#[ **aggressively** LET ME HUG YOU AND TELL YOU ITS OKAY. ]

[coldjustness-archive]

*INHAAAALLLE* .... We love Taash. We are Team Taash.

[amirasainz]

Hiiii, I love your blog so much. I was wondering if you could do Lando, who's girlfriend is a model. It is during the fashion weeks and she is very exhausted but boyfriend Lando takes care of her and is cheering her on the whole time. Thank you bby 💘

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Lights, Camera and Flashes

The buzzing chaos of Fashion Month had arrived. Yn was in her element, juggling fittings, rehearsals, and back-to-back shows across New York, London, Milan, and Paris. As the world’s most sought-after model, her name was on every designer’s list. Each city meant new challenges, new outfits, and new pressures.

“Babe, are you sure you’re okay?” Lando asked as they touched down in New York for the first leg of the month.

Yn, seated beside him on the private jet, turned to give him a smile. “I’m fine, Lando. Just excited. It’s going to be a long month, but I’ve done this before.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Yeah, but this year, you’re in every major show. You’re human, Yn, not a robot.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Especially with you here.”

Lando chuckled. “Alright, but remember, the moment you feel off, you tell me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she promised.

---

New York

The energy in New York was electric. Yn stepped into the first fitting at Alexander Wang’s studio, where she was immediately swarmed by assistants and stylists. Lando stayed close but out of the way, watching her work with awe.

“You’re staring again,” Yn teased during a break, catching him leaning against the wall with a goofy grin.

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “You’re incredible.”

Show day arrived, and Lando was front and center in the audience, holding a bouquet of red roses. As the music boomed and Yn stepped onto the runway, he couldn’t contain himself.

“Let’s go, Yn!” he shouted, drawing amused glances from nearby attendees.

Yn strutted down the runway, her confidence radiant. She caught Lando’s eyes briefly, a small smile tugging at her lips. When the show ended, Lando was waiting backstage with his bouquet, pulling her into a tight hug.

“You killed it,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Thanks, babe.”

But as they exited the venue, they were met by a sea of paparazzi. Lando immediately stepped into protective mode, wrapping his arm around Yn’s waist and glaring at anyone who got too close.

“Back up,” he barked, shielding her with his body.

“Lando, it’s okay,” Yn murmured, though she appreciated his protectiveness.

He guided her safely to their car, refusing to let go until they were away from the chaos.

---

London

The second week brought them to London, where Yn had fittings with Burberry and Victoria Beckham. Though she was still riding the high from New York, Lando noticed the subtle changes—her slightly slower pace, the way she leaned on him more often.

“Feeling alright?” he asked one evening as they returned to the hotel.

“Yeah,” she replied, but her voice lacked its usual energy.

Lando wasn’t convinced. After her first show in London, she came backstage to find him waiting with a massive bouquet of lilies.

“You didn’t have to do this again,” she said, though her smile betrayed how much she loved it.

“Of course, I did. You deserve it.”

The paparazzi were even more aggressive in London, shouting questions and shoving cameras in their faces. Lando tightened his grip on Yn’s hand, his jaw set.

“Lando, it’s fine,” she whispered, but he shook his head.

“It’s not fine. They don’t get to treat you like this.”

Once they were safely inside their car, Lando turned to her. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said.

“I can handle it,” she replied softly.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he countered.

---

Milan

By the time they arrived in Milan, Yn’s energy was noticeably lower. Her flawless walk on the runway was still the talk of the industry, but off-stage, she was quieter, more fatigued.

“You’re not eating enough,” Lando pointed out one morning as she picked at her breakfast.

“I’m just not hungry,” she said.

“You’re running on fumes, Yn,” he said, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m fine, Lando,” she insisted, though the dark circles under her eyes told a different story.

Lando doubled down on his support, making sure she had everything she needed. After each show, he was there with flowers, helping her navigate the crowds and shielding her from the paparazzi.

When she came back to the hotel after her third show in Milan, she collapsed onto the bed. Lando didn’t say a word; he simply ordered room service, drew a bath, and set up her favorite playlist.

“Come on, princess,” he said, lifting her gently. “Time to relax.”

---

Paris

By the time they reached Paris, Yn was running on pure determination. Paris Fashion Week was the grand finale, and every major designer wanted her.

Lando could see how hard she was pushing herself, and it worried him.

“Yn, you need to slow down,” he said one evening as they walked back to their suite.

“I can’t,” she replied, her voice cracking. “This is the biggest week of the year.”

“And you’re the biggest model of the year. You’ve already proven yourself,” he argued. “Your health is more important.”

She didn’t respond, but he noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

On the night of her final show, Lando was louder than ever, cheering her on as she walked the runway. When it was over, he met her backstage with the largest bouquet yet.

“You did it,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

---

When they finally returned to their hotel that night, Lando went all out to pamper her. He ordered her favorite food, prepared a warm bubble bath, and queued up her favorite movie.

“Lando,” Yn said as she sank into the bath, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, sitting beside the tub. “You’re my princess, Yn. You deserve the world.”

As the movie played later, Yn curled up in Lando’s arms, her head resting on his chest.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” he replied, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Yn drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of the month finally catching up to her. But with Lando by her side, she felt safe, loved, and completely at peace.

And for Lando, there was no greater honor than being her rock.

[celuere]

Have you ever thought of arle fucking milf reader? Milf reader dont have no spouse no more just her 1 kid(futa spouse is dead for the story) and arle found her shopping(finds her hotdamn ass) for food(or whatever type of first meeting you think would be a banger i suck at this). She saw the ring and thought shes taken but shes a widow and grabbed the opportunity. She ends up being the mother of the house of hearth. Lovemaking proceeds and baby #2 of milf reader is arle's kid its a win win. Thank you if youll ever reply to this request

okay anon, hear me out.

dilf arle with milf!reader in a modern setting.

cw: breeding, not proofread sob will maybe change a slight bit when i get to it

i will maybe expand this idea and its lore in the future because i actually LOVELOVELOVE this concept, anon i hope this satisfies you!

nsfw utc, minors dni

you meeting her for the first time after you enrolled your daughter in kindergarten. it‘s her first week and on thursday you get asked into the office of the head of the nursery and turns out your little girl accidentally spilled a whole bucket of sand over her playmates head. naturally she didn‘t get in any serious trouble but just for the formalities she needed to speak with you and the father of the poor victim.

upon entering the office with your daughter hiding behind your figure, you immediately spot a sobbing freminet who is still getting sand patted off of his blonde hair by none other than his fath- father? you only saw a rather broad shouldered woman with snow for hair and crosses as pupils fixated on her son as she knelt before him. but when her narrowed eyes met yours, she silently thanked your daughter for her small accident because she certainly didn‘t expect someone as beautiful as you to enter. while your children were busy with sobby apologies and forgivings, the two of exchanged pleasantries, turns out the woman herself is a divorced „father“ of three and picks up little freminet on thursdays and fridays, the reason why you didn’t met her until now.

she also tells you that she is in home office next tuesday. if you… happen to come over for a coffee that is.

now, freminet and your daughter would evolve into best buddies QUICKLY, always hugging each other in the morning, napping next to each other each day, you quite literally have no choice other than to accompany her on their playdates every week. with his father that is. you also get to meet her set of twins, lyney and lynette, who happen to be quite the energetic pack of eight year olds. well, lyney that is. you don‘t think that boy has ever known a moment of silence and peace with the way he is always off and about on the playground, dragging his sister behind him. quite the lovely family, really. but still… you don’t happen to miss the glance arlecchino is throwing you every once in a while,as if she wanted to ask you something.

maybe that is why you weren‘t surprised when you found a pair of lips clinging to your neck on a regular morning. you both just dropped both of your kids off at the nursery and decided to settle for some breakfast at arlecchino‘s house. or maybe you happened to be her breakfast with the way she devoured your mouth with her own. not like it was the first time. whenever the house was swiped empty of any kids, arlecchino just couldn’t simply keep her hands to herself. they were all over you. hips, ass, tits, stripping you bare layer for layer in her bedroom.

„sh-shouldn‘t you- hah… b-be working…?“, you asked breathlessly in between her almost aggressive kisses, your lips already swollen from how often she nibbled on them.

„i should… but i‘ve got some more important tasks at hand.“, with that she shoved your sweater over your chest, followed by a deep inhale from her side as she took in your figure.

ever since your late wife passed away two years ago in a tragic accident, the thought of letting another woman into your heart ever again never crossed your mind. until you crossed paths with arlecchino. or rather peruere. the woman herself has been divorced for a good three years but you couldn’t quite tell if you were just a temporary cure for her lonely heart or if she was being serious with you. you wanted her to be. you really did.

you gasped so softly at the tattooed hand running over your tummy, giving it a gentle squeeze as she leaned down to pester your still covered breasts in lovebites and tickling kisses. you used to be insecure about the stretch marks gracing the skin your stomach and the extra bit of tummy fat, but arle seemed to relish in the sight. never failing to pay them extra attention.

„you are so ravishing, dove…“, with your pants long gone, she only had to tug your already soaked slip aside.

„h-how could i forget that if you mention it every single time…?“, you gulped as peruere hooked her thumbs underneath the hem of her sweatpants to tug them down. seeing her in anything else other than in her usual elegant attire made her look utterly… normal… and attractive. one would think this woman couldn’t get any better at a certain point.

„you certainly make it very difficult for me to not mention it, gorgeous.“

and then she was all over you. hot lips clinging to your jawline like a second skin as she buries herself inside of you, her cock pumping into you felt like coming home after a long day at work to her. my, you are clenching so tightly around her as she finally bottoms out, squeezing her in an attempt to keep her dick deeply buried inside.

with her work now long forgotten, she began to set a pace with her hips. at first the rhythm was slow, almost agonizing until the first plea for something harder left your mouth. you wanted all of her. yearned for every single curve, every single inch of her as muttered something like „so impatient…“ underneath her breath when she angled her hips and hit that oh so beautiful spot right on her first try.

seeing you fall apart underneath her scratched a corner inside the woman’s brain she didn’t even know existed in the first place. the way you bit your lower lip whenever she pulled back. or how your hands grabbed into the pillow your were laying on. or how you looked at her through half-lidded eyes when she pumped her cum into your hungry cunt.

maybe you both „forgot“ about protection today. maybe she didn’t mind it when you locked your legs around her hips to keep her pressed up into you. to keep her seed from leaking out. the idea of you bringing a new addition to her family… so help this woman. and your poor pussy.

„there we go… my… didn’t come yet…? we can’t have that now can we?“

she still has some hours to spare until the kids need to be picked up.

[amphitriteswife]

If you’re on your period

@yue-yolk

‘Okay what’s up with you? You’re not laughing at my jokes.’ jaegyeon na asked you with a hint on irritation in his voice. His hands gripping the steering wheel of his car even tighter. He disliked it when you didn’t respond to him with the most utter care in the world. It reminded him of how the other kings treat him. Perhaps your behavior is because he was talking about Initial N? ‘I’m just super exhausted that’s all.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I’m tired.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because i just got out of work?’ ‘Oh….why?’ ‘Goddamit just leave me alone.’ ‘Well sorry for asking.’ He replied in a passive aggressive manner. The silence that followed obly gave away the irritation the both of you felt for each other. Why couldn’t he just take a hint? Is he really that oblivious? And it’s not like he’ll say sorry, he’s too prideful when it comes to apologizig. ‘I’m on my period. Sorry for lashing out.’ ‘Oohh…’ jaegyeon replied, the realization hit him so suddenly when you said that before it turned into guilt. He was being super pushy and the thought of you being uncomfortable because of the pain you were in didn’t even cross his mind. How could he call himself your boyfriend while he didn’t even know this? He felt so embarrassed and ashamed to not have recognized this sooner. ‘Im so sorry…do you want a hug?’ He asked you in slightly softer tone than usual, he knew the hug wouldn’t help a lot but he still wanted to at least give you a sense of comfort. ‘I think i would like that, but this time please at home. I dont want to get into an accident because of your reckless driving’ ‘like i’d ever let Initial N suffer like that. You think I’m crazy?’

‘Babe i’m on my period.’ ‘Okay.’ The silence after the not so lasting conversation made you a little irritated. Jonggun was outside on the balcony smoking a cigarette, the smell filling your nostrils made you a little more disgusted than usual which caught Jonggun’s attention. ‘What’s wrong?’ He asked rather matter of factly than concerning, his hand pushing the cigarette onto the ashtray to put it out. ‘I know you dislike it when i smoke, but you’re usually at least tolerant..’ the sound of the cigarette being put out filled your ears. Jonggun on the other hand looked at you, the gears in his head turning. ‘Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?’ Jonggun asked you rather bluntly with slightly wider eyes. ‘I just told you i’m on my period you idiot.’ ‘Oh right…i wasn’t listening.’ ‘I figured.’ Jonggun let go of the cigarette which was now laying in the ashtray and took a seat on the sofa on the balcony, the warm wind blowing into his face. He invited you to join him which you declined. Your rejection of his offer made him a little confused. He didn’t say anything but from his eyes you knew he was waiting for an explanation. ‘I need you to go to the store and buy me tampons. And chips. And chocolate, but not the Milka one. The other one. The one i always eat.’ Jonggun did in fact not know what brand you always eat. But he’ll figure it out….he hopes. ‘Why don’t you go?’ ‘Because i don’t want to.’ ‘…’ ‘please.’ Your please sounded more demanding than a question to him, but given the circumstances and because you’re his girlfriend he decided to give into your demands. ‘..fine.’

‘Well hello sugar, coming to see me while i’m at work?’ ‘No i’m hurt.’ ‘What happend? You fell? I mean i probably blinded you with my glorious presence ahaha.’ ‘I’m on my period babe’ the information made Goo stiffen a little, he never really knew how to engage in something like this since you’re his first girlfriend and not a one night stand. His mind couldn’t comprehend the situation, before all this you were usually on the pill for birth control, so how could this happen? ‘How? I thought your period went extinct after you took the pill?’ The question made you burst out laughing, this grown ass man couldn’t even know one thing about how periods work? ‘First of all, it doesn’t go ‘extinct’ its not some species. Second of all, when you go off the birth control you start having a rather more complicated flow.’ ‘So now you’re bleeding?’ ‘Yea.’ ‘And you’re not going to die of losing blood?’ ‘I hope not.’ ‘Okay…’ Good scratches his head, he felt a little stupid for not knowing this. Perhaps it’s because he never bothered to actually learn about the female anatomy. His head was hurting with so much information and he wanted to actually ask some questions. ‘Y/n…’ ‘yeah?’ ‘Does this mean we can’t do it anymore?’ ‘Unless you want to have your shrimp painted red then no.’ ‘Forbidden salsa’ ‘please don’t say things like that again.’ Goo found himself thinking about a lot of things now that he knew this. Did Jonggun know this? Maybe he’s now smarter than Jonggun. Perhaps he can use this against him in battle. ‘So, since you’re now on your period. Does this mean that you say ‘period.’ After every sentence?’ ‘…’

[luveline]

hi jade! :) i wanted to potentially request anything with poly!marauders x reader? maybe winter themed since its december now?

you write remus, james, & sirius x reader so well that i started reading fanfic for them because of you! i love your style, keep it up lovely! <3 sending you all my love

thank you, ily!! ♡ fem!reader

James’ car idles outside of your work. 

You rush down the frosted steps despite the danger, and open the passenger door with a, “Hello,” that can't be dimmed. You could not be happier to see him in his dark-haired, light-eyed glory. Your hands shake at the sight of him alone. 

“Hello,” he says keenly. 

You climb across the handbrake to kiss him. He takes your face into two big hands, expectant, waiting for you and twice as eager. “Oh, shit, I missed you,” you say, smashed into his lips and leaning further still, “Did you have a good time? Did–” 

James rubs your cheek with his thumb, silently asking for you to slow down, and kisses you again. His lips are soft as anything, his hands a little less so, rough of his palms sliding up your cheeks to just behind your ears. He's quick and rather aggressive about it considering you're only a couple of yards from your place of work, but you don't care. 

Clearly, he missed you too. 

James breaks the kiss to hug you to him, nosing at the side of your head as he says, “I missed you too. And I had a great time. Next year, you'll come with me.” 

Your heart skips at the thought. Going home with James to visit his parents would be a dream, if only so you don't have to miss him for three weeks at a time. 

He gives you a last quick kiss and drives you home. With his suitcase still in the car and his rucksack in the footwell, you realise he's picked you up before going home, and you rub it in Sirius’ face as soon as you can. 

“He picked me,” you say, climbing out of the car, cheeks flush with the heat of having James’ hand on your thighs the entire way home. 

Sirius doesn't seem too bothered. Remus worms around him, doesn't even wait for James to get out of the car, ducking in for an awkwardly skewed but achingly affectionate hug. It's not like Remus to show his emotions in any way that could be held against him, but it's clear he trusts the three of you to never do such a thing. You wouldn't. 

“You okay?” James asks him quietly. You nearly miss it, apprehended and forced into a headlock by Sirius Black and his bad attitude. 

“No more holidays,” Remus says. 

“You look handsome anyways,” James says, “what's that about? Thriving in my absence or something?” 

Remus flushes at the suggestion —you can see it, having breathlessly escaped Sirius' cruel grasp to stand watching their reunion. He mumbles a denial and burrows deeper into James’ arms. 

Sirius is much less emotional than you or Remus, but he's in a good mood. You can tell, tucked under his happy touch. (You weren't rubbing it in that James picked you up first to be cruel, the opposite —you and Sirius love to argue. And the cool, mildly intimidating stare down thing he does gives you chills, so that's a bonus.) 

“Alright!” James says, hand on Remus’ shoulder, rucksack on his arm as he shuts and locks the driver's side door. “Let's see how you idiots have done with the decorations.” 

“Not nice,” you say. 

“But accurate,” Sirius says. 

The truth is that without James’ direction, the Christmas decorations have barely been put up. You had the common sense to erect the Christmas tree and it’s adorned with carefully draped tinsel and polished baubles, but the rest of the home is lacklustre, to say the least. You've no stockings for the electric fire, no banners, no foiled hangings or silver trappings. 

“Jesus,” James says, dropping his rucksack on the sofa. “This is sad. Where's the wooden bits? My white wooden Christmas tree? Absolutely minimal effort. I'm appalled.” 

You and Remus look at one another and shrug. “We searched. Pulled out the airing cupboard and everything, it took ages, and we still didn't find them.” 

“That's because it's up in the attic,” James says, chuckling to himself. “Idiots. Where's the stepladder?” 

And this is where Sirius’ love rears its head, his arms wrapped around James’ legs as he climbs the ladder positioned dangerously on the landing by the open stairwell. “You can't be real,” James says, swaying dangerously as he pokes around up there with a torch. “You're worried about me? You were on the roof of the shed a month ago—” 

“To get a fucking football for next door–” 

“Oh, fuck this,” James says with a sigh. Before any of you can stop him, he's leveraging himself into the attic using his upper body strength. 

