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jazzthatonewriterchick · 7 months ago

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Bikini Body 👙 (Poly!KiriBakuMina x Fem!Chubby!Reader 18+ One Shot)

"So much for not coming out of that bikini."

Pairing: Kirishima Ejirou x Mina Ashido x Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Chubby!Reader

Synopsis: In which your boyfriends and girlfriend decide to show you just how good you look in your new bathing suit one hot summer day on the beach.

Warnings: Fluffy Smutty Smut; 18+; AgedUp!KiriMinaBaku; Poly Love; Oil Massages in Inappropriate Places; Tongue Kissing; Strip Tease; Ice Play; Fingering; Clit Stimulation; Masturbation; Daisy Chain; Double Blowjob; Mutual Oral; Doggystyle; Kissing While Fucking; Public Sex; Creampies; Aftercare Cuddling

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This is based off a request I did for someone last summer, but it was unfortunately flagged. I decided to revise it & add Bakugou’s fine ass because I can’t get enough of them poly relationships. Enjoy! -Jazz 💋💋💋

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“Kiri, honey, playing with my bikini isn’t gonna make me come out of it any quicker…or at all.”

“Why noooot?” Kirishima pouts as he lays on his back beside you, his abs deliciously coated in sun tan oil. His fingers toy with the ties on your bikini bottoms, his hand brushing against your thigh here and there.

“You too, Katsuki,” you critically say, giving the blonde a glare from behind you.

He glares despite his hand blantally laying on your ass while he sips his water bottle. “Tch! You’re hallucinating, you crazy girl.” His body, toned by years of training, is also shining with oil.

You’re currently reading and sitting on your stomach on the cushioned bed provided by the private cabana he, Kiri, and Mina rented for this particular beach trip. It’s big enough to house six people and comes with a bed, furniture, and silk curtains that provide privacy from the rest of the beach-goers and relief from the hot, blinding sun beyond.

“Because I’m not in the water,” you reply matter-of-factly. “And I’m not gettin’ a tan, so what’s the use of takin’ it off?”

You flip to the next page in your book, doing your best to ignore Kiri’s pouting and Bakugou’s childish glare. “You’re lucky I even decided to come out in this. You know I don’t exactly have a bikini body like Mina.”

“Who said what about me?” Mina asks, entering the cabana. She’s holding a plate of juicy-looking fruit in one hand and sun tan oil in the other. “Went back to the hotel to get some stuff. And I bought snacks!”

When she saunters into the cabana, you can't help but admire the body of your girlfriend–she’s all lean muscle with perky tits and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of; not an inch of fat anywhere that could disrupt the aesthetic of her gold string bikini that brings out the pink of her skin and curly hair.

Her body is the total opposite of yours and you are now hyper aware of it after Mina forced you to pick out a bikini while shopping for your couples’ beach trip. You are much bigger with extra fat layering your body. You come with thick thighs, large breasts that require a bikini top with bigger cups, jiggly arms, back rolls, and a soft, pudgy stomach that jiggles when you make even one move.

You’re chubby–that’s just a fact. Though you know that realistically it isn’t a big deal…but when the summertime hits, it’s a different story.

You’re nervous to wear certain clothes that would show off your body, like tight-hugging dresses that would show off your rolls and shorts due to your thighs constantly rubbing together. You’re so afraid of the looks and the words that you’d see in people’s mouths, criticizing your size. You barely have any bathing suits in your closet because of this.

But when you met Kiri, Bakugou, and Mina a couple months ago and started dating, they had no problem with your shape or size. In fact, they adored it. They always made a point to boost your confidence by giving you compliments on your outfits or touching you on a whim–Mina might wrap her arms around your waist; Kiri will pick you up and squeeze you tight; Bakugou might slap your ass just to hear you squeal.

And though you appreciate your efforts, they don’t quite meet the goal of making you feel more comfortable in your body. Especially out in public.

“Oh, look, baby!” Kiri cheerfully announces, smiling smugly at you. “Mina got sun tan oil! Now you have to take it off.” You peer down at him in his shark-printed swim trunks that don’t do much to hide what he’s packing. Toss in the washboard abs, big biceps, and tree trunk thighs, and Kiri is a walking, talking wet dream.

Bakugou is just as bad. He is as tall as his and your boyfriend Kiri with a body that fills out his orange swim trunks. You can’t help but ogle at his thick, muscular thighs and big pecs you’d like to motorboat.

You already know people often wonder how someone like you managed to bag someone like him, Kiri, and Mina–three rich, famous, sexy individuals.

“I’m not taking it off,” you sternly reply. “And that’s final. I don’t need any sun tan oil anyway.”

Bakugou scowls at you. “What, you tryin’ to burn?”

Mina scoffs, climbing up onto the bed after lowering the fruit on the table next to you with a pitcher of ice sit. “What?! Then you’ll be all sunburned! You need some color on this skin, babe, and the sun is the perfect way to do that.” She moves toward you, nuzzling her face into your neck. “C’mon; don’t you want our friends to know that you took a nice trip to the beach when we get back home?”

“They’ll know from the pictures,” you passively say, flushing at the scent of mangos in Mina’s hair and Kiri’s soft nibbles on your jiggly thigh. “You three go ahead and enjoy the sun though. I’m good here.”

“Nonsense!” Kiri scoffs, sitting up next to you now. “There will be plenty of time for the sun and water once we prepare for the sun rays.” He takes the sun tan oil from Mina, smirking at both of you girls. “And once I get my hands on you two. I can’t tell you how good you girls look in those bikinis.”

Bakugou shoots him a sharp look under his sunglasses. “Greedy bitch,” he growls. “I’m here too, y’know. I’ve already gotta share what’s mine, so why leave me out?”

Kiri pokes his pierced bottom lip out at the platinum blonde. “Aw, ‘Suki, I’m sorry,” he coos. “You look good in your bottoms too.” He moves in to give him a kiss, but Bakugou pegs a piece of watermelon at him, earning a laugh.

You flush at Kiri’s suggestive comment while Mina giggles. “Why, thank you, babe,” she coos, leaning over you to give Kiri a peck on the lips. “We wore ‘em just for two.” She pecks Bakugou on the lips too, much to his enjoyment.

“Didn’t we, Y/N?” She runs her fingers over the string holding up your bikini top behind your back, her glossy lips at your ear. “You sure you don’t want a rub down?” she purrs. “I could do it instead of the boys. You know I’m good with my hands.”

‘You all are,’ you think, her suggestive tone pouring warmth into your core that distracts you from your book.

With the three of them so close and in such a semi-private place, it’s making it hard to not do what they want. But the idea of flaunting your body in or out of your bikini, even to them, still scares you. “I’m good,” you say, giving her a reassured smile. "You three enjoy yourselves.”

Though your partners don’t look happy with that, they leave you be regardless and instead indulge themselves in the oil. “Want me to rub you down, baby?” Kiri asks Mina, the pet name making your stomach flip even though it isn’t even directed at you.

“Yes, please,” Mina giggles.

“Uh-uh,” Bakugou demands, snatching the oil away from Kiri. “We’ll both do it. You take the top, I take the bottom.” Mina giggles, poking at his stomach. “Nasty man,” she tuts.

At the corner of your eye, you watch as she lays down on her stomach between Bakugou’s legs with her head resting on her arms while Kiri kneels above her. He squirts some oil into his big hands and rubs them together before starting on her back. He unties her bikini top, revealing her toned back, before firmly rubbing the oil into her skin. He takes his time kneading the oil into her back muscles and spine, his fingers expertly working over her skin.

Bakugou does the same, warming the oil up between his calloused hands. He then begins to work on her waist, kneading the oil into her pink skin, before gliding down to her legs toned from her pro hero work. His hands then begin to trail up and down her sides, pushing into her side muscles, until they finally move to her glutes.

Her gorgeous, firm glutes that you can’t help but stare at.

As he does, he gives Mina’s taut ass a firm spank, making her squeal. “It’s your fault, Pinkie,” he chuckles. “How the fuck can I focus on oilin’ you up when that thing is in my face?”

He then unties Mina’s bottoms, leaving her completely naked. Suddenly, you’re not paying any attention to your book anymore, instead watching your men massage your girlfriend’s ass. Her moans of enjoyment are soft yet arousing. Kiri and Bakugou seem to be enjoying themselves too judging by the little smirk that plays on their lips.

After a few minutes, Bakugou flips her over, revealing her toned stomach and naked, perky breasts to you and them. You can’t quite see what lies below her belly button where a diamond stud lies, but knowing that she is totally nude is doing things to you.

Kiri begins to massage her feet and ankles first before moving up to her calves and thighs, his fingers pressing and pushing into her muscles. Bakugou does her neck and shoulders. After a few agonizing minutes of working less androgynous zones, he moves up to her stomach and chest. You watch the oil dribble down her skin and over her hardened, dark pink nipples. The sounds that drip from her lips are beautiful and they make you clench your thighs together.

Bakgou suddenly turns his head to look at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Like whatcha see, mama?” He teasingly asks. “Y’know, we could do this for you too. Just need to take this off.” His fingers toy with the ties to your bottoms.

You press your tight together, uncertain. “I-I don’t know…”

“Are you scared someone might see?” Kiri curiously asks, pausing his massage. “We rented a cabana with curtains for a reason! Plus, we’re just massaging you. Nothing nasty…yet.” You and Mina slap his chest, earning a hysterical laugh. “I kid, I kid!” he cackles, raising his hands in defense.

“I don’t,” Bakugou bluntly says. But he never does.

“I’m just afraid someone might see me,” you timidly explain. “I had a cover-up on when we arrived, but now…” You look through the cabana curtains billowing in the summer breeze, the scent of sea salt and sand in it. Your cover-up is somewhere in the beach bag you lugged here but you know it wouldn’t make sense to put it on now.

Mina lays a comforting hand on your knee, smiling reassuringly at you. “No one’s gonna see you, cutie. And even if they do, they should be lucky to get an eyeful of all of this.” Her other hand runs over your thigh, caressing it. You whimper slightly at her touch as well as the looks Kiri and Bakgou give you.

“Okay,” you acquiesced with a defeated sigh, “but only the top.” Bakgou looks pleased, Kiri sighs in relief, and Mina squeals happily. “Now, put that damn book down and get that fuckin’ top off!” Bakugou growls.

“Yes, sir!” Mina giggles, sitting up to help you despite her very-nude body. Anyone could walk by now and peek in to see her and that ass.

You flush embarrassingly as she helps you untie your bikini top. Once it loosens, the cups fall off your chest, letting your breasts hang freely. Though they’re not as perky as Mina’s and don’t sit up on your chest, your partners still stare at them as if they are the most gorgeous things in the world. You even start to believe that they are.

You and Mina switch spots so you’re lying on your back now, as rigid as a board even as Kiri begins to massage you.

You have to admit that his hands feel good as he massages your legs and stomach. Though you flush and squirm slightly at his hands caressing your body, you start to relax and melt into his touch. Combined with the tropical scent of the oil and the sound of the beach outside the cabana, you’re in heaven. Your eyes flutter closed and suddenly, you don’t even care that your tits are out in a public place. “Mmm…”

“Just relax, mama,” Kiri encourages, a proud smile in his voice. “Let me know if you want me to stop or if a certain spot hurts.”

You slowly nod, melting further into the bed as he continues to press his fingers into the muscles beneath the soft, pudgy skin of your lower body. You’re so relaxed that you barely feel Mina’s hands begin to massage your breasts. Your eyes open to find her smiling down at you. “W-What are you–“

“Just massaging you, cutie. Don’t want your chest lookin’ like a raisin by the end of today.” She gives you a cheeky wink as her hands work along your breasts; teasing them; molding them; massaging the oil into the tender skin surrounding your areolas.

You can’t hold back the pleasurable moans and sighs at the sensations you’re feeling from both of your partners’ hands. But when Mina begins to pinch and tweak your nipples, you know that things are going too far. “M-Mina,” you stammer. “You shouldn’t…we shouldn’t–“

“Time to flip over,” Kiri announces. “Lemme see dat ass.”

Mina tuts, rolling her eyes at your boyfriend’s ridiculousness. “So childish.” You do as he orders and flip over, revealing your naked back and ass still in your bikini bottoms.

“My turn,” Bakugou growls, shoving Kiri out the way. “You’re takin’ too long, shark boy.”

Though you’re burning with embarrassment, you can’t help but love the way your hotheaded boyfriend’s firm but careful hands massage up and down your back. You relax further into the bed as all of your cares melt away.

When his hands trail down to your ass cheeks and he begins to massage there, you just about jump out of your skin. He knows that’s your weak spot! You want to protest, tell him to move his hands up, but it just feels too good! You didn’t realize how relaxing an ass massage truly is until now. “Ah,” you softly moan.

Bakugou chuckles at your verbal expression of pleasure. “You like that, baby?” he asks. You nod into the mattress, your eyes fluttering closed. “Good. I’m glad your feelin’ good. Shark boy and Pinky ain't the only ones who are good with their hands.”

Above you, Mina giggles. “Oh, we would know.”

You then suddenly feel her lips at your ear as her hands begin to caress your back, massaging your shoulders and neck. “You look so cute like this,” she murmurs. "So relaxed and comfortable. You and your body deserve to feel like this every single day.” Her words are oh-so sweet and they make you feel hotter than the sun under her and Bakugou’s hands.

You’re gone, drifting off into a realm of euphoria. You’re so relaxed that you barely feel Bakugou’s hands begin to wedge between your thighs. When you do, you’re too relaxed to stop him, your body like jell-O. All you can do is give a whine of protest as you feel his fingers brush your bikini-covered pussy.

“You feel tense here too, baby,” he coos. "Don’t worry; I know just the trick.”

He then begins to rub you through your bottoms, slowly stroking his fingers over your pussy. He takes his time, never going under your bottoms until he has your permission. “Fuck, ‘Suki,” you moan. “P-Please…keep going.” You lift your hips to give him more access, flushing when he, Kiri, and Mina begin to laugh at your neediness.

He slowly unties the strings holding your bikini bottoms up and when the summer breeze hits your skin, you softly sigh. You hate to admit how nice it feels to be naked.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Kiri groans from behind you. “And so wet. I bet that massage did the trick, didn’t it?”

Without receiving an answer, he begins to kiss your asscheeks while Bakugou begins to stroke your pussy, his fingers gliding across your slit and the underside of your sensitive little clit that has seemed to become more sensitive from the constant physical stimulation your body feels.

