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jexnkookie · 4 months ago

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The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 7]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: I know I always say this, but I am very excited for this part! lol I hope y'all like it! Also, if I forgot to tag you in the taglist, or if you'd like to be added, please let me know! I try to add people as they ask, but I'm afraid I'll miss someone. So just let me know! Thanks!

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @parkinglot-nights @rispwr @taetaecatboy @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

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Series Masterlist

“How are you feeling about today?” Namjoon asked his client.

Jimin was standing with you in the lobby of the courthouse, dressed in his best Ralph Lauren suit, keeping your hand in his. You sported a long-sleeve baby blue pencil dress from Versace that belted around the waist, with a pair of beige Louboutin heels. You chose your outfit knowing that the press would be there that day, and you wanted to appear put together and presentable for your fiancé’s case. Standing by him, with your engagement ring proudly shining on your finger, you could see the cameras outside through the lobby windows, snapping photos that will undoubtedly be front page news tomorrow. You understood fully that the direction the day goes would determine so much; the Park family name, the perception of Jimin as incoming CEO of the company, and most importantly, your future together.

“I’m ok.” Jimin replied, gripping your hand, before turning to look at your face. “How are you feeling, my love?”

“I’m ok, too.” You offered a sweet smile. Composed.

“We’ll get through this.” Namjoon said. “I can’t imagine Judge Harmon being more difficult than he has to be.”

“How is he? As a judge?” Jimin asks.

“No bullshit, but fair.” Namjoon replied. “He’s worked in the city a long time, and he’s seen it all. But as long as he can see that you’re trying, he’s fair.”

Namjoon glanced at his phone, checking the time.

“We need to go in there, it’s our time.” Namjoon said. “Ms. Y/L/N, thank you for having your statement ready for me this morning.”

“Of course.” You responded, squeezing Jimin’s hand. “Anything to make this easier.”

Jimin smiled sadly at your words. He wished it were easier; he wished the situation weren’t so difficult on you. He felt like a liar to your families, and to himself. He knew he’s already failed so many times in taking care of you, loving you, and giving you the life he knows you deserve. Yet here you were, dignified as always, standing by him in front of the world’s attention. He didn’t deserve you, and for the first time, he truly understood that deeply. But he was thankful that you were there nonetheless, holding his hand.

The four of you walked down the hallway together, and you gave Jimin a quick kiss for luck before slipping away with Jung Kook into the public, gallery seats in the court room, behind Namjoon and Jimin’s council table. The court was empty otherwise, except for the other legal team at their table, as the judge ordered prior to that no cameras were to be inside for this brief decision.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Joseph Harmon.” The bailiff announced, leading everyone in the room to stand while the judge entered, taking his seat at the bench. “You may be seated.”

“Mr. Park,” Judge Harmon began, looking up from his glasses to the young heir. “It seems your council is asking for a deferral on your case today. Is that correct?”

“Yes, your honor.” Jimin answered.

“Your honor, my client is asking for a minimum ninety day deferral, in order to seek rehabilitation treatment.” Namjoon began. “We request to submit a treatment plan to the court, as well as a personal character statement written by the defendant’s fiancé.”

“Very well.” Judge Harmon nodded, allowing the bailiff to take the paper work from Namjoon and bring it to him. The court was silent as he looked through the documents quickly. “And, why must the defendant miss his upcoming court dates for this? Could he not be escorted to and from the court during those dates, and return once the day is over?”

“Your honor, it would be against the suggestion of his therapy team to remove Mr. Park from his in-person support for long hours at a time.” Namjoon reasoned. “His team, as well as Ms. Y/L/N, have requested in writing that Mr. Park focus solely on his health before his dates, as any distraction may disturb his treatment plan.”

“Your honor,” The opposing lawyer spoke up, her tone annoyed. “Calling this case a ‘distraction’ is insulting to those who Mr. Park misled and defrauded out of their investments. I would argue that Mr. Park is attempting to delay this case in order to lower his chances of facing any consequences for his actions.”

“If I may, your honor,” Namjoon responded, “I can assure the court that Mr. Park is not delaying consequences, as we feel that we have a strong case against these allegations. My client is simply doing the responsible thing; doing right by his family, his business, and his wife-to-be, by seeking immediate help for his addiction and behavior.”

“And what behavior would that be, Mr. Kim?” The judge asked. Jimin shot Namjoon a wide-eyed panicked look, not wanting to reveal his private fight with you.

You became nervous, as well. Jung Kook knowingly reached for your hand, and was surprised when you took it, locking your fingers with his for support. I’m right here, Y/N, he said to himself, as if you could hear his thoughts.

“Emotional management courses, your honor.” Namjoon replied. “It’s standard practice for someone on this treatment path, as outlined by his recovery team.”

“I see.” Judge Harmon said, looking at the blonde heir. Jimin was sitting upright, in perfect posture, trying to keep his composure under the weight of the judge’s look. “Mr. Park, I believe it may be best for you to seek treatment before we continue with the case. The court is granting you the request for a ninety-day deferral to focus on your health.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Namjoon smiled, looking over at a very relieved Jimin. The prosecution lawyer rolled her eyes and tsked in disbelief, but Namjoon paid it no mind.

Jimin turned around to give you a smile, and Jung Kook mentally thanked his luck that your fiancé didn’t see his hand in yours from where he was sitting, because Jung Kook wasn’t at all ready to let you go; to let you leave his hold, and run back to him. But Jung Kook knew he had to, as much as it hurt him. He knew, despite his heart begging at him to keep you close, that you weren’t his to hold on to.

————————————————————————————————————

Namjoon brought you and Jimin back to your hotel room to help Jimin pack for his treatment, while Jung Kook retreated back to his office for the rest of the day. When you arrived at the suite, bottles were still scattered among the tables, floors and counters, reminding you of all of the terrible nights, not just the most recent incident, where Jimin had crossed the line. All of the times he messed up, not keeping his promise that he whispered to you that night in front of your families.

“Mr. Kim,” Jimin called out to Namjoon from the bedroom, who was gathering Jimin’s clothes from the closet nearby. “Would you be alright with leaving Y/N and I for the afternoon? My driver will make sure I’m on time for my check-in, I just… I’d like to have some private time with her.”

“Of course, Mr. Park.” Namjoon said, bowing respectfully. “If either of you need anything, please don't hesitate to call.”

“Thank you.” Jimin said, waving to him on his way out, before turning to you.

You were picking up empty bottles with a sadness in your eyes that Jimin never, in his life, wanted to see again.

“Hi, my love.” Jimin said as gently as he could, approaching you. He could see that sadness so clearly the closer he came, and saw just how deep in truly ran. “Honey, come here. I wanna talk to you.”

You nodded, and reached out for his hand. Jimin led you to the bedroom, and sat you on the bed before bending down on the floor by your legs to look up at you, making you giggle.

“Jiminie, what are you doing?” You laughed, earning a smile from your fiancé.

“Jiminie? Honey, you haven’t called me that in so long.” He replied. “I just wanted to look at you, my love, and I wanted to ask what my pretty girl is thinking about.”

“I… I don’t wanna fight anymore.” You replied, your voice so quickly turning soft in exhaustion and sadness.

“There won’t be any fighting today.” He said, rubbing his hands up your legs in comfort. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m just tired.” You responded truthfully. “I’m so tired, baby. I can’t… I don’t know what to do…”

“Shhhh, I know.” Jimin said gently, looking at your face as you spoke. He could see it from the dark circles under your eyes, and the dullness of your skin. “I know I haven’t made things easy on you, and I’m sorry honey. You must be so worried all the time, right? Not sleeping or eating much?”

You nodded to confirm. “Jung Kook made japchae, and that was the first full dish I’ve eaten in a while.”

Jimin smiled unconvincingly, hating to know that another man took care of you in the way he should’ve.

“I’m glad you ate well, my love.” He said diplomatically. “When I’m in treatment, I want you to you sleep and eat well every day, ok? And I want you to tell me if you need anything at all. ”

“Baby, I’ll be ok.” You smiled, delicately keeping your composure. “It’s only for a short time, right? You need to focus on getting better, not on my needs. Besides, Jung Kook is there, just in case. I won’t be alone.”

“Yeah.” Jimin nodded, trying to keep his protectiveness and jealousy under control. “But listen, honey, I mean it. If you need or want anything, you can come to me, ok? I want you to come to me.”

“Ok.” You nodded.

Jimin gazed up at you for a moment longer, unsure if you really meant it, because knowing you, you’ll do things yourself or ask someone else before him, just to make sure he focuses on himself. You knew that giving you things was Jimin’s way of feeling adequate. A manicure, a new bag or dress, a nice meal at a nice place, a beautiful vacation, amazing sex. Jimin felt needed and secure as a man when he gave you these things. But what Jimin didn’t realize, was that you needed something that was somehow both more, and so simple. You only needed him to be ok, and to prove that he can be a stable partner for you.

After a few moments of committing your features to memory, etching them into his mind, Jimin wrapped a hand around each of your ankles, and began kissing up your exposed legs, distracting you from your thoughts. Softly, slowly moving up your skin with his plush pink lips, making you giggle in surprise.

“Jimin!” You laughed sweetly.

“Let me make you feel good, honey.” He said, his voice deepening as he moves up your legs, lifting your dress. “Gonna use my tongue just how you like it.”

He continued to pull your dress up as he moved, keeping himself on his knees, nibbling and kissing your thighs until he reached your lace panties. He kissed you over the fabric, teasing you with just enough pressure and tongue to make you whimper in anticipation.

“Jimin, please…” You begged, running your fingers through his blonde locks.

“Angel, this sweet little pussy’s so wet for me already.” He murmured, moving your lace to the side with one finger. “Such a needy girl, so easy to get your pretty pussy excited.”

He gave you wet, soft kisses along your opening, nibbling delicately on the skin, making your throw your head back and pick up your breathing. Then, his tongue, pressing quick kitten licks at your clit, which had already peeked out to seek attention.

“J-Jimin…” You whined, gripping his hair as he continued to alternate between speed and pressure, licking and sucking, burying himself between your thighs. He slid a finger, then two, moving them in and out, and curling them to caress your sensitive spot. “Baby… Baby… Please… Baby…”

You had no idea what exactly you were begging him for, with your mind emptying alongside each movement. You knew it was a distraction; a moment of pleasure in a sea of pain that you’ve tasted many times before. But for now, you’d let his familiar touch melt your worries away once again. A few more moments of careful attention had your toes curling and your hands pulling his hair as you came with a cry. .

You let him move you up further onto the bed, so that he could undo his pants and drop them to his knees, to let his hard, sensitive length spring out. He slid fully into you with a possessive growl, and began to fuck you hard, making the hotel bed, and yourself, squeak just as you did the first night you stayed here.

Each movement was a strong cocktail of loving passion, pleasureful distraction, and begging apology, mixed with a lingering sense of his sense of possession. Jimin locked his lips to your neck, and engraved you with shallow marks as he whispered in your ear, “My pretty girl… Fuck, my sweet angel… My girl, taking my cock so well… F-Fuck…. All mine… ”

It was a clear reminder, whispered to you through your whines as you let pleasure consume you once more, feeling his thumb massage your clit; Parks got what they wanted, and Jimin intended on keeping it that way. His mistakes could always be fixed with the swipe of a card, some sweet words, or a good, loving touch between your thighs. But as his thrusts became more sloppy and shallow, so too did his promises, when he pulled out and spilled onto you, ignoring his vow to finish inside and be closer to you.

It was a moment of realization, as you lay there looking at his beautiful face, that no matter how seemingly hard he would try, he would always be Jimin. Flaws and all. The way he showed love, the increasingly obvious emptiness of his commitments, the circles he takes your heart in. He will always be that version of himself, because it is the only version of himself.

As he kissed your neck and whispered “I love you”, you wondered, for the first time, if those words, and that love, would ever truly be enough.

——————————————————————————————————

You went with Jimin to the rehabilitation center, and after a teary goodbye, you had the driver take you to Jung Kook’s apartment. He was waiting for you in the living room, only able to imagine the emotional day you had. He had rehearsed over and over again what to say, to give you the comfort and love he knew that you needed. But when you walked in with tears, his mind blanked, and the only thing he could think to ask was, “What do you need?”

“I… I don’t know.” You said softly, unsure of so many things.

Jung Kook looked at you with sad brown eyes, walked towards you, and replied, “I think what you need, is a hug. C’mere.”

As he wrapped his arms around you, he realized he couldn’t have offered anything better. You clung to him like a float in a crashing ocean, desperate for a moment of calm. He wanted to provide that for you, so he held you close, hoping it could somehow meld the leftover pieces back together. Or, at the very least, remind you that you never had to pick them back up alone.

He hoped you understood that later that night, when he heard you speaking to your father on a video call in the guest room. Jung Kook wanted to give you privacy, but when he heard the angry tone of your father, he couldn’t help but overhear through the thin wall between the bedrooms.

“So Jimin is in treatment right now?”

“Yes, Appa.” You responded, nervously picking at your nails. “I think he’ll be better afterwards. He just needs some time.”

“Y/N,” Your father sighed. “I don’t like that you’re dealing with this again. How many more times are you going to have to go through this with him?”

“He’s really trying.” You said sadly. “He’s not a bad person.”

“I know he’s not a bad person, sweetie.” You father said, trying to reason with you. “But I think he may be ‘bad’ for you. I don’t know, I’m just worried about you. Are you by yourself now, in a new city?”

“No, Appa. I’m staying with Jung Kook.” You said. “He works with Mr. Kim, and I used to go to university with him. He’s been very sweet to me, you would like him if you met him.”

Jung Kook couldn’t help but smile at your words, but still held on to what your father said. Jimin’s not a bad person, but he’s bad for you. Your own father having doubts about your engagement was not something he expected to hear, but he shouldn’t say he was all that surprised. You deserved more.

When he heard you say your goodbyes, his thoughts were interrupted, and he began to scroll through his phone as he laid on his bed, pretending as though he hadn’t heard your conversation.

“Hi.” You said after a few moments, with a knock on his bedroom door. “I think I’m going to bed.”

“I’m sure you’re tired. It’s been a hard day.” Jung Kook responded, watching you turn around. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You asked, turning around towards him once more.

“I’m off tomorrow.” He smiled. “Let me show you some cool places in the city.”

“Jung Kook, you don’t have to do that-”

“I want to.” He replied. “Please? I think I… um, it can make you feel better.”

You smiled at his sentiment, ignoring the charming slip of his words.

“Ok.” You agreed, giving in to the brown, puppy eyes of the man who looked so soft in his bed. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. "I think so, too."

“Goodnight.” You waved, turning away from him.

Jung Kook’s eyes widened, watching your hand wave him good night. Something was different, missing, that was clearly there before your conversation with your father. It made his heart drop to his stomach, and his mind buzz for the rest of the night.

Your engagement ring was gone.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #the law of attraction #lawyer!jungkook #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fic

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vagabond-umlaut · 2 years ago

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gojo satoru x reader fic recs (I)

‣ now that i've got loads of free time, thought why shouldn't i use it well by showing (few of) my fave authors their much well-deserved love, respect and attention? ^_^

‣ this is merely a list of works i've enjoyed reading. kindly heed the tags and warnings in each of them and consume content responsibly, at your own discretion. that being said, i own neither these fics nor the characters nor the above gif. enjoy reading! 🥰

⌀ all that is solid [series] by GrilledTandooriSmoke on ao3

one of the best series there is. period. the fluff, the angst, the drama, the humor, the romance, the friendship, the plot, the dialogues - everything is top-notch in this series, i'm telling you. bonus points for being narrated in both reader's and gojo's pov.

