#and its just me and her then she’ll be clinging to me

[ayrastv]

dadtoshi - sae

little dad sae drabble (can you tell i have an insane baby fever)

contents : dadtoshi sae, established relationship, ooc sae?? also he’s vvvvvv petty here <3

you and your daughter were peacefully sat down on the couch in itoshi sae’s home, your home, you and your small family’s comfort. you were currently watching nursery rhymes with your little girl, gently stroking her head as she jumps in your lap.

you’re both interrupted by the sound of the door opening, you turn your head to see your husband is finally back from practice, he seems exhausted, all he wants right now is to lay in your embrace.

little did he know that would be harder than he thought.

“hi baby.” you greet him from afar, he’s done taking off his shoes and is already walking to you. “hey.” he lets out a grumble, his manager troubled him lots today. he turns to his little bundle of joy. “shes so engrossed in that TV, huh? keep this up and she’ll become even more spoiled than she already is.” sae scolds you jokingly and you chuckle. “jeez, just let her enjoy her nursery rhymes! they’re very educational.” you pout.

“fine fine.” sae gives into your pout easily, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger like that. sae reaches his hand to ruffle his toddler’s hair, to which she finally notices his presence. “hi daddy!!” she chimes, sae nearly breaks a smile at his little cutie’s face. “you missed daddy?” he asks, tickling her chin. “yesss, very much!!” your daughter nearly drops the remote, but sae catches it in time.

────୨ৎ────

you dont think you’ve ever seen your daughter this furious before.

after the 3 of you watched some TV, sae leaned in to give you a kiss—not expecting his toddler to smack his mouth away, yelling “daddy go away!” you and sae were baffled, but you quickly started giggling but sae just had a very very mean look on his face. “huh?” he mutters out. “mommy only kiss me from now on.” your toddler said proudly, and sae let out a scoff. “oh, is that so now? i don’t believe that, you little brat.”

your toddler starts whining, clinging onto you. “mommy daddy’s being meaaaaannnuhh.” you have to hold in your bursts of laughters. “don’t worry, mommy will teach him a lesson okay?”

9:07PM your daughter is finally asleep in her room, sae’s laying against your chest, a pout on his face. “shes stealing you away from me.” he says bitterly, you give his head a few gentle strokes. “awwwww, its gonna be okay.” you say teasingly to which he glares at you. “don’t baby me. that little brat has the audacity, hmph.” he looks very wounded right now, unlike his usual prideful and confident self.

“i could kick a ball to her face with my eyes closed.”

“ITOSHI SAE.”

“…lightly.”

“thats better.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Witch /// Part 2

Part 1

The great part about Rhiana the Witch’s cozy cottage outside that small town was the privacy. Not just when her most wriggly meals ran; but because it was purposefully hidden. The faerie circles just outside the town messed with maps and satellites making her little place a safe haven from the enemies and ex-lovers experiments she’d made over her many centuries of being alive. But now that she was leaving to get closer to you, she was uncomfortably exposed. 

“Hey Rhi-Rhi you okay? You’ve looked so nervous since I picked you up.”

“Oh I’m fine it’s just all these people make me so nervous.”

“I guess it is kind of overwhelming.”

“Maybe you can take me somewhere private. Like your place maybe?”

She thinks it’s worth the risk as she’s allowed to use the same excuse to cling to your side. Pretend to be distraught when she gets hit on to have you pretend to be dating to drive off desperate and confident weirdos. She eats that up. Unfortunately though, her open fawning over you leaves her unguarded from soul searches. An old technique lovers of olde used to unite over long periods. Naturally, trouble just happens to be in the 500-meter radius and is well off enough to get in close to foil her plans.

“Hello there. I’m your new neighbor. I wanted to introduce myself to everyone since I’m completely new to the area.”

“Oh hi, nice to meet you! I’m (Y/n) and this is Rhi–”

“(Y/n) you don’t have to introduce me I’m only visiting.”

“That’s such a shame Rhiana. I would’ve hoped we could…get to know each other better.”

Trouble is one of her craziest exes–Narciness. He was a nymph and she was a witch. Back then, it made sense that they were perfect for one another. Both were a gorgeous couple, immortal and with plenty of magic. Not to mention he didn’t even mind that she ate humans for her youthful appearance. But it just wasn’t right for Rhea. Just as his name would suggest there was a deep-seated and well-masked narcissism that showed its ugly head at the worst times. She ultimately took the very mature option that she’s learned over the centuries when it comes to major obstacles. She ran. 

“Nice to see you again Rhiana. It’s always nice to know my girlfriend decided to disappear from me the last few centuries!”

“Quit whining. I left you a note didn’t I?”

“A note cursed to explode with a memory-wipe spell the second I finished it. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to leave me.”

“Oh genius, you’re finally getting it!”

“That can’t be right! You and I…we’re perfect together! And you instead cheat on me with the most imperfect human!”

“Do not ever talk about my (Y/n) like that!”

She’s almost glad he’s crazy enough not to hide his intentions. Had he been cut from the same cloth as she-she would have kept silent until after she devoured her prey. But Narciness is an idiot who so clearly had it out for you that she wouldn’t let him live another day without singing your praises. Unfortunately, the thing about killing a nymph is that it wasn’t easy, a child of the old powers of nature. He’s survived a lot of things and can withstand some of Rhea’s most fatal potions. And especially when she’s far from home spending time with you, she’s a little shorthanded. So she’ll come up with another remedy. 

“Hey Narc, I didn’t know you went shopping here.”

“I think instead of solely getting the organic stuff I figured I’d swing by here every once in a while. The gallery is truly immaculate.”

“Good for you. C’mon (Y/n) we’re going to miss our movie.”

“Oh right! Well, it was nice seeing you, Narc!”

“Oh (Y/n) before you go, there's something I wanted to tell you.”

“What?”

“I just love your smile.”

“Oh, thanks !”

“Let’s go, (Y/n).”

The thing she found that sparked her attraction to him was his smile. It lit up the room like yours and in the end, it’ll be what protects you from his violent protections of ‘their relationship’. Unfortunately, now that she’s used a spell to shift his affection she’ll have to figure out some way to end his life before he turns violent against her. Too bad it’ll be hard to figure out in the span of two days. Now she can miss her plane and extend her stay a little while but it’s just not enough time. Not enough time for her to make sure ‘Narc’ doesn’t try anything, she’ll have to do something drastic. 

“Narciness I was hoping we could find some common ground.”

“With you? Babe, didn’t I tell you I was done? Your old news.”

“For you, I might be but I’m the hottest thing in (Y/n)’s world.”

“...I see. So we’re officially competing then. Would you like to fight this out now?”

“I’d like to try something new. A gesture of peace, if you will.”

“...oven mitts? You plan to make me bake? Why would I concern myself with such a lowly task?”

“Did I tell you (Y/n) has a sweet tooth?”

“...”

Rhea the Witch considers herself lucky her ex considered cooking for himself as a job for ‘someone uglier than him.’ She’s also glad she gets to stay another day due to food poisoning. Who knew nymphs gave witches so much nausea?

“Oh Rhea were you eating that bloody meat again? I keep telling you that rare steak is great but you got to make sure it’s at least cooked a little bit.”

“I know hon. I should really think about maintaining my diet better.”

“Yeah, I’m just glad this is happening now. Instead of on a plane or bus where I wouldn’t be there for you.”

“Yes…(Y/n) what do you think about me staying another week or so. So many things keep happening, it feels as though fate is telling me.”

She may have some serious indigestion but you were hers and the threat was…toast. For Rhea, her reward was being pampered by you. Finally able to rest with her love by her side. Nothing was better and nothing could bother her. Not even the distant thought of the new owner to the place next door. 

“I noticed your plants. I’m not a huge fan of nature but maybe you can show me the ropes. What do you say, neighbor?”

[cloudcountry]

[inhales]

fem deliquint deuce beating people up with a cool jacket

FEM DEUCE BEING ROUGH N TUMBLE AND GETTIN INTO TROUBLE

fem duece who can't fucking walk in heels but tries her danrdest becuase "honor role students need to be spiffy"

fem deuce who has so many chick and egg themed things (ace makes fun of her stuffed chick)

FEM DEUCE WHO LOVES FLAMINGO BABIES-

fem deuce who squeaks and blushes when you carry her princess style

fem deuce who isn't good at fashion but tries to dress up for your dates

fem deuce who tries to make you bento like her mom did and fails... so you cook together

SUMMARY: some moments you share with fem!deuce

COMMENTS: shes so lesbian to me...i love her.

Her jacket swings behind her like a pair of angel wings as she throws punch after punch, kneeing the guy who bothered you square in the chest. She falls back into a fighting stance as he crumples to the ground, her fists clenched and a splatter of blood across her wrists. She turns to you, short dark blue hair blocking your view of her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks, tucking those strands behind her ear, and you can’t help the way your heart lurches when the blood gets in her hair.

It’s not the first time she’s protected you when some guys from another school were just a bit too persistent. You know she’ll lament this fight later and talk about how she’s not a proper honors student, but you’ll be there to convince her otherwise.

She grips your hands like a lifeline, ankles jittering concerningly as she stumbles into her dorm room, kicking the offending shoes off into the opposite wall as soon as the door closes behind her. You purse your lips as she flops on her bed, rubbing her sore feet with her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth. She’s bitten them black and blue again it seems, and you frown.

“You know, Deuce...” you wait until she looks up at you, eyes wide and curious, “You could always start with smaller heels. There’s no reason to wear these monstrosities when they hurt you so much. You could even wear flats!”

Deuce opens and closes her mouth a few times before growing pink, her lips forming a thin line. She didn’t think about it that way, did she?

She regularly wears these little chick hair clips to pull her bangs away from her eyes when she studies. Deuce will forever have the nasty habit of running her hands through her hair and messing up the placement anyway, so you’re not surprised when you find a forgotten pin on your floor or nightstand. Her phone grip is a light blue egg, its shell speckled with darker blue spots. You told her it was cute and she bought you one of your own to get with your new phone, along with a chick phone charm.

She also has a soft spot for baby birds, especially the flamingos in Heartslabyul. Deuce will forever coo about how small and fuzzy and cute they are, petting them softly with the most gentle hands you’ve ever seen.

She swears she isn’t good at fashion but she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen when she steps out of her dorm room, a pair of high waisted black pants and a white lacy top on, the outfit simple but suiting her so well. She rocks back and forth on her heels, the motion awkward in her sneakers (freshly cleaned, you notice with a smile) as she mumbles that it’s her first date, so she tried really hard. You take her hand and pull her closer, swooping her up into your arms as you spin her around. Deuce yelps and clings to your neck, face flushing bright red even when you put her back down. She tries not to notice how lovingly you’re looking at her, or how your expression only gets sappier when she shows you the picnic basket she has in her hands, murmuring something about a homemade lunch she made with Trey to make sure you had the best.

You tell her you’d eat anything she makes you, no matter what.

-> deuce's darlings . . . @vivigoesinsane @deucespadez @identity-theft-101 @dove-da-birb

[estellan0vella]

Really Bad Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU

The room is dark, bathed in the soft, ambient glow from the streetlight outside. You’re nestled comfortably in bed beside Sukuna, his arm draped protectively over your waist. The night is serene, a peaceful lull after a busy day at the parlour.

Suddenly, your body tenses, jerking violently. Sukuna stirs, instantly alert, his instincts kicking in. "Baby?" he whispers, concern etching into his features as he feels the tremors wrack your body. "Babe, can you hear me?"

Your eyes are wide open but unseeing, and guttural, pained noises escape through your gritted teeth. Sukuna’s heart pounds as he quickly turns on the bedside lamp, the light revealing the severity of your seizure.

“Fuck,” he mutters, urgency gripping him. He grabs his phone, fingers trembling as he dials the emergency services, rattling off the necessary details. "My girlfriend's having a seizure. It's not stopping. Yes, she's epileptic. Please, hurry."

As he ends the call, the door creaks open. Yuji stands there, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his small face scrunched in worry. "Suku, what's happening to Y/N/N?"

"Yuji, stay calm," Sukuna says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Y/N's having a seizure. The ambulance is on its way."

"But she’s making those scary noises," Yuji whimpers, inching closer to the bed.

Sukuna scoops him up with his free arm, holding him tightly. "I know, buddy. It’s gonna be okay. We just need to wait for the ambulance."

The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Your seizure shows no signs of stopping. Sukuna places you on your side, ensuring you’re safe, while holding Yuji close, murmuring reassurances.

Finally, the sound of sirens pierces the night. Sukuna carries Yuji as he rushes to open the door for the paramedics. "In here," he directs, voice tight with urgency.

The paramedics move swiftly, administering the first dose of diazepam. Sukuna watches, anxiety clawing at him as your body continues to convulse. After three doses, your seizure finally begins to subside, but your breathing is shallow and erratic.

"She's stable for now, but we need to get her to the hospital," one of the paramedics says. Sukuna nods, his grip on Yuji tightening.

In the ambulance, Sukuna calls Gojo, his fingers slick with sweat. "It’s Y/N. She had a bad seizure. We’re on our way to the hospital."

Gojo's voice is immediately filled with concern. "We’ll meet you there. Hang in there, Sukuna."

The ride to the hospital feels like an eternity. Yuji clings to Sukuna, wide-eyed and frightened. "Is Y/N/N gonna be okay?" he asks, voice trembling.

"She will be," Sukuna assures him, though worry gnaws at him.

At the hospital, the medics rush you inside, and Yuji’s fear morphs into panic. "Y/N/N! No!" he screams, trying to break free from Sukuna’s hold. "I want to be with her!"

"Yuji, you have to stay here," Sukuna says, his voice strained as he struggles to keep a grip on the frantic boy. "Let the doctors help her."

Yuji fights against him, kicking and scratching, a particularly vicious bite drawing blood from Sukuna's arm. "Let me go! I want Y/N/N!"

“Yuji, stop!” Sukuna shouts, pain lacing his voice. "You’re hurting me. I promise she’ll be okay."

Yuji's struggles weaken, his cries turning to sobs as he clings to Sukuna. "I want Y/N/N," he whimpers, the heartbreak in his voice tearing at Sukuna's heart.

Gojo and Geto arrive as Yuji cries into Sukuna's t-shirt, wiping snot and tears all over the fabric. "We’ll take Yuji to get something to eat, Sukuna. Stay with her," Geto says gently, prying Yuji from Sukuna's arms.

"Y/N will be okay," Gojo assures Yuji as they head towards the cafeteria. "Let’s give her some time to rest."

Sukuna watches them go, his heart heavy but grateful for his friends' support. Once you’re stable and moved to a room, he finally allows himself a moment to breathe. He sits by your bed, holding your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Gojo and Geto return with Yuji, who immediately climbs into the bed next to you, curling up at your side. “Y/N/N?” he whispers, his voice shaky. "It's me, Yuji. You're gonna be okay."

The room is quiet, filled only with the sound of your breathing and the steady beeping of the monitors. Time seems to stretch on forever, until finally, you stir, eyes fluttering open. Confusion clouds your gaze as you take in the hospital room, your mind struggling to piece together what happened.

“Yuji?” you croak out, your voice barely a whisper.

