attention back to Eren again.

“You’re awfully quiet, Eren,” He said with a hint of a playful, teasing tone. “I’m sure everyone here would love to know what’s on your mind — right, folks? C’mon, Eren, tell everyone what you’re thinking! Surely you have more to offer than just allowing everyone to stare at that handsome face of yours!”

The thumping beat of your heart echoed in your ears so loudly, that you had to wonder if the microphone would be able to pick it up. The tension in the studio was so thick, that a knife could slice through it.

Eren was on the verge of ruining everything. And you couldn’t do anything. Anything except smile, sit there like a little doll and pray.

“D-Don’t worry about him, Flint. He’s just trying to look cool and make his fangirls go crazy,” you joked, giving a playful wave of your hand.

“Really? Is that all I’m doing, Y/N?”

Eren’s words were harsh enough to make you flinch, although truly, his anger wasn’t directed towards you. Even so, it was the first time you had heard that mesmerizing voice of his in such a long, long time.

“Care to explain what you mean, Eren?” The host leaned forward. The cameras zoomed in. The audience members didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly.

Jean slickly knocked his knee against yours. Later on, your shippers would more than likely create edits of that little moment and post it on every social media platform available, calling it romance; “it must have been a sign, right?” They would tweet.

But you knew better. He was signaling you. Warning you.

If anyone knew Eren, it was Jean.

And he knew that his bandmate was about to ruin everything.

But you could only smile, sit there like a little doll, and pray.

“No, I don’t care to explain, Flint,” Eren started. “You get millions of viewers every night. Millions of people across the world tune in to watch your shitty little show. And yet, you dragged us down to Las Vegas, and tricked us into coming here together, all so you could get even more people to watch your show in hopes that some sort of drama would break out. Jean and I didn’t know Y/N would be here until we were backstage. Y/N didn’t know until now. Who the hell toys with people like that? You’re a shitty host and a shitty person.”

And with that, Eren pushed himself off of the couch, and the rockstar left the stage.

Flint Davidson tried to play it off with a laugh, but even a professional puppet like him had a spec of a human soul lingering around somewhere inside of him, and that humanlike part of him faced the audience with an awkward grin.

“Well, unfortunately, that’s all the time we have, folks! Thank you all for . . .”

You could no longer hear much of what anyone dared to say after Eren left the stage. And, based on the fear gracing Jean’s pale face as he glared at the ground with wide, worried eyes, he couldn’t hear anything either.

Most of Eren’s words were truthfully not meant for Flint Davidson. They were meant for Connie Springer, as he was the one who put this show together, and Flint was nothing more than a happy pawn. It didn’t matter though, as no one aside from you, Eren, Jean, and the energetic host knew that little fact.

And, of course, Connie Springer, who was waiting outside of the private guest exit with his crew.

The unusually chilly wind sent an unpleasant shiver up your spine once you stepped through the back door with Jean and Eren. Typically, when leaving an event, you were hurriedly escorted out of the building and into some sort of car before fans and paparazzi could catch a glimpse of you.

However, no one seemed to be around, and while there were cars parked on the curb, the doors weren’t being opened by some sort of bodyguard with a driver ready to pull off. Instead, Connie and his men — who were all dressed sharply in black — stood in front of the cars.

They blocked them.

“You guys enjoy pissing me off, don’t you?” Connie smiled, and it was a grin that was colder than the uncomfortable nightly breeze.

“Eren was the one who-”

“Shut the hell up,” Connie interrupted Jean, glaring at the musician as his grin faded away. “I watched that shit. I know what happened.”

“Eren? Got anything to say?” Connie looked at Eren, then darted his eyes over to you. “Y/N? What about you?”

The group of men standing behind Connie moved. They hovered around the three of you, and hundreds upon hundreds of behavioral lessons were instantly forgotten, as your body stiffened once your name fell from between Connie’s lips.

What were you supposed to say? Jean was right, it was Eren’s fault.

You were perfect.

Aside from the swirling wind, it was otherwise silent, and in Connie’s mind, silence meant that he was being ignored. And, it was as if his minions shared the same thought process as him, as one of them took a step in your direction.

Suddenly, Eren grabbed your wrist.

Your ex-husband swiftly pulled you behind him, putting himself in between you and the pissed-off man like a human shield.

That protective grip of his sent a wave of warmth throughout your body, and his large hand didn’t let go of your wrist as he spoke.

“Just do what you always do, Connie,” Eren scowled. “Get your guys to beat me up. I don’t give a damn. Just leave her alone. She didn’t do anything wrong, so stay the hell away from her.”

Connie tossed his head back with a sigh before he spoke.

“This is becoming a routine, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gripping your wrist even tighter — but not enough to hurt — Eren turned to face the two bigger men standing threateningly to the left of him. “Let’s see how many of these bastards I bring down with me this time.”

One of them stepped closer yet again. Eren released your wrist. He needed his hands to fight, after all.

