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seasidesandstarscapes · 7 months ago

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Holiday Spirit

Summary: Don's just fine with his friendship with Bobby despite his yearning. Then he gets a couple of texts that definitely weren't meant for him.

Things can only get better from here.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Modern AU, Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Pics, Holiday Theme (in the bg)

Words: 2526

A/N: for @b00ks1ut !! mery chrysler

AO3

Don should be used to this by now.

The bitter Seattle winter rolls in and he still doesn’t dress right for the first practice in an ice storm. His hands are numb, his hair is clumped in frozen chunks, and the thought of warming up is the only solace getting him through this.

That and Bobby.

Bobby is a shivering mess in front of him, not even allowed the grace of rowing to keep warm. But his eyes shine, his yells through the mic don’t falter. Don can’t help but admire his spirit and he lets his breath warm the cold air when Bobby smiles at him.

“On my go-ahead, Hume, baby.”

Don brings up the pace with ease at Bobby’s command, face flushed at the pet-name, the praise that follows after. Despite the pelting ice, the boys break their record from the day before and the cold air is a comfort as the fire burns low in Don’s chest.

He’s not sure why he keeps denying himself year after year. Bobby is a gentleman. If he doesn’t feel the same, their friendship will continue on like always. Yet. Don has settled into his longing, an old friend he’s not quite ready to get rid of yet.

“Can you come over for dinner?” Don asks as they change in the locker room.

Bobby’s smile is strained and he shakes his head. “Got other plans. But rain check?”

Don nods, curious to what could be so important for Bobby to not jump at the chance to hang out. Then again, the holidays are in full blast. Bobby is on every committee imaginable, planning multiple parties. The fact that they ever see each other at all during December is a miracle within itself.

So, Don ends up in his shared apartment with Chuck, the two playing video games as the night wears on.

“This gonna be the year?” Chuck asks, eyes glued to the screen.

“What do you mean?” Don’s focus wavers. He knows, but still he has to ask.

Chuck laughs a little, manages to score on Don in his moment of distraction. “Telling Bobby you want to date him, man. I don’t know why you keep putting it off.”

Don scowls as he mashes the buttons on his controller. Chuck had the upper hand and his usual combinations aren’t working.

“Look,” Chuck pauses the game and Don is left to stare at the stilted screen. “I know Bobby likes you. He hasn’t said it out loud, but the way he looks at you…the fact that he always makes time for you? That counts for a lot.”

Don hums in response, looks down at his hands. He can’t explain his indifference. He loves Bobby, desperately so, but he’s come to accept that they’ll just continue on like they always have. And that’s more than fine with him. They cuddle, he lets Bobby steal more than a few sweaters, and as far as friendship goes, Don has been truly lucky. Bobby knows him inside out, he’s the one person Don can confide in for everything.

Except this one glaring point.

Chuck sighs, defeated, and gets up to go to the kitchen. Don isn’t sure what to say, but it doesn’t matter as his phone pings and he sees a couple of messages from Bobby come in. Don is quick to open up his phone and ends up almost choking.

Bobby has sent a picture of himself lying on his bed. He’s on his stomach, the angle just enough to catch that Bobby isn’t wearing anything except red panties. The text underneath is even more teasing.

Wanna come over and open your gift?

Don’s eyes go wide and he grips onto his phone for dear life. This can’t be real, this is all a dream and then the onslaught occurs.

SHIT I’M SO SORRY DELETE FUCK

A part of Don wants to laugh. He’s been terrified of making the same mistake and it’s a bit of a relief that Bobby did it first.

“What’s got you all wired up?” Chuck asks as he comes back to the living room.

Don tries to think of a response but then his phone rings. With a shrug, Don all but sprints to the sanctuary of his bedroom, making sure the door is shut before answering.

“Don, I’m so sorry,” Bobby is breathless. “Just forget about what you saw. That was meant for someone else.”

“It’s alright,” Don smiles. There is an ache in his heart but he ignores it. “Totally forgotten. Won’t tell a soul.”

Bobby takes a few breaths and there’s a thump as if he’s fallen onto his bed. “Thanks. Must’ve been our shitty practice fucking up my fingers.”

“Shitty? I thought we did alright,” Don jokes and this makes Bobby laugh.

“Yeah, of course you did. You guys are amazing.”

Don’s chest warms and he leans back against his door. “So, you getting some tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby sighs. “Kinda don’t want to send her the pic after all this.”

“Do it anyway. You looked cute.”

Don’s stomach drops as he realizes what just left his mouth. He stammers through an excuse but his mouth and brain refuse to work together.

“Hot—I mean, for her. I’m sure she thinks you’re great just like I do.”

Don slaps a hand over his face and slides down to the ground. He’s a walking disaster. The silence on the other end is deafening and Don’s panic rises to his chest.

“Are you at home?” Bobby asks at last.

“Yeah?” Don’s voice shakes as if he’s answered wrong question.

“Then get your ass over here.”

Don stares at his phone, making sure he’s still talking to Bobby and not some spam robot.

“Hume, swear to god, if you don’t come and fuck me right now, we’re no longer friends.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Don scrambles to his feet.

He’s a flurry as he shoves on his shoes and grabs his keys. All that runs through his head is Bobby. They’re about to do something ridiculous, he’s sure, but that makes it all the more exciting.

“Have fun,” Chuck calls from the living room with a shit-eating grin.

In response, Don flips him off before skidding out to his car. The roads are clear tonight, but Don still tries to keep his head on. He doesn’t need this to be his last moment on Earth.

When he reaches Bobby’s apartment, he digs out the spare key from its hiding place and enters into a dark room. There’s a sliver of light down the hall, beckoning, but now, Don’s nerves act up. Taking a deep breath, he toes off his shoes, makes his way to Bobby’s bedroom with quiet steps.

When he pushes open the door, the sight before him is all he could have wished for.

Bobby is scrolling through his phone, lying as he was in the picture and still dressed in nothing but that single piece of clothing. Don doesn’t know what he wants to do first as he soaks in the scene before him.

“Creep,” Bobby teases before looking over his shoulder at Don. “Are you just gonna stare or do something about this?”

It’s all the permission Don needs and he strides over to the bed, climbing on to hover over Bobby. On his back now, Bobby wraps his arms around Don’s shoulders, a soft smile on his face.

“Finally came around, huh?”

Don blinks, tilts his head.

“Fuck, Don,” Bobby laughs. “I was waiting for you to say something first. Do you know how hard these past few years have been?”

Elation and regret swarm through Don as he gives Bobby a small, apologetic smile. He was happy as they were, but knowing what he can have, what they can be, it’s overwhelming.

Don kisses Bobby, hopes this says what he needs for now.

Bobby is a tidal wave, crashing into Don and stealing the last of his breath. Their mouths move in tandem, Bobby’s hands knead into his shoulders. Don is drowning in Bobby and he couldn’t ask for anything more. His hands trace along Bobby’s sides until he grabs at his waist, squeezing.

The gasp that leaves Bobby stirs the embers and Don trails his mouth down, biting at Bobby’s neck and then at his chest. He needs to leave his mark, to know that this is real.

Bobby arches into Don’s touch, fingers tangling in his hair. The little tugs send sparks along Don’s spine and he grazes his teeth over Bobby’s nipples.

“Fuck, knew you’d be good,” Bobby sighs, head tipped back.

Amused, Don bites a nipple, just on the edge of too much and Bobby groans. Just hearing it once is not enough. Don teases the other nipple, reaches to rub Bobby through the panties. They’re lace, hardly hiding a thing at all and Don presses his palm down.

“Donny,” Bobby whines, his hands yanking at Don’s hair.

With a low moan, Don kisses down Bobby’s stomach until he has his mouth on the outline of Bobby’s cock. He teases as Bobby writhes on the bed and then slowly pulls off the panties.

Don swallows then. Bobby’s cock is red, weeping as it rests on his stomach but more than that is the green jeweled end of a plug he sees at Bobby’s hole.

“Was she going to peg you?” He can’t help but ask

Bobby snorts, gives Don a playful kick with his foot. “That was the plan until you came along.”

A streak of possession fills Don and he grabs Bobby’s cock, sucking at the head.

Bobby goes speechless then, mouth dropping open, eyes shut tight. Don grins a little before taking more of Bobby in his mouth, his other hand trailing to the plug. Fitting as much of Bobby as he can, Don holds Bobby there before giving the plug a small tug.

The whine that leaves Bobby sends a shiver down Don’s spine and he fiddles with the plug some more. He pulls it out to the part that’s widest, mouths along Bobby’s length as Bobby shakes and spasms.

“Don’t tease, baby,” Bobby begs. “I’m ready for you. I’m so ready.”

Biting his lip, Don shoves the plug back in, loses his breath at Bobby’s stuttered groan. His own cock is straining in his jeans and Don leans back to free himself. Disheveled and glowing, Bobby is a dream sprawled out on the bed. Not a part of him is hidden and Don struggles to get his jeans undone.

“Let me,” Bobby sits up and shuffles forward.

He does what Don can’t, slides the zipper down with a steady hand. Tugging Don’s jeans and boxers to his thighs, Bobby then takes Don in his hand, gives his cock a light stroke.

Don’s body is awash with pleasure and he bucks into Bobby’s hand. Just this alone would be enough.

“Come on, Donny,” Bobby lays back down. “Fill me up.”

Don doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes the plug out of Bobby, his thumb catching the rim to stretch him a little more. He can’t look away, never wants to as he watches Bobby’s hole clench and pulse around nothing.

“Don,” Bobby whines.

Eager doesn’t begin to cut it and Don is quick to find condoms and lube so conveniently on the bedside table. He’ll make a joke about it later but for now, he preps himself before lining his cock up with Bobby’s hole.

“Just put it all in,” Bobby buries his face in his pillow. “I’m good.”

Don believes him but he still pushes in at an agonizing pace. For Bobby at any rate. Bobby cusses Don out, tries to push his hips down to make him go faster, but Don holds him in his place. If he doesn’t take it slow, he’ll come in an instant.

When he’s fully sheathed inside Bobby, Don’s head spins. So tight and warm, Don knows he won’t want anyone else on his cock after this.

“Please, please,” Bobby pitifully begs, his hands twisting in his pillows.

Breathing in, Don grabs hold of Bobby’s hips and starts fucking Bobby at a harsh pace. The bed moves with him, Bobby sliding back and forth on Don’s cock, the headboard thunking against the wall.

Bobby cries out Don’s name, swears and praises him in the same breath. He’s breathtaking like this and Don pulls Bobby up into his lap. With a quick adjustment, Bobby throws his arms around Don, buries his face in his neck as Don snaps his hips up into him.

“Don, Don,” Bobby begins to repeat, as if he’s praying.

Don would be Bobby’s deity if he could, and he crushes him in a tight grip, his release building as they move together. Bobby comes first with a sob, cum splattering both of them, rubbing into their skin as Don keeps his hips going. From Bobby biting along the shell of his ear, to the tight heat around his cock, Don can no longer hold back.

He slams into Bobby with a groan, savors the digging of nails into his back. He’s in their own personal heaven and he doesn’t want to leave so soon.

Bobby is the one to pull back first. The room is quiet, a fragile stillness that could be broken with a single breath. It’s then Bobby looks into Don’s eyes and his stare is pensive, soft.

“This isn’t just a one time thing, right?”

Don swallows, brushes a stray piece of hair away from Bobby’s face. “Not if you’ll have me.”

Bobby laughs a little at this before kissing Don’s cheek. “Such a gentleman. Of course I’ll have you. Any way I can.”

Don’s heart beats steadily in his chest and he hugs Bobby again. If it was possible he’d never let go.

“So, you meeting my folks over winter break?”

Don rolls his eyes with an amused huff. “They already know who I am, Bob.”

“Yeah but this time you’re my boyfriend,” Bobby grins.

Heat rises to Don’s cheeks and he ducks his head, trying to hide his shy smile. It’s all really happening. One minute friends, the next, lovers. Some kind of holiday miracle must be at work.

Don’s coyness only encourages Bobby and he brings Don into another passionate kiss.

“Alright, I’ll see what my parents have planned,” Don says when their kiss ends.

“Perfect,” Bobby whispers against his lips. Then he all but scrambles off of Don. “Come on, let’s shower. I’m feeling gross.”

Don’s wrist is snatched before he can say a thing and he’s dragged into the bathroom. One shower and the changing of sheets later, Don is settled against the headboard with Bobby cuddling into him. At their feet sits a laptop, playing a Christmas movie neither are paying attention to.

With a glance at the window, Don can see a few snowflakes beginning to fall, so stark and brilliant against the dark night. Don smiles to himself and pulls Bobby even closer, placing a kiss on top of his head.

He’s certainly going to have more than enough to keep him warm this winter.

#coxstroke #bobby moch #don hume #bobby moch x don hume #don hume x bobby moch #salix's sideblog escapades #b00ks1ut

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fishfingerpies · 6 months ago

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Chapter 7 fic snippet

Just working on editing Chapter 7 of my fic Follow the Sun, thought I would post a little snippet of one of my favourite parts of it. Think this might be my favourite chapter of the fic so far :D

“It’s my fault,” he eventually manages, pushing the words past his lips like he’s tearing strips from his own skin. “I ruined it.”

George doesn’t so much as blink, though he does finally raise his dark gaze from the table to meet Paul’s. He remains silent, waiting.

“Me and John,” he stumbles on. “Why we’re not getting on. It’s ruined everything, and it’s my fault.” George’s eyes break away, dropping down again to watch his fingertips again, now tracing the patterns of the wood grains in the table. A muscle flexes in his jaw, face contorting a little as he burrows his teeth subtly into the flesh of his inner cheek. It’s been a long time since Paul has paid as much attention to George’s idiosyncrasies as he is now, but he recognizes just as easily as he once would have that he is furious, and the ball of anxiety in his stomach squeezes a little tighter. “What?”

There’s a pause, and Paul can feel the energy of the room twisting, shifting as George decides what to say. George’s deliberations usually end the same way – with him remaining stoic and cold, an emotionless façade hiding what Paul has recently realized is a growing resentment inside. He doesn’t feel ready to face George’s anger, but today, for the first time, he feels that indifference would be even more unbearable, so he presses where he normally wouldn’t. “Just say it, George.”

George’s hands flatten down against the table hard enough to rattle it as he shoves himself to his feet. “Christ, fuck you! Are you even capable of thinking of something other than yourself? Ever?” His tone is so uncharacteristically scathing that Paul can’t help but to flinch. George often speaks bluntly, shortly, snappishly, even, but never with such red hot rage as is rushing out of him now.

“Of course I –” George doesn’t let him defend himself, cutting him off before he can even begin his indignant denial.

“Oh, you love to think that you’re this bloody martyr, that you make all the sacrifices for everyone else, don’t you? You know what I see?”

“I have the feeling that you’re going to tell me.”

“An egotistical, greedy, self-absorbed prick who is completely incapable of understanding anything outside of his own restricted little worldview. That’s what I see.”

Paul is reeling, almost numb with the shock of the sudden confrontation that he’s somehow brought on. George pauses for a breath, and Paul should say something, he needs to say something, but he finds himself speechless at the worst possible time.

“It hasn’t even occurred to you, has it, that this isn’t all about you? Not all about you and John, for once?”

But he told me that he was in love with me, Paul thinks, desperate. And I ruined it.

“You’re just thinking about how wrong I am, aren’t you?” George snarls, somehow only growing angrier. “I’m fucking yelling at you and you still aren’t listening!”

Paul blinks, looks at him.

And oh. He’s right.

“You still can’t look far enough past yourself and John for even one second to see me standing right here, can you Paul?” George shakes his head slowly. The anger drops away and he just looks empty. “You never have been able to. Not since the day you met him.”

Paul feels like a gaping pit has opened up in his stomach. For one dizzying instant, anger rushes in to fill the space and he rises too, shoving his chair back so violently that it falls to the floor with a clatter. As he opens his mouth to snarl back, something hurtful and scathing, intended to make George feel small, his eyes snag on the twist of his mouth and a stray thought catches him, sends him staggering. George isn’t only mad, he’s hurt.

Paul takes a deep breath, steadies himself. Gathers his thoughts. “I’m – sorry, George. I’m listening now.”

#the beatles #ao3 fanfic #mclennon #fic writing

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vivrantth1ng · 6 months ago

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She Speaks Through Dreams

In one moment, I am submerged in a tranquil abyss of sleep, where thoughts do not stir and peace envelops every corner of my being. The next, I find myself hovering outside the shell of my own body, a distant observer to the silent convulsions of my heart—a heart that aches with wonder, yet stumbles blindly in its pursuit of clarity.

Our journey begins in a mountain town conjured from the ephemeral substance of dreams. The landscape is an illusion of perfection, a glittering facade that shimmers with an unnatural beauty. It is a place where every desire is catered to, yet beneath its surface, the seeds of division are already taking root. Though we travel together, he is conspicuously absent from my side. My gaze wanders, catching sight of a creature in the distance—a grotesque contradiction, a distortion of nature. Its form is tall, almost human, yet cloaked in fur the color of dying autumn leaves. Its legs are those of a man, strong and purposeful, but its hands end in claws, sharp and menacing. I name it a wolverine, though it is far more than that—a harbinger of the future, a thing deceptively soft yet capable of rending me to pieces in a heartbeat.

As the group fractures and splinters, my thoughts remain tethered to you. Initially, they are innocuous, drifting through mundane imaginings of your day. But as time stretches and your absence grows heavier, those thoughts begin to shift, taking on a more sinister hue. My consciousness, ever vigilant, forces me to confront the true nature of this dream—an unspoken dread, a reflection of the anxieties that coil around the fragile bond we share.

The memory of our recent conversation lingers like a shadow, its edges sharp and unresolved. You offered me a glimpse into the labyrinth of your thoughts, yet I know it was only that—a glimpse, a fraction of the truth. Even in your absence, your presence is inescapable, haunting both my dreams and waking life. A cold certainty settles over me—you have gone to her, with no regard for the wounds you leave behind. How could you be so indifferent, knowing the depth of my feelings? I wrestle with the ambiguity of it all—fact or fiction, fear or reality? Yet I cling to your words, your reassurances that you need time, that this other relationship is fleeting, inconsequential. But how can something so trivial overshadow the weight of our history?

Our history, to me, is not a burden but a testament—a narrative forged through the trials of life. We have endured death, grief, distance, trauma, and the slow, painful process of healing, only to emerge and find one another time and again. Isn’t there something profound in that? If you were not the right person, wouldn’t it have been easier to walk away during any one of these trials? Yet here we stand, our connection resilient, though frayed at the edges.

The dream warps and shifts, and I never see you return. The landscape transforms into a world steeped in ancient mythology, where the lines between reality and fantasy blur. A woman, faceless and eternal, writhes in agony on the cabin floor, the act of birth rendered in blood and whispers. Symbols emerge on her stomach, carved by an unseen hand—four sigils, two lines, all traced in crimson. My heart sinks with the weight of unspoken dread. These are the fears I have tried to bury, now laid bare before me. My anxieties, once abstract, have taken on a physical form, their reality undeniable.

What should I do with this knowledge? Should I rage against the betrayal, sever all ties, erase you from the narrative of my life? But no anger comes. Instead, I feel a detachment, a numbness as I leave the woman and her bloody prophecy behind. The scene shifts once more, this time to a dinner with a woman whose life I once watched from afar, who endured her own trials. Perhaps she is a motherly figure, or perhaps she is a reflection of my own psyche, a manifestation of the strength I seek within myself.

