#colt grice angst

[coloredsolos]

Hey :-) I have a request for 16. "I -did- care about you, I just had no other choice." I hope you like it, if not that's absolutely no problem at all ♥ So it's a fem!reader and Colt and they secretly like eachother since forever when suddenly he has to leave for the mid-east war without saying goodbye or even telling her (maybe he was scared, he didn't want to hurt her or he just couldn't). A few days later she meets his parents randomly and when they tell her about it, she is angry of course, disappointed he simply left, thinking he doesn't care about her - apparently not even in a friendly way. But then some time later a letter for her arrives, where he apologizes to her, confesses maybe and whatever you can think of :) Lots of love for you!

SAYING GOODBYE IS SO HARD

pairing: colt grice x fem!reader

prompt: 16. “I -did- care about you, I just had no other choice.”

content: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, colt is a sweetheart, character death, season 4 spoilers

wc: 0.6k

a/n: hiya!! sorry this took so long! my computer broke and it took a while to fix but i’m back now!! I hope you enjoy and lots of love ♡ not proofread

Running into the Grice family was the last thing you had planned on. In fact, you had planned on avoiding anyone in that family for a while. After Colt disappeared without a trace you swear you felt your heart break in two. He hasn’t even bothered to say goodbye. You just woke up and he was gone. However, after running into his parents, you were now at a loss for words. the air around you felt thin. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Colt’s parents had informed you, after you mentioned how he seemed to disappear, that he had left to fight in the mid-east war. You knew what that meant. And so with a quick apology, you muttered your condolences to his family, who had now lost Colt and Falco, before excusing yourself. 

He had left. You weren’t stupid. You remember how those devils took out so many of your nation’s soldiers the night they attacked. You had been with Colt’s family that night, since you weren’t a warrior candidate, you were left to see the destruction of Liberio from the internment zone. You were stunned. The Attack Titan’s rampage in Liberio was a surprise for one, and catastrophic as well. The deaths of so many innocent people, the stench of death in the air. You were scared. But Colt came back. He always came back. 

However, weeks passed after the news of the mid-east war. There was nothing. And the day the letter arrived you swear you felt your heart sink. Colt’s mother had hand delivered it to your door, tears in her eyes.

“Thank you for being so good to my son.” She would mumble before taking her leave. 

With shaky hands you opened the crisp, white letter.

“I’m sorry.” It would start out. You felt dread enter the pit of your stomach as you continued to read.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I figured if I didn’t say goodbye, then maybe, by some chance, I’d get to come back and see you again. But I should have known better. 

You don’t hate me… do you? I understand if you do. But I beg you to forgive me. I need to know you forgave me for leaving. I had to rescue my brother, avenge our people. 

I had to make you proud of me.

I figured maybe, if I proved my worth to the Marleyans, I could get a better life for mom and dads And you. 

I did care about you. I know you wouldn’t believe me. But I did do care about you. I’ll die caring about you. You are and always will be my best friend of course, but please know to me, you were more than that. I could see a life with you. A happy one. I hoped you could see one with me too.

So please, I ask you one thing, know I did care about you, I just had no other choice.”

Yours forever,

Colt

You watched as a drop of water landed on the letter you held. Was it raining? No, you weren’t outside. Reaching your hand up to touch your face, you were met with a wet sensation. You were crying. He wasn’t coming back, and there was nothing you could do about it. There was so much you had left to say to him that would never come to fruition. He didn’t even know how you felt. How you cherished every minute you spent together, or how you didn’t want to live if your life didn’t have him in it. You knew that saying goodbye was hard, but not getting to say goodbye was a million times worse. 

#julia writes #aot x reader #aot x you #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin #snk x reader #snk x you #colt #colt grice #colt grice x reader #colt grice x you #colt grice angst #colt angst #aot angst #attack on titan angst #colt x reader #colt x you #snk angst #colt grice aot #colt aot

[wttcsms]

daylight, masterlist ; colt grice

rules serve as a means to keep everyone safe, but colt knows that if that were true, marleyans would be intermingling with eldians, he wouldn't have had to enlist in the army at fourteen, armband sales would be significantly lower (if not nonexistent), falco would have a normal childhood, and colt's life wouldn't be constantly spiraling downwards. sometimes rules do work, though. you've long since established your own set, and they've been keeping you safe for as long as you can remember.

until colt grice finds himself in your bedroom, and you slowly start to break every single rule you've kept in place.

pairing colt grice x f!reader word count 55k+ content contains/will contain sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, depictions of violence, blood, taking care of him when he's injured, slowburn, eventual smut

updates on ao3 first!

⊹ 💖  ࣪ ˖   RULE 1   ​​​​ ›     NO SHARING NAMES     ⊹ 💖  ࣪ ˖   RULE 2   ​​​​›     NO KISSING     ⊹ 💖  ࣪ ˖   RULE 3   ​​​​›     NO FALLING IN LOVE [I, II, III] ⊹ 💖  ࣪ ˖   RULE 4   ​​​​›     IF ANY RULES ARE BROKEN, RUN (AND DON'T LOOK BACK)  

#colt grice x reader #colt grice x you #snk x reader #aot x reader #fluff #angst #smut #series: daylight #colt grice

[spiteless-xo]

since we're being semi soft today.... do u have any fluffy thoughts on any of the marley boys ?

🙊 i'm answering this out of order from the requests in my inbox because i was HOPING someone would ask this after i posted the fluffy thoughts on the other boys -- so thank you for this 🥰

╰┈➤ fluffy headcanons pt. 2 - aot.

ft. colt, reiner, porco, zeke. cw. gender neutral reader

⋙ colt grice.

colt coaches falco's soccer team. he gets up early in the morning, dressed in a fleece half-zip with some gloves to set up pylons on the field for the kids' drills. he knows every kid by name and doesn't give any special attention to falco just because he's his brother -- parents love him. doesn't notice that some of the younger moms are hitting on him until you point it out, and then he gets awkward and flustered every time he sees them.

please just picture this man with little pink-flushed cheeks from the early september chill, blowing steam into his hands to keep them warm. he's calling out encouragements to all the kids as they run back and forth on the field -- always praise, because they're just kids and this is only for fun. he looks back at stands and just beams at you, excited that you were willing to get up so early just to watch him coach a bunch of little kids

idk why, but in my head, colt is not funny 💀 like he just doesn't understand comedic timing and isn't quite a quick or sharp as some of the other boys, but he appreciates every single one of your jokes!! he absolutely kills himself laughing every time you make a joke and he gets so excited about them that he'll tell other people your jokes (poorly 😭) but be laughing so hard they don't even understand him

ALWAYS kisses you and tells you that he loves you when he says goodbye. it's something that he does with falco already (that falco hates, btw), and one day it just slipped with you like "mwah! love you, bye!" and he goes beet red in embarrassment when he realizes, but you quickly kiss him back and now you do it every day 🥺

⋙ reiner braun.

this man only knows angst i think reiner really cherishes quiet moments of intimacy with you. like driving in the car with your hand laced in his, or having a nice meal at home that the two of you cooked together. it means a lot more to him if you show him that you love him through small gestures, instead of telling him.

he looooooooves head massages. he'll sit on the floor between your legs on the couch while the two of you watch tv so you can run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp. guy is vocal about it too, groaning and moaning when you rub his temples. 💀 and his knees go absolutely weak whenever you scratch his head

he has a really hard time falling asleep when he's alone 🥺 he gets really anxious at night sometimes, so if the two of you are apart he hardly gets any sleep at all -- but when you're in bed with him, this guy falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. he feels so safe and comfortable with you that it helps ease some of his worries just knowing that you're beside him.

if you roll away from him in bed when the two of you are sleeping together, guaranteed in a sleepy haze, this man is grabbing at the bed trying to find you again. the second his hand rests on your body, he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you tight against his chest -- sighing into your shoulder and sleepily kissing your neck. when you tell him about it the next day, he says he doesn't even remember doing it 😭

⋙ porco galliard.

porco is perpetually grumpy and bratty, except for when it comes to you. this man literally will talk to you in a baby voice when the two of you are alone together 💀 if you've ever seen those tiktoks where the girl calls her bf and makes him do the baby voice when he's with their friends -- that's porco.

like "babyyyy, i'm weawy hungee, can you make me a snack?" and he's looking up at you with big dumb eyes and a little pout while he rubs his belly. lowkey kinda cringe but the shift between his baby voice when he's alone with you and his normal voice when he's with the boys is just too funny 💀

also -- loves snacks. has a stash of chips and cookies and treats in the cupboard because he's always munching on something. if you're cooking dinner for him, he'll take a snack tax and munch on one of the foods you're prepping for dinner. you always tell him he's going to spoil his appetite, but he hasn't yet!

LOVES GOSSIP!! when the two of you are out with your friends and one of them says some out-of-pocket shit, you see porco in the corner of your eye looking at you like 👀 and you just KNOW he's going to talk about it on the car on the way home. in fact -- when the two of you go on road trips together, you don't even listen to any music. you just spend the entire time filling each other in with drama at work/school/etc. and gossiping about how other people's relationships aren't as good as yours 💀

⋙ zeke jaeger.

zeke is in his early thirties but he acts like an old man. whenever he gets up from sitting down he's pushing himself up with his hands and groaning. cracking his back with a loud moan. sighing heavily and collapsing into the couch like 💀

really into grilling? like spent a bunch of money on a fancy grill and now will take any excuse to have people over for a barbeque. he's got an apron that says something dumb like "women love me, fish fear me". you guys will be having a bbq and he's standing by the grill, watching the meat, with a pair of dark rayban sunglasses and a beer in his hand.

loves feeding you. like physically feeding you. like, if he wants you to try something that he cooked, he'll hold it in his fingers and get you to open his mouth for him 💀 he sets a little piece of cookie down on your tongue or between your teeth, and watch you expectantly as you chew it and tell him your opinion

loves building things, too. like you'll mention offhand that you think it'd be nice to have a garden and the next weekend he's coming home with planks of wood and building you raised garden beds 🥺 you don't even have to ask, he's just like "she wants a garden? ok, i'm on it!" and he immediately gets to work.

#reiner #porco #zeke #colt #zeke jaeger #colt grice #porco galliard #reiner braun #zeke jaeger x reader #colt grice x reader #porco galliard x reader #reiner braun x reader #aot headcanons #i really struggled w zeke #because in my head he's a major asshole #but assholes can be fluffy and cute too #sometimes #tiff.fic #tiff.ask #moot.kreideprinzstudies #colt.hc #reiner.hc #porco.hc #zeke.hc

[vainilla-milk]

I'd like to read about him and his girlfriend cuddling, maybe making out and more if you feel comfortable with that. It could be his last day before the warriors get send to paradis to get Falco and Gabi etc. so there's also some kind of melancholy.

hug me

pairing: colt x fem! reader

tags: angst, fluff, sfw

wordcount: 1.6k

Perhaps you could never forget the first time you hugged Colt. You were not his girlfriend, you were his friend, but the warmth he gave you was so great that for a moment you were overcome with the feeling of being totally loved. It was disconcerting to part from him, because nothing else would happen after that. If someone had told you that Colt was nervous at that moment because he liked you, you would never have believed it.

But here you are now, watching him arrange to attend yet another meeting with the warriors and Magath. Probably to decide to bring forward the invasion of Paradis. Not much has happened since the attack on Liberio, it's barely been a week since that tragic night. Colt has only spent anxious nights because of Falco's absence. You tried to comfort him all those nights through hugs and words to contain him, other times just by being there for him in silence.

It was difficult, and the worst part was that possibly in another week the Marleyan army would leave for the island to regain the founder's power for good. You felt bitter knowing that Colt would have to leave again, it hasn't been that long since they returned from the war against the middle east, you hoped to have at least a year to enjoy his company. You sighed and Colt turned to look at you. "I'm leaving now" he walked over and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. You offered him a slight smile before he left. If only it were easy to deal with sadness.

You feel the loneliness overwhelming you in the empty room, it sucks. At the same time, you are remembering all the pleasant intimate moments you lived with Colt in the place. A melancholic smile escapes from your lips as you look at your hand resting on the bed, you caress the blanket thinking of the nights you both slept in each other's arms. It all feels so unreal, and the happy times seem too far away.

Sure, it had been four years without seeing each other, they were just resuming their "normality", until the scouts' attack happened. Falco was kidnapped along with Gabi, Liberio is a mess covered in corpses around horrible reminder that left the warhammer titan materialized in what used to be the amphitheater.

Your gaze remains lost in your hand, you can feel as if you were reliving the Liberio Festival. You walk excitedly holding Colt's hand, he never stops smiling at you, the two of you are wrapped in a bubble of happiness and infatuation. And then he kisses your forehead, he hugs you, his warmth is so enveloping and protective, then you sigh like a good girl in love. He told you that he had to meet Zeke very soon, so you went to a last food stall to taste sweets, he says goodbye to you and you don't see each other again until the next morning.

How did you survive the attack? No idea, but Colt almost faints with relief to see you safe and sound. He hugs you again, but you can't tell the difference between protection and anguish, then you learn what has happened to Falco. You come out of your trance when you hear footsteps approaching the room, the door opens and Mrs. Grice's head pops out, you can see how anguish has consumed her too. She smiles slightly at you as she meets your gaze.

"Will you join me for breakfast?" she asks you almost whispering, but the silence in the room is so loud, you had no trouble hearing her.

"Yeah, sure" you smile back.

The days since the attack have passed unbearably fast, the military are spread out in every corner of the ghetto helping to restore order, inspecting, looking for infiltrators, trying not to panic. But today specifically, the day has been torturously slow. You were sitting on a couch in the living room, you had drunk three cups of tea looking for calm, you were already on your fourth waiting for the boiled water to come down a little. Your foot was tapping the floor incessantly, Colt is taking longer than usual, you need to know if they decided to carry out the attack immediately or if they will continue with the original plan to attack in the next six months.

You try to read a book, but your mind is elsewhere. Mrs. Grice sometimes comes to see you, she has been trying to knit in her room while she awaits the arrival of her eldest son. Your eyes meet, you both understand the anxiety you are going through, after the silent exchange Mrs. Grice returns to her room while you continue your wait in the living room. The sound of the clock handles irritates you. Suddenly the door to the hallway opens, you peek out quickly to see and find your beloved. You approach to greet him, cradle his face in your hands and give each other a chaste kiss on the lips.

Then he hugs you and you try to decipher what you feel, it seems to be a sense of comfort. You both pull apart and look at each other, Colt's amber gaze is a mixture of melancholy and relief.

"We'll leave at the weekend" he says without preamble.

You bite your lips and breathe shakily. You can sense Colt's impatience, of course, saving Falco is a matter of urgency. Still it hurts you that he must leave, he knows you don't like the idea, but he must. You return to his room while he goes to his parents' room to greet them and tell them about his upcoming departure for Paradis Island. You wait sitting on the bed, you want time to stand still.

Again Colt ends your loneliness as he enter the room, the two of you settle on the bed until you are facing each other. Colt gazes at you full of love as he delicately traces the contour of your face with his hand, you are lost in his gaze enjoying his touch. When he finishes, you close the distance between you and him as much as you can, you feel his arms wrap around you warmly. You cling with your hands to his shirt, as if afraid of the darkness of the room. Colt begins to stroke your hair as he distributes kisses on your forehead.

"I can't promise you I'll come back alive" he spoke slowly. Your lips were beginning to tremble, you were about to break. Colt was calm, being that he is the one who would go to war and not you. It had been a week where you were the one comforting him, now, it's totally the other way around.

"I want to make sure Falco does come back" he continued. "I don't know what's on that island, I hope all this chaos ends. I wish I could see you again later, but I don't want to promise that my life will be intact" you heard his voice trail off on those last words. You knew he was having a hard time admitting it, despite his will to live.

You nodded in understanding, amidst your sobs that were beginning to displace the silence in the room. Colt fortifies his embrace and rocks you, clinging to you knowing that the fate of his life was uncertain. Suddenly he gently pulls away from you and cradles your face with one hand, his gaze as always, one of adoration. You lose yourself in him once again as your swollen eyes continue to shed tears. You wish for time to stand still.

"I love you" you whisper and he smiles caressing your cheekbone with his thumb.

His face moves closer to yours and closes the distance in a kiss that lasts several seconds. Colt rearranges himself and his arms pull you back into his body, again he is rocking you. You are like his anchor to life, time seems to have stopped moving forward. It's just you and him in the darkness.

"I love you too"

#colt grice imagines #colt grice x reader #colt x reader #colt grice #aot fanfic #aot colt #aot x reader #aot imagines #aot fanfiction #aot warriors #colt x you #colt x y/n #colt grice x you #snk fanfiction #snk headcanons #snk x y/n #snk x you #aot x y/n #aot x female reader #aot x you

[crisalidaseason]

Sad story featuring Colt and Porco! Read it at your own risk, I'm not paying therapy. Also, there are spoilers from season 4 of Attack on Titan

Warnings: Mentions of death and corpses (nothing graphic), grief, a lot of sadness and angst. No happy ending because nothing in AOT canonverse is ever happy. Also, this is not extremely canon accurate, don't murder me!

It was beautiful, despite all the sadness surrounding him. Colt wanted to scream, disturb the loud silence of that peaceful place he was stuck in. He didn't know how he got there, or how to get out. Last thing he remembers is finally finding Falco and then a few weird flashes and heat.

Where am I?

The place was endless, just miles and miles of nothingness. Too silent, so peaceful. He felt dizzy, sitting on the ground and contemplating sleeping away. He was so tired. Training always taking too much from him, all the anxiety and worry about his family's safety pushing him down. He gave in, resting a little wouldn't hurt.

_______________

The baby was a bit ugly, if Colt were to be honest he found them quite horrendous. Red, wrinkled, a bit smelly and loud. He looked at his mother, her face swollen and eyes tired, while she tried to shush the baby.

"they're quite loud in the beginning" she said, smiling at Colt.

"it's so red" Colt exclaimed.

"don't worry, it's normal. But let's call him by name, hm?"

"have you decided?" Colt's father sat on the end of the bed, caressing his wife's legs.

"Falco" she said, looking at Colt now "what do you think?"

Colt looked at his now younger brother, he didn't know what to think about the name. Names were just a word people often called you by, and the Grice family isn't lucky when it comes to names. A target their name is.

"I guess it's good, mama"

"You were nameless for a few days, Colt. I think it's quite the accomplishment that we have Falco named on the same day" his father said, chuckling a little.

Colt turned to look at his dad. The man had a few bags under his eyes after spending hours holding his mother while she gave birth. Colt wasn't present, since he was training more and more every time.

His dad signaled to Colt to approach him, which he did. His dad embraced him tightly, rocking him a little as if he was the baby in the room. His mother nursed little Falco, starting to gently sing a familiar lullaby.

"can you promise me something, son?"

"yes"

"Maybe someday we might not be here anymore-"

"why? Did something happ-"

"it's okay, it's okay" his dad tightened his embrace, kissing his son head "it's just a possibility, nothing is gonna happen to us"

"okay..."

"We just wanted you to know that only if something happens, promise us you and Falco will always be together, protecting one another" his mother said.

Colt looked at the baby quietly nursing, he couldn't really understand how a baby would protect him, but he would protect Falco at all costs regardless.

"I will, I promise"

______________

Colt woke up again, still in the same place, same silence. He didn't know how long he slept for, nothing indicated the hours passing. He could have slept for minutes or hours, maybe days.

The dream -the memory actually- was the nicest he had in a while. Lately, when he could sleep, the nightmares of what his brother might be going through in Paradis haunted him. Maybe this dream was a nightmare in disguise, reminding him of his failed promise. His brother wasn't safe, he failed. He failed to free him from warrior training, from the danger of inheriting titans, from war itself, and now his brother is in enemy territory.

But he remembers seeing him. Somehow he remembers embracing his little brother, checking him for any injuries. Did he dream that too? He supposed it was normal to dream about finding you little brother safe and sound. Maybe he is sleeping right now, having this weird dream about dreams. Maybe he went mad and was actually still in Marley, but in the psych ward.

"Colt?"

He turned, seeing Porco right in front of him, in a weird set of clothes...he recognized that emblem.