Yuji’s face lights up with relief, and he squeezes your hand. “You had a seizure, Y/N/N. It was really bad, but you're okay now. Suku and I are here.”

Sukuna leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re here, babe. Just rest. We’ve got you.”

Gojo and Geto stand nearby, their presence a comforting reassurance. “Take it easy,” Gojo says softly. “You’re safe now.”

You close your eyes, exhaustion pulling you back under, but the fear and confusion are lessened by the love and support surrounding you. As you drift back to sleep, Sukuna and Yuji remain by your side, a steadfast reminder that no matter what, they will always be there to protect you.

taglist - @sad-darksoul @thejujvtsupost

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life in the City 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: A brief reprieve from the snakish prince.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sleep lightly, A restless night that leaves your skull fragile. You give up your attempts as the sun rises through the windows. You sit up and stretch, looking around the soft hues limning the walls of Melanie’s apartment.

You stand and move cautiously through the space. You change in the bathroom, doing your best not to make too much noise as you go out to grab your bag. You brush your teeth and tidy up. You’ll have a shower when you get home.

You emerge and look around, making sure you haven’t left anything out. You take the time to clean up the snacks from the night before and place everything away in the cupboard. You know Melanie’s on a diet but it feels wrong to take it all back with you.

As you zip up your bag, a shadow darkness the hallway and you look up as Clark tussles his dark hair and stretches. You glimpse at him briefly, mortified to find him shirtless, his hard torso exposed above the low elastic of his sweatpants.

“Morning,” his voice is silty with sleep, “what… are you leaving already?”

“Well, I… I should head off. Get out of your way,” you shrug as you speak quietly, “plus, I got chores…”

“Oh, do you need a ride,” he lets his hand drag down his chest as you shift awkwardly, clinging to your knapsack.

“Um, that’s nice, but I’ll just catch the bus–”

“The bus?” He echoes, “let me throw on a shirt and get myself together. I can’t let you just sneak off.”

“Erm, I guess… I could wait and say goodbye to Melanie, I just thought–”

“Yeah, she won’t be up for a while,” he drops his arms, his chest puffed proudly, “you know, she drank a lot. She wasn’t feeling too well. You didn’t hear her?”

“What? I…” you blink and avoid his gaze, “I was asleep, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh, yeah, she was sick in the middle of the night. Pretty bad. I tell her not to drink on an empty stomach.”

“Ah, uh, yeah, that’s awful,” you sputter, “I… I’m sorry to rush out, it’s just I got a lot to catch up.”

“No problem. I’ll save you waiting for the bus,” he says, “won’t be long at all.”

“Oh, okay, but–”

“Really, it’s no trouble. If I don’t wake her up with a real latte, she’ll bite my head off,” he chuckles, “hungover Melanie is not nice Melanie.”

“Right,” you try to laugh but it’s more a croak, “I’ll just be… here then.”

🏙️

You sit in the car silently. The tension is roiling. You don’t know why you agreed. You could have insisted; the bus won’t be long…

Too late for that. You’re stuck now. At least there’s not much traffic. You hug your bag in your lap, anxious to just get home. He drives patiently despite the empty streets, taking his time as he turns onto the next street.

“So, chores, sounds exciting,” he teases.

“Mm, yeah, I guess,” you agree squeakily.

“What else are Saturday’s for? Guess you’re headed back to work on Monday?”

You nod, “mhmm.”

“How is it? Work? You making lots of friends?”

You almost feel like a kid. It reminds you of when your dad would pick you up from school and ask what trouble you go into. You twiddle your fingers against your bag.

“Um, well, everyone sort’ve keeps to themselves,” you eke out, “there’s a lot of work so…”

“You’ll settle in. I’m sure you’ll find lots of friends,” he slows and flips on his blinker, “I mean, you already have.” You tilt your head and glance at him in confusion, “me.”

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah, sorry, I’m tired,” you laugh nervously.

“So,” he rolls into the lot of the Coffee Bean, “want something?”

“You don’t have to–”

“I’m stopping by anyway, no biggie,” he insists, “coffee, tea?”

You pick at the zipper of your bag. He’s so nice. Too nice. But that’s not a real problem, you’re just making it into one. Last night… what did he do so wrong? Pull a blanket over you? It was cold.

“Sure, could I just get an iced green tea, please and thank you?” You unzip your bag and fish around.

He steers into the drive through and puts in his order at the speaker, listing off Melanie’s complicated lite syrup, half-foam, coconut milk monstrosity at the end. You pull out your wallet as he’s directed to the window.

“My treat,” he insists.

“Really, it’s just three bucks.”

“Exactly,” he insists, “you brought all those treats last night, the least I can do is buy you an iced tea.”

“Thanks,” you sniff and look out the window.

“I’ll make sure Mel gives you a call. You two can hash this out,” he stops and waits at the window, “she needs a friend like you. All the others are so… well, they’re not as nice as you.”

“Maybe, I… if she wants to call. I don’t want to bug her.”

“Bug her? Oh, sweetie, she doesn’t deserve a friend like you,” he says, “but I’m being selfish and I think you’d be a good influence.”

You nod again, put off by his tone. It’s like he’s a parent the way he talks about Melanie. Almost like he’s trying to mould her into something. Someone like him, with his name and his looks, you’re sure he could find someone who already fits right in.

The window opens and he takes the tray of drinks. He hands you yours before sliding the other two into the cup holders. He flings the cardboard tray onto the backseat and continues through the exit. He idles at the signs.

“I forgot, which way am I going?” 

You point him in the right direction, nearly sighing in relief. You’re almost home. You just want to hide away in your shame and never be perceived again.

🏙️

You’re not very surprised when Melanie doesn’t call. Not on Saturday or Sunday. You’re grateful that she doesn’t. You’re trying to forget about the movie night gone wrong. It’s probably better off. You’ve both changed a lot since high school, or maybe you haven’t changed enough.

You go through your usual. You’re not a liar, you do have chores. Dishes, laundry, floors, dusting… You keep yourself busy in an effort to block out the memory of the night. You won’t be watching Never Been Kissed ever again, that’s for sure.

Monday morning greets you with a new start but it all feels so stale. The routine is the same as the weeks before. Wake up, green tea in a thermos, pack your lunch, make yourself presentable, and out the door to catch the bus.

You enjoy the route, letting it lull your pre-work jitters. You’ve been there going on a month and somehow you still feel out-of-place. It’s not like before, where you knew all the people at your work study, or in high school where the associates in the department store joked around more than they ever did the price changes.

You stroll up to the building, slowing behind a pair of men in tailored suits. You feel like a minnow in a sea of sharks. You follow them inside as they drop the door on you. They’re important. They’re chatting about an important meeting and business trip next week. You’ll be dutifully perched at your desk, roving through spreadsheets.

The salesmen are higher up the chain than you in the ecosystem of the company. You’re somewhere along the lower-middle ground, below the lions and the hyenas. You’re off with Timon and Pumbaa, trying not to get eaten.

You step onto the elevator with them, shrinking down. You’re invisible to them. You’re not Stella in her red-soled stilettos and tight pencil skirts, or Ginnifer in her high-buns and sleek pantsuits. You feel like a little girl playing dress up even in your simple powder blue cardigan and flowered skirt.

The elevator bings and the men nearly bowl you over as they brush past you on each side. You get off after them and scurry away to your desk. You see Stella now, sipping a tall latte as she purrs at Tony. She struts down the hall ahead of him as she calls back about some expense report.

You tuck your bag under your desk and get yourself situated. You plunk down your thermos beside your mouse and boot up. You roll your ankles under the desk, your Keds soft-soled but comfortable. You can’t run for the bus in heels.

You steel yourself for another day buried in Excel columns. You sign in and push back the cap on the lid of your cup. Steam escapes and you let the heat escape before you dare taste it. You pull up your inbox and scroll through your emails. Your task list is ever longer by the day.

Your work isn’t unimportant. You give the analytics to the salesman and the big suits. You provide the numbers for their strategy but for them, all that is menial. That’s not the real meat of the company. You and all the other ants in the hill are dispensable.

You push your chair back as you reach into your bag for your notebook. As you do, the back collides with something. You quickly roll back in, knocking your head on the edge of the desk as you do. You rub your brow as you spin to face the obstruction.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you babble up at the tall man. 

He’s big, blond, and burly, and wears a suit that demarcates him as one of them. You don’t need an introduction, everyone knows who he is. The COO is memorable for more than his title. His booming voice and towering size set him apart from all the other men in their leather shoes and skinny ties.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you stand but still have to crane your neck to look at him, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiles broadly, “are you alright? You took quite a bump.”

“Oh,” you drop your hand from your head, “yeah, I’m fine, sir. Thank you. I was just… looking for something.”

“So long as you’re alright. However, I am the safety officer, I could have a look,” he offers.

“Really, I’m fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to do that–”

“I didn’t mind so much,” he assures you, “I don’t know you. You’re new. Leah’s replacement?”

“Um, I think,” you look at your desk, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course not,” he accepts, “Thor Odinson.”

He holds out his large hand. You consider it and give him your own. Your hand is tiny in comparison as he easily wraps his fingers around it. You supply your name with a squeak.

“Ah, I like that,” he praises, “well, you have a wonderful day. And welcome to the company.”

“Yes, sir,” you rescind your hand as he releases it. His cologne wafts towards you, vanilla underscored by something woodsy.

“Thor,” he affirms.

You repeat his name and clutch your hands together. He lingers, looking you up and down, then turns on his heel. You watch him go before you sit.

You want to hold your head and hide. What did he think of you? This girl in her thin wool cardigan and lace-up sneakers. You don’t know why you care so much. He’s your boss but not directly. He’s probably already forgotten about you.

You cringe and swirl your mouse around. Focus. You’re at work. This isn’t high school or college. This isn’t about making friends and all that. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you, your work matters.

You lean into the screen and squint at the tight boxes, increasing their size as you open a new report. For all your studying, you never saw yourself sitting there fighting with numbers all day. Percentages, rates, medians, mean… how boring.

You jolt as you feel your bag buzz against your leg. You look behind you before you push your chair out this time and bring your bag into your lap. You retrieve your notebook as you remember the cause of your first folly then fish out your phone. 

You bring down the menu and set it to silent. Before you hit lock, you see the message beaming back at you. It’s from Melanie.

‘Hey girl. Let’s talk.’

You frown. You’d already accepted that Mel was done with you. She was always good at holding a grudge, even for the slightest offence. You wonder if Clark really had talked to her. You leave it unread and tuck your phone away, dropping your bag back to the floor and shoving it away with your toes.

As you return your attention to your monitor, you sense something behind it. There, across the room, you meet Thor’s eyes as he stares at you. He has a red mug of coffee in his hand as he sips. He pulls the brim away from his lips and grins, sending a wink in your direction.

You blink and look over your shoulder. Who is he looking at? You turn back to face him again. He’s gone. Ah, whoever it was, must’ve caught up to him.

You shake off the collision and the text message. Work!

[bullet-prooflove]

The Weight of Water: Daniel LaRusso x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@kiwiwatermelonsuger@sadgenderfluidmaniac@junghwansy2k

Summer School Series:

Part One: Summer School - Daniel's excited to meet Anthony's new art teacher.

Part Two: Dirt - Daniel learns more about you and your business.

Over the course of the summer Daniel starts to learn more about you, it’s snippets of conversation in between picking up Anthony and dropping him off but he enjoys the time you spend together. The glimpses of you he gets to see.

It’s through one of those conversations that he learns you surf every morning. You come into the studio with wet hair, the scent of the ocean clinging to your skin and he can’t help but ask what you’ve been up to.

“You should come with me one morning.” You say as you carefully set out the tools on your desk. Anthony is already at his workspace, combing through the box of cogs, selecting the different sizes he’ll need for his next project. He’s become one of your most diligent students over the summer. Excited to be there, the last to leave, always peppering you with questions. “Being on the water, its therapeutic. Good for the soul.”

“I haven’t done anything like that since Sam was a kid.” Daniel tells you, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck. “We gave it up when she got into volleyball. I used to really enjoy it.”

“My friend owns a surf shop near the place I go, she’ll let you borrow a surf board and wet suit if I ask nicely. She lets me store my board there.” You say as you turn to face him, your voice lowering so Anthony doesn’t overhear. “Besides it might be good for you to take a beat,  do something for yourself.”

Daniel crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back against your desk with a sigh. He can’t remember the last time he did something that didn’t involve the kids, the dealership or the dojo. He loves all three but there’s a responsibility that comes with them, he always has to be present and focused. There’s never time to just take a breath.

“Does it show?” He askes quietly, his gaze coming to rest on Anthony as he sorts through his equipment.

“You have this little furrow right here.” You say, your fingertip rubbing lightly over the space between his eyes. “I’m scared it’s going to become permanent.”

The edges of his mouth turn up into a small smile as he captures your hand in his. His thumb caresses your palm as he looks down at it.

“The kids are at Amanda’s tonight, I can come with you tomorrow morning if you’re up for the company.” He says, looking down at your linked fingers.

“I am.” You tell him, squeezing his hand lightly. “I’ll text you the time and place.”

***

Daniel doesn’t remember the last time he was at the beach, the house he used to live in with Amanda had a pool so they never ventured outside of the neighbourhood unless it was to the country club. He hasn’t been back there since the divorce because those people were always more Amanda’s speed than his.

It’s only with hindsight that he sees how much his marriage changed him. Her aspirations became his, together they build an empire, a successful life for their kids. He doesn’t know when they fell out of love, only that he woke up one morning and realised he that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a conversation with the woman sleeping next to him about anything other than the kids. They’d tried dating after that and discovered it was the only thing they had in common.

So they’d made the decision to uncouple, divide everything in half and coparent the kids. Amanda still lives in that house in Encino Hills, they’d both thought it was better for the kids that they have that consistency. Daniel’s moved to a smaller house a couple of blocks away, with a reflecting pool and grass that he likes to feel under his feet first thing in the morning.

That’s what he thinks about when he’s out on the water with you that morning, the changes in his life, how he’s happier now than he’s ever been. There’s no roles, no assumptions, no responsibilities out here, he’s just himself in its rawest form and he finds that liberating. He watches you as he sits on his surfboard and lets the waves lap against him. You’re a natural in the water, catching waves as if you’re attuned to the whims of the sea, laughing when you bail. There’s an authenticity in you that calls to him, you never try to be anything other than yourself and he can’t describe how attractive he finds that.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” He tells you in the aftermath. The two of you are standing at the back of your Jeep, wetsuits unzipped and rolled down to the waist. He’s dabbing himself off with towel while you’re drinking from a bottle of water.

It does something to him seeing you in that sports bikini, the way it clings to your form, covering your assets. It has a skull and a couple of roses on the front in a similar style to those that are inked into your upper arms. He had no idea you had tattoos until today, he wants to chase his fingers over them, ask you what they mean but he holds himself back, he always does.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime.” You tell him as you pick up your towel to dry off your hair.

“I’m free tomorrow.” He tells you with a boyish grin.

It becomes a standing thing between the two of you then. On mornings he doesn’t have the kids he’s with you at the beach, it’s usually followed by coffee and breakfast at the café on the corner. His days feel happier, his life full. He talks about the books he’s reading, the podcasts he’s listening too, the lessons he’s trying to instil in the kids, both his own and the ones he teaches at his dojo.

