#multicharacter

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Backwoods AU

A Special Sort of Craving (Lloyd Hansen, The Gray Man)

The Detour (Thor, MCU)

The Stranger (Chris, Destroyer)

Forget-Me-Not (Loki, MCU)

The Farmer’s Daughter (Walter Marshall, Night Hunter)

The Rebound (Curtis Everett, Snowpiercer)

Second Best (Lee Bodecker, The Devil All the Time)

Crossed Wires (Andy Barber, Defending Jacob & Cole Turner, Ghosted)

Daddy Lesson (Rafe Cameron, OBX, Outer Banks)

All Things End (Arvin Russell, The Devil All the Time)

THTH (Ransom Drysdale, Knives Out)

Called To Duty (Captain Syverson, Sand Castle)

Unmanageable (Pete Brenner, Pain Hustlers)

A Place in the Sun (Nick Fowler, The 355)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

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

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV. See this post.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

You yank the man's hair from behind, that rooster cut with the shaved sides. Just as tacky as shoes with no socks. You recognise the designer loafers. It's the pizza guy. Or whoever he is.

He roars as he keeps hold of Polly and throws his elbow back. His arm cracks against your ribs and you gasp but latch on. You reach around and dig your nails into his cheek again. He snarls and lurches back, sending you stumbling into the railing. You bounce off and hit the floor as Polly whimpers.

"God fuck," The man growls. "Stop doing that." He shoves Polly to her stomach and plants his knee on her back, "Hey, fuckheads," he hollers, "a little fucking help."

You push yourself up and launch at the menace. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark and you see his silhouette clearly. As your ready your manicure for another slashing attack, You're hauled back by your waist. A larger man takes you off your feet and you thrash.

"Listen, asshole," you bark. "You better let me the fuck go!" Your reach up and scratch at his thick neck. He hisses and brings his other arm around your neck, squeezing enough for you to rasp.

"Shh," he hushes you. "You do not want to antagonize us any further."

You know his voice. It's that same large man who'd been lurking all day. The one with the square jaw and glasses. Steve, he called himself. You knew there was something going on...

"Fuck off!" You kick your feet in an attempt to crush his. "Fuck off of me!"

"Oh, that pretty mouth certainly is filthy," he growls. "I can't wait to see how dirty it gets."

You sneer and flail around. He walks you to the wall and pins you with his elbow. He unhooks his other arm and grips the nape of your neck. He grabs your wrist and twists it up behind your back. You hiss, pulling even as it hurts, trying to resist his overwhelming strength.

He loops something thick around your wrist and shifts. He lets go of your neck as he brings your other arm up to secure the cuffs around both. You sneer and try to push off the wall.

He tuts, "sweetheart, don't be uncivilized."

He pushes your hands further up and your shoulders strain. You hiss and bit down on another growl. Polly's cries deter you. You look over to her on the floor, face down beneath the shadow straddling her. She's sobbing as he cuffs her too.

"This is sick," you rasp.

"Oh, you don't even know the half of it," Steve jerks you away from the wall. "Though I wonder, would it be worse to make an example of you, or to have you watch your friends?"

"Sicko," you resist as he marches you down the hall.

You hear others. Molly gulping, Ann grunting, the men looming and whispering. You're brought into the only lit room in the house. Ann and Molly are on their knees, similarly bound, and Lulu is on the floor, unconscious. You try to yank away from Steve.

"What happened to her?"

"It wasn't our handiwork," the slithering voice makes you recoil.

Jonathan steps forward, sleeves rolled above his elbows, hair as tidy as ever. Only a slightly reddened splotch on his cheekbones suggests a struggle.

"You--" You bark. "You fucking freak--"

"Ah, such a repugnant mouth. We should clean it out with soap," he snips and points to the floor. Steve forces you down on your knees. "And the other?"

"Hansen--"

"She's here," the man with the mustache and pointed loafers struts in with Polly over his shoulder. He puts her next to Ann, pointedly away from you.

"Right, well, good effort," Jonathan praises. "Minimal obstacles."

"Minimal?" That man they refered to as Hansen touches his cheek, crisscrossed with your claw marks. "I should pry her nails off. The real ones too."

"They are scared," Jonathan intones smoothly. "Let them calm."

"Calm? Fucking calm?" Ann croaks. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ah,ah," Jonathan comes in front of the line of women. Your eyes stray to the other man in the room. That big bearded brute looming in silence, arms crossed over his burly chest. His eyes are set on Lulu. "I do hate to repeat myself but please refrain from such language. It is uncouth."

"Uncouth?" You sneer.

"Yes, darling, unbecoming. Unattractive--"

"Take a look in the mirror," you retort.

He chuckles and the bearded man growls. Hansen snickers too and Steve lets out a sigh. You grit your teeth and shake your head.

"Alright then, we are missing one," Jonathan glances at Steve.

"He's sweeping the house." The other explains.

You furrow your brow. There's one more... you look at the other women then your heart pumps hotly. You look up as you hear steps coming down the staircase. Peter enters with a smile and a bin in his arms.

"All devices collected," her proclaims.

You lunge without thinking. "You asshole!"

Steve catches you as you kick your legs. You snarl and snap, helpless in his thick arms. You don't stop. You can't. Your vision is white hot in rage and shock. You knew that little shit was up to something.

The man has you on your stomach. You lift your head as tears stream down your cheeks. More than the danger, it's the futility that has you crying. You tried. You fought. You did what you could and you still lost. Worse, you let Barbie down.

You see her through the glazed wall of tears, fighting too. Another man. You snivel and flick your lashes. It's that same big blond that greeted you on your arrival. No...

The man tightens the leather cuffs until they bite your wrists. You whine and he chuckles, his hands trailing down your hips, tracing your shape beneath your silk pajamas. You wriggle as you try to shake him off.

"You got style, girlie," he pulls you up to your knees. "But you got a body that could do with something a bit more... slutty."

He hauls you onto his shoulder. Barbie is gone. There's voices from down the hall. He drags a hand up your leg and gropes your ass. You yelp.

He laughs again as he enters the lit front room. "She's here," he declares. He puts you down next to Ann. You look around as your head feels ready to roll off your shoulders. The other girls are there too, Lulu on the floor, eyes closed and body limp. Is she okay?

"Right, well, good effort," The satiny purr draws your attention. Jonathan? "Minimal obstacles."

"Minimal," the man who brought you in mutters. "I should pry her nails off. The real ones too."

Barbie bares her teeth. Jonathan shows his palm, "they are scared. Let them calm."

"Calm? Fucking calm? Why are you doing this?" Ann spits.

"Ah, ah," Jonathan turns to face you all. "I do hate to repeat myself but please refrain from such language. It is uncouth."

Polly shivers as she looks at the man; Jonathan, Steve, the one with the mustache, another with a beard and a buzzed head. Everyone as fearsome as the next.

"Uncouth?" Barbie snarls. She's always been so bold.

"Yes, darling, unbecoming. Unattractive," Jonathan explains.

"Take a look in the mirror," she snaps.

Jonathan laughs and the bearded man lets out a rumble. The one with the mustache chortles and Steve sighs as he watches you. You gulp and look away.

"Alright, then, we are missing one," Jonathan declares.

"He's sweeping the house," Steve responds.

You squint and look at Ann. She seems just as confused as her forehead lines. Barbie scowls and footfalls sound from just outside the room. Peter appears with a bin and grins.

"All devices collected," he announces proudly.

Barbie launches to her feet, "you asshole!" Her anger reflects the fire burning in your stomach. You didn't trust him but you never could have expected this. This is deranged.

Steve catches Barbie easily. She kicks and wriggles, like a rabid animal, but she is no match to the man who holds her. You sink down in defeat. It's all a trap.

This house is perfect. Too perfect. You should've known. You should've thought about the good price, the men lurking, and the whole strange setup. Yet, who in all their life would do something like this.

"Fucking Christ, get the feral cat outta here," the man with the mustache dodges away from Barbie as her foot nearly hits his crotch.

"Hansen," Jonathan chides, "language."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Hoity Toity," the man returns a sarcastic salute.

"Steve," Jonathan signals. Steve takes Barbies out of the room, all the while she screams, curses, and thrashes.

"You can't--" Ann stands and is shoved back down by the mustached man.

"We are," he taunts and gives her a wink. "So, we drawing straws or do we get our pick. I kinda wanted the mean one."

"Hush," Jonathan bids. The other man bristles.

"Mr. Bossy Pants," Hansen sneers.

"We must be patient. First, they will go to their rooms and when they can behave, they can come out and we might begin," Jonathan explains.

"You're all fucked--" Ann starts to speak.

Jonathan moves so fast, you're stunned. He grabs the front of her tee shirt and forces her to her feet. He snaps his fingers at the man with the beard.

"Captain, bring me the soap." The blond man bids the other.

You look up helplessly as Ann stands on her toes. She leans away from Jonathan but she's just a helpless as the rest of them. Polly wants desperately to stand up and tell him to get off but she's too afraid. She's not strong enough for this.

"You're all fucked!" You snarl.

In an instant, you're wrenched up from your knees. Jonathan twists your tee shirt around his fist and tilts his head. His eyes are piercing even as his face remains stoic.

"Captain, get the soap," he commands. The bearded man leaves the room. The one you heard them call Sy.

You grimace, "I'm not a child," you stand on your toes as he keeps you close.

Molly whimpers and Polly sniffs. You're aware of the others as much as yourself. You're afraid but you've been through too much to just let these men take over.

"Oh, surely not. You're a lady and you should speak as such." He intones.

You squirm and lift your chin defiantly. The other man returns and Jonathan reaches out without looking. A bar of soap is placed in his hand. You can smell the jasmine as he brings it in front of you.

"Do try to take it with some grace," he presses the bar to your mouth.

You flare your nose and bite down. He tisks and bites down. He inhales, "Hansen."

The man with the mustache comes forward and grabs your chin and your nose. He plugs your nostrils and you let your lips part. Jonathan pushes the soap against your teeth.

You resist until your feel the pressure in the roots of your teeth. You open and he rams the bar inside until you gag. He pulls you and turns you to face the others.

He holds his hand across your mouth as you try not to choke. Your saliva foams and cough, biting into the bar unintentionally. He grips the bar and moves it in and out.

"We must clean thoroughly so such nasty words do not stain," he drawls. "Ladies, do pay heed. I would hate to have to teach this lesson a second time."

He rips the soap out of your mouth and pushes you away. You stumble down to your knees, barely keeping from landing on your face. Polly gasps and Molly babbles.

"We're sorry," Molly snivels. "Please, please," she leans forward. "Lulu, wake up. Lu!"

"Right, men, it's late. They require beauty sleep." Jonathan stands before you.

He points from Peter to Molly; he pulls her up and takes her out of the room. He points to Sy then Lulu's limp body. The large man picks her up, cradling her like a kitten. Then the other man, he's directed to take Polly. She leans away but he jerks her up and chuckles.

"Don't try me," he warns. "Your friend did enough."

Jonathan turns back to you as the room clears. He bends to look you in the eye. You want to spit in his face. Your sense restrains you.

"Ann, you are the eldest of the bunch, the most mature," he says, "you need to set a good example for the younger ones so let us not be so undisciplined." His blues eyes linger on you. "I know your mother would be disappointed to see such behav--"

You spit. The soap lathered saliva lands on his cheek. He closes his eyes and stands straight. He wipes his face and sighs.

"Don't talk about my mother," you growl.

He hums, "yes, I understand we all grieve in our own ways. So I will not punish you for that one." He grabs your arm and hauls you up once more. "Perhaps a night's sleep will help you see clearly. I would hate for anything to happen to any of you girls."

His threat is clear even if he's vague. It isn't just about you. If you act out, the others could suffer for it. You have to be practical, but that doesn't mean you need to surrender.

[eevees-hobbies]

Okay so... What would their reaction be when they saw you ducking/bowing/reaching out to something on the floor and they noticed underneath your shirt/blouse (kinda like a downblouse) 🤔

This is so funny because (I’ll let you in on a secret) I’m VERY into flashing. #YouUnlockedOneofEevee’sFetishes! You win….a thirst!

Anyway, great question, Ella! I think it would depend on the level of your relationship. If you aren’t dating them? I think it would be a mixture of pretending like they didn’t see anything because they’re a gentleman (Umemiya and Suo) while others would noticeably combust (Sakura), and lastly, there’s the group that would absolutely stare until they were content with their eyeful (Togame and also Suo lol).

Now, if you’re in an established relationship with them?? Let’s thirst about it!

Content Warning: Flashing in public, mention of cunnilingus, masturbation, sexual acts in public, mention of cowgirl position. Minors Do Not Interact. 

Contains: Sakura, Suo, Togame & Umemiya. 

Haruka Sakura

“Oops, I dropped my wallet!”

His head turns because he thought he caught a glimpse of…

Oh, he did.

And he can see it all.

He lets out a noticeable groan when you bend just the right way so he can see down your shirt. Soft mounds covered in hickeys from the night before that peak into gorgeous, sensitive nipples. He’s biting his lip, trying to stave off the erection that is quickly growing in his pants.

His hand twitches because he can practically feel them in his palm.

In the comfort of your home? Please, flash him. In fact, he likes it when you walk around naked. Sure, he’ll have a persistent blush on his face, but pay it no mind; he’s into basking in all your naked glory. 

But in public? Other people can see you, pervert! 

“Put on my jacket.”

“Why, Kitten?”

Sigh, why are you the way that you are?

“I can see everything. Which means that the store clerk could see everything, and I’ll kill anyone who gets to look at my… just put on the jacket!” 

He definitely wants you to recreate the scene when you both get home so he can jerk off in front of you and cum on your tits.

Hayato Suo

As a reminder, Suo hates pesky clothes! Suo would not complain if you left the house without underwear or a bra; he’d encourage it. The easier the access, the quicker he can rub your clit under the table in Cafe Pothos until the seat of the booth is soaked in your-

So you bending over for him so he can see down your shirt? It’s all just visual foreplay that stokes his already intense desire for you. 

He’ll lean over in public, lips pressed against your ear, tongue flicking against your lobe, and whisper a husky, “I can’t wait to get you home.”

He enjoys a slow build, anyway, because he tucks away every single glimpse and flash you gift him–yes, he thinks of it as a gift–and calls forth the memory when he’s eating you out or fucking you that night. 

His jaw is getting tired from lapping at your delicious cunt? Can’t have that! 

Think about how she flashed you today, Suo. She was begging for this, no, aching for this treatment, and it’s your duty to give your girl precisely what she needs.

But if you keep flashing him throughout the day? He won’t wait until you’re at home. You’ll find a secluded area–an alley, perhaps, and his hands will be up your shirt while he’s kissing you against a wall, the insatiable throbbing against your inner thigh growing stronger with each passing second.

Jo Togame

Not you enticing Jo “everything is a bedroom if you look hard enough” Togame!

“Oh?” An eyebrow will shoot up as you bend over to pick something off the floor. As you grasp the object and straighten up, his hand is around your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

“My girl is so clumsy.”

He’s not talking about you dropping the item. He’s talking about how you’re practically exposing yourself in front of him. Clumsy, clumsy girl.

