Fortunatelyangrycheesecake - Grey's

RED FLAGS ║ PART 4

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Steven disappears and you fall into a rabbit hole trying to decode Marc’s secret message. Or alternatively: Marc needs to communicate better.

Rating: really gratuitous and detailed sex, writers are clearly super horny.

Warning/content: anxiety, spiraling thoughts, worrying about safety of a partner, clumsy sex-shanigans, the writers being way too obsessed with how freakin' beautiful Steven is.

Word Count: 8.1k

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You can’t believe Steven’s gone.

Flinging the quilt aside, you leap out of bed and dash into the loo. Against all logic, you’re hoping that he’ll be standing in front of the sink with a spare toothbrush in his mouth, ready to wish you good morning through a frothy toothpaste smile.

He’s not.

There’s no one here but you.

Your home is a cramped studio flat with barely enough space for a bed, small sitting area, and an even smaller kitchenette. If Steven were still here, he’d be in plain sight, but somehow you find yourself turning cushions like some kind of madwoman. Inspecting every corner of the room, as if Steven might be hiding behind your washing machine like a goddamn leprechaun.

There’s nothing. No note left on your kitchen counter. No clothing left behind. No promised breakfast. There’s not even a text message on your phone letting you know that he had to leave early for work.

With shaky fingers and your heart beating painfully loud in your ears, it takes you three tries to unlock your phone and select Steven from the list of contacts. You lift the phone to your ear and hold your breath, staring blindly at the mess you’ve made of your flat as it rings and rings and rings.

Finally, there’s a click and then Steven’s cheerful voice in your ear, and for the briefest of seconds, relief rushes through your veins.

“Hiya, this is Steven. I’m not in right now, but leave me a message, and I’ll ring you back as soon as I can. Laters, Gators.”

You stare at the phone in disbelief. Bile rises until you can taste it, sharp and burning, on your tongue.

Steven going missing out of the blue on you is hardly novel, but his random disappearances have never made you feel like this before. Experience dictates that Steven will come back safe and sound in a day or two (or a week or two). Right now, however, that knowledge does nothing to dull the panic clawing at your throat, and it takes you a minute before you realise why this is so much worse than all the times that have come before.

In the past, the worst case scenario was that he’d ghosted you. One more wanker who’d decided to dump you without so much as a courtesy text. But now you know better. Steven wouldn’t do that. He’s not disappearing on you by choice. He’s gone because someone else, Marc has taken over. And taken him away.

Now, you’re pacing the length of your flat, nearly in tears, the worst case scenario something you cannot even begin to fathom.

For all you know, this Marc person has decided that you’ve gotten too close to the truth. Maybe he came to the conclusion that it’s too dangerous to have you around Steven. Maybe, last night was the last time you’ll ever get to see him.

Back and forth you go across the room, wearing down the carpet pile as your mind spirals with worry. You pop the band on your old wristwatch in and out of place as you go, nails digging into your wrist as you tug at it until you slip and the metal pin jabs your wrist.

Then you spot it: the writing on your hand. The long string of numbers, ten digits in all, that Marc had written on the centre of your palm last night.

In a mad scramble, you dig up a notebook and quickly copy them down for safekeeping. You spend the rest of the day trying to decipher their meaning.

Your first thought is that it’s a phone number, but when you try dialling it, you get an automated message that no such number exists.

Your next theory is that the numbers might be coordinates. But when you attempt to plot them using an online grid reference finder, the results are meaningless. Depending on how you input the digits they point you to a handful of different locations—China, Romania, the middle of the Celtic Sea—none of which mean anything to you. The majority of the number combinations you try do not exist at any known map locations.

Panicked by your failure, your mind scrambles for other possible explanations. Thinking that it might be a mathematical equation or a password of some kind, you pull out your calculator and another notebook, trying to make any sort of sense of the only hint you've been given.

By the time you leave for work Monday morning, your desk is starting to look like a landfill. The wooden surface is littered with crumpled up paper and sticky-notes filled with nonsensical scribbles of numbers and letters that were the results of randomly adding, subtracting and dividing the ten numbers on your hand. If anyone walked in on your flat, they would think you’re a particularly unhinged conspiracy theorist.

In all fairness, they wouldn’t be too far off, because you’re beginning to feel a bit like one. Haring off on one pointless wild goose chase after another, halfway to plotting out your suspicions on the wall with pins and string.

More days go by, and you spend every waking moment (and many moments you should be sleeping) trying to solve the mystery. It becomes a consuming obsession. You’re distracted both at home and at work, your poor coworkers forced to pick up the slack while your mind stays firmly on the puzzle of Steven.

Your lack of sleep leads to increasingly wild theories. You’re convinced that those ten digits are somehow the key to everything. An unfounded belief based on nothing but your own desperate hope that if you manage to crack the code, a congratulation banner and confetti will fall from the sky with a big bow-wrapped present containing Steven as the final prize.

Unfortunately, you’re not the best at puzzles, and the galling irony is that the most qualified person to solve this riddle is the very same person you’re desperately missing.

By the time you leave work on Thursday, you’re frustrated, exhausted from sustaining a near-frantic level of worry, and no closer to finding a solution than you were at the start. Steven is still out there somewhere, and you decide that you’ve waited long enough. Maybe even too long. He could have had his kidney harvested and be half-dead in an alley for all you know. Hurt and dying, while you’ve wasted time grasping at straws.

You’ve decided to finally file a missing person’s report with the police when you exit the tube to find a new text notification on your phone.

+x xxx xxx xxxx He’s safe.

You stare at the message for a long time, too overcome with relief to immediately make the connection between the numbers on your hand and your phone screen. When the epiphany hits, you feel like the dumbest person alive. Ten numbers… It wasn’t a puzzle or some obscure treasure hunt to lead you to Steven. It’s Marc’s bloody mobile number. It’s an American mobile number and he didn’t include the fucking country code

He’s safe. Steven’s safe.

Wiping what is close to the beginning of tears on your sleeve, you pull the phone closer and type out a message in reply.

You Is Steven okay? Where is he?

There’s no answer.

Not that evening or the day after. And the relief you felt at first slowly drains away.

The text is a consolation prize. It’s not Steven wrapped with a bow and wrapping paper. This is not the answer you needed, but, you try to remind yourself, at least it’s something.

Steven is safe.

You repeat it like a mantra in your head, and it gives you some comfort… for a while. Soon it's overtaken by an intrusive voice asking a question that you don’t want to hear.

But what if he isn’t?

Any residual consolation you were feeling gives way, and anxiety overwhelms you as you imagine all the terrible scenarios that could have befallen Steven, each more horrifying and improbable than the last.

You can't shake the paranoia that the matching numbers are just a coincidence. There's nothing in the text itself that says it’s from Marc. Or about Steven. It could just as easily be a timely telephone scam.

Is there anyone who hasn’t received a random automated call informing them that someone they know has been in a car accident? There are thousands of these calls a day in the UK, scammers hoping to find some dimwit waiting for a call from a loved one.

Maybe today, you’re the dimwit.

You can count the hours of sleep you’ve gotten since Steven disappeared on one hand.

You need to sleep, but even as exhausted as you are, you just can’t. Instead, you're having a staring competition with your ceiling, and so far you’re winning.

You’re worrying yet again about Steven. You wonder where he is. If he’s really safe. What he—or Marc—has been doing all this time.

A full week has gone by, and you still haven’t heard anything from Steven himself. You haven’t had any further communication from the unknown number that may or may not be Marc either.

Marc.

Rolling onto your side, you stare off into the darkness of your flat.

The concept of Marc is still an enigma to you. As far as you can tell, he’s entirely distinct from Steven. Not only are his mannerisms different, but he calls himself by another name and talks about Steven as if they’re separate people.

There is another person inside of Steven that is markedly not Steven.

In the complete darkness of your flat, your sleep deprived brain tries to make sense of what that actually means, but you can’t. There’s so much you don’t know.

Rolling back across the bed the other way, you reach for your phone.

Midnight is not the ideal time to do research, but what does it matter? You’re not likely to sleep regardless.

Your first pit stop is Google, but that does you no favours. As always, no matter what symptoms you put into the search bar, WebMD is determined to convince you that it’s cancer.

Instead, you end up trawling through NHS’ homepage well past midnight, ending up in a wormhole of health issues until you land on the symptoms for Dissociative Identity Disorder:

They may feel the presence of other identities, each with their own names, voices, personal histories and mannerisms.

The main symptoms of DID are:

» memory gaps about everyday events and personal information

» having several distinct identities

And there it is, written in plain Arial font. The conclusion you’ve been trying not to jump to. The inescapable reality behind all those red flags Steven’s been waving in front of your nose from the very start.

You stare at the words on the page, reading and re-reading them. You don’t know what to think or how you feel about your discovery. The only thing you do know is that you are wholly unqualified to handle any of this.

As far as you know, you've never met anyone—anyone else?—with DID. Your only previous exposure to the disorder has been through movies like Psycho, Split, Basic Instinct… Movies that depict the character with a mental health condition as a psychotic murderer or one in the making with sensationalist glee.

You don’t believe that of course. You know better than to expect sensitive and accurate representation from Hollywood blockbusters. That’s a bit like reading The Sun and expecting truthful and unbiased news reports.

The problem is that knowing all of this doesn’t solve anything.

All you do know is that you miss Steven. You’re scared—terrified for him—and want him back with you.

Fuck Marc for taking him away.

The devil himself must have heard you, his ears burning. Your phone pings out in the silence at that moment, interrupting your thoughts. The screen flashes, and it takes you a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before you can read the incoming message.

+x xxx xxx xxxx Steven will be back tomorrow. Don’t mention me.

You stare at the phone as you reread the text once and then again. There’s no ambiguity this time; there can’t possibly be.

Back.

Steven.

Steven is coming back to you.

You barely have time to rejoice over the fact before those last three words hit you. Their meaning settles heavily in your gut, burning at the lining of your stomach until you think you might be sick all over your duvet.

It’s a warning. The wolf is at your door.

And just like that, the curtain’s pulled back, and you see Steven’s disappearance for what it is: a sick display of the power Marc holds over him. Over you both. A demonstration of how your life with Steven continues only at his whim. Those three words are an order and a stomach churning threat all in one.