Your eyes flutter closed and your mouth forms the shape of an O as sparks of pleasure shoot from your clit into every part of your body. You know that you should stop. You know that anyone could look in and clearly find Bakugou playing with your pussy right now.

‘But this counts as a massage, right?’ You deliriously think. ‘He’s rubbing oil onto me.’ And he is. The oil staining his fingers makes your pussy nice and slick, making his ministrations that easier to do to you.

A soft moan makes you open your eyes, finding Mina above you with her legs spread. She’s leaning back against the pillows, running an ice cube up and down her stomach and chest. Your eyes catch each droplet that cascades down her soft, pink skin and across her hard nipples.

“Don’t worry about me, cutie,” she giggles. "Just felt kinda hot seein’ you and our boyfriends like that.” She then brings the ice cube to her mouth and sucks on it, causing water to dribble down her mouth and chin.

Your mouth becomes dry, suddenly parched for her. “You want a taste?” she teasingly asks, popping the cube in her mouth. You wordlessly rise onto your hands and knees to reach her and lean forward to press your lips to yours. Her lips are cold and wet but soft; intoxicatingly so.

Small moans leave your mouths as you kiss, tongues beginning to swirl with one another. The ice cube melts between your lips at the heat of your mouths and tongues, causing more water to dribble down your chins.

From behind you, Kiri groans in arousal. “Oh, now this is a sight,” he sighs.

Bakugou hums in agreement. “And a perfect angle.” As you continue to kiss Mina, you suddenly feel Bakugou’s face in your pussy where his tongue begins to caress every sensitive bit of it. “Bakugou!” you whine as his hands begin to massage your ass.

Kiri laughs, watching your boyfriend slurp at your cunt. “Y-You did that on purpose!” you whimper to Mina who deviously smiles at you.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she snickers. “But doesn’t his mouth feel so good on that pussy?”

As if to prove her point, Bakugou suckles gently on your clit, emitting a strangled moan from your lips. Mina giggles as she leans back, watching the show before her as her hand sneaks down between her thighs. “So much for not coming out of that bikini.”

You can concur. You were so adamant about not coming out of your bathing suit before. Now you’re completely nude with your man’s face in your pussy and your woman playing with herself in front of you as she indulges in your naked body.

Kiri shimmies up to Mina, standing up on his knees. “Your other partner needs some attention too, darlin’,” he says, suggestively jutting his hips towards Mina’s mouth.

She giggles sexily, using one hand to pull Kiri’s trunks down. His hard cock, pierced at the tip, springs to life, much to the delight of you and Mina. “Wanna get it wet for me?” He asks, smirking playfully at her. Wordlessly, she licks up, down, and around his shaft like it’s a big, juicy lollipop and begins sucking.

Kiri’s tilts his head back, his long, red locks cascading down his back and shoulders while Mina sucks him off, her fingers rubbing her pussy. Bakugou hums into your cunt, giving your ass a smack. You’re receiving both types of stimulation right now: visual and physical. It’s almost too much for you to bear.

Before you know it, minutes later, you’ve got your face planted in Mina’s pussy while Bakugou continues to mouth yours, your tongue stroking her inner walls. Meanwhile, she’s still sucking off Kiri, earning delicious, rasped moans and whines out of him.

Mina clenches her thighs around you and grinds her hips up into your mouth, her mellifluous moans filling the space of the cabana among the sound of the crashing waves and cawing seagulls.

She pulls away from Kiri, letting his cock slip out of her mouth. “God, yes!” she whines, her head thrown back against the pillows. “Such a good girl for me. You look so pretty like that.” Her one hand moves through your hair while the other lazily toys with Kiri’s cock, pumping it up and down.

Kiri hums, hands watching you and Bakugou at the same time. “She definitely does,” he agrees. “Toss your ass into his face, baby. You know he can take it.” He leans forward to smack your ass, making your pussy throb in Bakugou’s mouth.

As if agreeing, the blonde growls against your clit, sending vibrations throughout your body. And you do, unable to hold back anymore as his tongue strokes every sensitive bit of your pussy from the inside, his fingers still toying with your clit while you play with Mina’s.

Probably for anyone else, oral would be a simple way to get off in such a public place where you could possibly get caught. But not for you. As you get closer to cumming around Bakugou’s tongue, you beg him to stop and to fuck you instead. “I need you inside me,” you whine, shamelessly pushing yourself back into him. “Please! I’m begging you!”

It doesn't take long for you to turn into a needy, helpless slut in need of attention, and your partners know that.

So Bakugou wastes no time untying his trunks to free his throbbing, hard cock to you and finally sinking into the wet, velvet walls of your pussy that instantly clench around him. Kiri does the same to Mina, bending her over on all fours and sliding himself inside of her. You watch her reaction as Kiri finally slides home inside her just as Bakugou does to you, her pink lips falling open as a gasp exits her mouth.

Both of your boyfriends rock their hips into you and Mina almost immediately, their balls swinging against your clits. It’s making you see the entire galaxy behind your eyelids, feeling Bakugou’s heavy balls gently slap your rosebud. You can’t keep quiet, moans and gasps escaping you.

“God, you’re tight!” Bakugou grunts, gripping your hips for dear life. “Bet you needed this, hm? You wanted us to show you just how pretty you are in and out of that damn bikini, huh?”

He lifts one leg up and proceeds to beat your pussy all the way up, his dick stroking your inner walls until your tits are jiggling and the bed is rocking with every single thrust.

“You know you’re a pretty girl,” Kiri groans, reaching forward to stroke your lips while he continues to fuck Mina’s pretty, pink pussy. “You know that, right, mama?”

You whine in response as Bakugou rocks his hips back and forth, propelling you into that state of euphoria until you can hardly breathe.

“So cute!” Mina whines, her brows furrowed and her jaw dropped in pleasure. Her tits and ass are bouncing as Kiri pistons himself into her from behind. “Need you,” she whimpers. “Kiss me, baby.”

You lean in, connecting your lips in a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss that makes Kiri and Bakugou groan in pleasure watching their two girls sloppily kiss each other while getting fucked. “Goddamn, you two are so slutty,” Bakugou growls. “Only we can see you like this.” With one hand, he grips one of your heavy tits, massaging it. “You hear that, baby girl? You understand me?”

“I don’t think this is enough, Bakugou,” Kiri teasingly says. “I think she may need more after this.”

From behind you, Bakugou laughs but it sounds more like an evil cackle. “Like I was gonna stop here,” he huffs. “I still need to make you cum, and we’re not leavin’ here until you two are seein’ fuckin’ stars.”

“Same here,” Kiri replies, mirth and a challenge twinkling in his crimson eyes. “Let’s see who can make these cuties cum the quickest.” Bakugou smirks, up for the challenge.

Both of them are men of their words. After fucking your and Mina’s brains out to the point where you’re cumming all over Bakugou’s dick and screaming into a pillow to avoid gaining unwanted attention from beach-goers, you switch with her. You spread your thick thighs open and let Kiri fuck you on your back while she toots her ass up for Bakugou who fucks her into oblivion, his abs and body glinting in sweat and sun tan oil.

The sight of it is too much and you find yourself cumming again all over Kiri’s cock as Mina coaxes you to orgasm with her words. “You’re so pretty,” she babbles, her face hovering over yours while Bakugou fucks her from behind. “So pretty when you cum on that dick, babe.”

And that isn’t even the best part.

Even after Kiri maes you explode all over his cock and you greedily swallow every ounce of his cum when he fucks your pretty face, making your cheeks look full.

Even after you watch Bakugou cum deep inside of Mina and makes her clean it up, her tongue greedily licking up and down his dripping cock.

Even when Kiri strokes your hair and whispers compliments to you, telling you, “God, you’re so pretty. So hot when you take our cocks. You deserve all of this…all of our cum…”

Even after both he and Bakugou make you kneel before them and feed you their cocks again, bringing them to orgasm again while Mina eats your pussy from behind, giggling as you quiver and let out a third orgasm.

The best part to end the day is when you’re finally snuggled between your three partners as you lie spent and exhausted from the activities, nearly passing out on the bed as the mid-afternoon sun glints along the water.

You lay your head on Kiri’s hard chest, breathing in his scent of sunscreen, mangos, and sea salt as he strokes your hair. Mina lies between you and Bakugou, her front pressed against your back, and her fingers caressing your thighs and sides while Bakugou spoons her.

“Rest now, baby,” he coos to you. “And do it now because when we get back to the hotel, you ain’t sleepin’ at all.”

The devious giggles Mina and Kiri let out are enough to make you sleep with one eye open.

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #my fic shit #bnha smut #bakugou x fem!reader #kirishima x fem!reader #mina x fem!reader #poly kiribaku #mina x kirishima #mina x bakugou #polyyyy

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ahqkas · 1 month ago

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More jealousy dick Grayson (while he’s crushing on reader) please! Doctor says I need it to live!

♯BABY, I’M A GANGSTER TOO AND IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO ( dick grayson jealousy headcanons ! )

DICK GRAYSON has always been the person who lights up a room just by walking into it. his natural charm, coupled with his extroverted nature, makes him approachable to nearly everyone. he knows how to make people feel valued, and that often leads to strangers and friends alike surrounding around him. however, when it comes to you—his secret crush—it’s a completely different story. around you, dick’s usual smoothness is replaced by a quiet awkwardness, as if his brain and heart are constantly at war. he doesn’t just want to charm you; he wants you to see him as someone worth trusting, loving, and choosing.

he never realized how deep his feelings for you ran until he saw someone else making you laugh ( let’s take wally west for example ) . it’s a subtle thing at first: the tightening of his jaw, the way his easygoing smile falters just a little. you might not notice it, but to anyone who knows him well, it’s obvious. he watches the way your eyes light up, the way you lean toward his ginger best friend—tiny details he’s memorized about you—and it feels like a punch to the gut. he tries to brush it off, telling himself he’s being ridiculous about the situation. you’re not his to feel possessive over. but he can’t help himself

being as self-aware as he is, dick tries to bury his jealousy beneath layers of complications. he’ll suddenly insert himself into the conversation, his tone a little too casual, his laugh just a bit too loud. if the other person ( wally ) is flirting, dick turns up his own charm tenfold—not in a malicious way, but as if he can’t help but try to outshine him. he’ll rest his arm on the back of your chair or find small excuses to touch your hand or shoulder, subtle enough that it could pass as friendly but lingering just long enough to feel intentional. it’s his way of silently reminding you—and himself—that he’s there

on the inside, he’s a mess. his mind races with thoughts he hates admitting to himself. why does it bother me so much? it’s not like we’re together. maybe they’re just friends. but what if they’re not? what if i’ve waited too long? he’ll pretty much beat himself up for feeling jealous, calling himself selfish or petty. dick has always prided himself on being level-headed, but when it comes to you, his emotions have a mind of their own. he wonders if you’ve noticed how he stiffens when certain people are around you or how his jokes become a little sharper when he’s trying to deflect

even when he tries to play it cool, his body language often betrays his jealousy. his broad shoulders tense ever so slightly, his fingers twitch as if itching to intervene, and his jaw tightens in a way that makes the muscle stand out. if you’re talking to someone he perceives as a threat, his eyes are always on you, flicking between your face and theirs, analyzing every single expression. the intensity of his gaze can feel like a heatwave, especially if you glance over and find him staring. he’ll quickly look away, pretending to focus on anything else, but his ears burn bright red with the embarrassment of almost being caught

the first time you say something like, “were you jealous?” dick stammers, his face turning bright red as he tries to deny it. “jealous? me? no, i just . . . thought he was annoying.” but the way he avoids your gaze and rubs the back of his neck gives him away. if you decide to press further, he’ll eventually admit it, though his confession comes with a sheepish grin. “okay, fine, maybe i was jealous. but can you blame me?”

you probably should consider giving this man a break from the constant overthinking he does !!

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heeology · 1 year ago

Text

god, you're annoying | l.hs

synopsis → ever since you and heeseung have come into each others' lives, he has been asking you out and flirting with you nonstop. for years, the cycle of him confessing his feelings to you and you rejecting every single one of his advances seems as though it has gone on forever. being fed up, you develop a plan to pretend as though you already have a boyfriend (spoiler alert: it doesn’t end well). after years of continuously trying to get heeseung off of your radar, you just can’t seem to get rid of him and suddenly (to your surprise), you find yourself not being bothered as much by his presence.

feat. → yeonjun (txt), yunjin (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), minjeong (aespa), jake (enhypen), sunghoon (enhypen), jay (enhypen)

genre → university AU, enemies to lovers, romance, smut

pairing → nonidol!heeseung x fem!reader

warnings → MDNI, kinda long but bear w me pls

w.c. → 9k

disclaimer!! → any other idols mentioned in this story (that I portray are dating) i do not ship irl; this story is a work of fiction a.k.a. something derived from my delusions and imagination, take this story lightly pls and thx.

!!DO NOT COPY OR REPOST!!

Everyday you walk onto campus and make sure you avoid eye contact with a “certain someone” and even though the outcome always remains the same, you still hope that one day it will actually make a difference. Unfortunately for you, on your campus, there is only one way to get to your morning class which makes this “certain someone” rather happy to know that you practically have to see him everyday. Although you try your best, he never fails to call out your name, even if you try hiding behind other people; he can spot you from a mile away. This, you find to be annoying. He, however, looks forward to this moment every day because what other reason is there to get up early in the morning if it means he doesn’t get to see you?

You hear him call after you as you try to quickly make your way to your first class which, luckily for you, does not include him. You can hear his footsteps hurrying towards you making you break out into a light jog to your classroom door that is just ahead. You reach for the door handle and open it just enough to let yourself in and as you are about to close it behind you, a hand from the other side stops you, forcing it back open enough for you to be face-to-face with the one and only bane of your existence: Lee Heeseung.

He gives you a cocky smile receiving an eye roll from you as you can already hear his irritating voice begin to say a bunch of sentences and words that you couldn’t care any less about because you couldn’t care any less about him. Heeseung is fully aware about how you feel about him and although some most of his actions are–-yes, he’ll admit–-advertently creepy, he means no harm. You, of course, don’t see it that way, but that doesn’t stop him.

“You didn’t hear me calling your name?” he asks, knowing that you did and also knowing that you ignored him, but he just wants to hear any snarky reply you have because that’s the only time when you actually acknowledge his presence.

“Nope, must’ve missed it.” you say in a fake sympathetic tone.