Before you know it, you’re straddling his lap in one of the theatre seats in the Ori with one of your breasts in his mouth. It would be hot if you weren’t worried about someone coming through the doors and catching you both.

“Jo! Someone could see…!”

He’ll respond, a mouthful of tit, “I thought you wanted people to see, yeah? That’s why you had them on display?”

“For you!” You hiss. 

“Shit, lucky me then.”

Doesn’t even think about stopping, though.

Hajime Umemiya

Embodies, “my eyes are up here” to me even when you wear a bra. He adores every inch of you, but he really loves your breasts.

Fantasizes about you riding him in nothing but a Bofurin jacket, one breast exposed while the other remains covered as you bounce like the good girl you are on his cock.

Sorry, I don’t know where that fantasy came from.

Anyway, his eyes would widen at seeing you practically falling out of your top, mouth watering like he hasn’t had a drink–of you–in ages, tongue rolling in his mouth, imagining the way your nipple would harden against it. You’d have to snap your finger in front of his face to get him to pay attention.

“Ume! Hello???”

“Sorry, I…you’re not wearing a bra. Wanna get out of here?”

Please say yes. He needs you to say yes. Because if he has to wait any longer with not having your breast in his mouth, he’ll combust.

“Fuck it, you want to do it in the car? Say yes, pretty girl.”

[navybrat817]

There's Something in the Water AU Teaser

Welcome to South Bunker! A gem of a town so well hidden it doesn't even appear on your GPS.

Stop at the diner for a bite to eat. Food so good you'll immediately want a nap before you even finish your plate.

Enjoying your cabin? That's what we love to hear, but you may want to keep your curtains closed. Some of the neighbors are a bit nosy.

Car trouble? That happens a lot around here, but don't worry. We have the best mechanic around.

Venture into the woods for a hike, but don't stray from the path and be wary of the hunters. They can get a little trigger happy.

It's truly picturesque when the sun goes down. It almost distracts you from the screams.

Oh, you're leaving?

No, you're not.

Welcome home.

[st3rll1nk]

Valentine’s Day!

Synopsis: It’s Valentine’s Day? How do you spend it with your girlfriend?

Rating: Multi-Character (Himeko, Kafka, Serval, Ruan Mei), Sfw, fluff, and romantic.

Himeko

Himeko is a simple women. She’ll spend Valentine’s Day with you personally with just the two of you. She’ll give you your favorite flower and treats. You guys would both be huddled up together under some blankets drinking coffee and having cookies bake in the oven while watching a movie. And, she’ll end it off with each other all cuddled up.

Kafka

Kafka is a very flirtatious and affectionate woman. She’ll practically spoil you on this day; giving you so many of your favorite flowers and treats along with a few stuff bears and written love letters. Even with her status of being a stellaron hunter, she’ll find a way to make a reservation at a high class restaurant. If you ask, she’ll peck your lips and say something along the lines of “Don’t worry your pretty little mind about it” with that sweet tone of hers. She’ll be overly affectionate and loving for the rest of the day.

Serval

Serval loves music and would likely compose a song about you and sing it to you personally on her guitar. She keeps it simple with gifts with a few roses and your favorite treats. She’ll take you out to a cafe where a bunch of jazz plays to “make the atmosphere romantic” while tells you nerdily about what music the jazz band is playing while talking to you on.

Ruan Mei

Ruan Mei would keep it simple and would take results from a few experiment with what you would like and don’t like to make the “perfect gift” for you. she knows how important expressing love to your significant other is and wants to do the same out of her affection. It’s simple yet elegant. She gives you a written love letter, your favorite treats, and roses. She’ll go out to a restaurant with you as custom too.

authors note: hopes you guys liked it! hopefully this isn’t too late bc for my time zone it isn’t. happy valentines day woo woo <3

[mr-gekk024]

Abisalli's emotion challenge (4/?) 

Yay the first blog of the year!

F8 Bella Garten/The Gardener (DC)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

D2 Lizzie Prince (DC)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

E7 Mr Nobody (Doom Patrol)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

H2 Gary Miller (FAITH)[@arakan_2004]

A9 John Ward (FAITH)[@avlitzx]

C1 Sigewinne (Genshin Impact)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

D4 Pongorma (Hylics)[@deadwdoodles]

G7 Simon Laurent (Infinity train)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

B4 Little Misfortune (Little Misfortune)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

A1 Daisuke (Mouthwashing)[@deadwdoodles]

C2 Enoch (OFF)[@deadwdoodles]

D8 The Batter (OFF)[@deadwdoodles]

And that's it! I found a new type of render that, and tbh I really like it and is easy and fast to do! (btw I love how I rendered Faith's characters ^^)

[sirendeepity]

[ Multicharacter; part ii ]

A/N: So I chose violence 😈 After ages, I finally forced convinced myself to finish the second part (mind you, 2 paragraphs out of 3 were already written, so it didn't require much effort). And maybe by the end of next week you'll have the third and final part, too? Asking for a miracle here, but still

T/W: -

W/C: 1k

Nesta cracked open an eye, only to find herself surrounded by debris and darkness again. She didn’t know why she expected something different, didn’t know why she expected anything at all. Pushing herself off the ground, one shoulder pressed against the wall at her side, Nesta rose on unsteady feet. She had to stop her ascent a couple of times to catch her breath, although standing was not supposed to be that hard. Nesta took a tentative step but halted soon after. She was on the second floor when the first wave hit, but she had no idea where she was now. She couldn’t just wander around, it was too risky. But she couldn’t even stay there and do nothing, waiting for someone to find her—if they ever managed to do that. Time was, apparently, not on her side.

“Logically,” Nesta said, no one but fallen books listening to her, “if I’m uninjured it means that I must not be far from…”

Nesta sighed. What was she even talking about? She had no clue what was where. Her head was swimming and her intestines were tied up in knots and—

A sob escaped her, followed by a second one, filling the cloud of silence engulfing her.

And she just wanted Cassian to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.

He had this annoying habit of always seeing the best outcome possible, always looking at the bright side. Nesta loved it so much it unnerved her. But Cassian wasn’t there to haul her out of the pit once again, was he?

With one hand glued to the slimy wall, Nesta put one foot in front of the other and began walking.

[ * * * ]

Cassian reached the House at the same moment Azriel did. His shadows were buzzing, frenetically twirling around his figure in a way Cassian had never seen before.

“Tell me there’s a way in,” Cassian asked, scanning the damage before his eyes.

Little was left of the House itself: the life he’d built with Nesta now lay buried under columns and memories. Nothing but red ruins.

“Not from here,” said Azriel, confirming his worries. The grounds were not secure yet, and moving things around would only increase the damage, upsetting an already delicate balance.

“We need to find a way in.”

“I know.”

“Nesta is in there. And Gwyn and Emerie and—”

“I know.”

“Gods, the entire House is—”

“Cassian, I know.”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, forcing his gaze away from the wreckage of his home. Azriel's hazel eyes were a mirror of his own, worry creasing his brows. It was unsettling, Cassian realized, seeing so many emotions on his brother’s face. Five hundred years he’d known him, and Cassian could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Azriel so shaken, so unapologetically scared.

“Tell Rhys to get his ass here right now.”

[ * * * ]

Nesta had no idea for how long she’d been walking, or how much distance she’d covered. She kept close to the wall, mostly because she couldn’t very much stand without it. She had seen a beam of light at some point, or so she thought. She couldn’t see it anymore, and Nesta couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and what was not. Was she starting to hallucinate? Her head had begun to throb painfully, so much so she had to stop to take a breather on more than one occasion.

“I’m here.” Her voice was a weak little thing, barely more than a rasp. Nesta swallowed and tried again, with more effort, “I’m here. I’m here. I’m-”

A sound came from behind her, and Nesta turned, squinting into the dark.

“Hello?” She tried. “Is anyone here?”

It came again—a moan, or the echo of it. She stepped in its general direction.

“Where are you?” She needed them to talk, to make some noise, anything to make her focus on something that was not—

Cold light filled the space. From a faery light on the wall, its metal handles crooked. Somehow it was still working. It was flickering, there one moment and gone the next, but it was better than nothing. Nesta had to blink multiple times to adjust to the constant on-and-off, but even with her unfocused gaze, she managed to make out part of her surroundings. Books littered the floor, and some of the bookshelves had collapsed entirely, but overall the space had survived the shocks pretty well. If one did not count the huge chunks of wall blocking the passage every which way. Nesta leaned her forehead against the dark wall.

It shouldn’t have been that dark.

She gazed at her palms and found them coated in black ooze, the same sticky substance leaking from the wall itself. She wiped her forearm against the top of her head, trying to clean herself, but it only made her want to gag even more.

“Hel..p..”

Nesta halted her frantic movements, pushing past the screaming inside her head to focus on the noise—the voice.

“I’m here,” she whispered. She must’ve passed this way before, didn’t she? But she hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t seen anything. The faery light hadn’t even sensed her presence.

Off. On. Off. On. Off.

There.

An upturned shelf was partially blocking them from view, but those were legs.

Nesta picked up her pace, ignoring the pulsing darkness, or the slickness of the walls, or the pounding inside her chest.

Her knees gave out, hitting the stone at her feet with a dry pop. Choking on a sob, Nesta crawled those last few feet separating her from- from-

The air left her lungs in one, long exhale, the breathy sound ricocheting around the space. Tears blurred the face she’d come to love so dearly.

Nesta’s mouth filled with saliva, her throat working, as dizziness sized her body. She knew what was coming, and she bent over Emerie’s broken body, bracing herself as the world shook once more.

.

.

.

TAGS: @lady-winter-sunrise as promised (I didn't forget!!)

[novalore]

as i return from the depths of hell [fanfic reading hiatus], i will finally start binging again by reading tf out of the five husbands series. i’ve been eyeing tf out of this series since forever and i’m finally dipping the toes in the water, let’s see how this goes. my genuine reactions beneath the cut ⬇️

my genuine reaction when i realized that armin ((the love of my fucking life)) is the first husband. completely forgetting that THIS IS A SERIES ABOUT A Y/N WITH FIVE DIVORCES UNDER HER BELT.

my reaction when armin and y/n finally fucked. dawg i could eat up armin smut all fucking day, for every single meal, 365/24/7 i know his dick game is lip smackin’ good. its always the ((mass murdering)) shy ones you gotta watch for 🤭🥴

MY FUCKING REACTION WHEN THIS DUMB BITCH (me) CHEATED ON ARMIN WITH EREN (he kissed her without consent BUT SHE NEVER PULLED AWAY). LIKE THIS MAN HAS BEEN WITH YOU THROUGH THICK AND THIN, SUPPORTED YOU WITHOUT HESITATION. BROUGHT YOU TO LA, PAID FOR EVERYTHING SO THE TWO OF YOU COULD HAVE A FRESH START. HE EVEN INTRODUCED YOU TO THE BAND MANAGER AND LAUNCHED YOUR CAREER AND YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE HIM FOR EREN⁉️⁉️⁉️ A PUNK YOU’VE KNOWN FOR ALL OF TWO SECONDS⁉️⁉️⁉️ bombastic side eye couldn’t be me (its literally me) i just can’t

HOW FELT WHEN THIS BITCH (literally me) ACTUALLY LEFT ARMIN. SHE (i)BROKE HIS HEART. ALLOWED EREN TO WORM HIS WAY INTO HER (my) HEART (coochie) I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN FOR TWENTY MINUTES. WHATTHEFUCK I HATE HER (me)

I’m so sorry— Armin— Baby come back, it wasn’t me— I could never— I’m praying that the last husband is Armin because he deserves a thousand suns and moons after being subjected to such fucking bullshit

FIVE HUSBANDS

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eren, armin, connie, jean, levi & reiner x fem!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: after decades of being one of the most legendary stars of all time, you reflect on your past with a dear loved one, who is curious about your rise to fame and fortune. you decide to tell them about your five husbands, starting with the very first: your old friend.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // {N}SFW // MINORS DNI - modern au, fluff, angst, smut (oral & penetration, finishing inside), heartbreak, poverty & wealth, marriage, very brief mentions of death & surgery, mentions of hunger. reader has a child.

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15K

“Mom? Can I ask you a question?”

A sweet, silvery voice snatched your attention away from the vibrant vegetables and blooming flowers growing in your outdoor garden. 

Standing a mere foot away from the wooden raised bed—holding several well-kept and vividly red tomatoes—was your daughter.

The sunlight made her scrunch up her youthful face. As she attempted to shield her eyes from the beaming sun by placing her hand across her forehead and eyes, she cursed herself for forgetting to grab a garden hat before coming outside.

You had yours, of course. The big, beige, god-given protector was the reason why you had spent hours upon hours in the garden today, and as a result, she had to come outside in the unforgiving sun to find you.

It was rather silly, really.

The gardener was on vacation, and the plants could have survived a few days without being picked, especially with the automatic sprinkler systems coating every inch of the gardening section within the enormous, luxurious backyard.

However, you found yourself falling in love with watching your great variety of fruits and vegetables grow, and you started harvesting the crops for various meals on your own. 

Your dearest daughter flickered her eyes down at the wooden basket packed to the brim with hand-grown lettuce and fresh strawberries. Back in the gourmet kitchen, which had a back door that led to the garden, your personal cook, Chef Ruberski—an older tanned man with a bald head and an adorably chubby belly—was already preparing Champagne Vinaigrette and grilled chicken.

Strawberry chicken salads were going to be served for lunch today. The summery meal was one of your favorites during this time of year, and about three years ago, your then ten-year-old daughter looked up at you with eyes glistening with curiosity, and rather politely, she asked you a simple question.

“Why do you have salads with strawberries in them, momma?”

“It reminds me of one of my ex-husbands.”

“Oh.”

The simple word fell from her lips, but truthfully, she didn’t understand. 

One of your ex-husbands? You were married to someone else before her dad? Or, rather, multiple people?

The thought of it fried her young mind. The sight of you continuing to prepare the salad alongside your personal chef—who had a nice set of hair back then—as if you hadn’t just uttered world-altering information moments ago only emphasized her confusion.

Perhaps, the young girl would have pressed for more information, but as she opened her mouth to speak, a bowl of strawberry chicken salad was placed in front of her.

She had other priorities now. 

It was, however, the only meal you insisted upon making either completely alone or alongside Chef Ruberski. You prepared your daughter’s portion with the nuts on the side and as little vinaigrette as possible.

It was perfect.

Perfect enough to make her sweep the topic under a rug for three years straight.

But now, as she stood tall at the age of thirteen, her curiosity had once again crept up on her, and it was all thanks to the brand new film being made in your honor.

As the child of a singer and a movie star, Nia was used to the lifestyle of lights and cameras, but this was different. You weren’t starring in the movie. You were the movie. 

The overly-eager hotshot director of the biographical drama film wanted the dirty details of your entire history, starting with your unique list of former spouses. 

At one point, while interviewing you in your living room while Nia watched from her spot on the couch, the hungry director suddenly asked the flabbergasted teen how she felt about your previous trial-and-error relationships.

Her silence was the perfect opportunity for you to redirect his attention to another topic; the duo lifestyle of being both an actress and a singer.