⌀ The King is But a Man [series] by Petrichorium on ao3 (@petrichorium on tumblr)

royal!gojo who's terribly in love with the reader x reader who's equally (but way more discreetly) in love with gojo. add to that, the trope of childhood sweethearts reunited as adults, excellent communication between the couple and a wonderfully-crafted world and dialogues - what more could you ask from a series?

⌀ Ten to None (Soulmate AU) (oneshot) by Oreosmama on ao3

a fic which i adore with every fibre of my being. i will not say anything more about this, except to request you to go read this. you'll love it. (especially the fantabulous ending. btw, did i already say how much i'm in love with how well-written this fic is?)

⌀ Scarred [oneshot] by cainis on ao3

one of the best angst-with-a-happy-ending fic there is. i wish i could give thousands of kudos for the heart-wrenchingly amazing way the author has portrayed gojo's character here.

⌀ Mother of otherness, Eat me [oneshot] by itsbaby on ao3

one of the most beautiful works i've read so far. told from yuuji's pov, it explores gojo and reader's relationship and its nuances in a way seldom done before. however, what stole the show for me, was the soft and sweet mother-son duo the reader and yuuji grow to be in this fic. i really love this one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

⌀ something sweet [oneshot] by heresan on ao3 (@pretty-toru on tumblr)

i love love love this fic. it's so fluffy, so funny, so cute, so heart-warming... just read this fic, people. you won't ever be disappointed by the dynamics reader and gojo have in this one. one of my all-time faves, tbh.

⌀ teen dad Gojo [series] by pantao on ao3 (@seravphs on tumblr)

a sweet and realistic depiction of reader and gojo being teenaged parents to young megumi, all the while they try to figure out their feelings for each other. a perfect mixture of fluff, angst, drama, slice-of-life and romance, imo. (also, the author's notes are pure gold. whatever you do, please don't miss reading them! :D)

⌀ To see those eyes I prize above mine own (twoshot) by koyama on ao3

if you wish to watch godlike!gojo willing to let go of his powers, out of guilt and immense, immense, protective love for the reader, this is the ideal fic for you. i'm in awe of the way the writer wrote gojo's complex persona and the way the sorcerer realized his feelings for the reader. (the second chapter's the cherry on the cake. it's so good!!!!)

⌀ keeping up with the fushigojos (series) by @augustinewrites on tumblr

fluff? A+; angst? A+; drama? A+; characterization & dialogues? A+; humour? A+++++. a sureshot way to end a long hectic tiring day on a happy note is to read this series. (my go-to comfort series, ngl. :])

⌀ CAT & DOG (oneshot) by @mimiriko on tumblr

an adorable fic of gojo being in love with the reader, who knows, yet doesn't really know, much about it. plus, the feline-like features of gojo are sooo cute... and this fic is sooo sweet... the story left me smiling when i finished reading it.

⌀ surely summer wasn't over yet [3 chapters] by 3rdgymbros on ao3

an amazing fic set against the backdrop of the hidden inventory arc. the portrayal of the characters and their dynamics is simply impeccable. despite my kind-of-dislike towards this particular arc of the manga, i really enjoyed reading this one.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk fluff #jjk angst #kit's fic recs 📚

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seatnights · 10 months ago

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Who are some of your favorite fan fiction writers?

i spent hours to collect usernames of authors i enjoyed reading from, and i’m sure i missed some, but i tried.

are u ready for this?

authors you SHOULD support:

oneforthemunny / icallhimjoey / jamdoughnutmagician / rosebudsgarden / willowsgri / joequinnisgod / eddiemunsons80sbaby / chrrymunson / eddiemunsonswhxre / lonelysatellites / loveshotzz / usedtobecooler / carolmunson / upsidedownwithsteve / sherifftillman / spicysix / emsgoodthinkin / retrobutterflies / tiannasfanfic / athena-writes-i-guess / shesinchargeareyoukidding / cooliestghouliest / singularattitudeofasafetypin / babybluebex / quinnyfairy / moonchildquinn / i-me-mine / luveline / myosotisa / silent-stories / blueywrites / steviesbicrisis / munson-blurbs / ficsbypix / lovejosephquinn / eddieschains / prettyboyeddiemunson / eddieandbird /pleasantlycrazyworld / corroded-hellfire / trashmouth-richie / justmeinadaze / mopeymopeymouse / munsonslilbunnie / keeponquinning / gatorstillman / allthingsjoeq / jadeylovesmarvelxo / mysticmunson / sugarsblurbs / taintedcigs / gag-me-munson / gravedigginbbydoll / ratskcoreddie / andvys / manicpixiedreamcurl / thruheavenandhighwater / joejoequinnquinn / munsonsreputation / upsidedownmvnson / hellfiresmaster / elightysixbaby / eddiessluttywaist / littledemondani / choke-me-eddie / eddiemunsonsmum / eddiemunsonfuxks / pinkrelish / hllfireclb / indulgence-be-thy-name / wheels-of-despair / hellfiremunsonn / filthyjoetini / ghost-proofbaby / havecourage-darling / forever-rogue / queenimmadolla / josephfakingquinn / roanniom / bimbobaggins69 / songforeddiemunson / munsons-hellfire / honey-flustered / eddie-van-munson / storiesbyrhi / lovebugism / neonghostlights / harrywavycurly / chestylarouxx / courtingchaos / galaxy-siren / harringtons-cupid / hard-candy-writing / wroteclassicaly / raccoonboywrites / dr-aculaaa / palomahasenteredthechat / palomahasenteredthechat / forevermoreharrington / corrodedcorpses / strangerquinns / sunnythevampireslayer / lesservillain / stevenose / eddiesxangel / stveharringtn / spookysteddie / keeksandgigz / darlingsfandom / her-power / idkidknemore / francisquinn / inkluvs / ashwhowrites / hellfire--cult / succubusmunson / v8mpstamp / stevieswhore / munsons-maiden / rustboxstarr / corrodedseraphine / reidsbtch / lexlec / katiemcrae / the-unforgivenn / keerysfolklore / appocalipse / familyvideowithsteve / tiannamortis / joekeeryswife / bettyfrommars / cinemamunson / munson-mjstan / teddyeyeseddie / lofaewrites / mediocredreams / leasstories

OK SO

here we have 137 authors, i didn’t tag anyone cuz i would probably have disturbed half of the fandom, sorry if it’s more difficult this way, but i hope i could help you a bit.

obviously, there’s no order of preference of any kind, and i tried to put as many authors as i could but i know i’ve missed someone. if i did, i’m deeply sorry, it wasn’t on purpose and i have nothing against you! if you wish you can message me or slide in my ask and ill add you immediately!

now, i’m a bit tired after all of this, and my hand hurts but:

DON’T FORGET TO SUPPORT THE AUTHORS!!!

they put their works for free!!! everyone can enjoy media and content for free thanks to them! and it cost you nothing to reblog and share their work.

thank you for every creators / writers/ artist out there to make every single works of yours and sharing them with the world. all of you deserve so much, and thanks to you for so many people the day gets better, it’s like having a sweet little treat, like taking care of yourself, like finding a place where you are understood. so, thank you infinitely. keep it up cause you’re doing amazing!

-🤍🌻🌱

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cnovelartreblogs · 2 years ago

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C-Novels Available in English Translation

A few weeks ago, a few of my danmei-loving friends and I got to talking about how much there is that we want to read, but that none of us have been very organized about keeping track of titles, fantranslation links, etc.

So, we decided to make a spreadsheet.

AND to combine every link we'd each separately stashed around on that spreadsheet.

The result is a list of 102 titles (currently 96 are danmei, 5 are baihe, and 1 is gen, reflecting our personal interests/preferences) with links to translations, some complete, some not. (as of 2/20/23)

Love C-Novels? Especially danmei? Looking for something to read? Check it out!

Some notes:

This is specifically for English translations from Chinese titles. Though some of the links do include other works (for example, some translators also do Japanese, and some Carrds list fantranslations in multiple languages), we're English speakers who are interested in Chinese novels, so we focused on that.

Currently, this is mostly basic information (titles, authors, links), with no summaries, genre tags, etc. We hope to ultimately expand it but that will be a lot of work and the information is already available at the provided NovelUpdates links, so we encourage you to use those.

We make no claims that this list is exhaustive; while the first sheet lists the resources we had collectively already gathered, there's a second sheet with things we know of and intend to add.

We'll try to keep links and such up-to-date but if you spot a problem please let me know!

Know of something that's not on the main list OR on the "to add" page? Please do send the info my way! Comments or ask box stuff will help.

Note that to actually access the fantranslations, you'll often need to take additional action to read them - you may need to request access, or get a password, etc. How to get this access is usually included on the pages.

Known official translations are listed. We will not link fantranslations for titles that are out officially in English. Don't send them. Don't ask for them. We won't help you pirate these titles.

(ADDED): I have also now added carrds for works that I could find carrds for, and added a third sheet, with carrds for authors. (I looked for every title and author and added the ones I could locate; Google asked if I was a bot at least 6 times lmao). Carrds are often good for summaries, information about the characters, and especially trigger warnings, so they're worth checking out! (ADDED MORE): I also added NovelUpdates links for all authors, so people can see a full list of their other works even if they don't have Carrds.

Don't forget to thank and respect translators, and honor their wishes! Without fantranslators, we wouldn't have all this amazing stuff to read in English, so THANK YOU FANTRANSLATORS!

GO FORTH, AND FIND YOUR NEW FAVORITE BOOK!

#danmei #resources #i don't know how to tag this oh well #i'm gonna just not instead of tagging a bajillion different fandom tags #baihe #priest #mo xiang tong xiu #meng xi shi #please don't laugh #mu su li #tang jiu qing

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sqyyadina · 5 months ago

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A JOINT PRAYER.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: fluff, first kiss, period - typical homophobia.

Summary: You weren't raised to worship any God, but Lorraine Warren is starting to make you believe.

Author’s Note: I'd take a bullet for this woman. This is also on my AO3!

“We’d like to take you to the movies tonight. To thank you.”

Her voice is as honey as her perfectly curled hair, and as Lorraine hands you a porcelain cup of tea, you revel in the way your hands briefly ghost past each other.

Though you’ve worked as a secretary for the Warrens for well over a year now, you can’t help but feel intimidated as you sit on their plush couch, nursing your tea, the smiling couple sitting beside you. Their combined gaze is nearly suffocating, as if you are consumed by a demon of your own and they’re trying to rid you of it.

“Thank me? Whatever for?” You ask gently, head cocked to the side in question while you sip on the chamomile you’ve been offered.

“You’ve been a great help to us as of late.” Ed adds, a protective hand patting his wife’s thigh. You hate to admit it, you do, he’s truly a lovely man, but every time Ed begins to speak, you just wish he was out of the picture entirely. You wish that could have been your thumb rubbing circles into Lorraine’s plaid skirt; your lips pressing a kiss to her forehead wrinkle every time she got too focused on her Bible.

But it wasn’t you.

It was him, and it would always be him. You saw the way they looked at each other, the way he sang to her when he thought they were alone in the office. They were practically destined to be together. It’s cliché to say that it made you sick, but there genuinely were nights in which you felt feverish over the fact that Lorraine Warren would never be yours.

“Oh, you flatter me…” You hum back, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ears. “Really, all I do is organize files… how much of a help can that be?”

You’re much more sheepish than the two sitting across from you, and it shows. Lorraine, ever the investigator, the curious mind, always searching across the face of the person she’s speaking to as if it’s a map into their soul, picks up on your shyness immediately. She always does.

You know that Lorraine has a nurturing spirit, but you rarely expect her comforting gestures. That’s what makes it so special. That’s why it gives you pause when she leans forward to press a warm hand to your knee.

“Please, don’t deprecate yourself.” Her tone is stern, like she truly means to command you into being kinder to yourself, but her voice is so delicate and her smile so warm and inviting that you soften into her minimal touch and nod your head. “Really, you have no idea how having you around has improved our lives.”

You feel your face turn hot at that last sentence, and you fail to maintain eye contact with the older woman any longer. Gently bouncing you heeled foot against the ground, you giggle lightly, and bat a hand as if to dismiss what she’s said.

“You’re too kind…” You hum back, slowly lifting your head again to meet her gaze once again. At this point, you’ve all but forgotten that Ed is even present. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I’d love to go to the movies.”

It’s without pause that Ed claps his hands together and rises to his feet. He says something, quite loud, but you quickly forget what it is. It startles you, to say the least, and you jump back a bit, your tea threatening to slosh onto your blouse. You notice that Lorraine’s hand stays put on your thigh, though, and only leaves once it’s given you a few gentle pats to settle your nerves. She stands as well, always following her husband’s footsteps. You quickly join them, always following Lorraine’s.

“Let’s see something scary!” Ed grins, searching around the room for a newspaper that may have the local theater’s lineup.

“Oh, do you not get enough of a fright out of our daily lives?” Lorraine jokes with that tender laugh of hers, patting her husband on the back and looking at the paper over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t.” Ed replies simply, and plants a kiss on Lorraine’s cheek.

It makes your stomach turn.

“What would you like to see, dear?” You realize that she’s turned her attention back to you. You stumble forward, as if both of your legs had gone numb in the few moments that you had spent sitting on the couch.

You really do hate to agree with Ed, but most of the movies offered sound utterly boring. The thought did cross your mind that watching a horror film would allow you to look to Lorraine for comfort under the guise of fear, which immediately influenced your decision. Sufficed to say, the Warrens’ ghost stories had both satiated your hunger for fright, and completely desensitized you to it, yet you figured you could act scared enough to win a little more of Lorraine’s touch.

Your first few weeks, of course, you had been absolutely terrified of the previously haunted artifacts that your employers always brought home, but with the fervor of their exorcisms and the frequency of their jobs, there isn’t a whole lot that you hadn’t seen nor heard. You had become primarily neutral when it came to horror, but maybe that was because of Lorraine’s calming presence and Ed’s story-telling ability that made the murderous dolls much less terrifying.

“I think I’d like something scary. It is almost Halloween, after all.” You smile to the older woman before pointing to a certain line of text. “This one has the word ‘massacre’ in the title… I don’t believe you can get much scarier than that!”

Ed quickly makes his approval known, and Lorraine playfully rolls her eyes at him before giving his arm a light squeeze.

“I suppose that’s alright.” She hums, her eyes focusing on the page for a second longer. You’ve always known Lorraine to be the bookkeeper of their operation, and suspected she was always the one in charge of appointment dates and important phone numbers. When she rattled off a list of movie times, Ed already having moved to re-read the sports section, your suspicions were proven right.

‘How about eight?” you muse, looking down at your wrinkled dress and chipping nail polish. “It will give me time to change. And fix my hair… and my nails…” You had expected the weather to be bearable this time of year, but you had been burdened by particularly warm weather that caused your hair to frizz uncontrollably. You certainly shouldn’t have chanced long sleeves.

Lorraine, leaving her husband to his muttering about the Yankees, took the half step closer to place her hand on your shoulder. It was shockingly warm, but not at all a warm that you disliked. A comforting warm, that you could enjoy even on a day as sweltering as this one.

“You look beautiful.” She hums, nearly whispering it, as if she doesn’t want anyone else in the world to hear. “As always.” Lorraine adds before disappearing behind your back. She’s picked up your now empty teacup and makes her way to living room door. “We’ll pick you up at seven thirty.” She winks in your direction before exiting the room.

