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wyvernest · 1 year ago

Note

would you be able to write something about chubby!reader having body issues and thinks she doesn’t deserve miguel because he’s so sculpted and beautiful, but miguel reminds her how perfect she is? (in whatever way you think is best)

i just love reading these types of fics and they really help boost my confidence 🥹

tysm! <3

hope you like it<3

aphrodite

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings: fluff, established relationship, body dysmorphia

summary: you start feeling self conscious right before your date, and miguel isn't having any of it

translations are at the end

Miguel had finally made time to take you out. You are well aware of the fact that he is a busy man, and had decided against pressuring him to abandon his work overtime.

But tonight was for you. He had planned out the perfect date, from the restaurant, reservations, to the tiniest details; what day would be best in terms of weather, your job, and his duties.

To say you were overwhelmed with excitement was an understatement. He had always been so caring and considerate, looking for ways to make you feel valued and appreciated even when time itself stood against his efforts. Finding unadulterated joy in asking you out like it was your first time getting closer to each other over and over again, the 'honeymoon phase' spark never once leaving your relationship, contrary to popular belief.

And so here you are, in your shared home, getting ready for yet another date with the most handsome man you've ever seen.

He's already fully dressed, fixing himself in the mirror. His black suit sits oh-so perfectly on him, hugging the shape of his large back and shoulders, tight enough around his biceps, so that they still bulge through the material when he brings a hand up in his hair to tame some dark strands that had fallen out of place. It accentuates the line of his abdomen, having his large thighs finish off the whole look.

He stands in front of the bedroom mirror, in his striking royal height, the man that ancient Greeks probably had as a muse when they sculpted the ideals of the male body. His dark, cocoa brown hair is brushed back, silky and soft. His perfectly contoured face is dimly lit by the low, warm bedroom lights, his features prominent: the bridge and line of his nose, squinted piercing eyes along with a downright intimidating set of brows His sharp jaw is held up high while he works with his tie, expert hands skillfully experimenting around an array of various knots, pondering upon which fits best.

He truly is quite the sight, you melt at the tableau before you, holding back a sigh seasoned with nothing but the very heights of being irrevocably enamoured.

His whole presence screams strength and mature dominance, with a hint of incontestable luxury.

Resuming your own outfit, your own body still only adorned in nothing but a pair of panties and a bra, you head to the closet for the one dress you have been imagining yourself in for the whole week since he offered you the invitation. You couldn’t be more excited to finally try it on and admire yourself with it, have people look your way while wearing it, with an arm hooked around the one and only Miguel O’Hara.

Putting it on and adjusting its stretchy fabric over your curves, your smile starts to fade. This isn’t what it looked like the first time I tried it on, you mentally conclude, and the more you look at it, the more things you wish you hadn’t noticed. You pull at the material, the hem, the sides, the neckline, anything you can think of that maybe, just maybe, could fix it. Panic starts to drip into your nerves, what will you do now if it just won’t look good? Screw it and go out with it anyway, and then feel all eyes on you for the rest of the evening? What will people think when they see you, merely decent, next to him? And otherwise, what other option is there? To pick some other dress that can’t possibly be more appropriate for the occasion, since you had bought this one specifically for the place you’re going, and still not look the part?

Your breathing starts to quicken as you keep fumbling with the textile around your shape, attention half directed to the open wardrobe, scanning every shelf and hanger for a second option.

Suddenly, the floor creaks, bringing the echo of incoming footsteps. And there he is, standing behind you, hands on your tense shoulders. You almost despise the image before you; his impeccable, calm and stoic image, next to you, discouraged and deeply insecure in evident comparison.

“What were you thinking about just now?” his words river down over the shell of your ear on a hot breath that has shivers shot down your spine.

“Nothing, I’m getting ready”, you cover it up in a sing-song voice, not wanting to dig deeper into letting him know that you don’t deem yourself pretty enough for him, let alone expect him to find you more attractive than you do yourself. Unfortunately, he’s too smart for your little diversion.

“Don’t lie to me.”, his tone serious, voice deep. His eyes rank up and down your body in the mirror, and you feel an acute need to just disappear. “Que guapa.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, and you feel rosy heat rise to your face.

Your mouth speaks before you think.

“Does it look good?”, he senses the hesitancy in your voice.

“Baby, you’d look like a goddess wearing a potato sack.” he speaks matter-of-factly, as if his statement equals water is wet, the honesty in his declaration evident with the speed with which the words left his mouth. You can’t help but let a giggle break through your disconcerted face, surprised with the association.

“What, like Marilyn Monroe?”

“No, mi alma, like you.” He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you back into his embrace as you look at eachother in the reflection before you. His expression softens, visibly relaxed and happy to have you close to him.

“These curves, every part of you, I know them as I know myself.” His palms slide over your hips, and all the way back up to your shoulders, effectively chasing away any hint of doubt and worry, cleansing you of anything that isn’t love.

“Eres la mujer de mis sueños.” He bends down, his lips reaching the crook of your neck. “No hay nadie como tú."

You let yourself fall back into his tempting embrace, knowing that he’s exploiting your weakness for him speaking Spanish so low and deep into the vulnerable skin of your pulse point, completely forgetting about the date and the dress.

“And if you don’t like the dress, I’ll gladly rip it off.” He exhibits his talons as a warning, the curved edges of the claws grazing your bare shoulders intently. “If anything, the dress isn’t good enough to be worn by you.”

translations:

que guapa - how beautiful

mi alma - my soul

eres la mujer de mis sueños - you're the woman of my dreams

no hay nadie como tú - there is no one like you

a/n: again, if any native speakers see anything wrong with my Spanish please let me know🤍

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader one shot #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader

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eoieopda · 1 year ago

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all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully.

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble.

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself.

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest.

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?”

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully.

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives.

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain.

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh.

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation.

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over.

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers.

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads.

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them.

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter.

How could you not?

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard.

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response.

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel:

“I l-love it when you do that.”

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

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brighteststar707 · 11 days ago

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Set towards the end of V's route, after the explosion at Mint Eye. Seven asks questions he doesn't want the answer to.

Circling the Drain

“Will you please tell me about him?”

He tries, really tries, to not sound desperate. He’s not sure if he succeeds.

This is the first time they’ve broached the subject so openly. Ever since he connected the dots (and finally addressed the growing elephant in the room), he had been grasping for every shred of Saeran he could hold on to.

She swallows visibly and she starts to fidget with the stack of papers in front of her. They’re all scraps, things he was using to jot down sporadic notes on earlier now left over in a heap on the table.

He isn’t sure he’s ready to hear it, truth be told. He is fighting the urge to simultaneously grill her for every little detail she has and also cover his ears and start humming. Having to let go of that image of the smiling, happy boy he had clung to for so long feels like pulling up the anchor and letting himself be carried by the waves. That memory was the only thing that kept him grounded for so long.

The result is this badly-hidden desperation that he can tell she’s pretending not to notice. A small kindness.

It hangs in the room for a moment too long. He can see her assessing, maybe cutting and polishing some pieces for him so they won’t slice into him when she tells him. Or, maybe, she’s just trying to make it all fit together in her head too.

He doesn’t fill the space. He doesn’t know what else to add. He doesn’t know how not to sound like he’s begging.

They’ve been talking for less than two weeks, but when she looks at him, he knows that she can see straight through him, down to the bone. If it’s because he’s hiding his own feelings badly for once or if she just knows him well enough already, he’s not sure.

She clears her throat. Then, voice shaky, tries to start.

“Ray… was kind.”

He notes her use of the past tense and tries not to move. Not to scream or run or bash his head against a wall.

“He was gentle and sweet. And timid. He was always worried about my wellbeing, despite the fact that I wasn’t doing anything.”

She purses her lips together. A small crease forms between her eyebrows, and Seven can see the gears turning.

“Yet he had somehow rationalized kidnapping me and holding me hostage. He genuinely believed he was keeping me safe. It’s strange, because it was obvious that Mint Eye was hurting him, even if he never said it.”

Seven flinches.

“I mean – not in front of me but it seemed – ” And her voice cuts. There is no recovery. They both know it.

“I never saw him eat properly. Or rest. He seemed to always be awake; I mean, you saw that too. And…”

A breath.

“He was scared. He pretended not to be in front of me, but he was. Of the outside, but also of Mint Eye itself. As if it was going to hurt him again.

Towards the end, he was so… desperate. It scared me, but I still can’t stop thinking about the fact that he was there till the end. Alone.”

Oh. No polishing for him then. It slices clean through him and he’s grateful for the sting of it.

He sits there, knotted around himself, waiting (hungering) for more. There has to be more. She was there, with him, in the flesh. He wants to wring her out for every little detail. Maybe, if they can remember him properly, they can bring him back somehow.

“I’m sorry, Seven.”

He shakes his head. “No. Thank you.”

He tries to unwind himself, piece by piece. She watches. It feels like his whole being is shifting to accommodate this new information. The brother he once knew. The stranger he fought for hours.

He stands upright, unmoored. The waves toss him back and forth and he doesn’t know which way is up.

“I’m going for a walk now.”

He will ask her again. Once the DNA results come back and he is reduced to a chasm, he will beg with a lot less composure. He will hear the good and the bad and the ugly and the scary and will spend many hours trying to piece a person back together.

But for now, he will walk until day breaks and refuse to believe the worst.

#my writing #mystic messenger #mystic messenger 707 #mysme 707 #mysme seven #mystic messenger seven #707 #saeyoung choi #mysme saeyoung #mysme saeyoung choi #mystic messenger saeyoung

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ashsd3ad · 1 year ago

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# t. fushiguro — eighth world wonder.

word count: 0.8 k

tooth rotting fluff; thoughts about having a kid (toji); reader is referred to as sweet girl and it’s implied she’s mamagumi <3; this is so fucking sappy.

he thought he let it go

he was sure he had left it, everything, behind.

his pride, his feelings, they had been left to die in that wretched childhood house of his.

so why?

why was his heart racing in his chest as he laid beside her, unable to sleep?

—

lay beside me

let’s share the gloominess

hand in hand in the darkness

i feel like i’m holding my life in my fist

her face was smushed in his chest, limbs tangled in an endless knot, skin to skin. disheveled hair framed those angelic features of hers he had grown accustomed to staring at, long eyelashes gently laid on her cheeks in her apparently dreamless slumber.

her chest rose and fell steadily, soft breaths hitting his pecs, penetrating his skin and flesh, going straight to warm his battered heart.

these devils around my bed

are waiting for me to fall asleep

the room was swallowed by darkness, thoughts swirling around his tired mind. toji was never the one to ponder much about his feelings; he acted, he didn’t waste time thinking.

during some particularly silent nights though, he allowed his brain to wander, he allowed his heart to be ripped out of his chest by his own consciousness.

the reality of my nightmares scares me

a knife rips my chest apart

it’s an open heart surgery

he had promised himself to never let the muscle between his ribcage feel again, the mere thought too painful to handle. yet, here he was, cradling her body like it was made of the most precious and fragile porcelain, expertly crafted to look flawless. just for him.

with the door and windows closed

the light can’t get through

but if your caress me i can reopen my eyes

tears dry

every wound stitches itself back together

he had honestly forgotten what comfort felt like for a long time, his body and mind getting accostumed to constant stress, anxiety and loneliness, all self inflicted. but then.. she stepped into his life.

with her soft giggles, lighthearted jokes and sunny smile, and she messed everything up. every wall he’d worked so hard to put up crumbling helplessly under the weight of her gentle voice.

i promise you, i’ll learn

to not hate everything i have

both in good and bad

wether it’s rain or snow

for your name, i’ll kill.

his merciless hands had ended many lives, cold and heartless in the process, but it never came from something personal, at least that’s what he liked telling himself. he was the one who left it all behind, the small satisfaction that came with eliminating a gifted one was just a small figment of his imagination.

so why did his entire body shake in pure fury only imagining someone bringing harm to the little slice of heaven he held in his strong arms?

lay down beside me

let’s share the sun

me and you, hand in hand in the desert

but when you smile, suddenly it pours.

i know who you are

you’re splendid, like your name

such a sweet girl she was, and that’s what he always called her. his sweet girl. if toji had to be frank, it was only fitting.

saccharine voice pulling him out from far more nightmares than he liked to admit, dainty hands pulling him back to slumber, running through his unruly locks.

she was so sweet, the sweetest.

suddenly, he felt her stir in his arms, his eyes quickly darting to the digital clock on her nightstand. 3:45 am. fuck, did he wake her? were his thoughts that fucking loud?

“mhmm.. ‘ji, why aren’t you sleeping?” she said, nuzzling her face into his chest, voice still heavy with sleep.

us, a monster and a little girl

hand in hand, navigating the world

towards a new life, i’m ready

this is the ascent from rock bottom

“don’t worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout that, sweet girl, go back to sleep” he replied, voice gruff and husky, while caressing her back in an attempt to lull her back to sleep.

“why don’t you join me, mh?” she readjusted her body, face now in the crook of his neck, trailing chaste kisses all the way up to his jawline.

“don’t wanna you bein’ all grumpy in the morning" she chuckled in a whisper.

my god, what are you?

the eighth world wonder

the gods’ daughter

you who made the impossible happen

gave me my will to live back.

god she was just so fucking perfect.

his hands trailed from her back down to her waist, pulling her into him more. he needed her impossibly close, bodies melting together, never wanting to let go.

that night toji realized he’d marry her, even give her a kid. maybe he could be selfish for once, and make another little blessing for them to share.

and if the world is too small for us

we’ll redefine space and time,

us.

“yeah.. sorry for wakin’ ya doll, let’s go back to sleep, ‘aight?” he squeezed her hips gently.

i love you.

☆

this was inspired by one of my favourite songs!

listen to it here !!

| @ASHSD3AD ‘S WORD, DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE |

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji brainrot #toji fluff #fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #jujustsu kaisen x reader #i cried #HE DESERVES RHE WORLD

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chikuros · 5 months ago

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In a dream beyond eternity

ᝰ.ᐟ Vil Schoenheit x Reader

ᝰ.ᐟ In which the incident in book 7 made reader dream…

It felt like millions of memories are shoved into my head; unfamiliar, yet seems to be mine. They bear the faces of the people I hold dear, but in a slight different behavior from that I know of. But none of that matters now.