This, he realises is what he was missing from his relationship with Amanda, the sense of connection, the individuality. With you he’s his own person, an entity that exists outside of all the roles he plays. He doesn’t disappear, the way he did in his marriage. He thinks about asking you out, telling you he wants more but there never seems to be the right moment.

The end of summer art show, he promises himself. That’s when I’ll do it.

Of course, he’s Daniel LaRusso and his life…

It never works out the way he planned.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[wttcsms]

daylight ; colt grice.

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

part one: no sharing names

“Are you scared?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One—

Ramzi is probably getting ready for bed right about now. 

Two—

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

Three—

It’s going to be a cold night.

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

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

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

“Look at me.” 

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

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

She nods, too afraid to speak. 

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

 She nods again.

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

“Won’t they ask?” 

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

That gets a semblance of a smile on her face.

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

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

“Guess our time is up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colt does not think he is getting another drink tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colt can feel his ears turning pink from embarrassment. 

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

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

—he follows the woman up the stairs, anyway.

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

He hears a scream. 

The woman doesn’t even slow her pace.

“No.” He answers. 

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

“Huh?” The question catches him off guard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Michael’s money, anyway. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO LOVE A DEVIL IS TO BE ONE

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

There isn’t any.

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

This man is a Marleyan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alright, honey?”

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

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

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

Smooth. He thinks. Real smooth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a nice name.” 

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

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

“Whatever you want.” 

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

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

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

“I just want to talk.” 

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

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

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

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

“Must be a nice friend.”

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

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

“We’re in different units.”

“So how’d you two meet then?” 

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

“He sounds fun.”

“He has his moments.” 

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

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

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

—something just like that. 

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

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

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

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

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

Honest. He’s being honest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all.

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

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

The whole area feels like a graveyard for the living.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Colt.” He tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still, I probably—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were with that same man two nights ago. 

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

“Look, the whore has a child herself!” 

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

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

“Sissy, what’s a whore?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it is: a dream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just wanted to talk.

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

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

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

He just wanted to talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It really is him.

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

He came back! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like I said, it’s not—”

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

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

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

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

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

He wants you to call him by his name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re still in training?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That must be the best one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah. They don’t really care—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Fuck.

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

Colt says a quick prayer to any benevolent god listening. 

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

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

Don’t take that shit lying down.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A blade. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the world goes black.

“Ugh, you.”

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

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

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

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

Michael. 

Colt can never seem to catch a break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you even certified?” Michael snaps. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Electrifying. 

“This is…” You read the label. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this okay?” You whisper to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a dream, Colt.” 

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

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

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

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

He’s out cold.

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

[wandasbbg]

The Woman Nextdoor - mommy!wanda x fem neighbor!reader

Wanda was new to the neighborhood. After a long and painful divorce from Vision, what she and her boys needed was a fresh start. That start came in the shape of four green walls, a white front door, and a fenced in backyard. What she didn’t know was that her new start would also come in the shape of you. 

warnings: 18+ content, sexual themes and language, age gap, blood.

6.6k words, kinda slow burn, it's worth it tho!

this is my first fic, hope u like it :)

Wanda was new to the neighborhood. After a long and painful divorce from Vision, what she and her boys needed was a fresh start. That start came in the shape of four green walls, a white front door, and a fenced in backyard. What she didn’t know was that her new start would also come in the shape of you. 

Sunday Night, two days after moving in.

“Alright boys, I know you’re probably nervous for tomorrow, starting at a new school and all, but just know that Mommy is so proud of you both for being so brave throughout this whole thing. I know we are all going to be so happy here, and I know you’re going to love your new school. I can already tell that you’re both going to have so many friends by the end of this week. It’s going to be good, okay?”

Billy and Tommy looked at each other, and then at their mother. The brothers knew how stressed their mom was, and they both wanted to be strong for her, especially now that their Dad was gone. Despite their fears, they smiled courageously for their mother and nodded in agreement with her sentiments.

“Okay, good. If either of you need anything tonight you know I’m just down the hall.”

Wanda put the boys to bed, kissed them goodnight, and went downstairs. She walked into her unfurnished and undecorated kitchen in search of some wine. She found some, thankfully, and sat down on their new couch in their new living room, in this new town, with everything new. Her worries about the boys and school tomorrow washed away somewhat after her second class. Wanda knew she should stop herself after two, remembering what more than 3 glasses did to her. 

It had been 6 months since Wanda had been touched by another, despite her separation from Vision only being 2 months ago. For some reason Wanda couldn’t name, she poured herself another glass. The boys were asleep and she desperately needed some relief from the copious amounts of stress clinging to her back and shoulders. The red from her wine began to dance its way into her cheeks, leaving her face very warm. That flushed feeling was growing, and it was quickly traveling down her tired body. Wanda placed her glass down on her new coffee table, and unbuttoned her jeans. Her un-manicured nails slid down into her underwear. She felt herself, her own wetness, and a grunted moan slipped out. She threw her other hand over her mouth…and she kept going. Thinking of nothing but that familiar feeling, one she thought she may have lost, came crashing back to her. It soon sent her tumbling over the edge, as she pumped herself full of her own two fingers, using her thumb to play with her clit, breathing heavily into her hand.

Wanda dumped the last sips of her glass in the sink and went to her new bedroom. She laid in bed, drunk, exhausted, and alone. 

Monday Morning, three days after moving in.

“Remember, if at any point something happens you just go and find Ms. Maddie. She’ll help you, and she can call me in an emergency.”

Wanda waved her boys off as they were carried away on the school bus. As she stood there, and the bus disappeared from sight, something caught her eye on the other side of the street. You replaced the image of the bus, as you stood outside and washed your car. Wanda observed your bikini top and jean shorts, looking like Miss Americana. She stood mesmerized as you bent over to dip your sponge deep in the bucket; she watched you flip your hair as you brought the sponge back up to the hood of the red convertible, in what she assumed was your driveway. All those feelings from last night came flooding back and before she knew what she was doing, she was calling out to you. 

“Hi!”

You kept washing, headphones blaring as you scrubbed your beloved car, oblivious to the woman trying to get your attention. Wanda figured you must have not heard her, so she waved her hand and tried again.

“Hello! I’m Wanda, your new neighbor!”

You saw something moving frantically from the corner of your eye, which scared the shit out of you, you being a jumpy person since you were a kid. You quickly turn toward the motion while letting out a tiny yelp. Wanda had made her way over to you at this point, standing a few feet from you and your car. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You took your headphones out to be greeted with the kindest smile you’d ever seen. Quickly collecting your thoughts, you threw your sponge in the bucket at your feet and look back at this new woman. 

“Don’t worry about it, I startle easily. Uhm…My name is y/n. What did you say your name was again?” You asked, wanting to know more about this new, insanely beautiful character who stood before you.

“Wanda,” she breathed out with a certain softness, “me and my boys moved in a few days ago right across the street.”

This woman was absolutely, breathtakingly, painfully beautiful. Her auburn hair was tied up in a loose bun behind her head—effortless and stunning. Her shirt highlighted her breasts so nicely, you had to look, just for a second. She wore jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and low-top sneakers like someone your age would wear. She was gorgeous, and she was talking to you, which meant you needed to pull it together and talk back. 

“Oh! So that’s why I don’t recognize you. I definitely would remember someone like you.”

Wanda smirked at your confidence. She admired you already, and couldn’t help but think how beautiful you were. She also couldn’t help but think of all the things she wanted to do to/with you.

“Thank you y/n, you’re very sweet.”

You blushed at the subtle praise, already realizing what deep shit you were in if this woman lived literally across the street from you. It dawned on you that she could be visible from just the opening of your curtain, and thus, you could be visible to her, too. 

Wanda knew she had a chance here and now, so, with nothing else to lose, she took it.

“Well, we’re still trying to get situated and all moved in. It’s just me and the boys, so, if you have some free time, I’d really appreciate some help with the last of the boxes.”

Without hesitation, and in fear of her changing her mind or something equally as horrible, you answered her inquiry with embarrassing eagerness.

“Of course! I mean, yeah. Yes. Just let me know when and I’l be there. So long as I don’t have work, of course, and before I leave to go back to college, but that’s not for another three weeks, which you wouldn’t know–I’m rambling. Sorry. My answer is yes, Wanda, I’ll help you.”

Wanda reveled in your obvious flustered state from her proposal. She felt good knowing how eager you were to help her—to please her. It sent her reeling. She needed someone in her life like you, even just for a little bit. She craved any kind of love. You were shockingly beautiful and Wanda decided that not only did she need you, but that she just had to have you, no matter what it took. She would make you hers. Lucky for her, after only one interaction you wanted that too. You wanted very much to be hers.

“Perfect. Let me have your phone, sweetheart, so I can put in my number.”

You practically threw your phone at her, your hands still being wet from the sponge. You watched her hands work at the task at hand, typing her digits in, and marveled at her. Her hands, her arms, the way a certain vein popped out as she moved her thumb. You were finding it all incredibly sexy, and all she was doing was using a goddamn phone. You were fucked. She finished and handed your phone back to you, smiling seductively. As both of you held each end of your phone, she looked you up and down, unashamedly. 

“And don’t be afraid to wear this little get up whenever you stop by.”

Before you could answer, Wanda spun on her heels and walked back to her new home, hips swaying the whole way. She swiftly made her way to her own front door. She had gotten

herself quite worked up after the whole interaction and needed to relieve some tension in the privacy of her own home. She left you there, absolutely dumbfounded, just as she had intended. 

Wednesday Morning, five days after moving in.

Wanda woke up soaking wet after yet another dream of you beneath her, screaming out her name. This was becoming a recurring issue, one that Wanda needed to resolve soon. She didn’t have time to help herself out, as the clock told her it was time to wake up the boys for school. Thankfully, they were loving it so far, and Wanda could not have been more relieved. They had even asked to set up a play-date with a new friend they had made. Wanda’s heart filled with pride when she considered the resilience of Billy and Tommy. They were her life. Without them, she’d be nothing. She was so lucky to be their mother. This morning, however, she was wishing she could just have a little more time to herself before beginning her day. But alas, mothering is a full time gig. She got the boys up and ready, driving them to school and dropping them off with a kiss and hug goodbye. When she drove back, she realized that her mind had once again wandered to you. She wondered what you were doing, who you were with, what you were wearing… You were like a drug she swore she would only try once, but of course, became addicted. She hoped you were outside doing something when she got back, or your curtains were open and you were in your room. She wanted to see you, even if you didn’t see her. Luckily, she didn’t need to worry about that. You were outside laying on your lawn with a blanket and a notebook, scribbling in it with focus and beauty.

Wanda parked her car and immediately made her way over to you. Without a word, she sat down next to you. You looked at her, then back to your notebook to keep writing. You were trying to play it cool in front of the woman—nonchalant if you will. After a beat, she spoke. 

“Tell me what you’re writing.”

“And why should I do that?” you teased back. 

“Because I want you to, and you don’t want to make me sad.” She looked at you with some kind of evil puppy dog eyed look, and you were helpless.

“No, I guess I don’t.”

Your notebook contained shitty poetry and prose. Half-thoughts, diary entries, random notes. You had been working on a poem about a woman who looked coincidentally like Wanda, naturally. 

“But” you continued “I can’t. It’s embarrassing.”

“Y/n”, she countered, “I promise it’s not. Please?”

“Why do you want to see so bad anyways?” you questioned, genuinely curious.

“Because I want to know more about you.”

With that, you melted. You would be embarrassed, but maybe she would find it endearing. You considered your options, and realized that you really only had one move here.

“Fine.” 

She reached out to take the notebook from your hands, but you quickly swiped it behind your back.

“On one condition. You tell me something about yourself afterwards.”

Wanda playfully rolled her eyes, but agreed. You handed over the notebook, and she flipped to the most recent page. She read the beginning lines of a poem about a woman, with hair like fire and the magic of a saint. She was shocked. You were writing about her? Really? A smile graced over lips that she could not hide. She knew you’d never admit it was about her, but she also knew that it in fact was, meaning that you found her alluring. Opting to save you the embarrassment, she didn’t let you know directly that she knew, even though she was sure you assumed.

“This is beautiful, y/n, you have a real gift. This woman you're describing sounds beautiful.”

“She is.” You said quietly, looking down at the notebook she placed back in your lap.

“Okay then, I guess it’s my turn.”

You smiled up at her, forgetting your embarrassment with this opportunity to know more about your new neighbor.

“Anything specific you want to know?” she asked you.

“Nope. Tell me anything you want.”

Wanda loved your response. She loved that you were willing to take anything she gave you, clearly just happy to hear anything about her at all.

“Alright, dear. Let me think.”

Wanda looked at the sky, waiting for something interesting to dawn at her. You watched her red hair fall gently across her shoulders as her head tilted up. You saw her eyelashes flicker slightly as a bird flew above the two of you. You wished you could reach out and touch her—feel her warmth.

“When I was your age, I fell in love with a woman.”

Your jaw hit the floor with a loud thud. You had not expected her to say anything like that, yet, you were so unbelievably happy that she did. 

“You’re going to catch flies, y/n” Wanda giggled through her words, amused at your surprise. 

You closed your mouth quickly and cleared your throat. 

“I like girls too, you know. Well, now you know. So what happened? To her, I mean.”

“I met my ex-husband. My whole life I was told I needed a husband, that I would die without one. So, Vision came around and offered me a stability that she couldn’t. I loved her more, so much more, but I chose him. I got my boys from it, so I’ll never regret the decision. I just wish things could have been different. No, I wish I had been different.”

“Wow, Wanda. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you went through that.”

Wanda could see your genuine concern for her in the furrow of your brow, and the twisting of your ring. It warmed her. She hadn’t felt that kind of care in a long time, it was refreshing. It also made her want you that much more. 

“Thank you, honey. But don’t worry, that was a very long time ago. I’m a different person now.”

“Still, you must have missed her sometimes. Or atleast the touch of a woman. I know I would have.’

Your eyes widened at your own boldness. Why did you just say that? You barely know this woman. Before you could offer an apology, you realized she was laughing. You smiled.

“Yes, I suppose I did. I do.” Wanda smiled at you, and continued. “Especially lately now that it’s just me. I do miss the touch of a woman.” Wanda made fierce eye contact with you as she said this, taking a brief moment to look at your lips. She saw your cheeks get redder and redder, blushing at her innuendo. She smiled with you, enjoying the youthful, playful side you brought out of her. Both of you stared at each other. You suddenly noticed her leg touching yours, your pinkies brushing against one another. You looked back up at her, already looking at you. She was smiling, so damn beautifully. You instinctively leaned in. You couldn’t help yourself. She followed your actions, putting her hand over yours. Then…your phone rang. 

You scrambled to pick it up and answer. As you spoke to your friend, calling over a stupid reason, Wanda took your notebook, ripped out a page, and scribbled a note with your pen. While you spoke and gesticulated with some annoyance, Wanda leaned to you and left a light kiss on your cheek. Your words stopped coming out, even though your mouth still moved. You watched Wanda wink at you, then get up and walk back over to her house, without looking

back. You told your friend you had to go. The note Wanda left flapped in the wind. Your heart leapt at the sight, and you quickly read it.