Your knees feel numb, and you try your hardest to wipe the dumb smile off of your face, but it doesn’t disappear, even as you crawl into your car and turn on the radio that just happens to be playing some cheesy love song.

The honking from outside startles you. That’s easy to say; there’s not a lot that doesn’t startle you. You just hadn’t expected them to be so punctual.

You had been sitting in front of your mirror for a little over an hour now, staring at every little detail of your visage to make sure everything was just right, even down to the placement of your beauty marks. It was honestly quite hard to focus, what with Lorraine’s compliment ringing in your ears. You didn’t even need to apply any rouge to your cheeks, they were still so hot.

Now donning a shorter sleeved blouse and a much lighter weight skirt, hair re-curled and nails painted perfectly, you cheerfully snatched your bag and raced out the front door.

Wiggling into the back seat of their fancy new Chevy that Ed couldn’t stop bragging on, you shoot a smile at Lorraine, who returns it through the rearview mirror. You quickly look away after that, yet you can still feel her eyes bore into you. You might just be making that up, but you’re far too scared to glance back up and check.

The drive is primarily quiet, save for Ed’s singing along to the radio, and you even find yourself enjoying his presence for once. He really does sound like Elvis when he tries hard enough.

By the time you arrive at the theater, your heart is racing. Something about sitting in Lorraine’s presence for more than ten minutes at a time causes you a great deal of panic. Despite knowing the woman all this time, you still find her completely enthralling, yet endlessly terrifying.

When she exits the car first to open your door with a playful smile, you feel your pounding heart drop to your stomach. You felt like you were on a date, except your date had brought her husband along. Plus, there’s simply no reality in which said date reciprocates the ways in which you are feeling for her. It’s a very hard pill for you to swallow, but you’ll need to keep reminding yourself that you in fact are not going steady with this woman, but are in fact her employee, and should be furiously professional tonight, no matter what.

It's when you step out of the car that you deeply regret your outfit decision for the second time today. The day had quickly turned to night before you had realized, and the evening’s chill was starting to settle in. You hug yourself tightly as the three of you enter the theater, trying desperately to distract yourself from the cold by figuring out what you’d like to eat.

Your unease must’ve been immediately noticed by the woman that notices absolutely everything that happens around her, because it’s within seconds that you feel a sweater draped over your shoulders. You perk up and whip your head to the side only to catch Lorraine smoothing down your collar.

“I brought an extra, just in case.” She winks at you again, a knowing smirk on her lips. She must’ve picked up on how haphazardly you tend to make decisions, and you appreciated it more than Lorraine could ever know. It wasn’t often that people remembered much about you, so for her to be so prepared for you made your chest swell.

Lorraine sweater is just heavy enough to feel like a hug, and it smells heavenly. Just like her. You don’t want to seem like a weirdo, but you’d be perfectly content to spend the next hour with your nose buried in the soft material, surrounded by the warm vanilla scent of whatever expensive perfume Lorraine wears. Or maybe she just naturally smells that good. You wouldn’t put it past her.

Your attention turns back to the giant menu board as you pull your arms through the sleeves of the sweater, and right away you could feel your brain go silent. It was impossibly difficult for you to decide, especially when there were so many options. That, paired with the steep prices and the very lackluster salary you make as the Warrens’ glorified secretary, make your brain completely stop its functioning for a second. Your worry makes its way into your hands, which fiddle with the sleeves of the sweater that are just an inch too long for your arms.

Lorraine, yet again magically anticipating your every need, places a firm hand on the small of your back, lowering herself to practically purr into your ear.

“Do you need help choosing?” She’s just close enough that her voice, as low as it is, drowns out all of the madness of the bustling theater, and the commotion inside your mind. `

You nod up to her, chewing on your lower lip as the two of you glance over the menu together.

“I can’t decide…” you begin, eyebrows furrowed as you dart over the row of boxes of candy before you. “… between chocolate or popcorn.” You’re getting dangerously close to the front of the line now, and it’s really beginning to wear on your nerves, but Lorraine’s ringed fingers lightly rubbing into your back is calming you tenfold.

The taller woman laughs gently, and you wince a little in fear that she’s making fun of you for having difficulty with something so simple, but you’ve never known Lorraine to be a cruel woman, so the thought is easily dismissed.

“Silly girl.” She says gingerly, giving you a light pat before dropping her hand. “Get both. I’ll make sure Ed pays for it.”

Your cheeks burn once again, and while you yearn for the feeling of her hand to replace itself anywhere on you, you find that Lorraine is already a gift from God and there’s no use praying for any more from the woman.

“Thank you!” you giggle softly, returning the clairvoyant’s playful smile with one of your own as you step forward to the concession counter.

Ed begins rattling off all the things that he wants, and it’s yet again that you remember he’s even there. You figure that if a man as boisterous as Ed Warren can be so easily forgotten in your mind by the likes of his wife, you must truly be under a spell. You shyly give your order when Lorraine ushers you in front of her, hands fiddling with your sleeves again. When you begin to reach for your purse, a hand lightly swats at your own. You really don’t find it necessary for the people that already pay your living wage to give you anymore, and yet you don’t deem it possible that Lorraine will let you pay for anything yourself.

With treats and tickets in hand the three of you make your way into the theater, Ed taking the exact seats that you would have chosen yourself. It’s by a miracle— or rather very careful planning on your behalf— that you’re sitting next to Lorraine, with Ed on her other side. You silently cheer yourself on for what you believe to be such careful maneuvering, because there is just no way in the world that you would spend the next two hours sitting next to someone who will probably talk over the entire movie anyway.

You settle in as the opening credits of the film begin, and right away you feel anxious. Even in a room full of people and the ever so comforting presence of your favorite demonologist by your side, it’s hard not to be scared in a dark room watching a movie about a psycho killer. Your leg begins to bounce nervously as you begin shoveling popcorn in your mouth, anticipating the many scares that are soon to come your way.

And they do come, in multitudes. You’re jumping out of your seat nearly every minute that goes by. The Warrens, as cemented in their occupations as they are, jump a few times as well, which comes as quite the comfort. You had seen them frightened before, when assessing houses for possible spirits, but neither seemed to be as much of a scaredy cat as you.

You’re granted the solace of Lorraine’s hand when she offers it to you about halfway through the movie. It’s after you jump at the sudden sound of a chainsaw revving up, and she must take pity on you, but you don’t care about the implication because you take the hand as quickly as it’s offered. As you’re sitting to her left, you notice that she’s come to the theater with her signature rosary wrapped around her hand. The cool beads do give you a bit of alarm when you first feel them, but then you realize that it only comes as added protection. You’re not sure what the power of the Spirit can do for you in this moment, but you’re very happy that Lorraine is always prepared against whatever dark forces she’s prepared against.

Sitting next to her, hand-in-hand, Lorraine’s gravitational pull is so strong that eventually you find yourself fully leaned against her arm, gripping her hand for dear life. It doesn’t seem to bother her one bit, and if the lights were any brighter, you’d be able to notice a smile planted firmly on her rosy lips.

Just as you feel yourself in a safe position, completely relaxed and feeling entirely safe (or as safe as you can feel during a movie like this), the movie’s third act kicks into gear and you feel your heart start to beat about a million beats a second. You feel a wave of panic wash over you, and it came out of absolutely nowhere. You swallow hard a few times, looking around the theater to keep yourself calm, to remind yourself that there’s not really a chainsaw wielding maniac running around the place, but it doesn’t do much to settle your nerves.

Before you even notice the stinging in your eyes, before you can stop from embarrassing yourself, your cheeks are wet with tears. You swipe at them a few times with your free hand, hoping to not draw too much attention to yourself as you begrudgingly pull yourself from Lorraine’s grasp.

“I… I’ll be right back.” You whisper next to her ear, praying to God that she didn’t notice the crack in your voice.

You can hear her whisper something back, but not well enough to register it, because you’re already out of your seat and rushing to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, you assess the damage to your makeup.

Your mascara has run down to your neck, and your lips are all smudged from your nervous popcorn eating.

… And you had left your purse, with all of your extra makeup and tissues, beneath your seat.

You felt on the verge of a breakdown, but the very last thing you wanted to do right now was to sit on the floor of this horribly rotten bathroom and cry until your eyes gave out.

You had been staring at yourself in the mirror between broken sobs for God knows how long until you heard someone else enter. Deeply ashamed of your appearance, you turned your back to the door, using a damp towel to try and clean up your makeup.

Then you heard a lock click.

But it was unlike the lock of a stall door.

Then the echoing tap of a pair of kitten heels.

You tense up, too scared of embarrassment to turn around to face whatever movie attendee, or, as you now feared, possible murderer, you were now trapped in this bathroom with.

That’s when you felt the hand press against your back.

“Are you alright?”

That voice was too kind to belong to a murderer.

“Lorraine!” You nearly scream, tossing a hand over your heart to clutch the imaginary pearls that you couldn’t even afford if you tried. “My goodness, you startled me!” You laugh softly, sniffling while you turn to a sink to wash your hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She hums, voice barely above a whisper. She’s standing right behind you now.

You’re awfully embarrassed to find that there are no more paper towels in the bathroom, and you have to wipe your hands on your skirt, but Lorraine doesn’t seem to notice.

No, her attention is solely on your face.

Her hand lifts up to push a wayward curl behind your ear. It lingers there for a moment, smoothing down the rest of your hair. Her other hand sneaks its way around your waist, resting just below your belt.

“I just wanted to check on you.” She flashes you that oh-so very endearing smile in the mirror, and lightly runs her thumb below your eyes, wiping away the last remnants of your tears.

You swallow hard, chancing a glance up to her only to miss the woman’s gaze, as her eyes are now glued to your cheek, then your neck. She’s petting your hair, and each stroke is sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh no, no… I’m alright…” you manage to mumble out, your voice a mere breathe that hitches when Lorraine’s hands maneuver you to turn to face her.

“Good.” She purrs, leaning in until your foreheads nearly meet. “I wouldn’t want my baby to get too scared.”

Dear God.

You didn’t often take His name in vain, but this felt an appropriate time to do so.

Your heart is beating so hard that you’re worried you may pass out.

She called you her baby. You were hers.

Your body betraying you, you practically melt into the taller woman, your hands finding themselves on her hips, holding onto the material of her skirt for dear life.

Lorraine calculates, as is her way, but only for a moment, before her hand slides down to gently grasp your cheek and pull you closer into her.

You gasp into her, her lips latching onto your own before you can even remind yourself that you were meant to remain professional tonight. It seems you’re well past the concept of professionalism by now.

It takes you a moment, a very brief moment, to soften into her kiss. You’re like putty in her hands, molding into the curve of her chest and pressed so hard against her that you’re sure you’ve become one being.

But you haven’t, and before you know it, she’s pulled away.

It takes everything within you to not whine and fuss at her for being so rude as to pull herself away from you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” She says rigidly, fixing her hair in the mirror with one hand, the other still latched onto your hip. “But you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to.” She laughs a little, finally turning back to meet your gaze.

“I…” You’re at a loss for words. Never in a million years would you have expected for Lorraine Warren to waltz in and kiss you out of the blue like that. You must have truly racked up your good karma with the Lord, because this was enough to be considered a miracle. “I… I’ve also… wanted to… with you.” You stutter out, brain just barely conscious enough to put together a string of words.

Lorraine laughs her beautiful laugh again, her hand returning to caress your cheek.

You shut your eyes tight, laying all your weight into her hands. A thought crosses your mind – that she very well may be testing you – trying to sniff you out for being a freak – that there very well be someone right outside that door ready to ship you off to the loony bin –

That thought disappears almost immediately once Lorraine leans down to press her lips to yours again, this time much more confidently.

Her hands wander down to your hips once again, and yours are gripping into her skirt so hard that you’re sure you’ve left permanent wrinkles in the fabric. It’s impossible for you to be any closer to her now, and yet she’s still pulling you tighter, lips coaxing small whimpers from your own.

You’ve gone completely lightheaded now, the lack of oxygen making you a bit dizzy on your feet. Luckily, you’re so sustained by Lorraine’s embrace that there’s just no chance of you falling over.

Her hands threaten lower, her kisses become sloppier, her thigh situating itself between your legs so that you can press your weight there and feel a shock through your entire system unlike you’ve ever experienced before. Lorraine’s whispering some string of messy whispers. Maybe a prayer, much like the one you’re reciting in your own head for someone, anyone, to make this moment last until your dying breath.

Your joint prayer comes to a halt when you’re so rudely interrupted by an angry knock on the door. Lorraine quickly pulls away from you and immediately begins wiping her smudged makeup in the mirror.

You’re stuck in space, stood blinking, mouth hanging open, feet unsure of where to take you.

“Go get in a stall.” Lorraine commands, a gentle finger wiping at your tongue to collect all of the saliva that you had produced in the midst of your affair. She flashes you a sickeningly sweet look before turning you around and patting you towards the stall, where you quickly hide, being able to take her command even though you’re sure your brain can’t conjure any other actions.

Lorraine’s heels tap towards the door, and where she exclaims how sorry she is, how silly she must be for locking the door behind her. Her voice is so pure, so normal. You’re shocked that she can find herself so calm after an event that had nearly introduced you to your maker.

When you hear a stall door click shut, you make your escape, checking your appearance in the mirror just in case. You certainly look bewildered, a little frazzled, but nothing you can’t excuse under the guise of a scary movie.

When you return to your seat, Lorraine is sat with her hand in Ed’s, her eyes glued to the screen. You sit reluctantly, reaching for your popcorn.

It’s less than a minute before she has removed her hand from her husband’s and has given it back to you.

You’re smiling much too brightly, and you can tell that your clairvoyant is smiling just the same. You’re too focused on the way that her hand feels in your own to pay any attention to the God-forsaken movie playing in front of you.

#𓏲🎀ꜝֶָ֢ annie's fics ⋆⸜ ‧₊˚#lorraine warren you will ALWAYS be loved by me #lorraine warren #the conjuring #lorraine warren x reader #lorraine warren x you #lorraine warren fanfic #the conjuring fanfic #horror fanfic #wlw fanfic #lesbian x reader #ff fanfic #lesbian fanfic #x reader fanfic #fluff

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cursedhaglette · 9 months ago

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Shoutout Sunday

it is so freaking kind of @littlejuicebox and @tallymonster to tag my work in their shoutout posts, so i wanted to add my own recs of fics i am currently wishing I could leave 1000 kudos on.

also fair warning, i'm a long fic girl. give me an OC to be obsessed, someone i can imagine my own hanging out with, and hopefully one that their author is also obsessed with. i wanna feel that through the writing. and with these, you can.

Pieces Left Stuck in Your Teeth by @howlsmovinglibrary / @wetcatspellcaster - i couldn't put this down when i started it, to the point i was reading it in the car when i should have been grocery shopping. i couldn't stop. it is witty always, devastating at times, and this version of Astarion is just terrible and hilarious in all the best ways

Not Your Sweetheart by @kittenintheden - the most natural dialogue I've ever read, and also the most hilarious. kitten also has such a talent for writing every character in a way that has me laughing each time anyone in her fic speaks. unless it hurts, in which case, it's gonna hurt a LOT

I Want to be Better; Let's Make Each Other Worse by @redrook - my frequent writing bud who's ideas outdo my own more often that not, Jack is an absolute genius and their fic shows it with every word written. the strange ox like you've never seen him before, dolphin riding, ceiling sex - you name it, it's in here AND it makes sense

Pour One Out by the absolutely delicious mind of @aevallare - auristarion supremacy for always. we all know kindred but if you aren't also reading Pour One Out you are, unfortunately, a fool

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal by @brain-rot-central - neech is doing something truly different with this devastating and delicious A!A piece. and for it to be her first long fic??! the talent is insane

Made for This by @olivedrop - Olive's fic brings me so much joy, not just because Olive herself is an absolute delight, but because her writing is so real and the way she captures the companions feels like it was cut dialogue it's so good

now you want some SMUT? OKAY lets talk - take these and call me in the morning

Think of Me by @scaryanneee is the smut fic of all time for me. i've recced this an unhealthy number of times, probably bordering on it being obsessive

inevitable by @aevallare the smut fic i rec the second most because it's just so easy to place myself in the moment alex writes and as always, i love when the tadpole gets thrown in while folks get nasty

Where were you when I was new? by @kittenintheden - just shut the fuck up and read this and you'll get it. also i'll never stop thinking about how kitten writes dialogue in smut because holy cow

Pent Up by @underdark-dreams - this isn't even Astarion I'm sorry. it's Rolan. i don't even know if i like Rolan. BUT I LOVE THIS FIC. it is so fucking good oh my god.