He lets out a “hmm” and you mock him. He smirks, leaning a little closer to you. You would move away, but then you figured he might take that as his chance to open the door more, so you decide to stay put.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner with me. There is this restaurant that my family and I only go to on special occasions and I think you’ll really like it.”

There it is, him asking you to the same stupid restaurant that you have said no to many (and you mean many) times before. You know what restaurant he is talking about, some way overpriced place that only really rich people go to. You clenched your jaw as your hand gripped the edge of the door a little tighter. He smiled at you, which you thought was him being smug, but rather it was him anticipating your answer. He meant what he said and he just wants to be given a chance to show you how much he likes you.

Him asking you out to this restaurant, always offering to buy your lunch, pay for your snacks, or buy you some other object just felt as him rubbing his money in your face, making all of his attempts seem as though they are a joke; that you are a joke. Ever since middle school, when you and Heeseung had first met, he made his “crush” on you apparent, which all of the other kids found to be funny and ridiculous. You know he doesn’t actually like you and you hate him for still acting like this even though you both are now grown adults and not eleven year old children who still ride in the car with their parent on their way to school everyday.

“Well, if you think I’ll like it, then I’ll surely hate it.” you reply.

“You’re only saying that be-”

“No, Heeseung, I will not go out with you and for the last time: stop bothering me.” you say sternly.

You scowl at him and he can’t help but find you to be adorable. He knows you’re annoyed by him, but there isn’t anyone else he would rather spend his time with other than you, even if his only way to spend time with you is by pestering you constantly.

“I’m just going to ask you again tomorrow.” he says with a smile.

You knew he wasn’t joking about that and that made your blood begin to boil. You hated having to be bothered by him, you hated feeling like a joke, you hated seeing his stupid face everyday, and you hated how it seems like he doesn't even care. You have to put a stop to this, you simply can’t take it anymore. But how? You’ve tried everything, what other way could there possibly be? Then it clicked. You stood up straighter, looking him directly in his eyes. He found himself a little taken aback by your sudden eye contact, but didn’t want to show it; to show how you make him flustered and blush just by simply looking at him.

“Heeseung, I have a boyfriend.” you say, trying not to smile.

You don’t know how you didn’t think of this before, but you’re overjoyed that the idea finally came. His smile drops–for a split second–as he felt the wind practically get knocked out of him like someone had just suckerpunched him in the gut. You were bluffing, you had to be…right?

“Pfft, I don’t believe you.” he says, letting go of the door, only to cross his arms and lean against the doorframe.

You feel your face become hot as you stand your ground, “And what exactly makes you say that?”

“I’ve never seen you with your “boyfriend”.” he says, making air quotes.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

“Well it surely doesn’t mean that you do.”

“I know you stalk me because you have nothing better to do with your life, but that doesn’t mean you know what I do every second of the day.”

He shrugs his shoulders, not buying a word that you are saying. He keeps telling himself that you are lying, but what if that small percentage of possibility actually means you are telling the truth? He doesn’t want to think about that, he has to believe that you are lying.

“Okay, what’s his name, then?” he asks, confident that you won’t have an answer.

Shit. How do you answer that? You try not to show your worry in your expression and quickly try to come up with an answer. You open your mouth to speak, hoping the words that do end up coming out make sense.

“Yeonjun.” you reply.

Well, you said a name and that’s all that counts. Sure, it’s the name of your best friend’s boyfriend, but she won’t mind if you use him for a lie…right? Now it’s Heeseung’s turn for him to clench his jaw. He scoffs, rolling his eyes before looking back at you.

“Then how come I’ve never seen you with him on campus?”

“Because he goes to another school, idiot.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Through my best friend; they go to school together.”

You could see him become more annoyed with your answers as you tried to say them with as much confidence as possible.

“I still don’t believe you.” he says, less certain of what he is saying than before.

You’re so close and you know it, you just need to say something that will make him back-off once and for all.

“I’ll have him bring me to school tomorrow.” you said, now being the one to cross your arms as you smiled smugly.

Heeseung felt his blood run cold, terror now coursing through his veins. Were you actually telling the truth? He didn’t want to see you with some other guy, most definitely not someone who you are claiming to be your boyfriend. The thought made him both upset and annoyed. What do they have that he doesn’t? He’s the one who has been trying to show how much he likes you for years now and some rando comes in and sweeps you off of your feet? Over his dead body.

“Okay,” he says while standing up from leaning on the door, “I can’t wait to see you and a bunch of air walk into school tomorrow.”

“You still think I’m lying?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looking away before looking back at you.

“I just find it hard to believe.”

“That I have a boyfriend?”

“You could say that.”

Man, you couldn’t wait to prove him wrong (even though he is technically right). You fake laugh at his reply and stop as you grab his hand. He feels butterflies erupt in his stomach from your sudden contact and is so distracted that he isn’t even paying attention to what you are doing, which is putting his hand on the door frame. You plaster on a fake smile before quickly swinging the door shut. He snaps out of his daze and moves his hand out of the way just in time before it could have been smashed by the door.

Beomgyu didn’t think to even hold back his laughter once the words left your mouth and although the music in the club was blaring through the speakers, you could still hear his piercing voice. The others, however, were a little more surprised to hear what you had said, especially Yunjin and Yeonjun. You had a guilty smile on your face as you exchanged glances between the two and then Yeonjun scoffed. He raised his glass in a ‘cheers’ manner and Yunjin slapped his shoulder.

“It’s honestly not that bad of a plan,” Minjeong says, trying to defuse the tension, “Yunjin, you know better than any of us here how badly this guy bothers her.”

Yunjin sighs before she chugs the rest of her drink from her cup. “You can borrow my boyfriend on one condition: it doesn’t go too far.” She says, pointing between you and Yeonjun.

You both look at each other and cringe. Yeonjun puts his arm around Yunjin and she smiles. He kisses her temple, “As if that would ever happen.”

“So how exactly are you going to convince him?” Yunjin asks.

You chug the rest of your drink, wincing as the alcohol burns your throat. “Is it cool if Yeonjun takes me to school tomorrow? I was thinking all he has to do is walk me to my class and just essentially tell Heeseung to back off.”

“He’s not going to do it unless he believes it.” Beomgyu points out as he leans back into the booth.

“He’s right, him walking you into school isn’t going to be enough to convince him; he sounds persistent.” Minjeong agrees.

“The most he is allowed to do is kiss you on the cheek to make it believable, but that’s it.” Yunjin says looking at Yeonjun to make sure he understands.

“I don’t get a say in whether or not I agree to this?” Yeonjun asks, looking at everyone, but landing on you.

“No.” the rest of you say in unison.

He laughs before finishing his drink. “Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”

Even as Yeonjun pulls his motorcycle to a stop in front of your campus, he can still feel your fingernails practically digging into his stomach.

He lifts up the visor on his helmet, “Can you please stop trying to claw your way into my intestines?”

You let go of him all together and he lets out the breath that he has been holding in.

“Sorry.” you say, it sounding muffled under the helmet. He smiles, taking off his helmet after getting off the bike. He sets his helmet down and holds out his hand for you to take. You take it, him helping you off, before he helps you take off the helmet. “Thanks.” you say and he shrugs his shoulders as a reply.

He glances over his shoulder, noticing people looking at him and you, whispering. “So, which one is the stalker?” he asks, trying to be discreet.

You turn your head to look, not seeing Heeseung anywhere, oddly enough. You scoff, “The one day he isn’t here is the day that you bring me.” you roll your eyes and Yeonjun shrugs.

“Well, see you later.”

“Woah-wait. I still need you to walk me.” you say, grabbing one of his shoulders to stop him from leaving.

“What? Why? You just said he isn’t here.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need reinforcements.”

Yeonjun groans, but turns back around to face your campus. You clear your throat before reaching to hold his hand. You intertwine your fingers, looking at each other through the corners of your eyes, confirming that you’re ready to go. You walk hesitantly at first, but the further you get, Yeonjun releases his hand from yours to put his arm around you. Low and behold, once you made your way to the front of your class, Heeseung was there waiting right beside the door.

He, of course, hadn’t been there the whole time. He was pacing back and forth in the bathroom before working up the courage to actually make his way to your class, a part of him hoping he had just missed you so he wouldn’t actually have to see you with someone else. Yet there you are, walking up to him (well, your class), with some dude who looked like he was trying too hard to be cool with his arm around you. He felt sick and the closer you came, the more he felt like vomiting.

You smiled, stopping in front of your class door with Yeonjun.

“Oh Heeseung, you’re actually here, I thought you chickened out.”

He smiles, annoyed. His gaze shifts over to Yeonjun and Yeonjun smirks.

“So this is Heeseung?” He asks, eyeing him up and down.

Heeseung pokes his tongue in the side of his cheek. He looks back at Yeonjun and eyes him up and down before crossing his arms. Although he currently feels sick to his stomach, he’s still a little suspicious.

“Am I supposed to believe you’re her boyfriend?”

Yeonjun scoffs, crossing his arms, “You can believe what you want,” he steps closer to Heeseung, leaning close to his ear making Heeseung tense up, “but you better stop messing with her regardless.”

He pulls back, smiling at Heeseung and patting one of his shoulders. Heeseung scowls, wiping off his shoulder as Yeonjun turns to you. You smile at him, ignoring Heeseungs glares.

“Have a good day, babe.” he says before kissing you on your cheek. He glances back over his shoulder before snickering at Heeseung and walking away.

You smile proudly at Heeseung while he looks at you in complete and utter shock. Did he just see what he think he just saw? He couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to believe it.

“Well,” you say, making him snap out of his thoughts, “you heard him: stop bothering me.” you say before going into your class.

“I heard from some people that he has a motorcycle and he brought her on it today.” Jake says while taking some food off of Sunghoon’s tray, earning a glare from him.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, clenching his fork harder in his hand. “I don’t get it, he’s not even her type.”

Sunghoon laughs and Heeseung scowls at him. “How would you know? You’re not exactly close with her.”

“I think it’s time for you to just leave her alone, you’ve been bugging her since we were kids.” Jay comments.

Heeseung goes quiet. Should he give up? He reminisces about the time he first saw you, laughing with your friend, and the only thing he could think about was how pretty you look when you smile. He isn’t the type to hide how he feels and he thought you would be pleasantly surprised by how open he is about how he feels about you, but when you rejected him after he bought you your favorite drink, he was confused. He didn’t want to give up, though, because all he wanted was to be able to make you laugh just like when he first saw you.

“Jay’s right, the joke has gone on for long enough.” Jake adds.

Heeseung looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Joke? What are you talking about?”

Before Jake can answer, a girl walks up and takes a seat in one of the open chairs at the table. Everyone’s eyes go to her as she smiles.

“Hi,” she says shyly, “Heeseung, can I speak with you privately?”

“No, thanks.” he replies, continuing to eat his food.

Jake tries to suppress his laugh and Jay kicks him from under the table. Jake’s smile falls as he kicks Jay back.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” Jay warns.

“You started it.” Jake mumbles.

“Well, I was just wondering,” everyone looks back at the girl, momentarily forgetting she was even there, “if you would like to get coffee with me after school.” she says, moving some of her hair behind her ear.

“No, thanks.” Heeseung says in the same uninterested tone as before, not bothering to spare her another glance as he continues eating.

She sits there, a little taken aback as an awkward silence settles. Sunghoon clears his throat before taking another bite of his food. The girl stands up and walks away, not bothering to push back in the chair; Jay and Jake watch her as she leaves.

“She was cute, why did you say no?” Jake asks.

“We know why.” Jay says, drinking some of his water.

“You’ve been turning down every girl that asks you out for years, don’t you want to at least try and date someone?” Jake asks.

Heeseung groans and sets down his fork. “What’s the point? No one else is worth the time.”

“You all should have seen his face.” Yeonjun beams as you and your friend group continue roaming throughout the mall.

“So, it worked?” Minjeong questioned and you nodded your head happily.

“I didn’t see him for the rest of the day and he didn’t say anything else once Yeonjun left.” you replied happily.

“And there was nothing more than a kiss on the cheek?” Yunjin questioned.

“Of course.” Yeonjun says, kissing her quickly.

You and the others groan as they both just smile at each other.

“Oh!” Minjeong says, grabbing your hand. You look at her and then the store she was looking at, “They finally restocked the perfume I was telling you about.”

“I can’t afford that.”

She rolls her eyes, “You can’t, but I can, now come on.” she says, pulling you with her.

“I’d rather not be stuck with you two sickos, so I’m going to go with them.” Beomgyu states to Yunjin and Yeonjun before heading off to follow you and Minjeong.

Yeonjun grimaces and mocks Beomgyu as he walks off and Yunjin laughs.

As much as Heeseung would rather have gone home straight after classes than come to the mall to help Jake pick out a new keyboard, he came anyway due to his friend’s consistent pestering.

“You’re paying me back for gas money, I hope you know that.” Heeseung mumbles.

Jake scoffs, “You’re richer than I am, besides, friends carpool other friends.” Heeseung rolls his eyes as he and Jake make their way to the store. Heeseung opens his mouth to say something, but is caught off guard by loud giggling coming across from where he and Jake are. Both of them look in the direction of where the noise is coming from to see Yeonjun and Yunjin laughing, her hitting his shoulder playfully and him scattering kisses on her face. Heeseung stops dead in his tracks. Jake stops walking and looks between Heeseung and the couple. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Heeseung could feel anger surging through his body. Isn’t that guy your boyfriend? Why was he so publicly flirting with this other girl? Is he cheating on you? Unknown to him, Heeseung was walking towards the two, blinded by rage. Jake tries to call after him, but it just sounded like static to Heeseung. Jake rushes to catch up to him, trying to figure out what he was going to do and why he was even doing something in the first place. Heeseung stands in front of Yeonjun, making both Yeonjun and Yunjin turn their attention towards him.

“Shit.” Yeonjun mumbles.

Heeseung didn’t have the patience to ask any questions, he knew he was right in the first place. This guy had some nerve to hurt you like this, so before anyone had another chance to say a word, Heeseung clenched his hand into a fist and punched Yeonjun in the face.

“What the hell!?” Yunjin exclaims, grabbing onto Yeonjun’s arm as he falls to the ground.

Heeseung didn’t pay any attention to the throbbing pain from his hand and raises his fist to punch him again, but Jake stops him. Yeonjun touches his face, blood dripping from his nose as he looks up at Heeseung, clenching his jaw in anger.

“You son of a b-”

“Don’t start with that, you’re the one cheating.”

Yunjin scoffs and stands up to slap Heeseung. “You have some nerve to punch my boyfriend, asshole.”