I am getting married.

I’ve been tending my hair for quite some while now, sitting in front of the vanity mirror, analyzing my appearance from head to toe before I finally walk down the aisle. Somehow, I look different from usual. Even though the reflection I’m seeing in the mirror is still undoubtedly me, but something is wrong. Again, it doesn’t really bother me. As I am going to get married.

I heard someone calling out for my name, seems like it is time. I replied to them and said that I’ll be out in a second. I stood up, and faces myself in the mirror. Ah, I am indeed breath-taking.

The chirping of the birds are music to my ears, and the reflections of the stained glass on the floor was a feast for the eyes.

Nothing could have prepared me for this day. The venue was beautiful— a small cathedral which could only fit 30 people, the place was simply decorated with flowers— red, pink, white, yellow— colors which meant a lot to me. Everything was perfect.

With each steps that I took, the beating of my heart seems to be getting stronger. Maybe it’s because of the fact that I’m over-nervous, but everyone and everything here seems to be a blur.

Ah, of course, except him.

Our eyes met. He stood there on the altar, staring at me thoroughly. Again, he’s only standing there, and my chest feels like it’s about to burst. My legs moved by itself towards the altar. A bouquet of roses I hold on my hands, counting on the meaning of the flower, eternal love.

We didn’t exchange words when I stood on the altar. Vil was perfect. Every second that passes when I stare into his eyes, a flurry of emotions struck me like a punch to my pounding chest; making me feel every sensations, all at once.

Time passes as the ceremony continues. Nothing could get me to take my eyes off him. Every inch of his being seems to be carved by the hands of god itself, even the simplest of clothing would look luxurious on him.

Oh, Vil… my Vil.

“….for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death to us part.”

We tied the knot. I took a deep breath before he lifted up my veil that has been the one separating us from each other. Now that my vision has become clear, our eyes met again. He took my hand and kissed the back of it, this alone sends tingles down my whole body.

A moment later, he took the ring and placed it on my finger, then I did the same to his. My heart is still pounding— no, at this point, my whole body is. I can’t even stop the corners of my lips from curving up. I stared at my now-occupied ring finger, there’s now a matching ring that symbolizes us. It’s beautiful. Everything about this is.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may now seal this union with a kiss.”

And time suddenly stopped.

The loud cheering from the guests has turned into a deafening silence. Every movement has paused. The world seemed to be playing tricks on me somehow.

“…(Name),” I turned to the source of voice which stung my heart, the familiar voice of a man which stood far behind the furthest seat, “….” he didn’t continue his words and stayed silent.

Vil.

Not in his wedding suit, but in his uniform. His appearance was quite ragged, his hair was messy, even some of his braids are already undone. There are small scratches on his uniform, as well as a stain. Beside him stood some more familiar faces which I recognize, but right now, I couldn’t comprehend anything properly. My memory is all hazy, and my vision is blurring.

Ah, I didn’t notice that I wasn’t burnt by the sunlight.

At that moment, the blot has started to consume me. I heard screaming and yelling of my name, but it was too late. I have fallen into the abyss.

I am weak and powerless. I am going to be a burden if I don’t hurry and wake up. I should get a grip.

Everything around me was pitch black. I hear echoes of my name being called by various people as I fall deeper into the abyss. Right now, everyone is in terrible danger. I should wake up and help them.

…Is this what I truly deserve? to drown in the deepest parts of the abyss— on my supposed-to-be wedding day?

Oh, well, no use in mourning the past.

Ugh, I can’t even muster up any energy to move, all this was exhausting. Maybe it’s the best for me to just keep on falling on this endless abyss than to face reality.

I can’t— no, truth is, I don’t even have the slightest desire to wake up. Please, good lord, merciful lord of the night, please let me dream forever.

#twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #twst fic #vil schoenheit x oc #twisted wonderland x reader #ellerwrites

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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .Epilogue

Series Masterlist

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Here we find ourselves again at the end of another story, and I just need to say a quick thing to you all who have been so incredibly kind and supportive and lovely to me throughout this. It has always been difficult for me to talk about myself and the things I feel, and a large part of why I began this writing thing was that I’ve felt for a while now that my life was stagnant and myself without growth or change, and I didn’t really know how to fix it, but I knew that I wanted to do something or say something, and writing fan fiction may seem like a frivolous sort of avenue to achieve those things, but what you all have given me, and the warmth and support you all have welcomed me with, cannot be compared to anything else I’ve experienced thus. Quite simply, you all have been so fucking nice to me, and you can’t know what it means to me or how grateful I am for it. So really that’s all I want to say which is a million times thank you, and I appreciate you all so much, and I hope I can continue to write for you for a long time to come.

Artwork is Cloud Nine by Amy Beager (2021)

Word Count: 1.3K

Read on AO3

.Epilogue

A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.

Joan Didion, The White Album

I had a dream recently: we’re in my grandmother’s house, and I don’t know what it means, but we’re together. You’ll never be able to know my parents, and even though my grandmother passed years ago, you get to meet her here – she was always kind to me, here in this place where only I make the rules. She cooks us a meal, we say grace, and she tells you how happy she is that we've found each other. At night, tucked away into her guest bedroom together, you don’t fit in her little shower, head knocking against the spout because you’re too tall. Too big for this world. We huddle into the little double bed together in the dark afterwards, lace edged pillows scratchy and smelling faintly of moths and roses, and we laugh and press together tightly and whisper into each other’s ears.

I don't know what it means, but I know we’re together. My mother never told me to be what I wanted, but I did so anyway. I chose to live. Now I am here with you.

“I have something for you,” he says one late summer evening. The two of you are sitting on the back porch, watching Sarah run around with the new puppy he’d brought home for her earlier in the week. The air, warm and muggy, the sound of cicadas sounding like the symphony of summertime. It is a small, velvet lined black box, and when you open it, a spool of thread lies within.

Faithlessness is escaped like this: “The first time I got married, it was out of necessity, obligation, a wish for something good or right. It seemed like the right step, the right thing to do, but I think you and I– we know what we are to each other. We have always known – even when we could not yet say it. This is a conscious act, us loving one another, an act of will – out of desire or necessity, even, or perhaps – a necessity for each other – but still, we are an act of will together.”

He takes the spool then, and makes a loop of the thread around your ring finger – then ties a little knot around you. Now you are caught.

“I thought I always had to stick by my decisions until the end, but change is only natural, it’s the intent behind your decisions, I think, that’s what really counts. We’ve learned much about intent together, haven’t we? And you and I, we have always been us – from the very first moment. There was a thread that connected us.” And you cannot speak, for there are tears streaming down your face and flooding your throat, battling with your very heart that’s lodged there too, but you nod anyway.

He pulls his hand back and lets the spool unravel, when he uncurls his fingers a diamond ring slides down the thread and onto your waiting hand.

“You and I – we’re connected,” he says. “Every day we become more entwined. And I want us to stay like this for the rest of our lives. Every day more and more. Will you marry me?” And it is not so much a question, but a promise.

“Yes,” you tell him. Of course you will be his wife. “Of course, I will.” He kisses you.

You wake one lazy Sunday morning, months and months of happiness later, your head anchored over his heart. Warm and soft and surrounded by him, you open your eyes to take in the sight of your hand laying over his heart, the gleam of your engagement ring sparkling in the sun. You stretch your legs and listen to the creak in your knee, and when you shift to turn your face up to him, he’s already looking down at you.

“My love, it’s almost noon,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your eyelid.

Your eyes are so heavy, your head drowsy, “‘M so sleepy, dunno why…” You burrow further back into his chest, yawning.

“No?” he nuzzles the crown of your head, hand creeping around to cup your breast and gently drag his thumb back and forth across your nipple

“I had a dream we had a baby,” you mumble, voice full of sleep.

“Did you?”

“Yeah,” you say through another yawn.

“Hmm…” He shifts up on his elbow over you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, another over the curve of your ear. You roll into him, hiding your face under his jaw and breathing in his smell, sleep and musk and Joel. “What was it like?” he asks softly, dragging his hand down the length of your spine. “Tell me.”

“It was perfect. She was perfect.”

“She?”

You hum, “Little baby girl…”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then the tolling of the bell: “Your period’s three weeks late, sweet girl,” he whispers into your ear, shares the secret with you, nuzzles into the crook of your neck. His palm sweeps over your belly, and you freeze at his words, thinking back, trying to count days, finally snapping truly awake.

“What? Why– why didn’t you say anything?”

A deep sound hums in his chest as his hand sneaks over your hip to clutch a handful of your ass, and then to cup between your legs, pressing his growing erection into the apex of your thighs.“Thought you’d want to come to it on your own.” He kisses the tip of your breast over your soft, lace camisole.

You don’t cry anymore, or, well, at least not as often as you once did. A constant well of tears ready to spill over at any moment. No longer a weeper, in a long line of weepers. There’s just too much happiness for that now.

But you cry now, at this, you can’t help yourself. The feeling of this, the idea of the two of you coming together to make your own little person, a sibling for Sarah, it’s a call for happiness of the highest order, like nothing else that’s ever come before it. He holds you in his arms, kisses you deep and wet, and as he licks into your mouth, you feel his own tears slide along your cheeks, intertwine with your own.

He finds the two of you singing and dancing to Shania Twain in the family room, Sarah’s own special, revised version, one afternoon. Bumping hips, and then clutching hands to spin Sarah away from your body, and then twirl her back in, squeezing her tight in your arms, picking her up to spin around with her yourself as the two of you sing at each other.

His daughter catches him spying over your shoulder, “Daddy, come dance with us!” and you turn, gracing him with the sight of your gorgeous smile, as he comes over to wrap his arms around the two of you, relieving you of her weight. He anchors a hand to the small of your back to steady you, feeling the small swell of your belly press into his pelvis. Let me let you in on a secret, Shania sings.

“You wanna hear it?” you tease. How to treat a woman right.

“Don’t I know already?”

You sway in his arms and he brings his hand up to cup the back of your head, Sarah’s little palm is on his cheek, tugging at his beard, spin us, Daddy, spin us!

“Yeah, baby, you do. Like no one else.” He kisses you, and the three of you spin together, around and around. You’ll see love is gonna play its part.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#someone's fic #Joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller x female reader #Joel Miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller/you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic

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persnicketypansy · 1 year ago

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I’m trying to write a poem but I can’t get it to go right. I keep writing lines like

I make myself tea/tomorrow my sister/dead dog in the driveway/depression is

A cicada is trying to kill itself against the window glass of my kitchen - which isn’t a metaphor but it sure as hell sounds like one. I’m trying to write about depression and how it’s a cold room with a single warm spot on the floorboards. That’s not right, though. My poetry instructor would say i was unfocused, distracted (by the cicada, if I’m being honest) or at least probably if I’d ever had an instructor that’s what they would say.

poetry has always been about the smallest amount of words to create the biggest, brightest picture. It’s always been a way to put a feeling into words - look, it’s a river I’m pouring into your hands. Do you get it yet?

In the simplest words, the fewest lines, the rawest sketch of an image, imagine me young and sad. Now imagine me now, older and happy. Now pretend that the two images are exactly the same. Did I move forward or did everything else just move away from me? Bead on a string, is the bead moving or is the string? But how do you write that out? How do you make it something digestible?

The cicada is very loud. Bugs skeeve me out.

when I was young I thought happiness was bigger than the sky (do you get it? how big the sky was to me when I was seven years old? the sky was an ancient whale going to swallow me out of the wildflowers. what did that make happiness?)

young went away. now only I remain (I don’t know what to make of this; i shed my youth like a skin. a cicada shell, if you will, now that the thing outside in the dark has finished its fitful dying)

when young had me, I was sad. These things were not connected, except by knots I tied (i wasn’t sad because i was young; young was a well i dug to hold all the sad I already had)

but the sadness went with the child. they live together in the hollow green garden (where the birds sing, you remember the poem about lost children? child me wrote it on her arms and legs. she looked for birds to chase)

I drink tea (and somehow, even though my seven year old self will never believe it, this is happiness)

Idk tho. im still missing an important part of the puzzle. sadness leaves and there’s room for something else in your life suddenly. happiness sneaks up on you. happiness and sadness aren’t opposites (they’re yuri) not like in inside out, but like in a ‘happiness is a survival technique’ way. once you grow up you can’t be sad the same way a child is sad anymore, because you’ve got defense mechanisms in place

sometimes you miss the sadness, the way it just swallows all of you up, but then you make some tea and remember that child you would have killed to be where you are right now, and things are better. the whole (that was a dark time once) (this will be a dark time someday as well) things get better - not things get better, but things are better. child me was wrong about what I needed. what I have now is enough to get by. optimism?

is the point optimism? idk. something something, savor what fulfills you instead of trying to satisfy the ideals you came up with when you were young, because child you doesn’t know shit about a good cup of tea or a four hour conversation with a friend. you don’t owe your past self the satisfaction of all their unrealistic dreams.

child me wanted to get stolen by a bird

like. i don’t know. i’ll come back to this

#crowdsourcing like a true tumblr-assigned poet tonight #yall are welcome #shit like this is why im not a poet yall. i don't know first thing about organizing these thoughts #my friend was like 'oh #youre a poet now. write a poem about it'#not in my job description! but here i am #whatever #persnicketypoem #persnicketydraft

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angelmichelangelo · 2 years ago

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fic for @deadlysoupy <3 thank u for the prompt :)

“Left foot, blue!”

Raphael’s voice carries itself loudly from the pit to where Splinter had been trying to meditate in the seclusion of his room, breaking through his spiritual wall as it had been followed by a chorus of gentle laughter and groans.

“You’re cheating– Ow!”

That’s Donatello’s voice, evident in the way that it buckles with his impending puberty, all whiney and pitchy and so, as per usual these days, it’s quickly followed by his youngest’s mocking tone, still clinging to the babyish fat that sits around the edges of his own voice, too stubborn to break just yet.

“How is it cheating?! It’s how the game works, dummy!” Raphael says sharply, quickly squashing his rising temper. There’s the sound of shuffling and then a huff of desperate air.

“Just go.” There is Leonardo, voice flat like he was instead focusing all his remaining energy on keeping upright. “I’m getting cramp here.”