Mention Marc, reveal his existence to Steven, and he will take Steven from you.

For the first time, you understand why Steven has always been alone, and anger burns in your blood. Steven is being held hostage in his own body, and he doesn’t even know it. And you’re being blackmailed into lying to the man you love.

You want to tell Steven the truth immediately. You want to scream it from the bloody rooftops.

But you don’t want to lose him.

Selfish as it may be, you want to keep Steven in your life for as long as you can. At the very least, if you’re together, maybe you can protect him from Marc. Make sure he’s safe.

Isn’t that better than telling Steven the whole truth only to have Marc take him away from you? The only thing that would achieve is to relegate Steven back to a life of loneliness.

No. It wouldn’t do any good to tell Steven now. You can’t go in blindly when Marc has such a strong upper hand. You need more information, a plan, or at least some kind of strategy before you risk doing anything that might result in Steven being spirited away from you again.

With your ear pressed to your pillow, you stare at the text, struggling to keep your eyes open. You turn the brightness up so far that it’s painful to look at, blinking away sleep until you’re unable to fight it anymore.

A knock on the door wakes you.

Squinting one eye open, you find the room flooded with light, bright and blinding. Your mouth tastes like harsh cotton, and your throat is sore when you swallow.

You don’t know when you fell asleep last night, but it’s five to eight now according to your alarm clock. Your shoulders are stiff and aching, body protesting the lack of rest.

Sleep concussed as you are, you fumble towards the door, relying on memory rather than sight to navigate your surroundings. You don’t even make it to the middle of the room before you trip over your ottoman.

Pain shoots out from the nub of your toe, and you barely manage to stop yourself from face planting. With a curse and a pending bruise forming on your foot, you hobble the rest of the way towards your door and unlock it. In your struggle, you don’t even bother to check the peephole to see who is at your door.

You slide the door open, scarcely paying attention. At first, all you see is a much-too-loud novelty print and flowers wrapped in cellophane in the open doorway. Your brain stalls for several heartbeats, before you drag your eyes upwards.

It’s Steven.

Sporting messy hair and an ill-fitting jumper, at least two sizes too large, he’s standing in front of you, hugging a fresh bouquet of flowers to his chest.

“Hiya,” he greets you with a small wave of his free hand, a besotted smile on his face as though everything in his world is just as it should be.

You blink. For a second, everything slows. You’re not sure if you’re ready to allow yourself to believe that this is real. If this is a dream, the disappointment of waking up with him not here will break you.

“I got us some breakfast,” Steven says and steps inside, clumsily closing the door behind him with the side of his shoulder, “and there were these tulips at Sainsburys. Pink, your favourite.”

He's here. Steven's actually here.

His face beams with pride as he looks up at you. “I know you said to stop getting flowers unless there’s an actual special occasion, but I thought spending the morning together after our first official sleepover is pretty special, and more importantly–”

Your stomach drops.

He doesn’t know. Steven clearly still thinks it’s the morning after. Doesn’t realise that a whole week has gone by since he spent the night here.

Putting the flowers down on your kitchen counter, he turns to face you, holding up a wax paper bag with a delighted smile.

“Et voilà! Croissants au chocolat for the lady. I’ll just pop them in the microwave real quick—I know you like them hot—and then I’ll make us some tea, yeah?”

Steven is in your home, standing in the kitchen, smiling at you and spoiling you rotten, like he hadn't just disappeared off the face of the earth for a week. Because as far as Steven's aware, he’s been here with you all night after falling asleep watching animal documentaries.

Right now, in front of you, he’s acting out the morning-after the two of you were supposed to have but a week too late, making you the breakfast he promised.

Your throat closes, and a liquid burn rises in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You can feel the threat of tears behind your eyes.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Steven drops the bag of croissants onto the counter and rushes over to you. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

“No. I just–” You take a shaky breath, trying to collect yourself.

Breaking down now won’t do either of you any good. You can’t tell him what’s wrong. Not without risking him being taken away forever.

“I’m happy you’re here," you say, trying to fake a smile.

You’re a rubbish liar. Always have been. It’s no surprise that Steven doesn’t buy it for a second.

"Those are obviously not happy tears, love. What's going on? Have I done something wrong?"

His hands draw up to cup your face, one thumb skimming gently over the single tear that’s escaped onto your cheek. He tilts your chin up until you meet his gaze, and it’s like something clicks behind those sharp eyes.

"It's because I wasn't here when you woke up, isn't it?" he asks gently.

You bite your lip. It’s such an oversimplification of what’s happened, but you don’t know how else to explain it to him, so you nod. A half-truth at best, but at least it’s only a lie by omission.

"’Course it is,” he soothes. “That would bother anyone, yeah?"

You let yourself collapse against him, hugging him tight around the middle as you bury your face in his chest. He lets out a quiet oof, but you refuse to let go and despite his obvious physical discomfort, Steven doesn't protest. He wraps his arms reassuringly around you, blanketing himself around you in comforting warmth.

“I’m sorry, I should have left a note. Don’t know why I didn’t. I was so sleep deprived that I don’t even remember leaving this morning. I must’ve thought it was only going to take a second, but the next thing I know, I’m in the dairy aisle and this lady with a stroller is looking at me funny."

One large, gentle hand smooths over your shirt at the small of your back, and you shiver pleasantly at the warmth of the doting touch.

"I'm sorry," he says again, voice soft, "I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Closing your eyes, you take a second to let the comfort of his words and his arms around you seep in. You tilt your head upwards, pressing your nose to the hollow dip of his throat, right below his Adam's apple. He smells faintly of stale air and alcohol, covered up by the unfamiliar scent of cheap hotel soap. Your chest squeezes painfully at the reminder of his double life, one that neither of you know the details of.

Even with Steven here in your arms, you cannot escape the reality that you’ll always have to share him with something you cannot understand.

You don't move, instead, you press your mouth to that same spot on his throat, feeling his pulse beat steadily against your lips.

He's here, the beat says. He's safe, he's alive.

Nuzzling into the delicate skin, you’re rewarded with a keen gasp that makes the small hairs on your neck rise. His fingers flex against your waist with that familiar trademark hesitation, before settling there, hardly even resting against you.

After all this time, it’s like he’s still scared you’re going to tell him no. As if your relationship is some kind of practical joke on him, and if he reaches for you first, you’ll laugh in his face.

He was too afraid to mention the first night in case you’d get upset. He thought you were going to break up with him when you said you two needed to talk. It’s almost funny in a macabre sort of way that Steven doesn’t realise just how deep you’re in it over him. If he only knew of the sleepless nights you’ve suffered. How you’ve been sick to your stomach over missing him. Willing to bargain with the devil just to get to keep him.

You kiss him again, trying to use his closeness to drown out all the things you can’t say. Pressing your lips to that sweet little spot where his jaw meets his throat. You do your best to savour the hint of stubble that tickles against your bottom lip.

Steven shivers and then pulls back slightly, ducking his head to close the distance between your lips. A barely there touch, then Steven’s thumb catches behind your ear, timidly guiding you closer.

That one kiss continues into several small chaste kisses, each press of his lips soft and devoted like he’s thanking you for letting him. It’s so pure, the kind of kisses that have your toes curling in delight and your ears tingling. But it’s restrained in a way that you’ve not got the patience for right now.

Not after a whole week of his absence. Not when you’ve spent those seven days unsure if you would ever get to see him again. You want so much more than this. Can’t bear the fraction of a moment when his lips are not on yours when he breaks up his kisses to allow you to catch your breath.

You want all of him all at once.

Your hand clutches at the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. His breath stutters, mouth parting slightly, and you take the opportunity to lick over the swell of his bottom lip before you bite down, trying to be gentle.

It must be the reassurance Steven needs, because he groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening. His hands dig into the plump flesh above your hips, kneading it with strong fingers, and there it is, that eagerness and hunger for you that you’re heedlessly in love with. The duality of Steven Grant. It's desperate, sweet and almost aggressive. One hand moves to grip the base of your neck, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest, eliminating the last of the physical distance between you.

It’s exactly what you need, and for a long, hot, breathless moment, you’re not thinking of anything except him. When he finally breaks off the kiss, you lean after him, chasing his lips.

“Bed?” he asks, the word a low rasp against your seeking mouth.

You nod eagerly and grab for him, recapturing his lips and giving him a tug in the right direction.

It’s clumsy and desperate as you let Steven manoeuvre the two of you through your flat. You’re blindly walking backwards, guided only by Steven’s outstretched hand fumbling against the surfaces of the wall to make sure you don’t bump into furniture.

You kiss him like you’ve been held under water, deprived of air and his beautiful mouth is oxygen filling your lungs. Every step is an uncoordinated mess that nearly has you tipping over if it wasn’t for Steven holding you upright. It’d be far easier if you only let go. Would only take seconds in your tiny flat to get from the kitchen to the bed. But you’re not willing and Steven is only happy to indulge you.

His mouth is warm and slick, hands large and firm. The warmth of his body against yours, comforting and alive. It’s all you can focus on as you forget your surroundings. Until something heavy and blunt pushes back against the inside of your calf.

The surprise makes you lose your balance. You fall backwards, the whole room tilting as you’re sent sprawling. When things stop moving, you find yourself flat on your back, less than half a foot away from your bed. You’re still staring up at Steven’s shocked face and outstretched hands when you realise what (literally) hit you.

Bloody cockblocking ottoman.

The pitched dark hunger disappears from those brown eyes in an instant. Instead they’ve gone round and doelike with concern as Steven rushes forward, falling to his knees in front of you, and draws your leg into his lap.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful and watched where we were going. Bloody stupid of me, I practically pushed you. Are you hurt?”

“It’s fine, Steven. I’m fine. You didn’t push me. It’s alright,” you tell him.

But his eyes are already darting over your lower leg, and his hands quickly follow, gingerly rubbing your ankle and feeling up over your calf with great care, making your skin prickles under his fingers. It’s a credible imitation of Florence Nightingale, but as sweet as it is to have Steven tend to you, it's not the sort of attention you want from him right now.

"Leave off the fussing, please?" you ask him softly.

