#it’s okay. you’ll be okay and so will he bc he’s still getting paid

[dimesdimesdimess]

I’m going to rant about this whole thing now. The fact that he removed the post AGAIN. Because of all the sensitive ass people complaining about it. If you don’t watch the show don’t comment on it. He wasn’t dressed like that for Halloween. (Which I’ve seen a lot of people on TikTok saying this was a costume) This was for a show! A show if anyone was watching would know is complete blasphemy. That’s the whole point of it. I don’t see what’s wrong with him just goofing around on set in between takes. This is a heavy show with heavy storylines. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting to do a TikTok dance. There’s also another video of him doing it with three other people. They were just having fun.

If something like this offends you, I hope you’ve never watched AHS, or anything Ryan has done. Or any sort of horror movie or show that has religious elements if you’re that easily offended. I’ve also seen people saying no one forced him to take this job or no amount of money is worth mocking god.

First off.. he’s not mocking god. Second.. So to make all of you happy he should turn down jobs that could really further his career???? I mean I know Ryan Murphy is a piece of shit. But working with him is actually a huge thing for an actor like Nicholas. So he’d be a fool to turn that down just because some of yall don’t like something. DONT WATCH IT.

Another thing that trips me out about this is so it’s okay for us to lust after him playing a priest that’s doing the most wildest, disrespectful shit with sister Megan in a church. It’s okay for us to fangirl over edits of him as Lyle Menendez, someone who’s a SA victim. But now THIS is where we draw the line and where we have to stop supporting him? Right. Okay, got it.

[kooahae]

After Last Night: Work Visit

Read the previous drabble here.

Read the next drabble here.

Summary : something seems up with Jungkook so you go to his job to cheer him up.

Pairing: best friends to lovers, Jungkook X female reader 

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, Big d!ck koo, oral (m.receiving) use of good girl bc well that’s what he called her the first time, office Jk is hot to me- he’s still a simp, cursing, swallowing, deep throating, they're down bad for each other as always <3

Word count:  2.5K

A/N: Before we get a little angst we have this and one more fluff drabble coming out hopefully this week- if not I’ll do my best to lyk when. School is kicking my ass but yeah me and my angsty babies will have our moment. I promise. As always thanks for reading 🩵

Minors DNI

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Today has been so long! Jungkook is beyond exhausted. He didn’t really want to be in the office at all today on top of it. He’s gotten used to working only 2 days in the office, and three at home due to his routine. The thought alone of his routine being disturbed pissed him off. Plus, He has been in serious work mode all week. He hasn’t even been able to just cuddle on the couch. You’ve been asleep the last 2 nights when he got home as well. You cuddle up to him like usual when he climbs into bed but damn, he’d do anything to just have a lazy day and not be in a rush to get up. 

Apparently, his employees can’t follow simple directions. He’s been stuck reprogramming a new app for what seems like forever. He swears if it didn’t pay the bills, and If he wasn’t so good at it- He’d find something else to occupy his time. He wishes he got paid for all the times you cross his mind, that would be a lot better than being here -and he’d be filthy rich! 

As Jungkook reaches into his pocket for his phone to call you, someone else rips his chance from him. 

You have got to be fucking kidding. 

“Oh, um..Mr. Jeon I just wanted to ask is it okay if I leave early today?” His assistant asks him. 

Jungkook has never been someone who was extremely strict. He knows he’s younger than most of the people working for him and he’s been cool about a lot of things because of that. However, that does not mean they can walk all over him. They take time away from you when they don’t do their job and also add more problems than solutions lately. He’s simply fed up. 

“Go into the meeting room and call everyone there please Duri.” He asks nicely, even though he doesn’t know why he keeps being so kind about it. 

“Oh…okay sir. Will do. But i-“

Jungkook really doesn’t care. He’s not trying to be mean but today has been a shit show. Things could be going better than this. That’s all he’s hoping for. 

“Duri…tell them they have thirty minutes. That means you too.” He points to the door, sitting his feet up on his desk. 

His assistant stares blankly, so Jungkook squints, points again and tilts his head. 

“By the time you’re done looking at me…There will be zero minutes.” He exhales placing his hands behind his head, as he watches Duri run out.

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Today you’ve decided to bring Jungkook lunch, he seemed so sluggish this morning. He gave you your good morning kisses but you can tell something is up. He didn’t even remember his banana milk. You’ve seen him do a lot of unusual things, but this weirdly enough takes the cake. The last time you even remember him acting like this, was when he swore he bombed an exam -He got the top score in his class, but that’s not the point. Jungkook genuinely only acts like this when there’s more work than he wants to do, or he feels burnt out. You know him the same way you know yourself, if not better. You have been thinking about him heavily today as well. You both could use a day off after this week, but life isn’t always that kind, you’ll just have to make do with your idea today. 

You get dressed in a shirt of his since he likes you in them so much, a cute skirt and some shoes.  Food and banana milk in tow, making sure you feed Bam on the way out. 

Once you arrive you can hear him giving what may be a motivational speech in the conference room. Jungkook is so cool in your eyes. He has his own business at 23, which he started two years ago. His gym side-venture is thriving. You’re almost there with him but not quite yet, starting your own media company is in the works though, and it’s nice to have his support. It still amazes you how Jungkook can make his mind so quickly with business decisions. He’s really intelligent- that’s exactly what you love about him. 

You realize you’ve been just standing in the entryway like a creep daydreaming about your boyfriend so you continue to walk forward and get closer to the door. 

“Can someone explain to me why everyone thinks they can just leave early while I reprogram everything? “

Oh. That’s why he’s so tired. 

You take note that no one responded, so there’s no reason he should have been left to do everything. He’s absolutely right. Your poor baby. you know how much of a perfectionist he is as well. He deserves some rest too though.  You decide to keep listening. 

“We’re supposed to be a team so I treat you fairly but this isn’t fair…I have someone waiting at home for me too.” He says. 

That person is you- and that makes your heart do backflips, the butterflies in your tummy rise, and a smile creep upon your face. You now know why he’s been so out of it lately. He’s doing a lot of hard work, barely gets as much time home as his employees and he just misses spending time with you. You’ll definitely visit work more when he can’t be at home with you if it makes him feel better.  You miss him too whenever you’re separated. It’s really refreshing to know he feels the same. 

As for Jungkook. His heart is kind of heavy. He knows it hasn’t been that long but he’s really been stressed out lately, the past two weeks at work have been hell and he feels like he can’t catch a break. He just needs to be with you, somewhere he can relax. With someone who is his comfort place. 

“Starting today we all do our delegated parts. I do mine. You do yours. We talk to each other about things beforehand that could affect other people’s schedules. Understood?” He asks. You can tell he doesn’t want to be that guy, but he also knows he’s been too nice until now. 

“If you do your part I don’t care what you do afterward if you wanna go home so be it. But finish your task.” 

He looks so withdrawn and tired. Watching everyone give him a head nod, you decide to just go sit in his office while he dismisses everyone. 

He walks in completely irritated and immediately starts patting for his phone but then looks up to see you. Sitting on the loveseat in his office. Smiling and waving hello to him. The sun from the window lightly shines on you. You look like what you are- his angel. 

“Hi, handsome!” You stand up and walk towards him. 

���You’re really here? Like I’m not going crazy because I missed you?” He says waving his hand in his own face. 

He’s always so silly. You hug his waist. Your face in his chest. He immediately hugs back. He doesn’t know how you knew he needed you, but he doesn’t care. He just appreciates the fact that you always show up for him. You always have. 

“No, but you’re checking your hand silly to make sure you’re real. Instead, you should be kissing me to make sure I’m real…” you say peaking your head up and poking your lips out. 

“You’re so cute. “ He says leaning down to kiss you. Cupping your face in his hand. Lips smacking gently against yours. His kisses are so soft and feel divine. 

“I’m. sorry. I’m. not. home. “ he says a kiss between every word. 

You pull away and look up at him he’s still holding your face so you place a hand on his forearm.

“Don’t apologize for working. I’m glad you stood up for yourself and I’m even happier to be here with you.” You say and lean back in for another kiss. 

“How am I so lucky?” He says as you both finally pull away. 

“Makes two of us! I brought you lunch and even brought my laptop too.…”

Jungkook sits in his office chair and you climb on his lap. Straddling him. 

He immediately reaches for the remote that closes the blinds. Not that anyone can see his office from where they sit but just in case they thought of approaching him. 

You wrap your arms around his neck. 

“If you’re gonna be bored and have to be here, let’s be bored and overworked, responsible people together…” You say leaving a kiss on his neck. 

“…I can rub your shoulders while you code. You can fill me in on everything I missed this week.” 

He hisses at the sensation of your neck kisses. Hands running up and down your sides. 

“I really missed you.” He says and puts a finger on your chin to tilt your head to his. Kissing you yet again. 

Then he continues. “Don’t want to work, just want to be with you” He’s always pouting, so you do what anyone would do in your situation-Pull his bottom lip in, and suck on it gently then let it go with a pop. 

That’s when an idea pops into your head. 

Jungkook’s office is spacious, and you can tell he needs to decompress, so maybe you’ll …

“Don’t work then, let me do it.” You say and push the chair back a little bit so you can stand up. 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, “ Aren’t you supposed to do your work?”

“I will.” You say and he looks up at you. Standing in front of him with your head tilted- fucking cute, he also takes note of how you made sure to wear his shirt. 

“Baby you don’t really like coding… I tried teaching you before unless it’s a blog or something-“ you interrupt him. 

You place your hands on his thighs, hovering, still standing, and kissing him. 

“If I do a good job on it, we go home.” You state matter of factly. Almost like you’re making a deal, that you know you’ve won. 

He chuckles “Who’s work mine or yours?”

“Mmm it’s my task but…” Jungkook watches as your fingers dance closer to his crotch.  

“You’re the work.” You finish your statement dropping to your knees. 

You love the way he looks at you from above. Biting his lip and tilting his head slightly. 

Jungkook raises his hips so you can unfasten the button on his trousers.

“Gotta be quiet princess-oh shitt.” 

Jungkook’s head falls back as your hand strokes up and down his length. He knew he was the task- but if you’re about to suck him off here, his work day has had the best turn of events possible. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” he nods breathlessly, It’s interesting how you both have the same effect on each other. 

“Don’t you always.” He says rolling his head forward to watch you. His mouth is drawn out into an ‘O’ shape, You know how much eye contact turns him on and you haven’t broken it yet. He looks fucked out and you’ve barely done anything. 

You spit on his dick and move your hands up, your pumps are perfect and have him bring his lip more and more at the sensation. 

“Babygirl, I think that’s enough teasing.”

You shake your head no and look up at him through your lashes. 

“How can you look at me like that knowing I’ll rip your clothes to shreds if -Fuck.”  You don’t mean to interrupt him. You promise. You just really notice all the precum oozing from his tip and can’t help but put your mouth on it. Sucking on the head of his dick like the good girl you’ve shown him you can be. He deserves it though

If you kept teasing him, you knew he would edge you non-stop later as well - and you’re already soaking through your panties. 

As you look up at Jungkook once more, you slide his entire length in your mouth at once, His shoulders relax and his hand comes to your hair and moves it out of your face. 

He has a thing for visuals, you happen to be his favorite.  

You rest at the base and keep your eyes on him as you bob up and down. Jungkook is massive, He’s really impressed that you can take him the way you do, and suck him so effortlessly. All of it makes him hard whenever he thinks about it. This is going to be engraved in his brain forever. 

You finally lift up and Jungkook watches the drool from your lips that’s attached to his cock as well. 

You moan at the sight of how red, swollen, and slobbery you have his dick, before going back in for more. 

Jungkook’s moans have been turning you on, he sounds so good and it’s making you never want to stop as you suck the soul out of him. 

You start to moan too, rubbing your thighs together for friction.  He just looks so fucking good!  You could cum from the visual in front of you as well

“Look at you sucking my dick like a good girl, so fucking pretty!” He says gripping your hair up more so he can enjoy his view. 

You go all the way down once more, then tighten your lips as you come back to the head of his dick, moaning so he feels the vibrations go down his shaft. 

“Just like that baby.” He says encouraging you. 

You continue deep throating him, watching his knees get weaker even though he’s in the chair, he looks like he’s barely holding on. Fully concentrating on the way he looks at you with lusty eyes but can’t contain his moans. 

Your hand starts palming his balls as you feel him deep in your throat. 

“Fuck baby girl, I’m gonna cum soon- oh my fucking god!” He’s trying his best to be quiet. You really hope his coworkers can’t hear him, but a part of you doesn’t care as long as he feels better. 

Jungkook is close and you nonverbally ask him with the look you give him for confirmation, just to double-check. He’s panting and can barely answer you. 

“Y-ye-yes baby.” He finally manages to muster out. 

You swirl your tongue up and down as you continue deep-throating him. It’s all so sloppy and messy. Your eyes are a little watery too, but you won’t stop until you swallow every last drop. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” His chants and breathing are erratic which means…

Jungkook pushes your head all the way down and bites his lip, looking at you as he cums all down your throat. It’s so warm and thick. You moan and feel his hand slip from your hair to your neck as he pushes himself further one more time.

He pulls all the way out and you gasp but stick your tongue out to show him you’ve swallowed every last drop. 