The only moment that lingers is when I embrace her, whispering words of solace, “I am proud of you.”

And in that moment, the meaning crystallizes—no matter the outcome, no matter the fears that gnaw at the edges of my mind, I have done all I can. And it will be enough. This dream is a lesson in relinquishing the illusion of control, in accepting that life’s currents cannot be mastered, only navigated with grace.

#writing #poems and poetry #lyrical prose

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shitpostingiris · 2 years ago

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The last time

Part 2

Warnings-angst, loose mentions of Suicide, dark(ish)dream,

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Y/n sat in her bathtub letting the shower run above her. The scalding hot water soaking through her clothes. The salty tears that ran down her red face mixing with the freshwater that rained down on her. She replayed everything in her mind as she sobbed quietly alone.

The last time she saw the man who ruined her. His words bit into her leaving a never closing wound on her soul. A man who possessed her entire being for the last few years. A man who she loved more than life itself. A man who she killed for. A man…no a being who was now her end.

Y/n remembered how Dream treated her like a queen the first years they spent together. His kind words and soft touches. Slowly disappeared into nothing but bitter words and cold behavior as the years passed. Y/n knew now she should’ve taken everyone’s warnings about him to heart. If only she could go back in time to warn herself. To be able to spare her from this hurt. She knew how quickly she fell in love with morpheus wasn’t normal. The word Love couldn’t come close to really describing how y/n felt for him. He possessed her entire being, she did and would do anything for him. He owned her truly and he knew that.

Y/n remembered the last conversation she had with the endless. She remembered how cold the marble floors were on her clad skin as she kneeled below dream. Tears falling so fast It was as if a dam had finally broken. Letting all the unshed tears it had blocked, building up as the years passed finally fall.

She remembered every word he spoke to her that night hanging onto them as if they were scripture. His smooth cold monotone voice never letting an ounce of emotion seep through as kneeled and took her face into his hands “I’m sorry your first heartbreak was from someone who was supposed to love you the most. You deserved to feel love as soon as you came to this earth. I’m sorry that you people who were supposed to take care of you couldn’t love you in the way you needed. I’m sorry that everyone you’ve ever loved has hurt you. I’m sorry that you find it hard to love knowing it always ends in heartbreak, but I hope one day you are loved the way you deserve to be and I hope you can love yourself like that too. And I am sorry that person isn’t me y/n. I’m sorry I hurt you again but this is always how it ends for you and me.” His voice almost sounded mocking as he spoke Maybe to y/n's imagination. Y/n died that night maybe not truly, but she might as well have.

Y/n couldn’t do anything but mull over that one quote he spoke to her. One he often said to her those last few months. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you again’ Y/n often wrote poetry and quotes. Her writing was fueled by dream. The words flowed beautifully as they were transcribed from her mind to paper.

Y/n's last piece of poetry she wrote shot through many people's hearts once they read it. Written in beautiful chillography and red ink on teardrop stained paper. Written in a journal gifted to her by Morpheus himself. A man she once called her lover, her soulmate. Now that version of him was only a distant memory.

He says:

I’m sorry I hurt you again

And I say:

let me collapse at your feet, let my body fold around you, let my legs go numb enough that I may understand how your heart feels

He looks at me with what I can only describe as indifference and I look at him with what can only be called worship.

And I think how nice it must feel to be loved. How nice it must feel to be him

Death visited y/n that night in the shower. The running water stained a light red as it was washed down the drain. Y/n couldn’t help as relief washed over her in seeing death. Their eyes spoke a thousand unspoken words and their hands clasped together. The only sound heard in the quiet room was the sound of deaths wings as y/n left the living plane.

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As always feed back will always be appreciated!

These quotes are not my own! found them on google when writing this

@nebulosa-reina

#dream #dream fic #dream x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman #sandman fic #sandman x reader #tom sturridge

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margaretbjorgman-blog · 3 years ago

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there’s an emptiness inside of her, hollow and dark, a wave of emotions she’d been riding out for the past few weeks. completely fine one moment and an absolute wreck the next. it’s as if that perfect crystal cage of fantasy has shattered beneath her, leaving her blooded and bruised. cuts so deep that leave her to wonder how its even worthwhile? fragments of a sunny disposition and endless optimism lay scattered, she’s stuck between wanting to believe the heartbreak was worth it and letting that void envelop her. would it be easier to grow cold and indifferent? she’s seen that look in others, the loneliness behind their eyes and how they shield themselves from feeling anything remotely genuine. it’s sad but more than anything, it’s safe. despite never being one to take risks, this was the one time safiya stepped onto the ledge, letting herself jump over and risk whatever it was that came with her ill fated decision. one that wasn’t suppose to end the way it did.

perhaps it was the way it happened. the lack of explanation or reasoning that completely blindsided her. one day they were fine, the next they were done. all but a simple “this isn’t working out” as he left her standing there, alone as she watched him through tears fade into the horizon, trying to process what had just happened. yet it wasn’t necessarily the lack of reasoning that caused her to shut out the world, it was the search for an explanation that caused her to fade into the background. how she had tried to call and text, only to be left on read; how bitter and ruthless his words were when she pleaded for something more, anything to make sense. desperate and childish, pathetic and delusional. his words had made her feel so insignificantly small, a cruelness that echoed in her mind every time she closed her eyes

she doesn’t remember much after that. a haze taking over as he twisted the knife into her chest and watched her run away. the first few days were spent locked in her room crying, the next few just idly wandering around the house. it took a week for her to go out again, a facade of sunshine and warmth taking over as inside she felt absolutely numb. the mess she’d gotten herself tangled into being one she knew she couldn’t tell anyone about, not without risking any type of repercussion. so she carried it, silently with her as she’d constantly stop herself from bursting into tears. life returning to normal as days turned to weeks or at least, almost. the one place safiya couldn’t bring herself to step into was her finance class. she couldn’t see him, there was no way she could sit at her desk and watch him give a lesson to the rest of the class when all she wanted to do was scream.

an absence she was sure no one would notice until perhaps the most unlikely person did. danilo’s calls and text remained unanswered at first, it wasn’t hard to ignore him after all. except he was persistent and upon the mention of failing the course, safiya knew she had to sleep on the bed she made. she could ignore him forever and put her scholarship in jeopardy or cautiously take the help danilo was offering to help her get back on track. which, as much as safiya didn’t want to step foot into that classroom again, her studies were still a very important priority. she wasn’t about to lose a full-ride scholarship because of a man, no matter how stupid or broken she felt because of it.

as much as she didn’t want to take him up on his invitation to meet him at the restaurant, her options felt limited and she knew she’d soon run out of time to the point of no return if she wanted to pass finance. so she found herself in the back of the restaurant, sitting in a corner as she watched the rest of the world pass her by. laughter and voices ringing in her ears as they went on with their life as safiya felt like an absolute ghost. gaze empty as she focused on looking out at the window aimlessly, leg bouncing underneath her as tried to calm her nerves. she didn’t want to be there and with every second that passed, it only made the desire to get up and leave even greater. so what if she failed? what if she lost her scholarship? at least she’d never have to see the professor or danilo ever again. ( @conscientes )

he’s been turning at night. cream silk sheets lie tangled by his feet, on the floor. the black fur of a doberman shimmers against the moon’s light as she curls by the bed’s side– it must know something he ignores or perhaps avoids, because there’s the whisper of a name on his lips as he wakes and the taste of it he tries to wash away with water splashed on his face.

his hand lingers by the plate’s side on the breakfast table. it fidgets with an unused silver fork and then reaches for a phone, for a text interaction he’s read far too many times in an app he doesn’t like but has to deal with anyways because of united states’ stubborn attachment. a sound leaves his mouth, one that can be classified as both a grunt and a sigh as his finger scrolls up and she refuses to respond. a finger stabs at the ‘lock’ bottom as if he could trick a security camera from catching the action. as if he could trick his brain into forgetting it even happened. he stares into a ceramic cup of espresso, beating it to a staring contest and jumps when his phone buzzes against the wooden table.

there’s a meditation technique that helps him sleep when a black mist plagues his thoughts. you’re supposed to keep your eyes closed as you begin with twin deep breaths and when you’re ready, you’re to imagine sunshine in a solid-esque form, one that can be absorbed into the skin on your toes and travel smoothly through your veins, up your legs and towards your head as it warms and settles a restless self. danilo can compare his particular predicament to it, but rather than sunlight being invited, it feels like a violation. his entire being can feel it but it escapes him for lack of a name, a label. it feels off, wrong; his mind rejects it with a strong “STOP” as it runs a finger down his stream of thought, his body attempts to expose it through finger tapping and neck cracking. it doesn’t feel like sunshine, it’s not warm though the origin of it somehow is. this thing, unfamiliar and almost spun by the moirai, it itches.

“the bristol, 7pm”

he was begging at that point, though he could not even question himself as to why. why, why why. somehow it’s always been about the very much unanswered ‘why’ with her. maybe he just likes the mystery of it all... though probably he just doesn’t like the buried answer. paper brushes against his fingertip as it slides down a page and edges a paper cut. his eyes scan the words printed on quality paper, his other hand holds the book open and taps its fingers against a black paperback cover. words are taken in, however remain unprocessed and danilo finds himself reading the same paragraph twice and then yet another time as his mind keeps wondering about the hour displayed on his watch. an ignorant spectator would mistakingly call him giddy, if they could feel the gaping void in the bottom of his stomach, they would know better. the time comes for him to grab the keys from the tall and slim table by his front door. when he takes a seat on the driver’s seat of his silver car, he lets out a sigh.

he’s known about this whole mess for a while now. he’s teased about it like a bored child, stuck in the back of a car for an hours-long roadtrip. holding it up in her face just to see how fast she’ll blush, how bright. such a precious contradiction she portrayed with her white dress and her mother’s bright red lipstick hidden in her purse. time and time again he wondered just for how long she’d be able to walk by the line that marked the division of two very different personas. he must’ve placed bets with the universe itself at least once or twice on exactly which side would prevail. with her ghostly silence, one could easily guess which way the air blew her to once the storm came. universe must be having a laugh now, it didn’t exactly please him. it’s still a guess, but one he acts on with foolish confidence. his plan as hasty as it is thoughtful.

danilo walks through the front door. his smile is polite as it nods to the hostess. he’s not been here too many times but the people that have paid bills of a certain amount have a way of being remembered in places like these. she nods towards a table in a corner and though she offers to guide him to it, he waves off the attempt with practiced charm. it’s not hard to spot her, in the sulking corner with a bouncing leg. the sight of it is bittersweet, though it lifts the corner of his mouth for a second as he wonders if she’d be able to recognize his own signs of unease. as he takes a seat, danilo clears his throat for a second– it’s been some time since he last used his voice in the day. there’s no need for senseless greetings, she probably wouldn’t care for one in her current state.

“didn’t think you’d be early”, his shoulders give a shrug as they settle into his new surroundings, the knowledge of what’s to come adding force to gravity. any time now, too late to back down.

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after-witch · 4 years ago

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Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Emotional Loan [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t be this nervous about telling your boyfriend that you want to transfer to a college out of state. Ransom is nothing if not generous with you--so why is your stomach in knots?

Word Count: 3144

notes: yandere, sexism, emotional abuse

You shouldn’t be this nervous. Really. Ransom has been nothing but generous with you, and in turn you’ve been patient--maybe too patient, maybe too forgiving, sometimes--with him. It’s only fair that he extends that patience to you, especially with something as serious, as important, as your future.

So why does the thought of telling him about your plan to switch to a new college make you feel like you’re going to throw up?

You puff out your cheeks and stretch your arms across the breakfast table, leaning down and wishing you could ask someone else to tell him in person. But the thought is ridiculous, and you push it away in favor of rehearsing what you’re going to say for the millionth time since you made up your mind.

You will tell him about the need to change your degree if you want to ever be in the contending for a museum curator position in the future. You will tell him about the fact that the best place to get this specific degree, the one that will put you right in the open arms of the internship that leads to your dream curator field, is in California. You will tell him about the apartments you’ve already inspected. You will tell him about the fact that he can visit anytime, that you will visit him, that you can text and video call and vacation together. You will tell him that you love him and you want to make this work.

You will tell him all these things… and yet. Yet while you can rehearse the words, rehearse how you’ll push your printed out papers showing exactly what you need to do and why towards him so he can see you’re telling the exact truth, you can’t rehearse how Ransom will react. You try to imagine, but all that comes up is a blurry, grey blank.

Is he going to freak out? Get pissed? Or worse--not care at all? Maybe you’ve overestimated how much Ransom has invested in this relationship. Maybe he’d rather cut you loose than deal with a long distance relationship. Maybe the second you mention that you’ll be moving to California, he’ll be mentally checking a list for someone local to hook up with the minute you’re gone.

You’re not sure which reaction would scare you more.

But you don’t have much time to think about it, because you hear him padding down the stairs, hear the din of some video he’s still watching, probably whatever he put on while he was in the shower. You can’t bear to look up, and you thumb aimlessly, nervously around your phone’s apps while you listen to the sound of him scraping the eggs and bacon you’d cooked onto a plate.

He plops down in the seat across from you and you glance up. He catches your eye and gives a tight-lipped, tired smile. He was out late. But he’d texted you about staying out late earlier in the evening, so you didn’t feel you had the right to be mad--that’s the condition you’d given him, after all, when he’d accused you of being controlling. When he’d called you a nag and accused you of being jealous of other women, women he had no feelings for.

“I just want to know when you’re going to be out late so I don’t stay up half the night thinking you’re dead somewhere.” And so he did--let you know--and you swallowed down your feelings of suspicion at his late night adventures.

Maybe… maybe this is a bad time to tell him. Maybe you should wait for a day when he’s had more sleep. Maybe you should run your thoughts by someone else, get a second opinion. You’re focusing on the table, on the light from the phone screen, anything to avoid looking up and starting the dreaded conversation.

“What’re those papers for, babe?”

Shit.

Your hands tremble just a bit when you set the phone down, and the way it vibrates against the table mimics the way your stomach feels right now. You suck in a breath and look up, but you can’t make eye contact just yet and you push the words out, stumbling and breathy and rapid, without stopping to breathe until you’ve said your peace.

“Ransom this is really hard for me but we need to talk about something and I don’t want you to be mad but I need to change schools if I’m ever going to get a shot at a curator position and the best school for this is in California and I know it’s going to be hard but I love you--I love you and we can make long distance work if you want and if you don’t want well--well I don’t know what I’ll do then but I just wanted to let you know now because I’ve got to turn in my application next week and please please try to see this from my point of view because it’s all I’ve ever wanted and you know that.”

You take a shaky breath and hold your hands together on top of the table, clasped and shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. You look up at Ransom with trepidation, hoping that he’s not mad--or indifferent.

But he’s neither. He simply looks… confused.

He simply stares at you for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face as he processes all of the words that just came rapid-fire out of your mouth.

“California?” Is all he says, finally.

You take the opportunity to push the stack of printed papers towards him. “These are… it’s… well, emails from people in the industry, some important articles about getting positions at museums. About where you have to go. Oh, there’s apartment listings there, too.” You even printed out detailed information about the qualifications for acceptance, and put them in a neat little table next to your own academic and experience record. You were a shoo-in, and you didn’t feel the need to be humble about it.

He grabs the stack and starts thumbing through, not saying another word as he seemingly thoroughly reads everything you’ve printed out. Your stomach feel like floating lead, heavy and flipping. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling, and he’s not giving you anything but a concentrated look at he looks through the statements, the listings, the plan you’ve outlined so neatly.

He finally sets the stack back down and simply stares at it for a few moments. Taking it in. Taking his thoughts in. Finally, Ransom looks up at you and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t look mad. He looks--and you hate it--disappointed, sad even.

“Look…” He sighs, eyebrows lifting as his gaze drifts away before settling back on you. “I’m not going to lie and pretend I’m okay with this. I’m not. Jesus, babe. California? Four years?”

“It’s no--” you interrupt, but he holds up his hand and you stop.

“But. But, but,” he lightly pounds his fist on the stack of tables, an almost nervous gesture in your eyes. “It’s what you want? What you need for your career? There’s no other way for you to get this--” he waves his hands around, “museum gig you’re after?”

You nod, unable--no, afraid--to speak, in case your voice is too tight with emotion.

“Then I guess I can deal with it.”

“What?” You blurt the words out. You expected… an argument. Or for him to blow you off, make it seem like you weren’t serious. Or, as you’d admitted to yourself earlier, for him to throw you away and find someone who wouldn’t make him wait around. Not… acceptance.

He laughs at your reaction and your stomach feels lighter, the tension in your body starting to fizzle away. “

“It’s not like I have to worry about getting the money to come visit, right? And hey,” he continues, “if you need someone to put in a good word to this school… maybe throw some cash at a dean or something…” He raises his eyebrows, wiggling them a little in a way that makes you snort.

You lean forward and nab one of the lukewarm pieces of scrambled eggs from his plate and pop it into your mouth. “Since you’re offering to help, I could use someone to check over my application…”

The envelope is too small. It’s way too small. Why did they make the envelope so damn small? Maybe the acceptance letter was sent on its own, and all of the other information--the giant packet telling you where to send payments and sign up for courses--would be sent to your email. But the thought of checking your email and seeing nothing makes you feel sick, so you keep your phone next to you on the table.

“You gotta open it,” Ransom says, soft and casual. He doesn’t move from his place beside you on the sofa, watching you with a neutral look. He probably knows why the envelope is too small, but he won’t say the words out loud--just like you won’t. If you say it out loud, then it’s true.

There's nothing else for you to do except confront the truth, and you rip open the envelope and pull out the folded paper with far too few printed words on the page.

Rejected. Outright. Completely. Not a fit for the school or the program.

If you weren’t sitting on the couch, you would have fallen over. As it is, you feel like the world is collapsing, like the sofa underneath you is melting into the floor and taking you with it.

“I don’t understand.” You can only manage to whisper, voice small--reflecting the way the rest of you feels. Small and falling and stupid.

Ransom takes the paper from your hand, and you don’t bother keeping a grip on it. You register the fact that he’s put an arm around your shoulders, but you can barely feel it through the numbness of rejection.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice louder next to your ear. It makes you shrink in more, even though his anger isn’t directed at you. “What the fuck.”

It’s you want to say, what you would say, if you had the strength. The energy. But the absolute, complete way that your future has suddenly become an unknown blank has left you stuck and heavy.

It doesn’t make sense. Your transcript was perfect--should have been perfect. You should have gotten in. You got top grades and references from professors and a list of relevant experiences that most students wouldn’t have until the end of their degree.

“I’m going to call them and find out what-the-fuck,” Ransom says suddenly, getting up with a jerking motion and walking towards the kitchen, where his phone rests on the counter. “No,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Better yet. I’ll call my grandfather. He’ll know how to convince this so-called top school that they made a big mistake.”

The thought makes your head spin. “Ransom, don’t.” You’re not a child. But you feel like one, like you just failed a math quiz and your dad is calling to find out why the teacher doesn’t know the quiz answers from his ass. “You can’t just call a school and make them accept someone.”

Your legs feel wobbly when you stand up, and Ransom practically swoops back to your side to hold you steady. He leads you back down on the sofa and you feel yourself accepting the loss, accepting that your dream is gone, or at least altered.