Thank you y/n. You made my day. I’ll see you soon.

Yours, 

Wanda 

Wanda watched you read her note through her window. She saw you clutch it your chest, and fall on your back, still holding it tightly. She giggled like a goddamn teenager. She really liked you, and she really wanted you. She wanted you to be hers. 

Friday Afternoon, one week after moving in.

With two weeks left before you packed up your stuff and headed back to school, you were busy as a bee. This didn’t stop you, as you hoped it would, from thinking of Wanda. You’d developed a habit of checking your phone every five minutes, hoping she would text you and take you up on your offer to help out. You saw the piles of boxes in her garage, just yesterday, still unmoved. You figured it was only a matter of time. You refrained from making too many plans this week, in case she would call or text and you were all unavailable. You’d never forgive yourself. Thus, you stuck to your front porch, or your front lawn, which clearly had worked out for you. 

You continued to do pre-class readings, sort out plane tickets, last minute roommate communications, etc.. Though it was your second year, you were still nervous to go back. Though, not even your back to school nerves kept your gaze focused on your task at hand. You were currently back out on your porch, watching the sun begin to set, as Wanda’s car rounded the corner and pulled into her driveway. The boys flew out of the car and into their backyard, immediately beginning to play with a soccer ball. They were happy to be done with their first week of school, no doubt. Wanda gracefully stepped out of her car and gathered her things. She glanced over toward your house, expecting to find you on the porch. When she was met with your gaze, obviously staring at her before she had looked at you, she beamed. She had been watching you through her window, without your knowledge, and the sight of you overjoyed her. 

Some might find that behavior strange, but she loved it. At night, she’d open her curtains to find yours already opened. She enjoyed watching you as you danced around your room, talked to your friends (she tried to push her jealousy aside during those nights), cleaning up, or, her favorite, when you would touch yourself. She couldn’t wait to replace your hand with your own. There was also a part of Wanda that was still afraid of rejection. Vision had treated her like she was nothing—like she was completely useless. Those words stubbornly remained in her mind, but your beauty compelled her. She shut her car door and waved to you.

“Hey y/n! Mind helping me out with those boxes tonight? I want to have the weekend to relax.”

You couldn’t hide your smile if your life depended on it. You had been waiting for what felt like forever, (two days) and, though unlikely that Wanda would feel about you the way you felt about her, you had to try something tonight. If it didn't work out, you reasoned, you’d be gone soon enough and could forget about the whole thing. 

“Yeah! Right now? Or later?” you asked.

“Now. It’s already 4 and this might take a while.”

You were up and across the street in record time. Your books were left on the porch steps, along with any dignity you had left. 

“Thank you so much y/n, I really appreciate this” she said as she touched your arm with affection and gratitude. Chills spread from her point of contact over your whole body, and all you could do was nod and say “It’s really no problem, Wanda.”

“Good,” she said, “then let's get started.”

What you soon found out was that by “let’s” Wanda meant “you”. At first she started moving some things here and there, but it quickly became you who did all the heavy lifting and Wanda who praised you and asked if you needed anything. You, of course, were happy to comply. 

“Wow, y/n. You’re stronger than I thought. Do you work out?”

You were flattered at the compliment, it sent a certain warmth through you. 

“Uhm, yeah, sometimes. Not too much I guess. I’ve played sports all my life, so it probably comes from there.”

“Hmm” she hummed in acknowledgment “well you sure know how to put those hands to work.”

The box you were holding fell onto the ground with a startle. You were sure she didn’t mean it like that, but you couldn’t help but take it that way. Especially not after so many nights of imagining her saying something oh, so similar. You dropped down to pick up the box, proclaiming apologies for your clumsiness. 

“No, leave it there. I’ve overworked you. The sun has gone down, and there are only a few more things. I can manage the rest tomorrow.”

“But what about your weekend of relaxation?” you asked playfully.

“Your wellbeing is much more important to me, y/n.”

You swallowed at that sentiment, and gave in.

“Well, alright then, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Now come inside with me, I’ll make you some dinner.”

“Oh, no Wanda you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. And, it’s the least I can do. I really have to insist.”

You were learning that there was really no point in arguing with Wanda, she seemed like a woman who knew what she wanted. However, even the woman’s intimidating demeanor could not rid of your playful nature. 

“It depends. How good a cook are you?”

She fake gawked at your question, prompting a giggle from her. You swore you’d spend the rest of your summer trying to hear the sound of her laugh as much as possible.

“I guess you’ll just have to come inside and have a taste.”

Right away, Wanda regained the upper-hand. You liked the teasing and flirting that seemed to be happening.

“I guess I will then” you offered, running out of sly things to say.

The boys walked into the garage, asking their mother when dinner would be ready.

“Half-hour boys. Oh, and y/n will be joining us.”

“Cool! Y/n do you play soccer?” Tommy eagerly asked you.

“Yeah, actually, I do. Wanna play while your Mom cooks dinner?”

“Can we Mom?” They asked in unison.

“Really? You’re not tired of it yet? You’ve been playing all afternoon! And y/n is tired, I’ve been working her very hard out here.” Wanda looked at you and smiled, as if you and her had some kind of secret communication going. 

“Please mom! We’re not tired!”

Wanda sighed and looked at you. “You’re sure?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Wanda watched you run off with her boys, and she felt something odd. She felt the need to care for you, to protect you. She had only had a few interactions with you, but she had a feeling this whole situation would be more involved than she had planned. You were so sweet, so innocent, so helpful. Wanda was saddened at the thought of you being with anyone else, or you leaving her to go to school. She knew that how these two weeks would go was up to her, if you wanted her like she wanted you. Tonight she was going to find out.

She was lost in her thoughts as she cooked dinner on auto-pilot, making plans for the two of you. She stirred the pot of sauce and imagined you in her bed, trying to be quiet lest to wake up Billy and Tommy. Before she went to call all of you in, she stood behind the sliding glass-door and watched the game the three of you were playing. She imagined a family, a loving home, but quickly pushed that feeling deep down. Even she knew it was too soon for that. She couldn’t handle another loss in that regard, and so she opened the door and called for dinner. 

It was, of course, delicious. The three of you ate like animals, asking for seconds within minutes. Wanda twirled her pasta around her fork, watching you talk with her boys.

“Wanda?”

“Hmm?” she said, snapping back to reality.

“I said this is really good, thank you.”

“Well I’m glad you believe in my cooking now, y/n. You should know that I never disappoint.”

The boys continued talking to one another, but you had gone silent. There was no way Wanda wasn’t flirting with you. You didn’t want to ignore her signs and potentially lose the opportunity to be with this amazing woman, but you also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. As a woman who likes other women, you were constantly aware of your female relationships and the potential of a female friend taking your affection as flirting, or predatory in some way. This held you back in the love department, but you weren’t stupid. This was flirting, and now that you were more comfortable around Wanda and her boys, you gained back your confidence.

“Well that’s good to know. I’ll have to test you on that some time.”

Wanda smirked. You were definitely reciprocating her advances. The boys finished their dinner and Wanda told them it was time for bed.

“But Mom! We wanna play with y/n! Plus our bedtime isn’t for another 20 minutes!”

“Boys, I’ve had a very long day. Can you please just listen to your Mommy?”

Wanda noticed your breath hitch at her use of the word. She smiled as she felt her own panties growing wetter. 

Remembering their promise to each other to not make their mom more stressed, the boys sighed in defeat and headed upstairs, their mom following.

You stood there awkwardly, waiting for Wanda to return downstairs. You knew you shouldn’t leave, and you didn’t want to either. You wanted her to make a move so bad it hurt. You were confident, and you could flirt, but when it came to actual sex you needed to be led. Lucky for you, Wanda had a similar craving. 

Wanda went to her bedroom and took off her clothes to reveal the lingerie set she had been wearing the whole day. She tied a see through robe-like cover around her, the same color black as her set, beautifully highlighting her scarlett locks. She walked down the stairs to you. She descended, and with each step, watched your eyes darken and your jaw drop more and more. 

“Y/n…” she said, slowly walking over to where you stood in her kitchen, leaning on the counter.

“Yes Wanda” you said more like a statement and less of an answer to her vocation.

“Would you like to join me upstairs?”

“Yes, please.”

You didn’t mean to say please outloud, but you noticed what it did to Wanda. Her pupils grew and her hands found yours. She turned around and led you back upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the door and guided you toward her bed.

“Have you been thinking about me, y/n?”

“Yes” you truthfully answered.

“Yes, what?”

“I don’t…I don’t know” You pushed out in slight confusion.

“Yes you do, baby.” 

All at once it hit you, like a wave of understanding, like some kind of enlightenment.

“...Mommy. Yes, mommy.”

“Now that’s a good girl.” She sat on her knees in front of you on her bed, you sitting with your back against her headboard. She slid her hands beneath your shirt up to your tits and began to lightly massage them. You tipped your head back slightly, pushing your chest deeper into her palm. 

“I’ve been thinking about you too.”

A wave of heat struck you in the face. You looked at her, still finding it hard to believe this was happening at all. 

“You have?”

“Oh, don’t act so innocent, sweetheart. I know you kept your curtains open on purpose. You wanted Mommy to see you playing with that pretty pussy. Isn’t that right, honey?”

“Yes, Mommy. I…I wanted you to see me.”

“I know, baby. Mommy knows how hard it must have been. Was I ignoring my baby girl?”

“Please, Wanda.”

Wanda rolled your nipple harshly, leaving you a gasping mess.

“That’s not my name, sweet girl.”

“I’m sorry. Mommy, please. Please touch me. I need you.”

“Look at you. So eager. You’ll take what Mommy gives you. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. But baby,” she grabbed your face with both hands so you were looking her in the eye, “if at any point you want to stop, say the word “red”. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Perfect. Now take your clothes off. Mommy wants to see you.”

You began to strip, dropping your clothes on her floor. Before you began to remove your underwear, Wanda stopped you.

“Wait, honey. Let Mommy do that.”

She stretched your legs apart a little, and ran a finger lightly over your covered cunt. She stopped at the wet spot that, to you, was growing embarrassingly big.

“Oh, poor baby” Wanda cooed and tutted. “I know you need Mommy so bad. I know it’s just so hard. Let me take care of my darling.”

Wanda slowly pulled down your panties, leaving them with the rest of your clothes on her floor. She smiled with pride at how desperate you were, how utterly needy. You were putty in her hands.

“But, what about you? I want to see you too.”

“I know baby, I know. Just let Mommy play with you first, okay? You want to be good for Mommy, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I’ll be good.”

This was what you had been waiting for all week. The thought of disappointing Wanda brought tears to your eyes. You wanted her to take over you—to fill your senses so intensely that you could only see, hear, smell, taste, touch, all that was Wanda. You laid there obediently, waiting for Wanda to initiate whatever plans she had for you. To consider those plans in your head made you impossibly wet, just like any other thought you had of Wanda. Your stream of consciousness was interrupted by a light touch to your inner thigh. You looked down at Wanda who was looking at you, watching, and waiting for your reaction.

Wanda traced her finger up to your abdomen, marveling at your muscles tensing under her touch. She continued with both hands up to your chest, over your breasts, and up to your cheeks. Wanda hadn’t kissed you yet. She was waiting for this moment. The moment you were totally willing to submit to her, and then to finally lay her claim on you. You looked into her eyes then down to her lips, then back up at her eyes. She knew you wanted her to kiss you, and she knew you would wait for her to breach the gap. Watching your lip quiver in anticipation sent Wanda over the edge, finally, as she leaned in and connected her lips to yours. A tear fell from each eye down your cheeks, from pure joy. Her pillowy lips landed softly, lovingly on yours. Your hands went up to her cheeks, but hesitated before touching her. She smiled into your kiss and took your hands in her own, placing them on her own face. It confused you, but you didn’t think too much about it as your lips began to dance together. Wanda picked up the pace with a certain hunger, her tongue swiping your bottom lip asking for entrance. Immediately you opened for her, and moaned in neediness. You were still completely naked under her laced body, your pussy throbbing with anticipation and need. Wanda continued to kiss you passionately as you whined beneath her. You needed her. Wanda stopped suddenly. She sat back on her knees and held her hands toward you. You grabbed them and sat up looking at her. She pushed your hair behind your shoulders, gently, taking her time.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, y/n. Do you know that?”

“Thank you.” You didn’t know what to say, so you just turned your head into your shoulder. 

She grabbed your chin so you were looking back at her. She kissed you again while pushing you back onto the bed. 

“Mommy’s going to taste you now, and I’m going to make you cum over, and over, and over again, until I decide that you’ve had enough. Do you know why, y/n?”

“Why?” You ghosted, no more than a whisper.

“Because I own this pussy. No one touches it but me, and I am going to ruin it for anyone else.”

You moaned. Loudly. You were almost sobbing at this point. You were so deep in your own head that you were barely registering her words. All you could think about were her hands on your thighs, and her words whizzing around you. 

Wanda heard your moan and watched in awe. She loved that sound. She needed to hear it again, right away. Wanda slipped a finger into you, watching you bury your face in the pillow. She didn’t move it at first, she only watched you squirm around her hand, trying to gain some friction.

“Patience, detka.” Wanda laughed in a low and evil tone. She began to go in and out, tortuously slow, watching you get worked up as she moved. She knew that after all this time you would be close from just these few movements. She added another finger, and began to pick up the pace, just enough to get your hopes up, before she slowed back down again. It was torture. It was marvelous. You could feel your stomach tightening, and you struggled to  believe it. She had done so little, yet, you could feel a need to release building up inside of you.

“Are you close already, baby?”

You hmphed in agreement, not able to open your eyes or mouth.

“Good.” And she stopped. She took out her fingers entirely, and saw the tears begin to pour. 

“Please, no, Mommy. Please—I need you inside of me. I need you to touch me. I can’t wait anymore.”

Hearing you beg like that turned something on in Wanda, something primal. While she was getting soaked herself teasing you out, leaving you a begging mess, she needed more.

“Careful what you wish for” is all she said before sliding two fingers back in and pounding with a merciless pace. Her lips connected to your clit while she pumped you full of her fingers. She licked and sucked, adding a third finger when she heard you yelling, “Oh God! Yes! Yes! You feel so good Mommy, you feel so fucking good.”

You whined as Wanda reached her other hand up to play with your tit. She rolled your nipple between her fingers and squeezed as she continued to pump hard and fast. 

“I’m gonna—I’m—Wan—Mommy please—please can I cum? Please!”

Wanda took her mouth of you to grant you permission, and good thing because you were already releasing into her mouth the second her lips reattached to your center. You had never cum so hard in your life. Now all you wanted to do was curl up in Wanda's arms and fall asleep. But she wasn’t done. You were incredibly sensitive, but her pace didn’t give. She went harder, almost violently, as she slammed into you. She came up to you and kissed you, stifling your moans. She continued to pump in and out with three fingers, as she moved down to your chest. She bit your collarbone fiercely, waiting for you to whine, to then smooth her tongue over it and ease the pain. You could feel a tiny bit of blood dripping down your tits, and you watched Wanda continue to leave hickeys and love bites, absolutely making sure that everyone knew you were hers. She sucked your nipples and smiled into them, feeling your hand in her hair. She might have cared another time, but not now. She felt your walls closing around her fingers, and could feel your rhythm spasming out of control.

