#constant work in progress for all relationships of all types

[jaynovz]

So I reblogged a post earlier about how your friends don't secretly hate you or think you are annoying and the way you know that is they're still hanging around after you go on an absolute deranged rant in the group chat and that nobody has the time or energy to put into a con trying to fool me into thinking they actually like me or whatever

And that I know my friends are busy and if they didn't actually like me they would spend more time watching TV than listening to me ramble etc and all of those are very good points!

However something that I think is also important to internalize is that--

Yes your friends and loved ones do you think you're annoying sometimes. It's not the end of the world! Because everybody's fucking annoying sometimes and *you* think they're annoying sometimes too. Even people who really really enjoy your company and like you are not going to like you 100% of the time. That is perfectly fine and normal.

The problem arises when people snip and snap at each other because they're annoyed and don't apologize or acknowledge it, right. There are many times that I am annoyed with my loved ones and so what I do is if it's not some actual big problem that needs to be unpicked I just take a deep breath and go take a walk or disengage and do something else.

You have all made a pact with each other that we like each other enough to move past any of the annoying moments. Again as long as it doesn't become toxic and it's not an actual issue.

Like sometimes I get in a mood and I talk and don't make sense or I'm grumpy or I honestly just talk too much or I talk in circles

I imagine at certain points that can be annoying

Anyway just a revelation that I had that it's fine if you're annoying, it's fine if you're a burden, we're all burdens on each other, that's called being alive and having relationships. Deciding to stick with a relationship and to keep working on it is the commitment we all make and choose to continue carrying that burden. Hopefully it is reciprocal but it will go in phases and cycles it's not going to always be 50/50.

All of that to say, you're allowed to annoy your friends and they're allowed to not always be 100% happy with you and vice versa. It doesn't mean they don't care about you, it means that human beings rub each other the wrong way sometimes and then we all as, hopefully, mature adults deal with it and grow and continue on.

[ceilidho]

soap developing an unhealthy attachment to his therapist post his brush with death after being shot at point blank range. he was reluctant to see a therapist at first because he didn't like what it said about him that he was being more or less strong armed into seeing a shrink (like no one trusts him anymore; they don't think his head's on straight since being shot), but as time goes on, he grows to cherish the relationship he's cultivated with his therapist because,

well,

she understands him. she listens to him. where everyone else seems to want him to just hurry up and get better (the nightmares, the mid-sentence brain fog, the erratic mood swings, the silent brooding when he can't find the words, aphasia on the tip of his tongue, the constant, constant headaches and auditory hallucinations that he can't seem to kick), she doesn't put any pressure on him to heal right away. she works with him and his medical team; gives him the space to process what happened to him, and has a seemingly bottomless wealth of patience for him.

he can talk for hours in her presence. it's a shame their time together is limited to an hour and a half every week. the dulcet sound of her voice is such a comfort to him. it's a shame she politely but firmly rejects his advances when he finally asks her out, tells him that it wouldn't even be appropriate for them to be friends outside of his sessions. that it would in some way hinder his healing journey. which pisses him off because Soap has progressed in leaps and bounds since those early days when he used to stumble over his words sitting on the couch across from her, head in his hands when the language felt beyond his grasp, a fine tremor still running through his hands that he's since managed to contain,

and

his head is throbbing again. a sharp pain above his eye that pulsates like a drum in his head and -

he thinks about her constantly. in and out of sessions. she's a frequent topic of conversation when the brass finally lets him back out in the field, Makarov finally dealt with (resting six feet deep in an unmarked grave). he ignores the looks oscillating between concern and worry that Price gives him. ignores the way Ghost barks at him to quit bothering the bird in the tight skirt and fuck someone that won't get him discharged. ignores the way Gaz pulls him to the side to ask if maybe he needs to see another therapist, y'know, mate...get some distance.

they act like this is something new. an abberation and not his very nature. like he hasn't always been the type to lock onto a scent like a hunting dog. a sniper by training. he sits and he watches and he waits; waits for the right moment that he alone knows.

it comes to him on an inauspicious day, when he's leaving the training facilities and spots his sweet thing rummaging around in the boot of her car, her ass beckoning him forward like a siren's call. now, now, now, the little itch in his head says, the voice that knows when the time is right. it's a sense acquired through conscious and unconscious observation, letting it all filter into his frontal cortex until he knows without knowing that the parking lot is empty apart from the two of them and the men at the base gates half a mile away.

it would take nothing for him to come up behind her and push her into the boot. nothing to wrestle the purse from her hands and slam the trunk shut. nothing to drive off base with a flick of his fingers to the guards that hardly ever bother to question him before he leaves (though they know what car he actually drives), made complacent by familiarity.

and he knows that it's wrong, knows that there's a line that he shouldn't cross, that choices have consequences, but,

his mouth salivates when her hips twitch, the urge to take settling over him. surely they'd forgive him one indiscretion.

[jzprncess]

love language by sza

“help me understand how you speak your love language ”

pairing: Max Verstappen x Y/N reader

part 1/2 next part

word count: 2,823

summary: a girlfriend of a successful f1 driver decides to learn Dutch to better understand her boyfriends world—his culture, his emotions, and the language he speaks—hoping to connect more deeply and navigate the complexities of their high-speed, high-pressure relationship.

note: first time writing a fan fiction so be nice please! i don’t know how to work tumblr to the fullest so if you want to requests anything, message it to me! this will be in two parts! please leave comments so i know im doing something right!!

　　　　　　 ❛ ━━･♡❪ ❁ ❫♡･━━ ❜

Out of all the unexpected turns her life had taken, learning another language was never on Y/N's radar. Yet, here she was, grappling with the complexities of Dutch, staring at her laptop screen during a Zoom call with her tutor, Anne. They had been chatting frequently, especially while Max was off competing in a grueling triple-header race weekend.

Before he left, Y/N had noticed the shadow of frustration in Max's eyes, a rare shift from his usually upbeat demeanor. It wasn’t lost on her—or anyone, really. The weight of the season’s challenges had begun to press down on him, making his once confident posture seem a little more hunched, his usual optimism now clouded by self-doubt. Everyone could see it. With the way the season had started, Max had envisioned triumph. But now, in October, his hopes felt distant. He hadn’t clinched a victory since June, and every reminder of that fact only seemed to add to his frustration. Y/N wished she could lift that burden, even if just for a moment.

In an attempt to brighten his spirits, she decided to do something special for him—a gesture that would help him escape the pressure he was under. The very day he departed, Y/N found herself scouring the internet, searching for someone who could teach her some basic Dutch. Max, ever the romantic, had always whispered sweet phrases in his native tongue—whether it was giving her a compliment or simply wishing her a good morning. And though she often required translations, Y/N thought, Why not learn the language myself? It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

And so, here she was, earnestly trying to master the phrase “I love you, handsome” in Dutch, yet somehow fumbling over the words.

“Y/N, your pronunciation is getting better, but you need to keep practicing,” Anne encouraged from the other side of the screen, her fingers dancing over her keyboard. The rhythmic sound of her typing seemed to fill the space between them, as if punctuating her words with gentle encouragement. “Have you taken my advice and started watching shows in Dutch? Immersing yourself in the language will really help you improve, especially with those tricky pronunciations.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, and stared at the screen, her lips pressing together as she tried to hold back the exhaustion creeping in. She had been working hard at this—between the classes, the practice, the late nights watching Dutch shows, and the constant racing schedule with Max, it was all starting to feel like a lot. “Yeah, I’ve been talking to the TV like it’s my best friend,” she said with a small, self-deprecating chuckle, her voice sounding a bit weary. “The characters probably think I’m crazy by now. But, you know, I think I’m making progress? Or at least I hope I am.”

Anne’s eyebrows raised in an encouraging way. “Well, that’s the spirit! The more you immerse yourself, the more natural it will feel. Dutch can be tricky, especially with its sounds, but you’re not giving up, and that’s what matters.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. It had been one of those days—between working on the language and managing the quiet space Max left behind when he was away, the weight of it all was starting to wear on her. “I don’t know... I keep stumbling over the same words, Anne. Like, I feel like I’m so close to getting it, but then I hear myself speak Dutch, and it just sounds... off. I’m trying, but it’s hard to know if I’m really improving.”

Anne smiled gently from the screen, as though she understood exactly where Y/N was coming from. “That’s completely normal. Language learning isn’t a straight path. There are ups and downs, but the key is to be patient with yourself. Remember, it’s not about perfection—it’s about progress. You’re already doing so much more than most people would.”

“I guess so.” Y/N’s voice softened, her eyes drifting away for a moment, lost in thought. “I just wish I could see it, you know? Max always speaks so fluently, and when he says something sweet in Dutch, it sounds so effortless. I want to understand it all, to be able to speak with him like that without stumbling or needing translations.”

Anne nodded, her face sympathetic. “I get that. You want to connect with him in the language that’s so familiar to him, and that’s a beautiful thing. But don’t forget, language is just one part of communication. Max will appreciate your effort no matter where you are in your learning. It’s about the intention, the heart behind it. And besides, if you’re working hard at it, he’ll see that.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, leaning forward in her chair and running a hand through her hair. “I just want him to know how much I’m trying. I know it’s hard for him when the season gets tough, and I want to be able to understand him better, not just the words, but how he’s feeling... especially when he gets frustrated. I want to be able to share those moments with him in his language.” She looked back up at Anne, a mixture of fatigue and determination in her eyes. "But it's like I'm still learning a whole new world, Anne. It's a lot to take in."

Anne’s expression softened even more. “Learning a language is like learning a new way to see the world. And you’re doing it for the right reasons. Max will notice that. Even if you don’t think you’re where you want to be yet, he’s going to appreciate your effort, your commitment to him and to his language. And you’re already showing him that you care in ways most people wouldn’t.”

Y/N gave a faint smile, feeling the weight of Anne’s words settle into her. She took another deep breath, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “I hope so. I’m doing this for him, and... for me, too. It’s just hard to see the progress sometimes when you’re so deep in it.”

“Well, keep at it, Y/N,” Anne encouraged again, her voice gentle but firm. “The progress is there, even when you can’t see it. And remember, when Max comes back, you’ll have a whole new way of connecting. That’s something special. Now, how about we wrap up for today, and next time, we focus on a few of those tricky sounds you’ve been stumbling over?”

Y/N nodded, the exhaustion beginning to fade as she felt a renewed sense of determination wash over her. "Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks, Anne. Really."

Anne smiled warmly, her tone softening. “Good night, Y/N. You’re doing great. Keep going, and keep believing in yourself.”

With that, the call ended, leaving Y/N in the quiet of her room. As the screen went dark, she sat still for a moment, letting Anne’s words settle into her. She still had a long way to go with Dutch, but now, she felt a little less weighed down by it all. She stood up from the desk, stretched, and with a deep breath, made her way to the kitchen. There was more to learn, yes, but she could do it. For Max. And for herself

This had become her routine for the past few weeks—immersing herself in a new language while navigating the emotional ups and downs of Max's racing career. Each night flowed into the next, filled with lessons and the hope that her efforts would spark joy in him when he returned. In a way, she couldn’t help but feel that this small adventure might not only help her connect with him in a deeper way but also serve as a reminder that even in tough times, he had someone in his corner—someone ready to support him and learn alongside him.

Time passed, and soon enough, the hectic three-race weekend was behind them.

Y/N wasn’t exactly sure when Max would be home. The unpredictable nature of his F1 schedule made it hard to keep track of his exact arrival time. As the hours stretched on, she decided to make the most of the quiet afternoon. She started by tidying up the house, picking up scattered race memorabilia and smoothing out the couch cushions, which always seemed to get tossed around after a long weekend of travel. The kitchen was next—dishes stacked in the sink, a few crumbs left from breakfast, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. She cleaned with a kind of absent-minded rhythm, her thoughts drifting between the tasks at hand and the excitement of his return.

Not wanting to spend the whole day indoors, Y/N grabbed her coat, slipped into her shoes, and decided to run a few errands to break the monotony. She mentally made a list of things she needed—a trip to the grocery store for fresh produce, perhaps a quick stop at the florist to pick up some flowers for the dining table. The gentle hum of the city as she walked outside felt like a welcome distraction. As she moved through the familiar streets, her mind kept drifting to Max—imagining his arrival later that evening and wondering how he would feel after the intense race weekend. With a small smile, she pushed the thought aside. There were errands to run, and time had a way of slipping by faster when you were busy.

After a while, Y/N decided it was time to head back home, the errands and quiet city stroll leaving her feeling a bit more tired than usual. The exhaustion crept up slowly, settling into her bones in the best way—a peaceful kind of tiredness that made the thought of being home all the more appealing. Once she stepped inside, she kicked off her shoes by the door and shrugged off her jacket, instantly feeling the comfort of her own space wrap around her.

She sank onto the couch, letting the weight of the day melt away, but it wasn’t long before she found herself wanting to do something—something simple and familiar to bring a sense of warmth and routine to the day. The kitchen seemed like the perfect place. She stepped into the kitchen, the warmth of the space a comforting contrast to the quiet of the house. Her mind immediately wandered to dessert—something sweet to fill the silence. Pulling out her phone, she swiped through a few recipe sites, curiosity leading her fingers. After a moment, she typed "Dutch desserts" into the search bar. Her eyes quickly landed on appeltaart, the iconic Dutch apple pie. The thought of the rich, spiced apples wrapped in buttery crust made her stomach rumble. It was exactly what the moment called for.

With a smile, she set the phone down and rolled up her sleeves. The comforting hum of her favorite playlist began to fill the room, chasing away the silence and replacing it with familiar tunes. As the music flowed through the speakers, she started pulling ingredients from the pantry—flour, sugar, butter, and cinnamon. She paused for a moment, letting the soft beat of the song take over as she laid everything out on the counter. The scent of cinnamon already began to stir a feeling of warmth and anticipation.

With a deep breath, she moved into the rhythm of the recipe, the steady motion of measuring, mixing, and prepping grounding her. She could already picture the golden crust and warm, sweet filling that would soon fill the kitchen, and her heart swelled with a sense of simple joy.

As she hummed softly to the tune playing in the background, completely engrossed in the rhythm of her mixing and the warmth of the kitchen, she remained oblivious to Max stepping through the front door, his footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floor. Max paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before he crept quietly toward the kitchen, careful not to make a sound. He peeked around the corner, his gaze falling on you as you worked your magic, your movements fluid and focused. A smile tugged at his lips as the sweet scent of apple pie hit him, and he inhaled deeply, savoring the warm, comforting aroma that filled the air.

Max moved silently behind her, his steps light as he closed the distance between them. With a smile, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, savoring the warmth of her presence, before pressing a tender kiss to her soft skin. As he inhaled the sweet scent of the kitchen, his lips brushed her shoulder, and he murmured in a low, appreciative voice, "Smells amazing."

The unexpected touch causes her to flinch, a small gasp escaping her as she instinctively tenses, but her body quickly relaxes when she turns to find Max standing there. A soft smile tugs at her lips as she meets his gaze. "I didn't hear you come in," she murmurs, her voice gentle and warm as she leans slightly into his embrace, feeling the comforting weight of his presence. She glances toward the counter, her hands still lightly dusted with flour, and then looks back at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and pride. "I made apple—" Her words falter for a brief moment, and she pauses, taking a breath before finishing with a playful smile, "Ik heb appeltaart gemaakt." (i made apple pie) She lets the Dutch phrase roll off her tongue with a touch of pride, her eyes lighting up as she anticipates his reaction to the homemade treat and at the sudden Dutch.

Max chuckles, the sound warm and teasing. "Oh, dus je spreekt nu Nederlands?" (Oh, so you speak Dutch now?) His eyes narrow playfully as he takes her in, studying her with a hint of disbelief, almost as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard. It takes a moment for her to process his words, the surprise registering on her face before a grin tugs at her lips. She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly as she meets his gaze. “Leren voor jou,” she responds with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, her voice light and teasing as she repeats the phrase—"Learning for you."

Max hums contentedly into her skin, his voice soft but filled with affection. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" His words are a gentle murmur, as though he's savoring the moment. She chuckles, the sound warm and light, as she wipes her hands on a nearby towel. Without missing a beat, she spins around, her eyes sparkling, and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I've missed you," she whispers into his chest, her voice filled with sincerity, as if the distance between them had only made her feelings stronger.

He gently pulls away, his hands lingering at her waist as he looks down at her, his eyes soft with affection. There’s a quiet warmth in his gaze, a tenderness that makes his heart swell with emotion. "I've missed you too," he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, the words wrapped in a quiet vulnerability. He smiles, a soft, almost teasing glint in his eyes as he adds, "Mijntje," (my little one), his tone filled with both love and playfulness. With a tender sigh, he leans down, his face drawing closer to hers. As he lowers himself, he brushes his lips gently against hers, the kiss soft and lingering, a promise of everything he feels for her in that quiet, intimate moment. 

She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, her breath catching in the space between them. Her heart races, each beat carrying the weight of everything she feels for him. Her hands rest gently on his chest as she searches his gaze, finding warmth, safety, and a quiet promise there. With a soft sigh, she leans in just a little closer, her lips barely brushing his as she whispers, her voice trembling with sincerity, "Ik hou van jou."

The words, though soft, are heavy with all the emotions she can't quite put into words—years of trust, laughter, passion, and quiet moments, all wrapped in those simple yet profound syllables. His breath hitches, and a smile plays on his lips as he leans in, closing the small space between them with a kiss that feels like both a promise and a beginning. There’s a warmth radiating between them, an unspoken yearning that lingers in the air, electrifying yet restrained. The kiss deepens, lingering just a moment longer, igniting a flutter of anticipation in her chest—a taste of what could be. As they pull away, their eyes lock, and in that shared gaze lies a world of possibilities, a silent acknowledgment of the passion that awaits them.

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tag list : @heluvsjappie

[fawnpires]

thinking about himbo!simon and his bimbo girlfriend being so disgustingly in love with each other.

you two were the definition of a match made in heaven— a sweet girl, pouty glossed lips and this constant urge to be spoiled with her huge mass of a counterpart. sure, simon’s had his fair share of occasional motel hook-ups and such, but you were just… something so different to him. said hook-up turned into the love of his life. and it makes sense, for sure.

not only were you two the most air-headed couple out there, but also the downright nastiest. he just could not resist your tempting fashion taste, everything ever-so-neatly pink and cropped. cropped tracksuits, pink little thongs, mini-skirts that were just too short for your own good... it’s years worth of perfect jack-off material. i mean... he's ultimately stupid, of course, but is probably the perviest guy you've ever been with.

your reactions to his teasing touches were an addiction to him. made you all the more sensitive and pliable, gives into that already-huge ego he had. near bursting when you fed into it. those whiny mewls and the way you ended up with a messy cunt and ruined panties at the end of the day were just to die for. starts to find himself more hooked onto that now you've succumbed to him and his way of things. the guy's seeping into your brain, influencing you, shaping you into being as equally worse as he was. what an asshole.

at first, it was tame— nothing out of the ordinary, a normal, healthy relationship. causal sex and daily worship to keep each other on a holy level of thought. of course, there was the occasional suggestive touch in public, getting overly touchy to each other some extent, albeit more outgoing within the privacy of your shared apartment. you would never act on any type of hungering impulse he brought out on you, because you were a shy girl all in the start. affectionate as a lost puppy up against him, as pretty and ditzy in-appearance. some spoiled princess who’s had her mind all switched up.

but relationships change, people change, and simon’s just about change you these past few months.

the belief never really crossed your mind… until you’re obliviously playing into the part, falling for his perverse tactics. there’s no shame when you’re on your tip-toes, arms in a lock around his neck, leaned up to sloppily make out with him, spit and all, outside of the gym after he’s spend a majority of his day there— sweat adorning his biceps, a tight-fitting cropped compression that showed off all his well-worked progress. how could you not give in? then you’d pull away, giggling in a lovesick trance while he’s running his hands up from the curve of your ass under that skimpy skirt to the mid-point of your back.

and it doesn’t stop there— especially when you’re out together, or with friends. there’s always a moment to surrender; shamelessly clashing lips, bending and pounding you over the sink in some club’s restroom, having his hand shoved down your panties like it was natural instinct. safe to say you’ve disturbed a good portion of the general public and your friend group, but it was way beyond you and simon’s combined brain capacity to really process that.

