#eren's color is purple and they know it

[slvt4conniee]

Put Your Hand Around My Throat, Please. • Aot

characters: armin, mikasa, hange, eren, and levi.

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Armin

you and armin are currently making out on his bed. his hand roaming up the sides of your body, getting a good feel of it.

your arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss connection you guys have. his hand slipping by your neck, made you let out a breathy moan.

you removed yourself from the kiss, placing your forehead against his. both of you breathing heavy, trying to find air to share.

“put your hand around my throat.” you said, looking at him with doe eyes.

he gulped, eyes slightly widening at the statement. “pardon?”

“put your hand around my throat, please,” you said again, sounding more desperate.

he looked at you, slowly placing his hands around your throat just like you asked. “like this?”

“squeeze it please.”

and he obeyed, adding pressure little by little making you moan. he pulled you in for another make out session, and we all know where that led up too.

Mikasa

you and mikasa were just going at it. underwear off, bras off, y’all were just ready. she kissed you, while rubbing your clit, swallowing your sounds.

she detached herself, going towards your neck, her lips nipping at your skin leaving purple marks that are hella visible. though her lips were there, your throat felt empty.

“mikasa put your hand around my throat, please,” you begged.

and her hands are already there, gripping on the sides of it making you whimper. she pulled you closer to her face, while as her fingers were going inside of your mouth and you coated it with your saliva as she went back to playing with your clit again.

she went back to kissing you, tongue overlapping with yours, as she pulled away to hear those pretty sounds you make.

“so sensitive princess.”

Hange

hange knows you so well you don’t even have to ask her to do shit for you.

you were at a party, dressed up in a silky blonde dress that stopped at your thighs and revealed the crease of your boobs.

a group of men tried talking to you, but hange was next to you. they didn’t say anything, they didn’t want to say anything. all they could do was smirk.

“what’s your number?” one of the guys asked, walking close to you forgetting that hange was next to you.

you were standing still, looking at that man dead in the face hoping hange would say something. they usually does the talking but all of a sudden they didn’t.

the men just kept asking questions that made you uncomfortable and hange, pulled you in for a nasty kiss right in-front of them.

they already knew how much you liked being choked, so you really didn’t have to say anything. they wrapped their hands around your exposed neck, kissing you even deeply. their eyes making eye contact with the men that were standing infront of you.

they let go of you. you looked away from hanges gaze. their hands still wrapped around your throat.

“her number is this pussy i fuck, dot eight eight eight.”

Eren

You were sitting on his lap having a regular make out sess like you always do when you go to his house.

the kiss was getting heated and you felt something spring up in between your legs. his colored patched pajama pants not doing him any justice.

he tried to shift you off of him but you enjoyed the feeling of his dick pressing against your cunt. you began to grind against him. his dick hitting the outside of your clothed pussy in the right spots.

“that feels so fucking good,” he groaned, his head back on the couches pillow.

he was grinding up against you, holding onto the arm of the couch. both of your mouths were slightly open, your head thrown back nothing for it to lay on.

“eren, put your hand around my throat please.” you gasped, feeling his balls rub against your entrance.

eren put his slim fingers around your throat, squeezing at a pleasant tension you like. you moaned feeling your stomach shoot up with signals you were soon to orgasm.

“you’re such a slutty bitch, you know that right?”

Levi

you and levi don’t have make out sessions often. he feels as though he’s not a good kisser and he gets embarrassed after kissing you for a while.

his lips were latched onto yours, going at a slow passionate pace. after every kiss was followed after a sound, a breath, an echo.

his was hovering over you, shirtless. while you guys were kissing, you were tracing your finger on his chest. sneakily thrusting upwards to close the space between you two.

he saw the hints and came down on you, grinding on you lightly, feeling the shape of his dick on your pussy. he broke apart the kiss, now kissing down your chest.

“levi,” you whispered. “put your hands around my throat,”

levi stopped kissing your chest, his eyes looking up towards you. his jet black hair covering his forehead wrinkles as he did so.

“absolutely not.” he said, going back to kissing your body.

“please! levi please, i need your hands around my th–“

his hands were around your throat to shut you up. his grip made your eyes roll, the feeling of his warm hand around your neck plus the tight tension did it for you.

“shut up with that begging shit. you know i hate it when you beg.”

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~not proof-read~

#anime #black reader #writers #aot x reader #aot headcanons #aot smut #eren smut #mikasa smut #levi smut #hange smut #armin smut #animesmut #aot x y/n #aot imagines

[seeingivy]

tending to injuries 

eren jaeger x f!reader 

in which you help your roommate with an injury and find yourself in an uncompromising situation.

**roommate eren fic masterlist here 

previous part linked here

- 

Eren is a way better roommate than Nifa. Granted, the bar was in hell with that one but the two of you shockingly work very well together. You don’t talk to him very often and he doesn’t talk to you. He makes dinner but you do the dishes. He vacuums the floors but you do the laundry. Eren keeps you at arm's length, so you keep him there as well. 

You learn that Eren is a soccer player, first string for the upcoming season in the fall. He’s currently a Computer Science major, hoping to develop technology for nonprofits to use. Because of this, he’s barely home - when he’s not at practice, he’s at his internship, coding away. When he’s home, you make sure you’re out, working, running errands, doing anything. 

Eren makes you nervous. After the first night staying with him, you realized you have no idea who the guy even is and clearly doubt his line of thought when he made a decision to let you cohabitate with him based on seven questions, one of which was what your favorite color was. The thought of him scares you, his presence intimidating and domineering. He somehow sucks up all of the air when the two of you are in a room, leaving you feeling breathless. He’s also hot. 

While you’re not one for physical conventions, you have to admit he isn’t bad to look at. His brown hair, green eyes, toned arms. After you and Eren fall into a normal routine, you decide Saturday mornings are the best part of the week. Having designated Saturday’s as your off day from working, you sleep in, make breakfast slowly, and take a bath - all before Eren comes home from soccer practice. 

However, your current plans - listening to evermore and sitting in the bath for a few hours - were squandered when you heard a crash in your kitchen. You grab the closest clothes on the counter, rushing out to check what the sound was. 

You turn into the kitchen to find Eren, with a purple eye, and one of the drawers of your fridge on the floor. 

“Hey. My bad. Pulled it too hard.” he says, pulling out an ice pack before returning the drawer to its usual spot. You go to his side, reaching to touch the bruise over his eye. 

“Hold on, Eren. Do you mind if I do an eye exam?” you ask, rummaging in the drawers for your flashlight pen. 

He nods, as you pace around, gathering the items you need. He leans against the counter, watching you move around him. You start by placing your fingers on the side of his eyes, making sure there was no breakage near the side of his bone. 

“What happened?” you ask, moving on to shine the light of the pen along his path of vision. 

“Ball to the face. Ow.” he responds, wincing at your fingers brushing across the side of his eye.

“Sorry. Okay, can you look up for me? Then down? Right? Left?” you ask, holding the side of his face between your hands as you watch his pupils move back and forth. 

You sigh, removing your hands and putting space between the two of you. 

“You’re going to be okay. Ice it every hour, give it a break so your skin doesn’t get irritated. Advil for the pain. Tell me if it gets worse.” 

“How do you know how to do that?” 

“Doctor dad.” 

“Me too.” 

You start to pace around the kitchen, grabbing him a fresh ice pack, Advil, and a glass of water. As you move to grab your pen to do another exam, his fingers curl around the length of your wrist, stopping you in your stead. 

“Hey, silly girl. I’ve got a question for you” he says, his breath tickling the back of your neck. 

You turn to face him, your heart pounding at the sight of him staring down at you. What’s he doing? Why does he keep calling you that? You can feel him jeering at you, his eyes glinting at you. 

“Why are you wearing my hoodie?” he asks, holding the fabric between his fingertips. 

You feel your cheeks turn red, looking down to see you weren’t wearing your Spiderman crewneck but instead Eren’s soccer hoodie, which had Jaeger embroidered in big letters onto the back. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Eren. The noise scared me - you’re usually not home at this time so I was coming to check what happened. I just grabbed what was closest when getting out of the bath.” 

He smiles, pulling the hood over the top of your damp hair. 

“Keep it. You look cute, silly girl.” he responds, sliding the ice pack off the counter and retreating to his room.

- 

next part linked here

pls let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!!! just reply to this post or leave ur @ in my asks box :D 

#eren jeager x reader #eren jeager fluff #eren jeager #eren x you #eren x reader #eren fluff #eren #eren x y/n #snk x y/n #snk x you #snk x reader #snk eren #snk #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot #aot fluff #eren jaeger #seeingivywrites! #read more break #roommate eren

[taomyou]

a sip of sunshine - chapter one (A)

!! minors dni !! pairing: levi ackerman/reader word count: 22,458 sypnosis: Life is not easy, and Levi’s made peace with the fact that it never will be. And, yet, as the days pass and he comes to enjoy the company of the baker across town, he learns that the sun will always continue to shine, no matter how unworthy he feels to bask in its warmth. - or, Levi learns to be okay with drinking shitty tea. tags: postcanon, canon universe, birthday, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, found family, survivor guilt, eventual romance, eventual smut, character study, grumpy/sunshine, hurt/comfort, bakery, tea, meet-cute, no y/n, pov levi ackerman, not beta read a/n: no smut in this chapter, will be in chapter two. also sorry this took a while to crosspost www. this chapter is also being broken up into two parts because it exceeds the text limit, this is the FIRST half (,,>﹏<,,) accompanying playlist || ao3

chapter one: white peony beauty, bashfulness | shame, apology

Though Levi never imagined ever making it past 20, nevermind past 30…

If Levi ever had dreams of what his life would be like when he’d turn 40, he certainly never would’ve imagined this.

This where his days are occupied by nothing.

All his life, he’s had to fight for more—for more resources, for more time, for more freedom. Between fiending for food and fighting to keep himself from crumbling, never was there time to even think about nothing.

And, now, with the War finally laid to rest alongside his fallen comrades, Levi finally has the time to do what meaningless things he couldn’t during his time as his mother’s son and Kenny’s mentee and the Underground’s most notorious thug and Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

For the first time in his life, he’s free.

And because he doesn’t know how to be that, he does nothing.

But that’s fine with him. He’s hardly concerned with the fact that he’s as boring as he always was, and there’s plenty of other parts of this life that hardly make any sense to him.

This where the weather—the sky—is equally as tranquil as the morning birdsong.

He tips his head back to gaze at the sun above often, but he seldom ever finds the clouds he expects to be blocking it.

Instead, he’s met with a sky so painfully big and bright and blue, he fears he may tear up if he looks too long.

Yet, all he does is stare.

The breeze is never still, nor is it harsh, and the air is never as disgustingly muggy as he grew to believe it always was. He’d breathed fresh air when he first came to the Surface, but that feeling doesn’t hold a candle to the now crisp, everchilling wind that clears his sinuses and blows his hair in every which direction whenever he steps outside of the quaint farmhouse he now resides in. There's a weathervane perched atop his roof in the shape of a horse that points him in the direction of the stars, and Levi'd painted it black to match the stallion he'd trusted with his life so long ago.

Though, even if he has come to enjoy the presence of birds as they fly overhead to the south, he’ll never truly get over the stains their shit leaves on his outdoor tables and chairs.

Fucking bastards.

This where the sea meets that same sky he once dreamed of seeing.

Scarcely ever does he ever go to the ocean to view the sky from the sand, but in the rare moments that Mikasa requests his presence at the shore, Levi lets himself get lost in the way the clear blue fades to red and orange and purple and pink as the hours pass. The colors bleed into themselves, yet Levi can still discern where they start and end. Even with only one fully functional eye, he can see the pigmented stains in the sunset.

Sometimes, he’ll see green, but that might just be because Mikasa speaks castles about the emeralds she finds in her memories of Eren’s eyes.

They’d always reminded him of Isabel’s, though, so maybe it’s her that he sees when the sun falls in the west.

Where the sea meets the sky, the waves brush up white water, leaving salt marks on the treads of his wheelchair, and while Mikasa holds her scarf to her eyes as she weeps, Levi wishes he had more time to dream with his friends of what life would be like along this very shoreline. Whether or not they’d enjoy the crisp salt air, he has no idea, but he has no doubt that they would’ve spent all their free time watching this very horizon, waiting for the night to find excuse to take themselves to the bar and drink their hearts away.

He supposes that’s why he refuses to come to the sea alone.

Mikasa shoulders his grief, just as he shoulders hers.

This where carrots and cabbages and all other crops are growing just outside his house, and are brought to life with his own hands and those of his loved ones.

When he’d first moved in, he refused to tend to the plants already there. He was exhausted enough after hauling all of his shit in (which, admittedly, wasn’t much to begin with, but you try to move furniture in a new house with fresh wounds), and he’d be lying if he said he craved responsibility after all his years of leading soldiers to their deaths in the Corps.

But as time went on and Levi realized his hands weren’t as marred by blood as he thought they were, he opened up to the idea, and, one day, he found himself simply accustomed to watering sprouting stalks, taking note of the seasons, and planning his meals around what he could harvest from the earth in his backyard.

It’s hardly easy, mostly because he can barely stand to be hunched over the garden for longer than a few short hours at a time, but he holds himself to it. He hasn’t been as strict with upkeep lately, as it’s hardly worth the effort to keep the plants from browning in the winter, but he already knows what he’s going to plant in the new year.

In particular, Springer forces Levi to keep at it, constantly threatening to buy out the extra farmland from him. Levi knows that piece of shit isn’t rich enough to even own his own property, much less buy out this farm, but it’s motivation enough to know that the soldier-turned-ambassador will risk his safety to push Levi to be consistent in his farming duties.

Gabi and Falco help, too. Those kids are over at his house during practically all hours of the day, fussing about and asking Levi to regale what parts of his life he’s found joy in while they help carry buckets of mulch and water.

He’s grateful that they don’t ask about anything else, but the fact remains that they fucking suck at making marks in the soil, so don’t get it twisted and say that he’s gone soft.

He takes care of this garden because he has to, not because he feels any personal desire to do so.

Besides, Onyankopon took fucking forever to build up all the furrows a bit above ground level to allow Levi the ease of not having to fully squat to reach the earth. Levi refuses to let that labor go to waste and leave the heightened dirt barren.

This where he can lay in a bed that’s always comfortable and clean, never sullied by the sinking weight of the grief he carries with him in the daytime.

Sleep doesn't come any easier now than it did before. When he can’t get his mind to rest easily (which is more often than he’d care to admit), he sits in the chair at the corner of his bedroom with his eyes closed, burdening the wood with the weight of his blood-soaked soul. His mind runs wild in the nighttime nearly every day, replaying memories he only wishes to remember in memoriam of those he’s lost, but Levi refuses to lay between his sheets until he knows he will not dirty them with his sorrow.

He’d already ruined the dirty cot he had as a child with the grief of his mother and her work, the bed he had occupied during his time as a hardened criminal with the blood of his adversaries, the bed he was given in the Corps with the guilt of not being able to protect those he loved. This bed, the one with white sheets and the smell of lavender sprigs, Levi decides, will not be laid in unless he’s sure he won’t ruin it with his memories.

To everyone else, it’s foolish, but after all is said and done, he knows his bed will be there, and though he seldom gets to sleep in it, that is enough for him.

To have a bed, unmarred by the parts of his soul he wishes to save for his conscious self.

This where his tea is always warm, always the same.

Prior to this life, he never thought he’d be afforded the luxury of having something familiar. War changed far too much for a man like him, burdened with the heartache of the world, and to think that he has hot water, the same tea leaves he’d enjoyed in Paradis, and a kitchen where he can sit and watch the steam spill out of a ceramic teapot he’d brought with him from across the sea.

It’s more than enough.

And perhaps it's because, apart from his own memories and the scars that follow, he’s lost everything else reminiscent of his life before all this.

He never dare venture into new blends, new ingredients, new anything—his tea has, and will always, remain the same, because the fear of letting go of the one thing that’s stayed the same is far too great for him to part ways with the mundane routine.

Besides, there’s no guarantee that he’d be able to have another cup of tea to begin with, so he’s better off sticking to what works. All else has changed—why steer from that and disrupt the harmony of what remains of himself?

And, right now, this where he’s forced to take a seat at his dining table during high noon, and Gabi and Falco put two boxes in front of him. On the left, one that’s smaller and wrapped in golden paper, and on the right, a plain, white box that’s about the size of his head, and held together with slotted pieces.

It’s probably housing some sort of baked good—Braus used to sneak back boxes like this when they’d all first arrived in Marley.

All this isn’t to say that Levi is ungrateful in the slightest. The routine, the sky, the sea, the garden, the bed, the tea—all of it, is finally his. He never would’ve imagined they’d one day belong to him, but he’s here now, and this is his life, even if all these things don’t feel like they’re his.

It’s just that he never would’ve imagined that he’d be here, especially as he’s faced with the daunting sight of two children, now taller standing than he is sitting down, looking to him and waiting for him to open… whatever it is that they’ve brought him.

“What are these for?”

“They’re your birthday presents!” Gabi exclaims, a bright smile on her face. The slight movement of her hair as she speaks makes a flower fall from where it’s tucked behind her ear, and Falco rushes to pick it up from the floor and put it back in its place.

After a bit more shuffling, the boy then clears his throat and looks toward Levi, a nervous smile on his face. “We hope you like them. Happy birthday, Levi.”

Levi hasn’t celebrated anything, never mind his birthday, in years. He didn’t even realize it was today himself.

How they even know his birthday, he has no idea, but he supposes that word gets around when you’re Humanity’s Strongest.

More likely, before he’d set sail to tend to his ambassador duties, Arlert found his date of birth during the latest file restoration, and told these two to get Levi something.

Good call on his part. If he’d sent anyone else, Levi’d be quick to turn them away and tell them to spend their money on better things than him.

Not that he doesn’t still think that, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Gabi and Falco that he doesn’t need anything for his birthday, much-less that he wants to celebrate it in the first place. 

He isn’t even sure if he can unwrap these presents on his own—trying to peel away the clear tape that gleams underneath the kitchen light doesn’t exactly sound easy or pleasant, especially considering the fact he’s never tried doing anything like this since losing his right pointer and middle fingers. Hange used to wrap his birthday presents with the strongest industrial tape they could find, and even when he’d had full use of both his hands, he could barely pry the tape off those fucking things.

For a brief second, Levi imagines that if they were still alive, they’d have jumped at the chance to do this for him. To unwrap his presents for him and force him to celebrate his birthday, just like they and Erwin used to before any of the three of them even knew there was a land across the sea. Maybe they’d even joke that they’d be his replacement digits, or try to design something to be that for him, and Erwin would scold them for forcing their ideas onto Levi.

He misses them both a lot.

Levi curtly nods at the offerings on the table, and at the children’s continued and insistent encouragement, he caves and reaches for the first present.

Picking up the smaller wrapped present on the left, from the shape alone, he knows that he’s been gifted a canister of the black tea he buys at the market on the other end of town. It feels exactly the same in his hand wrapped as it does when he holds it barren in his kitchen, and he can feel the faint impress of the metal engraving through the wrapping paper. He brings up the gift to his ear, gently shakes it, and his suspicions are confirmed when he hears the faint rustling of loose tea leaves, a sound more familiar to him than the creak of the wooden floorboard in front of his bedroom that he refuses to fix.

An appropriate gift. He’s nearly out of his current stock of the tea, and with the current winter wind, he’s been too sluggish to get himself all the way to the market across town.

His fingers trace along the edges of the wrapping paper for where it’s folded over top itself, but as he searches for the seam to start trying to pick at it with his fingernails, against the skin of his left wrist, he feels a small ribbon. Holding the box up above his head, he sees that it hangs from the bottom of the gift and seemingly comes from within the wrapping itself.

How odd.

“What’s this?”

“You have to open it! We can’t tell you!”

“Not the gift. This ribbon.”

“Oh! The lady who wrapped it for us told us that it’s so the person opening it doesn’t have to struggle with the paper. She said to pull on the ribbon to open it.”

“Where did you find someone to gift-wrap these for you?”

“Uh,” Gabi looks to Falco, who shakes his head for her not to tell. “She just saw us struggling to wrap it, and she helped us.”

Levi’s best guess is that saying who she is would give away some part of the gifts they’ve brought back for him.

Levi hums as he tugs on the white ribbon gently, holding the canister with his left hand and pulling with his right thumb and ring finger, and the paper comes undone quickly, the ribbon tearing through.

Huh. That was surprisingly easy.

It looks that the ribbon had been attached to the canister itself, and pulling on it brought apart the paper which kept the gift hidden.

He sets aside the wrapping paper and ribbon, both of which are in one piece and will save him the trouble of having to clean up the half-town pieces of tape he expected to collect in his hand, and stares down at the tea canister. He turns it to see that it is, in fact, the black tea he always gets, and there’s a slight tug at his lips at the sentiment that the children take enough note of his tastes to make sure they’d gotten the right blend.

“Thank you, kids.”

They’re hardly kids anymore, both of them fifteen years of age, but he can’t help but see them as the young children he’d met when he’d first reached this land.

They grow up too fast.

“Now the other one!”

Levi carefully sets down the canister, and with his both his hands, he reaches for the other gift they’ve brought him.

Instead of picking it up, he simply slides the box closer to himself. Just as when he ran his fingers over the wrapper canister to find where he could start unpeeling the tape, he feels a ribbon just barely peeking out from the backside of the box. He pulls at it, and as it comes away from the box and takes away torn tape with it, Levi internally thanks whoever it was that packaged this all up.

Gabi rushes to take away the trash in Levi’s hands and from the table, rushing off to put it in the bin underneath Levi’s kitchen sink. She comes running back, holding the flower in her hair in place as she hurriedly takes her seat again, and she motions towards the box again.

Even with his eyes downturned, Levi can feel the excitement radiating off the children, so he smiles to himself as he pulls the top compartment of the box halfway-open, revealing an ornately decorated cake. In curly piped frosting, reads Happy Birthday, and all around the border is a ring of cream that smells of lemon and faint notes of mint.

What odd flavors for winter.

He pulls up the top compartment all the way so he can take out the cake, but before he can take his hands away from the cardboard to start trying to get the cake out, he sees a small pink ticket attached to its underside.

He squints to try and read the words printed on it—Good for one free item! In the bottom right corner is a small logo, picturing a bow, as well as some other lettering that’s too small for him to read.

“So, what do you think?”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“With the cake…? You eat it,” Falco politely clarifies.

“No, I know what a cake is,” Levi says gently, trying to take out the ticket from the board. He struggles a bit, his nails too short to pull at the tape initially, but he manages to pull it away and holds it in front of himself, reading the words again—Good for one free item! The print he couldn’t read earlier lists the exact address of this bakery. Looking at the logo again, he recognizes it as belonging to the corner shop he crosses to get to the market where he buys his tea. “What’s this?”

“The lady working at the bakery said it was an extra treat for you! We wanted to get you a tea-flavored cake, but she said she ran out for the day by the time we got there, and gave us a ticket to make up for it!”

“Is she the same person who wrapped the tea for you too?”

They both nod.

Levi sighs.

Whoever this woman is must be either too kind for her own good or too stupid for the same purpose. In the first place, a local bakery definitely isn’t well-off enough to be giving away free inventory to people who aren’t regulars to begin with.

Levi puts the ticket into the pocket of his pants, and he tells himself that he’ll stop by to return this to the bakery later today. He has nothing better to do today, as he doesn’t have to water the plants with the expected night rain, so he might as well just make sure that whoever it is that’s foolish enough to give away free shit knows that he won’t be taking advantage of that.

He supposes that today is the day he finally ventures back to the hustle and bustle of the city. It was about time, anyway, so he’s glad he has a reason to now.

It’d be worth it to give thanks for how she’d wrapped his presents, too.

Gabi and Falco both get up from their chairs to go over to his side of the dining table and help him take out the cake from the box, taking more hands than Levi originally thought necessary, and Levi excuses himself to grab cutlery and plates.

As he opens the cupboard to fetch just that, he can hear the two children fussing about, trying to get the cake placed in the dead center of the table, arguing over where the first cut should be made, untying limbs after they help straighten each other’s shirt collars, shouting to tell Levi he needs to start thinking of an extraordinary birthday wish to make up for all the birthdays he hasn’t celebrated.

It’s heartwarming—that they can finally occupy themselves with things other than the perils of war. That they find not only the sea, the sky, and the earth beautiful, but themselves as well.

Levi wishes he could be the same.

The dinnerware and serving utensils he needs in his lap, Levi wheels back to the table, and with the help of the two who’d so graciously brought him this cake, the three cut themselves neat slices of cake. Even though they’d forgotten to bring candles with them for Levi to blow out, they push him to ask for that wish they’d asked him to come up with just minutes prior, and even though Levi doesn’t think the universe is that forgiving, he begrudgingly tells the children that he did.

It’s almost as begrudging as the way he lifts the half-spoonful of cake that he brings up to his lips.

Earnestly, Levi doesn’t have many sweets to begin with. He enjoys candy well enough, especially lollipops, but he himself doesn’t care to learn how to bake or ever make use of the honey that’s been collecting dust at the back of his spice cabinet. He prefers the milder flavors that he knows are safe, that he can’t fuck up.

Which is why it surprises him that he enjoys this cake so much, even with the taste of sentimentality that he knew would be carried along with the spoon.

The taste of lemon is surprisingly faint, only made prominent by the smell of the cake itself, and it doesn’t eat at his taste buds in the way that harsh citrus usually does. Hardly ever does Levi get the chance to taste vanilla, as it’s far too expensive for him to excuse as being a reasonable purchase, but its presence here is welcome as the sweet cream dissolves in his mouth. The mint, which he’d expected to taste like his toothpaste, leaves only a small twinkle dancing on the tip of his tongue.

Yet another reason to go to that bakery—to give his compliments to the baker, whomever they may be.

Though he wouldn’t dare dream of taking advantage of the ticket, maybe he’ll look around, see if there’s anything he’d like to treat himself to. Seldom ever does he have the will to do such, but whatever magic touch this baker has… Levi has to at least try something else of theirs.

With summer having long since passed in the year, it’s been a while since he’d felt so… refreshed, even if just by taking a single bite of this cake. So eager to take another bite, to feel the soft cushion of sponge cake against the roof of his mouth.

Gabi and Falco are both quick to continue digging into their pieces, eating quietly as to not disrupt the quiet that Levi typically prefers during mealtime, so they don’t take notice, but Levi sits with the spoon in his mouth for a long while, waiting for the flavors in his mouth to stop prompting joy in his heart.

