#So he'd sit there cradling someone he doesn't know and he might wonder why. he might wonder why not

[mintmatcha]

cw: a weird vent piece lol, suicide mention, no quirks au, mentally ill reader

You always fuck with your shirt on. You'd wear more, if you could, but you haven't figured out how to do it with your pants on yet.

You pull the sheets over your sweat chilled legs and hope he didn't notice the spots you missed shaving. If he did, Natsuo doesn't seem to mind. His arm is tucked under your head, muscle fibers occasionally twitching underneath you and turning the soft mass dense.

Sometimes, Natsuo keeps his shirt on too. Neither of you have ever asked the other about it; there's a mutual understanding when a hand is stopped.

"Do you work tonight?" he asks.

You shake your head as his body relaxes deeper into the mattress.

"I'm gonna do laundry if you want to throw your stuff in," he mumbles, "I'll get you junk to sleep in."

The medical textbooks he was studying are still on the floor, flipped to random pages of different cycles and tissues, abandoned in exchange for you. If Natsuo fails his midterms, it'll be your fault. If he passes, he'll be leaving the city next semester for his hospital rotations.

Part of you wants him to fail. It's that dirty, evil part that no one else seems to have, the part you try to starve, but it keeps growing anyway. It nips at you whenever the room gets too quiet.

It's teeth are extra sharp today.

"You're so sweet." You speak into his skin, "I don't know how you're still single."

A sharp inhale is sucked through his teeth, cutting through his smile. Natsuo takes in all of your features and you know he's wondering why you're saying these things-- why you're purposefully bringing this up.

"Well, sweetie-" His tone is light, like he's avoiding stepping on glass, stepping on glass. With every word, he walks his fingers on your arm, spanning from elbow to shoulder, "I'm only single because you keep turning me down."

The overhead fan whizzes. The part you try to starve sinks its teeth into your chest.

"Natsuo, we've talked about this," you say, "I don't date."

You sit up and swing a leg over him, straddling his hips. A trail of white hair runs down his stomach and down under the sheets, disappearing where the two of you meet. He holds you by the hem of your tee, just tight enough to hold you in place.

"Would it be so bad?" he whispers.

"Here's what would happen, alright?" You brush your fingers through his sweat touched hair and it bounces right back into place the second you pull away. It makes you giggle a bit and he mirrors you, an unsure, foolish optimism in his eyes, "Let's just say I met this wonderful, beautiful boy and tricked-"

"Tricked?" he scoffs.

"Tricked him into loving me." You want to kiss him, but it feels cruel for both of you. Instead, you just cup his jaw in your hands and cradle him, letting the weight of him slump into your palms, "He'd treat me right and bring me home to meet his parents, 'cause he was raised right and, even though he's really smart, he'd think he's in love."

Fingers squeeze at your hips.

"But the second I left, his parents would tell him that he deserves someone prettier and smarter and, and, and better," you say, "And they'd be right."

“My mom’s nice," He drops your pretense with a whisper, ruining your not so careful charade. “She wouldn’t say that.”

He doesn’t mention his dad. There’s a silent sentence there. One that says, “But he might.” It’s hard to keep your brain from sticking to that point, from sticking your thumb into this metaphorical soft spot.

“I mean, she wouldn’t say it out loud, but she’d think it," you say, “She’d sit there and think ‘that girl's not good enough for my son' and she'd be right."

He scoff he lets out is uneasy, almost a songed laugh, more pained than annoyed. "My mom is nice."

This conversation is hurting him, but you can't stop yourself.

"And they'd tell you to break up with me, but you wouldn't listen to them, 'cause you're head strong like that. You'd probably date me in spite of them for while," you ramble, "But then you'd go away and you'd meet some pretty, normal girl and you'd realize they were right. They were always right. I was right."

The overhead fan whizzes.

"So, it's better if I just don't date at all,"

Natsuo's grip dissolves and you think you see it then - the moment whatever is between you dies. A hollowness passes over his features, empty eyes and sucked cheeks, as he ducks his head down to rest his face against your chest. Chin against the soft of your tits, he seems farther away than ever.

You could gloat. You could cry. You're a self-fulfilling prophecy once again.

Natsuo sighs and his words slip so easily from him that you almost don't process what he's saying. "You're so sad. I wish you'd get help."

That catches you off guard. The control over this conversation is ripped away, your curtain drops, and you suddenly feel very, horribly seen.

"What?" You try to laugh it off, leaning back to escape the way he watches you.

"Sometimes I wake up and you're not here," he says, "And I worry that's the last time I'll ever see you."

You understand the implication.

"I'm not gonna kill myself." It might be the truth, you think.

"Yeah," His arms wrap around your waist again, snaking the air from your lungs, "Touya promised me that too."

Touya is only ever mentioned over too many beers and tears you're not allowed to remember the next morning. He was only 16, only a couple years older than Natsuo, but the ghosts still linger to this day, always tucked into the back of the room, stalking, haunting.

Natsuo comes from money and fame. His apartment is paid for by his father. He's never had to work to afford food. At first, you resented him for that; you wanted that ease and safety his family afforded him.

But everything comes at a cost. Every unhappy family is unhappy in there own ways.

"I'm sorry that you keep loving things that break." That is the truth. You're just the end of a line of his mistakes, starting all the way at mom and dad and trailing through every girlfriend ever since.

"I do love you. And it's not despite the fact you're 'broken'," Natsuo takes your hand with a resounding firmness. It reminds you of that thing they say about golden retrievers; the smart ones can hold an egg in their jaws without shattering the shell. Natsuo holds you like he understands you in some deep, intrinsic way, "Or because of it or whatever."

He doesn't look away, those bright, wide eyes bluer than ever.

"I just like all your little pieces." He kisses your knuckles one by one, trailing from thumb to pinkie to thumb again.

The room is silent. The bad part of you is no longer begging to eat. Maybe it's full for now, but you know it's just out of focus, stalking in the dark, biding its time.

"You should study." You slip from him and reclaim your own space in the bed. After a long, simple pause, Natsuo gets up himself, collecting his boxers from the floor.

"Yeah," he says, "You're right."

The hurt you've caused is no longer comfortable to live in. Your mouth is dry, thirsty for a change you're not sure how to make. Recovery feels like a big leap-- loving and being loved feels every farther away.

All you can do is shuffle your feet against the sheets and take the tiniest step towards normalcy.

"Do you want to get brunch tomorrow before your classes?" you offer your olive branch, your silent promise, "I'll pay."

He weighs this, measuring it for sincerity, then smiles just wide enough your get a glimpse of teeth.

"Let me get you something to sleep in."

For now, it's enough.

[mythvoiced]

@xinxiins | ♥

Wénzhé's knuckles are almost white. His fingers are wrapped around the edge of the bench they're sitting on. There's no reason to be this tense, right? But Wénzhé is exactly the kind of person who needs to hold on when things are calmest.

There aren't many moments in his life these days where he feels like he's holding onto one important enough to make his grip that tight. It'd been easier for weeks and then months and now nearly a year to simply loosen his grip around everything that had ever mattered enough in his life to mold its shape into his palm.

He'd let go at the worst of times and cost someone's life, so he might as well stop holding everything else, too, right? Clearly his grip wasn't meant to hold safe and secure, kindly and cherished.

Enter him.

Lí Chényǔ is a man unlike... where should he even start? He doesn't think the English language was invented with the foresight of Wénzhé one day needing it to describe Lí Chényǔ and his heart in relation to him, or it would have tried harder to be half as, a tenth as beautiful as Lí Chényǔ himself.

It's not so much his appearance, though there's nothing to complain about there - if he took his hand, would his fingers wrap around his wrist in one go and easily because Wénzhé's fingers are lithe and long, or because Lí Chényǔ is malnourished enough to allow encompassing in a way Wénzhé doesn't want?

There's a reason he doesn't turn to meet his eyes a lot. Wénzhé has never been particularly good at any kind of sport. Team or solo as they may be, he can hold his own in those that require height, because the kids used to drag him

and her

into their games solely for that advantage, and what you do a lot you inadvertently end up learning a little off. Sure, a basketball net or the one tugged across a volleyball field, he can maybe navigate around it well enough. But if he imagines Lí Chényǔ to stand there and were to turn and meet his eyes, he'd fall flat on his ass.

If he were a figure skater, he'd slip and slice his own hands.

If he played tennis he'd get every ace directly in his gut, and would use it to pretend he can't breathe because the ball impedes him, and not because every time he turns he wants to brush those strands out of Lí Chényǔ's eyes and lean in until he can breathe the rest of him in.

That's why the white knuckles, that's why the grip, that's why he can't sound confident enough to his own ears even though he doesn't stutter as bad as he'd figured he would, that's why he looks away almost instantly, pretending the joy erupting out of Michael and Wendy's throats had suddenly caught his attention again.

There's a lot of something ugly buried in his chest as well, makes his stomach coil and turn on itself uncomfortably, because how can someone like him be deserving of wanting to hold onto someone like Lí Chényǔ?

That's why he tries.

Something twists painfully in his neck when his head whips around at the tightness suddenly in Lí Chényǔ's voice, the sniffling, and he instantly slams his hand against the spot, as if that would ease the uncomfortable pain shooting through his skull.

"What-? Fuck, sorry, did I-" he falters and bites his tongue, lips uselessly parted on apologies he doesn't know how to word because he doesn't know which part of his statement he should apologize for, and then the attempt dies anyway.

He hates interrupting Lí Chényǔ when he's trying to put something into words, but he gets the urge to do it here anyway. It's ugly, too, he doesn't want to hear it almost because certainly, surely, in a way, there's no way-

Lí Chényǔ bumps his knee against his own and Wénzhé scrunches his nose to not start crying, too.