“you’re a little stupid, si,” you mused aloud one day, back arched against him while his meaty bicep held you in a gentle headlock and his hips slowly moving against yours, “not stupid… but like, hm, slow. y’know what i’m trying to say?”

simon temporarily pauses in his thrusts, blinking down at you silently before continuing. you tilt your head to the side in wonder and take a breath before sighing from the simulation— there was time and place for musing and sex. nobody said the two couldn’t coexist.

“never really thought ‘bout that,” he manages to respond through some low grunts, looking at you so intensely like he couldn’t quite get his head correct right now, primal state of mind, “can’t really think right now when—“

a soft groan subconsciously pulls from his lips, hips driving into your puffy cunt more firmly, leaving an imprint of you into the mattress, and your legs shake in position. now you can barely even think about the question, all you know it felt fucking good. your makeup’s dripping and fusing with sweat, eyes decorated in a sickeningly, somehow swanky, mix of glitter and mascara.

“i’ve got my dick up this pretty pussy. princess, is that what you’re really concerned about right now?” simon finishes, the hand to his headlock arm holding a tender grip on your face.

you admired his ability to even put words together right now, especially when he’s got his cock so deeply perched in your pretty pussy that’s gripping on him like a damn suction. feels like he’s on a whole other planet, and you’re over here in a little wasteland of drifting thoughts cooped up at the back of your brain.

(there’s no way he is that good at fucking you to the point where he’s got you pondering dumb shit out loud.)

“it’s an honest observation,” you giggle, chewing on the plump bottom of your lip. his thrusts are really starting to set in now, making your lower tummy feel all fuzzy, reveling in an achy warmth. makes your cunt all the more soaked, resulting in his abdomen saturated with transparent slick. you’re convinced your insides are shaped have been like him at this point.

“well, if we’re making honest observations,” he strokes his thumb over your lower lip, leaning down your curved posture and pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, “you’re a natural, baby. my girl’s got the prettiest tits, prettiest face… and the cutest damn pussy i’ve ever had the luck of having a chance at.”

heat blooms across your face, visualized over wet cheeks and suddenly your whole body’s burning from the inside out, breaths caught at the back of your throat when you stare back at him and whine out pitifully, “you’re such a filthy perv, simon.”

“ain’t that right,” he tilts his head backwards with closed eyes, lips formed in a lewd, sharp grin. his words sound like a mock reassurance, and untangles his arm from your neck to shift positions— back against the headboard, propping you up to sit on his abdomen, pussy so drenched in your slick and his own that it paints his taut abdomen with it. “now c’mon, on top, angel, know you can do it.”

simon holds the base of his cock with one hand, the other rubbing molded circles into the flesh of your doughy thighs. he’s helpful, thank god, and does the most by slapping the length of himself against your sticky folds. abrupt, messy, but sends an intoxicating shock right up your spine, causing your back to arch like a cat and dig your acrylics into the hardened skin of his pecs. your form was beautiful in perspective, as always.

you finish off what he’s started by raising your hips, sinking down onto his fat cock and stretching around him impossibly to accommodate his entire length, gaining back that sensation of being so full, so feverish because of what he does to you. using your cunt as his own personal stress reliever.

“oh, that’s real good,” he lets out a particularly heavy breath, sucks in the air through clenched teeth and tenses his muscles, the head of his cock already managing to kiss at your cervix. he’s so big and it wasn’t even an exaggeration. not at all. has you feeling this euphoric high of pleasure-pain. “c’mon, baby, put in that good work. i’ll even help ya.”

he keeps his word and grabs either sides of your hips, assisting you as he bounces you efficiently on his cock like a doll, jabbing the tip repeatedly at your cervix. paled eyes, ones that have that deer in the headlights sort of look, fixate their gaze on you— admiring you as if you were beauty reincarnate itself, or better yet, a pornstar. the prettiest pornstar he’s ever laid eyes on, at least.

“see? there we go, baby, a real natural at this,” he praises and your eyes roll so far you think that they would get stuck at the back of your head. you’re fucking yourself onto him like your life depends on it— and it probably does, having this feeling that you’re going to die without him and that stupidly fat cock of his rawing your pussy. it’s almost comical.

the sounds pulled from your throat are pitchy, soft and infused with unadulterated arousal. there’s nothing else to think about right now, not when simon’s all up in your guts and all that you can really do is moan out for him, breathe out his name like a prayer from your tongue. brain’s gone to mush and you can only yearn for him, having this need for him to kiss and embrace you whole so he does that, arms caged around your torso wholly and his lips clashed with yours in a kiss like he’s devouring you whole.

you’re so braindead that you don’t even notice he’s doubled on the stimulation— hitting that spot deep inside of you along with his fingers rubbing at your clit. it’s not long before it begins settling in, and that’s when you’re beyond save.

from there, you start to give out, revolving your hips in an intricate fashion, fucking yourself down onto him lazily, laying on the large expanse of his chest and nosing against his jawline gently. he doesn’t seem to mind this and even accommodates in the long run, cupping the back of your head and littering your face with messy smooches— contrasted to the fervent manner he works on your clit.

and you know you’re not a touch-starved girl, ‘cause you’ve been constantly pampered by him from day one! god, he’s given you so much that it really does make you feel like you’re genuinely deprived of it. ruined you for every other man.

“you’re too good to me, sweetheart.” simon coos, and for some ultimate reason, that just does it for you.

by the end, it’s nothing but an mind-numbing, scalding finish— the brand of skin-on-skin, and that knot in your lower stomach spreading into a warmth throughout your limbs, leaving an aftermath of tingles beneath your skin and a dripping, thick load painting your inner thighs the prettiest shade of white.

it takes a minute, but you watch through a post-orgasm fog when he lifts his head, peering down at you through half-lids. he was so… rugged, stubble growing in the right places, short, scruffy strands of dirtied blonde sticking to his forehead with sweat. one of the more major things that had deep-rooted your love for him. most things about him screamed masculinity, it’s written all over his face, his form. quite palpable, you think.

he grins slightly, boyish and on a high, and holds you against his chest, fingers brushing the disheveled hair that fell in front of your face. thinks you’re peak beautiful like this— messily beautiful with your makeup-smeared cheeks, hint of a dopey smile at your lips to match his.

“baby, you’ve got that look in your eye again,” simon comments, and you finally find the strength to sit up next to him.

you blink at him stupidly, that underlying sensation of quivering fresh at your skin, brain foggy, dumbified to great lengths. eyes widened and lips in a full pout because you haven’t got a clue what that means, so you just opt to take it as a tease.

“you’re sayin’ i look dumb?” that must’ve been it, of course there other possibilities, but you couldn’t quite come to that conclusion.

“what? baby, no,” he has this equally as stupid look on his face, scratching the side of his face with a grunt, “i meant… you look pretty. real pretty. got that after sex glow to you.”

“oh.” now you just feel ten times stupider, flashing him an awkward expression that’s something along the lines of a smile and a pout. you were just a dumb, sweet thing. that’s all. head dipped into somewhere else ninety-nine percent of the time. “whatever— you’re just butterin’ me up.”

“awe, now, don’t be like that,” he scoots closer to you, the fragrance of his natural, masculine musk and his pungent spiced cologne strong against your nose. fondles your bare tits lovingly, pawing at them like a helpless mutt. the sight makes you want to roll your eyes and whine, but you just can’t bring yourself to. he’s acting sweet and doting, nothing to complain about there. “we both know you can’t go a damn day without me all over you.”

a modest hmph came from behind puffed cheeks and ample pout because you knew he was right. in the end, simon always knew how to get you worked up— make your thighs press together, have your body burn up inside. the only one who knew how to get you that vulnerable.

“you’re so dirty.” of course he was, there’s no doubting that, but he’s undeniably smooth with it. goddamn practitioner in this line of skill. “hun, it’s like all you’ve got up there is just… fucking. thinking with your dick.”

he furrows his brows at that. “hey, now you know that ain’t true,” simon presses scattered kisses along your hairline. “partially is, but besides the point, actually two things— sex… and this sweet princess i’ve got right here. it’s all a man like me could ever think of.”

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part 1)

Ledger! Joker x f!reader (18+)

CW: just swearing for now :)

Summary: You’re a psychiatrist at Arkham, and have now been assigned to the most recent of Batman’s enemies, the Joker. You’re already barely getting by, but this new patient poses a challenge. If you can get him to show progress he’s getting better, then you might get a raise. If he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere, then you’ve lost your job. You’re prepared to work extra hard to help him but the Joker is nothing like what you’ve expected. Everyone warns you how he’ll get inside your mind, crawl under your skin.

They might be right.

Next part

Notes: I’m not sure if there’s an audience for this, this is lowkey kinda just guilty pleasure for me, but I hope some other people will enjoy this series :) I’ve always wanted to see a Harley Quinn in the Dark Knight universe, so in this fic, you are Harley (well, similar to her, lol). Obviously there’s no cannon Harley-type character in the Dark Knight trilogy so this is all made up, and I’ve taken bits and pieces from different DC Harley’s, plus their relationship with Joker, so look out for that :) So, just have fun with it, hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time seems to move slower at Arkham.

You adjust your coat, having barely swiped in just minutes ago but already it feels like hours and you’ve only just gone to the main office space and grabbed a cup of coffee. The coffee tastes disgusting, but you’re running off little sleep, so you down it quickly. Even from the office, you can hear the screams, cries, and rambles of the Arkham patients in the distance. You’ve been working here for two years already and still haven’t grown used to the constant roar of madness. You’re not upset over it though. You’re here to help these people, to help make sure the people in your city of Gotham are well. So, in a way, you welcome the noise. But that doesn’t mean you're fond of it, nor does it mean it lets you sleep.

Most people you talk to (which is very few, considering you’re always working) tend to judge you for choosing Arkham of all places to work. And, you’re honest with them, it certainly wasn’t your first option, but they pay well enough so that you can rent a decent apartment and you’ve quickly grown to enjoy the challenge it poses. It’s the higher-ups and the fear of being fired at any minute that makes the job truly a chore at times. But people will be assholes, and you’ve come to accept that.

When you’re done with your coffee, you toss the cup in the trash, grabbing a folder from out of your bag. It holds all your notes and the files of all the patients you deal with. You’ve got quite a few patients to meet with today, each with their own unique problems, their own unique story. You look over your notes, leaning against a wall when one of your bosses enters the room.

“Hello, y/n,” says Robert Dale, hanging up his coat on a rack to the side of the room. He’s a squat little old man who helps manage the asylum, keeping track of all the psychiatrists. He certainly isn’t the kindest of bosses, and you’re sure he only keeps you around because you’ve learned to just go with whatever the hell he and the other big Arkham bosses say. Sure, you can be easily submissive, but it’s that or the streets. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You frown. That can’t be good. Everytime Dale talks to you, it’s either to demand, critique, or complain. “Good morning to you too, Mr. Dale,” you mumble.

He takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been watching the news, I presume?”

You nod. Who hasn’t? You live in Gotham, for crying out loud, and there’s almost too much crime to keep track of as of recent. Especially ever since that Batman showed up, some kind of masked hero who you never got the hype over. “Of course.”

“You see all that stuff about…the Joker?”

The Joker. The Clown Prince of Gotham. Chaos incarnated. A rowdy clown criminal facing up against Batman. He had just been caught by the Bat a week ago, and the news had been all over the case, wanting to know where he was sent next. Where he was being held. If he would ever come back… “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“See, he’s been being held up in Blackgate, but he is now officially joining our little…family.” He said the word darkly, snorting. Your breath hitched in your throat. The Joker? “Anyways, he is a bit of a, and I'm sure you know this, tough nut to crack. He arrived here yesterday, in a solitary, high security cell and we’ve been looking for a proper person to… attend to him. We sent in a few of our other psychiatrists as a sort of test, seeing who he fits well with.”

“Right,” you bring yourself to say, even though your whole mouth feels like it’s filled with sand. The Joker. Here. At Arkham. “And?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “Every single one of them left that room different. Some were crying, others looked shell shocked. Batman told us Joker was going to be hard to deal with, but we weren’t quite expecting something of this level. He bends the mind, tries to break you. Twists the way you think until you don’t even know who you are. Gets under your skin. So, let's just say, we’re looking for someone strong enough to take on our special little patient.”

You know where this is going, and even when Dale says the words, your mouth still drops. “I’m assigning you to the Joker, Miss l/n. You’ve always been up for a good challenge, and are very good at listening to our orders.”

Right. So I don’t get fired and end up homeless or working for some crooks. “Mr. Dale, I have other patients I need to attend to today and I have no room to fit in-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I have already swapped your ten o'clock appointment so you can meet with the Joker. This is very important, Miss l/n, and you wouldn’t want to fail us, would you?”

As easy as you find it to work with your patients, the higher-ups are much harder for you to manage. “No…”

“Then it’s settled, you’ll be meeting with Joker at ten today, every other day, or more if necessary. You’ll file reports after every session on how your patient is doing, and if we see any progress, well, we may just have to raise your salary.”

Now that catches your attention. You didn’t even know a raise was possible. Especially not for you. You’ve been working so hard your whole life for what feels like nothing but now? Now, maybe all that work will finally pay off. “Mr. Dale, thank you. Thank you so much-“

“Don’t get too excited. If our patient doesn’t show any progress, well… we might have to let you go.”

At that, your entire face falls, your shoulders slumping. “What…?”

“Well, we’ve been needing to make a few cuts on psychiatrists and anyone might be subject to getting kicked.” He smiles and pats your shoulder. “But don’t worry, I have full faith in you.”

His words do nothing to soothe you as your heart pounds heavily in your chest. The toughest patient, all your responsibility, and you have to make him better under a certain amount of time or else? Shit. They were practically setting you up for failure. No. No, you can’t think that way. You’ve dealt with tons of patients, and every single time you’ve managed to get good results. This will be the same thing… “It- it’s a wonderful opportunity, thank you. I won’t let you down.”

He laughs and walks off. “I sure hope not.”

___________________________

“I’m here to see the patient.”

The guard looks up at you through his sunglasses and smirks. He uses the gun in his hands to point at you, and you step back. “Ah, so you’re the one they decided on to fix up this lunatic?”

“We don’t refer to them as lunatics, sir. And, yes, I’m Doctor y/n l/n.” Digging into the bag on your shoulder, you pull out your ID and hand it to the guard.

He glances at it once, bored, before grabbing his walkie talkie. “It’s Doctor y/n l/n you’re expecting, correct?”

The garbled voice on the other side responds back. “Correct.”

The guard looks back up at you. “Gimme your bag, please.”

You’re a bit startled, but give him your bag. Already, before even getting to this checkpoint, you’ve been through two whole security checks, and were definitely not expecting another. This Joker guy really is trouble. That just makes you panic even more. Trouble is hard to tame. The guard rummages through the bag a bit before nodding and handing it back, clicking on his walkie talkie again. “Doctor is clear for entry.”

A click noise sounds, and the door opens, leading to yet another room with another door with two more guards standing beside it. You jump as the door behind you clamps shut, and the two guards hardly flinch. The one to the left moves forward, holding something out in his hand. “This is your panic remote. See the green button right there? Press that when you’re done with your session or you need to get out. Got it?”

You grab the remote, looking at it closer. “What about the red button?”

“That’ll set off a gas that’ll knock the Joker out cold.”

Oh. That doesn’t sound good. You’ve dealt with some pretty nasty people but nothing ever this intense, nothing that needed this level of precaution. “Okay… Wait, won’t the gas get to me too?”

The guard shrugs. “Eh, yeah, but you’ll be fine. The doctors will fix you right up.”

You tuck the remote away in your coat pocket. “Right. Thanks…”

The other guard who hasn’t spoken a word until now enters some kind of code into the pad on the door and it swings open. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes you cringe but you step forward and bow your head. “Mhm.”

As soon as you step inside, the door slams closed, and you’re left to face the man everyone has been whispering about.

And there he is, sitting behind a table, looking up at you. The first thing that strikes you is his face, which lacks any makeup, and you don’t know if it shocks you because you’ve only ever seen him with his makeup on or because he appears human. Not quite the monster he’s made up to be. His skin is slightly tanned, his eyes brown and dull, his hair curled and askew down to his neck. Although he doesn’t have his makeup, there’s faded green hair dye still at the tips of his hair. His signature purple coat and suit has been swapped for a straitjacket. You try to look only into his eyes, but instead you flush and look at his mouth. His mouth, gosh. Without the smeared red makeup, you can see his scars so clear, the mangled flesh titled up into a smile on either side of his lips. Whatever caused those was nasty. Always smiling.

Bringing yourself to move, you carry yourself to the table, sitting down in the chair across from him, and you try and pretend your heart isn’t hammering. As you sit down, his eyes trace your everything. It makes you feel like some kind of animal. Is he studying you? Plotting your death? Horrible, but who knows with a man who is all unknowns? You clear your throat. “Uh, hello there, Joker. Can I call you Joker?”

He frowns and licks at his lips, smacking them together. At first, you don’t think he’ll talk, but it just takes him a second. “Well, what else would ya call me?”

You’ve heard him speak before, on the television, in those frightening hostage videos, but it’s more chilling in person, his distinct voice causing you to shudder. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “R-right. Joker. I’m Doctor y/n l/n. Feel free to call me y/n, though.”

“Y/n,” he says slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. You resist shuddering again. “You’re the one they assigned to, ah, fix me up?”

You nod. “That’s me. But please, don’t think of it as fixing you. Think of it as helping you.”

“Help,” he spits out the word. “Whatever ya wanna call it. Sure. What ever happened to those other people they sent to see me the other night? They were all just so fun to play with.”

His words have a lot of bite behind them. Dale warned you about this. He was going to mess with you, and have fun doing it. “I believe they weren’t prepared to attend to you.”

“Awwww, did I hurt their feelings?” His voice is dripping with pure sarcastic sadness. He even feigns a frown. Then he breaks into a wide grin, giggling madly. “Well, if words are gonna hurt them that badly, maybe, uh, they’re in the wrong work field, huh?”

You make sure your face doesn’t move a bit. Play. It. Cool. Besides, progress doesn’t come from backing down. “We all have our strengths. It doesn’t matter what happened to them though, what matters is that I’m here now.”

“They really threw ya to the wolves, Miss l/n.” His tongue traces across his teeth. “Lucky for you, I won’t bite. Yet.”

You try very hard to ignore him. He probably does bite. “Today is gonna be a short meeting. Testing the waters. Now, we’ll be meeting every other day, so don’t feel like you need to open up to me immediately-”

“Me? Open up? If ya wanna open me up, you’re gonna need a big knife.” When your face falls, he leans forward and laughs harshly, a laugh laced with insanity. “Ha! Tough crowd, it seems.”

Already, he’s testing your patience. But you’ve faced worse. Or at least, you’ll pretend you have. “Mr. J, please-”

“Mr. J?” The Joker sits up straighter. “Heh, I like that. Makes me sound, uh, all fancy and stuff.”

“Mr. J,” you say again, this time harsher. “Today, I just want to get to know a bit about who you are. This is our first session so I’m not expecting too much. We don’t have to dive into the crimes, or your past, but I just wanna get to know a bit about you.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I’m trying to help, Mr. J. I can’t help you if I don’t know… well, you. Not to mention, we have absolutely nothing on you. No files. No previous history. You’re a bit of a mystery.”