“Go ahead and cum, my love. Cum all over Mommy’s hand.”

You moaned so loud your throat burned and your eyes watered, but you couldn’t help it. Your nails dug into her shoulders, leaving little half moons along her beautiful skin, which you might have cared more about if you weren’t feeling the deepest pleasure of your lifetime thus far. You back arched up and your body twitched violently, before slowly coming down and riding out your second orgasm on her fingers. Your hand reached down to push her fingers out of you, as black mascara tears continued to escape due to your overstimulation. 

“All done baby, don’t worry. You were so good for Mommy. I’m so proud of you.”

Wanda removed herself from you and headed for the bathroom, still in her lingerie. She came back with a damp washcloth, which found your thighs and stomach, and then your cheeks. Before she wiped your face, she took in the glorious sight of you.

“You look so beautiful right now. A tear-stained mess, all for me. You took Mommy’s fingers so well, honey.”

Rather unexpectedly, you sat up, and just hugged her. You cried into her shoulder, as she rubbed your back up and down, shushing you gently.

“What is it sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. I’m not upset, I promise. I don’t know” you said in a raspy whisper, your throat very sore.

“I’m right here, it’s okay.”

You nodded, feeling such a deep and loving warmth as she held you. You realized you could stay in her arms forever. So, when Wanda asked you if you wanted to spend the night, it was an immediate and grateful yes.  Wanda gave you some of her pajamas, and you wanted to cry again, just from how happy you were. She made you tea, for your throat, which she felt slightly bad about. She was just happy that the walls were thick, and the boys were heavy sleepers. After you had talked a little in her kitchen, Wanda could tell you were extremely tired. She led you by hand up the stairs into her room and shut the door. You got into bed and, as soon as your head hit the pillow, you were asleep. Wanda wrapped her arms around your waist and faced you, watching you breathe in, and out, for what could have been hours. She would have been happy to watch you all night, keeping you safe and warm in her bed with her. She traced a finger around your face, down your nose, over your lips. She kissed your eyelids and your cheeks, finally laying down and letting her own eyelids fall. She could think about you leaving and her own hesitations tomorrow. Tonight, all that mattered was that you were hers, and she had all of you. She realized, as she drifted off, that she could never let you go. What she hoped, and what was true, of course, was that you had already become just as attached, making these next two weeks extremely turbulent yet magical.

--

That's it! Thanks for reading :) I can continue this if anyone is interested, just reply or comment or whatever if so. I can definitely see this going multi-chapter, y/n's last weeks before leaving, Wanda and y/n dealing with that, etc...

[wildlife4life]

Fuck-It Friday Coda

Tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @devirnis @buddierights @wikiangela @tizniz @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @cal-daisies-and-briars @disasterbuckdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley and @watchyourbuck (because she just dropped a whole ass spec fic that is amazing!) Still barely Friday here, so I am not late to Fuck-it Friday and staying on my coda drop schedule. Here is my 7x03 coda! Enjoy here and on ao3! If you want to know when these codas drop, interact with this post!

They each give Bobby and Athena one last tight hug on the boat before stepping onto dry land and make their way towards the LAFD suv parked close by. Hen walked beside them for a short while, exchanging another round of thanks, praises, and reminders of being there for each other. When she spots Karen breaking away from crowd of concerned loved ones and onlookers, Hen waves them forward and goes to greet her wife.

Its almost lunch time by the time Buck, Eddie, and Chimney make it back to station, and they are all dead beat tired and starving. Chimney tries to invite them for a celebratory lunch but its cut off by jaw cracking yawn that has Eddie and Buck wincing, then echoed by their own.  The paramedic chuckles and the just as slap tired firemen join in. “Breakfast at the usual place tomorrow?”

Eddie just hums in agreement, while Buck smiles and answers, “Definitely. Let Hen know?”

“Can’t celebrate without the woman of the hour. Hopefully now she’ll pick up the phone.” Soft laughter follows, “Alright boys, I’m off to put my blackout curtains to the test. I suggest you do the same.” Chim mock solutes them both and strides out of the locker room.

Buck stuffs the sea drenched uniform into his duffle and pulls on a too cool, green hoodie.  The lack of warmth from the material on his still damp skin and adrenalin come down has him shivering.

He already knows what dreams await him when (if) he closes his eyes to sleep. A mix of Bobby and Christopher drowning in the harsh waves of the ocean, screaming for Buck to save them and him failing to do so before being pulled under himself.  

A chill shoot’s up his spine so piercing, it has Buck inhaling sharply and flinching forward with both hands, slamming his locker close. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie whip around and drop his own duffle as he scurries over to Buck’s side.

Warmth finally seeps into Buck with the press of Eddie’s hand to his shoulder and the shivers lessen. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Everyone is okay.” Eddie soothes, his breath ghosting the back of Buck’s neck, warming him further.

Buck takes a deep breath, “I know that, Eddie. Just…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to get rid of Bobby and Christopher’s waterlogged features.

Eddie’s grip tightens but doesn’t let the silence of Buck’s loss of words linger for long. “Bobby’s place is on the way to the diner, so we can stop by in the morning.”

Buck cocks his head in confusion, “Um, I know your tired and all Eds, but Bobby’s place is definitely a detour to the diner from my place.”

“Good thing you’re coming back to mine then.” Eddie states with no room argument and a little bit of the tight fear in Buck’s body seeps out. Eddie’s house means he can physically see Christopher is safe and nowhere near the turbulent waves they pulled themselves out of just a few hours ago.

“Okay.” He agrees, then softly adds on, “Thank you.”

Eddie pats his shoulder, “Don’t thank me for having your back.”

🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️

Christopher is well into school by the time Eddie and Buck make it back to the Diaz household. Buck has to take a few deep breaths outside the kid’s empty room, reminding himself that he’ll see him in less than four hours. Eddie gives him a sympathetic and understanding grimace before shoving him towards the bathroom.

The heat of the shower washes away the remaining chill and ocean salt clinging to his skin, replaced with the comforting scent of Eddie’s products, a mix of citruses and cedar. A pair of gray athletic shorts, fuzzy blue socks, and his blue sweatshirt that has been missing since before Buck’s lightening coma, are waiting for him on the bathroom counter when he open’s the curtain.

Buck pulls on the items of clothing and is taken by surprised by their enveloping warmth. His heart squeezes in his chest, knowing Eddie must have tumbled the clothes in the dryer while he showered.

Making his way back to the living room, Buck finds the older man lounging on the couch in a pair of cut off sweats and another one of Buck’s missing sweatshirts, this one dark green. “Are you the sweatshirt thief?” Buck accuses light heartedly, flopping down next to said thief and pressing into his side, shoulder to thigh.

Eddie shrugs, unbothered and unapologetic, “Cheaper than buying my own.”

Buck gaffs in mock offense but doesn’t even argue or hide how much he likes seeing Eddie in his clothes. Just another thing the man does that soothes Buck’s shaken nerves.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Buck wraps his arms around them then drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. Without hesitation, Eddie’s head falls to rest on his still damp hair. “Thank you for the clothes and bringing me here… for having my back.” Buck whispers.

He feels Eddie’s head turn slightly to nuzzle his nose into Buck’s curls.  His partner’s lips brush against Buck’s scalp as he speaks, “Last time I’m saying this, you don’t need to thank me for any of it.  That’s not how it works for us.”

Buck lets out a slow breath, “Yea…. I know, but that will never stop me from appreciating you and everything you do. I will never not be grateful that you have my back.”

“Well,” Those lips drift downwards to Buck’s temple, Eddie’s voice sending delicate vibrations across the skin and muscle and casting a whole different kind of shiver through Buck’s body, “I’m just as appreciative and grateful for you too.”

Buck doesn’t quite know if he imagines it, with how he has been drifting to sleep since falling to the couch, but he hopefully believes he felt the firm press of Eddie’s lips to his temple that lingered past platonic.

And when he feels Eddie’s breaths even out across the top of his head, Buck can hear the echo of their gratitude and appreciation fade into discreet exchanges of I love you’s.  Those echoes with Eddie’s warmth, keep the nightmarish tides away, allowing Buck to truly rest.

Very belated tagging: @theotherbuckley @perfectlysunny02 @aroeddiediaz @loserdiaz @diazsdimples @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @rogerzsteven @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @buck-coded @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @sunshinediaz @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @thebloomingheather

[onceuponastory]

the day i lost you - bucky barnes x reader

Still remember how you taste Somewhere in the bitter and the sweet dream Do you think of me standing in a summer haze? When we were gonna be okay? - january rain by PVRIS

Plot: In the aftermath of The Blip and her boyfriend Bucky turning to dust, Y/N finds a voicemail from him... sent the day she lost him. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of death, or at least Bucky is presumed dead (obviously we know Bucky isn't dead but we all thought he was after Infinity War, let's be honest) and grief. And of course, some angst. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: This is for @whumptober Day 24. I used the prompt: "Goodbye Note". I also combined it with the @angstober "The Day I Lost You" prompt. I was once again sad and listening to PVRIS as I wrote this, so now you can be too :)

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

Stepping over the threshold into her apartment, Y/N drops her bags to the floor with a tired groan. The rain still pounds down outside, the sound echoing through the building. As a personal assistant to Tony Stark himself, Y/N’s working life is extremely busy. And since The Blip, she’s busier than ever, constantly being pulled into meetings with little time for herself. For the past few weeks, she’s been away at a conference with the surviving Avengers, working on a solution to The Blip. This is the first time she’s had to breathe in about a year. And that also means it’s the first time she’s been home since it all happened, since her boyfriend and some of her best friends turned to dust.

And she’s never felt so alone.

Of course, Y/N knows that dating an Avenger, let alone the Winter Soldier himself, comes with its own risk. Especially the risk he may never come home. But although it’s always been at the back of her mind, seeping into her every thought whilst he’s away on a mission… Bucky came back safe so many times that the worry dissipated. Foolishly, she believed he was indestructible, and that he’d always come home to her.

Until he didn’t.

Tears spring at her eyes then, and she furiously tries to wipe them away. She’s done enough grieving over the last year. Enough hoping that he’s coming back, only to end up disappointed. There’s only so much pain you can take before you can’t go on anymore. And Y/N crossed that line a long time ago.

The red light on her answering machine blinks back at her, and she sighs, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes, hoping that when she opens them, the light will be gone. But no matter how hard she tries, it’s still there, and she groans. The last thing she wants to hear right now is more “I’m sorry to hear about Bucky” and “We understand how much it hurts, but he’s in our thoughts.” Nobody will ever understand how much it hurts. Even the other Avengers. 

Because Bucky isn’t just in her thoughts. He’s everywhere. He still occupies the empty space in her bed, his laughter still fills the halls, his singing echoing from the shower. He’s the whisper in the wind, the faint scent of his cologne whenever she enters a room, and that still clings to her clothing like a safety blanket. He’s the shiver up her spine, the faint feeling of a hand holding hers, an arm wrapped around her waist.

It’s like he never even left.

Y/N presses the button, bracing herself for the onslaught of messages to come. “Hey sweetheart. It’s me-” As soon as she hears her mother’s voice, Y/N deletes the message. She’ll deal with her and her incessant questions later. She means well, of course, they all do. But the last thing she wants is to be pestered, reminded of her pain over and over again. They may mean well, but there’s nothing they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. The other message is boring, a message about her car’s extended warranty that gets deleted almost immediately.

But when she hears the voice in the next message, she collapses to her knees. “Hey doll.” Bucky speaks. It's the first time she’s heard his voice - actually heard it - since he left. As soon as she hears him speak, she can see the smile on his face, and hear the laughter in his tone. Her presence always brought a smile to Bucky's face, even on his worst days. Because he loves her. …Loved her.

Hearing Bucky’s voice again, so soon after losing him, causes all her pent-up emotions to erupt, a year's worth of pain spilling over. As the first of her sobs break through, Bucky’s voice continues. “Just checking in to see how you are and keep you updated. Steve and the others are here…”

“Why didn’t I answer the call? I could’ve stopped them!”

“... and we have a game plan now to stop this asshole. Before you know it, I’ll be back home in New York with you, my favourite girl.” Her chest heaves, and she sobs even harder. “I miss you so much, though. The guys keep pestering me about it, but I don’t care. I love you, Y/N, and I want the entire world to know.” That sends her over the edge. A painful, anguished wail rips through her, the sound filling the room. Y/N’s full body shakes, and she clutches at her chest. “I hope you’re doing well and staying out of trouble.” Bucky chuckles. “Keep me updated. But I’ll see you soon enough, anyway.” 

“Why didn’t I answer? Why didn’t I answer?!”

“I better go, Steve’s shouting at me. Think the mission is about to start.” 

Y/N sits up, trying to grab the phone to dial Bucky’s number and tell him she’s still here, that she still loves him. Hoping that he’s there on the other side, waiting for her.

“Bye doll. See you soon. Love you always.” And then, the line goes dead, the dull beeping noise going right through her. Picking up the phone, she dials Bucky’s number, holding it to her ear as her heart pounds.

“Please… please…” she begs. "Just answer me Bucky... please."

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Hey! This is Bucky. I can’t talk right now, and I don’t really know how these things work.” He chuckles, the sound forming a small glimpse of warmth in her belly, and Y/N even laughs softly too. She was there when he recorded that message, her best efforts to teach him the wonders modern technology still not sinking in. Not that it matters now, though. None of it does. She just wants him back. “So I guess if you leave a message, I’ll call you back?”

And he always called her back. Even if it was a day, a week or even a month late. Bucky always called her back. But he won’t call back. Not this time. 

She tries to speak, to say something, anything, to Bucky's voicemail. If there's even a chance he could hear it, she wants him to know how much she loves him, and how much she misses him. Yet she can't say anything through her tears.

When the call disconnects, Y/N sinks to her knees, huddling into a ball as the sobs rack through her entire body. 

She’s alone again. 

And she always will be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[m1d-45]

You know, I've been thinking. The stars in our world often look quite dim, especially in areas where there is light pollution. Suddenly, I'm imagining that in the Imposter!AU, the Creator looks at the stars at night, captivated by their brilliance. Perhaps Scaramouche or Mona (Whichever you prefer, you may also just write another character you think fits this scenario :D) find them. The Creator looks at them, then back at the stars.

"They're very lovely, you know? The stars never shine this brightly back home. It's a lovely sight..."

They smile. "I'm happy that I'm able to see them, even if it's in another world. I appreciate you letting me look at them before I die."

Perhaps the character takes pause... And sits next to them.

It's a lovely night.

in the stars

word count: ~1k

-> warnings: violence, blood, both of those in your future so technically you’re not hurt yet, not written for mona mains, sorry, didn’t work with the plot :/ also diona/klee/qiqi/nahida/sayu mains are on thin ice with this one. questionable plot. barely edited.

