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agaypanic · 2 months ago

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its prom season so i was wondering if i could request smth where reese and reader are temporarily broken up and after the prom (when he went with the girl that paid him to go with her) he realizes he wants reader back and they get back together

Get the Girl (Reese Wilkerson X Reader)

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Summary: You and Reese decide to take a break because you don’t think he’s as serious about your shared future as you are. When a girl hires Reese to be her prom date, he realizes just how much he loves you.

A/N: it’s not prom season anymore (sorry about that lol) but here you go

***

“Reese, I think we should take a break.”

You didn’t want to say it, your voice almost broke as you forced out the words.

“Me too.” He responded, his cheerful tone making you think he was thinking about a different kind of break than you. “Let’s skip math and get some ice cream or something.”

You were right; he had no idea what you meant. “Not that kind of break, Reese.”

“Then what kind of-” Reese slammed his locker shut and looked at the dejected expression on your face. He seemed a bit puzzled, but soon put the pieces together. “Oh.”

“I just…” You sighed. Part of you didn’t want to explain, and part of you felt like Reese wouldn’t care enough to ask for an explanation, but you knew you should tell him why. “I just don’t think you’re that serious about us. Or anything for that matter.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh really, Reese?” He nodded unconvincingly. “You haven’t applied to any colleges or trade schools, you don’t have any kind of job lined up, and every time I try to talk to you about our future together, you say, ‘Let’s just live with my mom so we don’t have to pay rent.’”

“I still think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s not Reese!” You raised your voice a little out of frustration. “It may be for you, but it’s certainly not for me. I want to have a life with you after high school, and not one that involves sharing a room with your brothers and being cramped in your twin bed.”

Reese let out a tiny laugh, which made you fume. “Y/n, I’d obviously make Dewey switch with us.” He quickly saw that you weren’t as amused as he was. “Babe, I don’t wanna take a break, but what do you want from me? What do you want me to do?”

You groaned, the sadness you had felt earlier being replaced by frustration. “If you still don’t get it after I’ve already told you, then maybe this break is a good thing.”

Reese was about to respond, but was cut off by the warning bell. Giving him one last look, you turned and headed to class.

***

When you heard that Reese was going to the prom with another girl, you didn’t really know how to feel. Logically, you shouldn’t have felt anything. After all, it was your idea to take a break, so you couldn’t really be mad that he decided to go out with someone else. In fact, it just confirmed the suspicion you had of him not being serious about your relationship.

But you were still hurt. And you thought you had a right to be, considering you’d been dating Reese for years.

You did your best not to think about him. Prom was supposed to be the highlight of your high school life. But there you were, moping in the auditorium, watching your probably now officially ex-boyfriend dance with another girl. While drinking your punch, you wondered if you should leave now or try to stick it out a little longer.

“Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Malcolm.” You responded, a bit surprised by the boy’s presence. “I take it MORP didn’t turn out the way you planned?”

He sighed. “Nope.” He seemed slightly disappointed, but his mood lightened as he looked at the crowd, which was full of both prom and morp goers. “Aren’t you gonna dance?”

“Don’t feel like it.” You answered, finishing your punch.

The two of you stood awkwardly for another song before Malcolm spoke again. “I know I’m not Reese… thank God… but, do you wanna dance?” You gave him a questioning look, wondering why Malcolm was being nice. “Don’t make me regret asking.”

You smiled a little, tossing your empty cup in the trash before nodding. “Okay.”

You and Malcolm danced a bit stiffly around the floor, not really knowing what to do. He wasn’t expecting to dance with his brother’s ex, and you weren’t expecting to dance with your ex’s brother. But after another song or two, you loosened up. You might even go as far as to say you were having a good time.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the giant room, Reese danced with Jeanine. She was very impressed with how well-behaved he was being. He even threw in a few off-script compliments. Needless to say, she was swooning.

She was so busy swooning that she didn’t notice how Reese’s eyes kept searching for you. When he found you dancing with Malcolm across the floor, he was livid. Why was his brother dancing with you?

And even worse, why were you seeming to enjoy yourself?

“You’re a really good dancer,” Jeanie said.

Reese was so fixated on you that he forgot he had a part to play. He tried to seem genuine as he looked back at his date. “When I’m with you, it doesn’t even feel like we’re dancing. It’s like we’re floating.”

Jeanie smiled. “I misjudged you, Reese. I just chose you because you were completely hideous, and I knew you wouldn’t have a date. But you’re so much more than that. You’ve made me feel wonderful.”

“It’s been a really great night for me, too.” Reese lied. “You helped me find a little part of me that I didn’t even know was there, the part that isn’t a gigantic jackass.” This came from the heart, however Jeanie wasn’t the person he wanted to say this to.

“You know…” Jeanie said, seeming a bit shy now from Reese’s kind words that weren’t actually meant for her. “I wasn’t planning on the night ending this way, but why don’t we get out of here, grab a blanket and a bottle of wine and go to the beach.”

“You mean it?” He tried to sound excited, but Reese wanted to take a step away from her. Spending tonight, and the whole week for that matter, with Jeanie, really made him realize that there was only one person he wanted to get drunk on the beach with.

“Yes, Reese,” Jeanie answered, leaning in close. “I really want you.”

Reese was filled with relief when the alarm on his watch went off, signaling that it was now midnight. Jeanie pulled back a bit in surprise. “It’s twelve already? Too bad. Well, see you at school. And you can just put the money you owe me in my locker.” He started to walk away, leaving his date dumbfounded.

“Reese, where are you going?”

The boy turned around, still inching away from her as he pointed at his watch. “It’s midnight. I’m off the clock.” Then he turned back around, the girl’s confused protests fading away as he walked further away. Now, only one thing was on his mind: getting his girl back.

“Oh God.” Malcolm looked at something behind you, seemingly terrified.

“What?” Instead of answering, the boy quickly scurried off. You turned around just in time for Reese to grab your face and pull you into a deep and desperate kiss. At first, you melted into his touch, completely overwhelmed by the affection. But then you remembered your situation, pulling away despite your hesitancy and his protests. “Reese, what are you doing?”

“I love you.”

“Okay…?”

That wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for, but he supposed it was fair. Reese gently pushed you away from the crowd of dancers, hoping to have a somewhat private conversation. “I love you, Y/n. And I know you don’t think I’m serious about us, but I am. This is so corny, and you can never tell anyone, but you make me a better person. And I want you to keep making me better.”

“So you want me to put in all the work?” You knew it was a bit mean to argue with Reese when he was being vulnerable, something that was rare even when he was with you.

But it didn’t seem to deter him. “No! Of course not. I wanna…” He trailed off, realizing how cliche he was about to sound. “I wanna be with you. Maybe have our own apartment after graduation. And maybe I could go to a cooking school or something. And one day, I’ll have enough money to get you a ring, because I want to be with you.” Reese took a much-needed breath. “I’m sorry it took me being on a date with another girl to appreciate you.”

You were rendered speechless. Reese wasn’t usually a man of many words, especially not this many words. And he was rarely vulnerable, even with you.

“Say something,” Reese said, getting worried. He wondered if he said the wrong thing or went too far. Maybe when you talked about your future with him, you didn’t mean that far into the future. Or maybe he shouldn’t have brought up Jeanie, or the fact that he needed to be with someone else in order to realize how much you meant to him.

Reese’s train of thought was interrupted by you launching yourself at him, arms tightly winding around his neck. He wobbled a little in surprise, but hugged you back like it was second nature.

“That’s all I wanted.” You muttered, kissing Reese’s cheek. “And I love you too.”

Reese sighed in relief, pulling you closer against him. Eventually, the two of you ended up back on the dancefloor. But this time, you were finally with the person you wanted to dance with.

***

Malcolm in the Middle Taglist: @rattilol

Reese Wilkerson Taglist: @hollymaybank @theogirlovermattheogirl

#agaypanic #reese wilkerson x reader #reese wilkerson #malcolm in the middle x reader #malcolm in the middle

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spicybeefnoodles · 9 months ago

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flower crowns

summary: liu kang cannot find bi han anywhere

warnings: none :)

Liu Kang wandered around the Lin Kuei base looking for Bi Han. The grandmaster had invited him here for some unknown reason, but the Fire God had yet to see a trace of the blue assassin. Traveling through the various training grounds one more time, Liu Kang even looked into the hidden grotto that Bi Han liked to meditate in and the hot springs where Bi Han liked to unwind from the day. However, the man was strangely not in any of his usual spots, and Liu Kang frowned at the fact that he could not find his lover.

Changing his tactic, Liu Kang went to search for Kuai Liang and Tomas, but even so, the plan had a fault: sometimes even Bi Han’s brothers didn’t know where he had disappeared off to. Liu Kang just hoped that they would know where he is. Approaching the gray-clad assassin in one of the training grounds, Liu Kang waited patiently for Tomas to finish his set before finally asking him if he had seen his brother anywhere. Unfortunately, Tomas shook his head, but his eyes darted back and forth, and Liu Kang narrowed his eyes in suspicion but dropped it and went to find Kuai Liang. Similarly, Kuai Liang was sharpening his weapon and gave Liu Kang a negative answer similar to Tomas’s, but the Fire God had a feeling that both were hiding where their brother was.

It was strange, seeing that Bi Han had been the one to call him here and yet had not appeared to greet him. Typically, whenever Liu Kang arrived, the grandmaster would be all over him, preening under his touch, but Bi Han was absent and nowhere to be found.

Sighing, Liu Kang resigned himself to just go and meditate in the gardens. It had been a fixture that Bi Han’s father had put in place, and Liu Kang greatly appreciated its beauty. It also made for a wonderful place to meditate or to take walks through.

Liu Kang entered through the arch bordering the gardens and strolled about the gardens before finally deciding to meditate in the area surrounded by the roses in the far side of the garden. Settling down, Liu Kang closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. For a few moments, he entered a deep trance, keeping his mind empty and his breath steady, but a sudden grunt of anger snapped him out of his trance.

Cracking open his eyes, Liu Kang found no one nearby, and yet he heard another groan of frustration and something breaking from somewhere around the garden. Liu Kang stood up and looked through the garden, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Eventually, his eyes landed upon a blue-clad figure sitting among an assortment of flowers and hunched over something in his lap: Bi Han.

“Bi Han.” Liu Kang smiled when the assassin turned back, a look of shock on his face when he saw the Fire God standing over him.

“Liu Kang.” Bi Han hid whatever was in his hands as the Fire God sat down next to the assassin.

“What have you been hiding from me, my love?” Liu Kang tried to peer into BiHan’s hands to guess what the man was trying to hide, and the grandmaster blushed slightly. Liu Kang would’ve enjoyed the expression more if Bi Han didn’t suddenly scowl.

“Nothing.” The grandmaster mumbled.

“Then, why did you call me here and then not show up? Show me, Bi Han.” Liu Kang put a little edge into his voice, and Bi Han relented, uncovering the craft in his hands. It was a flower crown of ice. Little chips of ice were broken off, and several petals were missing from the crown, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

“It is not perfect, but it will not melt. It was meant to be ready by the time you got here.” Clearly, Bi Han seemed very upset from the imperfections but handed it over to Liu Kang anyway, keeping his eyes averted from the god’s as if he was afraid to see disappointment on Liu Kang’s face..

“It is beautiful, Bi Han. I love every part of it.” Liu Kang cradled the flower crown in his hands, the coldness seeped into his skin, but it didn’t hurt. Rather, it felt comforting in a way, and so Liu Kang placed it upon his head.

“How do I look?”

“...ethereal.” Bi Han breathed out. Liu Kang smiled and leaned in to kiss the grandmaster, and Bi Han melted into the Fire God’s arms. Liu Kang loved every bit of Bi Han, even the parts that were broken or twisted, and would spend the rest of their time together to show just how much he adored the man.

#fluffuary 2024 #fluff #noodle’s writings #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanfiction #liu kang #liu kang mk1 #fire god liu kang #bi han #bi han mk1 #sub zero #sub zero mk1 #liuhan #bi han x liu kang

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dorothysreflections · 9 days ago

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What is faith without a little pain

Over the course of my life, I did not realize how much sin I truly committed. I did not hold myself accountable to my faults, often times, I relied on my willpower. Willpower that worked to a point, but in never acknowledging the weaknesses that I felt, I would reach a certain threshold, fail and give in to my desires either forgetting about the act or pretending like it didn’t happen. I was never honest with myself. It’s a part of me that I have always felt guilty about, but have never truly sat with myself to reflect on and understand. I felt like this side of life was so normalized. With secular media, themes of sex, sin, life without the mention of God, the people I am surrounded with who are not Christian and live their lives seemingly fine with the concept that that there is nothing after death and everything is a coincidence. Even the people I knew who were Christian, often times I did not know they were until I asked them about it. It gave me the impression that being a Christian isn’t that much different from just living as a good person.

It all felt profoundly numbing. As if there were no consequences to each time I would lie for my own benefit, when I would be selfish and do things simply to quench the desires of my flesh. Seeing porn at an early age, engaging in masturbation, fornication, I really did not see any reason as to disengage, it was just something behind closed doors. It is so normalized in society, I only know a select few people my age who are still virgins. Not only sexual sin, but I have seen my fair share of other sins. Drinking beyond control, taking edibles, being high on party drugs, all came with an environment where those things were normalized and considered cool. I was surrounded by people who had no related discourse and were in fact, excited to engage in these things. It was considered a special event, something to look forward to. I am guilty of that. I cared a lot about other peoples opinions, I craved validation from people that I hardly even knew. I have spent hours upon hours each and every day doom scrolling on my phone, consuming endless information that would leave my brain as quickly as it entered. I have spent a lot of my life, going through the motions, believing that the feeling of emptiness deep down inside me would eventually be filled by me busying myself with all of these trivial matters.

Now I realize, over the course of my entire life, I have been so, so lost. I found it hard to connect with people in my youth, I hid things from my family, I battled anxiety and depression to no end. I have been living as a slave to my flesh, framing my priorities among worldly existences that have always fallen short of the satisfaction that they promised. A satisfaction that cannot be achieved in pursuing the distractions of this world. We live in a broken world. A place where there are endless things to be worried about, frustrated with, sad over. People who will constantly disappoint you, you, who disappoint yourself time and time again. I used to be such a pessimist. I looked at my life and thought, wow, what am I really living for? What point is there to all of this? To spend my whole life working to get a job, work the job and retire at 65 to enjoy 20 more years of my life when my body is breaking down? To meet death at its bitter end? It was a tough pill to swallow.

I wanted to believe that there had to be more to life than this. I recently came to Christ a year ago. I grew up in a “Christian household”, but the only thing Christian about it was going to church on Sundays until we stopped going all together. I saw Jesus as a fictional character in a children’s story book. I doubted the existence of God as I had never felt anything when I prayed. I was so blind that I would even say that I was Christian to people knowing full well that I did absolutely nothing to confirm that fact. I came to Christ thanks to a very important person in my life. He was the first real Christian influence that helped me along the path to God. Eventually, I got to a point where one night, I broke out into tears in my bed. I couldn’t stop sobbing. There was no distinguishable reason as to why I was crying so hard, all I knew was that I felt this overwhelming feeling in my chest. Like my heart was overflowing with love. And all I thought at the time was that this had to be God touching me. Over the course of the next few months, I worked towards my baptism with a mentor, and I felt like I had finally found the meaning to my life that I had been searching for. Reassurance that earthly death was only the beginning, that I would be with my Father in heaven, that I was loved and cherished. I failed to understand, however, that although my salvation was immediate and that my sins were forgiven, work still needed to be done.

I realize that I had a superficial understanding of what faith really meant. Yes, the conviction I felt was real, I believe that God is real, but there were still elements of myself that were ungodly. That I thought disappeared out of existence the moment I was dunked into that water. I suppose that I had the perception that Christianity was an addition to my already apparent lifestyle. At this point, I was in a long term relationship with the man that helped me into Christ, I had become more involved with the church, and felt like I was thriving in my faith. But in reality, I had no idea what I was doing. I served on the worship team, I hosted a small group, I brought my sister to accept the Holy Spirit, but I did not work on my personal relationship with God. I would pray in bed on the odd night I would remember, and fall asleep half way through. I thought the idea of reading the bible was daunting, I never once opened up a single page after baptism. My partner would express his desire to do devotionals together, but something in me was unmotivated to do so. In a sense, I was performatively Christian. I thought of myself somewhat highly, I had pride, I continued to sin. But as I have always done, I suppressed all my feelings of guilt, and pretended as if they didn’t exist.