You rise to your feet and sit on his desk, but he stands all the way up and towers over you. Lips brush across yours before he leans into your neck and leaves a kiss right below your ear lobe. 

“I’d love to bend you over here but let’s go home. I want to hear you scream.”

 You don’t have to be told twice! 

So back home you go- the both of you. 

Taglist : @joyfulwobblerhoagieegg @diorh0seokie @jennafromhome @taesungx @kimber-kook @whoa-jo @kaiparkerwifes @yoonglesbby07 @bangtansoneyondanfan

[wttcsms]

daylight ; colt grice.

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

part one: no sharing names

“Are you scared?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One—

Ramzi is probably getting ready for bed right about now. 

Two—

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

Three—

It’s going to be a cold night.

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

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

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

“Look at me.” 

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

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

She nods, too afraid to speak. 

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

 She nods again.

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

“Won’t they ask?” 

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

That gets a semblance of a smile on her face.

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

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

“Guess our time is up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colt does not think he is getting another drink tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colt can feel his ears turning pink from embarrassment. 

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

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

—he follows the woman up the stairs, anyway.

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

He hears a scream. 

The woman doesn’t even slow her pace.

“No.” He answers. 

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

“Huh?” The question catches him off guard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Michael’s money, anyway. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO LOVE A DEVIL IS TO BE ONE

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

There isn’t any.

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

This man is a Marleyan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alright, honey?”

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

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

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

Smooth. He thinks. Real smooth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a nice name.” 

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

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

“Whatever you want.” 

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

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

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

“I just want to talk.” 

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

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

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

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

“Must be a nice friend.”

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

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

“We’re in different units.”

“So how’d you two meet then?” 

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

“He sounds fun.”

“He has his moments.” 

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

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

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

—something just like that. 

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

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

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

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

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

Honest. He’s being honest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all.

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

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

The whole area feels like a graveyard for the living.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Colt.” He tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still, I probably—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were with that same man two nights ago. 

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

“Look, the whore has a child herself!” 

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

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

“Sissy, what’s a whore?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it is: a dream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just wanted to talk.

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

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

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

He just wanted to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It really is him.

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

He came back! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I said, it’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

He wants you to call him by his name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re still in training?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That must be the best one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah. They don’t really care—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Fuck.

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

Colt says a quick prayer to any benevolent god listening. 

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

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

Don’t take that shit lying down.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A blade. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the world goes black.

“Ugh, you.”

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

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

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

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

Michael. 

Colt can never seem to catch a break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you even certified?” Michael snaps. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Electrifying. 

“This is…” You read the label. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay?” You whisper to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a dream, Colt.” 

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

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

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

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

He’s out cold.

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

[judeswhore]

THIS!!!! but i hate hate hate it when anyone spends money on me, especially when they say “just go get whatever u want and i’ll pay”

so maybe at the start of the day ur all “well i guess we could get some new decorations for the house” because if he’s spending money on u, u want him to benefit from it too, so u go and u find like a little key rack to hang by the door and ur like “this is good i like this we can go now” and he’s taking it from ur hands, flipping it to check the price tag and is all “babe this is 10 pounds u have to get more than that”

i saw ur other ask which said this is what u were referring to :))

he’d literally be following u around the shop all🤨🤨bc why aren’t u picking up candles and vases and fake flowers and just silly little nicknacks that u always buy for the house online. like he’s seen so many parcels get delivered w stuff for the house that you’ve paid for and now he’s brought u out and he’s given u complete freedom to buy and spend whatever u want and ur looking at a key rack??? he’s literally frowning at u bc “babe, this is ten pounds” and ur like yeah okay which just has his huffing and dropping the key rack into the basket before steering u towards the new autumn section all “i told u to buy whatever u want. we’re not going home with a ten pound key rack. go stupid” and ur still kinda hesitant and he can tell and he knows u don’t really like him spending money on him so he’s all “this candle smells nice we should get this for the bedroom” like just pointing out things he knows u love so you’ll drop it into the basket

[nohoney]

no bc i’m actually obsessed with your Hunger Games AU with Keigo and Katsuki. would you be willing to expand on it??

oooh yes, i’m very willing (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

hawks / bakugou

“I think I’ll die.”

Bakugou listens quietly from behind the door of his room, opened just a small crack as he strains his ears to listen to you speak. He’s supposed to be resting since it’s less than 48 hours for the games to begin. All that stupid parading, those annoying interviews, the scoring of all the tributes skills, all of it has lead up to games.

“Don’t say that, you’re smarter than you look. Let them underestimate you, survive out there for yourself and slip under the radar.” Hawks is trying to comfort you, standing out in the hallway where all the bedrooms are located in the lavish apartment. “You remember everything I taught you?”

He assumes that you nodded your head, he can see it in his head along with the meek little hum you gave. You’re going to live, Bakugou is going to make sure of it. You’re going to make it home and pick those flowers from the bushes you love so much, drizzle honey into your tea after trading a month’s worth of rations for just a little bit of decadence, and you’ll outlive him.

You sob a little and Hawks is shushing you. “It’s okay, cry it out now.”

“And Bakugou? What about him?” you ask quietly, “He’s my friend…”

Sadness rises in his chest and he clenches his fist. It’s swallowed down but Bakugou can’t help his heart twisting at the thought of you being sad over him. He’s always been there for you, letting you piggyback off him when you were too tired to walk through the forest, punching your bullies when they made you cry, and he always walked beside you every year when you walked towards the reaping.

“… do you know why he volunteered? He won’t tell me.”

If Hawks says anything, Bakugou is going to murder him.

“It’s best that you get rest tonight,” Hawks chooses to go around the question, “did you need something to help you sleep? I know how restless you’ve been since you’ve come here.”

There’s a little hum from you again, this one being disagreeing. “Do you remember when we used to go to the lake and play in the water with the other kids? And then we’d all nap together under the trees? You used to pet my head until I fell asleep. You remember right?” You ask quietly.

“I do.”

Bakugou does too, making a small spark of jealousy rise up in his chest. It was all innocent back then, just young kids playing and tiring themselves out. But he was always jealous too, seething silently when you paid attention to someone else but secretly happy when you stuck to his side.

“Can you do that for me please? I just… I’m sorry. That was dumb.” You try to backpedal but Hawks assured you that he’s okay with it, the softness of his voice such a dead giveaway for the obvious feelings he has for you.

It makes Bakugou want to bash his head against the wall, thinking of you and Hawks together. You’re supposed to be with him. He was supposed to have given you your favorite flowers and asked your parents for their permission to go steady at this point.

“Let’s go on the couch, I’ll grab the blanket from your room.”

Good. If Hawks had suggested your room or his own, Bakugou would have blown a fuse.

When Bakugou comes out his room in the morning, you’re sleeping alone on the couch with the blanket tucked comfortably around you. You look peaceful and he stands to admire you for a bit. His eyes look around first, glancing to be sure that Hawks isn’t around. Then he reaches down to pet the top of your head, feeling how soft your hair is from the luxurious shower products that he hopes you will get to bathe in again when this is all over.

“Mmf… Bakugou?” You mutter, your voice still heavy with sleep as you start to rouse. “Good morning.”

“Hey.” he simply greets, “You want some tea?”

You nod your head as you slowly sit up from your spot. You stretch your limbs and yawn. Although you managed to sleep, he sees that you are not rested. “I’m scared.” You quietly admit, “I’m really scared.”

He knows.

“I’m scared that-“ you start to speak but then Hawks emerges from the hallway. You keep your head down and shrink into yourself, unable to look at Hawks or Bakugou.

━━━━✧

Hawks watches with bated breath, everyone quiet as they watch the scene unfold in front of them. You fell sick, running with a high fever and delirious, barely able to stay conscious. Bakugou tucked you away in a cave to keep you safe, trying to keep you fed and alive. Everyone could see that he was upset to see you so unwell and unable to fend for yourself.

The two of you fell asleep together just a few hours ago with Bakugou’s arms wrapped protectively around you despite you complaining that it was too hot. You needed to break the fever and he was making sure of that even when you cried over how uncomfortable you felt. But the cameras were on you, recording everything when you slipped out of Bakugou’s hold and slowly peeled off the layers of clothes from your body.

If only Hawks could tell the cameras to turn away, to pan to the other tributes but he knows they won’t.

This is good television for them after all.

“Bakugou… Bakugou… it’s hot.” You slightly rock him back and forth, sweat sticking to your forehead and looking so sad. “Wake up… wake up!”

He startled awake, his eyes immediately of course drawn to your nudity and he hisses for you to put your clothes back on. You weakly fight him, shaking your head and whining in a way that reminds Hawks of when you used to throw a tantrum when you were a child. He used to pick you up and hold you until you calmed down. Now he watches how Bakugou is struggling to keep his composure around you in this vulnerable state.

“(Name)! (Name)! Stop, put your damn clothes on!” Bakugou is trying to push the thermals over your head and dress you while also trying to keep his head turned away. The stupid hosts comment how chivalrous Bakugou is, admiring with a cooing ‘awww’ that makes Hawks sick to his stomach.

This isn’t meant to be cute; you’re indecent and sick and it’s all being recorded.

“I can’t do it…” you murmur, “Can’t…”

“Yea, you can.” Bakugou sighs in frustration, “just put your head through-“

“I can’t go home without you.” You admit to him, still pushing off the clothing he’s trying to put you in.

Everyone watching the scene holds their breath.

Bakugou freezes, his face looked pained but unsure what he should say to you.

“Please, we have to go home together.” You plead quietly with tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes, “We need to go home.”

Bakugou remains silent before putting his hand over your forehead. “Your fever is getting worse, you need to lay down and rest more.”

Hawks breaks out of his trance and looks around. He needs to do his part as your mentor, try to get you some aid from his end in any way he can. So even though he’s sick to his stomach that your nudity was televised and such an intimate moment between you and Bakugou was captured, he sets it aside to schmooze up the elites. He tells them precious little stories of you and Bakugou as children, now using the intimate confession to spin a story of sweet childhood friends with secret harboring feelings for one another.

The very thing that Bakugou never wanted in the first place.

The elites eat it up and a little parachute of medicine sails slowly in the air towards Bakugou. He snatches it and practically rips the shell open, his body deflating in relief when he finds medicine inside.

Hawks just knows that if he were to tell Bakugou how he was able to get that medicine for you, he’d be dead.

[vodika-vibes]

Heyoo!

I have a request, it’s a bit of a long gif so if ya don’t get to it or don’t wanna do it, it’s fine lol.

Anyways, my idea / request / prompt / Echo x Fem!Reader goes like this, kinda, feel free to take liberties

Echo, now I feel like he would be a nervous kinda guy when it comes to having a crush. Like, he just doesn’t know what to say and overthinks absolutely everything, and can’t rly take a hint. Before he got blown up, there was a girl, who he has a liiiitle crush on n such, (idk you can make her a mechanic, doctor, bartender, whatever idm)

And they were rly good “friends” n such r something, aaaand some time after he joins TBB he visits the old place where he used to reside with the other guys in the domino squad (I forget where *sob*) And she’s is surprisingly still there. Heartfelt angsty ?kinda? Maybe reunion yadayadaydada and a bit after that and after catching up, probably a day or two later they pick up hints that they like each other and eventually confess n StUfF, aaand ya, then he has to go back with TBB and they be sad, he invites her to join but she is hesitant, and bc the other squad members don’t even know her she ends up saying no- aaaaand ya-

( 💀 omg i don’t even know anymore )

Idk it’s a very weird prompt, I’m making this up as I go, so feel free to pick and choose, take or add, whatever u wanna do

Again if u don’t wanna do it that is perfectly fine, just a thought. Love your work! <33

I Dream Of Forever

Summary: Summary: You’ve been a bartender on Rishi since you were old enough to take orders correctly. Echo was a Clone Trooper turned ARC Trooper stationed on Rishi who was a little more than friends with you. You legitimately believe he’s dead. But when a group of clones land on Rishi, you come face to face with the man you hoped would be your forever.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 2201

Warnings: Some suggestive moments, but nothing detailed

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I thing I got the general vibe you want, but if I didn't please let me know and I'll do something else.

You’ve been a bartender at the same bar on Rishi since you were ten years old. Your parents had debts to the bar owner, and they sold you to make up for it. Well, you and your siblings.

You’re the lucky one.

Your…owner? Guardian? Whatever he is, he treats you like a beloved granddaughter. He buys you clothes and food and allows you to go to school…and until you reached the age of majority at 18, you only had to work four hours a night four days a week. 

He even paid for you to go to college, and he pays you well enough that you have your own home here on Rishi.

You’re lucky.

Your older brother, you know, ended up becoming a gladiator in the Outer Rim, and last you heard he’s an enforcer for the Hutt Cartel. Your older sister, however, became a drug runner for a Spice Cartel and last you heard she’s moving from rehab center to rehab center.

You’re lucky.

Maybe if you repeat it often enough, you’ll believe it.

All things considered, Rishi isn’t the worst place to spend your life. The area you live in is warm and bright and right on the water. Not to mention you’ve got several friends here that you would miss if you left…or if the Empire decides to actually deal with the pirate problem.

You’re not worried though.

The Republic’s war with the Separatists barely touched Rishi afterall, aside from having a single watch station that has been abandoned for years now.