-> lowercase intended

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

< masterlist >

the stars never lie.

mona clutches her catalyst to her chest, wide eyes turned to the sky. she whispers to them, hoping they’ll change, shift into something she’ll understand, anything.

they don’t.

her head lowers, inspecting the book. thrilling tales, the spine reads, the cover a simplified dragon with a sword through it. she tries to read into it, to try and pick apart the motives behind the weapon, but all it returns is a simple needlepoint.

a compass. one she’d followed ever since she caved into the pull on her catalyst, one she’d followed out of the city at dusk and into the plains, hiking up starsnatch cliff at its behest. her twin tails had lost some of their curl on the journey, her hat flopping sadly. it was late, later than she’d normally be awake, and she stumbled once on a rock before quickly catching herself, checking to make sure you hadn’t moved.

you, sat at the peak of the cliff. you, surrounded by cecelias, face turned to the stars. you, who turned at her short cry.

“are you alright?”

she couldn’t bring her hands to shift her catalyst into its attack position. her hands, free from their usual gloves, dug into the cover of the book, shaking both with the chill of night and with… she couldn’t tell, couldn’t pin whether it was fear or nervousness, or something else that blurred the line between panic and excitement.

“just fine, thank you.”

her voice was harsher than it should have been. she could tell you were being genuine, the way the water in the air shaped around you like it wanted to cling made that clear enough, the stars shining down on you as if you were the only being on the planet.

the stars never lie. so why were they saying you meant no harm?

you turned back to the stars, your hands shifting back to weave into the grass between the cecelias.

"they’re very lovely tonight. the stars, i mean. they never shine this brightly back home….” against her better judgement, mona glanced up. the sky was particularly clear, constellations shining down unhindered. “it’s a beautiful sight.”

orders from the knights echoed in mona’s head, orders extended from a god she’d never met. she knew the knights wholeheartedly meant what they said, truly believing the words they were told, but you…

hesitantly, she brought her hand in a circle in front of her, scrying for your constellation. you didn’t have one, unsurprisingly, and she relaxed slightly in the knowledge that you didn’t have a vision.. still, there was something strange about the empty space where yours would have been. swapping the sigils and rotating the outer edge, mona decided to read your future.

all the air was sucked from her lungs, the images depicted in the water making her mouth dry. the water warped and bubbled a dark color, as if it itself hated to show what it did.

you were on your knees, tight steel chains wrapped around you and latched onto hooks in whatever you were sitting on. in front of you stood the favored, the creator’s most prized, their weapon drawn. their form was taught with anger, nearly seething. it was strange, so uncharacteristic that it froze the astrologist in place for a moment.

no matter how fiery the disposition, vessels of yours were calmer after being wished upon, heart stiller for being by your side. they, the most prominent on your team of them all, should be at most handling such a severe situation with a tick in their jaw and quiet fury in their eyes, not…

she watched with sick horror as the favored attacks once, your chest caving once, twice with hitched attempts at breathing before you slumped over, blood trickling from your neck. the favored stepped back, weapon dismissed, and mona closed the illusion before it played any further. she hadn’t meant to look all the way to your death, only a few-

…only a few hours.

her hands shake where they’re still clasped in front of her, the remains of her scrying circle swirling in her palms. you didn’t even have a day.

she let the water fall, sending it towards the cecelias around you, willing them to stand brighter as she approached. she couldn’t bring herself to summon her catalyst, not now that she knew what your fate held.

the grass was damp beneath her, seeping slightly into her nightclothes. you didn’t say anything, simply passing her a flower that you had been twirling in your palms. she willed it to heal, restored the color to its petals and the strength to its stem, then passed it back. she had no use for it, not when you…

you chuckled as you took it, staring down at it for a moment before turning skyward once more. mona followed your eyes up, spotting a well known constellation directly above you. nearly perfectly straight up, glowing like a beacon, was the constellation of the favored, six stars making themselves prominent against the dotted sea of night.

“beautiful, isn’t it?”

she swallowed, eyes flicking down to you. you were still watching the stars, probably tracing the shape of the constellation above you. unknowing of what it spelled for your fate, unknowing of the warning written above you.

mona settled into the grass a little more, taking her hat off her head so it wouldn’t fall when she looked up again.

“indeed, it is.”

[nilsavatar]

DAY 8 - VOYEURISM

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya

Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, SMUT in the end, voyeurism, mimicked intercourse (Neteyam and reader copy everything Jake and Neytiri do), blowjob, face fucking, rough, dirty talk, degradation, breeding kink, commitment relationship, dom-Jake, sub-Neteyam who turns in a dom-Neteyam later on, slight mention of claustrophobia, mention of KirixSpider. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: Jake and Neytiri are out for their periodic date night. Neteyam is supposed to look after Tuk, but Aywanin (reader), thanks to Kiri's involvement, manages to convince him to sneak away to have their own personal date night. One rule: no ikran. To avoid detection, they travel a secret passage in the rock tunnels of High Camp that would have taken them out of Mons Veritatis, but something bars their way. Or rather, somebody.

Word Count: 4k

Masterlist - Request a fic

“Oh, come on!” “Aywa,” his tone was one of warning, but a pleased note ruined the intent not to make her press further with her risky request. “I promise you won't regret it.” She looked up at him through long black lashes, her face tilted to one side, her lips parted in an unmistakable, allusive smirk. Neteyam shook his head in amusement, no longer able to restrain himself from smiling back and meeting her gaze with equal expectation. He drew her into an embrace. Their arms circled each other's waists and the tips of their noses rubbed together. He inhaled the sweetness of the balm she used to wash herself. It enveloped her, exuding a luscious aroma reminiscent of nectar, with hints of amber that accentuated the natural fragrance of her skin, leaving him at a loss for words to describe it; it was simply her. He would have been able to recognize her scent among a thousand. Even if he lost his sight, hearing, or memory, he was sure it would bring him back to her.

The two looked at each other in complicity, their foreheads leaning against each other. "How do we deal with Tuk?" he asked, unable to let go of his diligence altogether. The obedient good-boy. A side of him that could greatly irritate her, but concurrently, it contained goodness, protectiveness, and a sense of duty that was the key to her love for him. How could she not love a man like that, after all? Someone who would make her feel guarded and respected? Always attentive and understanding, he was like a gentle guide, ready to coddle her but also willing to steer her in the right direction if needed. As should have been the case tonight, yet the inclination to give her everything she wanted prevailed, to give in under those pleading but cunning eyes. His greatest weakness — and undoubtedly the prospect of a spicy night was playing its part.

Neteyam was still a man. Perfect, but just a man.

“I’ve already talked to Kiri. She’ll take care of her.” “You talked to Kiri?” he stared at her in amazement, stepping back a little, but not enough so that he no longer felt the warmth of her body. His large hands anchored on her arms, unable to resist sinking his fingers into her flesh, from tasting the smooth skin. Aywanin bit her lower lip with a mock guilty air. She blinked a few times before running her fingers over his pecs, then his abs, and finally entwined again behind his back. Clinging to him until she felt the beginning of a bulge press against her abdomen. The skin flushed where the nails lightly scratched their path. “I knew you'd back off otherwise. I had to pre-empt.”

“Smart move.” “I learned from the best," she teased.” “It's pretty odd that she actually said yes to babysitting Tuk. You know how she is.” “Let’s say we struck a deal.” The wry grin that crippled her mouth sent a shiver down his spine. Shivers of pleasure, because it drove him crazy when she brought out her nasty side. “Is this related to Spider?” “Uh-huh, no way. My lips are sealed. Girls’ secret.”  “It's like you answered me, you know?” “If you make assumptions I don’t confirm, that’s all that’s left...” she rose on her tiptoes to reach his mouth, on which she blew into it, “... assumptions.” “You have a knack for making things go your way.” He asserted, not missing the opportunity to gather both buttocks in his broad palms playfully and blow her a flying kiss. “No ikran, got it?” “It’s not like I wanna get us caught, silly,” she giggled, satisfied with her own success.

Who would have guessed that even his parents would not venture out into the night sky for a flight?

Sneaking out of the village was easier said than done, especially after the return of the RDA and chiefly when you were close to the olo’eyktan family. Security had increased significantly since the clan had moved to the Hallelujah Mountains, with a patrol always stationed at each entrance. However, within the labyrinthine caves, a secret dwelled - a concealed passageway known only to them.

Lo'ak used it as a means of evading their parents and exploring the forest.

“This way,” Neteyam whispered to keep his voice from booming and offered his hand. For the first time that evening, he read hesitation on the girl’s face, normally unfamiliar with apprehension.  “It gets a little tight up ahead, but we'll pass through in a single line. And then, the passage leads to a secret chamber that connects to another hallway, and we'll finally be outside.” He threw her an encouraging smile, “You trust me?” She smiled back, “Yes.” Stealthily and guided by luminescent larvae that colored the massive limestone walls a pale blue, directing them through the otherwise dark and asphyxiating corridor, the two made their way watching out for stalactites and stalagmites that threatened to trip them up or, worse, leave their heads in them. Walking under that semblance of a starry sky was a captivating experience, truly breathtaking. Aywanin wished to stay there longer, but each additional minute meant sacrificing their personal delight.

They noticed a light up ahead that grew stronger with each step, filling the air with a loving glow and beckoning them closer. Moonlight filtered through the mouth of the cave. The path out led to sturdy roots, which they would climb to reach a lush glade growing atop the giant boulder that now served as home to the Omatikaya. A place of rare beauty, especially during the enchantment of the night. The girl felt a warm sensation spread through her as her lips curved into a smile. They were finally out; the chances of being caught red-handed were minimized. Regaining the playful spirit that had driven them there, she pulled Neteyam by the arm to encircle his neck with hers and glued her mouth on his in a messy kiss. It caught him by surprise enough to make him stumble over his steps and slam his back against the jagged wall. A sigh swallowed his moan of pain when Aywanin ran her tongue past his tooth line.

Neteyam, driven by her resourcefulness, leaned down and wedged his forearms behind her knees, anchoring her securely to his waist, when she gave herself the momentum to pounce on him. Her heels crossed behind his hips, positioned in the small but obvious, symmetrical, lateral depressions in his lower torso that seemed to be designed specifically for that. Earthlings called them ‘dimples of Venus,’ taking their cue from the goddess of Physical Glee and Love of an ancient cult in their world. It was a name Aywanin liked; an apt association. As faithful as she was to the Great Mother, she had to admit the sensuality of that particular spot on their bodies could only be a detail born from the mind of a deity devoted to love, desire, and passion.

The young warrior gave himself the push to break away from the rough, sharp surface, rotated on himself, and slammed her against it. Pleasantly painful, the impact forced her to break their effusion with a hiss. His gaze carried a hint of disapproval, softened by the familiar gleam in his eyes that deepened the color of his iris. His eyes, usually a piercing cold yellow, with just the right hint of vibrant green akin to a lime peel, morphed into a mesmerizing shade of honey gold.

“We’re almost there,” he exhaled, his warm breath gently brushing against her face. “I'm loving it here. Isn't this place so … suggestive?” “Too risky. We'd be totally busted if someone showed up.” There was nowhere to hide. “You said this is a secret passageway known only to you and Lo’ak.” “Yeah, but —.” Aywanin hushed him by laying her index finger to seal his lips. “No one's gonna drop by. It's the middle of the night. C'mon, take a look. It's so pretty here.” It looked like a Martian landscape: rocky, inhospitable, and rugged, with a magnificent sky to witness their love. Although their stars were the glowworms with which they faced Unitarol. "Why not switch things up and try something different?” she asked, winkingly. Again, that expression that sometimes he wanted to tear away, but most of the same made his knees go soft, and his saliva thicken into a rump. “You will be my downfall,” he accused with a smile. “I am your downfall.”

Holding her tightly, Neteyam followed the veins that marked the rock where rainwater seepage led to a depression in the innermost part of the underground chamber. A place secluded enough for no one to surprise them, and of ideal acoustics to hear her chant his name over and over again like a prayer.  Aywanin knew how to put a strain on his balance as he walked, being careful where he put his feet. Her kisses and bites were distracting because of the tremors they caused throughout his body. But Neteyam was a man of iron will; he would not give in to the temptation to take her there, in a chalky rock corridor. No, he would lay her down on the nice moss that covered the moisture-laden stone pavement, at the spot where the luminescent larvae had the most prolific colony. So many trails and shimmering dots on par with constellations in the celestial vault.

Perhaps if they had not been so immersed in their frolicking. In the hard kisses that wanted to suck the air out of each other’s lungs, in the scratches along his back, in the marks between her neck and shoulder. Perhaps they would have noticed sooner the low moans that echoed from the depths of the cave. More and more frequent and high-pitched, until one of them culminated in a louder shriek.

“Ma’Jake!”

The tips of Neteyam’s ears clicked like toy soldiers, and he urgently crouched down behind the largest boulder he could find, with still Aywanin clinging to him, shielding her. “Teyam?” she asked in a daze, but he quickly signaled for her to stay quiet by raising his index finger. “What is it? What’s going on?” she whispered then. Without a word, he lifted himself up just enough on his ankles to peer over the edge of the rock.

The clan only had one Jake, and only one person could appeal to him in such an intimate manner.

Neteyam stifled an expletive, shrugging her off to slide seated against the wall, where he slammed the back of his head. “My parents are here.” “Your parents?! You said this passage—.” “Guess it's not as secret as we thought.” “Why are they even here?” He cast her a look that was both eloquent and pleading. Don't make me say it out loud, please. “Date night.” He simply stated, and the girl's eyes squinted wildly. She was shivering with cold sweat. By now it was too late; they could no longer escape without them noticing. All they could do was wait for them to... finish.

Jake had nailed her to the wall in a voracious kiss as he trudged to unfasten the flight leggings that veiled her legs. His fingers slid over the perforated details of the leather fabric and up her calf, then over the knee that grazed his pelvis. What was left of their clothes soon scattered on the floor. Sucking the breath from her lungs, his wet kisses lingered on her lips, letting the desire to be taken dig into her skin and creep ever stronger. He lifted her off the ground, lacing her ankles behind his back and sliding to his right. She was unbalanced for a second for lack of support, but Jake was ready for that eventuality as well.  “No way I’m going to drop you,” he whispered laughingly, continuing to a deliberately bumped obstacle. He set her down on a hard surface and the woman brought her hands behind her, bracing herself on what must have been a deformation of the rock face. Before she could speak, her mate bit the back of her shoulder. A wave of strong ardor washed over her flesh, and she could not help but rub herself against him, moaning Jake’s name. His bites were wild and fervent and made her legs soft.

A strange heat spread through Aywanin as she stared at the scene in astonishment, unable to look away. It was bewitching. Every flap of skin flushed, every nerve ending awakened. The senses heightened; especially the touch that grew impatient and the sense of smell yearning to register any detail of the pheromones that characterized them. So unique, so theirs.

“Why didn’t we start like this right away?” The olo’eyktan whispered between kisses. “Someone here didn’t even want to go out tonight. He was tired,” Neytiri reciprocated with all the passion she possessed. “What a bad person.” “Horrible.” “This horrible guy gonna bang you so well that you will forget even your name.” He swallowed her tongue again, his arms wrapped possessively around her. 

The kiss lasted an eternity.