“Should we–maybe I should get you on the bed yeah? You might be hurt and–”

Leaning up, you place kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, the swell of his lip, hoping to distract him. "I need you, Steven. Don't stop. I don't want to stop right now."

His eyes are still wide and worried, as his hand smooths over the bend of your knee in comfort. “You’re sure you're alright? That I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m sure.” You grab his collar and lean back, dragging him on top of you as you lie back onto the floor.

Steven follows, letting you pull him down without a hint of resistance, and clambering forward until he’s completely above you. His large frame looms over yours on the floor, thick thighs straddling your waist, and you’re reminded all over again that one of your favourite facets of Steven is how cooperative he is. Always so eager to please you, and you have zero compunction about taking advantage.

“Take this off,” you order, tugging at his jumper impatiently.

He nods hastily. “Right, right.”

Ever so good at following your orders, Steven’s hand immediately reaches for the bottom of the garment. He grabs the hem and pulls, revealing a tantalising sliver of golden skin above the waistband of his trousers. You’re so focused on the slowly widening swath of his bare stomach, that it’s not until he pauses, a clumsy snarl of fabric tangled around his head and shoulders, that you realise he’s attempted to take off his jumper and the shirt beneath all in one go and gotten himself stuck.

Honestly, you’re not even surprised. On any other occasion, you’d be smiling at his adorable ridiculousness, but it's been a week. One hundred and sixty-eight endless hours since you’ve gotten to hold him and touch him like this—uncertain if you’d ever get to—and now each additional second of delay feels like an eternity.

Finally, with another sloppy tug and an impatient groan, the tangled mess of clothing gives, and Steven’s bare-chested on top of you. He’s all strong, sleek muscles, as gorgeous and well-defined as those cut from marble on statues of Greek deities displayed in the very same museums that Steven himself tends to.

It should’ve been obvious from the start. You want to burst out in laughter at your own naivety. Why on earth would a man who works at a gift shop and spends his free time with his nose buried in dusty old books have a body like this? How has Steven never questioned his own physique? Does he think that all men just wake up looking like this without any effort?

The sun from the window shines soft over his shoulder and arms. The thin gold chain dangles from his long neck, glistening in the light. He is all warm and golden, soft for your hands to freely wander over the bare expanse of his skin.

Your hand cups the back of his neck, teasing at those ridiculously soft curls with your fingers, before scraping the base of his scalp with the gentlest strength. You’re marvelling at how prettily his eyelashes flutter and the way he sighs with a blissful shiver makes you smile.

Sliding down, your hand roams over the carved muscle of his shoulder blade, over his back, pressing a line of soft kisses on the column of his neck. They flex under your touch, as Steven keens softly and you take comfort in the fact that if there was ever proof that Steven is here with you, it’s this. The heavy weight of him on top of you. The fast beating pulse of his throat under your lips. The feel of him hardening against your belly.

Reaching for his belt, you fumble with the buckle until it finally gives with a metallic clank. Then you shove one greedy hand under the loose waistband of his trousers, slipping it into his underwear.

He’s hot and hard. Flesh smooth to your touch. Your fingers curl around the thick girth, giving him a firm, indulgent stroke, from base to blunt tip, tracing every ridge. Steven gasps and shudders at your touch, slumping forward like he’s unable to support his own weight and pressing his forehead into your collarbone with a quiet whine.

You close your eyes at the sound of it, feeling him all around you.

This is what you’ve been missing, what you’ve been desperately needing, all week. Immersing yourself in the moment—in him—as fully as possible, you draw in a deep breath and give him another stroke just to hear him make that noise again. You let his reassuring presence wash over you, try to let it convince you that he’s really here.

Wherever he’s been this last week, he’s here, right now, with you.

Then suddenly he’s not.

Out of nowhere, the protective weight and warmth of him is rising away. Alarm crowds your senses, and in a moment of instinctual panic, your hand shoots up, grabbing his arm.

"Don't go!"

You open your eyes to find Steven still right there next to you. He's frozen with one hand outstretched above the open drawer of your nightstand, a look of shocked surprise on his face.

Oh God. He wasn’t going anywhere at all, he was just getting a condom.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassed heat at the realisation.

"Sorry," you mumble, and you duck your chin, "I just–" You don't know how to explain away your massive overreaction, and guilt claws even deeper into your chest as you find yourself offering up yet another half-lie.

"I had a nightmare that you left. Disappeared, and I couldn’t find you.”

You can’t believe it’s your own voice that you’re hearing. It sounds so small. Ugly in its neediness. If this was any other man, you’re sure they’d be running for the hills by now. It’s a miracle Steven hasn’t. “It’s silly. Sorry.”

Steven frowns with sympathy, worry etched all around his beautiful eyes. "You don’t have to be sorry, love." He closes the drawer, condom in hand. Then he's leaning back down to press his lips to your hairline. “It’s not silly.”

"But hey, listen,” he murmurs, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “I’m not going anywhere, am I? No. Not except maybe down to the shops."

One warm hand comes to cup your face, and he’s looking at you with so much sincerity that it takes your breath away.

"I would never leave you. Never. Not ever, I swear. Not so long as you’ll have me.” He says it with such utter conviction that pain washes over you anew.

Because it’s not really up to Steven, is it? He may not be able to stay with you, regardless of what he wants.

“You don’t know that."

The unfairness of the situation, his powerlessness over his own life, has tears pushing hot behind your eyes.

“Then I'll come back, simple as that. No matter what happens. Even if the bloody sky falls down. Even if a fleet of flying saucers brings an army of funny little green men straight out of Mars Attacks to invade the earth tomorrow, I'll still come back to you. Always, alright? I'll always come back to you.”

The lump still sits heavily in your throat, but you choke out an amused laugh at the imagery Steven draws for you. He smiles victoriously in return. It lights the whole room, and you reach for him again, wrapping your arms around his neck because you need to pull him close and kiss him.

In this moment, you allow yourself to believe. Against all flashing red signs pointing otherwise, you choose to believe that he will keep this promise. That whatever circumstances arise, even if Marc takes him away again, Steven will always come back to you.

“Okay,” you say, with a smile stretching wide across your lips, and you can feel the dark weight lifting as you nod at him.

Steven mirrors your smile, returning your kiss and that’s all it takes before the last morsel of doubt lifts.

His hands reach down, shimmying his trousers down his ample hips. You help him, hooking your thumb at the hem to drag them down the rest of the way, and he kicks them off his ankle.

Then finally, the warmth of his bare thighs is against yours, and you both gasp. It’s fucking bliss to feel him like this. Naked and warm, pressed up against every inch of you, his weight holding you down against the floor, the length of him lying hard and heavy against your belly.

He anchors himself on one elbow, as he rips the foil wrapper, lifting off of you slightly.

You miss the contact immediately. It’s like the week apart has left you even more attuned to him, hyper-aware of all the places you’re no longer touching. You watch impatiently as he turns to one side just enough to give himself room, rolling the condom down over his cock with gratifying speed.

His hands are steady, his movements sure, nothing like that first night where both of you struggled to make sense of the stubborn rubber in the near-dark of his flat. By now, the two of you have done this often enough that Steven knows every step of the routine like the back of his hand, clumsy eagerness replaced by practised ease.

Anticipation and longing beat loud in your chest at the sight of him, eyes dark, cock in hand as he positions himself at your entrance. You reach for him, unable to stand the distance between the two of you, and he smiles fondly at you and leans down obligingly, resting his bodyweight on top of yours like a heavy blanket.

It’s fucking perfect. Exactly what you need, and your body opens for him, knees falling outward, hips canting up, heels digging into the floor as you arch up, trying to press yourself closer.

He grinds forward, the underside of his cock sliding slick and wet over your folds. Pleasure rises hot and overwhelming between your thighs at the stimulation, and an unflattering high-pitched noise escapes from the corner of your lungs. It’s like your whole body is strung on a thin line of thread. Overwhelmed by the barest contact after a week of having none. You’re not sure how you’re going to survive having him inside you when this already feels like so much. You wonder if he feels it too.

Opening your eyes, you see the boyish grin on his face, radiating with pride. He does it again, angling his hips to thrust up as the blunt head of his cock glides wetly over your clit and oh fucking–

Your hips jerk up involuntarily, pressing harder against him, and Steven gasps, eyes going wide and dark, that teasing grin wiped right off his face.

“Fuck, Steven–God. I need–” Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, and you don’t know what you’re trying to say—not sure if you want him to stop or do it again—but it doesn’t matter. You never get to finish the rest of your sentence.

The thick ridge of his cock slips wetly inside you, and the sweet stretch of him, white and blinding, crowds out every other thought in your head. Your cunt squeezes around him at the thick intrusion, and you both moan at the tight pressure.

He halts, stilling inside you, and dear fucking god, he’s not even all the way in.

“God, love. You’re squeezing me so tight,” Steven gasps out, “Feels bloody amazing.” The words are soft, but there’s a clear strain in his voice, and his arms are trembling at your sides from the exertion of keeping still.

He still doesn’t move, and you’re not sure if he needs a moment or is trying to give you one. “I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I can't be all the way inside you. Can I–”

He hovers above you, and you can feel his cock jerking and straining against you, the only part of his body he can’t fully control. You can’t help the way your body clenches and shivers in response, and he groans, resting his forehead against yours for a long moment as you pant heavily against each other’s lips.

“Is it alright for me to keep going?” he asks, eventually.

You try to say yes, but all that comes out is a breathless, choked out sob, as you nod at him frantically.

It’s all Steven needs. His hips push forward, pressing the rest of the way into you in one long, smooth stroke. The feeling is electric, robbing you of the ability to process anything except the way he fills you, stretching you out as he buries every inch of himself inside you. You can’t think. Can barely breathe. He’s embedded so deeply that there’s no space left in your lungs.

After a long moment, he starts to pull out just as slowly, his eyes fixed on yours. The pace is maddening, a thick, glacial drag that makes you feel every gorgeous inch of him. It leaves you gasping and writhing under him as he continues to retreat until only the tip still rests inside of you.

Then he does it all again.