“Ah, a mystery.” He licks at his lips a few times before licking at the inside of his cheeks, no doubt tracing along his scars. “And you wanna solve me.”

“No, I just want to learn a bit more.” You reach into your bag and bring out your clipboard and a pen, clicking it once. “Now, where would you like to start? Maybe your childhood? Your job before your crimes?” His face contorts, and his nostrils begin to flare at such personal questions, so you try and tone it down. Before he lunges at me and chokes me to death. “It’s okay, we can start small. What are your interests?”

His shoulders drop a bit. He rocks back and forth in his seat, humming in thought. It’s weird, really, to see him like this. Not blowing something up, or filming himself raming about some kind of new evil plan he has. “Hmmm, well, I like, uh, a good joke every now and again. I like, hm, ah, a good tussle. Blades. TNT.”

You scribble it all down, right with a question mark and a frowny face. None of that sounds promising. “Right…”

“What’s wrong, doll? You seem…” He smiles gleefully. “Upset.” His T’s are pronounced harshly.

Doll. You should definitely correct him, to tell him to call you by your name, but you decide to let it slide. “No, I’m just… taking it all in. So you like weapons. Jokes. Is that how you decided on your name?”

He smacks his lips. “More or less.”

“Okay. Right. And the whole clown thing, your persona-?”

“Persona? Ha! This is aaaallllll me, dollface.”

“Right. So, the clown thing, how’d that come about? Your makeup, what’s the reason for it?” As you say it, your eyes fall to his scars, the way his lips lick along the very edge of them, and when he catches sight of this, he glares.

“Ah ah ah,” he coos darkly. “We won’t be getting into that today.”

You swallow hard. “Okay. It’s fine. One day at a time.”

He nods and leans forward, and it’s like his eyes can see into your very soul. “Ah, enough about me, huh, doll? Tell me about little ol’ you.”

You frown. “We’re not here to talk about me, Mr. J.”

“Oh, you’re not, but I would like to hear a thing or two about the person I'll be spending lots of, uh, personal time with.”

The way he says personal time, with an almost ferociousness to it, makes you break out in goosebumps, and you’re thankful for the coat covering your arms. “Hm, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, ya know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” He tosses his head around. “How’d you end up in a shithole like Arkham?”

You take a deep breath. Does he seriously care to know? Or is he messing with you? Knowing what you know about him, you’re sure it’s the latter. “Well, it’s always been my passion to be a psychiatrist. I love Gotham and I wanna help its people.”

Joker leans back. “Hmmm, you’re one of those little doctors, huh? Wanna get everyone all fixed up so you can feel like a little saint?”

That takes you aback. You resist the urge to glare. Stay calm. You’re trying to help. “No, I don’t want to be a saint. I just want to-“

“Make yourself feel better? Wanna, uh, be able to give yourself a pat on the back and say ‘look at how amazing I am’? Puh-lease. Nobody really wants to help because they’re selfless.” He leans in. “We’re all selfish, every last one of us. So don’t lie. Nobody likes a liar.”

If you were anyone else, you might have wavered. So this is what they meant when they said Joker was a tough case. He had flipped the tables and started trying to analyze you. Well, you were tough enough, and you weren’t going to back down. You look him right in the eye. “You have a very interesting world view, Mr. J. But if I was just doing this for myself, we wouldn’t be seated here today.”

“Oh, but you didn’t choose to be here, they stuck ya in with me.” His eyes widen. “Seems your bosses aren’t too fond of ya, doll. Or are you just so stuck beneath their boots that you didn’t even question them?”

Now he was really reading you. How could he tell? Was he just that good at digging into people, or were you just too much of an open book? Whatever it was, you pushed it aside. Don’t give in. You’re not doing this for your bosses, you’re doing this for you. “You’re very observant. But again, we’re not here to analyze me. We’re here to talk about you.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna say, doll. But don’t worry,” he says, licking his lips, “I’ll figure you out before you even get anywhere with me. In fact, I think I’m already getting a good guess.”

“Please, Mr. J, I’m the psychiatrist here. Now, our session is coming to an end-”

“Pity.”

“-but I have one last question before our session ends.”

“Go ahead, doll.”

“If you were to describe yourself in one word, what would you use?”

“Ha! Easy. Chaos.”

“And, why does this word define you? Why do you want to be chaos? What do you get out of it?”

He shakes his head. “Ah ta ta, that’s more than one question, doll face. Now, before you leave, lemme, uh, ask you the same thing. What word would you use to describe me?”

His question takes you slightly off guard. There were tons of things you could say. Insane. Wild. Crazy. But those would describe the Joker he was outside, the man that fought the Batman. Whoever you were looking at now was clearly more than that. “Intriguing.”

With that, the Joker's face split into a wide smile. “Ah, now that’s a new one. I think I might actually come to enjoy these, ah, little sessions.” He tilts his head. “I expect you’ll be going now?”

You reach into your purse and grab the remote. “Yes, Mr. J. Thank you for your time. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He’s smiling so wide now, the tips of his scars almost touch his ears. There’s something about his smile. It’s not horrible, not at all. It’s mesmerizing.

“I can’t wait.”

___________________________

That night you can’t go to bed, but not for the same reasons as usual.

Most nights, as you settle down, you’re pulled from sleep by the phantom echoes of the screaming of Arkham patients. Other nights, you’re up for hours thinking of different ways to help your patients. But tonight, you can’t be bothered to think about anyone but the Joker. Dale was right. Already, he’s creeping into your mind, settling beneath your skin. You should be frightened, really, but your mind just wanders with fascination. No, you definitely will not be getting sleep tonight. Instead, you grab your laptop and type in your patient's name. If he won't tell you anything himself, then you’ll get to the bottom of it.

You end up reading about him for hours. Intriguing, indeed.

End notes: see you next time ;)

[atinystraynstay]

Late Night Cravings - Lee Jihoon

Synopsis: It's a Friday night, and your hard-working boyfriend has locked himself in this recording studio once again. Jihoon felt guilty for the nights separated from you, whereas you would do anything to watch his fantasies become a reality.

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x fem. reader

Genre: Angst - Jihoon feeling guilty, fluff, established relationship, soft smut - MINORS DNI

Contains: dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), dom!Jihoon, unprotected sex (wrap it up, my friends!!), squirting, creampie

Word Count: 3.5k

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Jihoon let out a frustrated groan. His fingers drove through his hair, frustrated beyond belief at the song-writing process. It wasn't like him to get stuck like this, but here he was - unable to form even words.

He glanced towards the clock and grimaced at the sight of it being close to 2am. He was hoping to have been out of here around 9pm, so he could have made it to your apartment by 10pm. Jihoon was under pressure from the company to get a new demo to them by Sunday. Yet, here he was on a Friday night, barely making progress. He should be with you instead.

When you guys together, you knew that the relationship would require a lot of work. You weren't dating any guy, after all. Music was Woozi's passion in life. You wanted to encourage him to pursue every project that screamed for his attention and the ones he got the most excited about. Even if it meant that he had to cancel plans or you went days without seeing each other, you would do it for you.

That's the part that made Woozi feel the most guilty. You made all these sacrifices for him, sacrificing your own needs to allow him to pursue his goals made him feel lousy. Aren't relationships supposed to be about equality? How can you give that to him when his career doesn't allow him to make such sacrifices? There was very little wiggle room for him when there were constant deadlines and meetings.

Maybe the reason why Jihoon put so much pressure on himself was because this was his first, genuine relationship. He's had flings with people here and there, but they weren't meaningful to him. You, on the other hand, meant everything and so much more. He wanted to make things right with you.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Who could that be?

"Come in," Jihoon called out. He made sure to hit save on his computer on what progress he has made. Even if it was minimal, he would be devastated if it all vanished suddenly. It might be someone from the company who wanted to talk logistics, which can be a length conversations anyways.

The door slowly pushed open. He leaned over his chair to see who it was.

"Surprise?" You called out.

His eyes grew wide at the sight of you. You had your hair pulled back into a high ponytail and were wearing sweats. Yet to him, you looked like you were ready to walk the runway. He picked up on the scent of take-out coming into the room. He glanced down to see your hands holding a white plastic bag. Though he glanced at the clock to see it was 2:07am. You should be asleep.

"Is now a bad time?" You frowned.

He quickly shook his head before spinning his chair around, so he could easily push himself up. He was just absolutely speechless that you knew that he needed a distraction. Realistically, he needed you.

"It's never a bad time, darling." His heart swelled just seeing you in front of him. How did he get so lucky?

You relaxed as you watched Jihoon cross the room to get to you. Jihoon never was the type of person to let height stand in the way of things, but he always found it adorable how you still had to look up at him.

Once he stood in front of you, he cupped your face. You couldn't help but giggle as he tried looking down at you with a stern look. Yet, to you, he was the least intimidating person. His eyebrows were slightly scrunched together as he gazed down at you. His thumbs running over the soft skin of your cheek made you weak in the knees.

'I just thought you'd be asleep right now, sweet girl. You know I don't like it when you're up too late or you're waiting for me." "I know, but I just couldn't get comfortable without you in bed. And then I figured you haven't eaten so I thought maybe food might help you while coming to see you would help me."

Jihoon's heart broke at your statement. He wanted desperately to be the man you deserve, the one that is punctual and not forgetful. There were too many times he could count when he felt like he had let you down. Tonight is an example of that.

"I truly don't deserve you," he sighed." His forehead found yours. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, as he was just taking a moment to feel you so close to him after what felt like centuries apart. "How can I ever make it up to you, angel? How can I repay you for being so damn understanding?"

Your hands moved up to gently rest on his. Your fingertips were caressing against his strong hands which caused his eyes to open. The sight alone caused his heart to melt. You were looking up at him like he was made out of the stars. And to you, he was.

"I just want to be around you, Jihoon. That's all I need."

Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. He removed his hands from your face, so one hand could hold onto your hip. With his free hand, he took the takeout and put it in the mini-fridge. The mini fridge was closer to the front of the studio, right by the couch. He never liked bringing food over towards his equipment, in the case something spilled. He wasn't a fan of messes.

This time is an exception.

With ease, Jihoon lifted you up in his arms. Jihoon could never produce something as beautiful as the sound of your laughter.

His hands were resting underneath you which allowed you to wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. You let out a gasp in surprise before breaking out into a fit of laughter.His arms flexed underneath you, wanting to ensure you that he'd never drop you which caused you to stop the laughter and blush.

He couldn't help but smirk at your now shy reaction. "Oh darling, what's wrong? Something on your mind?" Jihoon walked the two of you over to the leather chair in front of his mixing board. You bit your lip gently, shaking your head. You were honestly just speechless by his strength.

"Tell me, darlin'. What are you missing the most?" He asked as he sat down on the chair. It was the perfect position that already allowed you to straddle him. You got yourself situated, not missing the throaty groan that escaped him.

But he wasn't about to allow you to have the upper hand.

"Have you missed the way my arms feel around you?" As he spoke, his hands started caressing your back. The feeling of the warmth of his hand sent shivers throughout your body in the best way possible.

Slowly, his hands began moving from your back towards your sides. He let his hands run up and down, his fingertips just grazing along your side. It sent goosebumps throughout your body even just feeling his touch through your clothing. He knew all the little ways to make your brain go fuzzy.

His eyes were trained on you, waiting for a response. He couldn't help but smirk as he watched you nod your head gently, your eyes bouncing from his to his wondering hands.

"Or have you missed the way that my fingers split your pussy open? How your tight walls will squeeze around them when you're on the brink of an orgasm? Or do you want to leave my cock to the stretching of your pussy, hmm?"

Your jaw dropped at his words, at the quick 180 he took. He kept one hand on your hip, ensuring you wouldn't go squirming away from him. His other hand moved down your thigh, resting high up. You could feel yourself getting wet with anticipation.

"Because I know I've missed the way you scream for me. I've missed the way your back arches and eyes roll whenever you squirt for me."

Jihoon couldn't ignore the little whimper that left your lips. It caused him to snicker as the hand on your thigh moved up to play with the drawstring of your sweatpants. It was tied in a pretty little bow. Jihoon always loved how fiercely independent you are. It was admittedly one of the millions of reasons why Jihoon fell for you.

Reason a million and one was how easily he could make you crumble, how wrapped around his finger you were. It was a mutual love.

"I've been neglecting you a bit too long, haven't I?" he pouted slightly. "Let me make it up to you, angel."

Without further hesitation after receiving a nod from your head, Jihoon undid the bow before dipping past the waistband of the sweatpants. He shivered with excitement at the feeling of your warm ski underneath his fingertips.

Much to his surprise, he didn't feel a second layer underneath. He looked up at you with an eyebrow raised. Immediately, you knew what he was wondering about.

"Like I said, I missed you in bed."

That was enough for Jihoon to take action. With your legs already straddling his waist, he knew you were in the perfect position for his wandering fingers. His index and pointer fingers gently ran up and down your slit. He bit his lip at the feeling of how wet you already were for him.

He couldn't keep his precious baby waiting any longer. His two fingers slipped into your warm, wet pussy. His eyes fluttered shut so you couldn't see the rolling of his eyes at the feeling of how tight, how inviting you were from his. Your own head rolled back slightly, hips pushing towards his as you craved for more.

"I should really punish you for being so impatient right now when I'm giving you what you want," he murmured. His hand moved up to hold your chin, making your head tilt back to look into his eyes. "But I like too much knowing you need me as badly as I need you right now."

And he did need you. You could feel his boner growing harder against your thigh, twitching almost to be freed. You wanted so desperately to touch him, to provide him some relief as well, but you weren't sure you were allowed.

Not when it seemed that Jihoon was adamant about providing you pleasure first. His fingers began to thrust in and out of your pussy. Your juices were coating his fingers as they were pushed all the way.

Jihoon took a moment to admire you in this state. Your chest was starting to rise and fall, just as soft whimpers and moans were leaving your lips. The feeling of your warm pussy clenching onto his fingers just enhanced how beautiful you are. All for him.

His fingers began to curl towards your g-spot which made you gasp. His tongue was poking out of his mouth slightly, a sign of determination you've grown so accustomed to. He also didn't let your clit go unoccupied as his thumb was rubbing fast circles into the bundle of nerves. Jihoon has always been talented with his fingers.

"Is that what you've been missing?" Jihoon asked teasingly.

You shook your head quickly as you made sure to look into his eyes. His fingers were grazing against you g-spot, sure. And you were on the brink of facing your first orgasm, but it's not what you wanted.

Not when it felt like you were being suffocated by the layers you were wearing, or how they were beginning to stick slightly to your skin from the sweat. You wanted to experience a closeness to him you've been craving for one too many nights.

He slowed down your fingers, curious as to what was going on in your mind. His head also tilted, an eyebrow raised as you studied you for a moment. "No? Oh, baby. Use your big girl words."

"I need your cock in me. I want to cum with you in me and to feel you cum in me. I need you to fuck me so hard that I can't move afterwards. Please," you begged him.

Now, who was he to deny you? Especially when you asked so sweetly.

Jihoon's fingers stilled in you as he gazed up into your eyes. You were whimpering, hips subconsciously grinding against his fingers. God, how did he get so lucky? He could see the lust swirling in your eyes.

"Take off your sweatpants baby then mine. I'll give you what you really need."

The moment his fingers slipped out of your sweatpants, you immediately were tugging off your sweatpants. He chuckled at your eagerness. He took the opportunity to slip his fingers into his mouth. He groaned at the taste of your pussy on his fingers. He's missed the taste of you.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked to see you staring at him. Your mouth was slightly open as you watched him suck on his fingers, suck you off his fingers. He was so beautiful.

"Sweet like sugar," he murmured. He moved his fingers out, a soft 'pop'' sound echoing in the room. Due to your heightened awareness, it sounded like a booming stereo. You were just so hyper fixated on him, and could anyone blame you? He was the love of your life.

With your sweatpants now pooled on the ground, you did as Jihoon asked. He lifted his hips up slightly so you could pull off his own grey sweatpants, allowing them to join yours on the floor. Much to your surprise, Jihoon also went without boxer briefs. His cock, once freed, slapped up against his stomach and stood at attention for you.

"You know, I've missed you just as much, angel." His hands reached out to you, pulling you back into his lap. You straddled him once again. This time, you felt his cock brushing against you which sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. Finally, you had him right where you wanted him most.

Leaning forward, you began pressing tiny kisses along the side of his face. His cheeks heated up at the intimate gesture in such a heated moment. You always wanted to remind Jihoon just how loved he is, all of him.

His thumbs caressed your hipbones as he guided you to hover over his cock. "Give me the go-ahead, y/n, baby. I'm ready whenever you are."

Your hands moved to gently rest on his shoulders. Slowly, you ceased your kisses against his skin to be able to pull back and look down at the place where you two would connect. His pre-cum was coating the tip of his cock, which was throbbing and bright red. Jihoon has always been thicker than other guys you've been with. It made your mouth salivate, want to put him in your mouth and suck him dry. But you couldn't deprive yourself of the feeling of his cock in your pussy.

"Please, baby. Don't want any longer. Let go."

That's all he needed to hear. His hands now gripped your fingers, creating small indents in your flesh. He let you sink down onto his cock, sending the two of you groaning at the sensation of being filled with each other.

Before your hips could get to work on riding him, Jihoon took action first. He began thrusting his hips upwards almost instantaneously. He wanted to make sure that you could feel all of him, every inch. You moaned as he stretched you out in ways your own hands or any sex toy could. It was as if he was made for you.

"Is this what you've missed?" he huffed slightly as one particular thrust filled you completely. It made you choke on air at the feeling of him all the way up nearly by your cervix. Holy fuck.

You nodded your head as your forehead soon rested on his. Your eyelashes rested against your cheeks, lips hovering above his. He noticed how flushed your skin has become as you became overtaken by the pleasure and euphoria.

Jihoon grunted lowly as his hips fell into a fast, steady tempo. Just what you liked. His mind and body felt fuzzy yet electrified as the feeling of your pussy, of your body so close to his.

Your juices were starting to coat his bare thighs. The sound of skin smacking against skin, and how wet you were bounced off the walls. It was the most beautiful symphony.

Jihoon could feel his cock pulsate, the familiar burning in his stomach. He didn't want to end what he felt like was just getting started. But you were right there with him, the feeling almost becoming too much for you. Your stomach was tightening, threatening to spill.

"J-Jihoon," you whimpered out. You felt like it was too soon. You wanted to stay inn this moment as long as possible. It felt like if you released too soon, you would be ruining this beautiful moment.

You weren't even aware of the tears that were glossing your eyes. Jihoon looked directly into your hearts. Cooing lightly at the sight of your eyes, he shook his head. "Don't worry, angel. I'm right here with you. You can let go," he promised you. This time, he was the one pressing kisses into your skin.

Jihoon made sure his hips picked up momentum. He was going deeper and harder. The tip of his cock grazing against your g-spot which sent you spiraling. That's all you need to let go.

One of your hands gripped onto his shoulder. The other rested on the back of his head. Jihoon always loved the feeling of your fingers in his hair. It brought him so much comfort and pleasure.

On one particular thrust, you lost it. You cried out in ecstasy as your vision went white, almost as if you had been catapulted into the stars. Your back arched gently, as Jihoon ensured his arms were wrapped around you to support you.

Jihoon's eyes widened as he felt you squirt. Hard. All over himself, you, and the leather seat beneath the two of you. Holy fuck. That was the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.

Your body began to tremble, burying your face into his shoulder. Your fingernails were running along his scalp as if you were trying to bring yourself down to reality while simultaneously comforting him. For what? He wasn't sure. However, his heart was swelling with love at the sentiment. You always placed him before yourself.

Soft whimpers were leaving your lips as Jihoon was still thrusting. He cooed into your ear, kissing the shell of it gently. "I know, angel. I know. Be patient with me. I'm almost there."

