#i just want to finish this damn series before the end of the year lol

[onbeinganangel]

hi! just here to tell you I adore your tarot drabble series so so much! every single one is magical✨ you tell beautiful stories with so few words 💌 I don’t know much about tarot so I was wondering (only if you’d like, of course!) if you could talk about your process in connection to the cards? I would love to know more about how their meanings inspire your writing!!

omg hi 🌳🌳🌳🌳!!!

you are so kind! I have been dragging this series around like my wee dog does his blanket (which is to say, I love it and want to see my task through but also jesus fucking christ why is it under my feet I can’t stop tripping oh fuck ouch bloody! stupid! blanket! aaaaggghh) and it just means the world to me that you are enjoying my teensy little drabbles!

(before I talk out of my arse, I want to say that I know tarot is a very loved, powerful, and special tool and practice for a lot of people. I am by no means a savant and I do it very informally, the way I was taught by my aunties and then later by a group of friends. my practice may not match your practice. such is the way of the world.)

I grew up around a remarkable group of wonderful women that taught me a lot of things, from how to make bread to getting stains out of fabric to — you guessed it — how to read cards. but then I was a teenager for a dreadful little time so I lost that for a while, and for a few years now I have been trying to reconnect to that. my practice is rusty but I love how the cards still feel right, like I know them.

so, back in like march (?) or so, in an attempt to practice and study two things I was feeling very weak at but love dearly, I decided to get back into writing by pulling a card and trying to make something out of it. a lot of tarot has to do with intuition and reading of imagery so whenever I’d start on a new drabble, I would pull out the physical card and let it speak to me. in fact, for the most recent ones, I have been pulling the same cards from two or three different decks and looking at them for guidance (sometimes a different illustration will put more emphasis on something so while I know the meanings of the cards by heart, the deck you use can also influence your reading)

all cards are easier to read when applied to a question/problem/situation (and also you usually pull a few in a reading and they are much easier to understand when together rather than just a lone card), so there is a lot of freedom when writing because I am not necessarily going in with any of that in mind. sometimes I go in with just a pairing and look at the card and see if anything comes to mind, sometimes I throw in an extra prompt or ask myself do I want fluff? angst? smut? or do I want this to be an AU, etc.

for a lot of the cards, I have used them really liberally. so, while the meaning of the card always comes to play — sometimes very obviously, sometimes very subtly — I have been trying to really put the card against the pairing and/or genre, and then let it lead me.

as a quick example (I’ll shut up soon I promise), I wrote this open ending drarry one for The Hermit card, which is traditionally a card that means introspection and isolation but it is also about seeking wisdom and knowledge, despite not quite knowing the way — which is sort of where I got the open ending from! visually, most depictions of The Hermit have him holding a lantern and I actually used this motif very literally for this drabble: as the bright light that sets everything off. the drabble starts with Draco’s magic (“hot and bright”) and ends with Harry’s (bursting into “pure brightness”), so while the meaning of the card is also there, it’s obvious I also took a lot of visual inspiration for it. 

and that’s basically how I go about most of the drabbles! I will pick an element (a lot of the cards have sooooooo much you can take from them, all the little details in the illustrations matter) and come up with a situation and it all snowballs from there. sometimes it’s very hard to keep it at the 100 words. but yeah, that’s it : ) I am not taking myself or the series very seriously, and I lost steam along the way a lot, but it’s been a fun excuse to practice short form, to try out new pairings and study my tarot all at the same time!

thank you for this question and I AM SO SORRY FOR RAMBLING I don’t know how to shut up sometimes oooopsies. anyway thank you thank you, you are really very kind for asking! I hope at least a third of what I just wrote makes sense x

#the answer to this is 8 drabbles long #what the fuck is wrong with me #marion learn to talk less challenge #now I’m off to write a couple of drabbles because I still have 28 to write lmao it never ends!!!!! #(if anyone has cards/pairing suggestions pls feel free to throw them at me) #no promises but i can try #i just want to finish this damn series before the end of the year lol #thank you trees it was really fun to actually try and put my messy process into words <3 i appreciate you #qs and as #m babbles #tarot card drabbles

[spectersgirl]

what if harvey specter’s wife worked from home and has a last minute work emergency, so harvey had to take their daughter to work? hope that made sense 😭.

I loved this prompt! I changed it eeeever so slightly but it doesn't affect the overall product. I'm working on making these longer which does mean that it'll take me longer between posts but I'm hoping length makes up for it?? Or maybe this is too long. Idk. I've been writing it for daysssss. I think I don't love the end quarter or so, but I wanted to get it out there. Also I decided to name the daughter, I'm not sure how I feel about doing that versus just using Y/D/N so let me know what you all think? I'd use a different name each time I wrote something with a daughter in it so that it doesn't feel like a series or the same character in different universes.

-----

Work with Dad

Harvey Specter x Reader (except you're barely in it lol)

You rolled over at the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand, fumbling for it and answering sleepily.

"Hello? Oh shit, okay I'm on my way." Immediately, you got up and began rushing around to get ready.

"Who's that?" Harvey mumbled, having woken up to your call.

"Work, there's an emergency and I have to go take care of it. I know you have to work but, I can't take Olivia with me to the restaurant and my parents work today... Do you think you could bring her with you?"

Harvey sighed, knowing you were right. It would be easier for him to bring the four-year-old with him to his office as opposed to the very high-end restaurant you ran. Normally on the days you worked away from the house Olivia was in preschool, but today wasn't a school day for her.

"Yeah, that's fine. I have a pretty easy day today, and it's been a while since she's seen everyone anyway." He said, getting out of bed himself and heading to take a shower.

You quickly yelled to him before you left, thanking him for taking one for the team.

Once Harvey finished his shower, he pulled a suit from the closet and put the dress shirt and pants on, opting to leave his suit jacket off for now, knowing he'd likely have to do some wrangling of a certain toddler. As he had this thought, tiny footsteps sounded down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Hi Daddy" Said the tiny voice of his daughter as she ran toward him, arms in the air.

"Good morning princess! How'd you sleep?" He asked, lifting her with ease and kissing her cheek.

"Good, where's Mama?" She asked, knowing the two of you normally got ready together each morning. She was pretty damn smart for her age, and Harvey knew this fact would get him into trouble someday.

"Mama had to go take care of something at work, but guess what? You get to spend the day with Daddy at the firm!" He told her excitedly, raising his eyebrows.

Olivia was hesitant at first, she didn't know exactly what it was that her dad did every day, but she saw him on his computer a lot, and that didn't seem very exciting to her. She was about to protest this, but then she remembered some of her most favorite people worked with her dad.

"Can we see Mike and Rachel?" She asked.

Harvey laughed, nodding.

"And Donna?"

"And Donna." He confirmed with a smile. "You wanna get dressed so we can go see them?"

Immediately, she began squirming to get down from his grasp. Harvey obliged, following the girl to her room to help her pick out an outfit. She eventually elected for her favorite pink dress with flowers, and Harvey approved, finding her a pair of shoes to match.

A short while later, Harvey and Olivia were headed up to the Pearson Specter offices. She couldn't stop talking about how excited she was to see everyone, and Harvey had to keep reminding her that they had work to do and that they might not be able to be with her as much as she had hoped. Harvey had packed a day's worth of activities in a backpack to keep the little girl occupied in his office, and hopefully out of everyone else's business.

The elevator doors opened, and Olivia nearly pulled Harvey's arm out of the socket trying to get to her favorite people as fast as she could. He scooped her up into his arms, foiling her plans. She adorably crossed her arms in frustration, making Harvey chuckle as he walked toward his office.

"We just have to drop our stuff off in Dad's office first, then we can go see your friends, okay baby?"

She agreed, understanding that the quicker she cooperated, the quicker she got what she wanted.

Harvey put all their stuff down in a small pile on the couch in his office, telling himself he'd deal with it later. He knew Donna wouldn't be in for a little longer as he was earlier today than he normally was, but Mike and Rachel were more than likely already hard at work.

"Alright princess, wanna go see Mike?"

Her eyes went so wide Harvey thought they'd pop out of her head. He laughed and opened his door, pointing down the hall and following as she ran ahead of him. She nearly missed his door she was going so fast, but stopped herself when she noticed him seated at his desk.

"Knock before you go in, Liv" Harvey reminded the girl, grinning when her tiny fist tapped the glass of Mike's office door.

He looked up, not seeing her at first and waving Harvey in and looking back down at his stack of papers.

"You're in early, something wrong?" "MIKE!!!" Olivia yelled, startling the junior partner before realizing what was going on.

"Livi! How's my favorite Specter?" He asked, getting out of his chair to lift her into a bear hug.

She giggled uncontrollably until he set her back down.

"Well, I'd be offended but she happens to be pretty cool, so I'll let you have that." Harvey said, grinning as he watched his daughter run in circles around Mike's office while he chased her. There wasn’t much space in the junior partner's office, so the chase didn’t last very long.

"Where's Rachel?" Olivia wondered out loud. Mike kneeled down to her level.

"Rachel has school in the mornings, so she won't be here for a little bit longer." Mike explained, but this only confused her further.

"But... isn't Rachel a grown-up?" She asked, making Harvey and Mike smile.

"She's in law school, baby. Some grown-ups go to extra school so they can do their special jobs. Daddy went to law school too, and Mama went to business school and cooking school." Harvey explained.

“Did Mike to go extra school?” Olivia asked

Harvey and Mike share a look before looking back at Olivia.

“Mike’s a long story.” Harvey said.

Olivia seemed to be satisfied, or she stopped caring about his answer. Either way, she nodded and continued laughing and playing with Mike while her dad stood off to the side, only a little offended that she hardly even remembered he was still standing there.

He looked down at his watch, noting the time and figuring Donna was probably at her desk by now.

"Liv, do you want to go see if we can find Donna?" Harvey asked, and the little girl screamed like she was at a Taylor Swift show, jumping up and down with pure glee.

"Did she get this excited to see me?" Mike asked. Harvey chuckled, shaking his head.

"Not even close, sorry Mike. C'mon kid, let's go" Harvey said, lifting Olivia high in the air and onto his shoulders, holding tightly as he walked.

"Oh Donna, I have a surprise for you," Harvey said over the sounds of his daughter's laughter.

"Well, I wonder what the surprise could be! Hmmm, is it a pony? Oh a pony wouldn’t fit in the elevator… Maybe you should give me a hint." She said facetiously, acting as if she had no idea Olivia was there.

"It's me!" Olivia yelled, unable to keep the ‘surprise’ of her presence in any longer.

"Oh it’s Olivia! Hi beautiful! That’s a way better surprise than a pony!" Donna exclaimed. "How'd you get so lucky to come to work with your dad?"

"Her mama had a work emergency so daddy got to take her in with him, huh Liv?" Harvey explained, and Donna nodded in understanding.

Olivia nodded, smiling down at both Donna and her dad, still up high on his shoulders. She reached her arms toward Donna, so Harvey lowered her to the floor. Donna quickly scooped her up and placed her on her hip, giving the girl hugs and exaggerated cheek kisses.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, who let you get so big?”

Olivia pointed at Harvey, smiling happily.

“Umm no ma’am, I specifically told you to stop growing, if it were up to me you’d still be my tiny little baby.” Harvey said, poking her side playfully. She giggled, pushing his hands away with her tiny ones.

"Have you had fun so far Livi?" Donna asked, and Olivia smiled and nodded profusely.

"I ran down the hall soooo fast and Mike chased me in his office and then me and Daddy found you!"

"Wow Olivia! That sounds like a really cool morning!" A voice said from behind. Everyone turned to see none other than Jessica strutting down the hall.

Harvey knew Jessica wouldn’t particularly love the idea of his four year old daughter hanging around in his office all day, but he also knew there was nothing else he could do. He was a parent above anything else, so he was going to do what he had to do.

“Livi, do you remember Jessica?” Harvey asked.

Olivia nodded, a bright smile on her face.

“It’s great to see you again cutie” Jessica said with a smile of her own.

“Look I know you’re probably mad but-“

“Harvey relax, I’m not mad. Just as long as she doesn’t get into anything she shouldn’t, she's welcome here." Jessica stated, easing Harvey's mind. He nodded in understanding and watched as she walked back to her office.

"Alright Liv, I've got some work to do in my office and I brought you some fun stuff to do while I work. Maybe later we can come back out and see Donna if she's not too busy, alright?"

Olivia huffed in disappointment, but she knew better than to fight with her dad. He placed his hands out to grab her from Donna, who regrettably handed her over. She had known the little girl since before she was even born, and she loved her like she was her own blood.

Harvey was actually able to get some work done, and Olivia enjoyed her time coloring in her coloring books and playing with the toys her dad had packed for her. Soon enough, she was hungry for lunch and Harvey took her into the kitchen to retrieve the lunchable he had brought her. Eventually, she grew tired and ready for her nap. When Harvey looked over at his couch after a suspiciously long period of silence, he saw her fast asleep. He smiled, standing and taking his suit jacket off, draping it over her small frame. She napped this way for about an hour, and when she woke up, she was overjoyed to learn that Rachel had finally come to the office.

"Rachel!!!" Olivia yelled in the doorway of Rachel's office, and she was quick to run in for a hug.

"Livi! Hi cutie! I heard you were here today, I couldn't wait to get done with school so I could see you!" Rachel said as she scooped the little girl up for a big hug. Olivia wrapped her arms around Rachel's neck happily.

"Do you have fun at big girl school?" Olivia asked.

"Law school is very different from normal school, so it's a lot harder, but it's what I love doing so that makes it fun!" Rachel explained.

"Do you get to color there?"

"No, theres no coloring. There's lots of reading and talking to other students and learning though!"

"I think I like my school better, we get to color and play and sing!"

This made Rachel laugh, and nod her head.

"Keep it that way as long as you can girly." Rachel said.

"Liv, it's almost time to go home. You wanna come say goodbye to everyone?" Harvey interrupted from the doorway.

Olivia nodded sadly, crossing the room to take her father's outstretched hand.

"Bye Rachel, have fun in big girl school."

"I will, bye Livi"

Harvey led her back through the office, stopping at everyone's offices so she could say her goodbyes, stopping at Donna's desk last. She gave the red-haired woman the biggest hug she could, Donna was her most favorite person after all.

When Olivia got home, she was thrilled to find her mom was there waiting for her and Harvey with dinner in the oven. She couldn't resist telling her mother about every last detail of her thrilling day at her dad's job.

"Well that's exciting! It sounds like you were a good little employee for daddy" You mused, looking up at Harvey with a grin.

"She's the best damn paralegal I've ever had. Might just have to hire her" Harvey joked.

"Does that mean I have to go to big girl school? That sounds really not fun."

You and Harvey laughed.

"Baby, if you don't want to go to big girl school we can talk about that when you're older." You reassured.

"You think with that attitude she has she won't want to be a lawyer like her old man?" Harvey said, smirking.

"Oh, she'll want to be in debate before she hits high school."

#harvey specter #harvey specter suits #harvey specter x reader #suits fics #harveyspecter #suits #request #requests open

[neonghostlights]

now that i finished to the moon and back (and saw that we have twins with eddie 🥺😭) i’m thinking about his reaction to finding out you’re pregnant and my heart is going to explode 🥹

also just wanted to say, that series will always hold a special place in my heart and i think you ended it so beautifully 💖

Thank you so much! I’m so happy you liked it. It is one of my favorites that I’ve ever written (especially now that it’s done lol)

A little something about telling Eddie we’re pregnant in the To The Moon and Back universe.

Alien!Eddie x Farmer! Reader series masterlist

Warnings: Reader is pregnant, illness (morning sickness), worried about the baby and health, mentions of sex/smut (offscreen) , cussing 18 + only, minors DNI

You weren’t really sure how it happened.

Well, you were pretty sure you knew how it happened. Maybe during one of your morning showers you took together everyday, or that time in the spaceship, or that time he spent all night pumping you full over and over again like he couldn’t get enough of you.

It could have been those times or any of the times in between.

You didn’t think this would ever happen. You had been on Eddie’s planet for nearly a year and you hadn’t gotten pregnant yet, so why now?

“And you’re completely sure?” You asked the doctor again and she raised an eyebrow at you that told you that without a doubt she was sure.

You had been feeling sick but mostly craving some of the yucky puffy leaves that tasted like dirt that Eddie liked so much. That was the first sign that something was wrong.

“It seems like our species and your species are compatible,” she murmured as she typed on the screen before her. You tried to read it but you weren’t great at the language yet. Speaking it was hard and reading it was even harder. Even now you were wearing the very uncomfortable translators.

You were so happy that this planet offered a more permanent translator so Eddie could switch between speaking his language and yours flawlessly without having to wear a metal piece over his tongue or in his ear.

You weren’t so keen on the idea of having something permanently placed in your body so you just went the old fashioned way.

“Would you like to see them?” The doctor asked, holding up a wand to your stomach.

“Them?”

-

When you walked out of the health clinic and onto the street you noticed a few heads turn, but most minded their business now that they were used to having a human in their midst.

It was odd being out and about without Eddie. You hadn’t even told him that you planned to come today. Luckily, on this planet no appointments were needed for doctor’s visits and with the readily available healers in every household the office was practically empty.

When you got home you waited on one of the living room seats. The home was built mostly like a house, but made out of metal. It reminded you of a very, very large trailer. It was mostly open floor plan with your bedroom on one side of the house while the kitchen and living room took up most of the living space.

You stared at the door, bouncing your legs with anxiety while you waited for him.

And when he finally opened the door you started to cry.

Eddie rushed to you, frantic.

“What’s wrong, my love?” He shushed you while assessing you for injuries.

“I’m pregnant!” You sobbed. It wasn’t really the way you wanted to tell him but damn these hormones were strong. “And it’s twins!”

You knew it was a possibility of having twins since Eddie’s planet has a high amount of them. But it wasn’t something you were prepared for.

Eddie froze, wide eyes unblinking as he stared at you.

“Eddie, you’re scaring me.”

“Pregnant? Are you really?”

You nodded and told him all about your doctors trip, how you went out alone and got the news today.

“What do you think?” Eddie asked, a hand stroking your stomach already. You could by the small movement that he was happy but trying not to scare you.

“I’m pretty fucking scared but I think I’m excited. I didn’t think I’d ever have kids but I also never thought that I’d travel to another planet too,” you admitted.

“Babies,” Eddie repeated shaking his head, “I knew you had been smelling extra sweet lately,” he said before pressing a kiss to your stomach.

Somehow you knew everything was going to be okay.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #alien!eddie munson x farmer!reader #alien!eddie munson x reader #alien!eddie munson

[flymetosnarryland]

GTFO.

Did anyone miss Muggle London like I did? 🙃

This series as a part of "Infraction" has grown incredibly. It helped me understand a lot about things I want to write and made me think about "Infraction" as... well, my first real baby, lol. I wrote one Snarry, "Oblivion" already, but I take that story as testing the waters. I tried to know Harry and Severus, placing them in situation close to, eh, something that happened to me in a way. It means a lot to me and I'm proud of myself that I managed to write a fic from the start to the end.

"Infraction" on the other hand... this one is going to be really FAT piece of work and I'm excited over the moon about it. First chapter and the first part of second already landed on Ao3, but when am I going to finish the next part of it? (If anyone is interested at all, because I personally don't touch unfinished pieces, knowing how it works 🤣)

Well, to be honest, I decided to not rush it. Not because I don't know what to write. The main outline of the story has 40k+ words. It appeared that planning a series of murders is not so easy 😂 especially when the politics are part of it (I mean, Merlin... that's the last thing I thought I will EVER write, lol) and on top of that I have some complicated relationships (or, I suppose, a cherry on molten chocolate cake 🤤). Which makes me shiver and scream, that much I want to jump into writing it again. But the more I am thinking about the plot and fitting everything I need into it (of course writing it down), the more I'm surprised that I am able to figure out something that seems damn complex to me and my three brain cells 😂 I want to be proud of this story. I want it to be... maybe not perfect, but as good as I can see, it can be. And I enjoy the idea of growing as hobby writer. It makes me really happy. Also it's my first serious CRIME story. I know I said before that I always wanted to write crime. I always thought though it's out of my range, you know, I'm too dumb to bring something interesting that other people could possibly like as I do. But with this story I'm trying new things (like bringing Marauders to life), I'm thinking in advance, I'm on both sides: the detective and the serial killer and... GOSH. I really think it will have sense and be worth to waste some time on reading it, lol!

Also there is Snarry AUctoberfest on the way and, you know, I decided I'll try to write something for the fest for the first time! (It's my year of many first times and I really like it!) Funny thing, it appears that my fic for the fest will be a little test to what I want to do with "Infraction." When it occured to me (don't ask how it happen, but the idea I've had in mind turned 180 degree and I couldn't help it! Had to just go for it 😂) I was stunned. But in the same way it's a great opportunity to try new things, see how it will go and how it will work before I'll jump back to my baby.

If anyone checked "Infraction", please don't be mad or sad or... disappointed or angry (?), that I'm not updating it yet. This fic is absolutely my main focus and I'm tinkering and working on it. As for everything, I need time (and probably cut some other projects while I will write it; so less drawing going to be main part of the writing process 🙃 I suppose in the last quarter of the year; except if I'll have my holiday from work!)

Ah, dang. I wrote a lot here, I suppose? Less shite than messy personal stuff, but still something I guess, I wanted to share? Even if I think it's pointless and worthless, because who cares, lol. I'm learning, trying to share, I think. I should, as I wasn't doing it at all and it suppose to help me to... leave the shell of person that other people think I am. Because I grew to be someone irl that I'm really tired of being. Of pretending to be. How stupid it all sounds it's beyond me and I still deny to admit it.

#snarry #Severus Snape #Harry Potter #Muggle London #and some personal nonsense

[literallylexa]

Dr. Monster (Dean x Sam x Cas x Reader)

Chapter 1: “Monster Town”

🩷•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••🩷

Saving people, killings things, it’s the family business. During one of Sam and Dean’s hunts, they came across a smaller town in Oregon. Strange encounters happen is this town frequently, however there hasn’t been any killings or missing persons until now. The boys find their way to a veterinary hospital and find the cause of it…

This story does NOT go along with the SPN series. I may change some parts and pretend like some people didn’t die, or some things didn’t happen lol. This story is about YOU. This is going to be a longer storyline. Has a bit of a mystery aspect to it. Specific chapters will be for certain romantic interests which I will put in the beginning of each chapter. This story is about (Y/N). Think of it as an entire season about YOU! Still developing a storyline but has lots of ideas. Super excited I haven’t made a fanfiction in years. Please send in any suggestions or ideas and I will try to incorporate it to the story!

🩷•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••🩷

Another day. Saving people, killing things, it’s the family business for the two hunters Sam and Dean. Sometimes the boys have a break for a couple days to a week, but that’s if they’re lucky. Most of the time the end of the world has suddenly fallen upon them, but maybe the boys get theirselves into these situations too.

“So,” Sam begins, taking a long sip of his morning iced vanilla oatmilk shaken expresso, shaking it slightly to mix the drink back together. “In a town in Oregon, lots of people have seen strange encounters.” Sam reads. “However there are no missing persons or murders. Until just recently. A girl was found dead. Heart ripped out. Could be a werwolf.”

Dean sighs and rolls over in bed, clearly feeling tired from the long drive last night. “Another case? We just finished one.” Dean whines, covering his eyes from the rays of sunshine coming in through the small holes on the dusty motel curtain.

“Just listen. So people have been seeing weird things at night. Like for example this guy wrote that he came out of a bar, and saw a full size, standing up and everything dog eating a cheeseburger.”

“Must have been a damn good burger.” Dean mumbles, slightly peaking interest. “What’s in that burger?” Sam laughs, “They do have one of the best cheeseburgers in Oregon.”

“Perfect. We can eat a cheeseburger while ganking a werwolf….okay yeah let’s go.” Dean immediately starts packing his things excitingly.