Sucked in was he. The creatively-starved director was influenced by your smooth-talking like a spell was casted upon him, and his previous question had fluttered away from his train of thoughts just like that.

But your charismatic nature didn’t work on Nia. And that’s why she was here now, standing in the middle of your garden without her gardening hat. 

“You can ask me anything,” you smiled at your daughter, who fidgeted as she stood there. “What’s wrong?”

She gulped. 

The tingling nerves that made her pick at her nails wasn’t due to any sort of fear. She knew that you wouldn’t yell. She knew that she could honestly talk to you about anything, and that you would tell her the truth.

And, perhaps, that was why her stomach was doing flips like an Olympian. 

In the bittersweet city of Los Angeles, gossip and rumors were a major part of the Hollywood lifestyle. But, for someone as famous as you, gossip and rumors were a major part of your lifestyle from all over the world.

She had seen the US Weekly and TMZ article titles discussing your marital status, old and new, but never dared to read anything below the click-baiting titles.

After all, the context of such catty material would amount to nothing more than rumors, and she wanted the truth.

Even if she was afraid to hear it. 

One of her old friends, the daughter of a Netflix show actress, twirled her honey-blonde hair while sitting on top of Nia’s bed during a sleepover, and looked the young girl up and down before she said:

“My mom told me that your mom was married, like, eight times. The man she’s with now might not even be your real dad!”

A friendship abruptly ended that night. Social media accounts were blocked. Nia never looked back.

Even so, it only fueled her desire to know more about your history, and not from gossipy girls or nosy articles.

She didn’t even want to hear it from her dad.

She wanted to hear it all from you.

“I, um…” She paused, not entirely comfortable enough to look you in the eyes. “I wanna know more about you.”

You gave a light laugh. Soft. Airy. The same laugh that you gave during your interviews to give off the aura of a lovely lady.

Only, when you were being broadcasted in front of a live audience, you’d finish off the laugh by looking away shyly, a soft smile dancing across your face. Perhaps, Nia was taking the role of an interviewer right now. She did have a passion for journaling, after all. 

The difference, however, was that she did not want any sugar-coated nonsense. She wanted the cold truth, and with that, she took a step towards you.

“Can you tell me about your ex-husbands, mom?”

You stared at her. The sudden silence made Nia all too aware of the chirping from nearby birds. She opened her mouth to speak once again, only to close it when words finally fluttered out from between your formerly pressed lips. 

“I was wondering when you would ask me about that,” you leaned over, grabbing the basket of harvested vegetables and fruit. As you walked through your organized garden, your daughter trailing behind you like a lost puppy, you made your way indoors and into the kitchen.

The harvest basket was placed down carefully on the marbled kitchen island, ready to be cleaned and prepped by Chef Ruberski, who was previously seasoning several pieces of chicken.

Upon seeing you, he paused, offering a kind smile that showed off the lovely wrinkles in his face.

“Bountiful harvest!” He exclaimed.

“Well, we did grow a lot. It’s all for my favorite meal this time of year,” you smiled politely. 

“Mom,” Nia suddenly spoke up, grabbing your attention. It was one word, but it carried a heavy thickness to it. A single word that represented several unspoken ones.

“Right,” you said. Turning your attention to the chef, you placed your hands together.

“Would you be so kind as to make us some lemonade? We’ll be on the patio when it’s ready.”

The chef nodded. Several lemons that were harvested a few days ago were sitting in one of the refrigerators, and he grabbed a handful of them. To him, it was rather silly. The way you always asked for favors that were undeniable, unless he wanted to risk losing his job, that is. 

“Of course!”

“Thank you.” You glanced at Nia, nodding your head in the direction of the patio. “Come on.”

She followed you once more. Truthfully, she didn’t expect you to go through such measures when she asked about your past. Not even the official interviewers had handmade lemonade prepared for them. Out of all the scenarios she concocted as an attempt to prepare herself for the moment she’d finally ask you, she had imagined herself receiving a short, stale answer. 

But this? The reality? Having lemonade prepared and escorting her to the luxurious patio?

You were getting ready to tell her a story.

And, god, the patio was luxurious. It was a greeting to the big pool centered in the backyard, and home to two outdoor flat screen televisions, a top notch cooking area complete with a grill, and, of course, a seating area that was just as comfy as the indoor couches. 

If it wasn’t so warm outside, you would have lit the fire pit, perhaps. Instead, you turned on the ceiling fans.

It was lovely. Lovely enough to make Nia wonder if your five marriages had anything to do with it. 

The cloud-like cushions elicited a sigh from you as you sat down. You weren’t as young as you used to be. You were definitely old enough to appreciate a good seat. 

“Alright, sweetie.” You grinned. “May I ask—why the sudden curiosity?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s sudden,” Nia paused. “I mean, I’ve been curious for a while now. I just…I didn’t wanna find out about your past relationships online or through rumors, ya know? And I don’t just wanna hear about your marriages. I wanna hear about your life in general. I wanna know all of it, if I can.”

You nodded. 

“Well, I’ll tell you, hun. You’ll be fourteen in November. I think you’re old enough now to know how your momma was able to afford all this.” You gestured casually at your extragavant surroundings. With a sigh, you crossed your legs, fiddling with your half-a-million dollar wedding ring. And, with that, you told her everything, starting from the very beginning.

Starting with your old friend.

—

24 YEARS EARLIER 

The sweet, yet tantalizing aroma of freshly baked cakes and cobblers filled your nose once you walked through the front door of the tiny bakery.

A centered wooden sign, still flipped to “CLOSED,” dangled against the glass door. Your boss and coworkers were made aware of your entering presence thanks to the gentle ring of the bell, and if you were an ordinary customer, hearing that chime would have prompted an overly-cheery “Hello! Welcome in!” from the bakery employees, complete with a wide smile.

The purpose behind it was to show any potential customers that the employed cashiers and bakers were as sweet as the overpriced desserts and pastries. 

Plus, squinty-eyed smiles made it more difficult for customers to see the hidden exhaustion glistening within your coworkers’ shiny orbs. 

And there was plenty of exhaustion to be seen, undoubtedly so.

The bakery was a tiny, bricked, rectangular shop, poorly lit with warm lights to make everything seem much more cozy, as if they weren’t an expensive bakery in a poor New York City neighborhood where most people would have preferred cheap sandwiches or beer.

Not overpriced heart-shaped cakes.

Being a minuscule shop tucked away in a strip of competitive stores that actually bothered to cater towards the locals meant that your redheaded boss could only afford to have three employees.

Three insanely overworked employees. 

And when you, the last to arrive, walked behind the counter and into the kitchen, your boss and one of your coworkers greeted you. Cecilia was a teenage girl, a fresh and shiny sophomore in high school who wanted to save some money for college.

“Hi,” she greeted you softly, carrying two piping bags filled with creamy frosting from one side of the bakery to the other as she speed-walked. 

“Morning,” you yawned, but she moved with such a hurried speed, it would have surprised you if she actually heard your greeting.

“Hey,” your boss’s raspy voice suddenly grabbed your attention. “Don’t just stand there. Go help frost the fuckin’ cinnamon rolls before we open.”

With a New York accent as thick as the grime in the underground subways, the short woman continued to holler out every few minutes until opening.

Walking around with her black watch inches away from her pale, freckled face, she’d shout “Twelve minutes!” “Ten minutes!” “Six minutes!” And so on.

She was the world’s most obnoxious alarm.

It was pointless, as there wasn’t a soul who had ever walked into the bakery at seven A.M. 

And yet, Cecilia and your other coworker had been working since five A.M. sharp. 

As Cecilia dropped the bags of frosting off at your coworker’s frosting station, she then walked towards the oven to pull out two trays of chocolate chip cookies. 

They were a best seller. About five people bought them daily. 

But it wasn’t your job to help with the cookies being placed on the glass display beneath the cash register. It was your job to help your other coworker frost the cinnamon rolls.

Your coworker picked up one of the bags, the white sleeves of his buttoned up shirt rolled up to his elbows as he started swirling the delicious frosting on top of the fresh pastry. 

After putting your bag away in the back room, you approached him. The warm, yet spicy scent of cinnamon flooded your nose, as he smelled just like it. 

He didn’t hear your footsteps. He didn’t even notice you picking up a bag of frosting.

As he focused on making each cinnamon roll look perfect, you could have set off a fire alarm and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“You’re pretty distracted, huh?” You elbowed his side gently. 

“Huh?” He mumbled absentmindedly, turning his head to look at you with a startled gaze. “Oh, sorry. Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too,” you teased. 

The piping bag made a swirl of fluffy frosting when you squeezed it, moving your arms in tiny circles to get that perfect loop.

It was odd, but your boss insisted upon using frosting for the cinnamon rolls instead of icing or a thin glaze, which were more traditional and common toppings for the rolls. And, every single time you and your coworker were in charge of putting the thick cream on the cinnamon rolls, he’d always complain.

“Frosting on a cinnamon roll? Really?” He’d pout, tossing his frosting-covered gloves in the garbage can. “I think it tastes fine, but it just looks funny, like we got the cupcakes and the cinnamon rolls mixed up or something.”

And, now, you were waiting for him to say it. He’d complain about the cinnamon rolls, and you’d complain about the early hours, quoting your famous complaint, “why do we have to wake up before God just to get no damn business?”

But today, he said nothing. A piece of his hair dangled around his face, shielding the dark circles underneath his eyes from you. 

“You okay?” You questioned, icing your fourth cinnamon roll among the twenty-seven sitting on the prep table in front of you. 

Despite having arrived two hours before you, your coworker was only on his fourteenth roll. On any other day, he would have completed his tray and even taken over yours by now. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just tired.”

You hummed. A beat of silence passed by, aside from your boss’s irritating call of “four minutes!” in the distant background.

“Did you work last night?” You questioned. 

“Yeah. I didn’t get off until one in the morning.” 

“What?” You frowned at him, although he couldn’t see it, as he stared only at cinnamon rolls. “That’s ridiculous. What happened to getting off at eleven?”

“Weekend,” he yawned. “Chuck’s Place has a special deal on hamburgers every Saturday. More customers…more cleaning afterwards.”

“Damn, that really sucks. That’s exactly why I can’t work two jobs.” You sighed. “When do you finally get an off day?”

“Probably when I die,” he glanced over at you, smirking shyly. A small chuckle rumbled from his throat. It was fitting, as he would laugh at his own joke. “I’m kidding. I’m actually off tonight at seven, and I don’t have to be back at the restaurant until Monday.”

“That’s great!” Smiling at him, you paused. “You better get some rest tonight. You’re literally sleep-walking.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m wide awake and full of energy. You’re just trying to distract me so you can finish your cinnamon rolls before me,” He gave a cheeky grin, and suddenly, he was hunched over his cinnamon rolls, working his arms in circles to complete as many perfect swirls as he could. 

“Oh, are you trying to race me? Really?” You raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I see how it is.”

And with that, the race to finish your batches was on. Perhaps, the competitive nature between the two of you had stemmed from your childhood.

You had both grown up in the same apartment complex. Two wide-eyed kids, curious about the world outside of their raggedy, bricked walls. The lack of money contributed to a lack of space. And, a lack of space contributed to a lack of places to play.

But that didn’t stop the two of you. If anything, it had only strengthened the bond between you. At least, until you were both competing in a very intense game of hopscotch. And, now, when you were both in your twenties and just as poor as you were then, nothing had truly changed. 

It was a bittersweet, and yet, heartwarming realization.

Leaning over your own tray of cinnamon rolls to frost the ones at the other end of your tray, you caught a glimpse at his face. It was plastered with that same sheepish, adorable grin of concentration that he held throughout his entire life.

Suddenly, when his bright eyes met yours, he moved his tray to another prep table. 

“Stop trying to see how many cinnamon rolls I have left,” he sassed, his back now facing you.

“You’re a damn dork, you know that?” You laughed.

During the time it took you and your coworker to finish frosting the last batch of cinnamon rolls, the bakery had opened.

You finished frosting your cinnamon rolls before him. It was natural, as back in the day, you also whooped him when it came to hopscotch. And rock-paper-scissors. And kick-ball.

Therefore, you had bragging rights for the rest of the shift.

And it was a rather long shift. Twelve dreadful hours, and even longer for your other coworkers.

At the end of it, your coworker, with a towel slung over his shoulder and a thin coat of sweat across his forehead, released a deep breath. According to the big clock hanging on the wall in the abnormally small dining area, it was 6:53 P.M.

“We’re almost free,” you said, washing your hands in the industrial sink. 

“Maybe there is a god,” he flashed a goofy smile, snatching the towel off of his shoulder. 

Suddenly, the white, clean, fabric was smacked against your back.

“Ow!” You jumped away from the sink, turning to face him.

“Oh, come on. I barely hit you, how’d that hurt?” 

“What’d you hit me for?” You flicked your fingers at him, flinging water at his face.

“Because, you’re an idiot,” he paused, and suddenly, he grabbed your wrist. Using the same towel that he hit you with, he wrapped it around your wet hand, drying it off. “You washed your hands without grabbing a towel first.”

He grabbed your other hand. He dried it with the towel, but for a longer period of time than what was necessary.

“Hey,” he looked into your eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Suddenly, you were well aware of the fact that he hadn’t yet let go of your hand. And he was close. Close enough for you to see his eyes flickering around your own orbs rather nervously. 

“What is it?”

“Well, I know you’re tired and everything…and I’m tired as well…we’re both tired and probably ready to go home.” He released a shaky breath. “But I was wondering if you wanted to hang out for an hour or two.” 

The way he played with his rolled-up sleeves immediately made your eyes flicker down to his fidgetting hands. It was as clear as the night sky that he was nervous, and the realization made you raise an eyebrow.

“Sure, sounds fun.”  

He released another breath. This one a sigh of relief rather than wrecked nerves. Afterwards, he flashed a beautiful smile. 

“Why are you acting funny? We hang out all the time,” you questioned, walking towards the back room to get your belongings with him following.

“Well, yeah, but…” he paused. “I wanted to do something different this time.”

“Like what?” 

“Come on,” he playfully rolled his eyes. “Stop investigating me and get your stuff before they change their minds and ask us to stay even longer.”

As you reached for your bag, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you out of the door with him.

 Truth be told, he was obviously slightly panicked, but even so, you had no idea just how much his heart was pounding inside of his chest.

His stomach was churning more than a kid who stuffed their face with all the desserts at the bakery.  Looking away from you was the only way to hide the hint of blush spreading across his cheeks. 

It was true. You did hang out all the time, even as hard working adults.

But this was different.

Or, at least, he hoped that it would be different.

While he appreciated your friendship—which lasted almost two decades—he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore.

He couldn’t stand being around you and having to stop letting his eyes flicker down to the lips he so desperately wanted to feel against his own.

Every night, as he drifted off to sleep with the moonlight shining through his curtains, he imagined what it would feel like to have your lips melt against his in a passionate kiss. His favorite scenario was kissing you right in the bakery. The idea of your soft lips tasting like powdered sugar after having it fly around you all day long made him melt.

