"Hey daddy," Historia was stirring the pot of dumplings as I was making pieces of fry bread.

I glanced at her as she looked up at me, smiling with those beautiful blues. I couldn't help but snatch a quick kiss on her lips despite her father talking to her on the phone.

Historia gently bumped her hip into me, lightly scolding me for being mischievous as she hummed in agreement to something.

"Good, how've you been?" She asked, moving out of the kitchen area to sit on the bar stool, leaning against the island.

She watched me but her eyes were listless, listening intently.

From beyond the cellphone, I could hear a deep and very muffled voice—only catching bits and pieces that didn't piece together good enough.

I playfully grabbed a large piece of dough, balling it up a bit and then spreading it out with my thumbs until it made a fluffy disc.

Historia watched me as her father kept talking.

I spun it about on my fingertip and I could see it amused her greatly as her smile widened. She propped her face up with her hand, enchanted and curious as to what I was going to do.

I winked and she had to hold back a giggle.

"Oh," she schooled herself quick, playfully glaring at me, "I'm listening."

But I wasn't done.

I stuck my finger through the middle of the dough, making a hole like I always did for every piece. She thought not much of it, trying her very best to give her father her undivided attention.

However, instead of throwing it on the lip of the dough bowl like the rest, I stuffed two fingers through that hole, widening it and making a come hither motion.

Historia gasped and cried out, laughing, throwing a fleck of dough and flour at me, causing me to pull back, snickering.

"Krista?" This time I heard the man as he was amused yet curious, too.

"Who is that in the background?"

Historia held back the rest of her giggles as I corrected my defiled fry bread, grinning toothily at her.

"That's Ymir," she rolled her eyes, deciding the gig was up.

I stopped what I was doing, clearing my throat and watching what she had to say.

I felt uncertain very suddenly.

I didn't think Historia would mention me at all—not that I was helping it—but now her father knew about me, but was he really going to know about me?

So, I gave her my attention, looking at her phone she sat on the counter, putting her father on speaker.

"Ymir? That's a unique name," her father commented and then paused.

"Ah, Krista, did you put me on speaker?" He asked.

I was expecting annoyance and anger, but he seemed not to care. If not a bit pleased.

"Yeah, I did, daddy," she huffed, blowing her bangs from her view, and then looking at me expectantly.

I wasn't sure what was she wanted.

I stared at her and then put my arms out, shrugging a bit and pointing at the phone. I felt a little nervous as I strained my lips between my teeth—I never had been ever introduced as the kind of gal to bring home to your parents.

I was more of the sneak out the back door girl—well, that's how I was treated anyways.

"Is your friend Ymir able to hear me?" He asked, shifting the phone.

Historia glanced up at me and mouthed something.

This is your chance to run.

My eyes opened a bit wider and I desperately gestured at the phone—did she want me to introduce myself—if so, who was I—was I her friend, her lost long sister, a pizza delivery gal, or the stalwart captain of S. S. Run from Daddy?

Historia laughed more.

"Krista?" Her father chuckled.

"Yes, she can," Historia flashed her smile and patted near the phone, giving me the okay as I audibly groaned.

"Hey there," I answered, uncertain what I should say, or if I could still take my ticket to run.

"Oh, hello—so you can talk!" He laughed heartily—full like wine. Hopefully not as bitter.

I crumbled against the counter, feeling miserable because I had no experience or understanding of what I was supposed to do.

Thankfully, Historia pitied me.

"She can," Historia teased a bit, "she's shy, though."

"Shy?" I shot, playfully wounded.

Her father hummed in agreement as he cleared his throat.

"So, Krista-dear, who is she?" He didn't even beat around the bush.

I stared at her, feeling the need to hide a bit.

Wasn't she still in the closet—or something?

Would they prefer—did they want her to be a guy or girl—and what sexuality did they want? It was hard to remember.

All I knew was that Historia was happy being her, not the expectations others put on her.

"She's my girlfriend," Historia happily stated with a smug matter-of-fact.

Her father was quiet for awhile and I nearly toppled over, face burning.