“What the hell is going on?” Beomgyu questions as you, him, and Minjeong come out from the store.

You look around to see the chaos that has ensued as well as people starting to crowd around all of you.

“This idiot punched my boyfriend because he thinks he’s cheating on you.” Yunjin says shooting you a glare as she helps Yeonjun off of the floor.

“You did what?” you turn to Heeseung.

“Isn’t he your boyfriend? Why aren’t you upset that he’s cheating on you?” Heeseung asks, confused and starting to feel the pain from his hand as the adrenaline and anger start to subside.

You open your mouth to say something, but Yunjin interrupts you. “Maybe because he isn’t actually her boyfriend.”

Heeseung looks between you and her, confused.

“Bu-”

“They only pretended to be dating because she wanted you to back off.” Yunjin seethed.

Heeseung wasn’t sure how to process all of this information, let alone, he wasn’t even sure if he was.

“Yunjin-” you try to apologize, but she pushes past you with Yeonjun. You try to grab her hand, but she pulls away and turns to you.

“It went too far.” she says, trying to control her temper before turning around to walk away with Yeonjun.

You turn to look at Minjeong and Beomgyu, but they both just look at each other awkwardly.

“We should probably go with them.” Beomgyu says.

Minjeong nods her head, agreeing, but before they both walk past you, she stops, “I’m sure if you try talking to her tomorrow, she’ll forgive you.”

You bite the inner part of your cheek as they walk away. The crowd starts to disperse, still earning a few questioning glances from those passing by. You glare at Heeseung and begin to walk away.

“Look, I didn’t-” he tries to explain, but you cut him off by turning around, now face-to-face with him.

Tears sting as they begin to brim your eyes. There are so many things you could say to him right now, so many things to yell, but for once you find yourself to be at a loss. He too, is also at a loss for words. Seeing you look at him this way, tears in your eyes, he feels so ashamed and embarrassed.

“Just leave me alone.” you say through shallow breaths, trying your hardest not to cry in front of him.

You knew to him this was all some sick joke, so you doubt he would actually listen to you, but you hoped there was some small part of him that would finally see you never found any of this to be funny and that he has finally taken it too far.

You have never dreaded walking to your class this morning more than you do at this very moment; you just don’t have the energy to put up with Heeseung now or even ever again. You tried texting Yunjin, but she never replied let alone even opened the messages. You were so wrapped up in your emotions you didn’t even realize you made it to your class in peace. Relieved was an understatement about how you were currently feeling, but you also felt oddly sick.

Although you didn’t want him bothering you, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the fact that he didn’t even try to apologize once while you were on your way to class. It was the least he could do, afterall. He pretty much destroyed your friendships with your closest friends and now that he’s had his fun, he no longer felt the need to keep up the act? The more you thought about it, the more angry you became. You knew you hated him before, but you’ve never been this furious with him, not even at his attempts to rub his wealth in your face by buying you things. No, this was a new low, even for him, but you keep trying to tell yourself you should’ve seen it coming.

“Oh hell no.” Yunjin mumbles before standing up from the steps she and the others were sitting on. Heeseung approaches cautiously as he feels their eyes burning into him with their intensive stares. “You really are a stalker, how did you even know what university I go to?” she asks, crossing her arms defensively.

“It’s in our high school yearbooks, everyone put where they were going.” he replied. Yunjin scowls, hoping he would get the idea and leave once and for all. “I came to apologize. I just-” he pauses, looking away while clenching his jaw before looking back at them. “I’m sorry I punched you.” he says to Yeonjun.

Yeonjun looks at him, unimpressed.

“You suck at apologizing.” Yunjin states.

“I thought he was cheating! I didn’t know-” he groans, becoming frustrated. He tries to calm down, running his hand through his hair before speaking again. “All I want to say is that I really am sorry, I was just trying to look out for your friend, okay? She deserves better and when I saw who I thought was her boyfriend kissing someone else, I just…handled things poorly.”

Yeonjun gets up to stand next to Yunjin, draping his arm around her shoulders. “I get it, you didn’t know.”

Yunjin scoffs, “You’ve officially taken this joke of yours too far, so stop acting like you care about her and just admit it already.”

“Why does everyone think I’m joking?” he asks, both frustrated and genuinely.

“Everyone in school knew you were joking. I thought you took it too far back when you bought her a pair of some new, expensive shoes.”

Is that really how everyone saw it? Is that really how you see it?

“I bought her the shoes because she had her old ones for years and had bandaids for the blisters she was clearly getting. I also bought her extra bandages, did you forget about that?”

Yunjin stops scowling, “So you aren’t just messing with her because she rejected you?”

“Of course not, I really care about her. I know I annoy her, but I never thought she would think I was doing all of this just to hurt her feelings.”

Yunjin stands there for a second, questioning whether or not she believes him.

“You’re right,” she starts, making eye contact with Heeseung, “she deserves the best.” It falls quiet again for a moment, mainly because Yunjin is wondering whether or not she wants to give him a chance to prove himself to you. “We’re going to meet at the club downtown around ten, if you really mean what you say, you should come.”

Heeseung stands there, stunned. Does this mean she believes him? Does this mean they all believe him? Does this mean you’ll believe him? As they walk away from the steps, they all look at him, but not the same way they did when he first came over; skeptical. They all looked at him like they wanted what he said to be true and tonight is the night he is going to prove it.

You walked into the club, anxious, yet grateful that Yunjin finally responded to one of your messages. You wanted tonight to be like any other night that you all hang out here, like everything was back to normal; like it was before the whole debacle with Heeseung at the mall. You made your way past the crowds of people through the darkly lit club, over to the booth you all usually sit at.

“Hey.” you say, trying not to sound awkward.

Yunjin sheepishly smiles, “Hey.” she says.

“Are you guys going to kiss and make up now?” Beomgyu asks, honestly over all of the drama.

Everyone laughs and Minjeong hands you your usual drink as you all make your way to the dance floor. From there, you move your body to the music, just wanting to let go of all the stress you’ve been under lately. Dancing along with your friends, having a good time, is all you care about at this very moment. You were enjoying yourself, feeling confident in the outfit you chose to wear paired along with the light buzz from the alcohol you were drinking. You closed your eyes as you soaked it all in; it felt like nothing could disrupt this feeling.

“Wow…” you hear someone say before they trail off.

You open your eyes and freeze. You know this voice a little all-too-well. Your grip on the glass you are holding in your hand becomes tighter as you slowly turn towards the person who was speaking. Your eyes lock with Heeseungs as he looks at you in awe. You look stunning and he felt like all of the air from his lungs had escaped the second he saw you; breathless. You walk closer to him, so he wouldn’t get any crazy ideas and try to do something else to your friends, but as you got closer to him you couldn’t help but think about how nice he smells. You shake the thought from your head as you look up at him, your eyes meeting once again.

All thoughts you previously had were now gone; he made your mind go blank. Have his eyes always been this pretty? No…what the hell are you thinking? Pull yourself together.

“Do you take nothing I say seriously?” you manage to blurt out.

He smiles, happy that you’re talking to him (and just because he’s happy to see you in general).

“For all the years you’ve known me, you should know better than anyone else that I can’t stay away from you.” he replies before smirking.

That smug attitude thankfully snapped you out of whatever weird thoughts you were having earlier and brought you back to reality: he’s a prick. You roll your eyes and push yourself past him as you head to the bar to return your glass. You set the glass down a little harsher than you anticipated and Heeseung follows you as you make your way out of the club. He calls after you, but you ignore him. Nothing is going to change, apparently. But as you’ve said to yourself before: you really shouldn’t be surprised.

Heeseung stops calling after you and instead catches up to you, grabbing your hand gently so you would stop walking away from him. You turn to face him, looking down at your hands for a split second, feeling a different kind of buzz result from it. You try to shake his hand away, but he doesn’t budge. You meet his eyes, feeling your heart begin to race. As much as you tried to stop, something was happening, and you were certainly not a huge fan.

“I spoke with your friends earlier and apologized.”

He did what? Wait…have you been hallucinating this whole time? That would explain why you suddenly feel this way because you know, not in any lifetime, would you possibly have feelings for Lee Heeseung.

“How?” is all you could manage to say.

Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute, not really in any shape to hold any kind of conversation, but especially not one with Heeseung.

“I made a mistake. I have a lot of things I want to apologize to you for.”

He spoke so gently and sweetly; it was like he was hypnotizing you. The streets were oddly quiet, not too many people, but you could still hear the music from the club. You found yourself staring at him in amazement. The fluorescent lights from the signs of stores nearby and the streetlights felt as though they were shining on the both of you, like you two were the only people who matter.

“What?” is all you can think to say.

“I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you to the point where you felt like you had no other choice but to lie.” he says, taking a step closer to you. “I’m sorry I made you and your friend fight.” he takes another step closer to you. You felt your breath hitch as your eyes traveled along his figure. Has he always looked this good in a black button up and black pants? It doesn’t help that his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you find yourself staring at his arms.

He waits for you. He waits for you while he clearly sees you checking him out and it’s turning him on. God, you look so beautiful and the way you are looking at him, slowly taking in everything about him as if you are seeing him for the first time makes him want to kiss you; it makes him want to do a lot more. When your eyes meet his again, he takes this as an opportunity to step closer to you, placing his other hand on your cheek, gently cupping your face. He wants to be gentle because you are one of the most precious things to him. He leans close to your face, each others’ breath scattering lightly along one anothers face.

“And I’m sorry,” he whispers as he rubs his thumb back and forth on your cheek, still looking into your eyes, “for making you feel like a joke.”

You feel yourself tense up. “Was it? All a joke…” you trail off, not necessarily sure what you want to happen next.

He continues looking into your eyes, never looking away because he wants you to know that he is being serious; that he means every word he says.

“Not for a second.” he replies.

You think back to everything he has done for you in a new perspective. How he would leave your favorite snack on your desk on test days, notes telling you how well you did after a presentation, volunteering to be your partner because he didn’t want you to feel alone or left out, buying you your favorite drink if you forgot to bring money for it, and asking you out to a restaurant that holds a special meaning to him and he only wants to share it with you.

You want to kiss him, but you find yourself pulling away instead. He looks at you, confused, as you separate yourself from him, letting go of his hand.

“I should get home. You know how early my morning class is.” you say while looking at the ground.

“Are you walking home? This late?”

You step back a little bit, finally looking back at him and you smile nervously. “I usually take the bus, but I think I missed the last one, so yeah, I guess I am.” you say kind of bunched together. Are you nervous?

“I can just drive you home.” he says, not really offering, more like telling.

You shake your head as your eyes shift to one of the cars in front of the club. You recognized it as his since he drives it to school everyday. A small, small part of you would love to ride in it, but you can walk home yourself (even if you also know it’s a bad idea).

“Yeah, I’m not letting you walk home alone this late.” he says, no longer wondering why you pulled away from him, but more concerned for your safety. He reaches for your hand and you let him take it, even if you keep telling yourself you shouldn’t. You both walk over to his car and he opens the door for you to get in. You look at him and he looks back at you, not intending on budging from his offer. You roll your eyes playfully as you get into the car. He closes the door and walks over to get into the driver's seat. He gets in and closes the door before starting his engine. You sit there, a little surprised you were even in his car in the first place. “You kind of need to put on your seatbelt.” he says, nodding his head towards the seatbelt that you left untouched.

You laugh nervously, but for some reason, you still don’t think to move to put it on. He sighs, smiling to himself at your cuteness, before leaning over to grab the seatbelt, slowly extending it over your body before clicking it into place. He looks at you, your faces inches apart, and you feel your breathing quicken once again. His heart begins to beat faster, but he can’t stop looking at you; you’re stunning. He manages to pull himself away, worried he might make you feel uncomfortable, before putting on his own seatbelt and putting the car in drive.

“Do you want to tell me how to get to your house?” he asks as he pulls out of the parking spot.

Your eyes widen. Right, your house. A house that--you assume--is nowhere near as nice as his house. What if once he sees just how different you two are he will stop liking you? What if he was lying before and this was his final cruel attempt to make fun of you? You shake your head.

“I would rather not tell you.”

He steps on the brake, turning his head to look at you.

“You…don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head, hoping he’ll give up and let you out of the car. You hear him let out a tut, making you turn your head to look at him.

“Would you rather I take you to my place?” he asks, trying not to sound nervous.

Not particularly, you kind of already planned on going to bed once you got back home, but you stayed quiet, leaving him to answer his own question. He sighs, releasing his foot off the brake.

Heeseung pulls up to a gate that guards a huge house behind it. Your mouth falls a little agape as you look at it, thinking about how the driveway is the size of your own home. He puts in the code, opening the gate, and driving up the huge driveway. He parks the car and turns off the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt before looking at you.

“Do you need me to unbuckle it for you?” he asks while smirking.

You kind of want him to, but you opt for doing it yourself. You both get out of the car and he waits for you before he begins to lead the way. You can’t stop looking around as you two walk up the stairs leading to the (in your opinion) oversized doors, to which he opens and lets you walk in first. The house is even more luxurious on the inside than it is on the outside, which you honestly didn’t think could be possible. He shuts the door behind him and you both take off your shoes. You feel out of place, starting to feel insecure. The guy with all of this money to have this grand living room with a huge television, windows covering the walls and expensive furniture littered everywhere claims to like you? And has for years? You were starting to find it hard to believe again.

“I hope this is okay.” he says, breaking the silence.

You weren’t sure what he meant, but you assume he’s hoping it’s okay that he brought you here. He starts heading for the staircase and you follow behind, still taking in your surroundings. He leads you to his room, and you decide to stand by the doorframe. To you, it doesn’t seem like the downstairs even needs a living room since he already has a couch and t.v. in his room along with a big bed laying on a platform and more windows for walls. A beep is heard and the curtains for his windows start automatically covering them and the two lamps on his bedside tables turn on. He looks back at you, smiling at your expression that he finds to be adorable.

“You can come in, you know.” he says as he rummages through some drawers.

You hesitantly walk into his room, somehow just noticing how nice it smells, and find the confidence to walk up the few steps to his bed to take a seat. You turn your head to look around some more and Heeseung looks up, stopping what he is doing upon seeing you on his bed. You are on his bed. Is he dreaming? He honestly never thought this day would come and he clears his throat to try and calm his nerves, making you look at him.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask.

He grabs what he came in for and walks over to you holding out the clothes he picked himself.

“The guest rooms don’t have any clothes in them, so you can borrow mine.”