"I don't know what that means," he says pathetically, as if Lí Chényǔ doesn't know that. It doesn't matter, though, does it? Whatever he said, it most likely matches the English that had preceded it, and sometimes wonders if Lí Chényǔ resorts to Mandarin for the part of his words that would cradle Wénzhé's heart a little too lovingly out of a sense of mercy for Wénzhé.

"Don't say that, gosh," he runs his other hand across his features. Thanks whatever higher power had put his head back on properly on his shoulders enough to push him into Lí Chényǔ's life.

"You're gonna fill concert halls in this life," he points at the ground in emphasis, suddenly fierce, suddenly desperate. He leans closer. "Not in a few centuries. Okay? I'm your first fan. Not your only."

His fingers tingle.

Would it be all right to touch?

His thumb shakes as he brushes it along something glistening suspiciously at the corner of one of Lí Chényǔ's eyes. His hands shake when he pulls away again. "Sorry, uhm," he gulps, rubbing his palms together to get rid of the tremors. "You hungry?"

[ironbloodcd]

He appreciates, more than words can convey, the way Petrae keeps it together, despite the very small, albeit recognizable and common signs Baizhu can pick out of the other's nerves. He hates that it must come to this . . . that Petrae must see him like this at all, but it's an unfortunate consequence of agreeing to live with him. Some days, he can make it through with little to no symptoms at all, and others, although rare, he's lucky if he has the energy to move the blanket from atop his body.

" No, the . . . doctors have been very good to me. All that I need is right . . . here . . . within reach. " Neatly arranged, alongside his medications, so he needn't want for anything, or go too far to get it. His thumb smooths gently overtop Petrae's hand, the contact, admittedly, a much needed comfort that he hadn't realized he needed until now. He's used to waiting out these episodes alone, or with a doctor or assistant nearby. Someone OBLIGATED to be there. This was different . . . nice. " Qiqi . . . " he rasps out, descending his gaze down towards the small child, who had curled up against him, her tiny fingers curled into the side of the loose pajamas he'd been switched into. She peeks up at him, in return, causing him to smile wider.

" If . . . I ever . . . had to go away for a very l-long time . . . " Now, he looks to Petrae, that smile faltering just slightly. He, likely, needn't explain to the scholar where this conversation was going . . . he didn't WANT to. Not in front of Qiqi. " . . . would you be . . . fine . . . with staying with Petrae ? You . . . like him, don't you ? "

She considers it. Tucks her head back into the side of his body, and sighs.

" Yes. I like Mr. Petrae. But . . . I don't want to go to Sumeru. Can Mr. Petrae stay here until Mr. Baizhu comes back ? " " Hm. I am sure he . . . would not mind that. Right . . . dearest Petrae ? "

Unprompted Ask - Always Accepting!

@tenebriism

Baizhu's meaning might be lost on Qiqi, but Petrae understand perfectly. The weight of this request isn't lost on him, though the fact that it needs to be asked at all leaves a heavy ache in his chest. If I die, will you look after her? The artificial man feels his lips pressing into a tight line, a shuddering breath drawn in through his nose as he, once more, has to steady himself and gives a quick shake of his head.

"I... of course I wouldn't mind," he all but whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder might, somehow, aggravate the pharmacist's condition, "I will... g-gladly stay here with you, Qiqi, if... if that is what will make you happy."

But he hopes that day will never come - not because he doesn't want to remain in Liyue, but because he realizes how afraid he is for Baizhu. The thought of this kind man meeting such a painful end is a terrible one, and for not the first time, Petrae wonders how the Archons can be so cruel when it comes to dealing in the fates of those who worship them. It's not fair, he thinks, that Baizhu has to suffer this way. It's not fair that his life might be cut so tragically short.

There has to be a way to help him. There must be a way to save him.

Shifting to sit at the edge of the bed, Petrae's gaze lowers to settle upon the hand cradled within his own, resisting the urge to squeeze. He's afraid of hurting Baizhu with even the gentlest of gestures. Instead, he draws the doctor's hand closer, holding it against his chest as if to cradle it as he searches for something more to say. Words feel terribly inadequate right now though. What can he possibly say that would make anything better?

"... we will... remain here until you feel better though. Is... Is that agreeable to you, Baizhu?" The question is uttered at last, a request that he hopes is as beneficial to the sick man as it is to himself and Qiqi. Surely Baizhu doesn't want to be alone right now - he can guess that much from experience. The homunculus knows how torturous it is to suffer alone and that is, perhaps, why he's determined to remain here with Baizhu now.

Please, let me stay with you. "At least until... unt-til your fever breaks... ?"

[pearbearwrites]

School sucks.

Julien knows that it's not some new or extraordinary revelation, but still, being nine years old and forced to spend eight hours a day crammed into a classroom with twenty other stupid stinky nine-year-olds sucks.

He could be reading about dinosaurs. Or watching Jurassic Park. Or drawing dinosaurs. Or finishing that dinosaur sculpture for his dad, who is awesome and also loves dinosaurs. But no, school is "important" or whatever.

Julien really thinks school should have more dinosaurs.

"Honey, school is important," Mom reminds him while he eats his oatmeal and makes dinosaur shapes with his blueberries, "you can't get a job if you don't go to school."

"But I wanna play with dinosaurs," Julien reminds her. Sometimes Mom can be really dumb.

"Playing with dinosaurs isn't a job, sweetie. Now eat your food before it gets cold."

Julien pouts, but eats his food. He hopes they talk about dinosaurs in science class today. That would show Mom.

Julien hates the bus. It's loud and smelly and sometimes the other kids throw things at him. He has to keep the dinosaur Mom lets him bring in his bag because then Tucker might steal it and make fun of him for it and call him weird.

Tucker's a big bully. Julien thinks he'd be more fun to be around if he liked dinosaurs.

Tucker ends up stealing his dinosaur during lunch and throwing it into the trash can and laughing when Julien gets upset. Tucker doesn't even get in trouble.

"But he threw it away and it was mine!" Julien says to Miss Buck, trying very hard not to cry.

"Well, I guess that'll teach you not to bring your toys to school anymore. And you get a time out for the rest of the class for yelling at me."

"But I wasn't-"

"Do you want to make it no recess and a call home?"

Julien wipes the tears from his face. Stupid Miss Buck. No wonder mean Tucker calls her Miss Butt. "No, ma'am."

"That's what I thought. Now come on, we've got lots of stuff to learn."

To make matters worse, they don't talk about dinosaurs in science class, just stupid stinky flowers and stupid stinky pollen. Julien doesn't pay attention from his time-out spot, just draws dinosaurs on the paper he's supposed to take notes on. When Miss Buck sees, she yells at him and tells him that he won't get recess and it won't just be a phone call home, it'll be a note that he has to get signed.

Stupid stinky Miss Butt. Julien hopes the pollen she talks about makes her sneeze.

Julien has to sit at the picnic table while the other kids get to run and play. He doesn't even get a pencil and a piece of paper to draw with, he just has to sit and watch. He does manage to find a stick and starts to draw a t-rex in the sandy dirt, but Miss Buck blows her whistle at him and tells him to stop. Stupid stinky Miss Butt and her stupid stinky whistle.

"That's a cool dino." Someone says from behind him, startling Julien. It's a boy from the other fourth-grade class, Mr. Applegate. "Did you draw it?"

"Yeah," Julien says, defensive. This boy might be a bully. "So?"

"It's awesome. I love dinos."

Julien doesn't say anything.

"They're so cool. I really wish I could see one in real life." The boy plops down next to Julien on the bench. "Could you teach me how to draw one?"

"I dunno," Julien answers, still upset that Miss Buck won't let him draw and still wary of the new boy.

"I'm Patrick, by the way. Your name's Julien, right?"

"Yeah."

Patrick doesn't seem to be dissuaded by Julien's lack of interest. Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out...Julien's dinosaur!

Julien snatches it from Patrick's hand, suddenly angry. "Where did you get this?"

"I saw Tucker put it in the trash at lunch. I knew it belonged to you, and it was just on top, so I grabbed it before the lunch ladies threw it away. I even washed it off in the bathroom."

Julien examines the dinosaur. It seems to be fine, a little damp from being washed, but nothing too bad. He cradles it to his chest, then stuffs the dinosaur back into his pocket.

"Why did you get it? It was in the garbage and you don't know me."

"Well, Tucker's a big bully," Patrick says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world, "and maybe I wanted to be friends with the strange kid from the other class who draws awesome dinos."

Julien shrinks away from Patrick. "You think I'm strange?"

"Well, yeah. It's okay, though. I'm strange too." Patrick gives a big smile, showing off a missing tooth close to the back of his mouth. "We can be strange together."

Julien looks at the dinosaur in his hands, then back at Patrick. "I can teach you how to draw dinosaurs."

Patrick's grin gets even bigger. "Really?"

Julien nods his head, but before he can answer, Miss Buck blows her whistle and yells at Patrick to stop talking to him. Patrick sticks his tongue out at her, but stands up anyway. "I gotta go. I'll talk to you after school in the bus line, okay?"

"Yeah," Julien says as Patrick runs back to the playground, "okay."

Maybe being strange isn't such a bad thing after all.

“You think I’m strange?”

“Yeah? It’s ok, though. I’m strange too.” He smiled over at them. “We can be strange together!”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Investigations (Part 3): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

synopsis: when things are uncovered, can you handle the truth? Or are you doomed to make a mistake you can't rectify?

wc: 2.1k

tw: violence

masterlist

song recommendation:

Ran's past was a lie.

When you met him at the country club five years ago, your pasts had been explained in hushed tones and excited flurries of memories; sharing photos of the time before he was an executive of the communications company he worked in and the time before you were a journalist.