He’s so different when he’s like this. His eyes focused, any trace of timidness gone. Everything else, all his usual hesitation and fear and doubt, seems to fade away when he’s inside you. It’s like you’re the only thing in his world—you and the need to make you feel good.

Drawing two of his fingers to his mouth, he slides them between his plush lips, and you can see his tongue tracing around them before he pulls them out again, glistening with spit for you. It’s entirely unnecessary. You’re so wet it’s leaking down the length of him and onto the inside of your thighs. But the sight makes your heart race all the same.

Steven reaches down between your bodies, hand resting above the apex of your thighs where his cock is still nestled inside you. His fingers slide, ever so gently over the slippery, sensitive flesh where you’re stretched wide around him.

“Feel that, love?” he breathes into your open mouth, “I’m right here. You’ve got me.”

His thumb catches at your clit as he gently presses down, and it has you spasming from the sharp pleasure. He gasps, jerking slightly above you, but doesn’t stop.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He continues to draws small, persistent circles over and over your clit that squeezes the very air out of your lungs, replacing everything, with a needy heat.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation. Tears stinging in the corner of your lids.

It’s still not enough. You want more of him. Need to get closer.

You press your heels hard against the floor, trying to get better leverage, and grip frantically at his back. Nails biting into his skin, you claw at his shoulder blades as though you’re trying to dig your way in so deep that he’ll never be able to tear himself away from you again. It’s selfish, and you know it must be hurting him, but you can’t seem to be able to stop yourself.

Steven doesn’t stop you either. It’s like he knows that you still need more, and he rolls his hips into you, thrusting deep. His hand grips at the underside of your knees, pulling your legs to wrap them around his waist to let you squeeze your thighs around him, heels digging into the curve of his ass.

It feels like another way of telling you he’s here. Yours to use. Yours to have. Just… yours.

“Never gonna leave,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the lobe as if to seal his promise.

Right now you don’t care if it’s a promise that he might not be able to keep. Not when pleasure, bright and blistering, is surging through you with every roll of his hips. It’s too much, bordering on unbearable. You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, just soft murmurs and vague shushing.

It doesn’t matter, because his body is telling you all you need to know.

Because for all of Steven’s calm and reassuring words, his actions don’t match. His actions are telling you a different story—a more desperate one—full of grasping hands, deep urgent thrusts, and bitten-off gasps. It’s like his body knows how long you’ve been apart and what it’s been missing, even if his mind doesn’t.

His hand palms at your ribs, fingers digging deep crevices in your flesh, holding you tight like he means never to let go.

Mine, it says. Possessive and hungry.

His mouth, for all its loving dulcet tones and cooing, never seems to leave your skin for long, sliding over your throat and jaw as if magnetised.

Yours, it promises, just as certainly.

He thrusts inside you, his hands find the bare backs of your thighs as he hooks one leg over his arm, and the new angle has him sliding in impossibly deep until it knocks the air out of your ribs. For a long blissful moment, you swear your whole chest cage is going to collapse.

His cock hits somewhere earth-shattering, and you arch up off the floor, curling into him with a shivering gasp. Heat crackles through every limb, swirling and swelling, sweet and insistent in anticipation of your climax. It settles deep in your belly, raw and heavy, soothed only by each insistent thrust.

He’s so deep you swear you feel him everywhere, buried inside you like he’s trying to stake a claim and never leave.

You hope he never does.

Pushing your hips up to him, you chase the feeling of him hitting that perfect spot, as the warm heat of it flutters in your stomach with each deep stroke. It won’t take much, you’re almost there–

But you don’t want this to end. Not yet. You want to keep Steven right here inside of you for as long as you possibly can.

You try to relax the tension in your legs, try to push your hips back down to stave it off. But it’s no good, Steven’s hands are still on you, manhandling you into a position where you can’t escape the perfect, relentless press of his cock inside you.

Not yet, not yet, not yet…

But it’s already there, at the tip of your fingers, so close you can taste it on your tongue. A promise of rapture, whether you want it to or not, and you want to scream and cry and fight the sensation that taunts you as it hangs there. But you can’t seem to do any of those things. It’s like you’ve lost control of your body, your hips lock tight, your throat feels tight and– fuck fuck, you’re–

“Steven, please. Not yet, I’m–” Your eyes squeeze shut, hands clawing at the carpet, searching for something to ground yourself with.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmurs, hand reaching for yours until he finds it and pins it next to your head. He clasps your hand tightly in his, weaving each one of his fingers between yours. “Right here. It’s alright. Let go for me.”

That’s all it takes. The floor underneath gives under, opening up and swallowing you whole. You feel like you’re floating and falling all at once as you clamour for Steven and hold him close as you fall through the cracks off the edge of the earth.

Your legs latch around the middle of his waist as you wring out every ounce and drop of the sensation you can. It rushes through you, ripe and overfull, filling every strand of every vein. You’re disorientated, the world narrowing into nothingness. The only thing that still exists is Steven.

All you can hear is the way his breath is stuttering with effort.

Can feel the way his even pace falters. Can see the way his brows knit in concentration, his face painted with bliss.

God, he’s beautiful like this.

Steven comes with a broken groan.

It’s so much and so deep and somehow you still want more. Want the feel of him raw and bare inside. Even that thin separation of not even a millimetre of rubber is too great of a separator for you to bear right now. All you want is to feel him spill himself inside you, thick and warm.

His body goes still and rigid, and then the strength in him gives under, nearly collapsing over you. He stops himself at the last second with a slam of his fist on the floor next to you, bent arms trembling with strain in an effort to keep himself upright.

It’s a sweet and considerate gesture. He doesn’t want to flatten you with his weight. It’s also completely unnecessary because there’s nothing you want more in this moment.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down the rest of the way. It doesn’t take much of your strength, his elbow gives in and bends further, until he’s flush against you, sweaty and heavy limbs entangling with yours.

Despite the unbearable stickiness and heat from your exertion, Steven holds you, chest still heaving against yours. His thin necklace slips delicately down over your collarbone, cool where it rests against your overheated skin. The golden pendant is pressed intimately between your breast and his chest.

The morning sun washes over everything inside your flat in a golden hue. Even the dull white of your walls turns into something warm and amber. The only sound permeating the peace is the sound of morning traffic outside. A busted old moped races down the street. Children shouting over a game of tag. The honking of cars trying to get somewhere fast. Outside it is loud, hectic and chaotic.

But right here, inside the safe bubble of your tiny flat, Steven is warm and heavy over you, the beat of his heart drumming against your chest in a steady pace.

“Can we stay like this for a while?” you ask.

He kisses your forehead, uncaring of the way your skin is sticky with sweat, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he squeezes your hand firmly in his.

“‘Course we can, love. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

~ CONTINUE ~

Once again thanks for everyone coming along for this ride. We're hoping to be posting this on a semi-regular schedule of every two weeks. For anyone who wants to be tagged please sign up to the tag list linked on the series masterlist.

We are beyond grateful for all the comments, reblogs and likes and just interest on this series, and while I can be a bit rubbish at replying sometimes, please know that your words and support inspires us to keep going with this series. 🥰

Dedication & Credits:

It takes a village huh, guys?

All my broken dishes to @the-ginger-hedge-witch because when I told her I wanted Steven to get to rawdog it, she went, "absolutely not, not when Marc is out there whoring around for all we know." (I may or may not be rephrasing but that was the sentiment).

To @radiowallet for listening to my insane and uninformed ramblings about Moon Knight and for giving me a firm guide and steering on how to write our beloved Moon Boys and making sure that everything tracks.

To @write-and-buried for inspiring me with the most absolutely deranged filthy suggestions when my smut inspiration well runs dry. I got really stuck in the sex scene for this one when I decided to in the 11th hour add a sex scene because "it felt right" then proceeding to panic cause I forgot how to write smut and she got me back on track.

And always and forever to my co-writer @thirstworldproblemss who had stayed up endless nights with me discussing the finer details of how twitchy a cock should be, how much it should leak. This series would not exist without her, she turns the rubbish I write into diamonds, she goes through every sentence once-twice-three times and she is always responsible for the best lines in every chapter, her voice for Steven is unparalleled, and I find myself falling more and more in love with this world because of her. I would not be writing this story, and most likely, at all, if it weren't for her and our friendship.

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fortunatelyangrycheesecake

1 year ago

Thank You

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x FemPresenting!Reader

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's (Movie)

Summary: You're Abby's babysitter. Mike comes home one night. Things ensue.

Warnings: SMUT, Cursing, Mommy kink, Choking kink, a smidgen of spit kink, enjoy

*******

He would really only ever say those two words to you. You were a light sleeper, so him opening the door would always wake you. Once he noticed that you were awake, he would bid you "Thank you," and you would leave.

That night, however, when he came home, he walked straight over to the dining room table and set down his things without uttering a word. He leaned on the piece of furniture and his head dipped down, seemingly in defeat.

"I still can't pay you," he informed, his voice strained. Something told you he was holding back tears.

It wasn't much, but at least it wasn't two words. "What made you think I was ever in this for the money?"

"Then why would you do this?!" Mike suddenly turned to you and whisper-yelled. You knew he didn't want to wake up his sister.

In response to him taking out his frustration on you, you just tilted your head. You had the most sympathetic look on your face. You didn't say any words, you merely walked over to him.

Mike tried backing away from you, but he ran into the table.

You simply put your hands on his arms. Your face was serene.

He could scarcely breathe.

"Why do you think I do this?"

You leaned in, but , surprisingly, Mike met you halfway. He seemed so eager to finally kiss you.

The two of you stood there for some time, making out in the dimly lit main room of the Schmidt residence. You wrapped your arms around his neck while Mike's hands held a white-knuckle grip on the table.

It didn't surprise you when Mike pulled back. "We-we shouldn't be doing this."

"Why's that?"

"Because Abby's asleep right down the hall!" he whispered, "Plus, you're like-like my-"

You raised your eyebrows at him. "Your what? Employee? We've just established that you don't pay me, so I think we're good on that front, and as for your sister..." you paused and leaned in close to his ear.

Mike had a sharp intake of breath as you did that.

"I guess we'll just need to be quiet, huh?"

With that, you took him by the hand and started leading him back to his bedroom. Mike followed you like the good boy he was.