He’d cup your cheeks softly, and lean in, and he’d kiss you. He’d feel your gentle breath patting against his face. If he was lucky, it would be a kiss that lasted for a long time, one that would leave the both of you breathless and begging for more. 

And most people don’t think about making out with their best friend.

But he didn’t want to just kiss you.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He had already known you for the majority of the time he’s been on this damned earth, and he wanted more.

More, more, and more.

Being with you but not truly being with you was like having an itch that begged to be scratched. 

And he didn’t know what it was. Was it due to the good ‘ole days of playing silly games all afternoon and then going to your mom’s house for dinner? Was it due to your beauty? How insanely stunning you looked even after working a twelve hour shift, or when you had an attitude over something and you’d pout, which he found absolutely adorable?

Or, was it due to the time he first heard you sing? It was a simple tune, one he couldn’t try to recite even if you paid him, but god, he loved hearing your fluttery vocals. It made his heart swell, and it was probably the day he had fallen in love. 

Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was just fate.

Either way, Armin Arlert was falling in love with you, his childhood friend—if he was not already completely smitten—and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it. 

But he was determined to figure something out.

—

Walking down the street with him was an ordinary thing. His hand holding yours was not. 

The gentle gracing of his thumb across your hand made you look up at him, his face only visible in the darkness of the night thanks to the yellow streetlights and the bright lights from convenient stores you walked past. 

“Hey, are you gonna tell me where we’re going or not?”

“Nope.”

“I kinda feel like I’m being kidnapped right now, ya know. Because of all the secrecy.”

“Well, you’re not.” He blinked down at you. “Besides, anyone who’d kidnap you would bring you back immediately. No offense.”

You playfully snatched your hand away from his. He didn’t mind, though, as soon enough, you were both standing outside of a tall and narrow abandoned building.

The brown and bricked nature of it showed its age, and the obvious abandonment and lack of upkeep had done it no favors.

Local children would have probably regarded it as a haunted house—or, rather, a haunted building—a place to visit on Halloween while dressed up in costumes that their mothers slung together based on pieces of random clothing and little trinkets that could be glued together. 

If you had a blue shirt and a red jacket, the sleeves wrapped around your neck like a cape, then you could march up to your friends on October 31st, strike a superhero pose, and tell everyone that you were Superman. 

The kids always, without fail, would mess around outside of the abandoned building, daring each other to step through the front door. No one ever did.

Except you and Armin.

But it wasn’t a test of courage, nor was it a haunted house in your eyes. It was a place to view the stars. As kids, you’d run up the raggedy flights of stairs, open the latched door to gain access to the roof, and from there, the entire galaxy was at the mercy of your curious eyes. 

You hadn’t seen this place in years. Before you could ask him why he brought you here, he was grabbing your wrist once again. It was a specific behavior that had stuck with him since his childhood. 

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go.”

—

When your world had become a swirling mess of chaos, blinded by the struggle of trying to survive in one of the most undeveloped corners of the Big City, it was easy to forget about the stars above.

How beautiful they were.

The night sky never failed to remind you of just how small you were, and thus, when the world felt enormous, looking up was exactly what you needed. 

A nightly breeze greeted you once you stepped out onto the rooftop.

“We haven’t been up here since we were kids,” you said, following Armin to the edge of the roof.

The best spot. 

“You say that like we’re old or something. It hasn’t been that long.” As he sat down, he gave a small chuckle.

“It feels like it. I almost forgot about this place. Can’t believe we used to just come up here and talk. I guess we never have the time to do things like that anymore,” you paused, sitting down next to him. “Is that why you brought me up here? Did you wanna chat or something?”

“I…well, yes and no. I just wanted to spend time with you. I couldn’t think of a better place.”

“Well I could. A damn restaurant with food, maybe? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the stars are beautiful and the nostalgia is hitting me like crazy, but with the way you were acting today, I thought that we were finally gonna go on a date or something.” You teased him, glancing at the side of his face.

“A…date? You wanna go on a date? With me?” He scratched his cheek. As he spoke, his voice carried a tone of sudden shyness, and it served as a reminder that typically, he was a more reserved person.

But never around you.

It was familiar and concerning at the same time.

“I don’t know. It just feels like…I don’t know.” Now it was your turn to feel the prickle of shyness.

Truth be told, you always teased your old friend when it came to the topic of dating, even going as far as pretending to be a couple during your freshman year of high school for the hell of it. Nothing had ever progressed beyond innocent hand holding, but even so, the implication of romance with him felt as natural as breathing. 

But not right now. In this moment, it was like trying to learn how to juggle with one hand. Juggling both the teasing nature of your friendship and the reality you both wished for.

“Well, I think that dates aren’t exclusive to nice dinners. Maybe…we’re on a date right now.” 

“We’re on a damn roof, Armin.” 

“Yeah. On a date.”

“Cheapest date I’ve ever been on, that’s for sure.” You smirked. Snatching off your jacket, you bunched it until it resembled some form of a pillow. It did little to cushion your head when you laid down the roof, nothing within your line of vision except the bright stars. 

Armin did the same thing with his jacket. He released a breath as he laid down beside you. 

“Have you ever even been on one before?” He mumbled.

“You mean a date? Yeah, a few.”

“How much is a few? One? One-and-a-half?” 

You elbowed his side as he teased you. A short burst of laughter escaped from you both.

It was a sound that Armin wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

“Bold words for someone who calls stargazing a date. You could’ve at least brought wine, or a sandwich.” You paused, frowning a bit. “And, it’s kinda hard to find someone to date when you and I have been stuck together like glue for our entire lives. Sometimes I have to remind myself that we aren’t actually dating. It doesn’t really matter, though. There’s no one I’d even wanna go out with in this shitty part of the city. People can’t even afford to take care of themselves, let alone afford to go out on dates or get a day off to do it.”

“You’re right. It’s shitty. But…I still plan on taking you on a date—a real date—some day.”

“Really?” Suddenly, you sat up on your elbows, looking over at him, a humorous smirk plastered across your face. “And where are you gonna take me? Chuck’s Place? See if they’ll let us have the leftovers after they close?”

“Hush. I’m being serious,” he said, sitting up on his elbows as well. “Your mom has fed me so many times when I was a kid. The least I can do for her in return is take her daughter on a nice date. And when I do take you on one, it’ll be amazing. Fancy outfits. Steak and Lobster. Lights so low that we can barely see each other. And the lights will be low to set the atmosphere, not because they can’t afford to have them turned on.”

“Haha.” You mimicked a stale laugh.

“I told you I’m being serious.” 

“Serious?” Your frown deepened. You pushed yourself off of your elbows, sitting up completely as you turned to face him. “Armin, we’re one step away from being homeless. Everyone on this side of town is. It’s only a matter of time, so there’s no sense in dreaming about fancy dates and shit.”

Your words caused a bit of sadness to prickle at your own heart.

And Armin could see the hopelessness reflected in the windows to your soul.

He wanted to fix it. He wanted to give you the world, and the bright stars above as well. He wanted to see you smile; not as a temporary sign of your mood. Not because someone said something funny or because you were being polite and friendly. He wanted to see you smile as a reflection of your mental state. 

Pure and utter happiness.

Armin bit his lower lip, his beautiful blue eyes—which, without fail, always made the stars seem like plain rocks—flickered off to the side as he started to think.

Oh, how you loved his thinking face. Even more so, you loved the look of pure satisfaction afterwards, when he had come up with an idea or solution and his eyes would widen a bit, and those pink lips of his would grin softly.

Most times, his solutions to any issue would come like a breath of fresh air. Like a cartoon character from a kid’s television show solving a problem and going “Ah Ha!” As they pointed their finger in the air. 

This, however, didn’t hit you like a breath of fresh air. This time, his brainy solution hit you like a speeding car, knocking the air right out of your lungs. 

“Then let’s leave.”

“What?” You questioned, not knowing if you had heard him correctly.

“Let’s leave town. Let’s leave New York.”

“What are you-”

“You were right when you asked if I brought you up here to talk, because I did. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go with me.” Armin sat up. He moved closer towards you. His eyes darted across the puzzled look upon your face.  “Don’t look at me like that. If we stay here, we’re just asking for poverty and homelessness for the rest of our lives. There aren’t any opportunities here. But…maybe if we left, we could have a chance.”

“Armin, we can’t just get up and leave. How are we supposed to afford to do all of this? Where would we even go?” 

“I…I have more money than you think.” He admitted softly. 

“What? How?” 

“Let’s just say that I’ve gone to bed hungry most nights for the past year.” He looked down at his twiddling thumbs. “We could do it. We could rent a car and go anywhere we wanted. Stay in motels until we get on our feet and have enough saved up for a real place. I was always planning on leaving, but…not without you.”

There was a thick moment of utter silence—aside from the chatter of citizens walking along the streets below, or the sound of cars, of course—and you finally spoke again, relieving him of living in the aftermath of his bold words.

“Couldn’t leave me here, huh?” You said with a bit of a teasing tone, but truthfully, you weren’t trying to joke around with him this time. You were trying to buy yourself a couple of moments to think.

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like charity. That’s not it. I mean, I can’t leave you, but it’s because I want you to come with me. I want us to be together.” You could hear the slight shakiness to his voice as he spoke. Even so, he continued on, bold enough to not even think about looking away from you. “Listen, I know it sounds scary, but-”

“I’ll go.”

“What? Really?” He raised his eyebrows, his heart beating rapidly out of pure shock.

Half of him had imagined that he didn’t hear you correctly, as there was no way you’d actually go with him.

Want to be with him. 

Since when was he ever so lucky? Since when did fate decide to show him a little bit of pity and mercy? The universe had taken everything from him before he was even old enough to know how to spell the word “universe.” 

He was only five when he awakened in a hospital bed, the sole survivor of the car crash that killed his parents.

After going through a handful of surgeries, he moved in with his grandfather. He moved into your apartment complex.

He was only six when he discovered what bullying was, as well as the stomachache from going to bed hungry.

Even so, that was when he also discovered friendship.

Through you. 

And you were with him when his grandfather passed away as well. 

And when he had to drop out of high school at the end of sophomore year to work full time as his only source of survival. 

And, damn it all, he wanted to be there for you as well, and not because he felt like he owed you, but because you genuinely made his heart stop whenever you smiled at him. Because you made the peculiar thing called life worth living. You made him want to continue breathing. 

And he was in love with you.

“Just tell me one thing. Where exactly do you plan on going?” This time, it was your turn to look down at your fingers. You picked at your nails as you awaited his response.

Armin smiled at you. There it was. That big, wholesome, show-stopping smile. A smile that should have been on billboards for dentist advertisements.

He sighed all dream-like, staring deeply into your eyes with a look of blissful hope.

And with that, he told you where he wanted to take you. 

“California.”

—

You had imagined the day where you packed up all of your belongings and left your apartment complex behind several times before.

However, those scenarios were always concocted out of worry. Fear. Mainly with an eviction notice taped to your brown front door. But, in reality—this utterly insane, thrilling reality—you were shoving a handful of precious items into a big bag on purpose.

“This is insane,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Three days had flown by. It was a peculiar short period of time in which you and Armin tried to get your affairs in order. Truthfully, it didn’t feel real.

Even as you and him worked your very last shift at the bakery, a shift that your dear boss made sure was a living hell as some sort of punishment, you always hovered around him, patiently waiting for him to look at you and say, “I’m just joking, we aren’t going anywhere.”

But no.

Instead, he rented a car. 

It was a cheap one, rolling down the highways as slow as Christmas, but when the radio was blasting good music, the both of you singing along loudly while ignoring the passersby who flicked Armin off for driving too slow—as if he could help it—everything felt perfect. 

It took an entire week to travel across the country. Some nights, you slept in motels. Other nights, right in the car. 

Driving through a handful of states made it worth it, especially for Armin, who would have never guessed that you’d be the type of person to make him pull over if you saw something interesting, nor the type to get excited over animals you caught a glimpse of.

“Look!” You gasped, pointing out of your window. “Did you see those horses?”

“No, I’m driving.”

“Turn around then.”

And, just like that, he was headed in an entirely different direction. But, as he watched you cautiously approach a steed in the middle of some empty fields, perhaps philosophers were speaking their truth when they said it wasn’t about the destination, but the journey. 

When you arrived in Los Angeles, you were as excited as a blind man regaining his vision. A kid looking at Christmas lights. 

All of it fascinated you, from the sunny weather and the Hollywood sign, to the motel you’d be staying at until further notice.

You and Armin pulled into the parking lot, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut.

“Oh my god,” Armin looked at you, utter surprise written across his face. He was in pure disbelief.

“We did it. We actually fucking did it!” You said, smiling widely. 

Armin grabbed your bags. After checking in, he led you into the motel. 

It was certainly nothing fancy. Yellowing walls, a comforter that could have dated back to the 60’s, and the carpet wasn’t exactly cushy. 

But it was fine. 

It was enough to bring a smile to your face. 

You turned to face Armin as he shut the door behind you, tossing your bags on the bed.

“Listen,” he started. “I know it’s rough, but it’ll get better. Trust me. I’m gonna start searching for a job tomorrow, and-”

“Shh. Let’s not worry about that right now. We’re actually in Los Angeles. We made it.” You reached into your bag, pulling out a cheap bottle of red wine and some cups you bought during one of your grocery store runs. “I think we should celebrate.”

Armin smiled, taking the cups from you and sitting it on top of the nightstand, and he poured two cups of wine. 

“There’s something funny to me about pouring wine into paper cups,” he said, walking over to hand you a drink as you sat on the edge of the bed. He sat down beside you.

“Well, until we can buy us some glass cups…” You started, raising your beverage.

“And have a place to put them…” He added on, bumping his cups against yours.

“Cheers,” you said in unison.

You both chuckled, taking a sip of wine. 

A few sips later, you and Armin ended up chatting about everything and nothing at the same time. Talking to him was lovely, especially when it was about nothing in particular. The weather. Childhood memories. Dreams for the future. The last time you saw a spider. 

But, suddenly, a question that you had been rotating around in your mind had come to the surface, perhaps thanks to the effects of the wine moving through your system.

“Armin?” You called softly.

“Hm?” “Why California? Why L.A.? Shouldn’t we have gone somewhere with a lower cost of living?”

“That would’ve been smart, but I picked this place because I think you could truly become a successful artist.”

The words fell from his lips so casually, as if you were both still chatting about the weather. You looked up at him, giving him the same puzzled look as you did the very day he asked you to come to California with him.

“You can look at me like I’m crazy if you want, but I remember seeing you star in that one musical back in high school. You were amazing. And, I always hear you humming to yourself at work. You’re better than most actors and singers who are making millions right now.”

“Okay, you’ve had too much wine.” You teased, grabbing his empty cup so he couldn’t pour himself another one.

“You’re such a pessimist,” he frowned. “Whether you believe me or not, it doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna try. Until then, I’ll flip burgers. I’ll paint houses. I’ll do whatever I have to do to support us.”

Suddenly, you weren’t looking into his eyes anymore. You were looking down at the last sip of red wine at the bottom of your cup. 

“Us…” you mumbled.

“Yeah, us. Me and you.” His gaze burned into the side of your face, as he stared at you for a moment before he spoke again. “What’s wrong?”