It was strange to see Neytiri so vulnerable. The image of the woman in her head was very clear: proud, beautiful, and imperturbable. But in her husband’s hands, she shattered and became malleable like soft clay. It was as if she lost what she was in that state. Warrior, mother, tsakarem. Only the woman remained, and so did Jake. For the first time, the girl’s eyes rested on their figures without seeing what they represented, and this triggered something in her. As if the two lovers had pressed a button inside her, lit a fire that burned away everything else. Without looking away for an instant, she reached for Neteyam’s loincloth and unfastened it. Despite the soft thud it made, the sound of his parents' cries overpowered any potential echo.

The boy was about to ask her what the fuck was going on in her mind, but the grip on his throbbing member cut off his breath. “No. No, Aywa, stop!” he yelled in a murmur, but she took to pump him undaunted. Up and down along the shaft, preening the base more and more, and teasing his slit at the tip as she knew he liked it. “We can’t leave without them noticing us. We might as well make the most of this experience and get a free lesson in a fortunate marriage.”

Marriage. It was a recurring theme lately. Or rather, it was a topic Neteyam often brought up, ready to culminate in their long courtship, their dream of love. Yet Aywanin had never been too open about it, leaving the question undetermined, although the answer would have been simple. They just had to set a date. This was the last of the situations in which he would have predicted her to open the subject of her own accord.

Were they indeed going to discuss it now? With his parents’ moans in his ear, their bodies entwined in his peripheral vision, and his fiancée's hand jerking him off to top it all off?

“I want to learn whatever it takes to make you happy.” “You already make me happy.” “I want you to be happy forever. That you choose me all your life like your father chooses your mother every day.” “I wish the same.” “Then let’s make the most of it. There is no better example than them,” she smiled like a fox.

They mimicked as far as possible everything they saw their unsuspecting mentors doing.

“Open.” heard Jake say, out of breath. “W-what?” “Your legs,” his voice was an octave lower, “Show me what you’re hiding.”

Aywanin swallowed hard as Neteyam positioned himself between her own legs. She didn't think the young man would get involved in such a perversion. Normally, he was the sweetest man in the world in bed. He cuddled her by whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Their bodies swayed together as they listened to the ticking of the bedposts and the rustle of the wind beating against the roof of the hut. But he could also be imperious and rough, aware of how much she liked a little force between waves of bliss. And that was just a taste of what he planned to do within minutes as he listened to his father’s words as if they were direct orders.  The perfect little soldier.

Watching him participate in the game was an ecstatic experience that words cannot capture. The satisfaction that inflamed her insides was so enveloping that it stunned her, leaving her with a single, powerful conviction, a blaze of lucidity impossible to extinguish except with the roar of orgasm.

She was responsible for his transformation. She uncovered his true essence.

And what could pass for dominance was, in reality, nothing more than submission to the drives that he was so distressed to drown; but when he was with her, they resurfaced and obscured reason, erasing the hardness of his nature. The only thing that mental state allowed to keep hard was the long, heavy cock that now contracted against his belly.

She shuddered under his gaze, the coils in her stomach tensing. He knew she didn’t want it to be gentle, not after coming all that way at that time of night. She didn’t want him to be respectful, right now, with this amount of desire burning inside her. If this was a way to please her, even if it was out of his character, he would do anything to fulfill her dirtiest dream. 

They turned to look at the other couple. The mischief in Jake’s eyes was quickly replaced by impatience when Neytiri didn’t indulge him. “I said, open,” she lifted her chin, feeling weak under the superiority of his gaze. “Are you pretending to be shy?” he spat. Nonchalantly, she opened her legs, allowing a glimpse of her folds, wet and glistening. “You can do better than that. Spread.” He ordered as he reached out a hand, tightening his fingers around her ankle, and yanked her forward until she slid off the boulder. She gasped in surprise, her shins dangling over the edge as he cupped her mouth with one palm and pinned her thigh with the other. His grip was never too strong to leave a mark. He loved her too much to hurt her.

He forced her to extend them as far apart as possible, exposing her squirming hole to hungry eyes.  “Look at you,” he said, as he traced the folds with his fingertips. “You’re soaked.” He slipped two digits into his mouth, smeared them with saliva, and brought them back down to slide over her clit. Without warning, he pushed them in, spinning them upwards and she gasped. He removed his fingers, only to put them back in his mouth and taste her on his tongue. He kept his eyes on her as he emitted a little mumbling around his phalanges. His smile was salacious.

Asserting that Neytiri enjoyed being taken in that indelicate way because she loved suffering itself was inaccurate. On the contrary, she knew how to turn out to be extremely proactive. Sometimes a spark would inflame within her, propelling her to seize control with a calculated and ruthless determination, detached from her usual self, solely driven to instill despair in him. But most of the time, she loved the feeling of being able to melt into his powerful arms. The realization that he knew exactly whatever weakness she had and turned it to his advantage sent her into raptures.

Aywanin was on the verge of saying his name when he tightened his grip around her throat and groaned into her lips as he burned her with a peck. His tongue slipped between her teeth, moving in a mad dance against her writhing one. The clamp around her neck was tight, his hand and his kiss choking her simultaneously.  When he let go, Neteyam’s face hovered over hers, letting her savor the fresh scent of his breath. “Consider yourself lucky that I love you so damn much to give you what you want,” he remarked as he plunged his digits in. A shudder ran through her like a shot of adrenaline that melted her in his grasp, her lips parted in a choked sob. 

The other man kissed his woman once, softly, languidly, but when he dragged his lips to her ear, his voice was dangerously arousing, “Do you want me to fuck you here and now?” “Y-yes,” she pleaded at his mercy. He purred, a small smirk pressed against the skin under her earlobe, pleased by such abandonment. Removing his hand from her larynx, he cupped her jaw until her lips puckered. He was only a breath away when he hissed, “First things first, you'll have to do a little something for me.” He stood up before her, staring at her through impossibly black lashes. She yearned so much for him to touch her, but even without speaking, Jake could already tell. 

“On your knees,” he commanded, but she was too overwrought to obey immediately. He laid her on the ground, wonderfully aligned with his pelvis, “Do you want me to do it or do you think you can give pleasure to your husband?” he taunted her, poking her right in the self-esteem: a challenge. A proud grin colored his face as she settled better on her knees, a glint of ardent stinginess crossed her golden eyes. His thumb tucked into her mouth and rubbed his tongue, his fingertip pressed against her taste buds. Jake’s gaze lit with lust as her lips sealed around his finger, mimicking what she would do next. Withdrawing his hand, he returned to caress her chin, raised to look him straight in the eye. Those sharp, criminal eyes, and he rearranged her hair haphazardly so that it would not be in the way. 

She, though a little trembling, kissed him on the tip, letting him know the softness of her lips before her tongue came into play.  “Look how docile you are, just a little bitch.” The girl squinted. Neteyam was different. Rougher. The sweetness and romance that characterized the affection of his actions had vanished; he was doing the opposite of what he usually did. She had never yet seen this side of him. His mouth's inclination towards dirty talk didn't shock her, but he never insulted her. She was intoxicated by the electrifying novelty, as if under the influence of a powerful drug. The blood rushed all southward as she looked at him surreptitiously, so yielding prostrate at his feet, kneeling like a worshipper before her god. “Use that long tongue of yours.” She obeyed, giving him little laps on his crevice as she pumped him with one fist. He snorted, immensely pleased at her meekness. This wasn’t Neteyam. It appeared a demon had pilfered Neteyam's face and put it on.

Aywanin dragged her lips to one side, tracing the raised veins with her tongue. “Good. Now open.” Her mouth parted in a gasp and he slammed his shaft against her full lips, pulling back her arranged tail when she did not move in the desired rhythm. Her muscles adjusted to the intrusion and Neteyam wasted no time, in one attempt he thrust fully into her cavity, reaching up to strike the back of her throat. Her eyelids closed, soft whimpers muffled on her epidermis. Her glittering reddened eyes barred as she struggled to breathe, and struggled to hold up his hard irises, but the disparaging smile that made him look like a reprobate got the better of her; it was so tyrannical it was almost frightening.

Seeing how her features altered as she savored his length, how her eyelashes became tear-drenched and a vivid erubescence colored her cheeks, was the most heavenly sinful sight he could imagine. The way she sustained his piercing glance, the way she repressed the instinct to puke when the tip struck the base of her larynx, past the uvula. He nullified the remaining space, pressing her nose against his pelvis and blocking her airway for a few seconds before releasing her. She coughed for air, choking on her own saliva.

Jake lowered himself down to his spouse's level, wiping away the salty trails that joined her eyes to her open mouth. His thumbs caressed her flushed cheekbones, forcing her to meet his gaze as he set her back on her feet, turned her around, and leaned her against the rock.  “You won’t have any peace. I won’t slow down until I have stuffed you. I’ll give you yet another of my kids.” The gentle touch he shook her hair with broke the tension for a moment. That genuine concern in his voice and in his eyes. “Just take me and shut up,” Neytiri playfully rolled her eyes, and he returned it. Four children were more than enough.

No one would engage in further conversation; instead, they would delve into each other’s boundaries within the cave, with no chance of retreat. The dragon had been awakened.

“Your parents are funking hot.” “Do. Not. Say. It. Ever. Again.”

Aww poor boy, he’s traumatized now.

Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

[thedeviltohisangel]

FOR A FORTNIGHT THERE WE WERE:

Disneyland Headcanons

Felt particularly inspired on my trip today. A little something for my loves Evelyn and Callum until I’m home again, let me know your thoughts!

-As a child, Disney was such a mythical place. It’s where the rich kids go every school break. The land where her parents save every dime to try and take her and her siblings. A piece of the universe she craves to belong to.

-After early fame, Ev goes often. She takes pictures and brings all her friends and her family and walks around with a VIP guide and never smiles brighter than she does riding the coasters or the tea cups and laughing as if their is no weight on her shoulders. Some people stop for photos but it’s the right amount of wow I think I’m doing something special here and it’s not too much.

-After she skyrockets to fame in Star Wars (adding this to her filmography? Any thoughts?) it becomes much more commercialized. She’s trotted out in front of castles and waving and posing like plastic. Her ex husband is always there to hold her hand and kiss her. But he makes her ride the rides that scare her. Doesn’t let her get the Mickey shaped pizza she wants. Tells her she isn’t holding his hand the right way and people are watching. It’s as much performance for him and his career as it is for hers. It loses its magic and pixie dust and the fans are asking why Ev can only be seen at the theme parks for an event now. How she used to always be there eating popcorn and screaming on splash mountain and taking pictures with all the princesses. They all speculate that Hollywood has taken a fatal bite out of her. That she’s too busy with films and endorsements and magazine covers to be so fun loving anymore. They mourn the loss of the starlet they fell in love with and hope others will stop trying to scrape together the pieces of her now for just one more bite.

-BUT WITH CALLUM. God. He takes her because he knows it’s special and he knows it’s been awhile and he doesnt ask her why but he asks some of the people around her. They say it’s a him thing. An ‘her ex thought it was good for a photo op but ultimately very childish of her’ thing. And he buys her big and pink and princess-y ears and asks if she’ll keep them on because he thinks she looks gorgeous. And he takes photos for her in front of the castle (on his own with his phone and makes them his wallpaper) and he doesn’t flinch when she wants to ride on the carousel and laugh with him over how silly it is. Doesn’t flinch when she eats two Mickey ice cream bars for lunch and a pepperoni pizza for dinner. Buys the cheesy little photo of them on every rollercoaster because he had his arm around her protectively as she screams. It HEALS her to act like a child again and have someone WELCOME the youth that’s back in her cheeks. And he holds her while they watch the fireworks and he asks her if she’s happy and she smiles and says she feels like she got some magic back in her life. And Callum says that’s what he wished on a star for and she laughs and snuggles deeper and kisses his throat and tells him she loves him and will wish on a star for a forever just like this. And she goes home with a stuffed Marie from Aristocats and her phone died a long time ago and she didn’t even noticed and her feet hurt and she falls asleep in his shoulder in the car and she’s sunburnt and sweaty but clinging to him like a dream that she doesn’t want to fade away. And he just promises to make her wish come true. (Also he probably pulls the sword from the stone)

-BONUS: with their children. Ev always hires security when they go as a family and it hurts to take that bit of normalcy away from her kids but the media attention on her and Callum is too much for them to always be safe. He carries their daughters on his shoulders so they can see the parade and the shows. He knows the words to every song and sings his heart out with them. Crouches down to their level to point out Pooh and Mickey and Elsa. Ev is big on not having her kids ignore their gut so if they are afraid of the stranger in a costume then they don’t have to go and she won’t make them. They ride the carousel and dumbo over and over again because the baby of their family wants to. Callum confiscates the bubble wand when it nearly becomes a weapon. He takes so many photos of Ev holding their hands and walking around and when the littlest are in strollers sleeping but the oldest wants to ride thunder mountain one more time Cal tells Ev to go. Tells her it was her magic and pixie dust to share with their kids anyways. That the more memories she can make like this then the bad ones might drift so far away she won’t even think of them. The baby wakes up briefly to watch the show and ask her dad when he’s carrying her to the car and her cheek is smushed on his shoulder to ask if he’s a prince. And he tells her to ask mommy but she forgets and that night he and Ev are making out in bed and she calls him Prince Charming and laughs but shuts up real quick once he’s inside of her.

[star-girl69]

Thinking about your poly series and ik at one point one of the kids pulled the “you’re not even my real mom” on y/n and the silence was deadly. Cue Jake fuming in the background. Bonus points if Lo’ak says it after a scolding and just clings to her for the next few days scared she’ll leave them🥰

Just thinking about the series going through a brain rot. You’re doing an amazing job!!

My Heart Never Knows

(Headcannons)

—-

a/n: surprise y’all!!! i didn’t think i was gonna do anymore mhnk headcannons but i was going through my inbox and saw this one… AND I HAD TOO 😭 i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: none, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

this is wild

so lo’ak probably snuck out to go be with payakan even when he wasn’t supposed to

the three of you had a whole heart attack

then he comes back and he’s like “what’s wrong?”

and jake is like “boy, you know what’s wrong.”

“all i did was go see payakan 😕”

neytiri: “AFTER WE TOLD YOU NOT TO”

and then you’re like “listen we just want you to be safe. you can’t go disobeying us like that.”

“mama it’s not that big of a deal!”

“yes it is!!! your safety is very important. i’m sorry lo’ak but… you’re grounded”

“you can’t do that!! it’s not even that serious!!”

“yes i can, im your mother”

“NO YOURE NOT”

immediate SILENCE

lo’ak is all caught up in the moment and still fuming

you were just worried for his safety and now there’s tears in your eyes

neytiri is like “i know MY SON did not just say that.”

jake’s eye is twitching.

if the kids are around-

neteyam is probably like oh no way he is gonna get beaten

kiri is like poor mama 😕 WTF LO’AK

tuk is like “huh? mama’s not our mama? MAMA WHY ARE YOU CRYING”

lo’ak storms out

neytiri holds you and tries to comfort you 🥺

jake is running after lo’ak who gets a very harsh scolding that smacks some sense into him

he’s like “oh i said that. OH I SAID THAT.”