Jean reached out, grabbing your arm, pulling you away from the potential fight that was destined to break out as soon as Connie gave his men the approval to hit Eren. It would come at any second, in the form of a verbal response, a nod, or the raise of his hand.

Everyone waited for it.

As two men stepped closer to Eren, two more of those silent, mindless souls hovered behind you and Jean.

But, when Connie finally said something, it wasn’t any sort of indication to fight. He gave the man standing closest to him an odd order instead.

“Bring me Eren’s phone.”

The man nodded, opening the door to Connie’s red Ferrari. Hidden in one of the compartments of his vehicle was a little bag. A bag that held not only Eren’s phone, but yours as well, and every single member of Eldian Devils.

He took them a while ago.

Punishment.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eren called out, watching one of the silent men hand Connie his phone.

Connie simply didn’t answer. Instead, he turned on Eren’s device and started scrolling through his contacts list.

“Hey, look!” Connie suddenly laughed, raising the phone to one of his men. “It’s Eren when he was a teen. See the short hair? He was a piece of shit back then too.”

Then, Connie smirked at Eren.

“I bet you haven’t seen your momma since you took this photo, have you?”

“What are you-”

Eren instantly stopped speaking once Connie clicked on a phone number and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Mrs. Yeager!”

Connie smiled as he stared right into Eren’s eyes. Eren tried to approach Connie, but those men of his were as strong as they were silent, and they quickly grabbed him and forced him down to his knees, one of them covering his mouth with their gloved hand.

And they wouldn’t let go of him.

All Eren could do was sit there in utter confusion, watching as Connie chatted with his beloved mother.

“Yeah, it’s Connie, sorry for calling you from Eren’s phone . . . Been a long time, I know, I know . . . I’m just hanging out with Eren and wanted to see how you were doing.”

Connie paused as Carla responded to him. Then, he said, “that’s good. Hey, listen — mind if I come over? You were kinda like my momma too, and it’s been too long since I last saw you.”

Eren tried to lunge at him again, but he couldn’t move an inch. He could only listen. Connie started to move around casually, looking at his watch and staring at the ground.

“Yes ma’am, I’d love a plate, c’mon now, you know me . . . Bring Eren? I’ll ask, but he’s not feeling well, so it might just be me. That alright? Okay . . . I’ll see you soon.”

Once the phone call ended, one of Connie’s men removed their hand away from Eren’s mouth. And Eren didn’t waste a second before he angrily said to Connie, “what the hell are you doing?”

“How many times are you gonna ask me that? The fuck does it look like I’m doing?” Connie grimaced with annoyance and put his hands in the pockets of his black dress pants. “I’m going to your momma’s house. You see, I forgot you’re not like most people. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to hurt your ass, you’ll never listen. But if I hurt your family-”

“Don’t you fucking dare, you bastard. If you lay a hand on anyone in that house, I’ll kill you myself.” Eren’s threat fell on deaf ears.

Surely Connie was bluffing.

That’s what you thought, at least.

Until Connie started walking towards his car.

“Don’t you fucking do it . . . Don’t fucking do it,” Eren shouted again, trying his hardest to shake himself loose, all while you stood there like a frightened statue.

“Connie, listen to me.” Jean took a hesitant step forward as if he were approaching a dangerous wild animal.

A wild animal might have been safer.

“You’re going too far, alright? That woman has always treated us like family growing up. Don’t do this, please.”

“Oh, I get it.” Connie started to open his car door, but he paused, staring a hole into Jean. “So, you can speak up for him, but you couldn’t speak up for me that day.”

His words had caught Jean off guard. That much was clear based on the sweat accumulating across Jean’s forehead.

What did Connie mean, exactly?

“I . . . that was years ago, Connie.” Jean swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Connie demanded. His tone was colder than it was earlier. He turned his attention towards his men, pointing at them as he gave orders like a true dictator.

“You two, take Y/N and Jean back to their own houses. You know what to do. And you two, make sure Eren doesn’t follow me. Keep him here for a while. Here,” Connie tossed one of the men Eren’s phone. “I’m gonna FaceTime you guys once I get there. I want Eren to watch.”

“Wait, Connie, please don’t do this, I’m begging you.” A tear rolled down Eren’s cheek, and he looked at Connie with the eyes of a broken man. After years and years of trying, Eren had finally lost his will to fight. “Please don’t hurt my mom. I’ll do whatever you want, okay? You fucking win. I won’t say shit like that on camera anymore, I’ll do whatever you want me to, just fucking torture me at this point, I don’t care, just don’t hurt my mom. Please, please don’t hurt her.”

“Damn. You’re pathetic, but I’m glad you’re learning, Eren.” Connie gave Eren a genuine, heartfelt smile, and at the sight of it, Eren sighed with relief.

“Too bad I already told her that I’m on the way.”