And you don’t expect that the Empire will push too much.

Your gaze drifts from the food stall that you’re visiting, lingering on the small, almost overgrown, old Republic comm station. Once upon there had been five men stationed there. Hevy, Droidbait, Cutup, Fives, and Echo.

While you had some concerns as to how the pirates of Rishi would react to obvious soldiers spending time in their bars…people were surprisingly okay with them. More than one of them getting an offer to join different crews.

A small smile lifts your lips at the memory of your boys laughingly turning down offers of pirate crew memberships.

The Dominos had been Rishi’s, more so than the Republics, and people raged when they heard that they died.

First when Droidbait and Cutup died, and then later when they heard that Hevy was killed on Kamino. And then even later when Echo was blown up, and then Fives was killed-

Fives’ death was kind of the final straw for Rishi. 

Even now, the Pirates of Rishi are more than happy to raid imperial vessels, in honor of their Dominos.

You step around a group of Mercs, all of whom have dominoes tattooed on their hands, and start to meander your way back to your home. You miss them. All of them.

But, if you’re going to be honest, you probably miss Echo the most.

He was a lot like his brothers, loud and boisterous, and always ready with a joke or a quip, or to finish a joke that his twin set up. He was always the first to greet you with a grin, and the last to say goodbye at the end of the night.

But, unlike his brothers, he flirted with you a little shyly, as though he wasn’t sure what he was doing.

It was charming and sweet, and you found yourself smitten with him. 

He didn’t, quite, get over his shyness with you even after the first time you invited him into your home with tempting kisses. He was still a little shy even after the tenth time you invited him into your home, and your bed, with teasing touches and adoring kisses.

You wanted forever with him, and you thought, hoped, that he wanted the same.

And then he left, and you never heard from him again.

You suppose, in a way, it makes sense. Why would a soldier want to slum it with a bartender who’s technically a slave.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

After all, you still dream of forever with Echo. Only now, your dreams are definitely castles in the air.

After all, dead men don’t get happily ever afters.

“We need to land somewhere,” Tech says to his brothers, a frown on his face, “The damage to the ship is…far too severe for me to repair without landing.”

“Where can we land, though?” Wrecker asks, “It’s not like there are a large number of places that will accept us.”

Echo eyes the star map speculatively, “I…may have an idea.” He offers, as his gaze lands on a specific planet. A bright smile dances across your memory, and a loving laugh echoes in his ears.

He’s a kriffing fool.

Hopefully she won’t turn him away.

“Well?” Hunter prompts when Echo doesn’t continue right away.

“I think we should go to Rishi.” Echo says slowly.

“Rishi!” Tech sputters.

“That’s a pirate planet, Echo.” Hunter says, “They won’t react well-”

“Do you have a better idea?” Echo asks.

The room falls silent for a moment, and then Tech sighs, “It is up to you, Hunter. Rishi is the closest planet we can land on.”

Hunter pushes his hand through his hair, “Fine. Do it.”

An hour later, the Marauder lands on an open pad, and no one comes to the ship to speak to them. “Is this…normal?” Tech asks.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Echo replies with a shrug, “We should probably not wear our armor here,” He adds. He’s already changed into civilian attire, and he’s somewhat anxiously rubbing his arm just over where his scomp is attached. 

“Why?”

“Because our armor screams ‘clones’ and I’m not sure how the pirates will react to seeing clones now.” Echo replies dryly, “I’ve heard rumors of Rishi based Pirates raiding Republic and Imperial transports lately.”

Hunter agrees that it’s a reasonable precaution, and they all hurriedly change into civilian attire, before they get off the ship, with Omega clinging to Wrecker’s hand. And then, almost as one, they turn to Echo.

Echo sighs and rubs the back of his head, and then he turns and heads deeper into the city.

Some things have changed, new people, new stalls, but most everything else is the same. He pauses in front of a specific bar, and peers in, his dark eyes scanning the faces of the bartenders for a moment, before he motions for his brothers to follow him some more.

“Are you lookin’ for someone?” Wrecker asks.

“Yeah. Someone who, hopefully, won’t be too angry at me and will be willing to help.” Echo says.

“A friend?” Omega asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Echo leads them away from the shops and docks, and over to a row of apartments. He scans the buildings for a moment, before he turns and heads to one of the smaller buildings, and he stops in front of a plain door, with flower boxes in the windows.

His lips curl up in a small smile, Fives made those flower boxes early one morning when he was hyped up on Caf. They were crooked and lopsided, but it looks like she kept them. Though it looks like she painted them. “Wait here.” Echo says to his siblings, before he walks over to the door, and he knocks twice.

“Just a moment!” Her voice comes from the other side of the door, and Echo doesn’t fight his smile.

She sounds exactly the same. 

Stars, please don’t let her be too mad.

The door slides open, “Yes? Can I help yo-” She stops mid-sentence when she sees who’s standing there, “...Echo?”

“You grew your hair out,” Echo replies, a small smile lifting his lips, “It looks good. You look amazing. I’m sure you have a question or twenty, cyar’ika-”

Echo’s not able to finish his sentence as she flings her arms around him and crashes her lips against his. His arms fold tightly around her and he immediately kisses her back, and it’s almost as if no time has passed at all. 

If he focuses, he can almost hear Fives wolf-whistling and hear Cutup making lewd comments.

And then reality snaps back into place when he hears Tech’s dry voice, “Ah. That kind of friend.”

Echo carefully pulls back, and reaches up to gently cup her cheek, using his thumb to brush a tear away, “I’m sorry for not comming you, cyar’ika.”

She shakes her head, “We were told that you died.” She whispers, “Fives said…” She trailed off, “And then Fives died, and, kriff, the death of the last Domino started a war between the pirates of Rishi and the Republic/Empire, why would you bring them here?”

“Our ship is damaged-” Echo started.

“Get in. In. All of you!” She drags Echo into her home, and she doesn’t shut the door until Hunter is in the apartment as well. “Honestly Echo,” She rounds on him, “If you commed I would have told you to go literally anywhere else.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d answer.” Echo replies.

There are pictures of her with Echo, and with the rest of the dominoes on the walls. There are also pictures of her with a large, scarred man. And of her with a too slender woman.

“What do you need? I can probably get most of the materials sent to your ship.” She says.

“I have a list.” Tech offers as he hands her his datapad.

She copies it and sends the list to several of her friends, “Alright, you should have most, if not all, of what you need by the morning.”

“Are we in danger here?”

“On Rishi specifically? No. Not so long as you don’t draw attention to yourself.” She replies, “I’d offer to let you spend the night, but I don’t have much room.”

“We can stay on the ship,” Tech replies.

“Echo, are you going to stay here?” Omega asks.

Echo doesn’t take his gaze off of his cyar’ika, “If I’m allowed?”

“I’ve never turned you away before.” She counters.

Echo smiles at her, “Do you remember the way back to the docks?”

“I remember.” Tech says, “Come on.”

The door opens, and then closes again, leaving Echo alone with his cyar’ika.

She smiles at him, soft and warm and slow, “You used to be shyer about public displays of affection.”

“I used to have legs and two hands too,” Echo replies, it's a weak joke, but a joke all the same. “I’m so sorry I never commed you.” He says after a moment, “I thought…it felt cruel, reaching out to you when I couldn’t actually touch you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Echo. I forgive you.” She walks over to him and she kisses him as if no time has passed at all, all loving and soft and sweet.

She’s always been unfairly tempting. Her lips and her touch encourage him to stay and enjoy what she’s offering. And Echo has always been helpless to deny her. 

He’s not surprised when he falls into her bed, her lips needy against his.

Later, much later, they’re lounging in her bed, and Echo is trailing his lips across her bare shoulder.

“Cyar’ika,” He murmurs against her shoulder, “Come with me.”

“Come with you where?” She asks, her voice light and dreamy.

“On the Marauder. Away from Rishi. I’ll protect you-”

She turns and looks at him, her smile so sad, “You know I can’t.”

“You deserve so much better than being a slave for your parents' debts,” Echo whispers.

She rolls so that she’s facing him properly, “Echo, your brothers don’t know me. And if I had to guess, your ship is pretty small. Me going with you isn’t fair to them.”

“You deserve more.” Echo repeats.

“I don’t like life is about what we deserve,” She replies, as she reaches up to cup his face, “So, in the morning, you’re going to return to your ship, to your brothers…and you’re going to leave Rishi. And you’re going to go back to not comming me, and it’s just how it’s going to be.”

“No.”

“Echo.” She sighs his name, and he shifts so he’s looking right in her eyes.

“No.” He repeats, “I’ve given up so much. My body, my batchmates, my twin. I’m not giving you up. Let me be greedy. Just about this one thing.”

She sighs again, but she looks touched. “How about…a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

“My contract with my…owner is coming to an end. At the end of the year, I’ll have made enough to pay off my parents' tab with him.” She says softly, “On that day, I will comm you and come to where you are. No matter where you might be.”

“Do you promise?”

She laughs softly, “Echo, I’ve been dreaming of forever with you since the first day we met. Now that I have the chance to have it, it would take an act of god to stop me.”

Echo crashes his lips against hers, “I want forever too,” He breathes against her lips, “So we have a deal.”

She smiles at him, “I love you, Echo.”

He blinks at her, momentarily surprised, and then he laughs and kisses her deeply, “I love you too.”

[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ headcannons: team stan with a careless friend✧.*

✧.* tags: college au

✧.* Characters: kenny mccormick, kyle broflovski, stan marsh, eric cartman, butters stotch

a/n: I usually don't add cartman to these things bc he stinks+loser+annoying+suckmydick but I know he'd take advantage of someone who hod so sense of mortality so he gets a pass this time ig.

masterlist

Kenny

He mistakes the carelessness for spontaneity and immediately assigns you as his go to “lets do something stupid I just thought of” partner

He’s a “try everything once” kind of guy so it’s perfect that you have no sense of self preservation

“Kenny stand on the other side of the field, I wanna see how far I can throw my phone.”

“Okay.”

You both infuriate stan to no end

#annoyingduo in the best way possible 

Do NOT put the two of you in the same room at a party

All of a sudden there’s a 15 person game of just dance happening but there’s no screen?? You’re all just doing moves you saw on just dance

Everyday is a new adventure

Kenny probably has an eye out for you though

He can die doing something stupid and be back the next day but you on the other hand are not 

Gotta keep his partner in crime alive! There’s a bunch of other things on his “before I die (for real)” bucket list that you still need to mark off

Kyle

You just get caught up in the moment! You have such a wonder for life!

Kyle doesn’t get it sometimes seeing as he tries to view everything logically. 

He’s more like a babysitter when you both go somewhere

“You did not just spend $300 on knock off jordans from a random man on the street corner.”

“I did and they’re the comfiest shoes I’ve ever worn. He told me they’ll cure my posture problems.”

“Do you just believe anything someone tells you?”

“Coming from someone who almost cried when I didn’t use his Candy Crush referral code so he could get more lives, that’s really rich.”

Okay so he gets swept up in trends sometimes. At least he understands his own mortality!

After the third time you try to learn how to do a backflip and fail miserably, he has to leave the room to keep from screaming 

keeps a mental count of the things you do every day that should kill you

the current record is 14

Stan

He doesn’t understand how you can just go through your day without a care

Are you not afraid of dying? That’s like 32% of his thoughts during the day

“Fuck I dropped my credit card down the drain. Stan, hold my ankles while I reach down to grab it.”

“I can literally see the used heroin needles down there.”

“Okay and??? Not my fault the city doesn’t have a safe use zone, I need that card!” 

One time you guys were leaving a store and the alarm went off 

Stan turned to ask you if you got the security tags removed but you we’re already sprinting halfway across the mall

Not because you stole anything, but because you saw jimmy, clyde, and tolkien walking out of a store and wanted to say hi

And then you spent the rest of the day being lectured by an underpaid paul blart wannabe

Stan was freaking out because he thought you would get arrested for causing a scene or something (they find any reason to arrest someone in south park) 

But all you did was laugh in that light hearted, careless way you always do

Cartman

Bro will manipulate your carelessness for all its worth

You are now the second person he calls when he has some stupid plot that needs someone who doesn’t understand the concept of death

If kenny’s busy, you’re on speed dial

Honestly, you’re probably the first call because you’ll do something stupid without needing to be paid! 

Free labor!

Wanna work at dicknbaus hot dogs for 14 hours with no pay? It’s free hotdogs! You’re in! 

Hes an exploitative motherfucker 

Thats all im here to say about it

butters 

You’re going to give him a heart attack

One time you purposely kicked a medicine ball to see how far it would go and broke your foot

And he was more worried about your foot than you were!

“Oh jesus, can you move it?”

“Um… no I don’t think so. Lemme take off my sock”

“AH ITS PURPLE!”

“Oh damn, you’re right. That’s a nice shade though, I was thinking of painting my room that color!”

“NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE TALKING ABOUT THIS”

Unlike kyle, he can’t force himself to ignore your careless nature

He’s always worrying about you 

He’ll suggest you both go to first aid classes or cpr training whenever you hang out “just for fun!”

but really he needs to know that you at least have some first aid knowledge if you're going to keep running around like death is a social construct

[oh-austin]

dehydrated (austin butler)

summary: in which y/n faints, ends up in hospital, and Austin has to rush to the aid of his accident prone girlfriend

ask: Hii! Can you please do one were Austin gets a call that the reader is in the hospital injured bc she got in an accident (you can pick what type) and he rushes over to her and is overprotective and scared. Thanks!

authors note / warnings: hospitals, mention of dehydration!