Oh God.

He knew.

That meant I'd eventually have to meet him, wouldn't I?

Oh God.

If he saw me—oh God, was he the kind of rich person who only wanted white rich kids to marry their white rich kids?

Or was he the kind with the shotgun in the back of his truck, waiting for any reason to pull the trigger on my ass?

What if both?

Oh God.

"Oh! I knew it," he chortled, "oh, Krista, I'm so very happy for you."

It…wasn't exactly the answer I was expecting as I peered up from the counter up at Historia who was practically glowing in pride to claim me.

"Thanks, daddy," she sang.

"Oh, I'm so very happy!" He repeated, slapping what I would assume a counter or desk in exuberance.

"Ah, clear your schedule this weekend darling—I'm coming to the West Coast! I must undoubtingly meet her! She must be a real treat to have captured you! Ah! What's this?" He paused, quiet, suddenly very serious.

Historia blinked, glancing down at the cellphone.

"Uh…?" I let out, scared, waiting for him to realize I was no good or that she said girlfriend instead of boyfriend, or something.

"Ah, yes, I can hear it clearer," he slowly began with realization, "it is… wedding bells!"

I groaned loudly and Historia scowled the phone.

"Daddy! No! Let her be!" She defended my embarrassment.

"I heard grandchildren!"

"No!" Historia cried out.

"I hear—ah! Five of them!"

"I'm hanging up!" Historia drawled out, finger going towards the button.

"Okay, okay, but, really—this weekend, I want to visit! No exceptions!" He merrily told her.

"Ah, there is so much to discuss!" He mused before laughing more and hanging up.

I shot Historia a look.

"Wedding bells!? Grandchildren!?" I bemoaned.

Historia laughed, sliding off the stool and going around to hug me from behind.

"Oh, there, there," she soothed, snickering, "he just teases."

"Yeah! I can see it runs in the family," I snorted, grabbing her wandering hands from going up my shirt to feel my abs. I put them back above my shirt and she sighed in disappointment.

"You will be okay," she promised, kissing my shoulder blade and nuzzled her face in-between them.

I let her stay like that, pausing my tongue and thinking of what was scaring me the most—the thing I was afraid to bring up because I knew it gave her grief as I remembered what she said to me earlier this morning.

"Wasn't he the one who wanted you to be a boy?" I asked, gentle as I turned around so I could hold her, too.

The smell of the chicken broth and dough was faint as I was became overwhelmed with her scent of lilacs, vanilla, and spring rain.

"Yes," she knew, too, then, of what I was thinking.

We were quiet again as she tilted her head, resting her cheek against my collarbone. I savored how she felt against my body as I kissed the top of her head.

"He's not coming here to congratulate us, is he?" I finally asked, because that's the first thing that came to my mind when he asked of me—I could hear how he was prying, hoping and betting his money on his own wishes.

"He will…" she moved to kiss my neck and I felt something hot and light roll down my body—making my knees weak and my heart beat louder.

"He will just… be my dad, too." She admitted and pulled away to hold my hands and stare up at me.

I saw her disappointment in her eyes. I saw the tiredness, too.

She put up such a happy façade for him, knowing what he thought he was going to cleverly do.

"And what is that like?" I asked, taking one of my hands away to lift it up to her bangs, brushing them away. She leaned into my head, taking comfort, as I caressed her face.

"He will talk your ear off, he will laugh and be good—but he will steer the conversation so he could hear what he wants… he'll probably ask how long we were together, maybe say something inappropriate and blame the wine, but use it as leverage to be overbearing—he'll probably find out—one way or another—if we were intimate…and he'd notice how okay you are with it and then he will probably say it's settled. He will probably make it seem I want the operation and tell you how much it'd help me—make my life easier, better, and perfect. All that jazz." She went on and on, sighing.

"He will try to work us into what he wants. Not because he doesn't care for my happiness, but because he thoroughly believes that is what will be best for me in the end… to put a stop to my depression and things." Historia was very tired.

Oh, I could just feel it on my hands—the exhaustion accumulating there, warm and heavy.