In no time, you had Mike stripped down and in bed with you seated on top of him, naked as well.

There was a sound, and Mike shot up, thinking it was his sister.

"It was just the house settling, okay?" You looked at him with dreamy eyes. "Relax."

Slowly, Mike nodded and laid back down.

"You ready?"

Again, all you got was a nod.

"I'm going to need a bit more than that, if we're going to do this," you only half-joked.

Surprising you, Mike felt up your legs as his eyes slowly trailed up your body. "I want you...so bad." He announced every word with emphasis.

You gave a breathy chuckle at his compliance, lifted yourself, then lowered yourself down on his hard length.

While you just sighed, Mike whimpered, the quiet sound getting loudest when you fully sat on him. He took handfuls of your thighs for support.

"Remember what we said about the volume?" you teased.

"Sorry." The words came out strained as his eyelids were shut.

"Ah, ah, ah." You gave a light slap to his cheek. "Be a good boy and keep your eyes on Mommy."

"Fuck," Mike gasped. You also felt his cock jump at your words.

Smirking at his reaction, you leaned over him and started slightly riding his dick. "What? You like that?"

"Oh, god." Mike's body tensed as you started to ride him and struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You like me calling you good boy? Or was it the part about...Mommy?"

"Mommy!" Mike shuddered as your hole squeezed him.

"That's my good boy," you smiled. You took some time to enjoy the ride yourself as you placed your hands on your feet and leaned back. Some time later, you returned your posture to find that Michael's eyes had slid shut again. "What did I say?" You fell forward and caught yourself with one hand on the bed and the other around Mike's throat.

The shock surely opened his eyes for good. "Sorry! I'm sorry...sorry...sorry."

"You better be," you spat. Quite literally. Into his mouth. Well, most of it the corner of his mouth.

That didn't seem to matter to Mike. He licked the remaining spit into his mouth while keeping full eye contact with you.

"Good boy..." you smirked again, and, with one final squeeze, started to let go of Mike's throat.

However, he disagreed with that action. "No!" he whisper-yelled, and grabbed your wrist to keep you in place. "I-fuck-I love this."

Your smirk grew teeth as you smiled down at Michael Schmidt, submissive and pliant to your touch.

"Shit. I think I'm...close," Mike informed between breaths.

You raised an eyebrow. "Well then, you'll have to hold on 'cause I'm not there yet. Anything you want to do about that?"

Those words had Mike frantically nodding. Suddenly, he was rolling on top of you. You took your hand off his neck. Mike was determined to get you to cum before he did, and my god was he good.

Your eyes lulled back as he pounded into you. Another smile appeared on your lips. When you returned to look at him, you realized Mike had kept his gaze steady on you the whole time. Quickly, however, his facade broke and his head fell down onto your shoulder. "Mommy..." he whined out.

You decided to forgive the transgression as you threaded fingers into his hair and whispered into his ear. "I'm close now, too, baby."

That seemed to renew his vigor because he moved to face you again. Mike also put your hand back around his throat.

You squeezed him for good measure. Up top and down under. His reaction got you to smile, but that smile faded as you felt the pressure building up inside you. You flipped you and Mike so you were back on top.

There, you kept your faces close, but launched your head back when you came. Eventually, you fell back down onto Mike's shoulder. You stayed like that for a moment until--

"Mom-my-?" came the broken up voice of Mike.

"Did Mommy forget to let her good boy cum?" You returned to your spot above him.

Again, Mike was nodding frantically.

You leaned back down to whisper in his ear, "Go ahead. You've more than earned it."

Immediately, Mike sped up his thrusts. His breathing got faster, too. He grabbed your arm that was supporting your weight, and your wrist whose hand was squeezing his neck and Mike came with a shout. Both you and Mike covered his mouth after the loud sound. He thrusted a few more times into you as he completed his orgasm.

You and Mike stayed still for a minute or so after that; half relishing in the post-sex atmosphere, and half praying that Abby didn't walk in.

Thank god, she didn't.

So, you pulled off of Mike, and the two of you got yourselves cleaned up.

"You can stay, if you want to," Mike offered, standing next to his bed.

You walked up to him, put your hand on his chest, and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I would love that."

Somehow, the two of you made it work on Mike's twin bed. You were halfway on top of him, but you weren't complaining.

Finally, as you and Mike were falling asleep, you heard two words, mumbled out by Mike, "Thank you."

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

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fortunatelyangrycheesecake

5 months ago

SUCCESSION (2018-2023) S3 E3 / CHALLENGERS (2024) / ARCANE (2021-2024) S2 E1

SUCCESSION (2018-2023) S3 E3 / CHALLENGERS (2024) / ARCANE (2021-2024) S2 E1

901 notes View Post

fortunatelyangrycheesecake

6 months ago

Can you do that for me?

Pairings: ruined!Jayce x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

Wordcount: 4.2 k

Warnings: Some canon stuff (beware spoilers), pinv sex, angst, fluff, fingering, slight handjob, choking, biting, creampie, doggy, missionary, cowgirl (a lot of positions), sub/dom/switch!Jayce, power struggle, fight for dominance, praise (f and m recieving), spanking, overstimulation, "I love you", difficult feelings, hot depraved Jayce.

AN: Not proofread, I intend to make a few changes to it later but wanted to get it out. Might be spelling mistakes. I tried to fit a bit of everything into this. ENJOY GIRLIES🎀

Having pulled the curtains aside, a vigilant man inspects the dark streets below. "He's almost here, ma'am," the man says, eyes following the subject. There's a slight stiffnes to his stance, as if he's readying himself for a fight. "What do you want us to do?"

"Let him in," she smiles at him faintly, attempting to reassure the large man before returning to her paperwork. "Dont give him trouble, there's nothing to fear."

The guard nods slowly and crosses the room to leave, he knows she's right. Yet, he stays in the doorway, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.

Warm light creeps in through the entryway, contrasting the faint light that Zauns streetlights provide for her otherwise gloomy office.

Noticing how the strong wash of light remains, she looks up at her guard to find another question lingering on his lips. "I've know you long enough to tell when something ails you." She leans back in her chair.

He catches her gaze reluctantly, facing away before he speaks. The man clears his throat, he knows he's crossing a line. "He's trouble, if you ask me. The boys and I-"

The woman pulls her glasses of and sighs, done with her work for the evening. "Im a big girl, I can handle myself."

The guard leans against the doorway and shrugs in reluctant recognition. "We're worried for you, ma'am-" but catching himself on his words, his hands gesture to remedy his meaning. "Respectfully, of course," he ads quickly, aversed to insult his employer.

The woman stands slowly, walking around her crammed desk to casually prop herself next to him. "I know," she reassures, placing a soft hand on his chest. "But I'll be fine, send him in."

The large man huffs. "We'll be outside then," he begins, but as the next words begin to form on his tongue, he decides against it, solely out of trust for his employer. If he could, he would've added 'when you need us'.

She doesnt doubt it, nor does she take offence. They're a tight knit family down here, she cares for them as much as they do her. But this would be an interaction no family member should hear. "That won't be necessary, keep to the foyer . . . Now go," she hurries him, careful to keep an understanding smile on her lips lest he changes his mind.

With a heavy breath and one last glance, the guard reluctantly closes the door and heavy footsteps recede.

She sighs, moving to brace her hands against the desktop and preparing herself for whats to come, for what she suspects.

She lights the lantern on her desk and waits. Only a moment later the same warm light creeps into the room. She twitches, unprepared for his arrival inspite of her efforts as the squeaking door slices through the eerily silent space.

In her peripheral, a fallen man stands. He's tired and dirty. Cut up and run down. There's a moment of contemplation between her and the newcomer, she does not move and neither does he. It's been a long time.

Squeak, thump, click . . . Pause. He's locked the door. A heavy thud between metal and wood sounds next, there's a faint sound of coarse skin sliding along fine metal before the familiar vibrations of hextech dies out.

All that exists between them now is heavy breathing in two parts, laboring against their own minds and bodies.

The floorboards begin to creek, irregularly, as if the weight placed upon them has not yet decided it's course of action. She grips the desktop harder, fingernails burrying into fine wood. She can only guess why he has come. "It's Viktor, isn't it?" She breathes, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

She gets no response, the only answer she recieves is the creeking of floorboards as the uncertain weight shifts back and forth. But that is all the answer she needs.

Having seamingly made up his mind, determined footsteps approach her in a sudden haste. Srong arms wrap around her body, pulling her toward a hard chest in a tight, tight embrace. His head collides with her shoulderblade as he burries his face in her scent. Muffled by her body, strained breaths blow welcome warmth onto her skin.

"What's happened?" She whispers, not entirely sure she wants the answer for she can smell him now. Metal and gunpowder. But it's not the type raw metal used for smithing or creating, it's not the metal she's used to. No, this is pungent, corporeal. It's blood. "Jayce, please . . . " She begins, 'talk to me' her lips shape, but no sound comes out. Unable to muster the strength.

"Cant- I cant . . . talk about it. Not now, not yet," he manages, voice rough as if he has fought and damp breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "I just . . . Needed you. I need you."

A strong hand slides higher, knuckles intently brushing the underside of her breast. "Can't think anymore."

And inspite of her better judgement. "Ok," she agrees, whispering, as if her consience wouldnt be able to hear. She's missed him, worried for him. So, her body betrays her.

Laying her hand on top of his, she guides him over the hill of her breast.

His breath hitches while his other hand move downward, tracing her ribs, down her waist, stopping on her thigh and squeezing tenderly. Soft flesh dimpling beneath the force of strong fingers. "I've been lost, " his voice breaks. "Missed you." His hands slide further down to slither under the slit in her dress.

"No feelings right now, Jayce . . . Please, just-"

Two fingers slip inside of her and she gasps. "No feelings," he assures, placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Good, good . . . " she moans.

While massaging her breast his thumb finds her clit and tongue her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the crook of her neck. Her body grows to weak to hold itself upright so she puts her weight on her arms. Noticing, he holds her tighter and pushes her weight against the desk. "Already?" He whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear as his fingers steadily thrusts in and out of her. "You're making it too easy for me."