"Porco"

They stared at one another for what seemed like a good few minutes, until both of them reacted and hugged. He wasn't particularly close to the Galliard, but seeing a familiar face in such a huge empty land felt good.

"What happened? Where are we? and what are you wearing?" Colt asked, a little overwhelmed.

Porco looked at him a little confused and then the sadness filled his eyes.

"Come with me"

"Wait you didn't answer-"

"I will! Just come with me" Porco insisted, already walking towards nothing.

Colt had no choice but to follow the other warrior, trusting their bond as soldiers to explain the situation. They didn't walk much until the ground started to shift and suddenly he was engulfed in darkness.

____________

Colt heard faint knocks on the door, almost too faint to hear if it wasn't for his light sleep. He sighed, already knowing what was happening.

"come in"

Falco entered the bedroom silently and got on his brother's bunk bed, trying not to wake Porco while climbing into the top bunk.

"you can't keep doing this, Falco" Colt whispered.

Falco didn't answer, going under the covers and folding like a little ball. Colt's heart ached.

Falco had recently moved permanently into the warrior's headquarters, being away from home was taking a toll on him. Colt remembered his own feelings of loneliness, missing his parents and the daily life they shared. He knew Falco was feeling the same, but he wasn't alone. Sneaking into Colt's room for the first few nights was understandable, but the older Grice feared that Falco would get caught one day and punished for leaving his own shared quarters.

"you can sleep here, but remember-"

"go back to your room before dawn, I know" He said, voice trembling.

"good night, Falco"

"good night"

_______________

Colt and Porco emerged in another place, a yard of sorts, less empty than the other place. Colt felt dizzy and paused to get his head cleared up.

"It sucks, I know" Porco said "the memories are overwhelming sometimes"

Colt looked at him, confused.

"Are we dreaming the same dream?"

Porco's eyes were sad again. He helped Colt stand up again and pointed into a weird little structure in front of them. It seemed like a clay bowl with very dirty water.

"look inside" Porco said.

Colt stared at Porco like he grew another set of eyes. Look at a bowl of dirty water?

"come on, look inside"

He did it, not understanding a single thing. He saw nothing but dirty water and was about to confront Porco when suddenly the room changed and he saw himself and Porco in the middle of a gruesome scenery. He recognized the place somehow...

"I was here! and Falco was here too, with Gabi" Colt remembered "this is Paradis!"

"yes, we were there" Porco said, stepping in front of him.

"your clothes, they're from the Paradis military. Did the plan work??"

"I really don't know, but it doesn't matter anymore, Colt" Porco said.

"what do you mean? Porco, what happened? what's happening?"

Porco pointed at something in the distance. The buildings were destroyed, everything was completely destroyed, with blood everywhere. But Porco was pointing at the ground, at a corpse. Both men got closer and closer to the body. Colt couldn't really understand what happened, but it seemed like this poor person was burned to unrecongnizable.

"who is this?" Colt asked.

"I think you already know"

Get away from me, Colt!

It's okay Falco! Your big brother will stay with you.

Colt's head hurt. All the memories from his last moment rushing through his head. He quietly sobbed, falling on his knees in front of his own burnt body. He really did fail in everything. Falco wasn't saved, his destiny was cursed with forever wandering the earth as a mindless creature.

"he is alive" Porco said "but you're not gonna like it"

"I know, he told me he drank the wine"

"No, worse" Porco kneeled alongside Colt.

Colt looked at Porco again, the realisation hitting him full force again.

"you didn't!"

Porco shook his head. Looking in the distance, as if remembering his own last moments.

"I'm sorry, Colt" he said, holding back the tears "I couldn't do this anymore. I saw the opportunity, I couldn't- I just-"

He couldn't finish. The pain was too much.

Both men sat there, hurting their knees on the ground, mourning the life they just lost and the consequences they left. Colt felt somewhat relieved Falco wasn't stuck as a mindless titan, but being the Jaw Titan was just as bad. Cursed titan that was. A child becoming a weapon was concept he never wanted for Falco. He wanted to inherit the beast titan and get Falco out of the military, but everything went wrong. What a shit of an older brother.

I'm sorry mama, and papa

#pls let the tumblr gods let this show on the tags #i am so sad #but i had to #colt grice #colt #porco galliard #falco grice #warriors aot #reiner #pieck #zeke #porco #marcel #gabi

[keigologies]

⌗ attack on titan masterlist.

⌗ armin arlert.

⌗ colt grice.

⌗ connie springer.

⌗ eren jaeger.

⌗ erwin smith.

⌗ hange zoe.

⌗ jean kirstein.

⌗ levi ackerman.

"with practice, with time." (fluff, drabble)

"good." (smut, drabble)

"done, over." (angst, hurt/comfort, drabble)

⌗ mikasa ackerman.

⌗ pieck finger.

⌗ porco galliard.

⌗ reiner braun.

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#.navigation #.masterlists

[shayewrites]

ATTACK ON TITAN MASTERLIST

“to rise above monsters, we must abandon our humanity.” - armin arlert

THE 104th CADET CORP

Eren Jaeger:

It’ll Be Okay: Eren Angst

Armin Arlert:

worse games to play: hunger games au series

Jean Kirschten:

Won’t Say I’m in Love

Marco Bodt:

Connie Springer:

Reiner Braun:

The Red in My Ledger (Reiner x Oc Series)

Let Me Be Your Hero: Reiner Comfort

Take a Chance: Reiner Reverse Comfort

Bertholdt Hoover:

THE VETERANS

Erwin Smith:

Travelin’ Soldier: Mini Series

Safe & Sound: Erwin Comfort

may i have this dance: Erwin Fluff

Levi Ackerman:

“starlight”

Hold Your Head High Soldier: Levi Comfort 

Enough to Stay: Modern!Levi Angst

THE MARLEYANS

Zeke Jaeger:

Porco Galliard:

Marcel Galliard:

Colt Grice:

@ shayewrites tumblr 2022

#shayewrites #anime #attack on titan #shayewritesaot

[ao3feed-eremin]

Keep the Customer Satisfied

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/ucWTELJ

by dottylikehottie

Erwin Smith was sent to Trost, Washington for one goal; to destroy it and build a ski resort.

Levi Ackerman wants his kids safe, and if he has to buddy up with the geezer of a lawyer trying to prevent that, then so be it.

Armin Arlert wants nothing more than for his childhood flame to come back, no matter how stupid it sounds, but just keeping his head afloat is enough for now.

Historia Reiss has done many an impossible thing, but the dealing with the bus driver demanding a higher pay on her ass might just be the hardest thing yet.

Words: 12255, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: all the ones listed above, Colt Grice, Falco Grice, Gabi Braun, Annie Leonhart, Erwin Smith's Father, Erwin Smith's Mother

Relationships: Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith, Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir of the 104th, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman/Sasha Blouse, Kenny Ackerman/Uri Reiss, Moblit Berner/Hange Zoë, Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover, Nanaba/Mike Zacharias

Additional Tags: POV Erwin Smith, POV Levi Ackerman, POV Mikasa Ackerman, POV Armin Arlert, POV Eren Yeager, Soft Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman is Bad at Feelings, Levi Ackerman is Mikasa Ackerman's Uncle, Overprotective Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith is in Denial, Erwin Smith is a Mess, Armin Arlert Needs a Hug, and a fucking cigarette, Good Friend Mikasa Ackerman, Older Mikasa Ackerman, By Like A Year, Eren Yeager Needs a Hug, Eren Yeager is a Mess, he's also missing until like the later chapters, Past Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, real shit goes down bc I love angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, I will not go into detail abt that, Love is complicated, POV Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, POV Ymir of the 104th (Shingeki no Kyojin), Alternate Universe - Small Town, Found Family, levi ackerman has insane parental instincts, Trans Male Character, Gabi Braun is a Little Shit, historia reiss is that bitch, Ymir of the 104th Being an Asshole (Shingeki no Kyojin), shes got issues that are being worked on

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/ucWTELJ

#eremin #ao3feed #fanfic #eren jaeger x armin arlert #armin arlert x eren jaeger

[m1ckeyb3rry]

'A ship in the harbor' fiction will have 90 episodes as far as I can see. This.is.insane!! You will write 90 episodes of Colt Grice fiction, while it is very difficult to find a Colt Grice fiction. I'm so excited. And I know that our hearts will be broken ❤️‍🩹 and Would you like to tell us a little bit about your plans regarding this fiction? ehehehe~

I'm very curious as to what will happen.

and...

Friedrich, my cinnamon roll, all my heart can be yours.

Yes it should end up having around 90 chapters as long as everything goes the way I outlined it!! Haha it’s crazy for sure, there’s a lot I have l planned and a good bit of it is angst so 🫡

Hmm I don’t want to spoil too much (which feels funny to say considering it’s a fanfiction lol) but I will say I’ve had the ending planned out for a while and I’d consider it to be bittersweet, if not outright happy. It’s also pretty open-ended on how certain characters end up which some people might not like but I think it fits the story so we’re going to roll with it lol.

I WAS NOT EXPECTING SO MANY PEOPLE TO LOVE FRIEDRICH AHAHA he deserves it though 🫶🏼 honestly I was worried people would get annoyed by the amount of original characters in SitH but like I’ve said before if I only used canon characters the story would be nowhere near as interesting imo. And then as a bonus most people have really liked all of the OCs (especially friedrich and hadrian) so that’s been very nice :)

Thank you so much for reading and leaving an ask!! Sorry for the late response

#ship in the harbor

[wttcsms]

daylight [pt. ii] ; colt grice.

pairing colt grice x f!reader word count 19.2k synopsis colt grice's life has never been easy, and it's about to get a hell of a lot worse. content contains sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, derogatory terms towards women author's notes if you count part one, it took nearly 32k words for them to share their first kiss. who says the pwp writer can't have range? also, i'm always in a constant state of thanks to @mochalate, who constantly motivates me to work on this fic <3

part two: no kissing 

Colt Grice’s first kiss catches him off guard. 

He’s sixteen, and the positives that come from puberty are finally showing up. Now, instead of waking up with achy bones and joint pain, he’s nearly six feet tall. All traces of boyhood have been shredded, and in its place is a face with sharp features and nice bone structure that has spent years being hidden under baby fat. Like every other hopeless case living in Liberio, Colt enlists in the military because there aren’t many other options for him out there. He joins later than the others because up until he was fourteen, he wasn’t a hopeless case.

Then, Dad got sick. Bills needed to be paid. Colt was more than ready to sign up for the Marleyan military considering the fact that the average starting age is twelve — for “late bloomers,” that is. It had been this whole entire embarrassing ordeal, really. He stood out from his first bunkmates, all gangly bones and a less-than-sunny disposition on the world and its current state affairs compared to the hopefulness his younger fellow cadets all seemed to harbor. 

Colt doesn’t want Marley to go to war. He doesn’t want to die; he only enlisted because his family needed him to, even if they begged and pleaded with him not to. His paychecks get sent directly to his family, by his request. 

The uniform fits him awkwardly, too, at first. He thinks this is why he probably wasn’t on the receiving end of positive female attention. He sticks out like a sore thumb during mandatory lineup because he’s a whole head taller and several years older than everyone else who’s getting in formation. His pants fit weird, stopping at an odd point that’s an inch too high above his ankles, and the strap on his helmet is too tight and digs into the skin of his chin, resulting in him walking around with a constant red impression on the bottom of his face. He gets promoted quickly because of his test scores and ends up surpassing all his peers in his proper age bracket, too. It’s around this time that he starts taking charge, too used to having to play big brother for his original cadet class (with their chubby faces and short statures, they reminded him all too much of Falco and what he had to leave behind; settling into this role came too naturally). At this point, the uniform fits perfectly. 

The yellow armband he’s rewarded with fits just right, too.

At age sixteen, Colt Grice is officially transferred to the Warrior Unit as a Candidate. He has to prove his devotion to the cause; this means choking down more propaganda to the point where everything that comes out of his mouth is coated in Marleyan ideals, and it’s this whole entire thing where he stands up and does an oath, swearing his eternal, unwavering allegiance to Marley. It’s a public affair. The Unit makes him out to be a role model, the poster boy of sorts, for the Warrior Unit. To show the world that while being an Eldian makes you equivalent to cannon fodder, that doesn’t mean you can’t be thankful. 

He’s the closest thing this shithole has to a success story. 

Armed with what can be considered a Marleyan stamp of approval, and the fact that Colt now fills out his uniform quite nicely, in that primitive, hyper-masculine way that makes the female hindbrain go buckwild at the sight of him in it, he gains an insane amount of popularity. 

Colt isn’t a stranger to having so many admirers, now, but sometimes he still feels like that awkward fourteen year old boy playing at being a man. It’s why he’s so shocked when the girls who pursue him turn out to be very forward.

He doesn’t even expect the kiss. He’s back in the internment zone for a holiday break, and Susie had asked him to pretty please meet her behind the old schoolhouse. Colt doesn’t suspect anything will happen, but he does mentally prepare himself to give the usual response that he gives to all the confessions he receives: you’re a very nice girl, but I can’t give you the time and care you deserve; my current and only devotion lies with the military.

Susie is a very nice girl. With her short, curly brown hair and hazel-colored eyes, Colt is certain that there are plenty of boys who wouldn’t mind a love confession from her. She was one of the most popular girls back in school, or at least, Colt thinks she was. And her parents are one of the more well-off Eldians in the area; her dad’s a doctor. Her dad is Dad’s doctor, the recipient of a fourteen year old Colt’s meager military stipends. He wonders if she knows this, if she cares, if it would make a difference.

She doesn’t say anything to warn him that the kiss is coming. She rounds the corner, spots him in her line of vision, and heads straight towards him. He thinks she’ll stop at the last second, but she doesn’t, and by the time she’s too close for comfort, it’s too late.

Her lips press against his, and her eyes are closed. He knows her eyes are closed because his are wide open from shock. It lasts for two seconds, and it’s because that’s how long it took for him to regain control of his body and pull back. 

Then he apologizes and tells her that that wasn’t supposed to happen, and he can’t be with anyone right now. Shock is still clearly in his system because without even thinking too hard about it, Colt immediately turns his back on her and runs straight home. To this day, he feels bad about how he handled the situation, but last he’s heard is that Susie is married now. 

He licks his lips reflexively as he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders what your first kiss was like. He hopes for your sake that it was good, or as good as a first kiss can be. Then, he feels an unfamiliar, uncomfortable pit in his stomach at the idea of you kissing some nameless, faceless stranger. It gets even worse when he imagines that the kiss is good, that it’s something you enjoy. And then he just feels pathetic when he realizes that it’s jealousy he’s experiencing. 

It’s unfair of him to be envious of any of your past partners because Colt knows that he does not have a claim on you. He does not own you, nor does he believe that you are a possession, that you’re something to be owned. He is well aware that you are your own person, with your own experiences, and a whole lifetime lived before and without him. For all he knows, he’s just a footnote in the story of your life.

This thought makes him sad.

Fuck. He wants to turn his body and plant his face into his pillow and scream. He won’t do that because he’s nothing but courteous to his bunkmates, but this has been such a recurring urge lately that Colt is wary that this is going to be a problem if he doesn’t get his shit together, and fast. 

He finds himself thinking about you — he wouldn’t dare to go so far as to describe it as being “more often than he would like” because the fact of the matter is that he enjoys thinking about you, doesn’t mind you being the one singular thought that remains on his mind — and that’s the core of the issue. 

He repeats your name in his head like a mantra, until he’s certain that he can formulate sentences using your name as the only word. He says it in his head with different cadences, stresses the syllables in a different way every time, wonders if you ever think about him in a similar manner. 

It’s been a week since he last saw you. The bruises on his face have healed up quite nicely, and the cut isn’t even going to leave a scar, according to one of the nurses. As a result of falling asleep in your bed and having to limp back to base at the crack of dawn, Colt’s punishment is that he isn’t allowed to leave the grounds for the next two weeks. 

“What the hell were you doing, boy?” Commander Magath has the type of voice that is always booming. He is consistently loud, and Colt has long since discovered that that’s just simply how Magath sounds. Colt recalls flinching at his commanding officer’s question (re: he’s still recovering from a mild concussion, and Magath’s loudness isn’t helping much in the healing process), and, because Colt happens to come back at the odd period of time where the soldiers on watch are doing their shift changes, there’s an audience. 

Colt knows he’s stuck in between a rock and a hard place. He would rather run one hundred laps around base than ever admit he missed curfew because he was at a brothel. He also knows that he doesn’t have it in him to directly lie to an authority figure, especially when it’s a Marleyan officer. Looks like indoctrinating children really does have some lasting side effects. 

“I fell asleep, sir.” 

“Well, no shit!” 

Colt attempts not to wince when some tiny droplets of spit fly out of Magath’s mouth and land on his cheeks. He thinks it would only piss off the commander some more.

“I think it’s because of the concussion, sir. I thought going into town would help clear my head, but I ended up knocking out before I could even remember to head back to base.” Not a lie. Colt would never willingly fall asleep on you because he knows most of his time with you is limited. He has to make the most of it. 

At the mention of the injuries sustained, Colt thinks Magath’s expression somewhat softens. It must be a trick of the light, though, or maybe his head got more banged up than he realized because Magath is back to berating him, saying that he would expect this dumbass behavior from anyone else in the Warrior Unit but him — which could be taken as a sort of compliment, if only he didn’t follow it up with a reminder that everyone in said unit is such a breed of stupid that a common idiot off the street could be considered a genius compared to them. Well, idiot or not, Colt’s well aware that Magath’s definitely insulting him and his peers.

But when his only punishment is to remain confined to the base, he knows better than to try to argue his way to a lighter sentence. 

On nights like these, nights where he can’t seem to fall asleep because every slumber pales in comparison to the one he spent with you, he stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom and prays to every power in the universe that you are having a good night. 

As far as bad nights go, you think this one might top the list. At minimum, it ranks somewhere in the top ten worst nights of your life. 

Ramzi is sick. You would think that being exposed to the elements on a daily basis and eating food well past its prime date for consumption would make Ramzi immune to most common ailments, but if anything, it makes him even more susceptible to sickness. While he’s plenty grown up now, being sick seems to make Ramzi revert back to a little kid, to indulge in the boyhood he never had the luxury of enjoying. 

“You can’t leave me! I don’t feel well!” 

Even with a runny nose, a persistent cough, and his ongoing battle against his body’s fluctuating temperatures (he’ll throw off his blankets because he’s overheating only to be shivering not even five minutes later), he still has just enough strength to test his luck and see if his complaints will be enough to get you to stay home. 

His antics, while proof of his love for you, are starting to get on your nerves. The time you spend running around, trying to get him situated when his one goal in life is to act like he’s unbearably uncomfortable so you keep tending to him, is making you late. The other girls who live in this camp had stopped by earlier, asking if you were ready to leave. At that point, you had been in the process of bundling Ramzi up in several blankets (he frees himself ten minutes later, complaining that he was getting “too hot”) and told them to go along without you.

Now, you realize you’re going to be late to your first scheduled appointment of the night. 

Fuck.

If you leave now and run like the hounds of hell are nipping at your heels, you could probably make it to the brothel at a decent enough time to where Willa wouldn’t have to intervene on your behalf. You know things are bad if Willa gets involved. 

Before you lose your patience and snap at Ramzi, the opening of your tent is being pulled back. 

“No work tonight?” Malik asks. 

“I wish.” And then, “Did you need something?” The I’m kind of busy goes unsaid, but it’s clear in the agitated tone of your voice. 

“Just wanted to stop by and check up on you two. It’s been a while.” 

Malik doesn’t apologize. Probably on account of the toxic masculinity that seems to run rampant around this camp — this whole society, really — but he means well. Most of the time. From what you can see, at least. 

You know him stopping by and saying this is his idea of extending an olive branch to you. Usually, you would tease him at this point, ask him if he forgot how to say the words “I’m sorry.” All you can think about, though, is that he has the worst fucking timing. 

“Yeah, I guess it has been.” You tell him, opening up your trunk and pulling out the pair of socks Colt had gifted to you. In the box containing all of your meager possessions, the ointment lays on top of everything. You’re not facing Malik, anymore; instead, you pull on this pair of socks before slipping into your shoes. 