You cross your arms over your chest with a smile. “That was fit.” 

“Right?” Remus murmurs. 

“Where's the fucking– Ah-hah! Alright, sweethearts, one of you come and grab this from me.” 

Sirius looks up at the creaking attic above, frowning, his eyes narrowed. “I don't trust the floor.” 

“Siri, just come and get them.” 

You build a procession line and slowly unearth the three boxes of Christmas decorations, and a box of festive linens. Sirius helps James safely down onto stable footing, while you and Remus ferry the decorations downstairs. James is the Christmas nut of the lot of you, but Remus likes what James likes, especially now he's been missing him, and so they set about decorating your home while you and Sirius argue over who's making what for dinner. James’ favourite, since he's been away so long, you argue. Pizza, Sirius decides. “Look at the state of him. You know he goes home and Euphemia spoils him half to death.” 

“Fully to death,” James says, dotting a kiss into your cheek as he passes with a sheet of snowflake window stickers. “But I was revived.” 

Sirius kisses your other cheek, and Remus shouts for you to come and see the lights, lovely!

It's nice to have everyone home. 

[hitchyboi]

Dating Havik Headcanons #1

Y'ALL OKAY THIS IS FOR MEEEEEEE XD I NEED MORE HAVIK AND GOD DAMNIT I'LL PROVIDE IT IF NO ONE ELSE WILL!

Oki thank you~

Content Warning- It's Havik. Gore, Blood, Violance, Self Mutilation, one small NSFW bit, Swearing (That's just me)

Cuteness aggression to the max. He can't help it, his partner is so precious when he's hugging them all he can imagine is squeezing them until their ribs break and pierce their lungs. If he's caressing their face, they can feel the way his fingers twitch, itching to dig his nails into their soft flesh.

He chews and bites. A lot. After Scorpion burned his face off he realized his ability to just straight bite things got easier without skin in the way. Will hug his partner from behind and chew on their hair cause he likes the texture. Cuddling? Random bites the entire time and they range from light and playful to you think he's genuinely trying to eat you sometimes. He isn't, kinda. Just likes biting.... Sometimes he may be trying to take an actual bite. Romantic Cannibalism.

His name has become a confusing mix of a disgust and comfort. If anyone ever calls him Dairou he gets insanely mad, remembering his life in Seido in the lowest caste and all the dictatorship over his life. Yet when his partner calls him his name... its almost like a comforting blanket he's never felt being wrapped around him. He doesn't have to be Havik, Cleric of chaos and symbol of anarchy. He can let himself relax for a moment, his worries can drift away for another day. With his partner... he can just be Dairou.

Surprisingly he is a good cook. Now his method of cooking may be a bit... unorthodox. You don't really know what he's cooking with. Or how he even got it in the first place. But give him some meat, herbs and spices and a fire. He'll be able to roast up a good tasting meal.

Has issues with monogamy. Not being faithful part but more the idea of having fidelity forced onto him? He doesn't like the idea of rules or societal norms re-shackling him after he's gained his freedom. If his partner is fine with polyamory or having an open relationship, great. If his partner isn't comfortable, communicating it as a personal preference and comfort level would gain more an understanding reaction from him rather than telling him he needs too.

Man's comfortable as hell in his relationship and partner. Would never tell his partner what they can or can't do or wear cause fuck that shit. You wanna go to a club wearing a sexy ass outfit and show yourself off? He's your hype man. Go out nude, he'd support it.

Will kill a man if someone messed with his partner.

Has killed a man for messing with his partner.

Has a habit of mutilating himself at the most random of times. Almost like the habit of cracking one's knuckles he starts to feel stiff and really uncomfortable if he hasn't snapped or torn a part of his body for a while.

His partner will have to force this man to put on a shirt if they are going out in Earthrealm. He doesn't understand the social norms of Earthrealm and frankly... he doesn't give a shit to learn. He'll eventually put on a shirt if his partner insists for their own comfort

Has tried to fight police officers, many times.

Getting this man to properly bath himself is a hassle on its own. He grew up in a way where bathing was a luxury few could afford so self care isn't something he's well versed or keen on. If his partner insists that they'd join him in the bath or shower then eventually they'll be able to pull his grimy ass into the water. Once he is in the water however, good luck getting him back out.

Lil NSFW~ Any marks his partner makes on his body during night time fun will always be saved on his body. He'll never fully heal them up, scars are like a badge on honor to this man. Now he gets to walk around with more scars and scars that his partner placed on his body from how well he was fucking their brains out.

[pretty-blkgirl]

Soul’s Desire [Ch. 35]

- Masterlist -

A/N: Contains a written part

Clue one, accompanied by a bouquet, brought you back home to a layout of gifts in the corner of your room.

Clue two was delivered by Dae, breakfast in bed with a cute little note card telling you to eat and then make your way to the address written down.

Clue three welcomed a brand new car, one you had been eyeing since you were a trainee.

Clue four, inside the car, had a couple more gifts (most notably a brand-new laptop) and instructions to drive over to your regular nail salon.

Clue five was given to you after your nails were done, urging you to drive to another location.

Clue six was at a gorgeous hotel, one away from the public and known for its high level of security and praised for keeping celebrities isolated from any prying fans. You made your way to the hotel room written down to see more decorations.

Clue seven was the long table with nine chairs surrounding it.

You were in awe at how much effort the boys had put into the day. Tears threatened your eyes, but they didn’t have a chance to fall since you felt a hand on your lower back.

Surprisingly, you weren’t startled as you spun around and came face to face with Han.

Behind him, the other seven men stared at you with fond looks.

Remember those tears that didn’t fall? They were doing so at that point. Waterfalls left your eyes as you replayed the day in your mind.

You then started to laugh, wondering where the boys had been hiding when you first walked into the room. An overwhelming sob stopped your laughter, however, and it was up to Felix to try and calm you down.

He couldn’t hide his smile as you cried into his arms. Han was still right by your side, awkwardly looking away to stop himself from shedding any tears.

“I think she’s finally gone insane” You heard Minho whisper to someone.

“Honey, you okay?” Felix asked, his freckles on full display and a little more prominent due to his most recent trip to his home country.

“I’m fine it’s just…I can’t believe this” You sighed, “What did I do to deserve all this?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes with pure amusement, “Hush. You deserve all of this and more”

You smiled through your tears and then started to hug each of your soulmates. It took a while, of course, which made Minho snicker and Chan coo at you.

Another reason why you were so shocked was because a while ago, you and the boys agreed on no gifts. When you brought this up, Changbin remarked that they told YOU not to get them anything, not the other way around.

You argued, swearing to pay them back for the thousands they must have spent.

“Don’t get us anything” Seungmin warned, “I’ll pinch you”

“You guys did all this for me and I have nothing to give” You whined, setting off Hyunjin’s cuteness aggression towards you.

I.N. sported his usual fox-like grin, “Y/n, all we need is you. You’re enough of a gift for us”

Just as you were about to protest, Chan covered your mouth and led you and the boys to the table.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, forcing Felix to hurry off and answer. You guys were quiet as mice as you listened to his deep voice greet and thank whoever was at the door.

He came back into the main room with loads of room service.

“We’re gonna sleep so good tonight” Han smirked, going for Alfredo until Changbin smacked his hand away

“Youngest first” He reminded, “Go ahead y/nnie”

“I.N.’s not that much older than me” you laugh, “Really, don’t wait on me to eat”

All the boys stared at you with obvious defiance, causing you to fill your plate quickly.

Everyone else dug in, chatting about the many different foods presented and what they were most excited to eat first.

You guys sat around the table, eating, drinking, talking, and laughing. As you sat and looked around at your partners, you realized how lucky you were.

Your heart filled with love, and your soulmate symbol grew warm. The boys noticed, some playfully teasing you and others sheepishly rubbing at their palms.

“Let’s have dessert” Han announced after a little while, immediately looking over at you with what you would call “bedroom eyes”

“There’s dessert too?” You ask.

Hyunjin nods, getting up from his chair and walking over to one of the closets. He opens it, pulling out a dark red lingerie set.

He turns his attention toward you, “Got room for dessert baby?”

You nod almost too enthusiastically as you watch the other guys get up and start to clean up at a frustratingly slow pace.

“Go put this on,” Hyunjin says, handing you the outfit and nodding towards the bathroom.