They don’t, and Levi only has himself to force open his mouth and pick up another morsel of the dessert.

After everyone finishes their helping of cake and Levi listens to Gabi and Falco regale their past days spent together, both his stomach and his heart are full, and he sends them home with their own pieces of cake to bring back for their other loved ones, as Levi knows that he wouldn’t be able to finish it all on his own anyway. They’re reluctant to go, not wanting to leave Levi by himself on his birthday, but after he insists that they’ve done more than enough for him by spending the sunniest parts of the day with him (and that he’s too old to be taking up their youth), they’re happy as can be, and the two skip off to go bother whomever else their hearts desire.

With his house now empty apart from himself, he goes looking for his winter coat, preparing himself for the decently long trek over to the bakery to return the ticket. It doesn’t take long for him to find it and get it onto his frame, and after taking a pair of fingerless gloves hanging from the wall near the door, he’s ready to go. He checks that he still has that ticket in his pants pocket, and when he feels the rough texture of the fibers, he knows it’s there.

As Levi wheels himself down from the elevated foundation his house sits on top of, he looks upwards towards the sky, and when it’s as beautiful as he’s come to accept he’ll never be able to fathom, he wonders if his birthday wish could be granted. 

Was it a waste to wish for something as impossible as peace? To yearn for something he’s never known, even in his dreams? To ask for a life that’s more beautiful than what he can see with his own eyes?

It’s been so long since he’d had to even consider the mere notion of an act like that—perhaps dating back to when his mother would sneak rolls of bread for him and tell him to wish on the singular red-hot coal she’d stolen from the brothel’s kitchenette. Even when he did celebrate his birthday in his years with Furlan and Isabel, and later in his years with Hange and Erwin, he’d never been pressed to want more than what was there.

Maybe he’ll figure it all out someday.

Maybe he’ll suddenly come to know, and, at that point, he’ll only have to reflect to see the beauty that’s become of his life.

Maybe he won’t, and that’d be okay too. It’s not like he knows anything but what he’s lived through, thus far.

But, right now, that’s not what’s important.

What’s important is that he finds this bakery, and he returns this ticket to the woman who was so kind as to wrap his things with ribbon, even if she didn’t do it for him intentionally.

Maybe, then, he’ll have the headspace to know if dreams, just like his to see the clear sky, can come true.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

By the time Levi reaches this bakery at the corner, the sun has fallen halfway to the horizon, and he can only barely see it above the tallest building in this part of the city. He’d have gotten here much faster if he’d asked someone for a ride by car, but he didn’t think it necessary with how unimportant this errand actually is.

But, because he has truly nothing else of importance he needs to attend to, this is what’s most important to him right now.

No matter, because he’s here already, and though he’d thought the complete opposite would be true, this place is… quite quiet.

Perhaps it’s the weather, or perhaps it’s the time of day, but there’s hardly anyone here, as Levi can only see a handful of people through the large, barely-fogged out glass windows. With how good just that single piece of cake was, Levi had thought it’d be packed.

On the contrary, there’s no line, no hurry, no rush.

When Levi’d been more young and naïve and stupid, he had dreams of opening a tea shop. Something just like this, with huge windows and enough sunlight to read the morning paper from a register that’s spilling over with receipts and drink orders. Even though he’s impartial to people themselves, he’d imagine that, if he had the chance to be anything but who he’s been at every stage of his life, he’d be talented enough with his craft that there’d always be a line out the door, an abundance of people to appreciate what he’d have to offer them.

Maybe that’s why his heart drops, seeing how empty this place looks.

The door stays propped open with a large potted plant, unusually healthy and green for such cold weather, so Levi doesn’t have to fuss around with finding a way to get inside with his wheelchair. He gets inside easily enough, only just barely struggling not to crash into the plant or get any of its leaves caught on the wheels. Now, without the faint fog to cover its interior, he sees all sorts of plants and decorative teaware lined up on a shelf perched against the side wall of the bakery, definitively marking the space as some sort of garden.

No one pays any mind to Levi as he looks around, them all occupied by their own objects of affection, and Levi finds himself going over to a large display case, near empty and only filled with a few stray pastries, of which they all look appetizing and worthy of the money he’d brought along with him in case he’d wanted to buy anything to bring home.

He decides that he’ll get everything that’s left, as he feels compelled to support a business such as this, so undeserving of its low-traffic patronage. It’s only a handful of things; he knows he has enough to afford them all.

At the back wall, he sees that there’s some sort of drinks menu, but that hardly is of any importance to Levi, so he ignores any of its writing and downturns his eyes, going back to imagining how to make use of all the sweets he’s about to bring home with him.

The ship is returning tomorrow. Maybe he can round up those brats he used to call his soldiers, and they can run their mouths about whatever political business they’ve found themselves entangled in (or, more likely, about whatever memories return to them upon visiting the island they’d once called home).

He gently lifts himself up from his wheelchair, trying to peer over to where the front display meets the back kitchen, when he catches sight of a flash of pale yellow, rushing between what seems to be opposite sides of a room he isn’t in. Whoever it is, they turn back and look from over the door frame, and Levi finds himself locking eyes with the stranger, her own eyes blinking in surprise in reaction to his steeled gaze.

She then rushes off to put something down, and she emerges from the back room, a bright smile on her face as she waves at him, meeting him from through the display case.

She’s wearing a pale yellow apron over a plain, long-sleeve white dress, her hair tied away from her face with a ribbon that’s the same shade of white as what’d been used to wrap the gifts the kids had brought him, only hers is thicker and seemingly made of a satin material. 

She looks to be about his age, if not only a few years younger, her smile lines and the faint crow’s feet at her eyes being the only signs of aging and a life well-lived. They add a lot of character to her face—her features show love, romance, in a way that’d ordinarily only be made visible through the soul.

Still, her youth is undeniable. Her mannerisms are endearing in the same manner that the sun is bright—unfathomable, unrelenting, without shame.

She’s… beautiful.

Definitively so, with the slight tilt of her head as she greets him, taking his breath away in tandem with his sanity.

“Hello, sir! What can I get for you today?”

Peeling his eyes away from her, he clears his throat, feeling an unusual pause for a second before regaining his composure. “Could I have everything in the display case?”

Her eyes widen, and she blinks. “Are you sure?”

He nods.

“Really?”

He nods again.

She smiles once more, the shine overwhelming even through the frosted glass which separates them, and she crouches down to gather a box, similar to the one that’d kept his cake earlier. She uses steady hands to grab the sweets with tongs, and she motions Levi over to the register once she’s gotten everything in the box.

She reads the total amount to him without needing to input anything on the register, letting on that she’s knowledgeable enough about the price of all the stock in the bakery, and she pulls out a spool of ribbon and a pair of scissors from underneath the counter. Levi hears the quiet snip of scissors as he gathers the money from his coat pocket, and he watches as she laces the ribbon through the openings of the box.

She puts away her ribbon in exchange for a small roll of tape, and when she sees that Levi has already set all the money on the counter between them, she nervously smiles. “Thank you! I’m sorry, just give me one more second.” She focuses her attention downwards again, placing the tape in various spots to keep the box sealed, and she holds it out for Levi to take when she’s finished.

He does, and he places it on his lap, careful to make sure that it’s level and won’t fall off.

She takes the money he set down, and she counts it to herself quietly before inputting something into the register, placing the money inside, and outstretching a silver coin in change to him. “Have a good rest of your day!”

He nods, taking the change, but just as he’s about to leave, he remembers that he has that ticket in his pocket, and before the woman can leave for the kitchen again, he takes it out and sets it on the counter. “I don’t need this.”

She hums in confusion as she looks down at it, then her eyes flicker up towards him. “I don’t recall ever seeing you before, where did you get this?”

“My kids said someone gave it to them as an apology for not having a specific flavor.”

She lights up. “Oh, those two! About this tall?” She motions, showing how tall they are relative to her own height. Levi nods. “They were here in the morning to buy a birthday cake. How’d you like it?”

“It was good,” he says gently. “And thank you for wrapping up their gifts for me.”

“Of course! They’re incredibly sweet, you and your wife must’ve raised them well.”

Levi splutters, and, in surprise, he nearly drops the box from his lap. “They’re not my kids in that manner, I just look out for them when I can.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Well, no matter, if you have this ticket, you might as well use it, right?”

“It’s alright, I don’t need it.”

“I’m insisting, then.”

“Isn’t your boss going to be upset with you for giving away stock?”

She hums, shaking her head. “I own the place, so I wouldn’t say so.”

Levi frowns. “Can you even afford to give things away for free?”

She laughs, this time without qualm, and she looks off and out the window, scratching at her cheek with her pointer finger. “I guess it does look pretty empty today, huh? I’d sold out of most of today’s inventory in the morning, so if you’re worried about my business, don’t be.”

That’s certainly a relief.

“Besides, I rarely ever hand these out, so it’s alright. And today’s a special occasion!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Levi muses, kissing his teeth.

“Just think of it as another gift, then.”

“I still don’t feel right accepting anything for free. Besides,” Levi eyes flicker back to the now-empty display. “There’s nothing else to take.”

The woman turns around, leaning back against the counter to be further eye-level with Levi as she points to the written menu up-top in front of them. “You could have some tea! I’d like to think I’m pretty good at brewing a cup.”

As eager as you sound, that offer doesn’t sound enticing to him at all. He has no doubt that it probably tastes fine, but he has no intention of trying any new tea right now. Possibly ever. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

She picks up the ticket and looks, again, between it and Levi. “Well, I can’t force you, but now that I know it’s your birthday, I can’t just let you go home without something special for yourself.”

“Who said all these aren’t?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know they aren’t.”

Levi deadpans. “And you know this, how?”

She hums, leaning forward and putting her elbows on the counter. “You seem like the type to save the best bite for last, but that just means you appreciate your food. You’ll probably invite some friends over and only eat what’s left after everyone picks what they want, right?”

When Levi doesn’t reply, instead only briefly looking down into his lap, she laughs again, standing straight up again.

“Got you, didn’t I?” She teases, winking playfully. “Take a seat at one of the tables, I’ll bring you something from the back.”

“Wait-”

Before he can tell her that he had only planned to come and go, she skips off to the back, and Levi can only watch as the ribbon in her hair trails behind her and leaves behind a white blur.

Well, he guesses he’s stuck here now. He’d feel even worse if he just left, and that poor woman came out and couldn’t find him.

He supposes he was right to think she was both exceptionally foolish, and, more-so, painfully kind.

Levi sighs, and he looks over his shoulder to assess the tables. There’s one at the corner of the room, away from the few patrons here, and he makes his way there. He passes by the shelf of greens and ceramics to get there, and he gets struck by a strong smell of… freshness.

Just like he was when he’d had his cake earlier.

He puts his box on the table and moves himself from his wheelchair to the plush of the seat provided, and he sighs at the change of cushion on his thighs. He takes off his gloves and leans his head on a propped-up left hand, breathing warm and slow to watch the cold air cloud with a slight gale. He faces the window as he waits, watching as people covered up for the winter walk past the bakery, and he pulls his coat tighter as he feels the cold wind as it blows in through the open door.

The baker comes back to the table before he can think too harshly about anything in particular, and with her, she carries a tray with a small packaged sweet and a steaming cup of tea. She places it in front of him, careful not to spill anything, and she smiles down at him.

“Happy birthday! It’s on the house!”

“Thank you,” he replies, awkwardly nodding, and he waits for her to be safely faraway enough from him before he stares down at the tray, watching as the warmth of the tea bleeds up into the air.

Through the clear top of the package, Levi sees a slice of cake, with speckled vanilla cream and berries strewn about. On the side of the package, tied with ribbon, is a small plastic fork. He lifts the slice up, and as he saw earlier with the tea she’d wrapped, there’s a small ribbon hanging from the bottom too.

Next to the teacup, there’s a smaller dish of sugar cubes, as well as two small pitchers of cream and honey. Even more captivating, there’s a small sprig of what looks to be mint. The point where the small stem has been split off looks wet, as if it’s just been plucked from its shrub.

She must’ve broken it off on her way to his table.

He has no intention of drinking the tea, nor doing anything with the additions she’s brought him, so he carefully lifts up the cake slice and pushes away the tray.

Better to leave it noticeably untouched. Maybe she can drink it herself when she returns to clear his table after he leaves.

He peels away the ribbon at the side to get his fork, then at the one on the bottom, and the box unfolds into a sort of plate where the cat sits neatly at the center. A blueberry nearly rolls away and off the surface, but he manages to stop it with the edge of his fork.

He sets the berry back on top of the slice, atop the dollop of cream at the cake’s edge, and he cuts away a piece to pick up with his fork.

Once more, his mouth is greeted with a symphony of flavors, none too familiar to him.

He can’t be bothered to even try to make sense of the way this new sensation feels. It’s divine in a way he doesn’t know how to describe, and his rational mind gives way for his mouth to blindly enjoy the sugar and spice that’s in front of him. Around him, people slowly leave, himself being the last person lost in this cold paradise as he savors the baked good brought to him, but at least he has the shared, lonesome company of the baker running this shop.

She had come out from the kitchen a few times to clean tables and bring dishes to the back, but for the most part, she’d left him alone entirely. He didn’t think anything ill of that—he’d just assumed she was busy taking care of things for the following day’s opening, or whatever else it is that bakers have to handle at the tail end of their day.

Once Levi finishes his cake and gathers his things on his lap, she emerges from the kitchen once more, sending him a smile before going over to flip the bakery’s open sign and move the plant keeping the door open. 

He wheels himself over to the trashcan near the door, tossing in the remnants of the cardboard he’d just eaten off of, and he meets her gaze halfway as he goes to leave.

“Thank you, again. For the cake.”

“Don’t mention it,” she muses, going over to hold the door open for him to leave.  “I need to close up now, but come again sometime, yeah? I’m open from Tuesday to Friday!”

He nods halfheartedly, and she smiles as she tilts her head towards the direction of the street. He leaves, needing to be careful as to not bump into her hair ribbon as he passes through the door, and he’s off to find home again. The sun, now, is nearer to the horizon, but he knows he’ll have enough time to make it back to the house before dark.

Before he can get too far, though, he hears the bell of the bakery doors reopening abruptly.

“Wait! I didn’t catch your name!” The baker calls after him.

From across the street, he looks over his shoulder and at her, her hair blowing alongside the zephyr. Her hair’s white ribbon flies higher, as its light weight makes it catch wind more steadily, and her cheeks turn pink with the nipping cold.

“Capta-,” he hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek.

Even after all these years, he’s never fully been able to forget his formal introduction.

Maybe he was right to think it wasted to wish for a life simpler than what he’s been given.

“It’s Levi,” he says a bit louder, hoping the wind will carry his name to her.

“Levi?”

He nods.

She then smiles, and she waves at him sweetly, her other hand keeps her hair from blocking her vision. “Happy birthday again, Levi!”

He brings up his hand to wave back to her in polite gratitude, and her grin becomes ever-brighter at the returned gesture. 

As he turns away from her and she retreats back to the bakery, he realizes that even with the sun now hiding between the concrete of buildings seemingly taller than the skies themselves, she was so like the sun. So blindingly-so, that he’d forgotten to ask her name in return.

Goddamn it.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

It’s not too long before Levi returns to the quaint little bakery at the corner near the market.

Once the new year has begun and he’s needed to go stock up on more supplies for his garden, he’s back in that part of town, and after he’s exhausted himself by looking for new gardening gloves and new nails to repair a broken section of the trellis, he’s found himself back here again, looking through the display glass at various cakes and sweets, much more fully-stocked than the last time he was here, and through gentle breeze at the baker who’s currently giving a high-five to the kid in front of him in line.

As Levi waits his turn, he looks through the array of desserts carefully before he decides on a slice of black forest cherry cake. He hasn’t got any clue what that’s meant to taste like, but he doesn’t think he could be let down by anything from this place. Because he has plans at the house later with Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco to start working on getting the dirt ready for the spring planting, he’ll bring them all back something too.

When it’s his time to get to the baker, her eyes light up at the sight of the man, now dressed slightly warmer with the now-present hot sunrise. She herself is still in that same yellow apron, but she’s now dressed in a long skirt and a frilly blouse.

“Welcome back, Levi!”

“Good morning,” he greets softly.

Still in her hair is her signature white ribbon, and she rests her head on her arms atop the display case as she follows along where Levi’s eyes go. “What would you like today?”

“Could I get a slice of black forest cherry?”

She points to it from above. “This one?”

Levi nods.

The baker hums to herself as she slides open the backside of the display, the pair of tongs in her hands hovering over the assortment of slices before remaining still above the flavor he’s asked for. She squints as she looks at all of them before choosing one awkwardly in the middle of all the others, and she takes an unfolded package box from underneath the counter to put it into.

“Anything else for you? Did you want to buy out the entire display again?” She teases, a playful smile decorating her features.

Levi feels a faint flutter in his heart with her exuberance, but he ignores it and clears his throat, looking through the glass again. “Not today.”

She laughs. “I’ll look forward to when you will, then.”

“Do you have any suggestions? I’m having people over at my house later today.”

She hums, clicking the claws of her tongs together a few times as she crouches down and looks at everything. She accidentally makes eye contact with Levi through the glass here, and she smiles sweetly at him before going back to looking. Her eyes are downcast, blocked by her long eyelashes, yet they still trace sunlight as they move across the sweets on display.

“How about an orange sugar cake?” She suggests, eyes flitting up to meet his. “I think they’re in season right now, they were pretty cheap at the market when I went yesterday.”

They are. Jean had brought over a potted orange treeling just the other day.

“Sounds good,” he says.

She gently tugs on the cakeboard of a pale orange cake, dusted with powdered sugar and decorated with thyme, before pulling it completely off the display and over to the counter, getting a second box that’s much bigger and without cellophane top.

She motions him over to the register, and she goes through the same remembered motions that Levi remembers her making from the last time he’d watched her wrap up his things.

As she pulls out her scissors and ribbon, she tells him the total of the numbers he’d already read on the cakes’ accompanying price tags, and Levi reaches into his coat pocket for the wallet that Onyankopon had gifted him for his birthday (him and the rest of the 104th ended up hosting a birthday party for him when they’d all returned from the Island, those fucking bastards).

“So, what brings you here today?” She asks.

Levi opens up his wallet, careful not to spill anything from his lap as he tries to gather up all the bills he needs. “Passing through to run errands. I figured I’d stop by.”

“Do you live far from here?”

“A fair bit away, but I’ve managed.”

“Well,” the sound of a snip of her scissors, “I’m glad to see you back! I was worried I’d scared you off a bit,” she jokes.

He raises a brow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

At his usage of profanity, she giggles, amused. “I don’t know, I came off pretty strong when you were here. Sorry about that.”

That much might be true, but it’s not something that’d scare him anyway.

“No need to be sorry. You didn’t scare me.”

“That’s a relief,” she muses. reaching for a roll of tape. “Are you eating your slice here, or will you be taking that home?”

Looking over at the window, he sees too many people moving about. He’ll stay here to avoid the foot-traffic. “I’ll have it here.”

She hums in acknowledgement, and after a few snips, she continues. “No tea again?”

Levi lies through his teeth. “Not much of a tea drinker.”

She pauses to look at him briefly, but then goes back to lacing the ribbon through the folds of the box. “Right.”

. . .

“Do you garden?”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“Your gloves,” she says, pointing with her scissors at the new pair sitting on his lap. “I have the same ones.”

“Oh. Yes, I do.” His hands, already gloved to protect his palms from the grime of the street he wheels through, go to touch the newly bought gloves. He hadn’t ever gotten these specific ones before, but he hopes they’ll be alright.

“They’re a good brand, I like them a lot.”

“Never used these before, I hope they’re good,” Levi says, eyes following her swift hands as they cut tape. “None of them ever feel right.”

“Why do you say that?”

Well, it's kind of hard for gloves to feel comfortable when he’s missing two of his fingers.

The extra unused fabric just awkwardly hangs downwards as he works in the fields of his backyard, and even though he’s found that tucking them inside-out makes them less of a hassle, they still feel disgusting against the skin of the back of his right hand, so he usually prefers the inconvenience. He goes through his gloves quickly, though, as the overhanging pieces tend to get caught and tear on tools and trellis.

“They just don’t.”

Levi puts the money on the table, and he puts away his wallet as the baker counts it out and puts it into the register.  She hands him back his change, but before Levi can get to trying to figure out how to fit all this and his other items from the market on his lap, she pulls back the boxes closer to herself and picks them up.

When he looks up at her quizzically, she just smiles softly and tilts her head towards the tables. “Gonna show me where you want to sit, or do you want me to choose for you?”

He feels his ears flush red as he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything stupid, and he looks away from her.

He clicks his tongue to feign indifference, and he brings himself over to that same, unoccupied table at the corner of the room. The baker follows closely behind him, and she places the boxes on the table for him. She excuses herself quickly to go fetch him a fork, as she hadn’t taped one onto the side of his smaller slice box.

Levi pulls the packaged cake slice closer to himself, and he pulls gently on the ribbon underneath to undo the tape and unravel the box, just as he did when he was here on his birthday.

The baker returns, with a fork in hand, and she sets it down carefully on a napkin she’d taken out from her apron pocket. “Enjoy, Levi! Let me know when you’re leaving, so I can help get your cake ready for transport.”

“What?” He blinks.

“You can’t just carry a cake in your lap all the way home, can you?”

He hadn’t thought it’d be much of an inconvenience, but she’s probably right. Getting to and from this part of town is difficult enough as a person with mobility issues, and trying to balance an entire cake on his lap without his hands sounds even more hellish. 

“Alright, I’ll let you know, then.”

“Perfect! I’ll see you in a bit!” Right after she turns on her heel, though, she pauses and looks over her shoulder at him, and she turns around. “Actually…”

“What?”

She stretches out her hand to him, her palm-up. “Could I have your gardening gloves for a bit?”

He’s… confused.

“What do you mean, ‘can you have my gardening gloves?’ You said you had your own pair.”

She only smiles, the ribbon in her hair bouncing slightly as her spirit tries to convince him to believe her. “I promise, I’ll give them back to you.”

Well, he has nothing to lose here anyway. If she doesn’t give him back his gloves, he can just go over to the market and buy another pair, or just cut his losses entirely and accept that gardening gloves aren’t worth jack shit.

And, for whatever reason, he feels like he can trust her.

Whether or not he wants to think further about that, entirely up in the air, but for the time being, he picks up the gloves from his lap and hands them to the unnamed baker, who then excuses herself with another smile and leaves for the back part of the bakery.

What a strange woman.

He picks up the fork she’d brought back for him and starts digging into the cake, already knowing to prepare himself for the harmonious musings of flavors he’s about to take in, and he beams to himself when he’s finally got the cake in his mouth.

He’d expected as much, but he’s still going to be surprised anyway.

When he’s finished with the piece of cake, the small lace doily completely free of any residual crumbs, he cranes his head to look towards the kitchen where the baker had disappeared, hoping that she’ll meet his gaze halfway and just come out to help him as promised (and bring back his gloves, but honestly, he has no fucking clue what she’s doing with them, so maybe she doesn’t need to do that).

Lo and behold, as she’s crossing through the space visible from the front of the house, she looks out towards him, and when her eyes lock with his, she pauses, rushes back from the direction she came from, and skips over to Levi, gloves in her hand as well as a decently large cloth bag.

“You about ready to leave now?”

Levi nods.

The baker smiles as she holds out the gloves out to Levi, prompting him to take them back. “Try these on, okay? I’ll get your cake hooked up onto your chair, and you can be on your way.”

She picks up the larger box of orange sugar cake and places it carefully into the cloth bag she’s brought from the kitchen, and she disappears behind Levi to start attaching things to the back of his wheelchair. Levi cranes his neck to try and watch as she works behind him, but because he really can’t see anything even when his entire upper body stretches and turns, he resolves to just do as he’s told and try on his gloves.

He sighs as he lays them both out on the table to see which goes on which hand, but as his eyes regain focus under the morning sun, he’s surprised to see that the right side’s pointer and middle fingers are… gone?

He swears he had gotten gloves that were annoyingly both five-fingered.

He remembers having grimaced as he went to pay for them, knowing that he’d have to go back and try another brand at some point in the future when these would inevitably annoy the shit out of him. Onyankopon would try to cheer him up, the kids would make another joke about how he’s had to spend more money on gloves than on actual gardening supplies, and the cycle would repeat itself until Levi’s too old and brittle to keep tending to the fields.

He holds the glove up to his face, looking closer at the seam where the fabric should be, but he only finds a neatly stitched line which connects the panels of the palm and back of a hand.

It’s stitched in the same pale yellow thread as her apron.

“Did you…”

She laughs from behind him, and he hears a faint rustling of ribbon along with the sound. “Did I what?”

“Nevermind,” he utters softly, and using his left hand, he pulls off his right fingerless glove, picks up the gardening glove again, and tugs it onto his hand.

He closes his fist.

Opens it.

And closes it again.

The gentle compress of the thick fabric feels nice against his knuckles, as opposed to the loose feeling of air he was used to feeling there, of which would both irritate and overwhelm his senses.

“Okay, I’m done!”

Looking back again, he sees that the baker has now stood up, and there’s now a ribbon tied between both handles of his wheelchair, ornately kept together with knots he doesn’t know how to undo. The ribbons are interlaced with the handles of the cloth bag, and it seems to provide extra support for the cake to keep it from rocking about as Levi travels.

She points to the end of a piece of ribbon at the left handle. “Pull on that piece to untie everything, just be careful taking it off your chair because the bag isn’t the strongest without the ribbon to support it.”

Levi’s heart flutters at the gesture, but there’s a quiet sinking which keeps him from being as appreciative as he wants to be.

“Did you get that?” She asks, waving a hand in front of his face.

He blinks, and he dumbly nods. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says.

Before he can stop the words from spilling over, they come out. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

The baker looks at him with confused eyes. “What, do you think you aren’t worth it?”

Yes.

“No.”

She smiles warmly and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s really not any trouble, Levi. I’m more than happy to help out.”

The bell from the door of the bakery rings, alerting her of another customer coming into the building, and she sheepishly smooths out the front of her apron before excusing herself to attend to them.

Again, before he can stop himself, his right hand, still gloved in the dense fabric of the gardening material, reaches out to gently hold onto her wrist.

She looks down at him, seemingly and entirely unbothered by his touch, and she doesn’t move away from his grasp. “Do you need anything?”

Levi’s heart gets caught in his throat, but he manages to speak once more. “Could I ask for your name?”