In the Christian circle, it is known that the enemy (Satan) attempts to bring down those who are newly Christian with all his power, as they are a great threat to him and his schemes. Somehow along the way, I forgot this fact, and became vulnerable in my faith. I let someone into my life that I thought I could trust, that I considered a good friend, who was also Christian but in reality, he was not and embodied temptation. I believe that the enemy worked through him to tear me down. At this point in my relationship, we had already discussed marriage, our futures, and were intertwined in each others lives. There were elements that both of us were made unhappy by, but I had suppressed how I felt just as I did any other negative feeling in my life. I failed to communicate to my partner, life got busy and our relationship suffered, and in my vulnerability, I gave into the temptation presented by this friend who had ulterior motives. I was deceptive after the fact, I wouldn’t let myself process what had happened until it was too late. My partner eventually found out and broke up with me. I felt like I lost my life. The person that I thought I would be with forever was gone in the blink of an eye. I had no one to blame but myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt isolated, as if my reality was a nightmare.

I went through the most excruciating mental pain I have ever felt in my life. I cried for most of the day, I considered going on antidepressants. I booked a therapy consultation online. I had no appetite and had extreme feelings of hopelessness, guilt, and shame. At times I considered ending my own life, even though I knew I would never actually go through with it. Then I remembered God. I prayed for the first time in a while. I repented. I asked him to forgive me of my sins, for turning my face away from him, for not relying on him in my weakness. I had not known how to rely on him in weakness. I wasn’t honest with myself in what my weaknesses are. I saw my faith for all of the good things, the joy, the smiles, the camaraderie, I didn’t know to what extent the evil forces of the world existed, how manipulative the enemy is, to take advantage of my weaknesses and temptations with such ease and calculation. I didn’t know how to rely on God when I needed his power. When I really needed it. When my willpower alone was not enough to hold back evil. Ever since I repented, I have a clearer head. I now realize that I cannot live another day without God. Without speaking to Him, without hearing His truth. I refuse. I have conviction in that fact that God is life itself. There is no life without God. I came face to face with all of my sin only after all this has happened. It has been a very painful road, but it is said that God works through pain and suffering to make our paths straight.

Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret. 2 Corinthians 7:10

I feel my path is as straight as ever before, I no longer feel attached to my phone, people’s opinions, even sexual desires. I have learned to bring all that I struggle with up to the Lord, and he has dealt with them for me. My putting my trust in God has been a long road, but I believe now that I have experienced this clarity, I am finally able to trust in him wholeheartedly.

I have asked God to change my heart, to make me anew in the name of Jesus Christ who died for my sins, to become a godly woman to make Him proud. I know that this will take work. Habits need to be made, self-discipline is the cornerstone of a relationship with God. When I wake up, I pray, I read the Word every day, I reflect, I pray some more. I have asked God to help me submit to him fully, something I didn’t realize I needed to do before, but now that I am, I feel at peace. There have been many prayers that have brought me to tears with how overwhelmed I feel in God’s presence, in his love. I can no longer listen to secular music, I feel the need to turn away from the things that I once engaged in such as gossip and negativity. I have decided that I am waiting until marriage from this point forward. I now know that Christianity is not an addition to my life, in fact, I believe it is not possible to have one foot in the faith and one foot in the world. Following only the parts of Christianity that I want to follow, and not the parts that I don’t defeats the purpose. I feel the inclination to go all in and walk in the name of the Lord in all of the things that I do. I refuse to give the enemy a foothold in my life anymore.

Perhaps I may not have ever come to this point in my faith if not for what had happened. Although I do regret all of the sins I have committed, I have learned from them, and am on a journey of healing and growth. I am no longer afraid of acknowledging my sins, I have brought them up to God, and I have acknowledged that I am a sinner and am in desperate need of God’s love and forgiveness. Before all this, it was as if I had been jaded to what life serving God really means. It truly means to offer up your entire self to Him and his purpose, in everything that I am and all that I do. I have not known a love greater than the Lord Jesus Christ, and am forever indebted to his sacrifice for me.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

My greatest loss is the person that I thought I would be with forever. He is an amazing person, as a friend, and as a partner. I believe that he is godly. Unfortunately, I was not the girlfriend that he deserved. But there is a big part of me that believes that this is not the end. That maybe God has a plan for the both of us, that He brought this man into my life for a reason, that our relationship has greater purposes in His name. I know that God has a plan, and all things will happen according to His will, I will continue to foster a more intimate relationship with Him in the hopes that he would answer my prayers, that my heart will have changed for good, and that my partner will have found forgiveness for me somewhere along the road.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

Praise God.

#christian faith #testimony #faith #jesus #struggle #tldr

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mainstoryarchive · 2 months ago

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Revolution - 53: Seriously

Translator: Mika Enstars

Mao: …Hey, Makoto. Who’s this guy? Someone you know?

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: Soundproof Lesson Room

Mao: …Hey, Makoto. Who’s this guy? Someone you know?

Makoto: …So remember when I mentioned earlier that I got tangled up with “someone troublesome”?

He’s that someone. He’s a member of one of the strongest units in Yumenosaki Academy… “Knights”, Sena Izumi-san.

He’s been giving me a hard time since forever ago, but I have no idea why~!

Izumi: Hey, can you stop whispering between yourselves? It’s so~ annoying!

It’s really not all that strange. I was just trying to support my cute junior, that’s all. And you just keep running away, Yuu-kun. You’re so cruel, my feelings are so hurt~! ♪

Izumi: I just figured to give you a heads-up, you see. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but…

You have no talent, Yuu-kun. Stop wasting your time trying to be an idol, okay?

All you have going for you are your looks, Yuu-kun. Why don’t you toss those lame glasses away, alongside these hopes and dreams of yours, and return to the world of gravure?

I mean, you quit without even telling me… Everyone’s sad over it, and inconvenienced by it too. Don’t you feel even a bit bad about it?

Those who just run away from the problems in front of them will never make it anywhere in life. I’ve always been telling you that, haven’t I?

Come on back. Looking beautiful is the only gift that God has ever given you, Yuu-kun.

It’s only a waste of talent and of your life to throw that way and pursue something nobody ever asked for, you know?

A gravure model doesn’t need anything like a heart. They don’t need hopes and dreams, either. And they don’t need friends…

Everything beautiful will be sought after. And you used to be beautiful, didn’t you, Yuu-kun?

Now, I can’t even bear to look at you. I’m disappointed, you know. You let me down.

But, it’s not too late to fix things. Stop playing around, and come back to our world, okay?

Yuu-kun, you’re a “beautiful doll” that shines only when on display. When a doll starts to move on its own, then that’s just creepy, isn’t it?

Makoto: I’m… not playing around.

I’m serious about this.

No–This is the only place I can feel alive.

Trickstar is the first treasure I’ve ever been able to find within this empty life of mine.

I never, ever want to lose them.

I don’t want to live my life anymore by killing off my heart.

Izumi: Excuse me…?

Fine, whatever. You’ll just end up accomplishing nothing, failing, and returning in frustration, anyway. Sooner or later you will, you know?

I’m just trying to warn you that you’re wasting your time, that’s all.

It’s fine, it’s just a detour. It’s not like you can escape from your talent, your destiny, anyways, right?

Mao: Hey, you. What the hell is your problem, just barging in and deciding this involves you?

I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with Makoto, but… Stop acting like you understand what’s going on, okay?

This guy is doing his best. If he’s lacking in something, we’ll make it up for him.

He’s not some “beautiful doll”, he’s living as a human being now! Don’t get in his way!

Makoto: …Isara-kun…

Izumi: Hmph. Such stifling enthusiasm, it’s irritating. The idol industry isn’t something you can overcome with nothing but hard work and passion, you know.

Reality is bitter, numbers are power, and hearts are easily broken.

Realize that already, and come on back already. We’ll always welcome you with open arms, Yuu-kun.

…And I had even thought of you as a little brother to me.

Makoto: Izumi-san… He just said whatever he wanted to say and left, huh…?

What’s with that guy? What’s he trying to accomplish with all this?

Mao: I don’t really understand. Well, “Knights” doesn’t seem to be participating in the “S1”. So he doesn’t seem to be our enemy, but it doesn’t mean he’s our ally either.

But this isn’t the time to be worrying about unnecessary things, is it? We gotta do the very best we can for this.

No matter if we laugh or if we cry, the “S1” will be held in a week. It’ll be a critical moment for us.

On that big stage, lets prove to him that you weren’t mistaken in choosing this life! Got it, Makoto?

[ ☆ ]

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#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars translations #makoto yuuki #mao isara #izumi sena

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jaeminlore · 6 years ago

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bros,,,,,,, i am,,,,,, so done ,,,,,,,,

#i literally hate myself so much it its for valid reasons like i never write or do my devotions and i overeat or undereat and i do things i #shouldnt and i laze around while me mom is at work doing her Best im just at home like... sleeping like the absolute pathetic daughter i am #everyone else is working or at school and i cant even remember to load the wash like!!! come freaking on!!!!#and all i do is annoy my family they dont believe me they dont want me to hate myself which is fine but i do so why cant i just *poof* lol #yknow just disappear !!#the boy i like doesnt like me im too annoying and ugly and fat and horrible like djdjdjdjjd i think he used to have a crush on me and then #i opened my fat mouth and here we are babes. here we always are.#also from a christian standpoint im such an absolute crap christian i do nothing right and i always forget to pray about things first and #at this point its like!!! are you even trying destinee!!! like yeah i want to i want to be closer i want to read my bible more but i feel so #empty and broken and frustrated and i feel like God is so disappointed in me like....... its just idk how to make him yknow not disappointed #i need an accountability partner but im too afraid to ask bc im ashamed of everything i do haha #idk idk idk!#and i never sleep on time and im always anxious and i ghost people i dont like and i distance myself from people i do like #and ive got friends and a lil sister who are young and they look up to me and im just this fool running on empty like #i want to regress back to like my 2013 where i just watched lets plays all day and then cried myself to sleep that would be better than This #i want to take a break again but yknow i never seem to folloq theough with those bc i cant even take a break properly lol #LOL BABEYY #negative tw #dont rb #read if you want but dont reply/send me asks abt it i just want to get it all off my chest

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mochikeiji · 4 years ago

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Gojo Satoru

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x F!Reader

↠ Warning: bby gojo having heavy thoughts and sadness after everything. (pls hug) angst to fluff.

↠ a/n: ironically, his name is the title for this xD also thank you so much for the love from my recent works o(^▽^)o♡ have my love too!

↬ Word Count: 1.9k

Everyone has their beginnings. While some were blessed to start out life with good fortune and the right path, there were some who struggled through their way in living. For Gojo? He didn't really care. Not when he was already being worshipped for being born in this world, not when as a child he had barely lifted a finger before his life was already planned out for him. It was as if he was simply taking the red carpet to luxury. He already has everything. Truly, he claimed, he was indeed the honored one.

He wasn't one to be wary of his own feelings. What was there to be thought about if he doesn't know what are these stuff running through his head? Not that he should give a single mind to it.

But as he sat down at the tub of his bathroom— tweezers between his fingers, one at a time he plucks out the small shards of glass that had dug themselves onto his skin from the previous mission he was sent on solo, he started to wonder why he was staring blankly at the crimson liquid trailing down his damaged skin. Why did he felt so empty?

Maybe if Shoko were around to patch him up, he would've have had someone to pester for the day. Maybe he wouldn't have gone home to the lonesome apartment he owns, hissing at the pain from each shard taken out of his body.

Pain

That was strange. He never experienced that. Not even when he's in battle with the strongest forms of curses. No matter how many gashes of wounds he's collected, they always heal themselves quickly. It was unfamiliar that it began to frustrate him. He doesn't like it. Not one bit. It hurts. It hurts so much, yet why was there still something making his heart clench?

Loneliness. Abandonment. Broken.

Gojo was a fool for losing the only person that has come close to understanding him. If only he understood what Geto was going through; if he knew what the hell were all those troubles and emotions were maybe he would've still had his only best friend here with him. But no. It slowly came crashing down on Gojo's eyes that though he was the honored one,

He was the lost one.

A broken soul being held by strings as he was only guided to follow along the path that was planned out for him, but never what he planned for himself.

Why was he remembering all of these now? It had been years after the downfall. He should've moved on from it, be the usual cherry top, annoying idiot he was to his students and colleagues. God, he hates this. Falling, falling, falling.

Only the weak fall

Was a statement drilled into his system right from the start. The never ending worship that has earned him the title of being the "strongest" was what he kept pursuing. Believing.

Was the Gojo Satoru at his weakest point?

"Fuck." the unusually large shard of glass falls on the tiled floor, removed from the left side of his chest. Near to the scar that trails from the base of his throat and down to his navel; the reminder of why he shouldn't be left vulnerable at any cost. The hideous flaw that will forever be marked on his body, the one he desperately hides behind those prideful remarks and grinning faces. It saddens him, it hurts him, it angers him. It makes himself lose his own sanity.

The stinging started to kick in on his chest, no longer can he tell if it was from the wound or the clenching of his heart. He was strong, he was suppose and always will be strong. "Why?" the tub cracks from his grip. His free hand coming up to his eyes, eyes that people loved enough to fall in a trance— enemies crumbling and begging for mercy upon them.

Gojo felt ashamed.

Shameful. He grits his teeth hard when the small trickle of the uncharacteristic tear falls from the heavenly eye. It falls down to the porcelain surface, mixing with the trail of blood that was slowly draining down, "Why?" he finally looks down at the fatal wound, attempting to stop the bleeding with his bare hands pushing his chest. The blood smearing all over his upper body, shading the past scar that it made it look like it was there again.

"Why?"

Gojo speaks a little louder, sweating profusely as the dam inside him broke. Like an endless waterfall it was the tears fall. It made him sick. This was all not him. This wasn't the known shaman in the jujutsu world. This wasn't the boy raised from the family of the strongest. This wasn't the strongest.

"Stop."

This wasn't any of him.

"Make it stop."

Then who was he?

"Please, make it stop."

"Satoru?"

Entire body freezing. It was the first time he felt fear rushing through his veins; the fear of being seen like this. It wasn't because he didn't trust you. Good gracious, you were the last and only person Gojo ever holds onto after the years being glued together by faith and his attempts of flirting. No, he didn't want you to see this unknown person that was sitting in the bathroom of your shared apartment. Right, he forgot he was living with you.

Huh, he forgot. You were there.

There knelt down to his level, wide eyes meeting the now visible broken ones that was glossy with tears. With careful movements you raised an arm to eye level, pleading silently for permission to touch him. And for the time, Gojo was actually wary. He's faced a lot in the years spent as a sorcerer, as the strongest. Never the weakest. So when your lips curled into the same smile you'd give him during your moments of vulnerability. The cute, little curve you give when you couldn't help but just admire him or when you're about to utter out his 3 favorite words, he finds himself leaning forward to rest his cheek against the warmth of your palm. He allows the pestering tears to fall omly to be caught with your thumbs, shooing them away from his features.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

When your hand pulls away for a short moment, Gojo silently whines at the lost of contact. The tightness in his chest coming back. The feeling of abandonment crosses his head for a second before you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, holding up the tweezers he had dropped a while ago, "I'm here now."

I'm here now

That was his line. His line for when there was someone in need of help. The line that shimmers hope on the darkest moments of anyone's life. The line of the strongest. The ones who were only truly honored of saying.

Hope. It had a different form today. One that was right in front of him, plucking out every leftover shard on his body with gentleness he never got to witness as a child. The soft cooes and from time to time kisses on his scalp made his senses more focused on there rather than the stinging sensations running through his skin. Exactly how people react when there is hope.

And where there is hope,

"I love you, Satoru."

There is love.

Warm water from the shower cap started pouring down to his tensed muscles, washing out the combined dirt and blood away from him, cleansing his own form of curses that has shaken up his being. When did you finish patching him up? And why wasn't it as painful as it was when he did it?