The stark whiteness of the cotton stands out from the usual colorful swaths of fabric prevalent in the camp. It’s too bright, too squeaky clean, to properly fit in your life of once-grand clothes that have retained only a fraction of the beauty and boldness it once held.  Malik innocently asks you where you got the socks from. 

“A customer.” You answer, and this shuts him up for now. If there is anything in this world that Malik hates more than admitting his fault and apologizing, it is any discussion of what you do for work. It’s an unspoken rule that the two of you don’t talk about your time at the brothel. For once, you’re glad about it. 

“I’m about to go to work right now. Could you do me a favor and watch over Ramzi for the time being? He’s sick, and I’m worried how he’s going to feel later on in the night.” Minding your manners, you look Malik in the eyes and tack on a please at the end of your request.

“You know I don’t mind.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. You think you detect something different in the intensity of the stare he’s giving you; more serious, with an almost broody concern evident in those dark eyes of his. “I’ll be waiting here when you get back. We’ll talk more then, okay?” 

You’re already running horribly late. You don’t have time to argue, to remind him that the last thing you’re in the mood for is a conversation you’re unprepared for, especially after a long shift. Instead, you give a slight nod in acknowledgment, and practically sprint out of the tent. 

The cold wind whips you in the face as you make your way to the red light district. Usually, the sun is just barely starting to set when you make your journey; it’s jarring to see how different the walk feels when you’re by yourself, and it’s starting to get dark out. 

The closer you get to the district, the more the fact that you are a woman, alone, in a more dangerous, more lawless area of the city, starts to loom over you. You tighten your coat around your body, practically hugging yourself as you try to quicken your pace. The cold air bites through the fabric of your clothes, chills you to your bones, leaves goosebumps all over your flesh. 

The streetlights are dim, the pavement cracked, and you are well aware that the cold soaking through your skin right now isn’t just from the weather, but from the lecherous stares of the men walking down the street. This is the same path you’ve taken for years now, but tonight, it is entirely too different. You never noticed just how tiny you are compared to the heavyset frames of the men standing outside, with their burly shoulders that could easily knock you down if they were to accidentally run into you. 

Even the scenery feels different. You’ve walked down this street enough times to recognize where the deep potholes in the road are, and usually the buildings lining the district are a source of odd comfort to you. There’s a familiar bar, but its usual warm glow of light emitting from within doesn’t serve as a means of brightness anymore. Now, the lighting from inside casts weird shadows on the faces of the passerby, distorts their features, gives your paranoia something to feed off of. 

“Hey, girlie,” a raspy voice startles you. It’s been so long since you’ve had to worry about yourself — always choosing to focus on the surroundings for the sake of the other girls, always never having to because girls develop a sort of stupid invincibility when they link arms and take the town together — that you’re caught off guard by the sudden feel of a man’s hand on your shoulder. 

Fight or flight. 

You choose the weakest of the options: freeze. 

You realize that you’re scared to look at the man. Your eyes dart nervously down the street, taking in the surrounding buildings, but you realize that there is no one here who will be able to rescue you. Survival instincts kick in, and you find yourself able to back away from him, but his hand grips down on your shoulder even harder. Like a claw, like a shackle. 

“You one of those streetwalkers?” His words come out like a croak. You reason that it doesn’t matter what exactly he says; as long as it comes out of his mouth, with his dry, thirsty, cracked lips, spitting out sentences in between yellowing and rotting teeth, the words are going to sound disgusting regardless. 

“Or ya just a whore for free?” 

You take another step back. With what little light that shines from the streetlamps (that have certainly seen better days), you’re hyper aware of more figures approaching. Sometimes, there are other women who stand outside, some women who are the “streetwalkers” the man has accused you of being, but you know that they cannot come to your rescue. If they were to witness this scene right now, a scene that they’ve probably endured every night out here, they might not even recognize your plight. 

“What’s going on here?” An authoritative voice cuts through your panic, and in the low lighting, you almost think it’s Colt that’s approaching this scene. 

Wishful thinking is a silent killer. Like drugs and alcohol, the high you get from it, the relief, only lasts for so long. Coming down is even harder. 

You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed at the sight of your savior, but this soldier is clearly Marleyan. For all you know, he’s just gotten done with a session with one of the girls you patch up every night. 

He grips the man’s wrist, yanking it from your shoulder and assessing him. 

“I asked you a question.” This blond-haired soldier shoots such a sharp, disgusted look at the man that you’re certain the effect would be similar to how it feels when a blade pierces through one’s intestines. 

“Look, I don’t want no trouble.” The man snarls, pointing a grimy finger at you. “She’s the one solicitin’ people for cheap sex. Go arrest her, officer.” The way he spits out the title shows he harbors the same amount of respect for prostitutes and the police. The only thing stopping him from putting his hands on this soldier is probably the high chance that he’s got a weapon on him. 

“Big fan of the law, are you? Should I take you both down to the station with me, then? We can file a report together, and you can tell my superiors what exactly your business being down here is.” 

“Fuck you.” 

You’re debating if you should test your luck and run. There’s a chance that the soldier would rather chase after you than deal with this man’s verbal assault and hair-pin trigger temper. However, the last thing you want is to get indicted for prostitution. Not because it’ll go on your record; you couldn’t care less about that. It just sounds like filing an official report would take a long time, possibly the whole night, and you can already picture all the money you’re losing by standing here instead of being in your room, ready to greet guests. 

As if sensing your agitation, the soldier glances at you and then claps the man on the shoulder, guiding his hand upwards until it’s circled around the back of the man’s neck. He pulls the man closer to him, and because of the soldier’s height, he has to lean down slightly to get eye-level with your harasser. 

Silence. You can feel the fear radiating off of the man, undercut with his drunken defiance. If there’s anything men have in common, no matter what race or class, it’s certainly audacity. 

“Y’know what, I thought you had a bit more fire in you. ‘Fuck you’, seriously?” The soldier turns his head and looks at you, making a face as if trying to ask you can you believe this guy? “I know you can do better than that.” He takes his hand and pats the back of the man’s head. “Tell you what. I’m going to walk this lovely lady home, who was certainly not soliciting you, and then I’m going to come right back here. By the time I come back, you better come up with some better insults, or I’m going to be very disappointed.” Straightening himself up, he extends a hand to you; thankfully, not the hand that has touched that man. 

What else are you supposed to do in this situation other than take it?

The longer you walk with this man, the more you study him. The more you study him, the more you realize that it was foolish to believe even for a second that he was Colt. They have similar builds, but Colt has a leaner figure, lighter hair, soft brown eyes. The way they carry themselves is different, too. This man walks with his arms swinging by his side, and while the first glance of him can fool people into thinking he’s a perfect soldier, upon closer inspection, you realize that his uniform is missing a button, his pants are slightly wrinkled, and there’s a strand of hair in the back that’s sticking up. 

“So, you work at the Gentleman’s Club.” It’s not a question. His tone is light enough, though, to where you’re not on edge. He had let go of your hand the second you two left the immediate vicinity of the man. 

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve run into many of them there.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Gentlemen.” He clarifies. “I don’t think you’ve dealt with many gentlemen there, right?”

“The name’s all for marketing.”

“Hi, All For Marketing. Bit of a mouthful of a name.” 

You don’t laugh at his joke, but he does, and he does so in a manner that indicates that one, he doesn’t care if people laugh at his jokes or not, and two, he’s very accustomed to people not laughing with him. You can’t tell if you like him or not. 

“My name’s Michael.” He adds, after settling down. “Willa told me telling you my name would make you feel better.” 

“Willa told you that?” You narrow your eyes at him. “How do you know Willa?” Willa’s the reason why any of the girls feel remotely safe in the Club. She’s older than you, but only by a few years. With the life she’s led, you’re only surprised that she’s not older — or dead. 

“She kicked me in the nuts once, and I was a goner ever since.” 

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, and he doesn’t clarify. Instead, he drops you off at the front of the brothel, not even saying goodbye. He just turns right on his heels and starts to whistle an unfamiliar tune. You don’t tell him that this part of town isn’t the area where you want to whistle as you skip down the street, but considering the fact that you hadn’t felt any more slimy stares directed at you as you walked with him, maybe he can handle himself just fine. 

“Is everything okay?” Willa rarely calls anyone to her office. Tucked away in an odd corner of the brothel, it’s almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to know where her office is. The first and only time you’ve been in here had been on your first day of work, when she made you tea and told you that this is going to be a horrible experience, and that her job isn’t to ensure the girls’ comfort but rather their survival.

She’s the first person to truly ingrain this idea into your head: survival over everything. She’s the only other person who will continuously remind these girls that there are worse things to be in life than uncomfortable. 

The three jagged scars running down her face, starting from an inch below her left eye, down her cheek, traveling all the way to her throat, surely must have been more than just an uncomfortable ordeal. But here she is now, standing tall, pouring hot water into cups. The smell of tea brewing fills the small room. 

“Yes, of course.” You tell her, not sure why she had been waiting for you in the lobby, only to usher you into her office. 

“Hmm.” Her back is still turned to you. Her desk isn’t spotless like you would imagine it to be; she runs such a tight ship in this brothel, you envisioned that every other aspect of her life must be dictated by her militant extremes. There are papers covering every surface, pinned to the walls, even, and books stacked on the floor. You can’t imagine finding anything in this mess. Anything of importance would most likely be hidden in plain sight.

“Is this about the two appointments I missed? Willa, I—”

“Already handled it.” She turns to face you, offering you a teacup. The warmth travels from your hand and spreads to the rest of your body. You didn’t even realize just how cold you are.

“Are you going to fire me now?” The newfound warmth in your body immediately dissipates. You’re not above begging. If it comes down to it, you’ll do anything to keep this job. The sounds of Ramzi’s coughs fill your mind as you continue speaking, “Willa, I have never been late before this—”

“I’m not going to fire you.” She takes a seat on the edge of her desk, some papers falling to the ground as a result. “I just wanted to talk.” 

“About?” 

She shrugs, placidly, but you’re certain it’s just an act. She’s sitting too rigidly on her desk, and Willa is not the type of person to waste time (time is money, after all), especially just to shoot the shit. Finally, after the protracted silence, she sighs.

“Don’t you wish you could hop on a ship and leave this shithole? Sounds pretty nice, right?” 

You allow yourself three seconds of some more wishful thinking, but the idea of ever leaving Marley and having a life that’s better than the one you’re currently living right now seems so out of reach, your mind can’t even wrap around such an idea. 

“Wherever I go, I’d still be me.” 

“It’s a total hypothetical, [Name]. What if you ran away and had a whole new identity?” Her green eyes are very sharp. Actually, every feature of Willa is pointed and sharp. Depending on the lighting, she either looks delicate like a doll or downright dangerous. 

“What’s the point? What’s the point of living if you’re not yourself?” 

She smiles at you, almost like the two of you are sharing some intimate secret.

“I should probably go.” You tell her. You didn’t make this trip just to leave the brothel with empty pockets. There’s only so many hours left in the night. “Thanks for the tea.” 

You set the cup back on the small table crammed in the corner of her office. You didn’t even take a single sip.

Your hair is a matted, tangled mess, some strands sticking to your sweaty face. Regular customers range from the dregs of society to silent men who like to think themselves unemotional and cold but fuck with a vigor and passion that has them grunting out the name of the woman they truly wished was under them. For the most part, you don’t mind the men who fuck you with this sort of detached lust. 

Some nights, it’s even mildly entertaining. 

Tonight, it just hurts.

It’s like every man who stumbles into your room tonight has a lover in his head. Lover might be too sweet of a word, though. You can’t picture any of these men being loving, but sometimes, you can hear it in their distressed groans. Something animalistic and wounded, filled with want and desire. 

You wonder what the big fucking deal is. If you’re infatuated — even foolish enough to think yourself in love — with somebody, why are you paying to have sex with someone else? What’s stopping them from pursuing these women freely? The fact that they’re losers?

Your pessimistic thoughts give way to something more personal, though. When you’re left to sit in the silence after hearing the nonstop exclamations of every woman’s name but your own — each of them said in such a desperate, longing manner, it was probably a love confession — you realize that only a select few people outside the refugee camp know your name. 

You stare at your door, willing it to open. 

Hoping. Wanting. Waiting. 

Just like every other night this past week, just like every other night that followed after you acted just as foolish as these men and whispered your name to him, he doesn’t show up. 

You sink into your mattress. 

Hope’s going to kill you before anything else gets the chance. 

Colt stares at his reflection in the barracks’ bathroom. There’s a tiny crack running down the mirror that hangs over the sink he used to wet his toothbrush and rinse his mouth — the one with the perpetual leaky faucet — and the constant drip drip drip of water slowly plopping down in the discolored porcelain does nothing to ease his nerves.

Tonight is his first night of renewed freedom. 

There’s little to no trace of the sparring match from two weeks ago. Claire had been right in her assessment: there is no lasting scar from the cut. He feels himself tracing the areas on his cheek where the bruises formed. There’s nothing left of them, now, but he can trick himself into feeling the ghost of your touch when he does this.

The only good thing to come out of not seeing you for two weeks is that he has considerably much more money saved up, allowing him to purchase more of your time. 

The crack in the mirror travels from the upper-right hand edge down to the lower left-hand corner. It’s jagged, but faint; just enough to distort his reflection, make it look like he’s some messed up puzzle where the two pieces aren’t aligned right yet. His haircut came courtesy of his enlistment, so it’s no surprise to him when he finds he can’t style it in any other way besides the military guideline approved gelled parting. It usually doesn’t matter, considering he’s either on base or hiding his hair underneath a helmet, but now he’s standing in this cold bathroom, hyper aware of his looks.

He knows that he’s considered to be handsome. Handsome in a rather generic way, he thinks. He holds none of the rugged appeal some of the girls claim Porco possesses, nor does he hold the same amount of inviting charm Michael seems to waste, since every time he manages to attract a girl, he opens his mouth and they start running in the other direction. His looks are nothing special. This realization wouldn’t bother him on any other day, but when he’s spent two weeks thinking about reuniting with you, in all his plain glory, he feels like heading back to his room and never seeing the light of day again. 

But he’s a soldier, a Warrior Candidate, the next inheritor of the Beast Titan. He brought pride to his family, proved to everyone that he was at least someone worth giving a damn about, and—

—he wants to see you again.

Wanting is proof that he is human. Animals survive on a basis of need. They eat the food that they can hunt because they need to survive. They burrow into holes in the ground or sleep on rocks because they need to survive. They claw at each other, spitting mad, snarling, sharp teeth, bloody paws, all because they need to survive. A textbook from his childhood, a textbook still included in Falco’s curriculum, states that Eldians are more animal than human.

Colt is aware that he’s done lots of things for the sake of survival, out of need, but there is something wonderfully human that continues to live inside of him, an ache in his body that can only be relieved by giving into his wants. 

He thinks back to earlier this week, when Zeke calls for him so they can toss a baseball back and forth to each other. Colt always gets the feeling that Zeke is in a perpetual state of holding back. He’ll talk to Colt and make the occasional joke, drops an insignificant anecdote from his earlier years, all of which are scraps that Colt clings to because it won’t be long until Zeke isn’t here anymore. He’s well aware of how morbid it sounds, but Colt doesn’t view death in the disgusting, grotesque way most people do. He’s sappy. He softens it, like how he softens most things. He likens it to a well-earned rest.

He collects these little bits and pieces of information from Zeke so that at least his memory won’t be buried in the grave with him. He accidentally lets this slip out when they’re done tossing the baseball, and they’re just leaning against the brick ball, enjoying a break away from the other soldiers. 

Zeke had asked him why he cares so much, and after getting his answer, Zeke fumbles around in his front pocket, procuring a lighter and a cigarette. 

After lighting it and taking a long drag, he tells Colt, “You’re a good person, you know.” 

Zeke isn’t the type of guy who says things just to flatter people. In fact, most of the Warriors seem to go out of their way to push their luck and see what types of out of pocket things they can get away with saying. Porco tops all of them, easily. 

“Thank you,” Colt isn’t good at dealing with praise. Most of the superior officers here aren’t keen on giving compliments to Eldian soldiers, and so Colt gets used to savoring the silence in between insults.

“But, you know that memories get inherited, too, right? Can’t remember if they wrote it in the damn textbook or if I mentioned it to you before.” 

“Both.” Colt answers. He remembers, because the camaraderie of it all had sounded so appealing to a young Colt. Later, he realizes that it’s because all blessings come attached with a curse; unimaginable power and a means to do right by the people you love and your state, but you die shortly after. Maybe it’s only fair that memories get passed down, to make up for all the memories you won’t ever get to make. 

“So, what’s the point in trying to remember all the stuff I tell you?” 

The rough exterior of the bricks digs into Colt’s back. “What if not all memories get transferred over? Maybe the ones I remember on your behalf don’t pass over, but since I know them, they get to live on.” 

Zeke appears to be thoughtful for a minute, letting the words sink in, soak him straight to the bone. “Can’t argue with that.” Zeke can actually argue quite well; Colt knows this. What Zeke means to say is that he doesn’t want to argue. Zeke digs into his pocket, pulls out a carton, and offers it up to Colt. 

“I don’t smoke.” 

“Good for you. Don’t start.” The advice seems insincere, since Zeke tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground and immediately lights up another one. 

Maybe if he had regenerative abilities and didn’t have to worry about black lungs, Colt would also try out smoking. Probably not. His mother is always reminding him to take care of himself and taking up Zeke on his offer of cigarettes would feel like a betrayal to her. 

Zeke is no stranger to smoking. Colt would go so far as to call it an addiction, what with the way his fingers seem to always naturally find their way to a lighter and a cigarette. The smell of smoke clings to his jacket, and you can occasionally see him reflexively twitch his fingers when he’s gone too long without a smoke. 

Colt wonders what would happen if he goes too long without seeing you again. Would his knee bounce anxiously? Would his hands clench and unclench, just from the strain of having to resist the urge to run to your side? He’s not familiar with such a concept; it feels insane to be reduced to nothing but his wants. 

“Do you regret starting?” Colt nods to the cigarette burning in Zeke’s hand. 

“Not really, no.” 

The crunch of gravel being grinded underneath his boots, the way the tiny embers of a persistent flame clinging to the cigarette are immediately extinguished, just from one well-aimed stomp from Zeke, had Colt excusing himself to prepare for his meeting with you.

Thinking back on this, thinking about how Zeke showed no regret over his addiction, his reliance, his sole source of relief, Colt finds the courage to walk out the bathroom and head to the red light district.

“And then he fucking coughed on me!” Alize is an animated storyteller. You can see the disgusted look on her face, almost as if she’s reliving the very scene she’s describing in horrifying detail for you all. As one of the only Eldians working here, Alize gets some of the worst clients. The type to fetishize her for the armband she’s mandated to wear. 

“No!” Margaret gasps, like she is oh-so shocked at such a thing happening, even though this is a very tame thing in comparison to a lot of the situations everyone encounters. All the girls sitting in the circle are laughing, and it feels good, truly, to have a chance to gather like this and rehash traumatic events together like girls gossiping at a sleepover. If you can’t make fun of it, what’s the point of enduring it? 

Nadia is sitting next to you, back slightly hunched, knees pulled up to her chest so her little chin can rest atop them. She’s not laughing, and she’s not sharing her own stories. 

“Why don’t we ever share any good stories?” You ask, and that brings up another round of laughter. Good? In this place? Get real.

But when you’re surrounded by these girls, sitting close together, enjoying each other’s company, it’s almost easy to forget that anything bad has happened here. You want Nadia to see that. 

“I’m being serious, come on. All of us can remember at least one good story.”

“Well, there was that one guy who used to come in and dress me up in lingerie. Brand new panties and bras every week; the good stuff, too. I’m talking lace.” Margaret leans in to the circle when she says this, and everyone’s hooked. Lacy lingerie? That’s a luxury. 

“Mags, that’s not a good story! His wife caught him spending all his paychecks on playing dirty dress-up with you, and she came down here, causing an absolute ruckus!” Delia feels most passionately about this because she happened to be in the lobby when the man’s wife came around, and then got accused of being “that whore.” Delia never lets Margaret forget that she took a slap to the face for her; as if Margaret would ever forget that.