All you could do was nod your head. You tried lifting your hips to help bring Jihoon closer to the edge, but he had it under control. The feeling of your trembling body against his, as well as the memory and evidence of your orgasm clouding his mind, helped bring him to the edge. He let out a loud groan as he thrusted one last time before spilling his cum into you.

Another whimper left your lips. You always loved the feeling of feeling so full of Lee Jihoon, both during and after sex. His white seed painted your walls, but some already spilling and dropping onto the leather seat.

This was the one type of mess Jihoon could tolerate.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jihoon's fingers were typing away at the speed of light. Words that became lyrics that turned into verses flooded his mind. He was trying his hardest to get it all scribbled down, so he could at least give something to the company on Sunday.

"Finally," he spoke under his breath. His voice was deeper, exhaustion evident. He had finally put something together.

And better yet, he could spend tomorrow solely focused on you. He smiled seeing the words on his work computer, ready to be shared and for feedback.

He glanced up at the clock once again. 5:12am. After ensuring the work had been saved to his computer, he was satisfied. Now he could return to his priorities.

Spinning in the chair, he was greeted by the sight of you. You were wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt Jihoon leaves around. I mean, the man is known to spend days locked away from the rest of the world, so keeping a spare change of clothes was essential to his survival. And much to your happiness, you were able to be wrapped up in clothes that smelled just like him.

The sight of you curled up on the couch, hunkering underneath a blanket made him feel so soft. He felt protective over you, knowing he was the only person who could provide you all the finer things in life but also humbled that you chose him. You just were delicate, the whole universe in his eyes.

"Come on, pretty baby. Let's go home."

[forevamark]

time lapse | 1. dreams and all

remember when i said ‘would be posted tomorrow.’..? 

... and that was like... 2 years ago? well i lied. LOL life has been rough lately but alas my pride and joy is finished.

Pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

Tags: pre idol debut to idol au, christmas and new years time line, slice of life moments, college student reader, substantial plot leading to smut, very dialogue heavy, angsty moments, slow burn, relationship struggle, lovers to exes to lovers

Intended for 18+ readers, minors do not interact.

masterlist for time lapse

ᥫ᭡.next

Word Count : 6.1k+

Summary: Mark has always had the dream of becoming a big music star, meanwhile your aspirations lied with academics and coexisting with Mark. Mark struggles with telling reader that he will be leaving for Korea to pursue his music career very soon, in fear of losing what they have.

warnings are under the tab for chapters that apply.

------------

“What do you think about this?” Mark asked as he sat above you strumming on his guitar. You were sitting on the floor between his legs focused on your eight-page paper.

“In a sec,” you reply while wrapping up the sentence you were on.

“Take a break…” Mark whined trying to pry the laptop from your speedy fingers.

“Mark, it’s due in two days. I will listen in a sec.”

“Mhmm.” He sulked, leaning back into the sofa and continuing his chord progression.

Days like this were stressful- due to the plethora of assignments that piled on- but soothing in a way. Your schedules never aligned this often, but Mark was so entirely enamored with you that he’d do anything to spend his free time just being with you. 

“I can’t believe it’s been three hours and I only have my thesis done,” you sighed while resting your head on his knee.

“You got this,” he replies while running a hand soothingly through your hair while the other writes something down on the notepad next to him, “I believe in you.”

“Do you need anything to help you focus? Am I being too loud?” he asks while going to the kitchen and lighting your favorite candle, “I can make you a snack?”

“Do you mind getting me some fruit? I feel like I need some brain food.” You asked while cracking your knuckles and continuing to type away.

Mark nods and walks back over, handing you a cut persimmon with the skin peeled off. He always knew what you needed before even saying it out loud.

Humming in appreciation you immediately start chewing on the sliced fruit.

Eyeing him from the corner you see him looking out of your apartment window. It was raining hard outside, Mark’s favorite. 

“Anything else you need to work on?” you ask. He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Not much else, I want your opinion on what I have then I’ll see what I can add from there. Don’t worry though,” he turns to look at you with a small smile, “I can wait.”

Mark has always been supportive of your dreams and aspirations. It was a shock when he told you he wouldn’t be joining you at university, but rather pursuing music instead. Although an adjustment, you supported him and he rooted for you. It seemed to be working out, he passed the first two rounds of auditions for a big music company and it looked like things were finally looking up for him. 

Some days you wouldn’t see him at all, and some days he picked you up from class and would stay glued to your side. He claims that he ‘soaked up inspiration from you’ hence the constant quality time and skinship. He knew you were working hard, pursuing a higher education was so important to you and your family, and he wanted to be present every step of the way. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mark also had a dark cloud overlooking him just like the city in front of him. He hasn’t yet told you that he passed the third and final round of auditions for his company and would be slated to move to Korea before the end of the year to begin his training. He couldn’t bear to break the news to you, not yet. Not when you were so close to finishing one of your hardest semesters yet.

“I think I can pull you away from that screen now y/n,” he says while tugging you away from the black-and-white screen.

“Hey! I’m not finished yet! I thought you said you could wait” you pouted trying to get loose.

“You’ve been working nonstop, you aren’t being as productive anymore.” He chuckles while slotting you to the seat across from him.

“Hi.” he smiles at you.

“Hi,” you respond.

There’s a moment of silence shared between you two. The only sound was the soft pitter-patter from outside hitting the patio. Mark stares at you lovingly, you can tell something is wrong but you can’t find the words to ask him just yet, too entranced by the current hold he has on you.

“So, the song, yeah?” you finally whisper aloud. 

“Hold on,” he replies, licking his lips and searching every inch of your face, memorizing this very moment to inspire him for what he’s about to play.

“What’s the holdup? Don’t get stage fright in front of me now Lee,” you lightly say while giggling.

“I, I just want to make you proud, okay?” he finally says with sad eyes.

“You always will, Mark.”

Guilt washed over Mark. Things were great, perfect even. But he just had to aspire for more. He should be satisfied with what he has now, he’s close to home, has a stable music career here in Canada, and most importantly, you. But just like you, he had the moon but he wanted every damn star in the galaxy. He didn’t want change, but nothing could satiate the hunger for something more. He was leaving, because he knew that this life, now, isn’t enough.

“Okay.” he takes a moment to gather himself, taking in some deep breaks and shaking his nerves out through his hands.

“Let’s hear it!” you shuffle sitting up straight in your chair.

Mark lets out one final breath before starting a low strum on his guitar. Flashes of memories throughout your relationship flash before his eyes. Your first snow day in Canada when you couldn’t get the ice off of your windshield, to the countless nights of watching reruns of Glee in your small shared apartment. 

He hits the chorus for the first time, opening his eyes to look around the room, unable to look at you just yet. Pictures of you two littered the walls, filled with your smiling and laughing faces. 

Mark mumbles small noises of nonsense to fill in the parts he doesn’t know what to put in between, sometimes trying out some lyrics at the top of his head. He shakes his head and chuckles when words don’t rhyme or quite fit, in return you share a smile enjoying him delving into his craft.

There’s something about the way that Mark can lose himself completely, in his little world and for brief moments you’re able to enter his mind, envisioning every note in a flow of synesthesia. He’s able to create color and landscape through sound, and what’s crazier is that he doesn’t even realize the extent of his art.

“And… I guess that’s it. What’d you think?” He asks as he lets out a final strum. The warmness of his music is still palpable in the room, despite the cold and dark weather that demands to be let inside. 

You take another moment staring at the man in front of you. Mark bit his fingers in anticipation. His large white tee hung loosely on his shoulders, his ripped jeans bounced waiting for your feedback.

Everything is perfect.

Nothing can take this moment away from you two. 

No words could exactly encapsulate how you felt so you decide to throw your arm around him. 

Mark lets out a sigh of relief as he sets his guitar to the side, “So I guess you liked it?” then reciprocates by pulling you into his lap.

“I loved it, Mark. I can’t wait to hear it all together, I liked that chord progression, I can hear it on the radio one day,” you mutter into his shirt.

The pitter-patter of rain outside was accompanied by the soft whimpers from the man whose chin sat upon your head.

“I’m always going to be here for you y/n,” he jaggedly says.

You two sat in each other's embrace for what seemed like an eternity. 

“Let me show you something,” he says, breaking the silence and adjusting your position to where your back is flush against him.

Mark sat the guitar in your hands, “Let’s start from the top, yeah?”

That night Mark taught you the song on his guitar, sometimes you filled in lyrics that felt right.

“They know we got the chemistry…” Mark sings.

“Love how your body feels on me, when you get back let me get that…” you finish with a small laugh.

“Yo!” he jumps up, lifting your laughing frame into the air, “That’s a bar!”

“Are you jealous that I may be a better rapper than you?” you giggle back.

“You’re coming for my career, baby girl!”

—

Six more hours.

Six more hours until this paper is due, and you’re almost done with this last page. 

Six more hours until the hell that was this semester is finally done.

Six more hours until you can crawl into bed with Mark and take a long-deserved nap.

“Almost there baby,” Mark says while massaging your shoulders.

“I got this,” you say while typing furiously.

“Hell yeah, you do.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Mark’s ringtone going off from behind you.

“I’ll be right back, when I come back you better have this paragraph done!”

Sending him a stiff salute you continued to trudge on as he stepped into your bedroom and closed the door.

“Mark! What’s going on my man? Happy holidays!” his new manager cheered into the phone.

“It’s going well, just spending some time with family and friends while I can,” he replies while lying down on your bed and grabbing a stuffed My Melody to hold against him.

“Well, I’m glad you have been enjoying your last moments of freedom while you can. Speaking of which, I do have an early Christmas present for you!”

“Awesome! What is it?” 

“Well, the company wants you to start as soon as possible. I played them your audition and they think you can finish your training in less than a year!”

“That’s amazing!” Mark shoots up and runs his hands through his hair, “when do I fly out? Next year I hope?”

“Mark, I did say Christmas present didn’t I? You’ll leave the day after the 25th. I bought you some more time to spend with your family, but you’ll be spending the new year here, in Korea!”

Mark felt his heart drop. That was in two weeks. 

Two weeks to eat all the food he can.

Two weeks to brush up on dancing.

Two weeks to say goodbye to his family.

Two weeks to erase all traces of his friend groups’ antics.

Two weeks till he has to leave you.

“Uh… two weeks… wow that’s really soon.” 

“Absolutely! Now rest up Mark, this year is going to be the craziest experience of your life!”

His manager kept going on about the potential future he had coming for him. But Mark couldn’t seem to focus on all the newfound information. Slowly feeling the aroma of you envelop him fully, being surrounded by you everywhere, it was suffocating. 

How is he going to tell you?

“I finished it!” he heard your jumps of triumph in the distance, echoing to the pits of his empty stomach, “I’m finally done with this God-awful semester! One more year till graduation!”

You burst through the door interrupting Mark’s pensive state, wrapping yourself into him.

“You okay babe?” you realize pulling away slowly, eyeing his sweating frame, “you look a bit sick, want me to make you some ramen?”

“Oh no I’m fine, just fine really,” he shallowly laughs pulling himself away from you and moving to turn on the fan, “just got a little warm is all.”

“Who called?” you asked before flopping on the bed and sighing, “was it your manager? Did you get the job?”

“Uh yeah…” he shuffled, not meeting your eyes, “It was my manager, he had some good news…”

“Oh my God, did you pass?” you pounced on him awaiting the news.

“Uh… yeah, I did.” he lied.

“Markie!” you showered him in kisses and tight squeezes, your love for him unfaltering, “When do you leave?”

“Not for another year,” he smiled, not looking at you.

“Hopefully you’ll still be here for my graduation…” you sighed, “Nonetheless I’m glad I get to keep you to myself for a bit longer.

—

December 25, 2022

“And this one's for you babe,” you smiled plopping the present into his hands. The Christmas tree behind him set the picture-perfect scene. Surrounded by your closest friends and family exchanging presents in your matching red and green pajamas, bellies full from the holiday feast, and presents waiting to be opened. 

Mark happily obliged and ripped into the small package immediately. His eyes were wide as he lifted the contents with careful fingers.

“It’s a guitar pick,” you explained, seating yourself in his lap as he closely examined it, “so when you practice, you’ll always remember that I’m with you, cheering you on.”

Mark flipped the small piece over and nearly shed a tear at the small gold embossed scrawling you had designed a tiny heart.

“But hey, just because you have this doesn’t mean you can just stop cutting your fingernails! Also, it’s a reminder of me scolding you to stop biting your nails!” he chuckled lightly.

Mark didn’t have any words, mostly scared that he was going to start choking up if he even dared to open his mouth.

His present for you sat heavy in his pocket, the box weighing him down, anchored to the floor. Or was it the guilt that sat in his chest?

“Mark!” your friend Izaiah shouted while making his way over, interrupting Mark’s contemplation, “Heard the great news! So excited for you man! Look at you, finally pursuing your passion!” 

“Thank you, man, I appreciate it,” Mark responds, reaching a hand out to dap him up.

“Say, can’t believe you’re leaving so soon, what a shame, your mom has been a mess crying every time she hears your name.”

“We will make the most of the time we have together that’s for sure,” you interject snuggling into Mark.

“Well, you two better hurry,” Izaiah says while looking at his watch, “Time's ticking…”

“Well, good thing he is leaving-”

Mark suddenly stands up meeting Izaiah before you can finish your sentence, “Yeah I mean we will make it feel like a year that’s for sure! Gotta spend as much time with my baby as possible!” While patting his shoulder rather harshly and pleading with him with his eyes.

“Uh… Dude did you not-”

“Izaiah! Did you try the cherry cheesecake that y/n made? It’s so good! Let’s go have some now!”

“But I’m allergic!”

“Be right back babe just going to get a slice!” 

Mark pulls Izaiah to the kitchen in a secluded corner.

“Did you seriously not tell her yet? You leave tomorrow! Eighteen hours to be exact!” He harshly whispers to Mark.

“I just haven’t had the right moment to tell her yet…” Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair, “It’s going to break her.” 

“You know what might break her more? She wakes up tomorrow and goes over to your house to only be told you left the country!”

“I know!” Mark yells a bit too loudly. Everyone in the house turned to the shouting two with questioning eyes.

“Sorry folks! Just talking about some music things!” 

“Mark, you are going to quite literally ruin y/n. The only thing you are accomplishing-” 

“A toast!” The pair were interrupted by Mark’s parents who asked everyone to gather around.

“We are not done here, you will tell her tonight,” Izaiah states, shoulder-checking Mark before grabbing a champagne flute and joining everyone.

Mark takes a moment to collect himself before plastering a fake smile and rejoining at your side.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us here tonight, as you all know Christmas is such a lovely time for all of us to reunite and enjoy each other’s company,” Mark’s dad announces.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen some of you, that I almost didn’t recognize a few!” a chorus of chuckles resounded before he cleared his voice and continued, “As some of you may or may not know, God has truly blessed one of our own with the opportunity of a lifetime,” everyone turned towards Mark with proud smiles, “And I would like to thank each and every one of you who supported and believed in our dear son. Mark, we are all so proud of you and can’t wait to see you make music for the whole world to hear!” 

“That’s my boyfriend!” You shouted from the back, also receiving a coral of laughter. 

“Though we may not see you for a while, just know we are rooting for you, all of us here at home, love you dearly,” his mom chimed in, raising her glass towards him, “to Mark.”

“To Mark!” Everyone cheered, raising their glasses in unison.

“To Mark…” you softly said confused while looking up at him. 

Mark was sweating. Puddles.

He weakly lifted his glass and downed it in one gulp, not making eye contact with your questioning eyes beneath him. 

“Baby? What does she mean for a while? You don’t leave for a long while?” you ask with lips pouted.

“Uh… I think she just means that you all won’t see me for a bit because… I uh… will be busy getting ready to leave for training is all! Yeah! I am just so excited to be diving into my craft!”

“Oh. Okay. She made it sound like you were leaving tomorrow or something,” you chuckled sipping from your glass, “So, what did you get me for Christmas?”

Already flustered, Mark was saved by his ringtone, “Not yet, lemme take this real quick, it’s my manager.”

You nodded, turning to wait for your turn for the karaoke microphone while he stepped out onto the porch in the cold.

“Merry Christmas Mark!” his manager sang to him, “How is your day going?”

“Uh…” he huffed out, a puff of visible breath leaving his mouth as he shivered, “It’s been good. Hard to say goodbye.”

“Well, it’s another Christmas miracle, Mark! Luckily for you, unlucky for the company, all the airports in Canada have been temporarily unable to send out or land any planes due to severe weather warnings so we won’t be able to fly you out for a bit. I went back and forth with the company and bought you some more time, so you’ll leave the first of the year! New year, new beginnings, am I right?”

Mark couldn’t believe his ears. 

More time with you. More time to tell you.

“Are you serious?” he choked out.

“Yes! So please, tell that girlfriend of yours, I have a feeling you haven’t been able to break the news,” he pokes.

“Pshhh… what makes you think that?” 

“Well, considering the first file you sent over to me of singing samples were painful ballads, I would guess that you haven’t told her or you two broke up. And I just know neither one of you could do that.”

Mark looks out down the street, blurry colors barely visible due to the heavy amounts of snow falling, “I’ll tell her soon. Just not on Christmas.”

The two spent a few more minutes talking about logistics and excitement before Mark went back inside.

How is he going to break the news to you?

–

Mark was able to successfully avoid you for the remainder of the party, too many aunties and uncles pulling him away to congratulate him- even sneaking a few bills and checks into his pocket- and asking way too many questions about the future that made his head spin.

From time to time he would look over and see you playing with the heaps of children with their new toys, or holding some lady’s newborn baby, or helping his mom pack people’s takeaway plates. One aunt had to quite literally snap her fingers in front of his face to redirect his attention because he couldn’t stop swooning over you holding a set of sleeping baby twins. 

“I like her,” his aunt smiled while joining him in the hallway, “She’s the type you want to lock down.”

“I love her.”

“Then don’t break her heart, Mark, soon is coming whether you like it or not.”

You were now playing hide and seek with a few of the older kids and saw your bright red socks peeking out from under the tall curtains giving your spot away immediately.

“Only a coward will let something this small get in the way.” his aunt pats his shoulder before walking away.

—

“You know you never had the chance to give me your Christmas gift…” you trail while facetiming Mark in bed.

“You’ll get it soon, don't worry,” he laughs, shuffling the sheet music on his desk.

“You know, it is customary to exchange presents on Christmas right?”

“I am aware, I’ll give it to you next time I see you. New Year’s Eve right? We’re still going over to Izaiah’s?”

“I should be back by then.”

Trying to find the right time to tell you was arduous. The day after Christmas your family surprised you with a trip to New York to visit some of your family there. Just more time wasted where he couldn’t spend his last waking moments of freedom with you. Scrolling through Instagram, it tugged at his heartstrings seeing you smile and laugh with cousins you haven’t seen in a while, unaware of the disastrous news waiting for you at home with him. 

Cheers to the end of Fall 2022! Your caption reads, a boomerang with you cheering to the camera, a pint of beer daring to spill over.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” he asks.

“Nine pm,” you respond yawning, “a few more stops for sightseeing, then my cousin is dropping us off at the airport.

“Am I still picking you up to go back to the apartment?”

“Yes please.”

There was movement on your end of the camera due to your cousins wrestling you to the ground, trying to sneak a peek at Mark.

“Hi, hyung!” one of the younger ones shouted with a toothless smile.

“Hello hello! Please be careful with my girlfriend, she is highly valuable to me!” he chuckles, leaning back into his bed. 

“No promises! She needs to take us ice skating now and she hasn’t gotten dressed yet!” he whines back.

“Okay okay, I surrender! Please get off, I’ll get ready now!” 

Mark bids you a farewell and heads to bed. 

One more sleep until it’s time to see you.

–

December 31, 2022

“Red or blue for tonight?” you shout from your closet.

“Hmm… I am wearing baby blue tonight. How about that dark blue dress you bought the other day?” Mark replies by sporting a towel around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth. 