────── ∘◦❀◦∘

He wasn’t sure what to say when your manager called. As soon as Austin heard that you had fainted he was rushing out of his meeting, apologies thrown across the room as he stumbled out of his chair. His heart was racing, skipping the elevator for the stairs.

Austin wasn’t able to fully take in what Laine had said over the phone to him. Something about you doing stunts for a scene, fainting and hitting your head on the soundstage. That’s how he found himself on the way to the hospital, hoping that you had been taken to a room already.

Laine had texted as Austin pulled into the parking lot: you had been admitted and placed on a drip. The parking lot suddenly seemed a lot bigger than before now that he was sprinting across it and towards the doors. The line-up for the reception desk only made Austin feel as if the world was against him in this moment.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The woman smiling at him from behind the desk didn’t help calm his anxiety.

“I’m here for Y/N L/N, she’s just been admitted,” Austin’s knee was bouncing involuntarily as he spoke.

“Yep okay,” The clicking of her keyboard only made him feel more unsettled, the fear of not knowing why you were sick eating away at him. “She’s on the fourth floor, room one seventy-eight,”

Austin was already heading for the elevator as she told him which floor you were on. “Thank you so much,” He held his hand up to thank the woman.

Austin was glad that no one else needed to join him in the elevator. It meant the doors would shut quicker, he wouldn’t need to stop for anyone else and he could get to you quicker.

176, 177, 178…

Austin didn’t bother knocking. He burst into the room and saw you laying in the hospital bed. Your skin was pale and you looked clammy. He rushed to your side. “Mamas, what happened?”

You let out a pathetic excuse for a laugh, “I’m fine, just dehydrated apparently”.

“What happened?” Austin turned away from you and to Laine instead. He knew that she wouldn’t downplay what happened, no matter how many times you asked her too before Austin got here.

“She was in a harness, fainted and was out for around three minutes?” Laine sighed, “When she woke up she threw up on the soundstage”. Austin’s eyes widened and he turned back to look at you. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Are you kidding?” He sounded angry, you could bet that he looked it too. “Why weren’t you drinking water?” Austin couldn’t comprehend how you managed to neglect it to the point that you fainted.

“I just forgot!” You finally managed to meet his gaze, “You always forget to drink water on set, how is me doing it any different?”

“Because I still drink water when I wrap for the day,” He argued.

“I’m sorry! I just forgot,” Your voice fell out. You wanted to cross your arms and hide from Austin’s disappointed gaze, but the IV in your arm prevented you from it.

“Mamas, you gotta take care of yourself! This isn’t going to become a regular thing, we’re getting you a water bottle,” Austin reached out and grabbed your hand, bringing it to your lips.

“Austin, I have a water bottle,” You whispered.

“We’re getting you a new one, one you’ll actually use,” He argued, “Do you even know where yours is?”

You hesitated before responding, “I think I left it in Budapest,” Austin’s jaw dropped, a scoff escaping.

Austin took a second, taking a deep breath before speaking. He knew that it was an accident, but he was just so worried. “I’ll get you a new one,” His eyes were closed, trying to calm himself down, “Thank you for getting her here Laine,”

“That’s what I get paid for,” She joked, “I’ll head off, but I’ll come check on your tomorrow,” Laine tapped your foot a few times before leaving the room.

It was silent for a little while after Laine left. You eventually broke the painful silence. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s okay,” Austin sighed, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry I was so upset,”

“I’d be upset with me too,” You admitted, “I remember how worried I was when you were sick,” Flashbacks came to you of Austin laying asleep in a hospital gown much like yours still kept you up at night.

“I need you to take care of yourself,” Austin kissed your hand once more, “Especially when I’m not there to do it for you,” You chuckled, hoping that now he was joking around with you, he was less upset.

“I wanna go home,” You leant back in the bed, your head uncomfortably pressed against the stiff pillow provided.

“Few more hours,” Austin ran his thumb over the back of your hand, comforting you, “Then we can go home,”

“I love you,” You said quietly. Austin looked over at you with a soft smile.

“I love you more,” He told you, “And that’s why, starting tomorrow, you’re going to have two bottles full of water a day,”

“Yes sir,” You nodded, eyes wide.

“Don’t test me,” He smirked, “I might like that,”

[percyforever1022]

Okay Percy Jackson show rants bc I’m really trying to love stuff and like I’m enjoying watching it and I’ll keep watching it but also I have thoughts I need to get out (this started out as tv show complaints and also became about my love the lightening thief musical)

I feel like my biggest complaint is they messed with the stakes and they keep telling instead of showing like why change it to the solstice has passed that makes literally no sense and like yes Percy is smarter than he realizes but that comes through in how he makes instinctive decisions and pieces things together why does he just know things like the crusty one annoyed me the most it’s so frustrating and disappointing like I’m still enjoying watching it but I’m like I gotta be critical this is rough and I feel like they also just don’t know how to write tv like I think the best episode was 5 so far but even then like some great writing some bad writing shoutout to the lightening thief musical for being the best adaptation

Like I hope it gets another season and that they get more people in who know tv writing and pacing but like I’d still be nervous watching it and I think part of the issue too was like obviously they were modernizing stuff to fit now and like okay some stuff sure but then other stuff I feel like most changes really don’t make sense and haven’t been effective

Also they’re emphasizing stuff with the gods too much in my opinion and same for storylines that are a thing and covered in different novels like part of the amazingness of the first series is how well stuff builds!!! Show it to us slowly let us form our own conclusions and we learn more and more like yeah not all monsters are monsters you know who teaches us that? Tyson! not all heroes are heroes that’s the main point of titans curse

Another thing especially with the last episode I feel like we’re emphasizing too much just that the gods are bad with the kids and not just bad all around like Charon would’ve been such a great example with them bribing him and him being like yeah I don’t really get paid enough bring that up with hades like yeah what a bad system that would get reinforced when we later see calypso

Also I get changing stuff but some changes I’m like guys cmon like why change them going over the river Styx that would’ve been a perfect time to establish stuff naturally about it considering it’s really important later like annabeth being like Percy don’t touch that you’ll lose your soul like that’s relevant

And like one of the things I’m most nervous about is like Percy is different bc of sally like that’s a fact it’s the main reason him and Luke are foils and part of what’s so effective of the last book but I like in the books it being less intentional like it’s not oh I want him to be his own before you guys mess him up it’s just oh this is my son and I love him and I want him to live and be happy and in that Percy gets strength him choosing to not stay year round to be connected to humanity and be with his mom is so important but like sally just loves him and that love and connection to humanity is what makes Percy different from Luke and I think it’s more effective when it’s less intentional like obviously she makes choices to keep her son safe but idk it’s different

Also literally why make the solstice pass like the gods going to war is crazy stakes and now like technically they’re “prepping” but like they should be at war and that should have consequences why do that now it looks like nothing has consequences like the one day left thing worked let it be the solstice change has def annoyed me the most I literally wanna scream anytime I think about it

And then I feel like people get mad that people are criticizing the show and trying to be like well Rick is modernizing it and like there’s a way to do that that isn’t this and also if you’re going to do that than don’t market it as the faithful book adaption that we’ve been crazing like once again the lightening thief musical is great at adapting stuff and cutting what does work and making changes while still keeping the tone and all the stuff that makes Percy Jackson what it is and the show could’ve done that too and like everything up until the solstice change I was like okay I have thoughts but I’ll let it go the solstice tho that has larger implications

Also this is specifically about annabeth and no critique to Leah but I feel like the writers don’t know how to write a 12 year old girl like she’s supposed to be serious but in the way you’re serious when you’re 12 where you think you know everything and you can do it all bc duh but then everyone else is just like wow that child is doing a lot like where’s the energy where’s the passionate rants about architecture and the stuff she loves like this 12 year old should be bouncy off the walls she wants to do so much and make things permanent and be remembered and she’s going to do it just you all watch like literally my grand plan gets her this show complaint is also just another love letter to the musical oops like let her be desperate to prove herself not just to her mom but to everyone show us more of that

Also I love percabeth and I’m living for all the percabeth moments but I’m nervous we’re moving too quickly into romance territory like they seem too aware of it if that makes sense like I really like the moment where Percy imitates Athena in the arch bc like that’s so giving 12 year old trying to impress their crush when they don’t know they have a crush like give me more of that but also let them be friends let the trip goof around more and like this goes back to the show don’t tell them but let me see how they work together let Percy piece together information let annabeth make more plans let’s see her myth knowledge and then how they respond when stuff doesn’t go to plan that’s part of how they work so well together and same with Grover

Also like the musical just such a good job and like pairing Percy and annabeths issues and balancing their friendship and how they get closer with the potential of what could be in the future and like Percy singing I’m good enough for someone and annabeth singing I don’t know how or when but I promise you I’ll never be invisible again someone will notice me with the staging of Percy looking at her literally makes me insane

Also the musical did such a good job in the first song at setting up like yeah you wanna hear our story? Okay here’s our representative Percy Jackson and Chris McCarrell slid on to that stage like look I didn’t want to be a halfblood and then showed us why Percy is literally Mr accountability to the gods

Like this story can be adapted well it has all the potential literally everything is there but if you’re gonna do something in the medium it helps to have people who are passionate and understand that medium and know how to work with it

Also Luke’s good in the last day of summer lives in my head always truly iconic

[jenrecs]

oh boy...

Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him.

me, for the fourth consecutive week, through tears, fists clenched: hahahahaha ok get it bear, you're doing amazing sweetie, good for u for getting laid! haha aaha .aaha ahhs.dja

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you. 

*throws my head back like the seagull meme* *channels my inner taylor swift* AND I KNEW YOU'D LINGER LIKE A TATTOO KISS. I KNEW YOU'D HAUNT ALL OF MY WHAT IF'S.

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable. 

me, as if i didn't instantly smile when the text came and twirled my hair and shit: yeah gorl.. get it together jeez 🙄

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow. 

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

okay jo... come after my feels at 10 in the morning i guess 🤒

but anyway THE POEMMMMM. i am v excited for the analysis of this one BECAUSE my brain thought a thing about namjoon being autumn askdfhksak

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

MHMM OKAY DIMPLES. when i tell u that i kicked my feet and squealed and everything... we're running in the rain, we're writing and talking about poetry and love and grief, true romance 💘

nah but his legs are too long for me. i would stop and let mother nature take me. you go dimples... leave me here i won't make it...

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up. 

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK 😭 do not talk to me like genuinely do not talk to me. i need you to put a pin on updates bc i need at least 15 business days to recover from these paragraphs. god tffffff

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide. 

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

this might be the most chaotic thing i've ever read from u 😭 i had a feeling that something would go wrong the second i read that he was cooking but i never thought it'd go down like this. dimples you accidental arsonist

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

the kitchen was on fire just minutes ago... how did we get there, jo why... we were just running around trying to put out the fire and clear the smoke like 2 idiots and you've just dumped this bucket of ice cold water on our heads. whiplash.

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

+

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose. 

nah i know that some people might be ready to come after tae's head but i'm still on the defense squad. like yeah, it might come across as him being hypocritical (this might show itself more clearly in later chapters). sure, i can do see how it might be interpreted as that. but i don't think he's doing it on purpose or idk is even aware of it. this subtle change is unfamiliar to the both of them, evident during that scene of her in the shower. and like, again, regardless of tae knowing about her feelings or not, i think he's just used to her always being there and adhering to him? idk it feels like he's used to knowing her, being her best friend and all that? but now she has a roommate (one of his buddies, no less) and they have a dynamic that he doesn't understand and he's practically an outsider here. them living together, secret texting during movie nights, exchange glances that he can't decipher, etc. sure, it is a liiiiiiitle selfish but i don't think he has bad intentions. it's just that things are slowly changing after been this way since forever and they both need to adjust to this new reality. does this make sense? i do not know! i hope it does tho lol

anyway read the teaser for next week and JAILLLLLLLL. my money's on tae getting riled up and saying Dumb Stuff 😙

IV. Something Has to Change

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

Your friendship with Taehyung starts to show its cracks.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday October 20th

You text Taehyung before going to sleep just to confirm he didn’t die in a ditch, but it’s radio silence from him until almost three o’clock the next afternoon. When he does finally answer you - “alive but at what cost?” - you roll your eyes and turn your phone over, screen down. You’re sitting in the living room, two author anthologies open on the coffee table, bookends to your open notebook. 

Apparently he’s displeased with your silence, because your phone buzzes again a few minutes later - the longer buzz, indicating a call of some kind. With a huff of aggravation, you flip it over to see it’s a video call, his preferred method of communication. You slide the button to accept the call, but let him stare at your ceiling. 

“What?” you demand. “I can’t talk, I have to go call off my search parties.”

“I was asleep,” he defends himself. “I texted you as soon as I woke up!”

“Didn’t sleep last night, huh?” you joke, but the sting is there. Just a little. 

He avoids the question. “What are we doing tonight?”

You laugh at the audacity of his whole existence. Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him. What would happen if you weren’t?