“All this talk about your dreams and spending our lives together and making it work,” you sighed. “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong, but what does it really mean? What are we? Are we just doing all of this together as…friends?”

Your words had caught him by surprise. You could tell by the way that familiar faint blush spread across his cheeks. At the same time, he anticipated this. 

“I-I…well, I was hoping not. I just don’t know how to really…express how I feel,” he mumbled.

“Give it a try.”

“It’s not that easy.” Armin turned away from you. This time, it was your turn to gaze at the side of his face. His eyes darted across the patterns among the dingy carpet. It was easier to look at that than you. “Do you know how hard it is to tell someone how you feel about them? And risk them not feeling the same way?”

“Telling me how you feel is scarier than dropping everything and moving across the country with me?” You folded your arms across your chest. 

“You don’t get it,” he said. His tone was flat. Stale. 

“Armin, I’ve been by your side since we were kids. I think you know I feel the same way about you as you do about me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t-”

“I want to marry you.”

You blinked. You had to take a moment to process his words.

“I…what?” 

“Exactly,” Armin mumbled. “Do you know how crazy it is to tell someone that you’ve never even kissed before that you want to marry them? We’ve never…I’ve never held you, never touched you, but I still want to wake up next to you every single day. I don’t care if it’s in a mansion or on the side of the road. I just want to be with you. That’s it.”

The ringing silence was deafening. 

“Say something,” he looked over at you, desperately wanting to end the quietness that almost drove him crazy.

“Sorry. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” You replied softly. Suddenly, you were about to get off of the bed, preparing to push yourself up.  “I need some more wine.”

“Wait,” Armin said, grabbing ahold of your wrist, keeping you there. “Listen. We don’t have to do any of that any time soon. We don’t even have to date. I’m fine with being your friend-”

“No, no, no. You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m just nervous, and I don’t wanna mess anything up.” You gulped. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Hearing you speak so softly, a hint of nervousness within your voice, made his stomach do a cartwheel. Seeing your eyes glisten from the tipsy aftermath of wine, along with the soft pout of your lips, did very little to settle the butterflies he felt. 

Damn it all.

You were just…so cute.

Cute in a way that made him want you desperately. He didn’t even know how he wanted you, but he knew that he needed something more than late night convos. He needed something better than words. 

His eyes flickered down to your lips. 

“Do you trust me, then?”

“Yes-”

The words had barely fallen from your lips by the time Armin pressed his own against yours.

They were as soft as he imagined. He got a taste of red wine as your mouth melted against his in a way that made him forget how to breathe. The muscles within his body instantly relaxed when he kissed you passionately. It was like laying in bed after a long work shift. There was a sense of belonging, as if your lips were meant to touch like this. 

Still, he wanted more.

He deepened the kiss. He took advantage of the little gasp you released by gently inserting a bit of his tongue into your mouth. It wasn’t enough to overwhelm you, but enough for him to have just a little taste.

A moan rumbled out of his throat pathetically. He couldn’t help it. As he flicked his tongue against yours, feeling bold enough to insert even more of it into your mouth, he swirled his tongue around your own. You tasted more delicious than any of the desserts at the bakery. 

He broke the kiss only to catch his breath. When he did that, a needy whisper of his name fell from your lips, and, god, his cock instantly started to harden, testing the elasticity of his jeans. 

If your mouth tasted as good as he had imagined after years of daydreaming about your first kiss, then he had to know if your pussy was just as wonderful.

So, when you were sprawled out across the bed, helping him unbutton your jeans as he bit your lower lip, he released a small whine in pure anticipation. He was so excited to taste you. 

It was hard to stop kissing you, though. He just had to give your tongue a few more swirls with his own, and suck on your little wet muscle before releasing it with a small groan.

He then lowered himself in between your legs, pulling down your underwear as he made his way down your body.

And there it was. Your glistening cunt. Pure heaven.

“May I?” He said breathlessly. 

“Such a gentleman,” you grinned. “You can do whatever you’d like.”

He bit his lower lip. His fingers slowly spread your pussy lips wide open. It was like he was a starved man getting ready to eat his favorite meal, and oh, was he hungry.

“You’re soaked down here already. Just from kissing me?” 

He looked up at you through his pretty eyelashes, false innocence written across his face. 

“Armin,” you whined, frowning at him. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. 

There was some truth to his words. Teasing a beautiful cunt that he had the privilege of touching, licking, and fucking would have been cruel to not only you, but him.

Even so, he also wanted to take his time with you, and savor every second his wet tongue could run across your pussy.

There was no need to continue daydreaming. Pearly white ropes of cum shot out of his dick and painted his fists plenty of times over the last several years as he jerked off to the thought of fucking you, and he’ll be damned if he missed out on the real thing. 

He pressed his tongue against your hole. Licking from your tight entrance all the way up to your clit, your entire body tensed up. He wrapped the hand that wasn’t holding your pussy lips open around your thigh.

When his tongue went over your little button, you clenched at his blonde locks, so he continued to lick at your warm and wet clit. He took it into his mouth, sucking on it, and moaning at the taste.

Bolts of pleasure shot through your veins until your legs started to thrash around his head, but he wasn’t letting up. He wanted you to cum all over his face, and your sweet taste flooded his senses until all he could think about was eating your pussy. 

“You taste so good.” He mumbled against your clit. “So, so good.”

“Oh god,” you moaned, certainly loud enough for guests on the other side of the wall to hear. 

Beats of sweat started to form across your forehead. He ate you out hungrily, yet lovingly, so eager to please you and doing it so deliciously that both your heart and your cunt throbbed at the same time. 

That was when he applied more pressure. He worked his tongue in circles at a quicker speed. He needed to make you cum more than he needed anything else in the world right now. 

And hearing your sweet moans, feeling your fingers in his hair, and tasting your juices that started to flood his mouth…it all made him grind his clothed crotch against the mattress.

When you finally came on his tongue with a moan of his name and your legs trembling around his head, his own dick had smeared his precum against his underwear.

Your juices were lapped up like it was his job, smeared all over his mouth like a kid diving face first into a birthday cake.

Pulling away from your clit was almost painful, but he wanted to fuck you so badly, he was starting to become worried over how hard his dick was over the thought alone.

“I wanna go inside of you.” He said breathlessly, looking up at your orgasmatic face. “Can I fuck you? Please?”

“Yes, please fuck me.” You mumbled. “I said you can do whatever you’d like.”

As he crawled over your body, he smiled.

It was a soft smile. A huge contrast from the way his hard dick started to push inside of your hole.

Seeing the look upon your face, the little gasp from how his cock filled you up, made him feel like a sinner. 

 “Say it again.” He demanded. Buttery lips were pressed against your ear as he whispered. “Say it.”

“Please fuck me, Armin.” You begged pathetically. You tried to move your lower body around in any sort of way to create any sort of movement. Seeing you become so needy for him made his heart pound rapidly within his chest. 

He couldn’t withstand the sin of teasing you much longer. He thrusted in and out of you slowly. Your warmth greeted him with a familiarity that didn’t actually exist, all as a sign that, perhaps, he should’ve started fucking you long ago. 

“You feel so good, baby.” He moaned softly, your walls squeezing him as your cunt tried to adjust to the cock suddenly within you. “Can’t believe I waited this long. Do you know how much I wanted this?”

He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear. Building a steady rhythm as skin slapped against skin, the headboard banging against the wall as the mattress squeaked from his heavy thrusts, he whined. 

His cock was so, so sensitive. And seeing your pretty little face staring up at him with nothing but lust in your eyes could’ve made him cum right then and there.

“You like that? Does it feel good?” He gently kissed your jaw. 

“Y-Yes,” you moaned. “Go faster, I need it…need you.”

Your wish was his command. No time was wasted as he repositioned his hips, pushed your legs back further towards your chest, and fucked your cunt like you were a slut from a local bar.

Your wet pussy was turning him into a mess of a man, milking his needy cock for all he was worth, driving away any thoughts that weren’t related to your sweet cunt and cumming inside of it.

“I-I can’t hold it much longer,” he warned, and yet, he never slowed. Your boobs were bouncing so deliciously against his chest. He so desperately wanted to take one of your nipples into his mouth and give it a swirl with his tongue, suck on them until they were nice and hard, but he couldn’t do anything except clench the sheets and pound in and out of your pussy.

“Armin,” your soft moan flooded his ears, making his hips stutter. 

“I can’t hold it if you keep moaning like that, sweetheart.” His mouth was hung open, his breath gently patting against your face, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours. “Oh fuck. Can’t huh-help it.” 

“I’m gonna cum,” He warned, his rhythm growing sloppy. “Shit, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum.”

Suddenly, his hands were underneath your knees, shoving your legs back as far as they could go. He fucked you and fucked you until you could no longer catch your breath long enough to even moan.

You could only take it, embrace your second orgasm and pray that you wouldn’t fall through the mattress.

He was right there. He was so close. And when your own juices started to spill around his cock, an overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over him until he started to tremble.

“I’m cumming!” He moaned.

Jets of his hot cum spilled deeply inside of you. Fighting to catch his breath, he pressed his dick in as far as he could, squeezing your legs as his cock throbbed and poured out every last drop of his milky sperm. “Feels so good, I fucking love you. Love you so much, baby. You’re all mine, you hear me? All mine.”

With his dick still inside of your warm cunt, he leaned down to kiss you deeply. You both moaned as your wet tongues swirled around each other once again. 

When he pulled away, a string of spit falling from his lips, you gave him a tired smile. 

“I love you too,” you said.

—

When searching for a job in a city such as Los Angeles, one must excel within specific categories of street smarts. 

Talent, charisma, and manipulation. 

Luckily, for Armin, the high school dropout with a couple hundred bucks to live off of, having some degrees to wave around meant nothing to the snobby, talent-seeking soulsuckers of Hollywood.

All they cared about was money. 

And if you didn’t have any, then you better have a way to make them some. 

And oh, did he have a way. A diamond in the rough. Someone who was multi-talented, beautiful, and came with the perfect sappy backstory.

All he had to do was get someone to listen to him. 

Until then, he spent his days working with a construction company for a few bucks an hour. As they built doors to houses and assisted bigger companies for hours upon hours underneath the hot sun, fate decided to act in Armin’s favor once again.

His coworkers consisted of five beefy men, and a woman who was just as strong, if not stronger, than them. And that woman was secretive. Her face was always as blank as a blind person, but she had bothered to listen to Armin ramble on about his past while they munched on sandwiches during their lunch break, drinking sodas as they sat on the curb. 

“…and when I was in high school, I had to drop out. I had to work if I wanted to support myself. New York doesn’t care about any communities that aren’t Manhattan.”

“I see,” the dark haired woman said, chewing on a potato chip. “Los Angeles is the same. No one ever bothers to look beyond Hollywood.”

Armin lifted his construction hat off of his messy hair, running his hand through the sweaty strands.

“If you’re working for these guys, I can only assume you know a thing or two about poverty, right?”

She was quiet for a moment. Hesitant to share her truth. But no one had bothered to get to know her like Armin did, and after weeks of working side by side, she developed a thick layer of trust with him.

“Actually, you’re wrong,” she confessed, looking down at her bitten sandwich. “I’m pretty well off. My adoptive parents had tons of money. My dad was a doctor, and my mom had a successful catering business. But…my brother, he’s different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Well,” The young woman hesitated. “He’s Eren Yeager.”

Armin chuckled a bit, resting his chin in the palm of his hands. 

“Yeah right,” he grinned, looking out at the construction site. “Hilarious.”

“You don’t believe me?” She turned her head to look at him.

“Of course not,” he frowned. “Why would you work here if you’re related to a famous rockstar?”

Dropping her head to the ground, she gazed at her dirty black boots.

“Just because my brother’s interested in money and fame doesn’t mean that I am. I like to keep myself grounded. Do things that most people wouldn’t do if given a choice.”

Armin looked at her curiously. 

“I still don’t believe you,” he sighed. “But let’s say that you are telling the truth, Mikasa. Engaging in jobs and communities meant for poor people shouldn’t be a hobby of yours. It’s only fun and interesting to you because you have a wad of cash to fall back on. Not to be harsh, but, did you ever consider that you took this job away from someone who really needed it? All because you don’t like luxury? Because, trust me, you wouldn’t like poverty either.”

Armin folded up the rest of his sandwich. He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“I, for one, would give anything to have the opportunities that you and your brother have had. I’m not very talented, but the woman that I love? The one I was telling you about? She’s more talented than any singer I’ve heard on the radio. She can sing, act…she can even make flan. But right now, she’s sitting in a motel, waiting for me to come back and give her the other half of my sandwich.”

Mikasa was silent. The zooming of cars in the distance—along with an occasional honk or brief blast of music—filled the quietness until she spoke again. Only, this time, her hushed tone was thick with guilt. The said guilt made her shift awkwardly on the side of the curb where she sat. 

After all, he was right. Her attempts at keeping herself humble had only hurt people.

People like Armin.  

“Can she really sing?” Mikasa questioned.

“Yes.”

Armin could tell that the woman was thinking. What about? He had no idea. 

“Bring her to the Hudson Stadium at seven P.M. in one month. Eren’s band is performing there. I’ll…I’ll get you guys some backstage passes, and introduce her to Eren’s manager. Maybe he can help.”

Mikasa pushed herself off of the curb. Before she left, she pulled out her wallet. Right in the front display pocket was a photo of her family.

Herself, her mom, her dad, and Eren Yeager.

“Proof,” she said flatly. “Consider this to be my apology.”

She started to walk away, but the guilt was still nagging at her like a migraine. It formed a lump in her throat that she couldn’t swallow.

She tapped her fingers against her wallet, turning around to glance back at Armin. 

He was tired. 

His hands were scarred from years of hard work. The bags under his eyes were from handling work shifts that no human being could manage for long. 

The lack of a proper diet certainly didn’t help him out when it came to carrying heavy planks of wood and other construction items all day. And, the little money he did get?

He sent it your way. 

Feeding you first. Buying your clothes first. Making sure you were able to bathe in hot water, even if he was covered in dirt and grease from working all day. And, he refused to let you work with him as well. He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting injured on the job. He didn’t care how much you both needed the money. You weren’t going to work unless it was a safe and stable job.

And he did it all happily. All because he loved you.

He held his head down, trying to shield his face from the sun. Because of that, he didn’t notice that she was holding out a thick wad of cash.

“Here,” she said to get his attention. “Take it. I don’t need it.”

“Wh-what?” His blue eyes widened, darting between her and the money. He had never seen so much cash in his life.

“No, I can’t take-” 

“I’m not asking, Armin.” She reached down, grabbed his hand, and put the stack of cash right in it. 

It was too much money to fit in her wallet. He figured that she must’ve fished it out of her backpack when he wasn’t looking. Considering she didn’t enjoy staying in one place very long, she always carried all of her money with her and a handful of necessities should she spontaneously decide to go to another part of the country or something of that thrilling nature. 

“No. Here.” Armin tried to hand the thick stack of cash back to her. “This is like…a thousand dollars. I can’t take that much money from you. Besides, you’re trying to introduce my girlfriend to someone who could change her life. This much of an apology isn’t necessary.”