 “The sparkly one or the satin one?” you walk up behind him as he spits into the sink, taking in the options through the mirror.

“Definitely sparkly, it is New Year's Eve after all.”

“I don’t even want to go out…” you whine leaning onto Mark’s back and pecking his shoulder, “Can we just stay in…?” continuing a path of open mouth kisses to his neck.

“Hell no! Izaiah will kill us if we don’t show up! He’s been planning this all month!” he says trying not to give into your feeble attempts at seduction and focus on shaving his faint mustache.

“But I don’t wanna… the new year means another day closer to you leaving and I want to spend every minute with you!”

Mark’s back tenses at the mention of his departure.

“Yeah… me too baby,” he says, shrugging you off and heading towards the dresser to grab some boxers, “but let’s celebrate rather than think about that!”

The fresh hot shower couldn’t ease the nervousness that Mark felt. He was keeping this a secret.

Again.

From the moment he picked you up at the airport he tried, he really tried, to confess to you about his early departure. But the way you kept talking about your fun adventures from New York, he couldn’t just rain on your sunshine just quite yet. Then he decided he would tell you when you two got back to the apartment, after dinner. But you obviously had other plans as you decided to immediately jump his bones upon unlocking the front door. He even tried to disconnect your needy lips from his own, but alas he wasn’t just a man with needs- he was a simp with needs. And who was he to deny you of anything you wanted?

He decided now, as he was putting on his socks, that he was going to have to tell you before you two left for the party. Especially with how much of a loudmouth Izaiah is, everybody in attendance probably already heard of the news and his send-off the next morning. 

Mustering up the courage to approach you, he eyed your frame standing at the mirror near the door, just putting the last of your lip gloss on for the night.

It’s now or never.

“Hey baby, I have something to tell you,” he said shakily, standing with knees that felt like they were going to give out any second. 

“What’s up,” you respond, walking past him to grab your purse and then meeting him in the hallway.

“Just know, that I know that this is very last minute, and I probably should have told you sooner but I didn’t want to make the moment super emotional. I love you. You mean so entirely much to me, and I’m scared I would push you away,” he admits.

“Mark,” you start, taking his hand in yours to shut down his insecure thoughts, “It’s okay. I already know.”

“Wait you do?” he shouts incredulously, “who told you? Was it Izaiah? Oh my God, it was my mom wasn’t it? I told her not to say anything…”

“Baby no none of them told me, I was just waiting for you to show me?”

Mark cocked an eyebrow, “Show you…?”

“My Christmas present, right?” you chuckle shoving him lightly, “I don’t mind if you forgot, I know you’ve had a lot on your mind recently. So what, did it just come in or something? I’m sure the snowstorm probably delayed whatever it was.”

“Oh! Yeah… Right! Your Christmas present that’s what this is all about haha,” he says fumbling around then heads into the room to find the small box. The little angel on Mark’s shoulder was shouting at him to turn back around that instant to tell you the truth, meanwhile, the little insecure Mark on the other side sighed a breath he’d been holding in, glad to take a moment to collect himself. Mark reached into his bedside drawer and reappeared in the hallway to meet you.

“Merry belated Christmas, y/n,” he whispers, presenting the box.

“You’re not proposing to me, right?” you eye him breaking the palpable tension in the air, “because there is usually a part where you get on one knee and then there’s the speech.”

“No, no,” he laughs, “not yet at least,” he says with a wink, “gotta chase our dreams first.”

You open the tiny black box to be met with a small silver ring without a gemstone, but rather small engravings. 

Forever it read on the outside

♡ Mark, it read on the inside.

“It’s a promise,” he starts, “a promise to forever be yours.”

He steps closer with every word, “a promise to forever be supporting you, near or far. A promise to love you even when you don’t love yourself.”

“And lastly,” tears pricked your eyes as you stared down at the ring, Mark so close that his breath fanned across your skin, “It’s a reminder that no matter how much of a dream this opportunity is, that you, you y/n, are my dream.”

He slots the ring on your manicured pinky before sliding his to intertwine with yours, “I promise, that I love you.”

Time stood still at that moment. Nothing could pull you two apart. Standing together with pinkies interlocked.

“I love you Mark, dream and all.”

“I love you forever.”

“Dream and all.”

–

“Finally they’re here!” 

Izaiah did outdo himself with this party. Lights were strung up along the ceiling and banisters, bottles of alcohol lined the kitchen tables, and so many people there that they had to park around the block.

As Mark's heart sank with the weight of his secret, the party continued in the background. The music was loud, and people were dancing and laughing, unaware of the turmoil that was unfolding between you and Mark.

Confetti rained down from the ceiling, and balloons bounced around the room, adding to the festive atmosphere, but Mark couldn't bring himself to enjoy any of it. All he could think about was the fact that he was leaving and that he had hurt the one person he cared about more than anything.

As the night wore on, Mark felt himself becoming more and more detached from the party. 

Many people came up to him with words of encouragement, pride beaming on their faces as he would go on to make your small town proud.

 He watched as people wrote their New Year’s hopes on small pieces of paper and then taped them to the wall, their faces filled with excitement and anticipation. A couple of hours in, he sees you being whisked every which way by friends that were visiting home from university, he smiles knowing you have been looking forward to seeing them all year. Mark's heart was heavy as he looked around the festive New Year's Eve party. The excitement of the countdown to midnight, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses all seemed to fade into the background as he thought about what he had to do.

But Mark couldn't join in their celebration.

 He knew that when the clock struck midnight, his world would be completely different.

“Tick-tock, Cinderella,” Izaiah whispers into Mark’s ear while passing by and then pointing at the clock above. 

One more hour till midnight.

“Wanna dance for a bit?” he heard your voice from next to him, “or are you too busy being broody in the corner?”

Much to his dismay, you pulled Mark onto the dance floor. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as your hips melted into the rhythm of the song, your arms snaking up to his neck. He felt multiple sets of eyes land on you two, some filled with love, others in sadness, and some people even raised their cups in solemn of what’s to become of you two.

 In just a few short hours, Mark would be leaving for Korea, pursuing the dream that you both talked so highly of. It was an opportunity that would change his life, but it also meant leaving behind everything he knew and loved.

Mark looked around the room, friends he grew up with, family that supported him through everything, you, you being his world. Was he really ready to leave this life?

“Girl, if I were you I’d be fucking him into the next year!” a drunk girl slurred while bumping into you two.

“I mean I plan on it!” you chuckled while trying to steady her rocking frame.

“I don’t know how you’re able to do it y/n… long distance that already sucks… him having to keep you a secret for the rest of his life? Damn, that’s even worse.”

Feeling flustered by the truth, you begin to talk down the reality, “Oh I feel secure enough in my relationship! I know Mark is just doing what he has to do for his career, but that doesn’t mean he loves me any less! We have great communication-”

“Pshh communication my ass! Did he even tell you that he leaves–”

“Okay! That’s enough! Too much to drink as always Mina, huh?” Mark shushes her while pulling her to a couch to lie down.

“Oh fuck off Mark, if you don’t want to tell her, I’ll tell her myself because you are too much of a pussy boy to do so!” she yells while being thrown onto the couch. 

Gathering his wits, he makes his way back to you. 

“What was that all about? What are you not telling me?” you ask, taking a step forward.

“Don’t worry about it babe, you know Mina gets too drunk at parties and keeps saying shit…” Mark sweats.

“Wait, you know that is weird because Riane also brought up something along the lines of “Oh wow he hasn’t told you yet?” when I was talking to her earlier… what are you hiding?” you suddenly feel the bottle of soju you had earlier. 

“Not here please, not now…” he pleads, frantically looking around as people start to be intrigued by the madness happening in front of them.

“No, tell me now. New year, no secrets!” you stomp.

When the countdown finally began, Mark felt a sense of dread wash over him. He knew that once the new year began, his life would be changed forever. 

“For fucks sake, y/n,” he says before pulling you outside.

He looked over at you, who was standing with your back turned to him. He wanted to go over to you, just hold you, to apologize, to make things right, but he knew that it was too late. 

He had to face the truth.

“You have ten seconds to tell me, Mark,” you say with crossed arms, chests pressed against each other.

As if on cue, he hears the crowd from inside the house start the countdown into the new year.

10!

“I have been keeping a secret.”

9!

“I haven’t been able to find the right words to tell you.”

8!

“I did pass my audition and I will leave for Korea soon.”

7!

“My manager called the other day to tell me I'm leaving on Christmas.”

6!

“But I got an extension.”

5!

“When do you leave Mark?” you ask with a shaky breath, eyes clouded with tears, as you stand watching the man you love break down.

4!

“I love you, y/n, don’t forget that.” he chokes out.

3!

“When do you leave Mark?!” you scream at him.

2!

Time stilled as he just stared at you with a trembling lip. 

1!

“I leave today.”

As the countdown ended, and the room erupted into cheers, fireworks went off from the backyard. Mark felt a sense of emptiness inside. 

“Happy New Year!” was ringing in his ears, the festivity inside contrasting the pit in his stomach. He knew that he was supposed to be celebrating, but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. All he could do was watch as you slowly walked backward, face twisted with pain.

You both stood there, both lost in your thoughts, as the new year began. And as the party continued around him, Mark felt more alone than ever before. 

"What? When were you going to tell me? You waited till the day of?"

"I didn't know how," he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the cheers. "I didn't want to hurt you."

You took another step back, tears streaming down your face. "You're leaving me?"

Mark reached out to touch you, but you pulled away. "No, y/n, it's not like that. I just..."

“You didn’t what?” you whispered finally stepping forward, him retreating backwards, “You didn't do what, Mark!” finally yelled.

“You lied! You lied to my face, of all secrets to keep, you kept this. For what? Think I couldn’t take it? Couldn’t bear the fact you’d be chasing your dreams? What is it?” you screamed, pushing him with each sentence.

Mark took every beating, the punishment for his personalized brand of torture he put you through. You hit his chest as he stood taking in every blow, face and body empty, a shell of the man you’ve come to love. 

“So much for forever right?” you finally stop, “so much for dreams and all.”

“Baby,” he pleads, “baby please don’t.”

“No, because…” you lift your face, running your hands through your hair, your ring getting caught in the tangles reminding you of his promise, “fuck this Mark. This really was never going to work.”

“You don’t. You don’t mean that.” he shakes his head reaching out for you.

“I fucking mean it.” you say while staring at him and taking off the ring and throwing it on the ground, “I hope it works out for you Mark, I really do. Dreams and all.” 

You left Mark there as he fell to his knees, cradling the ring that symbolizes everything you meant to him. The real engagement ring in his pocket never felt heavier in his pocket.

--------------

and i hope she was worth the wait? first three chapters are posted today. next chapter released first week of 2025.

open to feedback and reactions :*

happy holidays and happy new year <3

xoxo

forevamark

[justanapplenothinghere]

MEPHONE4 (PERSONALISED ) CHARACTER ANALYSIS.

I was debating whether to post this after the whole movie was finished however, due to the recent episode I am really scared of all you coming after me because this character is a heavy kin. Please bear that in mind. This work has taken me months to type and analyse. I didn't do everything due to how long this post would end up being. So just the major points were discussed.

Mephone4’s generalised overview:

MePhone4 is one of the main characters in Inanimate Insanity, a popular YouTube object show created by AnimationEpic. As a sentient smartphone, MePhone4 serves as the host of the competition, a role that places him in a position of authority and power over the contestants. His character is defined by a mix of ambition, arrogance, and emotional complexity, which is what makes him one of the more dynamic characters in the series. From a first glance, when watching, some may view him as just a rude and arrogant host with no mental well being of concern for his contestants.

Whilst that might be somewhat true from the start of early episodes into Season 1, he progressively begins to change his character through the course of the other two seasons.As shown for example in Season 3 his attitude begins to change, from a distance the show makes it obvious to us that he DOES CARE about his contestants, just has a hard time expressing such emotions.His character is complex, especially as the series progresses, revealing deeper layers of psychological trauma and emotional conflict.

Mephone4’s background (TW: mentions of abuse/manipulation. As a victim myself of these, this part maybe very detailed.):

MePhone4 was created by the character Steve Cobs (a parody of Steve Jobs), who represents a father figure to him. However, the relationship between MePhone4 and Steve Cobs is strained and toxic. Cobs is demanding and controlling, treating MePhone4 as nothing more than a tool for his own ambitions.The trauma begins with MePhone4's creation, where he is given life, his identity is defined entirely by his purpose to serve others (In other words just Cobs and the Meeple company alone).This lack of agency and the constant pressure to meet Cobs' expectations contributes significantly to MePhone4's psychological issues.

Cobs created MePhone4 with a "highly-advanced emotion emulator," allowing him to experience emotions deeply, unlike other Meeple products. However, instead of focusing on the tasks assigned to him by Cobs, MePhone4 became enamoured with reality TV, which led to disappointment and tension between them. This foundational conflict likely left MePhone4 feeling inadequate and rejected, contributing to his later insecurities and anxieties. His love for competition and showmanship can be seen as a coping mechanism—a way to channel his emotional energy into something he enjoys and excels at, perhaps in an attempt to gain the approval he never received from Cobs.

Most evident in his anxiety and insecurity, which are central to his character. He is often portrayed as anxious about the show's progression and its eventual end, indicating a deep-seated fear of failure or losing purpose.This being evidenced in seeing Mephone3GS.That experience alone caused a sense of realisation he needed to finally leave Meeple.The way Mephone3GS is..that could end up being him in his place. Whilst it is unknown how 3GS gained his scars the best bet to assume it was from / or somehow Cobs did contribute to it himself (Back in typing this before ACT 1 CAME OUT). If that is the case that would explain Mephone’s sudden urgency to leave the company.However, a fascinating factor is Mephone took MEPAD, WITH HIM. That within itself is noble, Mephone could have just left by himself. But he didn’t. That’s the thing. This already shows Mepad’s and Mephone4’s deep level bond to the point Mephone could’ve taken any other Meeple products with him, yet again he specifically took Mepad. He saved him. He saved him from the possible future abuse that could have been inflicted exactly like Cobs has done to Mephone4.Even if Mepad seems somewhat not exactly aware of all the details.

Mephone’s competitive nature may also stem from a need to prove himself, reflecting an internalised pressure to meet expectations that were never fully articulated by Cobs.

Furthermore, MePhone4's "out of sight, out of mind" mentality is a clear indication of his avoidance coping strategy. Instead of confronting his past, especially the painful memories associated with Cobs and Meeple, he chooses to erase them from his system. This physical removal of memories symbolises his desperate desire to escape from the emotional burden they carry. His consideration of re-erasing these memories after they resurface suggests an ongoing struggle with his unresolved trauma. It highlights his inability or unwillingness to process these emotions healthily, leading to a continuous cycle of avoidance and emotional suppression.

Impact on Relationships:

His trauma significantly affects his relationships with others, particularly the contestants and his assistant, Toilet. His lack of regard for the contestants' well-being and his blatant bias during eliminations suggest that his trauma has warped his sense of empathy and fairness. By showing favouritism and making shrewd comments, MePhone4 exerts control over the game in a way that might make him feel more secure or powerful, counteracting his underlying feelings of inadequacy.

His treatment of Toilet, whom he sees as an "unhelpful menace," further illustrates how his trauma manifests in his interactions. MePhone4's disdain for Toilet can be interpreted as a projection of his own insecurities. By belittling Toilet, MePhone4 may be attempting to distance himself from his own perceived flaws and weaknesses. This dynamic reflects how his unresolved issues with Cobs influence his behaviour, leading him to replicate similar patterns of emotional neglect and dismissal.

Mepad:

Relationship between MePhone4 and MePad is characterised by a clear hierarchical structure. MePad is the professional assistant, always respectful and subservient, referring to MePhone4 as "sir" and fulfilling his tasks with precision. This dynamic reflects a classic power imbalance where MePhone4 holds the authority, and MePad exists primarily to serve and support him (Though I do not believe Mephone does so with any malicious intent). MePad's professional demeanour and lack of overt emotional expression reinforce this power dynamic, as MePhone4's emotional volatility is contrasted with MePad's calm and measured responses.

MePhone4's authority over MePad is not just professional but also emotional. MePhone4's insecurities and anxieties often lead him to rely on MePad for solutions and advice, placing MePad in a position of subtle influence despite his ostensibly lower status. This creates a complex dynamic where MePad, though subordinate, becomes a critical emotional anchor for MePhone4, helping to manage his chaotic emotions and the stress of running the show.

Despite claiming that he "can't feel anything," MePad's use of sarcasm and his occasional concern for others indicate a deeper, more nuanced emotional landscape. This suggests that while MePad may not experience emotions in the same way as MePhone4, he has learned to navigate the emotional environment of the show, adopting a dry, ironic tone as a coping mechanism or a way to fit into his role.

MePad's emotional suppression is most evident in his calm and composed demeanour, even in situations where others might express frustration or concern. However, his growing concern for the contestants, particularly Marshmallow, reveals that he is not entirely devoid of emotional response.

The relationship between both of them revolves from one of strict professionalism to something more complex and personal. While MePad starts as a loyal assistant, his actions later in the series suggest a growing sense of independence and moral judgement. His willingness to challenge MePhone4's decisions, as seen when he lies about Marshmallow's whereabouts.

Truth or Flare (ii 15):

MePad's conversation with MePhone4 about quitting the host position of Inanimate Insanity II is a pivotal moment that causes the shift in their relationship. This conversation suggests that MePad is not only concerned with the show's logistics but also with MePhone4's well-being and the overall direction of the series. MePad's ability to confront MePhone4 about such a significant decision reflects a deepening of their relationship, where MePad moves from being a mere assistant to a confidant and advisor, someone who can influence MePhone4's major life decisions..

CONCLUSION:

Whilst many claim and point fingers at Mephone4’s behaviourisms after such a pivotal moment. There is something that must be addressed that I noticed as I am writing this analysis. In this episode, he struggles with handling the pressure of hosting and maintaining control, revealing his insecurities. His tendency to put his own desires above the contestants is a key aspect of his character, as seen when he prioritises entertainment value over fairness. Throughout the episode, MePhone4 becomes increasingly panicked as the game show format starts to unravel, whether that being even something simple as Suitcase trying to reassure Mephone about his past trauma.A pattern I have noticed is that people will try to justify themselves that they hate him because of how he doesn't care about his contestants or his co-hosts. When he clearly does! It is shown subtly throughout the season 2 and 3 he does care, just isn't sure how to show it. The only way he knows is by doing what he is doing. He learnt everything from TV, his views on things will be skewed.He's going to have weird views on what is considered care. Because this man hasn't HAD a single OUNCE of it in his life. He doesn't KNOW what care is, properly.There's a reason why he was suddenly rude and dismissive,there's a reason why he didn't keep answering suitcase,despite suitcase, trying to reassure him that it's okay to talk about it and that she's there for him if nobody else is. Mephone doesn't know how to respond to that. How would he anyway?

If you don't agree with me. Please do NOT come after me. This is just MY personal analysis because he is a heavy kin for me, for a good reason. And It makes me really anxious and REALLY uncomfortable when I see people hunt him down as a character,I am not excusing his actions but I am explaining it.