Not to mention asking what the Saturday night plan is thirty seconds after waking up with a hangover. 

“I’m assuming you won’t want to go out?” you ask. 

He hums, runs a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. I could be persuaded, maybe. Wouldn’t mind just hanging out, though. What about a movie? We have that one we’ve been saving?”

We.

You’re not sure why, today, it’s bothering you so much. The truth is, Taehyung’s acting and speaking the same as always. So what’s different?

You don’t want to examine the answer to that, so you focus on the plan instead. “I like the sound of a movie,” you agree. “Wanna see if anyone else is interested?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I’ll text everyone.”

“Sounds good. See you around eight?”

“Should we order dinner before that?” he asks.

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you. 

And at the same time, he’s your best friend. He’s your family. You love him, in multiple ways.

It feels like being tugged in opposite directions. It feels like lose/lose. It feels like there’s no right answer, nowhere to turn, no option that doesn’t hurt.

“Not tonight,” you hear yourself say. “I have too much homework.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “See you around eight, then. I’ll let you know if anyone else is coming with me.”

You try to return to homework after you hang up, but your focus is shot. You lean onto the cushy back of the couch, closing your eyes. You’re still sitting like that when you hear the front door open. Namjoon hadn’t been home when you got up, had been out the whole time.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

He gives a chuckle. “Everything okay?”

“I think my brain is broken,” you tell him. “Can Edna write about something besides death?”

He huffs out a laugh, and you hear him drop his keys onto the counter. “I think she does,” he says, coming closer and peering at the anthology you still have open on the table in front of you. “Nature. Rebellion. Men. Women. Love. Sex.”

Your cheeks burn, like you’re thirteen damn years old, just from hearing the word sex in his low, steady voice.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently. 

“I guess so,” you admit. “But today everything I read is about grief.”

“Take a break,” he suggests, moving into the kitchen. You hear a cabinet open and the sink run, and then he comes in carrying a glass of water. He sits down a few feet away from you on the couch and copies your pose, leaning back against the cushions.

It occurs to you that you’ve never sat on the couch at the same time as him before. In fact, your Uber ride last night was the closest your bodies had ever been. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” you find yourself telling him. “That new one with what’s-his-face, Raven’s Prophecy? Around eight. If you want to join.”

“Yeah,” he says right away, surprising you. “Sounds good.”

–

The movie’s good  - really good. You’re all crowded around the living room - Namjoon on one end of the couch, Yoongi on the other, you and Taehyung and Jimin on the floor. The coffee table has been pushed to the side to make room for you, the lights turned down. Taehyung is sitting with his back against the couch, legs extended in front of him, and you have a throw-pillow leaning against his knees, laying perpendicular to him. Jimin sits next to Taehyung, one of his legs resting lazily over top of yours.

It feels normal, and it feels nice, and everything weird from earlier seems to float away. Maybe you had just been tired. 

“That’s totally foreshadowing,” you pipe up, raising a hand to point at the screen. “Because when he-.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says loudly, reaching over to flick the back of your arm. “No nerd talk. Just enjoy the movie. No one asked for a literary analysis.”

“But, look -.”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and Jimin giggles, used to this exact squabble. “This is fun, not school.”

“Foreshadowing is fun!” you protest, laughing, but you let it go. 

A second later, your phone buzzes in your hand. 

[9:37 PM] Namjoon: 🤯

You bite back a smile, turning off your screen before the light can catch anyone’s attention, and then you cast your gaze up at the couch to find Namjoon looking right at you, a sheepish smile creeping up on one side of his face. 

You’re thankful for the dark of the room, the light shifting and changing with the scene on the tv screen, as you feel yourself blush. 

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable. 

You wait a minute or two, then turn your brightness down and send back, “but am i wrong?”. Then you glance back up to watch Namjoon read the text. He gives a laugh, one shake of his shoulders as he sees it, and then he meets your gaze. That same half-smile on his face, he shakes his head imperceptibly. 

Behind you, beneath you, Taehyung shifts and you turn back to the tv quickly, feeling something akin to guilt simmer in your gut. You don’t see his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Namjoon, curious. 

Monday October 22nd

Monday brings bright sunshine despite the chilly air, morning light illuminating the deep reds and oranges of the trees down the block. 

Namjoon finds you in the kitchen, staring listlessly into an untouched cup of coffee. 

“Good morning?” he greets you, a question.

You startle. “Shit!” you yelp and then laugh, heart pounding. “I didn’t even hear you getting ready in there. ”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says apologetically. “I’m heading to campus in a bit… how about you?”

“Yeah,” you say glumly. “I have work and class.”

“Same,” he says, moving around you to rummage for some breakfast. “Class first, and then I’m TA-ing all afternoon.” 

You give him a little smile. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your services today.”

“No?” he asks mildly. “Last few submissions went well?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I’ve written anything worth submitting.”

He laughs, his back to you, and then settles against the kitchen counter. “I can help you brainstorm, too, if you’re stuck.”

You bite back the prideful I don’t need your help that rises to your tongue. He’s being nice. Instead, you say, “Hopefully I’ll make some progress on my own. Have fun, though. You still have that office to yourself? If I had that, I’d be so productive. Nothing to distract me.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I find ways. I still have my phone. And a window.”

You laugh at this, and then rise, draining half of your mug of coffee in one go. “I need to head in. Are you leaving now, too? Or, later?”

“I can make now work,” he says, something warm in his tone. “Let me just go grab my bag.”

Out front, you blink against the sudden brightness, holding up a hand to shield your eyes as they adjust. Namjoon locks the front door and comes down the steps at a light jog, stopping next to you.

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, and you start off towards campus in silence, the only noise around you the calls of birds and the hum of car engines from nearby traffic. 

You stop at an intersection, watching the orange hand tell you to wait. “So,” you say, glancing up at him as the cars whiz by, “what’s your book about?”

He looks at you completely blankly, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“For the grad program,” you clarify. “You said you were in fiction, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as if he forgot. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” you say dryly.

“It’s a coming-of-age, I guess,” he says, rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s wearing his glasses today, and you have half a mind to tease him that he’s just trying to look like one of the professors so they don’t kick him out of his hijacked office. “And a bit of an unrequited love story.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” you ask, a little absently. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him to determine why, and he’s looking at you like you’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow. 

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

“But you’re alone,” Namjoon counters. 

“You still love someone,” you insist. “The meaning of life, and all that shit.”

Namjoon shakes his head as the stoplight above you changes from green to yellow, and then to red. “It’s not the same as loving someone and having them love you back, building it together and working to sustain it,” he says firmly. “That’s real love.” And then he heads for the crosswalk, his long legs carrying him swiftly away. 

You hurry to catch up, feet following his without question.

–

The first leaf falls, a warning. Now the rest will follow. I watched them sway all summer. Autumn leaves me hollow.

There’s a promise in the air, I turn towards the icy bite. If autumn can’t make me happy, I wonder if winter might.

Aren’t those frozen days so dark? Isn’t catching snowflakes strange? Perhaps this could be something. Perhaps something has to change.

You frown at the page. Half of you is tempted to take Namjoon up on his offer to workshop during his TA hours, but you’ve got a good reason not to let him see this one. 

“Y/N?” Kris calls from the register at the front of the store. “Did I leave my phone back there?”

Their voice brings you back to reality, pulling your focus from the page of your notebook open on your lap. You’re hiding in the stockroom, sitting on an unpacked box of what you hope are books, trying to cram in some coursework. 

Kris’s phone is indeed on a table behind you, where you sling your bookbag when you come in to start a shift. You rise, slipping your notebook back into said bag and grabbing the phone, walking it out to them. 

You’re alarmed when both phones buzz in your hands, a long, repeating pattern that you aren’t accustomed to.

“What the fuck?” you utter, even though if your boss heard you cursing on the floor you’d get a written reprimand for the first time in your life. 

“Storm alert,” Kris says, reaching one grabby hand out for their phone. You pass it over and press your thumb to your own screen. Sure enough, it’s a severe weather alert. 

You groan. “Great. I walked here.” You try to pull up the radar, but your shitty service takes too long to load it so you switch over to the hour-by-hour. 

“See if your knight in shining armor will give you a ride,” Kris says with a twisted chuckle. 

For a second, you aren’t sure if they mean Taehyung or Namjoon, and that fact is startling. Obviously they mean Taehyung, they know a lot of your history with him and they don't know anything about what’s happening with Namjoon. Nothing is happening with Namjoon, you correct yourself sternly. You had a weird desire to scoot closer while drunk in an Uber and had one sort of deep conversation. It’s not a thing. 

And, actually, texting Taehyung for a ride is a pretty good idea. Outside, it’s not even raining yet, but the clouds hang low and the leaves that have managed to cling to their branches this late into autumn are flipping and shimmying in the harsh wind. 

There’s a long line of students waiting to check out - probably grabbing last minute snacks and drinks before the rain starts, so they don’t have to go out later - so you slide next to Kris at the second register and swipe your access card. You work like this for at least an hour, the rain starting a pace outside the windows as steady as the flow of students trying to get what they need and hurry back to their dorms. 

When you catch a minute, you send a text, holding your phone down under the counter and typing with one hand, as if it isn’t painfully obvious what you’re doing. When the answer comes in, you tap the screen quickly.

[4:22 PM] You: are you still on campus?

[4:31 PM] Namjoon: just finished work. can’t wait to walk back in this…

You giggle and Kris looks at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“That him?” they ask. They mean Taehyung, and you’re too damn aware of the lie as you answer, “Mhm.”

[4:34 PM] You: i’m done in 25 min if you want to suffer together

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: yeah sounds good you can make sure i dont drown lol

An “lol”? Oh, goodness.

[4:37 PM] Namjoon: you’re at the bookstore right? i’ll come there and wait for you

Oh, lord, Kris is going to have a field day with this. You don’t have time to focus on this, as your boss finally sweeps out of her adjoining office, announcing that you need to shut down the second register and finish everything in the back room before your shift ends. She’ll be the one to close the store tonight, as she does on Mondays. 

When you emerge from the back room at 4:59 on the dot, your backpack on your back, Namjoon is loitering near the registers, and Kris is shooting you looks that are somehow mischievous, delighted, and wounded. You have a feeling you’ll be interrogated during your shift on Wednesday.

Outside, the rain isn’t that bad, but it is steady. The wind blowing makes it look like it’s raining left to right, in sheets. 

“We’re gonna be drenched,” you groan. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore, waving a goodbye at a still-disgruntled Kris, stopping at the glass doors that lead outside. 

“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon tells you, voice a little fond, like he thinks your complaining is cute. “We’ll just go quick. I’m mostly worried about my laptop.”

“Ugh, same,” you lament. “We’d better be fast, I fully cannot afford a new one.”

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and leads you outside. Just like that morning, your feet follow his, like it’s natural. You walk in silence almost halfway home, the pace too clipped to really carry on any kind of conversation. 

You’re practically panting for breath when you hit the major crosswalk, stopping to wait for the signal to walk. The rain seems worse when you’re stopped - sticking your hair to your head where it lands, raising the hairs on your arms as your body gives one dramatic shiver against the chill. Namjoon looks down at you.

“We’re almost there,” he says, reassuring. 

“Mhm,” you manage, rubbing your hands over your arms to fight off the goosebumps. The light changes and you start across, following Namjoon and his naturally long stride. You keep your eyes on the ground, dodging puddles, watching the white stripes pass beneath you. 

You’re just across, stepping up the curb onto the sidewalk, when it happens.

The sky opens. 

One second it’s raining hard enough to be a nuisance, the next second it feels like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. The sound goes from a soft patter to a sudden roar, like the rain is alive and it is pissed. You splutter, actually blowing water away from your lips, reaching up to wipe your eyes. 

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

He’s not running that fast but there’s still a few seconds where you feel uneven, your gait awkward, trying to match his. Eventually your feet settle into the rhythm and you run just behind him. His hand, so large in yours it's almost swallowing it, is warm and solid and sure. His grip is tight - like he means it. He doesn’t look back as he runs, just squeezes your hand in his and trusts you to keep up.

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

Namjoon doesn’t let you. He slows his pace to more of a race-walk, gives your arm another playful tug. Not for a single second does he loosen his grip on your hand.  

“You can make it,” he tells you over his shoulder. His hair is flattened from the rain, his face a little flushed from the run, but his dimples wink at you through the deluge.

When he reaches the front of the apartment, he finally drops your hand and takes the steps at a clip. At the top, under the safety of the awning, he turns to see why you haven’t followed him.

You can’t help it - it’s all so ridiculous you have to laugh. Your hair sticks to your face like cooked spaghetti, your shirt clings to your arms, your backpack is dripping water like there’s a faucet in there, and even your socks are wet, making each step you take squelch like mud. Still cackling at the absurdity of this moment, of having been completely defeated by the season, of running all the way home and still ending up half-drowned, you look up at the sky. The rain slides down the sides of your face and you let it cool the heat that’s there from either running, or Namjoon’s touch.

You feel a little drunk from it. 

“Y/N!” Namjoon scolds from the top of the stairs, but he’s smiling that same fond little smile he’d had on movie night a few days ago. “Come inside! You’re going to get pneumonia.”

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up. 

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

You’re thinking too much.