The question feels fiercely intimate, just as it did when she’d asked for his name, but, here, it feels like such a far leap.

And, yet, she still smiles at him, and she moves her hand so that she’s able to squeeze his palm gently.

When she speaks her name— your name—to him, he catches a peek of sunshine from the corner of his eye, caught on the reflection of the bell.

And he wonders if this is how the sea feels when it meets the sky.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

“You’re a lot faster than you usually are, Levi,” Onyankopon comments, passing by him on his way back to the house. “Something motivating you today?”

Levi shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

The taller man smiles good-naturedly and hoists up the shovel held over his shoulder. “Well, whatever it is, you’ve been working long enough, so you should come inside with us to have some of that cake you brought back with you. It’s gonna get dark soon.”

Levi sighs, taking the small towel draped over his shoulder to wipe at the sweat that’s built on his forehead. “Yeah, sure.”

Onyankopon picks up Levi’s cane from the ground and hands it to him, the latter thanking him for the help. As Levi reaches for it, Onyankopon takes notice of the gloves Levi’s wearing.

“New gloves?”

At the mention of them, Levi looks down, and he finds himself having to push away the flicker of sunbeam that replays in his mind.

Levi nods, and he slings his towel back onto his shoulder.

“Something like that.”

The next time he sees you, he really ought to thank you again.

It seems this year will have an even better harvest.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

The next time he comes to the bakery is in another month’s time, just as winter begins to fade into the very early beginnings of spring.

Mikasa’s birthday is tomorrow, and it’s about that time of year that she routinely asks Levi to join her at the beach to mull over life’s happenings. Even worse, Eren’s birthday is just over the horizon, and that’s a tough time for everyone, but for her especially.

Because he knows that it’s hard for Mikasa to even bring herself to eat during these times, her mouth only opening to speak from the heart and weep for love’s past, Levi figures that bringing something sweet for her to pick at as she watches the sun fall is enough gesture to tell her that he wants her to take care of yourself, so that’s why he’s made the trip over here.

It’s also Falco’s birthday tomorrow, and Levi feels so inclined to get the brat a cake to celebrate another year of living. He’s been asking for something new to try from the bakery, anyway, so Levi might as well indulge the kid and let him and Gabi both bounce off the walls with energy.

While he’s here, he may as well extend his gratitude to you, too.

He doesn’t think he’ll need to buy any new pairs of gardening gloves soon.

When he comes through the opened door, there’s a long line, and Levi sighs.

With all these people, he’s bound to only have limited conversation with you, and even though he still doesn’t think himself deserving of the compassion which is extended alongside your time, he’d looked forward to it during the travel over.

He gets in the line, and as it moves fairly slowly, he watches as the display case becomes increasingly emptied. It feels like forever before he’s finally at the front, but once he’s there, he finds it all worth it to see the way your face shines when you see him, warmth radiating from you in spite of the gentle early spring wind.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while!”

He lets the very corners of his mouth upturn slightly, your aura too bright to even be dampened by Levi’s everpresent somber.

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

“Sorry about the wait, what can I get for you today?”

For Mikasa, “Do you have any strawberry cakes left?”

You nod, already starting to reach for one. “How’s this one?”

“That’ll do just fine,” Levi says. And for Falco, “Could I also get a cheesecake, if you have any?”

“You got it!”

“...And could you write Happy Birthday on both of them?”

You hum in confirmation, and while you get to doing that, already knowing to meet you at the counter to pay, Levi pushes himself forward and begins to take out his bills, eyes occasionally flitting upwards to watch as you tape together the box and lace ribbon throughout. Just as you’re finished packaging up everything, you take his money, bill out the change, and Levi’s now awkwardly looking between the boxes and his own lap.

“Hey, Levi,” you call to him, putting away your packing tools underneath the counter. “If you wait over by your usual table, I can get these on your chair in a few minutes. Let me just take care of this line first.”

His eyes widen. “It’s fine, you don’t have to-”

“Are you in a hurry out?” You ask.

No.

“Yes.”

Your face drops slightly, but you still keep the light expression on your features. “Oh, well, alright. Let me go grab a crate, then, that might be easier to manage than just holding onto these.”

You disappear into the back, and you return just as quickly as you’d left, a decently large crate in your hands. You put that on the table while you lower the cakes into it, and after slotting some ribbon through the panels of the wooden crate to keep the cakes from moving too much in transport and taping a few more things together, Levi’s on his way out the door with two birthday cakes secured on his lap, and you’re back to tending to customers with a bright smile, moving your hands as you speak. 

Maybe he’s better off not thanking you again. You don’t have the time to be talking to someone like him, especially right now while you tend to other patrons, and even at his grown age, Levi feels too awkward to try and find a way to cooly express gratitude for an action taking place an entire month ago.

As he watches for the leaves on the plant holding the bakery door open, a little pink slip catches his eye from the inner wall facing him of the crate, a short stream of ribbon underneath the tape that holds it in place. He raises a brow, and he wheels himself to a stop just outside the large windows of the building to look at it more closely.

Good for one free item!

Levi looks at you from through the glass, catching your gaze already on him and waiting for his reaction, and he points at the ticket taped to his crate. You sweetly wave at him, but when Levi starts to turn his wheelchair around to try and return it, you frantically wave your hands out in front of you to tell him to just keep it.

And, well.

Considering the fact that he does eventually want to return, this is a good enough excuse to.

He wonders if that’s also what you want, and he can’t help but feel like, maybe, it is; because after he turns to go back on his way home, he can practically feel the warmth of your smile from the sun itself, even when there is an incessant, unrelenting voice at the back of his mind telling him that he’s not allowed to be happy like this.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Not even a week later, in the middle of February, Levi is back in the bakery.

The sun is starting to still in the sky for a bit longer than it has been for the past several months, and that means that there’s soon to be many more insects crawling around, of which try to eat at the leaves of the plants Levi tends to in the fields. He’d came to the market with the excuse that he needs to buy insecticide spray that the kids always beg to use (and, no, they aren’t allowed to use it anymore because Levi knows they’ll get so carried away with watching the dispensed mist that they won’t properly use it, and lord knows the tomato plants have suffered enough).

With the pink ticket in the silk of his pants pocket, he comes in through the propped-open door, and he greets you with a wave when he catches your eye from behind the counter.

Thankfully, there’s not too much of a line right now, so maybe you’ll indulge him and keep him company for a bit.

“Good morning,” you greet, meeting him at the display, a bright smile on your face. “What brings you here today? Another birthday?”

“Not today, just stopping by to use that ticket you gave me.” He tears his eyes away from you to look at the assortment of slices available. “Are you busy right now?”

“Not really,” you muse. “Why, do you want company while you eat?”

Levi freezes.

. . .

Is it that obvious?

You laugh, resting your head on the glass top of the display case. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

Right.

“I’ll have a slice of the raspberry cake.”

“Sure thing!”

You hum to yourself as you pick out the prettiest piece for him, and Levi meets you at the register with the pink ticket. You take it from him, making a bit of a scene by checking its “validity” before laughing and putting it into the pocket of your apron, and you lean forward with your elbows on the counter.

“No tea for you today?” You ask.

“No tea. Sorry.”

“Would you mind, then, if I had some while I sat with you?”

His eyes widen.

“You’re actually…?”

You playfully roll your eyes as you turn to go back to the kitchen, presumably to fetch yourself a cup of tea. “You’re pretty easy to read, you know that?”

No, he didn’t know that.

“Sure.”

“I’ll meet you at your table, don’t wait up for me!”

Levi lets out a nervous breath as he picks up the packaged cake slice, and he wheels himself over to that corner table by the window. Once he’s there and has taken a seat in the plush chair, he undoes the ribbon wrapping on the box, and he peels away the fork from the side to rest it on the table as he waits for you to return.

When you come back, you bring back a tray to his table with two teacups in it, as well as a mint sprig between your fingers. You gently pull out the chair for yourself, and you follow Levi’s gaze out to the window as you take sips from your tea.

He looks down at the other teacup there, accompanied by that same small dish with sugar cubes and two small pitchers of cream and money.

“I’m not drinking that.”

You blow away the steam that wafts from your cup, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “I know, but just in case.”

Levi’s eyes turn to look at you, waiting for you to start talking as he expects you to, but when his gaze meets yours, you only smile at him before going back to looking out the window, a meaningful, yearning look on your face as you watch city life go about itself.

In the end, he does the same, sitting and soaking in sunlight through the glass. Leaves fall from upper canopies right outside, and Levi watches as they hit the ground softly. Some of them fall onto people’s hair and hats, in which case Levi will hear you giggling quietly to yourself at the charming ignorance of a new accessory, and he feels a quiet flame start in his heart when he sees the way the sunbeam brings glow to your bright eyes.

But that’s not really that important.

You do have to get up at times to quickly tend to customers and get tea brewing for those who order it, but it’s hardly even noticeable to Levi when you do leave because of the trance he’s in as he watches the sunglow.

When Levi finishes his cake and you’re finished with your tea, you get up from the table and smooth out of the front of your apron. “It was nice sitting with you, thank you for letting me.”

He looks up at you and nods. “Likewise.”

“I’ll leave you be, but even though I can’t always give you free inventory, I hope you’ll come back,” you tease, a knowing smile on your face.

Against all better judgment telling him that he’s not meant to be living his life like this, “I will.”

The answer seems to surprise you slightly, as you still for a second, but you just laugh and shake your head, leaning your hand on the table as the other goes to take away his trash and the undrunken tea. “I’ll hold you to it, then. See you around, Levi.”

“Bye,” he says softly.

You wave at him as you begin to leave, but there’s a nagging at Levi’s mind to do what he’d wanted to the last time he was here.

Well, no time better than the present.

“And thank you for altering my gloves!” He shouts after you.

At the sound of his voice, you twirl around to meet his eyes halfway, and his heart just about stops as he watches the ribbon in your hair reflect soft lampglow as it follows the spin of your head.

And it actually does when you beam at him, a dusty pink on your cheeks as your smile reaches your eyes. “You’re welcome!”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

By the time April comes around, it’s practically routine for Levi to come to the bakery every week. 

(He chooses to come on Wednesdays because that’s when it’s the least busy in the week, and he knows you'll be able to sit with him.)

The weather’s been perfect for him to be awake for the entirety of the day, and now that the breeze and temperature have settled enough to afford him a stable harvest without needing much effort on his part, he’s free to do nothing with his time.

Though, he isn’t completely sure if it amounts to “nothing” if he spends his nights either silently sharing grief with Mikasa (and, nowadays, Arlert too) on the sand or turning about in the lounge chair in the corner of his room, trying to find way to bring himself to clear his thoughts to even lay in his bed.

But, he can’t say for sure whether or not it’s worth anything otherwise, so it’s nothing.

Nothing much has changed, anyway, so Levi’s fine with the monotony that follows him around. His weekly visits become intertwined with the routine he’s engaged with in this life, which, then, leads him to spending part of his free time in this little bakery, just barely an hour’s walk away (not that he’s tried to actually walk that distance yet, but the pain in his legs has gradually subsided over the past months, so he’s satisfied enough knowing that he probably could if he wanted to), yet seemingly in a world so different from his.

He sits, watching as the world passes by him in seeming slow motion as he relishes in the serenity of this room. The smell of herbs, freshly picked from the shelf near him, travels alongside sugar and spice, and he’s left to forget that he’s not entirely his own.

In similar manner, it’s practically routine for you to have a cup of tea with Levi with he eats whatever it is that he buys from the display case (or, sometimes you’ll bring out something from the back for him to try—you insist it’s on the house, but he always manages to shove the exact legal tender into your hands anyway).

You also always bring out two cups of tea—one for yourself, one that’s meant for him—but he never drinks from it. It changes every week. Never is the tea the same color as in the previous week, almost as if you’re trying to gauge what it is that he enjoys.

It’s too kind.

He hates it.

And what makes it worse is that you don’t even seem to mind, even though Levi does tell you that he isn’t going to have any, every single time. You wave him off, only to resume sharing the sunlight with him, waiting for your own tea to cool enough to sip.

And he hates that he’s touched by that.

On this particular day, he’s having a slice of apricot cake, you’re having a cup of citrus tea with mint leaves, and there’s that gentle silence that hangs overhead every time this happens.

And whether or not it’s because it’s become so painfully soothing to just sit in silence with you, he doesn’t care to know, but today, by the time he’s finished savoring his piece, there’s a gentle pouring of rain outside.

He’d came much later than usual, as he’d met up with the 104th in the late afternoon to have lunch for Kirstein’s birthday (Kirstein, who’d begged for Levi to stay fully into the evening to join the lot for a night out drinking, but everyone else in their right mind at that luncheon (meaning, everyone but Kirstein and Springer) scolded him for asking that a poor old man like Levi stay out late), so, by now, he knows that even if he were to start heading home right now (in the pouring rain, mind you), it’d be nearing nightfall until he reached his destination.

And, of course, it’s nearing closing time for the bakery, so he’s bound to get kicked out at some point soon.

You excuse yourself after you finish your tea, just as you always do, with a smile and a joke about him coming back the following week, and Levi’s left to awkwardly wait for his mind to come up with a solution to this… relatively minor dilemma, but one nonetheless. The rain only seems to get heavier with each passing second, and his decision to not just brave out the light downpour seems to be hurting him now. Levi’s the only person left in here, everyone else having already left to escape when the rain was light enough to bear without an umbrella.

He supposes that he could find a nearby hostel to stay at for the night. He’s brought his wallet with him, so he’d have enough to get a room for the night, maybe for a hotel if he’s so inconvenienced.

He’s just going to (try to) sleep in the room’s chair, anyway. Doesn’t really matter to him where he spends the night.

When the sun finally falls low enough in the sky to only be seen looking sideways, you come out from the back part of the bakery, go to flip the open sign, and move the potted plant keeping the door open. You wipe your hands, wet with the rain that’d dripped onto the rim of the plant pot, on the front of your apron, and look over at Levi, who feels like a deer caught in headlights.

“...I swear, I’ll be on my way out soon.”

You scrunch your eyebrows. “What’re you talking about? You can’t get home in this rain.”

“It’s not so hard to get a room for the night around here.”

“Sure, but that’s really stupid when you could just stay here.”

He scoffs halfheartedly. “Right, like I could do that.”

When you don’t bite back with another joke, he recoils into himself.

“Right?”

“You’re more than welcome to.”

“Actually?"

You nod, going over to behind the display case to start cleaning. “You’ve been coming here for the last four months, I don’t mind helping out a friend.”

A friend.

You consider him a friend?

His heart feels caught in the downpour, but in the way that it’s swept away without disregard for its intentions.

It doesn’t feel… right.

Is it even fair for him to let himself get entangled like this? To let someone like you , befriend someone like him?

What could he possibly give you?

And, yet, even with the flushing away of his heart, he wishes to find it again, if only to feel the gentle spark he’d felt in it.

“Don’t you need to get home yourself?”

“I live in the apartment upstairs. Not to mention, the nearest place to stay the night is a couple blocks away, I wouldn’t want you to get lost looking for it.”

Oh.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“...But are you sure?”

You laugh from behind the display, and after having cleared everything from the shelves, you peer at him through the glass. “Yes, Levi, I’m sure.”

Levi balls up his fists in his lap, unsure of what to do.

In the first place, Levi doesn’t enjoy the rain, so walking through it for that long of a distance, especially under this heavy downpour, is entirely out of the question.

Prior to being named Captain, he liked it well enough, and its drip and drop was soothing enough to lull him to a half-sleep even if he was unable to clear his head. He’d experienced his first downpour with both Isabel and Furlan, out in the streets of Mitras scarcely after being coerced into the Survey Corps, so rain was precious to him in the sense that it’d represented what forces had pulled him from his doomed life in the Underground.

But after so many expeditions gone wrong in the rainstorms of Paradis, he’s avoided actually being in it for too long to avoid stirring up painful memories of those times. The splash of rain, the thundering of clouds overhead—they’re the rare pieces of that life that haunt him in this one, even with their objective and sentimental beauty.

But he’d rather that than have to be fussed over by a woman he’s come to enjoy the company of. He couldn’t stand giving the rain yet another moment to ruin.

““I really don’t mean to be an inconvenience, just point me in the direction of the nearest hostel.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please, don’t worry about being an inconvenience.”

He frowns. “Really, I mean it.”

“I do too.” You get up from your position bent over to clean the display case, stretching your arms upwards.

“Do you seriously trust me not to completely ransack your home?”

“Hm? Where would I get that impression of you? You seem pretty normal to me.”

. . .

That’s right. You didn’t know him in that life.

You know him in this one.

The one he doesn’t feel is his to begin with.

“Nevermind.”

You yawn, and you crouch back down, cleaning cloth in your hand to wipe away condensation on the glass. “Tell you what, I’ll let you help clean the kitchen, and that’ll be worth my ‘trouble’ spent letting you stay the night here. Sound good?”

No.

Yes.

He doesn’t know.

“I’m not an indentured servant, you can’t barter like this.”

You laugh again, the ribbon in your hair bouncing as your body splutters. “Right, I shouldn’t.” Another wipe at the glass. “But, really, Levi. I’d rather you here than out in the rain.”

“You do realize that this means I’d be here the entire night, right?”

“Of course I do, what am I, a fool?”

“Maybe.”

Or, more likely, it’s him that’s the fool.

“Do you need to be somewhere tomorrow?”

For once, he’s honest.

“No.”

“Then what’s the harm in staying?”

Glancing out the window again, he sees that sunlight has nearly disappeared, blocked by both the horizon and the clouds thick in the sky. Looking back and forth between your humming figure and the door, its frame wet with the rain that leaks through the cracks, he realizes that you’re right.

He gets up from the cushioned seat and moves over to his wheelchair, admitting reluctant resolve as he wheels over to you, stopping between the front and back of the house.

He knows he’ll regret this later, when the moon has replaced the star in the sky, and he’s forced to confront the fact that he’s not deserving of this sort of compassion.

But, for reasons unrealized by both him and the gods above, he can’t bring himself to deny the sun, even if he is undeserving of its warmth.

“Where do I start?”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Quite surprisingly, the ensuing night is silent.

Levi supposes that he shouldn’t be startled that you don’t talk much; you are still working, to some capacity, and he’s already settled into the fact that you aren’t all that talkative when you’re in his company.

The kitchen is dirtied in fresh flour and dirty dishes—obviously, a mess regardless, but one that doesn’t particular irk Levi, especially considering the fact that you’re the only person who works here—so Levi gets to work on cleaning that, and you’re sat at a table in the front of the house, handling finances and other paper tasks. You have half a sandwich with you at the table, and Levi is given the other.

Thankfully, his legs decide that today isn’t the day to curse him with excruciating pain, so he’s quite quick in getting everything sorted out and cleaned. There’s some things he can’t do, like put away large basins of flour or sugar, but other than a few stray items which only need to be put back in their proper places, the dishes get done, the perishables are put neatly into the fridge, the floor is swept, and kitchen is spic-and-span.

When he finishes, he gets back down in his wheelchair, and he goes to report to you that nearly everything’s done. However, you don’t seem to notice the sound of his wheels as they glide across the tile flooring, seemingly enamored in whatever it is you’re reading while you tap your pen against your lip.

The way you’re sat, one leg bent over the other, face propped up with one hand as eyes follow arcane words on the page, reminds him of how he’d sit at his own desk when he was in the military.

Whatever it is that you’re looking at, you pull your pen away from your lip and sign on a line, then slumping forward and sighing as you turn your head to put it down comfortably.

And, of course, Levi just had to be already looking at you from that position, so when you open your eyes to sit yourself up again, you make eye contact with him through the window of your arm and the ceiling.

Not expecting him to be there, you’re slightly startled, and you immediately straighten your back and sit up. “Oh! Are you finished in the kitchen?”

Levi nods. “I didn’t know where some things were supposed to be kept, so I left them on the counter. Nothing perishable, though.”

“That’s alright. Thank you, Levi,” you yawn and twist your upper body back and forth, holding onto the back of the chair as you turn. “And good timing, I’m about done with bookkeeping, so I’ll head up with you.” You gather together your books and pens and papers, putting them all into a folder, and you motion for Levi to follow you back through the kitchen and through a door which leads to the larger building’s hallways. There’s a set of stairs at the end of the hall, and it seems that’s where you’re leading him.

Levi’s about to comment on the fact that he’s really not sure he’s willing to haul both himself and his wheelchair up an entire flight of stairs, but you stop before you can, and you turn to walk another corner, and the two of you find yourselves in front of an elevator.

You press the button to go up, and you smile down at Levi, your papers tucked underneath your arm. “Sorry I’m not all that talkative after hours, I’m probably not as fun as you thought I was.”

That’s not a problem at all.

“I don’t care.”

When the elevator doors open, you let him on the platform first, and you follow inside to stand beside him and click on the button for the 2nd floor.

You close your eyes on the ascent, and Levi takes this as chance to glance at you from where he is.

Your ribbon sways as you do, humming to yourself as you wait for the elevator to reach the upstairs. There’s a soft smile on your face, flour slightly caught on your nose, and a bit of ink staining the parts of your lip where it’d met pen.

The yellow of your apron is brightened here, white lights of the elevator much more harsh than the natural light of the downstairs bakery. The frills on the edge of its skirt are more starkly defined here, and with the slight movement of your hips, they seem to blow like they’re in the breeze.

In a way, watching you here, he feels the way he feels when the sun starts to go to sleep. 

When the system beeps to tell you that you’ve reached your level, Levi pulls his eyes away from you, and he listens carefully as you yawn once more and tip your head where he’s meant to follow you. 

When you’re at your apartment door, you take out a key from the pocket of your dress, undo the lock, and you hold it open for Levi to come in first. He does, nodding as thanks, and you close it behind you.

“Make yourself at home, I’m going to take a quick shower,” you tell him sweetly, slipping past him to head for the bathroom.

Levi nods, and he takes a second to just comprehend the fact that he’s even here at all.

Looking around, he sees that your apartment is very… you.

In the past four months that Levi’s known you, he’s hardly learned anything personal. Though he’s gradually become more comfortable in your presence, very little words are exchanged apart from poking fun at each other or talking about things more paramount than life itself. All he knows about you, at this singular point in time, is that you’re incessantly kind, wonderfully talented at baking, and hard-working, but that all seems to show up here, in this little capsule you call home.

From what he can see from his view at the entrance, everything is spotlessly clean. On the dining table, there’s a few potted herbs growing from sprouts, and on the counters of the kitchenette adjacent to the door, there’s an array of various teas, one of which is the kind he himself drinks at home, as well as a dish-drying rack latent with measuring cups and utensils.

Further inwards is a couch with a neatly folded blanket and several pillows, all dyed with pale colors of the sky. There’s a coffee table in the center of the living room, the glass seemingly well-loved with faint stains of hot metal and water spots that won’t fade.

And, just outside your window, there’s an assortment of all sorts of plants, strewn and wrapped around the railing of your balcony. That very first time he’d sat and had his cake while you had your tea, those very leaves fell from there and landed like slow on people strolling through the street below, and, underneath the rain, the greenery reflects moonlight onto the pale, wooden floor.

Levi, conscious of the fact that his wheelchair would ruin the floor if he used it to get around, gets up as best he can and walks over to the couch, planting himself in the cushions and staring up at the ceiling.

He breathes slowly, too cautious to make even a sound, and in the distance, he hears the stronger sound of shower water hitting porcelaine. His mind’s hazy as he’s still forced to listen to the falling rain, pitter-pattering just a few feet away from him, and he has to completely abandon his head to give himself way to not think too hard about what the rain carries with it.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, he’s mastered the art of turning minutes into seconds for himself, and he has no meaningful thoughts between the time you’ve started your shower and now returned with a towel draped over your shoulders.

You’re dressed much more casually here, in a loose-fitting shirt and shorts. It’s the first time that he’s seeing you with your hair down, always used to seeing you with a ribbon tying it away from your face.

He already thought you were pretty enough during the daytime, your hair ribbon blowing in the breeze and the thread of your apron matching that of the stitch on his right gardening glove, but even with how muddled his mind is here, his breath is stolen again by the sight of you here, fresh out of the shower, your hair wet and dripping water onto your garments.

He can only be thankful that you seem too nonchalant to pay any mind to him, blindly walking over to the couch from the bathroom. Once you reach him, you hand him a spare towel as you take a seat next to him, pushing your back up against the couch. “I’m so tired,” you yawn once more, stretching out your legs. “Did you want to freshen up before bed?”

He looks down at the towel, rubbing his thumb against the fibers.

Yes.

But he knows he’s already taken advantage enough of you even allowing him to stay the night.

“I’m alright. You should go to bed.”

You hum next to him, joining in his ceiling gazing. In his periphery, he sees you flutter your eyes closed and relax your face, but he refuses to look too hard.

“Is this about you not wanting to be an inconvenience again?”

Yes .

“No.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Is he that easy to read?

Levi gulps. “Really, you can just go to sleep already. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to offer that you take the bed if you weren’t going to shower,” you jest, chuckling next to him. There’s a shift in the weight on the couch as you slowly get up, and when you turn to face him before heading off to your room, there’s a quiet, shy smile on your face, framed perfectly with moonlight. “I’m going to bed, then. You’ll probably see me in the morning, but if you miss me, I’ll see you next week.”

And with that and a wave goodnight, you’re gone, and all that Levi feels is a soft towel underneath the pads of the fingers on his left hand.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

After several hours of complete silence wherein Levi only stared up at the ceiling, trying to escape his mind as he forces himself to reassess the feeling of the couch fabric against his aching bones, he hears the opening of a door.

More specifically, your bedroom’s door.

That’s odd on its own. The sun isn’t anywhere near out, and he hadn’t heard any stir from your room to assume you’d had a bad dream.

Levi closes his eyes to feign sleep, but he’s (very) apparently bad at it when he feels a faint breeze as you wave your hand in front of his face. His eyes flutter open, and he’s met with the sight of you, hands now behind your back as you tie on your apron over a long dress. You haven’t turned the lights on, so there’s only pale moonglow to light your apartment, yet his eyes trace your features like a moth to a flame.

“What’re you doing up?” He whispers, his voice scratchy.

You raise a brow at him. “More like, why are you up?”

Couldn’t sleep.

“I asked first.”

You hum to yourself, looking between him and the door. “I have to head down to the bakery soon.”

He looks to the clock on the wall. 3:45 AM.

“This early?”

“Yeah, all those sweets don’t make themselves,” you sigh airily, leaving him at the couch to grab your bookkeeping items at the kitchen counter. “I’m used to it, though, so it’s alright.”