“No,” Eren’s eyes widened, and he thrashed around with all his strength, but it didn’t matter. Connie continued to get into his car as Eren tried to beg. “No, please-”

Suddenly, you spoke up.

“Going after Eren’s mom because you . . . because you aren’t strong enough to handle Eren himself is pathetic, Connie.” Your body trembled with fear, but you didn’t stop speaking, even when one of Connie’s men gripped your arm. “I-I mean, you’re even too much of a coward to beat him up yourself. You get other people to do it. Can’t handle yourself in a fair fight?”

“Hush, Y/N-”

“No, let her talk.” Connie interrupted Jean, and he stepped away from the car, making his way over to you, his eyes staring into yours. If looks could kill, you would have been a rotting corpse by now. “What are you trying to provoke me for?”

“I’m not trying to provoke you, I’m just stating the obvious.” Although you tried to maintain a confident tone, your voice was shaky.

“Ohhh,” Connie grinned. “You’re trying to make me believe that going after Eren’s family is a cowardly move so then I won’t do it, huh? And you only feel brave enough to do that because someone like you doesn’t have any real loved ones for me to hurt. That’s weird as hell.”

When you opened your mouth to respond — although, truly, you didn’t know what you would have said — Jean stepped closer to Connie, even daring to touch his old friend’s shoulder.

“Connie, listen. Eren knows you’re not playing around anymore, man. Just look at him, bawling like a baby. You broke him, alright? There’s nothing more you need to do. If he gets out of line again, then take it out on whoever you want, but for now, you’ve done enough. Marco . . . wouldn’t want you to treat us this way-”

Connie pulled his arm away from Jean.

He slammed his fist right into Jean’s jaw.

He watched his old friend fall to the ground as if it was nothing. And, when he pulled out his phone, which dinged from a new text message, he looked at his notification screen as if the bleeding man wasn’t worth any of his time anymore.

But, perhaps, the three of you had gotten lucky, because Connie smiled at the text message he had just received, and his anger melted away.

“Take all of them home. Maintain constant supervision. I wanna know where they go, who they speak to, what they eat for breakfast — Just tell me everything. Got it?” Connie ordered, walking towards his car. “And for Y/N, don’t let her leave her house at all. In fact, I don’t want her ass to leave her own bedroom unless I say so.”

“Understood, sir.”

Once again, Eren tried to pull away from the men holding him still once he heard Connie’s plans for you.

All he wanted to do was protect you.

To be with you.

But he couldn’t.

“Have a good night, guys. Get some rest, okay?” Connie said, darting his eyes between the three of you as his men dragged you all into the other cars parked around Connie’s.

As Connie closed his car door, the smile on his face didn’t fade away.

After all, the text message was from one of the many, many people under his command — an obedient little worker of his — who had successfully found Levi Ackerman’s location.

—

THREE DAYS LATER – PHOENIX, ARIZONA

“Here ya go,” Hange placed a ceramic frog mug down on the table in front of Levi, sweet steam circulating from the hot tea. “It’s Earl Grey, of course! The tea bags were getting kinda old, though. Been awhile since you last came over, just sayin’.”

“Sorry,” Levi mumbled, taking a sip of the pleasantly bitter beverage. Regardless of his dry, emotionless response, a lump of guilt started to form in his throat.

Despite being in the military with the eccentric, four-eyed genius, and considering them to be a close friend after so many years, he had hardly bothered to make the drive over to Arizona to visit them.

He truly didn’t realize how much time had passed until Hange’s three-legged cat hopped into his lap, and the precious animal was noticeably older and adorably chubbier.

“So, it takes your life getting ruined for you to come pay your dear ol’ friend a visit, hmm?” Hange pulled out one of the mismatched chairs at their kitchen table — all four seats were drastically different from one another in terms of shape, color, and size, — and they sat down with their own frog mug, filled to the brim with coffee.

Smelling the fresh coffee beans only made Levi feel even more guilty, as they famously despised Earl Grey tea, only purchasing it for Levi to drink whenever he came to visit them in their colorful, cluttered apartment.

“My life isn’t ruined.” Levi paused, shifting his eyes away from Hange.

“You sure about that?” Hange’s tone softened, their words laced with worry. “Your own home isn’t a safe place for you anymore. When it comes to your career, I know you have money in savings to fall back on, but I’m just being honest here; it’s rare for an entertainment manager to become so rich and successful as it is, ya know? And now . . .”

“Now I’ve lost everything. My reputation is ruined. I shitted on my own luck. That’s what you wanna say, right?”

“Oh, c’mon, give me a break, I-I wasn’t gonna say it that harshly!” Hange put their hand up defensively.

“Yeah, well,” Levi took a sip of his tea, “I’m suing the shit outta whoever really leaked those photos. I bet it’s that goddamn stalker who keeps coming after Y/N. She thinks it’s Armin. I don’t trust that new husband of hers. I’m not saying Reiner’s the one stalking her — the phone calls started before they even met, and the I miss you note wouldn’t make sense, but still. I don’t trust him one bit. And if Connie makes her get on live T.V. and spread lies about herself again, I’ll kill that bastard.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” raising their eyebrows, Hange looked at Levi with wide, brown eyes.