“You know what I’m not hearing? Anything good.” You point out. 

“What are you looking for? A fucking love story?” Alize snickers, before you make eye contact with her, subtly letting your eyes flicker to a hopeless looking Nadia. Alize understands immediately. 

“You know, there is that rumor about that one girl who met her husband here.” Alize starts but is immediately met with interjections.

“Not this again—”

“Get real, Ali—”

“Shut up! I’m telling the story, here, aren’t I?” Alize gives everyone in the circle a warning stare before continuing. “He was a businessman.”

“Okay, businessmen are the worst, I don’t—” You knock your body against Margaret’s, effectively getting her to quiet down so Alize can actually finish her story before you all have to head to your separate rooms to get to work. 

“And he wasn’t looking for love, by the way. Don’t get it twisted, girls. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that men don’t come to girls like us with the game plan of meeting their one true love. Got it?” The reminder seems to be aimed at Nadia, who begins to peek out of her shell at the word “love.” 

“So, this businessman, he ends up at this place because he’s new to the area and some cab driver totally screwed him over. Pulled right outside our lovely little area of the city and robbed him! Now, he’s broke, but looks way too good to be in an area like this. And our girl, Nadia—” The name of the girl who gets the happy ending always changes. No one has any idea how this rumor started; apparently, it always happens to be right before the time the oldest girl at the brothel started. By the time people start requesting for someone to tell this story, it’s usually not for their sake, but for pulling out some other girl from the darkness of this place. Nadia is definitely latching on, allowing herself to be rescued. Even if the story is just a fantasy, it’s still better than wallowing in a pit of despair.

“—she spots him. She’s about to head to our little club here until she spots him. He looked so out of place and like easy pickings. If she didn’t approach him, who knows where he’d be?” 

“Dead in a ditch, probably,” A voice pipes up, followed by quiet giggles.

“Naked, too. You know they would’ve robbed him for anything he had.” Margaret adds in, resulting in another round of laughter. You smile at her response; she’s not wrong.

“Well, isn’t he just so lucky to have met Nadia, then! Anyway, Nadia finds this hopeless case of a man and is like, ‘you’re not from around here, are you?’ and he goes, ‘what gave it away?’, and she says, ‘you’re not unzipping your pants at the sight of me.’ Oh, Nadia. What a class act she was.” Alize sighs. “She takes him to the brothel and lets him go straight to her room, and she tells him, ‘you can spend the night here.’ Of course, he’s a businessman. He knows nothing in life is free. So he asks her, ‘what’ll it cost me?’ And she tells him a price that’s worth three nights of work! He agrees to it, but tells her he doesn’t have any money to pay her right away. Now, Nadia is a little risk taker, because me personally? I’m not doing a damn thing for a broke man under this roof. But she trusts him! Guess he had that type of straight and narrow look about him. Only, instead of sleeping, he strikes up a conversation with her!”

“Now that’s unrealistic.” Delia mutters under her breath. “What kind of a man just wants to talk?”

“And they stayed up all night just talking, and the businessman and Nadia both have never felt so seen by someone else. So, she sends back to the nice side of town, and he comes back during the night with twice as much money as he promised. He starts visiting her every night, bringing her gifts and whatnot, and on the last day he’s about to leave town, he shows up with a ring and, well… It’s a good story. We all know how it ends.” Alize waves her hand in the air like she can’t be bothered to tell the rest. “Clearly there’s hope for us all. Especially you.” Alize reaches over to gently poke Nadia’s leg. “Maybe our little Nadia will meet a nice businessman.” 

She no longer looks like she wants the ground to swallow her up, but it’s not a fairytale from Alize that Nadia is searching for. She looks up at you, searching hard for any dishonesty when she asks you, “Has anything good happened to you here?”

You’ve come to terms with the fact that Colt is never coming back. Even thinking about his name fills you with regret because you gave up a part of yourself that was supposed to remain forever locked away in your ribcage. You haven’t thrown out the ointment or the socks yet; not because you’re sentimental, but because you’re not wasteful. Both items are kept buried in your trunk, though, underneath piles of your more familiar, more worn out pieces of clothing. Pretending that Colt has never walked into your life would protect your heart and state of mind. Admitting to the kindness he showed you would keep Nadia going. You already know what you’re going to say. 

“There used to be a soldier who would visit me and all we would ever do is talk. He didn’t even want to lay in bed.” You can hear surprised whispers from the other girls, but you focus only on Nadia. “He brought me socks and ointment for a bruise I didn’t even tell him I had. He just…had a way of noticing things.”

Nadia is raised within the same cultural environment as your own. Her eyes only further widen at the mention of the gifts he brought you. “And food? Did he bring you food?” 

It sounds silly to the Eldian girls in the room, but you can feel the watchful eyes of your neighbors. You shake your head. “No.” 

“Not yet.” This is the most certain Nadia has ever sounded about anything. “But he will. I know he will.” 

“Get ready, girls!” Willa knocks on the door, signaling to them that the fun is over. It’s time to go to work.

Before everyone can file out, little Nadia grabs your wrist, making sure you stay to hear what she has to say. Everyone is trying to be polite, but they are noticeably crowding around the door but not actually exiting.

“So then the next story girls tell when they want to talk about love will be yours. At least it’ll be a real story this time, too.”

Willa doesn’t enter your room, but she does let you know that someone has booked you for the whole night. 

Pro: guaranteed money.

Con: only a real freak would do that.

You’re not sure what to expect, but you do prepare yourself for the worst. 

If you survived everything before this, you can survive this. 

You repeat the mantra in your head until you get sick of it, and by the time the door swings on its hinges, you are nothing but calm and collected. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

Fresh, clean, and looking even better than your memories cited him to be, Warrior Candidate Colt is standing in your room. 

“Hi, honey,” you greet him, same as you would anybody else. There’s a sadistic sort of satisfaction that settles in your system when you see a wounded expression on his healed-up face. The sad puppy dog eyes he unknowingly gives you is almost enough to shatter your resolve. 

Good stories don’t come from places like these. There is no man looking for love here. Don’t act like a child and hang on to some stupid hope. 

“Hi,” he says, and it sounds like how people who have their heads underwater for a prolonged period of time gasp for air the moment they’re able to have their head above the surface. Like he needs air, like life is being shot right back into his system. Like how the men from those nights before had groaned those women’s names.

“You plan on just standing there the whole night?” Like a good hostess, you pat down the empty space on the bed next to you. He swallows hard, eyeing the bed, staring at it like he’s remembering the last time he was in here with you. 

“If that’s what you want me to do.” 

There he goes again, with the wanting, with the letting you take control. You want to ask him why he left you alone for two weeks, but that still won’t account for why it hurt you so much. You want him to tell you that he’s sorry, but you know he doesn’t owe you an apology. He’s technically nothing to you, or at least, he should be. You want him to sit down on this bed so you can play with his perfect hair and admire his perfect face and play pretend that this is the type of good story where the man loves the woman, and everything ends happily. You want, you want, you want. 

But that’s not the role you decided on. You are not The Girl Who Wants. You’re a prostitute who calls people honey and doesn’t form any emotional attachments to the men who walk into this room. This character — she knows nothing about bruise ointment and thick socks, the fear of seeing his bruised face, the peacefulness of him sleeping soundly in the bed, the gentle way he whispered your name in the dark, half-asleep but determined to say it still. The curve of his lips, the smile on his features after he said it — none of that has happened to her.

“Oh, come on, honey. Don’t be shy.” You cock your head, looking at him and wishing to see nothing but a stranger in his place. “Don’t tell me it’s your first time?”

Oh, Colt realizes. So this is what it’s like to be stabbed. 

He wonders if he was so insignificant to you that he truly didn’t make a lasting impression. The faint memory of his hair being played with, the careful way you applied the ointment, everything, was all just a fleeting moment in time. What he has spent time savoring, clinging onto, reaching for, has meant nothing.

“I should go.” He blurts out, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

What would this character do? Let him go? Let him walk out and celebrate how you have a peaceful night to yourself and you’re getting paid? Tease him? 

“Um, before I do, I just wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a plain black box. When he walks over to hand it to you, you instantly feel the smoothness of the fabric. It’s velvet. Expensive, and it’s not even the gift, just the case it’s in. “If you don’t like it, I can always return it.” He cannot. The jeweler on base had been very adamant that he does not do returns. Kids in the military fancy the idea of marrying young, but if the jeweler accepted every returned ring and necklace that came his way, he wouldn’t have money, just refurbished jewelry. Who the hell wants to buy a returned engagement ring? The jeweler had asked him. Sounds like a fuckin’ curse.

Inside the case is a simple silver watch. It has a thin band, with a tiny face, but it’s shiny and pretty, and it looks way too nice. You hesitantly remove it from the case, only to realize that it has some weight to it, too. Clearly, this wasn’t cheap. 

You look up at him, shocked, surprised. You know you hurt him and if you felt bad for your treatment of him before, you feel infinitely worse now. 

“Time seems very important.” He explains, sometimes staring at his polished shoes as if he’s never seen them before, sometimes letting his eyes flicker up towards your face, almost like he wants to gauge your reaction. “I figured a watch would be useful. To track time. To make sure that no one wastes yours, or tries to claim that they spent less time than they actually did—”

“I love it.” You tell him. 

There’s that pleasant warm feeling he gets inside of him every time you praise him. You like — no, love — something he’s picked out for you! He wants to launch into the story of how he got it, tell you how he spent two hours in that store trying to get it just right, how he’s happy that you like it because he can’t return it. He doesn’t, though. He just gives you a small smile and is about to head back to base until you ask him,

“Why were you gone for so long?” 

You’re in a tiny room, and yet, you want to make your voice even tinier. You say the words like you’re scared they’re going to come alive and punch you in the face. If there is one person in the world who wouldn’t use how small you feel against you, it’s the soldier standing right in front of you.

He drops to his knees immediately. 

“Oh.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, to cradle your face. It’s a military feat, the type of self-restraint he possesses. All those years of depriving himself, of telling himself he’s not allowed to want, are suddenly paying off. “No, no, I swear to you I didn’t stop showing up because I didn’t want to see you anymore. After the last time I was here, I missed curfew, and my commanding officer wouldn’t give me permission to leave until today. Please, look at me.” The last sentence comes out all strangled and pained, like if you don’t, he might just do something stupid, like run out into traffic. 

It is an odd feeling to be the one who looks down on someone for once. He’s so tall, even on his knees and even with you sitting upright on the bed, his eyes are still practically level with your own. Sincere.

That’s what he is. 

You can tell just by looking into his eyes. He may stutter and choke on his words, but his eyes tell you enough. He is pleading with you, he is searching for forgiveness that he should have never needed in the first place, he is everything.

“Colt.” You remember thinking to yourself, how would it feel to hear someone say your name with such rampant desire? You should’ve been wondering, how does it feel to be the one who desires? 

You say his name, and he knows it means forgiveness. You say his name, and he knows it means want. You say his name, and he knows it means something, but he doesn’t dare to dream so big, not yet. 

“You forgive me?” 

It’s hard to say no to someone who looks like that. With the way he’s staring up at you, all hopeful and earnest, you realize that he truly has no idea of his effect on people. 

“Help me put this watch on, soldier. Pretty please?” You get to swing your feet a little, happily extending out your wrist so he can wrap the watch around it for you. 

“Too tight?” He asks you, brows furrowed, focused on the dainty piece. You’ve never realized just how big his hands are. One of these nights, you’re going to convince him to let you take a finger and trace the whole entire expanse of his broad hands. 

Colt handles things gently. You wonder if it’s hard to be so soft and caring all the time, especially when he so clearly has a soldier’s hand. All rough calluses and thick fingers. Maybe being soft and caring is just in his nature. His chemical makeup is all sugar. 

“Nope. It’s perfect as is.” 

He clasps it for you, a tiny, satisfying click locking it in place. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, and it creaks under his weight. 

“Did you really think I just left you?” He sounds hurt, and once again, the overwhelming feeling of not being a very nice person comes back to hit you in the face. 

You try to think of how to properly word it in a way that wouldn’t make him feel any worse.

“In my line of work, it’s usually the man that does the leaving. I’ll still always be here, so I guess that makes it easier to find me if they ever decide to come back.” You shrug, like it’s just that simple. Judging by the wounded look on his face, it’s clear that you weren’t successful in your task to not make him feel any worse. 

Colt normally doesn’t have an issue with speaking without thinking. He’s always been held to a much higher standard than any of his other peers, and he’s always used to treading carefully. But he can’t seem to help himself whenever he’s around you; you look at him, and all his carefully constructed self-restraint evaporates.

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to leave you.” 

You think back to your group of giggling girls — sisters, or at least, the closest thing you will ever get — and how it’s in all of your instincts to look out for one another.

Be careful of the smooth talkers, Alize always warns you all. They seem like they’re the nicest men you’ll ever meet. They’ll fatten you up with sweet kisses and hope, only to let you down in the end. You’ll say, ‘but Alize! He would never hurt me in the same way all these other men do!’, and I’ll tell you right now, he might not hit you or choke you or even call you filthy names, but no matter what he does, he’s going to find a way to disappoint you. To reveal that he is not sweet. 

And that betrayal is going to hurt the worst.

Just a couple of days with Colt, and his absence left you desperate, lonely. Who’s to say that he just won’t leave you again? You search his eyes, looking for a hint of dishonesty, for uncertainty, for boredom — anything that will tell you that he doesn’t mean what he said. That he’s just talking. That this is all just a game, a soldier wanting to stir up a different kind of war. 

Survival instincts, a choice to be made: fight or flight. 

You’ve seen your fair share of handsome men. Believe it or not, attractive people frequent brothels too. You don’t normally make a habit of studying your clients, but Colt’s face is so close to your own, and the last time you had a chance to look at him in such close proximity, he had clearly just lost a fight. 

The tall bridge of his nose is slightly crooked, noticeable only when you stare at him too closely and for too long. It looks like it was broken and the doctor hadn’t cared to make sure he was even straightening the bone when he fixed it. The tips of his blond hair hang over his forehead, casting tiny shadows, adding dimension to his face. His eyes aren’t the plain brown they appear to be. There are tiny flecks of lighter hues, almost golden, little rays of sunlight filtering his point of view. 

You don’t want to go about life always in a constant state of survival. You want to live.

“And are you? Going to leave?” A challenge. A soldier pulling back the safety on her gun, hands shaking, but the barrel is still pointed straight at him. Finger on the trigger.

“Only if you want me to.” 

Disarmed.

Colt’s finishing up a retelling of his first kiss. You think it’s cute how he gets so easily embarrassed, and it doesn’t help that you keep asking questions he doesn’t anticipate, prolonging the story. 

“Was she cute?” You ask. You’re laying on your belly, body spread comfortably over the mattress. Colt resigns himself to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce. The floor must be cold and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, and it makes you wonder about his training. 

You think about Colt’s life a lot. He’s the most open and honest person you’ve ever encountered, and sometimes, you forget that all you have to do is ask him, and he’ll tell you.

“She was considered to be pretty, yes.” 

“Diplomatic answer!” You point at him, laughing. Happy. “Did you think she was cute?”

“I did.” He says, looking down immediately after, playing absentmindedly with a piece of lint on the floor. 

“You did? Well, gee, what happened to her?” Colt doesn’t seem like the type to judge based on physical appearance. You think about Willa’s scars, and then picture them on your face. Would Colt still look at you the same way if your face’s flaws were staring back at him, head on?

“Nothing. She’s actually married now.” 

“Oh. So you don’t have a thing for married women?” That seems like the type of respectful mannerisms Colt would possess. The more time you spend with him, the more you realize that he truly is a good man. Not for glory, not for praise, but good for the sake of being good. 

“Sure.” He doesn’t tell you that no woman looks attractive to him after he’s seen you. It would sound sappy, or even worse, disingenuous. “Let’s go with that.” 

You narrow your pretty eyes at him, almost like you’re trying to appear stern, to get him to give in and tell you the full answer. Instead, you relax your face, the left side of your cheek pressed against your arm as you stare at him sideways. “I bet you’ve been with a lot of pretty girls.” It’s supposed to be a teasing remark, but to your ears, you are nervously aware of the hints of jealousy creeping in your tone. 

“My bunkmates will have you believing that.” It’s a running joke within the soldiers to make fun of Colt. One year, a list got exposed, where the girls in all the units voted on who they thought was the most handsome soldier. Colt had won by a pretty wide margin. A landslide victory. He had stayed hidden in his room, only leaving when absolutely necessary, for a whole week. 

“Tell me about your first girlfriend.” 

“I never had one.” Admitting it out loud to you makes him feel like a loser. 

“So you’re a—”

“No!” He’s blushing. “I—”

“You totally seduce women into warming your bed every night, and then you kick them out! You probably don’t even wait ‘til the morning! You make them leave right after you’re finished!” The exaggerated accusation makes you laugh, and you can’t stop because the horrified, distressed look on his face is so cute, it’s so obvious that what you said is far from the truth. The satisfaction you feel from Colt’s unchanging relationship status makes you feel gross, like you’re an awful person for taking pleasure in having him all to yourself.

You’re aware, of course, that the two of you haven’t even touched, save for your fingers on his face that one night. In the future, Colt is probably going to marry some beautiful, blushing bride, and he will have forgotten all about you. Foolishly, you cast aside those self-preserving thoughts, the ones that warn you not to get too attached. It’s been so long since you didn’t have to share with anyone else; who can blame you for wanting to take all of Colt’s attention? 

“I would never!” He exclaims, his indignation endearing.

As stoic as your soldier appears to be, you know the truth: Colt is a reactive person. You can read him from the way his brows are furrowed, or from the rush of blood and heat to his cheeks and ears, or even from the imperceptible movements of his fingers, of his hands. Colt is one hundred percent alive — full of life. Brimming with it. Overflowing with it, and sometimes, you get lucky, and you get to snatch up some of the excess, jar it, save it on the cold, dark nights where he can’t come and see you.

“I know.” You’re smiling at him. 

In fact, you would tell him that you’re damn near certain that he gets a big fat A-plus for aftercare. You can tell how  a man will treat you by how he handles everything else. Colt is careful with his hands, with sure and steady movements, and he treats fragile things gently. You think about how it felt to have the tips of his calloused fingers brush against the palm of your hand when he brought you the ointment, how it felt like a shot of adrenaline. 

Feeling pity for him, you toy with the threadbare sheet underneath your body. You want to look him in the eyes when you tell him this, so he knows you’re not just playing coy or teasing him. You want to fill him up with the same sincerity he seems to effortlessly give to you. 

Colt is deceptively cute; with his flushed expression and defensive stance on his character, it is too easy to overlook the fact that he’s a soldier, built for battle, bred for war.

Being honest is scary. You don’t know how he manages it every second of his life.

“I’ve never been kissed before.” 

Colt doesn’t know what to say to that. You don’t even know what you’re expecting him to say. 

“I hope it’s good. When you do get kissed.” He tells you. “You deserve to have it be good.” 

Oh. You didn’t know that this was what you wanted to hear until he went out and said it. 

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Pieck says, with her body draped all sorts of way across the couch. Lounging. Like a cat, Colt thinks. 

Porco pokes her back, and she shoots him a lazy, half-assed glare with no real venom behind it. “You’re takin’ up all the space on the couch.” 

“I just got back from an assignment. This feels comfortable.” As if doubling-down on her decision, Pieck shimmies her body, getting more settled in. Colt feels like she’ll sink into the cushions if they leave her unattended. 

Porco grumbles something, and then speaks up when he asks, “What’s the point of going out for drinks anyway?”

“It’ll boost morale.” Pieck says. “We captured an enemy port, and soldiers were sent back home. Might as well go out and celebrate.” 

“The port we captured was tiny and not worth a damn.” Porco points out. 

Pieck ignores this very factual statement. “All the Eldian units will be going out tonight. There’s no harm in attending.” 

“Whose idea was this, anyway? For all we know, this is a Marleyan officer’s ploy to get most of us too drunk off our asses to notice them ushering us into a navy ship so they can shoot us out of cannons.” 