“It still sounds like torture.”

“Your turn now.”

He waits until you’re headed for the shoe rack by the door, faced away from him.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

There’s the faint sound of fabric on fabric as you slide on your shoes, then a slight jangling of keys as you go to the hook by the door to put them in your pocket. You open the front door, and you look back at him over your shoulder, smiling sadly for him.

“Want to come with me, then? I can get you something to eat, if you’re just going to be awake anyway.”

When Levi hesitates to answer, you immediately perk up and wave your hands out in front of you.

“You don’t have to, I just thought I’d offer!”

. . .

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The when I’m who I am is left out of the question, just as it was the last time he’d asked this, but he’s still afraid you’d heard it anyway.

You groan, throwing back your head as you do so. “You’ve already asked this before.”

That’s because he still doesn’t understand.

“Then you can answer it again.”

“Ok, well now you have to come with me,” you sigh. “Come on, old man.”

He frowns halfheartedly, but he starts to pull himself up from the couch, unable to do away with your offer. “Who are you calling old?”

“Gee, I wonder,” you sass, scoffing. “You’re, like, what? A thousand?”

Maybe it’s because you can tell that he’s upset about something, or maybe it’s because he’s so exhausted that he thinks anything that anyone says is funny.

Whichever reason it is, he’s thankful that you’ve got him smiling, even if only in spirit, and that he’s got enough strength to walk over to you, lightly knock the back of your head, and go put on his shoes.

Might as well just tell you now. 

“40.”

“Wow, I knew you were old, but I didn’t think you were that old,” you playfully prod, reorienting his wheelchair so that he can sit in it easier from where he’s already standing. “You certainly don’t look 40, though. Good for you!”

You hold it in place for him, and he rolls his eyes as he sits down. “Yeah, right, and you were born yesterday.”

“If 36 years ago counts as ‘yesterday,’ then, yes, you’d be correct.”

Levi sighs. “Let’s just fucking go.”

You laugh, lighting up the room with sunshine as you shake your head and open the door wider for wider to go through. “Whatever you say, old man.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

In the kitchen, Levi’s earnestly caught in a daze as he watches you get everything in order for opening.

It’s calming in its own right, that he gets to watch you do what you love and see the passion with which you move with in your own space. There’s a window just above the sink, and the moon is right there where the sun will rise in a couple hours. 

True to your word, you give him something to eat. You set down a loaf of bread, some butter, and a bowl of fruit in front of him for Levi to have as a makeshift breakfast, and while he chips away at it, cautiously taking bites to be polite even if he isn’t all that hungry, he tries to think of how to ask you how he can help.

He wants to help. He really, really does. If for no other reason, his conscience is screaming at him to try and be of help, to find himself reason to say that this could be his in this life.

But you work quickly—too quickly—and Levi barely understands what’s happening as you pull out basins of all these ingredients he can’t name. Things get put in the oven, back in the freezer, covered in thin cloths. You mumble instructions to yourself as you hold what looks like an inventory card in your left hand, doing things with your right, and all Levi knows to do is watch and try to figure out what’s happening.

In a way, he’s not surprised to see that you’re not as talkative as he’d imagine, all with everything that’s seemingly on your shoulders—having to bake an entire day’s worth of inventory all on your own, taking care of bookkeeping, being swarmed with company all hours of the day.

And even though you don’t ask for anything, only smiling at him when you accidentally make eye contact with him between searching for appliances and ingredients, Levi can’t help but feel like he’s bothering you by being here, burdening you with an unuseful presence.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, now having finished a decent amount of the bread and butter you’d given him. It tastes divine, even in its simplicity, but he doesn’t have the heart to finish it.

You hum, not looking up as you turn on the culinary scale on the counter and set a large bowl on it. “Nothing I can think of in particular. Antsy to keep your hands busy?”

No, he just doesn’t want to be dead weight.

“Sure.”

You turn your face away from the counter, yawning before looking behind where you’re standing at some labeled glass containers of tea. “Think you could make some tea for me?”

Would he even know how to make anything but the bitter, boring black tea he sips in the nighttime?

He ought to at least give it a try.

“Alright.”

Your eyes scan the containers before your hand reaches out to grab one, and you lean over the countertop on your tippy-toes to push it across to Levi.

He catches it, and he turns the glass around to read the label. White Peony.

Well, he’s fucked.

“There’s a kettle over by the stove,” you tell him, settling back on your feet and walking over to the refrigerator. “Make some for yourself, too, if you want. I have plenty of other blends on the shelf”

He most definitely isn’t going to brew anything for himself, but he appreciates that, even after all this time, you still extend the offer.

He hates the fact that he still can’t accept it, though.

And he hates that you’re still wasting your effort in getting him to.

He wheels himself over to the kettle, remembering where it’d been last night when he was cleaning the kitchen, and he fills it with water from a faucet marked for drinking. Going back to the stove, he places the kettle on the heated rings, and turning the dial, he lights the flame.

He waits, staring at the flame as it licks the underside of the metal, and he follows it upwards as the water steams from the spout and draws wisps in the cold, morning air of this kitchen. The kettle whistles, and he takes it from the heat to keep it from boiling over.

Near where he’d found the kettle, there’s your personal teaware set, composed with a teapot, two cups, and a tea infuser on a tray. He stands briefly to pull it closer to himself, and after lifting the lid to the pot, he opens the container of tea you’d given him, and he holds it over the pot and the infuser.

He hasn’t got any clue of how much you’d need to flavor a pot, so he takes his best guess and puts in about as much as he would at home with the black tea leaves he uses. He tips it into the infuser, careful not to let any dried petals spill, he closes it, and gently drops it to the bottom of the pot.

He pours the hot water from the kettle over the tea, tipping the spout slowly so as to not splash it onto himself, and he puts the lid back on. On the panel above the oven, just right next to the stove, there’s a small clock, so he watches and waits for the five minutes he thinks it’ll take for the tea to finish brewing.

He looks over his shoulder to see you now, shaping buttery dough and placing it onto trays on the countertop, biting your bottom lip in concentration. There’s a swipe of flour on your brow, as well as some that’s caught on your cheek, but you look so focused that he can only assume that you’re unbothered by it.

He clears his throat to get your attention, and the furrow at your brow disappears as you look up at him. “Your tea is ready.”

“Thank you! I’ll be there in a second,” you singsong, smiling at him. “I hate to ask, but could you pour it for me? My hands are a bit preoccupied.”

He nods. “Sure.”

As he moves the teacup closer to him to remove the infuser and pour it, he hears you finish up with the bun and go over to the sink near him to wash your hands, flicking off the excess water before reaching for a paper towel. Levi’s hands are careful to not spill any tea, and when the teacup is filled he slides it closer to where you are.

He watches as you pick it up to take a sip, and he crosses his fingers in his lap that you like it.

. . .

And, because the universe is out to get him, it’s painfully obvious from the sudden downturn of your smile that you don’t.

You pull the teacup from your lips and cough, putting it back on the counter and burying your face into your elbow.

Levi has no idea what to do, the horror of the situation freezing him in place, and all he can do once the initial shock passes is reach for a napkin on the counter to give to you. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

You take it hastily and wipe at your mouth, pulling it away from your face to see if it’s collected any color. You clear your throat aggressively, and you sniffle. “Wow.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you cough again, “it’s just really strong.”

“I’m sorry, I put in as much as I use when I-”

Fuck.

He catches himself in his lie, and he’s grateful that don’t seem to notice his pause.

“When I make it for houseguests.”

You sniffle again, and you slide the teapot to yourself, opening the lid to see the rest of the brew. “Well, you better stop putting so much, or no one’s ever going to come back,” you laugh.

You pick up your cup again, and before Levi can speak up to tell you that he’d be more than happy to try again under your instruction, you take another sip, wincing afterwards.

“Why are you still drinking it?”

You take another sip before taking it with you, going back to the dough and portioning off another piece to start shaping it, your hands delicately handling it as you pat it down on the countertop. “I might as well, right?”

“I can try again, you don’t have to drink it if you’re worried about me being offended. I know it tastes like shit.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “It’s not perfect, but I don’t mind.”

. . .

You don’t?

Surely, you do, and you’re just not telling him.

He can barely stomach the thought of anything but the tea he knows—the one that’s boring, painfully strong, always the same—how could you be fine with yours being brewed so completely wrong?

“Just tell me how to do it properly, and I will.”

“It’s alright, you already went to the trouble. I can tell you put some love in it, too,” you wink, putting another piece onto a baking tray. You split off another portion of dough. “I can always make another cup for myself later, anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

“But, still, if you could just have a better cup now-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, holding up your index finger at him. “ I am the king of this kitchen right now, not you, and what I say goes.”

“But your tea-”

“And I say that this tea is completely fine, so shut up, and come help me put these trays in the oven.”

Levi feels a hiccup bubbling up in his throat, telling him to fight harder to make sure that you’re actually fine with the tea he’d brewed for you in his morning stupor, but with the way you’re looking at him, eyes shining with playful willingness, he forces himself to swallow it and just accept that he can’t force humility onto you.

Fuck.

“Fine.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

It takes Levi nearly two cycles of the moon to come back to the bakery, meaning he returns in no more than two month’s time later.

Why he takes so long to return, you might ask?

Well, after having completely made a fool of himself by making your tea incorrectly (and the banter which took place in the thereafter), you and him worked in near silence as you got ready to finish getting ready for the day. It’s with conviction that he says he cannot remember most of it, in a rush as you gave him orders to do miscellaneous things around the kitchen and clean up little, unimportant messes.

That much of the morning was normal enough.

And, truthfully, the rest of it was too.

He’d helped you clean tables in the front, loaded up confectionaries in the display case, watered the potted herbs on the shelf with a small watering can you’d kept underneath an awning that collected rainwater. You’d given him a slice of plain cream cake, and he ate it at the table in the corner as you got to putting the potted plant by the door and finishing up with some things in the kitchen. When he’d left, you’d sent him off with a smile, a wave, and a box of chocolate tarts to bring home for the kids, secured to the back of his wheelchair in a cloth bag with white ribbon keeping it stable, and he’d tried his best to tell you in his own way that he was grateful for you affording him shelter for the evening. 

Of course, he’d been nervous as all hell all throughout, but he was fine.

Everything was fine.

And you’d never force it out of him, but it was the most at peace he’d felt in a long time, even if he did ruin your morning pot of tea.

So, really, it wasn’t anything that had happened that kept him from you.

What’d kept him from coming back was his own conscience, and its insistence that he needs to distance himself from you, for reasons he can’t name other than the nervous feeling which reaches the tips of his fingers when he thinks of you. He’d done a decent enough job at swatting away the feeling before, but it’s been gnawing at him recently in a way that’s too troublesome to ignore.

In that kitchen, with you, the clock had ticked slowly, just as it always did at that time of day, but it wasn’t at all forlorn in the way he’d learned it to be.

4 in the morning, in his world, is when his eyes will burn, and he has to force himself to search the labyrinth of his mind for happy memories to subside those less so. When his chair starts to feel uncomfortably stuffy, and he has to bear the pain until it’s too much. When he has to take a walk around the fields outside to clear his head, and he has to do it all over again when it’s 4 in the morning the next day.

4 in the morning, in your world, is when you fill the bakery with the homely smell of fresh bread, when cakes get decorated and pastries get put together. When your ribbon blows in the swift morning gale which comes through the lone window—when you’re most at peace, and, surprisingly so, when he is too—, and you get to do it all over again when it’s 4 in the morning the next day.

The evening following that time spent with you, when it’d became 4 in the morning, he had thought of you; tying on your apron with warm hands, watching the moon through glass that’s frosted over in cold, morning fog, wiping fingerprint smudges off of windowpane.

It comforted him—the thought that you were awake, too, only doing things that made you happy.

The thought that somewhere, not too far away from the world he resides in, you’re there in your own.

And he feels like he isn’t welcome there—in your world—even at your best protest.

He’s not supposed to be happy at 4 in the morning, for that’s nothing he’s ever known to be at that time of day.

Or at any time of day, really.

In the ensuing mornings, when the clock would click into place at 4:00, it was all he could think about, all he could remember, all he could feel.

And it feels wrong.

He’s supposed to be acting in remembrance—half-alive and fully-awake as he forces himself to remember his lives past lived, gripping the armrests of his chair and feeling the leather start to peel underneath his fingernails. The solace he’d found in the knowledge that you were also awake when he was eroded in the same manner the moon crescented, and it became something he’d felt shame for.

And he has no idea what to do about it—the comfort which gives way for light to reach his empty heart. He’d already experienced enough while in your presence alone; how could he allow you to do the same and worse to him even during the hours of the day reserved for only the darkest parts of himself?

Levi’s not an idiot. He knows all too well that he’s getting attached.

Which is why he chooses to stay away.

It doesn’t do much. He still thinks of you in the wee hours of the morning, how your hair had fallen over your shoulders when he’d seen it down, how you’d always leave a cup of tea out for him to try, how you’d smiled at him when he’d left that morning. He goes past the bakery every so often, seeing it in passing after going to the market for miscellaneous items he needs for the house.

But he keeps at it, willing himself to stay at his quiet little farmhouse, spending his days doing nothing of importance.

He has his tea, he gardens in the fields and sprays the insecticide he’d bought so long ago, he tries to find sleep in his chair. He makes spinach soup for the kids because they refuse to eat vegetables from anywhere but the garden they help pick from and water, and he’ll send Gabi off with some of the day’s harvest for her cousin. He’d celebrated Gabi’s birthday with her, Falco, Onyankopon, and those tarts you’d given him before he’d left, lit a candle for Moblit on his, and was forced to join the 104th at a bar for Springer’s.

So many things, all amounting to nothing.

But it’s not like he has anything else to do.

And it’s not like you would’ve missed him, anyway, now that he’s stopped coming.

What’s there about a man like him to miss?

But, in the end, he’s bound to routine and its troubles all the same, and his hands eventually find themselves pushing forward the wheels to take him back to the bakery. And maybe he could blame his heart, telling him that he needs to see you again, even if he’s sure he isn’t detached enough yet to brave the sight of you, but it’s truly without intention that he finds himself back here.

He’ll come, say a brief hello, order, and leave. That much should keep his mind at ease, his heart satisfied.

And, besides, today is his mother’s birthday.

In years past, he’d simply pour out an extra cup of tea to share with her spirit, but with how its seemingly become more commonpractice among himself and his friends to celebrate birthdays and other events more formally, he thinks he ought to get a cake for her, and he can’t imagine anywhere else he’d go to fetch that but your bakery.

As he approaches its spot at the corner of the road, he feels a squeeze in his chest, telling him for the thousandth time that he’s not supposed to be here, but there’s a tug on his heartstrings which tells him to suck it up and just brave the worse parts of his conscience.

But before he can even begin to question why, the windows are blocked with curtains he’s never seen closed before, the door isn’t propped open with an annoyingly large potted plant, and there’s not a trace of the life there’d been in the months prior before he’d stopped coming.

He remains still in his wheelchair in front of the closed door, staring up at a small sign hanging from it.

Temporarily Closed!

. . .

He feels no breeze as he rereads the words, over and over again. He knows there’s wind—his hair blows with it, prickling his eyes—but he feels none of it. He only feels as if he’s stuck there, trying to fool himself into thinking he’s misreading the sign.

It’s closed?

Maybe this is the universe telling him that he should’ve found another, more shitty bakery to get his mother’s birthday cake from.

That he should’ve stayed at home in the first place, and that he should’ve just steeled himself for long enough to lose the desire to come back.

That he wasn’t meant to come here at all.

That he’s not wanted here.

That he’s not supposed to be here.

The feeling is nearly as painful as the thought that you’ve closed shop.

What happened to the bakery?

How long is “temporarily?”

Where are you?

What’re you doing now?

How’re you doing now?

Are you okay?

He knows that he has no right to be asking in the first place, especially given the fact that he’s been absent for long enough for this to even transpire.

But-

Actually, no.

He does have no right to be asking those questions.

It’s none of his business anymore. He’s been gone for so long that he has no right to be worried.

He’ll go home, pour out two cups of that same boring black tea, and he’ll mull over all the ways he can try to salvage the faint heartbreak he feels here. It’s of his own doing that he’s found himself having missed opportunity to come here again, and it’s too late.

Just as he’s finally gotten back control of his body and is about to leave, there’s a leaf that falls in front of him, and he takes his hands off the grips of his wheelchair to catch it between his fingers. It feels crisp in his hands, like that pink ticket that’d brought him back here in the first place.

Looking up to see the plant from which the leaf had fallen, there’s long leaves of the plants above the awning and on your balcony that sway with the wind, drawing in sunlight and dripping with water. There’s a glare from a window from across the way, but because of the rust that’s lightly coating the railing, it doesn’t burn his eyes.

And he sees a white ribbon, moving alongside the zephyr.

And because his soul speaks for him, he calls your name.

The two tails of the ribbon get pulled in by hands that’re familiar to him, even after having not seen them since two moons past, and from over the raining, you appear, looking down at him.

There’s an expression he can’t read on your face as you and him make eye contact.

And you disappear, just as you’d came into view.

God fucking damn it.

He knew he never should’ve come here.

He should’ve listened to the better part of his conscience—the part that thinks with his brain, not his heart.

He should’ve kept at building the distance he’d try to foster between the two of you. The one-sided attachment he has to you should’ve been enough to tell him that he’s better off just trying to forget the last five months ever happened.

He should’ve known better.

He lets the leaf in his hands drop to the stone road, and he looks back at the door that’s still just as closed as it was seconds ago.

Well, there’s nothing else to do but go back in the direction from which he came.

He can’t even bring himself to sigh the breath of loss as he grabs hold of his wheels again, reorienting himself to head home.

He’s slow as he moves, pushing forward across stone that’s a bit bumpy and covered with strewn green. He keeps his eyes downward, shame surely evident on his features as he waits for himself to fully gain control of his body and mind again.

It’ll be okay.

He’ll find another shitty bakery to get his mother’s birthday cake.

He’ll stay home.

He’ll not come here again.

He’ll know he’s not wanted here.

He’ll know he’s not supposed to be here.

He’s broken out of his thoughts when he hears the echo of a bell ringing, and before he can look over his shoulder to see what’s the source of that sound, he feels warmth around his chest.

Arms from behind are wrapped around him, firm yet gentle, and there’s a weight on his left shoulder as a head gets placed there. He can hear labored breaths, as if someone had just come running down the stairs. There’s the faint smell of sugar and tea tickling his nose, and he feels the satin of a ribbon falling over into his lap.

”Levi!”

It’s you.

For just a second, his body tenses up, unsure of how to react to the feeling of yours against his.

And, just as soon as he’s finally begun to even comprehend the idea that he could relax into your embrace and let himself crumble under the weight of relief, you pull away from him and move to stand in front of him, your hands on your knees as you bend down to meet him at eye level.

He only knows how to stare dumbly at the you who now beams at him with a smile that reaches your eyes.

“It’s good to see you again, I missed you!”

. . .

You…

missed him?

Levi’s heart drops. “You did?”

“Of course I did!”

. . .

“Why?”

You look at him with confusion. “You came every Wednesday, why wouldn’t I miss you?”

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper.

You wave him off. “Don’t be, I’m just glad to see you. What’ve you been up to for the past two months?”

“...Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. An old man like you has nothing to do?” You tease playfully. “No grandkids to take care of?”

He deadpans. “Ha, ha, very funny.

“They liked the tarts you sent me off with, though. They said to say ‘thank you.’”

To the pretty lady who works at the bakery, they’d also said to pass along, but Levi isn’t going to say that.

“Tell them it’s no problem, I’m glad they liked them.”

“I will.”

You chuckle, shaking your head and standing up straight again. “So, what brings you back here today?”

“I was going to get a birthday cake, but the bakery is kind of,” he kisses his teeth, “closed.”

You hum, looking over to the blocked out windows. “Well, you’d be right about that.”

“What happened?”

“What happened to what?” You ask sarcastically. “You mean to the bakery?”

He nods.

You laugh, putting your hands into the pockets of your dress. “Funny story, it got broken into.”

Levi’s heart drops even further. “What?”

You wince, nodding. “Yeah, it was a while ago, not too long after your last visit. The bakery was closed, and some people came through and wrecked everything looking for money. Everything in the front is basically torn to shreds, and there’s still glass on the floor from when they broke the display case.”

“What fucking idiot breaks a dessert display to look for money?”

You chuckle. “The ones that robbed me, I guess. They did some real damage, though.”

“But did they find it?”

“What, the money?” You sadly smile. “Yeah.”

His heart falls to the pit of his stomach.

“...Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m here right now, aren’t I?” You laugh. “But I was out shopping for something when it happened, so I wasn’t hurt or anything.”

Thank fuck, but that's what he meant.

"But the money-"

"It wasn't all of it, just what I kept downstairs. Really, don't worry about me."

He's still going to, anyway.

He frowns. “I’m sorry. That's all horrible.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “I’ve cried about it plenty already, no real point in staying upset. I’ll be able to reopen eventually, so it’ll all be okay in the end.”

How could any of this be okay?

He frowns, hearing that you’d cried.

And it makes his heart heavier, knowing that he’d spent all this time thinking you’d been awake in the mornings baking when you weren’t doing that at all.

Knowing that he’d wasted his time being selfishly obsessed with distancing himself from you, to the point that you had missed him, even when you had plenty of other, more important things to worry about than him not coming back to the bakery.

And he only has himself to blame for him not being there for you when this’d all happened.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks cautiously.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Maybe because there’s a grief in losing your work?

“Having to close, even temporarily, sounds hard.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, I swear I’m fine,” you say, looking up at the sky.

You’re lying.

You don’t say anything else, so Levi’s eyes follow yours to the sky. He himself doesn’t really know what else there is to say, given the gravity of this, so there’s a silence, but it’s not the one that hangs overhead when Levi would come on Wednesdays. This quiet is only there because you don’t want to talk or even think about the bakery, and it’s painfully obvious to Levi that there’s something wrong.

It feels wrong, to say the least, but at least he’s not the one to confront that when, after what feels like a lifetime of cloudgazing, you clear your throat.

“Who’s birthday is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He keeps his eyes trained above, speaking slowly. “My mother’s.”

You hum. “It’s nice of you to think to get a cake for her. You’re a good son.”

Is he?

“I should let you go. I wouldn’t want you to be late meeting her.”

Levi doesn’t want to go, but he knows he has to, if for no reason other than the fact that he knows he’s wasting your time by being here.

“Right,” he sighs. “Do you know any bakeries nearby?”

“I hope you know you aren’t allowed to be a regular customer anywhere else,” you joke. “When I reopen, you better come back and sit at that corner table every Wednesday again.”

He can’t say that he’ll be able to fend off the devil on his shoulder, but he’ll try his best if that’s what you’re asking of him. “No promises.”

“I guess that’s good enough for me,” you smile goodnaturedly, now looking at him. “Well, if you’re looking for a cake somewhere else, what flavors does she like?”

Did like.

In any case, he isn’t sure she’d ever had a cake in her life in the first place to have a flavor to call her favorite.

“I don’t really know. I suppose anything would be fine”

You hum. “You could try the shop three streets down. They have a bit of everything, but it’s kinda expensive.”

He hadn’t brought any more money than it’d cost to get a cake from your bakery because he didn’t want to be tempted to get something for himself while he was here.

“Anywhere else?”

“Um,” you look around, tapping your index finger on your cheek. “There’s a bakery by the clock tower at the center of the city, but I think they’re also pretty expensive because it’s owned by a company.”

He frowns. “Is anything around here affordable?”

You snort. “No, absolutely not.”

“And that’s all the bakeries?”

“...Yeah, at least all the good ones.”

Well, he certainly isn’t going to disrespect his mother and get her a bad cake.

He sighs. “It’s fine.”

Levi can just go back home and do what he always does when it’s his mother’s birthday.

He supposes that it’s tradition begging to be kept, if he can’t get a cake for her. Maybe he can stop on the way back home and grab some flowers instead-

“Actually, when do you have to meet with her?”

“What? Why’re you asking?”

“Ah, well,” you look up to your balcony, “if you could wait a few hours, I can make the cake for you. The bakery kitchen might not be available for business, but the one in my apartment works just as well.”

“What? You don’t have to do that.”

You have better things to do with your personal time than do this for him.

“Well, it’s not fair to your mother that she doesn’t have a cake on her birthday just because some small-time criminals decided to rob my bakery.”

It’s also not fair that your bakery was robbed in the first place. You don’t need to be downplaying how much it’s hurting you to have to close shop.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to-”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” you raise.

Because there is no answer. He’s not going to see his mother, and he’s never going to be able to again.

“...It’s subject to change.”

You smile. “Then it’s settled.”

“What is?”

“I’ll make you your cake.”

He frowns. “What choice do I have if you’re just going to insist anyway?”

“Well, I can’t force it into your hands, but if you came all this way already, then you must’ve really wanted a cake from me, right?”

And what’s he supposed to say to that?

No, I hate your baking, and I would rather go home empty-handed on my mother’s birthday than accept your help.

So he stays silent, and you take that as him giving in, and you flash a smile at him.

“That’s what I thought,” you start, making your way back over to the bakery door. You remain looking at him, one hand of the door handle after you’ve opened it, and he just stares back.

“What’re you looking at me for?”

“Do you want to come up and help? It’s okay if you don’t, I don’t mind delivering it to you.”

His heart breaks.

Why are you trying so hard?

“You’re really not going to change your mind, are you?”

You tilt your head in confusion, ever-oblivious to the storm in his mind. “Uh, it’d be really mean-spirited if I told you I’d make you a cake and then not give you one at all, so no, I’m not going to change my mind."

“I meant about-” he pauses, unsure.

About helping him all the time.

“Nevermind.”

“So… are you coming up or not? I can’t hold this door open forever.”

“You’re really going to waste your time like this?”

He’s sure you have other things you could be doing right now, you don’t have to do this for him.

“Levi, it’s just a cake. You don’t have to worry about the trouble.”

He finds any defense he can.

“But it’s cake for someone you don’t know.”

“I may not know her, but I know you. That’s enough reason on its own, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t think-”

“Levi,” you call, “enough of feeling sorry for me. Are you coming up, or do I need to collect your address to bring this to you later?”

Levi purses his lips.

He has no right to come up to your apartment again, to spend even more of your precious time.

Regardless of whether or not he wants to, he doesn’t know you.

All he does is stare outside a window with you, take advantage of your kindness, and will himself to come there every fourth-cycle of the moon to give himself some semblance of purpose in this life in the form of yearning and cake. He’d stopped, and now he’s back to only find himself begging his soul for the freedom to to feel his heart.