The boys arrive in the late evening. “Let’s get some burgers.” Dean drives into the parking spot at the diner. “Mountain Diner.” Sam reads aloud. The town was set next to the mountains, already high in elevation. Snow tipped mountains can be spotted in the distance, along with the forrest that surrounds the town. It was a breath of fresh air, something that the city could never provide. Sam and Dean always enjoyed spots like this, calm, quiet, away from the city and everything that comes with it. However, they still have a worry about what comes out of the woods at night. As long as Baby is with them, they’re safe. The diner smelt like beer and grilled food, almost making Dean’s mouth water from the aroma. Dean skips to the bar, with Sam trailing behind. Sam liked to see Dean this happy, after everything that’s happened, after everyone they’ve lost. Sam’s mind sometimes travels to what if they weren’t hunters anymore, what if they could stay in one town and life our their lives there. Before he thinks too much, he always snaps his head back to reality, and forces a smile. Around 9pm the diner begins to get full. People coming in large groups ordering shots and getting drunk. Lights turn low and the music genre changes. “Guess this is the bar too.” Dean laughs, “I’m already loving this town.” Sam chuckles. “One drink won’t hurt.”

“What? Sammy wants to drink?” Dean is flabbergasted. Sam never drinks while on a case. Maybe a beer with some food but never hard liquor.

“I think it’s good to have a break every now and ya know, we can’t save the world all the time.” Sam says. Sam has been reminiscing about the past. What life was for the short period of time when he was in collage, with Jess. He’s been longing to be that happy again.

“Cheers to that.” Dean smiles, handing Sam a shot.

As the night ends, Sam and Dean decide it’s time to turn in. They will work tomorrow, finding out who’s the werwolf. As the boys are heading to Baby, a loud scream rips through the air. Even with the boys being a little drunk, they immediately snap out of it and run over to the sound, guns in hand. There lies a women on the floor with a bite mark on her neck.

“Vamps.” Sam grinds his teeth.

“I thought you said it was a werwolf?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Not anymore.”

🩷•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••🩷

“Fucking vampires!” Dean throws his duffle bag onto the old motel bed. The aesthetic of this motel was actually very nice compared to previous ones. Walls were wooden, almost rustic looking. Plaid curtains cover the large window facing the woods. As they walked through the motel room, the wooden floor creaks below them.

“Yeah tell me about it.” Sam sighs, running his large hand through his soft conditioned hair. He looks through their weapons bag. Dead man’s blood, syringes, machetes, silver bullets, and silver weapons. Seems about right.

“So first a werwolf, now a vampire. What the fuck is going on?!” Dean exclaims.

Sam’s brows furrow together, creating wrinkles on his forehead. “Maybe we should talk to the locals, they’re the ones who are only seeing things at night. I mean…all the sudden two killings back to back? That makes no sense.” The Winchesters turn in for the night, a long day of head of them tomorrow.

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The boys hit up the local diner to begin the morning. Seems like at all times of the day the diner was busy. “Welcome to the diner…looks like we have some new faces here. Is it your first time visiting?” The waitress asks. Dean smiles “Yes it is. We are actually just following up on a murder, happened last night.” Sam and Dean show their badges.

“Wow the FBI is here for that? I’m pretty sure the police have already taken care of it.” The waitress continues to smile. “We never have any kind of stuff like that happen here, must have been some kind of freak accident.”

“Not sure about that since there has been two killings in the last couple days. The boss just wanted us to investigate due to the nature of this town, weird sightings and all.” Dean smiles back. “Have you seen anything yourself?”

The waitress holds her notebook to her chest, looking up at the ceiling deep in thought. “I guess now that I think of it I do remember this one encounter. It was just a couple days ago. I was walking home one night and I seen blood on the side of the road. There, I see a large, like really large dog, wolf type of thing laying there, blood all around it. Maybe got hit by a car. Could have sworn it said help me. Like a human. Actually no I’m certain it said it.”

“A large dog?” Sam questions, “Did it look like a human or like an animal?”

“An animal, obviously.” I ended up taking him to the local veterinarian. Uh… Dr. (Y/N) if I remember correctly.”

“Then what?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know, the Doctor took the dog back and helped it….listen there is a lot of weird stuff in this town. However nothings has ever hurt us. We kinda just turn a blind eye to this kind of stuff. Everyone takes care of each other here. Nobody would kill anyone. We’ve just had some back luck recently. Freak accident.” She tries to reassure Sam.

“Where is this animal hospital at?”

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“Don’t you find it weird that two of the stories we have are both of a dog or wolf, but yet it was a vamp who murdered that girl last night?” Sam asks. “What is this a supernatural hot spot?” Dean raises an eye brow.

The Winchesters arrive at the animal hospital. The parking lot and lobby is dead, not a car in sight besides Baby, and a (your car). “Must be the Dr’s car.” Dean says. A small bell rings when they enter the hospital. A sterile smell fills the air, tiles on the floor recently waxed and cleaned. Colorful pastel walls surround them. A door behind the reception area opens, revealing a woman. “Hello, how can I help you?” The woman asks. Her (long/stort) (h/c) hair frames her face perfectly, matching her beautiful (e/c) eyes, making eye contact with the boys. She wore (f/c) scrubs that were a little tight exposing all of her curves. Sam and Dean almost let out a gasp, their palms getting sweaty, their confident demeanor loosening from the godess in front of them. You must be Dr. (Y/N)?” Sam speaks up clearing his throat. It’s not often for a woman to get Sam worked up as he is right now, just talking to her. Her voice was like music to his ears. Sexy, sweet, calming. He could listen to her talk all day long about nothing.

(Y/N) slightly smiles, her soft, glossed lips touching making Sam and Dean drool imagining what those lips could do to them. “Yes I am, how can I help you?” She asks again.

“Yes uh my partner here and I are part of a wildlife rehabilitation rescue program. We had heard of an injured animal?” Sam says. (Y/N) seemed shocked, however she quickly covers her expression and puts on a smile once again. “Ah yes uh, nothing too bad of an injury, just a little scratch. They are back into the wild now, all safe and healthy.” She says a little too quick, almost acting like she is hiding something.

“Good to hear it is doing better. Would you be able to describe the animal for us to we can put out a watch for it?” Sam asks.

“It was a wolf. Just a typical wolf you’ll see from out these woods. You guys aren’t around here I’m assuming?” (Y/N) tries to end of the conversation, nervously twirling her hair.

“Unfortunately not. Have there been any other hurt animals? Any cattle mutilations? Or anything like that?” Dean asks, savoring the look of her. His eyes darken as he looks up and down her frame, taking in the sight of this beautiful woman. He loves a woman in scrubs.

“Stuff like that doesn’t happen here.” (Y/N) says defensively. “Do you have anymore questions for me or can I get back to my job?”

“No Doctor, that is all we needed. Thank you.” Sam smiles and nods his head. Sam and Dean end out of the hospital, looking at each other with a raised eye brow. (Y/N) let’s out a deep sigh, watching the boys get into their car and drive off.

“Hunters.” (Y/N) sighs and locks the door, picking up her phone to make a call. The encounter today with the strange men made (Y/N) nervous. Sure, they were tall, sexy, mysterious- but they were also hunters too. (Y/N) knows all the fake badges, stories, false identities, as she’s ran into these type of people before. She can take care of this town by herself, she has a special kind of help.

“Hello?” A man says on the other line. “Did you hear about what happened at the diner yesterday?” The man asks.

“Yeah. That’s not the only thing. Hunters are here too.”

“Hunters? Damnit…Have you spoke to them?”

“They were just here asking questions about Jake. Maybe we need to stay low for a while.

“No. We are not going to hide anymore. If the hunters are here to kill us, we will have to kill them first.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We need to stay as low profile as possible I just want to help-“ (Y/N) gets cut off by a blood curdling scream through the phone. It was her friend. Her body is immediately set into motion, checking her friends gps signal, grabbing a gun, and setting out to the woods.

••

“She’s definitely hiding something.” Dean immediately says when they are out of eye sight. Sam agrees, nodding his head. “I’m just still confused on why there was a vamp killing and then one wolf. I mean, and then this whole town is weird. They just look the other way.”

“Our only lead is (Y/N). I say before she heads out we force her to tell the truth. Silver knife and dead man’s blood just in case.” Dean explains.

“Really? You just want to barge in there half- cocked?” Sam questions, almost angry.

“Clearly nobody else knows what’s going on except (Y/N). She could be the supernatural being!” Dean stops Baby on the side of the road.

“What if there are others?” Sam asks. “Maybe we can just follow her home and confront her tomorrow. What if there’s another killing tonight? We need to keep an eye on (Y/N). Then we can rule her out.” A fast movement catches the boys attention. They peer into the forest besides them. A scream rips through the air, almost sounding animalistic. “That didn’t sound human.” Sam and Dean arrive to the location. Another man is dead, however his head is chopped off. “Fuck.” The boys say in unison. (Y/N) arrives to the location as well, chest heaving up and down as she was running. Sweat rolling down her face. She gasps at the sight of her friend. Sam and Dean point their guns at her “Stop where you are at.” The boys check the body. They lift up the man’s lips and expose the mans teeth. “Vampire.”

(Y/N) stares at Sam and Dean, debating on what to do next. She doesn’t do much hand to hand combat, there is no way she could win this fight. Especially comparing their size to hers. “You killed him.” She whimpers, heart racing.

Sam and Dean are confused. “We didn’t kill him. He was like this. Do you know this man?”

“Yes I do. I know what he is, and I know what you are too.” (Y/N) raises her gun. “You’re hunters!” She yells out. The boys are wide eyed, confused in the situation. “And what are you?” Sam asks.

“I’m human. I’m just a doctor.”

“And how do we know that?” Dean questions.

“You don’t. But both you and I know there’s something out there killing people.”

“This man was not a person. He’s a vampire.” Dean kicks his head facing (Y/N).

“Not all monsters are evil.” (Y/N) says, aiming a gun at the men. “Monsters protect this town; they protect me. Now, I don’t know what you guys brought with you when you came here, but you need to leave. Right. Now.” (Y/N) clocks her gun, aiming to kill.

“Are you a hunter?” Sam asks putting his hands up into the air. “We can work together, kill whatever killed your friend and that woman last night.” Sam takes multiple slow steps towards (Y/N).

“We can handle what’s going on here. You need to leave.”

“We?” Dean questions. Sam continues to walk closer to (Y/N).

“I’m not alone. If you hurt me you’ll have monsters come hunt you, wherever you are. I take care of them, and they take care of my town.”

Sam and Dean take a glance at each other. Is she really human? They haven’t been able to do any tests on her. Dead man’s blood, salt, holy water, silver. “Put down the gun.” Sam asks, being face to face with (Y/N) at this point. He looks down at her with a gentle smile on his face, reaches out a hand to hers. The second they touch, (Y/N)’s (e/c) eyes glow, and she falls to the ground. Images of hell, Lucifer, fill her brain and then, she only sees black.

“She’s not human. Not fully at least.” A raspy voice wakes up (Y/N). His dark blue eyes burn into her soul and he looks at her. Almost too closely. Their lips were itches apart, Castiel could see every detail on (Y/N)’s face. Her eyes rip awake, locking eyes with Castiel. (Y/N) blushes. Another sexy man? Castiel takes off the bondage from (Y/N)s mouth. “If you’re going to kill me do it already.” She spits out. Castiel stands up and looks at Dean. “You’re not getting off that easy.” Dean smirks, making (Y/N) stand up, pressing her body against his as he walks her over to Baby. “Get in.” A bolt of lightning strikes through (Y/N)’s body as it’s pressed against the unknown hunter. She silently curses herself out for even getting aroused. Before she sits in Baby, she takes a look at the three men behind her. All very attractive men in their own way. Something felt different about the man who wore the trench coat. (Y/N) doesn’t tell many people, but she can spot humans from the supernatural. And there was nothing human about that man. Why are hunters with a supernatural being?

“Now are you going to tell us what the hell happened back there? Your eyes glowed.” Dean says, driving down the road back to the animal hospital.

“I saw hell. Lucifer. Demons.” (Y/N) says confused. “Who are you?” She questions.

“I’m surprised you don’t know who we are. Pretty much everything supernatural knows us. I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean. And that’s Castiel, he is an angel.”

“Wait. You…oh my god.” (Y/N) sits back. “Aren’t you the guys who opened hells gate like…twice and let Lucifer out the cage?” (Y/N) gasps. “I hear countless of stories about you. I just didn’t expect-“ (Y/N) catches herself before she rambles on about how she didn’t expect them to be so handsome. Sam and Dean scratch the back of their hands while Castiel sighs, face palming. “Unfortunately but hey what’s done is done.” Dean chuckles.

(Y/N) knew exactly what happened back there. Sometimes when she touches somebody she can see their past, or sometimes the future. She’s not sure what she is, psychic or something. Not to mention her relations to monsters. She has always had a soft spot for them, well…some of them. She wasn’t going to share anymore information to the Winchesters and the Angel then she has to. (Y/N) knows that everyone who gets involved with them ends in a bloody death. However; she has also heard amazing things about them. How many people they’ve saved, helped. Maybe they could help her too. She felt drawn to them in some type of way. (Y/N) knew that she shouldn’t be involved with them but she couldn’t help herself.

“So what’s the plan.” Sam says to the group, interrupting the silence.

“(Y/N) are you willing to work with us? Do you have any idea who could be killing people?” Castiel asks with a firm voice, not blinking as he looks at (Y/N). (Y/N) sighs. She knows she shouldn’t be involved with them. But she can’t help it. “Let’s go up to the hospital and think of a game plan.”

Baby’s engine roars, and the four of them head down the road.

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Let me know how you guys liked this first chapter! Who and what is (Y/N)? Who will she choose? Who is YOUR favorite?!

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#dean winchester x reader #sam and dean #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #dean x reader #castiel x reader #castiel #cas x reader #spnfandom #spn #spn fanfic #x reader #smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #cas and dean #sam and cas #supernatural x reader

[uaremyjae]

My thoughts on my One Piece journey and How it’s affected me 🩷

This is going to be long ass post lol

I think this is the platform that I never knew that I will ever comeback to but you know because of one piece and deprived of Sanji, Nami & Law content, ✨ here I am 😁✨ *shamelessly comeback after abandoned tumblr for good 11 years lmao*.

Anyway, I just want to let out my thoughts on my one piece journey and how it affected me. So bear with me. This is only place I can talk about One Piece because other platforms I had is related to kpop * Yes I’m a kpop fan. HEAVY ON NCT. Neo Got My Back.*

I know about one piece way back when I’m teenager. It’s just I don’t start to watch it/ read it somehow?? Idk why 🤷‍♀️ I’m also confused to as why because I did grew up watch anime like FMAB, Naruto, Bleach, Black Butler, K-On, Fairy Tail on tv. HECK I EVEN WATCH THE LONG ASS DETECTIVE CONAN TOO 😭

I think it’s because back in the day ( 2010 - 2017 ), I had lack of access to internet and not exposed to the series at all. Besides the local TV station here, only aired Naruto ,Bleach and those anime I mentioned . *I’m just 24 years old btw*

So around September 2023, I came across to One Piece content on TikTok and funny enough it’s Brook edit! I was so intrigued with this character and little did I know I watch a bunch of One Piece clip here and there on TikTok. To be fair, I am basically spoiled myself that time 😬 but I’m the type dgaf if I got spoiled because I won’t remember at all later on. 🤷‍♀️

So I decide to start watch it. First few episodes, my reaction was like “ Okay Luffy is an interesting guy🧐his body stretches and always smiled! He got damn hands tho ngl”. Zoro, my reaction was like “ahaaa SO THIS IS ZORO THAT EVERYONE KEEP TALKING ABOUT. Quite a Stud.”

Nami, interesting female character that I can relate because I like money 🤑 and her backstory is so sad. Ussop is also another character I gradually love over the time!

Then COMES MY HUSBANDO, SANJI. Man I have a thing for a man who can cook and looks good in suits. Sanji really makes me having my first anime crush ever! I DONT HAVE A CRUSH ON ANYONE IN NARUTO & Detective Conan but One Piece made me have one 🤧 *The upgrade from loving a guy that exist but doesn’t know you exist ( haechan,jaehyun & jaemin bb i luv you guys but Sanji 😮‍💨) to loving a guy who are not exist on this plane of earth 👀*

Little did I know I start to binge watch it. First day of watching, 30 episodes in 6 hours. 10 days later I already watch 325 episodes . but the show is so good! The story telling that oda created really hit home to me and the foreshadowing & lore he created makes me hooked unlike other story that I have read & watched.

Here’s the thing, to me every anime that I watch, I never like finish it . Sometimes I would just watch last ep and called it the day. This is not only apply on anime, it’s apply to western shows, my own local shows & k-dramas. So One Piece truly like solidified their place on my heart. I finally can understand why one piece are so loved for decades!

Also during those times, I hit rock bottom too. I quit my job because I was falsely accused for stealing shit at my work place and being discriminated by my ex-boss due to being the youngest one for my entire work.( everyone else was in their 40’s ). That time I was desperate as I need some money to achieve my bucket-list and want to lessen the burden of my family. Lord heavens knows what I’m going through, got death threats by that mf. Twisted the truth that causing my whole family cut ties with her severely. From there, I felt so stress and worried.

So One Piece is my way of escapism and it’s been a beautiful and exciting journey. Compared to last time, I took a 7 months breaks from works due to burn out & anxiety, this time it doesnt took long for me to overcome those situations and my “year-end blues” that I called is not as bad as before. I also has been actively try to get a job asap so I can buy an Ipad as I want to start learning digital drawing again after watching one piece.

One piece teach me it’s never late to start a new journey towards your dream! I used to dream to be a graphic designer or animators but my family don’t want me to be that. They want me to have that conservative jobs like working in government, an accountant etc. so essentially I gave up those dreams so I can make them proud of me. It’s been bothering me for so long as I felt like I should have go for what I want not what people want. At the end, I abandoned my accountancy knowledge and worked as an admin & a baker which I found a lot more less stressful that being an accountant. I guess what people describe after knows me personally being a confident, free-spirited & rebellious is just the way I am. AND oddly enough One Piece is just perfect manga & anime for me!

At this point, I already caught up with anime. I’m a weekly basis anime watchers now. I also has caught up with manga too. It’s been a huge revealing & fresh experience of One Piece for me. I felt like I being myself again! It’s weird but it’s the truth! I never felt so at ease and being seen. I just want to do what I want. It’s just fitting fate for me to be a One Piece fan!

That’s all what I want to say… if you really read this till the end. Thank you!

#one piece #I’m lucky to found one piece #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #nami #ussop #sanji #tony tony chopper #PEOPLE SHOULD START WATCH ONE PIECE FOR BETTER LIFE! I’m being real here! #soul king brook #franky #jimbei #nico robin

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

The Perfect Life

Part Eight

Summary- 3.9k Dark Steve Rogers x You x Dark Bucky Barnes. You finally were able to tell them you were pregnant and the men couldn't be happier in life. But there is unease in this perfect trio and finally, some things come to light that causes action.

Warnings- Death of major character/s. (Who is it?!) These two men are absolutely delusional, sexual content- dub-con/non-con, graphic descriptions of weapons and violence, and blood. This is an 18+ Only Blog.

A/N- THIS IS IT! THE END! I managed to finish it this year which was my big major writing goal of the year. Wow, I have worked on this series since I first joined Tumblr in 2020. So, Thank you so damn much for reading, sharing, commenting, and sending asks about it. It kept me working on finishing it. Will I do another dark series like this again? I have no fucking idea, this one took so much for me to do. Lol. Anyways, enjoy! Thank you all again.

Chapter Seven / Masterlist

You felt Bucky behind you, pressing the length of his body against yours to pin your hips against the kitchen counter while your hands were stuck in the hot sudsy water. A brush of his chin against your neck had you tilting for him, biting your lip as your hands stilled, clenching around the plate you had been scrubbing. 

“That impatient today Buck?” You teased as his hand snaked around your body to rub his hands up and down along your waist. Steve was elsewhere, leaving the two of you all alone for now, the men were sure to give one another adequate alone time with you, even though they don't mind sharing you now and then. 

It was a harmonious life now, since you learned how to behave, much to their delight. 

“Seeing you patter through the kitchen in that dress after the news got me worked up.” His hand pushed at the back of your dress, lifting enough to bunch it into your lower back, his palm rubbing at a cheek playfully. You let your eyes close to embrace the sensations building. “I love it like this, I love us being like this.” 

“This is what you and Steve always wanted.” Your tone dropped, lustful, inviting more as if it was actually your permission to give him. “You both kept me full, always stuffed with you for this.” You leaned back into him, even though he was now so stiff behind you. “In the bed, over the counter, in the barn… the basement.” Your heart raced at the memories, pushing them down to remember some of the better times. 

“Yeah…” Bucky snipped a bit, making you grin at his aggravated tone. “Steve and I.” 

You moved to twist, facing the love sick man all wrapped around you while you imagined what he was thinking. Your sudsy hands moved to his face, warming his cheeks till they were red and pushed up into his strands of longer hair to pull him down to meet your mouth, opening for him that he forgot his earlier frustrations at sharing you. His hands clasped the back of your thighs to lift you, perch you on the counter's edge so you could wrap your legs around him. 

“Wanna know a secret Buck?” Your nose nudged at his before placing sweet kisses at the corner of his mouth, along his jawline to his ear. “I really feel this baby is yours.” 

You felt him loosen against you, pressing in closer between your thighs. His hands wandered, touching the outer part of your thighs and into the crease that led to where he really wanted to be. “Has to be, as far along as I am and Steve just took me from behind, stretching me. Never came in my womb like you did. You were so deep in me.” You bit his earlobe gently before rocking your hips against him. “Your baby Buck.” 

“You really think so?” He groaned, running his thumb through your slit, you felt the burst of arousal slick from you, spreading it to your clit to press against you, making you whine into his neck. You heard the hopeful tone, felt him vibrate with wanting all of you and the baby so much. You tugged at the back of his head, your eyes shining as you smile happily at him. 

“I do James. And I’m so…” You licked over his lips, sensing that flare of need in his gaze, his pupils widened as he took you in. “Needy for just you right now. Please James.” You begged, rubbing against his hand. “I need you to fill me again.” 

You knew what he wanted and he pressed in more, able to feel his cock hard in his jeans as he turned feral for you, kissing you harshly while your hands fell to yank his jeans open and rub your palms, still so warm but now dry against his cock, squeezing enough to make him swell all that much more.

This was everything Bucky wanted. You all willing with open arms, a baby in you, days spent with music playing by you singing happily, cuddling in his lap while reading, evenings in the kitchen dancing around each other while laughing as dinner was being made, then nights he could fuck you, love you, make you come so hard you sobbed and screamed his name. You were able to take him in all the ways he wanted and then begged for more. 

Having to share you was hard now, before it didn’t matter. Steve was his brother, his best friend and sharing you was just as easy as everything else they did for each other. But now jealousy curled in his heart as he yanked back to pull you to the edge, dropping to his knees to bury his face in your pussy, having to taste you because he needed that taste on his lips later, when you had to be with Steve. 

His tongue buried in his favorite place, licking deep stripes up your glistening pussy while you fist your fingers into his hair, leaning back to arch your hips. “Again Buck.” You whined. He had no intention of stopping. His hands grasped your thighs, pressing you wide open all for him, lapping hungrily as if he didn't just eat your delicious meal. He spent moments on your clit, short and hard brushes of his tongue, making you squirm your hips like you couldnt take it although that sweet voice of yours raised to a high pitch of his name. 

That made him smirk, letting Steve hear how good you liked it when he was with you. Using his thumb and forefinger he spread your heated folds apart, watching your hole clench while it wept. “Doll, you are such a needy whore for this.” Then his tongue slashed over it, dipping in enough for you to raise your hips for him to push deeper. 

“I always have been for you Bucky.” You tugged at his hair to bury him in closer. He bit you enough to make you jolt against his face for more. “That first time you and Steve had me, I woke up to you in my apartment doing this and I never wanted you to stop.” 

His tongue pushed deep and you met his mouth with enthusiasm, slamming your head back into the kitchen cabinets and shooting your hand out to scatter the last of the dishes to crash into the sink. When he pulled away, you felt your body simmer on the edge, about to crash but ease back. Tears pricked your eyes as you lifted your head to glance at him. “Would you have come with us Doll, that night?” 

You bit your lip, a few of those tears escaping to trail down your cheek. Bucky leaned forward to catch them on his tongue, metal fingers now stretching you. “Yeah James.” Your tone turns soft while you tighten your legs around his waist. “I would have gone anywhere with you. I love you, I was just so scared in the beginning.” Your kisses turned soft, and sweet on him as his fingers kept you brimming with need. 