Of course, he wouldn’t care about the lies being spread about him.

Of course . . .

“Seen me like what?”

Hange slurped loudly on their hot coffee, darting their eyes back and forth between Levi and the table.

“Spit it out, Hange.”

“Alright, jeez,” Hange paused, taking a moment to think before they spoke, as saying the wrong thing could result in Levi flicking their forehead.

It had happened more times than the rowdy cat lover wanted to admit.

“I was just flabbergasted when I woke up that one morning and saw what the media was accusing you of. I mean, Levi? Levi Ackerman? My Levi Ackerman? I knew you wouldn’t take pictures and leak them yourself — you’re not that much of a peabrain, right? — but then again, you’d have to be a complete idiotic fool to sleep with a famous, married client. Either a fool, or madly in love.”

Swallowing down the last few sips of his beverage, Levi sat the mug down on the table, the practically undrinkable droplets of warm black liquid forming a ring around the bottom of the inside.

“I was drunk,” he claimed. “That’s all it was.”

Hange’s cat jumped off of Levi’s lap and skedaddled across the floor.

Levi stared into Hange’s eyes, and although it was only for a few solid seconds, it felt like an eternity — plus, an extra day — had passed before Hange broke eye contact, and sighed heavily.

“Fineee,” Propping their elbow up on the table, they rested their chin in the palm of their hand, giving a small pout as they did so. Then, suddenly, Hange perked up. “Oh, I almost forgot! Someone dropped this off for you.”

Hange reached into the pocket of their old blue jeans and pulled out a folded envelope.

“You would fold an envelope in half. You’ll fold anything that isn’t laundry, won't you? I bet you also cut sandwiches right down the middle instead of diagonally, too.” Levi glared at them, but there was a hint of playfulness behind his tone. Grabbing the disgracefully folded, white envelope, Levi inspected it closely as he said, “What is this? Who’s it from?”

“Don’t ask me, I haven’t got a clue. Found it sitting on the ground outside of my door, and it had your name on it. I was gonna open it, but as you can see, I decided not to be nosy for once! I doubt you’d get any interesting mail anyways, probably just a bill or something.”

“Doesn’t make sense. No one knows I’m here except for you. How the hell would . . .”

The front of the envelope didn’t have Hange’s address on it, any sort of sender’s address, or a name. It lacked a stamp as well.

It clearly wasn’t mailed to their apartment and left on the ground by some incompetent mailman. The only thing displayed on the flat packaging item was Levi’s name, written neatly across the front.

Once Levi started to slowly open the envelope, Hange sighed and sluggishly got up from their chair.

“Well, I’m gonna get some more coffee,” they announced, grabbing their mug, along with Levi’s. “I’ll refill your tea too. You gotta use up as many of those tea bags as possible while you’re here! Ohhh, actually, I could just send the entire thing with you once you leave, heaven knows I’m not gonna drink any of it . . .”

As Hange rambled on, Levi unfolded what appeared to be a letter, and he read it silently.

—

LEVI,

We at CS Records surely hope that you are enjoying your quality time with your friend, Hange. As you can see, we know where you are. We know what you have done. Sexual intercourse with a client is entirely against our represented morals and agreements, and leaking photos of your disgraced activity to the public media for attention is despicable.

Because of your actions, we must take action.

Consider this letter as an official notice of your immediate termination.

We highly recommend getting comfortable on your friend’s couch, as we will stop at nothing to drive you into abject poverty and homelessness for your behavior.

To address another issue on behalf of Jean Kirstein, we are well aware of the violence you have inflicted upon our respected artist.

For hurting someone we care for, we will now hurt someone you care for, starting with the person who is currently housing you — the person who gave you this letter.

Sincerely,

CS RECORDS

—

Hange turned their attention away from their frog teapot, glancing back at Levi with a gentle smile.

“Everything okay?” They questioned innocently.

Levi didn’t respond. He didn’t move an inch.

He only sat there, staring at the letter.

—

TWO WEEKS LATER - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

You had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

The stars in the night sky sparkled especially bright for your special album release party. Oh, how pretty the sky was. You hadn’t seen it in a while. Opening the curtains to your bedroom window was prohibited.

Even as you walked down the stunning red carpet leading up to a venue owned by CS Records — where your celebration would take place — you couldn’t take your eyes off of those glistening stars.

They were brighter than the hundreds of flickering flashes from the cameras belonging to the paparazzi, who screamed and shouted your name to get your attention.

Even some fans had managed to press themselves against the velvet stanchion ropes on each side of the red carpet.

Your devoted admirers screamed your name in hopes that you would simply notice them, waving their phones and pens in the air, wishing to get lucky enough to take a photo with you or grab your autograph.