He squeezes an arm around you when you finally begin to cry, and for the moment you feel better, less worthless, less hopeless. It was just one rejection. One egg. You can’t put every egg in one basket, as they say.

You rest your head against his shoulder and sigh into it, enjoying the warmth and closeness. A feeling of luck pings at your heart. You’re really lucky to have a guy like Ransom. He’s not perfect, and sometimes you fight, and sometimes he does things that hurt you, but--are you perfect? Do you do things that hurt him, too? Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

With comfort comes clarity. The world isn’t ending. Your future isn’t blank. There are other options.

You feel almost perked up when you speak: “I guess I can apply to other schools. Maybe it won’t be the exact one I wanted but… there’s some in Chicago, even Michigan, that might work.”

Ransom’s arm tightens around you, slightly but firmly enough to notice.

“Babe, you’re not serious.”

You pull back enough to look up at his face.

“What do you mean?”

You can see Ransom fighting with his annoyed expression, trying to soften it up. You dimly recognize that you should be grateful--you know how snarky he can get with others when he’s not putting on a filter.

“Your transcript was fucking impeccable. I saw it! I sent it in for you! And you still didn’t get in. You think these other schools are going to accept you….” He trails off, leaning his head back, looking disappointed of all things. Disappointed in you? Or the school? You can’t tell. All you know is that it makes you feel low again, like you’re nothing, falling into the floor with a sense of worthlessness.

“I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole,” he says, and there’s a flicker of doubt in your mind about the truth of that statement. “I’m just trying to be honest. I don’t want you to have to deal with getting rejected from all those other schools, too. You know what I mean?”

You swallow down against the tightness in your throat. “Their standards might not be as strict. I know they’re not as strict. I could get in.”

He looks down at you, the same intense gaze from the morning that you told him about your plan on his face. The gaze that let you know he believed in you and would do anything--even go long distance for almost half a decade--for you. A gaze that let you know he was serious, honest, giving you his thoughts with an open heart. “Keyword. Could.”

It’s like a slap to the face.

“Are you saying I’m too stupid to get in anywhere?” You start to pull away, but his arms don’t let up and so all you can do is turn your head away, cheeks hot with humiliation. “Don’t you support me?”

“Jesus, no--and Jesus, yes.” Annoyance is bleeding into his voice and you wish you’d just ripped up the envelope and avoided the entire conversation. You keep your eyes on the floor, humiliating tears blurring your vision as you stare at the sliver of a stain from soda that you never got out of the cream colored rug.

“You are the smartest chick I know,” he says, voice a little softer, now. At least he’s trying to stop being an ass. “Seriously, you are. Maybe you’re just a--a different kind of smart. A kind of smart these schools don’t give a shit about. Do something here with that smartness, then. Stay where you’re at. Fuck, talk to the dean and tell them you want to to an independent degree or something. But don’t get your heart broken a million times when you could just make the most of what you’ve got here.” He squeezes, affectionate. “What we’ve got here.”

It’s not what you want. It’s not viable. You can’t get to where you want to be if you stay where you are. But he’s right--he’s right, isn’t he, because if you can’t get into a school with a nearly picture-perfect record and recommendations and experience oozing out of your ears, will there be any school that accepts you?

And if you stay here, Ransom is here, and you’re already in school here, and maybe you won’t get anywhere near a curator position (but you want to, it’s your dream, why give up on your dream?) but you can do something else, surely. Ransom will help you, like he always does. You might fight and argue and sometimes it gets intense but he always lends you a shoulder to cry on, doesn’t he? He’s always honest with you, even when it hurts. Even when it hurts like this, crushing and disappointing and sharp.

He pulls you closer to him, and this time you don’t fight as you rest your head back on his shoulder.

“So?” He starts to gently stroke your hair, the way he knows you like it.

You nod, sniffling against the last of the tears, unable--afraid--to say anything.

“That’s my girl,” he says, before gently flicking your forehead and reaching for his phone. “Hey, let’s go see a movie tonight. My treat.”

You nod against his shirt, unable to do more than mumble back, “Okay.” Okay, okay, okay. It’s a soft, unceremonious end to your California dreams.

#yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

215 notes · View notes

kodzukyan · 3 years ago

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talking to the moon

notes: yoshiwara au featuring samurai!baji x courtesan!(fem)reader! some fluff? angst. tw death! song recommendation accompaniments: yoshiwara lament - teto kasane & talking to the moon - kream!

wc: 2.3k

summary: yoshiwara is not meant for love, but you think it's far too late for you when you meet baji keisuke.

For as long as you can remember, your world has been seen through the bars of the harimise. A display, a product, for hours you would merely sit there and hope someone buys you.

The endlessly same scenery: the temple up north, the colorful vibrancy of kimonos, the bridge that leads southwards. Yoshiwara is always the same hustle and bustle of the lively streets. A day of ethereal beauty and strategic deceit; a night of lust and hushed promises, a so-called love that dispels with the first rays of dawn.

Once upon a time, you wanted to be someone who blooms for one person only, to love unreservedly. A childish dream to be free, to love fiercely. But fate steals your freedom and leaves you in the embrace of men who look at you as just another woman who warms their beds. Each bleak night as you look wistfully beyond the faceless man above you, the moon and stars sparkle, despite your torment, almost as if it’s mocking you for being unable to shine as they do.

With each passing day as you stare at your dull reflection in the polished mirror, bitterness seeps into your hardened heart. As your lips become redder and redder with used paint, the light in your eyes becomes dimmer and dimmer with dull indifference.

As if Yoshiwara bears your profound grief, it’s raining tonight. On such a day, you encounter him under the deep veil of darkness. His navy kimono contrasts vividly against your crimson lips, and the rosy pink that dusts his blushing cheeks gently warms your heart. He’s adorable, you think, as he grumbles and his friend nudges him towards the birdcage. Your eyes meet his, and his friend laughs and jostles him again towards you.

“Sir, won’t you please purchase me?” you smile sweetly, softly.

“I -” he starts.

“He would love to!” a new voice injects. His enthusiastic friend with blonde highlights smiles wolfishly.

“Welcome, please come in.”

You escort him to a room upstairs as the rain pours outside. When he cautiously enters your room, it is nothing like you are used to. He stands there awkwardly and runs a hand through his long locks.

“Would you like to sit? Perhaps a drink first?” you politely ask as you pat to the spot next to you.

It catches you by surprise when you can see the grays in his eyes as he looks at you instead of past you. He sits gruffly beside you and starts promptly, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You tilt your head, not really sure how to naturally proceed from here. But you've merely learned to comply, to satisfy, so you nod affirmatively and agree politely.

“In that case, what would you like to do?” you ask softly.

In a night meant for lovers between the sheets, he tells you stories of his adventures under the moonlight. You learn his name is Baji Keisuke, and he’s a samurai serving his childhood friend and the young lord of the Sano family. The one who ushered him here is one of his dearest friends named Kazutora, and they’ve been together since they were little. He loves feeling the adrenaline in his blood when he fights and often feeds stray cats because he thinks they’re cute. He unintentionally made his mom cry once when he was younger, so he swears he will never make her cry again.

He has dazzling eyes that tell no lies and an enigmatical smile that illuminates your heart, especially when he flashes his sharp canines that strikingly resemble fangs in his boisterous mirth. Outside, the continuous rain slows to a drizzle before it promptly stops. In your heart, he ignites a small spark of attainable hope.

A free spirit that contrasts very deeply against your very being. Unlike a trapped bird, he flies through the unclouded skies and undoubtedly makes life his own. His hearty laugh and vibrant eyes gently remind you what it's like to have hope beyond these four walls, to dream of a life of consuming love. You smile softly as he makes wild gestures with his hands, and you feel every insistent beat of your heart fluttering, thundering as he smiles affectionately at you.

Over and over again, he returns and buys your time instead of your used body. Time and time again, he talks naturally to you like you are someone in this world and listens to you like you are still good enough to be heard. Like the sun that melts away the darkness in your heart, your days spark a little brighter when he’s nearby. Instead of staring bitterly at your reflection as you paint your lips, the girlish dream you abandoned returns back to you.

Love whispers in your ears and knocks on your heart.

"Will you return?" you ask softly into the luminous night when he visits again. Once, twice, countless times to where you think you know him enough to remember what it’s like to love again.

As soon as the night ends, he has to leave. He will soar into the skies beyond the scope of your vision, beyond realms of the world you can only dream of because he's meant for something grander.

Still, you yearn.

"Where else would I go?" he answers as his eyes meet yours.

He clasps his rough hand around yours, eyes earnest and heart genuine, as he brushes against your knuckles tenderly. A hand full of calluses and blood, a hand used to wield swords and destructive weapons, but he cradles your hand so gently, tenderly, fondly.

"I will always come back to you."

You breathe out a quivering breath. You’ve heard these careless words countless times before from many other men, but his affectionate eyes are constantly full of genuine promises and unmistakable sincerity. You know Yoshiwara is the land of foolish dreams and lies, that Yoshiwara is unmeant for lovers.

Yoshiwara is not meant for the undeniable truth that you are irrevocably in love with him.

Still, you hope. You want to believe him, so you trust. You trust him with your vulnerability; you trust him with your heart. Under the veil of the night with the moon as your sole witness, you cut off a strand of your hair.

"For safe-keeping," you tell him as you tie your hair around his pinky, "Until you safely return."

He blinks once, twice before he smiles radiantly, fangs glinting in the light. He tugs a strand of his hair out before he clumsily wraps it around your pinky.

“There is something important I have to take care of,” he starts hesitantly. His eyes are looking into the darkness of the night, and for a moment, you can see weariness cloud his eyes. You reach to cradle his cheek, and at your touch, he looks at you. He holds your hand and presses a soft kiss on your fingertips. Newly found resolve beams through the clouds of doubt in his eyes. “But after that… Will you come with me?”

You stare incredulity at him, wide eyes carefully looking into his promising ones. He squeezes your hand as he stares anxiously back at you. The world is silent, and all you see is his gray eyes that have been your silver lining since the very first day.

He can’t afford to buy you, you know, and the fear of the consequences of running away burrows into your heart. But he looks at you, clear and open, and Heaven is in his eyes. You squeeze his hand back and bring it towards your lips to place a tender kiss on his palm. You think you’re far too ruined to be this optimistic about it, to dream of happiness like this, but you grin and nod anyway.

“I would go anywhere if it’s with you,” you smile, eyes and words honest.

He instantly breaks into an infectious grin, and he hugs you in eager excitement. “Thank you. I’ll be back by the next full moon. Wait for me,” he whispers fiercely into your hair.

You nod again as you melt into his comforting embrace. The flutters of your heart bloom into warmth in your chest, and it feeds into your heating cheeks as you hold on to him. The moon that invariably seems to look down on you, the stars that always seem to twinkle in critical disappointment softens as the lights of dawn overtake the sky.

A new day, a new hope.

He holds his pinky up, your hair tied on and your heart in the palm of his hands, as he looks at you. When you meet his eyes, the first rays of light glows behind him. He looks beautiful, angelic, and he seems so ephemeral. You hook your pinky, with his hair tied around it, with his in hopes that these fleeting moments will last just a moment longer, that this will be more than just a dream when you wake up.

A lie, a promise, you’re not quite sure which it is.

(You hope it’s a promise. You want it to be a promise.)

So, you wait. Day after day, night after night, and all the moments in between. You miss him like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky, but he fuels a fire in your heart that keeps you warm on the nights he isn’t here. It hasn’t rained for a long time now, you think, as you glance at your pinky and sunshine fill your soul. During nights, you keep your promise close to your heart as you stare at the phases of the moon. Waxing and waning, but your heart holds steady as you dream of boisterous laughter and lively eyes.

On the day of the full moon, you wait anxiously as people pass by. You’re on high alert as your eyes eagerly scan the crowd for any signs of him - his navy blue kimono, his long hair, his hearty laughter. As the blue sky turns to brilliant orange before it fades into the darkness of the night, the crushing weight in your heart grows heavier and heavier before the numbing realization that he won’t come hits you.

When the full moon peaks in the unclouded sky, only silence surrounds you. You sit lifelessly in front of your mirror at the end of the night with the full moon as your sole company. You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here as you mindlessly keep brushing your hair.

The overbearing heaviness finally breaks your heart and breaches the dam that restrains your tears. You muffle your cries in your kimono because you should have known better, should have known that dreams are unmeant for someone like you. You glance wistfully at your pinky before you clutch it close to your shattered heart, and all the energy in your body just comes out as silent sobs. As you bury your face in your knees and hug yourself, each fond memory comes back and replays in your head.

A mistake. This is a terrible mistake because you know Yoshiwara is built of lies like these. But when you think of his sincere eyes, your heart breaks again. Baji Keisuke is many things, but he is rarely a liar. You want to believe in him, want to believe in the dream of a life with him beyond these walls.

Maybe it’s not this full moon, you tell yourself, but he will return one day. The next full moon, the one after that, and all these other ones after, you’ll keep waiting. You believe in him, believe in love, so you will hold on steadfastly, stubbornly, desperately because you don’t think your heart can handle it otherwise.

In just another day of waiting in the similar scenery, you catch glimpses of a spark from the temple northwards. A new sight, but among the lively streets of just another busy day, it’s not a sight you focus on. The sparks are nice, though, you think as you suppress a giggle, because it reminds you of the fire in his eyes.

When it reaches dusk, the scorching winds blow from the northeast. The direction you watch him go from the confines of your birdcage, and when you still see the sparks, a foreboding feeling, a bad omen sinks into your heart as the sun falls.

The initial flare grows bigger and bigger until it bursts into a firestorm and begins swallowing the town. You run frantically alongside the chaotic crowd as the screams fill the air and fear fills your blood. You run, run, run until your legs are burning - from the fire? From fatigue? You’re not sure.

Your heart breaks with every step you take because death comes knocking. You keep holding on stubbornly because you still believe in your promise. But soon, your legs only carry you so far amongst the fleeting crowd and falling buildings and smoke fills your lungs and chokes you.

As fire devours you, you glance at the waxing moon. It ruthlessly tears through your skin and burns, burns, burns, but the pain of breaking your promise rips through your heart.

All you can think about are the moonlit nights under the same skies within the four walls you call home and the man you know as love. You think of his starry gray eyes and the promise you couldn’t keep, and you clutch your hand over your heart. Close, so, so close, but not quite another full moon yet. With sorry repeated on your cracked lips and lament in your anguished heart, your uncontrollable tears fall hopelessly.

(The news of the tragic death of a singular samurai, holding his bleeding hand to his heart, in the Battle of Valhalla never reaches you.

After all, fire travels faster than words.)

The deafening sound of crackling fire plays your requiem and ends the unfulfilled dream of love.

end notes: harimise is a viewing cage where courtesans were placed in, like products on display at shops. they sit there the whole day until someone buys them.

the act of cutting off your hair and tying it around someone's pinky is a lover's pact. basically, it's a vow of love between a courtesan and their customers, where they offer their hair, nails, and blood to seal the deal. it could be used to extort more money from the customer, but it could also just be a promise of love.

also fun fact: historically, yoshiwara did end up burning in a huge fire that originated in a temple! :")

#baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #baji angst #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #baji x you #baji keisuke x you #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers angst #i was working on another baji wip but then this took over LOL #one day we will have happy baji stories but today is not the day 😔#but literally baji in his navy blue kimono/yukata and high ponytail plagues my mind #so here we are <3 #sometimes i write things #i hope this shows up in the tags lol #also i read somewhere that palm kisses mean i trust you #i hope hes not too ooc?? i feel like baji is awko taco when it comes to love tbh HAHAH

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pastelwitchling · 4 years ago

Text

A little follow-up to the 3x06 malex sneak peek.

Michael’s fingers should’ve gone numb from the cold hours ago, but he supposed that being an alien protected him from the elements, even as he stood alongside a radio tower, working on wires and satellite transmissions that would’ve been a lot easier with the help of a trained Air Force cyber-intelligence specialist for the better part of five hours.

Michael’s jaw was clenched for more than the chill, his fingers cutting and typing and scribbling across a paper for more than the desire to be done as quickly as possible. Caught up here in the silence, nothing but the sound of howling wind and dead grass swaying to keep him company, Michael couldn’t stop replaying Alex’s words in his head.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

After everything that had happened, everything Alex had told him, threatening to destroy the world if a hair on his head was hurt, Alex didn’t want him around now. Alex didn’t want him near him. Michael was supposed to be focused on finding Kyle, on waiting for the lab reports from Liz about the blood on that shovel and who it belonged to, but he was pretty sure he was losing his mind instead.

When Alex had driven up, Michael had been unable to help but smile, even at how pale Alex had been. Because at least Alex was here. He always came when Michael called, and Michael was just starting to allow himself to be giddy about it. Then all hell had broken loose, and Alex had seemed indifferent to his best friend missing.

Even Michael, who had never wanted Alex to forgive Kyle for their high school days, had felt betrayed. Betrayed even worse when Alex had refused him. Michael had asked specially, had kept Alex from leaving, and Alex had still gone. He couldn’t help but agonize over it.

When Michael’s phone rang with Liz’s name, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. He picked up, and held the phone to his ear, his eyes closed.

“Ortecho,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “you got a name for me?”

“Michael,” she said, and Michael’s eyes opened at the barely-contained distress in her voice. “Did Alex show up? Please tell me he’s there with you.”

Michael frowned. “No,” he swallowed, “no, he left. Why, what’s going on?”

“The shovel’s gone,” Liz said, frantic now.

Michael straightened. “What?”

“So’s the blood sample! Michael, that was the strongest lead we had! What’re we going to do now?” He heard her mutter something in Spanish, too quickly and quietly to be coherent. “Do you have any idea where Alex is?”

“Not a clue,” Michael confessed, raking an angry hand through his curls. “Was the house broken into? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine!” she said impatiently. “No one broke in, whoever did this knew what they were doing!” She huffed shakily. “We have to find Kyle, we have to. Who could’ve taken it? Who else knew?”

“No one,” Michael pressed a fist to his forehead, thinking. “No one, just Max, you, me, and . . . and . . .”

“Where’s the shovel now?”

“Liz took it.”

Michael froze. His hand with the phone fell limp to his side and an incredulous, humorless laugh escaped his lips. There’s no way, he thought numbly. No way . . .

He muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

Alex had barely stepped out of his car at a time far past midnight when Michael was there, shutting the door with his mind. Alex whipped around, startled, to find the cowboy there, glaring.

His lips were already curled around the question, about to ask what was going on, what had gotten into Michael, but Michael wasn’t about to humor his act. Not when it felt like his heart was breaking.

“Where’s the shovel, Alex?” he demanded. “What’d you do with the blood sample?”

Alex’s brows furrowed for a second before realization dawned, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s gone,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Then panic hit, “Is Liz okay?”

“You know damn well she’s not,” he growled, stepping into Alex’s space. For a horrifying second, Michael thought he might blast Alex back into the door of his house and demand answers. It had nothing to do with the shovel itself, but with the very idea that Alex – his Alex – had gone behind his back and hurt him like this. He’d never felt so betrayed, every part of him shattering.

“She’s scared out of her mind,” he said. “She wants to find Kyle, you know she does, and you took our only lead, so while I’m asking nicely –”

“While you’re asking nicely?”

“—where is the damn shovel?”

Alex searched Michael’s face, confused. Then he scoffed, the sound colored in disbelief. His next words were almost in a whisper. “You really think I took it.”