But, in the way you speak, you make it sound like you know him.

And even though he knows you don’t know him any more than he knows you, there’s nothing more he could ask for that could compare to the compassion of your heart, given to him forlorn in the way he’s never learnt it could be, even if his mind and soul are in such discord that they can’t decide whether or not that’s allowed of a person like him.

 And, in the way you’re looking at him here, practically holding out a hand to him, he can tell that you need someone.

Even if he doesn’t think he should be that someone, he’ll try his best.

It won’t be worth much, but it’s the least he can do to at least try and justify this decision to the part of himself that tells him he’s better off accepting the fact that he’s so unwholly a person deserving of even trying.

He puts his palms to metal and pushes forward, slipping past you through the gap in the door that you hold open.

He’ll put aside his own selfish, meaningless tendencies, but he can only hope to begin to accept the warmth of someone like you, who shines as brightly as the sun.

“I’ll help.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

continue chapter one!

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #tao.levi #attack on titan #levi aot #levi ackerman

[tvgals]

omgg i need an expansion on college junior eren getting reader pregnant

i must give the people what they want 😽

“i’ll b ovr in bout 10”

eren sat there with his hand cupping the bottom of his face and his elbow resting on his knee, looking at his phone. currently, he’s trying to look like the most nonchalant mf ever, but he just can’t manage it.

“hurry tf up”

“i’m otw rn.”

he stands up and walks over to jean’s apartment door, trying to navigate through all the smoke in the room.

“yo eren! where ya’ goin’?” connie stumbles over, putting a hand on eren’s shoulder. “to the store. now goodbye.” eren says, pushing connie’s hand off his shoulder and walking out the door. “the fuck is his deal?”

eren practically dashed down the stairs and jumped into his car. he put his keys into the engine and he pulled off. he goes to his messages app and facetimes you from there. he silently waits until you answer.

“what?” you whisper, only the top of your bonnet and your forehead being visible, along with the background noise of dance moms. you sound visibly upset.

“bro i’m on the way. i’m just saying, if you actually want this baby, bro, i’ll support. but i’m not taking care of it.” he grunts. all he hears is some moving around and the tone of you hanging up. he sighs and rubs his face.

“dammit.” eren didn’t know what to do. was he supposed to take care of it with you? or just leave you by yourself? maybe he’d drop by and act like a friend…but what if the baby looks just like him with little hints of you…but he doesn’t love you..does he? no! of course not! right…?

the thoughts swarming his head made the drive seem 10 times shorter. he pulls into your driveway and parks his car. before he walks in, he takes a deep breath and opens his door. he lugs up the rest of your driveway, the guilt weighing on his back, and knocks on your door. shifting from heel to heel. from all the times he’s been in this position ( not getting girls pregnant and refusing to take care of them ) but from all the times he’s been in front of your door, he’s found that if he’s really quiet and if he tunes out every thing else, he can hear the pitter-patter of your footsteps.

you get to the door and open it up, looking eren dead in the eye. “get the fuck in here.”

you lead him upstairs and sit on your bed. eren sits next to you, looking around the familiar environment. your purple colored led lights illuminating your room. “so…what are we gonna do?” you ask, looking down at your hands and fiddling with your thumbs. “ion know. i don’t wanna sit here and waste your time talkin’ bout nothing tho.” he says, flopping down on your bed.

“i was thinking of abortion…i dunno…i’ve always wanted a family! i don’t know if it’s too soon, if i’m just not fit for this…or if…my family vision just isn’t working with…you..in it. y’know?” you say tears welling in your eyes. you’re not starting to cry because you love him. no, you’re crying because your child, if you end up having it, it will more than likely grow up without knowing their father.

and you’d rather die then have that happen.

written w black reader in mind

#blkshoyo #black reader #im black #i love being black #ilovemyfollowers #ilysm <3 #anime #being black #writing is my therapy #black writers #eren aot #aot fluff #aot eren #aot fandom #aot fanfiction #aot x black reader #aot x you #black reader smut #x black reader #black readers

[st4rb3rr13s]

CEO!Eren headcanons.

DO YALL KNOW HOW EARLY IT IS?? Too early to be writing headcanons but we up 🙌🏾🔝

CEO!Eren who was trying to learn the electric slide. He’s so good at it, it makes you wonder if in another life he’s learned this?? But if it’s some soft jazz music, he loves slow dancing with you. He looks at you as if you are the only girl in the world.

CEO!Eren who watched the color purple with you. (How long did Sophia have to fight for y’all?) He teared up while watching it but told you it’s the onions. (There were no onions.)

CEO!Eren who is in love with apple pie. He didn’t like the crust though, just the filling. Mama Carla loves to make it for him when he comes home and it’s always homemade. So when he complained about missing it and you made it for him, he knew he had to do something for you. (Anything you want is yours.)

CEO!Eren who maintained his hair well. Always shampoos and conditions it. It never looks greasy, and if it started to he’d quickly fix that. He needs to look good for you.

CEO!Eren (due to contrary belief) can grow a beard. He chooses not to. Once he let his beard grow out but it was a one time thing. Unless you like it, he will not grow one.

CEO!Eren who secretly loves boba. Taro specifically. During work once and while he’ll secretly leave to grab a cup of boba. He loves chewing on something while drinking another thing.

CEO!Eren who’s stomach could take a brick and be fine. A meal that had given everyone food poisoning made him feel fine. You always wonder how much his stomach could take.

CEO!Eren is a good and bad liar. Like he’s good at keeping really big things from you but bad at keeping little things from you. The vase broke? The cat did it. (You two don't even have a cat??) Did you forget your mother’s birthday dinner?? No, I was just running late. (He was actually early but he couldn’t tell you that.)

CEO!Eren who loves fucking you on his desk. If you’re wearing a skirt especially, he loves that. Just thinking about hitting you from behind as your skirt gets bunched up makes him hard.

CEO!Eren who is mesmerized by butterfly gardens. Like how did they get so many butterflies here?? They’re so pretty. Eren honestly just loves butterflies in general because of how free they seem and they’re so beautiful.

CEO!Eren who stresses a lot. You're surprised he doesn’t have gray hairs from how much he stresses. When he gets home he’s normally really tired and likes to relax.

CEO!Eren’s off time is very limited. People will call him when he’s on vacation or he’ll have to shoot out emails while sipping a margarita. He’s just a really busy man and as much as he would love to get away from it, it’s his job.

CEO!Eren who makes trust funds for his family already. He may not even have his own family yet, but he wants to put some money up for college (if they chose that path) and house funds. He just really thinks about the future a lot.

CEO!Eren loves tattoos, but has none. He’d probably get a matching one with you if you wanted it, but that’s it. He always asks people how they like their tattoos, if they’re going to get more, etc. He’s also not opposed to you getting tattoos. He’ll ask the same questions. He, himself, just doesn’t want tattoos.

CEO!Eren who has the hello kitty theme song stuck in his head. His older brother, Zeke’s kid came over and they watched Hello Kitty for 3 hours while eating pizza. He could’ve gone on his phone but she kept talking to him about it, and he didn’t want to be confused.

CEO!Eren who loves children and wants at most 5 of his own. Children love him back. I mean how couldn’t they when he talks to them like they’re his friends. He’ll dab them up then have “deep” conversations with them. Which is better: pizza or chocolate?

CEO!Eren who takes his time with life. He isn’t rushing to do anything. Marriage, he’ll wait about 2-4 years. He’ll know he wants to marry you, but doesn’t want to rush things. Kids, when he gets to his early/mid thirties. He doesn’t mind waiting and is very patient.

CEO!Eren who is very patient but gets aggravated very easily. If someone is being selfish or not grateful about something he’s done, he will not give them the satisfaction to repeatedly do that. He will embarrass someone very easily and not care.

CEO!Eren who can be very nasty, and not in a classy way. If someone says something about you, he will snap back 10 times harder. When they got low, he goes lower. Will talk about anything and anyone if they push him enough.

CEO!Eren who tries to stay calm for your sake. You’ll send him a smile, telling him not to say shit. He’ll try to keep his mouth shut, knowing the ruckus he’ll cause. He’ll start breathing hard, yawning in the person’s face, and rolling his eyes. But once you walk away, it’s over.

CEO!Eren who would buy the whole world for you, and not ask for anything in return.

#eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren x reader #eren aot #aot x black reader #aot eren #eren x black reader #snk x black reader #aot x black y/n #aot x reader #eren smut #eren fluff

[crisalidaseason]

Ties with frayed ends

Summary: The table scene from Mikasa's perspective, also, she refuses to see Armin being beaten. Content Warnings: spoilers season 4, slight canon divergence, angst, violence, eren being cruel, some dialogue is taken from the table scene, mean eren, toxic eren, platonic arumika, mikasa loves armin very much, mikasa and eren are SIBLINGS here, strictly siblings, mentions of declining mental health, nightmares, night terrors, insecurities, mentions of blood and broken bones, a little eremin if you squint very hard.

Mikasa was numb, hearing and watching everything as if she was outside or her body. The boy - no, the man - seated on her left was far from the sweet green-eyed brother she grew up with. He had an indifferent face, eyes a dull color with all life drained from it. As the blood ran through the cut on Eren’s hand, staining the table cloth, Mikasa wondered if this stranger deserved the name. 

“I just wanna talk to you” Eren’s voice was just as dead as his eyes, but Mikasa’s ears were too muffled to even register that. 

The Ackerman's feelings were in shock, but her instincts caught the trembling of the young girl across from her. She should have known, should have taken her out of that place. No matter what Eren’s words were, Mikasa could feel her senses burning and screaming that something would go horribly wrong.

“More conflict isn’t necessary to solve eldia’s problems…” Eren continued, and at that point Mikasa was only hoping Armin was paying attention.

She looked at Gabi again, still terrified. Her eyes landed on her brother. It was him. That moment solidified what Mikasa feared to even think about in the dead of night: her brother was turning into someone’s devil, his very name and presence causing fear in young hopefull children. Mikasa felt sick, she remembered all those years, listening to the cries of mothers, fathers, lovers, sons and daughters who mourned the ones claimed by the colossal’s first attack. 

“...attack Marley on your own?...” the familiar voice of Armin sometimes brought the girl back to the present. 

She looked at her friend for the first time since entering that room. Her precious Armin. He had bags under his eyes, a horrible shade of purple that never abandoned him. He was speaking, his voice just as soft -and yet firm- as it always had been. He was always such a comprehensive friend, but also his constant need to understand the full story often sent him into such horrible places. His lips moved, his blond eyebrows frowning. He wanted to understand Eren, he always did. 

“I am free, Armin” Eren’s deep voice finally broke her haze. 

Freedom. She wondered what he meant, if he ever knew freedom at all. 

“My actions are governed by nothing but my free will” he said again, eyes dead, so dead. 

He is lying, lying. The voice inside her said. She knew her brother, he was lying. She knew him, didn’t she? He would not choose to do those horrible things, her brother was not like that. Eren had his fair share of crimes, so did she and Armin and everyone else, but he would never…he would not do all of that on purpose. Eren was not evil, she could not bring herself to accept that. 

Armin spoke again, but she could not hold herself anymore.

“No way” she spoke for the first time, her voice harsher than she would ever speak to him “you’re being manipulated. The Eren I know would never involve civilians and children in a war even if they were enemies”

His eyes were so dull, so dull.

“And you wouldn’t risk our lives either!” she continued “you care about us, don’t you?”

She was not fully aware, but Armin’s hand touched her elbow, slightly trying to pull her down, yet she still stood up. Her mind and body were restless.

“You rescued me from that cabin, you wrapped this scarf around me” she felt her eyes sting, her hands holding the red cloth “you’re a kind-”

“I said keep your hands on the table, Mikasa!” Eren firmly exclaimed.

Silence. Mikasa felt her eyes burn in solidarity to her chest. He was never the most quiet person, neither held his rudeness around her and Armin when his feelings were all over the place, but something about his words, his face, felt different. She sat down, feeling her legs wanting to give up, then she noticed Armin’s touch. 

“Back in Liberio, I spoke with Zeke. Brother to brother”

Brother? Her throat went dry, the stinging in her eyes suddenly running down her body, stopping on her trembling angry hands. Brother. Zeke. A man who Eren never met before, a man who murdered their comrades as if he was playing, a man who was never there when Eren had fevers, never cleaned his cuts and bruises, never comforted him in moments of grief and neither celebrated his moments of joy. Zeke was never there, but she was. How dare he call Zeke brother.

“I don’t-” Armin’s eyes were wide.

A gasp from Armin sent her back into the present. She was succumbing to distractions, she needed to return. 

“If memories play a major role in shaping us into the people we are, then part of you has become Bertholdt” Eren spoke, his green eyes burning on his friend “within you is an enemy who has feelings for another enemy. Do you understand? Bertholdt has gotten into your head, you’re the one being manipulated by the enemy”

He did not. Eren did not say that. Mikasa was torn between shedding tears and breaking something. He had no right to do that, he had no right to poke at Armin’s fears knowing all of those horrible nights in which the blonde screamed after a nightmare. Bertholdt’s memories haunted the blond boy for so long that Mikasa worried that her friend would never recover. 

ººººº

“I feel as if there is someone sharing my mind, my body. And they are so many, Mikasa, so many!” the blue eyes were full of tears, his entire body shaking violently, his voice falling him after waking up screaming. Mikasa could only feel her heart twist at the sight of a nightmare frightened Armin. 

“I’m here” she would say to him, embracing Armin’s shaking figure. 

“Where is he?” Armin would whisper.

“Not here”

ººººº

“Why would you-” Mikasa yelled, her anger was already coming to the surface. She had shown Eren her wrath before whenever he was slightly rude to Armin, and she would not hesitate to put her brother in his place, she would-

“You’re being controlled too” he directed his vile speech at her “the Ackerman clan was designed to be perfect to protect their host.”

Shut up, she wanted to say.

“Your ackerman instincts were dormant until that life or death situation in which you heard me order you to fight. The strength and certainty you felt that moment were awakened because your blood mistook me for the host you were made to protect”

“That can’t be” shut up.

“Why not?” he continued, his eyes burning her this time. Her eyes also burned, the tears were forming. She knew it. 

“It wasn’t a mistake” her voice was failing her “it’s because it was you, it had to be you, you are why I became strong! how could that be a mistake?”

“As an ackerman with awakened powers, you’re apparently supposed to get headaches frequently” Eren ignored her pleaded “Research said it’s the Ackerman trying to resist being forced to protect their host. Sounds familiar?

“You’re wrong” Mikasa wanted to scream, but she could only whisper.

ººººº

“What if I am…just a tool” she confessed on a late night insomnia session with Armin and Eren “What if they’re right?”

The trio was laying on a small bed, Mikasa laying on Armin’s stomach and her feet resting on Eren’s lap. Armin was looking at the ceiling, the thin pillow supporting his neck from the cold wall, he would occasionally put little braids on Mikasa’s hair to occupy his hands. Eren was almost dozing off, he had tried to stay awake with the other two insomniacs but always ended up sleeping. 

“They are not!” Armin said, tugging one of her braids softly “You’re Mikasa and that’s all. You’re my best friend, Sasha’s biggest torment, Captain Levi’s bane. 

“You’re fun, your dry humor is one of the best things whenever dinner is miserable, your also have the best gossip to share and the worst advice” Eren commented, his speech slurring. 

She laughed, rolling her eyes at them. She was horrible comforting people.

“You know what I mean”

“And I also know it’s irrational to think you’re just a mind controlled person” he firmly told her “let’s forget this nonsense, hm? What do you think about stealing something from the kitchens” Armin said, looking at her with his menacing smile, like the little thief he was. 

ººººº

Eren knew how she felt about being diminished as a person, how people were quick to judge her actions and behaviors with no grayscale. He knew how dehumanized she felt and yet there he was, reminding her of the quiet insecurity that haunted her deeply. 

“What I am saying is that you belong to a clan that was created to protect and obey. You are slaves” he almost seemed proud of every word he uttered. 

“Stop, leave her alone!” Armin yelled at Eren, which almost distracted her. Armin was never one to yell unless severely distressed. 

“You wanna know what I hate more in this world?” Eren ignored Armin, eyes still focused on hers “anyone who isn’t free, you are no better than cattle”

“Eren” Armin’s warning tone reached her eyes.

“The mere sight of you has always made me so angry…now I know why. I could not stand seeing a slave with no mind of her own, who always followed orders without question”

Shut up, shut up, shut up! She wanted to scream, punch, hurt him. He had no right to say those things to her, to Armin, to anybody!

“Believe me when I say that, Mikasa” his voice would forever haunt her “ever since I was a kid, I hated you”

Time seemed to stop, the words repeating and reverberating in her head. She searched for a single drop of regret over his words, and she found none. She found dull and dead green eyes, his venom filled voice consuming her heart. Her blood was so loud on her ears that Mikasa almost did not register when Armin lunged himself across the table with a cry of rage. In a matter of seconds, her body acted faster than her mind, and she pinned the blond boy on the table before his fist could collide with Eren’s face. She looked at her hands, at Armin’s blue eyes filled with pain, reflecting her own hurt feelings. 

What have I done, she thought, Why am I protecting him if all he does is hurt us?

Mikasa let go of Armin, looking hatefully at her own traitorous hands. At that point, she had no strength to stop the blonde, she had no right to restrain him after what Eren told him. Eren was no more, the man in front of them was not her brother, her friend. He was a stranger, lost in the threads of her memory. She was tired, she was so tired. Her heart was in so much pain that Mikasa feared it would give up beating.

What have we become?

As soon as Armin’s fist made contact with Eren’s face, she knew this was over. Armin’s burst of anger was the proof she needed, they were not a trio anymore. Eren left them for good, so distant that she would never be able to reach him. Armin was all she had left, and as Mikasa watched Eren pull the blonde by the collar and throw him on the ground…she snapped. If Eren was no more, he would not touch anything precious to her. Never. 

Against her own heart and mind screaming at her, Mikasa jumped over the downturned table and grabbed Eren’s shirt, yanking him back. 

He is your brother!!

Her punch broke his jaw.

He is Armin’s friend, he loves him!

The other punch cracked Eren’s nose. 

He is not lost, we can’t save him!

She cried, screamed. Her tears mixed with the blood pouring from Eren’s nose. If her brother was trying to defend himself, she did not notice it. She kept going, punch after punch. 

Why are you doing this! Stop, Mikasa-

“Stop!!” Armin’s voice took her by surprise “Mikasa, stop!”

She felt Armin’s hands digging into her sides while he tried to lift her from Eren’s middle section. The blonde was not weak as the others said, he had a considerable amount of strength, but Mikasa had monstrous force whenever she was out of her mind, the blond struggled to lift her, resorting to words.

“Mikasa, we need to leave. Now!” He yelled “the others need us!”

She stood up, eyes hyper focused on her bloodied brother. She saw the damage’s result on her hands, still trembling. She had done that, she…she hurt her own brother. 

“Mikasa” Armin pleaded, trying to catch her eyes “we have to go”

Mikasa was breathing heavily, her throat felt like sandpaper, a result of her screams of rage and sorrow that she did not remember uttering, but all the soldiers, Armin, Gabi and Eren himself witnessed. 

“We lost him” Armin’s voice was nothing but a whisper, a pained one.

She finally landed her eyes on her friend. He had a visibly broken nose, which made her cringe at the sight of his face swelling. She hesitated for far too long. 

“We lost him” she whispered back.

Eren’s groans caught her attention again. He was still on the ground, holding his stomach where she most likely kneeled him. He had blood all over his face and staining the floor. Mikasa felt horrible. Everything was wrong. They were supposed to see the ocean together, travel the world together, maybe come back to some peaceful place and live together. They were meant to be three in one. 

But Eren was never within reach.

#i wanted pain #I think I am shadowbanned #:( #but okay #i will survive #eren jaeger #eren #eren x armin #armin arlert #eremin #mikasa ackerman #mikasa x armin #arumika

[justanobodywriter]

Mortem

Eren x Reader x Jean

CW: kind of season 4 spoilers but nothing too specific (iykyk), gender neutral reader, angst, mentions of injuries, reader dies, little bit of cheating reader

Eren leaned over the bed. He looked at how peaceful you looked. He hadn't seen you like this in a while.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come," you breathed out.

Your lips turned up in a small smile as your eyes opened slowly. As the haze left, you saw him standing over you.

"I can't stay long," he spoke reaching out and caressing your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, "Any time I can get will be enough."

"Floch told me you aren't doing well."

"I'm not. I'm seriously injured."

"How bad is it?"

You lifted the thin sheet that covered your body, revealing many cuts and open wounds that were poorly stitched up. Most of your torso was a very dark blue, purple, or black color. It was very apparent that there was much that was wrong.

"Jean helped stitch me up," you explained. "I know it isn't perfect, but it's better than it was."

"Why aren't you bandaged better?" Eren questioned trying to keep his face a stoic expression.

"There isn't enough supplies here," you spoke laying the sheet back down. "They weren't ready to treat the wounded. The closest medics to here are against us all."

Eren nodded his head in understanding.

"I know you have to go, so don't worry yourself with me," you waved him off. "I'll be ok."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Eren admitted.

"No plan is perfect."

"This one was."

"You're right, it was. This was all meant to happen. We have to accept it now."

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do, Eren," you let out a choked cough after you spoke.

"Do you still think this is the right thing to do?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"That's all that matters. I don't know what to think anymore."

"So you aren't still with me?"

"No, I am. I just don't know what's best anymore. Is there even anything that would be best in this world?"

"Don't say things like that."

"I'm serious, Eren. Think about it. This world has gone to shit. Can it really be saved?"

"There's only one way to find out."

You turned your head to him and looked intensely into his eyes, "Then do it."

Eren nodded.

He leaned over and kissed you.

Both of you knew it would be the last time, so his lips lingered with yours for a little longer than they usually would. He was hesitant to leave. He didn't want to leave you, but he had a job to do.

Finally, he left the room.

You listened to his footsteps as they got farther and farther away.

Your door creaked open.

"Jean," you called out.

"Yeah, it's me," he answered as he shut the door behind him.

He walked over to your bedside. He took your hand in his gently.

"Did he come?" Jean asked.

"Just like we thought he would," you confirmed. "Was it enough time?"

"Only time will tell," Jean breathed out.

He brought your knuckles to his lips and kissed them gently.

You smiled as you looked up at the ceiling. Silent tears fell from your eyes.

"It's ok," Jean cooed. "You did the right thing."

"Did I?" you asked.

He hummed in response.

He pulled a chair over to your bedside. He gently took your hand in his again.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Weak," you admitted.

"Can I do anything to help?" he spoke looking up at you knowingly.

"Stay," you breathed out.

You both knew. It wouldn't be too much longer, so he did as you asked. Jean stayed there until he saw your chest stop rising and falling. Even after he knew, he leaned over and cried over you.

"Your death won't be for nothing," he spoke. "I promise."

#eren x me #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren yeager x y/n #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x y/n #eren angst #eren jeager angst #eren yeager angst #eren jeager x reader #jean x you #jean x gender neutral reader #jean x reader #jean kirstein imagine #jean kirstein fic #jean kirstein x you #jean kirstein x reader #aot spoilers #kind of jean x reader #tw death mention #reader dies

[nieceeee]

WANNA GET TO KNOW ME

nieceeboo | twenties (IM GROWN) | June Gemini ♊️ (talk to me nice)

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💜 MASTERLISTS ARE LINKED AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS POST 💜

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Fave color: purple obviously lol

Fave thing to do: dance and eat, I’m a major foodie. If you send me food, I’ll love you 5ever. I love to cook because I love to eat.

Fave author: Sadie Kincaid | James Patterson | Dean Koontz | Iris Johansen | Bella Jay

Fave movie: Anything Classic Disney or Old Christmas (Comfort movie: Shrek….idek)

- married | 2 kids | she/her | bi | published author | creator -

TAKE A LOOK AROUND

I have a masterlist of all of my content separated by show and character name. Any fics that are NSFW will be highlighted in PURPLE.

As these lists grow, character’s will have their own master lists for series and one shots

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Love,

- your favorite kinkster with the kinky hair 💜

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MASTERLIST

EREN JAEGER MASTERLIST

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Twelve: Blood and Knights

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 8.5K

CW: Graphic violence, YN being horny (not graphic, unfortunately. Not yet, at least ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )

Tut-tut, it looks like rain.

The fact of which does not please the more uppity lords, Eren observes, eyes flickering from one delicate man to the next and trying not to let his disdain bleed into his features. That little mouse of a man, Anton Taran, looks as skittish as the pest he resembles; the Procurator’s small watery eyes dart to the sky above and back to the orating king, hands behind his back and bouncing ever so lightly on his heels, eager to scamper into his nice and dry hole before the sky breaks. Proctor Nick is little better standing next to him. The slight curl of his lip and the way those deep-set eyes sweep out across the grounds and into the gray above gives away his sentiments about the weather. Near the center of the line of councilmen Willy Tybur stands beside Lord Grisha, mouth set in a thin line as he looks upon the proceedings with his best approximation of the courtier’s hollow face stamped upon his highbred visage. Like his fellows, he is showing undue interest in the ether and their environs. It cannot have been any plainer that these men are in a tizzy to make an end of things quickly.

It is not as if they don’t have a bloody canopy above their feeble heads. Even the king and his son seem made of sterner stuff. The Prince of Crownglen Urklyn Reiss is standing upon the covered stage at the center of the newly rebuilt village, grave and regal, as his father Rod Reiss I holds forth at the front of the platform. The royal pair does not give two shits about the weather, which is more than can be said for their prickly underlings. 

What is a little rain upon their noble bodies? It is only water.

Eren shifts a little in his place within the squires’ row, the weight of plate and mail upon his person a familiar load, comforting even. He and his peers are standing below the stage to the right, close enough at hand to their masters should they have the unfortunate need to be squired for that day. The masters, barring the Lord Commander, are standing below the stage to the front, a forbidding barrier between the highborn and the low.

The royal pair, the Conclave, the lords Skaryn and Halkin, and the guards -  the Royal Guard among them - are the only ones of the court in attendance at the royal pardon. The rest of the nobility are at Merrydell, awaiting their coming so they may feast and celebrate the end of the Northern Matter beneath the Skaryns’ roof in the company of those who have been pardoned.