You’re standing in the rain, Namjoon is looking at you like you’re nuts, and you’re thinking too much.

 Watching your feet, you head up the stairs, going through the front door that he’s holding open for you.

You squish your way upstairs, neither of you talking. Inside the apartment, Namjoon flicks on a few lamps.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he tells you, voice quiet. “You should, too.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That was my plan.”

You stand beneath the spray of hot water, tapping on the faucet to work it hotter by degrees, not wanting the temperature to jump and scald you. You feel drained, like your limbs are noodles. You lean your forehead against the tile wall, closing your eyes and just breathing.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to no one, “is going on?”

You wish you had a friend to talk it out with. Kris would go overboard, exploding with glee. Lin isn’t a talk about boys kind of person, or even a talk about your feelings kind. That leaves Taehyung, and the idea of trying to talk to him about your burgeoning feelings for Namjoon makes you laugh out loud, the single syllable echoing off the shower walls, echoing back to mock you. 

When you finally make it back into the living room, hair blow-dried and wearing your fuzziest joggers and a hoodie, Namjoon is tucked away in his own room, the door open that familiar four inches. 

You get settled on the couch and pull out your phone and realize practically with a gasp - you hadn’t even tried to text Taehyung to drive you, nice and dry, back from campus. Your brain had thought but I walked here with Namjoon and the option of “dry” went right out the window.

You cover your face with your hands, sliding down on the couch a little bit. What is the matter with you? 

You feel right now like it’s all happening too much, too fast. What even is “it”? Do you like Namjoon? Despite barely knowing him? Despite having to live with him? 

Despite the years and years of experience you have with loving Taehyung, and Taehyung alone, out of everyone in the whole wide world?

Luckily, Namjoon stays in his room for the rest of the evening, sparing you from any more self-reflection, any more soul-searching. 

You still kind of wish he’d come out. 

Tuesday October 23rd

One of the steady things that you and Namjoon share, that works for you as roommates, is that neither of you cooks. A whole kitchen of pots and pans just to heat up water for tea and ramen and to occasionally cook an egg. 

So when you get home from class on Tuesday so late that it’s already pretty dark out and you hear the clanging and banging from the kitchen that indicates a meal being made, you genuinely wonder if you’re at the wrong door. 

As you push the door open, the noise only gets louder. You round the corner and see the kitchen in chaos - two unmanned pans on the stove, bowls and whisks and colanders and cutting boards all over the counterspace. Namjoon has his back to you, a large kitchen knife in hand. 

You ease around him, not wanting to startle him until the knife is set down. He spots you anyway, and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What… exactly… is happening here?” you inquire. 

“It depends on the scope of your question,” Namjoon answers, because of course he can’t just fucking answer you like a normal person. “If you’re referring to the stove, I am burning some sauce on the left and burning some meat on the right. If you’re referring to the cutting board, I am -.”

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide. 

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

“Turn off the burner and smother it!” you cry, not willing to enter the kitchen and get closer to the danger. 

“Smother it?” he repeats, the words a little wild as he screams them. Smoke has filled the kitchen, blurring your view of him, and the smoke alarm over the front door begins to blare. 

“The lid!” you scream, trying to be louder than the alarm. “Turn off the burner and put the lid on the pan! Be careful!”

You add this last part in a shriek as Namjoon follows your directions, reaching towards the flame to twist the burner and then slam the lid over the top of the pan, hissing a little as he does. 

The flames vanish almost instantly, but the smoke remains and the alarm keeps screaming. Namjoon looks at the pan, then his hand, then at you. 

“Go run cool water on that,” you tell him firmly, and you cross the apartment to open the windows and turn on the fans. 

You return to the kitchen to find Namjoon running the sink over his knuckles, brows furrowed.

“Is it bad?” you ask loudly - again, to be heard over the smoke alarm - as you open a drawer and get a kitchen towel, moving to stand in the kitchen’s doorway flapping away, trying to send the smoke towards the open windows. 

“No,” he tells you, pulling his hand out of the stream of water to examine it more closely. “It’s just a little red.”

“Keep it there for a little bit,” you tell him, still flapping away. “I might have burn cream in my bathroom, I’ll check in a second.”

Eventually the alarm quiets and you both heave a sigh of relief. The cold air coming from the open windows chills you down to your toes, but smoke still clings to the room, blurring your vision just enough to wonder if you’re imagining it. 

You find the burn cream in your medicine cabinet and return to the living room. Namjoon is looking at the ruined remains of his dinner with something like heartbreak on his face.

“Come here,” you tell him, sitting at the breakfast bar, ointment in your hand. “Come sit so I can do this.”

“I can do it,” he protests, but he heads your way.

“Sit,” you repeat, pulling out the stool next to you.

He does, silently and obediently, sliding his hand over to you. You can see the redness over his knuckles, middle and index the most. You uncap the tube and squeeze a little onto your fingers, then take his hand in your spare one to hold it steady. Gently you press the cream into his skin, making sure to cover each bit of redness. Namjoon watches you solemnly, wincing a little when your fingers touch his middle knuckle.

“See if that helps,” you tell him, his hand still resting on yours. “Want help cleaning up?”

He sighs heavily, and you both look at the kitchen in defeat at the mess of pans and bowls to wash.

“Do you ever just… miss your mom?” he asks plaintively, not looking at you.

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

“Sure,” you say, trying to sound casual. Failing. 

He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “Why’d you get weird?” he asks. “Do you have a bad relationship with your mom or something? I didn’t mean to -.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, but you rise and head for the kitchen, starting to pick things up just to do something with your hands. “It’s just… I don’t have my mom anymore. She passed when I was little. My dad too.” Might as well get it all out there. It felt weird to let someone only know half.

It’s easier to handle this moment with Namjoon in another room. You don’t have to watch him react, don’t have to translate his silence and his body language. You slide all the chopped onion onto a plate just  in case Namjoon still wants to use it, and turn to rinse off the cutting board in the sink. 

He appears behind you, silently lingering in the doorway. “Y/N,” he says softly. 

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you tell him, scrubbing at the cutting board vigorously. You don’t turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t have been so blase about it if I’d known,” he says apologetically.

“I know,” you say. You turn - away from the doorway - to put the cutting board aside to dry. You grab the pan with sauce in it - all congealed and unappetizing now - and move to scrape it into the garbage can. 

He comes up beside you; his fingers touch your elbow, feather-light, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you.

“Y/N,” he implores. “Look at me.”

You do, glancing sideways up at him, the pan heavy in your hand. “I’m not upset,” you assure him. “People just get so weird when they find out. I hate… navigating that, over and over again, with new people.”

He gives you a guilty smile, but there’s relief in it as well. “I will stop being weird immediately,” he promises. “I just felt like I stepped in it, you know?”

You shrug. “It happens to the best of us. It really is fine. It’s been a long time.”

You arm tingles where he’d touched you, but he stays put when you move back to the sink, running the water hot enough to steam before you put the pan under it. Then, wordlessly, he moves next to you, grabbing a cloth and starting to dry the cutting board you’d washed.

You carry on that like that, a perfectly synchronized dance, in silence until the countertop is empty. All that remains is the pan that had been alight about half an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks, leaning against the counter as you scrape the remains of the charred meat into the garbage with a grimace. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“It’s so jarring when you swear,” you tell him.

He grins at you. “Hobi says my surprising potty-mouth is one of my best charms.”

You laugh at this. “I can see that,” you agree. “It is surprising.”

“Not charming?” he teases.

You shrug, feeling that blush rise up again. “No comment. Anyway - what did you want to ask?”

He lets you get away with evading the flirtation. “If you were little… who raised you?”

“Oh,” you say. You aren’t sure what you thought he’d ask, but it wasn’t that. “My grandma, until she couldn’t. Then my Aunt Lin took over, but she’s more like a big sister than anything.”

Namjoon nods. Then he asks, carefully, “Did Taehyung know your parents?”

The question makes you smile at the memories it pulls up - you and Taehyung as kids together, goofing off around your house, back when it had been filled with people.

“Yeah,” you say softly. It doesn’t occur to you to wonder why he’d ask that. It doesn’t occur to you to mask the tiny smile, that it might jostle his feelings even a little bit.

You look over at him when you realize he’s gone quiet. “Are you close with your family?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He nods, eyes on the pan lid that he’s drying. “Very. I was a lost soul when I first moved to campus. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You burned dinner tonight,” you point out. 

“I can do laundry now,” he retorts, smiling at you as you put the last of the dishes away. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Still room to grow,” you tease, reaching out to give his arm a playful nudge.

You’re giving playful touches now. That’s a thing that’s happening. 

You ache, again, to have someone to tell. 

Wednesday October 24th

You both love and hate Wednesdays - on one hand, you have your thesis double-feature, and you actually enjoy it. On the other hand, you go straight from double-class to closing shift at the campus store, and you don’t get home until dark. The day is long, and you’d rather be home. For several reasons. 

Your morning goes as you expect - you make it through the lecture part of class, updating Professor Jemisen on how your research segment is going. During the break, you eat some leftovers you’d thrown in your backpack, and talk with Gloria and the other girls. After the break, your group helps you workshop your latest poem, the one about the season changing, and you do the same for them.

The season changing is happening in real life, all around you. Fall fades quickly, the days darkening, the chills lasting longer, becoming more pronounced. Gone are the autumn days that change their mood and become summer again for hours at a time. 

You normally go straight to the campus store after class, but this week you’re hungry - the leftovers you packed weren’t enough to keep you until you get home. Instead of heading down the main paved path to the student center, where you work, you head for a large academic building you pass on the way there. You know there’s a little sandwich station on the lowest floor, tucked away past the mailroom like a well-kept secret. 

You take a hallway off to the side, passing some open classrooms on your way to the staircase. You’re walking mindlessly, head thinking only about the sandwich you’re going to order. You slow your steps when you hear a familiar voice, low and calm. 

“All I’m saying,” a girl is saying, and you stop in the doorway, listening, “is that while the idea of going to live alone in the woods is actually extremely appealing, Thoreau as a whole kind of sucks.”

“I might agree with you, but you need to frame that more academically,” Namjoon corrects gently.

A circle of students - freshmen, if you had to guess, maybe eight of them, are sitting at desks, their bags all forgotten on the floor by their chairs. Namjoon perches on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, legs casually stretched out before him. He’s listening intently as the students debate.

“We have to specify the problem,” someone else in the group points out. “I’m all for metaphorically dragging down statues of the patriarchy and everything, but we need a solid argument.”

“Or,” a different girl says, voice just barely loud enough for you to hear from the hallway, “maybe instead of giving more attention to ‘classics’ we see as undeserving, maybe instead we should focus just on the underprivileged voices that we prefer to be amplified?”

“You mean pick a lesser-known author and shed light on their work instead?” Namjoon clarifies, and the girl nods. 

The group begins to debate this passionately, and Namjoon lets them fight it out, taking a second to glance at his phone. You become aware of the fact that you’re just standing in the hallway staring. You’re about to move on when Namjoon notices you. He looks away quickly at first, and then it registers that it was you standing in the doorway like a weirdo, and his gaze flies back to you. 

Caught, you have no choice but to lean into it. You give him a tiny smile, raising a hand in a guilty wave. He smiles back, just barely. You stay there another minute, smiling at each other, while the freshmen continue to argue. Then your feet spur you on, and you give him a little nod before heading down the hall. But the stupid fucking butterflies stay in your stomach the whole time you wait in line for your sandwich.

When you get to the bookshop, you toss your backpack behind the counter and slump onto a low stool that’s stashed back there. You lean your head on the counter next to the currently unmanned register and let out some unhappy grumbles.

Kris comes out from the stockroom - you can tell it’s them by their footsteps.

“What is happening here,” they say flatly, not exactly a question.

“Kriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whine, not looking up. “I think I need to talk about… my roommate.”

“Bitch!” they utter indignantly. “He has a name! What grade are we in right now?”

You stomp your feet lightly, needing to display your crankiness. “I am feeling very confused and conflicted and I need you to be nice to me about it,” you say petulantly, finally picking your head up so you can pout better. 

“Okay,” Kris says easily, leaning against the wall. The shop is devoid of customers, so you don’t bother to lower your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you continue to whine. “It’s just how I feel.”

Kris gives you a level stare. “I need the whining to stop, like, yesterday. If you feel conflicted, there’s a reason. So, figure out what it is.”

“I already said I don’t know,” you tell them, still pouty, but sitting up straight now.

“Dig deep,” Kris deadpans. “Do it for the dimples.”

“Oh my GOD,” you say, unable to even make eye contact. “Never mind, conversation over.”

They shake their head, not letting you off the hook. “What’s the problem, Square?” It’s a nickname they gave you last year when you wouldn’t go partying - because… apparently you’re a square.

“You know the problem,” you grumble quietly, making them lean closer to hear you.

They lean back, something knowing in their eyes. “Ah. It’s the Taehyung factor.”

“Shh,” you scold, glancing around the empty store like someone might have materialized without you noticing. When you return your gaze to them, Kris is just staring at you plainly, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I don’t know,” you say, and then more emphatically, “I don’t know! If I… start something else… does that mean giving Taehyung up? Because I can’t say I want to do that. Not if I’m being honest.”

Kris nods silently, letting you work it out. You meet their eyes, suddenly feeling the squeeze of anxiety around your chest, like your lungs have something heavy they have to push every time you inhale. 