Doubt crept in, but Michael let his anger push it aside. “Don’t play stupid.”

Alex shrugged. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Where is it?”

Alex shook his head. He looked resigned. “I don’t know.” He turned to leave, but Michael grabbed his arm and turned him back around.

“Tell me, Alex,” he said, “before this gets worse.”

“Can it?” Alex asked, and Michael faltered when he saw Alex’s eyes were glassy. “Get worse?”

Michael squeezed Alex’s arm once, not knowing for a moment what to say, then he let go. “You’re the only other person who knew about the blood sample.”

He hummed. “Oh, and – uh – the kidnapper. Pretty big lead there, but I’m glad you came to me first.”

Michael’s face fell, and he shook his head. Without thinking, he blurted, “You’re – you’re lying.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

Alex looked like Michael had stabbed him in the heart. He looked away, swallowed, then turned back to Michael. “Even if I had taken it,” he said, “you really don’t trust me? You don’t trust it’d be for a good reason?” He huffed a miserable chuckle. Michael saw his hands curled to fists before he put them in his jacket pockets. “It’ll never be enough, will it? No matter what I do, no matter how much I love you, I’ll always be Jesse Manes’ son in your eyes.”

Michael opened his mouth. He clung to the anger, but found it was no longer there, replaced with shame and guilt. Even if Alex had taken it, even if he’d wiped it clean, even if he’d refused to help him find Kyle . . . wasn’t it all for something? Wasn’t everything Alex did for something?

He pushed the thought away. “I-It’s different.”

“Yeah, it is,” Alex said and sniffled, moving backwards. “The difference is that I actually believed in you.”

And without another word, Alex turned and went into his house, shutting the door and keeping Michael out.

Michael had no idea what he was doing here. He told himself it was to check that Maria was okay, since Isobel had told him that she’d woken up, but when he saw her sitting up against her hospital bed pillows, he found there was no hint of surprise. He’d known she was going to be okay.

He sat down with a smile regardless. “Well, don’t you look good as new.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, and tilted her head over Michael’s shoulder at the door. She reached for the IV strip in the back of her hand. “Quick, before Is gets back, get me out of here.”

Michael only scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? We won’t even make it to the elevator.”

“What,” she said dryly, “are you scared of your own sister?”

“Completely.”

“Oh, come on, Guerin!” she whined, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. “Can’t you just –” she put her hand on his arm and flinched back.

“Ow!” she hissed, waving her hand as if she’d been burned. “Oh, jeez, what’s with the aura?”

Michael’s smirk tightened. “I’m gonna tell you what I told Isobel. Stop reading my feelings.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, “but they’re like” – she gestured wildly around Guerin – “everywhere. What’s happened with Alex?”

He faltered. “How’d you know it was about Alex?”

“Please,” she sighed. “You only ever get this loud around Alex. What’d you do?”

Michael gaped. “I didn’t do anything! I . . .” he huffed, and stood, pacing the length of the hospital room for a moment.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Today, Guerin, before the nurse comes in with more morphine and I have to fight her off again.”

“That bloody shovel Max found where Kyle was taken? It’s gone. Someone took it.” He hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “The only people that knew were us . . . and Alex.”

“Wow,” she had a hand on her chest. “Okay? And?”

When Michael didn’t answer, her eyes widened.

“You didn’t.” She leaned forward. “Guerin, you didn’t.”

“He asked where it was,” Michael defended. “And he wouldn’t help me find Kyle –”

She huffed an incredulous laugh. “Oh my God. You were so upset that he wouldn’t hang out with you that you accused him of stealing key evidence?”

“I –”

“And what if he did?” she demanded. “So he took it, so what? He must have a dangerous idea who’s behind all of this, and didn’t want anyone else to get involved! I don’t know, but it’s important! I know it is, you know it is! You know what he would do for Kyle! What he would do for any of us!”

A thought seemed to occur to her and her eyes widened. “Oh, poor Alex. Poor Alex, oh my God, this must be killing him!” She tried to step out of bed and swayed. Michael was at her side in an instant, but she was pushing him away. “How could you?!” she demanded. “After everything he’s done for you, how could you think he doesn’t care?!”

“Okay,” Michael tried, seating her back down. “I’m sorry, please, just –”

“You hurt him!” Michael fell silent. “You hurt Alex!” She shook her head. “We’ve already hurt him. You were supposed to be the one that protected him.”

Michael clenched his jaw and his eyes burned. He thought of Alex’s face, his resignation when Michael had accused him of not caring. He hadn’t been surprised at all. Even after the years of defending Michael, he hadn’t been surprised that Michael hadn’t defended him.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

Now he heard the words for what they were. Now he heard the truth.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I didn’t.”

Alex opened his front door at almost four in the morning to a miserable Michael slumped against his doorway.

“This is why you didn’t want me anywhere near whatever you decided to do, isn’t it?”

Alex leaned against his door and sighed. The corner of his lips tugged up for a split second. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

They sat there in silence for a while under the warm yellow light of the lamps, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Michael studied Alex, the way his shirt ran tight over his muscles, his flat stomach, his toned chest, his strong arms and pursed lips and long fingers. Then he noticed the smaller things; the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, the scratches on his fingers and faint bruises on his jaw, the hollow of his cheeks. He was tired. Exhausted. Michael had been so happy to see Alex back, to have him close, that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I hated that you didn’t want to work with me,” he said, and Alex looked up, meeting his gaze. “I hated that I had to convince you. I guess I always knew that you would do anything I wanted, and . . . I wanted . . . I want to do this with you. Because I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael exhaled shakily. “I trust you, Alex. You’re the only one in the world that I trust. Whatever you decide, I know it’s for a good reason. I just hate – I hate . . . I hate not being part of it. I hate that you’re doing it alone.”

Slowly, Alex leaned back against the couch, his finger tapping the mug in his hands.

“I left the Air Force.”

Michael almost dropped his cup. “W-What?”

“Full honors,” he said, smiling for the briefest second before something weary took its place. “What I’m doing now . . . I think I know how to find Kyle.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “You knew that he was missing.”

“Hours before you called. Even got his . . . what’d you call it? Suicide bat signal?”

“And the tower? You knew about that, too?”

Alex pursed his lips and nodded. “Let’s just say I’m not working with people that like to share information.”

Michael realized he’d known that. He’d always known, if he was being honest with himself. He’d known Alex had had his own lead, that something was different about him this time. It wasn’t like when he’d come back from war. Back then, it was like Alex had lost something and didn’t know what to do. Now he’d found it and had a plan to get it back.

“That’s why you didn’t want me working around it.”

Alex smiled sadly. “Would you believe that it’s for you? That everything I have and am is for you?”

Michael swallowed thickly. He didn’t need to say the words. Alex knew he believed it. “And you? When do you get a turn?”

Alex shrugged a tired shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. His eyes burned and he wanted more than anything to take Alex in his arms and kiss his forehead and help him sleep. But they had work to do.

Alex sniffled and sat up, stretching an arm over his head. “You should go,” he said, his eyes on a hallway engulfed in shadows. “Keep looking for Kyle on your end.”

As he said the words, Michael heard the silent message beneath; And I’ll find him on mine.

Michael nodded him to himself, then stood. He stared at Alex, clenching his fists, and said, “You better enjoy these last moments going solo, Private. Because after we get Valenti back, whatever it takes” – he came in close until his lips brushed the shell of Alex’s ear – “I’m not letting anything come between us again.”

Without another word, Michael walked out, and as he left, he could’ve sworn he heard Alex’s resolute, “Neither am I.”

For the record, I think the fandom is being ridiculously dramatic, that teaser was wonderful and filled with delicious tension, so please don’t rant to me about it because I absolutely LOVED it and this little fic was just for fun.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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chaotic-noceur · 4 years ago

Text

puppy therapy

pairing: Sukuna x reader (ft. Yuuji, Megumi, and Megumi's dogs)

summary: when Sukuna finds you in a slump of burn out, he calls in a favour from Yuuji in an attempt to help

universe: modern + roommates au ; same-ish universe as what's unspoken isn't unknown

warnings: depression/burn out symptoms, wearing his shirt, headphone usage, no-shoes-in-the-house living setting, kisses

a/n: i'm tired, probably going to fail something, and i really want to pet a dog so i self projected :) shoutout to @ezrasarm for being the bestest hooman ever and beta-ing this even though she has never read/watched jjk in her life 💕💕

Sukuna does a double take when he passes your room on his way for a coffee refill. The last thing he expected was to find you still curled up in bed, watching an episode of whatever it is you had borrowed his Netflix account for. As he takes in your figure, a frown forms on his features. He doesn't need to see the look of exhaustion on your face to recognise the sure signs of burnout. He knows the feeling all too well himself.

He knows the wave of indifference that washes over you every time you're reminded of your deadlines. He knows the hollowness in your chest that refuses to be filled, no matter how hard you try. He knows the heaviness in your limbs that are so worn down by fatigue that every move feels like a workout. He knows the insults that your mind hurls at itself for its own inability to push past this slump. And he refuses to let you wallow alone.

The sound of your door being nudged open catches your attention and you pause the show before glancing towards Sukuna, unamused at the interruption. “Get dressed,” he says as he tosses one of his shirts at you — knowing you find comfort in wearing them, “we’re going out.” You move to protest, instinctively drawing up an excuse about how you have work to do. But you stop yourself short, it’s not like you're going to get anything done anyway.

"Good morning to you too," you grumble instead as you move to pick up his shirt from where it had landed on your bed. Sukuna snorts in response and you roll your eyes before moving to usher him out of your room. Mechanically, you shrug out of your sleepwear, and get yourself into a semi-presentable state before meeting him at the door.

Sukuna hands you your keys as you walk up to him, his sunglasses pushed into his hair. You do a quick check to ensure you have everything you need as Sukuna does the laces of his boots. Putting your shoes on, you spare a glance at your reflection in the mirror before following Sukuna out the door.

You slip your hand into his when you catch up to him by the elevators and he brings it up to his lips before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He smiles at you with a softness that you rarely see in public but when your eyes turn to meet his gaze, there's a tiredness behind them that makes his heart ache. Sensing his concern, you squeeze his hand in silent reassurance, and he returns the action.

As you step into the street, you're tempted to ask about his plan. But Sukuna was never one to reveal his surprises before they unfolded in natural order and you're in no mood to pry the answers from him. Instead, you connect your earphones to your phone, pass the other earbud to Sukuna and shuffle your shared playlist as he leads you through the streets.

You lose yourself in the melody as the pair of you make your way to the secret destination. Occasionally, Sukuna tugs on your arm to signal that you're turning but otherwise, you allow your mind to wander, trusting in him to keep you out of harm's way.

Your thoughts drift to the list of deadlines that should induce more stress than they currently do and a pang of guilt spreads across your chest. If you had any sense, you should've said no to this impromptu date. You don't deserve to take a break, not when your list of responsibilities continues to grow and your care for them dwindles by the day; not when you know you're setting yourself up for failure but don't have enough care left to give to change the ending; not when —

Something in your expression must have alluded to the thoughts swarming in your mind because Sukuna stops the pair of you then. He moves to stand in front of you before sliding his sunglasses into his hair. "Stop thinking so much," he says as he runs his thumb along your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes, "just focus on me. Focus on us being here, okay?" You nod minutely and he sighs before bringing his lips to your forehead. He intertwines his fingers with yours again and continues his journey, hoping that his surprise will lighten your mood.

"Does this mean you'll tell me where we're going?" you ask after a moment. Sukuna snorts.

"No way in hell. Besides, we're almost there."

As the sound of laughter and barking fills the air, you perk up and glance around at your new surroundings. You turn to Sukuna, curious, but he's tapping away at his phone. He comes to a stop when he reaches a clearing, a sea of dogs running around before the pair of you. You're about to ask him what was going on when a head of strawberry hair enters your peripheral vision.

"Sukuna!" Yuuji cheers as he runs up to the pair of you, his phone clutched in one hand. Sukuna removes the earbud from his ear and passes it to you as you do the same.

"Brat," comes Sukuna's response before Yuuji turns to greet you. He moves to hug you but falters when Sukuna puts a hand on his shoulder, unsure of how your current state mixes with hugs from sweaty individuals. Yuuji seems to understand. He shrugs his brother's hand off before spinning around and guiding the pair of you to his picnic blanket.

You spot Megumi a little way away, Ghost and Shadow running in circles around him as they wait for the tennis ball in his hand to be released. When you notice the snacks and your favourite drink perched on the blanket, the pieces fall into place and your mouth falls open in shock. "Sukuna! You didn't have to trouble them into all this!"

Yuuji responds instead of his brother, waving off your exclamations. "It was no problem! We were planning on coming here anyway and the dogs love people!" As if on cue, Ghost and Shadow come bounding towards you, Megumi following after them. Sukuna lets go of your hand to kneel and pet the bundles of excitement that have huddled around your legs, a chuckle escaping him as Megumi settles into a seat beside his friend.

"You didn't have to do all this," you say to Megumi as you take your seat.

"It's fine," he shrugs. "The food was on the way and those two needed to expend their energy." He gestures towards his dogs as hints of a smile creep its way onto his face. Ghost detaches from Sukuna to come greet you then and settles his head into your lap once he'd given you several affectionate face licks. You giggle at the sensation as you ruffle his fur.

Yuuji and Megumi fall into conversation amongst themselves and you grab what you assume is yours and Sukuna's drinks from the cardboard holder. He seats himself beside you not long after, Shadow retreating back to Megumi's side. You offer him his drink once he's settled and he takes it with a quiet 'thanks' before falling naturally into the conversation between Yuuji and Megumi. Sipping from your drink, you bask in the air of joy around you as you rest your head against Sukuna's shoulder and let your eyes fall shut.

You chuckle as you watch Yuuji dote on Shadow, Megumi begrudgingly handing over yet another treat. They're far away enough that their voices are drowned out by the screams and barks of the others in the park but judging by their interaction, you imagine Megumi's saying something about spoiling the dog in question.

Sukuna returns from disposing the trash that you had collectively cumulated and slings his arm over your shoulder as he seats himself once more. Ghost stirs in your lap, blinks lazily at Sukuna before closing his eyes again. You lean into Sukuna's side, skin tingling when he places a kiss onto your temple.

"You really should stop taking advantage of your brother's kindness," you chastise after a moment, but there's no bite to your words. A soft smile lingers on your face as you card your fingers through Ghost's white fur.

Sukuna shrugs before running his thumb over the curve of your lip. "It made you smile again though didn't it?" The beginning of a smirk forms across his features and you refrain from rolling your eyes at him. Instead, you lean your forehead against his before connecting your lips together, a silent thank you exchanged.

The remnants of numbness still linger in your chest and your mind still drowns in a dizzying fog. There’s no guarantee that you won’t wake up tomorrow without an ounce of motivation. But, for now, it’s enough. For now, you relish in the warmth of the sun that beats against your skin, the sound of joy and bliss that filters into your ears, and the love that Sukuna envelops you in — safe and ever present. He is your light, and for now; that’s enough.

#sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kay writes #**jujutsu kaisen #depression symptoms #burnout symptoms

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babybatscreationsv2 · 4 years ago

Note

if you’re taking prompts;

so; tony is the devil. Or hades? Although hades isn’t technically “evil” so idk. And peter’s very literally made a deal with the devil. Only he couldn’t keep up with his end of the deal and now his soul he belongs to tony. aND THEN, tony kinda likes pities him and it turns into a beauty and the beast sorta thing where tony has his undead servants make feasts n all that sorta stuff so peter feels comfortable. And then they fall in love. And then they screw 😌

Thank you for this because I've been looking for an excuse to write a Hades and Persephone story. This ended up so tender and romantic that you can't call it smut. These beeches be making love. Also this ended up full fic sized so here's the details.

Eat the Fruit

Summary: When Peter's lover dies in an accident, he offers his soul to the God of the Underworld to save him, but when he is unable to fulfill his end of the deal he finds himself in the Underworld. Now Peter is left tending to the pomegranate grove where the only balm for his loneliness is Hades (aka Tony), a god with a prickly edge.

Rating: Explicit

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed with gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

You must love him to offer your soul to me this way.

Please, you are lord of the dead. If anyone has this power, it's you.

I am not cruel, Peter. I will restore your lover's soul. In return, you must stay with him in life until he dies a natural death.

I promise.

So be it.

----------

The agony of heartbreak still echoed in his mind. His mind replayed the moment as Harry told him goodbye and turned away, closing the door as he went. He wished he could try again. Despite how he had pleaded with Harry not to leave, had promised him whatever he wished, he felt that maybe there was something he could have done. Harry did not love him anymore. He left him.

And so Peter fainted... and he awoke in a vast orchard.

He sat up in the grass and looked around at the low trees each baring heavy red fruit. Pomegranates. They looked beautiful, delicious. Peter stood and brushed himself off. He looked around feeling unsure how he had gotten here. Then he remembered and a sob escaped him. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he had broken his deal with Hades. This beautiful grove must have been a part of the Underworld.

"So soon," said a voice. Peter turned to catch sight of a man. He was handsome, a bit older than Peter, with wrinkles around his eyes, yet those eyes shined with livelihood. When he last saw Hades it had been a shadow of his true form, something massive and hulking and terrible. He seemed almost kind now. He had been kind enough to him then.

"Please, Lord Hades, send me back. Let me try again."

The god plucked a fruit from a tree and examined it. "Sorry, kid. That was a one time offer. No take backs." He looked Peter over, then he placed the pomegranate in his hands. He walked past him and Peter followed along, afraid to be left alone in such a place.

"Please. I'll give you anything. Lord Hades-"

The god huffed and turned on the spot. He held up a finger. "First of all, there's no need to call me that. Hades is more of a title and I'm over it. Call me Tony."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony. Now, listen up because I've got a short temper." Tony looked him in the eye. His hand held Peter's chin. "You will never leave the Underworld. Do you understand? Your soul belongs to me. You belong to me. This is where you will stay. Forever."

"Forever," Peter repeated. Not a question, but a realization. He had given everything for Harry. Everything.

The god took hold of his arm and turned him to look across the orchard. "Do you see the river there? You are never to attempt to cross it. If you try, its current will drag you under and you will drown in its waters until I see fit to retrieve you. The river Styx will not allow a soul to leave so easily."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I get it. Don't cross the river." It sure didn't sound fun to drown in a river until this oddly blase god decided to have mercy on him. "What happens now?"

Tony shrugged. "Tend the orchard or something. What do I care?"

Peter looked at him like he had grown a second head, which maybe he did have two heads, this probably wasn't his true form. "You let me sell my soul to you so I could just hang out?"

Tony's face shifted and Peter shrank back. His sudden anger was sharp and cold like a dagger made of ice. He encroached on Peter's space and with a clenched jaw he tried not to back away further. "Listen up, kid. You made the deal you wanted to make. You wanted to sacrifice yourself for what your heart desired and I gave you the opportunity. Life isn't the fairy tale you thought it was. Now, tend the trees and keep out of my hair."

Peter watched him go. He stared off in the direction that he went a while longer. Then cold began to seep into his bones. He sat down under a pomegranate tree. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Then he cried, wet tears staining the clothes he had died in. It could have been a lifetime that he cried, but when he finally got up he was numb.

Harry was gone and his life was over, but there was no going back. Peter turned in a circle, looking at the orchard. It was beautiful. If he had to spend the rest of eternity here it certainly wasn't the worst place to be. Sometimes when a breeze kicked up, he thought he heard screaming off in the direction he had decided to call south. There were certainly worse places to be even in the Underworld.