But only the stars had your attention tonight.

“And, as you can see, ladies and gentlemen, F/N L/N had finally arrived with Connie Springer to the release party of her new album, Heartbreaker, and she looks absolutely stunning! Her silk, champagne-colored, bodycon dress was designed by Fernand Appell himself . . .” The Vogue reporter excitedly glanced back and forth between the red carpet and the camera in front of her.

But she had no idea.

None of them did.

About what was truly happening to you.

Connie Springer’s hand touched your lower back like a true gentleman, and his lips graced the shell of your ear.

“Pose,” he whispered. He warned.

Your artificial smile appeared mechanically, and you were no longer staring at the night sky, but at the cameras all around you.

Walk elegantly. Give a wave or two. Smile. Laugh softly. Be perfect.

Walk elegantly. Give a wave or two. Smile. Laugh softly. Be perfect . . .

—

Classy black and red decorations were spread tastefully throughout the massive, beautiful room, packed with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. A statue of a big, black, broken heart served as a centerpiece, surrounded by gorgeous red roses, all of it inspired by your album’s theme. There was a dance floor, a bar, and an overwhelming amount of chatty celebrities.

“Have some fun,” Connie looked down at you, removing his hand from your back. “Tonight sets the tone for how you’ll be treated in the future, okay?”

A sparkle of hope twinkled within your soulless eyes. Did he truly mean it? If tonight went well, you might be allowed to have a bit more freedom? Just a bit?

You nodded eagerly like a little kid agreeing to behave with the hopes of having ice cream.

Connie smiled, and he walked away, headed towards the bar with a handful of his celebrity friends.

—

For the next two hours, you behaved like the flawless being you were conditioned to be. You greeted everyone kindly. Gave a “thank you” speech. Sat down for a small interview.

Everything was going well. Perfectly.

Making your way to the bathroom, your heels clicked against the marbled floor of the deserted lobby a good distance away from where your party was held.

Far enough away for the music and chatter to sound muffled.

Suddenly, you stopped walking.

As far as you could tell, no one was around.

It was just you, an empty receptionist desk, closed doors, big windows, and an elevator.

Perhaps, if you could just find some sort of exit . . .

Your thoughts were interrupted once a large hand grabbed your arm. Naturally, you assumed it was one of Connie’s men, but when you turned around, you stared up into the worry-filled eyes of your husband.

“Reiner?”

“Oh my god, baby,” Wrapping his arms around you, your teary-eyed husband pulled you in for a hug. The embrace was warm — so, so warm.

His comforting, faint, woody scent made you release a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He was so, so warm.

“I’ve missed you so damn much,” Reiner cupped the side of your face with his large hand, holding your head against his chest. “You look so . . . so miserable. What are they doing to you, baby?”

As his fingertips gently stroked your skin, you thought, for only a moment, that perhaps, you were worth touching.

Worth holding.

It was Reiner.

Reiner Braun.

He was holding you.

And he was so, so warm.

Your trembling arms held onto him as tightly as you could. If you let go, he could fade away. He could vanish.

“Are . . . Are you really here, Reiner?”

Reiner’s heart ached like someone had pierced him through the chest with a spear, as he could feel your brokenness. He could hear it in your voice.

His tears splattered against the top of your head. How could a company be so cruel? How could anyone treat his baby this way?

Reiner moved your head away from his chest, but only so he could softly smash his lips against yours. So much time had passed since the last time he had seen you, his beautiful wife.

So much time had passed since he was able to hold you like this. To feel your perfect lips against his.

No matter how much it hurt when you betrayed him, he would always love you, even the flawed pieces of you.

His soft lips passionately moved against yours in a way that told you just how much he loved you. And, for once, you understood what fairytale writers were talking about when they came up with the concept of princes awakening their beloved princesses with a kiss, as Reiner’s lips against yours gave you the one thing you needed most.

Hope.

“I’m gonna get you outta here,” Reiner pulled away, and he stroked your tear-soaked cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m gonna get you away from these people and out of this city. We can go to Tennessee again and be happy and safe, and we’ll never come back here, I promise. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Reiner was wearing an expensive black outfit that allowed him to blend in with every other guest. Thanks to his celebrity status — and him being your husband, of course — no one would question his attendance at your party. And he arrived with the goals of avoiding Connie and his pawns — and finding you.

But was it really possible? Was it really him? Or was it a trick? A cruel joke your mind was playing on you, to make you think that you could truly be happy? Be free?

It seemed too good to be true, but yet, as you hugged him again, pressing the side of your head against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat.

He was so, so warm. Everything else was always so cold, but he was so, so warm.

And he wasn’t fading away.

When you cried this time, there wasn’t anything perfect about it. It was raw, real, and it soaked the front of his shirt, but he didn’t mind one bit. He only held you — held his miserable wife.

“I think he’s real,” you whispered to yourself. “Please let him be real . . .”

“Come on, we’re leaving right now,” Reiner kissed you again, but briefly.