Did he just say “rooms” as in plural, like multiple?

“Right, naturally.” you tease.

He smiles and you stand to grab the clothes from him. You hold them as you look up at him, once again meeting his eyes. That feeling starts to form again, the one where you don’t want to stop looking at him and certainly don’t want him to stop looking at you.

“I forgive you.” you whisper.

He looks confused for a second before he understands what you mean. He smiles.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”

You aren’t sure if it’s the atmosphere, the way he smells, the way he’s looking at you, or all three combined, but before you can even process what you are doing, you are tossing the clothes he handed you onto the floor and pulling him by the collar to kiss you.

Holy. Shit. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him. One of your hands moves to hold the side of his neck while the other moves to the back of his hair as you start running your fingers through it, gripping it here and there. He moves his hands to hold your waist, squeezing them lightly from anticipation, as he kisses you back. He gains more confidence, pulling you as closely as possible to him, as he deepens the kiss. He is desperate for you, he is desperate to show you how he feels. He lifts you up and your legs wrap around his waist, him carefully carrying you and placing you onto his bed. He lays you down as you two continue to kiss, him pulling away from your lips and beginning to leave a trail of light, breathy, kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. Your chest raises from the deep breath you take and he swears he is going to lose his mind from looking at you in your current state. The state he is currently leaving you in.

His hands roam your body, wanting to feel every inch of you.

“Heeseung…” you say breathlessly, practically sending him over the edge.

He can feel his erection growing and you saying his name like that makes his cock ache harder. He pulls away from leaving hickeys along your chest, pulling you up by the waist so he can lift your dress off of you. He pulls it over your head and you help him, throwing the dress off to the side. He rests his forehead on yours, trying to calm his breathing and you begin to palm his erection. He whines, moving your hand away before laying you back down. His eyes scan your body, now realizing you were never wearing a bra. There you are, laying on his bed in nothing other than your underwear and he has to try and collect himself before he cums in his pants at just the mere sight of you. His right hand begins to travel up your leg, his fingers lightly running along your skin as he continues to look at you, look at every inch of you. His fingers travel past your hip up to your breasts where he cups one of them, earning a small gasp from you.

He bites the inner part of his cheek, trying to contain himself as he fondles your breast, playing with your nipple, watching how your face contorts in pleasure. He leans down to leave light kisses on your shoulder, looking at your face between each one, going down and stopping at your other breast before latching his mouth around your nipple. You bite your lip, one of your hands comes to grip his hair. He moans as he swirls his tongue around your nipple, occasionally flicking it. He felt drunk and so incredibly turned on. He stops fondling your other breast with his hand and lightly trails his fingers down to your underwear, sticking his hand inside. You gasp again, his fingers feeling a little cold as he runs them along your wet folds.

Fuck he was making you feel good and you let out a moan, making him smirk. He sticks a finger in, making you grip his hair a little harder, and so he sticks in two. You moan again and he pulls away from your breast to kiss you as his fingers pump in and out of you. You’ve become so wet that you start to cover his hand in your wetness, the sound of his hand coming in constant contact with your pussy starting to fill the room. You feel yourself become close and your mouth falls agape. He stops kissing you and pulls back as well as pulling his fingers out of you. You open your eyes, the dim lights suddenly being so bright as you try to process what is happening.

He brings his fingers to his lips, licking off your arousal from them. His eyes close as he inhales deeply, consumed by the taste of you.

“Please, Heeseung…” you start to plead.

He opens his eyes and figures he can’t leave you without what you want. So, in honor of a fair trade since he feels intoxicated by your taste, he takes off your underwear and throws your legs over his shoulders as he positions his face in front of your pussy. You swallow harshly as you feel his breath on you before he licks a stripe along your core, causing your eyes to roll back a little bit and your back arch at the sudden contact. His hands grip the sides of your thighs as he indulges in you, licking up every last drop of you before making his way to your clit and sucking on it.

“Fuck, Heeseung…” you moan out breathlessly.

He’s too consumed by your taste to notice and he pulls you more into his face. He moans into you, one of his hands leaving your thigh as he starts to finger you again. He hears you moaning and gasping, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you. Just the sight of you causes him to pick up his pace, his fingers rapidly going in and out of you and the more you moan, the more turned on he gets. You feel yourself become closer, gripping the sheets as you call out his name. That mixed with the taste of you on his tongue makes him moan. You taste so good, you look so beautiful, he feels like the luckiest man alive to have you call out his name. He sucks harder and pumps faster as he moans into you, cumming in his pants.

Your head falls deeper into the pillow you were laying on as you release yourself all over his fingers, mouth, and face. His movements begin to slow down as he calms down from his high and he pulls away, seeing your legs shaking a bit. He sits back, taking your legs off of his shoulders and you look at him. His face is flushed and shiny because of your cum, which he didn’t mind. He licked his fingers again, trying to catch his breath afterwards and you find the energy to sit up.

You pull him in for a kiss and his hands land on your ass, squeezing it. You moan and reach your slightly shaky hands up to the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them. You pull away as you take the shirt off of him, throwing it to the side. This time, you leave a trail of kisses from his jaw to his neck, his mouth falling agape from pleasure. He was becoming hard again and so you started to undo his belt as well as the button and zipper on his pants. You can hear him let out shallow breaths, and he pulls you back to kiss him on the lips. You kiss each other with so much need, and as you start taking off his pants, he pulls away to take them off himself.

You watch as he does, seeing his bulge through his underwear along with the cum stain from earlier. You smirk, which makes him feel a little shy.

“Come here.” you say, your eyes flicking back to meet his.

He listens, and you move each other so he is now the one laying back as you sit between his legs. He swallows harshly, completely turned on by the sight of your bare self looking at him in such a sinful way. Fuck, he wants you to ruin him. You keep eye contact with him as you lightly grab the edge of his boxers. His breath hitches as he becomes increasingly more nervous and he bites his lip as you run your pointer finger over his v-line. You smirk, slowly pulling his boxers off of him and finally letting his aching cock free. You cast aside his boxers, lightly running your fingers along his length, making him let out little moans, trying to decide what you want to do next. Seeing him like this, you decide you can’t wait any longer, so you position yourself over his cock, one hand holding onto his shoulder as the other guides it into your cunt.

You both throw your heads back as you let out a moan in unison. You slowly sank onto his length and he watched in awe. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening and when you finally settled fully onto his cock, his mind felt fuzzy. You felt so fucking good and here you were, riding his dick with hickies all over your chest and neck made by him. Consumed by his thoughts, he gripped your hips a little bit harsher as he let out a stifled breath. You look at him, wondering what was happening, but feeling his cock twitch inside of you and him letting out a string of moans and apologies answered your question quickly as he came inside of you.

His breathing settled after his release and he looks at you, eyes a little hazy, but full of pleasure; he looked so fucked out.

“I’m so sorry.” he half whispers and half exclaims.

He really meant it and to be honest, he was kind of embarrassed. You shake your head.

“Don’t be,” you say, starting to rock your hips, causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure, “it was hot.” You pick up your speed and call out his name from how good he is making you feel. “Shit…” you whine as you start to lose momentum from the pleasure. He notices and adjusts himself so he is laying a little bit lower to which he slings his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a small yelp as he hoists his hips up, thrusting into you, fast and deep. “Fuck…” you call out into his ear, making him pick up his pace.

Moans mixed with the sound of his cock rutting into you fills the room and you grip the sheets as you feel yourself clench around him.

“Fuck-” Heeseung starts, but is cut off by his own moans from being close to his climax.

He thrusts into you faster and you clench around him harsher, your legs shaking as you cum all over his dick. He grips your waist harsher and clenches his jaw, breathy moans still escaping through his teeth as he cums–once again–inside of you. He does a few more thrusts to ride out his high before pulling out of your throbbing cunt. You both lay there for a moment, you still on top of him, trying to catch your breath.

“So…” Heeseung starts. You lift your head slightly to look him in the eyes and he smiles sheepishly, “does this mean you’ll go on that date with me?” he asks, hopeful.

You roll your eyes, “God, you’re annoying.” you say before smiling.

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silkjade · 2 years ago

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alhaitham x mermaid!reader

⤀ warnings: fem! reader, no pronouns mentioned a/n: another thing sitting in drafts that I was actually saving for Mermay ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼 next ﾉ series masterlist

He was out at a cove, a little ways off from port ormos, studying newly discovered runes carved along the sea cavern walls. Your song was supposed to lure him to his watery grave, but….

“These earpieces are soundproof.” You’re caught by surprise when he responds in your language. His pronunciation is a little off, but to be fair, merfolk are an ancient race and haven’t been sighted in a very long time. As such, whatever linguistic knowledge that’s been preserved up until now is… distorted at best.

The two of you strike up a deal: you help him perfect the language of your people, and he’ll introduce you to the wonders of the world above. A fair exchange. You agree to meet at this same cove on nights of the full moon, although the interval between these meetings grow increasingly shorter, so much so that you find yourself visiting this human once a week. He’d always arrive just as the sun sets, skipping a chunk of crystal ore out into the sea, indicating his arrival.

“And what did you bring for me today?”

“These are called zaytun peaches.”

“Ooh they’re sweet! And jucier than bubble berries…”

“I wasn’t aware fruits could grow underwater.”

Alhaitham is a scholar with an eager mind, so when things peak his interest, it’s second nature to want to satiate his curiosities. He asks his questions, but never pushes you to answer. With time, you grow comfortable enough around him to openly divulge your life beneath the waves, and it becomes a wonderful exchange of language and culture.

“Would you like to come underwater?”

“I know you didn't like the harra fruit today, but I thought you'd given up trying to drown me. Soundproof earpieces remember?” he says, tapping said headphones.

You roll your eyes, pulling yourself further up out of the water, until your faces are only mere inches apart. That's not what you meant at all.

"They say a mermaid's kiss will give you the ability to breathe underwater...let me show you my world." Your voice, hypnotizingly low and sultry, immediately send alarms ringing in his head. Your fingers brush against his cheek, your touch feather light as you whisper into his naked ear, "Do you trust me?"

In the time Alhaitham had spent with you, he had never forgotten about the dangers of a mermaid's seduction. But at this proximity, with you so close and your voice so enchanting... he feels his head spin, like he's in some sort of trance where it's nigh impossible to deny you anything. As if by instinct, Alhaitham subconsciously reaches for the headphones hanging around his neck— his safety net, his life raft.

You pull away, sinking back into the waters. So he doesn't trust you. It's no surprise due to the nature of your very being, and to hope otherwise would be foolish. Still, its difficult to hide the irritation and hurt that laces your words before you bid him an awkward farewell.

Once you disappear into the sea, Alhaitham lets out a groan, burying his face in his hands. Next time you meet, if you decide to return at all, he'll remember to teach you about the intricacies of human courtship rituals.

a/n2: alhaitham is allergic to rizz ;\ this was supposed to be just a short brainrot but i had so many thoughts about this (and still have more unwritten) anyways i love mermay what a great month to be online, so much pretty art

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soldiersslut · 5 months ago

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GHOST OF YOU — SOLDIER BOY "CHAPTER THREE"

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language, sexual advances, implied smut in the end, and Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy

Word Count: 3,452

Author's Note: Thank you so much again for all the love and support! Keep in mind this chapter is a flashback! Thank you, thank you again :')

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED PLEASE LET ME KNOW. DON'T FORGET TO FOLLOW, HEART, AND REPOST. THANK YOU AGAIN!

Early 1980s – The Beginning

“Soldier Boy! There is someone I would like for you to meet!”

It is not the first, nor will it be the last time Soldier Boy ever hears those words. He was attending one of Vought American’s extravaganza. The whole point? Show him off and tease the upcoming group of Supes that’ll band together to wipe out the last bit of communism left. Soldier Boy wanted the best and the only thing he requested of Vought American is that he’ll be the captain. He wanted to be captain because he got so used to being the only one in the spotlight, and all of a sudden he needed to share it with others? Hell no. He is Soldier Boy. That alone is enough.

During this time it was the rise of materialism and consumerism. Blockbuster movies were being made and the emergence of cable networks was increasing. Vought jumped on it and created VNN, and their movie studio gained more popularity overtime. A group of Supes coming together should be groundbreaking entertainment!

The best thing to come out of from all of Vought American’s success? Soldier Boy can get all the drugs, liquor, and whores he wanted. Who can say no to him? He is the poster boy for Vought American. It is because of him the company has grown.

So, when Vought American announced Soldier Boy was attending; many, if not all, important political figures confirmed that they’ll be attending this evening. Other Supes will be in attendance to prove their unique abilities and convince Vought American and Soldier Boy that they deserve a spot in what the group will be called, Payback.

Though Soldier Boy’s priorities were elsewhere. At some point the entertainment came out and by the end of it Soldier Boy was surrounded by these pretty entertainers. He made his way around with one on each arm.

He recognized Legend’s voice and the way he kept calling after him was annoying. Legend always had him meet new people who were just old fucks believing that because they endorse and buy stocks from Vought American they have some ownership over him. Fuck these people.

“What?! I am fucking busy!” Soldier Boy snapped and motioned to the two girls in his arms.

“I am aware you are busy, but there is someone I would like for you to meet.”

Soldier Boy expressed no interest until Legend moved to the side, and a woman stepped forward. The woman was dressed modestly. A celeste ruched and drop waist dress that reached below her knees. Soldier Boy has seen these dresses in women and the waist part of the dress tended to be loose. Though her waist had a nice and tight fit. For boys they might not find the appeal of a woman shaped this way, but he is a man and he fucks anything and everything that calls to him.

She was not like the two dancers next to him whose hair is so frizzy to the point it was inching closer to the ceiling as time passes. The tight red fit easily leaves to the imagination, and the makeup was bold and mismatched.

“Go away, I will find you both later,” he whispered to the girls. They giggled and walked away, though before they were out of hands reach he slapped their bottoms. He winked which made them laugh like schoolgirls.

“It would be rude of me to not give you my full attention. What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked and so, the flirting began.

The woman smirked. She was already given the heads up the kind of person Soldier Boy is. The man is as transparent as glass.

“She is Mimicry, both of you will be working together to create Payback!” Legend sounded way too excited. Mimicry’s smirk hasn’t left yet, especially seeing the way Soldier Boy’s smile faltered.

“I’m sorry, I must have heard wrong. I was under the impression I was going to be creating the team?” Nobody consulted him about this stupid idea. He did not need anyone’s help, and much less from a woman who thinks they’ll be equal. “And who the fuck vouched for her?”