Careless Whisper by @tallymonster - okay i might be biased because Tally offered to mention Halia here and made her the goddamn prima ballerina, but this is also just So Good and such a fun read. modern AUs don't usually work for me, but this one is that charming

and of course, though i doubt you need my rec to know her by now, anything written by miss @fangswbenefits will make your toes curl. and i mean anything.

#astarion fic writers #astarion fic recs #astarion fanfic recs #astarion fic #astarion fanfic recommendations #fanfic recommendation #fanfic rec #bg3 fanfic #hagbabbles #fic recs

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edgeray · 5 months ago

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(That reminds me, I've always thought about it, but would you guys like a post where I recommend my favorite Arlecchino fics from other authors for you starving simps ^^?)

About this yes sure!

Arlecchino x Reader Fic Recommendations (From Tumblr Writers)

by the way, these fics are in no particular order of what I like the most, these are all just my favorites that I wanted to share (and of course, none of them from me). This will include series, oneshots, headcanons, blurbs, drabbles, etc. most of these come from my tag #edgeray.reblogs. All of these are SFWs, but I could do a NSFW rec list too if someone wants it.

I forgot to add @chucapybara in my last reommendation post of writers T^T, so forgive me. chucapybara does not accept requests either, so do not request from her! For this reason, I'm going to put her works here first. She has a few more works besides the two listed below, but those are my favorites from her <33. Check her out, her writing is so gorg 😍

monsters

soft mornings with arlecchino [f!reader]

Now to the other recommendations. The writers which I recommended in the prior post will be put first out of convenience, and only from writers that do have a fair amount of works (it's hard to pick one favorite out from a few works ^^, hence why).

bring me the sun by @servalisms | short, fluff

phantom!arle (fem! reader) by @megistusdiary | short

fathers day arlecchino by @knavesflames | oneshot, fluff

hanahaki!reader x arlecchino pt. 1 | pt. 2 by @aetherdoesthings | oneshot series, hurt/comfort

bassist! arle and photographer!reader by @liliewrites | oneshot, fluff

Red Sky at Night, Shepherd's Delight by @jessamine-rose | headcanons

heart-to-heart by @vulpe-fox | headcanon(?)/oneshot, emotional rollercoaster

affections by @abros1an | short, hurt/comfort

Buried angels and that odd wish to live. pt. 1 | pt.2 by @deathbxnny | oneshot series, hurt/comfort

hollow by @kana-de | oneshot, angst

Arlecchino being comforted by her s/o by @eluxcastar | oneshot, hurt/comfort

One of Repetition by @eluxcastar | oneshot, angst

and her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest masterlist by @thecoffeelovingfreak | oneshot series, emotional rollercoaster

possessive arlecchino w suggestive fluff by @queenphanessa | short, suggestive

umm hopefully that was enough because this took me a few hours to compile lol. enjoy some of my faves.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #edgeray.rambles #edgeray.answers

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michellemisfit · 3 months ago

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✨Weekly Tag Wednesday ✨

Thanks for creating the game and for the tag @jrooc thanks for the tag @vintagelacerosette

Today we’re talking fandom. Come play!

Name and A03 handle: Michelle, michellemisfit

Current Location: Living room, surrounded by feathers, as I’m currently fletching some arrows

Favourite picrew: This one is pretty fucking spot on. Or at least it was at the time. Hair is very different now. But then, hair is always different… lol

Also this one is spiritually VERY me

What's one thing you want in a picrew? Ability to add coloured streaks! And a wide selection of scars, or alternatively the ability to move them around the screen. Either is fine. But mostly the hair thing. My hair is generally 4 different colours. Don’t try and limit me to one!!

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? Erm… 3 way tie between Mexico Gallacrafts, Fimo Gallavich, and Cookie Gallavich? Maybe? Argh. Turns out, looking back at my art tag… I’ve created some pretty cool stuff. Huh. Yay me.

Why is it your favourite? I don’t really do photography, and I’m really proud of the idea behind and the execution of that photo. And while I LOVE drawing more than anything, I don’t think I’m exceptional or anything. But I’m damn creative when it comes to silly 3D craft projects, so both Fimo Gallavich and Cookie Gallavich make me happy and feel like something not just anyone could do… I dunno.

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? It was LONG to create. Both cookie and Fimo Gallavich took several days in total. And I think that’s the other thing I like about myself. I am willing to put in the work, and it usually pays off.

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Hah! You’ll be able to corroborate this, I’m not just sucking up!! LOL I’m currently reading Camp is a Battlefield by @blue-disco-lights, @jrooc, and @mybrainismelted, with artwork by @creepkinginc, so that’s the last one I commented on :)

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? I mean… every single WIP I have ever started reading, only to realise that maybe there won’t be any more of it… 😱 Every. Single. One. They’re all special, and they all hurt in their own special ways. And I will remain subscribed to all of them FOREVER, because you never know!!

Also? Comment on WIPs. Tell authors how much joy the story brought you, how much space it’s occupying in your brain, how much you would love to see it continue but how happy you are to have read as much of the story as there is because it’s changed your brain chemistry… do NOT comment saying ‘next chapter when?’, cause that makes you a dick bag.

Favourite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? I’m a sucker for fake dating, only one bed, and a soulmate AU 🤷🏽‍♂️

Least favourite? …not a huge fan of kid fic, but hey, all it takes is a great author to make it work.

Secret or surprising kink or trope? Again, do not kink shame, because you’re only ever one good fanfic away from discovering something about yourself you did NOT see coming…

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? Exhausted and antsy. Is it good enough? Are people gonna like it? Should I even bother anyone with this? Why don’t I just go and hide under a rock forever?? I felt okay about this when I finished it, why is it suddenly the worst thing to have ever been created??? …I wish there was a sense of calm and accomplishment. There is not. Brains suck!

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: @deedala - I so appreciate how we’re on a similar wave length when it comes to art as well as ‘everybody wants to hunt me for sport’ vibes. I know I can always count on you for kind but honest words, and that’s so important!!

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Read comfort fic. Probably Like Real People Do or None the Wiser.

Edit: Also? Go and read comments and tags on old art posts. That’s a sure fire way to cheer me up!

This was fun, and made the 15 minute wait between fletching each feather pass much faster. Thanks!!

If you are currently making your own arrows and need something to occupy your wait time with… how about completing a tag game? lol

@heymrspatel @loftec @creepkinginc @deedala @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @iandarling @iansw0rld @ian-galagher @mybrainismelted @palepinkgoat @crossmydna @mikhailoisbaby @sickness-health-all-that-shit @rereadanon @rutherinahobbit @energievie @junemermaid @francesrose3 @deathclassic @faejilly @rutherinahobbit @gallawitchxx @look-i-love-u @jessij1997 @callivich @celestialmickey @wehangout @doshiart @lynne-monstr @the-rat-wins @blue-disco-lights @suzy-queued @sleepyfacetoughguy @spookygingerr @burninface @gallapiech

#tag game #weekly tag wednesday #Mys stuff

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yunhofications · 2 years ago

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rock with you - j.yh

pairings: dom!yunho x switch!fem reader

chapters: 1/2

synopsis: yunho’s a rockstar and doesn’t care about anyone but himself, at all. he loves the attention he recieves, but the only attention that really matters to him is from the girl who can’t seem to stand him at all. well, thats what she tells herself anyway.

warnings/tags: yunho’s kind of a dick, but not really, size kink, dumbification, choking, man handling, biting/marking, praise. hes quite a mean n rough dom, fingering, cheating implied (not by yunho), pet names, drinking. no actual sex in this part

word count: 3.7k

authors note: hi! this is my first ever suggestive fic, i originally was only going to do one part but im going to do two now, if this chapter does well :] i hope you all like it, im new at writing these things!

it was a Sunday night, 9:54 pm to be exact. The bar wasn’t crazy busy considering most people had work the next day and normal individuals wouldn’t spend their free night before work drinking their sorrows away in a lousy run down bar. Not that it phased you in the slightest, you brushed off the judgmental stares and glares from the bartender since you were probably on your 20th shot and you had the tiniest little body. Who the fuck is fitting in that much alcohol without getting drunk? Well, you were pretty tipsy and your eyes were slowly giving out, as well as your entire body, about to hit your head against the wooden bar counter before a hand slips in and stops you from getting a concussion.

You don’t give it much thought, perhaps it was just the bartender, or some random stranger who was afraid you’d die or something from slamming your head down. But it wasn’t. Oh how you wished you were dreaming, and that your mind was playing a little trick on you from all the emotions and all the god damn alcohol that was running through your veins. Then the voice spoke. It felt like nails on a chalkboard, you hated it. “Y/N.” You could hear how smug the voice was, you could hear the smirk on their lips. Fuck.

“Go to hell Yunho.” Your words being just a big fat mumble, moving his hand away and allowing your head to rest against the hard wood counter. Yunho, Jeong Yunho. Many people adored the man, which you never understood why. He was a dick with a terrible attitude and didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, the nerve of him even coming near you made you wanna snap. Though, you had no energy to do that. You could still feel him next to you, his perfume was strong, and you’d only ever recognised that scent on him, no one else.

“Are you ever gonna stop being a little bitch Y/N? I just saved you from getting a concussion. You should be thanking me.” A scoff left his mouth. It was true though, Yunho didn’t care about anyone else but himself, he adored the attention from others, women. It was all he got, he was a rockstar afterall, who wouldn’t love the attention? Afterall, thousands of women screaming his name as his fingers played away at his guitar, what a life to live. However, as much as he adored all those women, one woman in particular was all he truly desired, to hear her scream his name, only for him to hear, for her to be a mess on his cock, a mixture of his and her cum dripping from her bare cunt. That woman was Y/N, and she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

“I didn’t ask you to, now go away. I don’t need you ro add to my problems right now.” You managed to lift your head and turn to face the dark haired man sitting beside you. It bothered you that he was attractive and that perhaps in another life you’d given him a chance, and maybe if he didn’t have a stick up his own ass and acted like the world revolved around him.

“Problems? Like what? Your only problem is you being an annoying little dog.” Okay, to an extent Yunho could see why you didn’t like him at all, considering all he did was rip into you and just make matters worse rather than at least try and be there for you. All your hatred and dislike for Yunho began just as he started to gain attention, because from the slightest attention his ego grew massive and it bothered you. The two of you had a little history, meeting one another through acquaintances and he was actually really cute, and you were attracted to him in more than one way. That was no longer the case. Now five years have passed and his attitude and ego was unbearable.

“Do you ever fucking shut up? Fuck off, Yunho. Seriously.”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to.”

All you could do was give him the biggest eye roll, you barely had any energy left to argue with this idiot in front of you, whining at how frustrated you were with him. “My boyfriend— ex, boyfriend. Cheated on me, so I beg you to leave me alone and let me drink in peace.” You had no intention on telling him that, but you prayed that he’d leave you alone and go home or fuck a girl or do whatever it is that he did. Instead he remained right there, pulling something out of his pocket. A ticket, a ticket to his upcoming show. He was absolutely unbelievable.

“You’re kidding me, right? Do you just carry those with you everywhere? I'm not going, I don’t like your music.” Which was a lie. You listened to his songs whilst getting ready, in the car, when laying in bed.

“Just come will you? And fuck your ex, hes a fucking idiot to let someone like you go, the prettiest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Yunho meant his words, and he definitely wanted you to attend his show, simply because you’ve never been to one before, and he desperately wanted to show himself off to you in another light. He had to hide the little smile which appeared on his face when you mentioned your ex cheated, he was out of the picture now which meant Yunho had a chance to win you over, and he was determined to.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t flutter a little when Yunho complimented you. It didn’t mean anything to you, well, you thought it didn’t. You chewed your bottom lip as you snatched the ticket and shoved it in your purse, perhaps it would be good to go, what else were you doing? Moping around that you got cheated on? Ridiculous.

“Whatever.. I’m going now.” Oh but getting up by yourself was a terrible idea, you slid off the barstool and stumbled as soon as you hit the ground, squinting as if it were to make a difference to your vision, but it didn’t. Suddenly you feel some long arms wrap around you tightly to hold you in place, you knew exactly who it belonged to as two large hands gripped the side of your arms. You were in no position to argue or say no, since you were pretty sure you’d black out soon enough, which you did.

The next thing you knew, it was the next morning, your head was ringing and you were in bed, at home.

Huh.

A week had passed since your drunken incident, you barely remembered it and still couldn’t put your finger on how you ended up at home in bed, surrounded by your pastel walls. Well, no point dwelling on it now. You were currently sitting upon your white little wooden vanity, gripping onto a curling iron and letting your hair fall as you let go. It was the day of Yunho’s show and you decided to go, why? Who knows. You didn’t even remember how you got around to getting the ticket, and why it happened to be in your purse. it was such a blur to you. A white lace dress with little pink bows at the shoulders was upon your body, the same dress you wore the night you two met for the first time. It wasn’t intentional, not by any means and that memory had slipped your mind. You thought it looked rejected sitting in the back of your closet, so why not wear it? You’d never wear anything to purposefully grab his attention anyway.

“Shit.” It was 5:30, which meant you were running a little later than originally planned— why does it matter though? He probably won’t even notice that you're there.

Dashing around your apartment you grabbed your ink coloured clutch bag which contained the ticket and a few other essentials of yours before grabbing your keys and checking yourself in the mirror by your door before going out to your car. Your phone automatically connected to the bluetooth system in your car and at that moment your phone began to ring, it was Wooyoung. The two of you had been friends since you were in diapers, literally. It was because of Wooyoung, that you met Yunho, unfortunately. What an idiot.Foot on the gas pedal and you were off, pressing the answer button upon the steering wheel.

“Hey Woo, I'm driving right now. What's up?”

“Where are you going? I wanna go out for food, meet me?”

“Ah.. about that, I’m actually going to Yunho’s show..” You’d wondered if he even heard you, because it went silent and you spoke quietly when saying that sentence. But he did hear you, loud and clear.

“YUNHO? I thought you hated him! Why are you going?! Tell me!” The male's voice was extremely loud, almost bursting your eardrums. You hated cutting him off— not true. But right now you didn’t have time to explain, you were practically speeding your way to the venue.

“I’ll tell you later, okay? I promise you. I gotta go.” Just like that, the line disconnected with the click of a button.

Arriving at the venue, you were faced with the largest queue you'd seen by far, sprawling out into the parking lot. The sight was a complete eyesore, however you were certain Yunho absolutely loved the sight.