You practically skip there, knowing your soulmates were watching your every move. You decided to take your time to get ready, and you could barely take two steps out of the bathroom before being picked up and carried to the bed.

~~~~|~~~~

Taglist: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @cunninglibrarian @holly-here @galaxy4489 @hyunmikim @yougottobekittenme @hyeon-yi @katsukis1wife @multi-fandom-nightmare @staybabblingbaby @kozumesphone @fuck-you-im-gae @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @champagneconfetti-blog @juju-227592 @borahae-reads @reallychaoticwoo @hwangfrnd

[furuyalover]

falling asleep on him

— ft. miyuki kazuya

AN: back to my daiya roots hehe

it had been a long day at the field, spending hours in the sun, sitting in the stadium watching baseball. understandably, you were beat. but your boyfriend and his team got the win, so who were you to complain? ah yes your boyfriend, that arrogant, cocky, and a lot of the time annoying team captain, miyuki kazuya.

despite the heat and long days, you loved attending all of his games and supporting your boyfriend in his element. however you can’t deny that it really takes a lot out of you. i mean dealing with that shithead is enough work on its own.. but i digress.

you wait outside the stadium for your annoying ass lovely boyfriend to come out and congratulate him on his win. as soon as you see him walk out of the doors you go to him with open arms and wrap him in a hug. he kisses the top of your head and thanks you for always being there to support him at his games. you’re resting on him for a little too long where you almost sink into him, and he realizes you’re as tired as he is, if not more. being the stellar boyfriend he his, he looks down to you and asks, “hey babe, do you wanna ride home on the bus with me?” this is really an excuse to spend more time with you but of course he’d never admit to it. his smile gives it away though.

not wanting to be a bother you reject, “no no! it’s okay don’t worry, my friend can give me a ride home it’s fine!” despite plastering a smile on your face and reassuring him, he sees right through that. “oh please, you practically just fell asleep and drooled on me” he replied while rolling his eyes and flicking your forehead he is so in love with you. you know kazuya enough to know this is his annoying way of saying pleaaaaase sit with me on the bus i can’t deal with eijun alone, so you call your friend and tell them they don’t need to give you a ride back to the school.

the two of you enter the bus hand in hand, and make your way to a seat towards the back of the bus. being so gentlemanly he gives you the window seat, but mainly so that he can easily chit chat with kuramochi who’s sitting right across from him. after the bus takes off, you’re gazing out the window, in awe of the evening haze glossing over the scenery you’re passing by. honestly, miyuki is so in awe of you that he’s barely listening to whatever his green headed teammate has to say. “hey. shitface. hello? miyuki? are you even listening?” he is not.

you’re however at peace. content with the company of your boyfriend, and the beautiful scenery you’re taking in on the ride back to seidou, you can’t help but doze off a little. you try not to slip up, since you know miyuki would not let you hear the end of it, but at this point you’re in too deep. one second you’re leaning back against your sat looking the window, the next your head slowly begins to fall to the side. where does your head fall, you may be asking? of course, on miyuki’s shoulder.

he flinched a little, surprised by the sudden weight his shoulder is now bearing, but he makes sure to move ever so slowly as to not disturb you. “aye mochi shut the hell up, y/n is sleeping and i don’t want your yapping to wake them up!” aggressively whispers. rolling his eyes, kuramochi pipes down and finds someone else to bug with his antics.

miyuki carefully readjusts himself to get more comfortable, being careful not to wake you. after that he just takes a moment to gaze at your figure, noticing how peaceful you look, and realizing how lucky he is to have you in his life. for once, that shit eating grin is off his face and replaced with a rather wholesome, genuine smile. you are his whole heart, and if you look close enough you can even see a slight pink tint creep up on his face. these were some of his most cherished moments. where nothing else, not even baseball, can even come close to. whenever he’s with you nothing else matters, whenever he’s with you he’s home.

after he’s done staring at you lovingly, he decides it’s time he gets some rest of his head. he carefully places his head atop yours and rests his eyes. dreaming of your future together. hoping this bus ride will last forever.

when kuramochi looks over he gets a kick out of the sight he sees before him, amused by his asshole of a friend doing something so “corny.” he snaps a photo of you two in hopes to use it as blackmail, but really, he knows his friend would would appreciate the heartfelt candid of him & his s/o. and he does. after mochi sent him the photo, kazuya made it his lockscreen and even posted it on his story with the caption, “couldn’t think of anyone better to sit next to on bus rides 🤍 …sorry yoichi” kuramochi temporarily blocked him.

reblogs appreciated and admired ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

[wttcsms]

daylight ; colt grice.

pairing colt grice x f!reader word count 14.3k synopsis colt grice's life has never been easy, and it's about to get a hell of a lot worse. content contains sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, depictions of violence, blood, taking care of him when he's injured, slowburn author's note this is part one of four!! / repost bc the first time around, it didn't show up in tags </3

part one: no sharing names

“Are you scared?” 

The teenage girl sitting in front of the cracked vanity mirror is shaking. She’s been jittery all day, and as the sun started its descent, she’s only been growing increasingly more and more anxious. You wish you could tell her that it’s nothing to be scared of, but that would be a lie. 

Your whole line of work is built on lies; the last thing you need to do is let Work You bleed through into Real You.

“It’s okay if you are.” That’s what you settle for, slowly running a brush through the thick, dark layers of her hair. 

“Were you scared?” She’s a tiny thing; it’s no surprise that her voice would sound so small, too. It makes your heart break just a little more. 

“I was.” Seeing that your admission doesn’t make her feel any better, you add on, “Sometimes, I still get scared.” 

“Oh.” And then, “How do you still do it?”

“I don’t have a choice.” You pretend that most of your focus is on the knot in her hair and not the glimpse of the horrified expression on her face. She’s actually a very pretty girl. 

Being pretty is a double-edged sword. The benefit of this is that she’ll never run out of customers; the downside of this is that she’ll never run out of customers. You drag the brush through the knot of hair more aggressively than you intend to. 

She doesn’t say anything, so you elaborate. “It’s just me and Ramzi, you know.” The girl nods in acknowledgement. At the refugee camp, everybody seems to know each other; a side effect of living in cramped spaces and having more communal areas rather than private ones. A tight-knit community, but hardly by choice. When the whole world seems to harbor an unshakable hatred towards you, you learn to cling to the people who don’t. 

“And Ramzi… He can’t make money, and we can’t keep living off the kindness of others. So, if this is how Ramzi gets food in his belly, and clothes that fit, how could I possibly stop doing this?” It’s not as if Marley is a land of opportunity; oppression fits it much better. You set the brush down and start to braid her hair. “This isn’t… This isn’t a job you can retire from very quickly.” 

It’s not a job you can necessarily leave, either. Not just because the money is more than what you could make doing laundry and picking up after people’s dogs, but your work history will always follow behind you, a permanent stain on your record. It’s best that she comes to terms with this sooner rather than later. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She sounds broken, defeated. The sentence comes out as a sob, and you’re distinctly aware of how her cries only continue to chip away at your resolve. You wanted to remain cool and impersonal. You wanted to act as if taking the care to do her hair for her wasn’t an attempt to give the poor girl some sense of normalcy — of comfort — before she gets sent to the slaughter. You want — the most dangerous thing a girl like you could possibly ever do.

You’re hugging the girl before you can tell yourself that this is a bad idea. The goal was to wean her off comfort, not coddle her, smother her with affection and comfort and warm words. How will she possibly survive if she’s continuously clinging onto the warmth nobody she services will provide? You certainly weren’t given anything to prepare for your first night; no warnings, no reassurances, no comfort. It was a hard lesson to learn, that no one visiting this establishment would ever care about you. That no one here would ever see you as anything more than something they’ve paid for. 

Three more seconds. That’s how much longer you’ll give her to bury her face in your neck, wetting your exposed skin and probably getting snot in your hair. Three more seconds, and then you will (gently) pull her away from you. Three more seconds, and you will begin to properly prepare her for her condemnation. 

One—

Ramzi is probably getting ready for bed right about now. 

Two—

You reminded him that he needs to take care of himself and to remember to layer the thin blankets so he can try to get as much warmth out of those hand-me-downs. 

Three—

It’s going to be a cold night.

You remove yourself from the embrace, taking in the girl. Her big, brown eyes are still shiny from her tears, lashes slick from them. She’s sniffling, lips quivering, and she looks a mess. 

(You try to ignore that by the end of tonight, she will look even worse.) 

You want to hug her again, but already, you feel like you’ve done both too much and not enough. Yes, it’s nice to know that someone cares, but that won’t do much to help her survive this. You place your hands on her shoulders.

“Look at me.” 

She forces herself to look you in the eyes. The shift in your demeanor makes her cease her sniffling, and she’s finally still.

“You asked me how I’m still doing this. I’ll let you in on a little secret, alright? Can you keep a secret for me, honey?” 

She nods, too afraid to speak. 

“It’s just all a big game. And every game has rules, right?”

 She nods again.

“I’ll tell you the rules to mine. The first one is that they can’t know my name.” 

“Won’t they ask?” 

“They don’t pay me to tell ‘em the truth.” 

That gets a semblance of a smile on her face.

Before you can tell her any more, there’s a loud bang on the door.

“Girls, we’re about to open up shop!” Willa, the Eldian woman running this whole establishment, gives you two this warning. You can hear her loud voice traveling through all the thin walls in this place. She’s making her rounds, visiting the other girls’ rooms to let them know, too.

“Guess our time is up.”

“Wait, but you didn’t tell me any of your other rules! How will I know what to do?” She’s panicking, scrambling for any reason to stay here with you instead of facing whatever nightmare awaits her out there. She’s clinging onto your arms, acting like you’re her lifeline, and how sad it must be, you think, for you to be the person someone looks up to.

“It’s your game, honey. You can make up your own rules, change them as you go, make special exceptions. Whatever you want to do.” You brush back a few strands of her hair that clings to her still-wet cheeks. “Just focus on figuring out all the rules, especially when you’re searching for something to think about.”

The best rules usually come during the times where you want to focus on anything other than what’s presently happening to you. On your second night, there was a man who produced so much saliva, that when his mouth was drunkenly exploring every inch of your skin, you stared up at the peeling paint on the ceiling and decided right then and there that no man was allowed to kiss you on your lips. 

“Why can’t they know your real name?” She asks. “Everyone back home knows your name.”

“Everyone back home knows me.” The men that come here are mostly men who want to break you. To take something from you, everything from you, to leave you with nothing. It makes them feel powerful, knowing that they paid a cheap price for free-rein to destruction. 

That’s how you win the game: by not letting them break you. 

These men, they never stood a chance against the personas you fabricate for them. Different names, different personalities — it’s all make-believe. Those girls, the girls you pretend to be, are the ones that get destroyed every night. 

“Promise me that you will never give them a chance to know you, Nadia.”

She nods, but unlike every other time, this one is fueled with conviction. 

Colt Grice is acutely aware that he has absolutely no business being here. 

The bright yellow armband sticks out like a sore thumb, acting as a flashing arrow that separates him from the other soldiers flanked by his side. Some days, it feels too tight, too restrictive, too heavy of a burden. Tonight, it feels like a blemish. 

Even drunk, Colt knows these thoughts are dangerous. Any Eldian would kill to be a Warrior candidate, and he’s all too aware of the privileges he and his family have been granted because this yellow strip of fabric says he should be granted some respect.

Not too much, though. Show a devil a little reverence, and he’ll probably take you straight down to hell with him — he’s certain that’s how most people here see him. 

Soldiers coming to the red light district of Marley is nothing new. When training gets tough or there’s time to kill, drinking ensues. Where alcohol goes, bad decisions have a tendency to follow. 

Colt likes to think of himself as responsible. Sensible. Even if the Marleyans would deny it, he would even go so far as to think that he is a fairly good person. 

Stumbling down these dark streets, passing by brothels and love hotels, he thinks a good person probably wouldn’t be here right now. 

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” Michael purposely bumps his shoulder against Colt’s. “Are you freezing too, or do devils just not get cold?” 

From anyone else, it would be an insult. From Michael, it’s a joke. Like most of Michael’s jokes, they don’t necessarily land the way he intends them to, but Colt doesn’t bother telling him to work on his comedic timing or delivery; as nice of a guy as Michael is, he could still easily get Colt punished for treason with just one conversation with any of their superiors. 

“Do you ever get tired of slumming it with us devils?” The slur glides off his tongue too easily. Michael makes a face before slinging his arm over Colt’s shoulders as a show of good-natured camaraderie. With the flickering streetlights and the few other souls walking past, there’s really no one to bear witness to it. 

“Nah.” Michael clears his throat and sounds like he almost wants to say something else but decides against it at the last minute. A second later, and he’s belting out an old battlefield victory song taught during their childhood training. With everyone else in the group inebriated, it doesn’t take much to get them to drunkenly sing along. Colt smiles at their antics, but doesn’t join in. He wants to try to shift his armband around, but Michael’s arm is still thrown around him, and Colt decides he could really use another drink right about now. 

Instead of stopping at a bar like he hopes for, the rowdy group makes their way into the infamous “Gentleman’s Club.” The paint is peeling, there’s shattered glass right beneath the boarded up window, and the words on the sign are so faded, the G entle part of it is nearly imperceptible. 

Colt does not think he is getting another drink tonight.

He’s not sure what to expect from a brothel. He’s heard some stories in the barracks, but he usually makes an effort to tune out those type of crude tales. How would his mother feel about him indulging in any of the activities being described by his fellow soldiers? What type of example would he be setting for Falco? 

Eldian soldiers looking for a quick and easy release usually frequent the cheaper brothels. From an outside perspective, it’s hard for Colt to believe that any of these places could possibly be in worse shape than this building. The fact that this one is the nicest is enough to make Colt regret following the crowd tonight. 

The entrance of the Club is sparsely furnished, with a singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering and casting weird shadows everywhere. There are some pictures in frames hanging on the wall, but the inconsistent lighting makes it hard for Colt to properly make out any specific features of the girls photographed. 

A redheaded woman appears, taking in the group of half a dozen soldiers taking up all the limited space in her entrance. 

“First time?” She asks them. She sounds perfectly calm, but Colt doesn’t miss the way her sharp, green eyes seem to linger on Michael. 

If he runs out of this place right now, would any of these guys remember or are they too drunk to trust their memories? Before he can further debate the merits of hightailing it out of here, Michael pushes Colt forward.

“It’s my friend’s first time here. Mind showin’ him what a good time a couple of coins can get him?” He winks at Colt, obnoxiously mouthing out words that look an awful lot like you owe me one . 

Colt can feel his ears turning pink from embarrassment. 

“Of course.” The woman’s tight-lipped smile indicates that she would much rather be doing anything else. “If you would follow me, sir.” 

He could still make a run for it. Sure, he might have to endure endless teasing and maybe word of this little escapade would reach the ears of the others in the Warrior Unit, to Falco, but the alcohol churning in his system is doing a magic act — look, kids, with just a couple of drinks, watch as I make all my critical thinking skills disappear! —  and Colt is very much aware that he is making a supremely bad decision, but—

—he follows the woman up the stairs, anyway.

“You’ve never been to a brothel before?” The woman asks as she leads him down a dark hallway. There are doors lining the wall, each of them closed. Sometimes, Colt can occasionally hear faint grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin; the further he follows this woman, the louder the noises get. Or maybe it’s just all in his head. Maybe he’s making up the noises. Maybe they’re sharper, louder, only because he’s accidentally seeking them out.

He hears a scream. 

The woman doesn’t even slow her pace.

“No.” He answers. 

“Well, you chose the right one, at least.” She doesn’t sound like a proud business owner, and considering the circumstances, Colt can’t necessarily fault her for her lack of enthusiasm. “What kind of girls do you like?”

“Huh?” The question catches him off guard. 

“What kind of girls do you like? So that way we can pick the right one for you.” 

Colt doesn’t like the sound of this. He feels dirty, all of a sudden. Like he’s drenched in something filthy, and he needs to go home and shower. The fucking trenches are preferable over this.

She turns around, squinting at him. He can’t tell if it’s because it’s so dark that she can’t see him, or if it’s because she’s scrutinizing him. 

“Nothing coming to mind?” Colt is aware of the clientele that frequents places like these; her clear impatience and almost snappish tone catches him off guard once more. 

“Um, no. I’m not very particular.” An understatement, really. His kind aren’t allowed to be picky. 

She stares at him for a second longer before telling him, “I know a girl for you.” 

She leads him to the last door, knocking three times against it. Nobody answers, but this doesn’t seem to bother her. “Alright, Mr. Not Very Particular. Enter whenever you want, leave whenever you want. Normally, you pay something upfront, and then you stop by the front desk, and depending on how long you stayed, I’ll calculate the rest that you owe, but your friend is covering the cost for you. If I were you, I’d run up his tab.” He thinks she smiles when she says this.

He wants to ask her if Michael gave any particular reason for why he’s paying for a service Colt certainly never asked for, and more importantly, he wants to know why the hell Michael has an open tab at a brothel (freetime off base is usually few and far between, after all). He can’t ask her anything, though, because she’s walking away, probably to go stare into the other soldiers’ souls and ask them what type of women they’re into.

This just leaves Colt, a dark hallway, and the door in front of him. 

Not knowing what waits for him on the other side has never bothered him before. Colt is used to worst-case scenarios — a trait inherited by all Eldians. Optimism is a luxury people like him can’t afford. 

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He’s a Warrior Candidate — the one set to inherit the Beast Titan after Zeke’s time is up — and he’s being bested by what? A door?

Before he can think too much about it, he straightens his posture, grips the doorknob, and opens the damn door. 

It’s Michael’s money, anyway. 

When Colt was a young boy — so young that Falco couldn’t speak or do much besides staying swaddled in a blanket and pushed around in a stroller — his mother often made him go out for walks.

Keeping all that energy bottled up is no good is what she would tell him, before forcing him to lace up his shoes and walk up and down the cracked sidewalk of their neighborhood for thirty minutes. (It’s not until he’s older that he realizes she really just wanted him out of the house for her own peace and quiet.) 

The internment zone of Liberio could be worse. Even as a child, Colt learns that this is simply the unofficial Eldian motto, the doctrine of their way of life, if you will: it could be worse. 

In school, Colt learns that there are much worse places to be designated, and he should be grateful for the mercy of the Marleyans. The Grice family is at least better off than most; they have their own house, and the Public Security Authorities don’t patrol this area nearly as much as they do other areas in the internment zone. 

Another important lesson he learns young: just because you don’t see that you’re being watched doesn’t mean you aren’t being watched.

Usually, his mom sends him off on errands, especially when he starts to complain that it’s boring just pacing up and down the length of the neighborhood. Today is no different. 

“Go to the market, and get me some tomatoes. I forgot to buy some when we went last week.” Mrs. Grice narrows her eyes at her oldest son. “And no going off course, Colt. Absolutely no detours — to the market and right back home, do you understand?” 

His mom, just like every other Eldian mother, constantly battles with the understanding that their children need to learn how to survive outside the safety of their house and the overwhelming urge to try to shield them from said outside world. There’s always horror stories about what happens to little Eldian boys and girls who stray too far from the safety of their internment zone. 

With one hand shoved in his pocket, fist curled tightly around the money his mother pressed into his palm before sending him off, Colt heads towards the main square where there will be different vendors and stalls selling a variety of goods. Sweets, hardware, clothes, fresh fruit and vegetables; it’s easy to get distracted. The main square is probably the liveliest place in the internment zone, the only other place besides home that Colt assumes nothing bad can happen in. 

The first sign that something is off is when the usual pathway to the main square is eerily quiet. It’s a perfectly beautiful day, with the sun shining and no holiday that would cause the market to be closed down. The further he ventures, the more oddities he takes notice of. 

The blinds are drawn. Laundry that has long dried is still hanging outside, blowing in the wind. There are no children outside playing, and there’s a tiny voice in his head telling him that he should turn around right now. 