A breathless chuckle leaves her, crammed between heavy groans. "You work with your hands . . . Mmmh, unfair advantage."

He bites her earlobe, tugging, teasing. "So do you, if I remember correctly." A grin twists her lips as her hand reaches between them and palms his enlarged bulge. He hisses as she begins to stroke it, heat immedietly surfacing as the friction between fabric and skin grows. "Mhhg, that's what I thought," he groans. "Good girl."

He pushes a third finger inside off her, curling them at just the right angle.

"Fuck!" Her free hand curls into a fist, joints having nothing better to do than occupy themselves in anyway they can. He puts more focus on her clit, rubbing dutyful circles into and and finally pushes her over the edge. "Mhh, shit-"

His fingers slow down as she hits her high, gently leading her through it as he supports her weight. "Just breathe, that's right . . . "

Her breathing has become a mixture of moans and wheezes, the pleasure stimulating every nerve in her body. "Did you . . . ?" She asks, suddenly remember her hand on his clothed member.

"No," he whispers and kisses her temple. "Theres time." He tries to turn her around. But fear grips her. "No-" she stops him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself in place. Seeing the changes up close would make them real, would make whatever he has come from, real. "I can't look at you . . . not yet." She reaches over her shoulder to cup his jaw, and just like that, their bubble of reminiscence bursts. They arent colleagues anymore and havent been for a long time. Nor is their third party longer there to rationalise with them. A shrap jab strikes her heart. "Give me time, and just," her other hand reaches behind her, grabbing the fabric on his hip to pull him closer, pressing his erection against the curve of her ass. "Like this for now, Jayce. Please . . ."

His head lulls against her back, pushing his forehead firmly into her spine whilst releasing a big, shaky breath. She can feel him bare his teeth, silently working through the consequences of his actions.

He doesn't answer, he only obeys.

It goes silent for a short moment, until the warmth on her hips disappear and the metal clanging of a belt buckle sounds behind her.

Quickly, one hand returns to her thigh to pull her dress over her ass.

"Dont hold back," she says.

There's a pause in his movements. "Are you certain?"

She nods and he wastes no time. Pushing himself against her, his knees spread her legs efficiently, just liked they've practiced many times before. With mo further warning, he sinks into her. One hand crossing over her waist as the other grabs her shoulder, then sets a ruthless pace.

Somehow she knows he needs to get this out of him, the pent of fury and need. But she doesnt complain, he always knew what he was doing.

The sound of slapping fills her office, while the lewd squelching from her previous orgasm further spurs them on. He bends over her, changing his grip. Fingers snaking around her throat as his knee and free hand work together to fish one of her legs onto the desk, hitting her deeper, harder. His thrusts are no longer about speed, but of that one special little spot.

He puts pressure on her throat, almost painstakingly so. But it feels heavenly and she wouldn't have it any other way.

With each rut, his members perfectly fills her. His face is next to hers and he kisses had bites around her neck and ear, making sure she knows how good he makes her fell by grunting and moaning right into her ear. It makes that pulsing in her core worse, and he seems to notice.

"Yeah, you like that?" He groans, kissing her soft skin right behind the ear.

"Mmmhmm," she hums, voice vibrating with the bumping of their bodies. Doing her best to keep silent, afraid that one of her guards suddenly decides to check up on her.

"Let me hear you, use your words," he breathes, flexing the fingers around her throat and biting her shoulder.

"Fuck-" her knuckles and nails take turns in destroying her desk, scratching and denting the expensive wood grain. "I like making you, mmh . . . feel good." She manages, words stuttering between thrusts.

He gently pulls on her ear with his teeth. "Good," he whispers, then releases her throat and places his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her against the desktop.

Slap. His hands comes down on her ass, then gripping the plump flesh hard to lessen some of the stinging. A jolt of electricity shoots through her and her insides clench arouns him.

Jayce whimpers from the sudden, godlike pleasure. "Wanna hear you, honey, don't be shy." His hand comes down again, harder this time.

She squeezes around him, nerves on fire as she feels her second climax building up inside her. She moans as tears run down her face, happy pleasurable tears only Jayce has been able to produce.

"That's it . . ." He slaps her ass a third time, and the wall inside her core crumbles. With a whimper, she comes. "You did so good, lovely, im almost there," he assures her. Tears stream down her face as his thrusts grow irregular, but continues to pleasure her body. "Fuck," she cries, squirming from the drawl iut orgasm. One hand holds her steady at the hip while the other slides up her back, rubbing her tender body until he brushes away stray hair from her profile.

"Hold on a little longer, just breathe, baby," he comforts her, such a stark contrast to the rough thrusts he's been dealing her body. Her fingers are jittery from the overstimulation, they aached to touch him, pull his hair, anything. But she cannot reach, so she presses her palms against the table to keep them occupied.

As he sees her tear streaked face, one last blow lands on her ass and he too, comes. He collapses on top of her, they attempt to regain their strength as their sweaty bodies lie flush against eachother.

After a few moments of breathing heavily together, Jayce wraps an arm around her torso and splays his hand over her rips, pulling her with him as he straightens out.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns around. Hands finding his face, guiding her lips to his.

"Please look at me, my beautiful girl. Look at me," he pleads, murmuring the words against her lips.

She opens her eyes and his breath hitches. Yellow, brown irises meet her won. They're the exact same ones she knew not too long ago. Except . . . Haunted.

His fingers brush along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. She winces at the soft touch and his brows furrow in confusion.

Capturing her chin, he tilts her head back.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she whispers, assuring him as she sees his expression. Pure shock animates them.

"I don't-" his fingers trace the red marks running around her throat and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. "Im so sorry." He falls to his knees, hands resting against her chins as he hides his face between them. "I don't know-" he chokes and kisses her legs with remorse. He pecks her delicately, trailing his lips over her knees and up her thighs, hands following behind, tracing the outside of her legs until they reach her waist and encircle her. He hugs her tightly, knees sore against the hard wood. "Im not right," he breathes, head lulling into her lap. She can feel wetness coating her skin, running between her thighs.

She exhales heavily and slides down the desk until the hard wooden floor welcomes her thighs.

They stay like this for a good long while, she's in no rush and neither is he. Over and over again, her fingers comb through his overgrown and unpreened hair while the sensation of his seed drips out of her. Sharp nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck, they trace his bonestructure and play with its halls and valleys. The back of her fingers caress the length of his nose and sharpness of his cheekbone.

All the while Jayce lays wordless, occasionally squeezing her thighs, her hips. Occasionally trailing featherlight touches along her legs, watching with wonder how goosebumps rise and fall.

She chuckles beneath her breath. It's the same expression he used to get when making progress in the lap, just like when they first cracked the hextech runes. "Jayce," she says, attempting to grab his attention.

Crouching beneath her, he looks up from her lap, chin resting on the softness of her flesh. His face glistens and eyes plead. He looks at her with fatigue, wordlessly asking for her forgiveness.

"What happened?" She asks, her voice soft but words demanding. She's not getting dersuled this time, she needs answers.

He shakes his head, reluctantly drawing his lips into a thin line as he breaks away from her gaze.

Her eyebrows twist together. "What have you done?" She asks, anger laces her tone now. But he closes his eyes, the corners of his eyes gleaming again. The fingers burried in his hair curl into a fist and she pulls his head back, forcing him look at her. "What. Have. You. Done?"

His eyes shift between hers, uncertain, unwilling. "He's gone . . . " He begins. "I had to, I had to–the hexcore, it was poisoning him, spreading like a disease." His voice is coarse. "I had to stop him, there was no other choice."

Her eyes grow. Viktor . . . Gone? She could only assume when Jayce suddenly pays her a visit, but never dared believe.

"I never ment to leave you," he says, hand reaching out to grab her waist. "You have to believe me." He rouches the fabric at the waist, white knuckling it out of desperation for an ounce of u derstanding. "Hextech isnt what we thought it was, not anymore. Viktor couldnt see it, he was infecting the undercity, it would've spread to Piltover, the rest of the world if I didn't stop him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "But he was saving them, freeing them of shimmer."

"No . . . they weren't themselves anymore. I've been away, lost. I've seen–" She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. "The hexcore mutates them, changes them. I had to stop him. It, the core."

Her eyes drift the Jayce's hammer posted by the door. "Like your hammer?" She studies the now misshapen weapon, once crafted with obsessive precision. Her eyes drift lower along the neck and over its face, blood splatter.

She looks away, closing her eyes to recollect herself. Remembering to strongly the smell of blood Jayce had arrived with.

"Yes," he says. "Like I did." His hand reaches up to loosely cup her face. She notices how the crystal from his old bracelet has fused with his skin. Her fingers run along his arm and slides along the crystal, feeling it, inspecting it. "I didn't chose this," he murmurs. "I didn't chose to leave you . . . I love you." His hand falls back to his side.

She's taken aback. Its not something they've said before, not while still partners, not before all of, this . . . But despite herself, she believes him. They were colleagues for a long time and affection had always kept them together. He wouldn't hurt Viktor without reason.

With hooded eyes and parted lips, he studies her, waiting for her judgement.

"You had to," she nods, seamingly decided.

Relief and disappointment floods his face all at once. He'd expected an 'I love you' back.

She leans in, kissing him for the first time since he disappeared. Finally reunited. "We'll get through this, ok?" her voice is uncertain, what's happened has not been fully processed.

"Ok," he agrees and straightens his back, carefully placing small kisses along her abdomen as he does so, afraid he'll scare her away. "I've missed you so damn much." He levels his head with hers, meeting her gaze head on.

"I've missed you too," she responds. "But I need you now, Jayce. Can you do that for me?" She places a soft kiss on his lips.

"Certainly," he murmurs against them.

She stands, slinding his hand into hers and leads him to the bed. With his back to the bed, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him into sitting at the edge of the bed.

One leg over the other, she straddles him, standing on her knees so he has to look up at her. His she brushes the hair away from his eyes and lowers her lips to ghost over his. Their scared and quivering, needy to be on hers.

His hands slide up her sides and curves around her back, coming to rest in the arch above her ass. Gently, he massages circles into her skin, tickling her intentionaly.