“Doll…” He lifted his head away enough to look down at you as you shuddered in his hold, something like regret, sadness passing. “I never wanted to do that to you, all those times we had to…” 

You push your fingers to his mouth, smiling softly as you smoothed your touch against the worry lines against the corners of his mouth. “I know it wasn’t you James.” Your gaze flashed over his shoulder nervously. “Steve he…” You moaned just then, your words cutting off when he twisted his fingers stroking you to come once again. The sensation crested and you clutched yourself against him while that warmth blazed through you, your pussy clenching his fingers. 

“Don’t Y/N, Not when it’s us alone.” His eyes sorrowed and he almost pulled away when you fist your fingers in his shirt to keep him against you. 

Several deep breaths later, the sorrow in your gaze matched his, flashing glimpses of fear. “No, you don’t understand Bucky. Steve, he hurts me, not in the way that feels good like you do.” You broke a soft sob before you muffled it. “He scares me, I don’t love him. I’m afraid of what he is going to do… to us if he finds out that this one isn’t…” Your hand went for the one he had gripping your waist and moved it to your belly. “Please, don’t let us lose all this because of him.” 

Bucky frowned, so many thoughts assaulting him. His chest tightened as he looked at you. You looked fearful once more over his shoulder. So many times Steve was harder than he should be, making you cry out for nothing more than to hear your voice. Or that's what Bucky thought when he heard you with Steve in his room. Bucky’s breathing became rushed, feeling his decision start to settle, the idea of having to get rid of Steve. 

Get rid of his best friend for you. You were his everything now, his life and future. Could he say goodbye to his past for you? 

“Y/N…” Bucky started and you let your forehead lean against his, a soft cry breaking from you. 

“I ask too much, I know. I’m just so scared for our child Bucky. I have seen the way he looks at me, questioning whose it is.” 

Bucky’s eyes softened as he searched yours, looking for any hint of a lie. But there wasn’t any, he knew Steve’s temper and had seen you cringe away when he came for you. Bucky couldn’t let that happen anymore. “I will take care of it.” 

Your eyes widened with hope. “R-r-really?” Your nose wrinkled so worriedly that Bucky placed a kiss there. His cock still ached, throbbing with need even though the energy of this conversation changed. You arched into him, your wet pussy rubbed against him. “It can be just us Bucky, no more sharing.” 

Steve… Well, Steve had to go. 

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Bucky wasted no time. He had a room full of weapons, locked up of course. When you first came, they didn’t want you having any access to those. Back then they were worried you would do something with them, any one of them required training in order to use it. You would have just hurt yourself and if something happened to you. 

Bucky didn’t even want to think about such a thing. 

In his room, he let the security system scan his palm, immediately opening the small room built off the bedroom. Stepping in, Bucky scanned his horde, All his preferred weapons were here. Gleaming, ready to be used. 

Bucky took care of his weapons, hours of his life spent managing them so that they would strike reliably. Part of him fell along his sniper rifle, debating in its use. It would be quick and clean for Steve, he would never feel it when Bucky shot him. 

But he remembered you, how scared you were when you talked to him and anger spiraled in his belly, loosening his hold on his rifle. 

Steve scared you, had hurt you unnecessarily. No, that was too easy. Bucky needed something a bit more personal for his friend. 

Bucky needed to see his blade bury deep, drain the life from him. His hand circled around the deadly handle and pulled it from its sheath. His own gaze glinted off the gleam as if it was telling him this was the right choice. 

Setting the scabbard back on the shelf, Bucky palmed the blade to hide against his forearm, appearing relaxed as he left his room, going to hunt down Steve. 

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Steve let his hands drift down your back while you had your hands looped around his neck. The soft bit of music filtered into the dimly lit living room, the two of you swaying. The look on his face was bliss as he swayed you in the living room. You were still wearing your dress from earlier, the swish of fabric on the back of your bare thighs a soft addition to the music. 

“I thought, maybe before the baby comes and you are busy here, we could go on a trip.” 

You hummed curiously against his chest before glancing up at him, a sweet smile on your perfect lips that Steve felt the need to drop a quick little kiss there. 

You responded with a slight arch to your toes to meet him before letting him swing you in a move that had you folding back into his arms. “Where too Steve?” 

“I was thinking about France. We went through France during the war… I want to show it to you. I think you would fall in love with it.” 

You swayed, running your hand down his chest to stop right where his heart beat all for you, his perfect Sweetheart, he hoped you could feel how strong it was, all for you. You had become everything he wanted, so sweet and giving but a minx in the bedroom. No wonder you were pregnant. “I would really like that Steve.” You said softly, a hint of shyness in your tone. He cupped your face, smiling as he lifted it to look down at you. 

Beautiful he thought as his eyes swept over you. You weren’t showing yet, but it was a matter of time and he couldn't wait to see the glow. “We would have to leave soon, I don’t want to risk traveling during your last trimester. Can you be a good girl for us?” His eyes sharpened at the question, his face melding to a stern one that had you nodding in his hold. 

“Yes, I promise Sir. I learned my lessons.” You tilted to kiss him again, assuring him with all that sweetness you possessed. “You and Bucky are my home, my life, we are all perfect together and meant to be.” 

That made him relax, he loved being able to share you with Bucky. Sure he found you first and could have done all this without him, but Bucky was just as important as you. Bucky had always been his closest friend and they shared everything. Sharing you just made sense. 

“Get the fuck off Y/N.” A snarl came from behind that made Steve twist around, protectively shoving you behind him when his gaze fell on Bucky. A dark gaze met Steve’s blue one as you stumbled back away from him. 

“What did you say?” Steve snipped back, agitated that Bucky intruded on them. “What is wrong with you? I was just telling Y/N about France.” 

“You won’t be taking my Doll anywhere.” Bucky advanced and Steve gave him a quizzical look, confused as he sized himself up. 

“Buck what the hell is going on with you?” Steve reached behind him but didn’t feel you. He wouldn’t take his eyes off Bucky. “Did something happen to trigger the-” His eyes widened in alarm, bracing himself. 

“I’m perfectly sound!” Bucky barked, a flash of his palm revealed the serrated dagger, a lunge bringing him to Steve and the two men crashed into one another. Steve had enough of a start to block the attack, but they both crashed into the couch, making it collapse under their forceful weight. They struggled, Steve managing to twist Bucky underneath him, both their hands wrapped around the blade's handle, each man putting all their strength and determination in using it. 

“Bucky stop!” 

“She’s mine Punk.” Bucky smirked coldly, the plates of his arm shifting and the knife, twisted out of Steve’s hold, plunging it into his neck, efficiently as Bucky twisted into the artery pumping so strongly. When he yanked it out just as viciously, the blood sprayed from Steve’s neck as the Captain, in shock with wide eyes on a pale face, fell backward off him. 

His hand clamped over the gaping wound, but the blood never slowed. It was over for him in a matter of his blood to drain, each spurt getting weaker and weaker till it drained from between his fingers down his body and all over the floor. 

Bucky pushed himself up, breathing heavily as he looked down at his best friend's body, his eyes void of anything now. The Captain was dead. 

The pain that Bucky should have felt was all victory, you were safe, all his, and now both of you could be happy together like he had been dreaming about. “Doll?” He called out, glancing up from Steve to look at where you were. “It’s safe, he’s dead. You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it anymore.” He glanced around, but you were missing. 

Bucky knew you were probably scared of them fighting and he went searching. Checking all the usual spots downstairs, he even jiggled the handle to the basement, but that was also locked. “Doll? Come out.” He ordered a bit more sternly, getting frantic with the need to find you. “I promise Baby it’s okay.” Grabbing the stair banister, he rushed up the stairs, barging onto the landing to glance at the bedroom doors. All of them were wide open into dark bedrooms. “Y/N.” Bucky said sharply, a frown marring on his bloody face. “Just answer me.”

Still silent, he poked his head into your room, glancing in the bathroom and then into your closet, empty. Falling to his knees, he glanced underneath and saw nothing. “Fuck, where are you?” 

Bucky doubted you had gone outside, but perhaps because you certainly weren't anywhere he could find. He pushed up enough to think. The door had been shut, but he assumed Steve would have that locked up by now. That was something he had done every night. 

Then it dawned on him, you must have gone to hide in Bucky’s room, where you would feel safe from Steve. Steve never went in there unless Bucky invited him to join, which was rare. Pushing off the floor, he left yours behind and started to his. “Doll, it’s just me, I’m coming inside.” He said softly, pushing the door open further to step in when something sharp laced into his back, making him arch with a scream while he stumbled forward. 

Something tackled him onto the bed with a hiss, making his face plant onto the mattress and weight went to his waist with powerful thighs gripping him while the knife was yanked out of his back and slammed down again with rage. 

Thighs squeezed him that he was familiar with, usually, they were soft and reluctant, but now they were iron tight as he jerked underneath them, yelling. Another jerking motion happened with the knife, ripping from him. He swore while it pierced his lung. His hands planted against the mattress to push himself up and throw the weight off. 

The blade that was yanked out of his back slashed at his hands, making him collapse again and then a voice came in his ear, a snarl of coldness coming from it. 

“You really thought I loved you.” Your blade buried into his shoulder before he gave a heave and tossed you and your knife off. He rolled off the mattress to land on the floor with a grunt, reaching underneath to grab at a gun he hid underneath. You scrambled across to laugh victoriously while his hand came up empty. “Fucking idiot, you really didn't think I would find it, James. You got comfortable here, sloppy.” You clicked the safety off, looming over him with it aimed at his head. 

Bucky rolled to his back, blood making the floor slippery as he pushed away from where you were aiming at him. “Everything you said…” 

“A lie. All of it, pregnancy too.” You sneered, not taking your eyes off him. A wounded animal was dangerous and Bucky had that look of an animal backed in a corner. But you couldn’t help yourself, you had over a year's worth of anger to make him feel, you too were backed into a corner and had to attack in any way you could. “You were so easy Buck, you loved the idea of me belonging to you, turning you on Steve was fucking easy.” 

Pain flashed on his face, thinking about his best friend he had just killed for you. His eyes glowered at you. “A year of fucking you, Tony assured us you were able to bear children. Had your IUD removed before we brought you here?” He shot back, pain and betrayal stark on his face among his anger and sheer confusion of how you managed to stay child-free.

“Luck happened to be on my side. The yard is full of wild plants I can make teas out of, among other things.” Your finger hovered over the trigger. “No way was I going to let myself be yours or Steve’s. I would rather die.” You hissed out. “Now I don’t have to.” Your finger squeezed, unwavering as you had it set on Bucky’s face. 

He yelled, tossing up his metal hand to block the bullet but he was too slow in his weakened state and just missed his chance, the bullet landing between his eyes and snapping his head back to bounce off the floor, staring unseeing now upwards. 

You dropped the gun on the bed, collapsing on the messy blood-soaked sheets with a laugh, a relieved laugh that it was over. 

They were dead, both of them. Before escaping up the stairs, you had seen Bucky slaughter Steve and watched your nightmare fade away like he was nothing. Then you barreled up the stairs. In your bedroom, you had the biggest kitchen knife you were able to sneak away a couple days ago after Bucky had sharpened them. 

After digging the blade out from your dresser where you hid it, you went into Bucky’s room, searching. You knew he had to have something stashed and sure enough, your fingers grazed the cool barrel of the gun, it was all coming together. 

When it was Steve and Bucky together, you would always lose. You knew this. But separated, you stood a chance. Maybe. 

It paid off though, Bucky fell for the dream you weaved him, months of feeding his desires made him wild with the need for that life, The Perfect Life with just you. 

And now, now they are dead and you are free. 

You shed out of the clothes they had you wearing, dropping the fluttering dress over Bucky, your parting gift to him. Going to your room, you showered to wash any remnants of them off you. Redressing in fresh clothing, you heard Suga meow at you from the window sill, her tail curling in a curious question shape as she blinked at you. “I just have one last thing to do.” You scratched under the purring cat's chin. When you left, she bolted after you, following you down the stairs. 

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

You were just entering the darkened woods, Suga was draped around your shoulders, her claws dug into your sweatshirt to steady herself on her perch as she continued purring in your ear, a small makeshift harness attached to her for you to keep her from wandering off. Ahead of you, a small flashlight led the path away from the house, bright enough to keep the darkness from swallowing you in a panic. Behind you in the distance, flames stretched to the sky like a blazing victory. Even this far away you could hear the roar of the fires you had set before you left. The sunflowers were turned towards the warmth, full bloom once again for the start of the season while the house and barn started to fall in on themselves, the fire having charred enough of the structure to make them collapse with a resounding boom.

THE END

#dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel au #dark marvel au #dark steve rogers x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #amber writes #sweater writes #chris evans characters #sebastian stan characters #the perfect life

[grapenehifics]

20 Question Fic Writer Tag

Hell yeah I'll play. Thanks @palfriendpatine66 :D

How many works do you have on ao3?

AO3 says ten, but one of those is a series continuation of another one, so I count it as nine...although tomorrow that will go up by one, after the reveals for the Ghost Window challenge go out.

2.) What's your ao3 word count? 

Oh god. 690,376. I honestly think I was happier not knowing that fact about myself.

3.) What fandoms do you write for? 

I don't multitask well. I can write Star Wars fics or I can write Star Wars fics. I haven't even ventured outside the Clone Wars era yet.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Some Technical Difficulties - big gap - Solsbury Hill - An Uncivil War - medium-sized gap - An Unlikely Duo - another gap-ish - Down by the Seaside.

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yep. I like it when authors reply to me when I leave a comment, so I try to pay it forward. Also sometimes we get into fun little side chats.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

At the moment, not one single damn one of them. They have angst in them, but none of them end on angst. However as of about twenty-four hours from now, my answer will be, Ghost Window AU.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Literally all of them. I'm happy to read angst, but when it comes to writing I am firmly in the happy endings camp.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I had some people tell me they were dropping out of Solsbury Hill because it wasn't getting to the Obikin fast enough, but I wouldn't call that hate. So, no.

(Side note, though: you don't have to tell authors that. Just delete your subscription quietly.)

But, I am also very ready to delete any and all negative comments. This is my fun side project; good vibes only.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

...pretty vanilla kind, honestly. Again, I read much more adventurously than I write. (Although, as recently as two years ago I would have said I don't write smut at all, so hit me up two years from now and maybe I'll be writing hardcore d/s, I don't know.)

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

By the strict definition, no. If you're talking 'dump Star Wars characters into settings of other movies', then hell yeah, that's kind of my jam right now. Down by the Seaside is Obikin Overboard. Next year I'm planning to publish Obikin Jurassic Park, Obikin Parent Trap, and Obikin Princess Diaries II. And I have a couple more on my to-do list.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Is this a thing I need to worry about?? Shit.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

@kittonafoxgirl did a podfic of Some Technical Difficulties and it is still like one of the top five most rad things that has ever happened to me; does that count?

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No but @fulcrum843 are currently mulling something over...

I do get a lot of help with my writing though. @piecesofeden11 basically wrote all the DnD stuff in An Unlikely Duo. I talk stuff out on Tumblr with folks all the time before I actually sit down to write it (or during, lol).

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

I have no plans to write anything other than Obikin, and there's so much new good fic that it takes up most of my reading time as well.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I wouldn't call it a WIP because there are no words on a page but I love the *idea* of a fic based on Jenn Barkley from Parks & Rec but have no idea what direction to take it and may never get to it. (If anyone wants to take this idea and run with it please do; it is very much up for grabs!)

16.) What are your writing strengths?

This is a weird thing to answer about myself but I hope I write with a sense of movement, propulsion, even a little suspense - as a reader I love to feel that I have to turn the page, I have to see what comes next, I don't want to put this fic/book down - and I try to work towards that goal in my own writing.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Getting bogged down in details. It drives me crazy in movies when characters have these huge mansions but seemingly never go to work and somehow this has translated into me being incapable of just writing a smutty one-shot or whatever because what is everyone's job and how much is their mortgage payment and do they get paid on Fridays or Mondays and how many bedrooms does that apartment have.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

See answer above about over-complicating things: I came up with this whole system for An Uncivil War for whether I'm writing out the dialogue in a language other than Basic (I feel like we really only have enough information for me to be able to do this in Huttese and Mando'a, and even then only short conversations in certain subjects), or simply noting that a character is saying something in another language ("he said in Ryl" or whatever), or mixing Basic and a word/words in another language within the same sentence. It was important to me to capture that multilingualism, but it's also a lot of work, ngl.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Technically Johnlock but I never finished/published anything.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I love all my babies equally, she lied.

It's the Can't Stop the Suns series, which is An Uncivil War, Pick Up the Pieces (more than halfway completed), and Sometimes Fate Steps In (loosely outlined). Sometimes I'll just look over my notes and get giddy about how much good stuff I'm packing in there and how much *more* good stuff I haven't even gotten to yet. I'm throwing the kitchen sink of stuff I love at it. Even if the final version doesn't quite live up to the vision I see in my head (it rarely does), as long as I get close I'll be happy.

I tag @piecesofeden11, @underacalicosky, @fulcrum843, and, as usual, anyone else who feels up for it!

#obikin #solsbury hill #an uncivil war #an unlikely duo #down by the seaside #pick up the pieces #let's get together

[anodyne-sunflower]

Love me like you do (Chapter 31 END)-Balem series

A/N: Guys...guys, I actually did it. 4 and a half years later but I fucking did it lmao listen, this was always the ending I had in mind, but a little shorter than intended, but it is what it is and I am just happy to have finished it for anyone still interested lol fucking hell...even if no one reads it, I'm proud I even came back to finish. Not beta read because I'm too worked up to care about grammar.

Mood Music: my own cheers and tears

***

Blades of grass thread between your toes, cold and smooth, dotted by the dew of morning that provides a sense of relief to the heat around you. You spread your arms in the warmth of the atmosphere, eyes closed and head tilted back to let your very being breathe in the day.

Your chest rises and falls with every hardened breath, inhales just as strong as the exhale to take in the sunrise. And oh, is it one with earth. The view brings a smile to your face, feet taking one, two, three steps until the field is open, long stalks of various plants tickling your skin, over your bare feet and ankles, the tallest reaching your shoulders that peek over the red cloth of your dress.

It’s Summer, you think. Must be. For the heat is grand and the sunrise is wanting.

It’s big, orange, burning yellow and bright along the horizon of where you stand. You take the view in, lips quirking into a grin, reminiscing of Summer’s past, where earth has given you joy as a child.

This is much the same. A grand sun, backdropped to orange and yellow hues, signaling the day’s start. But in contrast, there is snow. Falling from above, in delicate flakes, hitting your bare shoulders, melting over collarbones and you hold your hand out, collecting them into your palm.

Snow in summer....not of earth, and it makes you smile. “Just like home...”

***

“I don’t know what to say...”

His forehead came to rest on yours, eyes closed as he urged you to say what you both wanted. “You do.”

You do....

The very idea of that made you laugh, inwardly of course, because you were more than aware a certain Primary would frown upon that reaction. “I don’t, Balem. I don’t even know where to begin...”

His eyes pierce into you, steady, eerily calm but you’ve known him long enough to gauge the swirl of fear in them, tinged with an urgency that begs you to choose him. To desire him like you once did—still did. “You come here, expecting—expecting what? That I allow myself to be yours again? That I turn a blind eye to the world you literally create for yourself? You’re asking me to live with the fact you...you...”

“I am what I am, little bird. And I’ve never claimed to be more. I have given you my very existence, earth be damned...” His eyes flicker down your features, lingering on your lips, hand raised by his side to touch but he doesn’t dare to do more than merely hover there, waiting, pleading for your acceptance. “I don’t want it, I don’t yearn for it, there is little here I care for and I’m currently in its presence.” Balem’s gaze softens, that sheen of hesitance there, so unlike his usual self that makes you question so much. “I have promised you. I will never take from this planet, there is no bargain here. I ask nothing in return, but if I must,” and it’s then you hold your breath, solid in your chest as he begins to kneel.

The very sight is unimaginable, a man with so much to his name, his worth so grand you’re of very little consequence to him in the grand scheme of life...yet, he kneels. Before you.

The hand he had stretched out now moves forward, gripping yours in a tight hold, fingers threading through your own. His palms are cold, you notice, and all at once, you wish to warm them.

“If I must yield to you,” and he squeezes, so softly, but the touch burns all the same. “Know that I do so with every intent of my...” a breath. “My heart.”

“Balem—“

“Come back with me—to me, Y/N.”

His words pierce you, throughout your entire soul, so strong they make you squeeze his hands back in response. You’d be foolish to deny the way your heart seeks him, willingly beating in earnest of a love you hold. There is no consequence to your emotions, that much you’re plainly aware of, but it is morality that whispers in your ear. Softly kissing the idea that he can never change into your mind. That he can gift your worlds and still hold many more in his grasp.

Then again, has he ever asked more from you than your love? Such a simple notion in reality, to give yourself to someone so fully but to him...to him that must be the only concept that eludes him in life. In all his centuries of living, he’s never once flirted with its grasp.

Until now.

Until you...

Enough to gift you the entirety of earth. To ask nothing in return, to kneel...if you had the presence of mind, you’d have smiled at the action, because you’re more than aware he’s never kneeled for a single person in his long life.

Morality speaks of truth, and in that you find one thing; you do love him. No matter the actions of his life, his business, his past indiscretions, you still loved him. You knew deep down the profound nature of your feelings towards him would never change, and your time back on earth had proven that. How often can a person admit such things? How often can anyone say they’ve been faced with this decision, it’s unlikely, that’s for certain.

However, seeing him before you, kneeling, lips brushing over your knuckles as he closes his eyes in preparation of your answer...you realize one inevitable fact; yes or no...you love him.

And what more should matter?

***

Gentle footsteps sound behind you, and with little more than a turn of your head, you see Mr. Night by the entryway.

"Are you ready?"

Have you ever been? You'd be lying if you said some small part of you never hesitated...

***

Your eyes move to the deed in your hands, the tablet smooth, so small yet holding a power far beyond your own importance. I have Earth, you think softly to yourself, and what do I do now?

"Come back with me..."

Balem's urgent whispers bring you back to the moment. You glance up to see him standing closer, his hand outstretched, shaking so slightly you'd almost miss it.

"I beg you."

You swallow, pained--grateful, in a very wrong way, but that warmth sweeps you in its grasp. Come back with me, he keeps asking, but your hands remain tucked at your sides, one tightening around the tablet...

***

"I am." You say it so matter-of-factly, pulling the corners of your gown up to pack yourself to the entryway. Your bare feet feel content with the grounds of the garden, always your favorite place amongst this monstrosity of a palace, and it's only when you near the golden doors you slip them back into your heels, a stark, vibrant red. They glitter against the fading sunlight, and you take one look back at the vast gardens. "I am..."

***

"Okay..." It's so soft when you say it. So soft Balem seems taken aback, a line drawn between his brows as he nears you, frightened in his own right.

"Say it again..."

You look to him, somewhat moved by his own surprise. Perhaps he truly did not come with expectations, "Okay..." Only a desire to see you off in a way that would honor his old promises, honor his own feelings for you. It settles a confidence in your heart, one that makes it a little easier to know deep down... you've made the right decision. "I'll go back with you." The affirmation feels like a heat radiating through your being, waking your muscles as you slowly reach for his hand that remains ever so pleading to you. "I'll go back." You say more pointedly, threading your fingers through his pale ones, his cold palms soothing to you. It's a memory of a softer time... when you could pretend the ethics behind all of this didn't matter.

When you could pretend, just for a moment, you were both normal human beings...with nothing more than love between you.

Balem's fingers tighten around yours, fearing you'd let go at any moment. As if you'd change your mind, and he'd be left just as heartbroken as before. His eyes glow with adulation, but wary of how far his own feelings could take him.

"Little bird..."

***

Snow still falls around you, and only when you reach your palm out do you realize it's ash. You stare towards the refinery in the distance, smoothing your thumb across the flake and watching it dust your fingertips.

There is beauty in the world around you, gardens elongating down the pathways, the windows, the arches...and then there is darkness. It's never too far, is it?

But a smile still comes to your face. Perhaps guilty, perhaps content. In the end, you pay it all no mind. You knew...you knew not everything in this universe can be saved. Maybe not even yourself...