The second sign that something is off is when the flutter of curtains pulling back catches his eye. He turns his head and catches sight of an older woman peering at him through the little gap of fabric. She shakes her head slowly — a warning? He tightens his grip on the money in his pocket.

Normally, there are PSA officers patrolling the main square. With so many Eldians gathered in one spot, the officers are taught to think and anticipate the worst. A ruckus, a riot, the seeds of rebellion being planted — anything could happen. Who knows what these monsters are capable of? They couldn’t possibly just be innocently shopping for groceries and treats because there’s nothing innocent about them, period. A tamed dog is still a dog. Dogs bite.

The third sign that something is off is the deserted square. Stalls must have been hastily packed up considering the few remaining items left behind. There are no officers in the square, and Colt knows that something bad has happened. He doesn’t want to believe it at first, but the proof is hanging right in the middle of the square for any passerby to see.

There is a man hanging from the clock tower located in the middle of the square. His head is hanging limp, and Colt almost thinks that he’s dead, that there is a dead body put on display in the town square, but he sees the slight, unmistakable movements of his chest.

It’s even worse — the man is still alive.

He’s horrified. Colt is frozen in fear; somewhere during his assessment of the man, he must’ve gripped the coins in his pocket too hard because when he returns home, there will be an imprint of the currency etched onto the palm of his hand. He inhales, exhales, and is frightened to realize that his breaths are in tandem with the hanging man’s. Will he stop breathing when this man does, too? 

The man’s clothes are dirty, stained with dried blood and tears through the cotton. He’s been beaten before this has happened, no doubt. There’s no other explanation since he’s hanging too high up for anyone to touch him. He’s being held up only by the rope tied against his wrists, wrists with skin that is rubbed raw and red from the roughness of it all. 

There’s writing on the usually pristine brick of the clock tower. Dripping red, too bright to be blood but clearly a derivation of it:

TO LOVE A DEVIL IS TO BE ONE

He examines the man’s entire body, committing it to memory, especially his clothing. Dirty, torn, and tattered. Chunks of fabric ripped and ruined. Trousers, a work shirt, holey socks. The man’s left arm is still covered by the longsleeve of his shirt, but his eyes travel upwards. He blinks, rubs his eyes, and looks again, searching for the gray armband, searching for even a pin in the shape of the nine-pointed star. 

There isn’t any.

Even in death, an Eldian still must wear their armband. With no trace of racial identification, that can only mean one thing:

This man is a Marleyan.

Colt does what he should have done at the first sign of trouble: he runs. He sprints down the empty blocks and refuses to slow down, even as he goes through the neighborhoods closer to his own. There are people outside here, people who don’t know what has happened, and Colt ignores their concerned shouts and sighs of chastisement for running so recklessly down the street. He’s struggling to breathe and his legs burn by the time he barrels through the door of his home, the only safe place for him left, and he heads straight to the bathroom, ignoring his mother’s call of Colt, is that you?  

He throws up in the toilet, and when there is nothing left from breakfast for him to cough up, he starts to dry heave, images of that man, that Marleyan man, constantly flashing through his mind, permanently embedded in his memories. 

He hears the banging on the door, his mother’s worried questions of what’s wrong?, sweetie, are you okay? filtering through the wood of the bathroom door. 

There are fundamental lessons to be learned here. There is no place in Marley that is truly safe. There is nothing anyone living here can do, even if they want to do something. 

There is nothing good that comes from loving an Eldian, from loving someone like him.

“Hi,” there’s a girl in here, wearing a straight white dress — more like a sleeping gown, something long and flowy and a bit transparent — her hair tucked behind her ears and brushed behind her shoulders. She’s looking at him, studying him in a way that makes him subconsciously stand up straighter, like he needs to impress her, and there are a couple thoughts running through his mind right now.

You are a very, very pretty girl. Beautiful, even. He has never seen someone like you before, and he doesn’t think he ever will and,

He is simultaneously too drunk and yet not drunk enough for this encounter.

Another shot and he would have enough drunken confidence to approach you. Right now, he’s had just enough to make his mind go all foggy. What do you say when a beautiful girl tells you hi ? The correct reply is floating somewhere in his head, he knows it, but the answer eludes him at the moment, and all he can really focus on right now is that he is very, very upset with Michael. 

You tilt your head, standing near the bed but not approaching him yet.

“You alright, honey?”

Colt doesn’t normally have trouble speaking to girls. In fact, he’s quite popular back home. His girl cousins always groan during family gatherings, complaining to Colt that it’s so annoying how all their friends want to use them as a means to get closer to him. The attention is flattering, and he’s even flirted with the idea of a romantic relationship once or twice, but he always seems to have something else that he needs to focus on more. 

Focus, Colt. He tries to force himself to come up with something witty and flirtatious. What comes out is a strangled hi. 

He clears his throat, spits out a more coherent hello, and turns redder in the process. 

Smooth. He thinks. Real smooth. 

If you think there’s something seriously wrong with him, you don’t act like it. Instead, you smile at him, something so soft and sweet, and Colt knows for a fact that he’s a dead man. An absolute goner. 

“First time?” You ask, taking in his impossibly straight posture that doesn’t match with his curled hands and flushed cheeks. The uniform gives him away: he’s a soldier. You’re used to soldiers, some of them young and nervous, just wanting to get their first time over with. Those tend to be nice boys. Sometimes, you can even enjoy yourself — not because of their technique (or lack, thereof) — but because kindness is a resource so rarely shared with you, you can’t help but indulge in it when you get it. 

Most of the soldiers that frequent this place are Marleyan. They come here drunk from liquor and look forward to getting intoxicated with power. They’re rougher, meaner, less forgiving. 

You’ve never seen a soldier with a yellow armband before, though. A Warrior Candidate, that’s what he is. You wonder if he’ll be nice. He certainly seems nice. 

“I don’t normally do this stuff.” He blurts out. “Not sex, I’ve had sex.” And then, just for good measure, in case you don’t believe him (you do, of course, believe him; a soldier that looks like him certainly doesn’t have to try hard to find someone to warm his bed), he tells you, “I’m not a virgin, I swear.”

You sure act like one. You find yourself thinking, amused, but not necessarily annoyed. There’s something so earnest about him that you can’t find it in yourself to say something mean. Besides, men who come here aren’t looking for mean women. They’re looking for someone to exert their power over, and they’re looking for a fantasy. You’ve been doing this long enough to know how to fill the role of the woman of their desires. Some men are searching for someone sweet and docile, some are looking for a woman who’s reluctant, someone that they can chase and get to submit. No matter what, though, all of them are looking for prey.

Somehow, the soldier standing in front of you, with his blond hair and perfectly ironed uniform, yellow armband seemingly brightening up this whole room, he doesn’t look like he’s searching for prey. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s searching for an exit. 

“I’m not a virgin, either, so I guess that makes two of us.” You take a seat on the bed, patting down the empty space next to you, offering him a seat. He doesn’t take it. You think he’ll come around eventually. 

“I don’t… I don’t go to brothels.” He explains to you, and you nod in understanding. The stressed out soldiers of Marley saying they don’t go to brothels is like listening to an alcoholic tell you that they don’t go to the liquor store. You could try to call him out, but there’s always that little saying: the customer is always right. 

“Well, honey, I think someone must’ve given you the wrong directions because you’re in one right now.” 

“Colt.” He tells you. “My name is Colt.” 

“That’s a nice name.” 

He looks like he’s about to ask for yours, but before he can, you continue talking. “What do you want to do tonight, honey?” 

Honey. He told you his name so you wouldn’t have to call him something so sweet. He’s certain that you already saw his armband, saw him for what he is. The lack of disgust on your end is disarming him. 

“Whatever you want.” 

Idiot. He chastises himself. He’s said so many stupid things, at this point, he can’t even blame it on the alcohol in his system. He’s discovering that he just might actually be stupid. 

You give a little laugh. “You really haven’t been to a brothel before.” You adjust your position on the bed, getting comfortable, angling your body more towards him. “Normally, it’s the other way around. We do whatever you want to do.” 

You don’t sound the least bit upset about it, about the fact that you have to spend every night going through with whatever someone pays for you to do. What must it be like, he wonders. 

“I just want to talk.” 

You smile at him, and he takes a mental image of it, locks it away in his memories. 

“Sure thing, honey. We can talk, but the price remains the same.” 

“My friend has a tab here. He’s, uh, covering it.” 

Great. He inwardly groans. Now she thinks I can’t even afford to be here. 

“Must be a nice friend.”

“He’s not really a friend.” Colt explains. “Coworker is more accurate.”

“So he’s a soldier, too. That makes sense. Not sure where else you could find brothel buddies to go out with.” You don’t normally tease your customers too much. Most of the time, they aren’t here for conversation, and none of them are safe enough to say anything less than forced out praises of yes, you feel so good! to. 

“We’re in different units.”

“So how’d you two meet then?” 

“He’s—” Annoying. Irritating. A pain in the ass. A good guy, when he chooses to be. The nicest Marleyan Colt’s ever met. “—a free spirit. He just roams around, no matter how many times his commanding officer threatens punishment.” 

“He sounds fun.”

“He has his moments.” 

“And what about you? What are some of your shining moments?” 

You can tell a lot about a person by how they present themselves in their stories. If you’re going to ask an arrogant asshole soldier about his shining moments, he’s probably going to spout some nonsense about his (fictional) heroics on the battlefield (he hasn’t even fired a bullet at an enemy soldier before; hasn’t even seen war). Someone insecure struggles to even come up with a story to tell you. The best kind of people, though, tell you—

“On the day my little brother, Falco, got accepted into the Warrior Unit, I cried.” He gives you a sheepish smile and rubs the back of his neck nervously, like he’s embarrassed to admit this. “I was just really proud of him, and I knew how badly he wanted to be there. We had this whole celebration; my mom baked a cake, and my dad splurged on alcohol, and all our neighbors came over, too. It was this whole thing. And, uh, one of our neighbors asked Falco how he feels about being in the Warrior Unit. He announced to the whole party that he felt great about it because all he ever wanted to do was follow in my footsteps. I felt like I was someone for once.” 

—something just like that. 

He seems more relaxed after sharing this with you, and you can see it in the way his brown eyes seem to shine when he mentions his brother, the way he can’t quite seem to contain his pleased smile while reliving the memory, that this soldier isn’t lying to you. 

“What about you?” He suddenly asks. “What’s your shining moment?”

“You think someone like me is capable of having a shining moment?” You play at being coy, but it’s just a means of distracting him. No matter how sweet or nice this golden soldier seems, the last thing you want to do is share your own life with him. There aren’t many things you hold close to your heart, so revealing them makes all the emptiness in you suddenly seem that much more infinite. You don’t want to lie to him, though.

There is enough weakness (kindness) in you to spare to not disrespect his honesty by giving him a false memory. 

“Not only that. I think you star in people’s shining moments, too.” 

Honest. He’s being honest. 

Nobody has ever knocked you off balance like this before. You didn’t even think anyone would ever be capable of doing such a thing. And, the worst part of it all, is the fact that this soldier just throws this out so casually! What kind of person goes to a brothel and starts throwing out genuine compliments to the prostitutes? Someone not right in the head, clearly. 

But the smile on your face is unfairly sincere, and this, you realize with a sense of dread, is going to be one of your shining moments.

“Whoa, what’s the rush, Beast Jr.?” Porco Galliard is sitting on a crate outside the barracks, looking like he has absolutely nowhere to be. Commander Magath always reminds them that there is always something for them to be doing, and if he catches any of them slacking off, he is always willing to give them something to do. Porco received the same warning, same as the rest of the Warrior Unit, but he also thrives on pushing buttons. Colt knows he’s not stupid enough to challenge Commander Magath directly, but he also knows that Porco is arrogant enough to play the dangerous game of trying to see how far he can piss off Magath without getting written up. 

Ever since Colt was given the news of his inheritance of the Beast Titan, he spends more and more time with the current Warriors than the other soldiers, leaving him in a constant struggle to find his footing. The other soldiers already know he’s set up to reach the highest honor an Eldian can ever aspire to achieve, and what’s the point of getting too close to someone who’s only working with a limited lifespan? When he’s with the Warriors, Colt feels even less sure of himself. Zeke occasionally invites him to their meetings, lets him play at having some sort of significance, but Colt isn’t in as deep as the others are. Not yet. 

“What? I’m not rushing,” Colt says, sounding guilty, and exactly like someone who is in a rush. Porco is more observant than people give him credit for, and stubborn (although, people give him credit for being that all the time). 

“No way, you’re definitely in a rush. Where are you running off to?” 

“Don’t you have anything to do? I thought Warriors were supposed to keep busy schedules.” Colt attempts an evasion tactic, dodging Porco’s question and instead, putting the focus on him. Porco doesn’t give in. 

Then again, Colt can’t remember a time where anyone was able to evade the Jaw Titan.

“Now I know for sure that you’re up to something. What could Golden Boy Grice possibly be hiding?” Porco Galliard is dangerous on a good day; a bored Porco Galliard, with nothing but free time on his hands, is downright detrimental. “You startin’ a rebellion?” 

Colt’s eyes widen before he twists his neck, trying to make sure no one is in their vicinity. Even as a passing joke, all it takes is one person to mention this lighthearted jibe, and Colt’s life is over. Not only will he most likely be imprisoned and then publicly executed, but his family will suffer right with him. 

Porco throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Relax. No one’s here. They’re off actually doing their chores.” He seems to consider the situation. “Did you get a girlfriend or something?” 

Does Porco really have nothing better to do? Judging by the wide grin on his face, the answer is a definitive yes.

“Oh, shit! You do have a girlfriend.” He laughs, and Colt isn’t sure if he should be offended. “Look at you go, Grice.”

Porco is still laughing like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day, but at least he allows Colt to go pass without any more trouble. The only reason he doesn’t bother correcting him, Colt reasons, is because he doesn’t want to explain himself. 

That’s all.

The red light district looks weird in the glow of the afternoon sun. The same dilapidated buildings, with their peeling paint and cracked windows, grimy signs and rusted, metal roofs, don’t look nearly as intimidating as they do in the nighttime. Instead, they just look a bit… sad.  

There are some people outside. Two old men smoking cigarettes outside what Colt assumes is a bar. A drunk man walking in the opposite direction, mumbling something incoherent under his breath, a half empty bottle of clear liquid hanging from his hand. A woman using a broom that’s clearly seen better days to sweep the outside of her own shop. 

The whole area feels like a graveyard for the living.

He feels aware of how he stands out. He stares straight ahead, following the cracked pavement, making his way to the Gentleman’s Club. With his stiff, ironed military uniform, neatly parted hair that’s hidden under his helmet, and hands too clean to have touched anything in this part of town, Colt can’t tell whether he looks like an adversary or a target. His only saving grace, the only thing keeping the half-dead inhabitants of this place away, is the yellow armband twisted tightly around his left bicep. He quickens his pace anyway. 

Already out in the lobby, standing behind a desk, is the same redheaded woman from last night. If she’s surprised to see him here again, she doesn’t show it.

“Back so soon?” She says, forgoing a polite greeting altogether. 

Considering where she is, Colt can’t necessarily fault her for it. Minding his manners (Mrs. Grice did not raise her children in a barn, going against what the Marleyans assume) and military training, Colt removes his helmet. He’s thankful that he has something for his hands to grasp, keeping them occupied. 

“Is—” For as much as he revealed to you, Colt realizes that you didn’t really offer much on yourself . Not even your name. “—the girl I saw last night here?”

“She doesn’t work in the daytime, no.” The woman pulls out a large book, flips through its pages, not bothering to look up at him again until a few more seconds pass. Acting as if she’s shocked to find that he’s still standing there, even though Colt knows she knows that he hasn’t left, she says, “I really don’t think you would be interested in any of our daytime workers, either. Even if you aren’t very particular.” 

“Oh. I see.” Colt, as a matter of fact, does not see. He’s just saying something to fill the awkward silence. 

“As a Warrior Candidate, I assume you have other places to be, Mr. Not Very Particular?” 

Clearly, business is doing well (even though the empty lobby suggests otherwise) since Colt hasn’t met a shop owner who seems quite content with shooing customers out the door. 

“Colt.” He tells her.

“Colt.” She repeats, slowly. “Well, Mr. Colt, my establishment prides itself on its discretion. I’d use an alias next time, if I were you.” 

He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t plan on there being a “next time.” That would be rude.

“The girl from last night, I wanted to give her this. Would you be willing to hand her these when she comes in?” Digging into his pocket, Colt pulls out a pair of white cotton socks. They’re military issued, and stolen from the inventory warehouse. Colt was put on inventory duty, tasked with handling the shipment of new uniforms and training clothes. For all the heavy lifting he’s had to do, one pair of girl’s socks is a small price to pay. 

The pair you had on last night had been threadbare, at best. Even in the unlikely possibility that Colt gets caught and receives a punishment, knowing you had these for the upcoming winter would have made it well worth the trouble.

“You could always make an appointment and give it to her yourself.” For once, the woman seems like she’s trying to give him a genuine suggestion. 

The thought of doing that sounds nice, and then the feeling of his yellow armband being too tight brings him back down to reality. You didn’t wear an armband. There’s no indication of where you’re from, but you certainly aren’t Eldian. As nice as talking to you was, he’s aware of the fact that you didn’t seem too bothered that he didn’t take a seat next to you. Your reluctance to share anything about yourself speaks volumes. At the end of the day, you’re being paid. You probably only stomached his presence because you needed the money.

Ignoring the twisted, upset feeling in his stomach at these thoughts, Colt tells her,

“I don’t think she would want to see me again.” 

Her eyes linger on his armband, the same piece of fabric tied around herself, too, just a different color. She seems to know what he’s thinking. 

“My girls let me know when they don’t want to see someone again. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if she had an issue with you.” 

“Still, I probably—”

“There’s an opening for tonight at nine. Should I mark you down for that slot, or is there a better time that works for you?” The woman leaves no room for Colt to not make an appointment, and instead, he just lets the woman write down his name in her book. He walks outside with his pockets considerably lighter; the stolen socks are still shoved deep in there, but a majority of his cash now rests in her possession. 

(He had paid her the total amount upfront, as a way to force himself into showing up for the appointment. She had been very adamant that no deposits get returned, and she doesn’t do refunds. Ever.)

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Ramzi says, frowning at you as you hold up a handheld mirror, trying to examine your collarbone. There’s a nasty bruise marring your skin, slowly turning into an ugly bluish-purple splotch on your body. There’s no point in trying to apply makeup to conceal it; not only is makeup already too tough to come by, but it would be all for naught. It’ll get rubbed off before the end of your shift, and it’s not like your customers even care.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave, either,” you admit to your little brother, turning to face him. 

“Why do you still have to go when you’re hurt?” 

“It looks worse than it actually is.” You’re not lying. You really only notice the pain when you press down on it.

He’s pouting. A couple of years ago, when you first started, Ramzi used to cry every time you tried to leave. He couldn’t understand why you were gone at night, the only hours where a little brother could really use a sister, someone to protect him from all the scary, imaginary monsters that lurk in the dark. 

He finds out about what you do to ensure he’s taken care of. The first time you get recognized while shopping for food in a public market, Ramzi was clinging to your side, careful not to lose you in the crowd.

“Who’s letting the whores walk out in public?” Someone had shouted. A man. 

You were with that same man two nights ago. 

Someone else in the crowd says, quite loudly, “How shameless! Doesn’t she know there are families trying to enjoy themselves?” 

“Look, the whore has a child herself!” 

Your cheeks had become heated from embarrassment. You couldn’t even look the fruit seller in the eye as you handed him the money to pay. You’re using the money received from the services you gave that man, the one who called you out. 

Only when you two had made it back to the safety of the refugee camp did Ramzi slowly detach himself from your side. He was still just a young child, completely pure, full of innocence, staring at you with his dark eyes wide with wonder.

“Sissy, what’s a whore?”

You want to wash his mouth out with soap. You want to tell him to never say that word ever again. It’s bad enough having to harden your heart and take no offense when men call you it repeatedly, night after night, but you never realized how much it would hurt to have to hear it come out of your little brother’s mouth. 

Instead, you swallow hard, hold back your tears, and pat his head affectionately. “You’ll find out when you’re older, Ramzi. Don’t you waste a single second worrying about that.” 