Lucky for you, Yunho was kind enough to give you priority access tickets, so you could skip the queue. A good thing of course, being around all those fan girl’s would possibly lead you to have an aneurysm. And thankfully, they were seated tickets as you hated standing up and being surrounded by sweaty people, especially sweaty teenage girls and possibly grown women who’d just be screaming for Yunho. Your seat happened to be a balcony seat, and you were the only one there.

Yunho knew what he was doing, he would be able to see you perfectly from there, that's if you actually decided to come. He was nervous, so nervous in fact to go on stage and then be faced with the disappointment of you not being there. The man was infatuated by you and sometimes he really hated it, why you? Why did it have to be you? Either way, time was ticking and it was time to head to the stage. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Ever since he took you home last week, you were the only thing in his mind, day and night you flooded his brain, thoughts of you being fucked, the thoughts of you simply belonging to him. It was driving him insane.

The lights dimmed within the venue, and colors of red and white flashed on the stage, indicating that he was about to come out. For some reason that caused you to feel sick, a pit in your stomach. Why am I even here? I don’t even like him. Yet here you were, in a seat assigned especially for you. Not that you knew that, you had no idea how this ticket got into your possession in the first place.

A loud bang made the floor shake beneath you, startling you for sure. White and red confetti filled the room as Yunho was now on stage, seems as though he was standing on a lifting stage. You began to chew on your bottom lip anxiously, the crowd went wild as began with his first song. Whatever, he’s still an asshole.

Yunho’s ego was always boosted immensely as soon as he appeared on stage, hundreds of people screaming his name, posters and banners just for him. Absolutely perfect. But what was even more incredible, was the girl who appeared to hate him so much, was standing in the balcony he left just for you. The smirk which was painted on his lips was very evident as he pretty much groped the mic whilst his gaze met yours, he didn’t maintain it for long, but long enough to irritate her for sure. Honestly he didn’t expect you to come, especially because you were pretty drunk the night he gave you that ticket. Nevertheless, he was absolutely smitten. He’d watch how you’d rip your eyes from him every time your eyes met, he was absolutely loving this.

The cold breeze brushed against your face as you exited the venue, you were surprised with how you were able to stay the entire time, though there were many instances you wanted to storm out everytime you noticed the smug look on his face. You seriously couldn’t stand the man, but why was your heart fluttering if you hated him? Maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought you did.

You watched as fans walked out of the venue, some with tears running down their faces and sobbing about how much they loved Yunho, which could only get an eye roll and scoff out of you, how ridiculous. You took some time before deciding to walk back to your car, enjoying the breeze and feeling of the night. You happened to park quite far, and the area was deserted pretty much. You were about to enter your car, when you froze.

“Y/n.” A voice called out to you, the same voice you had been hearing for the last three hours. Jeong Yunho. Did he follow you?

“Hi jackass.” You turned around to face him, his body a lot closer to yours than you expected it to be. Crossing your arms across your chest, you tilted your head at him.

“Thanks for coming, didn’t expect you to.” The man was going to attempt to have a decent and human conversation with you, however In that moment, Yunho realized what you were wearing, the expression upon his face was different from his usual smug look. It was desire, absolute filthy desire. Yunho became enamored by you that day you two met, and here you were, wearing the cute little dress which made him obsessed with you forever. Did you know? You did this on purpose, surely.

“Are you trying to just make me fucking crazy? you know what you're doing don’t you?” His body was inching closer to yours, making you press your back against your car door.

“What on earth are you talking about?” You were clueless, but you could feel your cheeks heat up as he got closer, gripping onto the bottom of your dress tightly. If you hated him so much, why the fuck were your panties getting soaked?

“That dress.. fuck y/n are you really that fucking dumb?”

“What d— oh crap.” How didn’t you realize? You were dumb, so fucking dumb. “So what? It doesn’t mean anything.” Your heart was fucking racing, it definitely did mean something. How did you forget? He didn’t. He never forgot anything.

“It does to me, ever since I saw you in this dress that showed just enough for me to imagine you under me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Did you know that? You didn’t, because you’re a dumb little bitch.” Yunho didn’t intend on insulting you, but he knew she wasn’t bothered by that, a smirk painted his lips as he noticed your change in demeanor, your cheeks flushed pink, legs squeezing together.

“Yunho fuck y—“ But before you could continue, his large hand came to cup your jaw from underneath, whimpering under his touch. Who knew this asshole could turn you into a dumb slut just like that? Leaning into your ear, his hot breath made your body shudder.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up.” A growl from him before his lips crashed against yours ever so harshly, his tongue swiping your bottom lip, muffling the moans which threatened to escape your lips. Usually your first instinct would be to push him away but this time you couldn’t. His hands moved to grip onto your hips tightly as he pressed himself against you. You could feel how hard he already was just against you, making you soak your panties within just a couple minutes. You were out in the open, no one was around but the rush of knowing anyone could see you any second only made you more heated, your arms finally deciding to move and wrap around Yunho’s neck.

Yunho pulled away, dragging your bottom lip with him, biting on it as one of his hands slipped, letting it slide to your white lace panties, your cheeks turning scarlet red as you realized how soaked they really were, whimpering as he pushed them to the side. Fuck, a little touch was enough to send you to the sky.

“You always act like you hate me yet look at you, wet as shit like a dumb slut. My little baby.” He hissed, his tone a little mocking as two of his slender fingers entered your wet, sloppy, cunt. causing you to throw your head back against your car. He hadn’t even started yet. His fingers sliding in easily due to your arousal, pumping them in and out of you, abusing your tiny little cunt just as he always wanted. Your core was practically burning from the sensation of his fingers, they were pistoning inside you.

“Y-Yun..” You moaned out stupidly, he was only fucking you with his fingers and you could barely talk coherently. How pathetic? Yunho loved it though, he was waiting for this day for so long, to have your head so cloudy to the point you could only mumble his name, to be a mess on his fingers. A dream. Oh how beautiful you looked, your eyes rolling back, pressed against your car under the moonlight. Yunho’s brow cocked, tilting his head slightly and sinking his lips onto your neck, sucking and nibbling against your delicate porcelain skin, painting your skin purple, his tongue swiping his artwork once he was finished.

Yunho decided to insert another finger, watching you squirm was a delight to his eyes. The tent in his pants threatened to push past the fabric, perhaps even some precum already at the tip. He was desperate to fuck you, but he wanted to do it properly, and prep you of course before he took you home and absolutely destroyed you. Besides, the thrill of someone spotting him finger you senseless in the parking lot was a rush, especially to his hardening cock.

The sloppy and wet sounds coming from his fingers in your cunt was beautiful, filling the air. However as soon as he felt you tighten around his fingers he pulled them out, stuffing his fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, taking in your sweet taste. “You taste incredible whore. Though.. you think I'm gonna let you cum? The only time you get to do that is on my cock.” Once again, his mocking tone irritated you and you were beyond pissed that you were denied your orgasm. The man was edging you and you hated it, squeezing your thighs together.

“Fuck you Yunho.” You spat, huffing and crossing your arms across your chest. Yunho simply laughed in amusement at your reaction. “So are you gonna fuck me or what?” The sheer annoyance in your voice only made his cock twitch, he absolutely was infatuated by you, he loved your bitchyness.

“Im not done with you just yet, get in the backseat.” Happily you obliged, thinking he was going to slide his cock into you, you hobbled around into the back and laid down, he came in after you, closing the door and pressing himself down. Yunho teasingly grinded his hips against you so you could feel him, and fuck was he hard, you whined under him, groaning when he moved to slide your dress up and slide down your panties completely, shoving them in his pocket. Gotta keep a souvenir right? “Let me get another taste of you.”

You couldn't help but grumble, he was having so much fun and all you wanted was to be fucked into next week. But of course with Yunho that wasn't possible whatsoever. The man shuffled back and sunk his head down to meet your cunt, the sweet smell of your arousal allowed a soft moan to escape his lips before his tongue swept along your soaked folds, his hands gripping onto her skin, as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked away, looking up to see her face scrunched up, her back ever so slightly arched. Yunho couldn’t get enough of her taste.

Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging on it as he sucked your clit softly, the moans parting from your mouth getting increasingly louder as he continued to swipe his tongue. You were well aware he’d deny another orgasam of yours, it wasn’t fair. The sensation was so different to what you'd experienced before from other partners. Yunho was definitely skilled. It only made you more eager to see how well he’d fuck you. The situation was quite bizarre. A week ago, you wouldnt of thought that you’d be lying in the backseat of your car having Yunho eat out your pussy.

Just like you predicted though, Yunho stopped as soon as you were close once again, being denied your second orgasm. “I fucking hate you.” You groaned, kicking his chest with your foot slightly as he scoffed.

“If you hated me so much, I wouldn’t be tasting you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will sweetheart, just patience. Now, lets go home okay? I'm sure youre dying to cum.”

Yunho laughed as he left the back of the car and entered the front, he was in the drivers seat.

“Well? Come on. You can give me head as we drive.”

All you could do was roll your eyes as you shifted to the front seat, climbing your way forward and glared at him. “Im not doing it.”

“That's alright, my cock will be filling you up soon anyway.”

To be continued.

675 notes · View notes

weeeeeekly · 5 months ago

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quarter life crisis – ot5 tomorrow x together x afab!reader

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blurb !!! Reincarnation can bring soulmates together despite their time apart. Being a huge fan of TOMORROW X TOGETHER helped you get through the struggles of entering early adulthood. You would thank them personally if you ever could but when you possibly get the chance it’s more than what you could ever hope for.

info !!! txt are still idols, reincarnation au, soulmates au, polyamory, throuple²… they’ll all eventually date each other, mc has mental health struggles, universe assigned lactose intolerance, mc is team no kids, glasses wearer, lives in the middle of fuck nowhere but still a city (just go with it), pet names used are "our love" and princess, & not edited.

wc: 1.4k

WARNINGS !!! NSFW, MDNI, 18+, extremely self-indulgent, soft yandere!txt, mentions of mental health & self-harm (nothing graphic) for entire series

author’s note !!! this is fiction!!! this is made up!!! i do not condone breaking in, stalking, and other ulterior motives to get close to someone you are romantically interested in. mandatory note that i do not think txt act like this in real life.

why are there not more ot5!txt x fem/afab or gender-neutral reader… I also cannot come up with a blurb for the life of me, so please peep the info tags.

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CHAPTER ONE

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You complain as you lean back in your office chair in an attempt to break your neck, so you won’t have to work or be conscious anymore. You were already having a shitty week after getting into a fender bender on your way to work and now working 8 AM to 4 PM. And 4 PM couldn’t come soon enough, on a Monday at that, so your sanity was slowly depleting. You started spacing out around 12 PM, so you took your lunch break right on the dot of the typical lunchtime. The break was what you needed as you took the hour to watch mind numbing, borderline baby sensory videos while eating your favorite sandwich with chips. Forcing yourself to add use nondairy milk this morning saved your stomach from destroying your insides. You do wish you had an excuse for getting more breaks to use the restroom though.

You let the rest of the random dance practice video play out as you space out. A light tap on your back snaps you back to reality with a startle as you remove your noise cancelling headphones.

“Huh?”

Your boss smiles as she repeats herself but it’s only her filling you in about her newborn niece’s activities over the past week.

“She had her first strawberry, and she loves them now. She even threw a fit when she finished it. Let me show you a video.”

You fake a smile as you put on an act so your boss will still like you, throwing in an appropriate “so cute” and “awe” as the video goes in for much longer than you expected.

“Wait, let me show you the inspiration for her first birthday!”

At least you got that excuse for a long break.

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Soobin looks back to his members as they each give him a reassuring smile. Of course, the extrovert members would send him, an introvert, to speak to their long-lost soulmate and other half that they haven’t seen in centuries. He was not freaking out or anything. This was totally not an incredibly nerve-wracking moment.

“Hyung, your ears are red!”

“Stop teasing him.”

“Guys, please.”

The other members fall silent as Soobin finally knocks on the door. All five of them step back as they hear a faint “coming” and muted footsteps. When the door cracks open a little bit and half of your face peeks out, the group put on their brightest, dazzling smile.

You freeze in place as your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you stare at your favorite Kpop group outside your front door. In the same amount of time it takes Soobin to muster up the courage to greet you, you shut the door. They hear the distinct sound of a lock and then frantic footsteps away from them. Taehyun peeks from behind Soobin to ask their leader what they should do now but hesitates as he notices the deep frown on his face. Kai and Beomgyu share a worried look as Yeonjun pats Soobin’s back.

They’ll greet you properly later.

Back inside your apartment, you’re frantically pacing back and forth in your room as your mind is screaming a million things right now. You rationalize that this must certainly be a dream as you were quite tired from work today and must have taken a nap. Yes, a dream. You must be sleeping and comfort yourself from such a hard day you dreamt up a scenario where TXT has come to listen to your concerns and worries. But that comes crumbling apart when you look in the direction of your desk and you’re able to read the clock.

6:15 PM.

That can’t be right because you can’t read time in dreams. You grab your phone and scan the texts on your lockscreen.

roomie i’ll be home late as i’m covering for a coworker. please don’t forget to eat dinner.

roomie i’m going to make sure you eat something when i get back!

roomie goodnight :)

Well, shit. Your glasses were not failing you so you could easily read and understand that your roommate was threatening you to eat dinner. So, to your disbelief and honestly terrible luck, TXT really was outside your door. The same TXT that covers a majority of your room’s walls with their beautiful faces on various posters from their albums – the same albums that you’ve been collecting sitting on their own designated shelf. The binder filled with little paper with pictures of their faces on it was not cheap either.

Your room was also pretty messy with a pile of clean clothes on the middle of the floor, the victims of your search from yesterday for a sleep shirt in a drawer. The rest of the room was a sight for sore eyes as well with the amount of shit was just everywhere. It would be embarrassing if they saw the state of it.

But why would you care what they thought. This was probably just a really insane fluke moment and if they were here to film content it would be for a few hours. Their protocol team would probably knock on your door a little later to have you sign an NDA and to not approach them. A few knocks on your door comes as a response to your thought but upon opening the door you’re only left with more questions.

There’s no one outside your door or in the empty hallway, only a tin box on your welcome mat greets you with a note taped on top.

Hello neighbor! We’re sorry for scaring you. Enjoy these cookies. Hope to meet you soon. From your new neighbors Steve, Daniel, Ben, Terry, and Kai :D

A smile appears on your face as you look to your left to see a stack of flattened cardboard boxes leaning against the door signaling that someone, or a group of someone’s, moved in. After you take the lid off another note greets you, but the handwriting is different.

sorry for not baking no time : (

You’re still not sure what to make of the course of events that happened in a short amount of time, but you do know that things will definitely be interesting.

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Just a few feet away on the other side of the thin wall sit the group that take up the majority of your mind. Soobin is sitting on the makeshift couch made out of a few pillows still in the plastic, attempting to read his book but failing to get past a single sentence due to his nerves. Yeonjun busies himself trying to make ramen they just bought for dinner. Beomgyu scrolls through his phone to see if the news has been released yet. Taehyun and Kai both sit on the floor and play a board game Taehyun brought.

They had been busy traveling from Seoul earlier in the day but their nerves wouldn’t let them calm down from the stress of getting the company to agree to it to looking as normal as possible so they wouldn’t be recognized and then to finally seeing you after all this time. Their hearts couldn’t be fuller, but the rest of their body was taking the toll as they couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer.

“Let’s eat!” Yeonjun says as he brings over the fried eggs to the foldable table that was being used as the dining table.