Peter walked to the edge of the pomegranate grove. Several feet from the edge, the ground began to slope down until it reached the edge of the Styx. A boat floated along the water. A man with a scraggly goatee and messy, curly, hair rowed along while a woman with red rimmed eyes sat in the seat. When she looked up, she looked right through him as if he were glass. A chill went through him. Once the feeling passed, he tried to wave at her, but she didn't respond. Was she in shock? Did she know yet that she was dead? Where was she being taken, he wondered. He hoped it was somewhere nice like his pomegranate grove and not the place where the screaming came from.

He kept walking, following the tree line, never passing the trees on the very edge. The orchard was vast, but not endless. On one side was the river Styx. On the next, the river Lethe. Or he assumed it was as the mist that came off of it made his head feel hazy. When he reached the third side is when the screaming grew louder. He walked faster until it grew distant again.

The fourth edge of the orchard stretched on into a garden. Peter stopped himself at the edge of the trees. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the orchard or not. He hadn't been explicitly told not to. So he did.

He followed along low hedges and passed through clusters of hydrangea. Then the ground began to change from grass and plant life to cold gray stone. Peter looked back at the garden and the orchard beyond it. Was this allowed? He couldn't tend the trees without any tools. He'd need baskets if he were to collect the fruit and if they got sick he'd need medicines. He wasn't sure what else one could possibly do for trees. Perhaps Tony could tell him.

He found the god in question sitting a top a throne of slate. He looked far larger than he had before, but he still took the same form. He seemed bored, or perhaps indifferent was the word, as souls lined up at his feet. One soul grovelled on his knees.

"Please, my lord. I am meant for Elysium. I was a good man in life. An excellent one. I always gave to charity, I swear!"

Hades, for that's what he was a top this throne, waved his hand. "That does not make you special nor important by any means. You are not exceptional by any measure. To the fields with you." He snapped his fingers and two souls, each with hollow, black eyes and wrists wrapped in cuffs of slate, came forward and dragged the pleading soul away.

Another stepped forward and their plea was the same. They wished for Elysium and Hades waved them off.

"Won't you even listen to their stories?" Peter asked.

The god looked down at him. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was meant to do."

"The trees will tell you when they need," he said, but Peter noticed that he did not wave him away as he did the pleading soul so he assumed he was allowed to stay.

The next soul pleaded not for Elysium, but for their lover. They begged to be reunited with them in Asphodel.

"It is not my job to see that lovers unite. If you are soul mates you will find one another," Tony said with a terribly bored voice.

"Please, my lord. I has been a hundred years-"

"Be grateful I do not drop you in the River Lethe before you are returned!" he snapped. "Be gone with you."

"You are too harsh," Peter said as the soul was dragged away

Tony glared down at him. "You don't have to listen to the same nonsense for eternity."

"You are a god. You should be grateful for that."

"You should be grateful I don't sick my hound on you," Tony growled. "Now go."

Peter hesitated, not wishing to be alone again, but the look on Tony's face was far from kind. With a deep frown, Peter turned and walked back to the orchard.

The trees weren't much for company. Peter walked through the boughs, lonely and with too much time to reflect. He thought about the life he had lost and all of the things he had given up. He thought about Harry. Did he regret leaving him now that he was dead? Did he miss him? He wondered if Harry would go to his funeral and if he would ever bring flowers. After a long while of wandering, he couldn't take it any longer. He made his way back to the place where the grass died and became stone.

There were no souls there now, only a massive dog which sat at the foot of the throne. It opened one big eye as Peter came near. When he didn't stop it raised its head only for Peter to realize that it had not one, but three. A growl rumbled in its throat.

"Sorry to bother you, big guy. I was just looking for the other big guy." Peter reached out a hand inviting the dog to smell it. It lowered its heads suspiciously. Then it sniffed.

"It's okay. I'm not up to any mischief, I promise. I was just lonely. You look like you might be lonely, too."

Peter smiled as the dog allowed him to pet his hairy nose. It watched him curiously as he came closer so he could scratch behind his ears.

"You're sweet aren't you?" Peter cooed. "Sweet boy."

"Peter?" Tony's voice called. He turned his head to see him coming up the path. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"He seems to like me," Peter shrugged. "I was just looking for some company."

Tony stopped and looked at them both. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching silently while Peter pet the happy dog. His giant tail wagged into the gray dirt.

"You were lonely?" Tony finally asked.

"Trees aren't the best company as it turns out. I'm not used to be alone. Harry and I..." Peter took a breath. Just mentioning his name made his chest burn. "Well, we were always together."

"I see..." Tony stared off toward the orchard. "Come and see me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It doesn't always get dark here, but night will fall in a few hours. Come back here then, but not before."

Peter looked at the man, but he didn't seem likely to divulge what he was up to. "Alright... I will see you then."

He gave the dog, Cerberus, one last pet. Then he turned away and walked back to the orchard.

As promised the sky above began to darken. Peter watched it with fascination for a moment. There were no stars in the Underworld. The sky was a deep navy, almost black. Yet, Peter could see perfectly fine. He walked back through the trees to where the ground became stone and there he found a grand table set with candles and silver platters.

"Peter, glad you could join me," Tony greeted. The look on his face was almost a smile.

"What is all this?"

"You said you were lonely so I thought we could share a meal together. If you'd like."

Peter smiled. "Of course! That sounds great."

Tony looked relived. He pulled out a chair for him. "I don't know what you like, but I had nearly everything I could think of prepared."

Peter sat down, offering his thanks as Tony pushed his seat up. He sat down on Peter's right. He flinched as Tony's dead soldiers melted from the shadows and began to serve him from the many plates and platters. When his plate and cup were full, they took a step back waiting to serve him again.

"This all looks amazing. I thought you couldn't eat the food in the Underworld."

Tony picked up his glass, the only thing in front of him. "If it is grown here, then it is true. Eating food grown in the Underworld can have undesired effects." He stared into his wine. Then he looked up and gave Peter a smile. "Eat," he said.

Every bite was divine. Sitting together with Tony helped chase the loneliness away. They talked about Peter's happy memories in life, his time in college, holidays with his Aunt May, being Uncle Peter to Gwen's twins. Harry wasn't there for most of the good parts. Peter couldn't help but find that strange. Harry had felt like such a big part of his life, but had he? Maybe the Underworld was making him forgetful.

After dinner, they stood together and watched the light return. Tony's odd little soldiers cleared everything away.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony said. He gave him a smile. Peter admired the way it made his eyes shine.

"No, thank you. That was a lovely dinner. I'm feeling a lot better, too."

"I'm glad." He paused for a moment and they stood simply looking at each other as the sky changed above them. "You're welcome to return here whenever you please."

Peter's smile widened. "Are you saying you enjoyed my company as well?"

Tony shrugged. "It's wasn't the worst dinner I've been to."

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked away. He returned to the orchard where the boughs were heavy with fruit. He spent hours, maybe days, picking the fruit and collecting it into baskets that he couldn't recalling seeing before. There was a pail and some tools as well.

He stuck to picking fruit for now. That is until his arms grew tired from reaching and legs grew tried from carrying him. He left the orchard to return to the throne. There was Hades, sat atop, looking terribly bored as he dealt with the unending line of souls.

"Please, Lord Hades-"

"Shoo," the god wave the soul away and they were dragged off. Peter went and took a seat, cross legged on the ground beside him. Tony spared him a glance.

"Come to watch the show?"

"I like being with you."

Tony stiffened, but said nothing in answer. Another soul stepped forward. A sort of gray tone clouded not only their skin, but their clothes as well. Peter wondered why he wasn't the same way. Was it because he Tony's soul, belonging to the orchard, while this soul belonged somewhere else? The souls from the Fields were all a bit gray.

"Please, Lord Hades, it has been one hundred and fifty years since my death. I wish to be united with my daughter. I walk the Fields endlessly and never find her," the soul pleaded.

Tony sighed. "Fine," he said. Peter blinked, sitting more upright. "When you return to the Fields, your daughter will await you at the gate."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed wjth gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

"That was kind of you," Peter said.

Tony huffed in response, but he continued this way. Whenever a soul made, what seemed to Peter, a reasonable request Tony honored it. Souls were united with family, friends, and lovers so long as they walked the fields together. And when it was done, Tony walked with Peter back to the orchard.

They walked beneath the trees, the smell of pomegranate in the air.

"What changed your mind about the souls?"

Tony stood and examined one of the trees. He ignored Peter's question. "They seem happy with you here," he said.

"You were right. They do tell me what they need."

Tony smiled. "Of course I was." He turned and took Peter's hand. His heart fluttered. They kept walking until the Styx came into view. They watched the river pass by in silence. Then after a long while Tony said, "I have to go." Then he disappeared.

Peter turned in a circle, but the god was truly gone. He smiled to himself and turned back to watch the river pass. Tony left him feeling warm. He missed his company already, but he was glad to have had it in the first place.

He went back to his trees, tending them with a smile. Time as usual, without measure other than a weariness in his legs from standing. Then the trees began to ask for water.

It made sense. It never seemed to rain in the Underworld. Certainly trees would need water. He had a pail he could collect it in, but where would he get it from? The only water source nearby was the Styx. He looked around for Tony, but the god was not nearby. So he took it upon himself to get the water.

Peter carried his pail down to the riverside. He placed his feet carefully to keep from slipping into the water. Then he leaned out and scooped some water up with the pail. He set the full pail up on the bank, but its weight unbalanced him. His feet slid in the rocks and he was pulled under the water's surface.

While the Styx looked steady and calm, there was a current beneath its surface. It claimed him easy, dragging him under and pulling him far far away from the orchard. Peter tried to swim up, sometimes his hands breached the surface, but never his head. His lungs burned with lack of air, then with water. Then he was drowning. Drowning without dying.

There was never any telling how much time passed in the Underworld. But finally, finally... he was pulled from the river.

He vomited what felt like gallons of water, coughing the rest from his lungs. The pain faded quickly. Peter laid on his back and blinked wet eyes at the man standing over him. He was a shadow, blocking out the light above.

"Tony?" he rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall in. The trees needed water and I slipped."

Tony knelt beside him. "I know. I saw the water pail by the river." He scooped Peter up and pulled him to his chest. Instantly, he was dry. "You're safe now."

"Thank you." Peter's body shook in fear and relief. "That was horrible."

Tony pet his hair and held him close. "Come and get me next time the trees need water. I will call the rain to water them."

Tony helped him stand. With slow steps they walked back together to the orchard. Tony seemed far more quiet than usual. Peter couldn't place just what was wrong. He'd been warned not to try to cross the river. Was he not allowed to go near it at all? Or did Tony think he had tried to leave. Why would it bother him so much if he did?

They passed under the first branches of the orchard. Without thinking, Peter plucked the first pomegranate he saw. He stopped and admired the round, red, fruit in his hands. Tony stopped and turned, looking back at him.

"I've never tasted one of these." Peter laughed softly. "All this time picking them and caring for them, but I never eat them."

"If you eat the fruit in the Underworld, you can never leave," Tony reminded him.

"You wouldn't let me leave anyway."

"Maybe I would." There was a vulnerable honesty there in his eyes. He was right, wasn't he? This time he was right. Harry had never loved him. He had been young and foolish and naive. Tony didn't just show him desire and adoration in the way that Harry had, no. From Tony he received respect, admiration, trust. Because Tony loved him, truly.

"You thought, even if it was only for a moment, that I had tried to cross the river. Were you relieved when you realized it was an accident?" Peter looked at his face. He said nothing, gave nothing away with his expression.

Peter looked at the fruit in his hand. He dug his thumbs into the skin and pulled it apart. It bled pink onto his skin. Tony watched him in silence, seeming to hold his breath. Peter examined his face searching for one last reassure that he was truly wanted. Then he brought the fruit to his lips and bit into its seeds.

It was perfectly sweet. The taste of it coated his tongue. Juice dripped down his chin. When he swallowed, it was heavy in his stomach. He dropped the fruit and looked at the god.

His gaze was adoring, worshipful.

"Allow me a taste," Tony said. He reached for him, pulling him in. Their lips met and Peter moaned at a taste that was far sweeter than the fruit.

His hands held Tony's face, staining his cheeks pink. Strong hands held his back, guiding him to press in closer until they were flush. Peter moaned as a tongue slipped over his own, exploring and claiming his mouth. He felt high on him, willing and receptive to any of Tony's desires.

They stopped, only for a moment, and gazed at each other's faces. Then Tony took him and laid him back in the soft grass beneath the trees.

Tony stripped away his clothes. Each article was removed with gentle care and hot kisses pressed to his newly exposed skin. Every inch of him felt sensitive to the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard. When he was naked, Tony returned above him to kiss his lips again. Peter let his hands roam over his chest and found that his clothes were gone, revealing a muscular and scarred chest. Tony caught his hand, holding it above his heart.

"Do you mind?" he said. His eyes shined.

Peter shook his head. "You're beautiful, Tony," he said. Tony caught his mouth in a kiss that was ripe with need.

Peter spread his legs apart and Tony settled between them. His kiss were soft and tender as he pushed slowly inside him. His mouth captured the high pitch whined that escaped Peter's lips. Slowly he was filled until Tony was fully inside him. His hands clung to Tony's shoulders and he stared up into gleaming brown eyes.

He dragged his fingers over his skin to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," Peter whispered.

Tony's smile was joyous. "I love you, Peter."

Peter gasped, head falling back into the grass as Tony moved inside him. The friction felt so intense that he could form words but that didn't stop him from whining and babbling. Tony kissed his lips, his bared neck, his chest. His lips sucked his nipples, tongue flicking and teasing over them. Peter's nails dug into Tony's shoulders. All he could do was hold on as his cock dragged over his prostate and Tony fucked him fast and deep. Frantic, like he was starving. When his mouth returned to Peter's, he held him tight, kissing his lips as if they dripped ambrosia. He refused to let, kissing him deeply and desperately until he could hold on no longer. His nails cut scratches into Tony's back as his body ached and shivered beneath him. His cum splattered, sticky and warm on his skin.

He panted hard, looking up at Tony again with nothing but adoration and love. He held Tony's beautiful face.

"Cum in me, please," Peter begged.

"Anything you want is yours," Tony pledged.

He moved him again, cock deep inside, body screaming with sensitivity. A tear rolled down Peter's cheek and he whimpered painfully, but he was euphoric. Tony kissed away his tears. Peter tasted the salt on his lips. Then Tony moaned, holding him tight. Peter covered his face in kisses. He felt him cum, making him sticky and wet inside.

Tony's cheeks were red and his smile was bright. Peter couldn't help but smile, too, and pulled him down into a deep unending kiss.

#marvel #starker #prompt fill #hades and persephone #fluff #romance #nff

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portgasdacer · 4 years ago

Text

Dom! Nanami: R18*

Nanami Kento/ F! Reader: Dominant Nanami, Bondage with his tie, rough sex, kind of breeding kink a little bit, spanking.

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You never thought you'd say the day that Nanami Kento killed you. Undeniably dangerous as he was, the entirety of his aggression was usually always pointed towards the curses he exercised for a living. Never would he raise a finger to an innocent human, so why was he so intent on making you suffer?

He hadn't so much as looked at you since he had gotten you in your compromising position; kneeling at his feet, entirely naked and with a vibrator working away within your cunt. Your hands were restrained behind your back with one of the ties from his extensive collection, a smooth and silky piece of material that wouldn't cause too much chafing. A small act of mercy on his part. The news paper in his hands entirely obstructed your view of his handsome features, and you were desperate for him to put the damned thing away so you could see his face. But alas, he was not relenting.

Your thighs had long since started shaking, entire body quivering with a burning need for the man in front of you. You could feel the cold and cloying wetness of sweat setting on your skin, a byproduct of your body's exertion from being denied orgasm for so long. The vibrator within you was thrumming at much too slow a tempo for it to push you off the precipice and frustrated tears were beginning to well in your eyes.

"Kento-"

You press your forehead to his knee, breaths coming and leaving in heavy puffs. There's not a single response from the man and you adjust with a whine, prickles shooting up your legs which are steadily turning numb.

"Please..."

The silence from him continues, and had you been any less depraved then you were, you'd have half a mind to make a snarky comment asking if he was deaf. You're on the verge of losing hope that you're ever going to garner any kind of acknowledgement from the man, when suddenly, the news paper in his hands is being closed and folded. He tosses it onto the small, round coffee table at his side, before finally, finally, turning those impossibly keen eyes onto your trembling form. Propping his elbow against the arm of the chair, Nanami slots his high cheekbone against his knuckle, peering down at you with a gaze that looks entirely indifferent.

A foot comes up, and your chin is suddenly being hooked onto one of his sleek dress shoes, keeping your hazy and lust-filled eyes on him.

"What is it that you want?"

A shudder runs through you at the sound of his voice. God, you'd never tire of that lazy drawl. You were sure he could sit there and recite pythagoras' theorem to you and you would still be as infinitely aroused as you are.

He rolls your chin slightly with his foot, watching intently as you try to fit your tongue and mouth around the words you want, but each and every attempt at vocalising comes out in no more than broken whines of "please." He isn't pleased with it, evidently, as he sighs and reaches back over for the paper he had only just discarded. Panic bubbles up within you then, and Nanami halts at a broken little cry of "n-no! Wait!"

His eyes are back on you, narrowed now and demanding as the toe of his shoe juts your head up sharply.

"What do you want, (y/n)?"

"You!" Your voice is high in pitch and wavering, body bowed forward towards the warmth of his legs, "you! I-I can't- I need you- please!" your voice trails into whimpered little mumbles, eyes squeezing shut in a desperate attempt to halt the tears that are quickly becoming large enough to fall in streaks down your flushed face. He's quiet again for a moment, listening to your pathetic little snivels and mewls for attention, and the dull buzz of the vibrator that hasn't given you rest for a single moment.

"Look at me."

His demand cuts through the thickening heat of the room, and your eyes open again on command, but just barely. He can see the wet glisten in them, knows that you're getting close to breaking.

"Please what?"

You heave a shaking breath at that. Know exactly what he wants, having given it to him a dozen times before. Keeping your eyes fixed on his as you wet your lips, you find your voice one more time.

"Please Sir."

He hums, considering you for a moment, before the weight of his foot withdraws from under your chin and he stands.

"Get up."

You do as he says, albeit slowly and very wobbly. Almost all of the sensation has left your legs and the painful throb of blood finally returning to the appendages makes it hard to stand on your own, nevermind the fact your hands were bound and unable to help your ascent. Your thighs clench around the toy still firmly lodged and working between them, and Nanami takes silent delight in the little tremors he can spot working their way through your body.

Again, something catches under your chin, his hand this time as he lifts your head to look at him once more, pressing a fleeting kiss to the bitten up flesh of your lips. A low murmur of, "good girl," has you thrilling, before he's catching your bound hands in one of his own, and marching you over to the adjoining dining room table, pressure at your back alerting you that he wants you bent over the thick wood. You do so eagerly, chest and cheek pressing into the solid structure uncomfortably without your hands to cushion you.

Warmth envelops your ass as he presses a hand to either cheek, spreading them to get a better look at the toy slightly protruding from your entrance.