He watches you move the small container that reeked of the scent of his blood and that inflicted his injuries far from his sight. Immediately, Gojo felt empty once more and was about to call you when you came back holding fresh towels on your hands. "Do you want me to join you?" he couldn't say yes faster than ever, almost as if he was relieved when you offered.

When you had finally stripped yourself off of your clothes and settled in between his long legs, there was nothing but the sound of the shower on echoing in the room with the two of you just staring back to one another.

Too good to be true, you were.

Gojo wanted to speak. Wanted to tell you how thankful he is that you were here to pull him away. To save his life, but all he could do was stare back into the void that of before. He sees the way your hands map around his torso in attempt to rinse him completely. Coming in contact with the old and new scar, softly tracing them as you felt his eyes wonder to yours. There was no sign of disappointment nor a hint of harm or disgust. Only something he never understood that it made him sob unexpectedly, startling you that left you pulling him into your embrace which he latches his face onto your neck and arms surrounding your body whole.

He cries.

All the frustration of not knowing whatever was happening, the mistakes he wishes to correct and the past he hoped to save along with the title he swore to maintain. It all falls on the smaller body he treasures in his arms at this very moment. He clutches, he palms, he roams. Whatever he can do just so he can fully grasp the idea that someone was there. You were there, and he wasn't alone anymore.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."

It would shock the world and break the hearts of many to hear these very words uttered from the mouth of the honored one. And Gojo wishes that everyone could hear it. That it would somehow reach the skies to wherever his best friend was too. To you, the person he loved the most. He was sorry that he wasn't the Gojo Satoru in your eyes.

"No, Toru. No." you push him back gently only to pull him in for a soft kiss, "I don't need you to always be the strongest. Let alone apologize for being vulnerable." he listens as he nuzzles against the palms meeting his face. The ones that held him together when he was falling apart.

His lips wobbled a bit when you land kisses on his scars, "These may not have been the good ones in your life, but these do not make you for who you are, Satoru." he hums in content when you rub down to his chest soothingly, the feeling that you has him yearning for more. Needing for more, "It's okay to be lost, and it's okay to be weak. But it'll never define you."

"I need you to be just you."

You pull him down, letting him cry all his heart out to your naked chest. He let's you have your way to him. The emotions, words, and treatment. All so unfamiliar. And he finds himself wanting. Needing more.

All his life he thought he had it all.

But never in his life has he lived it.

"What am I, (Y/n)?"

Cooing softly as the small of his voice. Like the child who never got to experience what love was. The child raised to already has to burden such responsibilities and stand. Gojo can feel himself breathe in relief as he whispers an "i love you" with a small kiss on your skin when you uttered out the words that has set his locked up self free. Free from the strings that's been taking over. The cage he was kept from all of his living.

The curse of his gift

And being honored of what he truly deserves.

"You're Gojo Satoru."

Just Gojo Satoru.

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo fluff #gojo headcanons #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo scenarios #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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calumxkisses · 3 years ago

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Sweet Creature | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: i think implied smut?

summary: request - Heeyyy, can you do one, where they have a big fight and they are in quarentine, and they stop talking to each other, and the sleep in different rooms, with cal... kiss from brazil 🇧🇷

a/n: this is one of my favorite song! let me know what you think about it! i hope you enjoyed it ;)

you should read this imagine while listening to: sweet creature

➳

“What the hell is wrong with you?” a scream comes out of your lungs. Your face has turned red, your head hurts and you feel your heart pounding. Your throat is now dry and you feel your nails sticking into the palm of your hand.

What Calum notices, however, are the tears running down your face and the pain behind your eyes. What hurts him the most, though, is knowing he is the cause of your pain. He would like to hug you, tell you that he is sorry, that he loves you and that he doesn't even remember why you are fighting, but his pride prevents him from being the person he would like to be. The person you are in love with.

“All you do is whine.” he screams out, rolling his eyes and letting out a snort.

This discussion was the straw that broke the camel's back, filled by being forced to stay at home, by a canceled tour and canceled parties but, above all, by the concern of a world that is in chaos, with a fatal virus that spreads like wildfire.

He is worried, he feels the burden of not having to disappoint anyone, of being a good person who says the right things, of being a child who cares about their parents who live on the other side of the world and cannot go to visit, reassure, and that he can only see through a mobile phone screen.

“I have a right to be angry, you know that, right?” Your voice calms down a bit, but anger still runs through your veins. You walk up and down the room, with one hand on your forehead and being careful not to step on the broken glass of the fallen vase.

Calum has spent the last few weeks in the studio, out in the garden practicing, or locked in a room, anywhere but with you. He preferred to wake up early and go to sleep late, feel cold instead of holding you and skipping meals to avoid being with you.

For the first time in days, you get a good look at him: his hair has grown, as has the beard surrounding his face, he has terrible dark circles and the vein on his neck comes out prosperous, underlining how much he is screaming.

You felt abandoned, alone, left on the sidelines, and your feelings were amplified by the impossibility of going to someone, just to escape from that situation, to be held by someone else or just to talk over a coffee with a friend.

The only thing you could have done, was to ask him why, what you had done to deserve such treatment, and to spend some time together. And that’s where the scream started.

Tears roll down your face and you run your hand under your eyes to wipe them away. If you didn't notice them before, now the pinch caused by their wake has become hard to ignore.

“Are you going to cry now? God, you’re making me regret being with you. I really wish you weren’t born.”

Calum feels the pain it caused you before even reading the expression on your face. He puts his hand in front of his mouth in hopes of being able to block the words, but they have already left his lips and have come straight into your ears, getting stuck under your skin and breaking even the last pieces of the broken heart you have left.

His words hit you like a bolt from the blue. Arguing often leads to saying unthinkable words and among all the things you've been yelling at each other in the last hour, some bad words have certainly escaped, but nothing so terrible.

You feel a pain in your chest never felt before, deep and intense, and even the tears stop flowing. You inhale deeply, seeking relief in a breath of air and waiting for your body to react in any way, all is better than feeling full of pain. The room starts spinning, your head feels full and empty at the same time, and your legs struggle to bear the weight of your body.

Calum carefully scans your face, looking for any reaction from you to understand how much your mind has absorbed his words. His stress, his worries have led him to be a different person and the fear that you may leave him has terrified him, but his insecurities have done the opposite of what one expects, making he walk away from you and treating you coldly, and now he fears that he is really on the verge of being alone, with his broken heart in his hands, ready to mend every wound himself.

You didn’t deserve this.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.” You whisper, lifting your face and looking him straight in the eye. The words he used, the coldness of his tones and the loneliness in which he left you have piled on top of each other on your chest, making it difficult for you to even breathe. You need time, space, whatever helps you figure out what to do.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a shaky voice. His eyes are glossy, his hands are shaking and his face has lost color. His heart carries so much goodness and you know it wasn't his intention to hurt you, but his words were like stab wounds and you need to take care of them now.

You don't want to leave, and not because you can't take a plane, but because Calum means too much to you and leaving is not an option to consider. If it ever ends up between you, after all you've been through, it should be in a more dignified way and not because of a stupid fight and insincere words.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room for a while and then we’ll see what to do.” Is all you can say and all you can do.

“So you’re not leaving?”

“I don’t think so, at least not now.”

Silence.

And that silence means everything and nothing.

You pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and, after casting one last look at the boy in front of you, you take refuge in a room that doesn't belong to you. The air in the guest room is different, you can't breathe the love that characterizes every corner of yours and Calum's and even the sheets seem different, cold, painful. You put a hand through your hair and lean on the door, slowly sliding towards the floor and letting go of your frustration.

Calum closes his eyes and puts his hands to his face as his body slumps onto the sofa behind him. The house reigns in silence, the only audible sound is your sobs in another room and, before he knows it, he starts crying too. He doesn't care about wiping his face or stopping the moans that come out of his mouth, he deserves to feel awful and humiliate himself like that, the guilt is devouring him and he just thinks about how he wishes he could disappear, to make your life easier.

When you first met, he knew you were the right person from the first look you gave him. Behind your eyes, deep in the irises, there was a whole world, made of kindness, love and joy. You had your demons, but the strength you emanated made it clear that you were able to overcome them, even without knowing it. A world that he wanted to discover, with delicacy and patience, and in which he wanted to live.

But what he feared most was bringing darkness into the light you emanated, turning your smiles into tears and your heart into a mass of sharp pieces.

He had told you, while you were eating some heated pizza on a rainy morning, your legs were on his and your face on his shoulder. And you had caressed his face, wiping away the dirt on his lip with your thumb, assuring him that you would have love him anyway and that you would have happily shared some of your light, and then you had kissed him, and that kiss tasted like tomato sauce and love, a combination you still love with all your heart.

And now, the only thing he can do, besides pitying himself, is wondering if you're regretting sharing your joy with him, if you'd rather stay full of light instead of welcoming his demons. And he fears your answer is yes.

Duke rubs his face on his leg, asking for scratches but also showing his affection. He doesn't know what happened and Calum wonders if the dog, who loves you more than any other person has crossed the threshold of your home, would look at him differently knowing that he broke the heart of the person he loves most.

If so, as his mind is trying to convince him, he couldn't handle it. He would not be able to live knowing that he has let down another being he cares about. Because he cares about you, but it is difficult for him to show it, the fear of rejection is stronger than he would like.

So, he lowers himself a little and gently strokes the dog, hoping to be able to receive that affection he is so afraid of losing.

As Calum's world shatters before his eyes, you take care to gently reassemble what's left of yours. You're still on the floor, getting up takes too much energy and a motivation that you can't find.

How you feel about the guy down the hall cannot be described in words, there is no way to describe what his gaze makes you feel, the way his words reassure you or how his love warms your heart up. It just works like this. Your love does not need big gestures or difficult words and never like now, it is better to absorb the silence and be lulled by the air.

Perhaps it would have been better to remain silent, let the cold of his words slip on you and learn to live in the loneliness in which he left you, but you couldn't go on like this. Not fighting would have meant not caring about him or your relationship and that's exactly the opposite of how things are. He had to know how you felt and what you were missing.

The sweet sound of his voice or the warmth of his skin are essential for you, not only on a love level, but in the daily routine of your life. A routine that had changed, which was no longer full of joy and smiles, light and perfume, but of demons that wandered undeterred around the walls of your home, ready to bring the cold into your souls.

And that routine, once full of love, was now non-existent. No more words had been said between you, no meal had been eaten together and your bed had forgotten what love meant. The stars, ever present witnesses of the passion that surrounded your bodies, were now always absent, covered by gray clouds and black skies. Even the moon, which guards all lovers, shone with a paler and more blurred light.

The moon gave way to the sun, the grass grew and the days alternated on the calendar. And yet, it seemed to you that you were still still that afternoon. Sure, breathing had become less difficult and the tears had stopped flowing on your face, but even in the middle of spring the coldness brought chills on your body.

You have no idea what he is doing, occasionally you see the shadow of his shoes behind the door of the guest room or you hear broken melodies coming from the studio, but his face becomes more and more unknown.

You spend your days studying, working, playing with Duke or reading your favorite books. You wake up late and go to sleep early, hoping to feel less lonely.

The truth, however, is that you miss him immensely, like water in the desert or milk after eating spicy food. You need to be able to get lost in his eyes or just hold his hand. The headache meds don't work like his kisses on your forehead, and no number of blankets could bring you the same warmth that a hug from him gives off.

You feel so pathetic to need him by your side, but after so many years of loneliness, he was able to convince you that you were worthy of being loved just like everyone else and, specifically, that he would love you more than anyone else. And he had done it, always and anyway, for the sake of the joyful news and the bad of your depression, he had always been there, ready to show you that you were worth it.

He wants to do it, he wants to continue to hold you and to tell you how beautiful you are, how honored he feels to be the keeper of your heart and the champion of your love, but he believes that no apology would bring serenity to your sky.

What is he supposed to do? No words would express the humiliation he feels whenever he thinks back to your fight and his behavior, no hug or kiss would bring love into your broken heart.

He spent his nights awake, the insomnia caused by his thoughts was making it impossible for him to live. The table seemed too big and the bed too uncomfortable, the bass was always out of tune even as he spent hours adjusting its strings and no melody seemed catchy enough to lift your mood in the other room. He knew that when you were sick, listening to him play brought some peace to your troubled world, but now no sound would chase the bad weather away.

None of his gestures would be enough to show how bad he feels. Nothing can express the pain he feels and the regret of his words.

However, 3 years of relationship is enough for him to know what makes you smile. There is one song in particular, in the immense repertoire that is your music library, that you love to hum and listen to when the silence is too loud.

So, wearing his best shirt and trying to fix the clump of his hair, he sits down at the piano in the living room and, after taking a deep breath, he tries to voice his thoughts.

Sweet creature

Had another talk about where it's going wrong

But we're still young

We don't know where we're going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

As you put down your favorite book after reading it again, Calum's sweet, broken voice spreads throughout the house, bringing a sense of comfort to your heart. You can hear the pain behind his voice, and even though you know your wounds will take some time to heal, the words he screamed at you lose their value. One part of you is still angry but the other, curious and in love, wastes no time getting you out of bed and walking towards the room.

The piano overlooks the garden, the sun shines above and illuminates all the plants. Duke is chasing a butterfly, its tail wags quickly and some leaves are stuck in its fur. Calum has his back to you, his back leaning slightly forward as he looks outward, but his mind wanders somewhere else.

You lean on the door jamb that separates the two rooms and close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by the music and breathing regularly, giving your body respite from all the accumulated stress.

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Sweet creature

We're running through the garden

Oh, where nothing bothered us

But we're still young

I always think about you and how we don't speak enough

Calum watches the garden as the lyrics of the song automatically come out of his mouth. He was never good at playing the piano but, during the nights spent away from you over the years, he promised himself to learn all your favorite songs so he could sing them to you whenever you needed them.

And while Duke rolls around in the grass, he can't help but think about the thousand picnics you had on that same lawn, the laughter you shared and all those moments when he always fell in love a little more looking at you.

And even if the song doesn't belong to him, he can still feel every single word and a small tear falls down his face.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

I know, it's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You take a few steps forward and, after taking a deep sigh, sit next to him. Calum winces at the contact but his face turns into a big smile after seeing you. He doesn't know if you're still mad at him or if his singing worked, but being able to see you again after so many days spent in agony brings a sense of peace to his messed up world. He knows that this song is not enough, that he will have to prove a lot more to you - even if you will probably forbid it - but knowing that he has you there, frees him from a weight that he carried inside.

And as usual, there is no need for words, he just needs to feel your head resting on his shoulder to know that you have come back to him. And when your hands touch his, he feels at home again.

Almost automatically, your hands begin to move to the rhythm of the music and your fingers touch the keys of the piano, accompanying Calum in the melody, just as he taught you.

Duke is rolling in the grass, the butterfly now forgotten, and his happy face is illuminated by the sun. It seems that the sky has returned to shine too, not just your eyes, and the pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly again.

I know when we started

Just two hearts in one home

It gets harder when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You'll bring me home

There was no need to talk to him, or to explain, risking losing you was necessary for him to understand that something was wrong, that he had to find the right path, that you can risk skidding, the important thing is getting back on track.

“I am grateful to your mother for bringing you into the world, but even more grateful to you for being a part of my life. I'm sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I love you and I always will.” He whispers, placing his hands on his thighs, as soon as he finishes singing the last words. His words are sincere, you can perceive the displeasure behind his tone and you know he believes what he says.

He kisses you on the forehead and, taking your hand in his and squeezing it, he rests his face on your head, closing his eyes and absorbing the silence, a cautious silence, full of peace and fresh air.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, closing your eyes in turn and letting yourself be lulled by the peace and serenity found. You know that everything will be fine, that even if you’ll have other fights, you will always find a way to get back to each other.

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood imagines #calum imagine #calum x reader #calum hood x you #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum hood x reader #5 seconds of summer #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #ashton 5 seconds of summer #luke 5 seconds of summer #michael 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos

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raekahwritings · 3 years ago

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BNHA Gods AU - Thanatos - Shindou Yo

GODS AU! - What kind of shitty god are you?

Pairing: Shindou You x Reader

Rating: Explicit, NSFW, Minors, DO NOT ENTER.