“The one vouching for me is Mr. Frederick Vought and Stan Edgar. If there is any issues with their executive decision I am sure they would love to hear you out.” Mimicry suggested. Vought may be old, but he was still running the show. When he came to a decision there was no changing his mind.

Soldier Boy wants to wipe that smirk off of her face.

“And why the fuck would they vouch for you?” he demanded to know, crossing his arms.

Legend was going to answer the question, but Mimicry lifted her hand to him to stop him from further saying anything.

“You will have to wait and see, but in the mean time wouldn’t it be wise for us to take a look at our prospects?” she questioned. Soldier Boy took a look around. There was other Supes around, but none of them were like him. He was one of a kind, but out of this selection he and Vought will pick out who is fit for Payback. Any of these Supes can show off to him, but the true test is when they are in a fight. All of this fancy, show and tell bullshit means nothing. That’s why he did not bother in interacting with any of these people.

“We could also take this chance and get to know each other,” and right away Mimicry’s hand trailed up his arm. Hook, line, and sinker. Soldier Boy stared at her hand feeling his muscles. He smirked and agreed. “Who am I to deny a beautiful lady that courtesy?”

Mimicry flashed him a smile this time. Her hand snaked down and she linked it with his bicep.

They walked towards the bar. She took a seat down on one of the empty bar stools while Soldier Boy remained standing, but he leaned against the counter. He ordered a drink for himself and Mimicry. “Wow, Soldier Boy is a gentleman? I am honored to see it firsthand,” she teased. Soldier Boy snickered. His choice at the moment was whiskey on the rocks.

“I do have to ask though. Why am I getting champagne?” she asked, tilting her head. She pouted her lips in a teasing way.

“Whiskey is a little strong for you. You won’t be able to hold your liquor,” he answered. He took another sip but before he could finish it Mimicry’s hand wrapped around his hand that held the cup. She finished the whiskey for him. His lips parted ways slightly. Mimicry used her finger to wipe away the excess that fell on her lips. After doing that she sucked on her fingers, and Soldier Boy felt himself stare at her finger and then the lips.

“Don’t underestimate a woman, Mr. Soldier Boy.” He knew damn well to not underestimate her. Mimicry turned away from Soldier Boy and watched the crowd. There was a lot of chatter going around, soft piano melodies being played in the background, and Supes showing off their power.

“So, who has grabbed your attention?” Mimicry asked.

You, he answered in his mind.

Picking out team members was the last thing on his mind at this very moment, but if it will please this woman then so be it. He looked around and pointed out a few. Every time he pointed someone out there was a look of disapproval in her eyes. Soldier Boy was unsure if it was exciting to see her react this way or concerned at the fact that she was not pleased with none of his answers.

“Are you thinking with your brain or your cock?”

Soldier Boy let out a laugh, “don’t sound too jealous now.” Mimicry rolled her eyes. Oh, what he would do to get this woman to roll her eyes back for him. She is intriguing, confident, bold, and a tease. As much as he did not appreciate women talking back her attitude was heartwarming to him.

Mimicry pointed out a few and Soldier called her out on them. He claims most, if not all, are idiots. He still thinks he should be the sole captain and pick his own damn team.

“Oh no, I am not a captain and we are not going to be co-captains either. You don’t need to worry about that. Just think of me as your first member of Payback and the most loyal one,” she assured. Her hand went up his arm. Her finger trailing up and down. Soldier Boy stared, “there is one way you can show me you’re really loyal” he whispered. Mimicry smirked again and leaned close to his lips.

“As long as I have your sole attention for the rest of this party I am more than happy to demonstrate” she whispered back and looked into his eyes. Soldier Boy was centimeters away from closing the gap to her lips, but someone interrupted. His irritation was shown.

“The hell you want?” he asked. The woman smiled and extended her hand to him. She’s Crimson Countess. Soldier Boy hated her already for her timing. He was already planning in shrugging her off, but Mimicry entertained her. They spoke and got along well.

“You are a pretty thing. Don’t you think so, Soldier Boy?” Mimicry asked. She touched Crimson Countess’ hair. Soldier Boy diverted his attention to the redhead. Countess was not ugly, but she was nowhere near close to Mimicry. Though for the sake of it he played along and agreed. Crimson Countess’ introduction had opened the door for other Supes to jump in the conversation. Soldier Boy tried to keep the conversations short and dry, though Mimicry entertained each and every one of them.

Mimicry knew what she was doing. She no longer looked his way, and let alone give him attention. It had felt like hours, and Soldier Boy reached his breaking point. He moved away from the bar and went to find the two girls from earlier. Mimicry was mid conversation with Supes, but her eyes followed Soldier Boy. For the rest of the night they no longer spoke to each other. Though their eyes would meet. They were on opposite ends, but they knew when the other was staring.

The party was over, and Mimicry had a head start in unpacking her belongings in Vought American’s housing facility. Each year the company would grow and expand. They hope that one day the company would become big enough they are the tallest building in New York surpassing the Empire State Building.

Mimicry unpacked the rest of her belongings and anticipated someone’s arrival soon. On cue, there was a knock at the door.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” she teased. Soldier Boy did not wait for her to invite him in. He moved past her and began to remove his clothes.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you little tease.” He was going to keep this promise. Mimicry wanted to interrupt him but he was quick to slam his lips against her’s. She kissed him back for a second, but attempted to stop. Soldier Boy was so deep into the kiss he was not lighting up. She attempted to pull away but his strength kept her in place.

Mimicry closed her eyes and let her hands rest on his shoulder. When it was time she used Soldier Boy’s own strength to push him off. He hit against the wall and fell to the floor.

“What the fuck?!” he yelled. He was not sure what pissed him off more, her pushing him away or the fact she was able to throw him back as hard as she did.

“Don’t be angry with me, you did not keep your end of the bargain.”

Soldier Boy wanted to argue that she did it on purpose. He was so frustrated that she was not giving him attention so he went somewhere else to get it. That was the entire point of the agreement. He failed, so he won’t be able to sleep with her tonight.

“And what kind of strength do you have?!”

Mimicry scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “Does the name not ring a bell? Mimicry? Mimic?” His handsome features makes up for partial intelligence. It clicked to Soldier Boy when she put it that way. That explains why Vought American wanted her to help him with the team. She can potentially be his equal.

“I am too tired for this, could we discuss this tomorrow? I am sure there is plenty of other women that can get your dick wet.” There was no time for argument as she opened the door and motioned for him to get out. Soldier Boy clenched his jaw. He grabbed his clothes and walked out with all the dignity he had. He did not give a fuck who would stare at his sculpted figure.

This is not over, Soldier Boy vowed.

When next day came around Stan Edgar requested a meeting with Soldier Boy and Mimicry. Apparently, he went ahead and chose the members of Payback.

Swatto.

Gunpowder.

Crimson Countess.

TNT twins.

Mindstorm.

Black Noir.

“I like the selection,” Mimicry stated, there was an optimism in her tone that irritated Soldier Boy. This might be the worst selection ever, but apparently he had no say in this matter anymore. This was angering him, last night made him angry, and seeing how she was so unfazed made it worse.

“Whatever, as long as they have enough fucking brain cells to know what they’re doing.” He really didn’t want to be here, and seeing Mimicry practically gloat in his face made it worse. Of course he found other females that he fucked, but he didn’t want to fuck them. He wanted to fuck Mimicry and now that he had a taste of her lips he wanted more.

Stan Edgar, Soldier Boy, and Mimicry discussed the portfolios of each member and how they will contribute to the team. Edgar asked Soldier Boy and Mimicry to get to know the team, and learn to work together. Mimicry agreed, and it took awhile to persuade Soldier Boy but she managed.

The rest of the team was invited into the briefing room, Soldier Boy stood front and center, and Mimicry stood behind him on his right hand side. Soldier Boy believed the best way to get to know the rest of the team is the training grounds. Instead of going against him they’ll be going toe to toe with Mimicry. Not only was he going to test them, but he will be testing her.

Training began, and Mimicry moved around quickly like a snake. She ducked and dodged, and did everything to avoid getting hit. Just how it happened with him a single touch to a Supe and she observes their power. It was hilarious to see each member lose to Mimicry using their own power. The only one to give her struggle was Black Noir, but eventually she got the upper hand. The one who did not last long at all against her was Crimson Countess who had horrible aim.

By the time training ended the members of Payback were beaten and out of breath. Even Mimicry needed to sit down and control her breathing.

“Alright, guys! That was great, except their was one tiny problem,” Soldier Boy pointed out, the fake optimism in his voice bleeding through. His smile left very quickly, “all of you are fucking horrible.”

Whatever illusions and dreams the rest of the team had of Soldier Boy had crumbled. The way most, if not all Supes, held this man on a high pedestal only to come and find out the kind of man he truly is. Instead of giving the team some encouraging words or even wisdom they were humiliated, disrespected, and bad mouthed. Mimicry was not phased nor did she feel this was targeted to her.

When Soldier Boy was done the team was kicked out except for Mimicry. “You shouldn’t take out your anger on the team if it’s about last night.” Mimicry pointed out. Soldier Boy scoffed,

“This has nothing to do with last night. I don’t even know what you are talking about. After I left your place I found myself in a threesome. Phew, best thing to come out of yesterday”

Mimicry looked amused. Her eyebrows went up and she nodded her head. “You were in a threesome and yet your panties are in a twist?” Mimicry knew she was pushing his buttons. “Shut up,” he told her. Mimicry smirked. “Make me.”

His annoyance was showing and yet Mimicry just kept pushing. Soldier Boy stared at her, he noticed the way her smirk turned into a mischievous smile.

“You want to laugh about something? Come on then,” he moved towards the center where the members of Payback were training. “Let’s see if you can hit me.”

Mimicry let out a laugh and nodded, “fine, but don’t get pissed when you lose.” Soldier Boy chose to ignore her comment. She got into a fighting stance and right away he launched himself at her.

Mimicry had done her best to get a hold of him, but he knew better than to let her touch him. Without her powers she was completely useless. The only way Soldier Boy got a hold of Mimicry is by grabbing her wrists. Soldier Boy threw Mimicry across the room and she let out a yelp.

He was about to celebrate his victory until he heard Mimicry crying and whimpering. Shit, Vought and Edgar are not going to like that he broke her.

“Let me take you to the doctor. Where does it hurt?” he asked. He knelled to carry her, but his guard came crashing down. Seeing an opportunity Mimicry put her hands on his face and in an instant observed his power. She wasted no time in pushing Soldier Boy off with his own strength and got back up.

He was livid and was throwing punches at her all because he can. He was no longer thinking logical, and yet, she was. Mimicry slid in between his legs and got a hold of his shield. It was lightweight for her, and without a thought she swung it at him and he fell.

Soldier Boy let out profanities. He held onto his side for a moment, trying to ease the pain, and when it lowered he propped his elbows to look at her. Mimicry got close and smiled.

“Don’t get mad now, Mr. Soldier Boy” she teased. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. Now her guard was down. He grabbed her ankles and dropped her. She gasped at his sudden movement. So she does not get the upper hand at the moment he laid on top of her, and held her wrists together. Mimicry tried to fight against him, but he tightened his grip.

“Okay, fine fine. You won this round. All better now?” Mimicry asked, giving up in fighting him. Even with the beating she still remained a pain in the ass. If this is the beginning he wonders what else is in store for them.

“Call me Ben.”

Mimicry was taken back, and decided against teasing him. “You can just call me Mimi.”

They looked into each other’s eyes and stayed there. They weren’t sure how much time passed, and no one went looking for them either.

“Maybe it’s time we get up from the floor,” she whispered. Ben agreed, but neither Mimicry or himself attempted to get up. If anything their faces got closer.

“We need to keep this professional. Whatever happens there will be no attachment” she warned him, “I can’t have you falling for me now. What would people think of the Soldier Boy?”

Christ on a cross, he really wanted her to shut up. He kept telling himself that his goal was to get in her pants and move on to the next. Ben leaned down and kissed her. Her hands cupped his face and then she removed the back. His hair was soft against her fingers and she tugged on it. They did not care who was going to see, or who would walk in on them. Ben was not going to develop feelings. He did not do feelings, nor relationships. Women only served one purpose, and he has always taught himself that he is better off on his own. The only way to survive is to only trust himself.

If only he knew that the moment they sealed the kiss, Mimicry was going to become the bane of his existence.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four

Author's Note: Okay! So we got Ben and Mimicry's meeting for the first time. Some chapters will revolve around the past, but the main focus is the present time. I just want you all to keep in mind how Ben is with Mimicry, and how it is reflected with the reader. Thank you guys again <3

I am tagging everyone, but I am not sure if all of you are getting notified! Please let me know if you are not. I am more than happy to send each and every one of you a personal message when I update! :)

Tagged List: @seven709 @sadpods @mayafatimakhan @justiceforquentin @ultracarpediemfan @bitchykittenconnoisseur @spacecowgirl126 @ultraviolencexs @deans-spinster-witch @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @manicjk @demodemo909 @robertthehoover @riah1606 @onlyangel-444 @cunningboyouare @posiemax

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #the boys series

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why-animals-do-the-thing · 8 days ago

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perhaps a bit of an odd question: so, when I'm scrolling tumblr on mobile, I have a habit of downloading most images i come across, so that I can send them to people who don't use tumblr, especially memes and animal photos. however, i also have severe memory issues, and I may end up forgetting where i got certain images. i know for the photo repository one of the rules is to not repost the photos without any modification- which i might forget, or forget which images on my phone fall under that rule. and while i would guess that that rule doesn't apply to stuff like direct messages or texts, i might forget to tell the person I'm sending it to, who might repost it elsewhere without being aware, or months after downloading i will just forget and use one of the photos in a post I'm making because it felt relevant.

this is something i can pretty easily solve myself by just blocking the photo repository blog, or tags relating to it, but I'd rather not do that because i do really like seeing the photos and all the info and stuff. and i would assume it would be an insane amount of work for you to add something like a watermark to every single photo, so I'm not really sure how to go about this. i like seeing the photos, but i don't want to accidentally break the rules.

You clearly care deeply about doing the "right thing", so, what that tells me is that you're not actually the target audience for that rule. I appreciate all the thought you put into this message. Let's talk about it!

I've been reconsidering if requiring people to get permission for reposting images is the best policy to have and I'd like people to weigh in.