"You're soaked," he comments, fingers accompanying his statement as he drags two digits between your folds; starting at your clit which pulses at the fleeting touch, and stopping at the end of the vibrator. You gasp as he grabs the plastic, removing it slowly from you and turning it off. Relief cuts through you as you relax somewhat against the table, tension ebbing away when you catch a moment to rest. You're vaguely aware of Nanami putting the toy on the table beside you, but you don't pay much mind as you focus on catching your breath for a moment. It is only just a moment however, when a hand makes contact with your behind again, this time as a sharp smack that rings through the room.

You're crying out before you can stop the sound, hands straining against the tie that binds them, body lurching away from the sting.

"Kento!"

"Hmm?"

Another smack. Another yelp, and you're wriggling until the hand that isn't abusing your rear comes to steady you on your hip. Your breathing stops as he leans over, and you can feel the fly on his trousers bite into your ass over his erection. The buttons of his shirt press into your back, and you only manage to find air in a gasp as his breath breezes past your ear.

"Try again."

You're not doing well tonight, you realise. This is the second time you've failed to use his title without him asking, and you imagine that his patience with the matter is swiftly running out. You attempt damage control by whining the honorific out to him, pushing back on your toes and pressing into the hard-on he's sporting. His breath catches for a moment, and then he's swiftly removing himself from you.

"Ordinarily, I'd have you begging until you remember who it is you're addressing," he rumbles and your heart springs into a rapid flutter when the tell-tale sound of his belt coming undone rings through the room, quickly followed by his zipper. You could've sobbed when the head of his cock slides against your lower lips, maybe you do, your brain feels so unaware to anything other than the way his tip bumps over your clit. One of his hands snags your own, keeping them pinned to your back with a firm grip on where the tie stretches between your wrists, his other coming back to rest on your hip once more. And then, he's sneering, "but I think I've kept you waiting long enough."

The sensation of Nanami sliding his cock into you is a feeling you can only describe through a wrecked moan, your toes curling and digging into the polished tile floor. His answering groan seems to come right from the depths of his chest, and you wished once more that you could see his face, but he seems intent on depriving you of that pleasure tonight. The walls of your pussy cling to him eagerly, sucking him in as he bottoms out and you vaguely register the cold metal of his belt buckle against your thigh.

"God, you feel good, love."

The praise is hissed between clenched teeth, and you can do little more than mewl in response as he starts slowly rocking his hips. The languid drag of his cock has you wanting to purr, but not more than the low grunts that punctuate the air every time he sinks his dick back into your waiting warmth. He builds a slow but steady tempo, the smacking of his hips against your ass rhythmic.

Your walls are over sensitive from the vibrator, and you begin to quickly feel the sparks of release buzz between your legs. You want to tell him. Between the satisfied keens and sobs you let out, you try, but they quickly drown out between the sounds of your depravity until all too suddenly, your orgasm hits. Your body seizes as you cum, another loud cry leaving you as it thrums through you and you're left shaking like a leaf against the table. You don't realise Nanami has stopped his movement until your head returns from the clouds, and you think he might be displeased with you for a moment, until he starts to move again.

A squeal tears itself from you as he fucks into you at a pace far more punishing than he had been previously, quickly driving you into overstimulation. His voice is at your ear again, a low growl of, "you're going to cum again for me," and then he's leaning back again, tugging your hips back into every forward drive of his cock. You're entirely incoherent now, babbling dumbly through the pleasure that makes your body burn up, and he matches every single sound with a sneer of his own.

"You're going to take my cum, do you understand? I'm going to fill that little cunt up."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good girl."

Your climax hits for the second time, and just like he had before, he continues to fuck you through it. You're on the verge of asking him to stop, that it's too much now and you can feel the restrained tears soaking down onto the table, feel the obscene wetness dripping down your thighs, when his pace falters. The exhale he gives is rough and staggered as he swaps his brutal fucking to grind his cock into you in slow pulses, and then, halting entirely as his load paints your insides white. He hisses as his orgasm hits, the grip he has on your bound hands deadly, groin pressed taught into your behind. He stays like that for a few moments, seated snugly inside you until you feel his release begin to leak.

You're still, panting and boneless as his orgasm dispels, eyes closed and exhausted. There's a quiet whine as he pulls out and rights his trousers, but you don't move at all until he's tugging you up carefully against his chest, working the tie off from around your hands. He doesn't collect the fabric, simply let's it pool on the floor. He turns you to face him.

"Are you okay?"

His low voice is barely above a mumble, fingers now gentle as they brush against your cheek, wiping away the path your pleasured tears had made. You respond with a hum and affirmative nod, smiling in a haze against his lips as he kisses you.

"Can you get to bed on your own?" He asks softly, and it's almost as if the question brings awareness of your legs back to you. They ache. Terribly, and you can feel how weak they are, but they should manage to get you to bed before they pack it in for the day. You give him confirmation, and he smiles somewhat.

"I'll clean up here. You get to bed, and I'll join you shortly with a snack and something to drink. If you'd like a bath, you need only tell me and I'll run one for you. I'll give your shoulders and arms a rub too. They were positioned oddly for quite a while."

His insistence makes your body warm and you nod again, indulging in another kiss with the man, before he sends you off with a hand on your back and an utterance of his affection. A statement that you gladly return.

#nanami kento #x reader #reader #reader insert #smut

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tsukiihime · 4 years ago

Text

Heartbreak (Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader)

Hey everyone! This is my first BNHA piece, something I wrote when I was bored and thought what the hey, I’ll post it! Feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairings: Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cyberbulling, swearing, breakup, angst, just kind of a sad piece overall?

Next Chapter

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When you started dating the Explosion Hero Dynamight, you knew that you were throwing yourself to the wolves. The media is cruel and the fans even crueller - if they deem you unworthy for their Hero then you’re in for a hell of a time - and not in a good way. But you loved Bakugo - you’ve loved him more than you’ve ever loved anyone, and for two years of your life you’ve been by his side as he climbs through the Hero charts.

But recently, the media has been sniffing a little too close to home. Someone has tipped the tabloids off to your existence and ravenous fans have been finding your social media day after day. Your selfies on Instagram are being bombarded with hateful comments on everything ranging from your weight to your skin color to your fashion sense, while your Twitter messages are flooded with paragraph after paragraph full of venom and vitriol. You can no longer take the headlines, the hate, the disgust being dished out at you day and day out. You beg your boyfriend to do something, anything to make the media leave you alone. Which brings you to tonight - in a heated argument with the Hero Dynamight.

“All I’m saying is that if you address the media, if you tell them that I’m your girlfriend, they might back off. I can’t do this anymore Katsuki, I can’t keep waking up and seeing this shit on my feed!” You’re so angry you’re shaking, and it’s pissing you off even more that Bakugo stares at you, unblinking and unfazed, arms crossed in indifference.

“You know I can’t do that. I do that, and my ratings plunge.” Your eyes widen in disbelief as soon as those words leave his mouth, you can’t believe he even said that.

“Are you serious Katsuki? Is beating Deku and becoming the number one hero really worth more to you than us? Than me?” Tears threatened to spill over at any moment, your fists clenching until your nails left tiny red crescents in your skin. You stared at vermilion eyes refusing to back down, waiting with trembling lips for his answer.

“You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me. I don’t know why you need so much fuckin’ reassurance that you’re different from all those other damn extras.” That sentence sends you from angry to fuckin’ pissed in less than a second.

You jab at his chest, practically screaming: “Excuse me? When we started dating, I was promised that you’d protect me from everything, including the media. Do you see the shit they say about me Katsuki? What they say about my body, my family, my upbringing? How they call me a slut and a whore because my Instagram has ‘Toshi on it and now I’ve been spotted with you? I can’t even visit my parents because I’m afraid they’ll follow me. I can’t go and see “Toshi because they’ll shit talk me even more! And you sit there and do nothing. Say nothing. All I want is for you to tell them the truth, that we are dating and that we are a couple.”

Now, it’s Bakugo’s turn to bite back. “And I’m sayin’ my hands are tied. They know I’m with someone, and I lose fans. Which means, I ain’t gonna beat that damn Deku at the rankings next month.”

“Fuck the rankings Bakugo! Can you get your head out of your ass for a second?! How in the world,” you turn to go to grab your phone, pulling up the latest headline about you on the tabloid’s website, “can you let them say this about me? Don’t you at least care that I’m being attacked on the daily?” Tears fall freely from your eyes now, and Bakugo flinches for a second, but only a second. You laugh in anger, turning away from him. “I already know the answer, Katsuki. You care more about the rankings than me. I’m in the way of your dream if you say I’m with you, so let me remove myself from the equation.” You grab a jacket, an umbrella and your phone, and put on your shoes. “It’s over Katsuki. I’m done. If you won’t say that we’re together, then we shouldn’t be together.”

You turn to leave, and a part of you hopes that he’ll follow - that he’ll grab you and hold you tight and tell you that he loves you, loves you more than the stupid rankings and that he’ll stand by you no matter what the media says.

But he doesn’t.

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You walk a couple of blocks to another apartment building, ring the doorbell and wait for the response to come from the other side. A deep voice responds, belonging to someone who had obviously been sleeping. “Who the hell is it?”

“‘Toshi, it’s me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? It’s raining idiot, get in here.” The doors unlock and you make your way inside. You know this building like the back of your hand, it’s the home of your best friend and your second home. You make your way to his apartment and he’s waiting for you in the hallway - purple hair tousled and messy, body heavy with sleep and dark undereye circles accentuating violet eyes as he scratches the back of his neck. It’s a tic of his, one you know well - he’s nervous.

“A fight huh?”

“Worse. I broke it off.” Shinsou immediately tenses at the mention of this, and if you weren’t so pissed and hurt by Bakugo you would’ve laughed.

“Shit...I’m sorry. Come in, tell me all about it.” He steps aside and lets you into his apartment, closing the door as he prepares himself to listen to you complain until the sun rises. He agrees to help you get your things when you’re ready to return, and says you can crash at his place until you find somewhere else to stay.

You return two days later, punching in the code to the apartment you and Bakugo share - well, you supposed shared was the better word. It felt so foreign, being here after everything. Memories of the last two years flooded into your mind - lazy days where you spent all day with Katsuki on the couch doing nothing but watching horrible horror flicks and laughing the night away, those early mornings that had you waking up at five o’clock in the morning to cook pancakes while the sleepy blonde wraps his arms around your waist while teasing your culinary skills. Even the late nights when schoolwork kept you awake well into the twilight hours and your exhausted body dragged itself to the bed you and he shared, breathing in the caramel scent of the man you loved as your head hits the plush pillows and you drift off to sleep. But now, all of those memories have disappeared into the wind, replaced with the fight you and Bakugo had before you had stormed out of the house that night. He’s been texting you like mad, calling you like there is no tomorrow, but you ignore his calls. He never leaves a voicemail, so you don’t know what’s on his mind.

As the beige door swung open, you breathed a sigh of relief that Katsuki wasn’t home. You had neither the heart nor the energy to see him after all that had happened and instead resolved yourself to get all of your things before his shift ended at his agency. You spent the next hour rounding up everything you owned - books, pictures, everything that you had room to take and that you knew you wouldn’t miss if you left it behind. When you had a breather you sent a quick text to Shinsou to let him know you were almost ready to go - and took a deep breath as you entered your bedroom. No, your former bedroom now. “That’s all it is now.” you remind yourself.

You start dumping all your clothes into trash bags and gather up pictures and toiletries that belong to you as you clean up the bedroom from one end to the other. As you grab a pile and place it on the bed, an article of clothing falls that you don’t recognize. You bend over and pick it up to inspect it closer.

You know your clothes, all of them. But this lacy lingerie set that is discarded on the floor isn’t yours, hell, it isn’t even your size. Your throat feels like sandpaper and your nose crinkles as you drop the clothes as if burned by a flame. You can’t help but stare at it as a million things run through your mind at once: whose is it? How long has it been here? Was this before or after you and Katsuki broke up? Did he already move on? The last thought is something you know you shouldn’t dwell on, it isn’t your business what he does after you’re the one that ended the relationship. You know this and yet the tears come anyways, endless and stinging without end. Your legs give out and you fall to your knees clutching your heart as sobs fall from your lips, as your emotions bounce all over the place. The molten hot anger you felt at first is now transforming into deep sadness, all the bittersweet memories racing through your mind now replaced by images of Katsuki holding another woman, another lover just like he held you. You can’t stop as your brain formulates these what if situations - what if he was waiting for you to end it so he could be with her? You start to imagine him kissing another with the same passion he held for you. You see another in your place, eating the food that he insists on making to spoil you after a long night of homework, running their fingers through his hair as he falls asleep on their lap, and seeing another wrapped in his arms as they fall asleep together under the moonlit sky.

“I can’t stay here” you whisper to yourself, desperate to stop the tears that won’t end - desperate to feel anything but this pit of agony. You’ll take numbness over this endless heartbreak, this disappointment, this feeling of self-deprecation that tells you over and over that you weren’t good enough. “I-”

The door opens and you hear Shinsou’s voice behind you, calling your name and making his way through the hallway at the front of the apartment. “You didn’t answer my texts so I came up to check on you and-” The purple haired man freezes when he sees you, sitting on the floor with your head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears spill from your eyes dripping onto your fingers. You can no longer hold back your sobs as everything comes to a head - your insecurities, the hateful comments left on your social media, Katsuki’s own dismissal of your feelings as you two fought that night two days ago. Shinsou immediately drops to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your frame and holding you close. “It’s okay...let it out.” You peer up at him from tear filled eyes, lunging at him to wrap your arms around his neck as you bury your face in his chest.

“Hitoshi…” is all you’re able to say before another sob wracks your body, tears staining your cheeks and dampening Shinsou’s hoodie. You try desperately to explain why you’re crying, and why you’re so upset but you can’t find the words as your tongue feels heavy like a bunch of bricks. Indigo eyes drift to the underwear discarded behind you, anger seething in his veins as he puts two and two together.

“Bakugo, you fucking tool.” He thinks to himself as he holds you, letting you cry out what you can’t tell him but he knows. He knows you better than anyone, just as you know him better than anyone. He remembers the vibrant little girl he met on the playground all those years ago, who spoke to him without a care even with his “villainous” quirk. He remembers your ecstatic scream as he calls you to let you know that he was able to get into the Hero Course at U.A, and he remembers you celebrating his acceptance at getting into a Hero Agency by getting blackout drunk and waking up with you in snuggled in his arms as you wear his favorite hoodie. He remembers being the one to introduce you to Bakugo at a Hero Ranking after party when you accompanied him as his plus one. He remembers how breathtaking you looked that night - an obsidian dress that hugged your figure closely, long legs accentuated by black stilettos and your plush lips painted in a ruby red hue. He remembers being the man of the hour, the hero Mindjack accompanied by a beauty on his arm, the envy of the venue. He remembers dancing with you, his most beloved childhood friend, his most precious person. He remembers watching you stride to the bar, smiling as you greet the bartender with glee and and he remembers watching you bump into Bakugo as you apologize quickly to the blonde before making your way back to him. He also remembers Bakugo following you to him, prompting him to introduce you to the man who would eventually become your boyfriend.

“If only you hadn’t bumped into him that night”, Shinsou thinks to himself, “Katsuki Bakugo, I’m going to give you a piece of my mind when I see you next.” How helpless he feels watching you cry as your heart shatters into a million pieces, how powerless he feels as he holds you tighter than he’s ever held anyone before. “C’mon, let’s get you home. I’ll take what I can and I’ll get the rest another day.” he smiles as he looks at you, giving you a small grin that he hopes makes you feel a bit better. “Don’t worry, I grabbed your Switch and your laptop, so the lazy girl hours can still happen” you punch him in the shoulder playfully as you wipe tears away on your sleeve, pouting as you roll your eyes at his lazy jokes before he continues, “and I’ll send Bakugo a text on what’s happening. You won’t have to deal with him. I promise.” It doesn’t escape his notice how you tense up when he says Bakugo, but the small smile you give at his joke makes him feel just a bit better. You stand up and press your lips to his forehead, tippy toeing to reach. “Thanks ‘Toshi. I really appreciate it, truly.”

“Anything for my Animal Crossing buddy.” You cross your arms and give him a questioning look, eliciting a chuckle from the taller male. “I’m jus’ kiddin’. You know I’d do anything for you. And your Switch.” You laugh as you turn to grab your boxes and make your way to the front of the apartment, the lingerie that had shattered your world moments ago momentarily forgotten in the corner of you and Bakugo’s bedroom. “It’s only Bakugo’s now” you remind yourself as you walk out into the living room, “this place belongs to Bakugo only.” You take one last look at your home for the last ten months, and quickly turn on your heels to make your way to the elevator with your entire life packed into a few boxes. A small sense of regret lingers in you, but you quickly shove that aside to stop yourself from crying some more. Shinsou grabs the rest of the boxes left on the table, and places your key to the apartment on the counter next to a picture frame with the glass faced down. He then turns and follows you out the door to his car.

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The next few nights are the hardest - Shinsou’s apartment only has one bedroom, one bathroom and the living room which means you’re on the couch until you find your own place. You’ve known Shinsou since childhood and you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed but you’re so distraught from your discovery in Bakugo’s room that you want to be alone to cry it out if you need to - you already feel like a burden to Shinsou despite his protests against the idea. He’s not home tonight - on patrol around the city as you sit in the living room wrapped in a blanket and wearing his favorite hoodie. You flip through the channels and stumble across the Hero Rankings red carpet. It’s been ages since Hitoshi attended one, becoming more of an “underground hero” and avoiding the spotlight if possible. In fact, the only time he attended one was with you around the time you met Bakugo. You cringe at the thought of him, trying quickly to remove him from your mind. The rational part of your mind wants to change the channel, to watch those documentaries you love so much and wait until Shinsou gets back home but you don’t. Instead, you decide to remain on this channel, watching as heroes come and go on the red carpet with their dates and hear the host gush about each one’s accomplishments. This is torture, you know Bakugo will appear since he’s the number four Hero, you know he’ll be there and yet like a train wreck, you can’t look away. Maybe you’re curious as to what he’s up to, or maybe you want to see if he looks as miserable as you know you do. In any case, you wait with baited breath to see a pair of scarlet eyes and ash blonde hair to satiate your curiosity. A flash of green catches your attention and you see Izuku Midoriya appear on screen in front of you. Deku is the number three Hero and on his arm is his girlfriend Uraraka, another Hero ranked at number seven. You’ve met the both of them at parties you attend with Bakugo - they both received a lot of hate from “fans'' when they announced they were dating, but the love they exuded for each other made the media change their tune really fast. They truly adored one another and didn’t care if their ratings took a dive. You had wished Bakugo would do that for you, but you weren’t a Hero and you didn’t have an impressive quirk, so his agency decided that it would be better for his ratings if he kept you a secret and he agreed. At first, you didn’t mind but the comments on social media and the tabloids made you feel as if he wasn’t yours at all - instead all you felt was that he was ashamed of you.

Then you see him. You grip the remote so hard it almost hurts, but you keep on looking anyway. There stands the number four Hero Katsuki Bakugo, wearing a red and black suit and looking as he always does - confident to the point of arrogance, a grumpy face that makes him unapproachable, arms crossed in annoyance. The cameras go off flash after flash, and the announcer goes over his stats - how many people he’s saved, his amount of solved cases, so on and so forth. You smile at his ranking, he’s gone from eleven to four in such a short amount of time, and you know he has his determination to thank for that. He works hard, that you can’t deny.