She squirms beneath his touch, luring a satisfied grin from him. "You look good like this." Her fingers run through his beard, tracing his new scars. "Dangerous." Reaching down between them and into his pants, she pulls Jayce's member free and lowers herself just enough to tease his tip.

With a hiss, he locks his thumb over her hipbones and wanting to guide her onto him.

She shakes her head, a smirk playing in the corner of her lips. "My turn," she whispers and pull the straps of her dress down, letting it gather at her hips. Jayce's eyes immeidetly fall as his hands slide up her ribs with a specific destination in mind. "Dont touch," she warns. "Now look at me, Jayce." Her chest is inches from his face, but unallowed to look and unable to touch, his eyes appear like that of a wounded stag.

Her nimble fingers work on the buttons of his shirt and quickly slides it off of his shoulders. "Ive missed this," she purs, dragging a finger down his torso, her nail leaving a white scratched up mark behind it. "But this is new," she refers to the chest hair she's never seen before. "I like that, too." Her lips meet his jaw as she leaves kisses all the way down to his collarbone and shoulder. Her continues down his abdomen and below his v-line, then there's a sharp intake of breath as she stokes his member, circling the leaking pre-cum around his tip.

"Devil woman," he groans, but there's a twisted smile to his lips.

She returns it and takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely as if wanting to prove his point and oh, how she revels in the desperation on his face.

Her gaze fixes on his hands, clenching and unclencing in his lap, knuckles white from the strain. She bites her lip. "You look good like this," she repeats. "All, fallen apart . . . " She steps closer, placing herself between his legs. "Bloody and broken."

Never has he taken his eyes off of hers, and as she lowers herself onto his lap once more, she finds his member and lines him up. And finally, she sinks onto his thick inches. Still, he does not touch her. There is only a desperate whimper leaving his lips at the much needed pressure. Obedient, or respcetful? Either way, he deserves his praise. "Good boy. Now, touch me," she whispers and topple them over.

He twitches inside her at the words, but before she can react he's upon her. Fitting one breast into his mouth and the other in his hand, he licks and spits and squeezes. Sucking the entierty of her tender, plush flesh into his mouth.

"Ooh," she braces herself, strings of pleasure and heavy breaths return to them. "You liked that didn't you, pretty boy?" All she gets in response is humming between the lewd, obscene slurping.

Alright, then. Putting a hand on his chest for support, she begins to move, rocking back and forth just watching his expression of pleased torture.

Moving his hands to her hips, lips tear free from her breast for some much needed air, only to replace them upon her lips and kiss her with fervour.

She sits up, getting a better vantage and he follows not long thereafter. Unable to sit by and let her do the work. Leaning back on one hand and wrapping the other around her back, he helps her rut against him while he can't softly thrust up to meet her. "Fuck me- Jayce . . . " She gasps, hardly able to get enough air to moan.

He grins against her lips, sharing their breaths. "You liked that didn't you, pretty girl?" He mocks her.

She laughs breathlessly and digs her nails into his biceps. "Naughty," she murmurs and bites his lip, drawing blood. Again, she feels his member twitch amidst all the rocking between them. Their eyes meet and share a knowing glance. She cocks an eyebrow, he blushes. "That's what I thought," she smirks. It's her win, for now.

Unable to let it slide, Jayce takes the reigns. Flipping them over, he pins her beneath him without missing a single thrust. Amidst the confusion, he interlocks their fingers and pulls her arms above her head, stretching her out and limiting her movement.

She squirms against his restrains, testing the limits but he's rock solid. With her legs around his waist, he thrust perfectly into her and she cant help but roll her hips. She can feel the knot tightening in her core and she furrows her brows with displeasure. Missionary always did her in, he'll win. "Unfair," she moans, throwing her head back as waves of pleasure wash over her with every movement of his hips.

He moves one pair of their locked hands down so ha can stroke her throat with his thumb, placing soft kisses on the damage he caused.

His tenderness alone could cause her to crumble. "Put your back into it at least," she whines, realising she only had her pettiness left. Being beneath him, in his control feels way better than any win she could earn.

A breathless chuckle leaves him. "Yes, ma'am," he grunts, releases her and pulls out before he hooks her legs over his shoulders and thrusts back in. Hands finally free, she cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss concealing the cries bubbling up in her throat. For as it stands, he moves expertly and he's deeper–better than any man ever has been. "Fuck me-"

He smirks. "Tell me I'm good, again . . . " Shes uncertain if this is his ego talking or- "Please, please tell me im good," he whimpers, kissing her inbetween every word.

Without warning her third orgasm washes over her, back arching and nails digging into Jayce's cheeks. "You're so good to me," she sobs. "Such a good boy."

His thrusts falter and then he too, comes. Filling her with his seed, once again.

With shaking limbs he falls to her side, one arm draped over her chest. Both breathing heavily as they regain their senses.

"You win," ge admits and kisses her temple.

Yes she does. "I love you, too," she smiles, heart and teeth achingly sweet.

3K notes View Post

fortunatelyangrycheesecake

4 years ago

LEVI WAS IN FULL GEAR AND DOESN'T SEEM TO HAVE ANY INTENTION OF STEPPING INTO THE WATER OR GET CLOSE TO IT

BUT HANJI MANAGES TO MAKE HIM STEP INTO THE WATER AND IT SEEMS LIKE HE DOESN'T EVEN MIND THAT HANJI WAS CLINGING TO HIM

466 notes View Post

fortunatelyangrycheesecake

4 years ago

okay i have seen so many superwholock posts about how they’re the ‘crazy fandom’ and like ????? have you even met the snk fandom because

(they cosplay bungee jump like good luck topping that)

yeah ur faves could never bye

34K notes View Post

fortunatelyangrycheesecake

4 years ago

RivaHan/LeviHan ♥

616 notes View Post

fortunatelyangrycheesecake

6 months ago

Levi's regrets in manga 136 - LeviHan's IF

*

This is a manga analysis. Levi and Hange's dynamics in the animation and the manga differ drastically.

If you believe there is more to their story as well as their individual character development than meet the eye, I highly advise you to ditch the animation for the manga. With all due respect to Mappa, but the final season erases almost every romantic hint between Levi and Hange, along with the twists in their story arcs.

Please brace for a ride. LeviHan in the manga is as complex as it is captivating. The complexity is further muddled with sloppy translations. I will provide the original Japanese versions of key lines where necessary.

*

Previously, before the forest scene, Levi was bent on killing Zeke to avenge his fallen comrades, fulfilling his oath to Erwin.

The first time Zeke escaped, Levi reaffirmed his oath to Erwin on the rooftop, and laid Erwin to rest.

The second time Zeke escaped, Levi was severely injured, and Hange came to his rescue.

Hange held Levi to her chest, jumped into the river and fled to a forest.

Levi's Regrets In Manga 136 - LeviHan's IF

*

Let's begin with the forest scene in chapter 126. It is a turning point in Levi's oath arc.

Levi was already awake when Hange attended to his injury. In an intimate moment, he cracked open his good eye to look at her when she wasn't aware.

He was quietly listening to Hange, as he always did.

Hange speculated that Zeke planned to use Eren's Titan power to inflict catastrophe. Later, on the aircraft, Levi told Pieck that killing Zeke might end the Rumbling. The Rumbling did cease briefly after he chopped off Zeke's head.

Hange was also concerned about their fate as the last two veterans of Survey Corps. The only option for survival seemed to be running away and abandoning their duties.

Lastly, and most importantly, unaware that he was listening to her the whole time, she murmured:

"Why not we live here together, Levi?"

In Japanese culture, living together usually suggests romance or a relationship.

Note the white bar right under this panel.

It's a timer bar, indicating the passage of an uncertain, usually long, amount of time. Given that Hange had rebuilt the broken cart by the time Levi sat up, I'd estimate at least an hour had passed.

The fact that Levi cracked open his good eye and clearly heard Hange's soliloquy — from her speculation about Zeke to her unintended confession — proves that he had been wide awake.

It makes me wonder what Levi was thinking while pretending to be asleep.

One could only speculate.

I believe Levi was most likely imaging — as anyone would after hearing a shocking suggestion — the scenario of abandoning their duties to live together, only to then remember his oath to Erwin.

This internal conflict explains why he remained motionless.

It was the sudden Rumbling sound and Hange's scream that stopped Levi's from continuing to feign sleep. When their eyes met, he averted his gaze and asked about Zeke's whereabouts.

See how Levi tried to sound angry and eager to kill Zeke as a way to strengthen his determination, only after lying quietly there and allowing himself to be torn about this for such a long time?

Hange uncharacteristically blushed upon realizing that Levi heard her suggestion, which is another clue that "living together" goes beyond friendship.

Levi cheered Hange up, but didn't address her slip of heart. Then, Levi and Hange left the forest, seemingly determined to leave their ambivalent thoughts in the forest.

Killing Zeke, the right choice from the perspective of honor and duty, won this round.

Yet Hange's slip of heart clearly lingered in the back of Levi's mind.

When Levi overheard Hange and Pieck's conversation, which didn't involve him at all, he felt the need to comment on this.

This is extremely unusual and interesting.

When has Levi ever commented on others' love lives in the manga? The only time Levi remotely did so was years ago when Mikasa constantly prioritized Eren over their squad missions. As the squad leader, Levi said something along the line of, "I don't understand your obsession with him, but don't mess up this time."

(We all know how that obsession began. On hindsight, Levi's confusion foreshadowed his own future romance. Hange took care of Levi the way Eren took care of Mikasa, sparkling Ackerman' romantic attachment of a lifetime. )

Back to Levi's unusual, unnecessary, unsolicited comment.

Note he waited a bit for Pieck to leave to make sure it was a private conversation between him and Hange.

Levi said:

相変わらず巨人とは片想いのままだなクソメガネ

It roughtly translates as:

Your love has been unrequitted only with Titans, four eyes.

There is a Youtube video explaining the Japanese grammar of Levi's line, its hidden romantic connotation, as well as his bold choice of word for "love". The English translation loses all the nuance.

Besides, Hange's response isn't "I will charm her", but rather "We will become good friends". There is no romantic suggestion in her line regarding Pieck.