“It’s more than a thousand dollars. And it’s not charity. Look at your hands.” She grabbed them, showing him the scars of hard labor. “See how hard you’ve worked for your entire life? You’ve earned this money and much more if you ask me. And if you can’t take it for yourself, do it for the woman you love. Don’t you want to see the look on her face when you tell her that she doesn’t have to eat half a sandwich tonight? Take her to a nice restaurant. Buy her a dress. Buy her whatever.”

Mikasa started to walk away once again. 

“And I’ll be back here tomorrow with the backstage passes.”

Armin tried to call out for her, but she wouldn’t respond. She wouldn’t even slow her speed. 

The blonde did the only thing he could do. He shoved the money as far into his work bag as he could.

—

“Wow, look at this place, Armin!”

You beamed, stepping through the doors belonging to a restaurant of such elegance, you couldn’t even pronounce the name. When Armin came home from work that night, he told you about Mikasa giving him some money. He failed to mention the backstage passes, though, as he wanted to see if that promise would actually come true. 

Running around Los Angeles looking for nice dinner-worthy outfits was utterly surreal. And, perhaps Armin was a fool to spend this much money on food and clothes, and he’d save the rest, of course, but he wanted you to have one night.

One night of pure happiness.

And he promised to take you on a real date once. 

“We’re a long way from Chuck’s Place, aren’t we?” Armin smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You looked amazing. Even better than the lavishly presented food you’d soon stuff your faces with. You wore a dress that managed to hug your curves just right, but that was also classy and sophisticated. 

You were beautiful enough for people to hesitate and glance your way.

Armin, with his hand placed on your back like a true gentleman, approached the hostess.

“Hi, we have reservations under Arlert.”

The brunette lady smiled, searching for the confirmed reservation for a couple of moments.

“Yes, of course!” She said politely upon finding it. “Right this way.”

You were both seated at a dining table for two, complete with a white table cloth, a bread basket, and complimentary water.

Armin pulled your chair out for you, and you gave him a heartfelt, “thank you.”

After you both received your menus, you scanned your eyes across the beige template filled with appetizing meals all written in cursive.

“Look at the bottom of the menu,” Armin said, glancing up from his own menu with a soft smile. 

You darted your eyes across the bottom, and frowned.

“The fucking squid?”

“Below that, genius,” he gave a small chuckle.

You blinked at him, but continued your search. When your eyes landed on something you so desperately wanted to try, you struggled to keep your voice at a socially-acceptable volume.

“Steak and lobster! They actually have it!”

“Order it,” Armin said.

“What? Hell no.” Your smile faded, and you were instantly reminded of your financial situation. Mikasa’s money wouldn’t last forever. “Do you see the price? I’ll have the…Chicken Parmesan. It’s cheaper.”

“Hey,” Armin reached across the table, taking ahold of your hand. He looked so handsome underneath the soft lighting. “I didn’t bring you here so you could worry about the price, sweetheart. Please, get whatever you want, okay?” 

“Okay,” you said hesitantly, but you smiled. “Well then, since you’re made of money now, what are you getting?” 

“Chicken Parmesan.”

You playfully kicked him underneath the table, laughing softly in a way that made your eyes glisten. You were truly happy, even if it would only last for a few hours.

Seeing you happy made him happy. He ran his thumb across the back of your hand, looking at you as if he was staring at the world’s most enchanting piece of art. 

You weren’t doing anything, simply chewing on the complimentary bread and showing him a trick you saw about spreading the butter.

Then, you’d glance around and make note of all the fancy decorations you saw, and try to pronounce the elegant titles of the meals on the menu. 

You were just being yourself. The happiest version of yourself. 

And it made his heart skip a beat.

He loved you so much, he could have cried. 

—

After munching on flavorful tender steak and lobster—Armin ordered garlic lamb chops and buttered scallops—you were both sipping on a glass of champagne when your waiter approached you.

He placed a plate of ravishing tiny bites of three different desserts in front of you, drizzled with a chocolate sauce.

“Your dessert, miss,” he said politely.

“Sorry, we didn’t order any dessert-”

“I ordered it.”

Armin interrupted. He nodded at the waiter, who hurried off with a polite grin. 

“Oh,” you raised the plate to pass it to Armin. “Then here you-”

Suddenly, your throat dried to a crisp at the sight of a ring sitting on the other side of the dessert plate. 

“Is that…” Your words trailed off, vanishing in a way that made you wonder if you had said anything at all.

Armin took the plate from your trembling hands.

He sat it down.

The engagement ring stared at you.

He had told you that he wanted to marry you, but just like most couples who said flattering things to their partners in hopes of winning them over, you didn’t think that he’d actually propose. 

Armin took your hand once more, staring into your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not a fan of public proposals, and I was too nervous to prepare a speech, but coming to a place like this has always been a dream of ours. It symbolizes how far we’ve come, and how we can go further. To be able to sit here and eat this kind of food, and to do it together after everything we’ve been through…I wanted it to be the place where I ask you to be mine forever as well. I couldn’t imagine what my life would have been like without you, and I want to be with you for as long as we live. I hope you know how much I love you, because I want to grow old with you, no matter what happens.”

Armin picked up the ring. He got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

Nearby diners and waiters watched the ongoing proposal eagerly, and when tears started to stream down your face as you held out your hand, they cheered politely. 

“Of course I’ll marry you,” you sniffled.

Now, tears started to fall from his eyes as well. He slid the engagement ring on your finger, and kissed you wholeheartedly.

—

When Mikasa kept her word and delivered the backstage passes to Armin, he kept the secret from you for an entire month. 

All he told you was that his friend didn’t want to go to the concert anymore, and didn’t want the passes to go to waste. 

You hadn’t heard of the band at all, and even tried to convince Armin to sell the passes for some extra money, but he refused, claiming that he was a fan of them and it would be a lovely experience.

But what was truly a lovely experience was marrying Armin. It was a courthouse wedding, but even so, you were just as happy as a dolled-up bride who spent thousands on a fancy ceremony. 

You were both husband and wife. Truly. You had the wedding rings to prove it, as well as the beautiful glow of all newlyweds.

Three weeks later, you and Armin were at the Hudson Stadium. You had never seen so many bodies in one place.

If it wasn’t for Armin’s hand gripping yours, you probably would have gotten lost in the swarm of fans. They were decked out in band t-shirts or outfits to match the group’s aesthetic, which was mainly black clothes and some sort of edgy jewelry.

Making your way backstage was like undergoing a secret mission, one that was led by Mikasa.

Meeting her was when you discovered your husband’s plan.

That this was his way of trying to get you into the spotlight.

You wanted to tell him how ridiculous it was, but the hopeful spark in his eyes was something you couldn’t let fizzle out. So, as he went with Mikasa to go fetch the band’s manager—leaving you at the snack bar since you desperately wanted to try the cubed cheese—you figured that for him, you’d give it a try. 

—

“You’re doing it wrong.”

A voice suddenly startled you.

“Huh?” You glanced up, seeing someone walk over. They reached for the cubed cheese.

“You don’t take the toothpick out of the cheese with your hand. You use your teeth. See?” He placed the toothpick right between his teeth, pulling the little snack off of it smoothly. “Slides right off. You don’t gotta take it apart beforehand.”

He grabbed your wrist. He picked up the toothpick out of your hand, placing it back within the cubed cheese that was also inside of your hand, and he gave you the reunited pieces. 

“Now take it apart with your mouth.”

“Dude, don’t touch me.” You frowned at him, tossing the cheese in a nearby garbage can. “I don’t know you like that.”

“Sorry, just wanted to help you out.” He smirked a bit, tilting his head down at you. “You don’t know me? You mean, you’ve never heard of me?”

“Nope,” you said dryly. You continued to scan your eyes across the mini buffet, searching for anything else you might have wanted to try. The sight of a macaron had caught your eye. You reached for it, taking a bite, forgetting all about the stranger until he spoke again.

“If you don’t know me, what the hell are you doing here? And with a backstage pass?” He looked you up and down. “And people aren’t supposed to come back here until after the show anyways.” 

You pinched your brows together. As you took another bite of the macaron, you scanned your eyes over the stranger.

Putting his words aside, based on his attire, which consisted of ripped black jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and a spikey belt complete with an equally spikey bracelet and ring, you noticed that he also didn’t have a backstage pass dangling from his neck.

He was a band member.

“I’m gonna guess that you’re a band member.” You chewed on the macaron. “What do you do? Dance? Play the damn drums?”

A humorous chuckle fell from his lips, one that was also laced with utter surprise.

“Try lead vocalist and guitarist.” He held out his hand. “I’m Eren Yeager. Pleased to meet you.”

You hesitated, but with the hand that wasn’t holding the half-eaten macaron, you shook it. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name? That’s kinda how it works, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Well, unless you tell me your name, I gotta have something to call you,” he teased, and you frowned.

“Y/N Arlert.”

“Right,” he nodded. Suddenly, he picked up your hand again, this time, it was to examine your wedding ring. 

“And where’s Mr. Arlert? He’s not here, is he?” 

Snatching your hand away from him only made the devilish smirk spread across his handsome face even more.

“Why do you care?”

“Because,” he leaned in, whispering in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of it. “Then we could-”

“Eren.”

When his sister’s call suddenly interrupted him, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yeah?” He turned around. When he did, he saw her, his manager, and an unfamiliar blonde guy. “What’s going on? Who’s that?”

“My name’s Armin,” the friendly blonde extended a hand to Eren, shaking it. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“Apparently,” Eren’s grumpy manager suddenly spoke up, “the woman behind you has a nice voice. Your sister and her new friend want me to hear her sing. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“Really?” Eren turned around to face you, smiling humorously. “You can sing? I’ve known you for two-and-a-half minutes and you didn’t tell me that?” 

You were silent. You glared at him. You didn’t really enjoy his particular brand of humor. Nor anything else about him. 

“It’s not a waste of time, trust me! She’s really good! Just let her sing and you’ll see-”

“Ima put her on stage.” 

Your eyes widened. 

A collective “what?” Fell from the mouths of you, Armin, and Eren’s manager. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?” The dark haired man frowned at Eren.

“C’mon, Levi-”

“Don’t be an idiot. The damn show starts in thirty minutes, and we have every bit of it already planned out. Even if she can sing, I’m not letting you put someone on stage who’s never done anything other than a…what the hell was it…a high school play?”

“Yeah,” Armin mumbled.

“Well, I think the best shows are the ones where we improvise,” Eren said.

“Don’t be so closed-minded, Levi.” Mikasa turned to face her cousin. “I know how the industry works. You’re one of the most elite managers in Hollywood, but you won’t be if someone else snatches her up first. Look at her. She’s really pretty, has a humbling back story, and she’s talented. Give her a shot.”

Levi was silent. Looks were exchanged between everyone.

“Excuse me,” you said. Clearing your throat. “Is anyone gonna ask me what I wanna do? I’m literally right here.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Armin reached out, giving your hand a squeeze. “What do you want to do?”

Eren’s vibrant green eyes darted between you and Armin. It didn’t take him long to put the pieces together.

That overly-polite little weakling was your husband. 

“What I want isn’t the issue,” you started. “Even if you did put me on stage, I don’t know any of those damn songs. What would I even do?”

“You don’t gotta sing one of our songs. You can sing whatever you’d like.” Suddenly, Eren grabbed your wrist. “C’mon, let’s get ready. We need an opener for our show anyways.”

A string of protests fell from not only his manager’s mouth, but from yours as well.

Even so, none of it mattered to him. 

He was going to put you on stage.

—

Back in high school theater class, all of the lessons and methods to relax in the face of stage fright amounted to breathing exercises and confidence building. 

But this was different. Drastically different.

A wardrobe and makeup crew fixed you up, slapping on some black eyeshadow and clothes that were as equally dark.

Eren’s cocky attitude did little to calm your nerves, nor did meeting his bandmates. As you heard the rowdy crowd as the show was getting ready to start, you were about to back down.

That was until Armin pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“Good luck, sweetheart,” he smiled excitedly. “I know you can do it!”

Right. You weren’t doing this for you. You were doing it for him. 

As Eren Yeager pulled you on stage with him, his fans erupting into screams that made your ears ring, you repeatedly told yourself, “for Armin. For Armin. For Armin.”

You tried not to look at the thousands upon thousands of audience members. 

When Eren spoke into his mic, you couldn’t even hear it. And when he looked back at you, your eyes widened. Luckily, he could read your eyes as if he had known you for your entire life. 

“You gonna open the show for us?” He repeated into the mic.

You nodded. 

When Eren let go of your wrist, you suddenly grabbed his.

You didn’t want him to leave.

You probably would have ran off stage from pure nervousness if he did.

The stage lights were blinding. The audience was deafening. 

You didn’t know that the music had started until their screams settled down, and you could finally hear it through your earpiece. 

When you glanced up at Eren, who was looking down at you, you saw nothing except pure reassurance within his eyes. The man who risked his reputation and celebrity status by dragging you on stage had given you an encouraging nod. 

When you raised the mic to your lips, you couldn’t hear your own voice over the sound of your rapid heartbeat. But Eren smiled. And the crowd gave a quick burst of supportive screams. 

Soon enough, he joined in with pleasant vocals of his own, much to your surprise. Being as you weren’t singing a rock song, you didn’t know that he even knew the lyrics, let alone that he would join in.

He simply couldn’t let you try to sing the entire song by yourself, and his extra support gave you the encouragement you needed to let go of his wrist. 

His fans were just as surprised and shocked to hear The Eren Yeager sing something that wasn’t rock music.

And they loved it.

What they loved more, however, was the fact that he never took his eyes off of you the entire time.

—

The next month of your life felt like it belonged to someone else. Like it wasn’t your life at all. And, though it technically was, it was nothing like the life your soul had come to know. 

Levi Ackerman wanted to work with you immediately. Not only that, but he was well aware of the buzz circulating around you and Eren Yeager’s performance.

And who was he to deny the wants and needs of the fans who kept his pockets full?

Levi was wise enough to sit you down with an interviewer belonging to a popular news tablet to get your backstory out to the world, and the fans devoured the story of the poor girl getting discovered by a famous rockstar. 

Therefore, he tossed you into classes to work on your stage presence. He tossed you into classes to work on your vocals. He risked letting you go on stage and perform with Eren at the start of a couple of shows.

You also ended up having lunch with Eren. Attending his rehearsals. Attending one or two of his parties. 

Nowadays, you had seen more of him than your own husband, and that broke your heart into pieces. 

—

The enormous building belonging to a record label was rather intimidating, but as you exited the car, Armin’s lips pressing against your cheek had grounded you once again. 

You walked in, told the lady at the front desk that you had a meeting with Levi Ackerman, and in a short matter of time, you were walking into an office where he sat behind his desk, two white chairs in front of it. 

Eren was sitting in one.

He smiled at you as you sat in the other.

“Good morning,” they both greeted.

“Hey,” you replied.

Levi mentally took note to put you in some classes to help out with your mannerisms as well. You were indeed rough around the edges. 

“So, what’s going on?” You flickered your eyes between him and Eren.