Ran said he had gone to jail twice, both for crimes he had been an accessory to as a delinquent kid, but that he'd cleaned up his act after and made his way up the corporate ladder. Nothing about gangs or being a Heavenly King in Tenjiku made it past his lips.

You had been honest, too. Your tales included the time you'd accidentally happened upon a massive gang fight, and that's how your investigative journalism skills began to bloom.

Who was fighting?

What were they going to do after?

Where did these gangs come from?

When did this argument start?

Why were they fighting?

How did gangs form in the first place?

Those were all the questions you sought out answers for that night and the next five years after, devoting your time and effort to finding the truth about everything.

"Babe?" You freeze, hands hovering over the keys at the sound of Ran's voice. You don't turn around - you can't even look at him the same these days - but he fixes that by walking over to you and turning you around in your chair. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Just doing some writing." His violet eyes search yours for the truth, but you know he won't be able to find it. Not while you're still trying to unravel his past. Ran kisses your eyelids sweetly, cupping your face in his large palms and littering his love across your face as you try your best to remain still and not confess about your research.

"Come to bed. It's late."

"I've got a few more paragraphs," you explain, motioning to the small print on your screen. "I'll be in bed soon."

But your lie is discovered shortly thereafter. It's five a.m. when Ran returns, seeing you slumped against your desk, arms cushioning your head, laptop screen blank. Instinctively, Ran pulls you out of your seat - making your notebook fall to the ground - grunting softly as he scoops you up into his arms and cradles you against his chest.

You willingly allow your husband to carry you to bed, where your two-year-old is also nestled among the sheets and pillows, thumb tucked into his mouth. And for a moment, Ran appreciates the view, seeing the two people he loved the most - besides his younger brother - laying in the bed he paid for, in the house he built, in the city he owns.

But then he remembers the slight disarray you left your things in at the desk and returns, picking up your pencil and notebook before laying them beside the laptop. Then his eyes catch "Ran's past?" written in bold, red letters, along with the words: "Tenjiku" and "Tandai" also written in the web of other words surrounding his name. "South Terano" is also on that web.

He'd have to take care of that in the morning.

And for the first time in a long time, worry bubbles to the surface of his mind, and Ran rips the sheet of paper from your notebook, tossing it into the kitchen trashcan and considering his deed done. He concealed his past to protect his family. And he's concealing the present to achieve the same goal; all for the future to be revealed later. That's how everything should be.

Right? _____________________________________________________________

"Ran," you whisper, lips running across his knuckles. His fingers cup your jaw, and his own lips press against your forehead, violet eyes darkening slightly. "It's six am. Where are you going this early?"

"I have to go into the office for a little while," he murmurs, kissing your forehead again. "I'll be back around lunchtime." Thoughts of Tandai and Tenjiku flash into your mind for a moment, but you smile at him sleepily anyway, absolutely sure these things are part of his past and not in the present.

"We'll be waiting for you, my love."

Despite all of your best intentions, though, you can't help but be consumed by the idea of Ran out, fighting, stealing, maiming... You consider asking him about these things, these concerns, but you decide against it as you're helping Kai with his lunch. If he wanted to leave it in the past, there's a good reason for it. He would have told you if it would be a problem later. Right?

Ran wouldn't jeopardize your family, your home, your life for something so... juvenile.

Right?

The clatter of keys on the counter in the living room brings you back to the present, and you perk up, your two-year-old mimicking your expression.

"Daddy!" Kai slides down from his seat and runs to greet Ran, clutching his father's legs with all his little might.

"Hey, buddy," Ran laughs, stooping to pick up his son with excitement. "How are you doing?" As son and father have a very stimulating conversation about playtime, you watch them in wonder, observing the way Ran makes his child a priority, just like he makes you a priority. But your countenance falls as soon as you see the blood spot on the bottom of Ran's lavender suit jacket. You know its blood because of the way it dried - that's no ketchup stain.

You fake a smile anyway, giving Ran a kiss on the cheek and tugging his jacket off after he sits Kai back on the tile floor.

"Hard day?"

"Kind of," Ran mumbles, and you catch the sight of a long scratch down the side of his neck. "But I made it through." You hum, taking the pin-striped jacket to the laundry room and slinging it over the side of the washer. You'd need that later.

"Need to relax?" you wonder, and Ran grins at you mischievously.

"Maybe later, after bedtime?"

_____________________________________________________________

But "later" never came.

Instead, Ran and Kai fell asleep on the sofa, watching a kid's movie, and you retreated to the office, powering up your laptop and pulling your notebook closer.

You immediately notice something's wrong, as the notes you had before were missing. Everything is gone. Not even a word of all the research you had done was there. Hadn't you written meticulous notes and names and things about Ran's past that could be interconnected? You break out in a sweat and search in every drawer of the desk, every place it could possibly be. You come up with nothing, and let out a frustrated sigh before slumping down in your seat and pulling up the computer history from yesterday. If you had to rewrite every single thing, that's fine. You'd just need more time to gather your evidence for the meeting on Saturday.

You're knee-deep in articles and police reports when you stumble across a more recent - actually as recent as this morning - article titled: "Ex-gangster found dead in meat factory". The picture of South Terano startles you, and you click on it, feeling a sense of dread as the article details how he was found hanging upside-down in the warehouse with a bullet hole in his head. And just like that, your newest lead has fizzled out. You groan, writing down "South Terano, deceased" on your notepad, then exiting the tab.

There had to be someone else you could ask. Shuji Hanma only provided you with Ran and Rindou's names, no one else.

"What's this?"

The door to the office shuts softly, and you look over your shoulder at Ran, who is walking toward you with measured steps, his eyes taking in your exhausted expression and the way you're hunched over that notepad. Again.

"What are you doing? You look tired, babe. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

Suddenly, pieces begin to click as Ran leans his hip against the desk, staring down at you in the chair with squinted violet eyes. "You threw away my notes... Didn't you?"

"What are you doing in my business, y/n?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you were in two gangs?" you counter, fingers shaking slightly. "Ran, this is something I needed to know before--"

"You wouldn't have married me if I told you." Ran's tone is cold, almost as if he's turned into the past version of himself without batting an eye.

"You don't know that." Ran leans forward, coming to eye level with you a smirking.

"I know you. And that's all I need." Ran reaches out a hand to close the laptop, still smiling and maintaining eye contact. "Now here's what you're going to do. First, you're going to stop digging into my past. There's nothing there that you need to find. Second, you're going to come to bed. It's late, you're tired. Finally," Ran cups your chin like he did this morning, except his fingers aren't so tender this time. "You're going to cut off contact with both Shuji Hanma and Taiju Shiba. I'm not really fond of either of them, and I'm not a fan of having them tell my business to my wife."

"They were only doing it because I asked."

"Taiju, maybe. Shuji isn't so eager to fuck you. I doubt he did it out of the kindness of his heart." You can't say anything to refute his claims. Ran is probably right. But you can't get one question out of your mind.

"Why are you trying to hide your past? What's there that I won't like?"

"What isn't there is the real question."

"What can you tell me about the gang that's just surfaced in Tokyo?" Ran's face slackens, transforming into a half-surprised, half-blank look that you realize is one that means he's been caught. "Oh, my fucking god," you breathe, tears stinging your eyes. "South, the fish, the murders, the crime... It's you. It's been you this whole time. I've been chasing my own husband down." Panic begins to set in, and your mind whirls around as you shake in your seat, bringing your hands up to your head. "Just tell me Rindou isn't in this," you breathe, but Ran doesn't answer you, still wearing that dumb look on his face. You let out a cry of shock, covering your mouth and trying to back away from Ran as much as you can.

The source is a lot closer than you think.

You slide down the wall, shocked into stillness as your sobs quiet, and Ran straightens up, placing his hands in his sweatpant pockets. The long nights, the early mornings, the bloodstains, the damn suits... It all led to this. Ran had never really left his old lifestyle behind. He'd gotten caught up in it, and brought you and Kai into it unknowingly.

"I never meant for it to get this... unhinged." You can't reply, tucking your knees into your chest as you stare past Ran and at the opposite wall, wondering how you'd missed the signs, the obvious signs that Ran was up to no good. "I know this is a lot to take in, but we can--"

"I can't stay here."

The words fall from your mouth and Ran flinches, shaking his head.

"No. You can't leave."

"Yes, I can," you mumble, standing and wiping your tears. "I can do whatever I need to do to keep Kai safe, and--"

"Kai is safer here than out there," Ran snaps, pointing at the window. "I'm not letting my son out of my sight. Your snooping has caused enough trouble as it is; I wouldn't have had to go and clean up this morning if you hadn't--"

"Don't blame this on me," you retort, pointing at Ran accusatorially. "You're the one who joined a gang and is still in one! What kind of role model are you for our son now?"

"I provide the best way I can," Ran grits out, clenching his fists. "You've never gone hungry, cold, or ill-clothed a day in your life while you were with me."

"I would rather die than enjoy a life paid for with blood money."

"Blood money? You really think--" You try to push past Ran, but he grabs your shoulders, yanking you back in front of him. "You're not going anywhere except to our bed."

"Let me go, Ran Haitani," you mutter, hands balling up into little fists. "Or I'll scream."

"Who will hear you? Kai?"

How had you been so foolish? Ran's lips press together momentarily as his violet eyes run over your figure, taking stock of all your five-foot-six stature. You're no match for Ran. Not mentally, and certainly not physically. Ran notices your defeat and his hands slide down to your wrists, tugging your delicate hands up to his chest.

"Everything will be fine," he whispers, drawing you close. "I'm taking care of us. Just trust me."