A moment of silence before–

“Okay, right hand yellow.”

More groaning, and Splinter can only picture what kind of knot his boys have found themselves in; a new game he’d salvaged in the trash just days ago as a belated twelfth mutation day gift, it was evident that it was becoming a favorite between them, having spent many of their afternoons rolling out the mat and trying to out-do each other in game after game of competition.

“Ha,” his eldest barks out, his steady resolve quickly dissolving in favor of gloating. “I’m so gonna win again!”

Splinter chuckles to himself softly as he listens out to the sharp inhale of Raphael’s breath, like he was personally offended by such a statement.

“What do you mean again?” He accuses him. “If you remember, I was the one who won the last round.”

Michelangelo makes a pitiful sound, and he can only imagine that his youngest and smallest of sons was perhaps in the most compromising of spots on the games mat.

“Oh yeah?” Leonardo taunts him. “Why don’t you ask your face since it got pretty cozy with the floor during that last match.”

Donatello sighs, clearly unimpressed, the breath whistling past the gap in his teeth.

“Your trash talk seriously needs some work, man.”

“My arms hurt.” There’s Michelangelo, and Splinter can’t help but smile to himself as he listens to his voice. “Can you hurry up?”

Raph snorts a short laugh. There’s no heat to it, he knows. “Not my fault you're short.”

“M’not short!” He says around an audible pout. “Dad says I’m due a growth spurt any day now.”

A chorus of laughter rings out between the eldest three.

“Maybe then you’ll actually win a game,” Leonardo teases lightly.

Donnatello seems more impressed this time. “That’s more like it.”

“Just hurry up, Raph!” Mikey calls out in near desperation.

Raph tells him to shush then he must spin the board because there’s only about three seconds of silence before he’s calling out,

‘Right foot, green.”

Michelangelo whines. “I can’t reach,” he says in a small voice.

Splinter feels his heart swell in his chest; no matter how big his children become, they still have their moments that remind him of times when they fit in the palm of his hands.

“You gotta try, Mike.” Raph encourages him, and again, Splinter feels a surge of pride well up inside him. Despite all their taunting and teasing and arguing and fighting and bickering that siblings partake in on an almost daily constant, they are still each other's best friends, and that is always evident in the way they train and play together.

Michelangelo must attempt to stretch himself out, a series of moans and groans, when suddenly–

He must have toppled over, bringing his other siblings down from on top of him, because there’s a heavy dull thud and for a single, fleeting moment, Splinter’s parental instinct kick into gear, wanting to get up and check that they were okay.

But it’s unnecessary, because the silence is quickly replaced with a heavenly chorus of joyous laughter, from all four boys, giggling together at their collective failure, Splinter listens to their voices overlap each other as they recount the funniest parts of what had just happened.

“Who’s eating the ground now, huh Leo?” There’s no real heat behind Raphael’s words, clear in the way Leonardo laughs at him, using a choice of words that perhaps he wouldn’t use if he knew his father was in earshot, but Splinter feels no need to get up and scold them.

His sons haven’t much in this life, confined to their small, lonely world. Splinter wishes he could give them more – all the things they are deserving of, but will never have.

He can allow them this, at least.

Their voices trail off, still overlapping one another, probably arguing over who won and who gets next play and whether Michelangelo should be allowed to play again, and Splinter decides then he doesn’t need any more time dedicated to today’s meditation.

He knows peace, in this form, at least. And that is enough to quell his worrisome heart.

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fic #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2k12 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt splinter #will post this on ao3 later 🤟🏻#fic stuff

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xino-writes · 1 month ago

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Whumptober 2024 Day 17 - "we had a good run" - caelus

[ao3 series link]

Caelus presses his hand against the burning in his chest, making a face when it gets stronger. He pushes himself to sit, looking around at the area he’s chosen. It’s empty, devoid of life, a perfect place for what he knows will happen. He only told Dan Heng where he’d gone, as he felt the other wouldn’t snitch.

He knew it’d happen regardless, eventually, but he’d told Dan Heng he had more time than he thought he did. The Stellaron’s overheating and he’s going to die and he’s just. Resigned himself to it. Every stop’s been a.. journey in itself. He’s had his life threatened too many times and he’s almost died too many times, so he’s welcoming this.

This change. This implosion. Explosion? He isn’t sure how the Stellaron is going to take him out. But he does know that this won’t change the fact he’s dying today. It’s not like he’s supposed to even exist, right? The Stellaron is what’s keeping him alive. Or was. Because it’s going to kill him, too.

He’s been sitting in this clearing for a while. He’s said the goodbyes he’s had to, or scheduled the texts for afterward to send out when he’s already dead. Caelus lays down. The burnings getting worse. The pain is shooting down his limbs from the Stellaron.

He’d gotten this place from Herta. He told her he thought the Stellaron would do something, and that she could check it out after the flare up ends. And that he just needed a place to let it run it’s course that no one could bother him.

And he got this place. An empty field on an empty planet. The only people who know he’s here are Herta and Dan Heng. And.. well, speak of the devil and he shall appear, eh? That is the saying, right..?

Regardless, Caelus opens his eyes to see Dan Heng’s staring down at him. He can’t even get a word in before the other speaks.

“Don’t worry. The others don’t know.”

And then Dan Heng sits beside him.

“Why did you-”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone. You should die with someone by your side.”

“What if I explode-?”

“I have ways to protect myself if you do. Don’t worry about me.”

“... Okay.”

Caelus leans against his friend’s side, exhaling softly. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I wanted to. The others are wondering where you are. I told them I would look.”

“... I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I have everything to. I’m the reason a lot of.. this shit happened.”

“That’s still no reason to apologize. We came out of it alive and stronger than before.”

“I still made us go through that stuff.”

“And we learned from it.”

Caelus huffs in response, curling in on himself. “... I blame the Stellaron for it all.”

They sit there in silence for the longest time after that, just sitting together, with Caelus leaned against Dan Heng’s side. There isn’t much for them to say, not while Caelus is actively dying. His body is pulling itself apart from the inside out, as the Stellaron pitches a fit.

The sensations are.. a twisting feeling. As if his bones and muscles are turning themselves around in his body and tying themselves into knots. They feel as if they’re broken and yet not. He feels boneless but bonefull all the same. He’s just.. In pain. Every movement, every breathe he takes, every time he even blinks, more pain shoots through his body.

The contact with Dan Heng hurts all the same, but it’s also a source of comfort, so he doesn’t dare move. To think that just ten minutes ago he was so ready to.. Die, and now he’s unsure of that, unsure of whether or not he’s ready for it all to fall down. He’s not sure if he’s ready to crumble quite yet.

He’d joke about the Stellaron, about how it’s stable, but now that’s it’s.. Completely unstable and he’s unsure if he’ll implode or explode, die or live, he’s just.. Stuck in this unfortunate situation with no visible out. Part of him wants to just.. leave. Find a group that’ll take him, even with his unknown fate.

Because what else is there for him to do? He doesn’t quite have anything to return to, not with everything he’d set up, and the only loose end is Dan Heng, but the other might as well just be able to leave. To return to the Express without Caelus, without an explanation for his disappearance.

But, there’s also the promise he’d made with Herta. With letting her take a look at the Stellaron after what happens today. What happens on this desolate planet with no habitants outside of himself and Dan Heng, even you could even count that. After all, they’re not from here. And at least one of them will leave this place eventually.

With that in mind, Caelus stands despite the pain. He wants to stay. He wants to be with the Astral Express, despite it all. But he brought them too much destruction. After all, the object that takes the place of his heart is a Stellaron. A child of the Aeon of Destruction. That’s all that he is, and that’s all he will be, even if he’s tread on every path, taken on different elements. He’ll always be a being of Destruction.

And perhaps Nanook might just have him. THEY might just take him due to his situation. He can bring destruction if that’s what THEY want, so long as he’ll have a place to return to. He ignores Dan Heng’s confusion as he stands and prepares to leave. Without a word, he sets the hat he’d gotten from Misha onto the other’s head in silence. A true Trailblazer should have it, after all.

And then he runs. And runs. And Runs. AND RUNS.

He’s good at that, he’s found. Running from things. Everything. Especially his problems, now. Including Dan Heng, now.

He runs until the pain gets to be too much and he collapses. He doesn’t register the footsteps that have followed him until Dan Heng picks him up. Caelus slumps into his friend’s arms, and lets him take him wherever they’re going to end up. He makes a sound of pain when the hat is set on his head again, but other than that, he’s silent.

What more is there for him to say? He can’t explain himself, these thoughts, these feelings. He doesn’t understand them himself, after all. Maybe it’s the Stellaron. Maybe it’s influencing him like it did Cocolia. That’d.. make a twisted sort of sense, huh. Nevermind that. He’ll be fine. Totally. Definitely.

...

For now, he’ll take comfort in Dan Heng’s arms as he’s taken somewhere. (It’ll be the Express. He knows this. But he wants to believe in the idea that it’s entirely a surprise. That he’s just being.. taken somewhere new. Somewhere unknown.)

He’ll let himself believe in this impossibilities for now. Later, he’ll deal with reality.

#tw death mention #caeheng #implied

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rubyvhs · 3 months ago

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remedy (v) — sam winchester

> prev, masterlist

summary: you deal with the aftermath of dean’s visit and your outing with sam, it goes half-way according to plan — tags: underage!reader, 22 year old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing, said shorter but it’s a ‘jared’ shorter, he’s 6’4.

“Are you…” Sam sighs and you can hear how tired he is, “are you okay?” Today’s been a lot for him. Dean made another appearance after Sam thought it was over, both of you came back to the apartment for a reason— so maybe you’re thinking of yourself a little, but still it’s been stressful for him.

And you just slammed the door in his face. “Changing.”

“The clothes are out here.” You curse at yourself and purse your lips. You open the door slightly, just enough to see Sam’s face, his long tousled hair, and him holding out the pile of clothes to you. You snatch them from his hand and shut the door again.

They fit well, Sam’s only a couple of inches taller than you so it’s almost okay, the shirt’s a little too long but the pants are sweats so with a tight knot, they hang low enough that it looks cute.

You exhale shakily before opening the door and then letting out a breath of relief that he’s not here. You fold your clothes and put them on Gen’s desk, right next to her books, and take out your phone.

It might seem pathetic, a little childish, but come on, you’re spending the night with Sam, you have the right to be those things to Jess.

You: I’m staying over.

Jess: Over my dead fucking body.

You: Just sleeping. In gen’s room.

Jess: Girl that’s even sadder.

You: Not a word, whore.

Jess: Is so, slut (for Sam).

You: Not funny, Jess. Don’t tell Gen anything, okay? Besides i'm here for Sam, he wants me to stay.

It sounds even more feeble actually typed out.

Jess: Why doesn’t he go talk to lily?

You: He said they’re not together.

Jess: BITCH YOU TALKED TO HIM ABOUT IT?

You: How is that a bad thing?

Jess: IT'S PATHETIC AND DESPERATE!!! I’m going to kill you when I see you.

You shut your phone off and hide it underneath your pillow. Everything will work itself out, with Sam and Dean and Jess and freakin finals that you have next week. You finished anatomy which means there’s physiology and biochemistry 104 left for next week. Which you’ve hardly opened having just finished your histology exam.

Someone— Sam, obviously— knocks on the door and you tuck your hair behind your ear before saying he could come in. Sam’s brushed his own down, it looks much calmer than it’s usual ‘let it be’ hairstyle he has going for him. He shuts the door behind him— is the air getting thin?

“Look, you say the word and I’ll drive you back home—”

“What? Where’s this coming from?” He raises one eyebrow and takes a step towards you, flustering you so fast, just the way he takes his steps, stares into your eyes, and you stare at your fingers in your lap.

“You slamming the door in my face, you sleeping in Gen’s room, and now you’re not even looking at me, so if you don’t want this—”

“What is this, though?” Your voice drops, slow and cautious. “What is it? Are we…”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, sits down in front of you and reaches one hand out to brush his thumb over your knuckles, “We can’t figure that out if you keep acting like this. And I really like you when you’re not being like— when you aren’t acting scared and shy. You’re the most thoughtful friend, kind.”

“Right, but as a… not-friend, I guess; it wouldn’t work out.”

He shakes his head quickly, “That’s not what I’m saying. It would work if you stopped being so afraid! Of me, or what’s going to happen! Whatever you’re scared of, just don’t be.”

“That’s stupid, Sam,” you pull your fingers away from him so his hand is laying on your lap, barely on your thigh and you keep staring at it, not looking him in the eye quite yet, “being cautious is what helps me stay happy and whole, you know? The second I let my guard down—”

“What? What do you think is gonna happen?”

“I haven’t even known you that long! It’s been three weeks.” He scoffs like that’s the lamest excuse he’s heard in his life and his hand is no longer on your thigh, only God knows where it is because you’re definitely not looking up to see.

“If you don’t look at me while we’re talking then this’ll never fucking work.” The anger in his voice burned like a wildfire inside of you, consuming. it's terrifying how well it works as you involuntarily look up at him.

It’s not that you’re scared of Sam or that you can’t maintain eye contact, you’ve done so various times, but this feels different, like he’ll dive into your soul if you look into his eyes for too long.

“Sam, I’m not being dramatic about this,” you reinforce, harsher this time, because you know what you feel, and he won’t make it seem small and insignificant. It isn’t. This is exactly what’s helped you avoid heartbreak for the past seventeen years.

“I’m not sayin’ you are. But being scared, nervous, whatever, about this is what makes it worth it. I’m not rushing you, if you wanna take it slower, we will, but I need to know how you feel, otherwise someone’s gonna get hurt and it’ll be because you didn’t tell me what you want right now. You gotta talk to me.”

His eyes up-close are easier to read. He’s desperate for answers, you’d assume that easily with the kind of day he had; filled with questions. You let his name slip with a groan as your head falls back. This is… a lot. But when you look back at him, he isn't deterred, his eyes are still searching yours for an answer.

“I have so many questions though—”

“Ask.”

“Lily.” It comes out before you can stop it but you don’t have time for regret.

“Just a friend. You have to trust me if this is going to work.” Calling your non-relationship this is apperantly the default name.