My original reasoning was this: the more I can ensure that reposts are affiliated with credit, the better I can control copyright on the images on the site, and therefore have more ground to challenge any scrapers/fake accounts/AR groups that yoink them for nefarious purposes. The easiest way to do that seemed to be to have people ping and ask, with the expectation of saying yes almost all the time.

But there's a couple problems with that, I think, in practice:

People don't like emailing strangers (I forget this! I have done it for work for so many years it isn't uncomfortable anymore).

This isn't how the internet works. (Tumblr has a specific microculture that encourages crediting creators and not stealing! Once this is shared more widely on other platforms, I don't expect it'll be the same ecosystem).

It actually undermines organic spread of content! (You're less likely to make an excited post about a cool photo if you have to send a maybe-scary email and wait for a response). And I do want there to be lots of eyeballs on the photos.

Realistically, @nexus-nebulae, with the policy right now? If you slipped up and reposted something without thinking, I'd just ask you to add credit to the post so it directs back to the site. The goal of this whole project is community access and engagement - I want to you to enjoy the photos, and send them to your friends! I'm just trying to also protect it from the awful that a lot of the internet has become.

But, I'm also wondering it it makes sense to swap the policy to say that it's fine to re-post images on socials as long as they're appropriately credited and/or linked back to the repository. This isn't the policy yet, but if you're reading this please tell me what you're thinking.

Non-edited image use (like putting them in a scientific paper, using them to build a curriculum unit, or putting them on board game cards - these are just random examples) would still need to be requested; but that's an entirely protective stance and if you ask, my goal is to always say yes.

So OP, please don't worry too much. Enjoy looking at the animals, do your best, and I'll be happy. :)

#exotic animal photo reference repository #asked and answered #housekeeping #policies

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azaharinflames · 2 months ago

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Will you share your theory on what you think is happening behind the scenes of 911?

Hi, Nonnie!

Sure! As long as everyone is aware this is purely speculation, and nothing I say should be taken as proof of anything, I have no problem.

I've gone over a few things in my head, to be honest. I thought that JLH having filming conflicts could've been a major factor, and I still don't exactly disagree with that initial idea, but overall I think it was one of the things that threw TM for a loop.

Now, I've seen a lot of people theorize that perhaps Angela is leaving and that is what is causing so much chaos in BTS, but I am on the fence about this. I do think she might've asked to not have such a big role moving forward, especially if they get a season 9 (which I am also on the fence about ngl), like perhaps retiring, or just having a more laidback position training new recruits. The seeds are planted for that, not so much for her fully leaving. And it would give Angela more free time to dedicate to other projects (which, yes please. I need her in new projects ASAP).

So... (and please don't kill me for this, it's just a theory).

I think it all comes back to Ryan. And that he perhaps is leaving, or actively wants to leave. I will try to explain myself as concise as possible:

A couple of months ago there was already speculation about this. In all of his individual interviews (which were a lot, to be honest), Ryan made a point of talking about his work beyond 911 and talking about what he would like to do after 911.

On top of the individual promo, there was an uncharacteristically high amount of BTS dedicated to him and the godforsaken mustache. To the point where they threw a mustache party. And in the pics of that party, the vibes were that it was a party for Ryan, not in general.

Small thing, but Josh randomly dressing up as Eddie for Halloween. Perhaps unrelated, but I wanted to add it.

The 911 account reposting and celebrating Ryan's 100th ep, when 1. it wasn't his 100th (if we count the eps he was actually in) and 2. it was also JLH's, and yet they didn't say a thing about it. Ryan reposted that as well and the message he reposted it with was more nostalgic than anything else. Very much giving 'it was an honor to work with you, what a journey'.

I could be wrong, but I do think his contract ends this season. So, that just adds to it.

The timeline of the move to Texas. By the reactions alone I was fully expecting Eddie to leave for Texas at the end of 808, and then to be back with Chris (in a lazy way of solving their conflict off-screen) by 809-810. But the way he's currently thinking about it makes it very sus for me. As in, it can be a thing for the end of the season, and an actual goodbye for Eddie.

Of course, nothing of this has to actually happen, and it's quite possible it just exists in my brain. But this makes sense in my funny brain because then it explains why BT had to break up so soon... because they wanted Buck to feel completely isolated.

We know 809-10 will deal with Maddie being kidnapped. That alone will make Buck spiral. But if on top of that his best friend is also leaving... well, being alone just adds to the isolation and the angst. Because if Tommy was still around he'd be able to lean on him, and have him help him through this. But it seems like the writers wanted Buck fully alone for this, because sure, seeing a character never learning and being completely isolated is so much fun.

If this ends with BT getting back together, I honestly don't know. It wouldn't surprise me if Tim doesn't know. But, all in all, I wouldn't be surprised if RG deciding he's done is the thing that kinda created the domino effect.

(Also: I do not believe Oliver was telling Tim to fire Lou and end BT. Sorry. I just don't really see it. Nor do I think there were actual conflicts between actors BTS, as much as everything they're doing right now does feel a bit weird)

Anyway, thanks for letting me rant, Nonnie! My inbox is always open for ranting, venting, or discussing

Take care <3

#911 discourse #911 spec #911 cast #bucktommy #tevan #anti buddie #not really but i don't want them here #i especially do NOT want them in this post #so im not even gonna tag ryan #anon ❣️

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gietterbug · 5 months ago

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Spy x Family Code: White - Highlights

*This post contains spoilers. Scroll away if you still need to watch the movie. **Reposted because it didn't show in the tags.

Since the movie is out and has been circulating on the internet, I would like to talk one thing or two about it. I'm overjoyed about the release and have watched the movie numerous times. So here are some highlighted scenes, or at least the ones that have become my favorites and lingered in my mind for way too long.

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First off, this scene. It's just a small gesture of Loid because apparently he's worried about Yor's mouth due to the "irritating" lipstick she's wearing.

But tell me, what kind of man would give a woman such a pleasant little gift if he did NOT love her. It's not like, "You're nothing to me. Here's a new lipstick for you!"

Loid is not going to declare "I LOVE YOU" explicitly; the hell is he going to, but we have eyes, and we see. Your small gesture and little gift say everything I need to hear, and I won't take your for the mission excuse anymore, Loid Forger.

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I'm fully aware that the "Yor getting jealous" trope is becoming redundant nowadays. Some people say they're overdoing it and no longer find it interesting to talk about. But I beg to differ. I'm still on the Yor's jealousy bandwagon because it's become a crucial element in her and Loid's relationship. Yor does not necessarily have the right to get jealous and upset about the idea that there is someone else in Loid's heart. Heck, I dare say she can't pull out the "wifey" card because we know it's all fake.

But that's not that.

For me, to say that Yor is jealous there might be another woman in Loid's life is an understatement. It's not to say she is being greedy, but she does want Loid, and only him, not just because she's technically his wife—her genuine feelings for him are growing, and we can see that. She does not want to lose him, let alone to be out of the picture. It's Yor being true to herself. It's Yor fighting for her love and affection for Loid.

Extras:

Yor's heart is already shaken at the possibility of Loid cheating. And HE does not help by throwing such flattery and complimentary comments about his wife. This dense man…

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I liked what Anya did in this scene.

Afraid of her family falling apart, she tried everything she could to prevent that, and that is... through her parents' flirting 😏

She's still a little kiddo, but being the telepath that she is, she still wants her family to stay intact. Anya pushing Loid and Yor together to have some kissy-kissy time never gets old, to be honest. I always enjoy it every time she does that. Anya recollecting what Becky said about divorce and the "supposedly" bloodbath also added some comedic sense to the scene.

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This has got to be my #1 favorite.

The only physical intimacy in this scene is just Loid putting his hand on top of Yor's. Nothing more. Okay, we may have moved past that episode where LoidTwilight pulled a honeytrap on Yor, AND we can't dismiss the fact that maybe, there's a definite chance that he just used her.

But this time, he is determined to keep Yor around for real. He even restated his granade proposal to stick with each other—basically their wedding vows—and had no intention to break that promise. What's this smell? It's a whiff of peak romance.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This scene made me feel warm and fuzzy.

What came to my mind when I was watching this scene was that although Twilight is the best and most renowned spy there is, he's still lacking some things. One of them is, for sure, parenting, which we saw from the earlier episodes of the series, he picked it up from books.

Yor always plays along with Anya to keep her entertained, and it's also one of her ways of parenting that some people may have dismissed. Yor arguably does better in this field than Twilight from her own experiences, the big chunks of which were from when she raised little Yuri. This should eliminate the questionable discourse of Yor "unfitting" for the mother role.

This scene got extended to when Yor told Loid that it was a family trip, that Anya was looking forward to this trip, and that they all should go together.

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This may be the last for now: the Forgers walking hand in hand at the end.

I couldn't imagine the hardships this family went through throughout this movie. (Ok, I know some were absurd, but let's move past them for the sake of this post.) Despite being a fake family, they still came as one and worked hard together to put things back in their place and resolve all the problems. Like... they didn't have to do that; their family is a pretend. But they did. They're complete, and it's so beautiful to see ❤

#spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #twiyor #loidyor #code white #sxf code white #sxf spoilers #sxf

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otomehonyaku · 2 months ago

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DIABOLIK LOVERS More,Blood Stellaworth Complete Set Tokuten Short Stories ☽ Kou ver.

Original title: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE,BLOOD ステラワース全巻連動購入特典ショートストーリ English translation by @otomehonyaku Scans can be found here (courtesy of @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

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SUMMARY | This short story provides a slice of Kou and Yui's daily life after the events of More,Blood. Yui makes vongole bianco for Kou for the umpteenth time, which makes Kou wonder why he even likes the dish to begin with. It brings him to an important realisation.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Please do not reuse or repost my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Mm… vongole bianco really is the best!”

As I was musing about being fine with eating it every day, Kitten looked at me as if to say well, there he goes again.

“What? It’s delicious, right?”

“It is, but won’t you get tired of it if you eat it every single day?”

“Would I? It wouldn’t grow tired of it at all, though…” I said, taking another bite. The soup, permeated by the savouriness of the seafood, was superb. Kitten followed my movements with an exasperated expression on her face.

“Tell me, Kou… Why do you like vongole bianco so much?”

“Hmm… I wonder. I don’t really know why. Although… you know how Yuma loves his sugar cubes, right? It was the first good food Karl Heinz ever gave to him. I guess it’s kinda similar to that.”

Why did I even like it that much? I just couldn’t seem to remember the reason.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter why, does it? I like it because it’s delicious. That’s all!” I said, taking the pasta-laden plate in both hands and lifting it to my mouth.

“Ah!”

“The soup’s the best part! Ah—don’t tell Ruki about this, alright?”

I touched my lips to the edge of the plate and directly drank the remaining soup from it in one go. It was indecent behaviour, a clear sign of bad manners, and I was fully aware of it. Still, it somehow tasted even more delicious this way. I wondered whether it was just my imagination.

“You might not want to do that in front of other people.”

“I know, I know! Who do you think I am?” I said, scooping the remaining pasta into my mouth with vigour and expressing my gratitude for the meal when I was done. “Oh, that was great! I’m already looking forward to you making it for me again tomorrow.”

“You’d really want me to…?”

“Of course! I can’t count on Ruki to make it for me. He said he’s gotten tired of it. Besides, Ruki’s version is pretty good, but yours is a pretty strong contender too, you know?”

Kitten took my plate and smiled wryly when I told her this. “Really? Don’t you think vongole bianco would always be equally delicious, no matter who prepared it?”

“No, not at all,” I said, taking the pitcher of water next to me and pouring myself a glass. My eyes were trained on Kitten’s back as she made her way out of the kitchen.

“Why do I even like vongole bianco?” I muttered to myself, turning over the thought in my head. My memories were pretty blurry, but I was fairly sure I’d come to like it because Ruki made it for me. “Even though Ruki never particularly liked cooking our favourite dishes, he still does so when we ask…”

Come to think of it, it suddenly occurred to me that our food-related demands might have begun as a way of pestering each other. We certainly weren’t very altruistic back then.

”That must be it. It is kind of weird that Ruki would cook them for us every day, even against his will…”

In the blink of an eye, Kitten had returned to the kitchen and heard what I said. “Maybe you don’t like vongole bianco that much after all, then?”

“Huh? Of course I like it, but…” What I like much more is that you would willingly cook the same thing for me every day, I realised. “I see, so that’s why I’d prefer it to be you rather than Ruki.”

“What?”

“…Nothing. Just talking to myself!” I replied, dodging her question, and snaked my arm around Kitten’s waist to pull her close and kiss her on the cheek.

—It’s my fault for testing her love for me. She willingly makes all my selfish desires come true, after all.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik lovers translation #diahell #diabolik lovers translations #otomehonyaku #my translations #diabolik lovers more blood #more blood #Mukami kou #kou mukami #wooo managed to get it done in time! Luckily they’re quite short

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bl00dst41ned · 1 year ago

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*.·:·.✦ catching flights ✦.·:·.*

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

summary: in which it’s way too early to be at the airport

author's note: @judeswhore asked, and I delivered. he was so cute in these pictures too. yeah, I’m slowly going back to writing and I’m in my Jude era.

word count: 406

6 AM.

The sun is just rising as the back and forth keeps going at the airport. In the midst of people running from left to right to catch their plane, you sat on a bench, your feet propped on your suitcase. Your hand rubbed Jude’s cheek as he laid his head on your lap, staring at nothing, eyes hanging low.

“Get some sleep, baby, the flight is in an hour” You spoke in a low, tired voice.

“I can’t, it’s too much going on”

You laughed a bit, watching what was happening around you two. People arguing with staff on one side, others stressing to check their luggage in. Everything your two nosy selfs needed.

“What are they even arguing about ?”

Jude’s face turned the way you looked, squinting his eyes as if he would hear with them.

“She looks like a Karen”

“Yeah, she must have asked for information before, did not understand” Jude figured by looking at the scene.

“And did what they told her wrong” You added to your little scenario. “Now she’s mad screaming at them at 6 in the morning”

Your attention turned to the head on your lap. You always admired Jude when he was sleepy. He looked so calm and peaceful. His eyes were a little glossy and blinked slowly and his lips were in a slight pout. You left a little peck on them, causing a small smile to appear on his face. He pursed his lips as you gave him another one to which he kissed back.

After a few minutes, his breathing slowed, indicating he had fallen asleep. You grabbed your phone and set an alarm for twenty minutes before boarding and closed your eyes too.

Your ringtone awakened you as you instantly turned your alarm off. You stroked Jude’s cheek, waking him up as calm as you could. He got up from your lap, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“You’re ready to go?” Jude asked in a cracking voice.