Warning: NSFW, Mentions of non-consent, slight blood/gore/murder,slight yandere.

Word Count: 2016

Authors Note: This was written in one night, I really wanted to make it in time for this collaboration despite everything going on right now. I hope you all can forgive me since this wasn’t proof read but hopefully you all can enjoy the Gods!AU Shindou!

GODS!AU Collaboration: Please check out the collab here from @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten

The age of gods was long over. They no longer walked this earth. No one worshipped them; they became the words of fiction and stories.

Let the gods guide you.

Live your life well and the gods may reward you.

Do not turn away from the path of good, lest the gods punish you.

Where were the gods when you needed them? When your mother had dressed you up as a pretty doll, when you smiled and jumped in the excitement of a new dress, and when she had shown you to a portly older gentleman. He took you, none-too-gently, and placed a bag of coins into your mother’s palm. She had left brusquely, curtly, and took care not to look you in the eyes.

How long had it been since then? Your childhood had gone by in the mess of yelling, screams, and scullery work. When you were old enough? You now lay on the floor with your clothing strewn apart, dried tears on your face and a voice hoarse from screaming.

This was a life where no gods deigned to visit—this was a place of vileness, sordidness, and loathsome men. You were nothing more than a commodity to them—they had no qualms about leaving you on this dirty floor.

God, you had prayed so many times. Save me.

You’d been delivered to them, lent like broken toy until they called the brothel master to fetch you.

You had been defiled too many times to believe that any God would help you now.

Where were you? What had they consecrated this time? They had laughed and they had jeered while you had cringed at the blasphemy they spewed. They had taken their belts to mark you, left you bleeding, and then poured acridly old liquid, “—better hope this fucking holy water works.”

“They would laugh at this.” You blinked away the tears, blinked to see the dormant idolatry of Thanatos nearby. You scrabbled at the ground, trying to find a perch to lay your hands on so you could get up. You winced at seeing the dried blood and spilt fluids. If there was a moment for Thanatos to judge you, this would be now.

But would he?

Gods had come and gone, with nary a care. You tried to stand, tried to ignore the mess they had made, and you glared at the idolatry. “You didn’t stop this.” You pointed to the empty room – “You’re supposed to be some merciless, hateful god of death.” You scoffed, knowing it was pathetic. Here you were, reaching a level of desperation to talk to some useless piece of stone and an empty room like it would answer you. But all the resentment, anger, and bitterness spewed out – here and now— you hissing, “You’re a fucking piece of shit god.”

And yet.

“If my life was enough of a price, would you come here and now? Or am I too dirty for someone like you? You want a precious little girl, an innocent naïve little sheep?” You furiously took the idol, glaring before slamming it as hard as you could to the floor. Take that, you fucker.

You watched the idol shatter into pieces, the useless stone rolling away. You should fear your own blasphemy and yet… satisfaction had you feeling smug.

“My, my, that doesn’t seem very nice.”

Holy fuck. You whipped around—the room was empty. When had someone come in? You nearly screamed at the mysterious voice, your arms reaching out to blindly shove at the culprit while you stumbled backwards.

A masculine hand caught your arm, tsking at you and he emerged from the shadows with a disappointed look. You nearly fell backwards but his iron clasp had you standing upright.

“Who are you?” Shock and fear colored your tone, the smugness was fleeting as you look to the door, a door that hadn’t budged since the scraggle of men had left earlier. How did he get in? You looked at him, swallowing nervously, your gaze flitting up and down to make out this stranger in the darkness.

“You called me and yet, you still ask me?” He stepped further into the firelight… You looked up at this dizzyingly tall man, you could make out the messy, dark locks framing his chiseled face. But more so, you found yourself staring into eyes the color of pure jade. He was far too handsome, his features bold and brooding, the stubble on his face giving him a heathenish look. He was broad and lean, the muscles of his arms and chest visible through his disheveled shirt.

Someone who made you stop breathing.

“No.” You breathed— “You’re lying.” You called no one, he was here to take you back to the brothel, you tried to wrench your hand pathetically away. He couldn’t fool you, no matter how handsome he was.

“Calm down.” He pulled you into his chest, you were the one falling forward as he stopped your mewling struggles. You heard those words countless times; it had always preceded the acrid smell of chloroform…

“I don’t want to go back.” You choked out, letting your wrists fall slack. “I don’t want this.”

His voice lilted up, questioning. “Go back where?” You could almost believe the sincerity in his voice, the confusion, the perplexity of the situation. But people loved playing with you, toying with you in these games— men liked playing with women as if it were a game of cat and mouse. You curled your fingers into your palms, once again trying to suppress any kindle of hope—because you inevitably always were sold back.

Meanwhile, Thanatos, the god you had summoned with your blood, piety, and holy water—looked heavenwards in frustration. “Girl, speak your name.” He commanded—you answered obediently.

How? You didn’t mean to answer him.

“I am Thanatos. Now speak plainly. I’ve heard your desperate cry for help, for vengeance.” He leaned back against the stone table, tugging you into his lap. “Now can we dispense with the formalities? I’d much rather you call me Shindou instead.” You found yourself caged in—your chest against his bare one as he gestured for you to look up. “You summoned me. And while I normally ignore mortals…” He let his hand fall loosely to your back—you stiffened, squirming—as his calloused fingers brushed against the filth on your skin, the torn scraps of fabric that hid nothing from his gaze.

“I was personally interested in this offering of yours.” You stilled. There had been no one in the room with you to hear your vitriol words—but this was the temple of Thanatos. Could it be? “Oh. You don’t believe me?” You looked doubtful. Well he couldn’t blame you. His lips curved, expecting this reaction. He waved a hand in the air, letting the firelights flicker to black and purple flames, letting it dance across the room hauntingly for you. You watched transfixed. “But parlor tricks? A dime a dozen.” He said dismissively. He tapped the table, a prompt for the shadows around you to contort menacingly and snaking up your legs.

You jumped more into his arms, away from the strangely prying and invasive shadows as it crawled disturbingly high up your body.

“Girl, they’re simply an extension of me.” You could hear the humor in his tone, see the shadows snake away as he chuckled at your close contact with him. “But I suppose I can be nice for a bit.” He let the darkness recede and the orange firelight to flicker back.

“Now that’s settled, may I discuss your price?” You… took a moment to blink, to really focus on him. Something about him, the closer you were, was making your senses hazy. He seemed to realize, crooning gently to you. “Oh baby, I know gods are supposed to be tempting to mortals and all that but where’s the little spitfire that threw a little tantrum at me? I quite enjoyed it.”

The haze dissipated a bit. You… had thrown down the idolatry, you had committed blasphemy in the actual face of a god. You wanted to die, the shame overwhelming you. Thanatos—no, Shindou simply laughed though—“Baby, don’t think of me as one of the pious assholes. I don’t need you to prostrate yourself to me and those hopeless,” he waved at the ostentatious ornaments adorning the room, “piece of shit, ugly crap of me. I’m a lot more handsome in person, don’t you think?” You couldn’t disagree.

This kind of man—God, you corrected yourself—exuded charisma, aura, sexuality that vibrated with your own being. Like you were made for him, your body melted against his light touch.

“Demon got your tongue? I can fix that.” Shindou cradled the side of your face, leaning in to press a kiss. You gasped, giving him an opportunity for his tongue invade your mouth—ravishing and giving you no air to breathe. He reached down to anchor your hips against his, drawing you more into his lap and letting his hardness press into your dampened, slickened ache between your thighs.

But you were dirty and filthy. You pushed him, and he let you, you knew his strength far outstripped yours. “I can’t.” You shook your head. “You must’ve seen what happened…” It wasn’t just one disgusting man, it was many who had left you sticky and ruined with their fluids on your unwilling body.

Even now.

“Seriously? Shindou sighed. He tutted at you like a child—which as a mortal, you must’ve been. “I came all this way out for your offering, for this delectable and luscious body and you dare to impugn me with your sense of shame?” He cocked his head. “Like I didn’t know? All those men…” He parted your legs, let the sticky fluid drip. “All those men, and they didn’t break your spirit. You come to me, fiery and burning with revenge, and I answered your call. What could be more attractive than this?” Albeit… Shindou did frown. “I don’t care for those worms to mark what’s mine. I guess they all have to die, wont they?”

Your eyes widened… your words caught. You wanted to protest—the mocking feeling of horror should’ve come at the thought of such senseless murder and death…. But you could only feel the sense of relish, of pure desire to see the blood of your captors. You bit your lips, futilely trying to hide your anticipation and eagerness.

“Ah, that’s my girl. I knew you and I would get along.” Shindou pulled down the rags of your dress, watched your nubile body pull close to his and you shivered—his hardness grinded against you—a god like this wanted you. You could hardly believe it. You whimpered as he bit down your throat, bit at the junction of your shoulders while you bled. He licked the bloody trail down your ample breasts, swirling his hot tongue around the hardened peaks and making you arch in muted pleasure.

“Oh no, you can’t stay quiet.” He let the shadowy tendrils return, let it wrap around your throat and craning your neck backwards. His hands traced over your slickened breasts, pinching, pulling, vibrating as you screamed in pleasure and pain. “Sounds quite nice.” He mused, condescendingly. His hands eventually travelled to your taut thighs, teasing the inside of them, and drawing them further apart. His fingers brushed against the dirty cum—he didn’t care for it but he supposed he’d just have to fuck you enough so you’d be dripping with his own cum—all the more reason to cleanse this lustful, vengeful darling of a human.

He had waited for someone like you. Other gods deigned to have their innocent little virgins on their sacrificial alter.

He wanted a tainted, corrupted human whose lust rivalled their desire for revenge—a human he could turn into his little fuck toy of a god, one who would stand by his side as he ruled over mayhem, murder, and death. Preferably, begging for his cock and drunk on cum – not a bad start, he mused. Not a bad start.

#shindou you #shindo yo #bnha x reader #bnha smut #gods!au #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #fanfiction #boku no hero fanfic #shindou yo x reader #shindo yo x reader #raekah #bnha fanfiction #fanfic

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Office Lunch

Pairing: Quackity / Alexis x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Being vice president is far from an easy job, and it’s starting to take a toll on Quackity. Thankfully, you’re always there to pick him back up, again.

Warnings: some cursing, minor mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🐌 anon, who wanted some reverse comfort & fluff for big q! the story takes place during schlatt’s presidency, and also serves as a bit of a character study. i hope you enjoy!

The quiet ticking of the clock felt absolutely deafening in the barren silence of the office. You fidgeted your feet, your thumbs nervously tapping at the throw pillow at your side. Despite how plush and comfortable the couch cushions were beneath your thighs, they felt as stiff as rock digging into your skin. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you sat up straight, your eyes glued to the clock as you stared down the taunting, ticking hands.

Were presidential meetings always this long? You were no professional, but employees still had a lunch break, right?

Sighing, you tore your eyes away from the clock on the walls, sweeping your gaze across the office. A tall window decorated the wall opposite from the looming mahogany door, the warm, midday sun washing the room with light. The bookshelf tucked away in the corner of the room was adorned with shelves upon shelves of files, alongside a framed photo of the Manberg flag. On the floor sat a deep crimson rug, the golden tassels brushing along the soles of your shoes.

It was a beautiful office, really. But it looked so much more dull when it was as empty as it was.

Your gaze flickered down to the container sitting on the coffee table in front of you, your lips curling into the smallest of frowns. So much for giving him a surpris—

All of a sudden, the office door swung open, slamming into the opposite wall with a loud thud. Jolting, you whipped your head up, your eyes landing on the huffing figure standing in the doorway. You watched as Quackity stomped across the room to his desk, his gaze stormy as his grip tightened around the already crumpled stack of files in his hand. He was practically seething as he dropped the stack of papers onto his desk, cursing loudly under his breath.

“What an ass,” he muttered, irritation lacing his every word. Reaching up, he tugged at his navy tie, the tight fabric unravelling around his neck. “Always keeping me late because he can't be bothered to show up on time.” His scowl deepened. “That lazy piece of sh—”

“Alex?”

Quackity froze at the sound of your voice, whirling around to face you with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. “[Y/N]?” he whispered.

You lifted your hand in a shy wave, offering him a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

His lips split into a wide grin as he strode over to you, crouching down next to you. “What are you doing here?” he breathed, his bright eyes scanning yours. “Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see your beautiful face, but you're here.” He gestured vaguely to the space around him, his eyebrows knitted together. “In my office.”

Heat crept across your face at his words, something fuzzy and warm blossoming in the crevice of your chest. Bobbing your head, you reached across the coffee table to hold up the container you had brought with you, a glimmer of hope flitting through your eyes. “Yeah! I, um, wanted to surprise you today, so I brought you lunch!”

Quackity blinked at you once. Twice. Then, he opened his mouth, an enamoured expression creeping onto his face. “[Y/N],” he said, gentle and soft, “have I ever told you how incredible you are?”

Your heart flipped in your chest, joy sparking in your chest like a firework as you shot him a cheeky grin, winking slyly. "You could stand to mention it more often."

He laughed at that, getting to his feet before settling into the space next to you on the couch, his side warm against yours. Leaning over, he rested his head against your shoulder, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“God,” he sighed, the tightness trickling out from his body as he melted against you, “I can't even begin to describe how happy I am you're here.” He glanced up at you curiously. “What did you make?”

You grinned, your fingers curling around the container lid. “I figured you would want something easy to hold that was still tasty, so...” The lid tugged open with a pop, revealing an array of sandwiches stacked next to one another, stuffed full with vegetables and spreads. “Ta-da!”

Quackity gasped, sitting upright to gape at the lunch you had made, elation shooting across his face. “Are you an angel?” he blurted, his mouth practically watering at the sight. “You must be a fucking angel, I swear.”

A giggle bubbled up in your throat, warmth fluttering in the pit of your stomach. “Last time I checked,” you hummed, gently nudging his shoulder with yours, “I was just the love of your life, but angel works, too.”

Quackity's eyes gleamed fondly, but you didn't miss the way his fingers twitched in anticipation. Tilting the container toward him, you smiled, amusement seeping into your voice. “Yes, you can eat.”

His eyes lit up like the sun, and you could only laugh as a “thank you” tumbled from his lips before he was grabbing a sandwich. As his teeth sank in for the first bite, his eyes fluttered shut and he made a pleased noise. In an instant, he was absolutely devouring the sandwich, his cheeks puffed with delight.

“This,” he said between bites, “is so good.” Swallowing the final bite, he reached over for a second, his tongue darting out to swipe at his lips. “I don't think I would mind eating this for the rest of my life.”

You flashed him a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Leaning back against the soft cushions, you lifted a sandwich to your mouth, savouring the burst of flavour across your tongue as you took a bite. “By the way,” you said before you took another bite, casting a curious glance in Quackity’s direction, “how’s your day been so far? I missed you.”

In an instant, Quackity’s eyes went dark, the smile falling from his face as he let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Schlatt,” he said.

You swallowed, raising your brows at him. “Schlatt?” you repeated.

He deadpanned. “Is the fucking worst.”

You winced at the exhausted look that flitted across his face, setting your sandwich down on the container lid. “So, I take it your morning went badly.”

The groan that escaped his lips was absolutely gut-wrenching, frustration soaking into his every movement as he got to his feet, pacing around the room. “Like you wouldn’t believe. He cancelled two meetings—the first because he was hungover, and the second because he wanted to drink. Then,” he said, whirling on his feet with a glower, “when he did actually schedule a meeting, he was late.” He threw his hands up into the air. “Like, what the hell?”

Your heart churned in your chest at the sight of his irritated face, the bitterness in his tone winding rising higher and higher, filling the air like a dam that was about to burst. “Plus, he still hasn’t read the report I submitted last week, and also he interrupted me six times today.” He held up six fingers toward you, a deep scowl etched into his features. “Six! That’s seven times too many.”

You had half the mind to laugh at his words, but the sorrow you felt outweighed the flicker of amusement that shot through you. “And did I tell you that he made me make him coffee this morning?” He groaned again, his hands tightening into fists at his side as he collapsed back onto the couch, draping his arm over his eyes. “Sometimes,” he grumbled, “I feel less like a vice president and more like an unpaid intern.”