“I do trust you,” Risky considering you just met him, “but you never told me about the hangouts. You guys go out alone.”

“She’s top of the class, it helps to study with her.” Apparently that’s something you’ll have to get used to, him hanging around other girls. No questions come to mind after that, except maybe the most obvious one. That’s bothering both of you.

“Sam—”

“I’ll wait. If you want me to wait for six months, I will.” You tilt your head in confusion, “I like you, a lot, and if my age bothers you then I’ll wait as long as you want. But you will not use it as a reason against us.”

It's probably all you’ve ever wanted your whole life. Being the youngest in your classes, in college, in basically everything you’ve ever participated in has always made you think you’re less than you are. You can’t be successful because you’re too young, it’s okay to fail because you still have years to catch up— it’s insulting and honestly just fucking annoying.

But it’s still not that easy, even if you want to be with Sam people will talk. You don’t look seventeen, but you are, and you’re friends know so, since you don’t have a license. You’ll get the looks and talks you don’t want to even come near but it’s inevitable.

It’s worth it. Sam is worth it.

“Yeah let’s, can we take it slow? Just for a while, so I can understand this before we decide to get into it.” You don’t date for the hell of it but while you’re not naive enough to think you’ll marry Sam, your heart needs time to catch up.

He nods with a small smile, finally. “How slow is slow?”

Great question. How slow is kissing? Probably slow enough, you think as you lean in, your lips inches apart. His eyes do that thing again, eyes, lips, eyes. And you’re praying he’ll finally do something— Sam crashes his lips onto yours. When you didn’t immediately pull away, he tilted his head and deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue out to slide over your bottom lip.

When he doesn’t get the reaction he wants, he bites your bottom lip but it’s so faint you wouldn’t feel it if your whole body wasn’t invested, which it is, so you comply, pushing your lips apart to give him access. His hands run up your thighs and to your waist, pulling you closer slowly so you don’t crash your teeth together. It’s slow but deep and feverish and needy.

When he pulls away for a second and shuts his lips closed you shudder, involuntarily chasing his lips before you feel his hands slip under your thighs and he lifts you onto his lap, then moves so he’s in your place with his back against the headboard.

He doesn’t go back to immediately kissing you, instead pulls back a little further, one hand on your waist, the other coming up to your hair, his eyes taking you in so completely you might as well be naked. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous,” You pout. That’s… sweet. Too sweet. You guys should go back to kissing. So you nod once and try to lean back in, he lets you, indulges you in a kiss. Two, three seconds then he pushes back using the hand that’s holding your head, treading his fingers through your hair. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, ‘s cute, thanks.” He shakes his head, obviously not buying it. “Just… i don’t know, it’s weird hearing it from a guy.”

“That you’re attractive? Are you joking?” You shrug and try to look around for something to do. Is it normal to have full on conversations when you’re trying to make out? “Beautiful.” He says it with a breath, like it’s consuming him “Every part of you.” He whispers that part while his eyes run over your figure up and down.

“Okay… so kiss me?” He laughs a little and with your hands on his chest you can feel the vibrations distinctly, making you forget your question which allows a gasp to escape when his lips pull yours in.

You can’t believe you’re kissing Sam. You can’t believe that you’re taller than him in this position. He’s the one pulling you down to get to him. Incredible. Everything about him and this.

He tests the water again before slipping his tongue into your mouth and it causes a more visceral reaction; you pull away suddenly and his eyes instantly snap open. “You okay? Was that too fast?”

No just… weird? Are you supposed to do that for him? Yeah, no way, man. You’re not a prude (kinda), you’ve watched things here and there, a woman has her needs, but this? Kissing? Not the internet’s biggest interest.

“Sam, you know this is like— you’re my first. Ever.” Oh. Okay. So maybe he didn’t know. His face is suggesting he, infact, did not know. “Like I mean, not, maybe—” You’re making it worse.

“You’re making it worse.” He sighs and his head falls back to slam quietly against the headboard. He looks tired, but takes back his words the second he says them regardless. “‘M sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just— you should’ve told me. I didn’t know.”

“Well, I thought I’d make it obvious the second the kiss starts, honestly.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” he mutters through half-lidded eyes, fingers still playing with your hair. He’s better at not freaking out about your pop-up facts, now. “Was it okay? For your first time?”

You nod quickly, “Yes, the best.” You lean down and press another kiss. It’s unhurried, and just the surface, but still so meaningful it fills your heart beyond belief. “You’re the best— but since we’re on the topic, you know that I’m a virgin too, right?” You add the last part just in case. Just in case.

“Yeah, baby, I know,” He’s probably extra tired if he’s calling you that. He should really stop if he wants you to keep it that way. “Wasn’t gonna do anything tonight, anyways. We’re waiting, right?”

“Do you want to do something tonight?” You’re not sure why you’re asking. You’re not ready. Mentally or physically. He shakes his head anyways and you let out a sigh of relief and practically slump your shoulders. He chuckles and tries to sit up.

“That bad? Then why’d you ask?”

“No not bad, ‘s just that I’m not ready yet.”

“We’re never going to do anything you’re not ready for, you know that. You shouldn’t do anything just ‘cause I want to.” You know that, it’s basically the only staple in your life considering how much of a people-pleaser you used to be back in high school.

“Okay, yeah.” Your smile is wide despite all the highs and damn lows of today, you ended it on Sam’s lap, making out (on Gen’s bed), how the hell are you supposed to be sad about that? Not happening. But you are concerned for Sam’s health so you slide out of his grip and sit next to him instead. He faces you.

“You’re exhausted, Sam. Go to sleep.” It’s not a demand, but he seems to take it as one because he yawns and slips further into the bed. “In here?” You let out and immediately glue your lips shut.

“You want me to leave?” He’s asking but he’s also getting comfortable at the same time. So you shake your head and make a move to get out of the bed when he starts slightly, a wave of guilt washing over him, so clear on his face. “I’ll go, just give me a minute—”

“I’m just getting the lights, Sam.” You feel him sag with relief and you mirror it out of joy. You get the lights and take a moment to collect yourself then get in the bed next to him, slowly tucking yourself under the covers. You try not to touch him and he doesn’t exactly have time to comment because he’s out in a minute.

Jess: Like a cheap whore.

You wish you could text Jess back to shut up and that that isn’t what happened but that’s a lie— it’s exactly how it happened. You left the next morning before Sam woke up, leaving his clothes in a neatly folded pile in his living room. She must’ve checked your location.

You: How’d you know he’s asleep?

You text back as you pass another coffee shop on your way home. It’s only a thirty minute walk, good enough for you to think and collect your thoughts before Sam inevitably calls.

Jess: I didn’t but you confirmed it. On your way?

You: Yes.

Jess: Coffee bitch!! Gen wants matcha.

You shut your phone off after putting your AirPods in. You’ll bring them their coffee and tell them all the details but now you need to think. Collect. Recollect. Organize.

And you will, you are. Because you’re not hiding from Sam, you’re not running away or ignoring him, you need space, like you often do, so you don’t get emotional. That, and waking up next to someone is too intimate for you so maybe a little bit of running.

But you didn’t do it just for him, you wanted to see if you’d be able to do it, be comfortable enough to sleep next to him. And despite the answer being ‘maybe?’, you would do it again.

“Glucose is converted to glycogen, glycogenesis—” Another yawn. The sixth time in maybe just this hour and you pull your phone out to find something a little more entertaining for just a few minutes. Your brain is going to seriously retaliate if you don’t immediately get a break.

Sam: Hey, how are you?

Sam: Classes?

Your breath hitches as you stare at your Lock Screen, the little messages under his name sending a current through your entire body. Despite the constant texting these past weeks it feels different now. You kissed. Yesterday. And you left without saying anything.

His text was sent five minutes ago so you suck it up and text right away.

You: Yes, I’m in class right now. Sorry I didn’t wanna wake you up.

Sam: It’s okay, but you should’ve, wanted to say bye.

Oh, that’s sweet.

Sam: Be careful and text me when you’re done I wanna talk.

You: Okay. I’m done by three.

Nothing bad could possibly come out of this, you’ve already done the biggest part and he told you that he likes you. Straight up just said it and that he wants to make a relationship between you two work. Nothing else bad can come out of that.

Sam: Meet me at the cafe in front of the gate?

He wants to meet up? Now? No way, youre half out of your mind and if someone doesn’t drop you onto a bed at this moment, you will be throwing hands. You barely slept a wink in that bed, no matter how warm and there Sam was next to you, it didn’t calm you down as much as you thought it would. You still got to sleep, just not enough, a few hours considering you kept waking up every hour to check that he’s still asleep and make sure you’re not dreaming.

You: Okay.

The monologue was helpful and very true, but there’s no way you’re rejecting him when you want to talk just as much as he does, if not more.

“—and so it’s back to its normal set point. This is what we call negative feedback mechanism.”

You might need a tutor, though.

“Hey, mum.” Your heart softens hearing her voice blare through the phone. So much background noise, your siblings, but she’s laughing as she asks how you’ve been. “Great, I’m okay. How are you guys? I know I haven’t been checking in lately, ‘s my fault.”

She asks about your grades and how studying is going and you tell her the truth, you’re a little distracted today but other than that everything’s okay, that earns you a lecture, that you cut short when you see Sam approaching your table. You already ordered a redbull for yourself and since you didn’t know what sam wanted you got water.

“Love you so much more.” You smile and shut your phone off as you stand up to greet him and he hugs you, his cologne penetrating everything at this point. Did he always smell this good because God, how? “I’m sorry I’ve just been tired so I got it— do you wanna order?”

He shakes his head and you both sit down opposite to each other as you try and drown your drink. He looks like he wants to say something and you’re not sure anymore whether or not this is ‘nothing’ like you tried to convince yourself.

“How’s school? Do you have classes today?”

“No, no, just a project meet up tonight—” With Lily, probably. He takes his phone out to put down on the table as it rings loudly to show a notification. “But you left, sweetheart. So I wanted to ask you about that.”

“I had class.”

“Your class starts at one, you left way before that.” How’d he know that? “Yesterday, did I make you uncomfortable?” You hate this. Two steps forward, one step back. You kissed, you thought that meant you could do more but you can’t and you have no idea why you lied to yourself.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?” You shrug and take another sip. “Yesterday we were tired and it was late so if you did something you regret or if you don’t mean what you said—”

“What? No, I meant it. Why, did you not mean it? You said you’d wait.” It’s moments like these where you regret having the ability to speak. Jumping to conclusions and deciding things for everyone has been your default. You’re a control freak, it’s the least you do.

“You’re the one who’s not talking!” He says, a little loud and exasperated which forced you to lean back in your seat. “You said you want this to work so you have to open up to me.” He’s making it sound like a school project.

“It’s just how I am, I don’t like airing out every single thought and feeling I have.” And then, because if there’s one thing you know how to do it's setting boundaries, “If you don’t like that, Sam, then just go.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I want to be here but— okay, so, I’ll recap what happened. Before we slept we said we’d try to take it slow, but that you wanted me. I wanted you.” Wanted? “I want to be with you,” he says strictly, “and then I wake up and you’re back to how you were two days ago. Closed off.”

“I’m not closed off, I tell you everything. I told you I had class, and I was tired so I got a redbull.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” He says with a laugh, a little amused and thankfully, less irritated, “you told me you’re tired? I don’t mean that kind of stuff, baby, I wanna know why you left early. I’m not accusing you of anything, I just want to be there for you. You think about things way too hard and they spin out of control, and I can see it, but I just don’t know where it comes from. You need to clue me in.”

He said ‘baby’ again, and this time he isn’t sleepy. Maybe he deserves a little bit of your thoughts. It isn’t like you’re actively keeping him out, it’s just too much for a lot of people.

“Sam, I don’t mean to be closed off but I think a lot, and it’s just, I don’t know, I guess high maintenance for some people. You don’t need to know every single thing.”

“I’m not saying every single thing about your entire life, but maybe just about us for now?” Maybe time stops, maybe it doesn't, maybe you’re hearts behind it, but when you face him again it’s a different expression than before. He’s frowning at you like the answer means the world to him and you can’t help but feel guilty and enamored by how fucking beautiful he actually is. And he likes you? It’s getting harder to accept by the moment.

Contrary to popular belief you are not just a control freak. You’re also an over-thinker with self-sabotaging tendencies that could last you three lifetimes, but you just can’t find it in yourself to do anything to hurt Sam. You just can’t. With those jutted lips and sparkling eyes.

Do his eyes always sparkle like that?

His laugh coerces you out of your daydream and— when did he move his chair closer? “Answer me, then we’ll talk about whatever you want.”

Including his eyes?

“Yes.” You should invest in tape if you’re going to start blurting out your thoughts.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable but I need space sometimes. I get overwhelmed easily and I don’t mean it in a bad way but my mind just organizes things better when I’m alone.” He nods, looks down at your hand on the table and takes it in his, it jolts you and you look up at him. “And— sometimes holding me or just touching me overwhelms me and if I ask you to stop it isn’t because of you.”

“Like now?”

You shake your head quickly, pressing your fingers into his to assure him. “No, not now.”

“Yesterday?” You answer no and he smiles. “So you just needed to think?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought doing all of this was better than just telling me that you needed time to think.” Well, when you put it like that… “Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?” You should probably think about this logically before you answer— who will see you and stuff, but you’re nodding yes and he’s leaning in faster than your mind can comprehend.

It’s short, and when you pull away, you’re still so close, “so you’re not mad?”

“I’ll never be mad if you tell me how you feel or what you need.” Hell of a promise to keep, Winchester.

“Jess, come on, you know me!” The argument is a futile one, and you’re aware of it.

“I know, and that's why I'm so disappointed. You slept at his house? On my girlfriend's bed?” Right, so maybe you left the important details out like you’re make-out session in the middle of the night and both of you decide to take it slow but ultimately are in a relationship. Speaking of, this means exclusive, right? Fuck, you should’ve asked.

“That’s— whatever! I didn’t do anything stupid, don’t worry.” Biggest understatement of the century but you just can’t bring yourself to tell her anything yet. Besides, you have exams soon and that seems like a much more important task to focus on.

“Look, babe, I’m not saying I’m angry, but you promised you’d be careful.”

“I was!”