Just trust me.

[themoonmunchkin]

Don't look!

Pairing : Bakugo katsuki x gn!reader, Midoriya Izuku x gn!reader, Todoroki Shoto x gn!reader.

Genre : fluff

Warnings : insecure reader, cussing, savage deku?, kinda angsty but overall super fluffy ^3^

Synopsis : you're insecure about your side profile but they're having none of it.

Not gonna lie, he probably wouldn't even have known that this was an insecurity that people had.

So when you first start dating he wouldn't think much of it when you cover your nose while laughing or when you contour your jawline extra hard.

Until one day you start letting your thoughts get to you again, you think about how everyone around you have such a beautiful side profile.

You start wondering why Katsuki even bothers to be with someone as "ugly" as yourself, I mean has he seen his face.

But anyways you start distancing yourself from the world again, start hiding your face with your hair, have mental break downs in the night, refuse to take pictures and completely shut him out while thinking you're being subtle.

But no, no, no- my mans noticed...and he's currently having a full blown panic attack on the inside.

He's really worried at this point and starts thinking about what he's done wrong, he tries to talk to you but you're always making excuses and running away from him.

Now, he's had enough and so he quite literally barges into your dorm room and demands an explanation as he keeps shouting at you until....

.....he takes in your tear stained face with fresh tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

You were seated on the floor with a hand mirror clutched to your chest, the same one that you use to point out all your insecurities in, your phone is on the ground next to you with a picture of a model, her perfect side profile on display...the same one that you always compare yourself to.

Cue in a confused, angry and sad boom boom boy 😔.

Who the fuck had the audacity to make his baby cry hmm 🤬.

But then his anger vanishes just as it comes and before you knew it, he's shut the door behind him, quickly walks upto you, swoops you into his arms and cradles you in his lap.

"Ssshhh....its ok baby, I'm right here". Bakugo softly coos in your ear while running his fingers through your hair and letting his other hand rub your back. "Talk to me honey, what's wrong?"

You pull back a little and look up at him into his pain filled eyes that still hold so much love for you and that's when you tell him everything.

You tell him about how you've always hated your nose, how you've always wished you'd had a more chiseled jawline, how you've been bullied about your side profile by your peers and how you've never felt good enough.

He still doesn't get it because you're genuinely the most stunning person he's ever laid his eyes on, but understands how this is something that seriously bothers you and so he's gonna do everything in his powers to yeet those insecurities out.

Now Bakugo isn't one to lie or sugarcoat something, but he's also not someone who'll let you sit and hurt yourself like that.

He takes a deep breath, cups your cheeks in his hands and looks at you with the most earnest look on his face.

"Listen here baby, you're right maybe you don't have the most chiseled jawline or the sharpest nose out there-"

You winced at that a little but he was quick to speak again.

"I'm not done yet-" he closes his eyes and thinks for a second, words have never been his thing as he's someone who prefers actions instead but right now you needed more than just a kiss or a hug, you needed security and reassurance, so he takes in another deep breath and opens his eyes to look at you again.

"-just because you don't have those doesn't mean you're any less beautiful." He said with a smile as you curiously looked at him. You looked so damn cute to him all he wanted to do was pounce on you right then and there, but he held himself back for your sake and the next things he said made you fall in love with him even more.

"What you have suits your gorgeous fucking face, you don't have to change for any stupid extra and no one's opinion, not even yours is going to make me view you any differently or make me love you any less." He leaned in and gave you a chaste kiss on your lips that pretty much took your breath away and then he pulled back with a cute blush on his face.

"So from now on only listen to me okay and no matter what-" he kisses you again and pulls back a second time "-I will make you look at yourself the way I and so many other people look at you".

Now he's had his fair share of insecurities and he's had a lot of people call him "plain looking" (which I still don't understand how when he's got some of the rarest and most beautiful features) even then those words about his looks have never really got to him.

But when it comes to you, he immediately knows something's up with all those self-deprecating jokes you apparently find to be funny.

Doesn't question you cause he doesn't want to scare you away, also because he trusts you to come to him if something is wrong.

But alas you and your stubborn ass refused to seek help from anyone and instead you chose to cope with yourself by putting yourself down in the form of those awful "jokes".

You've always tried to get yourself to stop this, but it soon became more than a coping mechanism, it was the only way you could hold yourself up without wanting breaking into peices.

That was dangerous.

But it's ok! It's still all fine and dandy until one day everything changes and you realise that all that self-deprecation didn't do shit.

Its Sunday today and you and your boyfriend Izuku have been walking around the shopping plaza for a while now.

The two of you were on a date, but you were also on a hunt for the new all might merch that your boyfriend has been fangirling about since forever. So far there was no luck on your end but y'all weren't about to give up just yet.

"OMG! I think I see it in there!" Izuku squeals cutely while pointing at what looks like a moderately big comic store that had an emo cyber punk looking aesthetic to it.

*Gasp*..."OMG! I think I see it too!! Let's go!!" and with that you grabbed his hand and were dragging your blushy stuttering mess of a boyfriend towards the store. It was adorable how easily he got flustered even after how the two of you were almost half a year into dating.

The two of you finally reached the store and stepped in, there it was the brand new neon tinted holographic Allmight figuring with working layers. Izuku's eyes sparkled as he ran towards it and immediately snatched it off the shelf.

"Yay we finally got it!" You cheered as you walked over to him and gave him a high five. The two of you had bright smiles on your faces as you talked about the figuring and walked towards the counter to pay for it.

You looked towards the counter where a young girl who looked about your age was working as a cashier, she had this bored expression on her face until she saw your boyfriend and it immediately changed into something you could only call as a flirty expression.

"Hey there handsome~ what can I help you with today~" she said in a sultry tone and gave him a wink. You and izuku were both puzzled at the fact that she not only just openly flirted with your boyfriend but also completely ignored your existence.

"U-um....er....we just need this figuring please". Izuku placed the box covered figuring on the counter and was about to pull his hands back when she quickly grabbed them and cupped them with her own hands.

"You sure, how about I give you my number and we ditch this place to go get coffee."

"Um -uh no thank you, I have a s/o!"

"Hmm...I don't see them."

"Well I'm right here and maybe you'd have seen me if you'd stop flirting with your customers and did your job properly." You said and at this point you were seething because even though she knew you were right there, she hadn't spared you a glance and pretend like you were completely invisible.

"Oh, so that's who you are....I was wondering why such an ugly person would be hanging out with someone like him-" she pauses and looks into Izuku's eyes with a bored expression "-you need to raise your standards, I mean have you looked at how hideous their nose is or how ugly their face is."

The two of you froze. Sure You've always made fun of yourself before but this was the exact reason why. You've always told yourself that if you'd make fun of yourself, you'd be desensitized to what others say to you but it's only now you realize that no amount of preparation would ever be enough to handle the real thing.

Shame. Humiliation. Pain. Fear.....This is what you felt at the momen-

"How. Dare. You." You turned towards Izuku and for the first time ever you were met with the most terrifying expression on his face. His eyes were dark and he looked...mad....like really really mad and you froze, the cashier looked like she was about to cry with the look he was giving her.

"I don't know who you think you are but you had no need to say whatever you just said and you are wrong because they have the most gorgeous facial features ever." at this he turned to you and softened his eyes a bit, he reached for your hand and gave you a gentle squeeze.

"I promise you sweetheart, you will always be the most beautiful person in my life and no one can tell you otherwise-" he looked at the slack jawed cashier with disgust and pointed towards her "-not stupid people like her-" he looked back into your eyes like you were the only two people in the store and pointed towards himself "-not me and lastly never will you ever tell yourself those kinds of words again even as a joke, got it."

Always openly staring at you in the most respectful way ✨.

Even before y'all started dating he would always stare at you in secret, but hey! it's not his fault you were so irresistibly attractive all the time.

Uhm...so moving on, he is observant as heck especially when it comes to you but unfortunately he's just as oblivious T_T.

He's always noticed how you'd get shy and walk away whenever he'd stare at you for too long and genuinely thinks it's adorable at how bashful you get.

But truthfully.....you're mortified, paranoid even at how much he stares at you.

I mean yeah it's adorable to see him so whipped for you but you're always wondering if he's secretly bashing your side profile in his head and the thought makes you wince ever single time.

But you always tell yourself to not let your insecurities define Shoto or effect your relationship and besides Shoto isn't a cruel person, he'd never think of you that way.....right...?

Oh God, he's doing it again, he's staring at you and this time it truly is terrible because he is seated right beside you. The two of you are seated wooden chairs, side by side in the U.A. library.

Your textbooks and notebooks are spread out on the table in front of you. You're in a more secluded part of the library opting to study in a more private area and boy oh boy did Shoto take advantage of that.

"Shoto, could you please stop staring at me like that". You held your textbook upto your face and looked the other way.

"But I want to look at you". Shoto pouted slightly and furrowed his brows at your actions, he reached for your wrists and tried to pull them down and to much to your inconvenience, he succeeded.

You see, while you still had a bunch of work left to do, Shoto had finished about 15 minutes ago. You told him to go back to the dorms but instead of listening to you, he denied your offer and has been staring at you with the most unreadable expression on his face.

"Why can't I admire the one that I love the most". He slightly tilted his head towards the side and flashed you the most genuine smile. Damn him for being so adorable but that's not enough for your insecurities to go away.

"Because I'm ugly". You finally said softly with your head hung low and tears threatening to fall. You wanted to shrivel up in a corner and fade away for sounding so vulnerable but at the same time it felt so good to let your thoughts out.

"You're....what..." His eyes were wide and his jaw was set a slack. Now this took him by surprise, he had expected a lot of things but never once had he expected....that. He gently grabbed your chin and tilted your face to meet his. "Love, you're the most beautiful person I've ever met, why would you ever say that."