"Little bird."

But what is happiness, if not a selfish thing.

"I'm coming."

You slip through the doorway, fingers finding Balem's as he gracefully smiles at you, pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours in a subdued kiss. You feel his desire in it, feel the urgency to move all of this along.

To find that end that catered to both your hearts.

"In here, my lord." Mr. Night pushes the doors to the throneroom open, Balem's white and gold cap sliding effortlessly across the tiles. A man resides on the high steps, dresses in robes, and beckoning you both forth.

"Would your majesty place his hand forth, signifying the bond."

Your eyes drift to the machine floating before you both, Balem moving his hand with no hesitation towards it. You watch in awe as a light shines from it, a mechanism arching over his finger as it burns an elaborate ring across it. His eyes never stray from yours, a pride glowing in them as he lifts his hand to show the imprint of his devotion.

"Your turn, little bird." It's said gently, almost humorously, so unlike him that it actually makes you laugh. Maybe he still thinks you'll turn heel and run, or maybe he's so engrossed in a moment he can't believe is actually occurring.

But you know this is what you want--what you asked for.

A devotion dressed in chaos, in uncertainty, yet...in perpetuity.

You lay your palm across the machine, watching as the glow of the ring etches into your skin. There is no turning back, and you remember the words, the vows, you both whispered to each other this morning while lying in bed. They were meant for this moment, but Balem had asked you to only repeat them to him and only him.

For anyone else's ear need not know what you mean to each other.

So even when darkness takes over the day, when your rings shine in each other's tangled hands, do you dare to say them to him again.

"I, Y/N, take Balem Abrasax," his lips pepper down your neck, one hand slipping under the end of your gown to lift it up, "to be my husband..." your breath hitches in your throat, "I enter into this union," his lips slide to your chin, halting there before he brings them to your own, "being of sound mind..."

"My beautiful little bird." His achingly devoted words get kissed into your lips, and you moan softly from the urgency of it all. The vows sing inside your head and you wonder, very briefly, how your heart could change you so much.

All for one man...

"Of my..." But in the very end, your illusion of what perfection was, what being good was...seemed so irrelevant in his arms, "own volition."

***

A/N: holy fuck I actually ended this series....fuck me, thank you, all of you, for ever having read this at all lol like...what?! It's so cheesy but fun to write and share and I realize many of you probably aren't around anymore but to those who ever stuck around and wished or hoped for an end, I hope this is something.

Thank you. Truly.

#balem abrasax #balem abrasax x reader #lmlyd #love me like you do #balem series #omg #balem x reader #jupiter ascending #Jupiter ascending fanfiction

[arialerendeair]

20 questions for fic writers!

Both @teejaystumbles and @spockandthings tagged me in this, so let's get it done!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I just recently posted up my 668 work on Ao3.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

5,129,415 words!!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, Sandman!! But I also dabble in other fandoms, including Shadowhunters, Supernatural, and a few others!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In general- 1. Never Judge A Shadowhunter By Their Scent - 4,712 2. The New York Shadow Market (Featuring Protective Alec Lightwood) - 3,262 3. Magnus Bane: Certified BAMF - 3,252 4. A Curse, A Choice, A Claim - 3,031 5. A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement - 2,887 In Sandman- 1. Hopes & Dreams - 2,482 2. The Art of Seduction Via Longbow - 1,657 3. The Price - 1,220 4. A Husband, A Consort, A Nightmare - 1,089 5. Dreams Make Living Worthwhile - 1,022

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Indeed I do - sometimes months later (as a whole hell of a lot of people know right now from my comment reply spree, lol), but yes! I love taking the time to say thank you - even if you left an emoji - it made me smile and I feel like I should thank you for that!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

With the angstiest ENDING? (I'm a HEA stan, so hold on, this'll take a second.) Probably Learning to Say Goodbye - which has an open/hopeful ending.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

HAPPIEST ending? All of them. Oh man. I don't even know. What do you consider the happiest ending? The Titanic AU - Make It Count (which has the happiest possible ending)? Hopefully - My Hope of the Endless series? (And that's just in the Sandman fandom!)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have, yup! I tend not to as a whole, but it has definitely happened!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yes. What kind? Uh. Well. Everything from the schmoopiest first time possible to all-orifices fucking with magical tentacles, sooo? All of it?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I HAVE WRITTEN SO MANY AND WILL WRITE SO MANY MORE. The craziest crossover I ever wrote is a 5-fandom crossover - set in the Sandman universe. I pulled in characters from the Hades Game, Supernatural, Shadowhunters, and Good Omens in and had all of them face off against Hell! The War for the Dreaming

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Unfortunately, yes, multiple times. I wish that on no person.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A great many, in multiple fandoms!! Shout out to awesome co-authors who keep me sane!!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Omg I can't pick a FAVORITE. I've had so many over the years, I don't know if I ever could truly pick a favorite. Malec probably comes pretty damn close though, all things considered.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Candy Coated Nightmare. I want to finish it from the perspective of wanting to finish the story - but when the original creator of the gif story quit the fandom due to their work being stolen and stopped the project - finishing the story without them didn't seem right. So while I want to finish it to finish the story - I never will.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've learned how to hack my ADHD brain and trigger hyperfocus whenever I want using a writing software. Which means I can write very obscene amounts of words, very quickly. (Also experience - I've been doing this for 23+ years now.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Editing and research. I hate editing, so none of my fics receive more than a cursory read-through at best. And having to heavily research a fic is what kills my enthusiasm for it faster than anything else, so I avoid it at all costs and make up things as I go along whenever that is an option.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Love the idea - but i think you gotta use the AO3 feature that allows you to put the translation when you click/hover over it!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Wheeew, we're going back to 2004, okay. Gundam Wing was my first ever fandom I wrote for.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

How the hell am I supposed to pick? I love Make It Count because that fic (all 120k) wrote itself. I love Together We Soar because it was the first long fic I wrote myself. (Long for me, anyways.) I love Alexander is Endlessly Surprising because I wrote 2 full sets of the Oldest Game and I thought I did an AWESOME job. I love The War for the Dreaming because it was an insane undertaking and I managed it. I love Magnus Bane: Certified BAMF because it introduced my favorite OC of all time - Oberon Onyx. So many more I could name, but I'll leave it there, at least for now!

Tagging @moorishflower, @cuubism, @blueberrymffn, @seiya-starsniper and anyone else who wants to participate!!

#Aria Posts #Tag Game #Thank you for the tags y'all

[annaofthenorthernlights]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @firawren

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 123 (year 2021-2024)

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 1,036,044

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Frozen, Beauty & The Beast (Disney 1991), a little Encanto, House of the Dragon

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Instincts – or the beast inside (E-rated, my first batb1991)

Bury me in your fur (E-rated, batb1991)

Blame it on the books (E-rated, batb1991)

The beach case (T rated, Frozen, collaborated work with @hiptoff)

Love can see the good (T-rated, my first Frozen fanfic)

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, I do! That´s a must 😊

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I don´t have angsty endings, but might happen within a fic – f.e. Fall to rise (Gaston redemption au)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All my fics have happy endings 😊. One that means a lot to me is Never too late (Frozen, kristanna elderly residence au, where old Kristoff/Anna fall in love)

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thanks heavens no.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yep, I do! Well, not on my very first writings. The naughtiness grew along the ride 😊

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Yes, I do – and the craziest is surely All you need is love... actually (Frozen, Brave, Hercules, Moana) and Smut in space (crazily E-rated, Frozen x batb1991) - which is losely based on the legendary christmas movie "Love actually)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I pray not!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I translated my own fic Boat ship into German (Boot-ship ahoi) a kristanna vacation au (rated T)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I did the collaborated fic-writing together with @hiptoff as mentioned at 4. (does that count?)

14. What’s your all time favourite ship? Anna/Kristoff, Belle/Adam (Belle/Beast)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?  "Of sweet delight in physicality" (title might change…), a hotd canon divergent au, pairing: Alicent Hightower/Laerys Strong, where Alicent and Laerys meet as kids and become friends, Alicent caring deeply for the crippled boy until they grow older and fall in love, but need to hide it due to Alicent´s fate of arranged marriage with king Viserys.

16. What are your writing strengths? Fluff, definitely fluff & dialogues (I must give credit to @hiptoff again who was my very idol for dialogues in the beginning of my writing years). And I think my descriptions of atmosphere and sceneries are draw the reader right into the middle of things (that´s what I have been told 😊)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Angst (that´s longer than just one chapter… lol), hurt, diving into very deep feelings and just scratching at the top to get the fic going…

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I am currently working on a novel in German, but that´s mostly for Nanowrimo…

19. First fandom you wrote for? Frozen

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

That´s a hard one, because I think I love all my fanfics equally the same (seriously), but I think I am very proud on my first fanfic baby “Love can see the good” (kristanna, canon divergent au, post Frozen 2 where I wanted to tell the story of Anna/Kristoff from breaking the damn and going back to Arendelle up to Anna´s coronation and finally a kristanna wedding). And currently I am posting the sequel Love can see beyond. So, this series is my longest and hardest worked on fanfic for Anna/Kristoff and I care deeply for them.

Tagging all for fun @luthien-under-bough @hiptoff @justfrozenthings @sweetpeapod @99goosebumps @shield-agent78 @reconciledviolence729 @endlesstwanted

#tag game #ask game #my writing #fanfiction #frozen #batb1991 #other fandoms

[all1e23]

Bad Habit [Pt.2]

Pairings: Biker!Steve x Reader

Series warnings:  Drug use. Violence. Smut so 18+ please and thank  – No smut this chapter. Sorry to disappoint

A/N:  I’m doing my best to get my wips finished by the end of the year so fingers crossed I actually do so.--- LOL guys I wrote that last year. I guess here is part 2. Enjoy? Un-beta’d just as a warning for lots of typos.  

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

You hadn’t expected to be nervous about your date with Steve. Friends date. It wasn’t a real date.  You made it clear you didn’t want a relationship. All you could offer him was friends with benefits. There was no point in trying for a real relationship. You were far from okay after your last break-up and the idea of letting in someone like him wasn’t an option. Sure, he may not be as ruthless, as cutthroat and vicious, as some of the other club members you’ve met but, he was still the president of a biker gang. You could hear Natasha’s voice in your head, reminding you that they were a club and not a gang. You’ve heard that excuse a few times. It was always bullshit. 

Club or gang. President or member. Real or faking it. It really didn’t matter. They were all the same in the end.

Your phone pinged from your pocket and the butterflies in your stomach told you it was Steve before you ever looked at it. It wasn’t anything special. He was excited to see you. If anyone was around to see the size of your grin you would have been embarrassed. 

Fuck. He make it so hard to remember the whole friends thing was your idea. You didn’t want to admit how much you liked him. He was sweet and surprisingly funny. He spoke about the world in an idealistic way that made your heart ache in the best damn way. It wasn’t as though he was a dreamer. He truly believed that the world should be that way and when it wasn’t he took steps to make it that way. Even if they were small steps. You liked that. You also liked the way he looked at you. He looked at you like you were something special and for a minute he actually had you believing he wasn’t going to break your heart the first chance he got.

Thankfully, your common sense and self-preservation came back before the handsome asshole showed up in your driveway. 

“Hey, Firecracker,” he greeted with a crooked smile and your stomach flipped from just the tiny curl of his lip. 

On second thought, you were so fucked. 

You pulled the helmet from his hand and swung your leg over the back of his back, slipping it over your head. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. Yeah, yeah, you’re beautiful. Cocky jerk,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek. The rumbling laugh that fell from his lips did something to you you didn’t want to examine in the moment so you pushed it down and told yourself it was a moment of insanity. On your part or his you couldn’t be sure just yet.  

Thankfully riding on the bike gave you the quiet to get your head clear. There was no chance of him whispering some charming line that made you forget all the reasons why falling for him was a bad idea. You sunk against his back and let your chin rest on his shoulder, resisting the urge to nuzzle your face against his neck. He was annoying how easy it felt to give into him. Steve’s hand dropped down to your shin and his thumb rubbed back and forth, catching your smile in the side mirror and you playfully rolled your eyes when you saw him watching you and stuck out your tongue. He laughed and squeezed your leg, leaving his hand there until he was forced to move it on the next turn. So you liked when he touched you. Big deal. Who didn’t like when a gorgeous man touched them? It didn’t mean whatever the hell he thought it meant. 

By the time the bike came to a stop you were warm and fuzzy from more than just the sunshine. The fuzzy feeling quickly faded as a frown tugged at her lips. He took you to the lake? This wasn’t what you were expecting. It was a public park with a well known, very popular lake taking up most of the middle. You’ve run around it several times and have seen plenty of couples having picnics and families bringing their kids to play. You just hadn’t expected Steve to bring you here for your date. Friend date. You took the hand Steve held out for your and swung your leg over the bike, your boots kicking tiny bits of gravel out from under you. What was he trying to pull by bringing you here?

Steve was quiet as he laid the blanket he brought out onto the grass a few feet away from his bike and you were grateful. You needed a second to breathe and understand what was expected of you. A dinner you could handle. There was a start and end time. Bathrooms to escape to and waiters to interrupt. You could stuff your mouth with bread when he asked something a a little too personal. So, you could still do that but it would be less acceptable without a basket of complimentary bread between you. He dropped to his knees and looked up at you, an expect look on his face and your mouth went dry at the sight. 

If you hadn’t been so confused you would have combusted right then and there. You took his hand and sat down on the blanket next to him, glancing over everything he brought. Natasha obviously helped him pick out things you would like and you weren’t sure what to make of that either. 

“Why do you have that look on your face? Like you’re debating whether or not you’re going to punch me.” The question in Steve’s voice caught your attention and you realized you were frowning as you took in your surroundings. 

“I wasn’t expecting this,” you murmured, quiet and unsure. You didn’t know how to react to something like this. It wasn’t something you were used to. Steve, quite adorably, tilted his head to the side and asked, “What were you expecting?” 

“I don’t know,” you muttered thoughtfully. What had you expected from him? “You trying to win me over or something. Taking me some place you couldn't afford just to prove that you could. Showing off your position within the club and the city by getting us in somewhere fancy. Letting me know just how important and powerful you are in the community.” 

Steve brushed his hair out of his face but his bangs flopped back in front of his face and your heart ached at the sight. It begged you to kiss him. Just once. One little taste of his lips to satisfy the hunger he brought out in you. He looked so gorgeous and maybe a little shy, unsure of how to respond to your assumption of him. There was a frown sitting on his face that didn’t look like it quite belonged there and the urge kiss away his worries was hard to resist. 

“You’ve dated some real assholes I take it,” he finally said, watching you closely and you had to look away from him. He was good at knowing what was written on your heart before you were ready for him to read it. 

“You could say that,” you muttered purposely quietly.

“I’m not really into the whole powerplay thing.” 

He propped himself up on his left elbow and popped a blueberry into the air, catching it in his mouth with little effort. For a split second you wondered how sweet his kiss would be with the taste of berries on his tongue. He smirked as if he could read your thoughts and you quickly looked away, grabbing one of the small sandwiches he prepared to help distract yourself from thoughts of how soft his lips felt against your skin.  

"What things are you into?" you inquired, hoping to avoid anymore distracting thoughts. That had to be a safe subject, didn’t it? It would likely be something along the lines of working on his bike or hanging at the bar with Bucky. There was the high chance it would have something to do with the club and that would be enough to remind her why she should stay away from him. 

"Art mostly. I like to draw. Charcoal. Paint on occasion,” he responded causally, so casually you nearly dropped the sandwich in your hand and Steve chuckled a little. "What? Wasn't expecting that either?" 

"No. No I wasn't,” your voice was surprisingly soft and you picked at the sleeve of your sweater, forgetting the food all together. Maybe this was a bad idea. You liked him more than you wanted to admit from that first night and now you were only digging yourself into a hole you wouldn’t be able to escape from. 

"Hey,” Steve whispered as he nudged your knee gently with his elbow and you looked up to see worry etched over his face. “You okay? Did I say something wrong? We can go somewhere else if you want. I thought you’d like this. You didn't seem like the kind of woman to like-" your lips cut him off before he could finish and he moaned into your mouth. How could you not kiss him? He cared. You realized that shouldn’t be something rare and enticing but you’ve dated enough to know it was. 

Despite initiating the kiss you quickly lost control. Steve devoured every piece of you when he kissed you. You’ve never been kissed like this before. In a way that consumed all of you. It left you wanting, desperate for more and that wasn’t a good thing. If you were thinking rationally you would have shoved him away the second the thought popped into your head but you were too focused on the way his hands felt pressing into your back. Your hand twisted around the fabric of his shirt as he pulled you onto his lap, taking advantage of the tiny gasp that left you and slipping his tongue past your lips. 

Things were moving too far, too fast and you needed to pull back before you completely lost yourself in his touch. You broke the kiss, slowly pulling away despite the way he chased after your lips. Your hands framed the sides of his face and he stopped moving, giving you the a shy grin as he leaned back on his hands to give you space. 

"You think you know me so well already, Charming?" you teased but Steve shook his head, something you couldn’t read flickering through his eyes and he whispered back, "No. Only an idiot would assume you were easy to figure out. Gonna take more than one night for you let me behind those high walls. I'm willing to wait you out, firecracker." 

Your stomach did a full on flip. Part of you wish he wouldn’t say things like that. You didn’t want to fall for him but you couldn’t help it when he was smiling at you the way he was. You grinned and pulled him in by his shirt so you were nose to nose, whispering against his lips, “Take me back to your place. We did the friends part, I think we’ve earned some benefits.” 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You settled in the crook of his arm and stared up at the dark wood ceiling How you kept ending up in this dirty ass clubhouse, in this man’s bed you had no idea but you were starting to like the way it felt to wake up next to him. “You good? You’re okay?” Steve checked in again. He was constantly checking in and making sure you were okay. He did that after your one-night stand. He wanted to make sure he hadn’t gone too far and that you were both on the same page now that your hormones were no longer driving the moment. You liked that. You wiggled against him and nodded, assuring him for the hundredth time you were fine, squealing when he nibbled on your shoulder and neck. You playfully shoved at his face and he nipped at your palm, making you pull back with a playful yelp.

"Quit being weird,” you whined through your laughter. “Talk to me. Tell me something about you that no one else knows.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

You rolled over onto your stomach, laying half on him and half off because you couldn’t bare the thought of losing his touch at the moment. He scrunched his nose at you and you leaned in to bump your noses together but Steve had other ideas, tilting his chin at the last moments and catching your lips instead. His arms tightened around you and pulled you fully on top of him, his tongue slipping past your trembling lips. As easy as it was to let yourself get distracted his lips and his hands, if this was going to ever be anything you needed to know more about each other and he wasn’t going to distract you with sex again.

“Don’t distract me with your perfect lips,” you whispered breathlessly and he chuckled, asking again what you wanted to know. “Why did you go on the road? Why did you go nomad?” 

Steve shifted so he could see your face better and tucked his right arm behind his head, staring at you for a long moment. It was obvious he was debating what to say, how much he wanted to tell you and if things were more serious between you that might bother you. It does bother you, your heart was quick to remind you. Maybe it did bother you a tiny bit. For where you were at the moment, vague was okay and Steve seemed to agree based on his answer. 

"Had some bad habits that I needed to break." 

"Did you?" you wondered out loud. “Did you break them?” 

"Yeah, but it looks like I came home just in time to pick up another." 

You smirked at the suggesting you were just another bad habit he picked up. You couldn’t be mad at him for it. He was probably going to be the same for you.

"Is that what I am? A bad habit you need to break." 

Steve grinned and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, asking against the goosebumps on your skin, "Are you bad? Gonna break my heart, Firecracker?" 

You attempted a snide smile but it fell short. You could feel it so you didn’t need to see the wistful look in Steve’s eyes to know it was weak, uneasy and fearful. He made you bare, in more ways than one it seemed. Somehow he broke you down and left you vulnerable without even trying and you wanted to hate him for it. Instead, you found yourself tucking your head to hide whatever he was drawing out of you and you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, smiling at the feel of goosebumps forming under your lips. Hopeful the feel of your lips, soft and warm against his cool skin would distract him enough to let this go.

His head dipped and his index finger tilted yours back up letting your noses bump together. No such luck. 

 "Should I get out before you hurt me?" Steve teased, but there was a genuine concern behind the jest. 

"Probably,” you retorted with a smile so pathetic it rivaled the one you let slip moments ago and Steve caught every ounce of regret pouring off of you. He shifted in bed, pulling you back into his arms until you were secured on top of him, your legs tangled around his and his arms wrapped around you with warm hands resting on your sheet covered cheeks. 

"You don't have to break my heart first to keep yours safe. You're safe here with me, firecracker. I like you. Sparks and all.” 

That sounded nice. The words were pretty but that’s all they were. Pretty words that you doubted he could truly back up with action. You’ve been around the block a time or two and men like him always let their mouths run before they really put any thought into what they were promising. 

"What if it's out of your control? What if it's club related?" 

"Baby, nothing is out of my control if I don't want it to be.” The confidence in his voice made your heart skip a beat. Or t could have been the possessiveness in his voice when he called you baby. “The club and you, there’s no contest there. I know what I would choose. The real question is, do you?” 

Your brows furrowed and a frown tugged at your lips. What in the hell was he talking about?

“I don’t have a club-” Steve cut you off before you could go any further, “I never said you did.” You stared at each other. Neither of you were willing to back down or look away from each other. You were both stubborn and neither of you wanted to give in.

 “Well, what do you mean?” you asked, caving and letting him win whatever little contest the two of you had going. “What do I have to choose between?” 

Steve’s large hands came up to frame your face and he stared in your eyes, sincerity and adoration reflecting back at you. “Running and being happy, Firecracker. Are you going to run or are you going to let yourself be happy here with me?”

You were right this morning. You were absolutely fucked.

Last // next  

#Biker!Steve Rogers x reader #biker!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #biker!steve #modern au #mc!au #mc!steve rogers #alternate universe

[mothmage]

20 Qs for fic writers

Tagged by @monstersinthecosmos , thank you!!!

1. How many works do you have on A03? 31 (and a few anon, i think 2 or 3. idk, when i post a fic on anon i forget about it forever)

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 446,135

3. What fandoms do you write for? currently/primarily vc, iwtv (amc), star wars, and merlin (bbc)!

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? A Lovely Little Normal Life (which, honestly, kind of annoys me lol. i know it's just bc it's a huge fandom, but really? the stupid little 12k harry potter fic i wrote in two days is my most kudos? please...); Arthur Pendragon, Long May She Reign (forever pushing my lesbian genderswap agenda); The Face of God (les mis slightly canon divergent javert character study); The Odyssey of Recollection (amc iwtv s1 pov armand); Away From Stranger Tides (potc philip/syrena fic i started ages ago and never finished, lol)

5. Do you respond to comments? yes i love talking to people in comments!!!! i've made a lot of friends through comments!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? omg. umm. merthur fans don't know this yet bc i havent finished posting but it's arthur pendragon long may she reign (BUT it's part of a series, so it's literally fine). idk, i dont tend to write long fics that end angsty. but my angstiest fic in general is probably Hollow-Boned Boy (armand contemplating his human life in the early CoD era) or Vision of the Damned (daniel's turning from armand's pov)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i love a happy ending!! my series Odysseus in White Silk is probably the happiest ending, and in such an undeserved way hahaha it's so very AU because i was sad after s1 of the show and just wanted them all (and armandaniel) to live happily ever after

8. Do you get hate on fics? i dont think i ever have, but i tend to read comments in good faith too, so maybe someone out there is annoyed that i interpreted their vague dislike comment as a genuine comment or something, idk. in general though, i'll say no

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes but i dont post that often, idk if there's a particular kind, but generally it tends to be a little rougher than is probably appropriate without discussion in real-life situations, but also very...idk my friend described it as very tender, like theyre very clearly in love. which is so funny considering that that kind of tenderness irl gives me fucking hives lmfao

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? oh wow, not in a long time. i do have a wip sitting around rn that's a crossover between london spy and cloud atlas, which is really crazy until you remember that ben whishaw is in both london spy and the cloud atlas movie lol. and cloud atlas is already about weird reincarnations and parallel worlds and stuff, so it isnt too out-there.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? i dont think so!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? yes!! The Face of God was translated into Korean by ao3 user Crescent919 !! i've had a few comments on other fics asking to translate for personal use (always yes, of course), but no one else has asked to share a translation publicly

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no!! i've been thinking about it lately though

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? all-time? probably merlin/arthur from merlin (bbc). it's the whole fate-destiny-choice thing, it just compels me like nothing else

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? hmmm, i would like to finish Roswell -- well, kinda (agent carter farm girl / alien crash landing au) because i still have all the original notes and outlines and stuff. i also made a shitty conlang when i was first writing it, which is crazy lol. but it would need some pretty serious revisions, and i would definitely rewrite the first few chapters that i posted years ago. i just kind of lost the agent carter bug, but i might return to that fic if i ever get in the mood for it again.