“No you’re not. You get attached easily, and you love way too fast— Sam can control himself! If you two stop talking tomorrow he wouldn’t feel the same way you would.” It fucking burns more than anything in the world to hear it from Jess. Especially from her. Possibly because she knows you best and it would mean that what she’s saying is true, and you’re not ready to face that.

She’s right, though, and you’ve always known it. But it isn’t like that with Sam— it hasn’t been like that since you came to college. Not that Jess was with you before it but you’ve told her almost everything about you, past and present, so her words come from a place of analyzation. And love.

“I’m different now. And he’s different.”

She shrugs, moving closer, a hand on both your shoulders, “I couldn’t care less about Sam,” lie, “but I will not allow anyone to hurt you. Ever.”

And it shouldn’t be that comforting considering she’s only a twenty one year old woman who’s never had a stable job in her life and hasn’t talked to her parents in two years, but it is. It’s the most comfort you've felt the whole week, and you bring her in for a hug because of it.

For all her advice, she’s wrong about one thing. You’re not all-in with Sam. You’re scared, fucking petrified of what this could lead to, but you’re not in high school anymore, your responsibilities aren’t just ‘study and maybe get a top grade’. In uni you can very easily get kicked off— and outside of school, you have to go back home in a month. Unlike your hopeless romantic fourteen-year-old self, you’re aware of your goals.

And maybe you can’t say it out loud to Jess yet, but you’re proud of yourself for recognizing it within yourself. part six; baby, don’t get it twisted.

title: love notes by alexa cirri

prompt: person a: ‘come on, you know me!’ person b: ‘I know, and that's why I'm so disappointed.’ from @alphabetquest !!

they finally kissed!!!!! Is this the beginning of their relationship?? I’ve had too much angst for now so I’m thinking next chapter they just cuddle the whole time. comment if you wanna be tagged!

tag list:

@angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats

@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97 @tranquilitybasegrunge

#supernatural #AlphabetQuestSubmission #sam winchester #supernatural imagine #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x oc #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader #remedy #laila writes!!

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pontevoix · 1 month ago

Text

erwin is someone who adores the gamble, who likes to move chess pieces one at a time, taking at least ten minutes between moves. he keeps an opponent waiting, tries their patience, waits to identify the type of players that know how to die more than once. these players are the ones that can sever themselves from lifetimes & make themselves comfortable & wait for blood to spill. they are the ones like him.

they are separate from those from those who fight for survival when cornered, the ones that believe that death happens only once.

erwin remembers watching levi’s fist clench at his knee, remembers seeing the clench of his jaw that he agreed to a game that he never enjoyed ( & that erwin had never enjoyed either ).

erwin is someone who adores the gamble. even if he takes at least ten minutes between moves, he doesn’t need ten minutes. he doesn’t need two minutes. he gambles on intuition.

though he accumulates mountains of relative successes & relative devastation, he supposes he’s a terrible a gambler.

intuition is based on old knowledge. it is based on how the body has pressed old knowledge into itself. it is not a gamble of chance, & it is not gamble of luck.

erwin adores the gamble, & he’s a terrible gamble because it surprises him what he has managed.

no matter how good his intuition may be, it surprises him that he had accomplished the position of commander. the first time he died had been in youth, when he learned that impulses have consequences, that wants have consequences, that uninhibited tongues draw blood.

the second time he died had been when he understood that grief alone is not enough to equip a man for carnage. the scouts made carnage. he adapted.

the third time he died had been because he earned it, because he identified humanity’s strength & made gambles with strategy. because he started sawing away at himself, severing himself. he became a man who knew that he could die multiple times.

levi had been there for that, & levi had hated him. he hadn’t been sure how to recognize the humanity in erwin.

levi is the kind of man that survives when cornered. he savors oxygen in his lungs, & he can’t help but the sun even when he comes from underground spaces.

he is the type of man who will endure, & there’s a part of erwin that is certain who is certain that he will never die.

it’s a strange juxtiposition in the face of now, when erwin has learned to die again & be resurrected. it has been asked of him that he perform as frankenstein’s monster & to come back damning himself over & over again.

it has been asked of him to fit the godhood of colossal against his chest. unconsciously, to do so, he scraped clean the cavity of his chest. to fit the godhood of colossal, he had to shake hands & know that consequent carnage is part of a same story.

levi is a part of a same story. even while they circle around each other. even while they keep learning how to force a reflection from foils. even while they keep learning to sink into orbit & learn that gravity sometimes means distance.

there’s an artform about it. they had only grown into their artistry sometime around erwin’s third death, when he had been preparing to be named commander. the noose had not yet been tightened, then.

it did not happen overnight that erwin realized he didn’t know how to breath anymore. the noose was too tight. it did not happen overnight that he invited those close to him to help tie the knot.

every death that erwin has given himself had been by his own design. for this he can hold himself accountable. he can accept this.

it is a harder to ask that others who positioned a rope against his neck forgive that he has asked them to ruin.

this is the context that concocted his & levi’s gravity. this is the proof of valleys between them, the reason why they had to forge an artform so that they could stay close.

at present, staying close isn’t enough to erase the distance.

erwin still feels the distance.

he scraped clean the cavity of his chest. he finds himself conscious of consequent scar tissue. it tightens against his throat too. a second noose. it almost chokes a laugh from him.

it’s possible he’s meant for purgatory. it’s only in purgatory that he thinks that he & levi could circle terms & conditions a million times & never come to resolution.

every time levi hears terms & conditions, it makes him think of hanging the noose & restraint.

every time levi hears terms & conditions, he refuses to hear the reasons that erwin had set them. of course erwin loves levi, erwin had said. how could he not.

erwin has orchestrated his own ruin. he has died many times, & he knows the space between them — he does not have to wonder why levi has asked anything of him.

it makes a contradiction of erwin, dead or alive. for a woodman, he is uninhibited. for a tarnished man, he is unconflicted.

how could he not love levi ? there is nothing to stop him from loving without apology & without uncertainty. although his expression may be filtered, there is nothing to stop the magnitude of feeling with which he had tried to offer kindness that day in a woodroom, when he had answered a request for honesty with the confession that he had always had selfish interests.

there is nothing to stop the magnitude of feeling with which he had met levi that night on the rooftop. there had been selfish kisses & shared table wine. he had allowed levi to see him unbalanced by something so small as a missing arm.

there is nothing to stop the magnitude of feeling with which he had come here tonight. he is still unbalanced.

despite that, it is the magnitude of feeling that leaves him swallowing rocks & unfair sourness. it is one thing for levi to doubt erwin’s capacity ( dead or alive ) to love.

if levi surrenders this & steps closer to him, if he stands toe to toe with erwin & tries to offer him his humanity in the palm of his hand - then it provides something different.

it is one thing to doubt erwin’s capacity to love. it is another thing to doubt magnitude. you're a fool if you think that i ever actually cared about what you had to barter, erwin.

erwin appreciates the sentiment. his breath catches in a type of huffed laughter or gratitude. he’s unsure.

he stand to toe to toe with levi, & levi looks tired too. there is too much tension gripping at his jaw from a habit built over days, months years. his skin is still too grey, & erwin isn’t sure that levi has ever worn his age as much he has recently.

it’s possible erwin is meant for purgatory. terms & conditions had existed because of the magnitude of feeling. terms & conditions had existed because erwin had bartered self-restraint & kindnesses & the human things that levi has always kept close, kept warm. it’s the unique positioning of a man who doesn’t sever. who hasn’t known how to sever, how die multiple times.

terms & conditions had been the last thing that erwin had tried to do humanely. hnow is throat keeps closing, & he has little more to barter because of it.

levi ( inhibited, conflicted ) gave him unconditional loyalty & had conditional love because of it.

erwin ( uninhibited, unconflicted ) had offered levi conditional loyalty & unconditional love.

the ability to barter had mattered. it had mattered because he has grown to adore the gambling with intuition & known things. it had mattered because he never expected good things anyway.

it had mattered. it was a part of the magnitude of feeling.

‘ in truth, you should have cared about what i had to barter, ‘ he allows once. because terms & conditions were something that he tried to communicate. because in purgatory, there are gambles that never amount.

erwin is bruised eyes & dead man & a husk not come to life. levi prods him in the chest, & erwin is grateful for it.

he keeps swallowing rocks & sour things. he appreciates levi’s familiarity. he appreciates the challenge at the lilt of levi’s lips, & the way that he promises that he is still reliable.

the artform erwin & levi have developed ( circling around one another ) is still reliable.

erwin has nothing more to barter so he raises his hand & breaches distance. his fingers splay alongside levi’s neck to the bridge of his shoulder. the magnitude of what he feels turns loud, & he knows he has gambled.

levi has been betting on a heart for far longer than he has ever fully realized, but he hasn’t bet on magnitude.

erwin knows. & still, he appreciates. & still, he feels himself settle at levi’s familiarity, feels himself collapse.

he had come here tonight because he had been outside of himself. he can handle living, he can handle death, & he is poor equipped for purgatory.

‘ i know, ‘ he says & concedes too much resignation & doesn’t promise an end. this is the context that concocted their gravity. of course erwin loves levi, he says. how could he not.

levi had never requested his third kiss.

erwin could kiss him now, but it’s terrifying to think about kissing like a dead man.

‘ i know, ‘ erwin says & concedes again. the palm of his hand against levi’s neck tenses & betrays him.

this is the first time that levi manages to see how a man dies & comes back to life. it’s the first time that levi has seen him in transition.

& still. levi chooses to trust him. levi still chooses him, even if he should have considered what erwin had to barter.

it’s a funny thing. because the way they gravitate towards one another changes history. because it immediately influences how erwin will evolve.

‘ have you have thought about what you’ll do if you can never manage to believe me ? ‘

he muses because it decides third kisses, future kisses. it informs the demands to which erwin will try to evolve.

the tips of their boots touch. levi’s breath splays against his cheek.

still, he is uncertain how to handle the distance between them. how to use the gamble between them for evolution.

he is uncertain, a dead man made whole again when he didn't ask to be stitched back together.

but god, levi has injected him with life.

he is still struggling to swallow it. he is here asking for help.

‘ of course i said i could love you, ‘ erwin returns. because even with terms & conditions, it feels obvious to him. the only way that he thinks it could have been denied was with the assumption that erwin had managed to rob himself of the capacity to love.

he wouldn’t have been quite so efficient at his post if he had managed as much. he wouldn’t have been quite so efficient at killing himself if he could not love.

of course, now he has been displaced, now he has been damned, now he has to rebuild himself & decide what is needed of him.

for a second, he thinks of his habits.

mostly, he has read history books. they had been his father’s favorite. at some point, they had been his favorite too. he liked old things, & he liked to understand what sort of things survived long enough to be remembered —

his being made an orphan made him a spectator of the kinds of things that people remembered about his father. it was one of the greatest mysteries of his childhood. it made him curious.

your father was kind, townspeople said. that was true enough. your father was intelligent, townspeople said. that was true enough, too . . . though he had always been useless at home repairs. the logic of creaking floorboards or windows that didn’t close or of the leak of their roof.

erwin’s father had been intelligent, but he had been at fault when he confided in his son about things that he had no right to know.

no one knew that much about your father, townspeople said. & that couldn’t have been quite true. the man had been married. he had extended family. he was not native to the town, but he did not forge himself into being from nothing.

it was rumored that your father had a mistress in the next town — a blatant lie. an explanation for why the man had died where he did.

the manner of his death was suspicious, townspeople said this was true. & this became the heart of the dead man’s legacy.

it’s enough to make erwin believe that it might be that the wretched go remembered. the unsettling goes remembered. the things that feel unfair. the things that strike dissonance rather than a melody. they all go remembered.

it makes a hobby of his curiosity.

curiosity is something to do in the midst of a town that will go forgotten, a town that will forget him. it’s something to do in the time it takes to dig his own grave.

there was a time when reading history was his favorite, just like his father. at that time, he was not slated to be prominent enough to be remembered. he’d found the information bound within the history to be the most useful for learning tricks of the tongue & trade secrets that could spell out another man’s ruin.

a hobby became a tool. a hobby collected dust in a library stashed in a rented apartment in the city. old personal habits always betrayed themselves in his apartment. they betrayed themselves in the way that erwin stacked books vertically. he never bothered to invest in bookshelves to store them, but he kept their spines aligned — kept them ordered enough by genre that he found it easy to find a book months after it touched it last.

still, a hobby collected dust. mostly, he has read history books. but otherwise, he reads theory; he reads philosophy. he reads fiction sometimes, to keep with common conversation — but it still sometimes feels as though time guiltily used. because it’s silly to readtrending literature when the stack of paperwork never slows, when the writing isn’t that good, when levi steals a glance at the title when he brings his own work into erwin’s office.

are you reading the dirty stuff again, he asks. his voice is bored, & erwin very nearly throws the book at him because it’s a poor joke.

regardless, there is a theme in fiction that he has noticed time & time again. as though it were a legend. a man deceased, a man buried, a man become a ghost.

ghosts do not exist in conversation the way they do in fiction. in conversation, they are empty shells. they are translucence. they are memories unsettled, memories cradled.

in fiction, they are visions. they are corporal bodies pacing peripheral vision & pushing for action to be taken. they are the dead unburied, the dead unresolved. they are souls’ throwing stones at window panes & promising that sleep is not deserved.

erwin lives, but he is the image of a deadman. he is the image of the dead man from fiction, the corporal body pacing & throwing stones.

but fiction doesn’t tell the perspectIve of the deadman.

the deadman knocks because there is gravity. because there is trust in the source that pulls them. because it is familiar. because it is home. because it was fated.

erwin is not dead. parts of him may as well be dead. parts of him have yet to die because it is necessary that he be reborn.

so he had knocked on levi’s door as a deadman because the space is something he trusted — because gravity still has meaning across different versions of life & because gravity means that there are distances he is no longer equipped to keep.

so now, split between an office that feels like a wooden room, it is plausible that deadmen are not empty men. deadmen want their cause too —

even if their cause comes with teeth bared & knives unsheathed. even if they circle one another & try to understand how to interrupt a narrative of predator & prey — the footwork of their routine is too familiar to break, & erwin knows that he is responsible for the momentum behind what it has meant for levi to be guilded as the strongest. what it has meant for erwin to make him his right hand.