"Sounds like you've heard it all before."

"Over a thousand times." She scoffed but I garnered a smile out of her when I kissed her nose.

"Then, I will just ignore it as best as I can."

"Oh, Ymir," she pulled away, going back to checking on the dumplings, reminding me we had dinner to cook.

I went back to prepping as I kept an eye on the grease and over my shoulder where Historia stood.

"You don't know my father," she continued, "he could charm the skin off a snake."

"And you know how stubborn I am," I retorted and I heard her giggle.

"I do, I do," she stopped, walking over and gently swatting my butt with the hot, wooden spoon.

I jumped and felt my shorts dampen, sticking to my ass cheek as I whipped around.

"You little brat," I poked her nose with a powdered finger and she went cross-eyed for a moment, staring at her now whitened nose. She corrected herself, staring up at me and laughing—it filled her frame, the room, and my heart.

"Dork." She had her arms around me again as I shook my head, going back to finishing the fry bread and defending myself from roaming hands trying to get up my shirt.

Almost—just almost—forgetting of the impending doom of the weekend.

-x-x-x-

Be safe.

That's what Historia said when Connie texted me and said that someone wanted to meet up and talk to me.

I wasn't sure why it couldn't be texted or why Connie wouldn't budge on who was there, but he did promise he was going to be there with Sasha.

I brought my coat closer to my body, shivering.

All the damned snow was gone, leaving the world bald with yellow grass and barren trees that held little sprouts—a shit promise of spring.

I shouldered the bar door open, thankful to be somewhere warm and that it was a slow Tuesday night.

I glanced around and saw Connie and Sasha playing pool. Though, they were goofing off more than anything, earning annoyed glances from the bartender.

Connie nodded behind him to a booth where—Bertolt?

I frowned.

Why the fuck was he here?

I turned, searching for the fat gorilla he shadowed but found nothing.

I gave Connie a look that told him it better be worth it. Like hell was I going to sit through a guy confessing his attraction to me.

Connie only shrugged and went back to entertaining Sasha as I trudged past and flopped onto the seat across from the man.

"What is it?" I asked, wanting to get it over with.

Bertolt was sweating with her hands shaking as he stared down at his untouched plate of fries.

Fuck him.

I grabbed a handful and put them on the table, eating and dipping messily into his sauce, waiting for him to get angry at my rudeness and blurt whatever it was out—hopefully show him how unattractive I was. Just in case he still thought I was confession worthy.

"Thanks for coming," he blurted and jumped, startled from himself but nodding.

Was he giving himself an inner pep talk? How pathetically cute.

"Come on, spit it out—I want to get back to my girlfriend's place." I grumbled.

Plus, I had school tomorrow—she had school tomorrow—all I wanted was to talk with her a bit before we passed out on her bed.

"I-I don't know if Historia told you," he began, looking at his own hands and up at me repeatedly.

I felt something in my stomach squeeze tight, afraid.

What was it this time—please, don't be a secret, please—

"She's—she—she isn't quite as she says—she shows—um, she—um, when her and Reiner were toghether, um, I don't know what she said, but, uh—she—er…she is—she has…-um." He kept twiddling with his thumbs.

It hit me and I knew exactly what he was going to say.

And I also had enough fucking sense to know Sasha had ears like a fucking hound dog when she wanted to hear something juicy.

I glared at him, slapping the table enough to jostle him but not bring attention to us.

"Yeah, I know," I said slowly so he knew.

His eyes widened and then he seemed to calm down a lot.

"And…she told you?" He asked.

"Yeah, she did—this morning."

Something flashed across his face—anger?

Defeat?

I didn't know.

All I could see was his wet and stupid face.

"Oh…that's good, then…and I assume…you two talked about it…?"

Why the fuck was he prying?

I stood up, finding that I came out here all for fucking nothing.

I snatched his almost full bottle of beer and poured it over his fries.

"Fuck you," I growled.

His eyes just watched it froth and soak up in his fries, leaving them soggy with a sad amber puddle at the bottom of the boat.