You shuffled closer to him on the couch, reaching your hand up to gently stroke his back. “I’m sorry that’s happening, baby,” your murmured, rubbing a soft, soothing circle around the base of his neck with your thumb. “Schlatt sounds like an awful boss.”

He whipped around to face you, a grimace stretched taught across his face. “He is!” he cried. “He’s such a fucking... dick! There are so many things I could say.” He lifted a hand, counting off on his fingers. “He constantly misses meetings, he’s always goofing off, and he’s always fucking drunk. It’s like he doesn’t even care about this country.” He sighed, dragging his hand over his face. “Like, why run for president if you’re not going to at least try to make a difference?”

Suddenly, he went quiet, his hand freezing around his chin. You watched as a cloudy fog passed over his gaze, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “God, am I making a difference?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he turned to look at you, his heart hanging heavy in his lungs as you watched the gears turn in his head. “What have I done?” he whispered, his brows sloping downward. “I’m just helping push Schlatt’s agenda, whatever that is.”

He dropped his head, resting his elbows on his knees as he hung his face in his hands. “Why did I even support him in the election in the first place?” His voice cracked, and you felt your own heart cleave at the sound. “Seriously, just what the hell am I doing?”

A long, thick silence fell over the two of you, Quackity raised his head, turning to face you with a cloudy, broken gaze. “Maybe I’m just as bad as he is.”

The words were out of your mouth in an instant, a wave of protectiveness crashing over you and filling every inch of your being. “Don’t say that.”

He gazed at you sadly, regret flickering across his face. “But, aren’t I—”

“No,” you said, firmer this time, “you’re not.” When Quackity’s eyes went wide at your sudden shift in tone, your gaze softened, adding gently, “I swear.”

Pulling your hand away from his back, you let your eyes scan his doubtful expression, your lips pressed into a thin line. “People like having power, Alex. Physical power, bargaining power, political power—” You shook your head with a sigh, disappointment tugging at the back of your mind. “It can be obsessive, and a lot of the time, that power’s misused.” You sent him a knowing look, brows raised. “You would know.”

His lips twitched the tiniest bit, and he bobbed his head, almost as if there were a set of weights on his shoulders. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“But,” you hummed, a smile tugging at your lips, “it’s not always misused.” You leaned against him, your soft side pressing into his. “Look at you—you’re trying your hardest to make this country a better place, and that’s amazing.”

You felt him shake next to you, the fabric of his suit trembling against you. “But,” he said quietly, sounding so very unlike the bold, confident man you loved, “I’ve hardly been able to do anything.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a weary, ragged breath. “Everything I try to do just gets shut down, or pushed aside, or it’s not even looked at.”

You reached over, slipping your hand in his and intertwining your fingers together. “That doesn’t demean your hard work and effort, though,” you said softly. “I’ve watched you work overtime so many days in a row, and you’re always spending late nights at the office to pick up Schlatt’s slack.”

Your lips curled into a smile, genuine and fond. “You’re wonderful, Alex, and Schlatt is lucky to have you. You’re a wonderful vice president, and an ever better person.” Your eyes curved into soft, crescent moons. “Don’t put yourself down like that, okay?”

Quackity stared at you for a moment longer, then lowered his gaze to your connected hands, the light in his eyes flickering. “Even if you’re right,” he said quietly, “Schlatt’s still the one in power. He’s the one with the most control.”

You scooted a fraction closer to him, your knees brushing against his. “The thing about power is that one person hardly ever gets to keep it to themselves forever.” You reached your other hand up, pressing your palm to his cheek, his skin warm against yours. “Schlatt may be president now, but a new term will come soon, and he’ll be voted out, I’m sure of it. And when that happens, you guys will be able to turn a new leaf.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone. “I believe in you.”

Another silence fell over you, but this one was different—it wasn’t tense or heavy like the last, weighing down on you like an anchor. Instead, a certain brightened bloomed across the room, and you watched with kind eyes as Quackity lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a serious expression.

“I love you.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, heat exploding across your face as your chest shook with a hazy whirlwind of emotion. “Wh—huh?” you spluttered, your face growing hotter by the second. “I-I love you too, but where did that come from?”

His hand squeezed tightly around yours, an ardent spark of affection springing inside him. “My heart,” he said honestly.

You couldn’t stop the smile from splitting across your lips, wide and bright. You opened your mouth to respond when, without warning, he was tugging you forward until you were pressed flush against his chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, he dipped his head down next to your ear and murmured, “Thank you, [Y/N].”

You blinked for a moment, then melted against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you snaked your arms up and around his backside. “For you, anything.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, nestled closely within each other’s arms. You let your eyelids fall shut as you brushed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling his lingering scent of linen and lemon.

After a few minutes, you felt his breath tickle your cheek as he opened his mouth. “Hey, what time is it?”

You opened your eyes, your gaze darting to the clock on the wall behind him and squinting. “Um, quarter past one.”

Quackity’s eyes shot open to the size of saucers, and in a flash, he was scrambling off the couch, stumbling across his office to his desk. “Oh shit, I’m late for my next meeting!”

Your eyes widened as he quickly picked up a new stack of papers from his desk, grabbing a pen from his cup holder before slipping it behind his ear. While he balanced the mess of office supplies in his arms, striding back over to you, a flurry of swords tumbled from his mouth. “The sandwiches were fantastic, everything you said means the world to me, you’re beautiful, and I love you so fucking much.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, love rushing through your veins as you struggled to process his words. “I—”

All of a sudden, he leaned over the coffee table and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, pulling away just as quickly as he had arrived. “See you when I get home?” he said, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

Your head spun with dizzying waves of adoration, and you felt your own face grow warm with affection as you nodded hazily, offering him a wave. “See you then.”

The grin he flashed you made your stomach soar with butterflies, and in a whirlwind of papers, he was rushing out the door, his undone tie still hanging around his neck. The office door slammed shut behind him, and just like that, you were alone again, accompanied only by the ticking of the clock.

You let out a breath and pressed a shaky hand to your chest, feeling your heart thump against your rib cage. Sitting up, your eyes dropped down to your half-eaten sandwich still sitting on the coffee table. An image of Quackity flashed across your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel your lungs blossom with something that you were absolutely certain was love.

With warm sunlight caressing the side of your face, you picked up your sandwich and took another bite, a thoughtful smile gracing your lips.

Maybe you should bring him lunch tomorrow, too.

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random-yandere-fandom · 4 years ago

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Hi! I'm not sure if you're still open to requests, but I'd like to try it out if you still are? My request would be for yandere hcs or letter for Estarossa/ Mael (or both). And thank you very much! Was really happy to find a yandere blog taking NNT requests!

Yeah, requests are open, I`m just a slow updater with low motivation. Either way, I`m happy the yandere potential of the Seven Deadly Sins characters is getting more attention, I was surprised how there aren`t many fanfics out there. I had fun writing this.

Yandere Mael/Estarossa Headcannons

Mael is clingy, protective and slightly possessive while Estarossa is so much more unhinged and delusional.

Mael was very lonely when he was younger, so he properly fell for you when you showed him kindness and befriended him, kinda like Elizabeth did.

Because of his loneliness he grew clingy, wanting to spend most of the time alone with you. He saw you as his sunshine, someone he could fully trust and who he didn`t want to disappoint. As such he would start to train more, showing of his skills more often than not.

Mael was always very powerful, so he didn`t really see a problem with bringing you along to the battlefield. If something happened he could just protect you, actually he hoped it would so that you would admire him and rely on him more. His view of demons was very warped back in the Holy War, so he probably wouldn`t understand if you found his way of merciless killing gruesome. If you establish that you don`t like how he fights, he`ll be hurt but he would only stop to bring you with him. To him, the demons they are at war with want to separate the two of you, which is an unforgivable sin even if the demons couldn`t care less about you. Also he will see your reaction as you being the only innocent one and that he`s the only one who can protect you. God have mercy on whoever hurts you because Mael surely won`t.

He is quite affectionate and loves hugging you from behind with his wings, it feeds into his delusion of protecting you. Mael would melt whenever you showed him any kind of affection, especially if you pet his hair (which I headcanon to be super soft).

His possessive nature causes him to seclude you from the others through guilt tripping, going on and on about how you`re the only one who truly cares about him and what do you mean, you wanted to spend time with someone else? He spend so much time on preparing whatever he wanted to do with you that day!

Now, at some point Maels memory will be manipulated and he will become Estarossa. That doesn`t mean he`ll forget about you, though. His memory of you being kind will only change in one way: his role. It doesn`t matter if you are a god/goddess, a giant or a fairy, or if you were already dating or not, from his point of view you two were lovers separated by the Holy War. He doesn`t even question how you got to know each other, all that matters is that you two are in love and that he has to find a way to get you somehow without you being put in harms way.

As Estarossa all of his yandere traits will worsen and he`ll be even more ready to kill whoever gets in his way. Before he couldn`t imagine scaring or even hurting you but that changed. While he is delusional and would never believe that he frightens you, he will now put you in harms way if it ensures that at the end of the day he has you alive in his arms.

I doubt he has the time to meet you as Estarossa before all demons get sealed off but rest assured knowing that he has spent 3000 years waiting to get to you.

I`m just gonna say that you lived those 3000 years somewhere quiet, mostly unbothered by what`s happening around you or helping the Sins along the way. Either way, when the seal is broken you`re somewhere far away from bigger civilisations. (Simply because it`s easier for me to write).

You can feel that the seal is broken and feel scared. After all to your knowledge Estarossa killed Mael, the most powerful person you ever knew, Mael had always shown you how powerful he was and proven it multiple times. Even if Mael annoyed you sometimes with how clingy he was, you probably still cared for him a lot so you do have a grudge against the demon.

The first thing Estarossa does is searching for your presence and upon coming up empty handed, he`ll feel extremely disappointed and frustrated. His delusional self won`t even consider that you died in those years he was locked away and everyone around him is glad about it. They`re scared that he`d take his anger and sadness out on them so they help the fellow demon with his search hoping to somehow make Estarossa calmer with you by his side.

After each search failed, the commandment will take this as a sign that you want him to win the war so you can live together, that you`re simply waiting for him and putting your trust into him. Nothing anyone can say or do will change this belief of his and he`ll do everything to get to this goal.

He will fail, because at the point of the plot where he would have kidnapped Elizabeth he will pick up on your energy, it`s clear that you`re trying to hide it but Estarossa knows it`s yours nonetheless. You probably had to flee somewhere were he would without your knowledge notice, seeing as demons are swarming the land and you don`t know he is searching for you.

When he finds you Estarossa will rush to you without warning and hug you, scaring the shit out of poor you. You will probably notice that he seems familiar in the way he moves and talks, especially when he mentions how much he missed you. Connecting the dots to who he really is will also make everyone else remember, the demon himself included which will make him extremely unhinged and desperate, not really knowing what to do but wanting to win this war. Because in the end, he still wants to live with you, be it as Mael or as Estarossa.

This will ensure chaos, Estarossa`s and Mael`s power mixing while he is having a crisis on whose side he should be, finally deciding that he should leave the decision to you. From that point on it`s really up to you, just don`t tell him that he should leave you alone. He`s really unhinged right now and wants to put his trust into you, the only person he thinks he can rely on.

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

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Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #here to misbehave #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #spencer reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #reid request

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awhitehead17 · 3 years ago

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Batfam Alphabet: L - Language

Summary: Jason doesn’t hesitate to drag his brothers down with him when Bruce starts reprimanding him about the type of language he uses on a daily basis.

Enjoy! :D

“Well this is just a load of bullshit! Why do they have to intervene? We’re perfectly capable of handling this.” Jason huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He can’t believe what he's hearing.

On the opposite side of the table Bruce levels him with a hard look. “Watch your language Jason.”

Jason blinks before sitting up straight. “What, it’s not like the kid is currently around to overhear."

“Jason!”

Glaring at the man, Jason scowls. This seems to be a regular topic of conversation between them recently because according to Bruce Jason swears too much, especially when he’s around Damian. The man, for whatever reason, wants Jason to be a good role model for the kid and apparently that includes him not swearing.

So now anytime he swears, Bruce points it out with a matching scolding tone and expression.

It’s a ridiculous notion because Jason being who he is was brought up with swearing, living on the streets for so many years exposed him to all kinds of things, one of which being the language people use. Swearing is just part of his vocabulary, half of the time he isn’t even aware he is doing it. As long as he’s not swearing at someone, then surely there should be some leniency.

“Oh come on!” He exclaims with a wave of his hands. “He’s been raised as an assassin, he was already tainted before we even met. Me saying a few words isn’t doing any harm.”

Before Bruce could respond a new voice joins the conversation. “To be fair you do swear a lot. Maybe you should try and tone it down.”

Jason turns to his right to glare at his older brother who’s lounging comfortably next to him. “Oh fuck off, Dick, no one asked for your opinion.”

Dick stares back unimpressed, he raises both eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

Jason recalls what he said and grits his teeth.

He points menacingly at Dick. “That doesn’t prove anything. Quite frankly I grew up in Crime Alley, of course I’m gonna swear, you hear it every minute in that place and typically as a kid you’re gonna pick up the habit. You know what they say old habits die hard.”

“Just like you did?” A different voice retorts with a snort.

Jason switches his gaze to Tim, who is opposite him next to Bruce currently playing with his phone, and blinks at him in surprise. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud by that.”

It’s usually only him who makes death jokes so it’s come as a surprise to find Tim making one, a well-timed one too. Jason shakes his head, he’ll deal with those emotions at another time.

“Anyway, if we’re talking about who swears too much then why aren’t you giving Tim a lecture? He swears like a bloody sailor. If anyone needs reprimanding on his language it’s him!”

Tim abruptly stops fiddling with his phone and looks up, he rolls his eyes and glowers at him. “Jesus Christ that’s so immature Jason. How old are you, 10? I’m no way near as bad as you.”

His response gets a gleeful chuckle out of Jason. He knows exactly how the next few minutes are about to play out and he can’t wait. While the focus of the conversation had been on him, he’s glad for the opportunity to move it onto someone else and Tim happens to be perfect for the new spotlight.

Without any hesitation Jason digs into his pocket and grabs his phone. Once he has the device in hand he starts searching for the video he has saved for this very purpose. Call him petty, but he knew it would be good blackmail material one day.

“Oh really?” He drawls out, finally finding the video he had been looking for, “then what do I have here…” Jason clicks play and puts it on speaker so everyone in the room would be able to hear the audio.

After a second the sound of Tim’s voice could be heard. The teenager was clearly angry about something and certainly wasn’t holding back from letting his anger be known through his choice of words.

“You bloody bastard, why won’t you work you piece of shit. By god this is pissing me off now, I’ve been at this all fucking day and you’re still not fucking working. I am going to kill…”

The recording lasts for about a minute and is filled with Tim swearing his head off, cursing at everything and everyone and making empty threats. Once it’s finished Jason turns his phone off, puts it back in his pocket and leans back in his chair feeling smug about the situation.

“I rest my case.”

His words are met with a stunned silence in the room. Tim is blushing hard with his head buried in his hands. Next to him Bruce looks concerned, probably for Tim’s mental health and wellbeing. Dick’s staring at Tim with shock spread across his features.

After a few beats Tim lifts his head from his hands but keeps his eyes down staring at the table so he could avoid everyone’s eyes. “Okay in my defence the technology was really piss–annoying me. It wouldn’t work and I couldn’t work out why so I got frustrated and that happened.”

His response makes Jason snort and causes Dick to shake his head in disbelief. He knew Tim could be feisty but until that moment he never realised how bad his temper could get. Jason’s honestly impressed. However that doesn’t mean he’s letting Tim get away with it, especially when he’s getting blamed for something Tim does just as much of as him.

If he's going down then he’s dragging Tim down with him. It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t have anything on Dick.

Jason’s broken out of his thoughts on ways he could get blackmail material on Dick when Tim speaks up again. He’s finally looking up at everyone though his still flushed face shows his prior embarrassment.

“Let’s be honest, is swearing really all that bad? As long as we’re not swearing at people then I think it’s fine. We’re not harming anyone. Who cares if we swear a little too much. And anyway, doesn’t everyone swear at some point?”