the first time they had teased at honest conversation, levi had asked him momentarily if he could speak as though they were not bound by the military. as though they were more than their positions. as though they lived as people rather than emblems.

the first time they had teased at honest conversation, erwin had told him that profession & person could not be disentangled — the two are seared together in a way that makes erwin trust too much in teeth bared & knives unsheathed & predator & prey.

the footwork of their routine is too familiar to break.

it makes it easy sometimes to forget the origins of their routine. the way that levi had hated him in recruitment, hated himself in grief. it makes it easy to forget the way that levi wore insubordination & never shook away its barbs, even as he has made concession after concession to honor the lives of lost scouts, to honor the prospect of freedom, & to honor the parts of erwin that he didn’t understand.

truthfully, erwin never took it for granted. but he never knew how to reciprocate. he never had the chance to pretend to learn.

before shiganshina, before this rebirth he had already named himself dead man. he had already killed & resurrected himself two times, three times. & he had already accustomed himself to being a work of fiction —

erwin lives, but he is the image of a deadman. he is the image of the dead man from fiction, the corporal body pacing & throwing stones. the corporal body pacing & settling into mechanistic movement because the soul is petrifying, decaying, forgotten.

terms & conditions have existed by his own necessity, by the insistence that he hold onto one type of cowardice & one type of kindness. it had been enough to keep the machine churning. to keep the soul alive.

even now, erwin is not certain that levi had truly understood why the distance between them was a kindness. why he had spurred cheap things & kept distance.

when the soul is petrifying, decaying, forgotten — there is a haze that settles. erwin is still alive despite the haze, but it still necessitates so familiarity. it makes him conditioned to the gravitational pulls that put him here in levi’s office.

the haze is heavy, & it means that old logic is dead. new prices in honesty will be paid, & the corporal body is not yet in command.

he wouldn’t have been quite so efficient at his post if he had managed as much.

so the capacity has prevailed even if his ability to love honestly, however, had oxidized & corroded. it’s unlikely that it’s restored now, when he harbors a god at the base of his neck.

of course i said i could love you. i have loved you.

something cracks at the base of his throat, at his sternum. it sinks mud into his stomach, & he imagines himself speaking naturally, breaking his silver tongue : god, i have loved you. he hears himself say & knows that his tongue does not know how to bring it into action.

‘ how could i not ? ‘ because it is the truth, even if the truth is not meant to be believed. because he had been too tempted by the stolen moments that they had shared, by the prospect of being anything but a deadman, by rooftop wine & the way that levi’s lips had once turned red beneath his touch.

levi resurrects his insubordination. he tips his chin upwards & makes a demonstration of defiance for which erwin thinks he could love him even more.

but he is tired.

‘ levi, i would continue with terms & conditions. i don’t regret that i set them. but i have nothing to barter with. i couldn’t lay down terms if i wanted to. surely, you know that ? ‘

surely, levi knows that he is tired.

#100. c. smith #chaoslulled #okaY we gave up editing but she's there #we can chat about it's future osidhfgsdf #sodifhg

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yaomomvs · 4 years ago

Text

TAKE OUR HAND

seijoh x manager!reader

in which aoba johsai vbc just wants you to take their hand, just as the many times they have reached for yours when they needed it

pls i’m sorry i just wrote this for comfort, in having a terrible week and so, i just really need my seijoh boys to comfort me even if it’s just in my head and just so you know, and as i’ve been trying to convince myself, things always get better

tuesday, [15:56 pm]

“nice kill yahaba senpai!” kindaichi congratulates his upperclassman.

his voice makes you react, it scared you. still holding your pen and the notebook you always carry around even on normal practice days, your hand threatens you in the most scary way possible.

fuck no, just... breathe.

you are quick to leave aside the notes, and so, you look around to the boys, who just after the coach’s whistle sounds they are quick to approach your spot.

you take the water bottles as quickly as you can.

“oh y/n-san, i know we are irresistible but you can’t just slack off admiring us!” makki teases you laughing.

“if our dear manager is admiring someone is obviously me” oikawa says, before taking a sip of his bottle, slightly making you blush even more.

“i don’t think she likes idiots who still watch youtube conspiracy videos at 3am”

“iwa!”

“weren’t you the one with a secret obsession for romance manga, iwaizumi?” it’s mattsun time to expose his friend. iwai mi doesn’t hesitate and he runs directly to matsukawa, while kunimi brings out his phone to start recording the chaos in the gym.

you don’t listen.

your head hurts, and then, you once again feel this weird thing in you stomach. you have been feeling like this for the past week, and you try to ignore it . but sometimes, you just want the world to stop.

you can’-

“y/n senpai?” watari calls your name, and you notice his furrowed brows looking at you, worried. you blink and correct your posture. you had just zooned out. “is everything ok?”

“ah yes watari kun!” you force your self to sound relaxed because you feel the sudden gaze of the entire team “i was just thinking in a smart way to insult oikawa, but i’m worried he won’t understand tho”

“hey! you said i was your favorite”

you fake laugh once again assuring everyone that you were just fine. the day goes on, and somehow is becomes more difficult to just stay down not worrying about anything.

and they notice.

you don’t walk home with the guys today. instead you run to the bus not before excusing yourself with an ‘urgent family thing’

“just please don’t let makki eat so much ramen today!” you giggle as you run to the bus “i’m not in the mood to dealing with diarrea!”

“that was a secret between us darling!” the pink haired guy screams cheeks blushing.

and maybe you were just too distracted, but before you face them away some of them notice how quick your smile fades.

“you know guys” yahaba is quick to say “call me crazy but, why did she lie?”

—

wednesday, [10:22 am]

when was the last time you actually enjoyed school? not practice, but school itself. seeing numbers everyday in the board that you don’t understand is frustrating. your throat hurts, there’s has been a not there since the begging of the day.

swallow it, y/n, dammit

you decided to take this class, don’t blame the world, blame yourself. isn’t it supposed to be simple? why isn’t it being simple? is that...

"Square root of 57 is equal to Xo, miss"

"alright!"

it is not like it’s a race, you want to say. why was the teacher obsessed with speed?, it’s unfair. your time is not the same as that of others.

you drop the pencil and you recline in your chair, why couldn’t you do operations and analysis as fast as they could? you take a look around and the eyes of others look frightening. you see ambition, you see security, you see admiration.

the bell rings and you just want to run, and well in a way you end up doing it. leaving your homeroom, you tell your friends that for today you want to be alone, the halls of aoba johsai are big, for your fortune or misfortune. you go to the vending machine and when your drink falls, the minimum noise makes you startle, lately it’s like that, small noises or actions affect you way too much.

and iwaizumi notices it.

you don’t make a single move, it’s just the cold drink resting on your hands. and before iwaizumi could stop mattsun, he was already putting his hand on your shoulder.

“y/n!”

the orange juice spills and once again fear takes hold of you.

you see them both, you’re not stupid and you know hajime stares at you weirdly, and now mattsun, you hide your fear it a bit worse than yesterday, but you do anyways.

"someday, Matsukawa-san, YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME! and what will you do without me?" you try to say cheerful, wanting to take away the suspicion, for a moment it works.

"flunk history, that leads me to..."

"no, sweeheart, i won’t give you my homework"

you walk and both guys follow you, one faster than another, very naive of the situation. "I begin to believe you hate me," says Mattsun, as the three sit on a bench near the school cafeteria casually encountering kunimi who quickly joins you, patting the folds of your skirt as you sit down, you rest on the table and admire his needy expression and as the tantrum of mattsun grows.

minutes go by, your chest pain grows, but somehow you know how to let it go.

with your hands supporting your face, lunch passes between you and kunimi, you try to talk, you really try.

but still, your eyes just glow, and kunimi notices how it’s not the glow you always have.

—

thursday [12:03]

your head is spinning, you can feel the cold sweat. will this be the time? why do you feel so small? why can’t you say it?

it’s familiar, you recognize this feeling, an ocean, you’re floating, you know you can swim, but, you’re in the middle of nowhere, you look down. Out of nowhere the intimidating depth of the ocean is beneath you. And then, you sink. You feel like you’re drowning, you feel like you’re fighting the tide, but you just can’t do it.

i just need...

no, it’s not time yet, it’s still training. the boys... you’re the one who should take care of them, you’re the one who has to be be fine. they had no time to lose, they had a goal and for the moment that was the most important thing.

On that bench, your gaze is absent, you know it is so.

and through the window that overlooks your classroom, oikawa notices it too

“y/n...” he mumbled.

of course he’d noticed. at first it was not so clear, but now he remembers.

when kindaichi pinned your dark circles to him, while admiring you by fitting volleyballs in a way not of your own.

makki watches oikawa from your side, you don’t even know the pink-haired guy is there, unaware that he’s sitting next to you. but he notices. he’s been noticing for days that your eyes are threatening to close in the middle of class.

hanamaki catches your attention and instantly that mask you’ve been wearing for weeks appears again.

"hanamaki, i’m fine"

it doesn’t convince them. they both look out the window and nod.

oikawa notices, and god, he wished he had no reason to.

—

friday [14:00 pm]

breathe.

please just... breathe.

you’re fed up. the feeling of guilt and discomfort is still there, can’t you be calm? people don’t need to know, but why do you want to shout it?

the dressing room is alone, the girls from the soccer team are out and it’s your only chance.

the team needs you, hold on a little.

your footsteps are heard in the hallway once again, a symphony you’re tired of listening to.

your chest hurts, your heart is aching, but you just need a little more. hands are shaking, the cold in your body, you need to stop.

you have to make them stop.

but when you walk into the gym, even with your eyes down, all you feel is warm. and it’s because, the boys were standing, aligned begging for you.

no, they beg for your sake.

and everything stops.

one hand from him on your neck, and one hand around your shoulders.

because oikawa, without warning, now has you in his arms.

and then, only then, you break.

tears don’t take long to come out, along with desperate sobs. your legs fail and out of nowhere, you and oikawa are on your knees.

with an alarmed look, the whole club runs towards both, surrounding you as sensibly as possible.

"i’m sorry, i’m sorry I’M SORRY" is heard from you, between hiccups.

“love, listen...” iwaizumi approaches you,somehow he managed to catch up with you, somehow he managed to hold your hand.

"i promise i didn’t want to, but i can’t, i can’t anymore, why can’t i? i try and i try and i keep trying but it’s never enough! IM TIRED OF SEEING SOMETHING AND NOT BEING ABLE TO PROCESS IT LIKE THE OTHERS. I’M TIREDD OF NEVER FULFILLING WHAT I SHOULD”

yahaba’s heart aches, and just as most of the team, is shocked.

your hands, oh your adorable hands, those hands that bandage his in the middle of an important game, he sees them shaking horribly between iwaizumi’s.

“AND I’M SCARED, WHAT IF I LOSE YOU BECAUSE OF THAT BECAUSE OF ME? BECAUSE OF HOW I AM I-“

watari is quick to place your hair gently behind your ear, a kunimi covers you with his jacket.

“I LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND I DONT RECOGNIZE MYSELF” you lower your voice, its cracked now “oikawa I don’t recognize myself, I want to be me again" you whisper, and a knot appears in the captain’s throat, and he puts a hand on your cheek "please... just let me be me again" your throat burns, your eyes get redder.

the gym goes silent, your words still echoing in everyone’s head.

“why didn’t you-“

“i just couldn’t” you blame yourself cutting oikawa off “look at us! we are waisting time on me when we should be- i’m the one who has to- im you support not-“

“hey hey, love...” iwaizumi whispers his voice is filled with sweetness, letting you sit correctly and softly rubbing his thumb in your hands “how many times have you been there for us? y/n your hand is always there”

“that’s true” kyotani says, finally saying something, emotions overwhelmed him a lot, but he genuinely wanted to help you.

“there’s something about you, there’s light” kindaichi follows up.

“no matter where, or how bad we are, somehow you always are helping us stand up” mattsun also tries to carefully approach you, he wants nothing more for you to feel safe.

and oikawa’s arms were still around you. he never stopped.

“we have reached your hand so many times, so now it’s time for you to please take ours” oikawa holds you face, and you see the sincerity and kindness behind his brown eyes, it feels like home.

mattsun does a sign asking the coach for a day off, both of them smile tenderly at you and give the green flag. iwa and makki are next to hold you carefully helping you stand up. they help you stop shaking but it’s mad dog the one who wipes your tears away with a tissue watari handled him. still not knowing if he did it the right way. you still feel kunimi’s scent. you still see kindaichi holding your school bag making sure nothing is missing. yahaba is the one bringing you water. and oikawa still refuses to let you go.

all of them feel like home.

“thank you”

and that’s how you know everything is going to feel fine.

because this club was yours and you were theirs.

this was home.

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amor-immortalem · 3 years ago

Text

Crash

Warnings: attempted suicide and mention of self harm

A/N: Because I just can't be nice to my boy for some apparent reason. I always seem to make him suffer somehow. And its angstober any how so... I also wanted to write something more brothers centric

“Scumbag!”

“Thief!”

“Loser.”

“Pathetic.”

“You’re the family embarrassment,”

“I’m ashamed to call someone like you my brother.”

“Why can’t you be a better brother?”

Mammon doesn’t know why his brothers’ words affected him so much over the past month. They usually never got under his skin this badly until today. Maybe they had finally managed to break him after all these years. He loves his brothers more than anything but they don’t feel the same. It broke his heart. He remembers when he used to be loved. When his brothers used to value him. When he still had his baby sister. Mammon misses those days.

But those days are long gone. Now all he feels is cold and numb- numb to the point that the white-haired demon has been harming himself in an attempt to feel anything these days. He looks at the fresh cuts on his arms. They really hurt but they weren’t deep enough to scar.

Mammon leans his head back against his bathroom wall as tears slipped down his cheeks. He just wanted it all to stop. He just wanted to be at peace for once since the fall- not tormented by the words of his brothers. There was only one way out or at least that’s what it felt like.

Wiping the blood off his arms, he stands and makes his way out into his bedroom and over to his desk. He scribbled one word on a note left for his brothers and set about looking for something hidden in his room- a rope. With the item retrieved, it was time to put his plan into action. Going to the top of his stairs, the Avatar of Greed secures a knot from the railing and then ties the other end into a noose and slips it around his neck. He sits himself on the railing, feet dangling over the side as he got ready to push himself over the edge. The rope itself isn’t very long but it was long enough that his head would be hidden beneath the balcony.