"Because I'm not beautiful, everyone has such a gorgeous face especially from their side. I don't and you don't have to lie to me to make feel better about myself. I know I'm ugly and I'll always be that....just let me accept that and be Shoto." You said with your voice slightly raised and shaky from the lump in your throat.

Shoto's eyes darkened a little and his grip on you tightened a little but not enough to hurt you. To even think that someone as precious as yourself could ever have such awful thoughts about yourself- how long have you been silently suffering like this all by yourself.

He cupped your cheeks with his hands and met your eyes with the most determined look on his face. "Darling, I don't know who said that to you or even if that's an inside voice but, I will absolutely never let you accept yourself this way."

"Everything about you is perfect, from those gorgeous eyes that i always get lost in," he kisses your eyes.

"-to that perfect nose that helps you breath so you could live by my side another," he kisses your nose.

"-to those delicate beckoning lips that I wish to kiss forever." he finally captures your lips in a breath taking kiss just to slowly release them and look at you.

"And besides, you know better than to call me a liar baby, you know that I would never lie when it comes to you so let's pack up for today and let me show you how much I love you and how utterly enticing you are."

[eremiie]

broken promises

❥ angst | 3.9k words | eren x armin

❥ content: none. just pure heart break.

❥ the moment you’re born your soulmates words are etched into your skin, and the moment you meet them they disappear just as fast. so when eren meets armin why don’t his words go? and why does armin have to carry the weight of a wretched life on his shoulders? surely his fate is his fault.

this fic is a rendition of chapter 139! read at your own risk

this fic is for @mikaberries 4k collab event! my word was ‘broken promises’ and my ship was eremin! enjoy<3

ty to @arlerted for beta reading this fic!

"hey, why don't you put up a fight?"

those were the first words muttered to him.

"you're wrong! i'm not losing because i don't run."

those were the first words that made the black mark sprawled on eren's wrist begin to fade away, seeping from the tan skin and sprawling like dust onto the concrete he stood on.

the first words that made the blue of armin's eyes dazzle with interest, peering over his shoulder almost tumbling over to get a fresh look at what was holding eren's interest so well.

he knew what was holding eren's interest, he's seen it before with so many people close to him, he's heard stories from his grandparents. it couldn't be happening to him though? happening so soon? i mean he was just a kid, he—

"you're my soulmate..."

so if eren was his soulmate, why didn't the words disappear?

so if eren was his soulmate, why didn't the words disappear?

so if eren was his soulmate, why didn't the words disappear?

why were his first words to him not the ones scribbled on his skin?

nevertheless, armin wanted to grasp any hope presented to him. if eren was his soulmate he'd try his best to believe him. surely it was just a glitch in the system, maybe a phenomenon never discovered. but even then it didn't matter, because how eren's eyes gleamed at his bare wrist, eyes flicking from armin to his arm, to armin, it was all the confirmation armin needed.

still, on sleepless nights, when only the moonlight would beam through the window of the barracks leaving enough light for armin to peer down at the bare skin of eren's wrist and the words i promise on his own, he couldn't help but wonder if eren was really his.

his pale hand engulfs with eren's as eren drapes his arm over armin's waist. it was so welcoming. that same hand wraps him in blankets, it cups the soft skin of armin's cheek, it adjusts armin's ODM gear, it was the hand that armin, just by the way it moves so lovingly, would've suspected belongs to his soulmate.

it couldn't have been a mistake, mistakes with things like this just didn’t happen.

"i'm yours." eren's voice would grumble against the nape of armin's neck, breath fanning over the new goosebumps formed, and hand squeezing armin's a little tighter.

armin's breath hitches, swallowing his spit before adjusting himself until he was facing eren.

his eyes were so beautiful in the dim light. armin could admire every speck of blue that would dance across the green canvas, every slight glimmer of gold that reminds armin of eren's mother. it reminds him of the same glimmer that dropped onto the cold concrete when eren was deemed his.

eren blinks, once or twice, armin can't remember because his mind drifts farther than he wants, and untangles their hands, bringing one up to armin's cheek.

it's wet, a fresh tear falling from the corner of armin's eye that eren brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

when armin leans back to give eren a one over, he doesn't remember when eren’s hair got longer, when his eyes became so dull, or when his smile became a permanent pout.

his soulmate isn't supposed to be his and he lets the thought pull him away from reality more often than not. no matter how many times eren could repeat how they were meant to be it would never feel right.

there was a barrier in between them that kept armin farther away from eren than he wanted to be. a barrier that armin pounded against, aching to break and release him from the solemn thoughts that clouded his brain.

when eren wipes another tear that shines against armin's cheek, he pushes forward on the bed, pressing his forehead against armin's and closing his eyes so armin can't see them anymore.

the simple touch, the simple gesture brings armin back to reality and he can feel that familiar longing in the pit of his stomach, the furrow in eren's brow, and the newfound wetness of his cheek.

he doesn't mean to press his forehead so hard against eren's, but the closer he is to him, the more he can feel the warmth of eren's skin. he can silence the storm inside of him. maybe if he tries hard enough and sticks close to eren that barrier would break, at least crack.

eren's palm brings armin as close as possible by the back of his head until he can feel armin breathing on his chin. armin could tell eren that he wasn't meant for him over and over again, but there was no mark on his wrist anymore, no sign that screamed armin wasn't his in his eyes. as long as his skin was a clean slate, as long as he could spend restless nights with his lover, days laying in each other's arm's under the tree as they stared at the wall longing for freedom, armin belonged to him.

"will you still be mine when you leave for marley?" he cuddles closer to eren, hands sat against his lover’s chest as he takes pleasure in his presence.

eren reluctantly nods his head and presses armin closer, a soft press of his lips to armin's nose.

"i'll still be yours."

"and you'll—"

"i'll still be yours. until we see the rest of the world together; the flaming water, frozen plains, and snowfields of sand."

armin stifles noise and sinks down from where he was against eren’s forehead until his head is in the fabric of eren's shirt, hands grabbing at the cotton so tight that eren's afraid he might tear it.

eren's shirt is getting wet but he doesn't mind. he wants to cry too.

instead, he lets his thumb smooth over the same strands of blonde hair he plaits while sitting in a field of campanulas, and lets his hand lightly ruffle the tresses he watches armin toy with, contemplating if he should cut them or not.

the next time he sees armin they're cut.

the next time armin sees eren, his eyes are duller than that night they were tangled in each other's arms.

armin barely says a word to eren on the airship, there was nothing to be said. nothing to be said when sasha died, her blood staining the wood of the ship. nothing to be said after the conversation at the table, armin's blood being wiped away by the damp cloth in mikasa's hand.

he never had a voice like eren, but when he screams at him on the floor where he sits around shards of broken glass and spilled wine as mikasa tries to get him to stand, he uses eren's own voice against him— words so passionate and spat like venom at eren that he has no choice but to turn around for a mere second.

someone who could kill so plainly and drag his loved ones along, not shedding a single tear as he goes, didn't seem like the soulmate set for armin.

but the way eren turns around, a snarl on his face that juxtaposes the gloss of a limpid tear in his eye— for a second, just for a second armin thinks otherwise.

and when he looks down at his wrist, "i promise." still haunting him, he wishes the world was kind.

ᝰ

armin slams the door behind himself, leaving mikasa alone in the gloomy storage room.

it was his fault a darkened cloud was hanging over the room, his outburst at mikasa wasn't her fault— but how could she even think about eren with all the peril happening?

his breathing is heavy and the sounds of titans are right next to his ears, pounding and stomping their way across the ocean, across the world. it was so noisy, the screams outside, people running from falling debris. he wishes the noise would cease for only a moment so he could gather his thoughts.

armin wipes at his eyes in hopes that it would stop the way his vision begins to blur. he stumbles backward using his free hand to steady himself once he hits the brick wall behind him.

truth being, no matter how little the thought was he was thinking about eren too.

he pulls at his sleeve to further hide his wrist, teeth-gritting as he fails to hold back tears that slip from his eyes and onto the floor he stood on. they decorate the stone floors in lovely splotches, darkening the grey and creating spots that'd disappear with time. but, as long as armin kept crying the least likely the evidence would simply "disappear".

"i'm tired." his voice cracks and like a broken dam tears begin to flow free, sliding down his cheeks as his skin begins to flush. he knows he can't stop them now. he can't stop the thoughts in his head or the tears staining his cheeks. he wishes to relax and be at the ocean again, staring across the waves where he finally got a taste of what freedom was before it was snatched away again. "i hate this."

no matter how hard he wipes at them, they're never-ending. why does he have to be the boy whocries? who can't defend himself, the boy with the burden placed on him, the boy with no soulmate. "i hate this, i hate this."

his knees buckle and he allows himself to slide down the wall, ODM gear clinking as it hits the floor, the wall rough as it scrapes against the material of his shirt. it's easier to block out the cries of terror outside and instead bury himself in his hands to cry for someone to release him from this stress.

he's tired of the wrenching in his heart, thoughts being solely on the one he thought was destined for him. no matter how hard he tries to think of what was most important his mind can't help but wander back to calm nights with eren. what could've been and what he wished became.

how did he fall in love with someone so wretched? and how did they make him so wretched?

his sniffles are the only thing he can hear and his tears decorate the sleeves of his shirt— just like he decorated eren's the last night his arms cradled him close.

"i hate you. i hate that we have to kill you— you're," a sob breaks his sentence, but he's thankful for it because he didn't want to finish it anyway. the next words to come out wouldn't have been true. they would've just been a fit of anger and sadness that clawed at his heart, twisting it between its grasp and trying its best to break the little hope armin had left.