You knew he had the best of a nap. You nodded and got up stretching. Maybe a bit too hard since you started to have a leg cramp.

“No, no, no” You sat down quickly as Jude chuckled, already aware of what you were on. He gave you his hand for you to intertwine yours with and grabbed your cabin bags heading to get on your plane.

7:30 Victoria, Seychelles

like and repost for support

masterlist for more

#written by bl00dst41ned #black writer #football blurb #football fic #football fluff #football imagine #football x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #i'm in my 'writing jude' era

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bartxnhood · 1 year ago

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lost stars | c.b

colby brock x reader

summary: colby is always there for you. even at your worst.

warnings: mentions of depression, anxiety, thoughts of suicide, etc.

a/n: i’ve been kinda in a slump lately so this is kinda a self insert, but also if any of my followers or you come across this i genuinely hope you know that it will get better. if you need someone to talk to me, please reach out to me. i’ll always be here for you. ❤️

requests open

not proofread

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you were overcome with a familiar sensation. the sensation of having everyone around you but still feeling alone in the world occurred often. the need to curl up under your covers and wither away, the pain in your chest, the random tears, the feeling that you're going crazy. everything was wrong, but you were unable to express your feelings.

you surrounded yourself with toxic people over the years, hungry for any type of attention, even if it was unpleasant. you desired to feel something. even if that meant it hurt you more, it was better than nothing. you weren't numb.

you tried to block out your thoughts with music, but the songs only served to highlight how unhappy you were. your life was uninteresting, and you feared you'd never feel genuine happiness again. until you met colby, you saw everything in black and white.

he was a colorful person who saw the good in the world while you only saw the terrible. it has been said that opposites attract. despite this, you two had a lot in common after the meeting.

first and foremost, both of you had excellent musical tastes. if one of you discovered a new song or band, you'd tell each other about it. alternatively, if colby was droning on about the paranormal and his love for hunting the unknown, you'd be all ears, staring at him with the brightest smile, seeing how his eyes lit up. colby often enjoyed movie marathons with you; you'd both choose a few films you hadn't seen before and watch them together, along with the occasional old favorite you both adored.

“oh cmon, there was totally enough room for jack!” you exclaimed with the remote in hand. you just finished watching titanic for probably the hundredth time with him and you were back to arguing about the ending. “i’m not saying there wasn’t, jus sayin it would’ve been hard to balance!” he laughed, standing up from your sofa with the popcorn bowl in hand. “okay yeah maybe, but that’s why she had the life jacket!” you heard him snicker from the kitchen, “y/n, the movie is twenty years old, i don’t think it’ll change anytime soon. sorry darling” he walked back into the living room falling by your side.

though, it wasn’t always glamorous. you knew colby was famous, you know girls practically threw themselves at him and it did make you uneasy.

not that you thought you weren’t good enough for him, but the fear that once you had another episode, he would leave you.

colby understood about your mental health; he was always there for you and would do whatever to help you the best he could. you never wanted him to see you at your lowest; it was a difficult period for you, and you didn't want colby to bear that burden.

you were going through that again. everything went back to black and white, and the color faded day by day. you began to lose that sparkle in your eyes, you stopped smiling at his texts, you slept most of the day, you didn't leave your bed, and you even forgot to eat some days. your body was once again being overwhelmed by that sensation.

colby began to notice your absence, your one-word texts back, or even not messaging back for hours. it was like a complete shift. he was aware of what was going on and did not hold it against you. you needed time to deal with everything, but he didn't want you alone. he didn't have much experience with what you were feeling, but he would spend every single day with you just to understand; he wants to help you. he doesn't want you to suffer any longer, and even if you didn't talk to him or tell him how you felt, he wanted you to know he was there for you no matter what.

you lay on your bed, a mountain of sheets covering your body. all of your lights were turned out, and the only light came from your window. you couldn't recall when you last showered, maybe four days ago if you had to guess.

when you tried to close your eyes, you felt that familiar aching in your chest again. you began to cry as memories flooded your head. it was annoying not to be able to sleep without your mind taking control. reminding yourself of all you could have done better or things that have contributed to your depression. you felt guilty for everything, even if it had nothing to do with you.

you rolled over, facing your window and door. It was almost midnight. you just wanted to sleep, but following your previous naps, you doubted you'd get any. you tried to close your eyes and rest, but were interrupted by a knock at the door. "y/n?" you heard your boyfriend's voice and opened the door, only to be met with darkness. you opened your eyes and looked at him. "colby?"

he entered, closing the door behind him. "you vanished, and I just wanted to check on you." he left his spare key on your desk. "im okay," he knew you weren't, so he moved over to your side and perched on the edge of the bed. "you sure?" he asks, reaching for your hand. "i know you're having a hard time; whether you let me in or not is up to you." "but I hate seeing you suffer like this, y/n," he implored, his thumb sliding over your knuckles. meanwhile, you chewed on the inside of your cheek as you stared at the wall, fighting back the surge of emotions. "I just," you began, exhaling the breath you felt you'd been holding.

“I'm not sure, colbs. "I just don't know," you hesitated, "I always end up like this again." I can't express how I feel. "I've spent so much time suffering that it's normal," you explained, a few tears falling from your eyes. I don't want to put you down because you deserve so much more."

colby rose, had you scoot over, and took your place on the bed. he drew you closer, allowing you to cry with your head on his chest. "please don't say that." knowing how depressed you were shattered his heart. "i want to be there for you no matter how many times you go through this. “its a part of you that i still adore. you closed your eyes, fighting back tears as he smiled sadly.

"youll get through this, and I'll be right here until you do. you don't have to be alone anymore."

#colby brock imagine #colby brock #colby brock fic #colby brock x reader #colby brock angst #colby brock x you #colby brock fluff #colby brock x y/n #colby brock fanfic #sam golbach #sam and colby

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aibloomie · 1 year ago

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”if you hold me without hurting me. . .”

01. pairing — nagito komaeda x gn!reader

02. synopsis — fluff headcanons on how nagito would react when you comfort him, and headcanons on how he’d comfort you !!

03. note — this is a repost from an old blog i used to have prior to deactivating it (@/au-clover) !! the remake of the nagito edit reminded me so <33 i might repost the fluff alphabet next, not too sure though. uhh excuse any typos WOO

comforting you

— nagito would most likely struggle a bit at first since he has never really gotten any comfort whenever he was going through something, but you’re precious to him and so he’ll try his best to learn and figure out how to help you in your times of need. he already knows when you’re in a bad mood due to him being an observant person, but he won’t bring it up unless you do since he doesn’t think he’s worthy of comforting you. he worries maybe you’d view him as annoying for prying into your business. once you decide to tell him what the problem is though then he’d immediately try to help you

— in a way, comforting you makes him very happy, he hates seeing you upset, but you’re relying on him and he’s never really been needed by anyone. he’s able to help you out, ht person he cherishes the most, you’ve made him so happy, and he’s grateful for the opportunities where he can give back and uplift your mood

— he’s an amazing listener, so if you’re not seeking advice and just want to rant, then he’s perfect for that. he’s also really attentive and will take in every word you say, nodding his head or doing some sort of gesture so you know he’s not distracted

— words of encouragement are something he always provides for you, but if you’re going through a hard time then they’d only increase tenfold. he knows words don’t always fix everything but he’s very good at speaking and getting his point across. compliments and motivational words would spill endlessly from his mouth

— he’s aware that being told things such as “it’ll get better” isn’t that effective, so instead of talking about the situation he just takes the time to admire your strength for dealing with whatever you’re struggling with, he’s rooting you on and he knows you can overcome anything, you’re his precious hope after all

— if you want to distract yourself for a while, then he’s up for that too. he’ll do anything you want, whether it be cuddling or going out and having fun

comforting him

— nagito will appreciate any effort you put in towards comforting him. sometimes you can’t really tell when he’s upset since he’s practically smiling the majority of the time. however, he usually goes silent for a while or he distances himself from you since he’s caught up in his own thoughts, and that’s pretty much your cue to go and help him. he’d probably say something along the lines of: “you’re worrying for someone like me? you really are an angel!”

— after a day full of misfortune, he looks forward to the future since he knows his luck will balance out and therefore good things will happen. that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t upset him at times though, especially when his luck ends up affecting you negatively. during times like these, his self depreciation will only increase and it would help him a lot if you gave him some reassurance: pull him into your arms and tell him you’ll never leave him, and that you accept every single part of him. brush his hair aside and kiss his face too, he’ll be flustered but god he’ll feel so loved

— sometimes he’ll just want to rant about everything that happened throughout his day in detail as he rests his head on your lap and you play with his hair. of course, he’d never ask for that so it would be up to you to initiate the conversation. he also gets in low spirits when others don’t understand his views on hope, a lot of people call him annoying and crazy for that. so if you listen to him talk about it, it would really help him

— when he talks about his past, he usually does it with a smile. he sounds really happy despite all the devastating things that happened. so if you start comforting him, he’ll be really confused, and he’ll apologize for making you worry. deep inside though, he’s grateful you're so kind to him. if you hug him when he’s talking about it, everything will hit him at once and he’ll end up crying, which is very much needed since he just brushes everything aside to cope

#danganronpa x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #nagito komaeda headcanons #nagito komaeda fluff #why does it keep giving me the misspelling of his last name PLEASE 😟

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ahqkas · 7 months ago

Note

Ooh! A cute little fluff thing where f!reader’s eyes sometimes drift? Y’know how like people with lazy eye(s) look different ways, yeah kinda like that. And she’s so insecure about it because some of the students look at her weirdly but mattheo thinks it’s adorable since it’s apart of her and she can’t really change it. It ends up with him calling her his little “Dino” because of how one of those dinosaurs had a weird way of looking straight. (P.s sorry if the nickname is weird, I just think it’s a cute little thing hehe)

-💕

MEND YOUR INSECURITIES ; mattheo riddle

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

THE HOGWARTS CORRIDORS WERE BUSTLING WITH STUDENTS HURRYING TO THEIR NEXT CLASS, the air filled with the usual chatter and laughter. You walked with your head slightly lowered, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. It was something you had done for as long as you could remember, a way to shield yourself from the stares and whispers you received by kids who haven’t matured yet. A stupid, childish action on their parts. Your eyes had a tendency to drift, sometimes making it seem like you were looking in two different directions. You had grown painfully aware of how some of the students would give you strange looks, and it made you feel self-conscious.

You had never spoken about it to anyone, not even to Mattheo, your boyfriend. Despite his constant reassurance and his unwavering support, you feared he might see you differently if he truly understood how much it affected you. But Mattheo was perceptive, and he had noticed your discomfort long ago.

One afternoon, as you sat together in the library, you found yourself fidgeting with a loose thread on your robe. Mattheo was studying a Potions book for an upcoming exam, his brow furrowed in concentration. You glanced up at him, your eyes inadvertently drifting. When you caught sight of his gaze, you quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks as you did so.

"Hey," he said softly, closing his textbook and turning his attention to you. "What's on your mind?"

You shook your head, forcing a smile. "Nothing, just thinking."

"About?" he pressed, his eyes gentle and curious.

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip. "It's silly."

"Try me," he encouraged, reaching out to take your hand in his, his thumb caressing the skin of your knuckles.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to let the words spill out. "It's just . . . my eyes. They sometimes drift, and people look at me weirdly because of it. I know it's not a big deal, but it makes me feel so insecure."

Mattheo's expression softened, and he squeezed your hand gently. "It's not silly. I understand why it bothers you, princess.”

You looked up at him, surprised by his understanding. "You do?"

"Of course," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But you know what? I think it's adorable."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words. "Adorable? How?"

He chuckled, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "It's a part of you, something unique that makes you, well, you. And I love every part of you."

You felt your heart swell with warmth at his words. "But what about those people who look at me strangely?"

"Forget about them," Mattheo said firmly. "They're missing out on seeing how wonderful you are. And you know I can fight."

"Thank you, Mattheo. You always know how to make me feel better."

"Always," he said with a grin. "And you know what else? I think I’m going to start calling you my little Dino."

You blinked, a puzzled smile forming on your lips. "Dino?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know how some dinosaurs had a unique way of looking straight? It reminds me of you, in the best way possible."

You laughed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard."

"But it makes you smile," he pointed out, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "And that's all that matters."

And while the stares and whispers from others might never completely disappear, you knew you had something far more important: someone who loved you exactly as you were, and that made all the difference.

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

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daylight ; colt grice.

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

part one: no sharing names

“Are you scared?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One—

Ramzi is probably getting ready for bed right about now.

Two—

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

Three—

It’s going to be a cold night.

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

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

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

She nods, too afraid to speak.

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

She nods again.

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

“Won’t they ask?”

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

That gets a semblance of a smile on her face.

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

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

“Guess our time is up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colt does not think he is getting another drink tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colt can feel his ears turning pink from embarrassment.

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

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

—he follows the woman up the stairs, anyway.

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

He hears a scream.

The woman doesn’t even slow her pace.

“No.” He answers.

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

“Huh?” The question catches him off guard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Michael’s money, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO LOVE A DEVIL IS TO BE ONE

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

There isn’t any.

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

This man is a Marleyan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alright, honey?”

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

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

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

Smooth. He thinks. Real smooth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a nice name.”

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

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

“Whatever you want.”

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

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

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

“I just want to talk.”

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

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

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

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

“Must be a nice friend.”

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

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

“We’re in different units.”

“So how’d you two meet then?”

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

“He sounds fun.”

“He has his moments.”

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

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

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

—something just like that.

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

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

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

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

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

Honest. He’s being honest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all.

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

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

The whole area feels like a graveyard for the living.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Colt.” He tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still, I probably—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were with that same man two nights ago.

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

“Look, the whore has a child herself!”

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

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

“Sissy, what’s a whore?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it is: a dream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just wanted to talk.

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

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

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

He just wanted to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It really is him.

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

He came back!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I said, it’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

He wants you to call him by his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re still in training?”

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

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

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

“I’m set to inherit the Beast Titan.”

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

“That must be the best one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah. They don’t really care—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Fuck.

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

Colt says a quick prayer to any benevolent god listening.

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

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

Don’t take that shit lying down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A blade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the world goes black.

“Ugh, you.”

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

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

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

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

Michael.

Colt can never seem to catch a break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you even certified?” Michael snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Electrifying.

“This is…” You read the label.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay?” You whisper to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a dream, Colt.”

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

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

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

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

He’s out cold.

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

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

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