At the beginning of the Mid-East War, Marleyan citizens were hopeful that this would be a conflict resolved swiftly and succinctly. With the two year anniversary and no end in sight, the effects of war are starting to settle in the country. More posters are being hung up about not wasting food or precious resources, more colorful pamphlets filled with propaganda are being delivered to schoolhouses, and every week, organizations are taking up donations to help cover military costs. If Porco doesn’t shut up, a Marleyan officer might hear and take him up on the offer; it’ll save on ammunition costs, at least.

Seeing Porco’s stance on the invitation (a pretty obvious rejection), Pieck turns her attention to Colt. “You know, there are some Eldian nurses who would like to meet you.” 

“He has a girlfriend. I told you this already!” Porco interjects. 

“Is that true?” She asks Colt. “You have a girlfriend?”

Now Porco’s staring at him. Colt feels very much like he’s being put on the spot, and he doesn’t enjoy this feeling one bit. 

“Well, she’s a girl. And I would say we’re friends.” 

Porco groans. “Don’t be so pathetic, Grice.”

If Pieck was feeling up to it, she would have slapped Porco on Colt’s behalf. Instead, she tosses him a lifeline. “You could bring her to the bar. Girlfriend or friend that’s a girl; whatever she is. It’ll probably help you out if your plan is to not get approached by girls tonight.” 

Colt latches on, grateful. “Sure. I’ll ask her.” 

He does ask you, albeit not as smoothly as he initially plans on. He wants to toss out the question, all casual-like, like no big deal, but I was wondering if you wanted to get drinks with my friends and fellow soldiers? 

What ends up happening is that he starts rambling. Somewhere between his nervous declaration that “it’s entirely your choice, and I don’t want you to feel obligated” and his speedrun of his relationship with everyone attending (“Porco only sounds like that, but he’s a nice guy when he tries, so just don’t take anything he says to heart”), you laugh.

He doesn’t know what it means to you, the fact that he doesn’t mind being seen with you. In front of, not just strangers, but people that he actually sees when the sun is up. 

“Well, with a business pitch like that, how could I say no? What night are you taking me?”

“It’s tonight.” Colt says, and you just stare at him, like he’s from a different planet. “Does tonight not work for you?” He knows that he bought all your time for tonight, just in the hopes that you would say yes. 

“I’m not dressed appropriately to go out to a bar and meet all your friends!” You point at your nightdress, the almost-translucent gown that would glow in the moonlight, if only you actually had a window in this room. The clothes that you wear on your way to the brothel are folded neatly in your dresser next to the bed, but somehow those feel like rags compared to what you’re sure his friends and their girlfriends are going to be wearing. 

“I could walk you home first, and you could change.” He suggests helpfully, but the idea of Colt stepping foot in your camp only serves to add to your panic.

“No!” You wince when you realize how loud you got, how harsh it sounds. “No, we can’t go to my place. My brother is probably sleeping, and I don’t want to bother him.” Again, it’s not a lie. But as the weeks go by, as months pass by, you are aware that you are falling deeper and deeper into Colt’s pull. Having him stand inside your home feels too intimate, like you’ll be past the point of no return if this were to happen. 

“That’s okay.” He tells you. “I don’t care what we do. I just want to spend time with you.” 

Right when you think he can’t pull you any deeper, he says something — says it so sincerely, too — that grabs you by your ankle and tugs you back to his side. You let yourself get pulled away.

“I have a change of clothes here.” You say, pulling open the dresser drawer. Colt looks like he’s about to say something, but then you start yanking your current nightgown over your head, and after taking it off yourself completely, you’re still only met with silence.

His back is turned to you. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, daring to step a couple steps towards him, even going so far as to brush your fingers against his shoulder, a silent plea for him to turn around.

“No.” The word comes out sounding tight and tense. 

“Colt, did I do something wrong?” 

He shuts his eyes even tighter, willing himself not to turn around. The ghost of your touch lingers on the surface of his shoulder, and the flash of skin he glimpsed at before he realized you were undressing lives rent-free in his mind. Are you still undressed right now? The thought of you being near naked, saying his name so sweetly, is torturous. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong at all.” He breathes out. He tries to focus on mundane things. He tries to think about the slop they served for lunch on base. He tries to think about tossing a baseball back and forth with Zeke. He thinks about Porco, who chews with his mouth open and burps without warning. 

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?” 

You do something to him. He doesn’t know what, isn’t sure if there’s a word in the dictionary that would properly describe it, but you do. 

“You’re getting undressed. It wouldn’t be…proper of me to look.” 

You didn’t think hearts could feel this way, with this tightness that surely isn’t good for your health. He says the silliest things sometimes, and it gives your tummy a nervous, fluttering feeling. All the men who have seen you naked don’t even know your name. Colt is standing here, knowing more about you than all of those men combined, and he won’t even look at your body. You wonder if he would turn around if you asked him to.

You wonder if you want him to.

Scared of what your answer might be, you’re quick to throw on the dress you originally left the house with, awkwardly smoothing it down even though you don’t think there are any wrinkles. 

“You can look now.” 

He turns around slowly, almost like he’s afraid that you’re tricking him, but then he takes you in. Takes in the faded yellowness of the dress, and the peek of white cotton that sticks out from your shoes because the socks stop right above your ankle. He likes seeing you dressed in colors, he decides. If this is how good you look in the dark, he can only imagine seeing you in the daylight. You’d have him frozen in the middle of the street with just a single glance, he reckons.

“You’re beautiful.” 

He says this, and it strips you naked. Not in a way that you’re used to, either. You feel seen, like he sees everything about you and still isn’t disgusted. You’ve been called a lot of things, but never beautiful. You think you could continue living in this wretched brothel for the rest of your life with just the memory of this high to keep you going. 

“So, you’re the girlfriend,” 

You know, instinctively, that this is the “Porco” Colt had attempted to warn you about. You adjust the thick jacket hanging on your shoulders. It’s a cold night and a long walk from the district to the bar; you don’t know how Colt didn’t freeze to death in just the thin long sleeve he wears underneath his military uniform. 

“Is that what he told you? That I’m his girlfriend?” 

“Not explicitly. But it was implied.” Porco does not mention that it was certainly not implied, but rather was an idea that he kept forcing upon Colt, and really, no one likes arguing with Porco. It’s best to just go along with whatever he says and hope he gets bored and leaves you alone. 

“It was not implied,” someone new enters the conversation, taking the stool next to Porco. She’s a very pretty girl. A flash of white-hot envy burns in your heart, sizzles down to your stomach, makes you hyper-aware of your body and sense of self. She’s sporting a red armband, same as Porco. 

“Hi.” She smiles at you, soft and incredibly friendly. “I’m Pieck.” 

You smile back, too afraid to open your mouth and accidentally say something wrong. Colt is on the other side of the bar, trying to calm down the rowdy soldiers who are all repeatedly screaming at him to take a shot. They had dragged him away from you the moment the two of you entered the bar together, and he shot you such a panicked look that you realized you would have to be the strong one and remain calm. 

As if feeling your gaze on him, he turns around. Locking eyes with him from so far away, in such a public space, makes this feel even more real. The weight of his jacket keeps you grounded, makes you not slip off the stool because you’ve never seen him look at you so intensely. 

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” Cheers erupt from the crowd of soldiers as they gleefully watch Colt finally take the damn shot. You watch the way he tips his head back, the way his angular jaw seems sharp enough to cut, the way you can see him swallow down the alcohol. The small glass looks impossibly tinier when it’s being held in his hand. 

You don’t realize how hard you’re watching him until loud laughter breaks your concentration.

“I can’t believe it! Grice really does have a girlfriend. Or, at least a girl who likes him.” Porco wipes at the corner of his eyes, as if he’s been laughing so hard, tears sprang up. Pieck rolls her eyes at her friend’s antics, mouthing out an I’m sorry, before tugging on Porco’s arm. 

“Let’s go. You’re being annoying.” She shoots you an apologetic look. “He’s drunk. And probably jealous. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t exactly get as much attention as Colt.” 

“Hey, I’m still here!” He grumbles. 

“It was really nice meeting you. I hope we’ll get a chance to meet again.” As she drags Porco away, you catch snippets of their conversation. Mainly from Porco, whose loud voice seems to boom over every other loud noise in this bar. 

“She’s not Eldian. What the hell is Grice thinking?”

The warm buzz of happiness from tonight dissipates. Porco isn’t wrong; you aren’t Eldian. This hadn’t seemed like such a major issue up until now, and before you can get up to try and get some fresh air, to regroup and think about what your next move should be, Colt appears. 

“Hi.” He says, cheeks pink. He’s been drinking some more. If the soldiers put as much effort into fighting as they do in goading Colt Grice to drink his weight in alcohol, the Mid-East War would have been over a year ago. 

“Hi.” 

“How are we doin’?” His words come out a little slurred, sliding off his tongue but getting jumbled up together in the process. 

“I’m doing fine. I’m not so sure about you, though.” You poke his stomach, but are only met with the feel of hard, taut muscle underneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He frowns. “I’m happy you’re here, y’know. But us — how are we doing?” 

“I think we’re doing just fine, too.” You gesture to the stool next to you. “Take a seat, soldier. You look like you’re going to fall over any second now.”

He ignores your suggestion, still frowning. “You’re lyin’. What happened?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.” 

“Every time something’s wrong with us, you make that face.” He shakes his head. “I like everything about your face, don’t get me wrong, but it’s this look you give me. Like you hate starin’ at me, like it makes you sad. And every time you give me that look, you say something, like callin’ me ‘honey.’” 

You thought men were supposed to be oblivious creatures. You feel like Colt Grice is the first person to notice everything about you, and you thought you would hate it, the feeling of being utterly exposed, and maybe it would be, if it were anyone else. But it’s Colt. For a soldier, he hasn’t turned anything into a weapon against you yet, and you’re starting to think that maybe he never will. 

You decide to be just as unfiltered as he is. 

“I’m not Eldian. Your friend pointed it out.” 

“Who did?” And then Colt turns around, his movements loose and a bit unsteady. “Who said that to you?”

“It wasn’t an insult, Colt.” You play with the sleeve of his jacket. “He was probably just being realistic.” 

“Porco.” Colt says this flatly. “Porco told you that.” 

“No, he told it to Pieck when she was dragging him away. I don’t think I was supposed to hear.” 

“But you did. And now you’re having second thoughts.” 

“I’m not, it’s just—” You tighten his jacket around your shoulders once more, breathing in the familiar scent of the soap he uses. “I wouldn’t fit into your perfect life. I know you’re popular around here, that girls are lining up to date you.” Your sentences come out shaky. Vulnerability sucks. You never want to grapple with it ever again. 

“Hey,” he says softly. His hand reaches up to cradle your face. You can feel the warmth of his hand pressed against you, gently tilting your head until you’re staring up at him. His thumb caresses the top of your cheekbone. He thinks you feel softer than you look, and he doesn’t think it’s possible for you to be made out of flesh and bone, like a regular human. He thinks you’re made of something softer, sweeter, otherworldly. Like a cloud, or cotton-candy. He’s so, so scared that he’s going to blink, and you’re going to disappear. 

The overwhelming urge of want kicks him right in the stomach. He wants to kiss you, wants to feel the shape of your lips and see how they align with his. He wants to bundle you up in his clothes, this senseless want making his brain act all possessive over you. 

“Here I am, thinking I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” His thumb traces your cheek. 

You think he’s going to kiss you now. You think you’re not going to stop him. 

A loud crash comes from nearby. Two men sitting further down the bar are getting into it now, and as if his body forgets that he’s drunk, Colt moves quickly. He instinctively moves his body in front of yours, shielding you from any potential danger. He assesses the situation, eyes narrowing at how more people seem to want to pile on top of the men. 

“I think it’s time we called it a night.” Colt mumbles, helping you off the stool and pressing you to his side as he guides you to safety. 

“Do you want me to walk you home? Just to make sure you get there safely. I won’t interrupt your brother’s sleep, or anything.” He asks you, taking special care in making sure that you don’t accidentally trip on anything. It’s dark outside, after all. 

“You can just take me back to the brothel. I normally walk back home with the other girls.” You try to stifle your yawn, but of course he notices. 

“Let me know if you get too tired. I can carry you back.” 

If he kissed you, you would have definitely let him. You would have even kissed him back. 

You know it’s supposed to be a cold night, but with his jacket draped over your body, you don’t feel a single breeze.

“Ramzi! Stop throwing stuff around! I just cleaned.” You chastise your brother, refolding his blanket and placing it inside his trunk. 

“I don’t get it. Why are you cleaning so much?” He mumbles, crossing his arms and pouting at you. You’re in too good of a mood to let his attitude bother you. Instead, you pinch his cheek, already mourning his future loss of baby fat. 

“Because someone is coming over to visit.” 

Colt’s jacket is folded neatly, freshly washed and even ironed. The night he took you out to the bar seemed to have solidified your relationship with him, or at least, it eased any leftover doubts you had. Colt Grice is a good man.

And he wants you. You! It’s been a week since the night at the bar, and Colt keeps telling you that he doesn’t need the jacket back, that he doesn’t mind you wearing it, but you’ve been searching for an opportunity to see him again. Rather than just flat-out admitting to him that you want him — trust him enough — to finally see you in the comfort of your own home, you like to mastermind situations, just to test his receptivity. 

When you tell him, feigning a nonchalant attitude, that he can stop by the camp and pick up his jacket, you try to gauge his reaction. He can’t even contain his smile, which makes you drop the whole “cool” act and smile right back at him. 

Your fingers brushed against his as you passed him the piece of paper detailing where he could find you. Before Colt, you figure you could spend the rest of your life never being touched by another man again and be just fine. After feeling the contact of his skin touching your own, always innocently, always fleeting, all this want started building up in your body. You’re overflowing with yearning. The only consolation you have is knowing that he feels the same way. 

Porco is an opinionated person. Colt is well aware of that. Sometimes, it even feels like Porco goes out of his way to be as reactionary as possible, just because he likes to push people’s buttons. 

“Did you hear about the Eldian couple that went missing? Brass doesn’t even give a single shit. The officers assigned to the case are just dicking around.” 

Occasionally, though, Porco will have a point. The world is most likely ending when that happens. 

“I’m not too surprised. Some officers don’t take missing persons reports seriously.” The answer is about as opinionated as Colt dares to get. Ever since childhood, he’s had the sinking feeling that he’s always being watched. For all he knows, the whole entire base is bugged. 

Porco makes a disgusted face. “You mean when it comes to missing Eldians, they don’t take the reports seriously.” 

Colt doesn’t correct him, which in and of itself is a confirmation of Colt’s stance on the matter. Seeing that complaining about the situation isn’t going to change anything, Porco sighs before continuing to walk alongside him. 

“Where’re you going so early in the afternoon? You’re going to miss lunch. Heard it might actually be edible today.” 

“I’m visiting someone.” 

“The girl.” Porco shakes his head. “When are you gonna give her up, man? I’m not saying it to be an asshole—” That would be a first, Colt thinks. “—but get real. Are you seriously going to mess up everything for a Marleyan girl?” He at least has the decency to whisper the last part, lest the two of them get taken out back to get shot in the head. 

“Porco,” Colt says calmly, trying to hold in his laughter. “She’s not Marleyan. She’s a refugee.” 

“Well, fuck!” Porco whacks Colt’s shoulder. “Good for you, Grice. Knew you weren’t that stupid.” 

Colt certainly feels stupid. He looks over the note you gave him, but no matter how many times he rereads it, he still can’t find your tent. 

There are people outside, walking, laughing, kids running and playing make-believe. Honestly, it’s a similar scene as any other neighborhood in Liberio, Eldian or Marleyan. The only difference is that instead of pavement and sidewalks, it’s nothing but green grass and a sparkling lake in the distance. He knows that the living conditions might not be ideal, but taking in the camp and viewing it under the sun, it looks peaceful. Like home.

He can see why you wouldn’t trust just anyone to enter.

He ventures further into the camp, but all the tents seem to blur and blend in with each other. Most are mainly built with some type of white cloth, but the whole place seems to be bursting with color. Different colored curtains dot the landscape. He spots people rolling out intricately designed rugs. He smells spices sizzling in a pan. 

He’s acutely aware of the watchful eyes of everyone around him. Colt is no stranger to public scrutiny, but it feels different this time around. He doesn’t want to do anything that would make them hate him. You told him, once, that everyone here knows your name. He knows that that’s important to you, which means that these people are important to you.

Colt pauses, tries to take in his surroundings, ground himself. Maybe word will spread that there’s an idiotic soldier traipsing around people’s backyards, and hopefully it’ll reach your ears and you’ll halt the manhunt for him. A reasonable person would ask someone for help, but he’s aware of how he’s viewed. For all he knows, reaching out would do more harm than good. Believe it or not, he knows when people are scared of him. 

“Excuse me, are you looking for someone?” A tiny voice pipes up, and Colt looks down. There’s a girl speaking to him, with wide eyes and a long braid running down her back.

“I am, actually!” Colt places the paper back inside his pocket. “Do you think you can help me?” 

“You’re looking for a brothel worker, right?” 

Colt wonders if you’ve ever spoken about him to anyone else. He doesn’t need to wonder why he likes the idea of that. 

“I am.” 

The stares get more intense when he has this girl skipping by his side. She tells him her name, Nadia. He tells her that’s a very nice name, and he means it.

“Did you bring her food?” She asks, sounding eager. 

He didn’t, but now he’s thinking he should have. Are you hungry? Is he supposed to bring you food? He had been so excited at the prospect of seeing you, of getting to be with during the day, that he didn’t think much about anything else. 

Before he can answer, you’re sticking your head out the tent, smiling brightly.

“Colt!” 

Breathless. That’s how he feels. 

He thinks you were made to be seen in the sun. 

“You found me!” Your smiles come easily when you’re at home. He wants so badly for you to always be like this: happy and carefree. 

“Nadia helped.” He nods to where the girl should be standing, but she had already sneaked off the moment she saw you come out. “Should I have brought food?”

“Oh, that’s just… It’s a cultural thing. From our country. Don’t worry about it.” You grab his hand, tugging gently. “Come in, I’ll give you a house tour!” 

He follows you, but he’s thinking over your words. Since you told him to specifically not worry about it, Colt knows that he is going to spend many restless nights doing the exact opposite of your request. 

The tent is spacious. The way it’s arranged, it’s comfortable to stand in, even without fear of your head hitting the ceiling. The carpet cushions the hard packed earth underneath, and there’s a wooden table in the middle. You’re watching him closely, trying to catch the first signs of disappointment or disgust, but all you see is pure curiosity. 

“Well, one thing ruins the whole place.” He says, shaking his head like he’s sad he has to say this. “It’s so ugly, I can’t believe you left it in here.” He picks up his jacket, wrinkling his nose. “Seriously, I’m surprised you didn’t toss this outside.”

You laugh, relief flooding through your veins. “You’re the most unserious soldier I’ve ever met.” 

“I don’t believe that. I’ve seen the state of our military.” He slings his spare jacket over one shoulder. He’s not sure what you had planned for today, but he’s hoping you want to spend it with him.

“They should make you their leader, then. I think you’d straighten them all out.” Reaching for his hand comes naturally to you, and he doesn’t ever say anything when you slip your fingers in between his. Walking back out to camp, Ramzi comes barreling towards the two of you.

“Ramzi, what’s wrong?” You immediately crouch down to hug your brother, who’s gasping and panting for breath. 

“You can’t marry this soldier! You can’t!” Peeking his head out from the embrace you have him in, Ramzi’s eyes narrow at Colt. 

“Ramzi!” You pull back, shocked. You’re clearly embarrassed, and Colt wants to tell you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but he’s not sure if that would actually help. “Why would you say that?”

“You promised Malik you would marry him!”

“I— Ramzi, go inside. Now.” Your voice is shaking. Nerves. Anger. Panic. You know that Ramzi looks up to Malik. The minute you told Ramzi that a friend, a Warrior Unit soldier, would be coming, he had been excited. He ran out, in search of the toy soldier figurines he let some other children borrow because he wanted to present them to Colt. 

You’re not sure when discussions of marriage came up.