"we have to kill you." is what he says instead.

what was he doing? there was no time to sob, no time to cry over someone like eren. he would heed the words he told mikasa— there was no time to think about eren, he was a lost cause.

armin unsteadily picks himself off the ground, adjusting the gear around his waist and using the back of his hand to wipe stray tears. he's lucky no one came through or went out the doors— it would've just been another open performance of his weakness and it'd be proof that erwin was the one who should've been chosen that day.

he would let eren go and he would do what he had to do to save the people around him, it was the least he could do after erwin's death.

ᝰ

when his titan is standing in front of eren's colossal titan those words mean nothing.

it's the adrenaline that tames the pull on his heart. he's so close yet so far— his soulmate, no eren, is right there but here he was doing all he could to stop him.

there's no time to relish in the past, although it flashes in the back of his head. loose memories of what eren was and the monster he’s become.

he wants to remember eren's rough palms against his cheeks again, his natural warmth he radiates while he pulls armin close as possible. but he pushes the memories to the back of his head— they were nothing but an echo now.

he has to give it his all because he's sure eren isn't thinking the same way as him.

the mosaic of him holds pieces of eren in it and it was evident by the flicker of eren's passion in his eyes when he stares him down, fists raised and only a murmur of "why did it turn out this way?" leaving trembling lips.

when he throws a heavy arm at eren it's like it all happens in slow motion; first, a pounding in his skull, causing him to close his eyes at the twinge, then a burst of light flashing over his eyes, and albeit how they stayed close a blanket of white drops over his vision.

he loses his balance and wonders if eren has knocked him out yet, until he lands on a hard surface. the pale sand is grainy under his hands and for some reason, his mind is blank. the soft whirring of what sounded like wind whips past his ears. he's calm.

armin flutters doe eyes open, adjusting to the brightness of the light in front of him. it was oddly familiar. purples, blues, and greens surrounded the striking light— and the longer he stares forth, the more it reminds armin of a tree whose branches reach for the sky. he's mesmerized. this must be what space is— stars adorning the black mural, as rays of colorful light burst over the top of armin like pops of fire being sent into the sky.

it's beautiful, and armin's reminded of earth, of the comfort of life— even in the walls. maybe this was what he believed was on the other side of the walls when he was younger, and if he sat in front of his younger self and explained the sight in front of him, telling him this is what was out there, he was sure he would've believed it.

"armin."

the blonde whips his head around, meeting a face his memories know so well.

eren's skin is illuminated by the light of paths, a gleam in such familiar green eyes that he only ever thought he'd see in his dreams. his hands are pocketed and his hair is free, laying gently against the side of his face. bags pull at the skin below his eyes and a tired smile graces his face as he puts a hand out for armin to grab.

armin wants to grab it but he recoils, scrambling to stand up on his own and dusting the sand from his hands. his eyebrows are furrowed and he's scowling at eren as he crosses his arms.

he doesn't know what to say— he doesn't know where he is. he's still mad at eren, he can't just take him to a dream-like place and think everything is okay. he's killed so many people, he's dragged his friends into what could only be described as hell, and eren didn't know the toll he put on armin's life. he couldn't just waltz into it, destroy everything, and expect armin to just talk to him again.

armin seems to always be too caught up in his thoughts because when eren's palm– that's still as warm as he remembers– presses him to eren's chest it takes him a moment too long to realize. the ends of eren's hair that graze armin's nose is something he'd never thought he'd feel again.

eren shouldn't be hugging him, but he can't push him off— it hurts.

it hurts when eren's stray tears hit the top of his head and it hurts when eren clings to armin like he'll disappear if he lets go. the cries of "i'm sorry," are all armin can hear as eren sinks to the floor in front of him, weeping tears of agony and years of pain that he was never able to share.

eren knows he caused everyone pain, and he knows what he's done is unforgivable, and although he's caused everyone so many tears, eren needs to be the boy who cries this time.

armin shudders, impending sobs trying to wrack his body. his hand cups his mouth as he drops to his feet as well. when eren glances up at him with woeful eyes, he can paint a picture with those blue flecks and glimmers of gold that he finally gets to see again. he sighs shakily and turns his head away from eren in fear of the tears he was trying to blink back from falling.

armin lets eren explain himself.

he lets eren reduce him to a complete sobbing mess. all these months of asking himself why was all summed up to him, the only question being left unanswered being why he still had words slapped across his wrist. he doesn't dare to ask about it— he's sure he already knows the answer.

"so... you're going to die?" armin asks hesitantly, scrunching particles of sand in between his hands.

"i have to. i have to atone somehow."

it's the words armin knows would slip from eren's mouth but not the words armin wants to hear. leaning forward he places his hands on eren's shoulders, a pleading look across the ocean that was his eyes. at least that's how eren would describe it.

"but maybe there's a way we can fix this!"

eren gives armin a small smile, placing his hands over armin's so gently. "armin... you think i'll be free like you once all this is over?"

armin's pleading expression fades and is replaced by a dejected one, his lips falling and his eyebrows turning upwards. "eren..."

eren pulls armin close to him, hand in his hair once more, tangling through the blonde strands and burying his nose into them. they smell just how he remembered, even with how short his hair was now— like fresh linen and the smell of the ocean that lingers even after only one visit.

"eren," his eyes screw as he bawls into eren's shoulder while wrapping his arms around him. "but you promised."

armin pulls away just as fast when the thought hits him. he grabs eren's wrist and pulls it from his hair. "you promised! you said we'd see the flaming water... the... the frozen plains and the snowfields of sand! you promised!"

eren shakes his head profusely, more tears being shed as his hands come up to cup armin's own wet face.

armin's vision is obscured by his own tears and he rests his head in the palm of eren's head, indulging in the feeling because he won't get to feel it again.

he'll remember the intimacy he shared with eren from hearing his heartbeat in his ears as he laid against his chest to tracing the skin of eren's arm to lull himself to sleep. it wasn't fair that it had to be like this. that it had to be a mere reflection of what was, but it was his fault for being so gullible.

from the day he was still left with such a taunting mark he should've known that if his mark was still etched on his wrist, eren being his soulmate wasn't tangible. he should've left well enough alone and accepted his fate, met his soulmate years from that day and lived the life he was meant to live.

maybe then he wouldn't be stuck in what was a cruel form of torture, a life that lead to show him his karma of being so greedy— of trying to hold onto whatever was sent his way. he wasn't even supposed to be here right now.

yet, here he was, eren pressing his lips to armin's forehead, both of his cheeks, his nose and then a last tender one to his lips. although armin struggles to reciprocate them, eren can understand that they were received.

"you go, and you see all of those things without me because even when i'm not here the freedom you're granted is proof of me."

shaky hands reach to place themselves over eren's. "you promised."

"i'm sorry."

"eren, you—"

"i'm sorry."

to armin, it was confirmation that him and eren weren't meant to be. soulmates just weren't like this. he wouldn't have his mark, there wouldn't be so much hurt, and the promise eren shared with him would've been fulfilled.

armin refused to believe that his soulmate is eren.

he couldn't wonder who would come after eren when someone like eren existed. he couldn't fathom who else would put their life on the line like eren did not only for him but for everyone around him. who else would fight like eren did, all for selfless reasons.

whoever was eren’s true soulmate has to be the saddest yet happiest person on earth, to have a destined one like eren yet never be able to acknowledge him.

he'd come to terms with eren's fate, and he'd move on— after all what he thought was his fate was never meant to be.

eren pulls armin to a standing position and using the sleeve of his coat he wipes both him and armin's faces.

"i love you."

armin takes in eren's features, noting them down so he'd be able to remember them forever— even after he's gone.

"i love you too."

stepping forward, eren takes armin's hand in his own. "i'll be with you every step you take away from those walls and i'll be with you everywhere you visit."

it's hard to hear, but armin still manages to nod his head.

"i promise."

eren and everything around him begins to fade. he's trying to piece him together in his mind— create a solid memory to cherish forever.

the world around him fades and he's back on a sad dirt ground, palms stabling him as he begins to get up, mikasa walking towards him with the remnants of eren in her hands.

when he reaches for eren's head, it's only then he notices the words that his eyes used to linger back to every few hours are gone.

armin didn't realize when the words on his arm began to faintly glow and bleed because at the same time he was picking pieces of eren up and placing them together to create a firm picture that he wouldn't forget.

pale skin was the only thing left in its path— and when his eyes flit back to eren he sees his soulmate. for the first time he's sure of it.

“paths...” armin mutters to himself as his hand smooths over the cooling skin of eren’s face.

this eren existed in paths where time is nonlinear— speaking armin words for what could have been the first as long as he continued to reside in them. “he said it in paths…” he says shakily, and he winces at his own voice.

time wasn’t linear in such a void, and eren had spoken the short sentence on his wrist into existence long before armin knew.

eren was his soulmate.

his soulmate who he was supposed to see the world with; flaming water, frozen plains, and snowfields of sand.

his soulmate who set him free yet he'd rather be chained to for the rest of his life if it meant he could wake up with him everyday.

his soulmate who he doubted so heavily, transfixed on two words that plagued his whole being.

his soulmate who didn't even know broke his heart, broke their promise.

"you promised."

[minghaoss-archive]

mercury• lee taeyong(m)

taeyong ruins you, in more ways than you'd expect.

1, part 2

"do not mistake this myth for love, that is a different kind of burning."

.......

Taeyong grants you every little thing you ask of him, be it his touch or his defense but you regret wishing him of something which risks you seeing him ever again.

Your head hurts as the memory sets in, the wine doing little to mitigate the choked sobs you’re accustomed to. This picture that you can’t take your eyes off, it’s all your fault.