[feppepyro]

notes: they've been on my mind vro... non specified close relationship (can be interpreted however you wish), g/n reader, no pronouns used, they/it for pyro, no warnings. also self indulgent. i love this thing!!!!!

well, first things first; you have to be respectful about their privacy. as much as pyro loves all of their family (including you), please don't expect instant openness about its identity. it'll reveal some little bits of lore as you progress further into your relationship and become closer, so please just be patient

if you're someone who's generally fine with the constant air of mystique, pyro's your guy!! oh you'll have so much fun together

it's pretty touchy. it likes holding your hand or your arm when it's leading you somewhere, putting their head on your shoulder, laying on your lap... cat behavior. when they're especially happy they'll run up to you, giggling, and hug you from behind. the way you yelp in surprise is so silly

pyro is kinda mischievous like that— this mf will pop up out of nowhere just to jumpscare you. imagine you're working on your stuff, then turn around to grab something and when you return to your routine its mask is like centimeters away from your face. now you go flying 5 feet in the air while this bastard teehehees triumphantly

no worries, pyro won't abuse this!! in fact if you really dislike people sneaking up on you they won't do it at all. though sometimes you really can't do anything about it, they're so cryptic light on their feet that you just don't notice when they enter a room, even if it's been standing there for like 20 minutes

they have pretty expressive body language and usually communicate through really short sentences so that they're legible even through the mask, but if you know sign language, that's even better!!! pyro would also definitely be the type of person to invent a whole new secret language with you so you can giggle about the gossip anytime

if you get along with pyro, you'll definitely get along with engie. he sees how much it trusts you, so "the more, the merrier!". you 3 are the bosses of parallel play (which usually takes place in engineer's workshop while he's tending to his stuff and you're doodling on the floor with pyro)

speaking of doodles, pyro will DEFINITELY nag you until you participate. even if it's something as little as a cat face or a bunch of stars in the corner, it feels like it completes the page. and if you're an experienced artist, it's so in awe!!! they really wanna watch you draw, ooh'ing and aah'ing and kicking their feet

as a matter of fact, pyro likes watching you do ANYTHING!! sewing, scrapbooking, gardening, playing some kind of instrument, reading, cooking— one of the best ways to wind down after a stressful day for them is to keep you company while you're doing something you love. if the position allows it, it'll subtly snuggle up to you and put their head on your shoulder

when it comes to feelings, with pyro you don't need a lot of words. it's very observant and, if we're being honest here, pretty sensitive to subtle changes in your behavior. if you need to have a good cry and let your emotions out, they're right here for you. they'll hold you if you want them to, gently rock you back and forth and bring you lots of plushies you can cuddle with. it will do anything to make you feel better, although the primary tactic is reminding you how far you've come, how much you've done for it and the team, how your presence means so much to it. and they're completely serious

if it's a person that hurt you... well. just say the name. pyro will take care of it (completely melt that mf's skin) <3

[loveschoice-if]

what are the love interests’ love languages?

Hey anon,

Great question! I've been thinking about this for a bit, so I'm sorry it's taken me this long to answer. I'm gonna interpret this as you asking what love language they express, but if you want to know which ones they like to receive, then lmk!

Boss - this is probably so predictable but I would say gift-giving, largely because it's been the only way they've been able to express any type of special feeling or affection towards MC that doesn't cross that work-personal boundary (and they secretly love surprising MC).

Childhood Best Friend - acts of service, without a doubt. They're the type of love interest who will just do things to make your life a little better/easier without you having to ask for it. Imagine going to work and opening your bag to find a lunch box inside along with a cute note!

Idol - A mix of physical touch and quality time! In the beginning, I can see them just subconsciously wanting to spend all of their time with MC but constantly fighting it (because feelings are hard). But once they've reached that full-fledged relationship stage, they're going to be ALL over MC with constant hand-holding and cuddling.

Grim Reaper - Heavy on quality time, and maybe words of affirmation? Honestly, I struggled a bit with this one because I usually just picture Grim and MC spending time together in silence with the OST in the background LMAO. I can see words of affirmation playing a bigger role once the relationship progresses further enough.

[extralively]

hi i'm extra and I just made this tumblr ¯\_(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)_/¯

I write fics in my free time! .......well ok, I've been writing this one monstrosity of a fic/series and that's about it. The first part is complete, though, and there are a bunch of fun (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) onsehots you can read as standalone:

Series: Under the Cover of Shadows

Gojo Satoru/Original Female Characters General tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, (but mostly) Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn (the slowest), Co-parenting the Fushiguros, Found Family, Sexual Tension, Pining (lots of it), Idiots in Love, Eventual Smut, Some Plot, Angst, Fluff

Out of the Shadows (Main story) (Complete) No one had expected Gojo Satoru to form a friendship with the unknown girl that joined school in the same year he did. Not even Gojo Satoru, or Yura herself, especially considering he’d been an asshole to her the first time they met. A complicated friendship was born, one that would last years to come no matter how many headaches the white haired menace would give her – he was like gum in your hair, she mused, too much work to cut it out so why even bother trying?

Morning Surprise (Oneshot) (NSFW) Satoru was happily surprised when he came back to his apartment and found that Yura was still there. ...And that she was wearing his shirt for the first time.

One Less Barrier (Oneshot) (NSFW) A little accident happens, and it leads Yura to seek out a new way of preventing them from accidentally producing any heirs...

A Private Onsen (Oneshot) (NSFW) Satoru and Yura finally get to enjoy their hotel room's private onsen bath together.

Drunk (Oneshot) At two different points in time, Satoru had to be the responsible one for a change and take a drunk Yura home. But a drunk Yura acted a little differently than normal, sober Yura...

Deeper in the Dark (Main story) (In progress) Sequel to Out of the Shadows. Life had fallen into an easy rhythm for Satoru and Yura as they got comfortable in their kinda-sorta relationship, teaching at Jujutsu Tech and caring for the Fushiguros together. But peace only lasts for so long in the jujutsu world, and when the safety of Yura’s little family is suddenly put in jeopardy, she has to fight to make sure everyone gets out alive—while still trying to figure out the truth of the thing inside of her.

Movie Night (Oneshot) (NSFW) Satoru has Yura over for a little movie night, but what he has in mind is something completely different. So Yura decides to teach him to have a little patience as she... 'enjoys the movie'.

Bringing You Home (Oneshot) (NSFW) After leaving a boring clan event, Satoru brings Yura with him to his private quarters on the Gojo Estate. Yura gets to snoop a bit in what is essentially Satoru's childhood bedroom, before the two of them actually get started with the, ahem, after-party...

School Stories (Collection of oneshots) A series of snapshots of Yura and Satoru's lives during high school, as their relationship evolves from constant bickering into a semi-functional friendship and all the hijinks in-between.

Catoru (Oneshot) (Absolutely unserious) Satoru gets turned into a cat, and Yura suddenly has to catsit the white furry menace until he turns back.

Married? (Oneshot) After a curse user ambush, Yura has to explain to Megumi just what exactly her bond with Satoru is...

Clubbing (Oneshot) Satoru and Yura go clubbing with Utahime and Shoko...

More will be added later, and new chapters are posted every week for the main fic!

Also! Let me actually organize everything I posted about the fic here:

Other bits of writing:

The Mistletoe Incident (2014)

"What would the CANON!Timeline characters reactions be to Yura and the UtCoS!Verse?"

"What is Gojo Satoru to Wakatsuki Yura?"

"What is Wakatsuki Yura to Gojo Satoru?"

"Wakatsuki Yura, what are top 5 compliments you would give to Gojo Satoru?"

"Gojo Satoru, what kind of woman is your type?"

"Wakatsuki Yura, what's your type?"

"Gojo's lip care routine"

Ijichi's thoughts on SatoYura

The meaning of Yura's name

Satoru and Yura dancing up in the sky

My art: (aka this fic gave me an excuse to practice drawing some more)

Yura portrait + Satoru/Yura portrait

How SatoYura cuddle

Yura's adult jujutsu uniform

A SatoYura (attempted) manga-style drawing

Catoru fic header

Yura as a student

First(?) date night

Satoru not knowing personal space while brushing teeth

The Ritual (yes, That One)

Cuddling on the couch

Tsumiki's uniform (+ Megumi)

Environments from the fic recreated in The Sims 4: (aka I have too much time in my hands)

Yura's first teeny tiny apartment

Yura's bigger and better second apartment

Satoru's luxury apartment Part 1 | Part 2

The Sims 4 SatorYura AU where nothing bad ever happens: (aka completely non-canon to the main fic but I am obsessed with them and also TS4 so yes)

Yura living in her teeny tiny apartment, already wants to flirt with Satoru

Satoru and Yura finally properly meet, they become friends (SLOW DOWN SATORU)

Satoru fell in love first

They finally "get together" (if you've read the fic, you know how this goes)

The Gojo House of this little AU (non-canon to the main fic)

Enter the Fushiguros

Found family shenanigans, Yura graduates

In love and living together

IT HAPPENED!!

🎵 here comes the bride 🎵

Wedding photos + honeymoon

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Somnolent Gloaming - 12. New Questions

Summary: Whether intentional or not, Malleus and Lilia’s words, paired with the fact Silver was living in a vampire clan, were giving rise to a whole slew of new questions for you. Some of which came a little bit too close to the matter of your relationship with Vil and what it meant for you, for comfort.

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ series/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1178

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

In no way had I been prepared for Malleus’s words, which continued to bounce around in my mind even now that I was home.

I’d left not long after my meeting with Malleus, deciding to call it an early night much to the horned vampire’s amusement. 

The others had accepted my decision with very few questions. Only Sebek seemed truly perplexed and even concerned. He hadn’t pursued the matter, though after Lilia had told him to let me be and I’d reassured him that I was just tired. 

But something about the way the short man had stared at me with a knowing expression made me wonder if he somehow knew about Malleus’s offer.  But I didn’t really see how he could have unless the two of them had planned it.

And maybe Malleus had planned his offer.

After all, in many ways him offering to turn me into a vampire wasn’t that odd. Other vampires had made the same offer in an attempt to bargain for just a taste of my blood.

What had made it so odd with Malleus, though, was that he didn’t seem to do it out of any interest in my blood. Instead, he seemed to mean it as a kindness, though perhaps in a mildly evil way. Like it had just been another way of him offering his assistance.

To him, it had possibly seemed like a natural progression in the conversation. Especially since he’d just been talking about how fleeting and fragile me and Silver seemed to him.

It made me wonder if he’d made the same offer to Silver. If he had, Silver had either turned him down or responded as I had, with confusion and leaving the matter open-ended.

Truthfully speaking though, I’d had no idea how to respond to his offer. It had taken me aback, but it also seemed like a little bit too much of a coincidence after I’d just talked to Lilia about my place in the world of vampires.

I shook my head slightly, letting myself curl up on my couch and at least attempt to relax for once rather than pursuing some crazed vampire, evaluating a clan, or anything else.

I felt a smile curve across my face, though, as the singular thought of how Vil might react if he knew about Malleus’s offer entered my head.

I didn’t know exactly when I’d reached the point that I relied so heavily on Vil, but the fact that he came to mind so quickly was telling.

And Vil had become a source of comfort. The first vampire I’d befriended and one of my closest allies, along with the rest of the Pomefiore clan. 

It was true that I’d made friends with other vampires in other clans, but somehow it was always still Vil that came to mind when I considered who I would go to if I needed help.

And in some ways, it was silly. After all, Rook was the one who’d once been a vampire hunter and who’d trained me as well as being a long-time friend. Leona was the one who’d helped me fight against crazed vampires three times, even if the first time hadn’t been exactly planned. And Epel was the one whom I’d been friends with and worked with before he’d changed. 

But even considering them, it was still Vil that I relied on the most, and maybe it was because he’d been guarding me in his own way ever since he’d met me.

My fingers found the cross that hung around my neck, a constant reminder of his kindness and willingness to help me even though my job involved me killing his kind.

I couldn’t tell him about Malleus’s offer. Or rather, I didn’t want to, since I feared the potential repercussions. I didn’t want him misunderstanding Malleus’s offer and losing his temper or doing something that might end poorly.

After all, Lilia’s look had been a little too pointed when he’d said that everything would be fine so long as no one took anything the wrong way. 

I had no doubt he’d meant Vil considering the rumors that circulated around about the two of us.

And I couldn’t hide behind Vil forever anyways. Especially since I’d decided that I would protect him in my own way. That was why I was trying so hard to solve this entire mess involving the numbers of insane vampires after all.

I could say now that from what I’d seen, been told, and deduced, Diasomnia certainly didn’t seem to be the root of the issue, even if they struck me as more of a classic sort of vampires.

The matter of Silver living with them was enough proof that they weren’t the sort to attack mortals willy-nilly without even considering Malleus’s reaction to the vampire who’d threatened me. And if they were against the attacking of mortals, them causing the influx of insane vampires who attacked mortals without a care in the world and either murdered them or turned them simply didn’t make any sense.

I could also say from reading through the Diasomnia library, with Malleus’s help, that there wasn’t much in the way of historical records that said anything about insane vampires, much less a large number of them.

But my time with the Diasomnia clan had led to something else as well. Whether they’d intended or not, Lilia and Malleus’s words paired with Silver’s existence as a person who, like me, attracted vampires but remained mortal despite living in the world of vampires had given rise to new questions.

Silver had made it this long, so apparently it wasn’t impossible for me to remain mortal despite having entered into the world of vampires, but was that the right choice?

Vil’s face seemed to flash, unbidden, through my mind, and I frowned.

I had wondered it before, but had Vil been alone before now?

He hadn’t been a member of a clan, and though he’d apparently been friends with Rook, Rook had also stated that he needed a friend. 

If I grew old and died, what would happen to him? He had a clan now, so he wouldn’t be alone, but….

I shook my head, refusing to let my mind go there. Just because Vil was beyond important to me didn’t mean I held the same importance to him, and now wasn’t the time to think about such things anyway. It wasn’t like I was the protagonist of some cheesy vampire film.

And debating becoming a vampire…. It was ridiculous. I would essentially be choosing to die after doing my very best to survive vampires’ interest in me. 

Besides, it wasn’t like I didn’t have a place in the world of the night. For better or worse, I was the vampire hunter of this area, which was, at least for now, an important job that had to be filled.

Right now, I needed to focus on the situation at hand. The mystery of the insane vampires and Crowley’s control over me.

I could worry about me and Vil later…..

If you would like to more

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[nereidprinc3ss]

Convinced Spencer is the most God Awful texter/typist. Constant short hand and misspelled words because his brain is just processing what he wants to say so quickly that his fingers can't keep up. But he spends so much time doing a second pass at all texts before he gets comfortable with someone that the first time he Really texts how he wants to is during work when he doesn't want to leave it on read or forget to reply

I had a similar headcanon but like reversed but also not reversed where he usually texts with perfect grammar and punctuation but as your relationship progresses he begins picking up your typing habits and quirks and being a lot more casual….. I bet he even drops periods every once in a while….. just leaves a sentence fragment hanging in the void…..

[oldiesstationlover11607]

🎶I want to saaaayyyy…hello🎶 (How I haven’t used that one yet is incredible).

The day I run out of various hello lyrics and jokes will truly be a sad day in Tumblr history. Anyways, hello! It’s me. 💛. OMG I absolutely loved what you wrote for my last request. Tyler is just something else this tour man. Idk what he is eating, but he is just no filter and I live for it. Honestly, that oneshot might be one of my favorites from you (and that’s saying something because all your works are bangers).

So, you said you were willing to write Spooky Jim so I am going to torture you with my ideas because I feel like Josh’s Blurryface persona isn’t explored enough and I just think he looks good in red eyeshadow 🤷🏼‍♀️. I was wondering if you could maybe do an angsty oneshot where the reader is exposed briefly to Spooky Jim, but Josh quickly takes back control. However, Josh is horrified by that side of him showing so he sort of shuts the reader out. Eventually, the reader manages to convince him that she isn’t going anywhere.

I’ll be honest, I’m very excited to see how you do Spooky Jim, even if it is only briefly. ☺️

Spooky Jim - Spooky!Josh x Reader

Relationship: Spooky Jim/Josh × Reader

Warnings: Swearing, choking, violence, crying - lots of angst

Word Count: 791 - thought this would be perfect for a short blurb type piece so whipped this up in he back of my class lol

A/N: Hope this is okay! Sorry it took so long!

PART 2

The banging had been ongoing for hours, each hit and crash seeping through the walls that I thought were thicker than this. My head was throbbing and my brain felt like it was swelling within my skull. Josh and I had moved in together a few months ago and we’d been planning to build a soundproof studio so he could work on his music without it ringing throughout the house. But with tour coming up, he had to practice–there was no changing that. I always tried my hardest to be patient with the drumming and I definitely didn’t mind it behind Tyler’s voice and accompanied by a backing track but by itself it just felt like noise–constant noise that never ever stopped. I wasn’t against his music or him practicing–that wasn’t the case at all–but when it’s 10:30 pm and I’m trying to get a paper done, that’s a different story. I could feel every crash vibrate through the floor and into my body as I tried to focus and finish my research before the deadline. Closing my laptop and climbing out of our bed, I marched down to the basement as each step fell in time with the beats. The closer I got to the banging, the more I realized there was a backing track playing, a weak and gentle hum hidden beneath the drums. I leant against the staircase, waiting for him to finish the track which I’d recognised as ‘Heavydirtysoul.’ Something was off though, each hit of the kit seemed to get louder and harder as the song progressed, causing my ears to hurt. The banging continued, Tyler’s voice just peaking through the drums. Bang! Crash! Bang! Each hit caused a painful pinch in each of my ears until a loud snap rang through the room. Both red painted drumsticks in his hands snapped plainly in half, small splinters of wood flying across the kit. I gently placed my palm on Josh’s back, the gray shirt he was wearing slightly damp with sweat. He flinched violently, turning around and grabbing my wrist tightly. His fingers burned into my skin, the tips likely to cause a line of bruises. 

“What?” he spat, eyes completely bloodshot. 

“I was… uh… drums… headache?” I asked, completely in shock at the pain in my wrist. Josh stared at me blankly as if he was turning over thoughts in his head. 

“You want me to stop?” he smirked, standing up and throwing what was left of his drum sticks to the floor. I nodded slowly, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. Very slowly he started to walk us up against the wall, my head slamming, causing a sharp wince to escape my mouth. “Do you think I have the time to care about your silly little headache Y/N? Do you think I’m not busy and need to practice Y/N?” he shouted. I could feel my heart thumping desperately in my chest, head rushing through possible ways to get out of his grip. He brought his other hand up to my throat, running his fingers across the rings of my trachea causing my eyes to widen in fear. He’d never tried to hurt me in the past. Josh was one of those people who would never hurt a fly, even when he was stressed out. My breath was shaky as tears poured from my eyes and I tried to pick my next words carefully. 

“Josh?” Almost immediately his expression changed from an intense stare into pure fear. 

“You need to leave,” he said, taking four large steps away from me. Something had changed when he heard his name, something important. 

“What?” I questioned, my voice raw. I could see two things out of the mirror in the back corner of the room. One: My neck had a large red mark in the shape of Josh’s right hand. Two: Josh’s hands were both shaking behind his back. 

“I said get the fuck out Y/N! Leave! Get out!” he screamed. With a heaving breath I ran up the stairs and out the front door, not a single thought in my head. There was nothing to think about, either I stayed down there with him and he could hurt me again or I could leave and be safe–and I wasn’t going to pick the first option. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself on the side of a busy road halfway to Tyler’s house. Car after car passed me as I stumbled in the direction of where I could remember his house being–that was the only place I could go. It was completely dark outside and the only lights were the occasional car and street lamp that I passed. As I reached into my back pocket for my phone I felt nothing–it was empty. Shit. Tyler’s house wasn’t too far from where I was and in a split second decision I decided to sprint there. I wasn’t going to be stuck out on the side of the road alone at 11:00pm. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself on Tyler’s front porch. The lights were on which I’d found odd given Jenna was on a trip with the girls and Tyler usually had the lights off when he was home alone. The night air was crisp, the cold air swallowing me whole as it circulated through my lungs. I stepped up to the door raising my fist to knock before the door opened, Tyler standing on the other side completely dressed and fully in black. 

“Hey,” he smiled, holding the door open for me. He clearly noticed the look of shock on my face as he reached for my hand and helped me inside. Every soft light in the house was turned on, the ambience calming and welcoming. 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go.” He tightened his grip on my hand slightly telling me to stay where I was. 