16. What are your writing strengths? ooh, i'm not really sure! i get a lot of comments mentioning characters' voices and/or personalities, so i would say maybe that!!! i also feel that i'm fairly good at mimicking an author's writing style when i want to (notably, i do not mimic anne rice when writing vc fic, lol)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? editing for sure. i have at least a hundred fics sitting on my hard drive fully or almost-fully written that i just need to edit. but i would simply rather die than do all of that. it's also why my whole merlin fic got put on pause while i went down the vc rabbithole, because i just can't bring myself to go edit the next chapters lol

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? hmm, i think it's usually unnecessary and comes off as a bit silly. that said, i did do it once (maybe excessively) in Daniel Molloy, Time Bandit (1984 daniel ends up in 1794 theatre des vampires, it's more of a character study than a time travel fic) BUT, let me defend myself -- i did it because daniel doesnt understand french, it's his pov, and he's incredibly confused and distraught for most of the fic. i felt like the dialogue being in french conveyed this sort of "daniel does not belong in this time/place" vibes. but, also, my french is...a little rough. so i'm sure it's an annoying fic for french readers lmao

19. First fandom you wrote for? warriors cats, a million years ago hahahah

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? ok, i have three different answers for this. the fic i think is the best, objectively, in terms of writing and content: The Story of Dani [...] (r63 devil's minion from armand's pov, starting with lestat's house). the fic i am the proudest of, mostly because it was my first "big" fic (it's funny now, bc it's only 41k) and i feel like i grew a lot as a writer while working on it, and i'm still happy with it: The Face of God (les mis pov javert, character study from childhood). the fic i have the most fun with and think about almost 24/7: Arthur Pendragon, Long May She Reign (r63 merthur, canon divergence, this is like a 4-part series that's currently over 300k lmao)

no-pressure tagging: @aunteat @leslutdepointedulac @butchybats @graygiantess and anyone else who wants to!!

#THANK YOU THIS WAS SO FUN #ask game #kind of lol

[intergalacticaquarium]

First Night Back

Eddie Munson x Fem!Original Character (soon to be Dustin's stepsister) (very very minor oc backstory tho)

Warnings- just weed

Forward: So I saw all the Dustin's sister and I was like ok that's cute and I had another idea and then I had the idea for her and Dustin being soon-to-be step siblings to not get along and then get protective over each other over the adventure while she also falls in love with Eddie and then I wrote like...30 pages. Also Sam and her dad have a strained relationship but he's a good dude I would never give Dustin a crappy stepdad I just needed some angst for the backstory lol.

Summary: When former Hawkins resident Samantha Campbell returns to meet her father's new fiance and her son, Claudia and Dustin Henderson, she loses her nerve and parks for the night to prolong the family reunion, but not before calling her old dealer, Eddie Munson, to get her something that will make the meeting easier.

(Series masterpost/chapter links)

----

    Samantha Campbell hadn’t been to Hawkins for nearly a year. When her dad had called, he had asked her to come home, because he was getting married again, and he wanted her to meet his fiance and her son, stay for a while, maybe finish her senior year, repair the relationship. She hadn’t been sure. It’s not like her life here had been bad-  but she had seen something that she couldn’t explain the night that the Starcourt Mall burned down, and she had tried to tell her dad and he just…hadn’t believed her. Full stop. Thought she was having a nervous breakdown. She didn’t blame him, if somebody else had come to her and told her they had seen a real monster she’d have thought the same thing. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt.  

    So she left, bought a van, loaded it with a mattress and all of her shit, pointed it East, and drove. It had been fun for a while, exhausting at other times, but she had to admit that a part of her missed her old town, and a nagging part of her thought that if she were ever to find proof that she wasn’t insane, it would be there. 

    Unable to decide, she flipped a coin.

    Heads. She sighed, Hawkins it is.

    She drove past the town sign, the Hell over the town's name was washed away but the edges of it were still visible and she reconsidered what she was about to do. 

    A quick decision led her into the trailer park for the night instead of her Dad’s new address, and she called him, explaining that she was still a while away and that she was going to stop for the night. She ignored how disappointed he sounded, and how excited he was when she said she’d see him tomorrow.

    She sat in silence in the van for a moment before digging through the glove compartment for her little address book, and taking the carphone off the hook and dialing a number.

    “Hello?” A voice that clearly had his mouth full of food answered.

    “Hey- is this Eddie?” She asked knowing it was, and she heard a slow chew on the other end of the phone.

    “Yeah? Who’s this?” He asked, suspicious. Sam almost hung up the phone, hitting her head against the back of the seat, wishing that she had just let herself soberly sit alone for twelve hours instead of exposing herself to Eddie levels of human interaction.

    “Uh- Samantha Campbell.” She said, and winced at her own name coming out of her mouth. Buying from her old weed guy felt like she was declaring herself back in town.

    “Sammy Campbell? Damn- it’s been a while- you back in town? Lot’s been-” He started boysteriously and started to ramble and ask questions and she took the phone away from her ear for a second to get her thoughts together.

    “Yeah, sure, look, I’m sorry if this is rude but do you have any weed? I’m in my van so I can come to you.” She said tersely, and he stopped, chewing and finally swallowing whatever was so damn crunchy

    “She doesn’t call, she doesn’t write, and now she’s straight to business- I’m hurt.” He said with a laugh and she rolled her eyes.

    “Eddie.” She said cautioniong him.

    “Yeah, yeah. I’m at the trailer park.”

    “Wait, really? I’m here too.” 

    The motion of fingers bending shades of the trailer beside her and eyes peeking through caught her attention.

    “Is yours the one covered in bumper stickers?”

    “Yeah, that’s it.” She said, and heard the dial tone. “Eddie?” She asked, frustrated, until she saw him saunter out of the trailer a mere stones throw away from her parking spot.

    She slid the door open to greet him and he seemed to miss a beat when he saw her. She should start to expect that, Sam thought.

    “New van, new look, old Hawkins. What are you doing back in a place like this, Campbell?” He said, eyeing her up and down, seeing how her sensible sweaters had been replaced for a second hand jacket she had covered in patches, her corduroy slacks for tight red plaid pants, and her long soft brown hair had been chopped off close to the chin.

    “Are you gonna sell me anything if I don’t tell you?” She asked, and he looked at her, annoyed.

    “Man, you sure don’t feel like talkin’, do you?”

    Sam groaned and scooted backwards, climbing over the bench seat in the back without a word, then opening the sliding door from within, gesturing him inside onto the floor mattress strewn with her clothes. He did an exaggerated tip of a fake hat before crawling in and sitting down, his ridiculous puffy shoes that capped his long legs hitting the other wall.

    “Nice place you’ve got here.” He said, while already opening up his lunchbox, to her relief. “Wait- how were you calling me?”

    “I have a car phone.” 

    He leaned back with an overly impressed face and a fanciful shake of his shoulders. “La-dee-da. I didn’t know I was in a van from the 21st century.” He said, looking around for any other newfangled technology.

    “They’ve been around for a while, now, actually.”

    “Yeah, but only for like…business people.”

    “I don’t know what to tell you, it'sright there.”

    He saw that she wasn’t going to say anything else on the subject and laughed in bemusement at how different she was. They didn’t know each other that well. He was the freak and she was just a nice girl with a bit of an anxiety issue that he had a cure for. They weren’t friends, just people that shared a sample joint every month or so for most of their time in high school, but even so he felt himself inexplicably excited about her returb. He went back to his caddy and smiled a little more at her visible relief. 

    “Now, I don’t usually do this for people, especially ones that are so resistant to my antics-” he said, leaning in conspiratorially and pausing for her to finish her eye roll. “But I’ll give you half an ounce for 15. As a welcome home present.” He said, and she grabbed the money and threw it at him, grabbing the bag.

    He picked up the money and tossed it in the air letting it flutter down on him. “I’ve never had money thrown at me before. It’s great, I feel like a stripper.” He said, laughing and watching her already grinding up some bud.

    “You can keep throwing money around, but please make that the only thing that would make you feel like that.”

    “No, that will cost you more, I’m afraid.” He said, still trying to make her laugh. 

    She saw him watching her and slowed, sighing and glancing at him.

    “Eddie, would you like to stay and smoke a little with me?” She said, hoping he would hear the obligation behind the offer and turn her down. Whether or not he heard it he made himself comfortable and leaned over to the little collection of pipes and bongs he had spotted earlier. 

    “Don’t mind if I do.” He said, as if he was a little old lady being offered a cup of tea.  “How long are you staying?” 

    “That depends.” She muttered while packing the bowl.

    “On what?”

    “None of your beeswax.” She said, and handed it to him. He looked at her suspiciously and took it, lighting up and holding the smoke in for a moment, and while she did the same on another pipe, not in the mood to wait for him to finish talking with his hands to have her turn.

    “Welllll, is the thing that made you leave still a problem?” He asked, and she tilted her head.

    “What an odd way to ask that.” She observed, still not answering.

    “I’m getting creative now that you’re answering all my questions with three words max.”

    “Yet you keep asking them.” She said, waiting for him to take another hit to stop him from talking for a few seconds. 

    “I’m a curious guy, Sammy.” He said, shrugging his shoulders like it was inevitable, and Sam was annoyed with herself at how charmed she was by it. 

    “I came back because my dad is getting married and he wanted me to meet his new fiance and her son.” She said clearly and reluctantly.

    “How’d it go?”

    “Haven’t met ‘em yet. Called my dad and said I was going to stop for the night and I’d be there tomorrow.”

    “So you’re seeing me before your family? I think I’m…flattered?”

    “Not to burst your bubble, but my Dad isn’t going to make sure I’m high when I meet his cool new family.” 

    “You’re making me feel less special by the moment.”

    “Do you antagonize all your customers like this? Is that a good business strategy, Munson?”

    “You say that but you were also my loyal customer for years.” He shot back playfully.

    “Just because of your capitalist monopoly over the high school.” She teased, and jumped when he acted like he had been shot and slumped forward wounded. He stilled for a few moments, enough for her to get bored and kick him, reviving him instantly.

“That hurts, Campbell. That hurts bad. I gave you a discount and this is the thanks I get?” He said, and she started to laugh, and he made a victorious hand motion.

“What?” She said, her smile fading slightly.

“Got you to laugh. Been workin at that for about a half an hour.” He said, and she purposefully arranged her face into a frown, and he shook his head with a smile.

“You’ve been trying to make me laugh? That’s what this has been?” She said, but she was smiling now, she knew he had her number.

“Right for the jugular. Deadly.”  He said, and met her eyes with a small smile.

They chatted for a little while longer, listened to some music, and eventually Sam dozed off. When Eddie noticed he was surprised at the soft feeling in his heart. He grabbed one of her blankets to put it over her and left the van, making sure the door was locked and she was safe for the night. 

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

[ravnloft]

writer interview

tagged @bardic-inspo (*´▽`*) thank u my friend these are so fun

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

3 lol. eventually i'll post more. probably. maybe

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

100,989 (not counting the original "draft" of wicked turns because a lot of that got reused in the current version)

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

girl (gender neutral) i don't even have 5 fics total... top kudos though is wicked turns :')

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!!!! comments are so nice and they let me know i am not posting into a void and that other people are actually interested in what i'm writing!!!! if you have ever left a comment on anything i wrote you have such a special place in my heart and you make me so happy!!!!!!!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

haven't finished it yet but it's going to be drowning lessons :)

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

also have not finished it but everyone in how to win friends will come out SO happy and well-adjusted. it's at a good little stopping point for now and i might skip into act 2 for the next chapter/s... idk it doesn't really have a plot it's just me giving myself like. writer aftercare from the stuff in drowning lessons or wicked turns fjgdfjjfdgj

7. Do you write crossovers?

not anymore but if you know the ancient piri lore of when i did tumblr rp......... the harley quinn/norman bates "it started out as a joke and now we're really invested" ship still makes me go insane from time to time...... i have a type and it is unhinged men who fall for somehow even more unhinged women

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

nah

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes. the kind where i get wine drunk or have an edible and then scream into my hands after typing each word because i hate writing smut but damn if it ain't relevant to the storyline

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no but i HAVE had my peebles art stolen/reposted on at least one site

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

if you count tumblr rp as co-writing fic, then yes

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

ough. waugh. how can i choose between my beautiful children

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

yeah so i have. the loose outline of a peebs fic. and it has been rolling around in my brain for years and years and years. but in order to truly do it justice i feel like it would be a full-on multi-issue comic series and the last time i tried making a graphic novel-style work (shoutout to princess huntress, your worldbuilding lives on but i'll never finish you) i got maybe 8/100+ pages done and then spiraled into art burnout for like 4 years

15. What are your writing strengths?

i like to think i am good at writing horror and gore teehee <3

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

sex scenes...... i don't like writing it, i don't like publishing it, i am ehhhh about reading it, but again, damn if it ain't relevant to the storyline

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

don't trust google translate. just use <> or whatever if you don't know the language.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

batman (stares wistfully out the window for 10 hours)

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

i REALLY want to write a skyrim long-ish fic. i have so many thoughts on it. there would be two LDBs (amma and sigg). both of them are cursed by daedra but in wildly different directions

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

wicked turns :)

#piri.txt

[levmada]

First Times Anthology ch.8: endlessly, forever

work summary » Intimate, vulnerable, gentle. Concepts Levi is a stranger to, until you.

ch.summary: You and Levi take a retreat. After your relationship comes to a natural conclusion, he makes peace with the future.

content/warnings: light references/descriptions for PTSD, flustering Levi, highly domestic, highly horny, oral (f!receiving), edging (f!receiving), Levi’s birthday, creampie (f!receiving), very brief rimming (f!receiving), soft dom!Levi, heavy themes of self hatred at one part, getting Levi drunk and also fucking him to sleep, alcohol consumption, complete fluff overdose, Hange being chaotic (again)

wc: 17.5k

a/n: WOW HERE WE ARE!! i may or may not have worked extra hard for the personal satisfaction of posting the last chapter exactly six months since the first one.

i am horrified i may not have made the last scene justice, but i have also never finished a longfic ever in my entire many years of writing fanfic LMAO😅

i never thought this fic would ever be. a favorite for me, but then it was, and then other ppl read it, and they liked it too :( im simply very thankful + proud of myself for this.

v fitting i end it with an obscenely long chappy lol right?

THAT BEING SAID! a while ago i began to write some... side stories to this series. i just never posted them bc they are farther into canon. i dont plan on writing a sequel to this fic, so imma be posting those (3 rn) periodically to fill in the blanks for fun. think of them like one-off oneshots that fill in the universe lol.

anyway here we go!!

ps: i never project myself onto levi ackerman

previous part・work masterpost

Listened to while writing:

taglist: @peace-for-levi | @sckerman | @jayteacups | @levi-my-beloved | @alominum | @mwuah | @midtwenties-angst | @ackermandick | @halloweenmedic | @katty | @notgoodforlife | @chaotic-nick | @b-o-n-e-daddy | @levisbrat25 + link to sign up

It happens, as acts of fate often do, by surprise. 

Today, the sky is awash with that crisp, clean blue that autumn does so well, but clouds are forming and the air is breezy, the first warnings of the coming winter.

You (by Levi’s request, unsurprisingly) have half a dozen seasoned soldiers raking the burnt gold, crimson, and brown leaves, tossing them beyond the fences, and finally scrubbing the gutters until they turn silver.

Meanwhile, fresh-blooded Scouts—those who graduated just last spring, but also lived through the summer expeditions—are on their third or fourth lap now, showing only subtle signs of slowing. 

That’s because Levi is running with them.

He has always preferred the hands-on approach.

With a clipboard clasped in your hands, you smile slightly to yourself. It’s no crime to watch him frighten the others into shape while you add up some numbers.

The turn of the season calls for quality checks of all equipment before the Corps more or less enters hibernation for the winter. Besides, mice always find a way into the food stores time of year.

You turn your head as a Scout—a slim, doe-eyed man whose name you don’t know—thumps a fist to his chest in salute.

“There’s a situation at the gate that requires Captain Levi’s attention, Lieutenant.”

“At ease,” you reply with a nod, and he relaxes. Everyone knows about you and Levi, but most assume you both to share the same attitude.

You wave your hand in the direction of the field, but Levi is already on his way over, having noticed the scene. Under one arm is his uniform jacket, along with the padded weights he sometimes likes to strap on for the “extra challenge” when he trains.

Twenty damn kilos.

“What’s so important that you didn’t think to go to the Commander first?” Levi is asking, eyes narrowed.

As it turns out, a man waits at the front gates who wants to have a word with Levi specifically. He claims he knows him, and he hasn’t taken no for an answer.

Didn’t give a name, either—not to a bunch of screwy soldiers, anyway.

You shoot Levi an inquisitive look, but he has nothing in terms of explanation. He might as well go and see who it is, but no, “don’t waste your time escorting me. Get back to your duties.”

The messenger takes his leave.

You nod curtly at Levi with a promise to watch over the training (and the yard upkeep) until he returns, a task you take upon yourself without him needing to say a word. Just for that, a small feeling, like fear but sweeter, blooms in his chest.

During his short walk, Levi wracks his mind of any civilian men he knows with the audacity to show up to the Scouts’ headquarters just to “have a word” with him. It doesn’t feel right. 

The Survey Corps aren’t taken seriously, everybody and their mother knows that, but they aren’t protested against outside of the returns from expeditions—usually because of grief, but always convenience. 

He can’t think of anyone.

Out in front of Trost HQ stands a wrought iron gate of spear where another pair of Scouts acknowledge Levi with brief salutes.

He waves them away, revealing a scruffy mouse of a man standing outside, defiantly toeing the loose dirt with his shoe. A cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth.

An onslaught of memories rush through Levi’s mind, in sharp contrast to the slow smoke drifting up into the air.

Levi blinks, then blinks again. “Yan?”

A coy grin crawls over Yan’s cheeks, showing teeth. “Yo, Levi…! Good thing you remember me. Was afraid your comrades woulda arrested me soon otherwise.”

He shakes his head. Is he dreaming? “They wouldn’t have.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’m used to the MP’s way of doing things.”

Yan is as sheepish as ever, and as skinny, too. The last time Levi saw him, he was suffering atrophy in his legs, as lots of people Underground did. His treatment was the down payment on the job that got Levi in the Scouts in the first place.

Gripping one of the spears, he scrutinizes Yan with his eyes. “There are other ways to get my attention if you wanted us to chat. Why’re you here?”

Yan kicks at the dirt some more. He doesn’t seem peeved that Levi doesn’t bridge the gap between them by opening the gate just yet. It’s been years, not that Levi was ever the trusting type to begin with.

“You never liked small talk. I just don’t like owing people my life, you know?”

Levi’s lips press into a thin line. He means coin. “You’re not serious.”

Yan shrugs around another puff of tobacco. “I am.” He peers over Levi’s shoulder. “Your friends are being really nosy.”

A cursory look behind him proves Yan right. More than a few are now clustered around the entrance to HQ, curious as to what the Captain is up to, and more curiously, what some civilian wants with him.

Levi glares in their direction, causing them to quickly disband. “Caution is a positive quality around here.”

Levi doesn’t doubt Yan has honest intentions; he never was cut out for life in a gang. Any job he, or sometimes Farlan, ever gave him that was bigger than petty thieving made him go bright red in the face.

He was just a kid, like most of them were. Isabel’s nickname for Yan was ‘peep’.

Levi crosses through the gate, shutting it behind him. They end up strolling a few paces for guaranteed privacy despite the new clouds gathering above, threatening a drizzle. What few that are out and about on the streets are bartering coins for supper. Dew sticks to the grass.

Levi has a right to be wary. “I wasn’t the one who slipped you all that cash with your pay, back then. I didn’t even contact Lovof first. None of us could’ve afforded your treatment.”

“Hm.”

Levi crosses his arms. He can spew excuses all day. 

“Still.”

He scoffs. “What’d you do, then? Steal the King’s purse?”

Yan smiles toothily. “That'd be breaking the law… I would never,” he drawls dramatically. “I just seduced my doctor after she fixed my legs.”

He isn’t impressed.

It doesn’t take long to get an honest answer out of Yan, though. Apparently, he has been saving up for a long time now—some well-paying factory job in one of Sina’s booming industrial districts.

“Believe me, Lev’,” Yan tosses the cigarette away. “I know—"

“You better throw that litter away where it belongs.”

A throaty chuckle leaves the man, and he crouches down. “And here I thought military life might’ve made you go soft.”

“Are you a comedian now, too?”

Yan laughs again, but the light mood doesn’t last long. It dampens as the crooked smile on his face dissolves.

Levi braces himself in case Yan says their names. Out of everyone, he must’ve been the last to hear that they were gone.

“I don’t care about some slimy noble,” Yan says. “And about the extra pay, I know you didn’t know. You never would’ve okay’d it. You were a real penny-pincher when you wanted to be.”

Levi thinks back. His years in darkness feel like a recurring nightmare he one day stopped having. He says nothing.

But he can admit it feels good, seeing Yan again—like coming upon a keepsake that you were sure you lost years before. Levi has known loss all his life, and people born down there seldom ever get out, let alone live through the atrophy.

“Glad you’re doing well for yourself,” Levi tells him, and he is. “But you don’t owe me. Buy a house or something.”

“I got all I need,” he tells him, as serious as death. “C’mon, Levi. Don’t make me beg.”

The look on Yan’s face is pitiful.

Levi gets it. Just like the only reason Levi would even consider taking the money, Yan definitely came with Isabel and Farlan in mind. Not just him.

“You’re a fool,” Levi sighs.

“Well then,” you huff fiercely. “Hm, I have an idea. Let’s go over the reasons again.”

Levi’s tight hold on his reins tightens a little more, making Sweetie snuffle. He’s been dealing with two brats since you left this morning.

A shame that he checked out an ordinary scouting horse rather than taking Nibbles, his horse, but you made a good argument at the time, and besides, you liked her name.

“No.”

Mildly, you shake your head, smirking to yourself. “Well then. Are you gonna keep complaining about being given all that coin? Think very carefully about your answer.”

“Your only joy in life is embarrassing me,” he replies. No hesitation.

“It is not,” you laugh. “Anyway, let me remind you.”

He glances over his shoulder, past your connected wagon neatly packed in with enough belongings to last you this winter. That tree hollow doesn’t look any farther away than it was ten minutes ago.

Dammit, how much longer?

“First of all, HQ is dead in winter. Not even you can find a way to run yourself into the ground. Two: It’s money! It’d be a shame not to spend what’s left since you apparently don’t need it.”

He doesn’t. A week earlier, on the same day that he requested Erwin’s permission that he didn’t need to take a leave of absence (Erwin actually laughed at him), Levi had that recurring nightmare once again. He took a trip back Underground to deliver half of the “debt” to an old, trusted contact. A lot of good will be done with it.

“You’re right so far,” he says.

But he knows what’s coming next. With your horses lugging along the wooden wagon, he can’t gallop away to avoid a repeat of the reasons you gave him to do all this.

It’s not that you’re that serious, nor does he have anything to vehemently disagree with—it’s simply that embarrassing.

He locks his gaze straight ahead, focusing in on a single tree branch that looks like it would collapse if someone blew on it a little. He can’t wait to pass it by.

“Besides the fact that it would be good to take a holiday for once,” you go on, “unfortunately—”

“Stop.”

“—our headboard is cracked! And you didn’t want to be at HQ while it got fixed for some reason.” You smirk. “So there. And how could I forget reason number four?”

He drags your name out in warning, but apparently, you have become deaf. The crunch of thin snow beneath your horses hooves has no chance of drowning you out.