Ramzi naturally finds out what that word — and all the other degrading insults hurled your way — means. Now that he’s older, he knows better than to repeat any of those words, especially when the two of you are in the safety of your home.

“If I didn’t exist, would you have to do all this?” 

Childhood is nothing more than a pipedream for kids like Ramzi. In a world where only the fittest survive, growing up is imperative. Not only is he old enough to understand, he’s old enough to do his own critical thinking, come to his own conclusions. 

If Ramzi didn’t exist, you would not be doing this. You would be like some of the older women in this camp, the ones who scrape by by doing odd jobs for pitying Eldians and living off the scraps the other refugees provide. You never tell Ramzi this because there’s no point in telling him that. He’s your only real family left. The only person in the world you think you’re capable of loving, completely, honestly, with your entire being. If the universe served you an ultimatum, telling you to be with Ramzi but die a prostitute, or live without him and live a different life altogether, you know you would choose Ramzi, every single time.

“If you didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be here at all.” You tell him. “I wouldn’t have bothered leaving our first home when Marley attacked us. I would have just decided to let the rubble and fire crush me, kill me. And even if I did manage to make it out, I would have died in this refugee camp from loneliness. Don’t ask me something like that again.” You find yourself holding back tears. “You are the reason why I’m alive, Ramzi. Don’t ever assume I regret anything I do in this lifetime, especially if it’s for you.” 

“I’ll pay you back.” He declares, standing up from the pile of blankets he was burrowing himself under. He runs straight to your side, hugging you, burying his face in your shirt. “I’ll find a way to keep us going, and then you won’t have to leave or go back to that place ever again.” 

You hold him tightly, stroking his hair. What a dream that would be. 

Withdrawing from him, taking the walk with the other girls to the brothel, preparing yourself for the night awaiting you — all of it is done with a sad smile on your face as your little brother’s promise plays over and over in your mind the whole time. 

That’s all it is: a dream. 

You think you discover a different plane of existence when you find yourself detaching from the present and use your mind to float yourself to a different time, a different place.

The man’s pace is quick and rushed. He’s just focused on getting off. On the bright side, he’s just here for the sex and not the show. No need to try to get into character, to figure out what personality he wants from you. 

A sex doll would be a good gift for him, you find yourself thinking. A hefty investment, for sure, but think about all the money he’s spending at the brothel. If he calculates his annual payment, the sex doll looks like a steal in comparison.

You ignore his grunts, reducing it to nothing more than white noise. You stare up at the ceiling, wishing you could see the night sky. Stargazing — that’s what you would like to do. If you close your eyes, you can picture the starry night from back home; not Marley, not the refugee camp, but your real home. The one where you grew up. The one destroyed by this man’s people.

You work at night, yes, but you spend all your time stuck in this room, reduced to an object of pleasure. By the time you get off from work and take the long, tiring walk back to the camp, it’s already dawn and the only star in the sky is the rising sun. You miss the little luxuries in life. You miss being able to look up at the night sky freely, counting all those twinkling, shimmery flecks above. You envision a shooting star, and make a childish wish, and somehow, with nothing but stars and silly wishes on your mind, your brain conjures an image of the blond soldier from last night. 

You don’t realize how stiff your body is until you actually find yourself able to relax, to sink into the hard mattress beneath you. With his erratic thrusts, you’re certain that your client is nearly finished. At least he doesn’t have the stamina nor the recovery rate to go for a quick round two. You don’t want to think about the client though, so you take yourself to where you can actually stomach being. To places where you want to go. To see people who you want to see.

The soldier. Why does he keep appearing? It’d be bothersome if you were busy trying to do anything else, but seeing as he’s the only reprieve your mind can come up with, you go with it. 

Besides, there are far worse things and people to think about. At least this one is kind.

Kind, and genuine. And surprisingly soft-spoken. Not in a shy manner of speaking; no, the smooth, deep tone of his voice sounds nice. You can see why he’s in the Warrior Unit. If he really put his mind to it, he could get anyone to do anything with a voice like that alone. A voice of a commander, surely.

Unlike the other soldiers you’ve dealt with, he speaks to you softly. Gently. Like you’re someone to handle softly, gently. 

This is precisely why you try not to coddle the new girls. See what happens when you’re given a little kindness, a little warmth? You start clinging on to it, desperately, hungrily. You crave it, seek it out, search for it everywhere you can, and when you can’t find it anywhere else, you start jumping through hoops, trying to convince yourself that there’s something sweet hiding underneath the cruelty everyone else gives you. 

If one person is capable of being kind, that means everybody in the world is capable of it. And if everyone else chooses to treat you like the scum of the earth, then it’s clear the one person who was nice to you was just an outlier. Or, just a liar. And then you spiral, start to think something is wrong with you, like maybe you’re at fault. Maybe you just didn’t deserve to be treated nicely. Maybe the problem isn’t with other people; the problem is you. 

Before you can drown in your self-loathing any more, the golden memory of the soldier breaks through your thoughts. 

Nothing so bright has ever entered this place until he stepped in your room and stood by the door, a blushing, stammering mess that contradicted his position in this society. 

He just wanted to talk.

Men never want to “just talk.” It always ends up becoming something much more. You think about Malik, who occasionally stops by your tent at the camp to bring you and Ramzi any of the leftovers his family has. Malik, who struggles to be soft because of all his rough edges, a side effect from growing up a child in the middle of a war. Malik, who had tried to kiss you the last time he wanted to talk. He had apologized, even though you found yourself telling him there was nothing to be forgiven for. The kiss could have landed, and you still wouldn’t be able to be upset with him. 

Would that soldier try to kiss you? You think of how he stood by the door the whole night, never leaving his station. He must be a good soldier, you rationalize. He’s probably respected by his peers. Someone his family is proud of. In this line of work, you don’t have to work particularly hard to seduce the men; they all come here out of their own lustful volition. It would honestly be tiring having to lay your charm on the whole time you’re here. 

Did the soldier find you charming? Out of all the personalities you try to emulate for these men, the closest one to your true self had been with him. There wasn’t a need to force out replies you didn’t want to say, no gut feeling arising in your belly, warning you to keep your wits about you because saying the wrong thing in a conversation with a man could be a matter of life and death. No. 

He just wanted to talk.

What if you tried to be more charming next time? Maybe you could let your dress ride up more, reveal to him more slivers of skin. He had been respectful the whole entire night; you don’t think he noticed you noticing him. His eyes never left your face, except to occasionally look down at his hands when he thought he said something stupid. 

(For the record, you didn’t think he said a single stupid thing once.)

You come back down to reality as the man is pulling out of you. He tosses the used contraceptive in the trash bin and is zipping up his pants. He doesn’t look you in the eye as he slaps down a few crumpled bills on the nightstand. Willa may take a portion of the total payment, but all tips go directly to you. 

You don’t thank him as he’s on the way out. Does garbage ever show gratitude when you toss it to the side? 

Willa makes a point of trying to schedule appointments in a way that ensures each girl gets at least ten minutes to herself between clients. A brief reprieve, a chance to recollect, to build yourself back up again right before someone else walks in to destroy you. 

In the silence and darkness of the room, you toss aside any what-if scenarios between you and the soldier. He’s likely never going to return. There’s no point in fantasizing about a “next time,” because it’s never going to happen. 

You feel empty, devoid of emotion, cold, when the door opens again. You look up at your newest customer, ready to work out what show to put on for him when you feel life flooding back into your body, shocking your system.

Closing the door gently (as opposed to the carless slams most customers do) is the soldier. The same soldier from last night. His golden hair and his sunny smile and the bright armband flaunting his status. 

“Hi,” he says, standing by the closed door, the same exact spot he was in last time. 

It really is him.

“Hi,” you say back, too stunned to come up with anything clever or fascinating or charming. 

He came back! 

“Conversation must be pretty poor in the military if you’re coming back to little old me for a chat.” You recover quickly, smoothing down your dress, wondering if your hair is a mess. 

He cracks a smile at that. “Well, you’re certainly more fun to talk to than half my bunkmates, I’ll give you that. But no, I actually came here to bring you something.” 

“You brought me a gift?” Sometimes, clients bring their favorite girls gifts. You’ve received things like lacy undergarments, tiny bottles of perfume, things that would make their visit more pleasurable. You don’t see any shopping bags or wrapped boxes in his hand, and you wonder if he’s pulling some cruel joke on you. Like, surprise! You really thought I would get someone like you a present? 

“Wait! Don’t get too excited. It’s not really much, but…” He digs into his pocket before pulling out a pair of bright white socks. He hesitates for a second, as if he’s thinking about what to do, and then he’s making his way to you, standing in front of you. He still has to stretch his arm out to hand you the socks, making sure to leave what he must consider to be a respectful amount of space between you two. 

“Wow.” You breathe out, examining the gift. The cotton is soft, thick. It’s so bright and fresh and clean, you almost cringe at the thought of stepping on these floors with them on. They would be covered in a layer of dirt and grime within seconds. It feels expensive. It feels a lot nicer than any other article of clothes you’ve received since seeking refuge in Marley. It feels too good to be true. 

No one gives you something for free. When you remember this lesson, you look up, only to realize that he’s returned back to his spot by the door. 

“Like I said, it’s not—”

“Thank you.” You suddenly feel shy, holding on tightly to the bundle of cotton. “Thank you, truly. I really don’t know how to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” In the dim light of the room, you can see his face and ears turning a faint shade of pink. There’s a pleased smile on his face, and it makes your face feel warm. 

“So, you spend money just to stand by the door all night and make conversation with me, and then you bring me very nice gifts, too. Honey, I don’t think you understand how brothels work.” 

“Colt.” He says, in that soft, patient manner of his. There’s a hidden request there; not a demand, but a plea. If he asked you for anything else, you would eagerly give it to him. If he took you right then and there, you would be a very willing participant indeed. 

But he’s not asking for sex, he’s asking for something more intimate. 

He wants you to call him by his name. 

You can’t do that. It’s too personal, it’ll blur even more boundaries. 

“Don’t tell me you really think I’d forget.” You say this instead, trying to subtly avoid the situation at hand. “I couldn’t forget even if all the other customers paid me to.” 

“What do you call them? Your other customers.” There’s no malice in his question, no envy; just pure curiosity. Hearing someone want to know more about you is a foreign interaction. You don’t think you’ve ever been asked a genuine, normal question in years. 

Honey. It’s simple. It’s basic. It’s impersonal. Sweetheart, depending on what character you’re trying to perform as. Baby, on occasion. 

“Silly things.” You tell him. It’s the truth. 

“But the same things?” He asks, and you nod.

“I don’t want to call you the same things, though.” The socks feel warm in your hands, and there’s a tiny voice in your head screaming at you for being so damn truthful, for not keeping your mouth shut. Why is it that the things you want to say and the things you should tell him are the exact same thing? It’s oddly nice, being able to speak your mind and have someone actually want to hear what you have to say; even better to have it be the right thing to say. “What do you think, soldier? No more calling you ‘honey.’” 

He opens his mouth, closes it, tries to say something, then thinks better of it. Finally, he lands on, “Whatever you want to do.” 

Whatever you want to do. Last night, he told you whatever you want. 

For the hour he’s here, you can try on a new role. A girl who wants. A girl who is allowed to want. This girl — you — decides that he doesn’t even need to fulfill any wishes. Wanting is enough; for you, it’s enough. 

You get comfortable on the bed, casually pulling back your hair and letting it lay behind your shoulders, against your back. With no hair to block it and the low neckline of your dress, your collarbone is on display. You momentarily forget about the ugly bruise, and you don’t notice the way his eyes flicker downwards, seeing it. Instead, you’re happy to start interrogating him.

“What’s it like, being a soldier? I heard the yellow means you’re a special one, right? A Warrior.” 

“Being a soldier is an opportunity I’m happy to have.” He answers carefully, trying not to sound ungrateful. There’s no way his family would have been able to afford the tuition for medical school so he could be a doctor. He didn’t want to be a shop owner, either. Career options for young Eldian men are limited. Enlist, or starve. “The yellow band means I’m in the Warrior Unit, but I’m not a Warrior yet.” 

“You’re still in training?” 

“Something like that, yes. But I have to wait until the other Warrior’s term is over before I can take his spot.” 

“You’ll be able to shift into a special Titan then?” 

Colt searches for the malice, the fear, the disgust. He only hears your curiosity. 

“I’m set to inherit the Beast Titan.” 

He finds himself standing up straighter, almost puffing out his chest in pride at the way your eyes go wide with awe. 

“That must be the best one.” 

“What makes you say that? The name?” Having the moniker of Beast just makes him feel even more inhumane, but titans aren’t necessarily humans, right? No point in trying to disguise the truth as anything but. 

“No. You just seem like you’re the best soldier, so I assumed they would reserve the best Titan for you.” 

Devil, monster, savage — whatever he is, he finds himself not caring. The warm feeling taking root in his chest, spreading throughout his body as a result of your words, makes him feel incredibly human. 

“Yo, Grice! Isn’t this insane?” Michael slaps Colt on the back, ignoring the way Porco raises an eyebrow at the interaction. 

“Shouldn’t you be with your unit?” Colt asks him. 

“Nah. They don’t really care—” 

“Lieutenant Sells, why the hell are you over there conversing with the Warrior Unit when I know damn well you popped out your mother a full-blooded Marleyan boy!” 

The commanding officer for Michael’s all-Marleyan unit is red in the face with an angry vein protruding from his forehead. Michael seems entirely unfazed by the whole thing.

“I think your CO is calling for you,” Porco says. 

“Huh. Was that him calling, or just the sound of flies buzzing?” Before Michael can look too pleased at his comment, his CO is screaming for him once more.

“Lieutenant Sells, every second it takes you to come back here and get in formation, is one lap you’re doing around the whole damn camp! I am not in the mood for your little games right now, Lieutenant!” 

With his smile wiped off his face, Michael shoots them a look that says something along the lines of save me, before jogging back to his actual unit. The whole entire time, he’s being berated by his commanding officer. 

“You keep interesting company.” Porco comments. “Hope your girlfriend is at least more sane.” 

That’ll be tough, Colt thinks, considering his “girlfriend” doesn’t exist.

When war isn’t active, the Marleyan military grows restless. When Marleyans are bored, things are bound to go from bad to worse for any Eldians in their vicinity. Today’s scheme that they cooked up involves an all-unit showdown. Physical sparring, no weapons, between soldiers from all the different units. 

No weapons, no maiming, no killing. Those are the rules. 

The unspoken rule, of course, is that any serious punch dealt by an Eldian that lands on a Marleyan is sure to result in some awful punishment, ranging from toilet-cleaning duty to having a finger chopped off. Pity. Colt foolishly woke up this morning thinking he was going to have a good day. 

He ends up getting paired with a burly Marleyan boy. He’s around the same height as Colt, but where Colt is lean, this boy is bulky. His muscles practically cause his uniform to burst at the seams. 

The officers are making a whole day out of this, too. Too much free-time. Why let their soldiers rest or train in peace when they can gather them all up and publicly humiliate the Eldians? Yeah, because that schtick never seems to get old.

Commander Magath looks at Colt before sending him off to get his ass beat. It’s the same look Colt imagines a butcher gives a cow before killing it. For an animal, you weren’t too bad. Sorry things had to be like this. Not really, though.

“Whatever you do, don’t take that shit lying down.” Porco had muttered into his ear. 

Colt isn’t like Porco, though. Things will only be worse for him if he does put up a good fight, and, unlike Porco, Colt is capable of possessing rational thought and the ability to put his ego to the side. He only hopes that Falco and Gabi will close their eyes. 

“Shake hands,” the Marleyan commanding officer commands them. It’s a show of camaraderie. That this is just all in good fun. A way for all the units to bond! Colt’s not sure who’s falling for that lip service. 

Like the good sport, the good soldier, he is, Colt extends his hand. The only show of defiance he will allow himself, he decides, is to not wince in pain as the Marleyan soldier crushes his hand. Colt smiles, which seems to only piss the guy off even more. 

Thanks a lot, Porco. I tried not to take this shit lying down, and now you’re going to have to lay me in a grave. Tell Falco I love him. Colt thinks miserably.

“Remember, boys: no weapons, no maiming, and no killing. Try your hardest to follow these rules. First one down for ten seconds, loses. On the sound of the pistol.” 

Once the pistol fires, Colt narrowly dodges the boy’s attack. With his build, it’s easier for Colt to move quickly, more fluidly. If he can just continuously keep dodging the boy’s hulking arms and certain death grip, Colt figures he’ll be safe. If it comes down to a battle of stamina, he knows he’ll win. 

“Come on, Colt! You can do this!” Colt makes the mistake of trying to search for Falco, trying to pinpoint his voice through the crowd. This is the last thing he wanted! Why is Falco watching this? Why did Porco not grant him a small mercy and force his brother to close his eyes. 

One second, he’s looking for Falco. The next, he’s getting punched right on his left cheek. 

Fuck.

He staggers, loses his footing. He reflexively touches his face, already feeling the sting of the punch. He tries to avoid the boy’s next attack but moves too slow.

Fuck.

There goes his right cheek. At least he didn’t lose any teeth.

Colt says a quick prayer to any benevolent god listening. 

Please don’t let him land a punch on my mouth. Please let me keep all my teeth. 

He can feel his training kicking in. He digs his feet into the ground, subconsciously getting back into a proper fighting stance. He feels how naturally his hands ball into a fist. Even with his head ringing, his vision a bit dizzy from getting knocked around, Colt can still calculate the perfect time to go on the offense and throw his own punch.

Don’t take that shit lying down.  

And right before the perfect opportunity to strike comes, Colt thinks of you.

You just seem like you’re the best soldier, so I assumed they would reserve the best Titan for you.

There’s more at risk here than just a banged up face and ruined dignity. He has a good thing going. He’ll be the Beast Titan and pay his reparations for being born by fighting for people who don’t even care about him. No time for a traditional midlife crisis, at least, seeing as how he’s most likely not going to live to see his thirties. 

The fist he makes uncurls. The moment of opportunity passes. The last thing Colt thinks about is the bruise on your skin. He hopes that you make it to your thirties. He hopes you live a nice, long life. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.

When he gets knocked down, he doesn’t bother trying to get up. The ringing in his ears intensifies, and cutting through the noise are Falco’s and Gabi’s screams. Has it been ten seconds yet? Colt looks up at the sky. It’s a cloudless day. Nothing but sunshine and blue skies. 

Yeah. Usually the most beautiful days are the worst for him. 

Blocking his view of the sky is the Marleyan boy, his face contorted with contempt. Colt tries to think of the boy’s name, searches through his mind and looks for a time where they interacted. He comes up blank, and he doesn’t think it’s because of the mild concussion forming, either. They don’t even know each other.

Just knock me out, already. Colt wants to groan out. Hell, take a tooth if it’ll end this thing.

He catches a glimpse of something shiny, reflective. The sun? No. This is silver.

A blade. 

Didn’t they say no weapons? Why isn’t the match over yet? It’s definitely been ten seconds.

He fills the coldness, the sharpness, of a knife’s tip pressed against the flesh of his face. 

He should fight back. He should get up, take the knife for himself, and show this boy what a real fight looks like. 

No. He wouldn’t take the knife. The rules clearly stated “no weapons.” That wouldn’t be fair, it wouldn’t be right. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” A voice shouts, and maybe he’s hallucinating because in what world is Commander Magath the one who looks out for him? Then again, it’s probably going to be tough replacing the future Beast Titan. Zeke likes him, too, which has to mean something. 

There’s a lot of murmurs from the crowd, and Colt strains to listen to what they’re saying. He thinks he hears fabric tearing as a blurry Marleyan soldier is being pulled off of him. 

Then, the world goes black.

“Ugh, you.”

When Colt regains consciousness, he realizes he’s been transferred to the infirmary. The cot he’s laying on is cold, and he looks down. He’s shirtless. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so shy when he turns his head and sees that the nurse is female.

Most of the nurses assigned to the Warrior Unit are women. This fact has never bothered him before, has never even properly registered in his mind before, but the stark white of their uniforms reminds him too much of the soft white of your dress.

The only nurse present isn’t speaking to him. She has her back turned, hands on her hips, talking to whoever pulled back the curtain. 

“You’re so mean. Geez, I thought nurses were supposed to have empathy.” 

Michael. 

Colt can never seem to catch a break.

“If you want empathy, go get treatment from your own unit’s nurses. People who want proper treatment go to me.”