“He said you’d probably end up here,” he sighed, leading us to the upstairs studio with the large windows–I loved that room. 

“Wait, you talked to him?” I paused in the door frame, Tyler walking into the studio and turning on the neon lights. He nodded, sitting down right in front of the wall of windows. 

“Of course I did. He called me the second you left the house,” he explained. I slowly made my way across the room till I was sitting next to him, my knees pressed flat against my chest. 

“So he told you what he did?” I sighed, looking out across the property. 

“He told me what happened, yes. But it wasn’t him, I’m telling you that wasn’t him,” he looked down at me. 

“I’m pretty sure the man with his hand around my throat was Josh, Tyler,” I snapped. In a complete state of shock I surrendered, Tyler pulling me in as I wept messily into his shirt. My chest was heavy as tears fell and I took quick breaths. 

“Y/N… it’s more complicated than that,” he rubbed my back.

“He… he… Josh…I–” I sobbed, each word muffled into his chest.

“You need to rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he declared, moving to get up but I shifted my weight so I stayed on the floor. 

“Tyler, I can’t–we–please,” I sighed and he nodded, sitting back down.

“Do you want me to tell you what really happened or do you want to wait for Josh?” He checked his phone as if anyone would be trying to reach him at this hour. 

“I’m not going near him again so just tell me,” I huffed, wiping the tears from my face. He nodded before starting.

“You know Blurryface and how I have control over him most of the time?” I stared blankly at him trying to figure out where he was going with this. “Josh has a blurryface too except he’s called Spooky Jim. From what it sounds like, you met him tonight.” This couldn’t be true. If this was true then he would’ve told me, we’ve been together for a year, he would’ve told me. 

“No,” I scoffed, “that’s not fair… he–he wouldn’t–no.”

“I told him to tell you sooner but clearly he didn’t,” he sighed. If it was true then I couldn’t blame Josh for any of it. I loved him more than anything and I was going to stay with him–be there for him–because he needed me. 

“You’re sure?” I ran a hand through my hair, my palms sticky with sweat. “Yep,” he nodded. I needed to call him. I needed to see him. Anything to tell him we were okay. Tyler noticed me looking around the room and pulled out his phone. “He’s not gonna want to talk to you for a while Y/N. I’m sure Jenna’s told you about the first time Blurryface came out that I ghosted her for three weeks. He’s going to need time,” he started. 

“At least let me send him a text. My phone is back at the house,” I begged. He nodded, passing me the phone. 

“Keep it short. I can stop by the house tomorrow to pick up anything you need,” he spoke, getting up and leaving the room. I pressed Josh’s contact photo, one that Tyler had taken from their most recent tour. The most recent messages about an upcoming photoshoot. I started to type up my message. 

‘Hey. It’s Y/N’ (deleted)

‘I’m at Tyler’s’ (deleted)

‘I miss you’ (deleted)

‘Josh?’ (deleted)

‘I’m safe. I love you and I’m always here for you. Call me when you’re okay. I love you - Y/N’ (sent)

//

Requests open!

[shortentheway]

I Can See the End

Levi Ackerman x OC (18+)

Post-Apocalypse AU

Mast List | Read on AO3 Here

Welcome to the fourth chapter. If you haven’t read the previous chapters, the links are above. Please, please mind the warnings before reading this chapter. Brief Ymir x OC in this chapter as well.

Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), age gap, power imbalance, profanity, unprotected sex, degradation, dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, emotional abuse, codependency, obsession, drug use, implied prostitution, violence, mental illness.

Chapter Four ~ Assimilation

In the days that follow my confrontation with Levi, I feel as though I’ve made little to no progress toward my objective. Five days of constant eavesdropping and subtle meddling, and I’ve basically gotten nowhere. However, the minuscule piece of information I did manage to gather as of recent could potentially be of use.

Yesterday, during the tail end of my shift, I managed to slightly overhear Floch speaking with two other laborers; Hitch and Marlo are their names. He had mentioned something about some “friends” of his in the Quarter, which is not surprising, and the names of three soldiers who work primarily in the armory. That was all I was able to make out, but I made sure to file the names of the soldiers in the back of my brain for my next meeting with the captain. It isn’t much to go on; I’m not even sure that they’re actively involved in any way. It’s the only lead I have, though, and I’ll take anything I can get at this point.

It was odd in retrospect. I’m familiar with Floch and Hitch, and neither of them are exactly the type of people to take anything very seriously. I never would’ve suspected that they could possibly be willing to put their lives on the line for anyone, or anything, as a matter of fact. Marlo, on the other hand, is one of the biggest pushovers I’ve ever encountered in my twenty-three years on earth. It’s honestly no shock he’s following Hitch around like a starving dog. Whatever’s going on with them, whether it has to do with my objective or not, it’s strange to see them all converse.

Regardless, the only logical next step to take would be to make a visit to the Quarter.

God save me now.

I’ve never been to Zeke’s Quarter, ever, not even once. Krista has invited me to visit on multiple occasions, but I’ve always declined. I don’t dislike any of the women who work there, honestly. I understand why they made the decision that they did. But it’s the thought of seeing those scumbag, shit-for-brains, drug-infested, lowlife, piss-poor excuses for men slithering around in there, looking for the next poor soul to stick their cock into. It makes me nauseous.

I look up at Ymir. She’s sitting on her top bunk pulling her shirt on.

“Are you going to visit Krista in the Quarter today?” I whisper to her quietly.

She whips her head around and gives me a scowl of disbelief. Probably because I haven’t spoken a word to anyone for multiple days. She and a few others had told me that they watched me get dragged off by a group of scouts. They relentlessly asked what happened to me for the first few days after, but I remained mute.

“You don’t speak to me for five days, and that’s the first question you ask?” She hisses.

“I’m sorry for being so distant, if that helps any,” I apologize.

“It doesn’t. But, yeah, I am. I’ve been visiting her almost every day. You know this.”

“Yeah, you’re right, uhh… do you mind if I join you?” I inquire hopefully.

She stares at me again, contemplating. “Yeah, Sweetheart,” she exhales. “You can tag along. I’m surprised you want to, but I’m sure Krista will enjoy your company.”

“Right then, thank you.”

“Please, it’s no big deal. She’s been asking about you, so I’m sure she’ll be fucking ecstatic,” she scoffs. “Meet me back here at the end of our shift, and we’ll go,” she tells me.

I contemplate backing out, but only for a split second. “Okay,” I agree, sealing my fate once again.

I don’t say anything more to her, or anyone else, for the rest of the workday. I keep my head down and complete my daily tasks silently.

I can hear my fellow laborers gossip about me in hushed whispers. They continue to speculate about what could’ve happened to me that day and/or what horrific punishments I might have been subjected to. They’re all fully aware of the fact that I can hear everything that they’re saying. It’s pretty sinister, in all honesty.

I heard one man say that he’s pretty sure I was passed around between the scout section commanders and that I won’t speak because I’m traumatized. Another woman said that she thinks that I was beaten with a metal rod in places where nobody can see. A plethora of other made-up horrors have been passed around the Green for the past few days. I say nothing to dispel these rumors, however. It’s much more beneficial for me to let them think that I was brutalized in some way. The rumors should do well to help me keep my cover.

I haven’t encountered Jean or Marco since then either. I’m positive they’re avoiding me, which I won’t complain about. I’ll let these people think whatever absurd nonsense they wish if it keeps the suspicion off me.

The workday drags on. The slow burn of anticipation sweeps over my nerves. I have no idea what to expect, but I’m confident if I stay glued to Ymir’s side, I’ll be fine. I’ll simply be there to observe for now. I can come up with a better plan later if need be.

I need to hold myself together.

I continue to tell myself over and over as I walk back to our shared bunk. Ymir is sitting on her bed waiting for me impatiently. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” I confirm.

“Let’s go then.”

The short walk there is silent in the beginning. Tension so thick you could carve it with a knife. Our footsteps echoing through the also silent hallway only adds to the unease. Ymir is the one who decides to break the silence. “Y’know, you still haven’t told me what happened to you,” she says, and I continue my silence. She refuses to take that for an answer, however. “Look, I understand that it’s really none of my business, but I am worried about you. If all those things people have been saying are true, you need to get help,” she urges.

I whip my head in her direction. She can’t be serious.

“Ymir, I appreciate that you’re concerned, but you seriously don’t know fucking anything. So, just leave it be. I’ll talk when I’m ready,” I snap at her. I don’t mean to be so abrasive, but I truly am sick of people constantly asking me the same questions. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m sure that by this time next week all of this will be forgotten, and everyone will have moved on to a new scandal to run their flea-infested mouths about.

“Alright then, sweetheart, I’ll leave it be for now. But I’m watching you,” she concedes.

Of course she is.

I’m in shock when we finally reach the Quarter. It’s much larger than I expected and a lot more aesthetically pleasing as well. It resembles one of those old upscale hotels that I’ve seen in postcards from before. The lobby floor is wooden, but it’s covered with old patterned rugs. They’re similar to the ones the captain had in his office. The walls were a dark green color on the ground floor but a cream color on the higher levels. All of the furniture and decor was also mismatched, but it somehow looked well put together.

There are quite a lot of people here, but I expected this. Most, if not all, are men.

Fucking disgusting.

I recognize a few familiar faces. Irrelevant men who work with me in the Green. There are a lot of soldiers here too. Most of them look to be MPs. I move myself closer to Ymir’s side instinctually, and she gives me a questionable look. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?” She asks.

“Uh huh,” I mumble. She gives me a look of uncertainty.

“Hmm… okay then, this way. Krista’s room is on the third floor.”

“Don’t we have to like, check in or something first?” I question.

“No, well, technically yeah, but nobody cares that much,” she explains. “Just keep your head down,” she says as she drags me in the direction of the stairs.

The staircase is quite grand. The wood is dark in color to match the floor, and it has intricate patterns carved into the railing. There is a matching one on the other side of the lobby.

How did they even manage to make this look so nice?

The stairs squeak and groan as we trudge our way to the third floor. It’s quite a long way up, and I’m left winded by the time I reach the last step. “With all this shit going on, you’d think they’d install a goddamn elevator,” Ymir complains. I let out a chuckle in response. “Y’know I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before, Sweetheart.”

“That’s probably because I don’t smile often,” I explain.

“Yeah, Sweetheart, I know. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Why do people keep asking me things if they don’t want a fucking answer?” I mutter to myself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I blurt.

“You’re so fucking strange,” she jabbed. “Whatever, Krista’s room is right down this way,” she says and guides me to the right.

I follow her until we reach a wooden door that matches all of the other doors. This one has Krista’s name on it, though. Ymir knocks firmly three times, and I take a deep breath in.

The door swings open to reveal an elated Krista. “Ymir! Finally, I thought you weren’t coming today— oh, oh my God! You didn’t tell me—“

“Krista, let’s just go inside, and I’ll explain everything, okay?” Ymir reassures.

“Oh yes! Come in!” Krista exclaims, and we slip through the door.

Krista’s room is much larger than I thought it would be. But it fits the theme of the rest of the Quarter: mismatched furniture and dark wood floors. The wall is also a cream white to match the hallways of the upper floors.

Ymir and Krista immediately make their way towards the bed, but I don’t follow. One glance at it, and the unwanted images of what occurs on it when I’m not around is enough to send a shiver up my spine. Instead, I settle for the small, dark blue sofa up against the wall. “I’m surprised to see you here,” Krista says, while looking in my direction. “What made you want to come this time?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. I just… needed to take my mind off things.”

“She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone in like five days,” Ymir interjects. “Do you wanna share why that is, Sweetheart?”

Krista whips her head toward the other woman on the bed. “Ymir—“

“She got dragged away by the scouts. The same day she ate with us in the mess hall,” she spills. “Won’t tell anyone what for.”

Krista’s eyes widen with concern. “Ymir, I don’t think we should push her. Imagine how she must be feeling,” Krista says.

Finally a voice of reason.

“It doesn’t matter what happened. It’s done now. I’d appreciate it if everyone would just forget about it,” I assert. My jaw grinds in frustration.

“Sweetheart, I know that it’s easier to not talk about things, but—“

I finally snap. “Holy fuck, Ymir! I’m telling you, just forget abou—“

I’m abruptly cut off from my rage-filled rant by a loud knock at the door.

“Who the fuck is that?” Ymir and I snarl in unison.

Krista sighs. “It’s Armin. I was gonna tell you he was coming, but you guys started arguing.”

“Who the fuck is Armin?” I seethe.

She drags herself off the bed, stomps over to the door, and swings the door open.

Standing in the doorway is a very feminine-looking blond man carrying a small brown messenger bag. He’s my height, perhaps a bit taller, with big blue eyes and a pretty face. “This is Armin,” Krista introduces. “He’s the only male who works here,” she explains.

Oh shit.

“Hello, I wasn’t aware she had guests,” he informs us.

“Yeah, we didn’t either,” I quip.

“Hey, Sweetheart, don’t be a bitch to Armin. He’s a sweetie pie. Aren’t you Armin?” Ymir teases.

“Umm, I— I guess,” he cautions.

“Armin, sit down,” Krista demands. He obeys, sitting down on the queen-size bed.“Did you bring it?”

“Bring what?” I blurt, not liking where this is going.

“Sweetheart…” Ymir addresses me in a warning tone.

I watch as Armin proceeds to pull small bottles of moonshine out of his bag, followed by several small pouches with unknown contents. I have a gut feeling I already know what’s inside.

Please, no.

Krista hands two bottles of moonshine to Ymir and one of the “mystery” bags. “You don’t want any, Krista?” Armin asks, shooting her a confused look.

“No, I’m just… I’m not in the mood today, y’know?”

Armin and Ymir both look at her with obvious suspicion. “Right, okay then,” he looks at me next, outstretching his arm in my direction. “Do you want some?” he offers me.

Absolutely not.

“No—“

“Yes, she does,” Ymir interjects.

“No, Ymir! I don’t!”

She stands up, paces over to me, and kneels down to look me in the eye. “Sweetheart, didn’t you just say you needed to take your mind off things?”

My body begins to shake as I panic. “Yeah, I did, but you know this isn’t what I fucking meant! Jesus fucking Christ… Ymir, please,” I choke out.

“Sweetheart, all I’m saying is that I think that a drink, or maybe a small fix, could help you relax,” she continues. “You’re always so tense. Wouldn’t it be nice?” She whispers.

“No, no, no, I can’t… It’s not—it’s not good…” I stutter. I can’t cry in front of these people. I lean my head back, stare at the ceiling, and take a deep breath in. I can’t lose my composure. I recall the captain’s words about using my brain more efficiently. He might not have meant it in this context, but his sentiment still proves useful. Obviously, this is not how I intended this night to go. Although Armin’s unforeseen arrival could potentially prove to be useful. Perhaps he has important information regarding my objective. Perhaps if he’s intoxicated enough, he’ll divulge.

Yeah, right.

I can feel Ymir’s hands on my thighs. “Sweetheart…” she trails off.

“If it’s any consolation, I agree with Ymir,” Krista chimes in. I give her a look of confusion. “It really does help, y’know? Makes it easier. Why do you think everyone does it?”

“Don’t pressure her, holy shit,” Armin says as he rubs his forehead.

I don’t doubt Krista’s claims that fixing makes things easier. I’m fully aware of why so many people here are addicted to it. I’m willing to bet that almost, if not all, of the women here in the Quarter fix every day so they don’t have to deal with the reality of the situation that they’re in. I know it would help. I know it would quiet my ever-vociferous thoughts. But I’ve purposefully avoided partaking because I know that I would lose control. I’ve seen the way people behave when they’re high or drunk. The dead look in their eyes is haunting. It scares me, the thought of becoming like them.

“Sweetheart,” Ymir says to pull my attention. “What do you want?” She asks.

I don’t want it. I don’t think I do anyway. I’ve never possessed the initial desire for indulgence of any kind before recently. I’m afraid once I get a taste, I’ll never be satisfied. I’ve never engaged in sex, drugs, or alcohol for that very reason. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m terrified. Terrified that I’ll lose myself. That I’ll fall under the possession of my own hedonism.

“I don’t know,” I mumble out. Then, I feel Ymir’s body engulf me, and my face is forcibly buried in her chest.

“Armin, give me that,” she demands.

“Woah, hold on a second, she just said she doesn’t know. Look at her, she’s shaking,” he rebukes.

“Yeah, Armin, obviously she’s scared, but she won’t be, will she?”

He sighs. “Hey,” he addresses me. “Do you want this?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will you guys do it too?” I whisper.

“Yeah, Sweetheart, we will,” Ymir reassures.

What am I doing?

“Hmm, I’m really scared,” I confess.

“We’ll only give you half a syringe,” she reassures. “Armin, give it.”

He reluctantly concedes. “Fuck… here.”

Ymir begins to pull the contents out of the bag. There isn’t much inside, just a small vial of clear liquid and a small, capped syringe.

Krista starts digging in her bedside drawer and pulls out a thin leather belt. “Here,” she hands it over to Ymir.

“Give me your arm, sweetheart.”

I hesitantly comply. She grabs my left bicep and tightens the belt. She tightens it so much that my arm almost immediately starts tingling with the lack of blood flow.

My breathing picks up as she uncaps the syringe and inserts it in the vial. She only fills it halfway like she promised.

“Wait a second,” Armin interrupts. “Here, clean her arm with this,” he directs, handing her a bottle of moonshine and a cloth.

Ymir side-eyes him before pouring a small amount of the alcohol onto the cloth. The anxiety has made me hyperaware of everything that is happening inside this room, and the sudden feeling of wetness on my arm makes me shiver.

Ymir flicks the syringe and lines it up with the vein in the crook of my arm. The reality of the situation hits me like a punch to the face.

“Alright, Sweetheart, make a fist.”

I’m officially panicking now, and everyone is watching me intently. “No, wait, Ymir—“

It’s too late. By the time the words leave my mouth, she already has the needle in my arm. “Ymir— fuck!”

“Sweetheart, I really need you to make a fist,” she commands.

“Okay, okay, oh shit…”

I watch as the fluid enters my vascular system. I can see the capillaries in my arm burst as she pushes the needle in; small red and purple dots scatter around the injection site. It’s scary at first, but the fear doesn’t last long.

The bliss that overcomes me is almost immediate. There’s a slight chill that is quickly chased away by the feeling of serenity.

“Oh my God,” I moan. Ymir slowly eases me down into a lying position as my eyes roll to the back of my head. It feels as if I’ve been submerged in warm, amber honey.

“It’s nice, huh?” Someone, I think Ymir, asks me.

“Uhh, yeah…” I breathe.

My mind has gone blank; quiet. All of the roaring thoughts of my consciousness have evaporated into thin air. All of the sadness, desolation, and pain that I’ve felt my entire life has been washed away in a matter of seconds. For a moment I think my body is floating, but the drowned-out chatter of the others in the room keeps me grounded in reality.

“Do you think we gave her too much?” Armin rushes out.

“No, she’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, Ymir?” Krista voices her concern. “She looks pretty out of it.”

“She’s never fixed before, so obviously she’s gonna be a little out of it.” She quips. “Hey, Sweetheart.” I turn my head to look at her. “How’s it feel?”

“I feel like an angel,” I gasp.

She chuckles nervously. “Alright then, Angel. You just stay there for a second, okay?”

“Is this what God feels like?” I continue to ramble, slurring my words as I speak. “It has to be. It’s so beautiful; it has to be…”

I can see them all looking at me with furrowed brows. “Just stay there, okay?” Ymir urges. Not that I could move much even if I wanted to.

“What the hell, Ymir?” Armin reprimands in a hushed whisper.

“Look, she’s always been a little strange, like not right in the head,” she responds.

“Ymir, why would you say that?! That’s so mean,” Krista chastises.

“Hey! It’s not a bad thing! I’m just saying we shouldn’t be too concerned.”