Mossreach is unrecognizable from the desolation it had been half a year ago. The burnt-out husks and the dead buried beneath snow and crows have been cleared away. Banners of a dozen colors flutter everywhere, green and red, maroon and white, purple, purple most of all from the royal standards flying the royal sigil: the head of the Founding Titan, with its purple eyes large and haunting and flaring, upon a purple field. The cottages that litter the sward are freshly-thatched and new-made, the land green and lush and unburnt. Even its people have been restored.

The king’s speech washes over Eren, something about the Mother’s mercy and the Father’s forgiveness and what other diplomatic tripe his Heralds have taught him to say to appease his malcontent masses.

Which is all well and good, for these ones. The cleared-away dead will beg to differ, their living kin more so. But as they have been banished to their true homes in the Midlands, they can hardly raise a hue and cry. Not that they truly can. Whatever hues and cries they may have raised have fallen on deaf ears, as the grievances of their northern foemen had fallen on deaf ears at the start of all of this.

And thus do the tables turn. So much for the Father’s justice. Rows of northmen face the platform, eyes trained on their king. Some are tall, some are short, some young, some old, some slight and some stout, yet somehow, they all look the same in Eren’s eyes. It is the hardness in their bearing, the hardness of the North, the same hardness he sees in Robert the Lawyer, who is standing beside the Crown Prince with that proud mien blazing like his red robes. Even their elderly, their women, and their children have traces of it, Eren can see as he watches them stand at the fringes of it all, every bit as stony as their men. Hard lands breed a hard folk. 

Admiration rises in him, despite all. They may have escaped justice for the lives they took so savagely yet there is something laudable about the way they fought for what is theirs by rights. Had the crown set out to crush them at the very onset of their offensive, Eren knows they would be hard-pressed to smash them down. They are the sort of foe he can enjoy pushing against, a foe strong of will and might.

Willy Tybur turns his head a fraction, to look towards the bordering woods for the hundredth time. Eren follows his gaze and looks upon the fount of his greatest shame. He feels his insides shrivel up at the memory but forces himself to hold and keep his eyes fixed on the green. 

Half a year gone and still it will not leave him no matter how much he thinks he has put it behind him. He wonders if he will ever truly be free of it and feels cold. The prospect of carrying that weight for the rest of his life is not an appealing one. I’ll rid myself of it for good and all no matter what it takes. He will know when to stop moving when needs must. Redemption is not beyond him yet.

A shadow stirs within the trees. Eren narrows his eyes, squinting at the treeline. Shades? But shades shine silver…

Ping!

The sky breaks at last, and Eren inwardly scowls as the fat droplets batter his helm, filling his ears to bursting with the endless clangor of ringing steel. He will be deaf by day’s end, like as not, with a splitting headache to boot. He would have removed the helm yet etiquette demands it stays on. This is not the first he’s worn steel in such weather yet he always removes the headpiece when not in active combat; he’d rather suffer the torrent full-on than go mad from that metallic racket.

Dusk seems to fall early today and the loud crashing of the rain upon them all only adds to the din inside his head. The world shrinks to his helm. Ping, ping, ping, ping, ping. So when the men come boiling out of the woods, their war cries one with the storm, Eren can only stare, uncomprehending.

Screams join the discordant symphony, and then madness besets them all.

Bodies are flying everywhere, men, women, and children all a-flutter like a flock of startled pigeons in some park, seeking to evade the oncoming attackers. They need not have bothered with that very convincing display; the raiders give them no more heed than Eren would an ant beneath his feet and flow right through them as water flows through rock.

Battle is joined moments later and there is no more thought, only the ancient animal wisdom of the flesh that tells him to move.

To be still is to die.

And he is moving, running, running toward his master with his sword in hand. A man looms out of the wet like a leviathan from the deep but Eren bulls forward with nary a pause. The outlaw bellows and swings down his hammer; Eren dodges aside, and his blade punches through leather, steel, and flesh. He pulls his sword free, feeling the steel scrape bone, and is moving once more before the corpse can hit the ground. He dispatches a second and a third man in like manner, and at last he is beside his master, guarding his back as a good squire should.

There is no end to them, these leviathans from the deep. Hardly has he cut down one than another will take his place, and the world tapers down to action and reaction, kill or be killed.

It is sometime later - a minute, an hour, a day - when Eren realizes his master is nowhere to be found. The tide of battle has parted them and there are only enemies. He hacks down across the face of a northman hard, and his head dissolves into bits of brain and bone and blood. Another falls beneath his steel, blood spurting from his open throat. And still they come, again and again and again, until somehow they are not.

The brief respite allows Eren time to take stock of his surroundings properly. He has been driven back to the canopied platform where the king had made his speech. He sweeps his gaze around, hardly sparing the scattered corpses around him a second thought, and watches the chaos of battling men amidst falling rain. He is utterly confounded by it all. They laid down their arms and swore never to take them up again. A faint whimper resounds from somewhere close by, and he turns, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the king huddling beneath the covered stage. Why is he still here? Where are the guards? Eren runs to him at once.

“Your Majesty, you have to get out of here!” he calls over the pouring rain and heaves at the royal arm to get him moving. The king looks up at him with terror in his wide blue eyes, but recognition soon follows and he is moving, meek and unresisting as the son of his Magister guides him away from the horror and the savagery.

They have hardly gone a couple of yards when something rams into them, knocking the king and squire off their feet and sending them sprawling in the mud. Eren rolls onto his back, stunned, the taste of rain and mud heavy on his tongue. The force of the charge had wrenched his sword from his hand and sent his helm flying off his head, though he is hardly given time to mourn the loss.

A man is atop him all of a sudden and silver steel gleams bright and deadly at him out of the murky gloom. There is no time for thought or fear. Eren grabs his foeman’s arm with both hands as it falls toward his face, and their lethal struggle commences. The man claws uselessly at one of his gloved hands, trying to pry his fingers open, but Eren holds on the tighter and pushes, straining with gritted teeth. The blade is all he can see, it is the only thing that exists in the world, the blade and its tip sharp as any needle, any razor… and it is coming ever closer no matter how much he pushes, closer and closer to the center of his forehead…

The northman pulls back an arm, his hand closing into a fist. Eren sees and catches the blow one-handed but near pays for it with an eye. The enemy’s blade slips and slices him clean just above his eyebrow, and the left half of his world goes black as blood drips down his eye. 

There is no pain yet the sensation of steel cutting his flesh sends a shock of clarity through him as though he has been doused with ice-cold water. He manages to get a leg beneath the man’s ribs and knees, hard. That shock of clarity lends strength to his limbs, and the outlaw is tossed aside, wheezing. 

Eren does not wait for him to recover. He scrabbles, half-blind, in the mud for his sword, feels relief - sweet, blessed relief - course through him as his fingers brush against something hard and metallic. Footsteps splash behind him and he does not pause to think. He strikes, his sword swinging out in a perfect arc, and his foeman falls back into the mud to rise no more. Eren leaves him there, with half his entrails spilling out onto the watery ground, to search for his king.

He finds him where he first saw him, beneath the wooden scaffolding of the stage. They had not gone very far before the dead man accosted them. “Your Majesty, it’s all right, I can keep you safe,” Eren avows, reaching for his liege. The smell of fear bears toward him and it smells of piss, faint and dampened by the rain yet wholly recognizable, as the king holds onto him with surprising strength. Eren pays it no heed. Piss, shit, blood, and sweat, the soldier learns to tolerate all, even the foulest of stenches. It is the stink of battle, and delicate men with delicate noses do not long survive in the field. The king is well within his rights to piss in terror. 

His Majesty and his acting guard once again make for safer ground, though where that is Eren does not know. Still the rain pours down in ceaseless buckets, and it welds his left eye close. There is as yet no pain but he knows that is not a good thing; he is not even sure the bleeding has stopped entirely. They have to get to safety and soon. For loathe though he is to admit it, something deep, deep down inside him recognizes that he is in no good state to be fighting much longer, with half his vision compromised such as it is. The king will not be harmed under his watch, gods help him.

Men dart around them, friend and foe both, their footsteps churning the red-brown mud into a frothing boil. Eren surveys the gray village as best he can with only one eye, looking for the royal congregation, or better yet a temple so they may claim the right of sanctuary…

The gods are with him, and he almost sinks to his knees in relief at the sight of a temple at the borders of the village - ruined, crumbled, blackened with fire but still a temple, and still well-placed to grant them safety by all the laws of the land.

Pain, red pain erupts up his right arm, and he drops his sword to the muddy ground. An arrow, he thinks with mild surprise as he stares down at the shaft protruding from his armored limb. It had punched through the plate as though it is nothing more than silk. Now where had he seen that before? And since when did they start using arrows? He does not have the chance to ruminate.

An outlaw is before him and his liege once more, axe raised to cleave one or the both of them in two. They are endless and everywhere, these outlaws, like fucking roaches. Distantly, Eren hears what sounds like the king bleat out, “Oh, gods be good,” as Eren shoves his royal person behind him to protect him, uselessly, with his body.

A foot of red-tipped steel bursts from the northman’s mouth like some grotesque tongue. His eyes widen and turn glassy in quick succession, and the axe tumbles from his hands. His pointed tongue retreats from his bloodied maw and his corpse falls to reveal Sir Levi Ackerman. The cycle of relief giving way to tension and back again is turning Eren’s head around, yet he is pleased to see his master all the same.

Sir Levi’s eyes flash from his face toward his injured arm and his mouth tightens. “Get the king to the temple, most of our men have taken sanctuary there. Me and the rest will throw the outlaws back. Go!”

For one mad moment, Eren wants to argue. He can still fight, still hold his own, yet the way his master’s eyes blaze up at him gives him pause. His arm is worse than useless now and better still he is half-blind, he will only get in the way. And he has the king to protect, a king who is in very real peril of being savaged if he insists on continuing the way he is now. His pigheadedness will spill royal blood in his hands, a much more dire consequence than a Lord Commander’s missing arm.

The king will not be harmed under his watch. 

Eren swallows, bites his tongue, and nods jerkily. He stirs the petrified king onward, favoring his right arm, and lets the others put the outlaws to flight.

“Any luck with Halkin and Skaryn?”

His sire sighs, unendingly weary. “I hardly think this is the right time and place to speak of politics.”

But, Father, the weather and my happy domestic affairs hardly make for scintillating conversation. Zeke turns away from the dark world outside the wrought iron window to glance at Lord Grisha in his seat beside the canopied bed. “Well, since we’ve thoroughly exhausted the topic of our dear youngest here, we had as well talk about matters of import.”

Their dear youngest is lying upon his chartered bed, soused in poppy and utterly dead to the world. Yet he lives to see another day, thank the gods, Zeke thinks, watching his little brother sleep and recover his strength. His fever has broken at last, a very promising sign, assures Healer Dmitriy. The youngest Jaeger is well past danger now, and his wounds are healing cleanly.

There had been a scare of festering and the possible loss of a limb yet the Healers worked their craft and they moved beyond that. Fresh poulticed bandages bind Eren’s arm and cover the left side of his brow, the fall of dark hair over his face stark against the white linen. He looks younger, as innocent as he is like to get at this age, more the boy of six of Zeke’s youth and less the young man of sixteen he has quickly grown to be.

In the end, only the scars should remain. And his knighthood. Scars and near-death for that honor, that is how you come into it. Eren will be well-compensated for his leal service.

He is luckier than some, to be sure. Good men were lost that day. “Any word yet on the new Guardsmen?” Zeke persists when his father keeps his peace. Most times silence comes easy between them; sometimes, Zeke even preferrs it so, yet silence of late is an uncomfortable thing. He has somehow tied it to Eren’s state. If they keep quiet, then surely Eren will weaken and pass away into the Fields. His brother must hear their voices, if only so he can have an anchor to the living. Zeke does not know why he insists when Eren is finally out of the weeds. But it is true what they say about habits.

The quiet snaps and pops of the fire are the only things to be heard as Grisha stares at him a moment through his lenses. The light of the flickering hearthflames reflects off the fine Rhoseine glass, only to give way to the green pools beneath. Eren has inherited those eyes, the Jaeger eyes. Zeke is a Fritz through and through, blue and gold and fair. And yet they insist he is his father in gold.

“Some candidates have been chosen,” Lord Grisha says at length. “The squires of two fallen, Bertolt Hoover and Conrad Springer. They are set to replace their former masters. No word yet for the other two replacements but some names have been put forward.”

“Our younger Eren would have jumped at the chance.” Zeke gazes down fondly at his sleeping brother once more. “I’ve always wondered what made him change his mind.”

His father chuckles, a rare sound these days. “I was surprised he reconsidered at all, not that it was such a terrible thing. There are other ways to win honor for himself and his House. Left him open to the marriage market, at least.”

Speak of the marriage market… His little lady will want to know she can visit him at last. Zeke had caught the poor thing hovering around thereabouts near every day since they brought Eren in. It will enliven the lad to see his betrothed. They seem to be sweeter on each other at present, Zeke is pleased to see.

“As to Skaryn and Halkin…” Lord Grisha sighs and rubs his eyes beneath his spectacles. “I’ll continue to lobby for their families. If execution is in the fates of Valko Skaryn and Yuri Halkin, then so be it, but to extend that punishment to their whole lines?” He rubs at his temples, his horror at the thought well and truly palpable. “To their wives and children and brothers and cousins… it is too much. Too much. I cannot let that stand.”

His Majesty had been sore wroth when he had recovered from the terror of his ordeal. The lords Skaryn and Halkin were arrested, accused of treason and attempted regicide. Both have been attainted, stripped of all lands, titles, and incomes, and sentenced to death by beheading. But that is not to be enough for the king. In his wrath, Rod Reiss has declared, in no uncertain terms, his desire to see both men’s lines ended. Every man, woman, and child who bear the name of Skaryn and Halkin shall be expunged. Even those merely married to the name found no mercy. Rod Reiss wants them gone, gone.

Zheletov, too, felt the flames of royal fury. Hundreds of Zhelevic were arrested, those outlaws who did not manage to flee further North. All have been sentenced to hang. Rumor has it that the king means to hang their families as well, to teach the North a sharp lesson in slaughter. Robert of Feyhill, the head of the northern faction and the mind behind all, is to be hanged, drawn, and quartered - a fate reserved for the vilest of traitors. A charge he still vehemently denies even at the rack.

What should have been a moment of festive reconciliation became naught but dross. The court is silent, reeling in the enormity of it all.

“Eren saved his life, he should grant me a boon, at least,” Lord Grisha murmurs, more to himself than to his eldest, who stares at him then at his brother, who lays oblivious to his burgeoning role as leverage and potential savior of the lines of Skaryn and Halkin.

Zeke supposes it is only fitting for his knightly brother. What are knights for but for the saving of innocent lives?

“His fever broke last night, my lady, you can see him at last.”

You have never heard anything sweeter.

“Oh, thank the gods.” You smooth down your crimson dress, making sure all is in order. He has not laid eyes on you for four days, you had best be presentable. And pretty, you must be pretty, a girlish voice whispers, which you hastily tamp down. As if he’ll care overmuch about such matters, not after his ordeal. A silver shield burnished to a mirror sheen is hanging from the wall opposite you. Surreptitiously, you brush back a stray lock that has escaped from your braids. All in order, you think, pleased, as you stare at your somewhat distorted reflection. Some effort will not be amiss, surely.

Healer Dmitriy knocks upon the wooden door to announce himself before opening it and entering. Aly the Cat slips inside at once; distantly, you hear your betrothed utter a pleased exclamation of the creature’s name. You feel your heart thrum faster. Your fingers twine themselves around each other against your fluttering tummy. He sounds well. That is good. 

“My lord, the Lady Rhyzkova is without and wishes to see you,” you hear the young priest say, his voice partly muffled by the half-closed door. The note of excitement in Eren’s voice as he bids the Healer to let you in makes you smile.

It is comfortably warm inside the chamber. A fire crackles merrily in the stone hearth before the canopied bed, inadvisable for a southron summer but perfectly acceptable for a northern one. Two bone-white velvet armchairs are arrayed before the fireplace. A table laden with what looks like the tools of the Healers’ trade - physic, rolls of bandages, and herbs of the medicinal sort - is sitting between the loungers. The brown linen curtains of the tall wrought iron windows are pulled back, illuminating the room with pale, watery sunshine and giving the place an airy countenance.

A green smell, the smell of herbs and plant life, pervades all. You find yourself breathing in deeply as you enter, your first few footsteps tapping lightly on the polished marble floor, yet all vanish as you lay eyes upon your wounded knight. The white hangings on his bed are tied back, revealing his form. He is sitting up, at least, with a wide grin on his bandaged face, his left eye swollen half-shut beneath the poultice. You would not have known he was ailing and lifeless for the better part of four days by his demeanor. Ginger Aly is curled up on his blanketed lap, eyes closed contently as Eren runs languid fingers over his short fur.

Your knight is awake, and smiling at you, and so wonderfully alive.

“How are you feeling?” you murmur as you sit on his bed by his legs. A flash of dark blue cloth sweeps by from the corner of your vision, but you do not pay it heed. Eren and his well-being come first.

He opens his mouth to answer but frowns almost at once. You mirror his expression and are about to ask what is wrong when he speaks. “Everything’s fine, Healer Dima, you may leave us.”

The straw-haired Healer in question freezes in the act of settling himself down upon one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Nerves and uncertainty play across his thin features for half a heartbeat before he reaches some sort of resolution and sits down determinedly. “Oh, no, please do not mind me. Someone must needs stay to keep an eye on… your health. Just because your fever has broken doesn’t mean you’re not susceptible to a relapse.”

“Oh, in that case, your presence is a much welcome one indeed, Healer,” you say rapidly, as Eren makes to say something, something undoubtedly rude to judge by the look on his face. He curls his lip at your interruption but subsides once you shake your head at him a little. Let him be.

Healer Dmitriy smiles, relieved. “Very good, my lady. See, you’ll hardly notice I’m here.” He reaches into one voluminous dark blue sleeve and pulls out a small book - a missal of The Light of the Creed, the new faith’s holiest text, you see, catching a glimpse of the twelve-rayed sun of the Creed on the book’s black leather cover. The priest opens the primer and promptly vanishes within its pages.

Of course a godly, dutiful man like him will insist on playing governess, you realize belatedly. It had not occurred to you until you saw him glance from you to Eren with an expression of abject worry. He can hardly leave a young maid alone with a half-naked young man in his chambers.

For the young man is very much half-naked. You feel your mouth go dry as the realization hits you hard. You cannot understand how that detail eluded you. “I see you’ve made a new friend,” you gesture at little Aly on Eren’s lap, a ditch effort to distract yourself, and fail miserably. That only brings further attention to his hard, incredibly ridged stomach. Oh, gods above.

Eren stares down fondly at the cat, oblivious to your ogling. “We only properly met this morning but we’re fast friends now,” he laughs as the ginger tom rises and stretches, then proceeds to rub up against his Healer’s charge, purring loudly. Never have you wanted to trade places with a cat so badly in your entire life.

Suddenly, looking your betrothed in the eye becomes an endeavor of utmost difficulty, not when you want to look elsewhere. You have seen your fair share of half-naked men. Comely men and homely ones, paragons as sculpted as statues and pigs shuffling along like sacks of suet, you have seen them all. You never lack for those in summery Vascalin, where the sight of them is so common as to be unremarkable. But a half-naked Eren is a veritable god to their mere mortal flesh.

You peer up at him from beneath your lashes as Aly occupies his attention for the nonce. He is beautifully well-made. You have always suspected it to be so; some of his tunics show off his shape well, and he oft wears his daily linens with the laces undone, allowing one to get a glimpse of an expansive, defined chest. To see all of that bared before you to prove the truth of your fancies is astounding.

His shoulders, broad and striking, lead down to strong, sinewy arms. The bandage wrapped around the right limb flaunts the roundness of the muscle and stands stark against his tanned skin. A tiny cluster of leech marks speckles the skin beneath his dressings yet they do nothing to diminish the smooth perfection of his limb. His chest is as wide and well-muscled; verily, his torso is a vision, each muscle as sharply etched as though he is cut from stone.

Some other girl is giggling madly deep down inside. You feel like a bitch in heat. The thought near makes the mad laughter bubble up your throat but you quell it quickly. And then you make the singular error of allowing your eyes to follow the sloping trail of chiseled muscle beneath the blankets and almost choke on air. The expected sight of the waist of his pants is nowhere in evidence.

Gods be good, is he naked under there?! 

You squirm and press your legs together on your seat. You cannot have asked for better fodder for your fantasies. Suddenly, you can hear him, hear the deep, sultry cadence of his voice asking you if you will let him sate his lusts with you, feel the hard, chiseled torso press close against you as he leaned down to kiss you… Poxy Duty had robbed you of that kiss. More’s the pity. You wonder what it will feel like, to be trapped beneath that god-like body as freed of clothing as he is now, feel his heat and his skin bound you as you lay below him helpless but to take his lust and his amorous attentions…

Gods help you, lass, the lad is injured and just escaped death by the skin of his teeth. It does not do to entertain such unbecoming ideas. You’re worse than a dockside slut, you admonish yourself as heat courses through your whole body at the turn of your thoughts. There are better things to occupy yourself with than his magnificent body. His health is what matters most.

“Hey.”

You start at the sound of his voice and do not immediately meet his gaze. You hope to all the gods, both old and new, that your face is not a mirror of your desire. That is a discussion that can keep; your priestly governess will be shocked to his soul should he have the slightest inkling of what had flounced through your head these past few moments.

“Hey,” Eren says again, reaching out to lay a hand on your forearm. The touch comes lightly, so very lightly, yet the way it burns is anything but. You meet his eyes at last. “Are you all right? You look strange.” His concerned frown gives way to a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, see, healthy as a horse.” He wrinkles his nose at the idiom, making you giggle. “I’m well past danger now. The wound’s not going to fester, there’s no poison in my blood, I’m fine and whole. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“Thank the gods,” you breathe, instantly snatching at that sentiment. It is not as if you aren’t worried about him, but best have him construe your conflicted expression as concern instead of lust. This is not the time for lust. “Speak of the gods,” you smile down at Aly, who has padded over to you, seeking affection, “you are blessed indeed. Lady Alyrya has been with you this whole time.” Cats are sacred to the Gardener, but none more so than the ginger tabby.

“It’s a nice thought, that-”

“Oh!”

There is a great tug, and your hand flies to your chest as the laces of your bodice come undone. It will seem that Aly is feeling a little too neglected. Or desirous of yarn. You hold the tom fast as you unhook his claws from the crimson cords, your face smarting a little in mortification.

“Oh, dear.” Healer Dmitriy flaps over to the bed, the tips of his prominent ears pink. “A thousand pardons, my lady, it seems he’s in his excitable mood again. I’ll see him out.” He scoops his ginger attendant into his arms and bustles away, threatening the cat with a salmon-less dinner as he does so.

You sigh and tighten your laces once more. Aly had not pulled down far enough for your breasts to spill out from your bodice, thankfully, but that was a near thing. You are more comfortable baring skin than most women north of the Greatshield are, being from the sweltering South, yet you draw the line at exposure in front of two men. Well, perhaps one of them can get a pass. You bite the inside of your lip as you fumble briefly and have to redo the knot all over again.

“You know what they say about certain animals being able to channel people’s wills?” Eren lifts his gaze from your chest to your face. His eyes have darkened a little. Your fingers tighten on your cords. “Nobody can say for sure if that still holds true but it’s an interesting thought.” His legs shift beneath the blankets.

The return of the Healer saves you from having to form a reply. He gives you an apologetic smile and another apology before returning to his seat and his book once more.

“Your hair’s grown longer,” you remark arbitrarily, not quite knowing what to say to your betrothed’s earlier statement. Besides… Your face tingles a little. With the way he looked at you then, you cannot guarantee that your conversation won’t lead to… bawdier pastures. You had never truly touched upon the subject before but something about his demeanor then gives you pause. Best to nip that in the bud. Your governess will not stand for anything remotely suggestive. He will throw you out and forbid you from seeing Eren again for the rest of his confinement, and you cannot have that.

Eren tugs at the ends of his hair, looking at it thoughtfully. “Do you think I should cut it? I haven’t been up to calling on the barber lately…”

“It’s your hair, you’re free to do as you like.” You give him a small smile. “I like it, though. It makes you look-” comelier, “-older, more mature.”

He settles back into his pillows, appearing gratified. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll keep it as it is for the time being.” He gazes at you for a good long while, before his concern reduces his smile into something softer. “You look tired.”

The chuckle that escapes you echoes the sentiment, as though his bringing attention to the fact has drawn four days’ worth of weariness out. You rub a finger at the skin beneath your eye. “Between you and Father and this whole affair, I have been getting no lick of sleep.” You cannot count the hours you had spent in Merrydell’s sanctum, praying and praying and praying for him and your lord father, beseeching the old gods to bless and keep them. You had even visited the nearest temple of the Gardener to offer incense, a candle, and yet more prayers for your betrothed. He belongs to the Creed, perhaps his Lady will be better inclined to protect him should the old gods dismiss your pleas.

Lady Alyrya heard them, at any rate, her and the old gods. Father’s fever was only the chills brought on by the rains and not from a corrupted wound; he had taken a glancing blow from an outlaw’s knife but managed to come out of that debacle otherwise unscathed. He was right as rain after a day or so.

Eren had given you more grief. What time you had outside of prayer was spent hovering anxiously outside these very chambers, hoping you could visit him or at least learn of his condition. Still, you will visit the sanctum and the temple tonight, to give thanks to the gods for granting him further life.

“Ask Healer Dima to give you essence of valerian, it helps a lot,” Eren urges, fretful. He can be a rather fretful character, you have come to find. It only makes him sweeter in your eyes.

“I will at that. Although I’ll be sleeping more soundly tonight regardless.” Because you’re awake and all right and alive. A bowl of apples is sitting upon his bedside dresser. His mother’s key lays beside it, nestled amidst the coils of its leather cord. “Are you hungry?” you ask, gesturing at the fruit.

“Will you feed me if I am? I can barely lift my arm for the pain.” Eren blinks at you all innocent-like. The teasing tilt to his lips ruins the effect, however. From the distance comes the tiniest of coughs.

Your own mouth twitches up in amusement. “If you wish it.”

“I do wish it,” he says firmly, sitting up straight again. “I’m hungry, so hungry, famished, starving-”

“All right, your hunger has been well and truly noted.” You reach for an apple and the paring knife and proceed to cut the fruit. Needlessly, you know. He is not so injured that he cannot feed himself (despite his claims to the contrary). In this, you indulge him. The patient must have his way until he recovers.