HE FEELS SO BAD

the next day you all wake up to the smell of something burning

and lo’ak is standing in front of the hammock presenting some burned mess of breakfast

“thank… you..?”

“yeah i love you so much mama i’m so sorry for yesterday i was just mad i promise i love you”

then he’s climbing on top of jake to reach you

jake is screeching

and then lo’ak climbs on top of you and hugs you a

“you are my mom.”

AND HE’S STILL YOUR BABY LIKE 🥺

so you hug him back and he’s like

“IM SO SORRY MAMA 😭”

“ITS OK 😭”

the nest few days he is waiting on you hand and foot and every second he is attached to you at the hip

jake and neytiri actually ungrounded him bc THEY WANT TO SPEND TIME W YOU TOO 😭

“lo’ak, son, you’re ungrounded. go out”

think of the scene where jake and kiri are sitting with their legs in the water

that but lo’ak is all tucked into your side and the two of you are swapping stories about your soul siblings

“no i’m okay with mama”

—-

taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower

[everythingmp3]

adult Van taking care of you when you’re not doing well - headcanons

(physically + mentally)

some nsfw mentions here and there, other than that this is just what I imagine her to be like as a caring partner! kind of a continuation of my gf headcanons for her <3

physically:

she is usually not a clingy person - she prefers you to do the clinging - but whenever you are sick, that energy switches completely and she refuses to leave your side

when you’re not fully sick yet but already feel a bit off, you sometimes try to hide it from her so she doesn’t worry, but she’s way too in tune with you, she notices it immediately - when you rub your temples or let out a pained groan - and doesn’t let you pretend it’s fine

your body is sacred to her. she might come off as chill and nonchalant to others, but she is very devoted to you, which includes the careful way she handles your body, so that only intensifies when you’re sick! (she’ll draw baths for you, will put on your lotion for you when you’re too tired, will put a fresh cold towel on your head when you’re feverish, etc.)

during the first few days when your illness is at its worst she keeps the store fully closed to stay in bed with you - then when you are feeling a bit better but still aren’t fully recovered yet, she opens the store again but comes upstairs to check up on you every half hour or so (you tease her a bit sometimes by saying things like “yeah, still alive” when she overdoes it)

you haven’t fully moved in with her yet but when you’re sick she insists upon you staying at her place until you’re better again! regardless of whether it’s two days or ten days, she will not let you sleep alone in that state, no chance, you’re moving in temporarily

she is NOT a home remedy person, whatsoever. she makes you tea of course but she wants you to get better as fast and as painlessly as possible, so she turns into a nurse whenever you’re sick. she reminds you when to take which pills, pays attention to your pain level and always has the philosophy of "we have modern medicine for a reason, we will fucking use it" (19 months out in the wilderness without it gave her a lifelong appreciation I think)

she doesn’t love to cook but when you’re sick she always buys fresh ingredients to make you a nice veggie soup, exactly the way you like it (partially because she loves watching you eat things she made when you’re trying to regain your strength, makes her feel useful)

she usually has very strong preferences about the films you two watch together, but! that flies out of the window when you’re sick - she will put on your favorite films and keep her usual comments to herself (she’s too busy stroking your hair and looking down at how you’re laying your head in her lap anyway)

she uses humor to make you feel better, for sure! Van always offers you the exact kind of jokes that get tired but genuine laughs out of you, even when you’re aching and exhausted, she knows exactly how to lighten up the mood without overdoing it! you’re always grateful for her skilled way of taking your mind off the pain for a few minutes

for example: when you feel self-conscious about looking unappealing to her in that sick state, she makes a point of jokingly coming onto you really strong, gently feeling you up and saying “you always look hot to me, I’m really restraining myself, you know. don’t wanna hurt your frail body but I’d do whatever you want right now”

you like to tease her a bit about your age difference by saying stuff like “you’d have been a good mom, you know” when she does your laundry or the other chores you can’t do when you’re sick, which earns you a look of disgust and a definitive “okay easy on the incest jokes and absolutely not. I enjoy doing this for you because you’re hot, not because I’m maternal”

she hates to see you suffer, of course, but.. selfishly she does love the domesticity that you share when you have to abandon school/work for a whole week and you two spend nearly every waking moment together! she’s a homebody and loves snuggling and napping together during the day, the lazy, soft kind of intimacy that a sickness will bring out

another thing that she loves when you’re under the weather, is how theatrical you get with your expression of affection. you will lay on the couch and watch her while she’s busy in the kitchen, admiring her and saying things out of nowhere like "you’re so beautiful. I’m so lucky", clearly a bit dazed from lack of sleep, and it always makes her feel warm and makes her smile, when you’re all sweet and vulnerable

when it gets too bad she will take you to the doctor or ER, it doesn’t matter how much you protest or insist that you’re okay, she does not play about your health even though she doesn’t take great care of her own at times…

the people you interact with daily (friends/colleagues/classmates) know about your relationship but you definitely haven’t told your parents.. so when you get a call from one of them when you’re sick and they ask if you’re fine, you lie and say that a “friend” is taking care of you, which makes her tease you when you hang up like “friend. interesting. is this where you tell me that you fuck your friends?.” it does turn her a on a bit, to be a secret

she’s not a very sappy person but when you’re on her bed, face down and letting out intense sounds of pain because it’s that bad, her voice turns all soft and high-pitched and she loses all of her usual cool, cooing things like “hey it’s okay, shh, I’m right here” and “I know baby, I know”, while trying her best to guide you through the worst of it

Van is the type to watch you sleep. she’ll just lay down next to you on the bed and look at you in silence for a few minutes while you’re taking a nap (she definitely traces your facial features when you’re fully asleep and won’t be woken up by it, she’s tender as fuck in secret)

it definitely happened a few times that she went to the bathroom to cry when you weren’t doing well because she didn’t want you to pity her when you were the one in pain - it just really gets to her because she cares for you so deeply and sometimes gets flashbacks from everyone starving/hurting in the wilderness, so she has to remind herself that you’re just dealing with a regular illness, that you’re okay, that she won’t lose you.

she doesn’t want you to shower on your own when you’re too weak to stand properly - she’s scared of you slipping and falling - so you always shower together on those days <3

when you miss being intimate with her after a few days of being sick, she tries to find ways to touch you that won’t be too hard on your body, like kissing you all over, having you lay down and relax while she caresses you

if you’re feeling a bit better already, she will gently give you head or jerk you off, slower and softer than usual, to help you release some tension, and it’s somehow a particular kind of turn-on, to be pleased when you’re weak and a bit delirious

she knows you find her voice soothing, so she will find something to read to you while you fall asleep, either from a book you’ve been meaning to finish or one of her own favorites

she makes you sleep on her chest and falls asleep holding you, there is no way around it when you’re sick, she needs to feel you as close as possible to make sure that you’re warm and comfortable <3

mentally:

Van might come off as unserious at times but! with a partner she is definitely eager to drop that act and to connect on a very deep level, she wants to be trusted with your fears and worries (she hides her soft core well but not with the person she loves)

when you’re really going through something, she always makes a point of sitting you down and really listening with intent, holding your hands and giving you reassuring nods. patience is one of her strong suits for sure!

the first few times you cried in front of her she was slightly overwhelmed by how much it affected her and almost teared up herself :( but over time she got better at staying calm and just letting you get it all out while she whispers sweet things and rubs your back, not a care in the world whether it takes five minutes or an hour for you to stop tearing up

she wouldn’t admit this but her being considerably older than you definitely makes her feel an urgent sense of protectiveness, to her it’s a given that it’s her job to make sure you feel safe, as someone who already has that tough period of early adulthood behind them

late night drives. whenever she senses that you’ve been stuck in the house for too long and can’t stop thinking about what´s bothering you, she drags you out for a drive to a gas-station to get some drinks and snacks and it always manages to get your spirits up, you always come back with a brighter and livelier expression on your face

she has a very good instinct for when you need space and when you need comfort. sometimes, she lets you sleep in her bed while she is downstairs working, because she knows you need to be left alone for an afternoon; other times she can tell that you’re fragile and need physical closeness to feel better, so she makes you lay on the couch with her, or makes you take a shower before she gives you a massage <3

Van always tells you reassuring things like “it’s okay to not see the positives right now, sometimes everything just feels awful, I know, but tomorrow things will already look very different, I promise, baby” - she never does cheap consolation, ever, what she says is always realistic and actually helpful

she believes that sometimes simple things can go a long way! so instead of giving you big motivational speeches when you’re a bit depressed, she’ll just take you out for a really good meal and desert, followed by a little visit at whichever store you like (getting you a nice scented candle or a book or a new shirt) and that usually does the trick of getting your mind back into the present moment

she had a good amount of practice with dealing with bad moods when she was your age and depressed as hell, so she’s glad she can use some strategies she learned to help you a bit

Van is always a steady presence in your life when everything feels chaotic because she learned early on how to navigate the toughest situations imaginable, so you often end up showering her in affection whenever she manages to be perfect at soothing you after a stressful event, and she loves it: knowing that the shit she went through might not have been for nothing after all

because of the crash and her traumatic home-life before that, you noticed very early on that nothing you could tell her would ever shock her or make you feel judged by her, which is a uniquely freeing thing about being with her

she sometimes jokes about how therapy didn’t work out for her at all.. and that she’s a horrible person to ask about her opinion all that because she’s generally very suspicious of psychiatry, she doesn’t trust therapists one bit (and she despises the whole self-help scene) but she’ll let you make up your own mind of course

sometimes she can tell that you’re a bit down but don’t wanna make it a big deal, so she just pulls you in a for a hug or nudges you lovingly and says “what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?”, which makes you suppress a grin and admit that you’re in fact frustrated by something (sometimes it ends in her straight up offering to give you head, so you can relax and stop thinking and more often than not it works)

similar as with physical health: she neglects her own issues at times and thinks “whatever I’ll figure it out” but yours are deeply serious to her! regardless of how minor they seem to you. when you say something like “I don’t even know why I’m upset, it’s not that deep” she always disagrees like “if you’re hurt by it then it is that deep, absolutely”

in general she’s definitely a “do as I say, not as I do” type - she doesn’t always follow her own advice and you tease her about it at times by echoing her own advice to her when she’s the one in need of some support

she was on her own for a bit too long before you, so she truly never feels burdened by anything you require help with, she’s just glad to share her life with someone she loves, both the highs and the lows

she’s very chill and never makes a tough situation worse by urging you to do a million different things to feel better - Van never erratically tries to “fix” what’s bothering you because she knows that some things can’t magically be fixed, which makes you feel at ease: the fact that she’s not delusional about what she can and can’t help you with, that sometimes a shoulder to lean on is more than enough to feel better!

bonus headcanons for when you’re both just not feeling it:

over time you developed a basic formula of take-out from your favorite spot + something playing on the tv in the background + bitching to each other about your problems which is safe to lift your spirits every time you both need to vent and feel better after a stressful week! (often followed by a few drinks or some ice-cream or both)

when you’re both in a bad mood you’ll text each other throughout the day and try to cheer each other up with little jokes or exaggerated intense sexting

some of the best sex happens whenever you both had a long day and feel annoyed by everyone because when you come back to her place those nights it is always a shared feeling of "god I am so fucking glad to have you back and just forget about everything else". you will go for hours with breaks in between, until both of you are in a good mood again, so that is the one upside when you are both going through it at the same time!

in general you both make each other feel capable of handling any kind of pain or stress because you know the other person is only one drive or phone call away <3

[foibles-fables]

For the soft fic prompt: 28, Hawk and Thrush!

combining this one (forehead touches or nose nudging or any soft variation on the theme) with a nonny's request for 9 (shoulder kisses) and @meg-noel-art's request for 4 (neck kisses). three for one deal let's go i blacked out

EDIT: Also posted to AO3, if y'all would like to check it out there!

--

In every tired night’s late hours, defenses fade. They lie raveled in moonlight-dappled quiet and Aloy is all hands, all mouth, no pretense or restraint. She leaves nothing in reserve. Touches like an unfed flame offered kindling. Clings, so much lost time made up through insatiable contact—callus-drag and full-palm press, soft clothing and warm skin-scent, lips that claim and roam and claim again. It’s overwhelming in the perfect hypnotic way. Never lust so much as it is bliss. Desire as a need to be with, to meld and stir. Talanah lets herself be swept along in unfading sensation, taken whole and taken alive.

Most times it feels too delicate to address head-on. Look too closely and it’ll crumble—she’ll withdraw, stilted by the glare of exposure. Talanah knows: make no sudden moves. Don’t let these sweet moments collapse.

Tonight, though—as Aloy arches closer and her fingers fist slow in Talanah’s shirt and her mouth wanders over the sensitive plane of Talanah’s neck, along the line of her upturned shoulder—words are an unintentional impulse.

“Love when you’re like this.” Her voice is a husked sigh, a sound she hardly recognizes. 

Aloy halts and pulls back, but only just—only far enough for Talanah to see her lips, how they’re parted and damp. Half-lidded eyes flicker up. Shy caution stirs beneath hazed golden-green.

“Like what?” Aloy rasps in a messy, drowsed whisper. Tension threads through her gripping hands, but she does not withdraw. She waits instead, her breath hot at the hollow of Talanah’s throat. Talanah’s heart leaps to reach it. 

Through the starlit dark, bare honesty bleeds into the place where they’ve made their bed.

“Affectionate,” Talanah answers after a tentative pause. The word meets the air heavy, singular. “Physical. Makes me feel—” 

Wanted? Needed? Like something Aloy would turn back for at the end of the world? 

Those assertions could buckle under their own weight. With no lack of struggle, Talanah chokes them back and settles for: “Makes me—feel.”

A furrow breaks across Aloy’s brow as she tucks her face into the crook of Talanah’s neck. It hides her expression, but Talanah can see a deep crimson flush bloom across the bridge of her cheek to the tip of her ear. Still she holds firm, and Talanah returns the embrace, swallowing her trepidation.

Maybe it’ll be fine to leave things at that. Ride out the vulnerable shift in balance, adjust warily into this further-step. 

To not lose her to unspoken fear would be enough.

And Talanah is about to give voice to this, too—you don’t have to say anything—when Aloy answers.

“I’m not—” A jagged pause, bitten off, as though Aloy is just as surprised at herself. She glances sidelong at Talanah and in her eyes there is a battle: push and pull. The old need for distance, the new need for its lack. “I’m not good at—uh, saying how I feel.” Each word costs effort to shape, the kind of rough scrape Talanah can feel in the tight seam of their bodies. “Guess I just—want to make sure you know anyway.”

The admission hangs like sun-scorched smoke. They are tangled close enough for Talanah to feel each quick breath Aloy draws, to feel their heartbeats reverberate chest-to-chest. 

All at once Talanah realizes—she has been waiting for this. 

And she is ready for it. So ready. There is a fierceness to this certainty that blazes along her backbone.

It’s time to leap.

Drowning in breathless relief, she frames Aloy’s face with tender hands. The gentle-coaxed joining of their gazes is raw and bold and wide open. Talanah leans in to kiss away the creases crimped across Aloy’s forehead, to rest her own against it. When their noses nudge together, the corners of Aloy’s mouth twitch upward.

Against that tiny crooked smile, Talanah murmurs, “Then keep showing me.”