Their idle bickering is disturbing my tranquility. I hate how they’re gossiping about me as if I’m not in their presence. I’ve heard enough shit talk about me in the past few days, and I don’t need to hear it from them as well.

“Guys, can you please stop talking about me? It’s not very nice. It’s actually super fucking annoying,” I slur.

I hear them all sigh and nothing more.

“Armin, give me a vial.”

“Sure,” he grumbles, handing Ymir a bag with the vial and syringe. “You sure you don’t want any, Krista?” Armin asks once again.

“No, thank you. Like I said, I’m not in the mood,” she maintains.

“Alright then.”

The room goes quiet finally, as the other two get their fix. I’m now able to fully immerse myself in the sensation. I’m completely numb, body and soul. This feeling is so pure, so holy, so primal. I never want to let it go. I can now fully grasp why people continue to do this, even though they know it’s destroying them. For the average laborer, it’s the only source of peace that’s offered in this rotten enclosure.

I suddenly feel arms around me, lifting me off the couch and carrying me to the bed. I’m eased down, and for a second I swear I’m about to sink right through.

“You still awake, Angel?” Ymir asks as she lies down next to me.

“Yeah,” I hum, keeping my eyes closed.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She mumbles.

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s more than that. But this won’t last forever. Soon the high’s gonna fade, and we’ll be back in hell. I won’t be an angel anymore.” I explain, and she just stares at me in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about God.”

“I don’t believe in God,” she scoffs.

“No, God’s real. He’s gone, though. The day the bombs dropped. My mom always told me that Earth is the furthest place from heaven besides hell. It’s true,” I tell her.

“I didn’t take you for a Christian, Sweetheart. I’m not really in the mood to be preached to.”

“Nooo,” I groan. “I’m not a Christian. You don’t have to be a Christian to know God. God isn’t a person. God’s a feeling. Do you get it? People spend their entire lives chasing it.”

“I’m lost,” she deadpans.

I huff in frustration. “Some people use drugs, some use sex, for some people it’s food, or music, or love, or money, or power. It doesn’t matter. Everyone wants to be close to God. It’s human nature. Do you get it now?”

“I guess, Sweetheart, when you put it that way…” she trails off.

I say nothing to that, and the room fills with silence once again. I lift my head slightly and look around, but Krista and Armin are nowhere to be found. I wasn’t at all aware that they had left.

How long have we been here?

“Umm, where are Krista and Armin?” I ask out loud.

“They went back to Armin’s room to get more alcohol,” she clarifies.

“Oh, I don’t really want to drink. I think I’ll die if I do.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Is that really true? I’ve never thought about that before.

“Ymir?”

She turns her head to look me in the eyes.“Yeah?”

“Why do you call me ‘Sweetheart’? Do you really think that?”

“Of course I do. Why else would I call you that?” She says softly, raising her hand to caress my face.

“I don’t know. I thought that you were being condescending,” I say as I lean further into her embrace.

She whispers into my hair, “No, Sweetheart, I’m not.”

I move back to look at her for a moment, analyzing her face up close. Normally I’m incapable of looking anyone in the eyes for too long, especially Ymir. But right now, I don’t feel scared; I don’t feel anything. I’m able to look into her honey brown eyes and count every freckle on her face. She’s kinda pretty, I realize the more I stare at her.

“I was raised in a Catholic orphanage,” she recalls. “I know what it’s like to search for God and find absolutely nothing. I just couldn’t imagine why God would care about someone as insignificant as me.” She sighs, closing her eyes. I look at her strangely for a moment. She’s never told me anything personal about herself before. What’s changed? Is it the drugs?

“The nuns would always tell me that the reason nobody wanted to adopt me was because I had been taken by sin.”

“Ymir—“

“They were right, honestly,” she admits and pulls me closer. Her nose was close to brushing mine. “I just didn’t realize at the time. But I’m as sinful as they come.”

I can feel her breath on my face before her lips touch mine. It’s sudden, but slow. I gasp in shock. However, due to the drugs, I’m incapable of expressing it. But as much as this has caught me off guard, I like it, a lot. I’ve never kissed anyone before, but this is nice. Her lips are soft, and she’s holding me like she cares. Even if it’s just the drugs influence, I don’t care. I’ll let myself have this.

Her mouth opens, and I follow her lead. She holds my head firmly in place as if she’s trying to swallow me whole as our tongues clash in drug-induced desperation. She further tightens her grip on my head, and we both moan into each other’s mouths. She’s becoming increasingly more touchy and frantic, and I’m having trouble keeping up, as the opioids have impaired my reaction time.

Heat begins pooling in my lower abdomen when her hands start drifting downward until she reaches my hips, pulling my lower half towards hers. Grinding against each other, our movements are sloppy, but it doesn’t matter. I’m completely engrossed in her; nothing else in the vicinity is registering in my mind. It’s just her and me, and it feels so good.

I gasp slightly when I feel her slide her hand towards my crotch. She shamelessly cups my sex through my work pants without warning. I clutch onto her shoulders to brace myself. She starts feeling up and down, but only for only a few moments before she wastes no time shoving her hand down my pants and into my underwear.

“Ymir! Wait—“

“Shh, Angel. God, you’re so fucking pretty,” she breathes out, running her slim fingers up and down my wet slit. The moment she reaches my clit, my hips jerk towards her, and I moan much louder into the empty room. No one but me has touched me there before, and while it’s strange, it’s intoxicating. My body hums at the feeling of her calloused fingers toying with my throbbing cunt. “Fuck, Sweetheart, so good for me. Just relax, and let me touch you,” she coos in my ear.

“Oh, fuck! Ymir. Please… It feels good,” I slur.

She starts at a slow, agonizing pace. My eyes silently pleading with her to go faster. She gazes back down at me with a hungry, lustful glint in her eyes. She continues her slow ministrations for a few moments more before she finally begins to pick up the pace.

The pleasure becomes mind-numbing as she increases the speed and pressure of her fingers, quickly rubbing small but tight circles on my swollen mound. My jaw slackens as I arch my back; I am unable to control my movements any longer. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind. She continues to hold me despite my thrashing and writhing. “Fuck, Angel, that’s it, give it to me,” she moans into the crook of my neck. I can feel her lower half grinding on my leg as she pleasures me.

It feels so good.

My moans crescendo when I begin to sense my climax approaching. The sensation only amplified by the opioids.

“Fuck, Ymir, I’m gonna—“

“Holy shit! What the—“

“Ymir? What the hell?”

I can barely register the two voices yelling from the doorway, as my orgasm hits me like a bullet train. My eyes roll back, and my body shudders uncontrollably. It’s quick and violent. My body consumed by waves of intense pleasure only for a few moments. The comedown, then, hits me all at once, leaving me disoriented. My body immediately goes slack, and I can feel Ymir’s hands leave me.

The only thing I hear after that is yelling. Krista yelling, to be exact. She’s yelling at Ymir; I can’t make out what she’s saying, though. Everything sounds so far away.

I’m brought back to reality instantly by someone’s warm hands on my face. I open my eyes to find that they belong to Armin.

“Hey, hey! Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” He asks frantically, continuing to hold my face so that I’m making eye contact with him.

“It’s okay,” I mumble in response. “I liked it. Please, don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to make anyone mad,” I plead with him, my voice trembling as I speak.

“Jesus fuck, look, no one’s mad at you, alright?”

I only nod shakily in response.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He fumes, turning his attention back to Ymir.

She doesn’t look him in the eye. “Mind your own fucking business, Armin.”

He stands up furiously. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me—“

“It’s fine, Armin,” I interrupt. “I liked it. I already told you. I’m sorry you had to see that,” I apologize with sincerity. It’s so humiliating; I really wish they hadn’t seen that.

“It’s not fine!” He yells out into the room. “Ymir, you can’t—“

He’s cut off once again by Krista’s voice chiming through the room. “Shut up, Armin. You’re stressing her out,” she scolds him. She then walks over to me on the bed. “You don’t have to apologize, Sweetheart. It’s not your fault,” she reassures, side-eyeing Ymir as she speaks. “We can talk about this later. She needs to get back to the Green.”

“No, I don’t,” I whine.

“Yes, you do,” they all say in unison.

“Ymir, can you get her there on your own?” Krista asks.

“Can we trust her to get her there without incident?” Armin remarks.

“Shut the fuck up, Armin,” Ymir spits. “Just help me get her on my back.”

I feel Armin and Krista manhandle me into a sitting position. Then, my arms are thrown unceremoniously over Ymir’s shoulders. “You ready?”

As soon as I nod my head yes, I’m being hoisted onto Ymir’s back. My legs instinctually hook around her hips in fear of falling.

“Just go straight back. I’m serious, Ymir. She needs to sleep,” Krista commands sternly.

“Yeah, I got it, straight back.”

As we make our way out of the room, I can hear Krista say goodbye, but I’m so out of it I can only hum in response. Armin says nothing. I don’t blame him. I feel so guilty that he had to see me like that.

What a shitty first impression.

“Hold on tight, Sweetheart. I don’t want you to fall,” Ymir says softly, disrupting my self-deprecating thoughts.

I’m not entirely sure what time it is, but it must be close to curfew. The busy lobby that we had arrived to has gone completely silent. Ymir realizes this as well. I can feel her picking up her pace.

“Why did you touch me, Ymir?” I ask her out of nowhere.

She sighs. “We can talk about it later, okay? You need to be quiet now. It’s late.”

“Hmm, okay.”

I can’t bring myself to care enough at the moment. Though, I’m sure tomorrow the shame of being walked in on will make me want to shove a gun in my mouth.

We make our way through the hall and down the stairs without incident. Ymir somehow manages to walk swiftly and smoothly despite me being on her back.

Just as we’re about to make our way out of the lobby, we hear loud footsteps and deep, babbling voices approaching from the direction that we’re going. “Fuck, fuck,” she whispers. I lift my head, trying to get a better look at our surroundings. “Just keep your head down, Sweetheart.”

We continue moving in the same direction, and I hear the voices get louder and louder. I assume she must have some sort of excuse thought up as to why we’re out so late. But I’m just being optimistic, most likely due to my intoxication. She’s probably scared shitless.

“Ymir! Is that you?” I hear a low voice call out. A voice that I don’t recognize.

“Shit,” she whispers. Then calls out, “Yeah, it’s me.”

The footsteps continue to grow louder. “I thought so. What are you doing here so late?” The mystery man asks. I keep my face buried in Ymir’s shoulder as she instructed me to.

“Who’s your friend?” A different voice asks this time. There’s something extremely off about this one, though. His voice is deep and raspy, but not in a smooth way. It’s tense and unsettling, like he has something stuck in his throat.

“She just had a little bit too much to drink, and we lost track of time. Don’t worry about her.”

“You don’t look too hot yourself.”

“I had a bit to drink as well.”

“A drink or a fix?” He inquires slyly.

“A bit of both,” she shrugs.

“Isn’t she the girl who got dragged away by the scouts last week?” Another voice sounds through the hallway, interrupting the conversation. This one sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

How many of them are there?

“Shut the fuck up, Floch. She obviously doesn’t wanna talk about it,” Ymir spits back.

Floch? What the fuck?

Shock was at the forefront of my mind. I immediately raise my head to look these men in the eyes. Ymir’s instructions be damned. Floch already knows who I am, so what does it matter if the rest of them see my face.

The only thing more shocking than Floch being here is who he’s here with. Zeke and Eren Jeager, nonchalantly chatting it up in the hallway with a bunch of low lives.

Zeke notices me lift my gaze. “There she is! You got a name, Honey?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Ymir interjects. “Look, both of us are really tired, okay? We need to get back to the Green.”

“Ha! All right then, we’ll personally escort you back!” Zeke bellows, as if it’s the funniest thing on earth.

“That really isn’t necessary.”

“Don’t be difficult, Ymir,” Eren says in a cautioning tone.

She says nothing and continues walking in the direction of the Green. Although this time she’s walking with more urgency. An uneasy suspicion settles within my chest. I can feel their eyes drilling holes in my back, which isn’t helping either.

The further we walk, I can feel Ymir breathing harder as her pace begins to slow. My presence on her back is finally taking a toll on her.

God, I hope she doesn’t drop me.

“You need some help with her?” Zeke’s slimy voice echoes off the walls. He slithers closer to us, looking Ymir in her eyes with an expression of faux concern.

“No, Zeke. Keep your hands to yourself,” she huffs, attempting to quicken her stride once again.

“I insist. You look like you’re about to fall over, Ymir. I highly doubt she can walk by herself right now, so we can’t have that, now can we?”

“Zeke, I told you—“

“Just give her to him, Ymir,” Eren interrupts warningly. Stopping Ymir dead in her tracks.

“I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. She’s not all there right now, as you can probably tell.”

“Why would I make her uncomfortable?” Zeke asks her.

“She doesn’t like people.”

“She doesn’t have to. Just give her here. I promise I won’t drop her.”

Ymir breathes shakily and loosens her grip on my thighs.

“Umm, wait, Ymir… no,” I complain. I really don’t want this man’s disgusting hands on me for any length of time.

“You’ll be fine, Sweetheart,” she tries to console me, but her voice sounds uncertain.

I’m then promptly lifted into the arms of this strange man. Instead of carrying me on his back, he’s opted for bridal style. I hate this. His body is warm but not in a comforting way. It’s more like his touch is searing my skin off. I keep my eyes sealed shut, not wanting to look at his unsightly face.

“I know you’re awake, Honey,” he snarks. I don’t say anything, just hum in acknowledgment.

He chuckles at that. “You really don’t have a name, huh?”

“No,” I shake my head.

“See, I just don’t believe that.”

I just shrug in response. Of course I have a name. There’s no way I’m telling him what it is, though.

“She’s not gonna tell you, Zeke. She won’t even tell me,” Ymir informs him.

“That’s fine, Honey. You don’t have to.” He then pauses for a moment before asking a question that sober me would’ve punched him in the face for. “So, Honey, have you ever thought about working in the Quarter?”

“Zeke—“ Ymir tries to silence his advances, but to no avail.

“What? I just think she’d do well in there, is all. It doesn’t hurt to ask,” he says in defense.

“Don’t ever fucking think about her in that way again or I’ll rip all your beard hairs out of your face one by one. Understand?” Ymir threatens him.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, I got that. You’re a funny one, Ymir.”

“You think I’m joking?”

“Are we almost there?” I interrupt in a slurred voice. The repulsiveness I’m feeling continues to fester the longer this man has me in his embrace. I’d give anything to stick my thumbs into his creepy, leering eyes.

“Yeah, Sweetheart. We’re almost there,” Ymir answers me.

“Are you not enjoying yourself, Honey?”

“Does she fucking look like she’s enjoying herself?” Eren sarcastically asks his older brother. And for once, he says nothing in response.

We continue to walk for a minute or two more before we finally reach the Green. I don’t have to open my eyes to know that we’ve arrived. The smell is unmistakable.

“I’ll take her from here,” Ymir declares, clearly not taking no for an answer this time.

“Alright then, here,” Zeke concedes. He firmly places me in Ymir’s arms this time instead of placing me on her back.

“Are you gonna be able to carry her like that?” Floch finally makes his voice heard. He’s been silent for so long I forgot that he’s been with us the entire time. Why are Zeke and Eren even hanging around him in the first place? Are they his “friends from the Quarter” he was talking about earlier? I fear my escapade today has left me with more questions than answers.

“I’ve got her, Floch. Just leave us alone,” Ymir dismisses him. She sounds exhausted.

“Whatever then,” he sighs and walks away, starting his short journey to the sleeping quarters.

Eren and Zeke also turn to walk away, back toward the Quarter, I assume. However, just before they disappear from view, Eren turns back to face us. “Take care, Ymir,” he says in a loud, monotone voice. Nothing else is said. It almost sounded like a warning. Then they’re gone just like that. As if they were never here to begin with.

Exhaustion overwhelms me all at once. I can feel Ymir’s tiredness as well. She’s struggling to carry me the rest of the way. By the time we reach our shared bunk, everyone else is pretty much ready for bed. The lights haven’t shut off yet, so I can see that everyone is blatantly watching us. I don’t blame them. We probably look crazy.

“Ymir, how do you know Zeke and Eren?” I ask sluggishly as she sets me down on my bunk.

“It’s none of your concern, Sweetheart. I don’t want you bringing this up again. Understand?” She talks down to me like a child.

“But I’m really worried about you, Ymir.”

She grabs my jaw in a vice grip and forces me to look at her. “It’s not your place to be worrying about me. Okay? I don’t wanna hear you talking about this again, to anyone. Do you understand?”

My eyes are wide with fear and confusion. Her sudden change in tone and demeanor is scary. But it gets the message across. I won’t mention it to her again, that’s for sure.

“Ymir?”

“What is it?”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

She sighs softly and says, “Yeah, Sweetheart, I do.”

I smile lazily at her words. My fear is immediately replaced with elation. Then I collapse back onto my uncomfortable mattress. The world goes black immediately when my head hits the pillow.

[figs-and-cigs]

Saw a post recently that said if you're not a good communicator you shouldn't be in a poly relationship. My first thought was, "right communication is an absolute MUST!" But thinking about it some more, I think there needs to be more nuance to the idea. What makes good communication? And who's to say who should and shouldn't do polyamory?

I'm an easily overwhelmed, agoraphobic, introvert - and at times communication IS hard. I often seek alone time with very little interaction with the outside world.

I had a girlfriend who HATED texting and wanted lots of in person face to face time. That relationship slowly unravelled and disappeared - without communication. I'm a texter and couldn't fit my schedule or find the spoons to spend more time with her - and she never texted.

I had to explain to a new person I'm dating that I'm not good at asking a lot of questions - which can look like a lack of interest and a failure in gathering information for a good match. The reality is I figure others will tell me what they want me to know over time as they get comfortable, and if it's important it'll come up. Meanwhile, I'm an open book. I communicate with lengthy paragraphs and stories to paint a picture of my world. Which often gets others to share similarly - through text, and more importantly get to know me on a deep level. In person I'm spastic mess, I get emotional about everything and excitement or frustration can jumble words into an incoherent rant.

When I'm upset, I cry... And trying to help someone see my point of view doesn't work well between frustrated sobs I can't control. With my husband we make an effort to take a pause with intense discussions and let me write/text it out. And while he can be a stoic type during emotional discussions - giving him time to process is important. But my anxious attachment will precieve it as if I'm doing all the communication and he's got nothing!

I also unintentionally go into circles and rants as I process which can be overwhelming to the other party. I've been in relationships where we'd talk and talk and talk and talk until we'd exhaust each other and that talking might turn into yelling or unhealthy silent treatments. Neither of us could understand each other or find common ground.

To prevent this with my husband we set timers. 5/5/10. We each get 5 minutes to share our thoughts, and then we'll have 10 minutes to collaborate on a solution - or to bond or support each other.

I have a FWB who I rarely hear from. Maybe every few months when he's in town and able to set a date to meet. He's not the talkative type unless we're alone in a room together - and I realized I'm ok with this. I don't need constant contact to enjoy my time with him.

I think a huge part of healthy relationships is meeting people where they're at and accepting each other exactly as we are. The good, the bad, the messy, and perfectly whole. And it's beautiful and wonderful! But it's also complicated and hard. Not every relationship is going to last. But the experiences together are valuable nonetheless.

When our communication styles and skills are different, what do we do!? Ironically, we communicate about it, and even a "bad communicator" can find work arounds. I think it comes down to boundaries and trying to understand each other. And if it doesn't work out between both of you - it doesn't mean we can't find someone else who it can't work with.

And while we can find total acceptance of each other one would hope each of us is working on personal progress and improvements in areas that we struggle.

Just like there's no one right perfect way to be poly, I don't think there's only one right perfect way to communicate. We each need to find what works best for us and our individual relationships. And it's going to vary and be different almost every single time.

The end.