They all huddle around the cups of individual instant ramen and dig in. Sure, this wasn’t the healthiest meal, but this was their first meal since the plane food they ate over 12 hours ago. The only sounds that filled the empty apartment was slurping, but that changed when they heard you yell “WHAT” next door.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

Back on your side of the wall, your mouth is open as you reread the title of the notification you just got.

[NOTICE] TOMORROW X TOGETHER to halt activities to film “In the Soop: Together”

Hello. This is BIGHIT MUSIC. We would like to inform you about the future activities of TOMORROW X TOGETHER.

The members SOOBIN, YEONJUN, BEOMGYU, TAEHYUN, and HUENINGKAI hope that MOA will see this as an opportunity for rest and new content. Activities will resume once the hiatus ends. TOMORROW X TOGETHER asks for MOA’s understanding and to wait.

Our company will also strive to provide all the support they may need during this time. We look forward to MOA’s love and support for future activities. Thank you.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊

masterlist | next

#txt x reader #txt x you #tomorrow x together x reader #tomorrow x together x you #txt fanfic #txt smut #ot5 x reader #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #hueningkai x reader #yandere txt

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alwaysonthemend · 5 months ago

Text

Read Part I Here

Author's Note: The long awaited Part 2! Thanks to all those who sent asks about it - ya'll helped keep me motivated🤍 This turned out a lil' angstier than I had initially intended but it all works out in the end 😌

All I have left to add is justice for Jake's curly hair and for Waited All Your Life (it'll make sense once you read it)

Content Warnings: Jake x Fem!reader / Jake x Fem!OC (Lindsey) / Mature content / 18+ Only / angst / adult themes / unrequited love / feelings of inadequacy / miscommunication / break ups / graphic descriptions of sex / oral sex / fingering / I'm going to go ahead and tag this with emotional cheating as well because Jake is definitely emotionally cheating on Lindsey (emotional cheating is still cheating so it gets a warning)

Word Count: 9k (I don't wanna talk abt it)

My Taglist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

March, 2023 – Nashville International Airport – Y/n’s POV

The coffee you had downed earlier that morning does nothing to stop the way your eyelids fight to stay closed every time you blink. The airport isn’t too busy yet – a small victory, thanks to the early hour. You walk slowly, eyes focused up at the signs as you wheel your carry-on behind you.

There! You think to yourself, finally catching sight of C3. Exhaustedly, you dump your things on the floor next to a row of seats and you collapse heavily into one. You glance around again, then look over your shoulder. So far, it seems you’re the first to arrive.

Anxiety thrums through you, making your palms feel cold and clammy and the back of your neck feeling hot. You’re struck with the sudden desire to just turn tail and run for the hills. But unfortunately you can’t. Just like you couldn’t quit your job at your agency with such short notice. You’d told him you were done – that you were leaving and you’d fully intended to do so. But your boss hadn’t exactly been understanding when you told her you wanted to be transferred somewhere else. You can still hear her shocked voice through the phone, completely shattering any hopes you’d had of being able to escape this shit show with at least a little bit of dignity left.

So here you sit, waiting.

And of course, since the universe is intent on making your life as miserable as possible, he is the next person to arrive.

“Y/n.” Jake’s voice is the same as ever – but this time still just a little bit rough since it’s so early. “I… I thought you said-”

“My notice has been put in.” You interrupt him, wringing your hands together where they sit in your lap. “They just couldn’t find someone to fill in for me at such short notice.”

Jake’s eyes widen just a little at the sharpness of your tone. You wince internally but keep your face deliberately neutral. It’s not his fault, you remind yourself. How could he have known that I love him?

“Oh.” He answers, shuffling his feet a little and glancing down at the ground.

It’s silent for long enough that you almost start talking about the weather or the traffic but you refrain. You’re both going to have to get over this eventually if you’re going to be expected to work together for this last leg of the tour.

“May I sit?” He asks at last, gesturing to one of the seats next to yours after standing there awkwardly with his suitcase in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder in a way that can’t be comfortable.

“Sure.”

Jake sits and you bite your tongue. There’s so much you want to say – so much that you wish you had said, but the middle of an airport terminal at 6 in the morning isn’t exactly the place for it.

The silence is worse than the talking but you don’t want to be the one to break it. Just a few months and then I can forget he ever existed, you think – deliberately ignoring the fact that you know you could never forget what it feels like to be in love with Jake Kiskza. Even when he doesn’t love you back.

“How was the ride here?” He asks haltingly, lips instantly turning down in a wince at the stupid question. But at least it’s not silent anymore.

“Boring. Not much traffic, thankfully.” So much for not talking about the traffic.

Jake nods once, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before answering.

“Same. Perks of an early flight. Beat the rush.”

You’re pretty sure this is the most excruciating thing you’ve ever had to experience and you can’t help but look around in a desperate hope that someone else has arrived to end this torture. No such luck.

“Right.” You answer him, pulling your phone out to check the time. It’s an hour to boarding and surely one of the others will be here soon.

Of course I’m the only tech who also lives in Nashville, you think bitterly, wishing that anyone other than a Kiszka or Wagner were here in order to rescue you. Jake looks just as uncomfortable as you do. He keeps shifting in his seat and fixing his hair when it doesn’t need to be fixed.

After a long moment of tense, uncomfortable silence, Jake opens his mouth – clearly about to say something that you don’t really want to hear, when a loud “Good morning, fellow travelers!” interrupts him.

Sam’s voice makes you jump and Jake’s mouth snaps shut. You whip around to see Sam – looking far too energetic for this early in the morning.

“Morning, Samuel.” Jake grumbles, looking not at all happy at his untimely interruption but you couldn’t be more grateful.

Sam, always good at being entirely unaware, plops himself down in the seat on the other side of you and leans on his knees to look past you and over at Jake.

“Glad to see you’re still a grumpy bastard in the morning.” Sam then looks at you. “And Y/n, it's always nice to see your bright, shining face this early.”

You don’t feel particularly bright or shiny but you smile at Sam despite the anxiety coursing through your veins.

“Morning, Sam. Glad to have the life of the party present at last.”

It doesn’t take long for Daniel to arrive next, a little less cheery and energetic as Sam but still in a great mood. You know they’re happy to be going back on the road. You would be too if… if things hadn’t happened the way they did.

The terminal fills and fills until finally passengers are allowed to board. You rise, grabbing your suitcase and you toss your empty coffee cup into the trash. Jake rises too, immediately grabbing his things and following you.

“Y.n…” He starts, fumbling in his pocket to pull out his boarding pass. “Can- can I sit next to you? I’m sure Josh wouldn’t mind if he and I switched.”

You pause. You really don’t know if this is the place for whatever conversation Jake is going to force you to have. You would much rather sit next to Josh, just as had been originally planned, but you can’t help the way Jake’s sincere, chocolate eyes make you melt.

“I mean, if you want to I guess you-”

Once again, the two of you are interrupted by a loud voice, this time coming from Josh as he practically sprints across the terminal.

“Made it!” He exclaims, making Sam roll his eyes and Daniel laugh a little.

“Always the dramatic entrance, Josh.” Danny mutters before walking up and scanning his boarding pass.

“Josh.” Jake nods at his twin, looking as if he’d like to throttle the man.

“Jake.” He answers and then smiles at you. “Y/n! Good morning!”

“Morning, Josh.” He instantly puts your nerves to rest a little, making that knot of anxiety loosen just enough for you to feel a little less miserable.

“No Lindsey?”

Your heart swoops down into your stomach as Jake widens his eyes a little at Josh’s question.

“Um.” He starts, swallowing thickly and darting his eyes towards you. “She’s uh.. She’s gonna meet us in Raleigh. I think she’s going to tag along until El Paso… Just depends on how much time she can get off from work.”

“Ah.” Josh shoves his phone into his pocket. “Gotcha. Well,” he glances at the dwindling line of people as they board the plane and then looks to you, “you ready, seat buddy?”

You glance at Jake and try to ignore the wounded look in his eyes. The stark reminder that not only does Jake not have feelings for you but that he’s also in a committed relationship to someone else… well. It’s enough to remind you why you asked Josh to get the seat next to yours in the first place.

“Of course!” You loop your free arm with Josh’s and give him and Jake the most convincing smile that you can muster. “Let's get this show on the road.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 12, 2023 - Greenville, SC

It had been entirely too easy for you to pretend as if Jake doesn’t exist – as if the two of you hadn’t been such good friends just months before. He’d taken the hint early on that you didn’t want to discuss whatever it was that he felt the two of you needed to discuss. You were mortified as it is that Lindsey knew the truth – and horrified by the knowledge that Jake knows how much you’d misread the situation with him. He’d been looking for a hookup and you were the unfortunate one who’d managed to catch feelings throughout it all. But so far, Jake has respected your wishes to keep your distance.

He’s never rude, treating you the same way he would treat any of the other tech people who he maybe didn’t know quite as well. And while the distance stings, you know it’s for the best. If the others had noticed the sudden change in your relationship, thankfully none of them had said anything to you – and hopefully not to Jake either. It really was as if none of it had ever happened and you definitely weren’t counting down the days until Lindsey’s supposed arrival.

You’d just spent the last 30 minutes doing Sam’s makeup – time which he’d spent cracking jokes and talking 90 to nothing the entire time. You’d just nodded along, smiling and adding commentary when you felt it was necessary. But really, you just enjoyed listening to him talk. He made you laugh – just like all the boys do, and talking with Sam had been a welcome distraction and way to fill your time since Josh’s partner had arrived… time that you once would have spent with Jake.

You bustle about in the makeup room, tidying things up and putting them in their places. You tuck each of the boys’ foundations in their designated bags, along with whatever eyeshadow palettes or rhinestones they prefer. Your brushes have been washed and now lay out to dry on a towel on the counter top. There’s nothing much left to do except pack away Josh’s ridiculous amount of hairstyling products and then you’ll be free to spend the rest of your time however you please.

The door opens but you don’t look up from your task of shoving hairspray bottles into your bag, fully expecting it to only be Josh or Danny coming back in for a last minute touch up. It’s only about an hour before they go on.

“Hey.”

You startle, whipping around at the sound of his voice. Jake stands in the doorway, waiting just on the threshold as if not daring to enter fully until you invite him to do so.

“Hi.” Your voice comes out surprisingly steady despite the way your heart is racing. This is the first time that you’ve been alone with him. “Something I can do for you?”

Jake nods, taking a single, hesitant step into the room and then stopping again.

“Just something small.” His eyes find yours in the mirror as you turn your back to him, trying to get your bearings a little bit. “Wanted to change my look up a little.”

You turn back around to face him and beckon him over to sit in your chair. Jake never does makeup – even before all this. Jake takes a seat and looks up at you, not saying a word.

“I’m guessing you don’t want rhinestones.” You say with a smile and Jake’s shoulders relax just a little.

“No. No rhinestones.” He affirms, clasping his hands in his lap. His words are soft yet deafening in the quiet of the room. Your heart races so fast you swear he must be able to hear it. “Maybe just some eyeliner? I’ve done it myself a few times but… I’m not as good at it as you are.”

You tilt your head and smile down at him.

“I should hope that I’m at least kinda good at it.” You grab an eyeliner pencil from Danny’s bag. “It is my job after all.”

Jake huffs a laugh but the sound quickly dies out as soon as you lower yourself to get closer to him. You haven’t seen him this close since… since that night in the bathroom. His eyes are like pools of hot cocoa as he watches you intently. Dark lashes, delicate, pink lips. His skin is smooth except for a light dusting of hair on his upper lip – only noticeable this close.

“Can you..?” You look down at his crossed legs and then back up at him.

“Oh. Yeah.” He spreads his legs so that you can step closer. “Sorry.”

You step between his thighs and lower yourself down. Keeping his head steady by holding his jaw with your free hand, you gently swipe the black eyeliner over his lash line. You tilt his head up and choose to ignore the way his eyes stay trained on you the whole time.

“Look up for me?” You ask softly and he obeys. You gently tug his eyelid down and swipe the black over his waterline as well before moving to do the same on the other side. You use the little brush on the other end of the pencil to blend the color out a little.

“Finished?” He asks as you step away, his eyes blinking rapidly for a moment as his eyes water a little.

You look at him for just a moment, trying to treat him just like any other client and not like the guy you’re hopelessly in love with who’s dating someone else.

“Almost.” You turn around and begin digging through Danny’s bag again, making a mental note that maybe you need to make one for Jake in case he decides that he likes the way he looks with this. You grab a tube of mascara and step back towards him. “Just a little bit of mascara.”

You swipe the mascara over his long lashes, making sure that they don’t clump and then you step back and admire the look. His eyes – deep set and thoughtful, look incredible in the eyeliner. It makes his features stand out just a little bit more and you know it will look great under the stage lights later tonight.

“Now I’m finished.”

Jake stands and takes a step towards the mirrors on the vanity. He tilts his head to the side as he admires himself in the reflection.

“I like it.” He says after a long moment, turning back to look at you. “Much better than when I do it.” He smiles a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

That tension that was present in the airport a few days ago is suddenly back with full force and you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Jake clearly feels it too and he reaches a hand up and runs his fingers through his hair. He drops his hand, the once brushed through strands now a little messy.

“Here, wait.” You don’t know why you do it – it’s like your body just gravitates towards his without you even thinking about it, but you take a step towards him. Placing a hand on his chest, you push him back towards the chair until he sits back down. “Let me fix your hair a little.”

Jake watches in silence as you grab a comb and some styling mousse. You brush through his hair, admiring how some of it reflects auburn in the light. You set it back to its natural part with the comb and then spread some of the mousse on your palms. You rake your hands through his hair, depositing the product and then twirling the ends around your fingers a little, helping the natural waves to form better. They go easily – as if rebelling against the way he must have straightened it earlier.

“You’ve got wavy hair.” The words slip out without you meaning them to and even you can hear the slight awe in your voice – as if him having wavy hair is some novel, incredible thing. Heat rushes to your cheeks but Jake doesn't acknowledge it.

“I think it could be curly if I really wanted it to be.” He answers softly. “Not like Josh’s but… it’s really wavy when I let it air dry on its own.”

“I-I like it.” You answer him, voice equally quiet. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

You realize suddenly just how close you’ve gotten to him. You straighten and step back and Jake pulls back as well – he’d been leaning in close to you.

“Guess you should probably head out there.”

Jake nods and rises, hearing the dismissal in your tone and the shift in your body language.

“Right. Yeah. I uh. I should go.” Jake slides his palms over his thighs, eyes darting towards the door and then back to you. He hesitates, as if about to say something but then thinking better of it. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.”

You watch him go, chest aching. There’s a feeling in the pit of your stomach – the feeling that you’ve just made a mistake. You don’t know if it was allowing yourself to relax around him again or letting him walk away.

You shake your head and continue tidying up.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 20, 2023 - El Paso, TX

Lindsey’s arrival in Raleigh hadn’t been as humiliating as you’d been expecting it to be. In fact, since she spends all her time with Jake – who you’d already been basically avoiding at all costs, you hardly see her at all.

She’d only acknowledged your presence once that first day when she arrived. Just a nod and a terse smile, completely lacking the warmth and kindness from that first time you met and talked. You can’t blame her. She’d listened to you cry and hugged and comforted you – you, a virtual stranger, only to later find out that you’d been talking about her own boyfriend… it’s not exactly the best first impression you’ve ever made.

The El Paso show had gone on without a hitch – just as they usually do, and the boys had invited you and the rest of the tech and crew out for a meal, all expenses paid for. Ristorante Casanova was the place of choice; a little fancy for your tastes but the reviews had been great when you looked it up.