And you smiled. It was a real, genuine, grin of relief. You had almost forgotten how to do something like that.

As Reiner grabbed your hand and started to guide you to the back door, guide you to freedom, you couldn’t help but picture sitting at the dining table in Reiner’s childhood home, having a warm meal in the company of normal, loving people. Maybe Reiner’s mom could make peach cobbler again.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Reiner halted his footsteps.

Connie and his men were guarding the door.

Of course.

Happiness was too good to be true.

You could hear Reiner trying to argue, but it didn’t matter.

You could see him trying to fight against the men that separated you two, but it didn’t matter.

You felt pathetic for even hoping for happiness for even a minute. That was why you didn’t call out for Reiner when they dragged him out of the building.

That was why you didn’t fight against the men when they shoved you into a car, taking you back home.

—

You did an amazing job at the party.

Maybe that would be enough.

Maybe Connie would overlook everything else.

The two men who gripped both of your arms guided you through your front door, and Connie watched as they carried you to your bedroom.

But suddenly, you pulled against them, using what little strength you had to face Connie.

“No, no, this isn’t fair, I did great tonight until Reiner showed up,” You struggled against the two heavy men who tried to yank and grab you like you were nothing more than an animal who broke out of its cage. Your breathing became uneasy. “Connie, please, it wasn’t my fault — I was perfect.”

Breaking free from the tight grip of one of Connie’s men made you fall to the hard ground, a small yelp escaping your throat as your jewelry and heels clinked against your polished floor, your expensive dress tearing a bit at the bottom.

You looked up at Connie through your blurry vision, who casually stood there with his hands in his pockets. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, dripping onto your trembling body and soaking the front of your dress.

“I’m sorry for all the times I embarrassed your company. Your reputation is very important, I-I understand. I was wrong, I was an idiot, and I’ve disrespected you multiple times, but believe me, I’ve learned my lesson, sir. I won’t–I won’t do-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Connie yawned. “Put her back in her room.”

“No,” you cried.

The men reached down to grab your arms, and you tried. You really did. You pleaded. You struggled. But they started to drag you nevertheless.

“Please, Connie, don’t put me back in there, I’ll go-I’ll go back to New York, I’ll go back to the bakery, I’ll completely disappear from your life, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t put me back in there, please don’t put me back in there, please don’t put me back in there-”

The door of your bedroom slamming shut abruptly cut off your begs and pleads.

The dark, luxurious room had quite a few places for you to sit, but you found yourself scooting your trembling body into the corner furthest away from the bedroom door.

Pulling your scraped knees to your chest, you sat there with your head down, the last of your tears falling from your bleary eyes, drying against your skin.

Who knew how long they’d keep you in here this time?

There was only one thing you could do if you ever wanted to see the sun again.

You had to be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect . . . perfect . . . perfect.

Perfect.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

The best way to earn trust is through time.

Apparently, it heals all wounds. Makes it easier for humans to forget the impact caused by the actions of other humans.

However, when it came to Connie Springer, he didn’t forget, nor did he forgive, but he rewarded.

He rewarded Jean and Eren for their good behavior by allowing them to have a little bit of freedom once again.

Instead of having someone constantly follow them around, he placed the two artists under curfew.

They could go wherever they wanted.

Do whatever they wanted.

Call whoever they wanted.

As long as they made songs that would surely break records, behaved decently while in the spotlight, and reported back to their homes by eleven P.M.

And, of course, listen and obey Connie’s every command.

Maybe that small bit of newfound freedom was a result of their complete loyalty and good behavior.

Maybe it was because Connie was busy ruining someone else’s life.

Either way, they certainly had more freedom than you.

Jean and Eren used their privileges to make their way to Armin’s house, as he wanted them to come over for a reason he wouldn’t give over the phone.

Eren was the last one to step through Armin’s front door, fashionably late as usual.

As he closed the door behind him with one hand, tugging off his jacket with the other, he noticed that not only were Jean and Armin sitting on the living room couch, but Levi and Reiner were there as well.

“What’s going on?” Eren asked.

“They . . .” Reiner gulped. He stood against the wall, staring at the ground with wide, exhausted eyes. Eren couldn’t see it at first, not immediately, but as he walked over to join Jean and Armin on the couch, he saw Reiner’s horrific black eye. Suddenly, a small fit of shocked, terrified laughter erupted from Reiner’s throat.

“Connie had someone go all the way to Tennessee. To my childhood home, where my . . . where my family lives. And they burned the place down. All because I tried to help my wife. She’s my wife — she’s mine.”

—

Thirty minutes had passed before Reiner was calm enough to tell everyone what had happened.