"…So you broke up," he concluded and I had never wanted to slap a person as much as I wanted to do to him.

"You stupid ignorant—"

"No fighting," the bartender yelled loud enough, glaring at us as he served his other patrons who took child-like interest in us. I could practically feel everyone in here wanting to witness a fight.

I hissed and then shot a glare at the stupid fuck.

"Fucking stay out of my business—and, what the fuck, where's your fucking boyfriend anyways, huh? Can't fight his own battles in attempt to sabotage his ex's relationship?!" I marched out as Connie gaped.

"You set me up, man!" He barked at Bertolt in dismay as Sasha went for me but I shook my head, brushing her off.

Bertolt hadn't moved an inch when I gave him one last look.

So that's what Historia meant after she showed me the texts and what Connie had to say—fucking hell.

Stupid bullshit.

I bit my tongue, wanting nothing better than to bum a cigarette and chill out, but I knew my girl was back at home, waiting.

Probably stressing, too.

I hit the bus up—my leg bouncing all the way—until I finally got back home—I mean Historia's place.

By the time I opened the door, Historia was walking down the hallway, looking at me.

"Who was it?" She asked, knowing very well I was pissed off at the person.

"Fucking Reiner's bitch—Bertolt! He was about flap his fucking trap around about y—he had the nerve to think I'd—"

I felt so fucking ashamed of myself.

I felt so fucking stupid.

Goddammit!

I balled my fists up as I held back what stupid self-pity was bubbling behind my eyes, threatening to break the dams and let loose angry tears.

Bertolt fucking—it was like he—

"Oh, Ymir," she took my hand, leading me back to the bedroom as I clenched my teeth, grinding them, hoping it'd just stop what I felt.

She stripped me of my jeans and coat, helping me into bed and holding me from behind, kissing my shoulder over and over.

Her hands never wandered as they held my own against my stomach.

I just—

Did people really think I would leave after hearing that?

Did—did they really think—it hurt to admit it, but maybe if it was different—maybe I would've—

"Let it go," she whispered. And I didn't even know if she knew why I felt so guilty for that moment.

That if things were different and she told me right away that maybe I would've walked away.

Maybe we would've never ended up together because I was as petty and shallow as Bertolt had betted on.

I felt so small as Historia loved me. She was full of strong, flourishing emotions and I was just so—pathetic and narrow minded.

I rolled over, facing her and kissing her and she gave me gentle kisses that turned into restrained passion.

I kept kissing her, hoping to drown in her perfect, flawless love.

It worked halfway but I felt her pull away, clearing her throat as I felt a thread of saliva between our lips.

It was then I felt her swelling in her boxer-briefs, feel it throb against my leg.

"You take me too well," she laughed, embarrassed and grabbing something behind her. She put it between us—ah, the extra pillow.

"Sorry," she apologized as if it was bad.

But it wasn't.

It never was.

I grabbed the pillow and threw it to the side.

"It's fine." I told her and I heard her pause, thinking.

"People get horny for their girlfriends, right?" I tried to reason, try to make it casual enough for her to not look too deeply upon it.

She exhaled, gentle and amused.

"Yeah, I guess so," she was still uncertain as I rolled over, giving her my back again, but pushing back into her.

"We should sleep, right?"

I felt it right against my rear—no… I felt her there.

Historia was right there, hot and bothered. And I should've—I should—do something about it but I was too scared that it'd show across my face that I was guilty for being stupid before.

I didn't want us to fuck around just so I could prove to myself I wasn't that way.

I wanted…I just wanted her love.

I wanted to be held and I wanted her to know one day we could have sex. Maybe not tomorrow but one day she could have me and I could have her and it would be out of love.

Not guilt.

I could feel her forced breathing, her shifting, uncertain, but also very—well, very troubled with the fact my ass was against her cock.

"Um, g-goodnight, Ymir." She squeaked, wrapping her arms around me.

"Are you going to be okay?" I couldn't help but tease just a little.

"It's, uh—um, I'm just—this is so new…"

"I know. I have a fucking amazing ass."