It had been Danny that had planned this – he’d reserved a section of the restaurant that was large enough for everyone to attend. He, Sam, and Josh (surprisingly on time) had been the ones to greet you. There were several other members of the crew already there as well and so you’d sat down at a table in the far corner where their stage manager – who you know pretty well, and some of the body guards had claimed.

Carter is the first to greet you - a sweet, older man who's in charge of security. He smiles widely at you as you take a seat next to him.

“Sunflower! Glad you joined us.”

Carter instantly brings you into the conversation, not allowing you to feel left out for one second. Everyone at your table is kind and fun to be around and they’re a welcome distraction. You hardly even notice when Jake and Lindsey arrive together arm and arm (and you don’t even notice the way Jake’s eyes keep straying to you from his table every chance he gets). Food and drink flows and conversation flows even better and everyone seems to be in good spirits. After you’ve eaten enough to feel like you need a nap, Josh stands and hits his spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” He says theatrically, eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy from alcohol as he looks around the room at everyone. His eyes linger on you and he winks, making you roll your eyes playfully. “I just wanted to give you all a thank you for making this shit show go so smoothly. At least, as smooth as it possibly could be with all the craziness.”

There are a few murmurs of agreement and light laughter from everyone at that.

“There have been far too many cancellations and reschedules,” Josh continues, his tongue clearly loosened even more than usual thanks to the wine that he’d been drinking, “and I just want you all to know how much we,” he gestures towards himself, Sam, Daniel, and Jake, “appreciate all the work that you guys have done! This Dreams and Gold circus wouldn’t be possible without each and every one of you.”

All of the crew smiles at that and you can’t help the warmth that swells in your chest for this band. Despite everything that’s happened, this has been one of the most wonderful experiences of your life. Not only is the crew full of incredible people, but the band is, too – most rock stars of their stature would never take the time or money to take their crew out for a dinner like this, let alone with a speech of gratitude on top of it all.

“So please, keep enjoying the food and the alcohol and be merry! You’ve all earned it.”

Josh finishes his speech and sits down, and everyone claps and whoops. One of the tech guys calls out a ‘We love you guys!’ to which everyone else shouts their agreement. The boys, all looking bashful but happy, call their love back out to them. Chatter starts up again, and you take the opportunity to slip away to the ladies' room.

After relieving yourself and washing your hands, you step back out into the little hallway outside the bathroom, smoothing your palms over your dress a little bit. You feel good. You’ve laughed more tonight than you have in days and everyone else is in a good mood, too.

You stop in your tracks when you look up to see Jake blocking you from the rest of the hallway.

“Jake.” You begin, thankful that for once, anxiety doesn’t shoot through you at the mere sight of him. You’re in far too good of a mood for that to happen now. “You okay?”

He’s got an odd look on his face as he stands there blocking your path but still your good mood lingers,

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I don’t really know. I think I’m drunk.”

“Ah.” You walk a few paces forwards so that you can see him better in the dim light of the hallway. His cheeks are indeed flushed like they get when he’s had a little too much. “The men’s is right there.” You jerk your head towards the door for the men’s restroom and then start to push past him but he stops you, a hand darting out to grip your bicep. He doesn’t grab hard – light enough that you could easily pull away if you wanted to.

But you stay. Of course you stay.

“Wait.” His words are a little slurred and you wince a little. He’s clearly in a heightened emotional state right now and your mind races with ways to diffuse the situation.

“I think I made a mistake.” He continues on. “With you. We- we were good friends?” He phrases it as if it’s a question but you know the answer already and you know he does too. You two were great friends.

“We don’t have to go through this again.” You answer him, anger beginning to rise. Of course you couldn’t have just one night where you felt normal. And fuck him for making you feel like this. “You’ve already told me that that night was a mistake.Trust me, I’m well aware, Jake.”

It’s like being on an emotional roller coaster. The initial hope, then the crushing disappointment of unrequited feelings. Now it feels like everytime you start to get over things he appears to draw you back in. First in your makeup chair and now this… You’re entirely certain that if he would just leave you alone, if he would stop sending these cruel mixed signals, you know that this would be easier. You know you could finally move on from this.

Good mood completely soured with anger, you try to push past him again but this time he steps forward and backs you up into the wall, his hands grabbing your shoulders.

“No! That’s- that’s not what I meant, Sunflower.”

“Then what exactly do you mean, Jake?” He’s close enough now that you can smell the tequila on his breath. “Because I know how you feel about me. And I swear to god it’s starting to feel like you enjoy having me pining after you. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Jake’s head falls, his hair falling down to frame his face.

“I don’t know. I tried too. But you keep pulling me back.” He frowns down at you before adding quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You can’t bring yourself to say ‘it’s okay.’ All you can do is stare at him, feeling suddenly as if every sense has been overtaken by him. The heat of his body, the smell of him, the way his hands are on your shoulders to keep you pressed against the wall…

His eyes drop and for a split second you swear his gaze lingers on your lips before flicking back upwards. Your heart races, chest burning as you basically hold your breath.

“Sunflower, I-”

“What. The. Fuck?”

Jake rears back and away from you as if he’d been burned at the sound of Lindsey’s voice.

Panic washes over you as you take in Lindsey’s face – there’s anger, of course. But mostly hurt. Fuck, you know that you and Jake both look guilty even though you technically haven’t done anything.

“Lindsey!” You begin, stepping away from the wall, “God, it’s not what it looks like. I swear. I’m so sorr-”

“Save it.” She interrupts you, turning her icy gaze towards Jake who’s backed himself up into the opposite wall and is looking at her with wide eyes. “You’re not the one I’m pissed at.”

Jake looks on the verge of either crying or passing out and you feel a bit like you might do either one of those as well. You don’t know what to do as the three of you stand there in a stalemate.

The air feels oppressive and you wrack your brains for something, anything, to say that might make this better. You can’t think of a single, god damned thing.

“You guys okay?” It’s Carter’s voice that breaks the silence as he enters the hallway, his eyebrows raising at the sight that greets him. “Ya’ll have been gone for a while.” Carter’s dart between the three of you before settling on you. “Y/n?”

“We- it’s fine. We’re fine, Carter.” It’s a big fat lie but you don’t really know what else to say. “I was just about to head home, actually.”

You know it’s a cowardly thing to do – to just run away and not deal with whatever blow out is about to happen. But you can’t think of anything better to do.

“Oookay.” Carter doesn’t look convinced that everything is fine but he seems to sense that this isn’t something to stick his nose in. “I’ll walk you out.”

It’s not a question. All you can do is nod and numbly follow Carter out of the hallway. Jake follows you with pleading eyes but Lindsey doesn’t look at you until you’re all the way past her. Finally, she watches you go, giving you a curt nod with her lips pressed together. You would almost feel better if she was pissed and screaming at you instead.

You cross your arms over your chest tightly as Carter waits on the curb outside with you for your Uber to arrive. You haven’t said anything to him but you can tell he’s itching to ask what the hell he just walked in on.

“I’m guessin’ it’s complicated and I don’t wanna know?” He finally asks and you nod.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Are you okay?” You hate the genuine concern in his voice. You don’t really feel like you deserve it.

“I will be.”

Carter kicks a rock and it goes skittering across the sidewalk.

“I’m not trying to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong but… whatever he did to hurt you,” he sighs a little, “I know you didn’t deserve it.”

Despite the millions of awful thoughts that are running through your mind, you smile just a little.

“Thank you.”

“And he’s a fool for not seeing what’s right in front of ‘im.”

To that, you have no idea what to say. So you don’t. The two of you wait in silence for your Uber, Carter’s body heat a comforting presence next to you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 26, 2023 - Reno, NV – Jake’s POV

The night at the restaurant has been haunting just about every waking moment since. And when you sleep, Y/n’s look of hurt and Lindsey’s face filled with disappointment and anger swirl around within your dreams and send you waking in a cold sweat.

You know this is all your fault. Y/n knows it. And fuck, now Lindsey knows it too.

She’d been so damned understanding that night when she’s asked about your relationship with Y/n. She’d nodded along as you told her about the drunken hook up in a bathroom. When you’d asked her if it upset her, she’d merely shrugged and said that she “can’t change the past.”

You’d told her you loved her that night and it had eased whatever worries she had… Now, you’re pretty sure that out of everything, that was the cruelest thing you ever did to her.

It had been like walking on eggshells since Ristorante Casanova. You’d explained to Lindsey over and over that nothing had actually happened that night and that you hadn’t been planning on anything happening… that you had just wanted to talk to Y/n. Begrudgingly, she’d accepted your words as truth and your countless apologies but deep down you both know that your relationship isn’t going to ever return to what it was. She’d stopped saying ‘I love you’ back.

You’d declined going out when Josh had asked the night before, claiming to be too tired after the show. It wasn’t a total lie. You were tired, but the show had nothing to do with it and everything to do with having Y/n’s body so close to yours again and the wounded looks Lindsey sends your way when she thinks you’re not looking. Lindsey hadn’t complained when you told her you wanted to stay in – in fact, she’d looked relieved. You’d both gone to bed without saying a word, the silence far more damning than anything else.

She’d been in the bathroom for almost an hour now. The water had been turned off a while ago but she’d yet to emerge. You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for her – feeling a bit like a guilty man waiting at the gallows.

At last, after what feels like an eternity, the door to the bathroom opens and she emerges, washed and makeup freshly done. Your heart aches at how beautiful she looks – and at the fact that it doesn’t affect you the way it used to.

“I’ve got a flight back home today.” She offers, eyes looking anywhere but you as she crosses the room to where her suitcase lays. It’s almost completely packed save for the bag of toiletries she carries with her from the bathroom.

“I thought you were going to try to get more time off work so you could be at the last show?” You can’t help the hurt that bleeds into your tone even though you know you have no right to be feeling that way.

Lindsey levels you with a hard look. It’s not anger. Just resignation… somehow, that’s even worse.

“I think we both know why I’m not staying, Jake.”

You shake your head even though you know she’s right. But things had once been perfect between the two of you and there’s this voice in the back of your head that’s telling you it can’t end like this; that things could go back to the way they were. You really thought you could love her. She’s everything you’ve ever looked for… at least, she used to be.

“I loved you.” You say wretchedly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s a shitty thing to say as a last-ditch effort to try and fix something that shouldn’t be fixed.

“I loved you too” She tosses her toiletries bag into her suitcase and zips it up.

Her eyes close as she pauses for a brief moment and your hands itch to reach out and touch her – to comfort her. But you can’t. You lost that privilege.

“I did love you, Lindsey. I swear it. I just-” You cut yourself off, unable to put into words what changed.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Jake.” She rounds the edge of the bed and comes to stand in front of you. You sit with your elbows on your knees, head down in defeat. Delicately, she reaches out and hooks her finger beneath your chin, forcing you to look at her – to see the hurt written all over her face. “I think we both deserve better than this. I deserve better than second place.”

“Yes. You do, Lindsey. I’m- I’m sorry.”

She steps away from you and goes back to her suitcase. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and walks towards the door of the hotel room. She looks back only once and your eyes meet.

“Don’t fuck it up with her, okay?” She tells you, eyes sparkling with just a little bit of warmth. She really did deserve better than this. Than you.

“I think I already did.”

“Then fix it.”

You're heart feels like it breaks into a million pieces as you watch her go – breaking with the guilt of realizing that you're not even upset.

But deep down, you know why you don't feel more.

It had taken you losing her completely for you to realize that Y/n was the one who holds your heart; Y/n's smile that can light up your world in a way that no one else's can.

You hadn't quite known it yet... that night at the bar. You didn't know how deep your feelings for her ran until you got to feel her wrapped around you, crying out your name and looking at you like you hung the stars. But of course you'd panicked – convinced yourself that she couldn't possibly feel the same. And then you'd let your insecurity speak for you and had hurt both you and her all the more as a result. And then hurt Lindsey too by going out with her. In your defense — if you could even call it that... You had convinced yourself that Y/n didn't feel the same and you were so sure that you could move on from her.

But then you'd learned the truth of Y/n's feelings – from Lindsey of all people, and your world had crumbled around you.

But you refuse to let it stay this way. Y/n... your sunflower... you won't let her go again.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*

March 26, 2023 - Reno, NV – Y/n’s POV

So far, Reno has been your least favorite place you’ve been to for this job. The air outside is dry as the Sahara desert and you’re pretty sure that no amount of chapstick could help how dry your lips feel right now. Reno feels as if it’s merely trying to be Las Vegas – just without all the neon lights, restaurants, and fun activities that makes the smell of cigarette smoke and foot traffic worth it.

Usually after a show, everyone likes to go out for dinner or drinks somewhere or you like to go exploring a new city. Neither is an option tonight as it seems that everyone is in agreement that Reno isn’t the type of place that they want to have to spend extra time in. And besides, it’s an early flight tomorrow and you have no desire to be up later than you have to tonight.

At least there’s good water pressure, you think to yourself as you emerge from the bathroom, a threadbare bathrobe that the hotel had provided wrapped tightly around your waist. You shove your toiletries into your suitcase – ready for the early departure in the morning, and then collapse heavily onto the bed. Just one more show left.

You’d been feeling much better this past day, feeling less like your emotions were running all over the place and a little bit more centered with yourself. Apparently, being completely and utterly fed up about something does wonders for taking steps towards letting it go.

A gentle knock on the door draws you from your thoughts, along with confusion about who on earth would be knocking at your hotel door – you look at the clock on the nightstand, at 11pm the night before a 7am flight.

You look through the peephole and your stomach drops at the sight of Jake standing outside your door, his hands in his pockets. You undo the lock and open the door just enough so that you can see him fully. He looks freshly showered, his hair still slightly damp at the ends and curling a little bit – just like he said it did that day in your makeup chair.

“Jake?” You ask hesitantly, still not opening the door fully. “What are you doing here?”

You can’t quite get a read on his face. He looks… surprisingly normal as he stands there outside your door.

“I was wondering if we could talk.” He answers.

“Now?” You can’t help the sharpness in your tone but Jake takes it in stride, merely ducking his head a little and giving you a crooked smile.

“I mean… yeah? I just wanted to be able to catch you when we won’t get interrupted.”

A thousand reasons why you should say no race through your mind, the number one of which being that he has a girlfriend who he should probably be with instead. But logic and Jake rarely share the same space in your mind so you open the door wider and allow him to come inside. The smell of his cologne hits you as he brushes past you and you’re assaulted with the mental image of a freshly showered Jake in his bathroom taking the time to put it on before coming to see you. You clear your throat and lock the door behind you.

Jake stands in the middle of the room, hands still in his pockets, and finally that neutral expression on his face has melted away to something else. Is he… nervous?

“Did you catch the show tonight?” He asks, eyes following your every move as you take a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I caught the tail end, yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

You sigh a little.

“I always like them.” And it’s the truth. He’s good at what he does. “But I don’t think you came here to my room this late to talk about the show.”

Jake nods, shuffling his feet a little and then biting his lip.

“I guess I came to apologize.”

A small, vindictive little part of you rejoices and you speak before your mind can catch up.

“There are a lot of things for you to apologize for. Which one are you talking about tonight?”

Jake winces and looks suitably chastised as he stands there before you. It doesn’t make you feel better like you thought it would to see him so unsure of himself.

“There are a lot of things.” He agrees quietly, “but it’s what I was trying to say that night at the restaurant.”

You can clearly remember his words from a few nights ago – I think I made a mistake. With you. You raise a brow, waiting for him to elaborate. You’re tired of playing the guessing game with him.

“It was a mistake to tell you that it meant nothing.” He continues on, eyes trained on the ground. “It was a mistake to call it a mistake. And I’ve spent every night since regretting what I said. And I regret that I didn’t see what I had until it was too late.”