Simply put, Levi took the opportunity to express his feelings in an awkward and clumsy way. Unfortunately, Hange failed to pick up on that. I honestly think the look on Levi's face would have helped him be understood. But they stood with their backs to each other.

Fast forward to Levi and Hange's farewell.

The Survey Corps slogan is 心臓を捧げよ, aka Devote the Heart, without specifying whose heart it is.

It is supposed to mean devoting one's heart — represented by one's fist — to humanity.

（The gesture is based on human heart's anatomical structure: an individual's heart and fist are of similar size and shape.）

Levi's fist is Levi's heart.

In this iconic scene, Levi altered the Survey Corps' solute gesture to devote his heart to Hange, hence her shocked expression.

Hange, despite on the verge of tears, brushed it off with a laugh, pretending she doesn't understand the gesture. She left him to fulfill her duty as the Commander.

When meeting her fallend comrades in the Path, she heard Erwin say:

"Hange, you've fulfilled your duty."

(duty , or 役目 in the original Japanese manga. Remember this word)

As for Levi, he had to stay strong as the last veteran to lead the squad.

But you can see cracks through his tough facade. Like, he couldn't bring himself to look at what happened to Hange outside the window. Pieck, arguably one of the most perceptive characters, noticed this.

Or, when he directed kids' attention away, buying himself a moment to let agony take over.

Levi was clearly in the depths of pain and loss, triggered by Hange's death.

He was thinking. At this point we are just not sure what exactly went through his mind.

Levi's thoughts were revealed three chapters later, in chapter 136, in the form of a monologue.

His thoughts, under an intimidating image of Erwin in his mind, revolve around duty (役目).

Yep, the exact same word used in Hange's after-death scene with Erwin in chapter 132. I circled out the word 役目.

Hange and Levi didn't dare to abandon their duties in the forest to live together; Hange eventually died for hers.

Erwin's intimidating face in Levi's mind was a reminder that he needed to fulfill his duty — to kill Zeke. By far Levi appeared compliant, which makes his inner thoughts even more shocking.

Let's examine his first monologue line：

俺達の役目はあそこで終わりだったのかもしれない

It roughly translates as:

"Our duty .... may have ended there."

There: the moment he swore his oath to Erwin four years ago.

He wanted to dump his oath from the beginning !!!

Because it was this very oath that pushed him and Hange out of the forest, hence the grievance — or even resentment, I would say — towards the oath.

But abandoning the oath is not enough to prevent her death. In Hange's after-death scene, she complained to Erwin that being Commander was too tough.

Levi's next monologue line:

ガキ共をとど/海に届けるそこまでの役目だったとしたら

It roughtly translates as:

"We got those brats to the sea, if that's where our duty ended..."

Why end their duties at the sea？

Because after they reached the sea, Hange's burden as Commander grew increasingly heavy, eventually leading to her death.

Between Hange assuming the position of Commander and the expedition to the sea, things went quite smoothly. It only took a sour turn afterward.

In other words, Levi regretted not ending their duties four or three years earlier. He wanted to keep Hange alive and happy.

He wanted to live an alternative life with her.

Levi's next monologue questioned the inhumane side of Survey Corps' "devote the heart" indoctrination — the very tenet that drove Hange to go on the suicidal mission.

It was also the biggest reason Levi didn't dare to stop her: their fallen comrades were watching.

Remember her last words to Levi?

"You understand, Levi. I have a feeling.... It's my turn."

I will leave the detailed analysis for another day, but let's focus on Levi's regrets for now.

If you look at Levi's monologue in chapter 136 independently, on its own, it's beyond confusing, out of blue and out of place. Why would he suddenly think "our duty may have ended four years ago" in the middle of a deadly war?

The only logical explanation is that he had been ruminating on their duty the whole time.

Now we know what exactly went through Levi's mind.

Fascinatingly, there are some other clues.

One lies in the name of this chapter - 心臓を捧げよ (Devote the Heart) - a strong indication of the link between Levi's inner thoughts with his painful farewell to Hange in chapter 132.

Another glaring clue lies in "duty".

Isayama sensei even used the same Japanese word 役目 for duty in chapter 132 and chapter 136 to imply that Levi's monologue on duty was triggered by Hange's death.

In fact, the image of oath swearing in Levi's mind is reverted to imply the 180-degree shift from commitment to regret.

Before Levi's injury and Levihan's forest scene: commitement

After Hange's death: regret

The table has turned.

Right after Levi broke free the shackles of his oath, Zeke appeared. Levi killed him with one swift swing of sword. No torture for revenge this time, unlike before.

The Rumbling stopped. As Connie supported an injured Levi, he said: " It's not that I don't have regrets. But ... we stopped the Rumbling, it's the right thing to do, right?”

Connie doesn't have a story arc of regret or lack thereof.

It's more likely him voicing Levi's hidden regrets and Levi's changed intent in killing Zeke — not for revenge, but to stop the Rumbling.

It explains Levi's expression as he slightly looked up, staring into the void, clearly consumed by his inner turmoil with something or someone in his mind.

Levi wanted to end their missions years earlier for an alternative life with Hange. It's an IF scenario.

In essence, IF is to go back in time, making different choices.

In case there's any confusion about his regrets, he made it clear in his monologue that he doesn't regret letting Erwin go.

Well, Levi's syringe choice is another puzzle with a twist, no less stunning than the twist in his oath arc. I'd say it's a love letter from Levi to the woman with sparkling eyes, an innocent dream and a selfless spirit.

But the analysis may cause some controversy and wrath from certain fandoms, so please let me savor it for myself for now.

*

LeviHan is a fascinating, heart-breaking and complete arc. Hange's part is comparatively clear, while Levi's part is more in the dark, requiring quite some efforts to piece together the whole puzzle.

I will probably write about the heart arc, later.

In the final chapter 139, Levi's last panel focuses on his scar.

The pain and regrets will never really go away, because of the "what ifs" — of what could have been with her.

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fortunatelyangrycheesecake

2 years ago

Joel fucks/fingers/dry humps/etc. reader under a blanket during movie night in Jackson. I don’t care what they do as long as Joel comes. I like thinking about Joel coming 😈

🥵 you're in luck, this has been on my mind after revisiting the one who talks dirty in Spanish. We can pick up after she gets him all horny before the movie in Jackson. Master List

Movie night (in public)

850 | horny!Joel x horny!Reader | nsfw 18+ HJ, sex, and cockwarming in public, mild dubcon, cum eating

You and Joel go home for a quickie before the outdoor movie night. He has you pinned on the couch with your hand down his pants when you hear a knock at the front door, then it unlocks. You scoot out from under Joel to sit upright while he buckles his belt and Tommy yells, "Y’all comin’?”

“Ehhh I dunno about tonight. This one’s tired,” Joel says and squeezes your knee affectionately. There’s a good reason he’s not standing up.

“Bring a blanket,” Tommy says. “Joel’s a good pillow, nice and soft.”

“Hey now,” Joel says. Tommy just stands there waiting. Joel sighs. “Alright, grab a blanket, let's go.”

You go get a quilt and a big blanket. When you come back down in a flowy dress, the look on Joel’s face says he knows exactly why. He goes to the bathroom before y'all leave and comes out without a belt.

You set up in the darkest corner of the lawn behind everyone else. Joel sits on the quilt wiith his knees bent and you get in between them, resting your head back on his chest with the blanket draped over both of you while people continue to arrive to the event. He wraps his arms around you, and scoots his hard-on into you. He gathers the skirt of your dress out of the way and strokes your inner thigh. When he reaches your outer lips he growls “bad girl” into your neck, although he's not surprised you skipped the panties. Two thick fingers drag along your dripping seam and his hardness swells into you.

He nibbles at your neck and his fingers circle your clit. He could get you off this way and no one would know, but what you really want is his cock. You want him to come in public. It turns you on so much to think about, and he’s never let you do it. It’s always him making you come while he stays totally composed and in control.

You reach back and wedge a hand between your bodies, palming him over his jeans. He breathes deeply and doesn’t stop you. You unbutton his jeans. Then you reach outside the blanket for his backpack and put it behind him like a pillow. “I’m tired, can Iay on you?”

“Sure, baby.”

You get on your side in the crook of his arm with your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest, and hook your leg over his closest leg. Then your hand drifts down under the blanket, unzips him, and reaches in to relieve his stiff, aching cock. "Tengo ganas," (I want it) you whisper as you stroke him. He clenches his jaw and looks conflicted.

"I don't think so, baby."

You slowly rotate yourself on top of him anyway. His hard cock is between his shirt and yours, below your belly button. "No one's watching," you whisper.

You move your dress and slowly get higher up on him, straddling him in a koala hug and you throb against him. He inhales sharply when his cock feels your dripping seam.

"Solamente la punta" (just the tip) you beg barely audibly as you drag yourself along his member.

"Kinda cold. Wanna sit still?"

You've done this before and know what he means. You can't pass up the chance to have him inside you.

You drag your wet pussy up his cock again then nestle it at your entrance. He lifts his hips into you and you begin to sink onto him, managing not to gasp at the delicious stretch. His big hands brace on your hips and help you down. He lifts his hips again, pulls you down, and you have to suppress a moan as he bottoms out.

He grunts ever so softly. "Don't move," he says.

You lie there with him inside you, resting your head in the crook of his neck, while he watches the movie. Your hips want to move, but you manage to stay still.

He occasionally twitches and barely moves his hips. You want to get him off and try to slide off him, but his hands still you and he says "where you goin'?" You stay.

When his twitching becomes more frequent, he finally lets you slide off his cock. You get back on your side, bring your leg over his, rest your head on his chest, and stroke him. You keep his cock as close to his body as possible to not make it obvious. It doesn't take long before he reaches down and lifts up his shirt. He takes a deep breath, then pulses in your hand. There's a barely audible grunt, but it's the quietest you've ever heard him.

He buries his mouth in the crown of your head as he finishes coming onto his lower belly and your fist, then his whole body relaxes. You lick his cum off your hand then use two fingers to gather as much of it as you can off his skin. You swallow that, too. He kisses you on the head and you actually do fall asleep as you watch the rest of the movie.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione

If you like this one I recommend Speakeasy and Picnic Table.

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