“If I lose him,” you say in practically a whisper, “I will quite literally die.”

Kris scowls at you. “You will not.”

“I will,” you retort. 

Kris gives you an eyeroll. “So dramatic,” they scold. 

“He’s my family, Kris,” you try to explain. “In a lot of ways he’s my only family.” Your voice breaks as you ask, “What if I lose him?”

Now Kris softens, lips pulling together into something like a very pursed frown. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they suggest quietly.

You hate that idea a lot. “Maybe,” you say loudly, slapping your hand on the counter and standing as the bell over the door chimes and a group of lacrosse guys (the sticks are a give-away) enter the store with a burst of noisy chatter, “I should never talk about any of this ever again.”

Kris sighs heavily, practically doubling over. Now who’s dramatic? “You’re so self-destructive,” they complain.

“Don’t be mean,” you say, going back to pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris waves a hand at you. “Go write a poem about it.”

“And what if I do?” you demand, but you’re both laughing now, unlocking the registers as the lacrosse dudes line up to pay for their snacks and drinks.

–

Taehyung texts you near the end of your shift - “we haven’t hung out in five billion years :(“.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and text back, “come get me from the bookstore then and hang out for a little”.

You’re pleased when he agrees. He shows up a little bit before closing, knocking on the already locked glass doors. You hurry to let him in, ignoring Kris staring knives into your back. 

“Hi,” you say happily as he slips into the store, and you lock the door again behind him. “I’ll be done in about four minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he says easily, striding over to the checkout counter and leaning against it. 

“Taehyung,” Kris greets him, nodding their head as they lock the register. “How’s it going?”

He sighs dramatically. “The usual. Classes. Parties. Trying to figure out why Y/N doesn’t love me anymore.”

You freeze halfway to the stockroom, your eyes wide, air catching in your throat. 

Luckily, Kris is and always has been way more slick than you. They cock their head quizzically, letting a playfully concerned frown settle over their features. 

“Y/N doesn’t love you anymore?” they echo, the poor baby pronounced in their tone. “What on earth do you mean?”

Taehyung shoots you a mischievous look; luckily, you’ve gotten your act together since he said those words. 

“I had to beg for her attention tonight,” he says, clearly loving this bit. “I’m beginning to think she has a secret boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

You feel both caught - despite not having a secret boyfriend or anything like it - and guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just got busy with my thesis and everything. I promise I’m not out with other people and not you. Even Kris only sees me at work these days.”

“And Namjoon,” Taehyung adds plaintively, and your blood runs cold.

“Namjoon?” you echo, not sure you can form a different word.

Taehyung’s pouting now, which means he’s not too serious. “Yeah, he has no choice, you’re in his living room every day.”

“Oh,” you say, relief flooding through you. “Yeah.”

You don’t see the point in telling Taehyung that there’s a teeny, tiny something starting with Namjoon. Not when it’s so… unformed, insubstantial, uncertain. You don’t know which word fits best. It’s a maybe at best, and it just doesn’t seem worth rocking the boat over it. 

What would happen if things started for real? Would you tell him? It shouldn’t have to be a secret… it shouldn’t stay a secret, not if you mean it. What would happen?

You’re afraid to know the answers. 

You finish up in the store and you all head to the parking lot together. You tell Kris goodbye and drop down into Taehyung’s passenger seat. 

“You’re gonna stay at the apartment for a little?” you ask. 

“Mhm,” he says, fiddling with the heat until he gets it how he wants it. “Can I work on homework with you?”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I have so much shit to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said school is eating my life. Senior year sucks.”

Taehyung isn’t looking at you - he’s watching the road as he waits for an opening in traffic so he can pull out of the parking lot. But something crosses his face - relief, maybe. Something softens, anyway. Maybe he really had been hurt that you hadn’t been hanging out as much.

When you return to the apartment, Namjoon isn’t home - his door hangs open, his bedroom completely dark. 

You and Taehyung settle in the living room, dragging out your laptops. It’s nice, hanging out like this again. You hadn’t realized how long it had been - over a week - since it had been just the two of you, like old times. Everything falls right into place. You swap snacks, hands brushing as you both reach into crinkling chip bags. You reach over and type nonsense into his paper when he isn’t paying attention, letting out peals of laughter when he figures it out and starts spluttering at you in outrage. You tell him about the customer at the store who argued with you over - of all the stupid things - a used copy of The Odyssey. 

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose. 

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ahhhhh what do we think??!! there was hand holding!!!! are we clutching our pearls??!!!

as always thank you all so so so much for being here, i appreciate every one of you so extremely much!!!

[dangerehrenn]

do you have any friends to lovers type headcanons for steve-o or johnny? your headcanons are all very cute :)

thank you for your request!! i hope these are okay and you like them :) for this, the reader is part of the jackass crew

friends to lovers

johnny:

johnny was the first person you properly became friends with when you joined jackass

he always invited you to bars with the guys and always paid for you drinks

he still does

always volunteers you for stunts

and he doesn’t even do it to be a dick

if he thinks you’re gonna enjoy yourself

you’re gonna be volunteered for it

“y/n would love to do this one” “but dave already volunteered..” “oh well find him another one because y/ns doing this one”

he always goes to you for advice

“do you think i should stop doing stunts with bulls?”

as well as going to you for advice

he goes to you for comfort

and he quickly realised that, no one else comforts him the way you do

you guys will sit together

and it’ll end up him being laid in between your legs, your hand in his hair while you guys watch tv

he’ll turn around and just look at you

admiring you

then he’ll realise he’s been staring at you for quite a while

you’ll look down at him and raise an eyebrow

and he’ll just shake his head, looking back at the tv, blushing and smiling bc he got caught

lots of casual affection

forehead kisses

hugs when a stunt goes well

him picking you up and spinning you when you’re both really excited about something

he definitely makes the first move

but you wont even realise he’s made a move because of all the casual affection

poor dude has to literally grab your face, kiss you, and say

“y/n, i think i’m in love with you sweetheart”

i think you guys try and keep it a secret for as long as you can

because everyone’s so used to you guys flirting

they don’t realise it’s now something more

but when they do realise

they’re so relieved

“fucking finally dude” “they weren’t together before? i thought they were always dating…”

steveo:

has his arm around you all the time

i think it’s a comfort thing

and you come up in almost every conversation he has

“where’s y/n?” “did y/n see that?” “did you see the stunt y/n did? it was so sick”

he loves when you’re concerned for him, but also kinda feels bad

likes to hear from the guys “y/n was worried you were gonna break your neck, dude”

and he’ll go and see you and tease you for being worried about him

you’ll giggle and tell him to go away and his stomach will do flips

man is completely whipped for you

when you guys go on road trips he falls asleep on you because he trusts you

like he really, really trusts you

more than he trusts chris or johnny

you guys always have deep talks late at night on the roof of his apartment building

and this is where he confesses his feelings

“i uh, fuck babe i really like you” “i like you too steve” “no as like, more than friends” “yes steveo i like you too”

he was so nervous

he didn’t wanna mess up what you guys already have

but he didn’t mess it up, and you kiss him

and he’s so happy

he tells everyone when you guys get on set

no one is surprised you two are dating now

“we new it would happen sooner or later”

he’ll act shocked because he thought he kept his feelings concealed

he did not

probably will get a tattoo of your name somewhere

probably near his dick

“babe look what i got!” “steveo why did you get it there”

so protective

more protective than what he was when you guys were just friends

and he loves to correct people when they call you his friend

you find it hilarious because he’ll literally just talk over anyone who doesn’t call you his partner

he’ll do it regardless if he was talking to them or not

“steveos friend y/n-“ “my PARTNER y/n”

[becca-e-barnes]

what would y/ns favorite ways to tease dbf bucky be?

I actually love the thought of sending dbf!bucky pictures at the most inappropriate times 🤤

Bc I love imaging your dad and Bucky watching some big sports game together. This time, they just so happen to be watching it at your house. Things are going fine, maybe they ordered food, they’ve got a few beers in the fridge and their team takes the lead early in the first half so things couldn’t be better.

But then Bucky’s phone buzzes and he sees it’s a message from you. He doesn’t engage his brain before he opens the chat and that was his first mistake because if he’d paid more attention, he’d have noticed you’d sent a picture, not a message.

His breath catches in his throat when he sees that you sent a nice photo from the shoulders down. You’re in a tiny little lace lingerie set, your body barely encased in the delicate fabric and his mouth fucking waters. He knows you’re in your room, just a few steps away and you’re clearly feeling like you need a little attention.

So he shoots back a text that reads ‘Shit baby, don’t do this. Getting me hard already.’ He locks his phone quickly after sending the message, trying to focus on the game but a minute or two later, he gets another message, this time with a similar photo where your hand is gripping your own breast. You’ve written ‘But Daddy, I want to play.’ and it takes everything in him to stifle his moan.

This goes on for the next while and Bucky’s eyes are glued to his phone as the photos keep coming. The next one is you with your nipple between your fingers, followed by a cute ass pic, then a pic with no panties. The one that really gets him is the one you must’ve taken with the timer. You have three fingers stuffed in yourself with the caption ‘Making sure you’ll fit, Daddy. Don’t need any prep, you can slide right into me.’

It’s so wrong. He’s painfully hard for you and he’s right beside your father but as soon as the game reaches half time, he’s up like a shot to go to the “bathroom”. He must’ve got lost on the way there though because he finds himself in your room, giving you the most frantic fuck of his life.

“Holy shit, desperate little slutty pussy took three of your fingers and you’re still gripping me so damn tight. Hurry up and cum for me baby, I gotta get back to the game. Couldn’t fuckin’ help yourself. Just had to touch your little messy pussy and pretend it was me touching you. Don’t worry sweetheart, daddy’s gonna take real good care of you after the game but I need to feel you cum now. Just take the edge off, okay?”

[mithliya]

can you give me hope about finding lesbian love by telling me about how good your relationship is

okay!! sooo my gf and i originally met thru an online dating app and bc i was still living n bahrain n she’s living in germany, we couldn’t meet for the first 7 months that we were talking on. we got to a point where we were calling each other every day and being on call together for 24+ hours and falling asleep on the call too (keep in mind she was already working full-time back then),,, it was nice bc we rly got to know each other n understand each other which also helped build a trust. after 7 months, it was nearing my bday, and so she used the money she earned to buy a ticket and meet me on my bday. she flew all the way to bahrain and when i was walking up to her at the airport to pick her up, her first words were “ur shorter than i thought” (im somewhere around 168/169 cm and she’s 153 cm….) and it was the end of july,, she stayed w me in my room and we kissed not long after bc we were smoking together n i said “we basically just kissed!” and she said “not good enough. i want the real thing” and i said “ok u can have the real thing” so that was our first kiss. anyways like 2 days later we were laying in bed and we were talking n she said sth about wanting us to be official or sth or we were both implying it and so i asked her if she’s saying that she wants to be my gf & she said yes & she asked me the same thing n i said yes. then 4 days later it was my 24th bday and she and my sister were sneaking around so she can wrap the gift she bought for me n then we went out for dinner w my family (found out that night that my homophobic uncle has a crush on her lool and he then found out that she’s with me n was pissed at both of us -_-) anyways she then gives me this present lmao and she tells me she was scared she’d get jailed for it and i was like girl chill… ur not going to jail over silly wrapping paper.

some time later she insisted that we hire a lawyer bc i was being discriminated against by the german immigration people with my visa and she even paid for it at first!! anyways it helped me get my visa in the end bc their delaying and rejection was unlawful lol and i ended up moving to germany & living with her about 2 months after we became officially gfs. fast forward to a year later (together for over a year & living together for almost exactly a year), we’ve travelled around germany & to another european country together, developed a shared hobby in bouldering, seen our bouldering idols, adopted a kitty together, celebrated 4 of our birthdays together, she’s surprised me for my bday, and more. here’s a recent pic of our lil family (she was sleeping n i was a mess hence my face being censored)

idk what else to add but mentioned everything i could think of 🥺 you’ll be able to find someone im sure,,, it just takes time & patience cause the lesbian dating pool is tiny but if i, a lesbian that was living in bahrain (where the hetero dating pool is limited nvm the lesbian one), could somehow find another lesbian n we not only got along n have aligning views n are compatible but also ended up loving each other then i don’t see why it wouldn’t be possible for u. before this relationship i had only ever been in abusive or toxic relationships, i rly felt hopeless n like im gonna die alone but im rly glad i didn’t settle for someone or give up bc otherwise i wouldn’t have found her 🥰❣️

[versadies]

hi dan! how are you? congrats on 1k!! for the prompt event, can i request libra + kaeya + fluffy angst in which the reader realizes kaeya is their soulmate when he lies, on a very stressful day for both of them, about them never being a bother when they need a favor, so reader starts avoiding him bc they become unsure on how to act around him? either hc or drabble is fine. thank you so much! have a great day!

bothersome (hc scenario)

penpal: i'm doing fine (other than getting ready for school in a few weeks), hope this is to ur liking anon ! have a great day as well <<3

prompt: libra the scale, lie-tattoo soulmate au

pairing/s: kaeya x gn!reader

sypnosis: hc on how you avoiding kaeya after finding out he’s your soulmate.

includes: fluff/slight-angst, short fic, mentions of alcohol, reader overthinking, mentions of injuries

you need a drink. immediately.

when being assigned to a high class commission for the first time, you honestly thought things will go smoothly, even with reckless pallad tagging along.

but then the two of you came across to three ruin guards, causing you to be ditched by pallad and left you alone to deal with the three mechanics.

by the time you came back to mondstadt, you were filled with bandages covering your bruises and injuries littered all over your body, earning concerned stares from people as you pass by.

you could care less from the attention you received, all that was running through your mind is that you weren't able to complete a once-in-a-lifetime commission and missed your opportunity.

katheryne was more than happy to at least reward you for slaying the three ruin guards that was apparently a commission. despite getting paid by the end of the day, you were still disappointed.

as soon as you claimed your rewards from katheryne, you immediately took a visit to angel's share, hoping to find a certain man to chat with.

your eyes brightens when you spotted kaeya sitting on one of the stools in front of the counter.