He closes his eyes and takes one last breath before he falls forward and the rope tightens around his airway and he immediately blacks out. His last conscious thought was that it should have been him to die in the war instead of Lilith.

-------------------------------------------

“Has anyone seen Mammon?” Lucifer asks his brothers as they sit down to dinner. “I need to talk to him about this bill from Akuzon I received a few hours ago.” It’s more so a cover story since the last thing Lucifer would admit to his brothers was that he was worried about the change in the second-born's demeanor as of late and wanted to speak directly with Mammon on the issue.

There are various degrees of negative responses from the other five demons.

“I haven’t seen him since we got home from school,” Satan offers. “I don’t think he’s left so he’s probably still in his room.”

“He did seem to be a little off ever since I jokingly called him a scumbag earlier...” Asmo hummed. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Mammon knows I was only joking.”

After hearing this, something didn’t sit right with the eldest brother. Leaving the table, he threw them a quick, “I’ll be back. I’m going to check on him.”

The others looked between themselves before deciding to follow their older brother, curious to see what kind of scolding Mammon would get if he was doing something Lucifer didn’t approve of.

-------------------------------------------

Mammon is having an out of body experience. He knows he hasn’t died just yet but he can’t help but watch his body swing back and forth. He really did look pitiful; white hair a mess, emaciated to the point where his clothes just barely fit him due to weeks of starving himself, dark bags under his eyes.

Well, at least this is the end. He thinks to himself. They won’t have to put up with having a failure as a brother anymore.

Mammon lets himself fade away as the effects of strangulation finally start to take hold.

-------------------------------------------

The walk to Mammon’s room is short and soon all six of them are gathered at the white-haired demon’s door. They couldn’t have prepared themselves for what they would find waiting for them on the otherside.

Lucifer didn’t bother to knock; he just opened the door with a feeling of dread. The room was silent save for the soft creaking of a rope and it reeked heavily with the stench of Mammon’s blood and then he saw it. Had Mammon always had a rope tied around the railing on the upper level of his room? If it hadn’t always been there, there was only one reason it was there now.

The six demons rush forward as their eyes land on the rope but only Lucifer was able to make it down the stairs when his black to red gradient eyes landed on the sight of his little brother’s hanging body. He rushed forward in his demon form to support the white-haired demon’s form.

“Someone cut that rope down and call an ambulance. Now!”

And everyone scrambled in panic to find a way to help their brother.

He was rushed to the hospital at the first opportunity.

-------------------------------------------

The doctor said he was lucky. Any longer and there would have been nothing anyone could have done for the Avatar of Greed. That was a few days ago. Lucifer had been with Mammon all that time.

The Avatar of Pride looks over his favorite brother and he feels ashamed of himself for allowing Mammon to get to this point. Every day he wished the white-haired demon would wake. Lucifer had words for the troublesome demon as he tried to ignore that his brother was currently in the ICU, breathing tubes shoved down his throat, in a neck brace that kept his head and neck stable so it could heal.

With a tired sigh, he grabbed a hold of Mammon’s hand giving it a gentle squeeze as he laid his head on the bed beside him. Soon he started to doze. His dreams take him back to the Celestial Realm where their family is complete and happy. Everyone is smiling as they all lay back and watch the stars in new planetarium Michael had had constructed for his own enjoyment. Or sometimes he dreams of when it was just him, Mammon, and Levi. Their other brothers hadn’t been born yet so the three of them often did things together like sneaking down to the human world to visit beaches for them to play in the water or to watch the stars with the toddlers when he wasn’t taking on work.

The next thing Lucifer knows, Mammon is pulling his hand free from Lucifer’s. He was awake now as he glared at Lucifer.

“You’re awake. How do you feel?”

The white-haired demon only continues to give him an angry glare, before using Celestial Sign Language, signing that he was unable to speak- that it hurt too much. Plus, the breathing tube down his throat made it impossible to do so. He was actually tempted just to pull them out altogether.

The black-haired demon only sighs at his brother’s response. “Do you know how much trouble you caused- what a scene you made for us? What in the Devildom were you thinking?”

The Avatar of Greed only frowns before singing, Sorry... I’m an idiot...

“That, you definitely are... but you’re my idiot and nothing can change that. “The prideful demon leans back in his chair. “You’re lucky our brothers and I came looking for you when we did. Any longer and you would have had no chance at surviving. How could you throw away your own life like that? Were you seeking our attention? Because you certainly have it.”

Mammon can only look away. He’s not sure why exactly he tried to hang himself. But he knows Lucifer wants an answer so he signs that he doesn’t know.

“You don’t know?” Lucifer’s eyebrows raise, “Or is it that you don’t want to tell me? Listen, I know that I can be harsh on you but I only do it because I care, Mammon. Your sin has led you to partake in incredibly self-destructive tendencies. You’re the one I worry most about getting themself killed due to something your Greed has led you to do- be it a gambling game gone wrong or one of those scams you like to think up. Even with you being as powerful as you are, if you get into a tangle with the wrong demon and they catch you by surprise you could very well wind-up dead in a ditch somewhere and I won’t lose another sibling.”

He cares? Well, that’s a shocker. Mammon bites the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay for the time being. Instead, he chooses to change the subject. Where’re the others? He signs.

“They’re at home. They’re all very worried about you- Asmo is distraught thinking that they’re the one who pushed you to do this to yourself after what they said to you earlier today at RAD. The only reason the five of them aren’t here is because I’ve told them to stay at home- that their energy would only disturb the other patients here in the ICU.”

Mammon frowns at this. He doesn’t believe his brother. He can’t just yet. He sighs through his nose as he signs that he wants Lucifer to leave- that he needs some time to himself and the Avatar of Pride agrees to it although he wouldn’t leave entirely as he needed to speak with the staff about administering antidepressants and a possible stay in the psychiatric wing of the hospital for Mammon’s own safety and even after that the first-born hangs around just outside of his brother’s room until he’s sure the first dose has been given and no other problems arose.

Once he made his way back home, the demon was bombarded with questions from his brothers. Lucifer was able to calm their anxieties and clear their questions as he made his way to his room for the night. With a change into his pajamas, the black-haired demon settled down for bed at a reasonable time for once.

-------------------------------------------

It’s been nearly two months since Mammon tried to hang himself and he had healed from the injuries but still he was stuck in the hospital. All he wanted to do was go home but after the breathing tube was pulled out, the staff had shipped him off to the psych ward and Mammon wasn’t pleased in the slightest. Now he was stuck in therapy and forced to take medications he didn’t need.

“How do you feel today, Mammon?” The therapist asked as they sat across from the white-haired demon.

“Just great,” Mammon lied, “The meds are helpin’ a lot. I think I’m good to go home.” In truth, Mammon hadn’t been taking his medication when it was given to him in the morning before breakfast. He’d just been hiding it under his tongue or beside the gums of his lower jaw and then spitting it out in the toilet after he was allowed to return to his room until it was meal time because he was just that sure that he didn’t need it and nothing was wrong with him.

“Well, unfortunately, seeing as you were involuntarily admitted, we can’t actually clear you for release until your brother feels that you won’t be a danger to yourself. Any side effects you’re concerned about?”

“Nope. And that’s bullshit, by the way. No one knows me better than I do and I’m sayin’ I’m all better.”

“I’m sorry, Mammon, but I don’t make the rules here. You have to stay until further notice. Lucifer seems convinced you haven’t been getting better and if you go home, he’s worried that you might try to harm yourself once more.”

Mammon just rolls his eyes at the statement as he lets out an annoyed huff and crosses his arms. “I don’t need this, ya know, doc?”

“Your actions two months ago say otherwise. Now let’s get on to our session so you can go to group activities.”

“Fine, whaddya wanna know?”

“How long were you thinking about taking your life. How long did you have a plan to do so?”

“Couple centuries... I didn’t plan it at all. It was just spur of the moment cuz I was havin’ a bad day... That’s all there is to it.”

“How do you feel about your brothers?”

“What kinda stupid question is that? I love ‘em. They’re my family and the only ones who put up with my bullshit.”

“Do you not think others like you?”

“Would you quit tryin’ ta dig inta my brain!?” The Avatar of Greed growls as he rises from his seat on the couch, his demon form manifesting itself unintentionally. “I’m fine. People tolerate me and that’s all I want anyway!”

“I need you to sit down and take a deep breath, Mammon.” The therapist says calmly to avoid riling him up even further. “If you don’t, I’ll have to call staff and have them restrain and sedate you and neither of us wants that.”

“Call ‘em then! I don’t care! I’m the fourth most powerful demon here in the Devildom! There’s no way in hell ya got enough muscle here ta hold me down!”

The therapist merely presses a button under his desk and a few seconds later some male orderlies catch the demon by surprise as he’s easily restrained and give a shot to calm him down before they take him to his room. The therapist only writes a note to the psychiatrist over seeing Mammon’s care with a recommendation to start him on mood stabilizers after this outburst.

-------------------------------------------

Later that afternoon, Lucifer decides to pay a visit to check up on his brother’s progress in the road to recovery. He sat down to meet with Mammon’s therapist for a few moments.

“Good afternoon, Lord Lucifer.”

“Good afternoon to you as well. How has Mammon been doing in therapy lately?” The eldest asks. “Have the sessions been productive?”

“Not so much.” The therapist sighs. “We had another emotional outburst this morning. It’s the fifth one we’ve had with him over the last two weeks where staff has had to sedate him. I can’t get your brother to talk for more than three or four questions before he withdraws and deflects. He claims the medicine has been working and that he’s well enough to return home but I have a suspicion he’s been spitting them out while unsupervised because he’s under the impression that he doesn’t actually need them. We also started him on some mood stabilizers that might keep him on an even field where he’s not lashing out like this.”

“I think that’s the best recourse of action at this point. Where is Mammon now?”

“He’s been in his room resting since the sedative took hold. If you’d like, you can go see him. He needs to be woken up soon anyway seeing as the next group activity starts in a half-hour or so.”

Lucifer nods, “I’m going to make a deal with Mammon- give him an incentive, if you will. If he wants to go home so badly, we’ll give him what he wants but under the condition that he has to take his medicines for exactly three weeks. We’ll build the habit now so we don’t have a struggle when he gets home.”

The therapist nods at that. “I’ve already told the staff in charge of distributing morning doses to check his entire mouth to make sure he’s actually swallowed his medicine.”

“That’s good start. I know Mammon can be a... handful sometimes but thank you for your efforts and patience with him.”

“We’re just doing our job, Sir. We’re here to help demons who need it. Even after release from inpatient care, I would still recommend outpatient therapy as a good management tactic. And no offense, but frankly I think the other six of you could do with some therapy as well.

Lucifer ignored that proposal, getting up and taking his leave. “We’ll be in contact, Doctor.” With that, the Avatar of Pride strode down the hall on his way to see his younger brother.

When he arrived, he gave a quick knock on the door before entering. He saw Mammon just lying there on his bed with his back to the door. Lucifer cleared his throat as he sat down on the bed beside him and Mammon looked over his shoulder.

“So, I heard you had a rough day today in therapy...” He starts. “Would you like to tell me why?”

“I wanna go home. I hate bein’ here.”

“I know you do, Mams.” Lucifer rubbed his brother’s arm, “But I also don’t want you to have a set back and hurt yourself somehow. Your therapist thinks you’re not actually taking your meds. Is that true?”

“You’re not gonna yell at me are ya?” The white-haired demon paused, trying to gauge the situation before he answered. Lucifer shook his head in response. “No... I’ve been spittin’ ‘em out cuz I don’t need ‘em. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.”

“I see. I am rather surprised to find that you’ve fooled them for this long. But I need you to take them. It’s for your own good.”

Mammon watched his brother’s face before looking away.

“Would it help if we made a deal,” The black-haired demon smiles as the Avatar of Greed’s ears perked up at that.

“What kinda deal’re we talkin’?”

“You can go home if- and only if- you can manage to take everything that’s prescribed to you for three weeks- enough to build a habit of consistently taking them.

“That’s all I gotta do?”

“That’s all you have to do.”

“Fine... I’ll show you that I’m fine and don’t need those stupid things.”

“I trust that you will.” The demon chuckles, “Unfortunately, I have to leave now. Rest up and Levi and I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

Mammon only nods as he watches Lucifer go.

-------------------------------------------

Three weeks really does pass in the blink of an eye. After diligently taking his medicine as prescribed, the white-haired demon finds himself in better mental shape than he’d been in in centuries. Today, Mammon hummed happily. He was finally being discharged after three months of being stuck here. It felt like a miracle as he shouldered his bag and headed to the nurses’ station where they handed him all of his discharge paperwork.

As he read them over, he grabbed a pen and signed the papers as he turned to walk out the doors. Waiting for him were his brothers. They all welcomed him back with open arms as they all piled into the car they had arrived together. Beel suggested they all go out for dinner to hell’s kitchen together and honestly Mammon couldn’t have been happier at the suggestion. As they rode off to the restaurant, The white-haired demon can’t help but smile at the peace he seemed to find no matter what lays ahead for him.

-------------------------------------------

Find more on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me angst #mammon angst #obey me mammon #mammon #brothers-centric

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midgardianweasley · 4 years ago

Text

The Royal Ball

Loki laufeyson x Fem!reader

Summary: There is an Asgard ball being hosted in the palace, Y/N is yet to find a date to accompany her. She’s disappointed when a certain God doesn’t ask her, however, what happens when he sees someone else getting a little too close for comfort throughout the night?

Warnings: lil bit angsty, self doubt, JEALOUS LOKI, fluffy ending

Word Count: 3.3k

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Requests are open loves <3

Y/F/N - Your Friend’s Name

It was a beautiful autumn’s day, crisp brown leaves were falling off of the large trees in the courtyard and scattering the cobbled ground. Loki and I had been wandering around for some time now, discussing everything from the books we’ve been reading to the dreams that have come to us in our sleep.