“I, uh . . .” Reiner smiled sadly. “I went to her album release party. I didn’t know what I was gonna do, but I needed to see her. I just . . . need her. I tried to get her out of there, but we didn’t even make it through the damn doors. These guards pulled me away from her and dragged me away. You can see what they did to my face after. Then, couple days later, my mom called me and told me that her house burned down. I was upset, but I didn’t think anything of it at first. Everyone made it out safely, and that place was pretty old. With all the cooking my mom does, I can’t say I was surprised when I heard it had caught on fire. But, later on, there was a package outside of my front door with nothing on it except for my name. It had divorce papers and pictures of Connie’s men setting the goddamn house on fire. Setting it on fire with my family inside . . . sleeping.”

“Shit, Reiner,” Jean said to the unfamiliar man. “I’m sorry that happened. I really am.”

“This was the safest place for all of us to meet,” Armin’s eyes darted between all of the other men. “That’s why I called all of you here. I was hoping that maybe . . . we could stop all of this.”

“I think Connie has been Y/N’s stalker the entire time,” Levi suddenly announced, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms folded across his chest. “He’s not as stupid as he looks. I bet the I miss you note was just to throw us all off. Even if they didn’t meet in person until after she started receiving phone calls, he had known about her well before then. She’s one of his artists, after all-”

“Slow down,” Holding out a hand, Eren interrupted Levi, frowning in confusion as he did so. “None of that makes sense to me.”

“Very few things make sense to you, Eren,” Glaring at him, Levi grumbled. “Shut up and listen. He’s holding her hostage and won’t let her go. If that isn’t a sign that, maybe, he’s been the one stalking her this entire time, then I don’t know what is. He obviously wants her all to himself. He made the two of you divorce her, and I bet he took those photos outside of my house and blamed it all on me for revenge. For touching something he wanted. You said it best, Jean. He’s not afraid to embarrass his company if it embarrasses us even more.”

“I hope he burns in Hell,” Eren clenched his jaw.

“I’d do anything to see the old Connie come back someday.” Jean looked at Eren with the saddest eyes, filled with nostalgia.

“Not being able to trust someone is the worst feeling in the world.” Reiner folded his arms, making eye contact with someone across the room.

Someone who was quieter than the rest.

“Reiner, by the way,” Levi paused, suddenly grabbing the blonde-haired man’s attention. “I’m sorry for sleeping with your wife. I don’t have any excuse. I hope you can forgive me for it someday.”

“It’s alright,” Reiner gave Levi a soft, heartfelt grin. “I mean it — I forgive you.”

Levi gave him a sad look. Then, a moment later, Jean spoke up.

“Does anyone have any ideas? On how to . . . free her? Free all of us?”

Jean’s question remained unanswered, a thick silence circulating the small living room.

“I’ve got one,” Levi said, looking at no one in particular. “It won’t free us, but it’ll free her. That’s all that matters to me.”

“What is it?” Eren frowned.

“Based on what I know, Connie doesn’t pay that much attention to his crew. I don’t even think he knows their names. It’s a gamble, but I bet if I asked a friend of mine to sneak into CS Records and pose as a bodyguard, no one would notice. And he could find a way to get her away from Connie. Get her somewhere safe.”

“That has got to be the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Eren lowered his head in defeat.

“How would he even get into that side of the building? It’s closed off to anyone who doesn’t have access, and going through the front entrance means that he’ll just get stopped by the receptionist. And how would he get her away from Connie when he doesn’t let her out of his sight?” Furrowing his brows, Jean took a sip of his water, wishing desperately that it was some form of alcohol.

“One of you idiots can let him into the private part of the building. You all still have access, or did you forget that little fact? And trust me, this man is a genius, and looks intimidating enough to pass as one of Connie’s men. He’ll figure the rest of it out on his own.”

“Sounds good to me,” Reiner said, giving Levi a nod. “I trust you, Levi.”

Levi nodded back, then looked at the other three men, who all nodded in agreement as well, although they did so hesitantly.

And with that, Levi pulled out his phone as he walked away, and dialed his old friend from his days in the military, Erwin Smith.

As they chatted privately in the kitchen, Jean pushed himself off of the couch and headed to the nearby bathroom. Reiner simply closed his eyes as he continued to lean against the wall. Eren looked over at Armin, staring at him curiously for a moment before he spoke.

“Hey,” Eren said softly. “You okay? You didn’t say much.”

“Yeah, I’m just . . .” Armin’s eyes didn’t meet his. “If this works, if we get her away from Connie, what then?”

“What do you mean?”

Armin clenched onto his mug of coffee a bit tighter, hugging it close to his body.

And his eyes still wouldn’t meet Eren’s, even as the frowning man stared at him.

“None of this changes the fact that you and everyone else are still under contract. If you try to fight against it, Connie will be well within his rights to sue. Not to mention, any case you could make about his cruel behavior won’t hold up in court thanks to his influence. He can ruin everyone’s lives. Take all of your money. Hurt your loved ones. Even kill . . . and no one would bat an eye. At the end of the day, he could do all of this to Y/N too, the very person we’re trying to save.”

“You don’t have to help us if you don’t want to, Armin.”