"hey," you called, causing kaeya to look at you as he watches you sitting down beside him.

"rough day?" he asks with a teasing grin, gesturing your treated wounds. "how was it?"

you let out a sigh, quietly asking charles to give you your usual drink. "the commission? what can i say if i didn't do it at all?"

kaeya pats your shoulder reassuringly, taking a sip of his drink before putting it down. "care to entertain me with the details?" he asks.

"ruin guards." you said nonchalantly, thanking charles– who gave you your drink. "they all suddenly appeared and my partner ditched me."

he sighs dramatically in response. "what a coward."

you nodded in agreement. "indeed. what about you? got a rough day too?"

kaeya simply shrugs in response. "that's for you to not find out and for me to only know." he replied, swirling his drink around.

you stayed silent for a while, looking down at your glass with a blank look on your face.

now that you think about it, there was one certain commission with a generous reward that you could ask katheryne to let you do– not to mention the fact that with kaeya's help, you can definitely finish this commission in no time.

"say kaeya," you look at the calvary captain curiously, your eyes lands on his. "you don't mind if i ask you a favor, right?"

"are we going to bury or burn the body?" he asks jokingly.

he lets out a light laugh when he sees you rolling your eyes at his joke. "i'm merely jesting. you don't have to worry about being bothersome to me, you can always ask me for a favor."

you smile gratefully at your friend. "you have my thanks, kaeya."

as the both of you continue chatting the night away while enjoying your drink, you couldn't help but notice an itch in your covered arm, your hand constantly scratching on the bandage with irritation.

it wasn't until you removed the bandages the next day when you realized why it was itchy.

you were sure the words imprinted on your arm would haunt you for a while.

"you don't have to worry about being bothersome to me, you can always ask me for a favor."

you stared at the words on your arm for a while, unsure how to feel with your recent discovery. surely this was just a coincidence, right? but what if it wasn't–?

does this mean.. he finds you bothersome and annoying?

you frowned, your hands brushing against the tattoo whilst ignoring the pain from its touch. perhaps you should avoid him and not bother him unless necessary.

you let out a sigh, grabbing the new bandages you got from the cathedral and start wrapping it around your injuries, the thoughts about kaeya's true feelings about you never left your mind.

since then, you started avoiding areas where you know you'll encounter the man, whether it'd be angel's share, the knights of favonius headquarters, and even the entrance of mondstadt, deciding to go to the right entrance of the city and go to katheryne from there during the morning.

you were quite proud that you managed to get away from the calvary captain's sight, not minding the new change of routes and the hindrances you had to do in order to avoid kaeya like a plague.

this went on for a week. you no longer heard of the man and he the same. every time you see at least one glance of his familiar figure, you would immediately head to the opposite direction, ignoring him calling out your name should he notice your presence nearby. you're honestly grateful he didn't try to chase you.

even though you're okay with avoiding him, you couldn't stop your head from thinking about kaeya, wondering if he's now happy that you're no longer bothering him.

it didn't help that you've been debating with yourself on whether or not you should tell kaeya, a person who finds his own soulmate bothersome, that you're his soulmate.

deep down, you knew it was best to tell him, he deserves to know after all. besides, it's not like the world will end if you tell him, right?

you were simply walking around windwail highland– looking for certain items for a commission when you spotted him standing not too far away.

your breath hitches when you see him looking at you direction, spotting you right away. oh crap.

without another thought, you immediately turned away and started jogging to the opposite direction, praying to barbatos that kaeya isn't followin–

"my, i didn't know you'd be a slow runner." you felt your heart jump from kaeya's sudden voice, causing you to stop your tracks in surpirse when you see kaeya jogging alongside you and stopped as well.

he chuckles at your reaction, crossing his arms with a stilled-grin plastered on his face. "so now you're not running away from me anymore?"

you tried to walk away after those words, only for kaeya to suddenly grip your wrist and stop you from going anywhere.

"what do you want, kaeya?" you ask calmly, trying not to look at the man behind you as you stare at the direction ahead.

his grip on your wrist didn't falter. "care to tell me why you're suddenly avoiding me like i'm a plague? did i say something wrong?" he asks.

"it's not that."

you stayed silent, now unsure what to say. you knew that you'd expose yourself right away the moment you lie in front of his face.

you then sighed, looking down at the ground in defeat. it's now or never.

"am i... a bother to you, kaeya?" you questioned, scared of his response. will he lie again?

his grin faltered, taken back by surprise from your question. "what?"

you turn behind to look at kaeya, causing him to let go of your wrist. "i... i need you to be honest with me. am i a bother to you?"

you watched as kaeya stayed silent, looking at you with a serious look. "what made you think of such thing–?"

"remember when i asked you if you wouldn't mind me asking you a favor?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows. "do you remember what you said to me during that night?"

before kaeya could say anything, you slowly raise your arm to his eye level and lifted up your sleeves, showing him the exact words that he remembered saying on that night.

his grin completely disappeared.

"when i saw this the day after that, i had so many things to think about. i thought i should be happy that you're my soulmate– but why did... why did it had to be because of this lie?"

"y/n i–"

"i avoided you because i thought you think of me as a hindrance to you and i didn't.. i didn't want to bother you and your duty as the calvary captain." you explained, your shoulders slumped. "but i kept thinking if i told you that i'm your soulmate, you would've been disappo–"

your eyes widens when you felt his arms wrapping around you out of nowhere.

"i'm not disappointed that you're my soulmate, y/n." he said, hugging you in comfort. "if anything, i'm... relieved."

you furrowed your eyebrows. "what about... what about the favor? why did you lie–"

"i lied because it was a stressful day for me as well," he clarified. "yes, i did find favors bothersome at that time, but i never find you bothersome, so i had no choice but to say i'm okay with your favors because it's from you."

you felt yourself slowly relaxed when you didn't feel any itchy feeling around your body, letting out a sigh in relief as you continue to let kaeya hug you to his content.

"so does this mean.. you want me as your soulmate?" you ask hesitantly.

he smiles genuinely for the first time, holding onto you tighter and nodded.

"yes."

[kageyamatobiyogurt]

day 9: haikyuu boys when you get them the perfect present 🎁

a/n: not me pulling this out of my ass as fast as i can to post today.. on the bright side my finals are finally over UGH. also i hope y’all are alright with the characters i keep writing for,, the next two days after today go together so i’ll try to change it up a bit

back to event masterlist!

includes: atsumu, kuroo, tendou, ushijima, kenma

atsumu:

ugh it’s so cute to see him

you even downplayed it going, “i was a little unsure about this one ‘tsumu, but i hope you’ll still like it”

he paid no attention to that though, you could give him a rock and he’d treasure it purely because it came from from you

he sat across from you on the couch as you took the present from behind you

one if his legs kept bouncing because he was so excited lmao

he unties the ribbon you so gracefully tied before removing the lid of your gift box

you got him these new shoes he mentioned, telling you about the awesome grip they had on court and everything

you could see his expression quickly change to his handsome smile - the wide one that makes his cheeks round

“yer kidding,” he smiles, “y/n, ya didn’t!”

his eyes got so excited too lmao, quickly bouncing between you and the present in his hands

he’s taking it out of the box now, looking at the shoes in full glory

but then he places the shoes in his lap while he scoots over to you, placing his hand behind your neck to pepper your face with kisses

in between these kisses and your giggles he’s telling you, “i love ya,” *smooch* “so much,” *smooch* “darling”

kuroo:

he’s a bigger softie than he’ll admit

but you got him with something personal that you made

so no he can’t escape the emotions

so say you made him this scrapbook that’s been in the making since you two started dating

he unwraps the paper covering the book, a little confused as to what book he’s holding

“what’s this?” he asks softly, slowly turning the cover to see the first page

it has the first note he passed you in class asking for your number

then the next page has the ticket from your first date at the movies

he’s flipping through carefully as to not ruin anything you’ve glued or taped down

his eyes scan all the picture you printed out and wrote little notes on

next thing you know he’s wiping a tear PLS

“i love it, y/n” he says slowly (bc his voice is wavering)

then he gives you such a wobbly smile AWW that you can’t help but move closer to him

“aw, baby you don’t have to cry,” you chuckle

he just tugs your arm to make you fall onto him so he can engulf you in a tight hug

you guys stay and hold each other for a bit <3

tendou:

it’s always fun giving presents to him because he’s like a child with the way he gets so hyped for christmas

he’s extra bouncy when he’s about to get his present

you gotta remind him to sit down lmao

“satori i want you to close your eyes and hold out your hands,” you tell him

his eyes widen for a moment but he complies

“hmm i wonder what my lovely y/n prepared this year,” he hums

you place the small box in his hands and you see him feel the box

“okay so open it!” you encourage, watching his eyes flutter open in excitement

it’s small, but it’s this rare figurine from one of his favorite shows

he unwraps the gift fairly quickly and it’s a sight just to see his eyes light up

pls mans shot up from his seat so fast too

“y/n!” he exclaims, holding up the figures in his hands

“you like it?” you asked anyway, feeling yourself start to smile wider because of his antics

“i love it so much!” he continues, eyes flashing back to you

for a moment he puts it down, then motions for you to get up. “come here, babe”

as you get up he just pulls you into him so fast and engulfs you in this bear hug

he only pulls away slightly to look into your eyes (while his eyes have crinkles in their corners from smiling so much)

“thank you,” he tells you genuinely

he places the biggest smooch to you cheek, holding it there for an extra second before releasing with a, “muah! iloveyou”

kenma:

you knew not to expect a super big reaction

your boyfriend was just like that, calm and usually collected

but luckily for you, you overheard him mention this certain new thing he wanted to add to his pc

“here it is,” you announced, passing him a nicely wrapped gift

“thank you,” he replied softly, taking a moment to look at the wrapping

he ripped the wrapping gently, but you saw him speed it up when he saw the brand of the gift

“no way,” he murmured to no one in particular

in a flash, he was just holding the box of the item, eyes in awe

he had the cutest little smile plastered on his face as he turned it in his hands

he almost couldn’t believe it

what makes it all worth it is when he looks at you with this expression so soft and full of love

he opens his arms as a gesture to tell you to come into them and you two wind up cuddling on the couch

he just strokes your hair as he holds you ugh

what makes your heart leap is when he goes, “i didn’t know you could make me happier,” as he nuzzles into your neck

he murmurs another set of iloveyous into your neck ah

[islandofsages]

bloom.

summary: in which you take her to weinlesefest.

characters: xinyan x gn!reader

tags: relationship not specified ; mona, fischl and venti are mentioned ; canon compliant ; fluff ; hc format

warnings: none

author's notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BEST GIRL this is not. birthday-specific actually bc im planning to write a quick birthday fic later + this was in my drafts for a while lmao anyways let’s all celebrate this awesome day 🥳

FEM/FEM-ALIGNED DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

you expected her to decline your invite - you swear she doesn’t get paid enough to do her shows but ah, god bless her soul (and maybe he really will) she agrees to keep you company at the festival

when you two arrive there, she takes the time to breathe in the sweet air of mondstadt and lets out the biggest exhale - you suppose she misses mondstadt more than you thought

you can tell that she’s low-key searching for mona and fischl but they were nowhere to be found, to your disappointment, but you assure her that you’ll try your best to make the most out of this trip anyway

and plus, at least she got to see venti again! they end up sharing verses and rhymes over a few glasses of wine and obviously you are the sober friends who has to bring them home safely

she expresses the desire to perform a new song she wrote while she was chatting it up with venti but she’s anxious that people won’t like it (which is a bit unlike her, you admit) - and of course that’s where you come in

you tell her that it’s gonna be okay - that her musical prowess would even impress the anemo archon that he’d come home for a second time. and at your words, she smiles and nods confidently

so there she is, up on stage with her beloved lyre in her hands, ready to rock the world and blow everyone’s minds. maybe even the bards can learn a thing or two from her

when it’s time to return to liyue, she decides to stop by windrise, to your surprise. when asked, she only says it was where the lionfang knight vennessa had ascended to celestia - that’s what venti told her at least. you’re still confused

but then she hums a silent hymn with her eyes shut, as if to honor the gods of the land of freedom, to thank them for the wonderful experiences she gained whilst in a foreign land

you shut your eyes too, but instead of honoring the gods, you merely savor the warmth that had started to bloom within your heart when blessed by such a beautiful view.