“Okay, we all know why you took this job in the first place. Don’t start with me, Claire—”

“I know you aren’t taking that tone with me right now. Who do you want me to get: your CO or your mom? Hurry up, and pick before I call them both.” 

“C’mon, Claire!” Michael whines. “Let me in! He’s my friend.” 

Claire turns around, squinting at Colt, who decides to feign sleep at the last minute.

“I know you’re awake.” She says. He opens his eyes. 

At least she’s nicer to him than she is to Michael. “Do you know this boy?” She points to Michael, who looks too cheerful considering his conversation with Claire. 

“‘Course he knows me! That’s my brother! It should be obvious. We look just alike, don’t we?” He knows it’s just a joke, but all things considered, the resemblance is somewhat striking. The same shade of blond, same build; the only difference is the eyes. Michael’s are a dark blue. “I clearly got the good genes, though. Ma says he looks more like the milkman than pa, but don’t tell him I said that.” Michael winks at Colt. 

Nobody laughs.

“Michael, you really shouldn’t be here. This is a Warrior Unit designated area of the base. I’m being serious.” 

“But he’s my friend.” Michael tells her this, but she shoots him a look that says yeah, right. Colt wants to tell Michael to be careful, to not just go around spouting nonsense like that, but the nurse seems used to the meaningless drivel that comes out of Michael’s mouth. 

“Is that thing really your friend?” Colt’s shocked when he realizes she’s speaking to him, pointing at Michael, indicating that it’s Michael that’s “that thing.”

“Yes.” Colt says, realizing with a sinking feeling that it’s the truth. The feeling only gets worse when he sees Michael doing a fist pump.

“Oh my gosh. Your concussion must be even worse than I thought.” Claire gasps. “It’s okay. Whatever’s wrong with you that is making you keep him for company, I’ll fix it. Don’t you worry.” 

“Are you even certified?” Michael snaps. 

The scathing look she gives Michael would be enough to knock out Colt. Michael’s tougher than he looks.

“I need to go to the supply closet and get some more things since someone decided to get cut and made me use all our bandages trying to patch him up.” Claire announces. “You two — behave.”

Colt presses his fingers to his face and feels only one big bandage stuck on his forehead. 

“Finally the Wicked Witch is gone.” Michael mutters, before turning his head sharply, almost as if afraid she’s secretly eavesdropping. He relaxes when she doesn’t jump up behind the curtain to put him in a chokehold. “Anyway, how ya feeling?”

“Like I just got publicly beaten. Oh, wait.” 

Michael laughs. “Yeah? Don’t worry, he’ll get what’s coming to him.” 

Colt doesn’t necessarily like the sound of that, but who is he to get onto Michael? 

Michael tosses two strips of yellow fabric onto Colt’s chest. So, he wasn’t imagining the sound of fabric tearing, then. His armband is ruined. He’ll have to get a new one once he’s released. 

“His knife accidentally nicked your sleeve when we were trying to yank him away from you. Figured you would miss it, so I snatched it up.” 

“Thanks.” 

“No need for all that. You’re gonna make it seem like I’m a good guy, or something. We’re friends, anyway. If you ever need anything, just ask.”

“Bruise ointment.” Recovering from a mild concussion must have caused more brain damage than he thought possible because Colt knows it’s poor manners to start making requests. Especially to someone who doesn’t have to worry about getting his armband ripped off. 

“If you’re worried about your busted up face, don’t. I heard girls go for guys with rugged good looks. The black and blue really brings out the color of your eyes.” 

Before Colt can apologize for his abruptness, though, Michael strolls to the cabinets and starts opening up drawers at random. “But since we’re best friends—” He waits for Colt’s correction that never comes. “—I guess I’ll do you a solid.” 

Colt gets permission to leave the infirmary before dinner is served in the mess hall. He only stops by the Magath’s office to receive a new armband before heading to the front gates to sign out. 

He’s got one hour’s worth of your time in money in his left pocket, and a bottle of bruise ointment in his right. He hopes you’re free.

Three soft taps against the door have you looking up. You don’t dare to hope that the soldier is visiting you, for the third time this week — in a row, no less! — but the more time he spends with you, the stronger the urge to dream gets. 

You smile when you see that it’s him, and it immediately fades when you take a closer look. This time, you’re the one standing up, quick to approach him.

“Oh my— What happened?” Your arm comes up, ready to reach for his face, to examine his bruised face even closer, but you quickly snap it back to your side. He hasn’t tried to touch you in the two times you’ve met. Maybe he has an aversion to being touched. You reluctantly take a step back.

(Colt flinches. You chalk it up to pain; he thinks he must look pretty disgusting right now, horrific even, to have you scared to be near him.)

“Don’t worry. It looks worse than it actually is.”

You frown. It causes the most adorable crease between your brows. Yet another image to store away in his memories. 

“Actually, I just wanted to come by to bring you something.”

“No. You don’t have to buy me gifts. Please—”

“I don’t mind. I enjoy giving them to you.” Not to mention that they’re technically stolen , not bought, but the Marleyan government can afford it. If his face is going to get banged up, one tube of ointment should be fair compensation. He places it in your waiting hands, the tips of his fingers brushing against the palms of your hands.

Electrifying. 

“This is…” You read the label. 

“Helps with bruises. Fades them, strengthens the skin, helps with a quicker recovery. I figured it would be something you would like.” The more he rambles, the more he thinks that maybe this was a mistake. It’s his face, isn’t it? He should have waited for the swelling to go down, for the bruises to heal up on their own, before showing up here. He probably looks more beast than human right now. 

“Come lay down on the bed.” You say, and then, minding your manners, “Please.”

His brain short circuits. The concussion surely doesn’t help. You look up at him, doe-eyed and too pretty to be real, too pretty for his imagination to come up with, and you ask him again. “Please?”

Whatever you want — that’s what he told you.

Like a good soldier, he obeys the order given. He’s too tall — perhaps the bed too small — so he has to awkwardly maneuver his body on the stiff mattress. His feet are dangling on the edge, and there’s barely any room for you to sit on the mattress. Your body is pressed against his own, the two of you swapping warmth with each other. 

You untwist the cap of the tube, applying a small amount of ointment on the tip of your finger before pressing the same finger to the bruised part of his face. 

“Is this okay?” You whisper to him. 

Your touch is gentle, soft, comforting. Far nicer than he deserves. The nicest he’s even been treated, he thinks. This is better than okay, better than great. 

He feels his eyelids drooping before he gives in and shuts his eyes altogether. “Yes.” He breathes out. 

You apply the ointment everywhere, slowly, carefully, trying not to apply too much pressure out of fear of sending a shock of pain to him. His breathing gradually evens out. 

“All done.” You say it so quietly, it’s almost undetectable. He doesn’t do anything in response, and you realize that he must have fallen asleep. 

You take the time to admire his face. He’s got a bandage on his forehead, a tiny, red line peeking out that indicates this cut was much longer than what one bandage could cover up. There are two different bruises forming on each of his cheeks, making your own look like a poor imitation of what a bruise should look like. You don’t know what possesses you to take your hand and run your fingers through his hair. It’s coarser than it looks, remnants of hair gel still stuck on some strands. Your soldier looks worse for wear, and obviously he’s exhausted. 

So why did he go out of his way to bring you this ointment? You touch your own bruise, tracing the shape of it. He must’ve seen it. He didn’t ask questions, and that’s fine, because you probably wouldn’t have given him an answer, anyway. He must have known you wouldn’t say anything. 

You know he walked here, too. It’s not a short trip from the military base to this side of town, nor is it an easy journey, either. 

You continue to play with his hair, feeling your eyes get wet the longer you stare at him. What is the matter with him? Why does he do this? Why do you have to beg him to come to bed? Why does he take the trip to see you, spends money, brings you little things that no one else would think to get you, just to get nothing in return? It would be easier to know what to do with him if he were like any other man. Why won’t he ask you for something, anything? 

“Oh, Colt.” You whisper. Your thumb brushes against the bandage on his forehead. When he wakes up, you wonder if you’ll muster up the courage to ask him what happened. 

His eyes flutter open, looking dazed at first until his vision becomes clear. There’s a small smile on his face. 

“Is this a dream?” He asks, voice sounding scratchy, like the words are scraping against his throat. 

“No, not a dream, soldier. Go back to sleep.” 

“Huh. But I thought I heard my name.” He mutters. He blinks. His body is telling him to go back into his peaceful slumber, but maybe the time he spends with Porco is making his traits rub off onto him. Colt finds enough stubbornness to fight his own body to stay awake. “Prove to me this isn’t a dream.” 

How can someone look so confident, so strong, when they’re lying on a cheap bed, bruised and tired? How can someone look so handsome, despite it all? 

You think you’re going to do something dangerous. You just have to summon the courage to do so. One look at the hopeful expression on your soldier’s bruised face, and you know that if he can brave whatever happened to him, you can finally just give in.

“It’s not a dream, Colt.” 

He has to be dreaming, he decides. His name has never sounded sweeter. 

You lean down, your face just centimeters from his own. Your lips, so close to his ear. He’s dreaming, he’s dreaming, he’s dreaming — he doesn’t ever want to wake up. To whichever higher power is listening, please don’t let him wake up.

“If this was a dream, I wouldn’t be able to tell you this.” 

You whisper your name into his ear, and he is aware that this is not a dream. This is real life. This is you, so close to him, telling him your name. He greedily snatches it up, repeats your name over and over in his mind. Then, with his eyes closing, quickly giving in to his exhaustion, he says your name.

He’s out cold.

a/n: if you made it this far, thank you!!! a like and even just a simple comment would really make my day, but i know colt grice only has 2 fans (me being one of them), so i'm not expecting much. if you read precipice, you will look back on this fic and go "oh my gosh, it's a cameo from one of my favorite characters!!!" bc nothing screams self-indulgent fan fiction more than creating ur own lil universe within canon, with ur equally delusional friend <3

[northsoulss]

2.30am - alessia russo

(a/n : recycled this from one of my older fics lol)

tossing and turning, alessia rolls around, trying so hard to get comfortable before realising she is wide awake. she shakes her head, hoping its just a momentary thing before closing her eyes again, forcing herself to fall asleep.

we all know how that will go. it doesn’t work and alessia finds herself frustrated, wishing so badly she could sleep as soundly as you.

she peels her eyes open, finding it difficult to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her. she turned over to see your back facing her, small movements of your head, and the rising and falling of your chest was telling that you were in deep sleep.

alessia's lips quirked upwards, hand reaching out to caress your cheekbone, the only part of your face peeking out of the blanket. you sighed contently from her touch, sinking further into the blanket, shielding your face entirely from her.

she giggled silently, giving you a light peck on the top of your hair before moving to the edge of the bed, feet lying flat on the cold floor. “what time is it,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to make herself fully awake.

looking over to the clock that was on the bedside table, it read ‘2.30am’ with a red glow. she was lucky she was off the next day, if not she would rather knock herself out with the closest object on your desk.

creeping her way to the kitchen, she flailed her hands, moving them haphazardly to try to find the light switch. when she turns it on, she wishes she never stepped one foot out of the bed. she could be cuddling up with you right now, but instead, she decides that baking would be a better option.

“shit, it's so bright.” she grimaces, rubbing her eyes once more, trying to get rid of the fuzzies in her line of sight.

she walks to the kitchen island and squats down to get a tray, still unsure of what to make to pass time. unfortunately, she got distracted, thinking about what she would do on her off day, causing her fingers to slip, making the tray crash loudly.

“fuck.” the harsh metallic ringing caused her to freeze like a deer in headlights. she quickly picks it up and sets it on the countertop, and freezes again when she hears the bedroom door creak open.

you creep out of your room groggy as fuck, armed with your physics textbook, fully expecting to see masked men with bags full of your items; but instead, you see alessia with her hand pressed firmly onto the kitchen countertop, a sheepish grin on her face.

“what the hell are you doing? it's late.” grumbling, you clumsily make your way to her, taking her hand and trying to drag her back into the room. instead, she stays rooted to the ground, a pleading look in her eyes.

“what?” you question, knowing fully that she wants to do something, but since she woke you up, a little bit of teasing ain’t gonna hurt anybody.

“let’s bake?” she waves the tray in the air enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. you caved despite how your warm bed was calling for you, wordlessly reaching up to take the flour from one of the cabinets.

“alright, what are we making?” she lights up even more, like the human version of the sun. she breaks out in a huge smile before pulling you to her and squeezing you in a bear hug.

“thank you, baby! also, we are making choco chip cookies.” she presses multiple pecks to your lips, muttering another quick thank you before taking all the necessary items to bake with.

“can you pass me the chocolate chips?” you stretch out your hand without looking at alessia, only to feel her chin on your palm instead, a cheeky grin plastered on her lips. you couldn’t help the amused smile that crept onto your face — she was just so cute, you wanted to squeeze her face.

you gave in to your cuteness aggression and squished her cheeks together, earning a grunt from her.

“okay, okay. have your choco chips.” she hands you the packet before going back to mixing the cookie batter, a love-sick expression creeping on her face the moment she had her back turned to you.

the night went on with the cookies nearly getting burnt, nearly burning your hand taking out the cookies from the oven, and spilling flour nearly all over the kitchen that alessia promised she would clean the day after.

you both collapse onto the couch with a glass of milk in hand and freshly baked cookies on a plate at the coffee table. “thank you.” you hear from her, turning to your right to look at alessia, her eyes curved and dimples showing.

“what for?” she pretends to think before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, rubbing small circles on your knee. she pulls away too quickly, kissing your forehead and stuffing a cookie into your mouth which you gladly accept.

“for everything.”

©️northsoulss 2023, all rights reserved.

[constesplanetarium]

☼⚠︎Oliver (Yandere! Spirit) x Gn! AFAB! Reader [NSFW]

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

srry its my first time writing smut idk if it’s good…

the main part is here!

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

TW(?) General Yandere shenanigans (possessiveness, jealousy, aggression towards other guys, etc.).

Kink List: M!Dom and M!Sub traits (Switch), dub-con, cunnilingus (pussy-eating), fingering, PIV sex, praise kink, light cockwarming at the end.

Word count: Around 1.5k

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

“Hello? It’s me.” Oliver knocks softly at your door, scratching at the wood jokingly in an attempt to frighten you, even a little. “Can I come in?”

At this hour?

After giving him the okay, he turns the knob and pushes open the door. A short glance at the clock tells you it’s much too late for visitors, let alone someone who was with you the whole day.

“I told you I would see you soon, didn’t I?” Soon as in maybe tomorrow, yeah, but a few hours later? In the dead of night? Yeesh. “I tried to occupy myself with other hobbies, yet I couldn’t stop thinking of you.” Oliver makes his way over and lays down next to you, sinking himself into the covers. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

You’d rather get some shut eye, but even if you asked him to leave, it’s unlikely he would.

“Mind entertaining me for a little?” He says. “Let's talk for a bit more, darling, please?”

… Fine.

Oliver nods and unbuttons his vest, folding it and setting it aside on the bed. He sits down on the bed next to you and sighs, glancing outside the window.

It’s a really beautiful night out. Not a cloud in sight, and the moonlight streaming through the curtains.

“It’s gorgeous outside, isn’t it?” Yeah.

The strange silence between you two becomes uncomfortable rather quickly, and you can’t help but feel that he came into your room for an ulterior motive.

Alright. What does he-

“I don’t know why I feel this way.” He suddenly whispers, making you turn your head over to him in confusion. “You make me feel alive again; like my heart is still beating.”

Oh…

You frown, feeling a twinge of pity for him. Does he really miss being alive?

“I wonder what this feeling is.”

Or is it something else?

“Darling,” He whispers, outstretching his arms. “Come here.”

Uh.

“Here. Please.”

You bite back a wince. What if he does something; like take your soul? Well, if you even have one. But the way he’s looking at you seems so… Frantic? Like he really needs the hug. Even if you rejected him, what would he do?

You sigh and lean over, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you close. The freezing feeling of his body is so familiar now. Maybe it’s lucky that he got you used to it quickly?

“Thank you.” Oliver murmurs, and you shake your head. It’s the least you can do, since he showed you around the place. His hand snakes down to your lower back, rubbing small circles. It doesn’t take long to notice how his breathing has picked up compared to a few minutes ago.

“Do you prefer Alexander?” What?

“You heard me.” Oliver doesn't haven’t elaborate more on the topic, and you decide to shake your head in a refusal. It’s probably what he wants to hear. Either way, you don’t really know Alex yet, so yeah, it’s a bit reasonable to prefer Oliver over him.

“Do you mean that?” After you say yes, Oliver seems pleased at your answer, snuggling into your body.

“You feel so nice.” He smiles. “And warm…” He plants a small kiss on your neck, and both of you sit and cuddle in silence for a few seconds, until you feel the tremble of his hands, making you look-

… This man is fucking crazy.

Once you both meet eyes, his smile grows wider as he cups your cheek. You flinch back at the sudden motion and try to scoot yourself away from him, but he doesn’t even let you entertain that chance.

“Darling, darling,” He whispers frantically, his eyes wide with insanity once he grabs your wrist as he tugs you back into him. “Darling, I want to thank you with more than words. Darling, can I do that? Please?” He whimpers, and your body doesn’t even flinch. You expected something like this, but in the back of your head it’s screaming at you to pull back.

“Can I inspirit you?” Leave. Run. Do something. “I want to feel you so much more. Can I do that? Please?”

But you don’t care at this point, do you?

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

He’s so annoying.

Oliver breaks into happy, crazed laughter once you agree to his possession, and he pushes you down onto the bed with his hand on your heart, in similar fashion to how it went last time.

“I-I even asked this time. Aren’t I so good?” Good for common courtesy? “Right? Right?” You frown, but it’s wiped off your face instantly as his lips press against yours, his hand snaking in between your thighs as that warm feeling spreads throughout your body. A groan almost leaves your throat as his fingers press against your clothed cunt, and he sighs in content.

“You’re so cute.” He whispers, leaning back in to kiss you as he starts to rub up and down on your cunt. You glare at him, uttering a small stream of curses his way, blaming him for waking you up, until he suddenly stops. What’s his problem?

“Let me pull them down, please?” Oliver whines, and you hesitate a bit, but as soon as you give him the okay, he bends down, biting down on your panties, and using his teeth alongside his other hand to tug them down and off your body. He tosses your panties aside on the bed, going back in to kiss you as he starts to rub circles on your clit. You bite back the urge to moan and break the kiss with him, looking up at him, slightly annoyed, but it’s hard to fight the feeling going through your body.

“Are you mad at me?” Obviously. “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself, you’re too pretty, darling.” He cooes, teasing your entrance with a warm finger while his thumb keeps on rubbing your bud. “I love your pussy, so much…”

My god. This man can really sweet talk, huh?

“Come to the edge of the bed.” He scoots himself off the bed, unbuckling his belt as you move over to the edge, and all of a sudden he drops onto his knees, grabbings your thighs as he brings you in closer to his face, practically panting at the sight of your…

Oh, wait-

You bite back a cry of pleasure, Oliver’s now warm tongue licks and sucks on your swollen clit, flicking his tongue up and down as you grab onto the bed sheets, gritting your teeth as you try not to moan out loud. What if someone else hears you? But it feels so good you almost don’t care.

His fingers start to tease your wet entrance again as he pushes his middle finger in, finally drawing a moan out of you as his fingers curl up and push deeper into you, still sucking on your clit as he starts to moan with you. “You taste so good.” Another finger makes its way in quickly as he pushes them in and out, making a mess all over his fingers.

Why the hell does this seem so intimate between you two?

“Darling, darling,” He whispers gently, the air in the room suddenly becoming so intoxicating for both of you. “Can I slip inside you? Please?”

Eh, why not.

He rises back up on his feet, slipping his pants a bit down for his cock to slip out. Precum already dribbles down from the tip, and his hands are practically shaking with excitement as he grabs onto your hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your hole. “... I’ll be gentle.” He murmurs, pushing it inside more as he whines at the feeling of finally being inside you.

“You’re so warm and wet, darling.” Oliver manages to choke out as he starts to thrust himself into you. You clutch onto the covers as you try to grasp the ridiculousness, yet so pleasurable aspects of the situation at hand.

Sex with a ghost, really? Yet he feels so fucking good inside you…

Oliver’s groans fill the empty space in the room as his thrusts start to pick up, his hands digging into your hips for support as he slams his hips into yours. “You’re so good for me, darling.” It feels like the room’s spinning; it’s getting hard to think about anything else.

“I can’t believe I get to be this lucky,” He whines. “This feels amazing, darling. I never want to stop feeling like this.” You reach up and cling yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Once you do, he whispers gently in your ear, trying to fight back moaning himself.

“You’re so amazing…” You moan at his praise, arching your back as you feel your orgasm coming quicker than you expected.