Then you see her. You recognize her, from the tabloids and the makeup commercials. The Illusion Hero, Maboromicamie. She’s tall, beautiful, and has a gorgeous figure as well as a comfy place ranked as the number ten Hero. Her arm is linked with Bakugo’s, and he has an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close for the photoshoot. The announcer raises their voice in excitement, as a headline appears on your TV: “Dynamight and Maboromicamie an item? Seen together getting close at the awards ceremony!”

You shut off the TV and close your eyes. What were you expecting? Why did you do that? You can’t help the tears that escape, but they do. There you sit, alone in the apartment with the image of those two stuck in your head, burned into your memory. When Shinsou gets home, he says nothing and you’re grateful for it - you know he’s seen the ceremony and he knows you well enough to know that you’ve seen it too. Instead, he showers, lays down next to you, and holds you close as you cry quietly into his arms.

#bnha #bnha x fem!reader #shinsou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x you #hitoshi shinso x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bnha angst #mha x reader #my writing

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years ago

Text

reunion pt. 2 (6/8) | r.b.

summary: The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings. Or, the winter after Shiganshina is frigid with change.

WARNINGS: mentions of heavy injuries, depression, angst all around, swearing, levi gives some advice, blood pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.2k

a/n: we’re nearing the end!!! ahh thats crazy adnkasln. not much reiner this chapter unfortunately but he will return next chapter!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3!

You land heavily on your left leg, hand on Jean’s shoulder to soften the blow to your right as you watch Hange wrestle Mikasa back. Eyes widening, you sweep the rooftop—from Levi, to Erwin, to the burnt corpse that has to be…

“Don’t tell me…”

“Armin?”

“It can’t be…”

Bertholdt. Your eyes fall to his steaming body, marks of his Titan still imprinted on his face and you fall forward. Limbs chopped to the bone, blood pooling underneath him, a cloud of steam surrounding him. You’re the only one left.

Rising to his feet, Jean’s grip is iron on your shoulder, clamping onto the joint so hard you’re sure it’ll break and you look up at him, watery breaths puffing past your lips. He stares down at you, regret sewn into his features, but even so, there’s a hard determination in them.

You know what has to be done, he seems to say. Covering his hand with your own, a shooting pain splits your chest open as Levi looks from Erwin to Armin, back again—an impossible choice. You’re not jealous at all of the captain, deciding the fate of two soldiers who are both just as important, but for some reason, you can’t even think about Armin or Commander Erwin.

You smell the terrible perfume of burnt flesh mixed with the smoke and dust of the ruins of Shiganshina, the blood in your mouth, the sweat lingering heavily around them. It reminds you of Trost, of Reiner holding you as he told you Marco had died. You somehow can’t think of anything else.

It’s not until Levi tells them to get that you can tear your eyes off Bertholdt’s slumbering face. He looks almost peaceful and you reach a limp hand for him but Jean tugs at your shoulder, and you look at him.

“Come on,” he utters softly, and you let him help you up, hopping on your broken leg with a grimace. You can do this, you tell yourself as Captain Levi drags Bertholdt towards the commander by the scruff. Whatever happens, at least it’s for good, right? Please, just sleep, Bertholdt. I don’t want you to suffer anymore than you already have.

“Captain Levi, can I—“ Your voice comes out from your chest, surprising everyone there including yourself, and the bloody captain freezes, turning to look at you. You set your jaw, limping away from Jean who tries to stop you. “I just want to say goodbye.”

Levi’s eyes search yours, and then flicker to Hange, still holding Mikasa. A beat passes.

“Make it quick,” he allows. “The rest of you, scram.” The sound of ODM gear splits the air, iron wire screeching as the Scouts left head towards a distant rooftop. Walking towards the captain, you give him a weary look as he sets down Bertholdt’s body.

Crashing to your knees, you reach a hand to brush the dark hair out of his eyes, and his forehead doesn’t even crease when your fingertips brush over his brow. Overwhelmed, you can only gently trace the Titan markings on his cheeks, hollowed out patches of skin that outline his bones, reveal the muscle pulling his face together.

“Bertl,” you whisper. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” You wait for an answer that’ll never come, hand flattening against his warm cheek, and you feel his gentle breath against your fingers as your eyes begin to burn. “Why didn’t either of you just kill me? If we’re all devils, what made me so special?” You blink, and the tears fall down your face, land on his chest in gentle splatters. With your other hand, you cradle his face completely in your palms, and you bow your head.

“Nothing’s special about you,” Levi mutters, and your head snaps up to see him standing over Bertholdt’s body, nothing but a cold indifference struggling to find its place in his eyes. “They just decided you were. That’s all it was.”

His words sting, but nonetheless, you don’t let it faze you. You draw your hands back towards your lap.

“Captain, please keep it quick. I don’t want him to suffer,” you whisper, and you meet blue-grey eyes resolutely before pulling yourself up. “I don’t think I’ll survive hearing him scream.”

“Hurry up and go,” he orders. “I’ll be as merciful as I can.” Nodding numbly to yourself, you glance down at Bertholdt one last time, before heading towards the edge of the roof and launching yourself back towards the others. Mikasa helps ease you down to your knees and you send her a grateful look before shuffling in between Jean and Connie. Watching the captain’s green figure crouch beside the Commander’s, your nerves are shot and your headache only begins to intensify.

“Armin,” Eren’s muffled sob pricks at your ear but you ignore him, eyes trained on the singular figure arched over the apex of the roof.

“What’s taking him so long?” Jean mutters.

“Maybe the transformation isn’t instantaneous?” Connie suggests.

“If that were the case, the captain would’ve left and watched the commander transform from a safe distance.” Leaning forward, one of your hands plant on the wood of the apex on the gabled roof as the cloaked figure stands. Together, the Scouts watch as Levi turns around, walking to the other end of the roof towards a black, burnt body. Ragged, wet gasps tear the air as Eren lunges forward. Mikasa grabs his arm, hauling him back, and your eyes widen.

He’s going back for Armin, you realize distantly. He changed his mind. Why? How could he—

There isn’t time for questions. As soon as the captain seems to inject the fluid, he kicks Armin’s body off the roof before turning around and grabbing Commander Erwin’s body. Hange lets out a soft noise, sprinting off the roof towards their friend while the rest can only watch as lightning splits the air for just a flash of a second, destroying the back end of the home. Splinters and debris go flying as steam arises from the spot where lightning struck and the two senior officers retrieve the commander, retreating to a roof a distance away.

Only a few more seconds. Bertholdt has to stay unconscious for just a few more seconds. Jean’s hand on your shoulder is iron-like again, nails digging through your jacket, a silent warning that you don’t have to watch, but you’re frozen to your spot, waiting.

The shrill sound of wood ripping fills the air, even from where they watch, as one bony claw reaches through the steam. What follows—a blond head, a body more skeleton than flesh, and a gaping mouth.

Armin. His name sounds foreign in your head as he reaches Bertholdt.

You hear the first sob as he plants a hand onto his prey, lifting him into the air.

“No!” Raw and burning, Bertholdt’s screams brand into your eardrums as he thrashes as hard as he can in Armin’s grip but he’s nothing more than a limbless body and a head. Your world splits open as he’s raised through the sky. The fear fractures your chest, the desperation sinks into your skin, and you want to tear your eyes out but your fingers remain dug into the ridge as he screams wetly. Your hand is blistering, on fire along your fingers, and blood congeals on your tongue.

For the rest of your days, you will remember the moment his eyes found yours, bulging wide with untamed, unnatural dread.

“Guys, please!” Sobbing, his voice grows hoarse as Armin’s jaw unhinges. “Help me!” Head snapping, swinging, whipping any which way until he can free himself, the way his neck thrashes makes your stomach roll. Your legs are begging for orders, begging to spring forward to save him as the shadow of a Titan falls over his face.

Bertholdt screams your name and it pierces through, a bullet that shatters every nerve as your eyes begin to burn. Your teeth clench before you’re pushing off the roof, boots gritting against tile

“Bertholdt!” Pain spirals through your entire body as you take one step before an arm wraps around your neck, flinging you back. You fall onto your spine, the breath knocked out of you and your feet kick out, ODM gear clanking against the tile. Hands surrounding you, pinning you down, and you flail your arms and legs, nails clawing at anything you can make contact with, gasping for air, for space, for anything. “Bertholdt! No! No! Please!”

Vision blurring, you try to make out your captors as a knee presses into your wrist and another slams into your shoulder. Breath shuddering, your feet lash at the air, desperately trying to push yourself away from the others to save him. You have to save him—Captain Levi said it’d be merciful—

“Hold her down! Shit!”

“I’m trying!”

“Bertholdt!” Your throat begins to bleed and you taste the fire in your lungs as your head slams backwards, your back arching off the roof. Tears sear into your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a furious sob, heaving and wheezing before your mouth falls open and a burning scream bursts from your chest. Ribs poking into every inch of your flesh, your hands fly up to dig into elbows. Whoever you hold onto do not wince and you hear a jagged voice, wrought with anguish.

“Go! Go get Armin and make sure he’s okay. I have her—“

“But, Jean—“

“Connie! Go with Eren and Mikasa. We’ll be okay.” The knee on your shoulder lifts and you immediately swing your fist at Jean, clocking him in the cheek and knocking him off you. Throwing yourself up, you scramble forward and wipe at your face but the tears still do not cease. You can barely see.

Your heart decays, a cold, throbbing agony filling you as you scan the square. You see the blonde Titan just in view behind the house, collapsed on his stomach, steaming more and more as someone erupts from the nape.

The agony numbs.

So, that’s it then.

Bertholdt’s…

Crumpling in on yourself, your fingers clasp at the base of your neck and you curl into a ball, eyes sliding shut. Everything inside you falls apart, shattering into a million pieces and the walls around you begin to fall in, the fatigue and pain and heartache piling on top of you, burying you, blocking out the sun, you’ve lost everything, you have no one.

You couldn’t even save Bertholdt—

“Jean, go to the others.” Fingers tightening around your head, your tears scorch as they fall into your hairline, disappearing in all the grime and dust and blood staining your body. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Shoulders shaking, your breath puffs hot against your face and you’re panting for air as your back kinks painfully. Stabbing sensations nestled right underneath your shoulder blades, you begin to wheeze, face beginning to flush, body beginning to grow number and number until you can’t even feel the pain anymore of shattered bones.

All you can hear is Bertholdt screaming for you to help him, the silence of your body.

Why couldn’t you move?

Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure.

It spells itself out, digs its talons into your brain and pries you open until you’re sobbing harder into the stone. Your heart thuds in your mouth, large and swollen, as hands grip your shoulders, wrenching you up. On instinct, cold air seeps into your chest and you let out a gasp, face in pieces as you lift it to the sky.

“Hey!” Your eyes spring open as the hands on your shoulders grow more insistent and you lower your wet stare to Levi who is already studying with his quicksilver gaze. You feel everything inside you drain out. His teeth are bared in a tight scowl, and you still tremble in the aftershocks but he only holds on tighter. “Give yourself a moment, then pull yourself together. We still have a job to do. After that, I’ll give you as much time as you want to cry your little eyes out.”

“Captain—“ Your voice breaks, and Levi’s eyes flicker as you stare right through him. He lets go, drawing his hands back to himself. “Do you think it hurt?”

He pauses, deliberates this. “I think the fear was probably the worst part. If it hurt, it was only for one intense moment. Arlert crushed his head open,” he informs and your heart becomes a stone in your chest. “Now, come on. I’ll splint your leg and then we’re moving Erwin.”

“But, but Armin—“

“Do you really want to see him right now?” he cuts off sharply, and you wince as he stands. “Hange will take care of the others. You’re coming with me.”

Weakly, you mumble out his name, but he doesn’t stop as you struggle to your feet, following after him. You wipe at your face with sweaty hands, but it doesn’t help at all, only smearing it all over your exhausted features. Lungs still spasming in the occasional hiccups, you let your smashed, bruised fingers fall uselessly.

Captain Levi leads you to a demolished square near the Wall where Hange is already piling supplies, Commander Erwin’s body laid to rest. Eyes widening, you look at his corpse before looking at Levi who only looks over the body in passing before walking to a crate and ordering for you to sit down.

“We’ll be going over the Wall. I need to know you’re in shape to keep moving.”

“The others are bringing Armin back here before we start searching for survivors,” Hange informs.

You nod as Levi cuts away your pant leg and you grimace when you realize how swollen it is along your shin. Shaking his head to himself, he yanks your boot off and begins to wrap a nearby piece of wood he found and broke into the right length to your leg, splinting the bones tightly. Your bruised and broken fingers dig into the crate with every wince but he keeps going and going as you look down at him.

He slips the final round underneath the layers of cloth before stuffing your foot back into your boot despite the pressure mounting as soon as he does.

He steps back and you stand unsteadily. The pain is even worse, now, but you’re just going to have to be stuck with it. You’re sure walking around on a broken leg isn’t good for the health, but it shouldn’t matter. There’s still work to do.

“How much gas do you have?”

“Enough,” you reply, patting your ODM gear and he nods.

“I’m refilling once we get over the wall. All our supplies are probably knocked everywhere so grab as much as you can on the way back.”

“Yes, sir.”

The battlefield reeks of the tang of blood and shit. The air is hot and heavy under the beginnings of a warmer afternoon, and your stomach roils at the bloody mist still tinting the air. This was a massacre—nothing less—and you swallow your nausea, picking your way through the battlefield.

They search for a singular thing, but with the amount of red on the field, you can’t pick out what used to be brown from what used to be green.

“It would’ve been closer to the houses than the others,” Levi mutters. “Forster said he was hit first.” You nod, turning around and examining the land they’ve already traversed.

Standing beside your captain, your eyes widen when you catch sight of the only white on the field. It reminds you of the flags they’d teach about in cadet corps—white meant fall back, white meant give up.

White meant nothing Commander Erwin stood for, and you let out a soft gasp. Levi’s gaze snaps to you.

“Commander Erwin’s horse,” you finally croak, lifting a dead finger to point at the steed. It lays limp, dirty, and the more you focus on it, the more you can make out its features. His eyes are closed, and you could’ve believed the stallion was asleep as you approach it and crouch down slowly, touching the horse’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

“What a fucking shitstorm,” Levi murmurs as you push yourself up. He tugs your elbow to help you, and you send him an appreciative glance but you find he’s already looking at everything else, haunted pale gaze searching for something.

He looks starving for his target, greedy, and you look away. There’s blood that hasn’t steamed away from his face, and you don’t want to think about whose it could be.

You turn to see where the dirt had been imprinted on in an odd-long oval shape, different from the thousands of hoofprints stomped into the mud. A drag mark, carved into the soft mud. Following the trail, your throat begins to close up as you hobble beside it, only stopping when you finally find what they’re looking for.

You see the green cape, soaked in red, dragging at the ground, muddied and soiled, stepped all over and half-buried.

Nonetheless, you reach down pick it up, flapping what dry crumbs you can off the fabric and folding it over your arm before glancing over to where Levi stands near the horse’s head, staring at the patch of blood soaking the dirt.

“Captain, I found it.” You tilt your head heavily. “Captain?” Returning to his side, you try to find what he’s looking at. Following his gaze, you frown warily at the patch where the mud is saturated red, the grass still drinking in the blood like it’s been stuck in a drought and it mixes like a sickly stew.

Commander Erwin’s blood, you realize after a moment. Nausea sluices through you and you blink away the burning. The idea of him, cold, lying in the blood and awake, listening to his troops die around him…

“Captain, I found it,” you whisper rawly. As if your words break the trance Levi has put himself in, he looks up, shaking his shoulders out.

“Finally, he’ll have something to cover himself with,” he mutters at last, grabbing the cape from you, and you only look at your captain. At the rough, deep quality in his tone you’ve never heard before as he clears his throat. “Idiot.”

“Sir, don’t you mean buried with?” you ask timidly, and he shakes his head. “We’re not going to leave him here, are we?”

“We’re not bringing him back with us. By all means, his dream lived here and he died here. He fought his whole life to get here—I’m not going to be the one to take him away from that.”

Take him away from his mission, you hear in your head. Who is Captain Levi to decide that? Who are you to decide? Erwin stays here. It makes sense. I stay here. They had a mission. Who was I? Who was I to tell them to stop because of me?

“I’ll come back,” Levi continues, promises, but not to you, “to bury him. When this is all over. He deserves a proper burial.” Lips pressing together, you swallow down your words, and bow your head. After an unknowable amount of time, Levi finally sighs, shoulders caving, and starts walking back to the Wall. The green is clutched tight in his fist. You stand by the blood stain, the tip of your boot beside the head of the horse who could’ve been sleeping and he calls out, voice sharp and normal again: “C’mon. We can’t hang around—“

“I want to help you bury him,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and Levi freezes in his spot. Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment, feel every nerve inside you pulse, before you fix your gaze on the Wings of Freedom printed on Levi’s back. “I know it’s not my place, but Commander Erwin gave me a chance to prove I wasn’t weak and I failed him. I need to make it up to him somehow.”

Levi sighs softly before continuing on and you limp after him as fast as you can, catching up after a few pained grunts. Your leg is blistering, burning from the inside out, but nothing has scorched you more than your tears, so in comparison, you almost feel relieved.

“Some things I have to do on my own, you understand that?”

Despite yourself, the faintest ripple in your lips that could’ve been a smile runs through your face before disappearing as if it were never there. It’s something he’s told you so many times during your suspension and you dip your head.

“Of course, sir.”

He nods numbly. “Okay, then.”

The others went to the basement and you’re left here.

Someone calls your name softly as you sit on the edge of the wall, looking at the ruins of Shiganshina hollowly. Raising your head, you see Armin standing, and you sweep your gaze for a moment before turning to look at the city again. He sits uninvited next to you and you barely resist the urge to ask him to leave you alone, reminding yourself you have no reason to be angry with him.

He didn’t eat Bertholdt on purpose. It’s just how the cards were dealt, how the dice was rolled. The pieces on the chess board lined up, and they had a chance to seize a game-winning piece.

Armin twiddles his thumbs. Your shoulders slump forward.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you intone quietly. “What matters is that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I ate Bertholdt, and I know—“

“Armin, don’t.” He falls quiet, and you look at him desolately. “There really isn’t anything we can do about it, now. At the end of the day, they’re gone, and I’m still here. You’re still here, and Bertholdt isn’t. That’s all.”

“I know.”

“I really am happy that you’re okay, Armin. I’m so grateful that you could come back, and that our side managed to get another Titan power. Maybe we can turn the tides, but…”

Knowingly, he finishes it for you, “But the price was too high for you.”

The words make you flinch and you don’t correct him.

“They could’ve killed me so many times. I’m starting to wonder why they didn’t,” you whisper mostly to yourself. A doe blue gaze fall on your cheek, and you close your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

“Because they care about you. I could never try and kill Mikasa or Eren. I can’t even imagine it, so the fact that you tried to put those feelings aside for duty, I think that’s saying a lot more than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

You scowl at his words, hating the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks again. You’re drained, dried out, yet still, more tears are always coming even when you think you’re done.

“Armin, if I took the multiple chances I had to kill Bertholdt, to kill Reiner, I think both you and Commander Erwin would be alive. Captain Levi would’ve never had to make such an impossible choice, and—“ And maybe I could remember how to breathe without all this weight on my chest. But you don’t say that. Instead, quietly, you plead, “Can you just… leave me alone? I don’t want to talk, right now.”