A week ago

Hendery looks like he's holding in dragon's breath when he looks at you. You search his face, a thick lump caught in your throat. In the warm glow of the camp fire, his pinkish face looks beautiful, you think, he's beautiful, but it's a little to late for you to shower him in accolades.

In his twist of emotions of creased brows, swollen and bitten mouth, it's almost as if someone ran a stake through his heart, his fist is rolled up in a ball of pale knuckles. From the looks of it, you know if it were any other guy than Taeyong, he'd have punched a hole through their face but Hendery is only holding back because there was no way he'd go home with a few injuries and a broken heart. "Why?" He asks you, eyes welling up with tears, his voice rises and turns a few heads circling around the fire which resembles the ring of flame in Taeyong's pitch black irises. Taeyong watches his tattooed knuckles with much attention as if he'd put it to use soon. He rests his arm around Hendery's shoulder like they were the best of friends.

You shoot Taeyong a quick panicky look but the boy only pulls a sleek cigarette out and winks at you. As if he hadn't just given your boyfriend a jump scare not long ago. You sigh, he wasn't going to help you, you were alone in this.

"I..I.." you start, looking for words which might suffice for the pain you'd caused him. Your tongue rolls in your mouth, as if it had no intention of relaying any form of explanation for what you did. "Why?" He reiterates, squeezing your interlaced fingers so tight you're sure they might snap. "Hendery..you're hurting me." You whimper, you can feel the girl who'd been sitting in between Taeyong's legs stare at you with an inscrutable fear in her eyes.

There are a few of your classmates who watch the show with more attention than that is needed. "Well, you hurt me too." He says, his tone relentless as he raises his fingers entangled with yours. "Do you know what she did?" He says, scanning the dumbstruck audience you're amongst.

You look at Taeyong again, help me, you try to relay as you watch his face brighten in the flicker of a gaslight whilst he sets his cigarette alight with his spare hand. He doesn't look at you. Not once.

You let tears spring, and roll down your cheeks, your hand feels like it's being broken. You've spent the whole of your school life being invisible, unhurt, and away from the public eye. So when he's hellbound on dragging your reputation through the dirt, you feel like all the years independent of embarrassment has finally been accumulated and thrown at you all at once.

He drags each syllable of your name, holding your palms up in the cold air, he starts, his face twisted in an ugly snarl,

"She cheat-" Taeyong hooks his finger in Hendery's mouth and drags him backwards so his ear is pressed close enough to whisper. "I wouldn't do that, coward boy. I wouldn't do that if I were you." He takes his cigarette from his lips and drills its half lit head in the fabric of Hendery's pale blue jeans.

Your ex boyfriend whimpers, letting your fingers go, "but then again, I'm not chicken enough to be you." You watch in horror as Taeyong unhooks his finger, letting the poor boy's mouth go as he watches him fall from the theatrical show he was going to host. There's a black patch on Hendery's pants, there must be a bruise underneath.

He, unable to hide away from the embarrassment from the crowd he'd gathered, gets to his feet and attempts to leave. He feel like an actor who'd forgotten the lines to his own play. You drag yourself up and follow behind him, calling his name. He had hurt your hand a whole lot, he'd almost wrecked your image but it still didn't justify what you did to him. At least to you.

"Hendery, wait." You say, sprinting behind him. He doesn't relent in his lengthy steps, and you can hear the heavy weight of spikey boots follow behind you, you don't have to think twice as to determine who it is.

When Hendery halts in his steps, with his back turned against you and his palms at his waist, you bend down to touch your knees, catching your breath.

"Why did you do that to me? Was I not good enough?" He screams now, as you reach out to touch him but he leans away from your grasp.

You breathe in broken bits, heavily affected by the sprint. "You were, you were." You lie, attempting to assuage him. You're guilty, it felt terrible to look at him like that. Hurt plastered across his face. You did this to him. “I-I’m sorry.” You choke out, watching him grimace at the word. “Fuck your sorry.” He spits, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Let’s go back, ______.” Taeyong’s palm presses against your shoulder blade as he attempts to take you away. “Oh and look who’s here to bring you back. Your knight in shining armor.” Hendery spits back you, mocking you as he emotes his anger in a less than decent manner while shoving his hands in the air.

“You know what, I should’ve known that you were such a fucking slut.” You let your voice crack at that, “Always knew you had a sickly obsession with this guy, saw how you ogled him, freak.” You feel like someone had stripped you naked and pushed you in a crowd. What will Taeyong think of you now, will he really see you the same way as he did before?

“I’m not..I’m not a freak.” You whimper but his cruel words don’t stop at that. “No wonder no one fucked you for so long.” You hold your palm against your mouth, a muffled pained cry barely making past your shivering lips. Hendery looks unapologetic, like he wants to tear you apart with his words.

He eyes Taeyong, seething at the pair of you. A dry chuckle escapes Taeyong’s lips.

You should’ve seen it coming, from the numerous years that you’ve known Taeyong going around school with bruises, with a reputation of beating people into a pulp, a pulp that barely made it alive to see him again.

Taeyong lunges at the boy, his fist landing at his squared jaw with so much force that Hendery growls out like a wild animal. Your vision clouds as you fail to wipe at the burning tears that escape at a sight you can hardly make out.

You watch Taeyong’s broad back shift as he continues to punch Hendery’s face like it was something he had waited for all his life. It’s sick how you feel pleased with the way he’s beating the other boy up, however you berate yourself before this emotion overtakes you. You look back at the circle of your classmates and are relieved to see that most of them cannot hear you over the loud boom of music. No one knew what you did and frankly, no one cared.

You had bigger issues at hand, rather, given the pace of his hits, you’re sure Hendery won’t make it, not when he’s wailing like an injured dog. You attempt to push Taeyong away weakly, “Stop it..stop hurting him, you’ll kill him, Taeyong, stop.”

In the split second, you’re met with the acrid sight of Hendery’s bloody face as Taeyong rolls off of his body at the weight of your words, you knew that it was wrong, you were terrified of Taeyong. Was this the person you’d made love to? Was this the person you fell in love with?

You look at him in shock as you cradle Hendery’s bloody head, he’s holding onto you like it’s the only way he can breathe. When Taeyong leans in to touch you, you flinch way. Sobbing into the injured body as you hold it close to your chest. He sees the look in your eyes and recoils.

“I never want to see you again.” You say these words without meaning to, with a moral obligation grabbing at your throat, you watch the love of your life’s face morph from hurt to anger to stoicism as he walks away from you with the same bruised knuckles that fascinated you for so long.

He accepts your wish like any other.

Today

You look at the picture on your Instagram feed again and again again. Taeyong’s palms are pressed against some girl’s waist. His black hair falls over his right eye, an eye which is guarded by a freshly cut brow slit.

You wonder if he’s forgotten you. If he really knew that even if you had dragged Hendery to the hospital, that your heart was still with Lee Taeyong as it was that day at the cabin. You wonder if he called someone else his angel. If he could be call you his baby again.

Because you don’t want him to be someone else’s.

You wonder and wonder and you drag your drunk body up Taeyong’s apartment, you wonder and you knock.

As if he’s been waiting right there for you, he pushes the door open, not inviting you in. He watches you with his fingers splayed on his door. He’s wearing a glittery black tank top. One which would’ve made any other man look like a badly designed disco ball but not him-oh no, he looked like he belonged in this outfit, like it was his skin, like he was born in it.

“What do you want?” You wince at the icy tone of his voice, attempting to lean your head against the door but the man pushes it away from your access.

You feel a lump roll in your throat from the way he speaks to you, the mischievous glint in his eyes long gone, he does not look at you with the want he did before. This epiphany births a hurt in your chest.

He looks at your outfits, teeth clambering down on his now pierced bottom lip. He looks like he’s suppressing something you can’t make out in the low lighting. You’re dressed in a black skirt and a cropped black shirt, your attires are matched accidentally, your cheeks burn in embarrassment, maybe he really did think you were the freak Hendery accused you of being.

“I..I ..did.. not think it through when I said I didn’t want to see you again.” You close your eyes at the confession, watching as he looks at you like a predator would at his prey, you almost smile at this change.

“So?” Taeyong’s face falls into an impassive mask, he looks furious, those fiery ringlets in his eyes glimmer for a second. “I want to see you. I want to see you everyday.”

He nods, like your admission had no effect on him. “Thanks. Anything else you want?” You frown, jutting your lip out dramatically when he attempts to close the door. “I want you.” You whisper and the spark in his eyes appear. The omnipresent glint in his feautures is reborn, “I want to be your ang-” he pushes you against the open door and, drags you to him with the loops in your skirt’s waist.

When he kisses you, it sets your body alight like it did the first time he’d touched you, you moan into his mouth, attempting to push your fingers into his hair, which he presses over your head. His tongue is hot on yours and his body radiates heat like a tropical country would. He smells of gasoline, he tastes of coffee, he’s just as you remembered and just as you loved.

When he pulls away, you look at your feet, and he cages you between his body, his forehead pressed to the crown of your head. “I missed you.” He says, dragging the cool material of his rings along your exposed thighs as he hauls you up and wraps your legs around his lithe hips.

You groan in his touch.

Your stomach coiling, your intestines twisting in the warmth that spread out through out your tummy.

He drags you to his room, adorned by posters of rock bands you hardly recognize as he flings you to his gray bed in between wet kisses. He crawls over your body, kissing the base of your throat. You bask in the warmth of the severity of his heated touches, his mouth, his charcoal eyes and that scent of him that you missed so much.

You fall and fall into a pit so deep that you knew there was no going out. Taeyong had managed to ruin you, spoil you and every time he touched you, you felt like that Phoenix engraved into his honey skin, you felt like you might expode into flames.