“And then this huge ghost thing was chasing me around the halls! and if that wasn’t weird enough, you popped up-”

“Ah, seeing me in your dreams are we, darling?” Loki chuckled, taking great pleasure at the fact that he had made an appearance in my subconscious, completely ignoring my distress at being chased by a supernatural being.

“Funny you should say that, right after seeing you, I woke up. The sight must’ve given me quite the scare.” I scoffed, a smile unable to stop itself from making its way onto my face, eyes meeting his, face etched with shock. With a hand to his chest, he spoke again in disbelief.

“You have truly offended me, love. I never knew you had this side to you.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” I winked, nudging his side slightly with my elbow.

“Really? Can you produce illusions?”

“No.”

“Look inside other people’s heads?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Turn yourself into a snake to scare your eight year old brother?”

“I still can’t believe you did that”

“My greatest achievement yet.” He smirked, the memory never failing to amuse him.

His stories always had me in awe of his capabilities, even if it was to give his brother a long-term fear, it was still an incredible talent. Whenever he tells me of his latest adventures or tricks, I always think of how well his title fits him. God of Mischief. Maybe that’s why I liked him much more than what a best friend should, not that I'd ever admit it. Not to him anyway.

We soon found ourselves standing next to one of the windows of the hallway, the crystal clear glass giving a beautiful view of the city of Asgard. From here, you could see the Queen’s gardens, full of flowers in all different colours and types, grass cut to perfection. You could see the families in the town, walking around the different buildings, children playing. It was lovely to watch, seeing everyone enjoy the seasonal weather and the light bounce off of the windows, it was ethereal.

“I never get tired of this.” I sighed, voice only slightly above a whisper

“Tired of what, love?”

“Just, this. This view, this kingdom, it’s incredible.” I looked up at Loki, trying to see if he was seeing the same beauty that I did. He was already looking at me when I met his eyes and upon seeing the way they sparkled, I assumed he did.

“Actually, speaking of the Kingdom, I have something to tell you. There’s-”

Abruptly stopping him from continuing his sentence, voices were heard from the other end of the hallway, though we couldn’t make out the words until they came closer. We gave each other a quick look of confusion before turning to see where the commotion was coming from, hearing the quick and heavy footsteps before being able to put names to the faces.

“Loki! Y/N!” A deep voice bellowed. Was that Thor making all of that noise?

Before I could process any more information, a blur of a pastel pink dress was in my face and hands were placed on my shoulders. I smiled down at the slightly out of breath figure using me as a support stand, it was Y/F/N.

“Wow, Y/F/N, you sound much different than when I spoke to you yesterday, did you drink something funny?” I chuckled, receiving a glare from my friend and a quiet laugh from the God beside me. Thor soon appeared next to Y/F/N, hands on his hips and head thrown back as he tried to compose himself.

“My God, Y/F/N, you run fast.” He pants.

“Care to tell us why you’re both running like madmen through the palace?” Loki speaks, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and what looked a little like concern.

“We..had to..tell you..there’s a ball..next week.” Y/F/N spoke, a bit more stable now, but still in between breaths.

I felt my eyes widen, a ball? I didn’t know Asgard held balls.

“Father is opening up the palace next week to neighbouring kingdoms, in hopes to be closer with them, open Asgard up to more trade opportunities, build relationships and whatnot.” Thor explained, emitting a loud sigh to come from Loki.

“I was just about to tell her, brother. Thank you for interrupting.” He rolled his eyes, half joking, half serious. I reached up and patted his shoulder gently, a small smile on my face.

“Maybe next time Lok” He nodded in response, I didn’t get a chance to comfort him much more before I was being pulled away by Y/F/N. With a small huff of surprise, I gave Loki a glance, silently apologising for our conversation being cut short, receiving a shake of his head in reply, affirming me to not worry about it.

“So.” she begins. “We need to find you a date and a dress. I’m thinking blue. I’m wearing purple so it’s probably best to avoid that one. Hmm. let’s see..oh! I know! we could- Y/N? You listening?” I snapped my head around, not missing the sly smile that was plastered all over my friend’s face.

“Y/F/N, don’t-”

“Loki! He has to be your date. You could wear green and match! If he’s even going to wear green, I'm sure I can get Thor to find out, I assume they’ll get ready together. And black accessories! I have so many ideas.” She clapped her hands, over-excited about the opportunity to plan this evening for us. Except for one minor detail.

“That sounds great, Y/F/N, it sounds wonderful, you’re just missing something.”

“Missing something? Oh, if you mean our hair then i’ve already-”

“No, not our hair. Loki hasn’t asked me, and I doubt he will.” I spoke, the second half coming out more as a whisper, my heart dropping a little at the thought. He’d never really expressed having those kinds of feelings for me and I'd always seen him be close with different girls around the palace, he’ll probably ask one of them.

“He might ask you, you never know what’s around the corner.”

“I guess so, we’ll have to wait and see.”

And that was the last we spoke of it before she went into full planner mode again, while I continued to ponder over all of the thoughts running through my head. I mean, he could ask me, right?

--------------------------

He didn’t.

After talking about it with Y/F/N, I had a glimmer of hope that maybe I was wrong, maybe I hadn’t noticed something that she had, that Loki would approach me and ask me to be his company for the evening.

I spent the next couple of days with him, hoping he would ask me, everytime a pause would appear in conversation, maybe he was finally going to do it. And everytime, a little bit of the hope I had, had fizzled out.

I’d even considered other reasons as to why he hadn’t asked, maybe the King didn’t want him and Thor to have dates so that they could mingle with members of the other kingdoms. Of course that theory had flown right out one of the Palace’s windows when Y/F/N told me that Thor was going to be her date. I was right then, he wasn’t wanting to go with me.

I guess I understood, I’m the best friend, we’d always been that. I think a part of me just thought that maybe he, like me, wanted something a little more. Clearly, I was mistaken.

Y/F/N and I had been getting ready for a while now, our hair was styled to perfection, our dresses were on and both of us were fully accessorized. We were looking at ourselves in the mirror, doing spins and curtseys and gushing over how good the other looked.

“You look amazing tonight, Y/N, really. Loki is missing out.”

“Thank you, and I'm sure his date is beautiful.” I spoke, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress, trying to avoid the subject and the twisting knot in my stomach at the thought of him with someone else all night. “You look incredible! You were right to pick purple, it’s definitely your colour.”

“Y/N’s right, you look gorgeous.” Thor declared, leaning against the doorway sporting a black suit and a dark purple tie, the perfect match with his date’s dress. I could feel my eyes light up when seeing how happy the simple, yet effective comment had made Y/F/N. Rushing over, she engulfed Thor in a hug before leaning up slightly and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Ah and can’t forget, Y/N, you look stunning tonight.” He gestured to me, arm almost scanning me up and down.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush.” I laughed. “You both head off, I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure? We don’t mind waiting?” Y/F/N questioned.

“Don’t be silly. You guys go on ahead, I'll meet you there.”

With a nod and a wave, they were off. They really did look like a perfect match tonight. I continued to look at myself in the mirror, fixing any stray hairs, flattening any kinks in my dress. Realistically, I was probably trying to prolong leaving for as long as I could. I was excited, but I was turning up on my own while everyone else had someone, it was a bit nerve-wracking. I still wanted to look my best though.

“Stop trying to convince yourself that you look good, you could literally blow an army of men away by looks alone.” A voice spoke, I spun to see who was speaking, the flash of green was enough to decipher who it was.

“You look lovely tonight, darling.” He grinned, the pet name had set off butterflies in my stomach.

“Thank you. As do you.”

“Well, I did put in an effort, nice to know it’s appreciated.” He joked, a breathy laugh left my lips, entertained by his words.

“Yes, well, I'm sure plenty of others will too.”

“The eyes will never leave me, I'm sure. Unless they’re on you, then I'd be surprised if I get even so much as a glimpse in my direction. Someone is a very lucky guy tonight, that’s for sure.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, confused by his statement.

“Well, they get to be beside you all evening, it’s a beautiful view.” He winked.

It could’ve been you, I thought. I knew he was joking, however that didn’t stop the fire in me from igniting.

“I could say the same for you, someone is a very lucky girl.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know if she ever thinks otherwise.” Joking, again.

So he had asked someone. Albeit disappointed, I'm happy he’s happy. Though I still wish I was the girl in question, I couldn't stop him if he was interested in someone else. That wasn’t fair.

Giving him a brief nod and a tight lipped smile, I picked up the front of my dress a little bit and made my way out of the room and downstairs to the ball. I could still enjoy myself, the night is young, I've got this.

------------------

“It was crazy! And let me tell you, my dad was so angry with me. He didn’t let me serve Turkey again after that year.” Charlie, a guy that I had met an hour or so ago, finished his story of the Christmas horror he had, allowing me to relax for the first time that evening. Up until now, it had felt like all I’d seen was either happy couples, or stares from across the room. Usually the second and usually Loki. The same Loki who had a girl’s arm linked with his and was looking at him like he held the world in his grasp. I broke the gaze, finding it difficult to look at the pair for any longer, as I turned back to Charlie so he could have my attention again, a lazy smile was present as he took a sip of his wine.

“I don’t blame him, really, it sounds like you started a riot!” I exclaimed, sending us both into a full on belly laugh, thinking back to the story. This continued for another five or so minutes, laughter turning into a low chuckle, as if we were about to be told off for how loud we were being. Just as my hand had reached his arm to help hold me up, saving me from laughing myself into the ground, Loki and his date had made their way over.

“Enjoying ourselves, I hope?” He beamed, taking one look at me before giving his full attention to Charlie.

“Yes, yes we are, thank you. How about the two of you?”

“Ye-”

“It’s been fine, yeah, good. So, what’s your name then?” Loki interrupted, his date having no choice but to leave him to respond instead.

“I’m Charlie Fernsby.” He held his hand out, greeting Loki. A gesture that was very awkwardly not reciprocated as he let his hand fall back to his side before Loki spoke up again.

“Charlie..Charlie, now, isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“Loki!” I scolded, giving him an evil side glance, what was he doing?

“No, no it’s okay. Yeah, it can be used for girls too, but it's common for boys to have the name Charlie.” Polite as ever, he responded. A mischievous look made its way onto the God’s face. Oh no.

“So, I take it your parents wanted a girl?”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“I assume your parents wanted a girl, considering they’ve given you a girl’s name?” I rolled my eyes, this teasing was unnecessary.

“Charlie, let’s go and get a drink.” I tried to tug him away, only to be halted by another sentence leaving my best friend’s mouth.

“It was only a question, I'm sure he doesn’t mind answering, do you Carl?”

“Charlie.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said-” I tried to interject, but he was quick to stop me

“I know what I said, Y/N, but I'm speaking to him. Let him answer the question.”

Loki’s date was long gone by now, she’d left to speak to another group of people, presumably another few couples, leaving us three to have this discussion, thing, whatever you would think to call it.

“I’m just saying, maybe they would’ve preferred a daughter, seeing as they’ve very obviously made that clear.” He beamed, expecting me to join in and agree with him, I don’t find this funny. At all.

“Can you excuse us, Charlie? Loki, A word.” I pointed to the door, giving him a look implying for him not to test me.

“I’m in trouble. Wish me luck Carlos.”

“Charlie.”

“I know, that’s what I said.”

I pushed him all the way out the door, into the hallway and round the corner so as not to disturb everyone else’s evening. When I’d made sure there was no one else around, I looked up at the Asgardian, my arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, I wasn’t impressed anymore.

“So, are we out here for some hide or seek, or?”

“What the hell was that in there?!” I raised my voice slightly, his need to always make everything a joke wasn’t working this time. He had his night, his date, he didn’t need to come over and insult mine.

“What was what, darling? I was making conversation.”

“You were making fun of him.”

“No, I showed some concern about his parents choices, that’s all. Friendly advice if anything.” He looked a bit more frustrated with me now, as though he was stating the obvious and it was going over my head. I wasn’t having it this time.

“No, Loki. You weren’t and you know you weren’t. You had your date, she was fine, you were fine-”

“Well-”

“Let me finish. Everything was fine. Until you caught sight of me having a friendly conversation with another guy who wasn’t you. But guess what Lok, I’m allowed to do that! I’m an adult, I can speak with whoever I like!” My arms were all over the place now, my frustration was starting to show itself, it seems I had a bit pent up.

I saw his lips move, I heard something, but it was so quiet I couldn't make it out.

“Speak up, Loki. I can’t hear you.”

“I said, if you think he was just being friendly, you’re clearly out of your mind.”

Is he serious?

“Are you- Loki, you have no right to make a judgement on who and how and why I interact with other people. Not that it should matter to you anyway, you’ve spoken to other women before and I've never said a word or tried to stop you. Why does this matter so much?”

Silence.

“No, please, go on, tell me, enlighten me as to why this bothered you so much tonight, because trust me, I'm dying to know, truly.” I was shouting now, I just wanted answers for his behaviour, I didn’t think it would be this difficult.

His hands had made his way into his trouser pockets, eyes looking everywhere before settling on mine. He looked conflicted, I wanted to drop it when I saw his troubled gaze, but I couldn’t go back in there without an explanation.

“Ple-”

“I like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear, love? That I was so uncomfortable seeing some you get close with some guy that I had to embarrass him in front of you? Something I'm sure my father won’t be so impressed to hear, but there, you’ve got your confession.” His voice had gone much louder than mine, taking me by surprise, so much so that it took me a minute to process what he had said. He liked me?

He turned to leave, I assume because I hadn't said anything for a matter of minutes, but I gently grabbed his arm, tugging him back towards me. I looked up into his eyes again. I was so close that you could see the specs of different colours spotted in them, they were flawless. This view beats the Asgard view anyday.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Worried I guess. We’d never spoken of moving past friendship and I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I’m more than interested, Loki.” I grinned, my smile meeting my eyes, never leaving his.

“Not Chelsey?”

“For the love, it’s Ch-”

I couldn’t say his name, a certain pair of lips had stopped me from doing so. As they molded against mine, my hands went up to tangle themselves in his hair, his hands falling to my waist and pulling me closer, I didn’t even think that could be possible. We pulled away when we needed to catch a breath, foreheads falling against each other, smiles painted on both of our faces.

“I bet I'll be in your dreams again tonight.” He whispered.

“I bet I'll be in yours.”

“Always are, Darling. Always are.”

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