“Are you going to cum?! Oh my god,” He groans, precum slipping down your thigh as he fucks into you. “You’re so tight. Yes, please cum for me, darling. Cum with me…”

It feels so good, no fucking way.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, gripping onto the sheets as your orgasm breaks through you, cum spilling all over his dick.

“Yes, yes!” He moans, slamming his hips into yours as he chases his own orgasm, and it finally comes for him with a loud moan as his cum spills into you.

“You came hard.” He whispers, gently picking you up as his dick still buried deep into you. He sits down instead, and your arms are around his neck and cling onto him, scared he’s going to drop you. Your head is still swirling and all fuzzy. “You did so good, darling. You don't mind if we stay together like this for a bit longer, right?”

How tiring…

“If you ever get tired of Alex tomorrow,” He kisses you right on your cheek, still feeling the fuzziness throughout your body. “Come,” Kiss. “To,” Kiss. “Me.” Kiss. “Immediately.” Kiss. He chuckles at your tired expression and fixes his crooked glasses. “And only me, okay? I won’t let it be anyone else.”

ミ★ 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴. ★彡

tbh i dont like how this turned out, and on a serious note, idk if im gonna write smut ever again but we’ll see ^^’

kept the kinks a bit light since this in my first go at it

also kept it kinda short bc i wanted to hurry up and post already :>

[crushedsweets]

what is the relationship between Nina and Toby? and what’s Clocky’s reaction to it

OK SO. in Creeped(my au) "canon" they arent romantic or anything, the Ninatoby ship art i posted is just cuz i like the ship LOL ...

BUUUT in my AU, they are really close and have a pretty confusing, but mostly positive, friendship! Honestly a lot of this is me sorta just rambling off concepts about them in my AU but. What am i if not off topic. i wrote liek 35898 pages

to begin, Toby met Nina through Jeff. Jeff would be hanging around the area, arm around Nina, showing her off like she's some trophy. so toby didnt really think much of her at first, just one of jeffs chicks - not really her own person. He’d not think twice when jeff would tell her to get the guys a beer or tell her to fix her clothes or generally being shitty to her - until jeff raises his voice at Nina, then toby is more likely to Sit up and watch a bit more carefully cuz he doesnt know what to expect and hes not gonna just watch jeff scream at her (although she’d be quick to scream back). 

I like to think that’d be one of the tuning moments for their relationship, jeff starts berating nina and standing up, toby perks up and is getting ready to intervene cuz it brings back bad memories, and nina starts screaming back cuz she DGAF. she dgaf. So toby would be like oh. Okay. so she does think for herself. an d the next time jeff tells nina to go get them beers, toby might be like “nah its fine i can get my own” rather than nodding along. FIX HIS BRAIN A LITTLE BIT. 

BUT because nina was coworkers with Natalie for a while(and friends), he eventually started hanging around nina more often casually. it sounds shitty but he used her for ego boosts cuz she was so quick to fawn over him ("you're so strong!! oh, that scar is so cool! i looove this haircut on you toby, let me touch!"). And i think its pretty nice for both of them, sort of passive bonding? Cuz toby grew up with a sister and a mom always smothering him and hugging him and lyra would ask him to braid her hair, and nina is just filled to the brim with affection spilling over in everything she does. MUTUALISTIC RELATIONSHIP. THEYRE THE ALIGATOR AND BIRD

AND they're both naturally pretty touchy people (toby wrapping his arms around shoulders, patting backs, picking people up, messing with hair. nina leaning on people, holding hands, tracing shapes, sitting on laps). i like to think that was one of the things that reaaaaallly got on jeffs nerves, which is part of the reason jeff and nina become so toxic with nonstop cheating on eachother, screaming matches, and his eventual stabbing. and part of why jeff and toby went from being pretty good buddies, to getting physically violent with eachother at the drop of the hat. And nina is really, really appreciative to have someone do that for her - cuz she’s the type to sit on the fence between friends, play both sides, not be assertive about who was right/wrong, etc and she’s used to everyone around her brushing off her feelings and how she’s treated. so toby firmly being like “he hurt you, i care about you, so i dont fuck with him anymore. Simple” would make her feel very like Wow. i feel important.

HOWEVER, they’re both really emotional, and really, really sensitive. It presents different, with ninas emotions being more like a breaking dam of tears and screaming and drowning in it, while toby is explosive shouting and burning and aggressive and just wants to suffocate the fire. Toby is a hypocrite though, and views Nina’s emotions as weak and pathetic just cuz she’ll cry and babble. He doesnt quite grasp that theyre both sensitive, he just validates his own anger as a ‘useful’ emotion that ‘gets shit done’ while nina is a whining babbling mess who wallows in it… AND HE’LL TELL HER THAT LMAAAOOO. And nina is mean and spiteful and will be crying while going off about how he’s a virgin loser little bitch with mommy and daddy issues and this and that and toby would just be like You fucking know what. Get the fuck out nina. (I DREW A COMIC OF THIS I WANNA REDRAW IT SOON). But nina will text toby and the convo sorta goes. “3: r u mad at meee” “ya” “v_v dont be mad…” “why” “cuz >_< i just bought pink lemonade Smirnoff and i got nobody 2 drink it with” “come over” then they dont actually dissect why they blew up on eachother. 

WHICH BRINGS ME TO YOUR LAST QUESTION ON CLOCKY…

She dgaf. Ok im joking. Im assuming you specified clocky so i can talk about if it upsets clocky.

She gets worried, actually. I dont want it to be interpreted as romantic jealousy, but she sees the way they connect on touch, being emotional, opening up, etc - meanwhile she’s sort of stuck in the middle of them and she struggles to open up, she bottles things up, she can be cold and quiet and distant. She’ll ignore their texts for days because she’s just not doing well and is trying to focus really hard on work(and her whole “getting better” thing), only to find out that instead of them harassing her like usual, they just hang out together and wait until she’s ready to reach out. And something about that irritates her. Cuz they were HER friends first 😒…LOL. But another part of her worry is the fact that they are both so emotional and they feed into eachother’s bad habits and is pretty blunt with telling them that.

BUT ASIDE FROM THAT!! She does love that her friends get along. It feels really good for her to have a close-knit group of friends who really care about her. Nina and toby will both make a shitty cake decorated in an ungodly amount of sprinkles and bring it to her. They’ll put her in a groupchat and blow it up with useless conversations. Theyll buy her concert tickets and make her come along. They get her out and are good for her in their own ways, even if theyre all very flawed. and she's not the type to give a shit about romantic jealousy

[j-nope-not-today]

Hello! I just discovered your page and I love it! 🐢

Could you write something about the guys finding out that s/o (reader, the girl they have a secret crush on) has a pet little turtle in their house?

Perhaps they had to go to the girl's house and since she lives alone there is no problem, but curiosity led them to discover a rather large and beautiful fish tank with a little turtle living there surrounded by many beautiful things and decorations, and she explains that It's a pet that was given to him a couple of years ago before he met them, so it's just a coincidence.

I find the situation very funny and adorable, imagining them, being huge, and seeing a tiny so turtle living its life peacefully in a large fish tank.

I die of loveooooooor :D ✨❤️🧡💙💜

TMNT reaction to s/o with a pet turtle

A/n: hello! Thanks for requesting and sorry it took so long to get done, but I hope you like it!

Raphael

Big red was stunned

I mean he was at your house for the first time

He didn't expect to see such an elaborate tank setup and when he got closer and saw the small turtle

He couldn't help but laugh a little and turn to you

"is this a joke?"

Your gonna have to explain your not fucking with him and that you had your turtle long before you met him

Once you do he'll instantly deflate and just be okay with it

He'll laugh to himself "looks like you got a thing for turtles. Don't you think?"

He'll turtle sit for you if need be, but it's a little weird for him

He'll just treat him like a new friend

He's honestly weird about it at first but the small turtle grows on him

Leonardo

The moment he's in your room and sees this turtle... he's gonna do exactly what's in the pictured gif above 👆

Just gonna look at the turtle then straight at you.

He'll let you explain and then just stare at the turtle

"...you like me more..right?"

Your gonna have to reassure him that yes you prefer his company over your pet's

He'll be so passive aggressive with your turtle and you'll catch him helping care for him

But you'll like see him feed your pet all while mumbling

"look at your stupid cute face..you should know if I wasn't feeding you you would be starving to death."

He probably ends up loving your turtle more than you in the end though he'll never say so

Donatello

Jealous

He was j e a l o u s

He wasn't to surprised you had a pet turtle but he was very jealous

So reassure him that he's your favorite turtle

He has to hear it

Once he does he'll be totally fine with it and probably would even help you care for your pet.

"the ph balance of the water is off..I'll fix it."

Consistently making sure your turtle is healthy and happy.. because he wants you to smile and maybe because a small

a very, very small part of him actually cares for your pet

Though he wasn't gonna tell you that but he didn't need to

You could see it

Michelangelo

He gets excited when he first sees the small turtle but then gets fake mad

He wants you to tell him he's still your favorite turtle

To console him..maybe even give him a hug

And once you do any of those things immediately he's back to being excited

He'll ask so many questions about your pet..as if your pet could answer the questions

"do you think (t/n) likes me?"

At a certain point it'll be like the turtle isn't even yours.

It's Mikey's turtle now.

[mrsmiagreer]

EA SPOILERS

BRACHIUM 🥺🥺🥺🥺

IS HE OKAY?????

Ik he’s so tired :(

“I am a failure” No baby no

“But i know you hear me”

This is literally so sad i’m crumpling

IS HE CRYING

“Please Mother, Please Release Me” BAWLING

IS HE BEING FREED?!

HE WILL NOT FAIL ‼️‼️‼️‼️👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

This is crazy cinematic

SUNSHINE IS SAVED

WHY IS AARONS VOICE SO DEEP😭😭😭

I literally almost didn’t know who he was

Oh Smartass is here too

Awe brother hug moment

YAYYYYYYY SUNSHINE IS SAFE

“I’m so sorry” 🥺

All I can imagine is Elliott and that damn comfort beanie that we all imagine he has on💀

BRACHIUM AND AARON MEET ?!

WHY IS AARONS VOICE SO DEEP OMG😭😭

It’s throwing me off like crazy who tf is that?! ERIN???

BLAKE MENTION BLAKE MENTION

I know what he did is bad but DADDY I LOVE HIM

Is he gonna die ☹️

“you? specifically?” LMAOO WHY DOESNT AARON BELIEVE HIM?!

I’m sorry but his story is so long :\

“Good. Give them back their fucking lives”😭

AARON CALM DOWN

Memory modification 😲

“I just got my brother back”

So he’s gonna change the circumstances of their memories not wipe them completely

Okay aaron and brachium going back and forth like this —

Omg aaron is literally gonna sit here and convince them that their trauma is worth keeping😭

I get it’s the right thing to do morally but like wtf if i wanna forget i will. if i don’t wanna have nightmares and have to go to therapy from being kidnapped and tortured for days then i will

IS THIS A VOTE ?!

Elliott’s voice is so cute and innocent

“PARTNER IS AN OVERSTATEMENT” LMFAO WHAT

YOURE TELLING ME THEYRE NOT EVEN DATING

“You want my body, you want my cooperation, then you let me have this. you let me have them”

I’m obsessed with Blake omg

“We will try this” YES YES YES OMG NEW BLAKE AND BESTIE CONTENT

“Hey!” OMG

IM LITERALLY FREAKING OUT

HE IS SO CUTE AND NERVOUS ABOUT TALKING TO THEM FUCK

He’s like sweating and almost crying omgggg

YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH IM GOING CRAZY

“We agreed to never talk about because you said if we did that you couldn’t have me in your life if that was something we talked about”

OMG HIM BEING A SEER

THIS LORE IS CRAZY

SO THEY DO KNOW HE’S A SEER

his stuttering 🥹🫶🏽

“I have to say this and i need you to listen to me when i say it…okay?”

“NO‼️” OMG IT SCARED THE FUCK OUTTA ME

He’s yelling at me guys i’m scared he’s yelling

THAT NIGHT OMG

MORE LORE THE LORE DUMP IS CRAZY

His aggression is halfway turning me on and halfway scaring me

Omg i’m about to start crying

i feel his pain so much

“I never stopped loving you” UGHH BLAKE

“You’re gonna die !”

OMG IM SCARED

He sounds on the verge of a psychotic break. Not even the verge. Just the psychotic break

“I know how crazy this sounds, I know how crazy I look”

Babes….its bad. Real bad

“Don’t speak THROUGH me” OMG THIS IS TERRIFYING

OMG WOW THIS IS INSANE THEYRE JUST SHOWING ALL OF HIS PAST TO THEM LIKE A DAMN TV SERIES

this is crazy

“That’s why I did everything”

Blake i’m so in love with you

If they kill Bestie anyway i’m literally gonna cry

The silence in between his sentences are so deafening

OMG THEYRE KISSING YES YES YES YES YES

WHAT DID THEY JUST SAY?!

“you can keep this deluded pet”

WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME LMAOOO

OMG YESSSS BLAKE GETS TO KEEP BESTIE

IM LITERALLY SHAKING‼️‼️‼️‼️

The fuck Aaron just grew up like another 10 years?!

“You tell him baby” ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

If i was smartass at this table id literally say “ewwwwww they’re kissing !”

WAIT WAS ALL OF THAT TO SHOW THAT BRACHIUM WENT THROUGH WITH THE MODIFICATIONS?!?!?!

SCORPIUS WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

OMG THEY DONT REMEMBER ANY OF IT

“I’m coming too” YUHHH DEMONS TEAM UP

You guys. You don’t understand how happy i am right now. All of my begs and pleads have been answered to. I just wanted to know more about Blake and Bestie and I got an amazing amount of Lore. I’m literally gonna start crying

[wildbluesorbit]

Wounded || JTK

…a continuation of London

18+MDNI

Paring: [drunk]asshole! Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: Howdy, back with more asshole Jake today! I know the last part took a very sharp turn but I promise I am telling a story. It's darkest just before dawn and all that. might have even wrote in a little surprise This piece is inspired by this little diddy, please give it a listen as there are so many lyrical references. Everyone say thank you @tommie-gvf for editing! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter; I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think!

Summary || Time heals all wounds, yet a year’s passing begs the question if Jake and you are just too broken to ever put the pieces back together.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, agoraphobia, haphephobia, mentions of nightmares, alcoholic consumption and inebriation, anger, brief mentions of physical aggression and bodily harm, verbal aggression, unsolicited touched, allusions to depressive episodes, allusions to sexual assault, [non-aggressive] attempted forced entry into readers bedroom

*disclaimer: I am in no way a mental health expert and google research can only get me so far*

Word Count || 4.8k+

You swear if the door could speak, it would mock you as you swarm around it. Like an impending predator ready to pounce on its victim; except that you aren’t and it isn’t. You simply stare at the ominous mass on hinges intent on boring a hole through the wood. For just maybe tonight, life would pour in through a glare-induced breach. For once, maybe the world would be kind and come to you.

You are drawn from your reverie by Jake calling your name, “It's okay, we don’t have to go.”

Already aware of the panic-induced rushing heat, you pull your insulative hair back from your flushing face.

You foolishly attempt to speak your courage-feasting fear out of existence, “Oh no, we’re going and we’re going to have a great time!” 

Jake, unconvinced, sleepily rubs his eyes and begins to slip off his well-loved vans at their perpetual displacement by the door.

“Really, it's fine, I’d rather stay in tonight anyways,” he huffs. 

You’re fidgeting alternates from your hair to the cold metal locks of the door, “Why are you taking off your shoes? Let's go!” 

He rests his tenacious hands on your shoulders as he starts to help you shimmy your coat off, “There’s no deadline, angel. It’s okay to not be ready. Don’t push.”

“I want to go out, I promise you,” childish pules make their way through your chest. 

You restrain yourself from stomping your feet like a restive toddler and blink away the unwelcome tears piercing the back of your eyes. 

“I know,” Jake’s voice echoes throughout the empty foyer as he hangs up your jacket, “but there’s no rush, I promise you too.”

It has been a year since London and Jake invited you to live in Nashville with him and Josh. At first, you had agreed only if you could help around the house just until you got back on your feet, but after a few weeks it had become prodigiously clear nothing beyond this point would be that painless. 

As soon as you made home in Nashville, you found yourself struggling to keep up with the world booming just beyond your bedroom. The look on Jake’s face when you were diagnosed with mild cases of haphephobia and agoraphobia almost made you dread you hadn’t stayed to wither away in London.

On good days you managed a hug or even a car ride to the store but it was seldom, and only ever accompanied by Jake. You remained constant with your therapy and enervated yourself trying to break through life’s new barricades, but it proved a cheap fuel to get you through most days. 

You have lost count of the amount of nights you got ready for an evening out with Jake, in which he had to go on without you because you could not bring yourself to step beyond that petrifying threshold. So just like the many lost evenings before, you insist he go without you and, like always, you’d be waiting for him when he comes back.

“Fine, but not because you told me so,” you tease, “and put your shoes back on. You know the rules!”

If you couldn’t go out, you made certain you didn’t drag anyone else down with you. And if you are trapped inside, you make sure your weight is being pulled within.

As soon as it was clear you wouldn’t be leaving the house for a while you hunted for work you could perform from the comfort of your bed as a means to not sit idly with the demons trapped inside with you. Since you already had a business degree you landed on being a virtual accountant. But when you had free time you kept the Kiszka residence running smoothly.

Of course, they already had assistants and maids for domestic upkeep of the house and mostly everything was paid for, but you took initiative in commandeering any duties that slipped through those cracks. From taking care of plants and pets to ordering groceries, and even cooking some nights; responsibilities the twins claimed they wanted for themselves in an effort to stay grounded. Yet whether they accept it or not, they are rockstars with no time for such mundane tasks. 

The twins always make sure you know how much they appreciate you. You’d never admit it, but sometimes flowers or a cheesy note here and there is a small token that pulls you through the day. 

Danny and Sam also visit you when they have a chance. The boys always set aside a few minutes to catch up when they were at the house on a work call. Sometimes they’d take turns stopping by with lunch, checking in on your progress. They’d always tell you they miss you and encourage you to go out. Although, constantly being abraded by the same words can be challenging at times you never objected; you found their strategy endearing. It makes you feel like a princess; except for the days it made you sorely feel like a prisoner. 

Yet no matter what the other boys do, Jake is still the pinnacle of it all. The only one who understands the gravity of your experience, as he was there to witness it. He is the only one you feel you can talk to on the rare occasion you do want to talk about it. The only one who recognizes why you are the way you are and knows the tracks your mind runs on. The only one who truly knows how to take care of you when you don’t. Which means he is also aware you hadn’t found the mental capacity to figure out how the two of you fit into each other's lives.

Before the arrival of any real contemplation or diagnostics, you had tried a few times to rekindle the embers of your once-raging flame, but somehow everything always got put on hold or fizzled out. Some nights would consume you two. You’d imagine his pink plush pout everywhere and your touch seemed to send electricity through the man, but you always tapped out, neither of you addressing it. A few times you clung to the concept of Jake and you, charging through the strain of wanting to pull back and he was the one who would call it, consoling you when you hadn’t even registered you had started to cry or hyperventilate. That’s when you noticed Jake redirecting his time and energy into being your friend first and foremost. 

However, he never holds it against you as most nights are spent in your bed anyway. Sometimes he comes in to watch TV, read, listen to music, or just talk until he falls asleep next to you. Seldom do you pursue Jake’s touch, but there is an unbounded stillness about these nights; a safeness enabled by his giggles and even breathing so close. These nights are your favorite, submitted to memory as long as fate will allow.

But more often than not, Jake’s nights start in his bed and journey to yours, pursuing his self-assigned task of soothing you back to sleep after a nasty nightmare would goad you awake.

You once asked him how he always knows; to which you immediately regretted as he responded sometimes he intuitively felt compelled to check on you. While other times you could be heard from down the hall; yet you secretly suspect he sometimes sneaks into your room to avoid nightmares of his own. Nevertheless, the last thing you ever wanted to become was Jake’s babysitting project, so you always make an effort to stay away from the phone when he is on the road. 

Days Jake was away proved bearable as many tasks around the house demanded your undivided attention. Yet evenings, when you stalled your mind long enough to fall asleep became excruciating. He’d usually check in after a show or drinks but the prowling monsters always came out of hiding as soon as he hung up. You almost always ended up sneaking into Jake’s bed, seeking comfort in the little strands of him living in his bedroom. You’d never confessed this though. 

Jake reels you from where you had been tucked away in your thoughts, “Danny’s here! Last chance to rescue me from this trainwreck and hog me all to yourself?”

He bats his long eyelashes at you and nods optimistically. 

“Have fun,” you giggle, shutting his whole pleading puppy dog act down. 

He grants you a bashful wave goodbye as you implore him to carry on his evening, as you would feel terrible if he stayed home just because you couldn’t leave. He agrees while perusing your eyes like he does every time before he parts from you. 

You had learned to read this signature appraisal as Jake’s silent survey as to whether he should actually leave or not. He never wanted to see you struggle to ask for something you needed if he found he could anticipate it. Though, It is always accompanied by one other departing look that you could never decipher.

That is until one day, compelled by your confusion that always follows, he told you he was fighting the urge to kiss you goodbye. He said it not to pressure you or coerce you into reciprocation, but just to be honest with you about what place you hold in his eyes. 

Jake whines one more time before you assure him he has no choice, “Do I have to go?!” 

You throw your hands in the air in an exaggerated dusting motion and feign a pestered grunt, “Shoo! Shoo!”