Your hips roll into each other and the feeling of completion washes over you one more time.

“Ride me.” He says, his name you whisper in his ear. “I love .. I love the sound of my name on your tongue, angel, my angel.” He says. Your arms wrap around his neck and his mouth falls open at your lips, he whimpers, resting his hand back on the mattress as he leans back. His idle fingers squeeze your sides. "Fuck.. sweetheart. I missed you so much." He says, the bed groaning under your bodies. Your insides twist as you near your orgasm in a flash. Taeyong moans, his mouth on yours, hi fingers all over your body, as he kisses you with so much ardour that you feel like your eyes may roll back into your skull.

"Baby. You're gonna fucking drive me crazy." He says, scrunching his eyebrows upwards as he pushes his cum into your core. "Take me, darling, all of me." His voice is drops a few octaves, deep, and throaty, you kiss him again.

Taeyong always grants your wishes.

........

The night goes away in a blur, in the torment of the summer heat as your sleepy body sticks to Taeyong, the smell of sweat and the sound of heavy breathing is the only invader in his room. You watch him kiss your knuckles, you watch him look at you with love in his eyes and you watch his eyelids droop, with his tattoed arm wrapped around your waist and the sound of your heart beat resonating in his ears.

That night you fall asleep next to Taeyong, only to be woken by the obnoxious buzz of your phone, there’s a text which robs the color off of your face, ‘I know what you did.’ It says, the number anonymous. A video attached to the white box.

You press play with clammy fingers.

It’s the cabin, it’s the two of you. It’s a video. It’s your body. It's your voice. Your moans. "Taeyong."

Someone was out to ruin your life.

You sit up in horror, crying into your palm. The lift of your body had woken Taeyong. He narrows his eyes at the blue glow of your device. His gaze flits between your phone and your petrified face before he seizes the device from you.

You watch as he reddens in fury, deciding the fate of the now broken phone as he throws it against the black plaster of his walls. “I’m going to kill him.” He sneers, his teeth grinded together and nostrils flairing and

you know that, truly, this time, he might.

[borrowed-twenties]

Fic: Wonder

For: Konjiki no Gash!!

Characters: Takamine Kiyomaro, Gash Bell [Gen; Friendship]

Summary: Kiyomaro reflects on Gash's outlook towards the world at large. Maybe, someday, he can recover some of that awe himself.

Kiyomaro often marvels at how Gash expresses a child-like wonder for everything.

And by that, he really means everything.

Gash has a million questions for every single little thing under the sun. His questions even have their follow-up questions.

In some ways, Kiyomaro can relate. Why else would he pour over books written by the greatest historians, scientists, mathematicians and theorists?

He once thought (rather naively), if he could just finish this or that other book... one day, someday, perhaps his hunger to know could be satiated. (News flash: That was never the case.)

So, it comes as a bit of surprise to him that Gash might already have mastered the secrets of the universe, at the tender age of six.

—

Kiyomaro first realises this on the walk home from Mochinoki Middle School.

The both of them are trudging across the stretch of grassy green beside the Mochinoki River, the same standard route he takes to get home everyday, when it happens.

Gash is touting Vulcan in one hand and the green bag in the other. In the next moment, however, he freezes in his steps, sniffing the air with an alertness in his eyes.

Mystified, Kiyomaro watches as Gash carefully sets Vulcan on the grass and then crouches by the river edge, putting his ear close to the water. For the first time, Kiyomaro listens too.

He hears - the warm and soothing burble of the happy stream, the smooth rush of water skidding and chafing over pebbles and stones, and the steadfast waves as they lap against the sides of the river. The sound is evocative in itself.

Gash stands up suddenly, his eyes shining. "I can hear it!"

"Hear what? The water?"

Gash looks at him as though he's an idiot. (Maybe he is.) "No, the fish!"

Kiyomaro can already see where this is going. "Gash, don't -" He pinches the bridge of his nose as he half-begs, although he knows it's useless. What if his classmates see?

His words fall on deaf ears. Gleefully, Gash flings aside his blue cloak and dives straight into the river, squealing in delight. Kiyomaro doesn't know where to hide his face.

By now, he's noticed - Gash lives in between the split seconds of every moment, in a breath's span of surefire immediacy. Even when the passage of time may roll by slowly, Gash still never affords even a minute to think.

It's odd, then, that although he always plunges headfirst (sometimes literally) into something, Gash never, never seems to be in a rush.

This unhurried pace, Kiyomaro can't help but think, is a rather radical way to live one's life.

Each time Gash clambers back to the shore, Kiyomaro half-expects to see a yellowtail in his hands.

But no - each time it's a different fish. Gash looks a little disappointed, although never defeated.

There's so much variation in the fishes that Gash brings back. Kiyomaro studies the bright gleam of the scales, their manifold colours glinting in the sunshine, and furrows his eyebrows. Has there always been such a diversity teeming under the river surface, and he'd never noticed?

As Kiyomaro finally surrenders and sits down on the river bank to wait, he takes in the murmur of the trees, and breathes in the smell of freshly cut grass. In the distance, a cricket chirps.

On that grassy green, he figures that he's learning something new from Gash everyday.

—

Kiyomaro used to pride himself for being attentive. He considers himself sharper than most; he notices things.

So, he never thought he'd find someone more attentive than him - least of all one Gash Bell.

It is just another rainy day, and Kiyomaro is cradling a mug of hot cocoa in the kitchen. The steam billows up, drifting through the air, and there's the distinct hearty aroma of chocolate.

Hot cocoa forgotten, Gash is tiptoeing by the window, mesmerised by the water droplets sliding down the windowpane. His breath is fogging up the glass, but he doesn't seem to care. He presses a finger to the pane, no doubt feeling the coolness of the rain.

Kiyomaro gazes at him, and the question bubbles up: When was the last time he paid attention like this to a storm?

It is rather world-bending to realise that intellect isn’t enough. Kiyomaro can contain so many facts about the world in the palms of his hands, but he never quite knows how to enjoy them.

Yet, with remarkable simplicity and ease, Gash makes those facts come to life. How does a river form; why do clouds drift by in the sky; where do snails hide when it rains? That, Kiyomaro reckons, more than the lightning, is a kind of power unto itself.

"Kiyomaro," Gash speaks up from his place by the window, curiosity in his voice, "Why does rain make people feel thoughtful?”

It's not strictly a scientific question. So, Kiyomaro struggles to answer it. "Because there's this constant sound of rain that, you know, just breaks the momentum -" He cannot, for the life of him, do poetry - "and it takes you out of your own mind, for a while."

Still, he can practically see the gears in Gash’s head turning, as if Kiyomaro has just shared with him the key to unlocking the mysteries of the world. "Unu..."

Well. Kiyomaro knows he has plenty of homework, as well as acres of books to read. But instead, he continues to sit there with Gash at the dining table, re-learning the pitter patter of the rain.

—

When winter rolls along, Kiyomaro is not surprised that Gash adores sledding (on anything and everything), making snowmen, and snowball fights.

Gash's interests are seasonal, but his passion always stays the same.

Because, really, at the heart of it, Gash is just a child - and one can hardly find space for jadedness when one looks through the world through Gash's eyes. (In fact, Kiyomaro would attest, it's virtually impossible.)

On many days, he's just grateful for how Gash brought him out of his cold and dead world.

They are on their way home, and Gash never demonstrates any sign of worry that he might slip and fall on the icy ground. Sometimes it looks like he's walking on air, and Kiyomaro rather envies this lightness - especially when the red spell book weighs down on his mind.

Noticing his bookkeeper's momentary distraction, Gash seizes on the opportunity. Drawing back his hand, he nails Kiyomaro in the face with a snowball. It might be crudely made, but Gash’s aim is perfect.

Kiyomaro sputters, brushing off the snow from his forehead. He's quite sure that some of it has gotten into his eyes, too, and it stings. "Gash!!"

Gash looks marginally apologetic (but not really), and he pipes up cheekily, "I couldn't help it - Kiyomaro looked so serious! And I just wanted to take Kiyomaro out of his own mind, for a while..."

Kiyomaro immediately recognises his own words in Gash's mouth. He hesitates, and briefly wonders why Gash tries so hard with him.

A strange question comes to mind, and he won't rest until he knows the answer. "Gash... how did you know so much about me?"

"Huh?" Gash looks up at him, puzzled.

Kiyomaro rephrases his sentence. "When we met, you - you said that I was lying to myself. How did you know I could change?"

A look of understanding enters his mamono's eyes. "Father-dono told me, "Wonder drove Kiyomaro to discover the world, but that knowledge eventually drove him into a cave. Open up the world to him again, would you, Gash?" And I could see that in Kiyomaro's eyes, too, when I first met you."

Kiyomaro’s eyes soften. Without thinking, he lowers his hands, and lowers his guard.

But he quickly finds out that it is a mistake to leave his side completely undefended. Another snowball smashes into his neck. Ice slides down the back of his woolly sweater, a few clumps of snow trapped within his scarf.

"Gash!!" he yelps. Immune to his annoyance, the infuriating kid just laughs cheerily, scooping up more snow in his gloves and tossing it up in the air. It rains down on both of them, like a gentle shower.

Kiyomaro pauses, in that moment. It's chilly, but his heart is warm.

He sighs, and his breath puffs out in a warm cloud in the wintry air. He hides his smile, so as not to invite any further snowballs in his direction.

Maybe, one day, he can recapture some of that old wonder. In fact, he sees that he is already starting to.

—

Notes: I love the theme of “noticing nature”, and I love the dynamic between Kiyomaro and Gash, so I thought to combine these two things in a standalone Gash!fic :-)