“Clark doesn’t.” Dick pipes up next to him.

Jason snorts. “That’s because big blue is a boy scout, of course he isn’t going to swear. He doesn’t count. Plus we’re from Gotham after all, it’s not like this is the most impeccable place in the world.”

Dick becomes thoughtful, humming his response. “Yeah that’s true I guess.”

“Boys.”

The three brother’s all turn and look at Bruce who had called for their attention. Jason had forgotten the man was even there, he had surprisingly been quiet until now. Maybe it’s because Clark was brought into the conversation, it must have peaked his interest. Jason files that information away for later.

“It doesn’t matter how much any of you swear, you shouldn’t do it at all. Damian is still young, he doesn’t need to grow up listening to that sort of language despite his initial upbringing.” Bruce firmly says, looking at each of them in turn. “You all know better and have good manners, going forward I expect you to use them.”

As Bruce rattles on about proper manners and the importance of them, Jason finds himself resisting the urge to smile. With every second that passes, it threatens to break out on his face. What makes matters worse is that he knows he shouldn’t smile, this isn’t a smiling matter considering how serious Bruce is being but the man is making it difficult to concentrate and to take the topic seriously.

Jason glances to the right to find Dick staring at Bruce with a hand covering the lower part of his face and Jason can tell that his brother is in the exact same boat as he is.

Apparently all it takes for him to break is Dick to glance at him and for them to make eye contact.

After that Jason couldn’t help himself but to burst out laughing, next to him Dick also breaks out into a fit of giggles. They laugh for a good while until they’re able to start calming down, by that point Jason’s cheeks are hurting and he even had tears forming in his eyes. As he takes a deep breath to compose himself he makes the mistake of looking over at Dick again, Dick looks back at him too and just like that they fall into another uncontrollable laughing fit.

While laughing Jason gets a glimpse of a confused looking Tim and a disappointed Bruce, but it’s Bruce’s scowling expression that triggers off another wave of giggles.

It takes even longer for the two of them to calm down. As he sits there Jason repeatedly takes deep breaths in order to collect himself. Once he’s calmed down a little, now able to breathe somewhat normally, he could feel how his sides are aching, how his cheeks hurt from the wide smiling and the tears coming from his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard that it hurt, and over something so trivial nonetheless.

When it feels like he’s finally composed himself he risks a glance at Dick to find his brother also in the state of calming down though there’s still a wide grin on face. He then looks at Bruce who is still staring at the two of them with his disappointed look. That’s almost enough to set himself off again. Almost.

“If you’re both quite done, we have important business to discuss, may I remind you that being the reason we’re meeting to begin with.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started on the whole language topic that derailed us in the beginning.” Jason defends himself and his brother’s. All Bruce does is huff at that, knowing Jason is right and can’t defend himself against it otherwise. Jason smirks victoriously.

Opposite him, Tim sighs loudly and makes a show to sitting up straight and sorting out some of the paperwork between them all on table. “Enough already, can we just go over the details and the police reports again and get to the end of this. I have better things to do than hear everyone bicker about language and manners.”

Dick gives the youngest a side look. “What you got planned? Is that who you were messaging just now? Is it your boyfriend?”

“What? No. Just friends. I ain’t telling you.” Tim snaps glaring at Dick.

Jason whistles. “Timmy’s getting some tonight then eh? Make sure to stay safe and use protection.”

“Jason!”

“Well he’s not wrong Tim, but where are you going? We need to know so if something happens we know where to look first.” Dick’s looking more concerned by the minute and Jason could see the flip switch from carefree older brother to over-bearing mother hen.

Tim blinks at them before turning his gaze to Bruce. In a whining voice he pleads the man, “Bruce, get them to stop!”

To begin with all Bruce does is run a hand over his face like he’s regretting every life choice he’s made and how he would rather be anywhere else but here. After a moment he sends exasperated looks at his eldest sons.

“Not much more to go, then we should be all caught up and ready to proceed with the case further tomorrow. Is it too much to ask for your full attention for the remaining hour?”

Jason sighs and sits up straighter, knowing play time is over and it’s time to be serious. One more hour won’t hurt, then afterwards there’s nothing stopping him from having a little fun is there. He nods at Bruce and picks up the piece of paper closet to him to examine the page. Dick does the same and finally Bruce proceeds with their meeting.

#batfam alphabet #batfamily #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Tim Drake #humour #lots of swearing #probably more than necessary #Brotherly Love #sibling relationship #annoying siblings #Petty Jason #this got away from me #i don't know what happened #tired dad bruce #fanfiction

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) genre: angst; fluff word count: 3.2K

a/n: Finally we have some fluff again! I mean, the angst is still here, but we’re getting to a resolution. This drabble is inspired by “this is me trying” off of Taylor Swift’s album, folklore, and it takes place after, “You know that I would ruin myself over and over again for you.” This also includes a hint of crack for some comic relief, and because where Jin and Poopsie go, crack follows. I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

STEPPING into your apartment, returning home from work, your eyes scanned the small space with distaste. You dreaded coming home to your empty sofa and your empty kitchen and your very empty bed. Even more so, you hated the disappointment you felt in yourself for letting another person get so close to you that they started to feel like home.

Dropping your bag at the front door, you kicked your shoes off carelessly before making your way straight to the bathroom to take a shower. Your showers had been doubling in length, perhaps in hopes that the heat of the water would scald the past couple months right off your skin. Or maybe it was just to feel something other than the hurt.

It was just two months of your life. Why was it having such an impact? It had only been three days since Yoongi walked out, so you hoped it was just the newness of it all that had you feeling so hollow.

Yoongi was just stopping by the dorm for a change of clothes and then he was heading back to the studio. He had spent three days straight in his studio, not even returning to the dorms after leaving your place. Whereas his fans would probably think he was working hard on the second Agust D mixtape, he was mostly just sulking.

He did what was best right? You said you were ruining yourself over him. He was ruining you. So, he left. He didn’t try to work it out, he left. For you. That way, you would have a chance at happiness with someone else. Someone more suitable for you. Someone who could give you what you deserve.

Walking toward his bedroom with his overnight bag in tow, the sound of his roommate’s squeaky laughter echoed through the hallway. Yoongi was suddenly very thankful for the isolation his studio provided, as he remembered Jin saying his girlfriend was visiting family for a few days so he wouldn’t get to see her right away upon returning to Korea from Japan. She must be back now.

“I don’t care if the whole game and franchise is named after Mario, Yoshi is hands down the best character in the Mario realm, and that’s just a fact,” her ranting sounded through the closed door, Jin interrupting her with overdramatic sound effects. Yoongi’s hand was on the doorknob and he had half a mind to ignore his need for a change of clothes and escape back to his studio before anyone noticed he was there.

“There wouldn’t even be a Yoshi if it weren’t for Mario because there would be no Mario franchise,” Jin shouted back, Yoongi’s motions still stalled as he stood on the other side of the door in disbelief. Fucking Mario? Really?

With a sigh, Yoongi opened the door, clearing his throat to alert the two idiots of his presence. Jin’s head popped up off the pillows, greeting Yoongi with an, “oh, hey,” his girlfriend sitting up from her spot next to Jin on the bed.

“Oh, Yoongi, thank god you’re here,” she exclaimed, Yoongi flashing her a surprised expression. “Tell Jin that Yoshi is the best Mario character.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it,” Jin shouted with wide eyes, his girlfriend turning to look at him. “Yoshi can be your favorite character, but you can’t argue he’s the best.”

“Why can’t I?” She complained, Yoongi quickly losing all interest as he escaped to his side of the room, separated from the bickering couple by a large bookcase.

“Because it’s not called Super Yoshi, or Yoshi Kart,” Jin informed her. Yoongi hurried around his belongings, shoving some clothes into his bag so he could get back to this studio without being dragged back into the couple’s pointless disagreement.

“You’re so annoying,” she huffed, Jin laughing at her attitude.

Zipping the bag back up, Yoongi started toward the door, anxious to get out of the dorm, away from everyone.

“Aw, but I got you something in Japan,” Jin told his girlfriend. Her silence piqued Yoongi’s interest, for reasons unknown to Yoongi, enough for him to look back. She was looking at Jin with her eyebrows raised as Jin pulled out a Yoshi figure from his pocket. “It’s Yoshi!” Yoongi watched as the girl held back a smile, trying to keep up her challenging glare. “I may disagree with you, but I support you and your poor judgement,” Jin teased the girl, lowering himself onto his knees on the bed.

“I'm in love with you, so you may be on to something with the poor judgement thing,” the girl teased right back, taking the figure before cooing at it. “It’s so cute, thank you,” she told him, Yoongi quickly exiting the room.

Part of him found the two lovers cute. A much bigger part found them annoying and gross. Shoving their love in everyone’s faces. He felt like a bitter old man as he shuffled out of the dorm angrily. Why was it that Jin could manage a relationship? How was it that Jin could have his shit together, but Yoongi couldn't? And Hoseok for that matter. Hell, even Namjoon was seeing someone. Why couldn't Yoongi do the same? Making his way out of the building, you overtook his mind. You would have called him out on being a bitter old man. “Jesus, Grampa Min, stop being so grumpy,” he could hear you saying with a giggle. You’d probably even press a kiss to his forehead, flashing him a warm smile. All anger and bitterness dissipated from his body, leaving him sad and frustrated with himself, even more so than before.

Another addition to the list of things you were growing to hate about your living space: it was cold. Bundled up in a large sweatshirt, baggy sweatpants, and colorful fluffy socks on your feet, you waited in the kitchen for your water to boil. All you wanted to do was have a cup of tea and plant yourself in front of the TV to waste away while watching the next Netflix series in your queue. Your still wet hair only made you colder, a shiver moving through your body, causing you to let out a groan.

You resisted the urge to check your phone. He surely hadn’t texted, and you didn’t feel like dealing with the pain that struck your heart every time you saw no notifications from him.

As you mindlessly played with the ends of your damped hair, a knock suddenly sounded on your door, and your heart dropped into your stomach. It had to be him. No one ever visited you at 6:30 pm on a Thursday night. You thought about not answering it, but when the knock sounded again, you convinced yourself you could be wrong. It could be someone else.

Then you caught yourself hoping it wasn't someone else.

Hesitantly, you opened the door, and if you weren’t so angry you would have cried at the sight in front of you.

Yoongi stood in your doorway, dark circles just as prominent as three days ago, eyes puffy and slightly red, one of his hands shoved into his pants pocket, the other hanging by his thigh as he held onto a bouquet of tulips.

Your eyes lingered on the flowers for a moment, not because you really cared about the gesture, but because the appearance of the man who had always been so composed before now looking so completely broken on your doorstep was almost too devastating for your heart to bear.

His eyes scanned your features desperately, though neither of you spoke. It was hard to find the words.

It felt like minutes passed by before Yoongi finally opened his mouth to say something, though he struggled to get the words out. “Kid, I-” he started, tears forming in his eyes.

“I don’t want your flowers if they come with disillusions,” you told him bitterly, holding onto your anger, despite the bubbling feeling of wanting to wrap him up in your arms.

Your eyes followed a tear as it slid off his plush cheek, the cheeks you adored so much, landing on the side of his hand. “If you want me to lay out all my mistakes right now, I will,” he told you sincerely, the comment taking you by surprise. “For starters, I shouldn’t have left. I should have fought with you, I should have stayed to finish that fight,” he said in frustration, partly to himself.

Maybe the words should have confused you, but you understood exactly what he was saying. For you both to express your frustrations with each other and with yourselves, the fight needed to happen. With Yoongi leaving, you didn’t get to the point of discussion following the anger. Instead, he walked away, as if you weren’t worth fighting with, or for.

“Why did it take you three days to come back?” You asked, a strange mixture of anger and sadness and hope swirling around your stomach.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I came back,” he admitted sadly, wiping his face with the back of his hand to get rid of the tears, the bouquet messing his fringe as it made contact with his forehead. He avoided eye contact, keeping his stare directed to your fuzzy sock-covered feet.

“Of course, I care,” you told him, taking a step back to allow him space to enter your apartment. His eyes followed the colorful fluffy material as you moved aside. “Now get in here so we can fight.”

You barely noticed the quirk in Yoongi's lip as it curved just slightly into the tiniest of smiles. He entered your apartment tentatively, and his presence already made it feel more like home again. You felt certain in that moment that no matter what room he walked into, it would feel like home.

Turning toward you, still avoiding your eyes but raising his gaze to your waist, he weakly held up the bouquet. "These are tulips," he told you dumbly, finishing the statement off with a sniffle.

You stared at him for a moment but he didn't continue. "I know," you finally said.

Another beat went by as you faced each other, a feeling of awkwardness enveloping the room. “They symbolize-" he started, just as the teapot started screaming in the kitchen.

“Hang on,” you told him, rushing to the kitchen to remove the pot from the stove, turning the burner off. For a moment, you thought about sitting in the kitchen for a moment to gather your thoughts, but with a vulnerable Min Yoongi standing just a few feet away, you found yourself hurrying back to him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” You asked, Yoongi looking to the side of the room.

“Tulips symbolize-”

"Yoongi,” you breathed out. “I don't care about the flowers right now, what are you doing here?" You cut him off, getting straight to the point.

"I want to fix this," he told you sincerely, lifting his gaze to meet yours.

You shrugged. "And how?" He stared at you for a moment, so you decided to continue. "I'm sick of feeling like I'm not wanted."

Yoongi quickly negated the comment, shaking his head. "I always want you."

"Then why do I feel unwanted by you?" Your volume raised as you asked the question, Yoongi appearing to hold his breath for a moment. Letting it out in a shaky breath, he looked back to your feet. "You say you want me but your actions say different, Yoongi. And you can't tell me how I feel, I feel unwanted."

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly, lifting his gaze to meet your eyes. "I'm not trying to tell you how you feel, I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I made you feel that way," his voice broke.

"I don't want to hold this over your head, and I don't want you beating yourself up for it," you told him. "I just want you. But if I can't have you and feel good about myself and us, then I need to you to leave and I need you to stay gone." Speaking the words added cracks to your heart, but it also lifted a weight off your shoulders.

"I deal with a lot of shit," he suddenly said, your eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "Mentally. And that mixed with my work- I'm afraid of putting you through hell just because I'm selfish and want you," he told you with tears in his eyes. That’s what he’s afraid of? Putting his burdens on you? "I get so stuck in my head and I was in Japan and all I could think of was you and,” he sighed, looking into your eyes. “Fuck, Kid, I wanted to call you every moment I was gone. But that's for me, what am I giving you?" He shrugged hopelessly.

"You," you told him, your tears threatening to fall. "You're giving me you."

"And what's that worth?" His question shattered your heart. What's that worth?

"Baby, that's worth everything to me," you told him. "When you’re actually giving yourself to me, I feel more like myself. I feel braver and happier and-" looking back at the bouquet in his hands, you asked, "why tulips?"

He stalled for a moment, surprised by the question. "Right now?" Nodding at him, you bit back a grin. A faint smile appeared on his face, scoffing at himself. "Tulips can mean rebirth and forgiveness and true love, and I'm not saying we're in love,” he quickly backtracked. “I mean not yet, but we could be some day, and," he spoke slow but he was lost in his words, panicking over bringing up love, and the sight of him trying to find his way was enough to make you crack a smile. His speech faded out as he watched your face brighten just the slightest bit, a blush overtaking his plush cheeks. "I don't know what the fuck flowers mean, I don't know what I'm doing."

"That much is obvious," you teased, Yoongi letting out a single breathy chuckle at the comment.

"All I know how to do is care about you, Kid," he shrugged.

Tears forming in your eyes at his confession, you shook your head. "Then care about me."

"I'm trying," he told you, staring into your eyes. For a man who usually avoided eye contact, you were surprised by the sincerity he was trying to convey as he held your gaze. "I really am trying."

"I know," you nodded. And he was.

"I wanted to protect you from me," he added, his orbs scanning your face. "But fuck, Kid, I can't stay away from you." You watched him thoughtfully as he spoke. "But when I saw the hurt in your face-" he paused to compose his emotions. "When you said you thought I left that morning," he shook his head. "That's when I first realized what I was doing to you."