A cough resounds from the distance once more, louder this time, as you reach forward to put a slice of apple in your betrothed’s waiting mouth. You both freeze and glance over at the Healer, who is staring at you beadily from above his holy missal. A prick of annoyance simmers within you, but you flash him a placating smile as you move to put more distance between you and Eren. You slip the piece of fruit into your betrothed’s mouth, careful not to let your fingers brush against his lips, those luscious, alluring, enticing lips…

You bite back a giggle as he chews the morsel, looking distinctly bad-tempered. Your fingertips still tingle from the warmth of his breath. “I see you still haven’t put on your mother’s key,” you observe, eyeing the forenamed pendant on the bedside table. His betrothal necklace looks rather lonely without its staunch companion around his neck.

His bad-tempered expression deepens. “He’s a priest, he’s as superstitious as they come. His precious sensibilities won’t stand for blasphemy.” Scorn drips from his voice as he says the word, further amusing you. “You’ll make a better Healer,” he adds, his expression softening as he gleams at you. “You don’t nag as much.”

That is an interesting thought, that. The past few days certainly lent further fodder to your long-held fancies of being a Healer. It is a flimsy whim, a glib thought born from a night of girlish diversion when asked that absurdly preposterous question: what would you be had you not been born into nobility? Your fledgling pastime in the gardens led you to answer as you had.

But perhaps that fledgling can grow into something more. Seeing people you care for hurt and ailing woke something in you, the desire to ease their pain if only but a little. You hope Healer Darya is willing to take on a new apprentice this autumn.

“Does it hurt so much?”

Eren chews on his apple, looking artless and very much innocent in truth. He does not stay so for long, though (not that you expect him to, the cheeky sod). “I already told you, didn’t I? I wouldn’t ask you to feed me if it didn’t hurt like blazes.” Something in your expression sobers him, and the smile he flashes you is gentle, tender. “I’m a little sore, but nothing you need concern yourself about too much.” He reaches out to take your free hand in his, lightly caressing your skin with his thumb. “And you have been, haven’t you? So concerned that you lost sleep over me, of all people.” He seems to move farther away, going somewhere beyond this room and beyond you.

You pull away from his hold to cup his face in your hand, as though in doing so you can keep him bound to yourself. You touch him as softly as you can yet still he flinches as your palm presses against the injured side of his face. That spasm of pain makes you pull back but he reaches up quickly to keep your hand on him, smiling up at you reassuringly as he does so. The green sparkling at you beneath his poulticed eyebrow is as vibrant as its twin, swollen and puffy though the skin around it is. He is still so beautiful, your battered knight. So beautiful, and warm, and alive.

The loud clearing of a holy throat reminds you of decency and decorum, and you make to pull away from your betrothed once more. He is not having it, though. His grip on your hand tightens, and his face darkens like thunder. “Bloody prissy priests… As if a simple touch to the face equates to… what exactly? A hot little romp?” His laugh comes out exuding derision and mockery. “I didn’t throw you down on the bed and have my way with you, did I? With the way he’s looking at us, you’d think he caught us fucking,” he grouses, in a voice pitched low so only you would hear him.

A lump rises inside your throat that almost chokes you. You cough to rid yourself of it. How he can say such things so baldly confounds you. “That’s… probably what he's thinking. I suppose he’s here to try and preserve my honor. For all he knows, you could be some sort of perverted lech,” you say, in what you hope is an offhand way.

That puts a thoughtful look on Eren’s face. Suddenly, the darkness in his eyes holds a very different sort of sentiment. He glances at you from beneath his lashes before looking down at his lap. Your fingers twitch a little against his face as he continues to keep your hand captive. Heat once again simmers beneath your skin to match the heat you had caught in his gaze before he averted his eyes. In a quiet voice, he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like, “He’s not far off, then.”

Your heart almost stops at that. “Pardon?”

He lifts his eyes back to yours and blinks slowly. “Have I not been preserving your honor for the better part of a year already? He has nothing to worry about.” One corner of his mouth kinks up roguishly. “Unless my lady does not care for such things. I’d gladly play the perverted lech if you’d let me.”

Gods save me.

Eren’s smile widens as though he has heard you and he releases your hand, allowing you to pick up the paring knife from where it is sitting on your lap. You take a brief recess to settle yourself and cut another wedge off the rapidly browning apple in your grip. Your hand does not shake, to your credit.

“Good apple, that,” Eren notes conversationally, as though he had not been speaking of perversion and fornication mere moments ago.

“The Skaryns brought in a good harvest.” The discomposure leaves you at once as the name of that doomed family leaves your lips. You stare down at the halved fruit in your hand. A good harvest. And their last. Everything seems to dim then, as though a pall has settled upon the world. The Skaryn pall. It is a cruel edict. Your knight had saved the author of that cruel edict. And that is why you can now call him that. Your knight. “You will be a Sir in truth now.”

“I will be, huh…” Eren looks pleased, excited at the thought. As well he might. It is all he ever wanted and lived for, the culmination of years of training and service.

“What’s his name, your squire?” you query as you feed him another slice. The next slice you eat yourself. It is as good as he claims, browned though it is now; the juice is sweet, refreshing on your tongue.

His eyes widen as he munches his own mouthful, as though he has forgotten that knights need squires to squire for them. “Falco Grice.” He swallows. “I have a squire.” The wonder in his face and voice makes you smile. “How do I go about being a master, though?” He screws up his face in thought, then puffs out his chest. “Falco, muck out the stables. I want to be able to eat off the ground once you’re done,” he says in his best approximation of Sir Levi’s flat tone.

There is a pause as the both of you stare at each other silently before descending into fits of giggles. For a while, you cannot stop. He is strong and thriving, and he is to be a knight at long last. Everything seems good in the world again, and the fate of doomed families fades into the ether. But as the light of day gives way to the gloom of night, his cheer slowly gives way to something more staid, dour, even mournful. Eren looks down at his hands, pensive. “Do I even deserve that honor, though? After…”

Sir Erwin’s lost arm hangs heavy between you. Half a year gone and still it haunts him. His gloom seeps into you like some illness, only to feed your determination to see him rise above his guilt and shame. 

“You do,” you state firmly. You will not brook arguments on this matter. “You saved His Majesty, the king’s life, that’s not a small thing. And you learned, didn’t you? You didn’t get those injuries by running pell-mell into danger, did you?” As he shakes his head no, you go on, “Then let it go. Onward and upward and no looking back. It does you no good to dwell on such things. It’ll only eat you up inside.”

“Did I even learn, though? Because I thought about it. Running pell-mell into danger.” He picks at the skin on his forefinger, hunched over and reeking of shame.

Your heart goes out to him, your earnest betrothed. He is a young man, near grown, and yet in many ways he is a boy still. “The only thing that matters is that you didn’t act on it.” You brandish a slice of apple at him. “Sweet to banish the bitter.”

A weight seems to lift off his shoulders as he accepts your proffered piece into his mouth. “You always know what to say.” He gazes at you, soft, contemplative, considering. “And you have to know what to say. In that there is no choice, not for you, my Lady of Rhyzkov.”

You cut yourself a wedge and help yourself to your own sweet. There is nothing to add to the truth that you have always known.

“I grew up wanting to be a Royal Guardsman.”

As most boys do, noble or common.

“But then I served one of them.” Wryness taints Eren’s tone as he continues, “I saw him- them dog every step of this one man every day of their lives and realized that… wasn’t for me. Knights are for serving, yes, but I want the freedom to choose my own liege. If I am to spend a lifetime in thrall to one, I want it to be by my own will and not because tradition says I must.”

And to be a Royal Guardsman is to serve the blood royal for life. “But you didn’t choose me.” As either liege or bride.

Eren looks at you then and subjects you to a long and intense stare. “No, I didn’t.” This intensity is different, something you cannot quite place. 

He is such a forceful personality, you reflect as you hold his deep green gaze. Deep enough to drown in. And you are and will continue to do so, you know now, for the rest of your life. But there is joy in trying to keep up with him, something exhilarating about navigating his tides. He is quite unlike anyone you have ever met, and it intrigues you.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t serve you gladly, willingly, and with everything I have.”

Embers of green fire begin to flare up at you and you avert your eyes lest you be burned. His tides you can navigate. You cannot say the same for his flames. “I look forward to your investiture.” You cut the last bit of apple in half.

The reminder of his investiture banks his flames near instantly. “It seems… inappropriate to have it after the executions.”

So his father has told him all. A certain chill appears to cloak you in its folds. It is almost enough for you to wish for his fires back. “The court needs something to celebrate after such unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness…” Eren frowns down at the white linen sheets draped over his lap. “The northmen deserve their sentence for that treachery, but to eradicate whole bloodlines strikes me as being too much. Little Yakob Halkin could hardly conspire against the king. Six-year-olds care more for toys than treason.”

You have never thought to see the end of a line, much less two, in your lifetime. But that is the way of the lords. You yourself are descended from the Shrike, Queen Yelena Rhyzkova, the fourth to bear that name and title, who had rid the world of the Moldovans thousands and thousands of years ago. If your royal forebear had any compunctions about killing the children of her enemies in her bid for power, no one will know now. She had taken her sensibilities with her to the grave.

“The commons will go the way of their masters, if the talk is true.” You hand Eren his last morsel and bite into your own.

Eren eats his apple and reclines back on his pillows. “It’s only talk. He will get his blood price and be paid twice over with highborn blood. He’ll leave the innocent commons alone. They’re not worth that much, at the end of the day.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter  

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A/N:

Horny YN is horny. But, really, who can blame her? Have you seen the guy?

Knight!Eren is here at last, hurrah for him. But the Northern Matter has turned into... another matter entirely.

This’ll be the last update for this year, so it’s my Christmas posting for you, my readers, who I am very thankful to have! I’m glad to be able to share my brainchild to the world and I thank you so much for reading! Always, always <3

This may be my last TSL update but not my last post for the year... at least it depends on how fast I can get around to it. But I’m planning on dabbling in the modern AU and posting a smutty one-shot that will just not leave my brain and so I have no choice but to write it. Hopefully I can get it done before the year ends, if not... I can hail the New Year with good sexy smutty goodness.

Tagging: @princess-okkotsu​​ @lukepattersin​ @aki-and-saltfish​​

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

[wiispywitch]

Attack on Titan OC - Joanna Elytis🪻💪💜

♡. ToyHou.se | Instagram | AO3

~

Name: Joanna Elytis

Meaning: Joanna- God is gracious; Elytis- Odysseus

Nickname(s): Jo (by Tay, Mel, and Hange), Joker (by most of the veterans) 

Alias (if any): N/A

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Nationality: Eldian (Hebrew descent)

Birthday: December 10th, 832

Birthplace: Karanes District, Wall Rose

Current Residence: Scout Regiment Headquarters (location varies)

Sexual Orientation: Lesbian

Relationship Status: Taken, later married

Language(s) spoken: Eldian

Life-Long Dream: To marry the love of her life and have a family with her

Goal(s): To gain her mother’s respect, to make her family proud, to make Levi laugh, to bring Mel and Ymir back home safe

Like(s): Cooking, children, long strolls in the city, riding and grooming horses, coffee, making her friends laugh, arm-wrestling, messing with Levi, Bethany, big dogs, giving out nicknames for her friends

Dislike(s): Being woken up early, mornings, arrogant people, stupid drama, her mother, Minister Nick

Bad Habit(s): She tends to goof off a lot, she's very confrontational and tends to punch first and ask questions later, she talks back to authority and this has led to her getting in trouble by her superior officers, when she’s sad she buries her real feelings rather than open up about how she really feels and preferably hides behind humor, oversleeps

Hobbies: Cooking, fitness training, horseback riding, arm-wrestling

Fear(s): Abandonment, her friends splitting apart up, never getting her mother’s respect

Personality: Bubbly, confident, caring, helpful, humorous, loyal, dedicated, hard-headed 

Favorites(not necessary)-

Food(s): Peach cobbler, coffee, chocolate 

Color(s): Purple

Season(s): Summer

Activities: Cooking

Time of Day: Midday

Extras: Animals- Grizzly bears; Literature- Romance, nonfiction; Flower- Lilac

Appearance-

Height: 6'11” (186 cm)

Weight: 165 lbs. (75 kg)

Hair style: Long hair tied back into a ponytail, bangs on the left side of her face

Hair Color: Brunette

Eye Color: Chocolate brown 

Skin Tone: Olive

Body Shape/Build: Muscular, tall, full thighs, wide hips

Birthmarks: N/A 

Scar(s): N/A

Other: She has cute dimples 

Health-

Memory: Average. She's very observant and is great at remembering small details, which is useful when she’s out on expedition or even when it comes to their friends.

Sight (do you need glasses?): Normal

Mental: Anger issues, quick tempered

Physical: Fit, she loves exercising and making sure she keeps her body fit and muscular

Allergies/Other: N/A

Sleep patterns (how you sleep and how much rest do you get?): While she has a decent sleep schedule, she has a habit of oversleeping and is very cranky in the mornings. She needs to be forced out of bed and often times it became screaming matches between her and the commandant

Abilities/Statistics (1- lowly skilled, 10- highly skilled and tell why)-

3D Maneuvering Gear: 9/10 

Intelligence: 4/10

Martial Arts: 9.5/10

Battle Skill: 7/10

Agility: 7.5/10

Strategy: 5/10

Teamwork: 6.5/10 

Passion: 8.5/10

Affiliation: Scout Regiment

Former Affiliation: 103rd Cadet Corps 

Grad. Rank: 12th

Status (Alive, Missing, etc.): Deceased

Relationships-

Parent(s): Filip Elytis (father), Leah Elytis (mother)

Sibling(s): N/A

Other Relative(s): Diesel (pet dog), Bethany Sawyer (wife)

Love Interest: Bethany Sawyer

Best Friend(s): Taylor Schuyler, Melody Oglethorpe

Friend(s): Petra Ral, Nifa, Hange Zoë, Reiner Braun, Connie Springer, Sasha Blouse, Jean Kirsten, Eren Yeager

Enemy(ies): Reiner Braun, Bertholt Hoover

Hero(es): Hange Zoë

Rival(s): Levi Ackerman

Quote(s):

“None of the scouts are saints, I would know. But at least we weren’t cowards hiding behind the walls and lying to the people while you sit around on your asses as your same people are dying! We ventured out there because we know there is more out there than what’s here!”

“It's gotta really suck living a lie your whole life. That's just not me. I'm happy being who I am instead of trying so hard to please others.”

History/Life: Joanna Elytis is the daughter of retired Garrison soldier Filip Elytis and housewife Leah Elytis of Karanes District. She was a very energetic child with a friendly yet hot-headed personality and always put her friends’ needs over her own. Despite her friendly nature and her willingness to welcome others with open arms, throughout her childhood she was frequently harassed by the other children in her town because of her open attraction to girls rather than boys. Many of her friends turned against her, and even most adults saw her as a troublesome girl and kept their children from having anything to do with her. Fearing that someone would tell her family and what they might do, she worked up the courage to do something she was terrified to do, and decided to tell her family—to her surprise, Filip assured her that whoever she loved would not change the fact that he will always love her and she will be his daughter no matter what; Leah, on the other hand, was disgusted by the revelation and declared her as an embarrassment to their family. This put a lot of tension between Leah and Filip's marriage, and Joanna always thought she was to blame for it. This didn't stop the harassment amongst the children, either. Joanna tried to laugh it off at first as a means to not let it get her down, but when she was shamed by her own mother, it shattered her in a way that made her feel like she was worthless. Eventually she snapped, and decided that she wasn't going to be pushed around anymore. Her being much bigger for her age, she fought back and made sure anyone who dared mess with her would leave her alone for good.  

“Sorry! I told you I don't hold back!”

The only ones Joanna felt were truly there for her throughout her life was Filip—he always stood up for her when Leah tried to shame her, reminding her that she was still their daughter—and a street dancer and her eventual lover Bethany Sawyer. She always admired Bethany from afar, and they would end up meeting after Joanna left home after having a screaming match with Leah. The both of them immediately became close, and Joanna ended up staying out with her the whole night exploring the town and getting to know each other. It wouldn't be long after that night that a romantic relationship between them blossomed. It was then decided that Joanna would enlist in the military and prove to her mother that she was deserving of respect. Originally, she had intended to follow in her father’s footsteps in the Garrison Brigade, and she had plans to move her and Bethany into a small village where they would be married and have a family of their own. Although it was hard saying goodbye, Bethany supported Joanna’s choice to join the military as she wanted her to be happy, and promised her that she would wait for her. They would write letters every night to each other in the three years they were apart.

Of all the cadets in the 103rd Cadet Corps, Joanna was one of the few physically strongest recruits in her corps. Commandant Shadis saw potential in her strength, however what held her back were a number of factors: Her biggest weaknesses were her sleeping in during the wake-up calls and getting into screaming matches with higher ups when she was forced out of bed, and her having a tendency to joke around or talk back to her higher ups with an attitude, thus earning her the nickname "Joker." She got herself into trouble on multiple occasions. Joanna was often punished by being sent to kitchen duty, which wasn't really a negative for her as cooking was her passion, so Shadis had to think of other means as punishment such as loss of food privileges. She would mature in her three years of training and began to grow a bigger respect towards the authorities, especially to her commandant. 

Joanna settled with joining the scouts after she thought about how her life would be in the Garrison, and it wasn't until hearing about the fall of Shinganshina that she felt motivated to make more of an effort to help others. She enlisted into the Scout Regiment, and formed a close bond with many of the veterans, especially Hange Zoë, and became best friends with rookies Tay Schuyler and Mel Oglethorpe. Joanna formed so close of a bond with them that she considered them as sisters. When Mel is captured by the Armored Titan, Joanna blamed herself for not being able to turn back, and made a vow to help bring her home and take revenge on the traitors. Joanna was one of the many scouts arrested when the government began to turn against the scouts, and she was very vocal about the cruelty the MPs endured to them as Bethany protested for the scouts release. She was pardoned of her scout activities thanks to the new rightful queen of the walls. Realizing that she was just one step away from death's door, Joanna made the choice to marry Bethany and have a grand ceremony, two months prior to the mission to take back Wall Maria.

Joanna was killed in the recovery operation of Wall Maria after she sacrificed herself to save Tay from the Colossal Titan's intense heat. Her body was practically charred, and she was left buried under debris as she held on tight to her best friend.

Joanna had high hopes for her future. Even in her last moments in life, she believed that she lived. But she still would have one regret, and that would never fulfill her promise to come home to have a future with her dearest Bethany. She had hoped that her mother would be proud of the sacrifice she made. But later in life, she learned to accept that she was surrounded by others who cared about her the most, and it would be enough for her to live a happy life.

Bonus Facts

-Her voice: Japanese- Sayaka Kinoshita (Mirko, My Hero Academia); English- Amanda Céline Miller (Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter, Sailor Moon)

-Joanna loves to challenge her comrades to arm-wrestling challenges. Her favorite opponent was Reiner. The only one who's managed to beat her was Mikasa and Reiner (a few times).

-She is a Sagittarius.

-She has a jasmine scent.

-Her alignment is chaotic-good.

-She and her family are middle-class.

-Joanna is one of my first gay characters that I’ve ever created. I made her during a time I was figuring out my own identity (I’m a demi-sexual lesbian), and she means a lot to me in that regard. 

-The ship name between Joanna and Bethany is called AnnaBeth.

-In much older drafts, she was going to be paired with Tay and heavily hinted at having feelings for each other until she was killed off. I’ve since decided to change their relationship to have a more sisterly bond and give Joanna a partner of her own.

-Back in the day as a cadet, her comrades got really excited when she was on kitchen duty since she was one of the best cooks they’ve ever had, even with what she was limited with. Even Shadis took a liking to her food although he will not admit it out loud. In the scouts, she’s put in charge of kitchen duty and even works alongside Mel to come up with some new recipes for their comrades.

-The only ones she had not beat in arm-wrestling are Levi and Mikasa.

-One time when Oluo tried to wake her up for their next mission, without thinking she had punched him in the face and caused him to accidentally bite his tongue. She would say sorry to him at least once or twice a day, but since then it was Levi’s job to get her ass out of bed. 

-Filip taught her how to cook, and had she not joined the scouts, she would’ve worked in a restaurant in Karanes.

-In a modern AU, she would be working in a restaurant as a line cook. As stressful as the job could be, it is something she loves and is very passionate about even if it's not a fine-dining restaurant. Her aesthetic would be tough punk, and she has a huge obsession with unicorns.

-In a Harry Potter AU, her Hogwarts house is Gryffindor, and her Patronus is a unicorn.

~

OC Profile Credit: AliceCantBeStopped

#wiispywitch oc #attack on titan oc #aot oc #oc #original character #anime art #anime oc #procreate art #fanon #fanfiction writing #creative writing #lesbian oc #le dollar bean #scout oc #scout regiment oc

[distopea]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

what’s your phone wallpaper : I have an iPhone so two different wallpapers (lock screen and homescreen). First one is a picture of my boyfriend holding my cat as if he’s the messiah, then the homescreen is a fanart of Swiss Ghoul from the band Ghost ✌️ last song you listened to : Blue Monday by Orgy  currently reading : I’m trying to finish a book from Bernard Minier named Iced  last show : Catching up with Demon’s Slayer atm what are you wearing right now : A limited edition of Papa Emeritus I shirt and black shorts piercings / tattoos? : 5 tattoos and 5 piercings to keep a certain equality?  glasses ? contacts? : glasses for screen, my poor eyes are also too tired for this world  last thing you ate? : pasta with tomato, garlic, bacon and cream and an apple, was good ✌️ favorite color(s) : green, gold, blue, purple? current obsession : Giving birth to Diego before I’m doomed  do you have a crush right now? : My man 🖤 and my men 😏 favorite fictional character : One? I can’t pick, but I would say that I love Faramir, Erwin Smith, God Enel, Crocodile, Musan, Moriarty, Eren Yaeger, Ghost, Soap, Konig, Rakan, Jyn Erso and I need to stop because the list would never stop ✨

tagged by: @umbrx​ (thank you! it’s been a while)  tagging: @nezumivc103221 / @cantuscorvi / @nvrcmplt / @tximidity​ / @royaletiquette​ and idk YOU, you’re tagged! 

[fanmoose12]

Ok, remember the famous “everyone is blushing in the sunset” scene with Eren and the gang? I have this headcanon that Levi and Hange had a similar moment when riding back on horses during that sunset. Like Levi tries to compliment Hange on her enthusiasm that he witnessed earlier and there’s some blushing on both sides lol. We need a fanfic on this omg 🙈

The sunsets captivate Levi, always. The pink mixing with purple, red contrasting with what little blue is still left, green that spreads on the edges, it all transfixes him, his eyes glaze over each time that sun begins its journey beyond the horizon. And there is no better place to watch it than from the top of the wall, with wind carding gently through his hair.

This evening is different, however. This time, someone else- someone so much brighter sits next to him and centers all of his attention on her.

Levi watches, stares at the long, delicate fingers that draw multitude of universes with their frantic movements; looks down at the lips that seem soft, sweet to touch despite the many-many cracks that are born from their owner's sharp teeth; he focuses on the eyes - sparkling, burning with curiosity, they hold more knowledge inside that all the books back at the barracks; he winces but doesn't dare to say a word, lest he interrupts the passionate tirade, when wild hair gathered in ponytail swings a little too much and hits him in the face. He stares, stares, stares - Hange is beautiful, much dearer to him than the sun he's spent the whole life dreaming about.

So lost he gets in his subject that he misses the moment, when thin lips halt their movement and swirls of honey focus on him. "Levi?" melodic laughter rings through the air, breaking the spell its owner had on him. "Still with me?"

Always, he almost says, but bites his tongue just in time to offer Hange a noncommittal grunt.

"The view is something else, eh? Makes it all-" Hange doesn't specify what, but both of them know it. Both of them hurt and bleed for this mystical all, "Really worth it. Makes me want to just-" her voice raises, along with the wind, "to just hug the whole world!"

She leaps to her feet, before Levi can stop her, and spreads her arms wide, as though really trying to fit all of the world into her embrace. The smile on her lips is so big, so joyful- but he doesn't bat an eye at it, doesn't stop to admire it; his eyes are on Hange's feet that hover too close to the precipice, almost stepping over it.

She might fall down, he thinks and it makes his stomach drop as well. In an instant, his arms are around her leg, wrapped close, secure, not letting go.

"Shorty!" Hange laughs, Hange always laughs, even in the face of danger, when most would quiver and hide. But she stands on the edge proudly, and looks down on him as though he's the one acting silly. "What's this about?"

"You fucking-" anger punches all air out of him, and fear turns his mind sluggish. It takes him a moment to remember his life in the Underground and all of the colorful vocabulary he gained down there. "You fucking fool, idiot, shit for brains, what are you doing?"

It's a question that comes out in a hiss. It's an offence that doesn't mask his concern.

Hange chuckles some more. She grins, without shame, dangerous and eternally beautiful.

"Careful," she reaches out to him, presses a finger in a furious crease on his forehead, "Or I might think you're worried."

"Of course, I'm worried. I'm petrified, four-eyes. Can you imagine how much paperwork I'd have to fill in if you die in my presence?"

It's a familiar territory, a safe one. Breathing comes easier to Levi because of it.

"Humanity's strongest," Hange shakes her head, and takes mercy on Levi, returning to her place by his side. He audibly exhales. "Is afraid of some paperwork?"

"I'd rather slay a dozen of titans than spend an hour more behind my desk. My ass is not made of steel, you know."

Hange lowers her eyes, gaze clouding as she husks, a damn tease, "Might have fooled me."

"Hilarious," he retorts, fighting against his loudly thumping heart. "Try that joke against titans. Your humor might become our ultimate weapon."

"You know," ignoring everything he said, Hange pokes his cheek, "in that light, it almost looks like you're blushing."

"It's just light," he lies, petulant. His face does feel too hot, but it's not- it's not a blush. It's not.

Maybe, if he says another hundred times, it'd become true.

But Hange is having none of it. She places her head in the crook of his neck, pressing impossibly close to him. Her arm hug his, as she says, "It's okay. You make me blush too."

Levi says nothing, but before he rests his chin on the crown of her head, his lips touch the same spot.

Hange seems to understand, everything, as always, even the meaning of that small, diminutive gesture. Her mouth quirks up, as she turns to watch the sunset. Levi continues to stare at her, his personal wonder and his own sun.