It’s true that Malik intends on proposing. For a while, you even accepted it, resigned to your fate. Nothing was ever official, but he had been the one to make sure that you and Ramzi were taken care of when you first landed in Marley. He brought you food during times when there wasn’t even enough for his own family to eat, and before you started at the brothel, he always took care in securing you clothes and blankets. He watches over Ramzi, just like he would his own little brothers. You don’t think you’re capable of love, not in the romantic sense, and you’re fine with that. True love is a rare commodity, and you’ve been living in survival mode for so long, you didn’t even see the point in searching for it.

Besides, you could do much worse than Malik. 

On the night when Ramzi was sick and the sounds of his sniffles started mixing in with the memories of those men and their groans of those unreachable women’s names, you weren’t in the mood to talk. Malik had been sitting on the ground, tea cups sitting on the table. He stayed up, watching over Ramzi, as promised, but also to make sure you would make it home and so he could have a chat with you, as promised.

You sit across from him, tucking your feet underneath you. The tea brewed at the camp isn’t as strong as Willa’s, and you regret not drinking what she offered you. The cup Malik slides over to you pales in comparison. It’s cold, you realize dejectedly, when you take a sip. It’s cold, and bitter.

“We’ve known each other for a long time now.” He clears his throat, looks you in the eyes. “You must know my intentions?” 

“What intentions?” 

You’re not blind. You know Malik is handsome, with his tanned skin and dark curls. He fills out his shirts well, from all the manual labor he does around the town, twelve to fourteen hour work days depending on how fast it gets dark outside. As far as options go, Malik might be the best person to shack up with.

“I would like for us to get married.”

Colt had been gone. The bad part about having someone take up space in your heart is that you realize what an empty organ it is when they disappear. At this moment, you’re exhausted, and cold, and you don’t want to talk anymore. You want to curl up next to Ramzi, and sleep this whole entire year off, and maybe, if you’re lucky, you won’t even wake up. 

“The proposal ritual. Are you saying you’re going to go through with that?” 

“There’s only one last thing to do, right?”

He says it in a way that makes you feel like a whore. You don’t waste your time daydreaming because there’s simply no point in it. Sometimes, though, you give in. Close your eyes. Picture a nameless, faceless man as your husband. When your husband fucks you, you think sex will be different. It’ll be making love, even. The euphemism always made you giggle; how corny, you would think to yourself. Call it what it is: fucking. 

But wouldn’t it be nice to want to feel someone’s touch and know that they love you? 

No. People in love are always the corniest people in existence. You think infatuation must cause some horrible imbalances in the body and brain or something, because the moment someone meets their One True Love, they start acting irrational. All the girls in the brothel made a pact: if one of you ever falls in love and starts acting a fool, you all have permission to slap the offending girl out of it.

In your culture, a man proposes through a series of tests. Considering the circumstances, the elders are willing to acknowledge the bare minimum. First, the man must present the girl with clothes and then food. It proves that he’s a provider. Then, the potential couple lays together. When she lets him in her bed, it’s her acceptance to the proposal. 

“Three months,” is what you tell Malik. “Three months, and I will give you my answer.”

The deadline for your answer is fast approaching. There’s barely three weeks for you to decide whether or not you allow Malik into your bed. Three months ago, you considered your answer to be a reluctant yes. What else could you say? No? You thought about it, thought about spending the rest of your life living on your charm and resilience. How much longer could you survive in the brothel? Youth and beauty sells — not old, damaged goods. Now, when you brush the grass stains from your skirt, you look at Colt and feel conflicted.

You need to give Malik an answer — and soon. Before Colt re-entered your life, you knew what you needed to do to ensure survival. Now, you know what you want in your life. Needing versus wanting. Surviving versus living. 

“Want to walk me to an exit?” Colt offers a hand to help pull you up. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you realize it’s because he’s purposely working hard to shut you out. You can’t even be upset with him for it.

The two of you walk together in silence. 

“It’s not official.” You offer up, when you can’t take it anymore. You’re not a very talkative person, but it feels weird to have something hanging over the two of you, left unsaid. Even if he never wants to see you again, you want to lay it all out. 

“Your brother seems passionate about it.” Colt points out. 

“Ramzi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

A beat.

“If it’s not official, there’s definitely something unofficial going on, though, right?” 

“I guess.” 

“Is he nice? The man giving you an unofficial proposal?” 

“He’s Malik.” You say flatly. “He is… The best option.” Your only option.

“But does he treat you well?” Colt presses. 

“What does it matter?” You snap, stopping so you can turn to face him. You will not cry. “Who cares if he’s nice?”

“It matters because it’s you! I care, I want to know that you are living well. That you get the life you deserve.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the intensity of his words wraps around you, squeezes you tight. 

That’s the issue with Colt, you think to yourself. He makes it so damn hard to hate him. 

“Maybe I do deserve this. Maybe this is as good as it gets for me in this life.”

You turn your back on him, heading right back to your tent. You will not cry. Colt is so stupid. He probably thinks marriage is built on silly things, like love. You will not cry.

Putting one foot in front of the other takes a tremendous amount of effort, but you make progress. When you think you’re a far enough distance to not run immediately back to his side, you dare to turn around.

He’s still rooted in the same spot you left him, staring at you with the most wounded, tortured look you’ve ever seen on a person.

When you’re so far that your figure becomes a tiny speck in the distance, and then that tiny speck disappears, only then does Colt move from his position. He continues to walk, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the ground. He only looks up when he feels a presence.

“Did she say no?” Nadia asks him. 

“Didn’t even stand a chance.” He smiles sadly at her. It makes sense that you would have suitors lining up to propose to you. Official or not, Ramzi seems certain that it’s a sure thing between you and Malik. Colt feels the pressure of his armband on his bicep. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? It was stupid of him to even bother in the first place. He kicks a rock, watches it skip down the slope of the land. 

“I don’t believe that.” She says. “I think she likes you a lot.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nadia.”

“I’m not just making things up! I know if you proposed, she would marry you. She would pick you over any other man in the world!” She pauses. “It’s because you didn’t bring any food.”

“She’s upset with me because I didn’t give her any food?” Colt raises an eyebrow. You didn’t seem hangry. Nadia’s childlike conclusion is refreshing, though. If only things were that simple. He would bring you dinner, and everything would be settled. 

“You gave her socks, and I saw her wear your jacket.” Nadia points to the one slung over his shoulder. “Now, you bring her a big meal to prove that you can provide for her and keep her well-fed, and then she invites you to bed.”

“She doesn’t have to invite me to her bed.” Colt quickly looks at everything but Nadia’s earnest expression. 

“You would do all that for her for nothing?” She shakes her head, like she thinks he’s an idiot. Maybe he is. “That’s how you propose. You provide, and then you show her your devotion in her bed, and then she decides if she wants to spend her whole life with you.” Nadia eyes him up and down. “I think she would like your devotion very much.” 

Colt has no answer to that.

“Were you burning something?” He asks instead, nodding to the large bonfire that has fizzled out. All the remains are burnt pieces of wood and ashes. 

“Oh, no!” Nadia gasps, rushing to it. She grabs a stick and pokes at the pile, but nothing happens. “This isn’t supposed to happen!”

“What’s the matter?” 

“Usually, there’s a roaring fire here, so people can gather here and try to warm up during the night. It was harder to get wood these past few days, and they keep sending the men out to work earlier and earlier. I guess the fire was built too fast, and now it’s gone.” She tosses the stick to the ground. “By the time the men get back, it’ll be too dark out to go to the woods and collect enough kindling to get a large enough fire starting.” 

Colt glances down at his watch, then looks up at the sun still hanging high in the sky. 

He’s got time.

By the time he hauls all the dead wood he can find, he’s well acquainted with both the campground and the surrounding woods. Nadia eventually gets a cart on wheels from one of the older ladies, and she brings it to him so he doesn’t have to constantly walk back and forth for small hauls. 

Once he collects all the kindling necessary, he gets to work on starting the fire. He’s sweating, and he thinks Magath would be proud — or as proud as Magath can get, anyway. Today was supposed to be a free day, and here he is, tossing off his military jacket in an attempt to cool down. 

Wearing only his undershirt, Colt takes the ax Nadia offers him, and he begins to chop away at the logs. He wants a decent stash for them, so that way on the days they can’t collect wood, they’ll still have this stockpile. When he gets the fire going, a crowd has already started to form around them. They cheer when they watch the flames grow higher and higher, and for once, Colt almost forgets about you and Malik. 

And then he catches you in the crowd, and the pleasure he feels from not being hated or feared by the people in this camp evaporates. 

Women are approaching him. He catches snippets of their gratitude, their invitations to bring him to their tent, the not-so subtle remarks on their unmarried daughters. He smiles at them, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing in front of you. He didn’t even consciously think about it; his feet just guided him there.

“If I marry him, I won’t work at the brothel anymore.” You tell him. 

As if sensing this is a private moment, the crowd disperses. It’s all an act, though. They’re clearly trying to eavesdrop. Neither of you seem to care.

“That makes sense.”

“If I don’t work at the brothel anymore, I won’t ever see you again.” 

“So this is goodbye, then?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“But we’re never going to see each other again.” He points out.

“If I marry him.” You point that right back at him.

“Are you going to marry him?” 

This seems to be the direction you planned the conversation on heading towards. He’s never seen you so shy, so demure. This nervous silence, the reluctance, it doesn’t suit you. He wants you to confront him head-on, in your usual bold manner.

“Do you see a future with me? One where I’m not the girl who you have to pay to meet in the shady part of town?” His answer determines your answer to Malik. 

“I already don’t see you in that way. You’ve never been just the girl I pay to see.” A glint of silver catches his eye. It brings him back to the sparring match, the one with the Marleyan boy who brought the knife to his face. It’s not a blade, but something on your wrist.

The watch. You’re wearing the watch he gave you. 

“But a future.” You press. “Do you see a realistic future for us?”

Colt’s never given much thought to the immediate future. Most of the time, it feels like his life has been planned for him since the beginning. The cards he’s been dealt with aren’t the greatest hand, but he feels like he makes it work. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t wince, doesn’t go insane. He doesn’t even ask the universe for much. Even when he does make a wish, it’s always for the benefit of others.

If he closes his eyes and pictures a future with you, what does he see? Church bells, and you dressed in white? Kids? No more barriers between the two of you, no more fronts. In an ideal future, you are happy, and you want him by your side. 

Things can’t ever be that simple, but damn it, he at least has to try.

“Yes.” He takes a step forward. The setting sun causes a warm glow to be cast on your face; it envelopes your whole body, actually. You are radiant. He thinks he should tell you that and then wonders if that sounds corny. Probably. He figures he’s said plenty of dumb, cheesy stuff already, and you’re not backing away from him. 

“Radiant?” You repeat, giggling softly. 

You wonder what you look like from his point of view. Colt Grice stares at you in a way no one’s done before, and his refusal to look at you when you’re half-naked comes to mind. He looks at you, and he undresses you, but it’s not clothes he’s trying to take off. He’s peeling layers of your masks, making you shed your faux skins all over the place, in some insignificant corner. Colt Grice stares at you, and he sees you, and it makes you feel special. You’ve spent a majority of your life feeling like gum stuck on the bottom of someone’s shoe, only worth their time when they’re scraping you off, swearing at what an inconvenience you are. 

You notice the watch on his wrist, and you’re pleased to realize that it looks similar to your own, just wider. More masculine. Like “his and her” goods. The feeling of being special only grows. 

“Colt.” You’re going to do something very stupid now. You’ve been feeling it for weeks now, that feeling of him pulling you past the point of no return. If you do this, you know that you’re never going to be able to give him up. Everything will change afterwards. Somehow, the thought of that doesn’t seem as scary or daunting as before. “Can I kiss you, please?” 

This is a real shining moment, Colt thinks. He’ll remember this forever, and when he inherits the Beast, he hopes that this memory gets passed down for all generations. Even if nothing else gets remembered, this certainly will leave its mark on history. 

Your lips are soft, and he tastes something sweet, and he wants to savor it, savor you. He keeps himself in check, forcing himself to not deepen the kiss, and then you’re pulling back from him. 

So this is what kissing is all about, you think to yourself, touching your lips. 

Confession time: sometimes you feel like you don’t know how to be human. You think you spent so long always on edge, always afraid, that you’re starting to forget the fun stuff about being alive. Your job is to do what people are supposed to consider the most ultimate act of intimacy, and you spend all your time disgusted by it. Dissociating from it. Perfecting the art of detachment. 

You give him nothing more than a simple, chaste kiss on the lips. Not even a second (you would know; you feel for the tick of the watch against your wrist). But it’s enough to charge you, leaves you feeling wired, electrified. 

Alive.

You’re aware of your neighbors witnessing this scene. You almost forgot about them, too focused on the man standing in front of you. You watched him, the flex of his muscles and the way he selflessly spent his time to help out the camp. He didn’t have to do that; he doesn’t owe them anything. You think you broke him for a second, turning your back and leaving him like he was nothing. He had every right to just walk out of here and be done with this camp for good. 

But he didn’t. And if he can do that, you can put a stop to Malik’s proposal ritual. You won’t let him in your bed. You won’t let him in your heart. You won’t let anyone in. 

The lingering effects of the kiss still rests on your lips. You don’t realize how hungry you are until you get a tiny taste to whet your appetite. You like kissing, you decide. You wonder why the hell you haven’t done it before.

Colt’s grin is so wide, it makes it hard for you to not try to mimic that happiness. Smiling comes easy when you’re with Colt. It’s like his shiny disposition is infectious, contagious. 

No. You know why you’ve been saving your kiss, your name, the space inside your life, all of it—

—all of it was reserved for this golden soldier.

Colt is still riding the high of the kiss — of the kisses — you gave him. 

Maybe this is finally the universe turning his luck around. Good karma. Every ounce of good he’s done in this lifetime, and he’s finally cashing out. You kissed him. You kissed him. You kissed him.

He can’t even wipe the dopey grin off his face as he checks back into base. He feels like Michael, like he wants to swing his arms and whistle silly tunes. He thinks he could get punched in the face right now, and not even feel a thing. The next time he sees you, Colt decides, he’s going to bring you a feast, and then he’s going to kiss you like a man going off to war.

His spirits are still high as he enters his bedroom, ready to lay down on his bed and relive those kisses over and over again until exhaustion takes control of his body, but he pauses when he sees the thick cardstock folded on his bed. 

It’s closed, sealed with wax that has the Marleyan military coat of arms imprinted on it. He rips into the paper, eyes scanning over the letter quickly. He sees what he’s searching for, letting the paper drop to the ground. 

Fuck. So much for good karma.

This letter serves as your official deployment orders from the Marleyan Military. You are hereby directed to join the offensive operation aimed at capturing Fort Helena. Upon receipt of this letter, you are to report to the designated assembly point where you will receive further instructions and join your assigned unit. Your role in this operation will be briefed in detail upon your arrival.

It is imperative that you prepare for immediate deployment. Ensure your personal affairs are in order, and report with full combat readiness.

#colt grice x reader #colt grice x you #aot x reader #snk x reader #fluff #angst #smut

[sashaspotatocrumb]

MASTERLIST ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

✿ fluff — ❈ smut — ✱ angst

pearls workshop!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

THE SCOUTS

eren yeager →

... file empty

jean kirstein →

... file empty

armin arlert →

... file empty

connie springer →

... file empty

mikasa ackerman →

... file empty

hange zoe →

... file empty

sasha braus →

... file empty

THE WARRIORS

pieck finger →

... file empty

reiner braun →

... file empty

colt grice →

... file empty

bertholdt hoover →

... file empty

zeke yeager →

... file empty

THE OTHER

yelena →

... file empty

onyakopon →

... file empty

SERIES

play pretend ➛ j.k

#welcome crumb lads #attack on titan

[erensnubs]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

Colt Grice x F! Reader Dystopian AU

Chapter 4

Word Count: 1.5k

Your body froze at the sudden invasion of personal space .

You instinctively pulled away. You're sure he meant absolutely no harm and this was probably his way of flirting but physical touch upon meeting is a no-go.

You took a few steps back and wave your hands apologetically, "I'm sorry but (you actually weren't), I have to go and talk to some other people. I'll see you around?"

Your pitch was definitely getting higher, the tone you called, "I'm just a meek woman please don't get offended if I say no and please don't hit me."

The man started shaking his hands as well, "No, no, no I'm sorry… I made you uncomfortable. I apologize so much, I'm so sorry."

Oh shit maybe he was actually trying to be nice.

"Oh no no, your fine! I just had to go and do stuff," you say nervously.

So there you were, two complete idiots muttering apologies while shaking their hands.

"Uh… am I interrupting something Dr.?"

You looked over your shoulder and saw a very confused Erwin.

You mentally slapped yourself in the head.

"Nothing, Erwin, I'm just… you know let's just go I was taking a 2 minute break," you say finally.

Erwin cocked an eyebrow at you and nodded, "And you are? Oh where did he go?"

You look at Erwin, "What?"

Erwin gestured with his chin, "The person you were talking to. He vanished."

You turned around and true to Erwin's word he was gone.

Interesting.

"Anyways. Ready to present our plan to. Nile?"

Erwin nodded, "He's over talking to Nanaba and Rico."

You two briskly walked the center of the room, Erwin's hand resting at your hip to keep up the image.

"Ah isn't it the absolutely rare pair, [Last Name] and Smith," Nile chuckled as you approached him.

Rico and Nanaba looked absolutely bored out of their minds and you couldn't help but sympathize. Men like Nile were the reason why you wanted to quit this job. If it wasn't for your friends that you made you might have moved out of the city and just worked from home.

You resisted rolling your eyes at the man just because Nanaba coughed so loudly and shot you a "don't get too cocky" look.

Instead you placed your award winning smile.

"Ah Nile, still trying to flirt with Nanaba after what, 10 plus years?"

Erwin flicked your hip and you immediately say, "I'm just kidding right Erwin?"

Erwin smiled, "Yes [Nickname]. Enough about that, how are you doing Nile?"

You look at Erwin quizzically.

Really Erwin, the nickname?

"Well I was just going to comment on how quickly, you've moved on [Name]... Time does really fly when you're having fun," Nile said pretentiously.

You fisted your hands and released your grip on Erwin. Erwin tried to pull you back but you pinched his wrist and advanced forward to Nile. Furiously.

Nile started to step back and smirk but you could see the light in his eyes start to dim as you walked even faster. You stood in front of him and stared him down. Your hand connected with his shirt and gripped his tie, squeezing enough to choke him.

"Listen here you little piece of shit, I usually let this slide but you just disrespected me and my choices. You should be keeping yourself busy, doing your job here at the ball instead of poking into my business. If you're so obsessed with me why don't you just sign the goddamn contract."

Your eyes never left Nile's and you audibly heard him gulp, despite the loud chatter of the guests. You stuck your hand out and almost immediately Erwin placed the contract paper and the pen in your hand.

You shoved the paper in Nile's face and grabbed his wrist and stuffed the pen in it. He quickly grabbed onto the things and looked down.

"Rico is going to time you for 5 minutes to read that contract and guess what bud, you're gonna sign it because there really is nothing wrong with it," you say seethingly.

Rico made eye contact with you and calmly adjusted her glasses. She knew you were dead serious and pulled out her stopwatch to time Nile.

Nile made a throaty noise, but nothing came out. He flicked the papers and read through the words.

You turn to Rico and Nanaba, "Well I'll hope in 10 to 15 minutes I'll spend some more time with you at the after party?"

Nanaba smirked her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, "Right… see you at the after party."

She quickly grabbed you and kissed you on the cheek, and quickly whispered.

"Only an idiot like Nile wouldn't have guessed you two were fake dating by the way. You were talking to a guy before you came here? Yah know him?"

She pulled back and smiled like nothing happened and you shook your head no and mouthed an "I don't know".

She nodded and silently mouthed, "Be careful."

Imposters liked to come and storm government held parties, and Nanaba was suspicious of the man but he seemed too innocent for that.

You smile at an amused Rico who was watching Nile sweat nervously and Nanaba with her stoic expression. You turned your heel and grabbed Erwin's hand and led you away from them.

"[Name], you scare me so so much," Erwin rubbed his forehead.