“Let me set the scene for you,” you cackle. You’re enjoying yourself. “There we were, in the privacy of our own quarters, in quite a compromising position, don’t you remember?”

He crushes the pathetic tree branch with his glare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your high little laughs litter every word now. “S-Sure you do! It was the third time that month, Lev’, and it was the same culprit—”

“Hange is a fucking pervert, even worse than you, I know. Are you done?”

You spot the utter contempt on his red face and take pity on him. It’s only as much fun to tease Levi as readily as he plays along.

“Yeah,” you relent with a light sigh, fog puffing out.

He relents too. “Finally.” 

“I know this is a big deal for you,” you say, a touch more seriously. “I can’t even remember the last time I slept in my own bed back home.”

He, who doesn’t have a tangible home to speak of, feels as pained as you sound. He nods, knowing.

You bring up your family a little more often than he does, which is never. But the thing is, in preparation for this trip, you were both passing through Utopia District and decided to pay them a visit since you find yourselves that far north so rarely.

It isn’t that some tragedy struck home in the meantime and you weren’t informed. No one got laid off or went broke, no one was even sick.

The exact opposite. Your mother and father were happier than ever, actually. Retired. What reconnecting you did came down to a slew of joyful nothings, which made it impossible to talk about your own life—except for one Levi-shaped piece of news.

Your mother practically launched through the ceiling, crying out in glee. It was mortifying for him, but up to then, he had only allowed two people in his life to ever hug him: his own mother, and you. Yours really knew how to squeeze the life out of someone.

But then, there were the nothings. How the cold snaps back in August were worrying, but December has been surprisingly warm, so the Chrysanthemums were miraculously still in bloom. Your mother’s old garden—“You started a garden?” you had asked—was flourishing. And now that he was retired, your father had nothing to say about the scar of resentment whose fresh wound had propelled you into military life in the first place. His biggest concern these days was watering your mother’s plants.

They were older. You told him that that part put it all in perspective for you. “I should be thrilled they’re doing well. I mean, I am, but…I’m too different now. They don’t feel like my family anymore—like we’re two different species. You know what I mean?”

After hearing that, Levi took you to your favorite bookstore in Sina to buy you something (as it turned out, somethings) to make you feel better.

Afterwards, he even let you kiss him on a crowded street despite his crippling embarrassment of showing affection in public. For that reason, you asked first.

Without saying anything, your cloth sack of books hooked under one of his arms, he turned towards you and scooped up your chin. That peck really seemed to make you happy.

In truth, he hadn’t known what to say at the time. Sure, he doesn’t know what Kenny’s up to, if he’s still breathing enough to be up to anything at all, but if he is, Levi dreads the day he finds out about it for many reasons. One being that Kenny’s dearest joys in life differed from most people’s, to say the very least.

“What’re you looking at me for?”

Your eyes stay on him. “I just like looking at you.” 

Face pinched, he turns the other way. An image invades his mind of himself from a third person perspective, and he inwardly recoils.

“Well, stop,” he complains mildly, blushing. Since this morning this has been happening, because he just can’t get away, which you have been taking full advantage of.

“I can’t.”

He makes a sour face. “I mean stop looking.”

You grin. “Give me an hour to gather the strength.”

“We’ll be there in an hour.”

“That’s right!”

Levi doesn’t have a passion for decorating as long as things are in perfect order. This is why you tell him what you want where, down to exact inch, and he can do it all without a single margin of error.

He isn’t perfect of course, but he’s always determined to be.

The biggest thing you brought along (that wasn’t already here) was a mattress, and you don’t have a speck of dust in terms of decorations, but still.

Now that the wagon is empty (the largest piece of furniture you brought was a mattress, but still), your horses are secured in their stalls, and you’re done spending the better part of the late afternoon cleaning the cabin from ceiling to floor together, it’s time to breathe.

Levi leans back against the kitchen bar with his cravat undone around his neck. Seeing how he sweat through his shirt long ago, he has three whole buttons undone below his collar.

What are breaks, anyway?

He takes in the finished product and decides he’s pleased, but it still feels like a blank sheet to him, it being so new, so unused. What to do next?

That’s how you find him the next time you pop your head in from outside, dabbing your forehead of sweat with a handkerchief as white as the snow on the ground. You whistle.

He crosses his arms and looks away, looking unbearably coy. “What’s next?”

The possibilities have you rocking in the doorway. You simply can’t contain your energy.

“Well, it’s the golden hour, ‘Vi. Are you hungry?”

You both set up in the kitchen and get to work, however—odd cooking of all things soon becomes in his mind. Time isn’t counting down before work, and you have so many options, for once excluding watered down stew and bland military provisions.

He frowns as he sparks a match for the wood underneath the stove. The thunk of a knife on a cutting board, that’s you.

It hits him, sudden and severe, that he will be enjoying your cooking every day, at least when he wasn’t doing it. You always say he has a knack for making something out of nothing.

Earlier, you made fun of him for hopping back onto the counter in order to reach for a can of broth you had placed in the highest cabinet.

Whenever he pointed this out, you offered to get it for him, to which he scoffed: no, he obviously doesn’t need help. It was just a can.

An odd feeling turns over inside him.

Despite your earlier transgression, he still wanted to follow your recipe tonight. However, for as long as the cabin has sat empty before now, parsley, rosemary, and all manner of spices were overgrown beyond the clearing outside. While you were busy picking those, it was up to him to chop the lettuce.

Which quickly turns into a much more arduous task than he expected. 

His personal dagger that followed him up from Underground had finally breathed its last years before, but he has always kept a collection (a habit that has followed him since childhood), including kitchen knives. Any weapon he can hold is an extension of himself.

Which is why it is frustrating him to no end that he can’t cut this damned lettuce right. Suddenly, he feels like a novice.

Brow puckered in irritation, he stops and measures the mass of filleted greens with one hand. With his other, he flips the blade backwards absentmindedly as he reconsiders his approach.

This isn’t flesh, and it most certainly isn’t a threat. The kitchen air is dense with steam from the wood burning under the stove, screwing with his head.

Come to think of it, he can’t remember the last time he took all this preparation into cooking. Maybe he’s been killing things for too long.  

This is how you find him, asking, “How’s it coming?” to which he grunts noncommittally. It’s not coming along at all, which makes him even more determined to make some progress.

So, he lines the thin pointed edge up, and tries again with a flurry of quick chops. What results is a murder scene on the lettuce’s part.

After a long moment, he senses you watching over his shoulder, so he stops, waiting for your judgment.

“Baby, you’re stabbing them.”

“Tch.” He flicks the blade around once more, and shaves the cracked, brown pieces off the board and onto the napkin. “No, I’m cutting. There’s a difference.”

Then you’re closing in on him from behind, and loosely taking his hand that he grips the handle with. “Well, you’re cutting like it’s going to attack you,” you say softly. “There’s not gonna be that much resistance, either. Hold it looser, like this.”

Without thinking much of it, he slowly relaxes against you, tilting his head a tad to make room.

“I would’ve figured it out eventually,” he argues weakly. His chest flips in embarrassment.

“I know,” you reply. “But I’m already here, right?”

A nod. He decides to follow your direction if you insist on giving it, it’s just unthinkable that he would require help with a task like this. It’s a surprise, how complacent he has become.

From behind, he hears your breath hitch. The steam. Neither of you say anything, but you’re hasty in lowering the flames after that.

It takes two weeks to adjust when this vacation was to last five. By mid-January, the frost will have melted away enough for there to be work to do again. In the meantime, there is only the two of you.

No matter what environment he’s in, Levi pours his energy into a clean environment, but suddenly the environment started begging for his attention even more, like the loose gutter leaking due to melting snow.

What about the mess of leaves plastered to the roof, too? And all the damn weeds crawling up the side of the cabin closest to the forest like leafy tendrils?

So this is what average people get fussy over? he thinks. These are their worries? Their priorities?

Either way, they are yours to share.

Most things you do, you do together. You pull the weeds and rake the leaves, he fixes that dangly gutter on the roof, and while he was at it, replaces the rotted bricks in the chimney, and cleans soot out of the fireplace, and also—

Surprisingly, he begins to find immense satisfaction in getting these simple, but crucial tasks done.

The problems that sometimes erupt are even simpler, and even at those rare times where they aren’t, they’re still child’s play in comparison to the more hellish ones he’s used to. 

Like the acorns. Levi got it into his head that he would clear the entire yard of anything but grass, including acorns. You started snatching up each and every one he tossed aside, plopped them in a wicker basket, and threw them back to the squirrels.

By their nature, however, the acorns never stop coming. It infuriated him. He only came to enjoy this chore once it became a routine each morning, following slow blinks and easy yawns.

To such an extent that he constructs a simple wooden bench for the rear side of the cabin. Most of the squirrels live in the forest, so you could throw your acorns out all you want without tiring yourself out.

It was a surprise, too.

You weren’t done thanking him even as you were shaving it down and polishing it, having been an apprentice to a woodworker in your youth. The result was more elegant than Levi could ever have dreamed of doing himself.

The best part of all however, was waking up together. You can always wake up together. Every morning carries a slow, gradual rise to awareness, and your warm lump under the blankets is always there for him to reach for. Plus, he can always, always grant your request for “five more minutes”.

The mornings are his favorite, to say the least.

The bedroom is simple, but larger than you’re both used to (despite your ranks, especially Levi’s, luxury simply doesn’t exist in the Corps). The perpetual smell of ceder, laundry, and more faintly, old paper always sits inside. The folded curtains, hued like thick cream, stay closed in the mornings to block out enough sunlight for you two to sleep in.

But Levi can never bring himself to. Instinct, or habit, always wakes him around dawn, and at dawn he still trains. It was unthinkable that he would allow himself to grow soft, so there was no argument.

In fact, you join him more often than not for the same stringent exercise routines you’re used to back at HQ. Sometimes you spar, and at others you hike into the forest while the sun is still creeping up into the sky, flooding the morning with purpley pinks. Even the birds are just waking up.

It’s not yet that time when you jolt awake this morning, or rather, late enough for it to be considered that.

Why? A freezing hand is brushing over your bare belly where your blouse fails to cover. An arm curls around your waist.

You whine sleepily and knock away the ice cube. “Hand’s cold,” you groan, eyes stubbornly sticking shut. “S’wrong, Lev’?”

No reply. You toss a look back to be greeted by what you can make out to be a blank look on his tired face.

He blinks, and then you blink, long and slow. “Was I not touching you anymore?”

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters. 

Levi doesn’t deny it, which means yes. In response, you tug his hand back around you, causing him to grunt.

Sometimes, one of you rolls away from the other during sleep, causing him to always snap awake shortly thereafter.

There is nothing else he’s still embarrassed over more than that.

“Hm. C’mere,” you whisper, and squirm over to face him. He tangles your legs together and puts his arm around you, even clinging—but not without another choked grunt.

Now that you’re more awake, you delicately tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. You’re close enough to feel his warm breath on your face. 

“Is it your hand again?” you ask.

He huffs through his nose. “Go back to sleep.”

Ever since he had quite literally fixed the cabin’s every conceivable flaw, he has been floundering for more projects to complete.

He’s definitely compensating, but you don’t point this out.

You kind of expected it, which is why you approved at the beginning, but only as long as the land’s beauty didn’t cost his health.

“Levi.” you chuckle a little, blinking in the dark. “Don’t make me ask you to take a break for your break. The roof won’t leak for another hundred years ‘cause of you.”

“Hm. You’re welcome.”

“I mean it.” You brush your noses together in an eskimo kiss. A lazy peck on the side of his mouth, however, has your brow wrinkling. His skin feels rougher than usual, even scraped.

With another kiss, this one to his sharp jaw, he huffs again. “Not now. Sleep.”

“I’m not trying to start anything,” you huff back in pretend-offense. “I never see you with facial hair. I think it’s cute.”

“…I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever tried growing more? Like… a curly mustache.”

He snorts loudly. “Go back to sleep.”

“So that’s a no.”

His scoff is muffled by the pillow he buries his face into. “I just, haven’t had the time to shave it.”

You scrub the sleepiness from your eyes and sit up a little to peek down at him. With what little side-eye you’re given, you can tell he’s giving you attitude.

You lay your hand over his jaw, and lo and behold, rough hairs scrape your palm.

“‘Haven’t had the time’ my ass,” you grumble quietly. “I’ll do you one better than that.”

He buries his face deeper into the pillow. The most you can do now is scratch gently at where his undercut lays, stuck up in places.

What must be the sheer agony he feels from your offer makes him groan a little. “You do enough.”

“Never,” you say.

“Always.”

“Never.”

You go back and forth more and more insistently. He, just on principle, quits the game first, but doesn’t compromise, either.

So neither do you. You climb belly-down on top of his back so you’re stacked on top of each other like pancakes.

“Ngh.”

“Levi,” you whisper in his ear, but no response. His eyes are closed.

You gape softly. “Are you actually pretending to be asleep right now?”

Nothing.

You’re at your wit’s end. “Let me,” you whine into the curve of his shoulder.

Huffing, you bully your hands under his lean sides. “Or else.”

“You’re a brat,” he mutters fondly.

Your lips quirk, but that isn’t the response you wanted, so you scrape your fingers all over an infamous tickle-spot of his: right below his ribs where his belly muscles properly begin, and a huffy laugh immediately bursts from him.

Even though he could easily throw you off, he bullies a hand under himself to bat you away as his chest wracks with contained snickering. His squirming is neverending.

Not on your watch. In a frenzy, you wiggle your fingers all over his ribs. 

Levi makes lots of grabs, but it’s too sensitive, and his hand feels like a broken paperweight. He scrambles for the sheets instead, airy, earnest laughing sounding from the pillow. You burst into a fit of your own to hear it.

“You brat,” he gasps, and in one solid movement finally throws you off, like a bull. On your side of the bed, thighs land on either side of your waist, his bony knees digging into your hands to keep you still.

Your laughter quickly dies out. New tension eats at the air as you stare up at each other through the darkness, at a stalemate. The only sounds are your rough breathing.

“Never,” you pant, and you mean that. “You never let me do anything for you.”

His sigh has a touch of defeat in it, which is what makes you cry out so loud to feel his freezing palms snake up under your shirt. You didn’t expect that.

Reflexively, your back bows away from him, until a small gasp is pulled from you. The way his hands slot up underneath your breasts makes his thumbs dangerously close your nipples.

“Fine,” he relents, and casually begins to roll his hips down into yours. “But let me do one more thing for you first.”

You do.

Levi has never allowed (or needed, really) you to do something as personal as shave his face. The fact that this is happening in the first place is a testament to how much he loathes the “rat shit” on his face, and how hard he’s been working lately.

“You not going to return the favor,” you tried to explain to him. “We’re not bartering.”

“That depends on whether you cut me or not,” he said, not inspiring a wave of anxiety to wash over you.

To accommodate for his height, you decided on taking the cushioned chair from the sitting room whose color could be easily mistaken for rotten plums. Sitting on his lap was just an added benefit, which is the only reason he told you, “Good idea,” instead of rolling his eyes and retrieving the chair anyway.

The basin you’re using is clean, white porcelain, in sharp contrast to the sick-looking state of the water once you’ve gotten started.

For good luck, because you’ll be prettified just to knick him on accident, you tap the side of the basin (ting-ting-ting) with each pass of the small blade—which also helps in case of stray hairs.

He looks personally insulted every time you do this. 

“Don’t ruin the blade by tapping it with the edge, and you’ll chip the—”

“Shh,” you soothe. 

The straight edge falling down around his mouth abruptly quiets him, but he always has plenty enough attitude for all hours of the day, in all situations.

He glares at you.

Ignoring him, you cradle his chin and sweep it downwards in long, fragile motions. With a soaked cloth, you dab away all stray hairs and cream.

Just a little longer. 

So another hour, he likes to retort, all because you’re taking this job seriously—a grave statement considering you perform any and all tasks with care already.

“You just like to complain,” you quip lightly, although his scowl dissolved about a half-hour ago. As some point, he just started to watch you, and hasn’t averted his eyes since.

It’s a titillating feeling, his eyes like soft silver, always in your vision. The air feels like a fuse, eternally waiting for sudden ignition.

He traces the knobs of your spine beneath your shirt. “If I praise you, you’ll lower your guard, and there’s a higher chance you’ll make a mistake.”

Ting-ting-ting.

“My Levi just gets sweeter by the day, hm?”

He glares, just barely.

“Don’t clench your jaw like that, honey.”

He obeys. 

You know he has a point, however, which motivates you to imagine this as more of a battle. A real fight leaves no room for mistakes, let alone praise.

He is sweet, but he gets clingier and clingier these days, which never fails to make you a little smug, warmly so. If things were different, you would enjoy it even more, the way he holds onto you (right now, literally).

Another fifteen minutes pass after you reach a perfect rhythm: a continuous loop of slow swipes, tap-tap-tapping the basin, then sweeping the rag over the spot you just completed. Only sometimes, you lather on some extra shaving cream.

With your thumb and forefinger, you hold the nape of his neck, not unlike in those moments you want to comfort him. 

You’re in your own little world, and so is he, for his gaze hasn’t left yours since you don’t know when anymore. One moment, he was glancing in the mirror, but before you knew it, you couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t looking at you.

Your hold the same, you raise the razor once more, and the dream is shattered.

Just before the edge could brush down below his chin, Levi’s eyes snap wide. He seizes your wrist at once, causing you to jerk back.

To your shock, he still doesn’t let go; his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths, his grip so tight that you feel your bones grind.

“Levi,” you wince, “Stop! Too tight.”

His hand pulls backwards as if stung, and he retreats back in the seat, eyes wide and blank. 

Sitting very still, he swallows as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “…Sorry. I’m sorry. You surprised me.”

You lean back as well, your heart pounding in your throat. After how hurt his hands seemed the night before, you underestimated his real strength.

You should know by now. He’s just always so kind to you.

Despite rubbing your smarting wrist, you shake your head frantically. “It’s okay.” 

He blinks back into reality, still looking somewhere past you. “What did you say?”

Once upon a time, he couldn’t even stand being kissed on his neck. You should’ve known putting the razor anywhere near there without a warning would upset him.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “I’m sorry, you’re safe. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I wasn’t thinking.”

He’s watching you with as much space put between you as possible. “Did I hurt you?”

“It’s okay.”

His eyes dart down to your wrist, which seems to answer for him. With his knuckles a peachy white on the armrests, he takes a swift breath through his nose. “Get up.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You shake your head, your hands slapping down over both his hands. “No, I’m not hurt! It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident.” 

Levi doesn’t doesn’t so much as twitch to shoo you off, but he looks devastated, as if he injured you within an inch of your life.

“Here,” you say, voice high with pleading, and set your wrist in front of him.

You shake it a little. “Levi, please, look. I’m okay.”

“Okay…” He drags the word out skeptically, but you don’t move, and with some more time, he eventually reaches out to touch your wrist.

You don’t stop swearing up and down that this isn’t the catastrophe like he thinks it is. Even though it feels like a bruise is waiting to rise to your skin’s surface (which you don’t voice), you know you startled him. It was as accidental as an accident can get. He didn’t break you.

“I don’t wanna stop before I’m finished,” you tell him gently. “And if it makes you feel better, I know you won’t let it happen again.”

His chest rises with a long, even breath. “Forgive me,” he speaks against your wrist. He’s been kissing it.

In response, you glide it over his soft cheek, shaking your head. “Why? There’s nothing to forgive.”

He swallows heavily, his adam’s apple rising and falling with it. He does feel fine for you to continue, but he feels like a sitting safety hazard, too. Handling a razor shouldn’t be as dangerous as it usually is.

“Is it okay?” you ask.

“Worry about yourself.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him again, real close.

He sighs.

“Honey.”

“...I believe you.”

A tiny thrill moves your stomach. Your brows raise. “You’ll let me?”

“Are you asking me to repeat myself?” he retorts, but sheepishly. Turning his head, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm.

This warms your heart. The blade was left on the counter at some point, but you lift its handle now, and settle back in.

You take your sweet time lathering on the perfect amount of shaving cream below his chin. For all the agonizing, he needs very little work done here.

“You’re stalling,” he comments quietly, and bears his throat a little. He doesn’t sound annoyed, which means he’s nervous

Over the act itself or hurting you again, you don’t know, but he’s no longer looking at you.

You begin.

Once again holding his nape, you tip his chin where you need it, and eye the dark hairs that trail below one of his sideburns. Easy.

“Good,” you will say every so often. You don’t care that Levi isn’t a child, whether he needs to be praised or not. At least he won’t make a mistake for lowering his guard, not here. “Good job staying still for me.”

He shifts. Now you guide the razorblade downwards, over where his pulse thuds beneath his skin.

You pause when he takes your forearm. If he changed his mind, it’s not clear; he simply clicks his tongue and looks the other way.

“Lev’?”

“Keeping you steady.”

You are steady. He on the other hand could double for a wooden board.

His lips tug down. “It’s not you. You should know that.”

“I do,” you say, and you mean it.

Nothing but your breaths and the scrape of the blade’s thin edge breaks the air anymore. Other than the bump in his throat bobbing when he swallows, frightening you into pausing, you don’t hit any more obstacles.

His steady hold on your arm never completely leaves you. Eventually, he moves further to caress your bicep, the bare minimum of holding it, and near the end, it floats down to your waist.

“Done,” you murmur, scratching a little at his nape. You’re proud, and not only of him: your hand didn’t waver the whole time.

He glances towards the mirror, rubbing his face.

You hold your breath.

“You did well.”

Your heart leaps. Sighing evenly, you finally lean back and trace your thumb across his sharp jaw, ignoring the ache in your back for your efforts—even moreso, your wrist.

He looks perfect, skin soft and smooth again.

“So… Trust me now?” you quip lightly.

He shoots you a small, pinched look, and glances back at the mirror, now feeling his neck as well.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says quietly. “I told you, it was—”

“Joke, honey.” You scratch his undercut, then lean in to kiss his cheek. “Just a dumb joke.”

After you coerced him into letting you trim his hair too (to be fair, he had been complaining about it for a while; it had gotten to the point of him pinning up his bangs in the front as well as that fucking rat’s tail in the back), he coerced you into doing your hair. 

“This is what you get,” he retorted, “if you’re gonna be such a saint.”

It wasn’t even his birthday yet. He expected, as usual, that you were concocting some secret plan in order to celebrate, so he wasn’t about to take all your pampering lying down. 

So he used everything he knows about hair on you, and everything he knows about hair, he learned as a kid.

The tips of his ears burned when he saw your lips part, then your eyes sparkle in the mirror’s reflection.

“Wow, you made me look so beautiful.”

To which he flicked your ear. “Don’t insult yourself like that.”

Your beauty isn’t conditional.

Mercifully, the stakes didn’t rise any higher than that, no matter how you pounced on him twice later—first when he was coming upstairs after locking up the cabin, and then as he left the bathroom—to squeeze and rub all over his shoulders. 

He won that one. A repeat of that night a few months ago—your magical hands lathering that fiery-cold lotion into every inch of his aching muscles—was cruelly appealing, but this amount of pampering was overwhelming all the same. You did enough without him asking.

So he didn’t need one, not today.

Now, the bedroom is full of darkness. He can’t see you; he can only listen to your slow breathing and feel you there, comfy and pliant in his arms.

Tonight is one of those nights when his mind refuses to slow down, let alone stop. Sleep is stubborn and far away, but at least relevant thoughts sit there for him to chew on to pass the time.

There is no other area in Levi’s life left where he doubts himself, besides here. It is crippling at the worst of times and a murmur at the back of his mind at the best. The worry of the hour tonight revolves around showing you how thankful he is, and how grateful.

He doesn’t doubt you: your resolve is strong, and it doesn’t falter, doesn’t drift, day by week by month by year. If you ever have a concern, he has utmost confidence that you will voice it, but this issue is firmly between Levi and himself. 

He knows your feelings, but he doesn’t believe you understand the true gravity of his own. A wave washes over his chest when your soft, sleepy face crinkles into a smile when he’s the first thing you see upon waking up, and his throat tightens in moments of fleeting peace. Casual kisses at the most random of moments jolt him with electricity, and he knows now that he would risk too much if the worst of circumstances demanded it.

Earlier today, he meant what he told you: if what you did hadn’t especially caught him off guard—hurling his mind to a different time, place, and feeling—he wouldn’t have doubted pressing his throat against your blade, not for a moment.