#.......not actually true to the prompt but!! there is a sunset! and blushing still happens!! #levihan

[vbee-miya]

hiii vi <3 may i please request a written matchup for haikyuu and tokyo revengers please <3

i’m 20, she/her, male leaning pref!

personality:

- really kind (when i'm not driving)

- considerate of others

- creative

-generally really smart

- goofy (in a good way)

- extremely honest

- moody

- bad at saving money

- hard on myself

- impulsive

-jealous

-stubborn

likes: cold weather, early mornings, purple monster energy, the colors brown, black, and sage green, eyeliner, fuzzy socks, piercings, playboy stuff, baggy jeans, my playstation, black nail polish, matcha tea, coffee, horror, pancakes, fnaf, eren jaeger

dislikes: sounds of chewing, being hot, old people, crowded places, strict schedules, dishonesty, loud noises

interests: video games, listening to music, skating, shopping, drawing, painting, reading writing

facts about me!:

- im 5’7

-i'm a biology major

- i'm a sophomore in college

-i'm a sagittarius sun, taurus moon, virgo rising

-i'm an enfp

-my enneagram is 7w6

and this is me <3 (which you know we’ve been moots for like, ever, now)

thank youuuu ❤️

༺❀༻ matchup ༺❀༻

anything for you, you sexy ass mf 😩

uh it’s pretty obvious enough, babes no matter how many times you request a haikyuu match up suna and you will always, and i mean always will be paired up together. also being a taurus moon is so sexy of us 😩

just like your hair dying obsession with whatever color you dye it, suna will always look good with you 🤭

fact he’d let you wear his jeans like literally will not care if you take his shit. one he’d think it all looks so sexy on you. especially his jeans like sure he’s a sucker for when you wear his hoodies and t-shirts but like wearing his jeans or sometimes boxers it just hits him so right, and he’ll want your warmth in bed all over again.

fact he’d let you wear his jeans like literally will not care if you take his shit. one he’d think it all looks so sexy on you. especially his jeans like sure he’s a sucker for when you wear his hoodies and t-shirts but like wearing his jeans or sometimes boxers it just hits him so right, and he’ll want your warmth in bed all over again.

suna fuking sucks at saving money so good luck to y’all, but it’s not that he haphazardly spends them, it’s more so the fact that he’ll generously give you money when you ask for it. he’s no billionaire, but at long as there’s no negatives in his checking account and there’s enough money for him to pay gas prices and buy jelly snacks then by all means he honestly wouldn’t care spending if not loaning you money. best part is you wouldn’t even need to pay him back, he’d just forget about it and probably just take a few couple of hundreds from his savings if need to.

if you wanted to paint his nails black and put eyeliner on him, he’d let you and cause he’s got a little sister, headcanon in exchange for that he’d do your hair. so that he can also give you neck kissys.

when y’all decide to go skating especially midsummer night skating, he’s a chill guy but listen if there’s random old people in the way he’d just swerve pass them and like curse them out under his breath.

cause media is ruing our lives suna would definitely active on any media platform, and fact would only post his BeReals at night time.

#why tumblr glitching #matchup *.·:·.✧ #vmodsᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ #suna rintarō #suna x reader #suna x you #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #suna headcanons #suna imagines

[theragethatisdesire]

12 and 17 for the ask game 💘

lol bloomy u are my only friend here no one else did it but honestly its fine bc i'm just thrilled for an excuse to answer these

12 who's more protective? - 10000% eren. like eren is all over you like mud on a pig, literally thinks ur gonna die every time u leave ur house if he isnt with you. acts super sus in public too, glaring at people who stare at u LMAO

17 who picks flowers for the other? - eren loves flowers. u make it a point to consistently have a bouquet on the table for him, snag flowers from the side of the road when u go to his hometown where there's actually grass. he reacts the same way every time: eyes wide and bright, a little smile on his face. every color is his favorite intermittently lmao. "purple ones are my favorite!" "i love the tiny yellow ones!" "how'd you know i was just thinking about roses?"

#rage.rambles #thank u for letting me spill some hcs onto the dash bloomy ily #anon #bloomy.moot #ask games #eren

[melishade]

 Attack on Prime Halloween Anthology: The Masque of the Red Death

Main Story

Medusa

Hachishakusama    

Annabelle

“So our leaderboard,” Hanji began as they all sat down around the bonfire. She held the paper that kept their scores in her hand., “Jean, Connie, and Sasha are all dead last.”

“Boo!” Sasha jeered.

“Armin is next on the list, followed by Eren,” Hanji listed.

“I can live with that,” Armin said, with a nod in agreement from Eren.

“I am in third place. The only story that scared me was the sleep experiment,” Hanji continued, “Leaving our two Ackermans tied for first.”

“That’s not fair,” Jean declared.

“Well, unless Optimus can find a story to scare the both of them, we’re out of luck,” Hanji declared, handing the paper back to Levi who folded it in his pocket.

Eren turned his attention to Optimus, and noticed the Prime looked visibly tired at all the shenanigans, but didn’t say a word.

“So what is next on our list of gore and horror?” Hanji asked the Prime.

Optimus thought it over, remembering a read by a rather famous author before turning his attention to the fire. 

“The Red Death had long devastated the country. Blood was its avatar and it’s seal-the redness and the horror of blood.”

“Wow, right out of the gate,” Jean mumbled, earning a ‘Sh’ from Mikasa.

“The victims of this devastating plague had suffered dizziness and sharp pains. Blood would pool from every pore and every orifice on the victims body. To ask for help was unwise to others, as that meant the Red Death would claim them as well.

That did not deter Prince Prospero. When his country had lost half of it’s population, he had invited his wealthy friends to remain in his castled abbey, until the devastating plague had passed. His home was guarded by large metal bars, with the main entrance chained shut. No one could get in, or out. But that did not matter to Prospero and his elite friends. They believed that they were safe, that they could elude to plague that only affected the common folk. Or so they thought.

One night, Prospero had held a masquerade ball for all of his guests. There were fools, ballet dancers, food and wine. He had designed seven rooms in his abbey for the guests to mingle in. In each room, stain glass windows had created a color that would identify each room. The first was blue, and the second was purple. The third was green, and the fourth was orange. The fifth was white, and the sixth was violet. But the seventh room, due to a flaw in the stained glass, had tainted the room to red. The red that had plagued their country and had taken so many lives. Many were uncomfortable being in that room, and few would dare to venture to it.

In this red room, lies an ebony clock, that chimes after each passing hour. When the bell chimed for sixty seconds, the crowd of guests had paused, listening to the sound in fear and trepidation. When the minute passed, the crowd eased up, and had returned to their festivities. This continued every hour, until midnight. When the clock struck midnight, the crowd had noticed a figure adorned in red. 

The dark, blood-splattered robe had resembled a funeral shroud, and the mask the being wore resembled the faces of the corpses outside of those walls. Prospero was furious and demanded to know who would make such a mockery to him so he could be hanged. The figure gave no answer, and merely walked. The crowd was too afraid to stop him, and merely parted as the being passed. Prospero had grabbed a dagger and chased the figure through each room. First blue, then purple. Green, then orange. White, then violet. And finally red.

Prospero was ready to attack the figure, but the being had merely turned to him, and the prince had dropped to the ground dead. One by one, the guests began to scream, as they had begun to succumb to the Red Death themselves. A few guests had managed to pull the cloak and mask from the figure, but there was nothing underneath. The costume was empty. No one was there, and one by one before the dawn broke, everyone in the abbey had fallen dead to the Red Death.

Because there was no escape from such an unstoppable force, no matter rich or poor. it was inevitable and powerful, And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.”

“Oh...fuck,” Eren swore, more visibly shaken than the others.

“Wait, that’s what’s causing your stomach to churn?!” Connie demanded.

“My dad was a doctor, and I got a peak at some of the shit he did,” Eren retorted, “It was disgusting, but I couldn’t look away.”

“You wanted to see it on purpose, didn’t you?” Armin accused.

“Could this ‘Red Death’ be powerful enough to wipe out all of humanity?” Hanji asked curiously.

“Possibly,” Optimus admitted, earning surprised looks from his audience, “The author, Edgar Allen Poe, could have based the Red Death on the ‘Black Plaque’. It was a disease that ravaged the continent of Europe for almost ten years, and almost wiped out the entire European population.” 

“How many people exactly?” Hanji asked him.

“...for your sanity, I will not share that number,” Optimus answered vaguely.

“Somehow that’s even more terrifying,” Jean commented.

“...How exactly did that plague start?” Levi asked.

“A rat,” Optimus answered.

“One fucking rat?!” Sasha screamed.

“Rats are filthy, but that filthy?!” Armin exclaimed.

“Was the figure in the story the personification of the Red Death itself?” Mikasa finally asked.

“Mikasa, again, focusing on the wrong thing right now,” Sasha declared.

“Where’s Captain Levi?” Eren finally asked. 

Everyone had looked around in confusion, not noticing the captain had slipped away undetected. Hanji had raised an eyebrow in confusion before grinning with delight and turning to Optimus.

“You broke our dear Captain Levi,” Hanji declared, “I’m impressed.”

“Wait, the Captain’s scared?!” Connie yelled in shock.

“Oh he is terrified,” Hanji proclaimed with a fit of laughter, “Looks like our darling Mikasa’s in the lead.”

“So where did he go?” Mikasa asked.

“Take a wild guess,” Hanji answered.

==================

Megatron had walked through the port in his holoform, making his way into one of the completed buildings to find Optimus or the mad scientist. He knew the Prime was here, but he didn’t know his exact location. He did know where the mad scientist had her office. 

Megatron had found the door to her office opened, but paused when he heard furious grumbling followed by something scraping against a surface. he slowly peered his head inside to see the dwarf in his cleaning attire, scrubbing the floor and muttering at how filthy her office was. Megatron did not know what to make of this, and he definitely did not want to get involved. He slowly backed away, deactivated the holoform, and headed to the neutral ship. He could give the update tomorrow.

(Levi’s on everyone ass about cleanliness for the next week, including Optimus. Anyway, the original story is obviously by Edgar Allen Poe. Sapphire Sandalo, aka the Something Scary creator, reads the story on her youtube channel. Meanwhile, the second Something Scary Narrator, Markeia McCarty, narrates a modern retelling of the story. So check both videos out.)

#tfp #transformers prime #tfp optimus #optimus prime #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #eren jaeger #armin arlert #mikasa ackerman #Jean Kirschstein #connie springer #sasha blause #captain levi #levi ackerman #hanji zoe #attack on prime #crossover #ao3 #fanfic #halloween #Halloween anthology #the red death #edgar allan poe #black plague #tfp megatron #megatron #something scary

[bleach-your-panties]

Tumblr Summer ’22 House Party

swimming pools – kendrick lamar (collegeau!armin arlert x black!fem reader)

key:

Y/n-your name

e/c – eye color

s/o/b – shade of brown

pour up (drank)

head shot (drank)

sit down (drank)

stand up (drank)

pass out (drank)

wake up (drank)

faded (drank)

faded (DRANK)

--

“I-I don't know, guys! You know I have a lot of studying to do…midterms are coming up-and, hey! Connie!”

Said Hispanic male rolled his golden brown eyes at his blonde-haired friend as he held the textbook above his head - even though he wasn’t much taller than his friend, his arms were just a tad bit longer.

“Really Armin? Midterms are over a month away and you’re already preparing? We’re in college now, and you need to start acting like it, dammit!”

He flung the book across the room, a loud ‘thud’ sounding off as it narrowly missed the still form of Armin’s best friend and roommate, Eren. Somehow, Eren didn’t even flinch.

Green eyes flicked over to the commotion of the two males and an eyebrow beneath disheveled brown hair was raised.

“Still trying to convince him, Con? Good luck with that. I’ve been begging him to come out with me everyday since the semester first started. Give it up, he’s a lost cause.” He waved his hand dismissively before turning towards the wall and throwing his blanket back over himself.

Armin stared down at his hands that were clenched on his thighs, a hot blush on his cheeks as he listened to his friends discussing him.

Socializing around large groups of people was never an activity that he was fond of. He was nowhere as near as popular as Connie or Eren. If he went to that party he’d just be a lost face in the crowd. A ghost.

“Well, I..you guys know there’s bound to be a lot of alcohol there and I’m not much of a drinker. O-or dancer..so I’d feel really out of place and-“

“Blah blah blah! Do you hear yourself, dude? You’re worried about the wrong things!” Connie plopped next to Armin on his twin-sized bed and threw an arm around his shoulder.

“Listen to me Armin. It’s not about how good of a dancer you are or how shit-faced you get. It’s about living in the moment. We’re not in high school anymore; we can be free and live as young men!”

He stood up from Armin’s bed, one fist raised high into the air with a triumphant look on his face. Eren began snickering from underneath his blanket, while Armin just sighed and shook his head at his persistent friend.

Would it really be that bad if he went?

--

Walking into the party alongside Connie and Eren, Armin immediately felt out of place. One hand nervously tugging at the lapel of his dark blue jean jacket and the other stuffed deep into the pocket of his grey trousers.

The ambiance in the house was definitely set: it was completely dark, save for a light machine that flashed various colors – red, blue, green, yellow, purple. Loud music with thunderous beats caused the house to somewhat pulsate as bodies shrouded in the darkness grinded against each other to the beat.

“So, uh, what now-“

“Come on, man!” Connie pulled him along, passing by multiple inebriated guests with Eren trailing behind the two.

They ended up in a kitchen, which had more lights on than the main area of the house. Bottles of different types of liquor littered the kitchen island, along with red plastic cups, some of them very tiny. Shot glasses.

Eren’s green eyes gazed over the selection, a small smirk turning up his lips as he grabbed a cup and began to mix a concoction of fruit juice and one of the various liquors.

“Now this is what I call an open bar!”

Armin’s blue eyes raked over the selection, not recognizing any of the names. “Do you think that they have any soda around?”

Eren shrugged before nodding his head toward the fridge in the corner. “Look and see.”

The idea of snooping around someone’s house unnerved him, but Armin pushed that thought aside and opened the sleek black refrigerator, grabbing a can of Sprite.

Settling into a bar stool at the counter, he popped the top on his soda and took a sip, cringing at the acidic taste.

“Is that really all you're going to have?” Connie asked, sipping on the concoction that Eren had poured for him before eyeing Armin’s Sprite like it was poison.

The blonde gulped. “Uh, yeah?”

“Bullshit. Here.” Eren pushed two small shot glasses towards Armin, his green eyes boring into the blonde’s skull as if he were trying to telepathically convince him to drink them.

“Eren, I don’t know…”

Connie clapped him on the back, his own cup raised as he nodded at Eren, who also raised his.

“As your official passage into manhood, you have to at least take two shots with us, that’s it!”

Eren nodded, “Two shots.”

The two males raised their cups dutifully, making the blonde sigh and half-heartedly raise his as well.

“To Armin! For no longer acting like a pussy!”

“H-hey!”

----

now i done grew up ‘round some people livin’ their life in bottles

granddaddy had the golden flask

backstroke everyday in chicago

some people like the way it feels

some people wanna kill their sorrows

some people wanna fit in with the popular

that was my problem

--

After taking shots, Eren and Connie both got pulled away by some of the popular kids in their circle.

They made sure that he was good before leaving; Armin just decided to take his half-empty Sprite and cup with a bit of Eren’s concoction and venture into the sitting room of the house.

There weren’t as many people in here as the living area, which had been transformed into the dance floor. A group of guys dressed in sweats and fraternity t-shirts crowded around a hookah machine as some held attractive girls in short skirts in their laps.

He sat upon a futon that was situated in front of a bookshelf. Almost tempted to pluck one with an intriguing title from the shelf, he froze when a very deep, masculine voice called out.

“Hey, fresh meat.”

He looked up and saw two beefy blondes standing in front of him, looking down at him like he was an insect.

“What the fuck? Are you drinking a soda at a kickback?” The one with glasses spoke loudly, pointing at Armin’s Sprite, causing interested eyes to flick over to the scene. A few of the girls giggled, causing Armin’s ears to heat up from embarrassment.

“I-uh, is that a-a bad thing?” He gulped, making eye contact with stormy grey eyes behind thin, circular wire frames.

The jock didn’t answer, instead turning towards his friend, communicating silently.

The other beefed up blonde only nodded, leaving the room shortly before returning with another red cup.

“Here, I think you need this, little one.” He chuckled, pushing the cup in Armin’s face. A strong smell of liquor wafted up Armin’s nostrils, making him crinkle his nose.

“Drink it! Drink it! Drink it! Drink it!”

The entire room chanted, waiting for him to gulp the liquid down, and do it quickly.

i was in a dark room, loud tunes

lookin’ to make a vow soon

that imma get fucked up, fillin’ up my cup

i see the crowd mood, changin’ by the minute

and the record on repeat, took a sip then another sip

then somebody said to me

“Yeah, that's what I'm talking about!”

“Help him loosen up, Zeke!”

“Take another one!”

nigga, why you babysitting only two or three shots?

imma show you how to turn it up a notch

first you get a swimming pool full of liquor, then you dive in it

pool full of liquor then you dive in it

i wave a few bottles, then i watch em all flock

all the girls wanna play baywatch

i got a swimming pool full of liquor and they dive in it

pool full of liquor imma dive in it

--

“Ugh..”

Armin held a hand to his forehead. He felt dizzy and discombobulated.

‘Is this what it feels like to be drunk?’ he wondered.

He looked at his surroundings and pushed himself off of the wall that he felt he had been leaning against.

Standing to his feet, he slightly wobbled on his first step. Music pounded his eardrums and the shuffling of bodies around him started to make him nauseous.

“Hey, are you okay?” A soft voice called out somewhere near him.

Armin turned his head all around before looking down slightly and spotting a woman that was looking at him with a face of concern.

With a red cup clutched in her hand, her e/c eyes looked him up and down, a small frown adorning her full, lipgloss-covered lips.

She’s about a head shorter than him with a cute, curvy figure. Her big, e/c eyes accentuated perfectly shaped and filled eyebrows, long thick eyelashes, a petite nose and of course, those luscious lips. Her skin a pretty s/o/b color that rested beautifully against the black mini dress and white denim half jacket that she sported. Dark-colored hair draped over her shoulders and fell against her sides in deep waves like the ocean.

‘Damn, she’s pretty..’ Armin managed to form that one coherent thought before he snapped out of his trance, cheeks blushing pink as he noticed her staring at him in concern now.

“O-oh, me? Yes, I’m f-fine!” He said a bit too loudly, causing a sweet giggle to erupt from her lips.

“Well..you were swaying and moving slow like a zombie, so I deduced that you’re a little fucked up. This your first time drinking?”

His blush only brightened and spread as she moved closer to him, taking hold of his arm gently.

“That obvious, huh? I don’t really come out like this often..” He admitted, taking his plush bottom lip gently between his teeth. She nodded at his answer, beginning to pull him along with her.

They wove through the crowd until they were situated somewhat in the middle.

Until now, Armin hadn’t noticed that he still clutched that red cup in his hand, a sizable amount of liquid still in it. How that was possible with the staggering he’d been doing, he didn’t know, but as the woman that’d pulled him with her pulled herself in front of him and gripped his free hand, he quickly tossed back the rest of it.

“I’m y/n, by the way. Wanna dance?” is what he thought she said; it was kind of hard to tell with the whirring in his ears and the bass of the song that was currently playing. He nodded nonetheless, crunching the cup and tossing it behind him somewhere so he could wrap both arms around her waist.

----

okay, now open your mind up and listen to me, kendrick

i’m your conscious, if you do not hear me then you will be history, kendrick

i know that you’re nauseous right now and i’m hoping to lead you to victory, kendrick

if i take another one down, imma drown in some poison, abusin’ my limit

i think that I’m feeling the vibe

i see the love in her eyes

i see the feelin’, the freedom is granted

as soon as the damage of vodka arrive

this how you capitalize, this is parental advice

then apparently, i’m over-influenced by what you are doin’

i thought i was doin’ the most then someone said to me

----

Their bodies melded together as she wound her hips against his front. Her arm snaked up in an attempt to wrap around his neck, but it was just a bit too short.

Chuckling softly, Armin, with his newfound confidence, grabbed her wrist and held it gently as they continued to sway to the music.

After this song went off, y/n peeled herself away from him, Armin’s pink lips slowly moving into a frown until she took his hand, leading him back through the crowd and outside.

“Where are we going? You’re not trying to isolate me so you can murder me, are you?” He asked playfully, eyebrow raised.

A jolly laugh left the s/o/b woman’s throat and she shook her head.

“You’re funny, but no. It was getting too hot in there. Too many niggas sweating around us.” She chuckled.

Armin noticed that the backyard of the house is fairly large, and that it houses an in-ground swimming pool.

The water is clean and shines a beautiful blue-green with emphasis from the tall lamp posts that surrounded the area, giving it a very homey feel.

The two sat at the pool’s edge, peeling off their jackets and laying them to the side. Turned towards each other, a comfortable silence fell over them as they took a moment to just bask in the events of the evening.

Y/n, who was no stranger to parties like these, was the exact opposite of Armin who had never been to a house party (or any party) in his life and was basically addicted to his studies.

Y/n was a frequent party-goer that just honestly wanted to have a quiet night in tonight, eating junk food and watching her favorite shows in pajamas. Of course, her two best friends had to beg her to come out with them, ultimately ditching her once they got inside.

“So this is really your first party? You seem to fit in well.” She looked at him, his cerulean blue eyes boring back into her like dark sapphires.

With a small nod, Armin’s mouth twitched into a smile.

“Well, I’d have rather stayed in my dorm, if we’re being honest. I kind of got dragged here by my friends.”

“Really? So did I!”

This caused a small bout of laughter to erupt between the two, no doubt drunkenness contributing to their goofiness. Y/n had probably had just about as Armin, if not more. She was just more used to drinking.

“Well, mystery boy, I’m glad that you decided to come out tonight. I like hanging out with you.”

With a smile, he took her hand, slowly pulling her up with him.

“Armin. My name is Armin. I’ve liked hanging out with you, too, y/n. I’d..like to do it again sometime. I-if that’s alright with you, I mean! You don’t have to-“

A slim finger with a white-polished stiletto nail rested against his lips as y/n giggled over his stuttering. The ever present blush on Armin’s cheeks deepened at the action and he brought a hand up to wrap around her wrist again, just as they did while dancing.

“I’d like that a lot, Armin.”

Pulling her gently closer, Armin looked down into those pretty e/c pools as their faces inched closer and closer.

----

nigga, why you babysitting only two or three shots?

imma show you how to turn it up a notch

first you get a swimming pool full of liquor, then you dive in it

pool full of liquor then you dive in it

----

Lips brushed against each other, Armin taking a hold of y/n’s waist and pulling her closer.

They each sighed softly into the kiss, the taste of her lip gloss invading his taste buds as he obliged her request to deepen the kiss.

Despite the alcohol they’d had, neither tasted strongly of it, only of their natural scents and tastes.

Y/n gripped the front of his white t-shirt, catching him off guard and making him stumble dangerously close towards the edge of the pool.

Armin, in his state of inebriation was too focused on the kiss to really catch his footing.

It all felt like slow motion, y/n’s squeals in his ear as he haphazardly gripped her by the waist and ass, pulling her to his body as they both finally plunged into the cool water of the pool.

SPLASH!

----

i wave a few bottles, then i watch em all flock

all the girls wanna play baywatch

i got a swimming pool full of liquor and they dive in it

pool full of liquor imma dive in it

----

Armin soon resurfaced from the depths of the water, his hold on Y/n almost making them both sink. Her knowledge of how to swim made her push away from him so they wouldn’t both drown until she could resurface. Once she did, he made sure to hold tightly to her hands and guide her out of the water once he was situated on the pool’s steps.

“Y/n, are you alright?! I’m so so SO sorry, oh my God! I didn’t mean to-! I tried to catch both of us, but I lost my footing and-!”

Armin’s rambling was interrupted by giggles, making him stop and look at the drenched woman in front of him.

“I-you’re laughing?”

Armin began to question why he wasn’t being chewed out, but stopped when his eyes caught sight of Y/n’s sopping wet dress clinging to every line and curve of her body, leaving little to the imagination.

The now sheer black fabric clung to her nipples, which were erect from the water’s temperature and the slight August breeze that blew around them.

Trying to look down and away from her breasts, his eyes landed upon the area where her thighs met and the soaked fabric allowed him to see her light-colored panties.

“O-oh shit, you’ve gotta be cold! My jacket..” He looked around for it anxiously before remembering that it was on the other side of the pool.

Y/n only giggled again, moving some of her wet hair away from her beautiful face. She still looked amazing in Armin’s eyes, even more so with her dampened hair resting on her shoulders, flowing down to her waist.

“It’s okay, Armin, it was only an accident. It was kind of fun actually. We should get out of these wet clothes though before we get sick.”

Armin’s cheeks heated up as his still-tipsy brain hung on the words “get out of these clothes” even though he knew she didn’t mean it in that way.

“I could give you a ride to your dorm so you can change clothes. Again, I’m really sorry about this.” He gave a gentle smile and extended his hand, which she took without hesitation, returning the smile.

----

pour up (drank)

head shot (drank)

sit down (drank)

stand up (drank)

pass out (drank)

wake up (drank)

faded (drank)

faded (DRANK)

-----

“Thank you Armin, that’s really sweet of you. I have another idea though-why don’t after I change, we go back to your dorm, watch movies, and eat snacks? I’m sure we both could use a little sobering up and I like spending time with you.”

Was he dreaming right now? Never had he even thought of bringing a girl back to his dorm, nor had he had the privilege of being asked to do so, but he figured since he was trying new things tonight that spending more time with Y/n wouldn’t be bad at all. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t want to; he very much did.

With his ears burning and a cute smile on his face, he nodded and wrapped an arm around Y/n’s shoulders, bringing her body closer to his for warmth.

At the back door of the house watching the couple walk off was Connie, Eren, Zeke, and Reiner. The young men all gave each other high fives and exchanged knowing smirks.

“Our little Armin is all grown up now!” Connie laughed as he began humping the air, making Eren and the others burst out laughing.

‘It’s about time’ Eren thought with a smile on his face.

----

nigga, why you babysitting only two or three shots?

imma show you how to turn it up a notch

first you get a swimming pool full of liquor, then you dive in it

pool full of liquor then you dive in it

i wave a few bottles, then i watch em all flock

all the girls wanna play baywatch

i got a swimming pool full of liquor and they dive in it

pool full of liquor imma dive in it

----

*ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ🫶🏽

#aot x reader #aot armin x black reader #armin arlert x black reader #armin x black reader #tumblr house party '22 #💗💗🍡°aot masterlist #💗💗🍡°my fics #byp🌹