“Getting right to the point, the band is on tour, as you know, and we won’t be staying in California much longer. We’ll be going across the country in a few weeks, and I want you to come with us.”

“Seriously? On tour? Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not kidding around,” Levi leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen against his desk. “I know you’re busy. You’re about to start working on your own music, you’re taking all of these classes, and you miss your husband a lot. But this could bring in a lot of money for you. Get you out of those hotels. What do you say?”

It was a tempting offer. One that you’d be a fool not to accept. Even though the money you had earned so far had brought you and Armin from raggedy motels to decently nice hotels, it still wasn’t enough to make a living off of. 

“I’ll go.”

“Great. We can…”

You tuned out his words thanks to Eren suddenly grabbing your hand. He squeezed it, looking at you with those eyes. 

Perhaps, that was a heads up that he’d approach you after the meeting. 

“Hey, slow down,” he called out, moving in front of you to bring your steps to a halt in the middle of the isolated hallway.

“What’s wrong?” You looked up at him.

He was wearing his hair in a low manbun today. Although he dressed in black, grungy clothes on stage, he was wearing a simple shirt with a pair of nice pants now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he gave a sly smile. “You’re just always in a hurry to get away from me. I just wanna to talk to you.”

“Well, until I have something to talk to you about, I’ll see you later.”

You tried to walk past him and make your way to the elevator, but he grabbed ahold of your arm.

“Wait a minute,” he turned you around, making you face him as you frowned. “So we can rehearse together, you can come to my parties, all that shit, but you won’t let me talk to you? Why?”

You were silent, avoiding his gaze. 

Suddenly, his large hand gripped your chin, and only then were you aware of just how close he was.

“Is it ‘cause we’re all alone, baby?”

He leaned in. His soft lips brushed against your ear. “Can’t control yourself when it’s just us, can you?”

That was when you pushed him away.

Your actions, however, didn’t knock that smirk off of his face.

“Go away, Eren. Being around you is just the consequence of making money, so don’t get it twisted. I’m married-”

He interrupted you by shoving you back against the wall. This time, he didn’t waste a single moment by trying to tease you. He pressed his lips against yours. His large hand rubbed against your thigh, all before he gripped your ass. The thought that anyone could walk down the hallway and catch you both made him moan into your mouth, and his tongue greeted yours as he deepened the kiss.

He only pulled away because he wanted more, and he knew that he couldn’t get it in this damned hallway, nor with that ring on your finger.

With his lips hovered over yours, he spoke once again.

“What kinda partner makes their spouse work for ‘em, huh?”

“It’s not like that-”

“You sure? Seems to me like it is.” He kissed you gently once more. “If you were with me, you’d only be making money for yourself. No one else, baby. It’ll take you wherever you wanna go, buy you whatever want, fuck you however you want. You’d like that, right?”

You didn’t respond. 

You only pushed him away from you once more.

As you made your way towards the elevator, feeling his eyes on you, you fiddled with your wedding ring.

—

Over the next few weeks as you prepared to go on tour, spending time with Eren was utterly painful. Especially when he looked at you with those damned eyes, or found little excuses and ways to touch you, knowing it drove you crazy. 

And it did.

It truly fucking did.

He made you feel wanted. Desired. And not because of childhood nostalgia or as a savior from poverty. 

But you knew that he was nothing more than a cocky jerk who simply wanted to get in your pants, whereas Armin truly loved you. 

The night before your tour, you returned to your hotel room with a soft smile.

“Hey Armin,” you greeted your lover. “I’m back.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

Shutting the door behind you, found him sitting on the bed with a magazine flipped open. Upon it, several lovely homes were circled with a red pen. They were all for sale.

“Look at these houses,” he smiled. “Tell me which ones you like.”

You picked up the page. 

“You’re looking at houses for us?” 

“Yeah,” he paused. “I know we’re not ready yet, but once you come back from tour, we’ll be able to afford one. We can finally say goodbye to hotel rooms.”

“Oh.”

Armin’s smile faded. His eyes scanned over your face. 

“Everything okay?” He asked. “Are you nervous about the tour?” 

“No, not exactly.”

“Then what’s wrong?” He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you down on the bed with him. He looked at you with the softest eyes. “Talk to me.”

When he looked at you with such love, and yet, such worry, as he gently stroked your wrist, you wanted to kiss him. He was so beautiful, and he always had been. Growing up, when your entire world amounted to nothing except for a poor little corner of New York, that perfect face was your entire world. 

But you weren’t in New York anymore. And your world had gotten bigger. 

“Armin,” you smiled at him sadly, placing your hand on top of his. “I’m leaving you.” 

—

You had never truly seen the face of heartbreak before. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t figure out if you were joking, but based on the look in your dead, emotionless eyes, he knew that you were being serious. He stared at you for a long time. Sadness started to prickle at his heart, and the corners of his mouth fell into the saddest frown, and his big blue eyes glossed over with tears ready to fall. 

“What?” He mumbled sadly. 

You pulled your hand away from his. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“I said that I’m leaving you, Armin.” You sighed. “I’m sorry, but it’s over. Thank you for everything you’ve done, but I didn’t come back to the hotel to spend my last day with you. I came to get my stuff.”

You got up. You grabbed a bag, and started gathering your belongings.

“What did I do wrong?” Armin asked. His words were laced with heartbreak.

Tears slipped down his cheeks. As he got off of the bed, watching you pack, his heart ached badly enough to make him wonder if it could kill him.

And he was hoping it would. 

“Armin, baby,” you grinned sadly. “When you try to force someone into the spotlight to make money for you, then this is the price.”

He said nothing. You spoke again. 

“If you need money,” you took off your wedding ring, slamming it down on the table. “Pawn this.”

“That’s not-” he sniffled, “I didn’t do any of this because I wanted to make money off of you. I just didn’t want you to struggle anymore. I knew that you could have the life you always wanted. I…I promised you that I didn’t care if we were rich or poor! Don’t you remember that? I just want to be with you. Please…please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me.”

He didn’t see the point in living without you. He didn’t even remember what life was like without you. He didn’t even know anything aside from his love for you.

He sacrificed everything for you, from meals and hot water, to knowing that he’d go to hell and back if it meant that he could kiss you forever. 

He loved you—god, he loved you so much, it was excruciating, and yet, you zipped up your bag. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He tried to wipe his tears away. “You’re doing this because of Eren, aren’t you?”

You ignored him.

“Thanks for getting me here, Armin.”

As you walked towards the door, walking away from your childhood friend and your marriage, you looked back at the crying man who clenched your wedding ring, telling him one last thing: 

“I’m sure the bakery will still take you back.”

And with that, you left the hotel, going to the parking lot where your ride was waiting for you. After your ride helped you with your bags, you hopped into Eren’s Lamborghini to head to his mansion as eagerly as you once hoped into Armin’s rental to head to an L.A. motel. 

Eren drove off with you.

And your old lover was watching you both from the hotel room window. 

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!

🏷: @hidansdarling @lilvampirina @okaystopwhore @chrollohearttags @tartarsaucechi1de @nanamochii @bunny2612 @kazushawty @prettydumbslut @crazychaoticizzy @indigoballad @averysmolbear @seishirogf @6sakusa @levin4nami @chaotic-on-main @sad-darksoul @gwapbby @katestrophes @ventdavi154 @randomrandom122 @svftackerman @moonmalice @musegonemad @thehanging-gardens @inciteterr0r @zeninsbitch @purple-milk24 @itzgabz22 @beaniebanby @nuxoticc @mooomuu @micafecitoconpan @anonymousme23 @skit-brentfaiyaz @theitchbbbb @princessos-blog @elliesbabygirl @the-mrs-steve-harrington @kittenbabe00 @neptunes1nterweb @shinzouwoeren @hetalia-tumbler @hon3y-c0mb @bol0-de-morang0 @thisisketchy @yoongirecs @allofffmypeaches

[allisberris]

gonna sound like a freak but why have i seen NOBODY talk about sm1 holding your wrist just to feel your pulse . HELLO??

[macverse]

may or may not have only come on to see if @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 341 was updated

it is

will be reading that now

it's so good

go read it

here, i'll help

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Lloyd Hansen Masterlist

Hostile Takeover

Zero Day

Unsolicited

Unexpected

Who’s The Boss?

The Grey Zone

A Foe Most Frightful (Medieval AU)

Multicharacter

Same as it ever was (Pete Brenner, Lloyd Hansen)

Old Scars, New Blood (Thor, Lloyd Hansen)

As the World Turns (Nick Fowler, Lloyd Hansen, Jonathan Pine)

Campus AU (Multifandom)

Three for One (Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale)

Somewhere Only We Know (with Nick Fowler ~ The 355)

Safe House (Sierra Six, Lloyd Hansen)

Pretty Petals (Multifandom)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: As a customer service associate, you're used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what's on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Right, this was supposed to be a drabble series but it morphed and not I'm fucked.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It's the most special time of year! Mistletoe, jingle bells, and holiday cheer! Oh, and hot chocolate. Lots of that.

You hide your thermos under the desk and grab the crystal bottle again, giving a test spritz to the air. Your job isn't very complicated. All you do is say hi and chat about the perfume. Your manager says the job is selling but you don't like to see it that way.

You smile at a family of five as they veer towards the toy section. You don't think the six year old would be into an eau de parfum. It's understandable.

While you spend your hours wandering around expensive makeups and scents, you're filled with a certain hint of longing. For what you're paid to push the merchandise, you can't afford any of it yourself. Well, you've never been very materialistic.

You spin around and see a gentlemen approaching, though he doesn't seem to see you. He looks past you, almost through you. You stop in place and put on your best smile, fixing the red band around your head.

"Hello, sir, would you like to try some Gucci?" You offer and spray the nozzle at him.

He skids to a stop and recoils as if he's been slapped. He holds out his arm as he looks down at his coat, little droplets seeping into the fabric. He takes a whiff, his short mustache wiggling under his nose, and he scoffs as he tries to shake off the cologne.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He snips.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You just go around spray people with that horseshit?"

"Well, sir, with respect, I don't like that sort of language.

"And I don't like being drenched in dog piss," he blusters, "point me to the goddamn trimmers."

"Um, what kind? Nail trimmers? Pet trimmers? Garden trimmers?"

"What the fuck do you think?" He points to his own face.

You hold your smile. There's always that one customer who's having a bad day. Whatever's got him so upset must be worse than dealing with him.

"Personal care," you point to the far corner, "right over there, sir."

"Ugh," he stomps and storms off.

"I hope your day gets better," you call after him, "oh, did you want a store coupon--"

He ignores you as he waves you off over his shoulder. You watch him turn towards men's grooming and you shrug, rocking slightly. You try not to let them get to you. As jolly as you find this time of year, a lot of people don't feel the same.

You shrug off the encounter. You still have a few hours ahead of you and it's starting to bustle with customers. You help a couple find the home wares while keeping the boundary of cosmetics firm. Lucille, the manager, doesn't like you leaving your zone.

You approach a woman looking at the Prada selection and get her checked out with a new fragrance, specially gift-wrapped by yours truly. She leaves happy, a small victory for the day. You celebrate but not too much.

You come around the counter just as you see that man strutting back up. He has an item in his hand and ignores you as he passes. Still you smile at him.

"Annoying," he mutters under his breath.

"Need help finding anything else, sir?" You ask his heels.

He stops and you see the way his spine stiffens. Oh no, you shouldn't have said anything. He slowly turns to face you.

"You can shut up," he marches up to you and grabs the bottle from your hands, "shut." He sprays you in the face, "up." He squirts you several more times before shoving the vial against your chest, "stupid little girl."

You take the bottle, blinking as you use your cuff to wipe the perfume away from your eyes. He continues on his path as you stand dumbfounded, drenched in Gucci cologne. It's hard to breathe through the heavy scent and you can't help but cough.

What a jerk. Just because he's having a bad day, doesn't mean everyone needs to.

Slowly you grow accustomed to the smell of yourself. It’s not too unusual. You go nose blind about halfway through your shift once you spray a few too many samples. You keep your distance from customers, offering them a spritz but trying not to crowd them with the vapors of cologne rippling off of you.

You yawn as the afterwork rush floods in and you make another round, smiling at Sofia as she peeks over at you. She’s with another customer at the counter, ringing them up as she gabs. You spin at the display at the center of the crossway that runs through the beauty department and stagger back before another can run you over.

You apologise to the tall man as he skids to a stop on his soles. You can tell he’s in a hurry by the way he grips his briefcase and squares his jaw. He wears a long dark wool coat as flecks of snow melt into his thick beard.

“Oh, sorry, I er, wasn’t–” He clears his throat, collecting himself, “I… didn’t see you.”

“That’s okay, sir,” you assure him, “would you like to try the new scent?”

You hold up the onyx bottle but don’t spray him. You don’t need another dousing. He looks at the silver letters on the side then at you. The furrow in his brow lightens as his blue eyes swim.

“No thanks, but er, you think you could help me find something?”

“Of course,” you chime and lower the bottle, “are you looking for a gift for someone special?”

He nods, “my mother-in-law is on her way into town, I need a present. Maybe perfume?”

His tone is tinted with frustration as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. He lets out a long sigh. He’s one of those shoppers; the last minute scrambler. You grasp the vial in one hand and tug at the front of your thick red sweater, you’re starting to get a bit toasty in the crowded store.

“How old is she?” You ask.

“Um,” he clamps his lips together and thinks, “hmmm, probably seventy-something? I’m sorry, I guess I should know that.”

“That’s okay, I… I would suggest some Liz Taylor,” you turn on your heel and wave him after you as you head off, “it’s a classic. Not so much a me scent but the older crowd likes it. Oh, and it’s on special so your wallet won’t hate it, either.”

You stop by the Diamonds display as you face him again. He follows at a pace and stops before the shelf, perusing the gold caps and crystal caps. He considers the rack in deep thought.

“Here,” you set down your bottle on a nearby table of seasonal decorations and take one from the display. You slip out a strip of cardstock and spray it with the sampler, “this one is gardenia. That was her favourite scent. It’s probably the least pungent.”

You offer him the sample and he eyes it. He slowly bends and sniffs the end of the paper. He wiggles his nose. It makes you sneeze too. As much as you’re a fan of the classic actress, her scents are dated.

“Smells like her,” he grumbles under his breath, “sure, I’ll take that.”

“Great,” you declare and trade the sampler for a boxed bottle, then retrieve your disposed Gucci vial, “would you like me to check you out, sir?”

“Is it faster?” 

“I can be fast,” you promise him, “this way.”

You go around the sparkling counters and he meets you across the till. You type in your log in, taking several tries to get your passcode right. The man places his briefcase on the counter,a hand resting on the edge.

“You know a lot about this stuff?” He prompts.

“Yeah, I guess,” you smile as you scan the perfume and tap the special offer on the screen, “kinda part of the job.”

“Hmm” he hums again, in that thoughtful manner. You look at him but he’s not looking at your face, “that’s a nice sweater.”

You look down at the red wool speckled with pearls. It’s new and one of your favourites already. You can’t help a little wiggle of your shoulders, “thanks!”