Armin’s lips upturn into a hurt frown, but you only stare at the space just in front of your knees, focus fixed on some imaginary spot. Before long, he’s pushing himself to his feet and walking back to Sasha, and you clasp your hands, watching the city blankly.

For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the time you and Annie had walked the walls the day before graduation, finding Reiner and Bertholdt up there, too. How had that only been a few months ago?

It feels like years, now.

Without a second thought, you pick yourself up slowly, your splinted leg awkwardly colliding with the stone. Levi told you to get some rest, but…

You begin to walk away from the others, not quite sure where you’re going. You go past Floch, who’s taking watch, and when you close your eyes, you can hear footsteps behind you—two, light and fleeting, one more sure and steady.

“Have fun in the MPs, Annie. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you.”

“You won’t be missing much.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Hey, the military ranking shouldn’t determine whether or not someone can join the MPs. What if someone’s just as good, but didn’t make it into the top ten because of how limited the spots are? It doesn’t make sense.”

A sharp laugh. “Someone needs to wash Bertholdt’s mouth, creampie. Look at him, renegading against the government.”

Eyes snapping open, you turn to look over your shoulder.

Nothing but still air.

The next few days pass in nothingness.

You’re moved to the old Scouts headquarters—where Section Commander Miche died, you still feel his ghost lingering the halls—away from the others. It’s mostly empty besides a few Garrison Regiment officers who keep an eye on you—Captain’s orders, and they’re your main source of news, even if it is just catching hints of gossip. You don’t speak to them, mostly because you’re sure they think guarding a teenager with broken bones who doesn’t even talk back is way below their pay grade.

Most of your friends aren’t keen on talking to you either, with a fair few forced exceptions, but at this point, you’ve written your report, detailing everything you did during the campaign, and you don’t want to talk to them either. You haven’t since their ride back.

They know you went back for Reiner, and, instead of striking him down, you tried to pull him free. It doesn’t matter.

You roll onto your side. Everything feels grey, time passing by inconsequentially in the rise and fall of the sun. You mostly stay in your room, content to let Shiganshina crush the ruins of your memory into dust, and you don’t recognize what day it is. Your nights are plagued with flashes of Bertholdt, the sounds of his screams ringing until you’re deaf. Reiner’s bare, burned face, steaming, eyes covered in a blindfold too tight over his skin.

The ragged gasp of your name.

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t budge from where you stare out the window, at the sun gleaming in through. It dapples on the cotton of your sheets, gentle pools of gold, and you trace one of the warm shapes absently with your wrapped, splinted fingers.

It nearly frightens you how much you don’t feel, how much you don’t care what happens to you next. The world is hollow, everything inside it scooped out and replaced with black coldness.

“I know you’re awake in there.”

Levi.

“You better be decent. I’m coming in either way.”

The door clicks and swings open.

They had a ceremony two days ago, honouring the survivors of the expedition before they could move on to a far more somber occasion today—a service for Commander Erwin at the end of the week, and the government going into a state of mourning. Flags are raised, speechs are prepared to be given, and you’re pretty sure the empty casket will be closed and buried somewhere in Mitras, empty words carved into a plaque.

Levi’s sigh breaches your ears. “Have you at least eaten today?”

“Yes.” You don’t move nor start at the creakiness in your voice. Blinking slowly, you examine a ripple in the bedsheet. “Doctor said if I didn’t, he’d break my other leg.”

“Good.” He walks to the window, and you see his shape lingering at the edge of your eyes. Tilting your head, you look at him. He looks rested, as well as he can be, but there’s a raggedness in his stature, the exhaustion engrained in his face that only comes with grief.

“The memorial is today,” you point out unhelpfully. “Will you be speaking?”

“Have to,” he mutters brusquely. “Not exactly excited to eulogize Erwin in front of a bunch of stuck-up bastards. Don’t think he would’ve minded either, if I didn’t.”

“So why are you doing it?” You shift a bit, sit up a bit straighter. There’s a pulse of silence where Levi seems to debate how to answer. His lips press into a thin, white line, and he scowls at his reflection in the pane of glass, before he exhales sharply.

“I don’t know,” he says before shifting the discussion blatantly. “Either way, you won’t hear it. You don’t need to come.”

“Sir…”

“You didn’t come to the ceremony two days ago, either,” he snorts. “I’m sure it’s no skin off your back.” He’s right, and you smile grimly. “Focus on healing.” Tugging at the lapel of his formal Survey Corps coat, he continues, “It’ll be a waste of time, anyway. Most of them spent most of their careers hating him. I doubt her Royal Majesty or any of your friends will want to be there, either.”

You swallow, sitting upright and adjusting the pillows against your back. He glances over, and rakes his gaze down your body with a critical glare.

“Would you look at that? You haven’t moulded to the futon, yet. I was starting to think you had lost your body back in Shiganshina.” He steps away from the window and turns, standing at the foot of your bed.

Clearing your throat, you reach up to scratch your collarbone and find blue-grey fixed on your fingers. “When do you think we can go back for him, Captain?”

Levi frowns, gaze flickering up to your face again.

“I don’t know. At this point, it could be months before the state declares that Wall Maria is free of Titans, especially with how small the Survey Corps are. Garrison soldiers can only help so much,” he adds grudgingly. “And the MPs are pretty much useless. Most of them. And Hange… is doing their best. Let’s just say that.” You nod again. He glances at the clock airily, then at you again. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and he studies you quickly, gauging how honest you are with your promise, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns around. Your stomach is a thousand stones in your stomach as he glances at the splintered wood of the wall, and his footsteps slow to a stop. Watching his profile, you wait for him to say something as he lowers his gaze to the waste bin by the door.

He doesn’t. He simply continues out the door, speaks to the soldier on guard outside your room, and disappears from your sight.

“Lunch will be in two hours,” the soldier says before closing the door. You turn to look out the window.

Two days earlier, Connie and Sasha had come bearing a bolo tie, green gem gleaming, expression somber.

“It’s yours. For your services to the Survey Corps and to Historia.”

You had the grace to wait for them to be gone before flinging it with all your might at the wall and listening to the wood splinter as it clattered to the bottom of the bin.

The snow melts as soon as it touches your nose, and you glance at Levi uneasily as he jams the tip of the shovel into the dirt. His jacket’s been shed, and you swear he could be steaming with how much sweat drenches his entire body. He had insisted on laying the Commander’s bones to rest and burying him yourself which meant you had perched yourself on the roof overhanging the little clearing they’d found. It’s off-track in an already trampled ceremony—his grave now the singular headstone in a field of a thousand bodies—but it’s somewhere he can rest, you’re sure.

Adjusting your grip on your ODM gear, you look up at the blindingly grey sky. The snow slows to a stop as you fall to one-knee, examining the terrain.

Returning to active duty had been difficult. Rehabilitation even harder. You felt like there was scrutiny everywhere you walked, and there was a strange air lingering as the summer faded and fall began.

Even now, you’re sure Levi and Hange are the only people who bother to check up on you because they want to, not because they’re obligated to remember whether or not you’re still alive.

You scratch at your neck. Eventually they had to clear out the old barracks where you’d been staying which is what you’ve been doing for the past few months to avoid any clashes with your friends, and you’d come across the chess set, untouched, the pieces still in place as if the players had simply forgotten the game.

Your fingers had brushed over the piece Reiner had called a pawn, and it felt that much heavier.

A foul poison erodes your heart as you glance down at Levi again. He’s crouched in front of the tombstone, and you look away again, at the Wall. Beyond that—

Reiner is still out there. You wonder if he thinks of you half as much as you think about him, and whether if it’s just as laced with rage and longing. Half the time, you think you could scream into his face before tearing his head off his shoulders. Other times, you just want him back. You want to see Bertholdt’s smile again. You want to hear Annie’s dry jokes.

You could cry yourself to dehydration if you thought about it enough.

A sharp whistle cracks the air and you look down. Levi’s looking up at you, shrugging his jacket back on and you lower yourself back to the ground with a burst of gas, landing beside him.

There’s a quiet in which he gives you a sharp nod and you know what to do.

Accepting the handkerchief Levi offers you, you wipe at Erwin’s grave where some mud had been kicked up on the letters before laying down the flowers you had cradled in your arm. They’re dry, the petals already crumbling, but still, despite how gloomy everything seems, it almost feels right.

You step back, squinting a bit, the handkerchief clutched tight in your hand. The tombstone is a marbled grey, polished smooth and rectangular in shape, the corner sharp enough to puncture skin. Carved into the surface is his name, birth and death date, his title—and underneath all of that:

HIS FATHER’S SON

The epitaph is almost haunting the more you look at it and you salute the headstone before letting your hand fall to your side. Staring at the tombstone too small for a man of the Commander’s stature, you feel something hot sear through your chilled body. It’s nothing he deserves.

“Do you know why you were placed under my watch for a month?”

You blink, turning to look at the Captain. He’s paled so much in the winter months, it’s hard to think you aren’t looking at a ghost. The only exceptions are his red nose, his lips, and his flaring cheeks. That and those knife-point eyes.

“Because everyone around me was a traitor,” you murmur blankly, unsure of why he’s asking. Your hands ball into tight fists as you add, “And it only made sense that I should be one, too. Who better to watch me then Humanity’s Greatest to make sure I didn’t shift into a Titan, too?”

“It’s because Commander Erwin insisted not to leave you alone,” Levi agrees, “but not because he didn’t trust you. I doubt someone like you would turn around against the only people who are there for you. I read your file. Orphaned at birth, you grew up on a farm with no close known relations.” You turn your face away, teeth gritting together, and Levi tilts his head. “The 104th were all you had. Human nature insists that we latch onto those we have left.”

“Even you, Captain?”

Levi doesn’t answer. When you look at him again, his stare on the stone is darker, laced with noxious grief. “This job isn’t pleasant. You lose enough people—even those you didn’t care for—and you either grow numb, tired, or so damaged you can’t even wake up to another day. Most people find life meaningless after a few years.”

“Right…” Struggling to find the words, you cross your arms over your chest, fingers wrapping tight around your biceps. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

A heavy sigh. Levi shifts his boots in the grass.

“And what are you going to do after? What’ll you set your mind to next? Working as a Scout? I doubt you’ll find any fulfillment in working with people you don’t trust.”

“That’s not true—“

“You have a knack for isolating yourself when you believe you’re unneeded. Exiling yourself to an abandoned building under the pretence of ‘cleaning it out’ can only last so long,” he cuts off sharply, eyes finding yours dully. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard. He looks back at the tomb. “Look, I’m going to tell you something, and I expect you not to speak of it again, got it?”

You nod tightly. “Of course, sir.”

“I’m aware of people misunderstanding or making assumptions of where I’ve come from. To put it simply, I was a criminal in the Underground and I ran a network with two others. They were as close to me as I assume Hoover, Braun, and Leonhart were to you.”

You nod again, slower this time.

“We joined the Survey Corps because the Commander insisted it was a better alternative to a life time’s sentence in Mitras dungeons. I’m still waiting on that promise, Erwin,” he adds without any bite. Instead, his tone almost softens. “When they died on our first expedition outside the walls, I wanted to be left alone. He was only Section Commander at the time, and Shadis insisted I should be left to the MPs.

“Erwin refused. He forced me to come to training for the next expedition, to drills, and to the events the military held every once in a while just so I wouldn’t stay in my room all day. I lashed out. I screamed at him behind closed doors, was an outright violent son of a bitch and an unpleasant one at that, but he persisted.”

Levi scoffs. “It took me a long time to grasp what he was doing besides being a nuisance. It was when I realized I was constantly at his right hand when he was promoted to Commander did I understand. Every human dies. Whether or not they sacrificed themselves for a greater cause, it will always be a selfish act in the end.”

“Selfish?” you echo. “But, Commander Erwin died for the Scouts to survive, didn’t he? If he never did, you never would’ve stopped the Beast Titan. We’d probably all be dead.”

“And who’s left to clean after his mess, huh?” he cuts coolly. “That’s what’s selfish about death—those corpses get off scot-free. Their last moments may be guilty, or afraid, but they won’t give a damn the minute they stop breathing. It’s the living who have to deal with the consequences. Grieving alone sends you into a pit that’s hard to crawl out of. You either sink, or you come out of it strong like hell, but it’s easier when something’s at the top, so to speak. Telling you to get off your ass and climb out.”

He scowls, and his glare narrows at the epitaph as he half-heartedly kicks some of the disturbed dirt at Erwin’s headstone, but it’s less malicious and almost as if, even now, Levi wants to point fingers at Erwin. “I don’t know. Metaphors were always this idiot’s strong suit. All I know is how to cut down Titans.”

Your shoulders sink. “Captain Levi…”

“He’s why I volunteered to supervise. I remember what our gracious Commander told me,” he says quietly. “It’s a lonely life we walk. The people who stay are the ones we have to hold onto with both hands and all our might.”

You soak in his words silently, tracing the carved E in the stone with your eyes. Levi sighs, lowering his head and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. He seems to shake his head to himself, pale eyes darkening, lips twisting into a furious scowl. You know that scowl well—it’s the type of face one pulls when they’re trying to hide how real fucking sad they are.

You look away. You shouldn’t be seeing this.

“Suppose that doesn’t matter, though,” he murmurs. “They can slip through either way. What you need to do now is keep moving. You keep them in your memory, and you keep moving, but stop letting them haunt you. Find a new purpose, or it’ll be meaningless and you’ll realize you should’ve died, not those poor bastards who devoted their hearts to what they wanted.” He tilts his head back to the sky. Softly, then: “No one else can do that for you.”

You slide your own hands into your pockets, pull it tighter around yourself. “What if I don’t know what to do? What I want with my life?”

The first raindrop hits him first. A gentle splash against his nose that makes his eyes flutter, but not close. The next hit you, tapping against your skull that soothes the ache in your chest.

“Keep moving on, anyway, until you find it. It’s no good to stand around thinking about what should’ve been or what you could’ve done. Regret begets regret—have enough and it’ll start affecting your choices. Don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You nod. Your neck feels tired. For lack of anything else, you manage to say, “Captain Levi… I’m really sorry for your loss.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there, fixing your gaze at the gravestone for a moment more, before bowing your head and saying your thank you to the fallen Commander. You turn around.

“I’ll wait for you by the Wall, sir,” you murmur. He nods, still staring up at the sky as if he can see something you cannot. You study his profile for a moment, then begin to walk away.

Riding back to Trost, the weight slowly returns, bearing down on your shoulders as if you can already feel the thousand-pound stares. The elevators are lowered and they step on, dismounting quickly to ease the horses. Garrison soldiers are posted along with a singular Scout, and you frown when you reach the top.

“Jean?”

He smiles grimly. “How was it?”

“Shitty, I guess.”

And you leave it at that. Jean watches you critically, surveying your form, but you only stand on the edge of the Wall, looking at a world that’s about to get much bigger.

In truth, you don’t know how to answer. Your whole body is heavy, only going through the movements as Levi climbs up next to you. He takes the reins of your horse as well and heads off without a second word. You watch him go as he walks towards the nearest building, presumably to find the nearest elevator down the other side of the Wall.

Sighing, you turn around to face the land you’ve just travelled. Wall Maria stands in the distance. Your gaze fixes on nothing, staring through, and you wonder if you’re just as ghostly as you think you are. All you can hear is the sound of Bertholdt, screaming for you to save him.

The land is barren, desolating to even look at it with the faint rain muddying everything and dulling all the colours. The grass is brown, the trees frail and empty. Nothing like a few months ago when everything seemed so promising of life.

“One day, we’ll be eating like this every day,” you had told Annie during a visit to Trost once. She was quiet, her blue eyes focused on the cream bun but softer than you thought was normal. Her lips curved into a faint smile as you added, “Just imagine it. Us as the dream team in the MPs, solving assignments together, and eating sweets in the inner Wall. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.”

How did that dream turn into this nightmare? It’s like every part of you has been chopped off until you’re nothing but a bleeding body and a heart struggling to find the energy to pulse another second. Your limbs are gone, bleeding, ravaged, your head’s aching, and you feel every shadow held back by Annie’s fierce stare, Bertholdt’s arms, Reiner’s body shielding you, swarm you all at once now that they’re no longer there to protect you.

Joining the military had numbed your body, and Bertholdt and Reiner had cut you off at the knees. And Annie…

Annie had spelt out tragedy on your throat in blood. If only you hadn’t ignored the red dripping down your neck, staining every word you breathed, maybe you could’ve stopped this.

You are wrestling for a way to keep crawling towards the light, but you will never be fast enough. Captain Levi had been right. Now that you’re alone, the pit is steeper than the walls, steeper than your fear, and the idea of waking up, of walking side by side with people who you’ve turned your back on for traitors, makes you nauseous.

They don’t deserve your half-hearted loyalty.

Your shoulders fall at that revelation, and your eyes close when you realize what you want.

It’s something you told Reiner, a million years ago.

No more bloodshed, no more war. There didn’t have to be water, there just had to be him—but even so, that can’t happen anymore.

The former, however…

“We don’t hate you, you know,” Jean says. “None of us blame you for what happened. You can still come back.”

“That’s really nice of you, Jean,” you murmur blankly as your hands move on their own accord. “But I just can’t let this go.”

You reach up to your neck, and pull the green cloak away from your throat. Drawing it off your shoulders, you hold it in your hands, the blue and white wings of freedom dull in the pale light. You run a hand through the fabric, over the stitched insignia that once meant so much to you before you step closer to the edge. Jean’s eyes snap to you.

Freedom feels like nothing when everyone who was supposed to stand next to you the day you achieved it is gone.

Fists tightening in the green, you clench your teeth and with a silent exhale, you fling it off the side of the wall. Jean lets out a strangled noise, and together, the two watch as it flutters to the bottom of the wall.

The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly as your hands move next to your belt. Undoing the clasp, the metal collides with your frigid, mended fingers, and your skin begins to burn as he grabs your arm, trying to stop you. “Hey—“

You jerk out of his grip, not looking at him. You don’t think you can.

“I need to find a new life, Jean,” you murmur, your stomach flipping, your heart wilting, your words carrying in the wind. “This one is finished.”

“No. No, your life is here.”

Your face burns as you blink, something warm trailing down your cheeks, but Jean only grabs you by the shoulders, trying to make you look at him but still, you continue to detach yourself from the contraption. He turns you, shaking you gently, but not even an immovable object can stall the unstoppable force of your hands.

Throat cinching shut, you stare at his chest as your ODM gear falls to the ground in an ungraceful crash. The hollow thud of the containers rattles your body and you look down at your gear that’s brought you so far.

“Don’t do this,” Jean murmurs. “You’re a Scout. Don’t let them make you give up.”

“No one’s making me give up, Jean.” You finally look up, look right through him, and Jean flinches back, his hands loosening and you take the opportunity to twist, shoving your gear off the wall with one swift kick. Heat shoots up your leg and the pain warms your entire body.

ODM gear falls, nothing more than deadweight, and it clanks against the wall before bouncing off the stone, and Jean jumps off, deploying his own gear to try and catch the tech before it can crash, damaged beyond repair, at the bottom.

Staring at his figure for a moment, you wonder if the harrowing feeling in your chest will last you forever, or just for now while you wait for something to take its place.

You’re not sure. But you do know a part of you feels lighter. You do know that a part of you just wants to go home and sleep.

Turning, you walk after Captain Levi, follow his trail to the building, and when Jean reaches the top of the wall again, you’ve disappeared.

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