Your mind goes completely blank as he speaks, brain unable or unwilling to decipher what he’s saying. You’re terrified of misreading this. Again.

“What- what are you saying, Jake?”

He smiles a little, more of a grimace than anything, but he finally meets your gaze with his own.

“I’m saying that- that I want you. For more than just sex, Sunflower. I want you.” He bites his lip, brows tipping downwards in a frown. “If- if you still want me, that is.”

“But Lindsey-” You begin, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Me and Lindsey are over. She’s on a plane going home as we speak. She doesn’t-” he cuts himself off with a wince. “I don’t love her anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. We’re done, Y/n. We should have been done a long time ago.”

You both stand there in tense silence. You want to scream and cry and hit him for everything that he’s put you through. But you also want to laugh and kiss his stupid, beautiful face. Words have failed you. You’ve spent so long dreaming that he would one day say these things and how you would respond but now that it’s happening… you can’t think of one single thing to say to him.

“I think I just need some time to think.” You finally say to him. Jake doesn’t look surprised by it either.

“That’s- that’s fair.”

“Once we get to Sacramento, after the show… come and find me. I’ll have an answer by then.”

Jake nods and turns to leave, looking a bit like a kicked puppy but you don’t allow yourself to reach out to him. Not yet. He can wait – just like you had to do.

“And Jake?” He turns back around quickly, looking as if he’s trying not to look hopeful. “Thank you for telling me.”

His shoulders drop just a little but he nods and smiles.

“Of course.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

March 28, 2023 - Sacramento, CA

Jake’s words play on repeat in your mind practically 24/7 in the days following his… his apology? Declaration ? You’re not entirely sure what to call it but by the night of the final show you’re pretty sure you have each word memorized.

Jake had given you space – time, just like you asked him for. And of course, your mind has tried to rationalize what he’d said a million different ways as you try to take them as anything other than what they came across as – a proclamation of wanting a relationship with you.

But surely that couldn’t be what he meant, right? He’d called that God-forsaken night in the bar bathroom a mistake from the moment it was over and he’d since been made more than aware of your feelings towards him thanks to your conversation with Lindsey that night back in Nashville.

I want you. For more than just sex. Those words have been haunting you, always in the back of your mind as you try to move about through your days like a normal person. There’s no way he meant anything other than wanting a relationship, right? What else could that possibly mean? He’d looked so unsure, so unlike himself as he’d stuttered out If you still want me, that is.

The words are still on replay in your mind as you move about your hotel room, anxiously packing and repacking everything that you own as you wait for Jake to come and find you after the show like you told him to. If he comes and finds you. The show ended hours ago and you know that there’s a big celebration going on – one that you’d been invited to but had chosen to stay home from. But it’s nearing 1AM… surely he’d prioritize coming to talk to you, right?

As if your thoughts have summoned him, there’s a knock on your hotel room door. This time, you don’t have to look through the peephole to know that Jake is waiting on the other side.

“Come on in.” You tell him, widening the door.

“Sunflower.” He breathes, eyes raking up your form for a moment before he steps into the room. “You answered.” He says it like he’s surprised.

“You came.” Is all you have to say in response and Jake nods.

You’d had this conversation with him at least a million times in your head by now and you’d had a solid idea of what you were going to say. But now, as you look at him with his sweet, chocolate eyes filled with hesitance and just a little bit of hope… it all flies out the window.

“Of course I still want you.”

Jake’s face softens in a way you’ve never seen it before and he smiles – small but genuine.

“You mean it?”

You nod. It feels a little anticlimactic as the words settle between the two of you and neither of you seem to know what to say. You tell him as much, earning yourself a small laugh.

“I don’t really know what to say now, either. But I do know that- that I would very much like to kiss you.”

It feels like the air in your lungs completely disappears as he says that. Unable to answer, you step forward and kiss him first. It’s soft– timid even. So unlike that first time in the bar all those months ago. He’s kissing you like he’s taking his time, memorizing how you taste and feel like he might never get to experience you again.

He walks you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the bed and then his mouth trails down to your throat and butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Let me do it right.” He murmurs into your skin, his hands exploring every inch of you. “Like I should have done from the start.”

It feels like your veins are full of liquid fire as his lips trail down your throat and to your collarbone.

“Do whatever you want, Jake.” Is all your brain can come up with to say.

He takes your clothes off slowly, as if savoring each inch of skin bit by bit as it's revealed to him. When at last you’re completely bare and his clothes join yours on the floor, he settles his weight fully between your legs and his palms spread out across your thighs, kneading the flesh and working his way up your sides, feeling every bit of you as if he’s trying to commit it to memory.

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips as you arch your back in a slow stretch. Jake’s eyes track every movement, every flicker and twitch of muscle beneath the skin as if truly seeing you for the very first time… as if he can’t believe it. His gaze lingers at last on your breasts, moving in tandem with your heavy breaths.

Then his gaze slides lower. Lower. And when at last it lingers at the apex of your thighs, and his eyes glaze over with lust, you say to him,

“Are you just going to sit there and stare?”

Jake’s lips part at the challenge, his breathing going shallow. Jake is tense above you, so tense you fear the muscles might snap. But his hands are gentle as they drift to your inner thighs, rough fingertips ghosting along the sensitive skin there.

With a stuttered breath he murmurs, “You are… so beautiful.”

You thread your fingers through his hair and use the grip to tug him upwards, instantly slotting your lips against his as soon as he’s in reach. You trace your tongue along the seam of his lips, fingers working to unbutton his pants. He groans into the kiss, tongue fighting desperately with yours. And, just to see what he’ll do, you palm him through his pants.

Jake cries out, mouth falling open, lips still just barely touching yours as he groans.

“You’re so hard.” You marvel, pressing down a bit more, feeling the heat and solidness of him beneath the fabric.

“All for you.” He manages to say, hips rocking forward to meet the feeling of your palm against him. “If you keep doing that this is gonna be over before we start.”

You exhale a laugh, removing your hand.

“You know what I regret the most?” He asks, moving his way back down your body. “From the last time?”

With a grin you answer, “Other than telling me it was a mistake afterwards?” He frowns a little in response to that, dark eyes staring up at you with a look in them that tells you that maybe it's a little too soon to joke about it. “Sorry.”

“No.” He shakes his head, hands splaying back out on your thighs and squeezing lightly. “I’m sorry.” His eyes drop back down to your dripping center. “And I regret not tasting this gorgeous pussy. Just so you know.”

The words set you on fire, starting at your toes and running all the way up to the top of your head. His grip on your thighs tighten and then his tongue is on you – flicking relentlessly. Your body arches into him helplessly as your mouth falls open with a loud moan. He grins into your heat at the sound and a moan of his own escapes him.

“Jesus.” You whine, your knees falling open even more.

“No. Just me.”

And God damn that voice. You didn't think it was possible for a voice to affect you like that but you're pretty sure that if it was possible you would want it to fuck you too. Deep and husky and smoother than whiskey.

This time, the vigor with which he attacks your aching pussy with his mouth should be illegal. He makes a show of it – shaking his head from side to side and growling deep in his chest. All you can do is lay there and feel it – body writhing beneath him as the heat in your belly begins to rise and rise.

You gasp as a rough fingertip prods your entrance, gathering your slick before slipping inside and curling deliciously, all the while he never lets up with his mouth.

“Come on,” he urges, his breath hot on your aching core, “wanna taste you. Let me taste you, princess.”

As if your body was merely waiting for his permission, the wave of white hot pleasure inside you hits its crest and you call out – a noise somewhere between animal and human that you might have been embarrassed about had you been more aware of yourself. And Jake just laps it up as your release spills into his mouth.

Jake doesn’t pull away from you until your orgasm is completely finished and you start to shiver in overstimulation. His lips – plump and swollen, are shiny with your release. Grinning, he moves up your body and kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips and allowing you to taste yourself on him. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Those eyes of his drink you in as he pulls away and you feel as though you could get lost in them.

“What do you want?”

It takes your brain a moment to realize that he’s talking and a moment more to decipher what he’s just asked. But once it does, another wave of heat courses through your body and pools between your legs.

“I want you inside me.”

Jake groans in answer, as if your words alone give him the utmost pleasure.

“Whatever you want, princess.”

“Do you have-?”

Jake grins and nods his head, rising up from the bed. He steps over to the pile of his discarded clothes (giving you an incredible view of his exquisite ass) as he bends down to reach into a pocket of his pants.

“Would you think I’m an asshole if I said I came prepared?” He asks, turning around to face you again and raising a brow, the foil packet held aloft between his index and middle finger.

Your heart warms at the sight – Jake, confident and relaxed around you as he once was.

“Nah.” He steps back towards the bed, stopping there without climbing back in. “Just appreciative.” You tell him, but still he makes no move to get back in the bed, his eyes scanning over your naked form in a way that feels more like he’s looking through you. You almost want to cover yourself beneath his intense gaze. “What are you doing?”

“Just admiring the view.” He gives you a wolfish smirk and then climbs back into the bed, sitting himself on his knees between your thighs.

As he rips open the foil with his teeth, you take a moment to admire his cock – hard and red and just as beautiful as the rest of him, where it stands proudly against his stomach. He rolls the latex onto himself, biting his lip and groaning a little bit as he pumps himself a few times.

“You’re beautiful too, you know.” You murmur, glancing up at him. A pretty blush spreads across his face and down his chest and it makes you giggle. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. Jake Kiszka – rock god who plays on stage in front of thousands, is shy. “There’s no way that made you blush.”

Jake laughs and murmurs a playful “Hush” and then he’s sliding into you, silencing whatever retort you might have had. He plants his hands on either side of your body, face contorting in agonized pleasure.

The stretch of him is overwhelming and you grip his forearms, arching up into him.

“Hold on a sec.” You whisper and he does so without question, peeking down at you to make sure you’re okay. “Been a while.” You tell him with a blush of your own.

“That’s okay.” He answers, kissing you once – brief but sweet. “Just tell me when, princess.”

After a moment, you loosen your grip on his forearms and nod. He pushes into you fully, making both of you moan. He rocks his hips, still being gentle. His shoulders shake with the effort of holding himself back and that alone makes another rush of wetness rush down to your pussy.

“You feel like Heaven wrapped around me.” His words are rough, muffled by his clenched teeth.

“You can go harder, baby.”

Jake moans at that, upping his pace a little. It’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more to be with him like this – to have him panting and whining above you with each thrust of his hips.

He grips your hips in his rough hands, pulling you upwards.

“Legs around me, princess.” The words sound more like a plea and you’re quick to obey, your legs clamping down around his hips as he starts to move again.

“Oh, fuck!” At this angle, the velvety head of his cock brushes the spot inside of you that drives you wild and sends your muscles taut as a drum.

His pace is slow but his thrusts are powerful, driving into you in a way that makes you see stars.

“Shit.” His head drops down, his skin glistening with sweat in the warm light of the lamp. “I’m not gonna last like this, Sunflower.”

“I’m not either, Jake.” You manage to answer, your own words sounding far away.

“Been a while?” He jokes, referencing back to your words earlier.

“Partly.” You clench around him mercilessly, drawing a loud groan from him that makes you giggle at the power you have over him. “Mostly because it’s you.”

Jake’s body shudders and his cock throbs inside of you. He’s dangerously close but he’s desperate to get you there first. Your eyes roll back into your head when his thumb finds your swollen clit, rubbing in harsh circles in time to each thrust. Unable to hold on any longer, your orgasm crashes into you, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your muscles twitching and contorting as he keeps fucking you through it. Not a moment later Jake cums with a rough cry, burying his face in your neck as you both ride out your pleasure together.

“Please stay.” You ask him and he nods against you.

“As long as you want me to.”

The sun shining through the blinds is what wakes you up. You reach out beside you, expecting to feel the warmth of Jake’s body heat next to you but you’re met with an empty bed. Did he leave? Brows furrowing, you sit up and look around and your worries are instantly silenced at the sight of Jake – in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom and running your comb through his hair. You rise from the bed and Jake looks over at you and smiles.

His skin is still flushed from the hot water of the shower and you have to fight to stop staring at the way his biceps flex as he brushes his hair and at the bead of water that trails down the middle of his stomach and disappears into the towel.

“Morning.” His morning voice is like whiskey and you blush just a little.

“Good morning.” As you reach the bathroom your eyes are drawn to a bottle of styling mousse that Jake must have gotten from your suitcase. He sees you looking at it and smiles shyly.

“I was going to ask you to help me style it.” He tells you with a tiny smile and your heart melts.

“Of course.” You step over to the counter and grab the bottle and just like you did last time, you spread the mousse onto your palms and then run it through his damp hair and then twirl it in sections. As you work – maybe taking a little bit more time than is really necessary, Jake starts to hum a tune under his breath. You’ve heard him whistle or hum it before. “What’s that song?”

“Not sure yet.” Jake shakes his head a little, careful to not mess up his hair as you work on it. “I’ve had the tune in my head for a while. Just haven’t been able to think up any lyrics that fit.”

When you’re finished, his hair falls in loose waves that frame his face. Jake leans down and places a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I could get used to this.” He murmurs, the words spoken against your lips as if he's unwilling to draw away for even a second.

“Me doing your hair?”

He shakes his head.

“Waking up with you.” You blush at his words, feeling like you might melt on the spot. “Is- is there any way you could still keep your job with us?” He asks hesitantly and shit you’d forgotten all about the fact that you’d put in your notice.

“I’m sure I could call and get things straightened out. There’s a chance they haven’t found anyone else yet.” You pray that you can stay. You'll beg on your hands and knees if you have to.

“Good.” Jake squeezes your arm once and then exits the bathroom, walking over to where his clothes from the night before still lay on the floor.

You watch him go, your heart feeling suddenly so full that it might burst. You and him still have many things to talk about – conversations that have to happen at some point. But right now? Nothing has ever felt easier than going about your morning routine with him. Jake turns to look over his shoulder at you, tilting his head.

“What?”

You just shake your head and laugh a little at yourself.

“Nothing. It’s just-” it sounds stupid to say out loud but you say it anyway. “Just feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

His smile is like looking at the sun – bright and radiant. He abandons his clothes once again to come stand in front of you. He reaches out, his hands finding yours and interlocking your fingers together.

“You’re everything I’ve been looking for, Sunflower,” he tells you softly, “and I think I just got the perfect idea for some lyrics.”

Fin

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･

Tags: @jakeyt @demolitionndann @brujamagik @mybussyinchrist @writingcold @sinsofstardust @jjwasneverhere @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @wildbluesorbit @twistedmelodies @neverwanttofallasleep @sunandthemoontwinflames @clairesjointshurt @mindastreamofcolours @hellowgoodbye @gretasfallingsky @weightofkiszka @gvfmelbourne @smoking-jakelane @joshskittytickler @itsafullmoon @mackalah @sinarainbows @dannys-dream @lipstickitty @thewritingbeforesunrise @isabelgvf @sparrowofrhiannon @jakesguitarsolo @peaceloveunitygvf @kashmirclam @stardust-chordsss @gold-mines-melting @kenobicoffee @spark-my-nature @love-isnt-greed @jakeygvf21 @jaketlove @starcatcherjake @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vera-vestia @gvfpal @myleftsock @thetroublegetssoloud71 @anthemheatwave @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigs @dannywagnerschoppedhair @its-interesting-van-kleep

#dee's writing #cloaked hearts #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka angst

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

Text

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

#colt grice x reader #colt grice x you #aot x reader #one shot #drabble #aot fanfiction #snk x reader #smut

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