You chuckle and pull him into a dancing position, "Yeah but it worked and now we can take these to some government officials, make sure the Treasurer deposits and transfers the money, we decide how we use the money…"

"And organize missions, recons, and pay our soldiers more," Erwin finished with a smile.

You sigh happily as Erwin sways the both of you around, "I'm relieved and I'm happy. And we don't have to worry as much anymore."

Erwin smirked and twirled your arm around, "Meaning you don't have to worry."

You look at him questionably as you pass the murmurs of high society as you dance by. Apparently widows are the true pinnacle of gossip.

"Levi told me about what's going on you know," Erwin leans into your ear and whispers, "Why didn't you tell me or just someone what's happening?"

A wave of guilt sweeps over you and your head hangs low, "I don't want to burden anyone right now. And please don't tell me that I don't wanna carry it. You know this is how I get through shit."

Erwin nods, "Ok but talk to someone… please?"

You nod and your forehead is suddenly met with Erwin's chin. He pulls you into a hug and rubs your shoulders, as if he could hypothetically erase the burdens and sorrows you've been carrying. You want to cry and smash a vase or something you could never tell with your emotions so you stay silent and let him try and comfort you the best way he can.

After what seems like a moment captured in time, Erwin pulls away from you and turns you to the staircase leading downwards where the after party would be.

"People are leaving now and I'm pretty sure it's time to go and you know 'party'", he says seriously and you sputtered out a laugh.

"Pfft yeah let's go party! Woohoo!" You say sarcastically and wave your hands around. Erwin rolls your eyes and pushes you over there.

You get the hint and stroll away from Erwin and flirtily blew him a kiss and walked towards the staircase.

"[Name]! Thank you for your work tonight. I appreciate it," Erwin calls out.

You nod, "See you in a few?"

Erwin smiles reassuringly and you turn away and roll your shoulders to ease off your "work mode".

Your thoughts drift to him as you climb down the stairs and trail your fingers on the railing.

A successful mission, [Name] equates to time to relax.

Really, prove it to me.

Fine, spend 3 days with me because that's how long the mission is and I promise you that you will just destress.

Challenge accepted then.

You remember after those 3 days, Erwin noticed that you became less clumsy and your mind was not just rambling everywhere. He asked what happened and you told Erwin that you were spending time with him.

Him. You remember the night that he took you up into the attic here and looked at the stars and he talked about the old gods and whatever.

You remember how you both found this staircase leading into an old, abandoned basement where you would hang out with Hange, Moblit and the crew. How this place has now become a hang out area for the military.

He held so many memories in this one place, you know you weren't exaggerating when you said everywhere reminded you of him.

But tonight is not the time to think of that. Tonight is to celebrate, to do as he said. To relax, have fun and spend time.

Those were the thoughts that skipped through your mind as you enter the basement room to join your friends to the after party.

You took a few steps back and wave your hands apologetically, "I'm sorry but (you actually weren't), I have to go and talk to some other people. I'll see you around?"

Your pitch was definitely getting higher, the tone you called, "I'm just a meek woman please don't get offended if I say no and please don't hit me."

The man started shaking his hands as well, "No, no, no I'm sorry… I made you uncomfortable. I apologize so much, I'm so sorry."

Oh shit maybe he was actually trying to be nice.

"Oh no no, your fine! I just had to go and do stuff," you say nervously.

So there you were, two complete idiots muttering apologies while shaking their hands.

"Uh… am I interrupting something Dr.?"

You looked over your shoulder and saw a very confused Erwin.

You mentally slapped yourself in the head.

"Nothing, Erwin, I'm just… you know let's just go I was taking a 2 minute break," you say finally.

Erwin cocked an eyebrow at you and nodded, "And you are? Oh where did he go?"

You look at Erwin, "What?"

Erwin gestured with his chin, "The person you were talking to. He vanished."

You turned around and true to Erwin's word he was gone.

Interesting.

"Anyways. Ready to present our plan to. Nile?"

Erwin nodded, "He's over talking to Nanaba and Rico."

You two briskly walked the center of the room, Erwin's hand resting at your hip to keep up the image.

"Ah isn't it the absolutely rare pair, [Last Name] and Smith," Nile chuckled as you approached him.

Rico and Nanaba looked absolutely bored out of their minds and you couldn't help but sympathize. Men like Nile were the reason why you wanted to quit this job. If it wasn't for your friends that you made you might have moved out of the city and just worked from home.

You resisted rolling your eyes at the man just because Nanaba coughed so loudly and shot you a "don't get too cocky" look.

Instead you placed your award winning smile.

"Ah Nile, still trying to flirt with Nanaba after what, 10 plus years?"

Erwin flicked your hip and you immediately say, "I'm just kidding right Erwin?"

Erwin smiled, "Yes [Nickname]. Enough about that, how are you doing Nile?"

You look at Erwin quizzically.

Really Erwin, the nickname?

"Well I was just going to comment on how quickly, you've moved on [Name]... Time does really fly when you're having fun," Nile said pretentiously.

You fisted your hands and released your grip on Erwin. Erwin tried to pull you back but you pinched his wrist and advanced forward to Nile. Furiously.

Nile started to step back and smirk but you could see the light in his eyes start to dim as you walked even faster. You stood in front of him and stared him down. Your hand connected with his shirt and gripped his tie, squeezing enough to choke him.

"Listen here you little piece of shit, I usually let this slide but you just disrespected me and my choices. You should be keeping yourself busy, doing your job here at the ball instead of poking into my business. If you're so obsessed with me why don't you just sign the goddamn contract."

Your eyes never left Nile's and you audibly heard him gulp, despite the loud chatter of the guests. You stuck your hand out and almost immediately Erwin placed the contract paper and the pen in your hand.

You shoved the paper in Nile's face and grabbed his wrist and stuffed the pen in it. He quickly grabbed onto the things and looked down.

"Rico is going to time you for 5 minutes to read that contract and guess what bud, you're gonna sign it because there really is nothing wrong with it," you say seethingly.

Rico made eye contact with you and calmly adjusted her glasses. She knew you were dead serious and pulled out her stopwatch to time Nile.

Nile made a throaty noise, but nothing came out. He flicked the papers and read through the words.

You turn to Rico and Nanaba, "Well I'll hope in 10 to 15 minutes I'll spend some more time with you at the after party?"

Nanaba smirked her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, "Right… see you at the after party."

She quickly grabbed you and kissed you on the cheek, and quickly whispered.

"Only an idiot like Nile wouldn't have guessed you two were fake dating by the way. You were talking to a guy before you came here? Yah know him?"

She pulled back and smiled like nothing happened and you shook your head no and mouthed an "I don't know".

She nodded and silently mouthed, "Be careful."

Imposters liked to come and storm government held parties, and Nanaba was suspicious of the man but he seemed too innocent for that.

You smile at an amused Rico who was watching Nile sweat nervously and Nanaba with her stoic expression. You turned your heel and grabbed Erwin's hand and led you away from them.

"[Name], you scare me so so much," Erwin rubbed his forehead.

You chuckle and pull him into a dancing position, "Yeah but it worked and now we can take these to some government officials, make sure the Treasurer deposits and transfers the money, we decide how we use the money…"

"And organize missions, recons, and pay our soldiers more," Erwin finished with a smile.

You sigh happily as Erwin sways the both of you around, "I'm relieved and I'm happy. And we don't have to worry as much anymore."

Erwin smirked and twirled your arm around, "Meaning you don't have to worry."

You look at him questionably as you pass the murmurs of high society as you dance by. Apparently widows are the true pinnacle of gossip.

"Levi told me about what's going on you know," Erwin leans into your ear and whispers, "Why didn't you tell me or just someone what's happening?"

A wave of guilt sweeps over you and your head hangs low, "I don't want to burden anyone right now. And please don't tell me that I don't wanna carry it. You know this is how I get through shit."

Erwin nods, "Ok but talk to someone… please?"

You nod and your forehead is suddenly met with Erwin's chin. He pulls you into a hug and rubs your shoulders, as if he could hypothetically erase the burdens and sorrows you've been carrying. You want to cry and smash a vase or something you could never tell with your emotions so you stay silent and let him try and comfort you the best way he can.

After what seems like a moment captured in time, Erwin pulls away from you and turns you to the staircase leading downwards where the after party would be.

"People are leaving now and I'm pretty sure it's time to go and you know 'party'", he says seriously and you sputtered out a laugh.

"Pfft yeah let's go party! Woohoo!" You say sarcastically and wave your hands around. Erwin rolls your eyes and pushes you over there.

You get the hint and stroll away from Erwin and flirtily blew him a kiss and walked towards the staircase.

"[Name]! Thank you for your work tonight. I appreciate it," Erwin calls out.

You nod, "See you in a few?"

Prev/next

#colt x reader #colt grice #colt grice fic #colt grice fluff #snk #colt grice aot #aot #attack on titan #colt grice angst #colt angst #aot x reader #aot fluff #aot angst

[sufjanoflove]

Love story

Reiner Braun x Afab Reader

Synopsis: Lake date with the one and only!

Warnings: Fluff 💗💗💗; I feel obliged to write only fluff for my Reiner because he already goes through so much.

Unpacking your picnic basket filled with snacks, lunch, and drinks, you realized you forgot one thing, the dessert! You stood from your place on the dock and cupped your mouth.

“Reiner! I think we forgot the-”

“I brought the sweets, baby.” On your tippy toes, you reached for his face, landing a big kiss to his lips before grabbing the pastries and placing them in the basket.

Shimming out the big shirt you stole from Reiner, you revealed the pink bikini he always loved on you.

“I fall in love every time.” Reiner said in disbelief as he watched you. Giggling, you pulled him towards you and hugged him as you two stared into each others eyes, remembering the reasons of your love.

Remembering why you both were where you were in that moment. “I love coming here every summer, it’s our sweet tradition.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic, Reiner. I’d say you’re in love with me or something.” You placed your hands on your hips as he chuckled loudly. You looked him up and down with the sassiest look ever.

“One, stop staring at my chest,” You rose your eyebrow playfully as he continued, “And two, you got the wrong idea, I’m married to the most beautiful woman in the whole entire world.”

Crossing his arms, he looked away, biting his cheek intent to try and hide his smirk, “She’s difficult but-”

You smacked his bicep before he could even finish the sentence causing him to belt out in laughter.

“Not funny! I am so not difficult!” You yelped as he threw you over his shoulder, jumping off the dock with you, into the river. The air becoming cool on your hot skin as you both found the air again.

Brushing his hair back, you admired the man staring at you, in the water. Alone, you had this secret area empty every first Sunday of every august for 5 years. It had become tradition ever since the day he took you out for a summer date but ended up with you two getting lost.

—

“I swore the map said turn left!”

“Reiner, if we turn left the car will end up at the bottom of the river, us included.” He stopped the car and looked out his side window, admiring the little area you stumbled upon.

“This isn’t the right place but it’s empty, we should stay here.”

“What if it’s empty because there’s a sea monster or something, I’m not taking the chance.” You crossed your arms, content on staying in the passenger seat all evening. He pulled out the car keys, leading to you growing hot, no keys equaled no air conditioning.

“Hey!”

“You’re not staying in the car, especially with no a/c. Come on, it’ll be fun!” You locked the door, making sure he couldn’t get in but since he had the keys he unlocked the door, and quickly opened it.

“IM NOT GOING!” You shouted as you both fought over the seat buckle, moments later you cried because he threw you in and you were scared a snake would make a grab at you. That day ending up with you two sleeping in the car, seats laid back as you two stared at the stars through the roof window.

—

Leading to now, half a decade later and you kept coming back with him. Caressing his face, you both stared lovingly in comfortable silence.

“You know what?” He hummed in response, “Since my belly is underwater, does that mean our baby is in a submarine? I’m a human submarine.”

He belted out in laughter, hands still on your waist as you softly laughed, “Come on! I’m serious, the baby really is in a submarine if you think about it.”

“I’m sure they’re wondering where all the sea monsters are.”

“You’re such a jerk! You know what if there was one that day, you could’ve been girlfriend-less! Stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

“You showed great courage that day, y/n.”

“Keeping playing these silly games, my love. Just remember this moment when you put in request for the name of our child. Especially if it’s a boy, I don’t want to hear ‘name it after me!’ Because I won’t name it after you Reiner, I’ll remind you of the day you threw me into a dark river knowing I’d panic!“ You playfully ranted as he simply smiled back at you causing you to calm down from your small but joking fit.

“What’d I say, you’re difficult.” He pecked you, as you let out a sigh. He always knew how to making you melt, even with the smallest touches, smallest gestures, he’d always make you fall for him ten times harder.

“I really do love you, Reiner.” Staring down in between you was your ginormous baby belly, “I can’t believe we created a human and it’s growing inside of me.”

“I can’t believe I made you a human submarine.”

—

This is how I imagined how it looked when he threw her in:

From ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin’ featuring Christian Bale and Penelope Cruz.

—

© sufjanoflove — all rights reserved to me, Leon, the author and creator of these works. do not claim/translate my work as yours on any platform.

#reiner braun x yn #aot imagines #aot x reader #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x you #reiner braun fluff #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun headcanons #snk x y/n #snk x you #snk x reader #aot x yn #aot x you #reiner braun angst #jean kirschstein #eren jeager #porco galliard #colt grice #armin arlert #connie springer #zeke yeager #pieck finger #snk fluff #aot fluff #snk headcanons #aot headcanon

[sweetshoko]

aot masterlist.

EREN YEAGER.

immorality (ao3) (18+)

+ “I was right, huh? You really would let anyone touch you?” He smirks against your skin, caging your body in his embrace, “But you shouldn’t worry, it’s all part of the lesson. You wouldn’t wanna be touched by some trashy piece of shit like your boyfriend, wouldn’t you?”

no love (18+)

eren is pathetic, crawling on your doorstep and asking for forgiveness.

JEAN KIRSTEIN.

she's so nice (18+)

is jean an asshole? maybe, sort of. but he’ll come around eventually.

COLT GRICE.

you didn't see that, falco. (sfw)

tutoring falco grice was a good way to make some money. on the other hand, being around his brother wasn’t so bad either.

SILLY LITTLE DRABBLES <3

after i've held you. (wc; 150)

#eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #aot x reader #aot smut #jean kirstein smut #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein angst #colt grice x reader #colt grice fics #colt grice fluff #bee's; masterlist!

[erenscherub]

chapter 7a | series masterlist | chapter 8a

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

chapter summary: It’s quite unfortunate an impromptu trip to disneyland can’t fix all your problems. A flashback to the worst fight you’ve had with eren so far

pairing: eren x fem! reader

warnings: mutual toxicity (??) (reader is kind of an asshole too for not sticking up for eren... still doesn’t excuse what eren did though). angst, verbal and emotional abuse, mentions of miscarriage, implied infidelity/cheating, accusations of cheating.

word count: 5.2 k

Annie begrudgingly gave in to your requests to not inflict physical harm on Eren. A good two out of three times, Colt has to be there to hold her back from knocking Eren flat on ass.

Colt was never really a friend of Eren’s. He was always so sweet so you didn’t have to worry about him threatening your husband. However, he and Annie stood in solidarity and would glare at Eren whenever he would bother to come home or make the occasional appearance during your lunch breaks. They make sure to occupy both seats next to you in the office, the dining room, and the couch. Even your ducklings seemed to mirror the same hostility towards your husband. Eliza hasn’t allowed him to brush her hair or read her bedtime stories in the past couple weeks. Cyrus always runs away from Eren every time he tries to hug him.

Mikasa and Petra don’t pressure you to tell them what happened. Still, sometimes you overhear the two of them whispering, “what the fuck did the king of dumbasses do this time that even a teddy bear, like Colt, and a sweetheart like Cyrus are pissed in (Y/N)’s stead.”

Mikasa, Annie, and Petra may have been Eren’s friends first. But they all take your side with no hesitation and back up Colt when he insists that Eren treats you like crap and you deserve better. Since Colt’s death glares aren’t that threatening, the three make up for it by giving Eren strong nonverbal cues that they’re planning to brutally fuck his ass up the first chance they have.

Normally November 22 is the day that you and Eren celebrate your wedding anniversary. You both agreed to celebrate a little over two weeks later on December 11, with Eren having his hands full with an “upcoming deadline.” Zeke is still insistent that the dynamic duo can’t be separated just yet and Kid Wonder still has a few tricks to show Boy Wonder. He even brought over Falco from California to stay in your house too.

Annie, Mikasa, and Petra come over immediately when you call them to help you get ready. They help you choose an outfit and do your makeup.

You wait at the restaurant for two hours before you decide it’s time to go home. You’ve texted Eren 8 times asking if he was on his way and for his ETA. Called him 5 times and left 2 voicemails.

You can’t help yourself from fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing your legs several times a minute. You keep anxiously twisting your wedding band around your ring finger and staring at the entrance hoping your husband will walk through the doors soon. You keep shifting your gaze across the room and the expressions of pity on the patrons and waitstaff’s faces only increase your humiliation of waiting for so long.

Eren has not only forgotten about all your OB-GYN appointments but also your anniversary dinner that he rescheduled twice.

Whenever you think of rejection, the initial thoughts that come to mind are all the medical schools you didn’t get into, all the job positions that you weren’t qualified for, and even how the body’s immune system will attack any transplanted cells, tissue or organ that was identified as ‘foreign.’

It takes two hours of waiting at the restaurant for the thought of social rejection to be added to the list. But the tightening in your chest, the humiliation of being stood up, and the stinging you feel in your eyes were no longer ‘foreign’ occurrences.

Neuropsychological and neuroimaging research support that social rejection is processed by the same neural regions as physical pain. The sting of rejection is supposed to have a purpose. Evolutionarily speaking, our need for acceptance- to form social groups- materialized as a survival mechanism, and millions of years of natural selection has still enforced that rejection will be painful.

You text in the group chat you have with Annie, Mikasa, Jean, Armin, Petra, Levi, Zeke, and Connie asking if any of them have heard from Eren within the last two hours. When they all respond back no, you feel your eyes beginning to sting, and you’re trying to take in a few deep breaths to ease the tightening you feel in your throat. When ten minutes have passed and they’re all inviting you to join a Group FaceTime, you place a tip of $50 on the tablecloth as an apology for taking up a table for two hours and only having water.

Your brain processes emotional pain the same way it does physical injury. The experience of rejection damages our mood and self-esteem, emotional pain elicits swells of anger and aggression and results in bouts of self-destructiveness and impulsivity.

It was a sudden and rash decision. You usually like to make a pros and cons list before making plans or setting things in stone. Eren has kept a hardcover copy of the Excel worksheets in one of his big-ass filing cabinets of the pros and cons lists that you made for each of the three times you rejected his proposals and for the one time you gave in. Yet before you pull out of the restaurant parking lot, you buy two same-day round trip business class tickets to LAX without even batting an eyelash at the price.

༄༄༄

When you arrive home, all three of your Cubs are already fast asleep. Colt, Annie, Mikasa, and Petra are sitting in the living room with murder in their eyes.

You shake your head at their insistence that all you have to do is give them the green light for them, and they will kick the shit out of Eren.

You state that you need time and space to process your feelings before you discuss anything with them.

Mikasa helps you unzip your dress. Petra and Annie help you remove your makeup. All three of them help you pack a carry-on for both you and Eliza.

Colt has always had a gentle touch. It makes sense since he’s had custody of his six year old brother since Falco was two. He doesn’t wake up Falco or Cyrus even when he picks up Eliza, who is snoring between them, from her full-size bed. Even when he lifts Eliza out of her bed and buckles her into the booster seat, she doesn’t even stir. She’s still fast asleep when you, Annie, Colt, and Eliza reach the airport.

You thank the both of them for driving you and your daughter to the airport. Colt hands you a backpack that has Eliza’s iPad, a portable charger, and snacks he packed for the two of you. They both walk you as far as they can in the airport. And they still remain standing there until you’re out of their line of sight.

Eliza is more curious than upset when she wakes up in your arms as you trudge forward on the walkway connecting the terminal to the plane. She doesn’t ask at all where her father is. She doesn’t gaze furtively around the plane or squirm in her seat. Instead, she lifts up the armrest of the plane seat separating the two of you and leans into you. She tells you that she loves you and doesn’t let go.