“Are you kidding me?” Armin smiled a bit, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If anyone should help, it’s me. Connie doesn’t have me under any contracts, and I don’t have anything to lose. No real money. No family. If I end up out on the street, I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“You really are tougher than you look, huh?” A gentle smile graced Eren’s face as well, but it did reach his eyes. “I was wrong about you.”

“I was wrong about you too,” Armin sighed softly. “I mean, you must really love her if you’re willing to risk everything for her, right?”

“Yeah, but so does everyone else, clearly. Every single one of us knows what the risks are, but we’re still gonna try.”

“So, what happens if this does work? What happens if everyone manages to be freed from Connie’s grasp somehow, and it’s time for her to pick someone to be with?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.” Eren answered Armin’s question as casually as he could, but there was a hint of nervousness coating his tone, and Armin noticed.

“You’ve lived a pretty comfortable life, Eren. You’ve gone from being rich to being even richer. You could never write another song again and still live out the rest of your days in an abundance of wealth. Not to mention, you’re good-looking enough to have any girl you’d ever want. You don’t know what it’s like to walk around without a roof over your head, wondering where you’ll end up sleeping once nightfall comes. You haven’t had to choose between saving up money to buy yourself a meal so you won’t go to bed hungry, or buying medicine for your wounds so you can push through another work shift. So, I’m asking you once again: are you truly willing to risk everything for her, even if she might not pick you?”

“I am, Armin. You think I give a damn about the money? Cause I don’t-”

“Then what about your family? Mikasa? Your parents?”

Eren looked away from Armin as he said, “nothing’s gonna happen to them.”

“Well,” Armin stared down at the floor beneath his feet. “I admire your bravery.”

“Hey,” Jean suddenly spoke up as he walked into the living room, grabbing the attention of Eren, Armin, and Reiner. “ So, I know I . . . I know I really don’t have a shot with her anymore, but someone has to speak up about what we’re all thinking right now. What will the rest of us do when Y/N doesn’t pick us? We can’t all have her.”

“We have bigger things to worry about than which one of us she’ll pick,” Levi suddenly said as he walked back into the living room, shoving his phone in his pocket, “such as the fact that she’s with someone who’ll shoot anybody who looks at him the wrong way.”

“I know it’s selfish to worry about that when she needs our help — and, hell, we can’t even help ourselves — but, if we can get her away from Connie, won’t we all just go back to trying to win her affection? Besides, even if she does pick someone, are we all going to respect her decision, or are we just going to go right back to stealing her from each other?”

Jean’s question prompted another minute of silence yet again.

“We’ll worry about that when she’s safe,” Reiner suddenly said, opening his eyes to stare at the musician, who sat back down on the couch.

“Of course you’re not worried. You were with her last, and you’re not even completely divorced yet. You have every reason to think that she’d crawl back to you.” Jean frowned as he spoke.

“I am worried. She did cheat on me with Levi at the end of the day. You don’t do that to someone you truly love. Right, Eren?”

“Shut the hell up,” Eren glared at Reiner coldly. “What happened between her and Jean was just a mistake. If it wasn’t for Connie, we’d still be together.”

“Yeah?” Reiner said, glaring at Eren just as intensely. “Well, I could say the same thing.”

“Oh yeah? Did she fucking beg for you to forgive her like she did me?” Suddenly, Eren pushed himself off of the couch. “Or, was she just begging for Levi to fuck her-”

“Hey, cut it out,” Armin spoke with a hushed tone, getting off of the couch as well. “We shouldn’t fight among ourselves. We have to work together.”

“Why?” Eren turned away from Reiner and glared at Armin instead. Although his gaze had softened a bit, his words were still laced with anger. “Why do we have to work together, Armin?”

“Because it’s the smartest way to stop Connie. He can’t control all of you with his contracts, guns, and crew forever, and working together makes it more difficult for him to do that. And he can’t just . . . hold someone hostage. That’s cruel.”

“I’m not helping any of you.” Reiner’s sudden statement caught everyone’s attention. “Don’t get me wrong, you all seem like good people with good hearts, but Connie doesn’t have me under any contracts. If he wants to send his men after me again, fine. If he wants to kill me, fine. But every single one of you had something to do with this current situation. Armin, you brought her to Hollywood in the first place to try and make money off of her. Eren, you poisoned the mind of an innocent woman, making her think dishonesty and betrayal were good traits to have. Jean, you took advantage of her sadness to fulfill your own selfish needs. And Levi, as her manager, you failed to protect her, and by sleeping with her, you screwed her over more than anyone else. So, I’m going to help her no matter what it takes, but the rest of you are on your own. I’m sorry.”

Reiner walked out of Armin’s apartment without another word. A bit of guilt prickled at his heart, but he didn’t feel it nearly as much as he felt the overwhelming presence of distrust.

He had to trust his gut, and his gut told him that not everyone in that room could be trusted.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

♡ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

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