He notifies you he will be right back and his ringer is on if you need anything. You almost envy how gracefully Jake parts from you and vanishes through the door frame with no trouble at all.

— JAKE —

The music is too loud. The lights are too bright. The bar is far too crowded. The company your brothers force on you is nauseatingly obnoxious. You are decidedly miserable. You want nothing more than to crawl inside a cab that hauls you back to her bed. You’ve wanted nothing more for the past year. 

Instead, you endure it. Lead by example and don’t be an enabler. Your only comforting thought is that you don’t have to do it sober. You wash down your despair with the rest of your numbing elixir.

Reluctantly, you are pulled from your dissociation, “Jake?!”

You look up from your empty glass, flocking eyes of anticipation indicating they’ve reached a part of the conversation that requires your participation. You simply apologize and signal the waitress for a refill.

You feel your brother’s elbow gently prod against your rib cage, “What’s up?”

Josh means well, asking the question discreetly, but it still brings the pre-existing conversation to a halt. You wave him off, poorly portraying placidity. He doesn’t buy it, along with everyone else.

A girl you had met maybe a handful of times, you just can’t seem to recall her name at the moment, sat across the table from you. She had been tagging along recently and was particularly fond of Sam. You are clueless as to what purpose her next words serve or why they find you the way they do, just that she is illogically brazen as you don’t really know a thing about her and vice versa.

The nameless girl snickers unprompted, “Still couldn’t get your little puppy out of her cage, huh?”

The startling amount of intimate knowledge this stranger possesses is nearly paralyzing. Your eyes narrow in on a wide-eyed Sam.

Sam’s hands flail about as if he is looking to materialize a shield out of thin air to hide behind and panickedly begins to babble, “Wait- I didn’t tell- She wasn’t supposed to- She was eavesdropping!”

“I heard she won’t even let you pet her,” she smugly clicks her tongue.

All at once, the same raging fire that blazed within you that night in London lends itself to you once again. Painfully flickering in and out every so often, it never returns this lucid. 

That same destructive flame that scorched any and all sense of restraint to a crisp that night, roaring louder in your ears than any other voice of reason. The same seething blind red that found Hunter beaten beyond recognition, the only identifiable weapon being your hands bloodied and bruised and split. 

Like clouds catch the dancing auburn flare of a beaming bonfire, you question whether your face is a glowing ember reflecting your own raging flame. You aren’t certain you could say or do anything without completely losing your shit in this very bar.

Instead of fuming, you only finish your drink in an eerily serene manner. The only indication of rage being your knuckles wrapped white around your glass, your control alarmingly intact by a quickly unraveling thread.

You walk over to the bar to close out your tab. You refuse to give into the red haze as your brothers call after you, thoughtlessly beseeching for you to remain present and what that would mean for you. 

The bell above the door rings through your ears and the crisp chill breeze of night hits your face as you step through the exit, half extinguishing the fire lit by some loose-tongued stranger. 

You know you should go home but the last thing you want to do is further burden her in your short-fused state. You had been diligently adamant in keeping this monster carefully caged in her presence and weren’t about to let your hard work be tossed aside by some prick with a loud mouth. You can pretend to play it off, act like there is nothing wrong but that wouldn’t be fair to the both of you. She would see right through you. 

You decide you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. You nuzzle into the warmth of your jacket as you wait for your noble rescue, via Uber.  

— YOU —

You vacillate between consciousness and void as your phone begins buzzing. Half asleep, you let it ring until the din resumes, fully pulling you from slumber. The unnaturally bright screen pierces through the dark room and Danny’s contact photo stings your adjusting eyes.

You force your slumber-frozen vocal cords to rasp out, “Hello?”

Danny’s tender voice sounds through the line, “Hey, sorry to wake you, hun. I just wanted to make sure Jake made it home okay?”

Still groggy from sleep, the question riddles you, “What? I haven’t heard him come through. He’s not with you?”

“Shit- He’s not at the house and he’s not answering his phone,” he mutters to someone on the other end.

Panic sets in and forces you to spring upwards, “Danny? What’s going on? Where’s Jake?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” his uneasy tone and evasion of your question do little to console you. 

“Daniel-,” you don’t get the chance to finish before you hear Jake stomping up the staircase.

“He’s right here, Danny, goodnight,” you rashly exhale the update before hanging up the phone and tossing it on the bed, of which you’ve already vacated and are headed for the stairs. 

You rush out of your room to see a sloppily inebriated Jake oozing up the steps. You swiftly plod down the incline till you reach the same level as the teetering drunk, intent on assisting him in his expedition to bed.  

You frantically begin to ramble off questions, “What happened? Where were you? Are you okay?”

You pet the frizzy hair away from his face and into a ponytail. Taking care of Jake suffocates any hesitation from his heavy touch as you throw his arm closest to you over your shoulder and place your hands around his waist for balance, eliciting a lazy giggle from him.

“They cut me’off,” he slurs, “can you b’lieve that?”

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “I can actually.”

Once he makes it atop the staircase he dwells there. You keep moving forward to allude him to follow but he instead crumbles into you.

Jake plops his head heavy onto your shoulder and nuzzles into your neck. His hands follow, wrapping around the dip of your waist to keep balance. It has been nearly a year since you last felt the weight of his warm skin press into you. The pungent smell of liquor offends your nostrils as his warm, heavy, drunk breaths tickling your neck become one of irrational remorse.  

Your first instinct to peel him off of you roars throughout every nerve ending of your body, but you don’t. After all he's done, Jake needs you now. Even if it's only to help get him to bed, you don’t mind being wildly uncomfortable for a few minutes. 

“I’m sor- I’m sorry, I just- then she said- I didn’t wanna ‘pset you- I’m so sorry- I just miss you, princess,” he babbles whined apologies into your clavicle, beginning to unnerve you.

You grunt trying to pull his limbs back into motion, “What are you talking about, Jake? Are you okay? What happened?” 

He resumes staggering forward on his own accord, even wasted he is much stronger than you. 

He giggles at your question, completely amnesic to his previous mystery guilt, “Am I O-kay? I’m doing… great! It’s you- Are ya’ O-kay?”

You answer the question simply to appease Jake and keep him mobile, “I’m doing just fine, let’s get you to bed.”

Together the two of you pad down the dark hallway. You make it in front of his bedroom door just before his fluctuating footsteps cease yet again.

He yanks his arms from your grasp in indignation, “Don’t lie to me! You aren’t- I know you aren’t!”

Frustration creeps in, and you take a deep breath. You return his hands to your own and soothingly run your thumbs along his knuckles. You patiently explain that he has had too much to drink and will feel better after water, pain relievers, and sleep. All you want is to help him get some rest. Yet he still refuses to move, a swaying brick wall.

“You know the guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me,” he aimlessly blurts out. 

You wince, throwing your head up to the ceiling. This is the last thing you want to discuss, especially with an intoxicated toddler of a man.

You and Jake rarely talk about what happened that night. You’ve addressed it maybe once or twice when he approached you about seeing a therapist or when you seldom tell him what happens in your nightmare.

You drop his hands to mask your face with your own, struggling to remain in place and not flee from his sight, “Jake-”

The fast manner in which Jake summons sobriety in his next words is almost unsettling, still inebriated but much less so. Enough to have a coherent conversation now. Just enough to wage war with a cleverly choreographed army of words without any real contemplation or inhibition.

He curtly hiccups, “Don’t you think you’ve carried this weight way too far?”

He speaks as if you have any say in the matter. As if you are choosing to remain prisoner to the shadows in your mind. As if choking on paralytic terror and trauma day and night is the path of least resistance. You draw back from Jake in one large clarifying step and place your hands under your arms to conceal their tremors. 

You do your very best to plant your rising tone, “I don’t know what you want from me, Jake?”

“I want you,” he begins to storm, his hands sloppily flailing about to gesture his points, “I want your laugh and I want your smile. I want to knock ‘em down like we used to, you know? I want to kiss you and touch you. God only knows how much I would love you if you’d let me!” 

You know he is only drunkenly rambling but it doesn’t dull the gashes his words leave. How could he insult you to think you couldn’t possibly feel the same? That you don’t ache for times the two of you used to parade through the night, wading through trouble and chaos, spontaneity as your only navigation. How you tear yourself apart knowing you’re the reason it's all recollection and not an existing reality?

You routinely dwell on the former enamoring parts of you. You are a phantom. A mere fragment. A poor cover of an adored original. The waste of a girl everyone antecedently loved, including you. Only a spectator stuck behind a glass, forced to look in on your life being fucked up by some imposterous variation of you. Every element you loved about yourself had been stolen from you.

You raise your defenses, “You don’t think I want that too?! I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this! It's never been this complicated, Jake.”

Your appeal to his empathy goes void as he further scrutinizes you, “So what? You’re the only one who is recovering from that night?! And I'm just supposed to be cool with you doing nothing? You want me to be okay with you neglecting yourself? Let you walk around like you’re some wounded thing?!”

He dissects you, rendering you raw and helpless. You aren’t sure how to reason with him so you remain still, renouncing the idea of a clever rebuttal. He, a hostile beast, you don't want to spook. Yet it only seems to reload his fire. 

Almost repulsed by your lack of refutation, he reboots his one-sided yelling match, “You used to speak so easy, and now it’s like you're afraid to talk to me! When are you going to stop being so apathetic towards this and face your demons?! When are you going to come around again? You used to be this surge of energy- We all miss you- I miss you!” 

His words prick tears from your eyes but you fight them, swallowing the lump of self-pity in your throat. 

You poorly return fire with volume in an attempt to conceive a sob, “You just- you don’t get it, Jake!” 

Jake thrusts his head back in a growl. The sudden shift in his weight causes him to fumble backward, your hands automatically gravitating to his rescue in fear he might trip over his own footing. But you cross your hands back into your sides as soon as he catches himself, not even aware of his staggering he proceeds in his reprimand. 

“I don’t need to get it,” he mimics your weak excuse of a defense, “I just need you to be okay! I don’t expect you to be fine right now or even the same. I just want to know that you will be okay and I have yet to see any indication. You won’t leave this house and the only people you socialize with are my brothers and I. I’m convinced you don't want to grow! I mean- as soon as you start doing well again you shut yourself in your room, is this going to be the rest of our fucking lives?”

You let your mouth hurl words without any ideation of consequence, “I’m not one of your screaming fuck-dumb fan girls, Jake. I don't owe you a thing and you don’t get to speak to me this way. And I don’t expect you to understand but don’t worry, I won’t crowd you anymore. You’ve made it clear I’ve overstayed my welcome so I’ll be out the door.”

You press into the balls of your feet now, completely committed to bolting from any further confrontation but his next words make it nearly impossible to ignore.

His impudence is a cruel dagger, “Yeah, you know you have to actually leave the house first?”

“A colossal fuck you, Jacob,” you snarl.

“Just another thing you have yet to do,” he ruthlessly twists the knife yet again.

All emotion drains from your face completely paralyzed by his venom. You're convinced all the oxygen in your lungs has deserted your body, leaving you gasping and choking for any response. Not even able to make eye contact with him, your eyes swirl around the room; half an attempt to search for some indication this is all a dream, half an attempt to roll back the oncoming tears.

You are sick and tired of crying.

The one person you have trusted with your tears is now the one pouring them back into your crying eyes. Weaponizing your drops, he now trains the blade to your throat.

You hum a tune of uncertainty to cover the lump in your throat as you subconsciously slide your feet backward against the hardwood floor, “Um- Ja- I- You’re drunk, Jake, get some rest, okay?”

You can’t possibly stomach being angry with him any longer. You’ve had enough rage and hate for a lifetime. You don’t want to vilify or associate any of it with the man in front of you.

Though he’s not perfect, you couldn’t imagine asking for more. Jake has been so good to you in a season full of so many tears, panic attacks, mood swings, outbursts, meltdowns, isolation episodes, sleepless and nightmare-ridden nights. He is always there to make sure you are eating, and getting out of bed, and showering, and taking proper care of yourself. He is the one to organize your ground on days you’ve been so numb and dissociated you nearly forgot how to speak. He’s been there to take care of you when the day is so overwhelmingly amplified and intrusive it makes you physically ill.

Jake had placed his heart in being attentive to the little things. He knows when you are holding your breath. He sees when you are avoiding your reflection. He can sense when you are fighting to complete basic tasks. He recognizes when you put effort into something you have been struggling with. Jake makes sure to nurture signs of growth as they come but is always there to gather you when you relapse. He’s always been there to remind you of who you are and how much you are loved. 

This is the first time he’s lost his patience with you and he isn’t even in his right mind.

More than earned your forgiveness, Jake is the reason you can still forgive. The reason you aren’t as bitter and angry at the world as you’re justified to be. 

Yes, you decide that he more than deserves exoneration. Because even though it feels as if it’s millennia away, when you’re one day reunited with your smile, it will be Jake who brings it back to you. A sculptor slowly chiseling away at stone until his piece is restored to the beauty that lives in his memory. 

And though you let his trespasses go you can’t save yourself from the wounds his words have reopened. You scrunch your lips to the side to conceal their quiver. 

“Goodnight, Jake, sleep well,”  your words come out a whisper in an effort to not let your voice break.

Grief commandeers your limbs, immediately puppetting you on your heels and towards your bedroom. 

“Where are you going? Wait- no- I’m sorry- I didn’t- fuck,” Jake’s aggression seems to wilt away as he is swallowed whole by his own words, still thick in the air.

Jake’s pity would be the final nail in your coffin.

The padding of your feet against the cold floor hastens as you hear Jake pursuing behind you. You gracefully gap your door open just enough to float through the sliver and lock it behind you in time to hear Jake's foot and forehead clumsily thud against the wood. You step away from the door as he jiggles the rigid knob to realize it is no use. 

“I’m sorry that was-,” you can hear him running his fingers along the ridges of the door as he is trying to compose himself, “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean it- I just- please open the door?”

You only ever want to tell Jake yes, but what you need now is space. Denial of his plea nearly shatters you across the floor. 

“Please- I’m just- I’m so sorry,” you’d never heard him sound so small.

He never begs like this so you know he is still drunk. You lazily crawl into your bed deciding it is not a good idea to open the door. More mumbled apologies beg their way through the wood and you bury your head under your blanket to drown out the temptation. 

Jake turns his back to the barricade and slides down against it till he reaches the floor, a subtle plop as he takes a seat. His prayers and repentance flicker out until you realize he’s talked himself to sleep against your door. 

You finally let your feverish tears fall till they rinse you of your consciousness.

pretty please let me know what you think <3

taglist❤️‍🩹 -

@ageofbajabule @alwaysonthemend @anythingforjtk @becinabubblegvf @carbondancingthroughtime @dannys-dream @dont-go-home-without-me @edgingthedarkness @gretasfallingsky @gretavanglimmers @gvf23 @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @jakeysbuttsheeks @lipstickitty @lyndz2names @mindastreamofcolours @mountain-in-springtime @mrbrownstne @nina-23-45 @sacredjake @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @smoking-jakelane @sparrowofthedawnsworld @styles-canvas @takenbythemadness @dancingcarbon @thewritingbeforesunrise @tommie-gvf @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @violet-hayes @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

[lenasprouts-words]

olderbrother!skz headcanons :3

gn!reader with a scenerio w menstruation in changbin’s! maknae line

i want an older brother… anyways

bang chan

oh ho ho you KNOW hes gonna be super duper protective of u

like nuh uh the kids can NOT meet you

but u still get to hang out w maknae + jin line (closer to their age)

age gap is like three years or smth so

his parents adopted you when he was four and u were one

movie nights every weekend frfr

or atleast movie nights on call

and whenever you got tea, he’s on the ready

best best advice, like, ever

sometimes you wonder if this is his nineteenth life or smth

so wise

you painted a mug for him once

no one is allowed to touch it

it has its place in the gym bros’ dorm

sometimes picks you up and runs when your talking to someone

and if you ignore him he’ll start cuddling up to you

’channie get tf away go annoy seungmin or whatever im studying’

gives you nicknames like ‘buggy bear’ and ‘baby duck’

makes you learn languages with him

when he learned ikaw for manila, ph concert he showed you first

bc he knows you like listening to tagalog

he has videos of you singing and falls asleep to it when he gets homesick

lets you listen to his unreleased songs and tracks on his laptop

you got to make one that one time at home too

you send little messages to him thru out the day

and scold him when he’s up working

you know bc he gave you his location

you bought his bubble and constantly tease him

when he comes home he takes you and berry to the aquarium

he picks you up and spins you when yall hug

its the funnest thing ever

will not hesitate to bring up that time you ate hamster poop thinking it was choco chips

lee know

okay he’d be really scary to your friends but like a cat around you

your age gap b like, one or two years

he annoys you about anything

crushes, enemies, good animes or mangas

stuff like that

in turn you bug him about the members

’whats jisung like when hes sick’ ‘oh do you know innie’s plans are tomorrow’

he finds your hyunjin pc collection and blows your phone up

but his hugs are so nice and warm

he holds you by the shoulders and his hands go down your back

eventually he starts tickling you

but you use the self defense moves he’s been teaching you

one of your middle school friends had a crush on him

they were flabbergasted when you walked home together

buys you things that remind you of him

and leaves it on your window sill/table/bed

his favorite hoodie is the bunny w the middle finger bc you gave it to him

makes your lunch for you and leaves slightly passive aggressive notes in them, still sweet tho

although once you got a note that said

’give me back my hoodie or i’ll shove a water bottle up your asshole. xoxo lino hyung’ that was for jisung

once decided to pick you up from work to get sushi

your coworkers were like

’wow i didnt know they had a boyfriend’

you cried laughing hearing that and so did min

teased you about the fanfic you wrote when you were thirteen

and you tease him about the 2PM shrine he had

obviously you both r cat ppl

so he takes you to cat cafe dates all the time

insists on paying and saying you’ll pay next time

sends random ass pics on tour all the time

changbin

he absolutely cherishes you

like holds you up like a trophy infront of his friends all the time

youre two-three years apart from each other

he loves loves giving you piggy back rides

also loves squeezing the life out of you

youre the one he goes to when he buys something

and he’s the one you go to for relationship advice

once you took him to an amusement park

your camera roll was full of blackmail

tens of millions of inside jokes

one of the kids will fix their hair and you’ll both burst out laughing

bc once changbin ran into a pole fixing his hair

your ultimate group is newjeans so you went to a fansign

and got bin a signed teddybear

he cried when you gave it

he constantly tells you to be safe

when your going somewhere

’bye baby cub (nickname lol), be safe have fun love ya!’

when you need a little pick me up

he comes to you with your favorite ice cream flavor and his laptop

your emergency contact

one of your friends has to text him and he gets super suspicious

’cub who tf is this? why were they texting me?’

almost started a whole ass fight

its okay tho he apologized and bought chocolate

constantly tells you to go to bed early bc he doesn’t want you to ‘become like channie-hyung’

will run to get you what you need

if you got your period and arent prepared he’ll know

just sprints to the nearest cvs

even cleans up your nasty bedsheets bc u leaked

’oh dont worry cub i can handle it’

your on his close friends list on instagram

most times its just dedications to you that he puts on his story

hyunjin

his day one frfr

like your only a year apart so your tight asf

his hugs will be gentle but so warm

bear hugs>>>>

his huge ass hands will totally go around your neck for comfort

he also digs his face into your shoulder

he paints many things for you

like he’ll also give you his unfinished projects when he’s sick of them

shines when you compliment him

teaches you choreos and lets you make up some

dyes your hair often too

spa nights where its just the two of you with a movie of your choice in the bg

those are the days where you can just. let go

tea gets spilt. i mean like, you know absolutely everything abt the other atp

spontaneous karoake nights

he gets worried when you drink tho

’noooo what if you fall on your face and then it gets ruined!!’

when he’s tired or down tho

one of the members text you and you come over with your comfort box you packed for these situations

face masks, iced americanos, watermelons, fluffy blankets, llama eye masks for sleeping, an air purifier, room spray, and a huge hoodie and sweatpants/shorts bc he probs did NOT shower in his funk

when he goes home you take walks together and catch up

also you just. really like smelling his room

it smells like flowers and the perfume your late grandfather used

gifts you things from versace

his favorite colors are black and white; yours are brown and grey

picture wall of polaroids w photos u took together

you stream his music 24/7

he writes sad sad songs abt missing you

worse than hannie and his break up songs 😭

working on the maknae line!