You’re grateful that she is fast asleep the rest of the flight.

༄༄༄

Eliza actually enjoys her time in California, though she misses Cyrus and Falco. Your parents are overjoyed that they get to spend time with their only grandchild. And though Eliza loves Grisha and Carla, she tells you in secret that she loves her maternal grandparents more.

She loves her Aunt Amanda and Uncle Reiner. She loves meeting and playing with Falco’s six-year old friends- Udo, Gabi, and Zofia. She loves Disneyland even more.

Because of your insistence, she FaceTimes her father. Every time she FaceTimes her father on the iPad, she never answers any questions about you. Eren will ask if you’re both fine, if you’re still mad at him, how long the two of you are going to stay in California, and will ask Eliza to remind her that he loves you and that he’s sorry.

Eliza will always reply, “We’re fine, Daddy. We’re both safe.” She won’t talk about you further despite all his questions of what you’re doing and if you’ve mentioned him at all and if you know that he loves you.

Instead, she’ll continue to ramble on about how cool Disneyland is, how much she misses Cyrus and Falco, how it’s so much fun to play with Udo, Gabi, and Zofia, and how much she loves her grandparents in California and her Aunt Amanda.

Eren called you 89 times, left 32 voicemails, and sent you 213 messages within the first 48 hours. You stopped keeping count after you blocked him during your third day in California. And when you don’t pick up your phone or respond by the 72 hour mark, he starts trying to contact Amanda.

He’ll stay on the line even if Amanda curses him out and screams at him the same words every time, “You fucking jackass! You better hope I don’t see you again because I will fucking kill you! I will twist you like a pretzel and shove your own feet so far up your ass that your organs will spill out of your throat. I’ll make sure Reiner will finish off what’s left of you by wringing out your eyeballs!”

Amanda and Eren have always hated each other. Whenever you come to California or she goes to New Hampshire, they both have an agreement that the person visiting sleeps at Zeke’s apartment in that state. They love you and know that whenever they argue that it makes you upset. So for everyone’s benefit, they try to minimize contact between them as much as possible and at least have three feet of distance between them if it is absolutely necessary that they have to be in the same house.

You’re surprised that he won’t match the intensity of her voice or curse her out when Amanda continues to storm, “Every time me or (Y/N) blocks you, you always come back with a new phone number to bug the shit out of us! Where was this same fucking energy when (Y/N) needed you? Well?” She taps her foot impatiently, cutting him off, “What’s your excuse now, Lord Fuck-Up? She should have been with Marcel or Colt! She would have been so much happier with anyone else! Hell, any random guy on the street wouldn’t have been such a fucking asswipe like you!”

Amanda and Eren have never had the best relationship. He calls her Queen Weeb and she refers to him as Lord Fuck-Up.

Eren thinks Amanda never gave him a fair chance. She had one conversation with his brother of Eren’s prior relationship with a mutual acquaintance, Pieck. Then next thing he knows, they’re joining forces to try and break up his relationship. He sent an anonymous tip to the FBI for piracy after he found out that she streams anime on an illegal site.

Amanda thinks you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel by staying with Eren. To this day, she regrets allowing you to perform the Heimlich maneuver when Eren choked on boba the first time you two met. She will always remark out of spite to Eren that the only reason you’re with him is because she and Zeke weren’t able to buy enough time for Colt and Marcel to confess their feelings for you by the end of your emergency room clinical rotations.

You’re surprised how Eren doesn’t let his temper get the best of him. Even when Amanda yells at him for an hour, when she takes a breather, he whispers back, “I know I don’t deserve (Y/N). But I still love her. I can’t lose her. If you’re done yelling at me, can you please let me tell her that myself?” Even though Amanda will continue screeching at him, he’ll repeat that same phrase over and over again every time she pauses for air until she ends the call. He'll always call her back to repeat the process.

༄༄༄

You only talk to Amanda after dropping Eliza off at your parents and when you know it’s just you and your best friend in her house.

You haven’t told anyone about Eren’s infidelity. Yet, you open up to Amanda about the miscarriage and how Eren had rescheduled your wedding anniversary dinner twice and still stood you up for two hours. Amanda always tells you that she’s proud of you for being able to be vulnerable in front of Colt and Annie. Amanda is just as patient and sincere as Colt and Annie as she grieves the loss of your child with you.

She makes a group chat with Zeke, Colt, Hitch, Mikasa, Petra, Marcel, and Annie where they all agree with each other that Eren is a forgetful prick who takes you for granted.

Your parents have never approved of Eren. They’ll always love Eliza immensely. She’s their only grandchild. Still, they tell you that they would rather have no grandchild at all if it meant that you never had been in a relationship with Eren.

They defend themselves for telling Eliza that Eren is the reason that you’re both in California by insisting that your daughter deserves to know how shitty her father treats her mother. They tell you that it’s not your fault for marrying him. But you need to do what’s best for you and your daughter and leave Eren. They insist that you can’t let Eren trap you again with another child, especially since he wasn’t there to support you when you miscarried.

When you didn’t answer your cell for four days and he’s tired of Amanda’s voice, Eren tried to contact your parents to ask about you.

Both of your parents said it’s his fault for not treating you better and he’s an awful husband. They screamed at him that they should have tried harder to help Zeke and Amanda break up the two of you when you first began dating. They ranted that they knew from the start that Eren was never good enough for you then, is not enough for you now, and never will be. They emphasized that Marcel or Colt or even some random man off the street would have been a much better husband and the son-in-law they always wanted. They stressed that if only they had tried harder to help Zeke and Amanda set you up with anyone but Eren, then you wouldn’t be stuck with a worthless husband who wasn’t there to support you during your miscarriage and is too much of a selfish dumbass to check a calendar.

Eren stops calling his in-laws after hearing the same spiel on the eleventh phone call.

༄༄༄

Despite your best efforts, Eliza still finds out why you took her on an impromptu trip to California.

She was already upset at Eren when the normally docile Cyrus started to throw tantrums whenever Eren would try to hug him or ruffle his hair. Now her rage has only increased more, since not only did her father hurt her best friend, but also her mother.

Eliza will still FaceTime her father twice a day. But her one hour calls decrease in duration when your parents told her that Eren hasn’t been treating you well.

Even against your wishes and pleas, your parents still told her that he missed your wedding anniversary dinner and wasn’t there for you when her baby sibling died. Eliza has only talked about your miscarriage three times in total- with your parents, Amanda, and Eren.

She never brings it up with you. But you notice that she is more insistent on sleeping in the same bed as you, she’ll ask you every hour if you want a snack or want a glass of water, and will hold your hand whenever you both go to Disneyland instead of Amanda’s, Reiner’s, or Udo’s like before.

Amanda swears she didn’t mention the miscarriage or the wedding anniversary at all to her, and it was only your parents that explicitly told her what had happened. But she does confess that when Eliza asked her if it was true, Amanda didn’t cover for Eren and confirmed your parents’ statements that he hasn’t been there for you.

You’re still angry at Eren. Yet it still breaks your heart that your parents would try to turn your daughter against him. Especially when you overhear their exchange on the fifth day of your stay in California. She should be gushing about how awesome Disneyland was and how she wants to come back with Cyrus and Falco during the summer. She should be describing how her maternal grandparents and Aunt Amanda always spoil her with sugar. She should be happy to talk to her father.

Instead, you overhear how Eren expresses, “Hey, sweet pea. I miss the two of you so, so, so, so much. Even with 2,000 miles between us, that never stops me from loving you.”

A couple minutes of silence passes before Eren inquires, “Ellie, are you ok? You look upset. Did your mom do something to you? Did she hurt you? Is she forcing you to stay in California with her?”

Your daughter objects, “No, Daddy. I want to stay in California with Momma. You’re the reason I’m upset! You already hurt Cyrus and now you hurt Momma! It’s your fault that Momma was crying with Aunt Amanda.” Eren sputters out that he didn’t intend to hurt you and that he’s sorry and he loves the two of you so much and he wants you both to come home.

Eliza doesn’t seem to reciprocate his affection as she retorts, “Momma always says if something is important to you, then you won’t forget it. I know that you forgot your wedding anniversary. And I know when she was crying when my baby sibling died that you weren’t there for her at all!” The volume of her voice has increased to the point that Eren was stunned into silence for a few minutes. “It’s your fault that we’re in California because you weren’t doing a good job of showing Momma that you love her!”

You hear her huff and can picture her rolling her (Y/E/C) eyes speckled with jade. Eliza probably has her arms crossed as Eren makes up a few excuses that he was busy at work and it wasn’t his intention to hurt you.

She cuts him off, snapping, “If you weren’t so stupid and so mean to her then I would love you too! I’m only calling you because Momma asked me to and because I love her. I don’t love you at all Daddy since you’re mean to Momma!” With her upper lip curled, she screams, “I hate you!”

You hear Eren trying to stammer out some final words of how much he loves you both before Eliza abruptly ends the call.

When you chastise her later that her words to her father were hurtful, she refuses to apologize to her father. She roped in your parents, Zeke, and Amanda to defend her.

Eliza will only continue Facetiming her father twice a day because of your insistence. Even then, she will sit the entire time in silence as Eren sputters apologies and reminders that he loves the both of you.

She always abruptly ends the call when the timer she set on her iPad for ten minutes goes off.

You and Eliza go back to New Hampshire after ten days.

You were planning on taking an Uber home. But then you see Eren that is there waiting for you two at the airport.

Eliza doesn’t run to her father or even greet him. Instead, she continues to cling onto you and even sticks her tongue out at him.

The walk back to the car is awkward. Eliza acts as a buffer anytime Eren tries to get close to you. Eren brushed his hand against yours when he tried to grab the carry-on. He was going to let his hand remain over yours until Eliza kicked him in the shin.

Eliza only lightens up when she sees Cyrus, Falco, and Annie waiting by the car. You and Annie sit in the back of the car, the three kids sit in the middle seats, and Eren is upfront alone as he drives. He keeps peering back at you in the rearview mirror every twelve seconds. His knuckles are white because of how tight he’s holding the steering wheel. Yet, he’ll tap his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel when he runs into traffic on the freeway and will sigh at every red light after reaching the side streets leading to your home.

Annie stays in the guest room right next to Colt’s upstairs. They sneak into the living room and crack open the door that divides it from the kitchen in hopes of hearing that Eren will offer up some kind of apology.

This time, it’s Annie that has to hold Colt back from decking Eren when they hear him yelling at you for being selfish when he’s the one that was never there. They both discuss the best plan of action to take care of Eren without you detecting anything when your husband screams obscenities at you and when he accuses you of cheating with Colt. Annie mumbles that she wishes you ended up with anyone but Eren. Colt agrees that Zeke and Amanda were in the right for being so adamantly against you and Eren’s relationship from the start and for their continuous interference, even after you both were married and had Eliza.

They both make a pact that night to do everything in their power to make you realize that you deserve so much more than how little that Eren offers you.

༄༄༄

Eliza’s face twists into a sour expression when all of you return home and her father tells her that he missed you both.

Whenever he tells you that he loves you both, she’ll retort that he needs to stop lying because he hasn’t been doing a good job at showing it. She takes a bath by herself and refuses to let her father brush her hair.

She screeches, “Uncle Colt, save me from this stupid meanie,” whenever Eren tries to hug her. And if Eren tries to approach Falco or Cyrus, that’s the only time Eliza will willingly step close to her father. Just to bare her teeth in warning that she will bite him both verbally and physically.

She doesn’t even let him read her a bedtime story. Even with the offer of ice cream or boba, Eliza doesn’t soften up towards her father. Instead, she hugs only you good night before dragging both Cyrus and Falco to her room and slamming the door in her father’s face.

You almost feel bad for how hostile Cyrus has been treating Eren the past month. You almost feel bad for Eren for how cold his daughter is towards him. You almost feel guilty for going to California when he rages at you in the kitchen.

Eren is pulling the roots of his hair taut as he paces around the kitchen. He makes sure to keep his distance from you out of the fear that his temper will take over and he might hurt you. He roars, “What the FUCK is wrong with you? You cut and run to California out of nowhere! You took Eliza to the airport in the middle of the night! I was worried fucking sick about the two of you!” After filling up a glass of water, you only direct your attention to him after you take a seat at the island.

You’re still making eye contact with Eren, and your torso is pointed at him to convey that you are listening. But your nonchalance and composure as you sip the water only elevate his fury. “Why the hell is it that everyone else but me, YOUR FUCKING HUSBAND, knows that you gallivanted off to California with our child! Even your Boy Wonder boy toy knew! But NOT ME! HOW COULD YOU BE SO FUCKING STUPID, (Y/N)! WHY ARE YOU SO SELFISH? It’s not just about you anymore! Eliza missed a week’s worth of school. Zeke had to cover for you on such short notice that even my dad was considering coming out of retirement because we didn’t know how long you would be fucking around in California!” Eren clenches his fists and takes a couple breaths.

His eyes are currently a jade hue as he howls, “You didn’t even pick up the phone or open any of my messages! But you let Eliza call me every day and you couldn’t even spare me a minute of your time? You let your best friend and your parents curse me out and didn’t even bother defending me!” You’re taking another sip of water and he’s pissed that you don’t even seem remotely apologetic. “Even when they praised Colt and Marcel, and go on and on about how they would have been so much better for you, I didn’t hear a fucking word from you defending me and saying you don’t regret choosing me to be your husband!”

You sigh in disappointment that he didn’t even apologize for standing you up at the wedding anniversary dinner.

You tap your fingers on the counter and comment in a detached and matter-of-fact tone, “Don’t bring Colt or Marcel into this. They’re my friends.” You point at your wedding band on your left hand. “I’m married to you. I didn’t tell you to contact Amanda or my parents. You were the one that kept calling them though they repeated the same words to you every time.” Eren takes another deep breath before yanking the glass out of your hand.

You shrug as you continue, “The only thing that makes me stupid is thinking you actually care when you’re never home anymore. When you forget about the OB-GYN appointments. When you reschedule our anniversary dinner twice and don’t even fucking show up anyway.” Eren’s nostrils flare as he slams his palm down on the kitchen island.

You bet that everyone in the house is already awake at the volume of your husband’s voice. You have a feeling that Connie has heard Eren even though he’s in the next house over and he’s probably playing video games with noise cancelling headphones. You anticipate that he will text you later out of concern if you’re ok. He’ll probably tell your other friends about Eren’s rage, and you’ll be spammed with messages and calls from all of them.

You don’t even wince or make a sound when Eren continues screaming at you. “What?! You think that Colt actually sees you as just a friend? Amanda and Zeke and your parents from the start always put fucking Grice and Galliard on pedestals. They don’t know that Marcel would never love you! They don’t know that Colt doesn’t give a fuck about you! No, Colt just wants a quick fuck since you’re so fucking naive!” Eren’s jaw is clenched and you see him visibly shaking as if there’s a draft in the kitchen.

“Is that what you and that asshole have been doing every week when you’re supposed to be ‘training him’? God, (Y/N)! Did you fucking sleep with him? Is that where you two were when you both called in sick to work twice?!”

He throws the glass he took from you at the crowning of the ceiling right above the kitchen window.

You don’t flinch even when you hear the cup shatter. Eren has closed the distance between you. His face is a few mere centimeters from yours when he thunders, “How dare you fucking rope in Annie to call in sick too as some kind of a cover! I’m not stupid, (Y/N)! I know she would cover for you any day even though I was her friend first! Did you take that asshole Colt to our home and fuck him here? Or did you take him to Zeke’s place?” His wedding band flashes before your eyes as he uses his left hand to tilt your chin to look directly at him.

His hand is gentle. But his words are still venomous and spiteful as he grits out, “At least then you could sleep a little easier thinking that it didn’t matter that you were whoring around with that fucking prick because you didn’t defile the home you share with your husband!” Eren lets go of your chin but is rooted in the same place as he continues his tirade.

He’s so close that even your ears are beginning to ring from the intensity of his voice. “I’m sorry I keep forgetting shit! But guess what, I’m not perfect like Saint (Y/N) who always has to be composed and collected and always remembers everything!”

Eren throws his hands up in the air before taking off his wedding ring and tossing it on the counter. “I guess the nickname doesn’t fit anymore since you’re a cheating whore who just keeps her legs open for any guy that pretends to be your friend!” He scoffs, “That’s why you’re always with him, isn’t it? Is it even my fucking baby? Did you only come back here because Marcel didn’t want to play house? Or is it because it’s Colt’s love child?” Your palm stings after making contact with his cheek.

You hop off of the island seat and make sure to put a few steps of distance between you and your husband. You take a few deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. “It was your child, Eren. Colt didn’t even get to New Hampshire until I was six weeks pregnant. I haven’t even seen Marcel in a year.”

You pause trying to maintain your composure. “And the reason me, Colt, and Annie had called in sick on both December second and next week on December ninth was because I found out I had a miscarriage at ten weeks.”

You swallow the lump down in your throat and you fold your arms across your chest as you take more steps back from your husband.

There’s some satisfaction when the anger immediately leeches out of his eyes.

You scoff when his right hand begins tenderly stroking your arm to try and comfort you when he was just accusing you of cheating just seconds prior. “I called you. Left voicemails. I texted you countless times saying that I needed you. Both before and after every appointment and every exam. And you weren’t there. You left me on read and didn’t even bother with a quick 10-second phone call of how you’re tied up at work. Not even a message of ‘no, can’t make it’ would have been enough.” Your voice wavers and when you avoid his gaze, Eren takes the hint to let go of you.

You murmur, “I get it that the deadlines with your so-called work wife are important. But I’m your wife too.” Eren follows your gaze to his wedding ring he tossed on the counter.

Your lips are trembling. “And I just wish I was considered important to you as well.” Eren is trying to stammer out another burst of apologies and more bullshit excuses and tries to embrace you.

You shake your head at him and continue, “I can’t count on you for anything, Eren. You’re never there for me. You’re never home anymore. You never respond to my texts or my calls or my voicemails. Why would I trust you with our daughter if you can’t even make it to one appointment or at least tell me that you don’t want to celebrate our wedding anniversary?” You point again at his wedding band that’s still at the counter.

When his gaze returns to you, your voice is barely above a whisper when you ask, “Why does it matter that I didn’t tell you that I was leaving or contact you when I was gone since it’s obvious that you don’t even love me anymore?”

The house is finally silent for the next few minutes.

You see Eren is just staring at you and his mouth is twisted into a grimace. You shake your head at him. “I’m done. I’m going to bed.”

You step around him and open the sliding door separating the kitchen from the living room. You then begin to head up the steps to one of the guest bathrooms.

You’re grateful that Eren doesn’t impede your path. You’re grateful that as your tears mix with the hot water from the shower that Eren has never seen you this vulnerable.

A/N: if you want to join my tag list, change your username, or would like to be taken off my tag list (it’s fine I’ll just be crying myself to sleep if you no longer want to be notified of when the next chapter comes out) you can shoot me a DM, leave a comment, or fill out the Google form.

That’s a wrap for Book 1. Thank you to everyone who has continued to stick by this series this far. We pick it up in Fall where it only gets worse from here. It’s ok though because summer is MUCH more lighthearted though, promise. I needed to make myself laugh because the angst to come was getting a little bit too much for me to handle. Sorry but chapters are going to be coming out slower since I’ve been having bad writer’s block.

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @wakatvshi @pichara @izukine @emepe @ihatelettuce @didiyogo @trumpettay @unicornlover25 @6sakusa @lukepattersin @rein4r1 @educationalandphysicalmess @deadflowerd @bbylime @ackerfem @littlemochi

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren x reader angst #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x reader angst #aot imagines #eren x you #eren x you angst #snk imagines #tw emotional abuse #tw verbal abuse #tw miscarriage #eren jaeger angst #eren yeager angst #aot x reader angst #colt grice #petra ral #annie leonhart #mikasa ackerman #eren x y/n angst #eren x y/n

[urmother-official]

:(

#zeke jeager #reiner braun #porco aot #colt grice #pieck finger #gabi braun #falco grice #aot final season #aot season 4 part 2 #snk final season #snk season 4 part 2 #snk #aot angst #snk angst