“Very… cheerful,” he muses as he takes out his wallet, “wish I could say the same of what awaits me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, it’s that time of year, I guess,” you push the debit machine towards him and he taps his credit card, “I’m sure your mother-in-law will love the perfume.” The transaction approves and the receipt prompts, “would you like an email?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” he tucks his credit card away.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” You offer, “it’s free?”

He hovers his hand over his briefcase as he considers it. His eyes meet yours and his cheek dimples, “alright, yeah, that’s… that’s perfect. Thank you.”

“No problem,” you beam back at him, “let me just get some tissue paper…”

You murmur to yourself as you grab some gold tissue paper and a white gift bag with a Christmas tree embossed into the side. You carefully line up the small box on the paper and begin your intensive work. You're a master wrapper, you used to work at the wrapping station in the mall.

“What about you?” He asks before the silence can stretch too far, “you seeing family for the holidays? When you’re not working?”

“Um,” you smile as you look up, “I’m just hanging out with my dog. I bought him a bone.”

“A dog,” he nods, “your family live out of town?”

Usually, you ask the questions. It’s easier that way. It deflects the attention from you. It’s why you like the job; you can hear all about others and not have to think about yourself.

“Yeah, something like that,” you slip the wrapped box into the bag and fluff the tissue paper.

“Eh!” The loud exclamation makes you jump as the man merely turns his head, a tic in his jaw. His eyes narrow as another customer approaches, strutting with hands in his jacket pocket as he calls out, “Barber, what the hell?”

Your customer shifts towards the man, heels squeaking on the floor, “Hugh.”

“Don’t Hugh me, asshole,” the other man retorts, “you said you were busy? What’s the matter, you lose too much money last time?”

“Suzette is in town. Family dinner,” the man, Barber, drones dully.

“Ah, ditched for the old crone, I get it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, wouldn’t you know it, poker night was canceled, something about not enough seats,” the man counters sharply.

“Next week,” the first man growls.

“Hey, you,” the man in the russet coat snaps his fingers in your direction, “you got some of that Acqua di Gio. That dumb girl over there said you’re sold out.”

Your brows pop up and you swallow tightly. He’s another type. The arrogant demander. He doesn’t hear no. He’ll ask everyone the same question in hope of getting a different answer.

“We are out of stock, sir, but I could order it in for you,” you suggest.

“Order in? I can just go on Amazon, thanks for nothing,” he chops his hand at you dismissively.

“Hey,” the other man nudges his chest, “be nice. She’s working.”

“What? I’m here to spend money and they got shit all–”

“It’s December,” the other man reproaches before he turns back to you, “sorry, my friend is a jerk.” He accepts the gift bag as you hold it out, “thank you. You saved me.”

“No problem, but er, I was gonna say,” you turn to the other man, “sir, I have some samples of the Armani. I could give you those while you wait for the order.”

“Samples?” He echoes, “how many?”

“Let me have a look,” you back up and go to the drawer at the back of the checkout.

“I gotta get going, miss,” the first man waves his hand as you peek over your shoulder, “have a happy holiday.”

“You too,” you chirp back and find the last few tubes of Armani. You claim them and prance back to meet the new customer at the counter, “I have five.” You lay out your wares, “if I order in a bottle it’ll be in just before Christmas.”

“Two weeks?” He puffs.

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s the earliest I can do. It’s the last day I can guarantee delivery before Christmas.”

“Talk, talk, talk, order it,” he snaps.

“Right, let me just…” you open the shop and search up the scent. You add it to the cart and proceed. “Alright, got that, did you want it shipped for pick up here or to your address.”

“Here, they can never fucking find my house,” he sniffs.

“Great, so when it arrives, we’ll give you a call. You’ll also get an email to confirm.”

“What’s going on here?” He points at you suddenly. You look down again at your sweater but don’t see anything amiss. You flinch as he reaches to pinch one of the pearls, “what is this?”

“Oh, I… my sweater,” you raise your head, swallowing down the insult. It’s cute!

“Huh, Walmart clearance, huh,” he scoffs, “alright, how much are you robbing me for?”

He reaches into his coat as you hit total. You read out the final amount but he doesn’t pull out a card; he hands you cash. You count the bills, twice over, then give him his change. He looms with impatient huffs.

“Here’s your receipt,” you hand him the strip of paper. “Have a good day, sir.”

“Mmm,” he pokes his tongue into his cheek as he shoves the receipt into his pocket, “actually, while I’m here, I’d like a new sweater. You can help me and I’ll show you what real quality is.”

You almost laugh. Not spitefully, it’s just a bit silly. He’s competing with you, a perfume pusher.

“Well, sir, I can point you towards men’s fashion but I’m not able to leave this department, I’m sorry,” you give a sheepish smile.

“Oh no, good girl wouldn’t want to break the rules,” he rolls his eyes, “goody goody and her precious little smile.” He hooks his thumbs in his pockets, “my shit better be in by Christmas.”

He twists and strides away. You watch him go but not for long as you’re quickly distracted by a customer looking at the Britney Spears collection. Those are easy sellers.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Daddy Ari! *swoon* Absolutely wonderful, from start to finish.

summary. | Your dad’s best friend knows you better than you do yourself.

prompts. | Ari Levinson + dad’s best friend + “I dreamt about you last night. Every night.” + Daddy kink, requested by @ameerakane20.

pairing. | dark!dad’s best friend!Ari Levinson x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, smut, age gap, Daddy kink, mentions of non-con somnophilia, mentions of sex dreams, obsession, dry humping/grinding, orgasm (f), dirty talk, delusion, pet names, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

The sound of cicadas fills the air as you make your way downstairs, the door to the backyard open. The screen stays closed, though, to prevent any bugs from coming inside.

You know your father’s best friend is staying the night, but you didn't think he’d still be up. You can hear a football game playing on the television in the living room, and you walk past it in your venture to the kitchen.

A gruff voice calls your name before beckoning you to sit with him. You acquiesce, always intimidated by Ari. He’s quiet when your father is not around, yet always so intense. He practically sucks the all the air out of the room.

“You’re still up, huh?” he questions, even though it really isn’t that late. You’re a big girl. You can handle yourself. “Yeah… Er, where is he?” you ask, obviously alluding to your dad. “Oh, he went to the liquor store to get us a few beers,” Ari explains.

You nod your head. He pats the spot next to him, gesturing you to sit down. You do as he tells you, not wanting to be rude. But you also find your body listens involuntarily, almost as if he has complete control over it.

“You’re so quiet, aren’t ya?” Ari smiles, and you shake your head, also grinning. “It’s cute. I like it,” he says.

A few moments pass while you both watch the game on the TV, and you have a hard time breathing. You can’t deny Ari’s good looks, but being around him makes you so nervous.

As you’re lost in thought while staring at the screen, you feel a large, warm hand rest on your bare thigh. You’re wearing shorts tonight, as per usual, since it’s so hot. 

You turn your head and look at Ari, who’s already watching you with dark eyes. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and he gazes up and down your body.

“A– Ari?” you ask, nervous and aroused. “It’s Daddy to you, princess,” he roughly tells you, squeezing your thigh. “What?” you scoff as you go to stand up. 

The older man quickly pulls you onto his lap, though, and he holds you down with his immense strength. 

“I dreamt about you last night. Every night,” he whispers, nuzzling your cheek. His beard rubs against your skin, moving down to the crook of your neck. He presses kisses along the trail the entire time. “And I know you do, too, sweetie,” he hums, his hands groping your ass.

How does he know? The question dies on the tip of your tongue when he gives you a few spanks, making you yelp.

“I couldn’t just leave my girl by herself. And you were so wet, too,” Ari continues, his words horrifying yet true. Your dad’s best friend uses his grip to make you grind on his evident bulge, the pleasure nice yet wrong—so very wrong. 

You gasp at the sensation, loving the attention your achy clit is receiving. But you’re conflicted, and you want to do the right thing.

“Ari– Please, we can’t. Let me go—I won’t say a word, I swear,” you pant, his touch becoming addictive. You moan when he lands another smack on your ass, this time a bit harsher. “What did I say? Don’t make Daddy upset, baby.” 

“S- Sorry, D– Daddy. Please, leave me alone,” you beg, sounding a bit whiny as Ari continues to rub your pussy on his hard, clothed dick. “Why should I do that, honey? Hm? I’ve waited way too long to get you alone. I’m not letting you go,” he grunts, cock twitching under his jeans. 

“It’s wrong! You’re my dad’s friend,” you reason, and against your will, you can feel your climax nearing. It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked by a man—a real man. “And now I’m your Daddy. C’mon, it wouldn’t be my first time touching you, and that pussy’s been begging for me to fuck it,” Ari chuckles.

He picks up the pace on your hips, and your moans become louder despite your insistence on stopping. His previous words completely evade you.

“Aw, are you gonna come for Daddy?” he taunts, giving your ass a few light slaps. “Uh-huh,” you mewl, back arching. “Tell Daddy how much you want him, and I’ll let you come,” Ari suddenly demands.

You twist your face in frustration. You want to come so bad, but you don’t want him to keep touching you. Or maybe you do.

“I– I want you so bad, Daddy. I need you so much,” you whine, and Ari curses at your words. Just as perfect as he imagined. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Go ahead, come for Daddy. Make a mess in your panties,” he demands, and you do as he says.

The elastic band within you snaps as you hit your climax, pussy fluttering around nothing as you dampen your panties even more. 

“Doesn’t it feel so good when you listen to Daddy, baby?” he asks, and you can hear the strain in his voice. “Uh-huh,” you helplessly hum, riding out the rest of your orgasm. Ari keeps you going on his clothed dick until you try to push him away.

He pulls you towards his chest and holds you close, mouth next to your ear. “And even if you didn’t, I’d still get what I want. I always do.” 

[star-bear-art]

I have been so dreadfully unhappy with my art lately and I think it shows! so until I figure out how to tap my strange brain for sweet sweet content again, I hand over these very unfinshed little things to the endlessly gaping maw of fandom. oh my aching soul, be appeased!!

[st3rll1nk]

Period Comfort (2/?)

Synopsis: You’re on your period. How does your girlfriend help you during this difficult time?

Rating: Multi-Characters (Serval, Sliver Wolf, and Bronya) x Afab Reader, Sfw, and Fluff.

Serval

Serval would be very helpful yet worried about yourself being a lot. Especially if you have a very intense cycle, she’ll be on your case all the time. She’ll get you whatever you want; like snacks, and cuddles. She’ll sing songs to you to help calm you from your cramps. If she’s also on her cycle, she’ll be a bit quiet but loving as usual. She recognizes she needs to take care of herself for you and would absolutely do that for you not to worry. Both of you guys would likely depend on each other and be together more.

Serval places your favorite drink and looks at you as you do some paper work in your personal office at your shared home. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Serval asks for who knows how many times. “Yes.. I’m just alright, Serval. You worry too much-” Before you could continue, you dropped your pen on your pen and winced in pain from another cramp. Serval frowned at your pain and grabbed your hand. “You’re obviously not okay. Forget the work and let’s just go to bed, hm?” By now, you would make some stubborn remarks but with how in pain you were, you obliged and went along with Serval, hand in hand.

Sliver Wolf

Sliver Wolf would pretend to be annoyed about it but, is secretly worried about you. If you ask or want anything, she’ll give it to you in a grumpy manner. If you need any kind of affection, she’ll have you sit in her lap as she played video games; occasionally rubbing your stomach while mumbling how needy you are. But, she’s really the needy one. If you get emotional at her comments in anyway from your hormones, she’ll feel very guilty and mumble a apology while focusing her attention on you. If she’s at her cycle with you, she’ll be very grumpy and needy of you. Really needy. The type that’ll straddle you to your shared bed for who knows how long. Best to go into her demands.

You buried your face into Sliver Wolf’s neck as she held you close to her with one arm as she played yet another video game. She sighed, glancing at you and then her game. “You’re so needy. You should be glad I’m even having you on my lap.” She mumbled under her breath, burying the side of her face onto your hair as she played. “Mhm.. Yeah, I’m ‘oh so’ very glad..” You whispered, knowing it was quite the opposite. Sliver Wolf rolled her eyes at that sarcastic comment. “Ugh.. whatever..” She scoffed, kissing your forehead for a brief moment before going back to her game.

Bronya

Bronya would definitely panic. Not enough to make it noticeable on her face but enough that you can slightly tell in her voice. With you, it’s harder to hide. You’re her weak spot! It’s not like she doesn’t know what to do, it’s more about the things you would want. She doesn’t want to mess up! She’s a leader and it’s very much shown in how she helps. She’ll ask and give you whatever you need even if she’s busy or not. She’ll let you sit in her lap, cuddle, and do whatever you want. Might even try to work from your shared home to be with you. She just cares about you too much to mess anything up for you and is very noticeable in her actions. If she also gets in sync with you, she’s definitely staying home with you. She had heavy cramps yet would still act like the hero for you. She’ll crave affection from you yet would feel bad asking something that you might force yourself to do for her! She needs it. Badly.

“Bronya.. Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked as Bronya sat up from your shared bed. Coincidentally, both of you were on your cycle. And, her cramps were.. very heavy. And, Bronya was making some hot chocolate you requested from your cravings in the kitchen. But, Bronya just smiled; which came out as more of a forced grin. It was. “Yes, (Name), I’m just fine.. Just go to our-” Before Bronya could talk any more, you turned off the stove from behind her. You wrapped your arms around her waist and you pulled a few steps back gently from the stove. “Bronya. You’re in pain. I could’ve just made it myself. All you had to do was say it.” You whispered in her ear, rubbings small circles with your thumbs on her waist. Bronya sighed, feeling guilty. All she wanted to do was just to make you happy! “I.. I know, (Name). Sorry..” Bronya replied, knowing you were right against her stubbornness. You sighed and spoke, “It’s alright, Bronya. How about I finish the rest and you head back to our room, hm?” You asked in her ear. Bronya nodded, going back to her room with a lipstick-print lips on her cheek and a soft smile on her lips.

authors note: hey hoped you like it! serval was very hard to write and a bit rushed so sorry if this wasn’t up to your interpretation of her. requests r always open and dm me if u have any writing improvements!

[mr-gekk024]

Abisalli's emotion challenge (3/?) 

The third part of this challenge!

E10 horizon (Apex Legends)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

A2 Honey (Bluey)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

F10 Kelsey Bern (Craig of the Creek)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

H8 Kim Kitsuragi (Disco Elysium)[@merroll]

H5 Harrier "Harry" Du Bois (Disco Elysium)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

H8 Enoch (OFF)[@deadwdoodles]

3D Dedan (OFF)[@deadwdoodles]

E8 John Ward (FAITH)[@dollycheesecakes]

F6 Somsnosa (Hylics)[@deadwdoodles]

E3 Scott Pilgrim (Scott Pilgrim vs The world)[@avlitzx]

B10 Scott Pilgrim (Scott Pilgrim vs The world)[@avlitzx]

E1 Erizo (Summer Camp Island)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

B1 Oscar (Summer Camp Island)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

C9 Log Lady (Twin Peaks)[@somebody.mr.nobody]

I finally found a rendering technique that I like. I'm going to try to improve it, but at the moment, I like it better than the previous one