But funnily enough, after all this time he still isn’t good at knowing when you’re joking.

There are words to convey his feelings when actions fail—of course there are. His word is his bond; they’re promises (even if not explicitly said), but he frowns deeply, because that isn’t the problem. Caring for you more than he has ever cared for another is a promise he can keep.

Sometimes, he feels real jealousy with the ease with which you annihilate him with your random compliments. Using words is important to you, but he struggles so deeply.

Could he? He gets the distinct feeling the world will end—that the sky will rain fire, or the ground will crack open the ground’s foundations—if he so much as parts his lips, but at the same time, he has never been more confident. Words stick to his tongue.

He whispers your name.

No reply. You don’t even stir. All you are is a warm, sleepy lump cradled back against his chest.

He presses his lips to your clean hair. You sleep as if you have hundreds of years at your disposal to do so, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Frowning under a sudden sense of nausea, he turns his head to cool his face with the deep navy pillow. His lips part, then shut, then part, like a fish moments away from suffocation.

Thunder is in his chest. Could he?

“I… love you,” he whispers.

But the world doesn’t end, it just feels like it does. Why?

It presses down on him so much he could shout, so, after holding his breath until his lungs burn, just in case, he shuffles away from you. The mountain of blankets are yours.

He turns over onto his other side, facing the curtained window. 

Why does he have to catch his breath? Why is it so terrifying to let someone in? 

Despite the thick veil of curtains, he knows what vast night exists beyond it. It is easier to believe that you both exist in a void where no one and nothing exists beyond it, than to take enough air into his lungs. He feels that same terrifying freedom as if he were just passing under the gate that divides the cage from the sky.

Words are binding, and as such, sometimes prisons. But you aren’t shackles, and this skip in his heartbeat isn’t chains. It took him so long to come to terms with that.

Even when he shuts his eyes, the world spins. If he was ever in range of sleep before, he’s certainly wide awake now.

Now, all he can think about is whether he locked the window before you both laid down to sleep.

It’s nearing the turn of the winter season when nature is the most dull, discolored muck it’ll ever be, with a sky like wet cottonballs. The chill day by day is so ferocious it bites through layers of wool and cotton.

Fittingly, you and Levi share an unspoken conversation, and come to an unspoken fact: the two of you can’t stay here annually. You communicate in little looks—the way Levi visibly grows more antsy, or the pinch in your expression when looking out into the fog in the mornings. Neither of you comment on fixing up the house anymore, and his sleeping patterns have worsened again.

Whether you can or can’t becomes a moot point when the cabin is indeed heaven, but all the while, hell waits beyond the mouth of the forest. 

Your duty (especially his) waits, freedom waits, and the turbulent future waits as well. Your responsibilities are a burden you could, and would not, give away. 

The way things used to be, Levi’s duty was his sole cause for living. While he’s never stated it outright, you’re confident you’re important to him—but more severe matters take precedent without question.

Like a weed, even guilt has been growing in you, not just for Levi alone. You’ve spent more years as a soldier now than you’ve been alive (the consequence of entering the Cadet Corps as young as you did ). 

Neither of you can live in good conscience in this bubble for long, where no fighting, blood, or death exists. You understand the way Levi has always felt now, if to a lighter extent—how it all feels too good.

You feel, you know that while you’re away, you will yearn for this the rest of the year just as much as your very first day without it. 

Worst of all, neither of you—even you—can’t promise that you one day will return. There are many promises you wish you could speak into existence, but you must keep in mind that they’ll never come to pass.

For instance… you love him. So much as glancing over at him on the sun-speckled porch after supper, his knees folded up to his chest in what has come to be his chair (when you’re alone, he doesn’t feel the need to appear so prim and proper), makes you overcome with adoration. That’s all it takes.

Levi has taught you that you don’t need to speak a word to hear it loud and clear, but you want to.

The yearning to make sure he knows worms around in your chest madly, but you’re confident he’d never hear of it. Seeing how you’ve never heard it before, and the pressure he feels where normal people wouldn’t, you fear endlessly how he would react. 

Your cuticles are swollen from picking at them in all your nervousness.

You came to this conclusion about staying at the cabin at the end of December, near his birthday (his supposed birthday, anyway). 

The day itself turns out to be the perfect distraction. You couldn’t get away with stealthily keeping awake until the sun crawled above the horizon so you could surprise him with breakfast, nor could you sneak away before he woke. Impossible in any circumstance, really, so either way he was out of bed before you could even surprise him a different way.

Infamously, Levi loathes celebrating his birthday—”What’s so special about the day I was born?” he likes to retort. “It’s just another day.”—but that has never mattered to you.

Last night, you prepared in advance. As soon as you shoot awake in bed, you dash downstairs while still half-asleep to slam the apple fritter in the oven, and put away the tea he already brewed in favor of the more precious tea leaves you had saved for him. 

You take great care in everything you do, especially the tea (down to counting down the seconds it needed to steep in your head), then a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, buttery toast, avocado from the closest market, and even sliced ham. Ham! 

It’s going overboard for sure, even for you, but he deserves it.

Levi’s footfalls abruptly pause upon the sound of the back door shuttering closed.

You can’t help but grin. The sweet, greasy smell of cooking meat must have spread throughout the whole downstairs at this point.

Then, rapid clicks of his boots against the creaky wood erupt until he appears in the doorway.

“Good morning,” you chirp over your shoulder. “You know what day it is?”

Scoffing, he marches right over and crushes you in his embrace from behind.

You laugh despite the ache in your knees; you’ve been stooped over a hot stove for the better part of the morning.

His lips make a trail of kisses from your jaw to your shoulder, saying, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I thought I had to?” You touch his hair. “That’s news to me.”

He blinks down at the counter, then abruptly lays down wetter kisses. “How broke did you go?”

You melt against him and make more room for his teeth, making you shiver. “Levi.”

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“No.”

His hands slip beneath your top, humming softly in satisfaction to find you aren’t wearing a bra.

“Levi,” you say, softer.

He massages your soft breasts into his palms, pushing, then squeezing them together.

Your eyes flutter as heat pools down below your waist. “Honey, I’m not done.”

“I’m thankful,” he murmurs, ignoring you, and rolls your nipples under his rough thumbs.

You swallow a whine. “Don’t you want to eat?” you ask thinly.

No answer. He’s busy suckling a reddish mark into your neck.

He’s very convincing. Maybe letting breakfast cool isn’t such a terrible idea.

Delicately bracing the center of your chest, one of his hands slips down. Its rough callouses feel immensely satisfying against your belly.

Just when it (surprisingly) looks like he’s going to go along with eating after all, his palm follows a path down between your thighs. 

You gasp softly. One fingertip sweeps continuously through your slit, beneath your panties. 

“All this is for me, isn’t it?” he says conversationally into your ear. “Of course I want to eat.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, taking support from the counter to rock into the fingers just lightly circling your clit. “Fuck, Levi.”

With no hesitation, he cages you in against the counter so you feel a hint of hardness pressed against your backside from behind. Heavier, hot breaths puff against your neck.

Suddenly, you don’t care if everything is ice cold by the time he’s finished with you. He can take you anywhere, and the idea of it happening right here, makes your heartbeat throb in your clit.

“Let me—”

“Yes.”

With an amused huff, he rubs you with practiced fingers and pulls away, making you whine.

Now turned to face him, his middle finger lands on your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. You feel it’s wet.

Maybe you should’ve worn lipstick.

Levi’s eyes gleam as your tongue darts out for a taste. “You’re so messy,” he comments, guiding you towards the dining table. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.”

Shocked by his forwardness, your stomach jumps as you’re bent over the wooden table—which you already set with placemats and silverware. Your bottom half is in flames. 

“Thought you were eating,” you hear yourself say.

“That too.”

As your shirt comes off, “Real funny, Captain.”

He ignores you. The moment you sense him dropping to his knees, taking your sticky panties down along with him, your breath jumps.

“Exactly.”

A tiny whine is stolen from you as his hot breath hits your pussy, constructing sharply from the cool air.

He kisses the backs of your spread thighs. Lithe hands spread you open. “If you’re gonna make us celebrate, I wanna celebrate my way, and not hear you complain about it.”

He doesn’t bother teasing. His lips press to your fluttering hole, before he begins lapping at your cunt.

Levi, not teasing you.

“Ah!” you gasp from the bottom of your lungs. A hot, wet tongue pushes through your slit, which is now properly soaked. 

You grope for something—anything to steady yourself. You manage his soft hair, and a groan of approval vibrates your clit.

Bright pleasure vibrates through you, and doesn’t stop. Hell if you know where his sudden confidence is coming from, because while sex with Levi never fails to blow you away, he’s making you go cross-eyed.

The sound of slurping sounds from below, made louder by the way he holds you completely open.

You jolt from the overstimulation, your hole twitching around nothing.

You shudder, begging, “Please, please,”—you feel so empty.

You want to ask what’s gotten into him, but the words evaporate as soon as his heavy tongue pushes into your tight cunt.

Instinctively, you tighten with a soft cry, which only encourages him to start fucking you with it. 

He keeps your twitching thighs spread, and moans deep into you. Even more instinctively, you pull him by his hair, forcing his tongue. The sound that results has you gaping into the polished oak table. Something clatters to the floor.

Levi’s hips twitch forward into nothing but his zipper. He’s forced so close he’s halfway suffocated, but he loves it—he loves to be used for you to feel good.

It’s a mystery to him how you really believed he wouldn’t want to fuck you with his tongue, especially on his birthday.

His favorite part is your sweet, heavy taste—he simply can’t get enough—or how you cough out a cry in surprise when three fingers sweep your clit up and down in swift c’mere motions. Maybe it’s your warm, pillowy cunt squeezing his tongue, or the way two of his fingers easily bury inside next to it. He curls them up snug against your favorite spot.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, don’t stop!”

Breathing hard, he smacks a kiss to your swollen pink clit before giving you his mouth again. He loves you like this, and he loves you. His heart skips a beat.

“I’m already…” You moan, your tone a warning. 

It sets him on fire, the way you need him. 

“Ca-Captain, I’m not gonna last if you don’t stop.”

His cock gives a hard, heavy throb. He moans loudly and pulls his mouth off, but his fingers stay curled inside. They piston in and out slowly, but deep enough for your pussy to swallow in his second knuckles.

With his free hand he takes a handful of your ass, and spreads you open.

“You don’t wanna come, pretty girl?” he asks, thick with that teasing tone you know so well. 

“No!” you cry, and realize what you just said. “Wait, yes, please please—”

His balls ache. He wets his swollen lips before leaving forward, swiping over your much tighter hole. 

You wail, “Levi!”

“Oh, yeah. It’s not up to you, is it?”

His fingers slow, then stop, making you keen into the wood. Your pink cunt is drooling for him.

It’s—It’s your birthday,” you whimper, feeling betrayed by yourself. “You can do anything you want to me.”

Working your soft thighs and ass in his palms, he hums, “Uh-huh.”

Once again he rises to his feet, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

His hand lands on the center of your back to keep you steady while he makes quick work of his belt and trousers. As it clinks, then zips, he can feel your dazed eyes on him, watching.

“Fuck,” you sigh, dragging it out. “You’re so hard.”

“Turn around for me.”

You do. With his help, your backside lies on the table edge with you bent in such a way that your ankles rest on his shoulders.

Your wet cunt is completely exposed to him. The cool air on your clit makes you twitch.

You gaze up at his messed hair and red cheeks, stricken by how good he looks. Between his plump thighs his cock is bright red and swollen, beaded with cum.

He holds your hip, keeping you together. “Are you comfortable?’

You nod, feeling dopey, and reach to guide his round cockhead past your rim. The push is easy, filling you to the brim. Perfect.

Your head falls back. “L-Love your dick, fuck. You’re perfect.”

A bitten moan rumbles in his chest. Tight.

He pushes and pulls by shallow inches. “Is all this really that surprising to you?”

“This?” Your hand grabs his. You reach with the other, feeling where you’re connected. “No. Just, you’re not usually—” you search your dizzy mind for a word, “So much.”

It dawns on him what you mean, and his shallow thrusts pause. “D’you want me to stop?”

You manage to gape. “Don’t you dare.”

This position won’t let him kiss you, so he kisses low on your thigh instead. Even here he tastes sweat and sex, all traces of last night’s shower gone.

“Guess I’m in a good mood.”

He takes you right there, from short and shallow to soon pistoning his cock in and out of you in long, hard thrusts—so much so the table lurches several times (more metal clatters, and something swoops to the floor). In order to keep you close, he takes your hip like a vice and fucks you with abandon. 

You encourage him louder and louder— “Yes! Yes, fuck—!”—until his jaw slackens. Your pussy, soft like silk, starts to squeeze him.

“Fucking perfect,” he groans.

He folds you completely in half, one leg now dangling high, and it changes the angle.

A flurry of hard, wet thrusts, and you come.

A shiver rocks his whole body. As your pussy gushes, pleasure like liquid heat overtakes him, and he fucks his cum into you soon after.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he wants to ask. “Do you realize yet how perfect you are?”

As usual, he can’t muster the words. In the come-down, the only sound throughout the sun-bathed kitchen is both of your heavy breathing.

From where your chest heaves upon the crooked table, like a model for some erotic artist, both your thighs tremble.

“Your breakfast,” you croak, grieving.

It’s hard not to smile. As he wipes down your inner thighs with a wet rag, he corrects you: “Brunch.”

“All my blood, sweat n’ tears… gone to waste.”

He tuts softly, and lugs you up. “It hasn’t been left out in the rain, has it?”

“No…” But you don’t sound convinced.

“It’s fine. Just don’t expect me to eat off this table.”

You have a smartass retort for that, he can feel it since he did, technically, eat off this table… but you’re too spent. Your chest only drops with a dramatic sigh. 

After a much more thorough cleanup (including a change of clothes), Levi takes good care to restore (what is now) lunch to its former glory.

He’s proud of himself. Granted, all he’s had this morning is some tea, but his mouth waters from the smell.

Out on the porch, its overhang protects you both from the surprising amount of sun breaking through the silvery cloudcover this far into Yule.

However, the sharp air remains stubbornly chilled. In case you shiver, he retrieves a blanket that you drape over your lap.

In your respective cushioned chairs, you eat with your plates tucked in your laps. 

“You, in a good mood, on your birthday,” you’re musing, that stupidly warm smile on your face. “That’s a first.”

Levi grunts. You couldn’t be more right; anything resembling a good mood and his birthday mingle like oil and water. There’s a one in 365 chance that it’s even accurate, but he genuinely doesn’t see what needs celebrating anyway.

He blames his actions the night before. It weighs on him heavily still, in the lightest of ways.

Cautiously, he pushes his cut of seared ham around on his wooden plate. He prefers everything to be separated, but now that that’s done, and the toast and eggs leave the faintest trace of crumbs, he still doesn’t feel quite right about it. 

When he tasted the apple fritter, he had to pause and reel. Admittedly, he had never had it before; no matter if he’s given the opportunity, he’s quite picky when given a choice. 

But how could he act wary? And it was fantastic.

Has he ever tried ham?

In that chaotic space of time before Maria fell but after he left the Underground behind, meat was much more of a commodity, but he was, and still is, a soldier. You like to say being a Scout specifically is a thankless job by everyone but the dead, and you would be right.

Underground “meat” on the other hand was almost always crawling with something, despite the fact that it always cost a fortune in comparison to most people’s incomes.

He supposes he’s a vegetarian, albeit against his will. Hange has a tendency to randomly blurt out facts about anything, and he’s heard that if a stomach isn’t familiar with ingesting a certain type of food, it usually can’t learn. 

He hopes that isn’t true, for your cooking’s sake.

“Is it good for you?” he asks, mostly so you don’t point out his reluctance.

You fork more eggs into your mouth, nodding happily. “I’m very confident in my cooking ability, thank you.”

“Good. You should be.”

Your gaze flickers down to his plate. “It won’t bite you, you know. If you try it and decide you don’t like it, that’s fine. More for me.”

He grunts and leans back, one leg now crossed over the other. How would you know it’s his first time?—You must have a damn good eye for him.

“You shouldn’t’ve said that,” he remarks, flipping his fork backwards absentmindedly.

You scowl. “Absolutely not. At least try it first.”

“Remind me. Whose birthday is it?”

“You asshole,” you laugh, biting your lip to make it stop. “I don’t need any more.”

“But do you want more?”

Silence.

“...Tell me,” you set your fork down, “in exact words what you mean by that.”

These back-and-forths between you two are his purest form of entertainment.

“Are words so important?” he replies.

He sees you—nibbling at your lip like that. You like what he’s implying.

“It may be up to you, it’s your birthday, but at least let me suck you.” 

His chest rises.

Your voice turns into silk. “You caught me off guard earlier. I deserve much better than that, don’t you think?”

A challenge. Setting aside the way his lower half stirs, he leans over and practically drops his plate into your hands. 

“We’ll see.”

—

You suck, lick, and fuck him so good that you actually put him to sleep.

Well, partly. 

After making good on your word, you let him fuck you to tears under a hot shower spray, but getting clean turned out to be irrelevant in the end. Soon afterwards, as naked as the day you were born, you shyly asked him, “Do you maybe wanna drink, this one time?”

And, after some thought, he said yes. It takes more booze than it’s usually worth for it to do anything for him, and when he does drink enough, he can’t be on his guard like usual. The anxiety of that is usually enough to take away his buzz.

Besides, after growing up seeing boozehounds everywhere he went—the (sometimes) uncharacteristic fits of rage, the burning stink, and the zombie-like idiocy about them—he has some convictions about drinking. If anyone asks, Levi doesn’t get drunk.

Opportunities always present themselves of course, but he only makes it a goal to get drunk on special occasions. That included tonight.

He popped the cork off a bottle of scarlet merlot. The mood was comfortable, you drank slowly, and you enjoyed yourselves. Even him.

You grew slow and slurry not two glasses in, so he dutifully refilled them (until you’ve had enough). It took him longer to get to where you were, but when the world finally began to narrow in that comforting way, the inexplicable warmth creeped in, and his mind began to buzz, he was with you.

Time stretched as you sipped the syrupy alcohol in front of a crackling fireplace. Mostly you chatted, but you also climbed on top of him there, and when it got late, he draped a thick, downy blanket around your bare shoulders.

Later enough for your bedroom to be an abyss, Levi twitches to awareness from a bottomless sleep in a stinking bed between stuffy sheets. He kicks them off as soon as he gets some handle over his leaded limbs, and rubs his eyes.

Sleeping so deeply, and waking with no memory of how he got somewhere is unheard of for him. His head is even still buzzing a little, despite the nausea.

Shit, is his first intelligent thought. I sleep when I drink.

It would be terribly easy to sleep some more. Only, when lazily reaching across the bed, he finds your warm, lumpy pillow, but not you.

Suddenly he’s wide awake, stone-cold sober, and shooting up in bed. You’re not here.

He tosses a look over. The bathroom is dark.

You’re probably getting water.

Anxiety tears him up anyway. He pulls himself out of bed.

With fresh briefs, an open shirt, and a pair of pants on, he paws his empty pockets.

He fishes through a pair of his boots. He’s very aware that carrying a weapon in these circumstances is the furthest thing from necessary, but his judgment is garbled—another reason he dislikes drinking.

After the dim hallway comes the stairs. He lets the banister guide him going down.

You’re getting water. The kitchen is cast in gold by a lantern set on the island, joined by the slaps of your bare feet padding around inside.

His anxiety blows away. After the last step he heads in your direction like a man on a mission.

Sleepy-eyed, you jerk your head up from your glass of water and smile just in time for Levi to wrap you in his arms from behind. 

He sighs softly. Better. As you sway together, he makes like a baby possum and refuses to let go.

“Hm,” you murmur, relaxing against him. “Hi.”

“You left,” he speaks into your neck. You stink deliciously of sex. “Don’t do that.”

You seem to find this adorable. As you pet his hair, his annoyance melts away.

“I was only gone a second,” you say. “I was thirsty. What if I died of dehydration?”

“No,” vibrates against your shoulder.

“No?” you laugh. “Did you miss me that much?”

The drink makes his tongue loose. “You have no clue, do you?” Squeeze. “Jus’ don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”

Your heart leaps into the sky. A grin breaks onto your cheeks as an obnoxious Awww falls off your lips. “You’re so fucking adorable, ‘Vi.”

You try to twist around in his arms, but he mistakes this as you pulling away, and only tightens his hold.

If that’s how it’s going to be, you go completely lax a moment, sending you both nearly toppling over. 

As you wanted, he huffs against your hairline and pins you to him by your shoulders and middle, clinging.

“You’re the biggest brat I know.”

“Did you hear me? Adorable?”

He sighs. “I never know what to say when you call me shit like that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re just adorable.” You hug his strong forearm that’s pinned across your chest. “With a heart of pure gold, who anyone would be lucky to know. The most brave, most handsome, most pretty—”

He makes another unhappy sound and reaches to clamp your mouth shut, which you don’t allow to happen.

“My Levi,” you sing-song. “Whom I adore.”

“This is torture,” he speaks softly. “Torturing me, after I made all this effort.”

“Effort to keep me from getting a drink of water?” you cackle.

“You don’t need—”

“And not torture—”

“—water, I’d get you some—”

“Levi, you’re being—” you laugh—

“—if you were really dehydrated.”

—so hard your sides twist into cramps. You laugh until there’s no air left in your lungs, so your belly merely wracks. At the same time, tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You can feel him smiling softly against your hairline.

Oh, what you’d give to see.

“Levi,” you shake out the last giggles. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

He freezes, whatever face he was making slipping off his face. His stomach drops out of existence. “What?”

Did he not hear you right? He retreats backwards, causing you to spin back around. 

“W-What did you say just now?” he asks again, no louder than a whisper.

That sober look on your face. He knows it was real, what you just said. The silence, so thick you couldn’t pierce it with a hacksaw, proves it and proves it.

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Levi.”

“What?” he asks again, now demanding. It’s hard to breathe suddenly. His face heats. He feels himself tense, as if for attack.

“I—I don’t know.” You blink, and that’s shock painted on even your own face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know?” he snaps, motionless. Even his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths.

He doesn’t know why he’s growing so upset. Loathing festers inside, and the more upset he becomes, the more it grows.

“It just slipped out,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” You stall, at a loss.

In the third person, he feels himself crashing through the floor outside his body, dropping out from underneath himself.

He takes another step, this time measured. A silent feeling screams for him to escape this situation, but another plants his feet to the floor.

His silence must be telling.

“No!” you exclaim, lips moving rapidly to explain. “I mean, I c-couldn’t help it. I wasn’t thinking, it just…” Your eyes glitter with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t even trust his feet to hold him up. He is totally lost for words.

In the doorway that feeds into the sitting room, he discreetly holds onto it. His other hand lies limply by his side, nails digging into his palm.

“Wait,” you call from the same place, voice soft. “Are you going to leave?”

A beat passes before he shakes his head, disbelieving. What do you mean by that?—Do you have so little faith in him? His dry mouth stops him from asking.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It’s hard to swallow. “...We should sober up.”

And so he retreats into the darkness, stopping briefly when the backdoor enters his sight. As much as he craves the fresh air, going that route would confirm every one of your fears.

He scours his memories. An empty bedroom sits on the ground floor, he remembers.

You insisted on remodeling that room, but inside, it still might as well be a sealed box besides the pathetic amount of moonlight pushing past the blinds, casting shadows.

He twists the knob all the way to shut it as quietly as possible, then staggers to the corner attached to the same wall as the door, and slides down into a sit. 

He knows he’s being pathetic. As a kid, it was a good technique he used to hide. As a man, it lets him get an advantage over enemies. You’re not a threat.

He wrestles with his head silently and folds his knees to his chest while he waits for your steps. You’ve never invaded his space in the past, but tonight, he can’t be confident.

Tonight. He’s stuck on that all the sudden. Just a few hours ago was his birthday, but that feels so far away now.

Of course, you were drunk. That’s what troubles him. There’s a thin line, he’s found, between the truth slipping out of a drunk person, and saying things they don’t mean. It’s better he doesn’t trust a thing until you’re both sober enough to know for sure.