"But you don't have to do that to me," you reminded him. "You don't have to protect me from you, I've told you I'm prepared to be with you regardless of your lifestyle and your work." Yoongi stared at you as you spoke, and you cocked your head at him. "I'm ok with the time apart and the late-night dates and the days where we can only fit a few texts in.”

“But are you ok with me? And everything that comes with me?” He asked. He was really asking, he needed the assurance.

“Of course, I am,” you told him definitively. “I want all of you. You don’t need to wear this mask around me, you don’t need to shield me from you. And you’re not the only one with demons,” you told him. “I want you and everything that comes with you. I’m just not ok with feeling like I'm always about to lose you."

"Baby," he whispered.

"I can't keep being afraid that every time you walk out the door, you might not come back," you whimpered, a tear falling down your cheek. "I need assurance too, I need to know you're in this with me as much as I am with you." Yoongi nodded quickly.

"If you want me here, I'm here," he assured you, sincerity coating his words.

"I want you here," you told him. Yoongi suddenly tossed the bouquet onto the table before approaching you. His arms wrapped around your body before you could react, your arms slowly folding over him, holding him close to you as he buried his face in your hair. You felt a kiss on the top of your head, your body responding by relaxing against his frame, turning your face to nuzzle it against his neck. "I'm sorry for the shit I said," you mumbled against his cool skin, still slightly cold from the night air.

"Don't apologize," he whispered into your hair.

"I didn't mean the mean shit," you added, Yoongi chuckling at the obvious pout on your lips.

"You were hardly mean, Kid," he told you, pulling away just a bit to look down at you with a soft smile, his eyes glistening in emotion.

“Well, I’ll never mean the mean shit,” you said with a small smile.

"I missed you,” he told you as he wiped the fallen tears off your cheeks.

"I missed you too," you whispered. “We were supposed to fight, you know,” you added teasingly.

“That wasn’t a fight?” He questioned in feigned surprise. “We still can if you want,” he playfully responded, his eyes widened humorously.

“You came in here trying to explain flower symbolization and I just couldn’t get mad at you,” you giggled, Yoongi smiling adorably just before pushing his lips to yours, giving you a sweet kiss. Before you could deepen it, he pulled away again.

"Yoshi or Mario?"

"What?” You questioned in utter confusion. “Min, I'm trying to make out with you," you complained with a look of dissatisfaction, Yoongi smiling fondly at the expression. With a sigh, you said, "Yoshi, obviously, what do you think I am, an idiot?" Yoongi laughed fully at the comment, his shoulders shaking as he flashed you that adorable gummy smile you were so obsessed with. "Why?" you asked through a small laugh, "what about you?"

"Honestly, I could not care less," he smiled, now your turn to laugh.

"I love that about you," you told him through your big grin.

"My roommate, Jin, thinks Mario is better," he told you, you raising your eyebrows in response. "I think you should come by the dorm to put him in his place. Maybe meet all the other guys too?"

You smiled widely as you nodded. "I'd love to," you said softly, Yoongi nodding before leaning in to kiss you again. "I mean, for Yoshi's honor," you whispered right before his lips pressed to yours.

"Of course," he giggled against your mouth. Pulling back just slightly, Yoongi stared at you for a moment, his eyes appreciating your every feature slowly, taking his time, as you did the same with him. Wrapping his arms around the back of your neck, he tugged you closer to him to hold you against his body once again. "Jin's a moron but remind me to thank him one of these days," he whispered against your temple.

"I will," you giggled. "But for what?"

"For having his shit together."

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fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

Text

after death do us apart

Summary: Levi thinks his house is haunted.

Levi is in his kitchen, busy with a very important task of measuring leaves for the tea when he hears a loud, obnoxious thud, coming from his living room.

He softly curses, grabs his cane and rushes, as fast as he can with his body not as strong as it was before, there.

When he arrives, he sees that everything else is in order, except a picture frame that is now lying on a floor.

Levi's blood boils, an annoyance bordering on anger rushing through him. This picture - that one that now lies on the floor like some kind of useless shit - is his most priced possession. It is the only thing that keeps the memory of them alive, the one thing that reminds him during cold and dark nights that he might be alone right now, but there was a time where he wasn't.

It's a picture of him, Hange, Erwin and Mike all standing together with their arms around each other. He doesn't remember if that had ever happened, but that's what he had found in one of Moblit's notebook and after he made that discovery, he just couldn't leave it behind.

No picture of them exists - Mike and Erwin were gone even before they found out what a photo camera was, and in her last years, Hange was always too busy to take a single photo.

He regrets it now, not pushing her to take it, but Moblit's picture is vibrant enough. He doubts a photo could capture their essence quite like his sharp eyes and skilfful hands could.

Onyakopon tells him there are more pictures of Hange now. There are portraits made by talented artists that paint Hange as the last Commander of Survey Corps or during her last moments on Earth.

They're hanged in museums and various memorials but Levi doesn't wish to see any of them. He doesn't care about them, those pictures - they were drawn by talented artists, and Levi doesn't doubt that.

But they never knew Hange, not like he did. So how could they come up with something worthy of the light she bestowed on this world? How they could ever hope to put it on paper?

Levi crouches down, his bones and protesting, and picks up the picture frame.

Thankfully, it is still intact.

But just as his old, broken heart swells with relief, there is another thud. This time, the book falls down, nearly missing Levi's head.

He curses again, loud and vulgar, letting out the best of profanities the Underground taught him.

He whirls around, his eye searching for the offender. The room is empty, though. It's mostly silent too, the only sounds flowing around are those from outside his window. But then he hears it, a faint, feeble murmur that sounds almost like "sorry".

His heart clenches, his hand gripping the cane to keep himself grounded.

He knows that particular sorry. Heard many times many years ago - ehen he stumbled over the barely conscious, sleep deprived body, when his shirt got soaked in tea, soup or some kind of possibly dangerous chemicals, heard it repeating over and over as gentle, trembling hands inspected his injuries and wiped away the blood.

It was sometimes accompanied by cheerful, loud laughter, other times - with quiet, broken sobs.

He couldn't hear that sorry. He couldn't.

It was just a trick of imagination, nothing more, nothing less.

I am not old enough to go senile yet, he thinks as he puts the picture where it belongs to.

It was just a trick of imagination, he repeats and leaves the room.

He goes back to the kitchen and resumes his task. The skin on the back of his neck is prickling, like someone stares intently at it, but Levi chases that feeling away, convincing himself that he's simply being paranoid.

He pointedly ignores the quiet sound, the one that resembles a sigh of disappointment and the one he heard too many times too, during long nights at the lab and inside Commander's office, as well.

***

It's not the first weird (unexplained, she would say) thing that happened in his house. There are instances happening all over the place, each of them brings a different degree of strangeness

Windows and doors - close and open on their own volition, lights turn on and off, books, his clothes, kitchen ware - disappear for hours only to appear in the most random of places, bangs and knocks sound at all times of the day, merciless to his sleeping pattern.

Logically, he knows that it isn't normal. He also knows that he probably should talk about it with someone. But he was never good with that thing - talking. All the people he was somewhat comfortable sharing his troubles are now dead and gone.

He theoretically can discuss it with Gabi and Falco, but he doesn't want to, because, well, no matter how big they think they are, they're still children. Onyakopon is out of question too, because he might just get too worried and then send him into that building on the edge of the town - mental institution, he calls it.

And Levi might be old, but he's not senile. Yet.

Probably. He hopes so at least.

His mind is still his own, broken but not shattered. He knows right from wrong, sees the difference between reality and a dream.

He still functions properly, and yet those instances don't back away.

He'd ignore it, write it off as a product of imagination or strange coincidence. If only it happened once. Or twice. Three times even. Three weird happenings in a row is hard, but possible to ignore. But when it happens every damn day, for almost dozen times, it's not just hard to ignore. It's fucking annoying too.

He knows a name he can put to describe it all, of course. Born and raised in the depth of Underground, how can he not? Stories like this were well known and greatly appreciated down there. They were children of the dark, after all, friends with shadows. Everything dark and scary, anything feared above their little world was welcomed and encouraged.

Isabel used to warn him about enraged, vengeful spirits that hunt those who wronged them or those who disturbed their resting place. Kenny - when he was in a less shitty, kinder mood - used to tell him about souls that die without fulfilling their purpose and were destined to roam through the land of the living for all eternity, unable to sleep with their business unfinished.

Before putting him to bed or whenever she felt especially sentimental, his mother used to speak of those unlucky ones who died before their loved ones did.

"They cannot find peace even in death," she said. "And so they come back to our world and stay close to the ones they still cannot let go, watching them until they are able to reunite."

He never believed in those stories, though. Perhaps, he was born and raised in the Underground, but he got out of it, lived his best years with the sun shining on his face and wind blowing through his hair.

He thought ghosts doesn't exist.

But now that his best years are behind him, now that he has seen enough shit to know that anything is possible, now that some days he himself feels like a ghost, he starts thinking of them more and more.

Hange is gone, he reminds himself, she's gone and even though you miss her like crazy, it won't bring her back.

Hange is gone, and none of it is real.

But, god, does he really wishes that it was. *** It is the middle of the night, and Levi feels a presence behind him. It's not ominous like in that book about ghosts he recently found. It's quite soothing, actually. It makes him almost content.

It's not looming or hoovering over his form either. It's right next to him, as though this something - or someone - lays on a bed close to him.

It doesn't bother him anymore, nearly not as much as it did before. It brings him comfort, in some sort. It reminds him of-

No. It doesn't.

The presence behind him shifts and Levi feels the blanket slip from his legs.

No, that won't do.

He tugs the blanket back, but either he's getting too weak with age or that presence, ghost or whatever is so much stronger than him, but he can't get it back. They fight for it for a while, each struggling to get the upper hand. Levi yanks it back, applying all the force that's still left in him, but bears no result. He grits his teeth, sweat gathering on his temples as he pulls the blanket.

"Give it back, you little sh-"

He doesn't get to finish.

The loud, snapping sound of ripping cloth cuts him off.

"Fuck!" Levi yells, frustrated. It was his favorite blanket. "Is this so funny to you, you piece of shit? Why do you keep tormenting me?"

There is a bit of silence, and then lights in his room turn on. With wide eyes, Levi watches the paper levitate from a small pile on his desk. Pen appears next, and it hovers above the paper, the sounds of furious scribbling filling the dark room.

Before he can say anything else, shout more profanities or threaten the invisible fucker to get out (he may not be as strong as he was before, but he has a cane and he still knows how to use it effectively), the paper starts flying, catching him right in the face.

Levi takes it in his hands, squinting his good eye to see what's written there.

It IS funny, but i didn't wish to torment you. You know that, right?

Something resembling a sob escapes from his lips. Levi fists his hands into sheets below him, but eight fingers is apparently not enough to ground him and keep him from falling.

"Who are you?" he asks shakily, his voice breaking.

The pen starts moving again, flying over another paper. This one isn't thrown in his face. It's gently laid next to his thigh. Levi takes it, and his hands shake so much it gets hard to read. Words swim between his eyes, but Levi persists, laying the note on his lap and bending over to see better.

His whole world shakes when he finally deciphers the words.

Haven't you guessed already?

He closes his eyes and some sound escapes past his lips, he's not sure if that can be called a sob or a chuckle, or a combination of both, but his whole body is trembling as he tries to fight strength to whisper,

"Hange?"

From somewhere close to him, on his left side where she always used to be, he hears a delighted, happy laughter.

He looks around the room, his eye shifting, desperate to find her, but he sees nothing.

Fear grips at his heart.

So just a hallucination then? Simple wishful thinking?

"Where are you?" he murmurs, giving it all another chance. "Hange-"

"I'm here," a warm sensation travels up his forearm. It doesn't exactly feel like an ordinary touch would, but it's there, it seems real and it fills his chest with hope. "Right here, a little to your left," she continues. "Just look at me, Levi."

He does, immediately he does. But there is no one next to him. The gentle sensation doesn't fade, gets more persistent if anything, but Levi still can't see her.

"You need to look a little bit harder," Hange murmurs. "If you can hear me, I'm sure you can see me."

Levi stares, his eye focused on the empty place next to him. He strains his vision, moves his gaze up and down, huffs in frustration and then finally, finally, he sees something.

It's vague, indistinct, barely visible in the dark, but he makes out the outline of the body. He can see the mop of brown hair, and they're messy as always, can see strong arms and wide shoulders, that long, prominent nose, that rosy, soft lips that are stretched out in a hopeful smile, those brown, sparkly he missed so much.

"Hange," he breathes out, his voice barely above whisper.

He wants to touch her, god, he wants to touch her so much, but when he puts his hand above hers, it goes right through her.

"The situation is not exactly perfect," Hange laughs. "I don't think you can touch me, and I can't exactly touch you as well."

"I don't care," he shakes his head and moves his fingers, until his and Hange's are close. He doesn't feel much, but something warm is still there and it still makes his breath stumble.

Hange is here, she's not gone, not completely, she's here, with him. It is more than enough.

*** They fall into a sort of routine after that. It's easy with Hange, as it always was.

She disappears for short periods of time, refusing to tell Levi where she goes.

"They asked me not to tell you," she says enigmatically, and doesn't ever elaborate, no matter how many Levi asks.

At first, he still worries he's going crazy, but then Falco, Gabi and Onyakopon show up. They all sit down around the small coffee table in Levi's living room, chatting amongst themselves and sharing the last news and gossips.

"You look healthier," Falco remarks, as Levi brings the tea from the kitchen.

As soon as he puts the cups down, the chaos begins.

The door shuts with a loud bang, the windows rattle and chandelier above them starts to dangerously tremble.

Levi also notes that Hange is careful not to make any mess, but she still acts so damn loud. And dramatic. He hides a sigh as he continues to sip on his tea and watch Onyakopon, Gabi and Falco lose their shit in front of him.

Gabi ducks behind an armchair, Falco close on her heels, curling around her. Onyakopon keeps frantically looking around, his breath quick and shallow. Levi can almost hear the sound of his panicked heartbeat.

"Stop it, four-eyes," he murmurs, too softly to everyone else to hear (not that they could pay attention to him amidst all that clutter anyway).

Everything stills immediately. Silence washes over his apartment, interrupted only by Onyakopon's gasps.

Hange snickers beside him, but Levi is the only who can hear her.

"This was fun," she giggles, running a hand over his shoulder.

Levi can't disagree with her on that one.

"What was that?" Onyakopon exclaims, clutching his heart. "Was it-"

"A ghost?" Gabi cries out, looking both horrified and excited.

Levi glances at Hange, silently telling her 'she looks just like you'. She waves him off and turns back to Gabi.

"Is is the first time it happens?" Falco asks.

"No," Levi answers, shrugging. A week ago, he'd be as disturbed as his friends are, but now he moved past disturbance to acceptance to delight. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"You aren't safe here," Falco, bless his young soul, looks genuinely worried, down to the deep crease on his forehead. "We should look for another apartment."

"Don't bother. I'm quite comfortable here."

Of course, he's comfortable. Hange is here with him, after all.

"But!" Gabi tries to protest, but Levi silences her with a raised palm.

"I'm not injured or unwell," he gestures on himself, as if to illustrate his point. "And, besides, it gives house some character, don't you think?"

"A very scary character," Onyakopon notes.

"Well," Levi almost smiles, hearing Hange's laughter behind his back. "The house is not very different from its master then."

His guests leave soon after, but not before Gabi and Falco make him swear to call them if anything 'more dangerous and scarier' happens.

As soon as they're out, Levi sits down in his favorite armchair. Hange flies over to him.

"So," she looks up at him, and the bright sparkle in her eyes, even though it is still a bit indistinct, sets his heart racing. "Have I convinced you that you're not going crazy?"

He wants to ask how, opens his mouth even, but then promptly shuts it closed. Of course, it is Hange. She knows his thoughts better than he does.

And if he had any doubts about her realness, they've disappeared right in that moment.

*** Hange is almost always next to him, hovering over his shoulder and constantly chatting into his ear. It almost feels like the good old days.

Although now he can't kick her leg whenever she starts teasing or rambling too much. His trademark glare has to be good enough, though.

He brings Hange books and introduces her to all kinds of new technology. She is beaming like a child at every new thing he shows her, and Levi's heart is so full of love for that weirdo, he's afraid it's going to burst.