Partly, he wants to hear you say that it was a mistake. You’ve realized that his suspicions were correct: he really did trick you by seeping so much good out of you to take for himself. To make himself believe that he is not a murderer, a thief, and a bastard. How he needed your goodness because there is not a single bit of good inside himself, how he is so selfish that even without realizing, he deceived you.

How could he do that while you’re in the middle of this losing war against the Titans? you would ask him. You realize that he’s unlovable. He is so fucking unlovable in fact that he’s better off dying in battle tomorrow so at least he will be used for what he’s meant to be used for.

Partly, he wants you to slam the door open so hard it punctures the drywall, yank him up by his shoulders and scream in his face how foolish he’s being. Yes, he’s abnormal and far from perfect, and yes this world is a nightmare but the way you feel makes all that cease to matter.

You will pour your heart out to him and recite the specific moment you realized you love him, with tangible reasons he can replicate. You will promise to return to his side safely every day for the rest of your lives.

And partly, he doesn’t want to know.

His head pounds. He closes his eyes.

He used to hate, much more than he does these days, that he can’t remember a time his mother ever spoke the same. Granted, he doesn’t remember more than a few glimpses of his childhood—maybe because of the hunger and all the shit he survived—but either way, it’s more reassuring to imagine she never told him because she never needed to. 

He isn’t naive, he knows that not all parents love their kids, but she did. He knew, without her having to say anything, that she felt that way.

His train of thought crashes against the sound of wood whining, signaling your ascent up the stairs.

Staring straight ahead, he breathes carefully and tames his hell of emotions.

Why does he feel this way? He said it too, just when you had no way of knowing he did. Emotion raged inside him then as well, but not as intensely as this.

He feels like a little kid staring up at that cold bed. Even though it crawled, and the stench hung thick in the air, he begged for her when she wasn’t conscious to hear, and never would be again.

He gnaws on his thumb. He doesn’t want to remember that.

It occurs to him, he didn’t think his feelings would be requited, deep down.

It’s a mystery to him how love can fit into this world at all, much less there be some reserved for someone like him—how you have room in your golden heart for someone like him. It takes a flick of the wrist to swing a knife, and it’s an automatic reaction to hit when you’re struck, but he’s an amateur with the rest.

Being born in violence, raised in it, trained at it to perfection—it just doesn’t add up. He thinks he will die in it as well.

But he knows his feelings for you by now. He knows most of all that it’s impossible to put them to bed, let alone destroy them.

He hugs himself, hissing softly. Because of everything else, he didn’t realize he was freezing.

He has scarcely felt so sober in his entire life. In fact, if a pin dropped in another room, he would hear it—he’s that alert—but he wants to give you more time. 

To be sure, he thinks, knowing he’s putting the confrontation off. Partly, he doesn’t want to face you. But then, there’s another.

—

The floorboards whining under his steps on the second floor drone like alarms. He knows you know he’s coming now—there’s no way you’re asleep.

Terror thuds in his ears as he stares at the front of the bedroom door, willing himself. He is wrestling with thoughts he defeated a long time ago: whether he should knock, how to carry himself once inside, how you’re likely to react, and—

The turn of the knob is so sudden he locks up for an attack before the door whines open. Immediately, his eyes are on the floor.

“Are you…?”

Whether you’re about to say ‘mad’, ‘sober’ or ‘okay’—his next question is the same: “Are you?”

It rings in the air. You apologize before you sit down on the window sill.

His lips tug down. Whenever you apologize unprovoked, he thinks it’s for you simply existing, whether you know that or not.

“I’m so, so sorry. We can just act like it ever happened.”

He forces his lips to move. “Quit apologizing.”

“Why…?“ You look stumped. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.”

He stares from the doorway, back straight. In some way you’re right, but is it also possible you didn’t think he’d feel the same? 

The doorframe is his only support. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you just… don’t.” It's a statement that sounds more like a question.

“That’s confusing.”

“Well sometimes,” you sigh, “you’re confusing, too. When I said it, you physically left the room to get away from me. Now here you are, making me feel stupid because I thought that meant you didn’t want to hear it.”

You’re extremely hurt.

His chest is cold. “It wasn’t you, it’s what you said. Without any warning. Then you said you didn’t mean it.”

“Oh.” The word sounds punched from you. “That’s not what I—”

His teeth grind. “How exactly did you expect me to react?”

You look down at your feet.

“I would be doing anything other than standing here if I didn’t—also feel that way.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper. “Fuck, I’m crying.” You furiously wipe your eyes. “I meant it slipped out. I guess I just think about it a lot, s-so that’s what happened.”

“You think about it…?” he trails off, genuinely confused.

“I didn’t wanna put pressure on you. And you always—” you gesture vaguely, “—you always say stuff without saying it.”

He waits for you to go on, but you’re busy collecting yourself, wiping your eyes. 

“You surprised me,” he offers, blandly.

“I know.”

But you weren’t the first to say it. It was a slip of the tongue on your part, even though your feelings are just as true as his.

For him, it was premeditated. He was sure.

For you two, this is a serious argument. He feels the need to get you both on the same page.

“You're wrong,” he tells you.

“What do you mean?”

For as long as he’s stood watching you, he looks away. “I said you’re wrong.”

Your lips part, moving, but not understanding. “Which part?”

“The last part.”

“A-About saying stuff?”

“Second to last,” he snarls.

“Pressure,” you sound out. “You said it?”

His cheeks heat, he’s excruciatingly embarrassed. “…Yeah.”

You look at him like he’s just grown a second head. “…Well, then—when? If you did, I would’ve heard you.”

“No. You wouldn’t have.” He shifts his footing and frowns at the look on your face. “Don’t make me say it… it’s embarrassing.”

A long, arduous silence thickens the air again. Hopefully you gather what happened—which mortifies him much more than if he just told you outright, making it seem as if it was casual for him.

Then he hears a heavier sniff, and his feet lurch into step. An ache permeates his fingers—which he notices only now—from knuckling the doorframe. 

He paces over and sits down next to you, leaving space. Mostly for his own peace of mind.

“Levi… Why in the world would you do a creepy thing like that?”

He’s shocked to hear you sound coy. You’re even making a face when he glances over. 

As usual, he doesn’t get the joke. He doesn’t have a good answer, either.

“J-Just to see.”

“See?”

“What would happen.”

You nod a little, expression even again. “When?”

“…What is this, an interrogation?”

“Well, for all I know…” you smirk a little, “…you said it two years ago, before we started dating. Or four years, when you were—”

“I get it,” he cuts in, scowling. “Quit guessing. They’re bad guesses, anyway. You’d never figure it out.”

“I doubt that.”

“Of course you do.”

You scoff, in mock-hurt, picking at your cuticles in that nervous way you never quit doing.

You’re smiling a little. He sees its radiance out of the corner of his eye. “And unlike me… you were sober,” you guess.

He clutches his hands into soft fists. “So? You can say anything while sober.” His lips press together. “Can’t you?”

“Yeah.”

With no room for urgency, you lay your head on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen. 

He doubts he makes a good pillow right now; he’s so tense that if a brick was thrown at him, it would break into pieces.

It’s not like you to sit in silence—it doesn’t even feel like the conversation is over—but each moment drags. It feels like a long feather is stroking his insides, not because of what you’ll say, but the very words themselves.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he sucks in a swift breath. 

He is at a crossroad: breathing hard, forcing control, or not breathing at all.

What this feeling is, is magma boiling up inside him and burning him alive, and he squeezes his eyes shut so tight it aches because he doesn’t know why he can’t just get over himself and be normal—to react normally to those words.

But it’s not too much.

Obediently, you raise your head to give him space. The look on his face is unimaginably pained, even tortured.

“...Is it okay?” You whisper this, too.

He swallows, and looks away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I don’t know either, but I don’t care.”

It takes him several long moments before he can trust his voice. “C-Could you say it again? I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, I can.” A smile is in your voice. “I love you. I love you, Levi.”

“Are—Are you sure?” he asks, voice raw.

Your breath shakes. “Yes.”

“Make sure.”

You humor him even though you can probably tell that he’s overwhelmed. It suddenly, just—sounds so good to hear it. So fulfilling.

You say it and say it, finally breathing life into what this is and giving it away fearlessly—or as fearlessly as one can speak despite their trembling breath. 

While making knots out of his trousers, he shudders his own breath. If you touched him right now, he might explode.

You actually love him. Someone can, and it’s you.

“I love you,” you say, and gently, so gently, your hand lands atop his own. 

“Levi.” You mouth at his hairline. “I love you. I love you with all my heart.”

He makes a face, teeth grinding so he doesn’t either snort, or give into shaking. 

“You’re so fucking sappy, it makes me sick,” he rasps, pulling away. 

You have a pretty laugh. As your hand moves to pull away, he abruptly takes it, and still not looking at you, pulls it to his lips.

That look on his face, you’re conflicted on. A deep frown tugs his lips down, and that wrinkle between his brow is more pronounced than ever, but he’s blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. Silvery blue eyes are open, shining softly.

“Levi.”

He pauses with your hand, as if contemplating something, before giving it the smallest of squeezes and letting it go.

You feel the need to preface, “You don’t need to say anything.”

So he doesn’t say anything. For a moment.

“It’s difficult for me.” His voice shakes, and he feels pathetic.

“I know.” You touch his shoulder. “But I know how you feel… you know?”

Nod.

Your expression reminds him of a tired dove. “I’ll be in bed, okay?”

Relief. He nods again. He’ll join you later, but he needs time to calm down, and to think.

He has never been happier in his whole life.

—

At the turn of the new year, your last days, you climb up on horseback behind Levi most mornings and spend afternoons going wherever the wind takes you, however long you want, doing anything.

Endlessly, forever, for both the first time and possibly your last. 

That last evening midway through January, your cheeks still hurt from smiling so much. That day, you had stumbled upon the largest field of sunflowers either of you had ever seen and had a picnic, despite the sleet still layered on the ground.

Levi was quieter than usual, but if he wasn’t enjoying himself, even the slightest bit, he would’ve found some way to complain—which never happened. 

The eternal struggle even momentarily drifted from your mind, which you had been wrestling: this war, its demands, its aftermath, and its end (if it will ever come). Slavery to the fight.

It was your idea to make your last evening last as long as possible by spending most of the night up talking and rating a ton of teas.

He didn’t have a single issue staying awake; you were the one who dozed off with your head propped up on your hand during the twilight hour.

Now he nudges open the stiff bedroom door with his back, taking care not to let your feet bump the doorway, nor for your neck nod off his shoulder.

After he lays you down in bed, you moan softly in your sleep and roll onto your side, away from him.

His lips quirk, just a little. You make it hard to help himself.

As soon as he’s curled up behind you, tangled in the sheets, you roll again and all but plant him on his back to lay your head down.

Nobody says anything. Maybe it just comes naturally to your sleeping self.

Levi’s lips quirk again. 

He wants to sleep. Nights of solitude never truly bother him unless you’re sleeping peacefully; it’s an especially excruciating pit of loneliness that forms after an hour or two of finding patterns in the cracks in the ceiling. Only the guarantee that he will be ready for any possible emergency that concerns you (may it come or not) reassures him.

He can feel it. Sleep won’t come.

Until the mourning doves begin their crooning, his mind wanders around in pointless directions. Dawn’s grey light creeps in.

He sighs softly to himself to the tune of your soft snores. There’s still much to get done before you can properly go. He might as well get a headstart.

You’ll need the rest. Your mood is twice as antsy as his if you don’t get enough sleep compared to when he doesn’t sleep at all, which is saying something.

So he climbs out of bed.

By the time the sun has properly risen in the sky, Levi is laying out a small breakfast on the dining table; the lazy sound of wood creaking from upstairs was his signal.

The last of the butter melts on a crisp piece of toast next to a bunch of strawberries he sliced this morning. It’s the last of those, too.

You toddle down the wood stairs, which also whine under your steps, scrubbing sleep from your eyes.

“Good,” he greets you. “You’re dressed. Eat. You’ll need the energy.”

“Good morning to you too.”

He bites down on the inside of his cheek as you plop down in the chair. It’s not even a good mood that’s begging him to smile: you amuse him.

“Thanks,” you grunt, and take a real look at him. His insomnia is chronic enough for him to hide seamlessly, but you know him well (“Too damn well,” he likes to say.).

“Are you nervous?”

“There’s a lot to do,” he replies, sits, and crosses his legs with one arm slung over the chair back.

Truthfully, it’s hard to tell. This is more of a feeling of being sure something’s waiting around a coming corner, but he can’t tell if it’s a friend or a threat yet.

He resists the urge to rub his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” you sigh. “I can’t remember anything that happened after we tried that…” You blink hard. “Keemun.”

“Don’t look so guilty. I don’t sleep much.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

He’s pleased you never woke up while he carried you; the keemun was the best place to end things, anyway. It tasted as smooth as an expensive cigar, if rolled in baked plums and chocolate.

You’re leaving here with so many good memories, it hurts. The pain makes him wonder.

If the opportunity never presents itself for you both to return, or worse, he alone would be given it, then all that would ever remain in this place is ghosts.

He watches you nibble away at the last of your toast like a chipmunk, and knows for certain—he would always feel for you the same way, even if Yan didn’t “repay” him that “debt”.

Would he have told you he loves you?

No, he decides. His pessimistic side wants to write this while trip off as being lulled into a false sense of security.

To be fair, that’s what it is. False.

This bundle of peace is left standing bright at your retreating backs. One day, it could be a horrible memory, a reflection of broken dreams.

There are other dreams which wait to be fulfilled, but you will still be with him, as long as you don’t leave him behind.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you think you’ll remember this in the future?”

You nearly spit out your toast. “Huh? Of course I will. Won’t you?”

“Yeah.” The bookshelf a few paces from the front door holds only a few lonely books now. He looks at that instead of you. “But that means missing it.”

“I know, but…” you wipe your mouth with a napkin, “…We’ll miss everything, you know?”

“Yeah, but this is… more than that.”

Your lips tug down, and he kind of wishes he didn’t say anything.

“More than everything?”

Yes.

“Forget it,” he says.

“…Would you rather we not have done it?”

No reply. You put what remains of your toast down. “You can be honest.”

“I’d rather not miss it.”

The good things are a blessing, and a curse. He knows too well what this world is majorly made up of—he needs to be ready for that. He can’t be sure of anything, including the good things.

But he forces himself not to regret. This winter, it was still good. He got to be with you. It isn’t what he learned to let himself do, or feel, or think—but not to do any of those things at all.

To simply be.

Comfort. False security. All these in passing turns a prick of pain that will inevitably come along into a thrashing whip. It makes one complacent and comfortable when they can’t afford to be. Tragedy waits, always.

He has never experienced such happiness, which is why he has never been so disappointed in himself for allowing himself to do so.

Quiet persists. You have your listening face on now, napkin crushed in one hand while you exchange soft blinks.

“I don’t mean to shit all over the mood, but I want your opinion,” he decides. “…D’you think this was for nothing?”

You reach across the table and lay your hand on his. 

“Nothing’s for nothing,” you say.

He wants to believe you.

—

As you expected, Levi has double his weight in bags slung over his shoulders when he pokes his head in the bathroom. 

“How long is it gonna be till you’re ready?—Another month?”

“Hm. More like two,” you reply, smiling. 

A scoff, followed by the clacks of his boots retreating out the front door. 

And you keep smiling. Really, all that’s left to do is take a cursory look around to make sure nothing got left behind.  

Retreating from the bathroom, you stand at ease and examine the bookshelf in the hallway. It feels different than leaving the dining table, or even the bench off the side of the house.

You really read a horse’s weight in books while you were here. Most of the books themselves are still with you, but… it won’t be the same.

Only the rumpled spine of one and the faded covers of a few others are left stacked neatly in one desolate corner. Those ones were bad, and not in the fun way, you both agreed (these days you more often than not read together). 

You took your all-time favorite stories with you, which you’ll treasure until they too are faded. The classics as well, the just-okays, and the bad ones that turned out somehow fun.

The few so contrived, goofy and terrible that you begged to keep, because it made Levi honestly, earnestly laugh—and sometimes a little louder, more than once.

You step off the front porch steps, feeling torn, yet oddly fulfilled.

Nothing’s for nothing. A moment within a lake of millions, but you want to remember them all, all the same. 

This one especially.

—

It takes three hours under a cold, clean sky to reach Trost. By then, the afternoon sun is high and there is much unpacking to be done.

Levi slapped away your sticky fingers every time you insisted on helping carrying a lumpy bag or box inside from the front. 

“I got it,” he bitched earlier. “You don’t need to do anything.”

“But I want a job!”

He scoffed. “Fine. I have one for you: sit down and look pretty. You think you can do that?”

You roll your eyes at the memory as he passes down the small set of stairs by you. You’re still brooding, planted on top of a flat stone column just outside the tall doors. 

He knew you would, but then you make a game out of it, much to his chagrin.

For every one of his treks, you pat him somewhere—usually the top of his head—but he never knows where you’re going to aim next.

He dodges a flick to his elbow.

“Woah, you look unsteady,” you say, tone full of artificial concern. “You need help?”

He catches your wandering eyes with his cheek pressed against the cardboard box in his arms. “Don’t you have anything better to do besides distract me?”

You smile. “I can stare.”

He rolls his eyes.

Two trips later, you get dangerously close to his backside. He manages to pivot just in time and stares you down suspiciously, a box under one arm and a knapsack slung over one shoulder.

He doesn’t even look surprised anymore.

All you do is smirk.

In the end, you win that one.

It’s a blessing that HQ is still unpopulated. That’s the way it’ll be until next week, something Levi planned far in advance.

All for the better in his mind. A Scout, someone from your squad a long time ago (and who apparently almost beat him to asking you out for Mayfest a couple years ago) left the Corps early last spring. He had gotten married to a scullery maid out of Klorva District. Weird.

You put up the wagon while he stabs a familiar key into a familiar lock, and steps into his familiar quarters.

His nose scrunches as he surveys his office. He can physically see the dust particles floating in the air, especially in the glow of the windows, thanks to the afternoon sun above.

Scraping his fingertips underneath the desk confirms his suspicions.

This place is a wreck, he thinks, scowling at nothing in particular.

But after wiping his hands off with a handkerchief, he does find something to scowl at. A white wicker basket sits in his chair. It’s adorned with red and pink frills, a bunch of fresh fruit, and even… a teddy bear?

He snatches up the card on the bear’s lap, and as he reads, his glare darkens.

‘Hope your honeymoon was productive! (I know it wasn’t officially a honeymoon, but why else would you take a vacation? Levi? Vacation? Ha!)

Mike insisted I buy you this stuffed bear in preparation for the next nine months! I can’t wait to have another little Levi runn—’

Levi tears his eyes away from the card. Fucking four-eyes.

Using a stool, he gets the thing stuffed up high in a closet behind a carton of cigars. Those are for special occasions; he has no more fitting place for the basket (except for the fruit, which he stores in the kitchenette).

Just in time. Outside his office, the door opens, then thumps shut to the sound of your boots clicking as you cross the floor.

“Everything’s put away,” you tell him proudly.

“Good. I have work to do,” he replies without turning, setting the stool back in the corner of his office. “You have anything you need to do first?”

You get an early start on paperwork while he takes a much-deserved shower. After that, you work together in comfortable silence.

A sense of coming home crashes over him after he randomly blinks out of focus from his current sheet of paperwork. This one contains a list of grades and statistics of Cadets who seem likely to join up this coming spring.

He glances over at you without moving his head—you, bathed in gold thanks to the sunset moving across his desk.

Another random fact of Hange’s enters his mind: apparently, pregnant women’s skin tends to glow. Something about hormones.

Your pencil scratches paper.

He covers his warming cheeks with the back of his hand and averts his gaze. That stupid basket.

Work. Surprisingly, he spots one name on the page he remotely recognizes. Jaeger. A doctor with the same name was famous in Shiganshina for curing an epidemic several years back.

The next time he looks up, you’re planting a bowl of stew down on his desk, green tea and bread included.

He takes a breath, and his mouth instantly waters. He forgot to eat lunch earlier.

Then you place a hand in his hair. He glances up towards your fond smile.

“Do you wanna start the fireplace after you’re done eating?”

A wave of affection crashes over his chest. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m about to,” you reply. “So?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

By the time your bellies are warm and full, he has stoked the logs enough to get a real fire going. Past the sitting room’s windows, which stretch across the entire back wall, snow floats down in weightless drops.

He stores the poker away, stands, then turns. Your arms are open. 

“C’mere.”

That same feeling flips his chest over again. He pins his tongue between his teeth before quickly approaching. 

You tug him down until he lays sideways down the sofa, his head in your lap and facing the fireplace. Despite you being sat right in the middle, he’s still too short for his feet to knock against the armrest.

“I had to get that stew from the mess hall,” you’re murmuring, tucking dark bangs behind his ear. “It wasn’t that good.”

“Your standards are too high,” he replies, leaning into your palm. Everything is so warm.

“Oh? What’re my standards?”

“Your cooking. Of course everything else tastes bad in comparison.”

You laugh at this. “You’re too kind.”

Huffing, he closes his eyes and covers his face lips with a loose fist.

You’re so wrong it hurts.

He never wants you to stop.

A different realization hits him. This doesn’t feel too different from some nights you spent back on a whole other world, at the cabin.

He blinks off into space. It is just a house, a place. There would be nothing nearly as enticing about it if you weren’t there with him.

“You okay?” you ask. “You’re more quiet than usual.”

He rolls over to face you. As you slouch a little, getting comfortable, he moves with you.

“When I first got inside, this basket of fruit was sitting on my desk from four-eyes. I’m trying to figure out how they got in.”

Through giggles, “Was anything missing?”

“I don’t think so.” He was too stressed out at the time to check thoroughly. “But still.”

A thin, felt blanket is pulled off the back of the couch, then laid over him, up to his shoulders.

He turns his head.

“You looked cold,” you offer as an excuse, and he rolls his eyes, even though he was.

The fire was also dying down, but since you didn’t say anything, he didn’t stand to get it.

Typically, he would do it anyway, but…

You pet his hair down, scratching gently at his scalp.

It can wait.

He looks much more comfortable now that he’s covered up. A spontaneous memory unfurls in your mind, when losing Wall Maria. You think about forgetting those three days all the time, but the memory of that one night (or early morning? It’s hard to remember) you want to keep forever.

He was so shy then. And much more aloof. When you embraced him, that was the first time you had ever hugged a steel pole.

“We’re both still alive, but if you want to keep it that way, get some rest. Otherwise I’d have to tag along to make sure you don’t die. Doesn’t sound fun, does it?”

You bite down a bittersweet smile while what feels like big wings flutter in your chest. Was that really five years ago?

“What’s so funny?”

Your eyes meet Levi’s scrupulous ones. Most of his expression is hidden in your shirt.

“Nothin’.”

Yeah, right, he thinks, but his eyes fall shut to feel your hand carding his bangs all the way back over his forehead.

That’s something Mom used to do, if he remembers right, especially after cutting the rat’s nest that was usually his hair.

His childhood had more peaceful times than he gives it credit for. This time, though, he aims to keep these times from ever stopping.

He isn’t foolish. As long as Erwin’s dream hasn’t come to fruition, the fighting won’t cease. It may never stop, at least by the time he’s no longer there to fight for it, but he knows some things for sure.

You two will never be normal—he has long-since accepted that. As long as he has this, you, he can make peace with his more selfish dreams.

Within the coming months, the 104th batch of recruits will be up for the chopping block; a bunch of brats spit out into the three branches like marbles. Erwin will give his honeyed speech, and Levi will be near, and he won’t have to say much.

Some of those marbles will land in the Survey Corps, most won’t. But those few are more brave, or foolish, than any slack-jawed cow of a noble could ever fully grasp.

And finally, always, when you two return to HQ—bustling or sparse, the day heavy or light—you will be with him. 

Home. He knows what that means now, and it doesn’t have to be a place. Maybe you will stretch his legs across his lap, or make a casserole. Maybe he will replace the flowers in your vase that you accidentally neglect often enough to worry him.

He will feel time wandering and expanding, daring him to believe your midnight conversations will stretch on forever.

They won’t, but he has made peace with that. This life is, in fact, more heavenly than he ever could have imagined wanting for himself, let alone making.

You and he will simply have to fight, within an inch of your lives at worst, in order to keep it.

The End.

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