Hange accompanies him on his strolls too, and his poker face has never put to trial more than during those moments, when Hange starts joking or fooling around, making him almost lose all of his composure.

He can't laugh or even berate her in public, and she knows it, goddamn. And uses it for her advantage, the asshole.

Levi gets his revenge when they're back at his house, refusing to give her new books until she swears to behave.

She swears every time, hand on her chest and all that. And she breaks that promise the very same day. Levi can't stay mad at her, though. He never could.

*** "You know, I thought you were a vengeful spirit at first," he shares with her one evening.

He sits in front of the fire, his legs outstretched to the source of warmth. Hange is laying on the floor, book hovering above her. She closes and turns to Levi.

"I could be," she says. "But, unfortunately, the people I'd like to haunt are long dead as well. Floch is gone, Eren is too..." Hange scoffs, shaking her head. "And I can't very well haunt every bloodthirsty soldier back in Paradise. Too much work for the old, frail me."

Levi lifts an eyebrow. "You don't look that old to me. Especially, when compering with me..."

"Oh, Levi," Hange rises and gets closer to him. She sits down on his lap, and Levi feels warmth spread through the skin of his cheek as Hange puts her hand on it. There is a smile on her lips, the one that Levi knows too well. The one that means that Hange is going to say something very, very stupid. She opens her mouth and proves him right once again. "I was always more attractive than you," Hange murmurs. "Nothing changed since my death."

He rolls his eye and laments that he can't flick her nose.

Hange is still smiling, and when she leans in, he can almost feel a ghost of a kiss on his lips. *** "Don't you ever feel regret?" Levi asks one day.

He is sitting in his wheelchair, looking at the bright setting sun from the small garden near his house.

Hange is on top of him, her long legs dangling from the wheelchair. As he speaks up, she turns to him, and the happy expression turns into something more thoughtful.

"Regret?" she repeats, frowning. "What can I ever regret?"

"This?" Levi gestures around. "I know, you're still here, but don't..." he frowns, struggling to find the right words. "Don't you wish for something more? For us to have a proper chance?"

Hange looks up at the sky, and for a moment she's quiet. Levi thinks if he should take his words back, change the subject completely but it's something that's been bugging him for a long time. He's happy, so happy, that Hange can still be with him. But there are moments when he wishes for... more. To be able to hold her hand and share meals with her, to walk with her through the streets without worrying that someone might think he's some drunkard or lunatic who talks to himself.

He knows it's selfish to even think about it, he already received so much more than he deserved, but isn't selfishness an inherent part of a human?

Sometimes, he just can't help but long for something more.

"I'm sure you know what a method of trial and error means," Hange begins, looking back at him. Her words confuse him, but before he can open his mouth, Hange shushes him and continues. "Remember those days at my lab? Nothing ever worked out, every experiment turned into an ever bigger disaster than the previous one, and I was so frustrated I wanted to crawl up the wall. But there was a certain beauty in it all - I tried, I failed, I tried again. Over and over, until something good came out. And, boy," she chuckles. "When something worked, it worked perfectly. And, maybe, all of this, all of us," she swiftly runs her fingertips through his brow and Levi shivers at the warm, gentle feeling that spreads down to his soul. "As a failed attempt. We tried, it didn't work," she pauses, and her eyes are bright, much brighter than the sun behind her. "We can try again."

Her words stir something inside, a long forgotten feeling of hope. But he still can't accept it so easily, the cynic in him fights to make himself known.

"But you're already dead," he protests.

"And that means this attempt has failed. Not as spectacularly as that time when my experiment blew up and burned Moblit's eyebrows, but... not a perfect success either. We can try again, though. We can say goodbye, walk from each other and then meet again, in some other place and time."

"And what if we fail again?"

"Then we try again. And again, and again, until we can get it right. And when we finally do, oh boy!" she exclaims, flailing her arms into the air. "Wouldn't that be spectacular?"

She laughs, so happy and free, and Levi wishes to gather her in his arms and never let go. All he can do right now, though, is circle his hands around her waist, imagining that he's holding her.

Just like always, he trusts Hange.

They will meet again, and, maybe, it will all fall apart in a disaster worse than this one. But they can try again. They can keep trying, until... forever.

And, perhaps, that's the true beauty of life.

#not me ignoring all of my wips to write another barely comprehensible oneshot #ghost hange though!#we need more ghost hange lmao #levihan #levihan fanfiction

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vanserraseris · 3 years ago

Note

END OF PART XV - Ok, so that is the final part (there will be an epilogue, but this is pretty much the end). Eris is not doing too well, just a warning that there is mentions of blood. Thank you to everyone who reads.

OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER TO GET THIS UP. and omgggg im so sad this is ending soon

Prince of Ashes. Part XV.

Eris jolted awake, lurching to a sitting position, nearly falling out of his bed as he tried to calm his breathing. It took him a moment to recognize that he was in his old rooms at The Forest House, not his cottage.

“Not real,” Eris spoke into his empty room, his eyes clenched shut, “Not real.” Eris hadn’t seen his brothers die, and it was on nights like these when he wished he had, if only to know that the dreams weren’t real.

In his dreams, his worst nightmares, Cato and Owain would beg Eris to save them and all he could do was watch as they met their end. The Mother must truly hate him, Eris thought, to torment him like that in his sleep.

Eris fisted his hands in the sheets, hating the quiet of the room and quickly lighting a fire only to fill the horrible silence. The flames danced, tiny embers popping off the logs and falling to the dark wood outside the fireplace. His room was still too quiet.

Eris took a deep breath as he tried to settle his nerves and almost tripped as he hurtled for the bathroom. Eris fell to his knees in front of the toilet, bracing himself over the porcelain bowl as he retched, glad that he’d once again forgotten to eat dinner as he coughed over and over again. Each time Eris took a breath, he could smell the blood on his hands. Owain had laughed at him once decades ago, claiming that Eris had a better nose than his hounds.

Eris curled his hands into fists at the memory, not wanting to think about his brother. Eris, upon his fathers orders, had spent the last two days torturing a rebel group that had formed a steady following in the past ten years. The smell of their blood, clinging to the pale skin of Eris’s knuckles and getting stuck under his nails, was making him dizzy.

He tried not to think about how much it bothered him to do those sorts of things, but at night, as soon as his head hit his pillows, his mind wouldn’t stop reeling. He could practically hear his father’s voice, knowing he’d call him weak, knowing his father would call him a horrible heir. His father’s voice often battled with that of his mother’s. Eris growled, pushing himself up off the floor, the iron scent of faerie blood lingering in his nostrils as he stumbled to the sink.

He reached for the bar of soap on the counter, trying again to wash the smell of blood from his hands. The honeysuckle scented soap did nothing but mask the smell of the blood, and he knew that he could wash them a hundred times that night and it still wouldn’t make anything better. Eris had washed his hands raw before he’d fallen onto his bed, completely exhausted. He hadn’t even bothered changing into sleeping clothes, had merely kicked off his boots and thrown his jacket onto a chair.

The smell of the blood was stronger as Eris splashed cool water onto his face and he fought his urge to gag once more.

Eris walked back into his bedroom, drying his hands with a small towel, but he paused when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Eris inched closer, dropping the towel onto the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he placed the palms of his hands on the smooth wooden surface. There were wild flames in his eyes, flaring uncontrollably in reds, oranges, and yellows.

Eris frowned, willing the fire to disappear. His frown deepened when nothing happened. “I’m in control,” Eris muttered. He tried picturing dying embers in his mind, just as his mother had taught him, but if it were possible, the flames seemed brighter. “I’m in control,” Eris repeated, his voice a low growl, the fingers of his one hand curling into a fist. Eris hadn’t struggled with taming his magic like this in over a century.

He was still looking in the mirror, at the sharp lines of his face, at the harsh line of his mouth, as he scowled. Eris thought he had never looked more like his father.

One moment, Eris had been standing still, the next, he’d moved as quick as a snake. He threw his fist forward with all his strength, the glass of the mirror cracking under the impact, his flaming eyes still visible in every shard. Eris punched the mirror again, small fragments of glass clinking against the floor.

The smell of faerie blood hadn’t really gotten any better, Eris realized, probably because it was still under his nails, in the lines of his palm, in the wrinkles on the knuckles of each finger.

A beastly snarl ripped from his throat as he grabbed the carved wooden frame of the mirror, ripping it off the dresser only to slam it against the floor. The glass finally fell from the frame, shattering, but Eris continued to hit the frame against the hardwood floor.

Eris was tired and angry and he didn’t want to see his own reflection, would have preferred if he never had to look in a mirror again. He broke the wood of the mirror, splinters littered around his bare feet along with the small pieces of glass. Eris threw what remained in his hands at the opposite wall, surprising himself when it turned into ash before it crashed against the stone. Eris ran a trembling hand through his long hair, his chest heaving with each breath.

He took a step back, leaning against the dresser before he slid to the floor, eyes clenched shut. “I’m in control,” he whispered, hoping the lie would become a reality.

Eris had always been aware of the little control he had in his life, but only very recently had he started feeling like a puppet with strings. Everything his father asked, Eris did, a cruel smile on his face all the while. Eris couldn’t even bear to look at his mother, didn’t want to face that kind of disappointment.

Eris breathed in from his nose slowly, opening his eyes as he reached for a larger shard of the mirror right by his hand. He angled it so he could see his face, and tightened his hold along the edges when he saw there were still flames in his eyes.

Blood leaked from where Eris gripped the sharp glass, dripping along his hand, down to his wrist, and onto the floor. He had hoped that perhaps the pain would anchor him, offer him some control on his magic, but it didn’t even hurt.

“Eris?”

Eris flinched, startled, dropping the bloodied shard and knocking the back of his head against the dresser with a loud thud. His mother had spoken so softly, he shouldn’t have jumped like that. He ran his uninjured hand through his hair, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

She ignored his question, pushing the heavy door to his room open and slipping inside, asking another question of her own. “What are you doing?”

Eris took a breath, “I’ve made a real mess of things.” He waved his bloodied hand in front of him, and the Lady of Autumn gasped, but Eris just continued speaking. “Just a horrible, horrible mess of things.”

“What happened?” Eris could hear the panic in his mother’s tone, but he just shrugged, shaking his head.

She walked towards him on silent bare feet, “Watch the glass,” Eris barked. He must have looked quite frightening with the flames in his eyes shining bright in the dark of the room.

She didn’t even pause, expertly stepping around the pieces of the mirror, before she sat down right beside him. Close, but not touching. Her russett eyes hadn’t stopped looking at his hand. “Oh, Eris,” she breathed, a slight tremor in her voice, “There’s glass in your knuckles.” Eris hadn’t noticed. When he lifted his other hand to brush the pieces away, his mother placed a hand on his arm. “Not like that,” she said a tad sharply.

Eris faced her, and while she might have been slightly horrified to see what he’d done to his hand, she reminded Eris of the female he remembered from his childhood. She lifted her chin, her mouth set in a firm line and her back straight. Even in her nightgown, her hair in a messy braid over her shoulder, she was a force to be reckoned with. “You’ll make it worse like that.” She reached past his head to grab the towel he’d thrown onto the dresser, “Give me your hand.”

Eris scowled, he was too old to be getting told what to do by his mother. She raised a brow at him and Eris scrunched his nose, doing as she said. With gentle fingers, she slowly pried all the pieces of glass from his hand, wincing when blood dripped from his knuckles. “Tell me what happened,” it wasn’t a request.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Eris mumbled, he definitely wasn’t going to tell her why, he didn’t want her to know what kept him up at night. “And then I couldn’t get the scent off.”

The Lady of Autumn lifted her son’s hand closer to her face, sniffing subtly, “What scent?”

Eris shook his head, refusing to answer. He didn’t know whether or not the High Lord had told his wife what his son had been spending much of his time doing as of late.

“I smell nothing but blood, Eris.” There was no judgement, no frustration, in her tone. She held his large hand in one of her much smaller ones, certain there was no more glass, as she pushed the towel against his knuckles.

“Me too,” Eris muttered, amber eyes following his mother’s every move. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to his mother for this long. He guessed that it must have been at Cato and Owain’s funeral. Eris hadn’t wanted to speak with her, not after he’d broken his oath to protect Lucien, not after he’d managed to fail at the only thing his mother had ever asked of him. Eris felt a burning behind his eyes and blinked a few times, taking a small breath.

His mother flipped his hand once his knuckles had mostly healed, but the deep cut he’d gotten from gripping onto the sharp shard of the mirror was still bleeding. It might even scar, Eris thought. The Lady of Autumn sighed, “I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours.”

Eris was glad she didn’t know what was going on in his head, thanked the cauldron that his mother was not a daemati. His head was a horrible place to be, especially lately, now that he felt overwhelmed with everything.

Lagos had tried apologizing countless times. Eris had kicked him out of his cottage, had pulled rank and ordered him not to return, but that hadn’t stopped him yet. Eris wondered how long he’d keep it up. Eris hadn’t tried talking to Micah, and he knew perfectly well that Micah wouldn’t come to him, that he’d let Eris make the first move always and that wouldn’t change. Widge always came to the cottage and sat with him as he worked; Eris couldn’t shake the feeling that he did so out of pity.

Not only that, but Cato and Owain’s deaths meant that Beron was pitting Maddox and Priam against him. Eris was almost certain they wanted to kill him just to prove to their father that they weren’t as worthless as he’d always thought they were. Rufus was still trying to convince Eris that gaining their father’s trust was an impossible goal, and Eris knew that his actions would eventually push Rufus away. And Lucien was gone, exiled to Spring, and he hated his oldest brother.

Eris clenched his jaw, staring fixedly at the flames flickering in the fireplace on the opposite side of the room.

His mother placed a hand on Eris’s chin, tilting his face so that he looked at her concerned gaze, “Tell me what troubles you.”

Eris could have died at the sob that escaped his lips. He felt a rush of shame, his cheeks heating, as his mother’s eyes filled with tears as well.

His mother hadn’t seen him cry since he was eighteen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d broken down like this, especially in front of somebody else. Many things troubled Eris, but he’d gotten very good at hiding behind sneers and scowls. Eris didn’t like following his father’s orders, Eris didn’t like smelling the blood on his hands, Eris didn’t like looking in the mirror.

Eris brought his uninjured hand to his face, covering his eyes with it as another sob fell from his mouth. He didn’t like the way his mother looked as if she saw into his soul, if she looked too close he feared she wouldn’t find one. Eris felt his mother wrap her arms around him, her hand going to the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry, Eris,” she whispered, “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Eris didn’t know why she was apologizing. He tried to shake his head, but his mother was still holding him tight.

“I never should have made you take that oath,” she spoke with her lips pressed to his hair. “I’m so sorry, Eris.”

Maybe she was right. That fucking vow had been the start of his downward spiral. Or maybe it hadn’t been. Maybe he’d been spiralling for centuries.

Eris didn’t say anything, he just ever so slowly wrapped his arms around his mother, his chin resting on her too-slim shoulder. Eris didn’t really like being held, hadn’t liked it as a child, but this wasn’t too bad.

He made a funny sounding whimper and bit his tongue to keep himself from doing it again.

“Eris, tell me what troubles you,” she repeated, her fingers pushing his hair over his shoulder as she moved back to look into his eyes. His mother lifted a hand to his face, gently wiping at the tears on his cheeks. “Please.”

Eris shook his head, he could not tell her what he was feeling, not really. His mother had enough to worry about.

He knew her thoughts were with Lucien, and if they weren’t, she was probably thinking about Cato and Owain. She didn’t need to spend any time thinking about what was troubling him, especially since Eris knew it would break her heart to know that he was unhappy.

“I’m alright,” Eris lied.

“Eris, please,” the Lady of Autumn tried again.

Eris took a deep breath.

He needed to become High Lord, to sit on the Autumn Court throne, and he would do just about anything to steal his father’s crown. Beron had raised a monster, and it would come back to ruin him. He was the Tamer of Flames, the Heir of Autumn, the Prince of Ashes. He was not broken, and he would not break.

So Eris just flashed his mother an empty smile, the iron scent of blood still burning through his nose as he spoke.

“I’m just tired.”

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