#would you rather choke on sobs or fail to breathe at all

[teehee-vibes]

Agonized over the fact that when Chip reunites with Arlin, no matter how it happens, whether Arlin is dead or alive, corrupted or stable, preserved as he was or aged by time and magic… whether it’s a moment of joy and relief at a long-awaited reunion or a heart-shattering episode of grief because Chip is too late, Chip can’t even cry about it.

[wooyoungmybelovedhusband]

ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ #4

PAIRING: Kim Mingyu x f! Reader

WARNINGS/CONTENT: Possessive!Mingyu, Cum eating, use of handcuffs, dacryphilia, overstimulation, unprotected sex, subspace, daddy kink.

WORDCOUNT: 1.1k

A/N: I would like to apologize for not posting the whole week y'all, but I hope this is good! (Although I'm quite insecure about this)

JOIN THE PERMANENT TAGLIST: Here

Mingyu's hand had a possessive grip over your waist, his other wrapped around the back of your neck pulling your lips into his. His lips moved furiously against yours. You wince in pain when his teeth nibble down on your lower lip. Your wrists are soon confined in between his thick fingers.

He pushes you against your wall, mumbling ‘mine’ after every kiss he meets your lips with. His tongue intertwines with yours, desperate to taste every inch of you. Your nostrils flare slightly from short of breath while your pants interrupt your make-out session.

Mingyu finally pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your parted lips. His hand which gripped on your wrists – now came down to squeeze your ass rather aggressively. Before retrieving to come down harshly on your clothes butt. “Did you perhaps forget who you belong to, princess?”

A reply barely reaches your brain when you are thrown over his muscular shoulders. His smuscles constricted under your skin – arousal pooled in between your thighs from the movement.

Placing you down on the bed, Mingyu was fast in pushing your body down with his – while his lips worked their way from your jawline to the sweet spot on the flesh of your neck. His tongue glided over the mark his teeth bit, eliciting pleasure like current through your body. The pleasure coaxed your mind into turning hazy as your eyes closed due to the blissful feeling.

But you're immediately pulled out of your maze by Mingyu tugging your head back, a loan gets caught in your throat. “Aren't you enjoying this a little too much? We should take care of it shouldn't we?”

No sooner did his sentence come to an end than a clank was heard. You feel the metallic confining feeling around your hands – your mind barely comprehends the said action. His hands come down from your wrists to your jaw, squeezing your cheeks lightly causing your lips to pucker.

A sudden jolt of pain ripples from your pussy – making you realise his thick fingers slapped down on your clit roughly. “Who do you belong to? Who does this pussy belong to?” His tone was authoritative, coaxing you into obeying. “Yours” Another slap comes down on your pussy, “Gonna make sure you remember that well.” His tone turned more dominating, his middle finger sneaking in between your folds. He rubs circles on your flesh, causing slick to leak out.

You chant his name loudly when the pads of his fingers rub your clit at a faster pace, your hands thrashing to grasp onto his biceps, like you usually did, but only for a whine to fall off your lips due to the failed attempt. Mingyu’s lips stretch into a menacing grin, as his other hand comes down to slap your pussy yet again.

The pain mixed with the pleasure, and the overwhelming pleasure had you cumming on to his fingers in no time. Your back arches from the pleasure circulating through your nerves, but the sight of Mingyu pulling his fingers away from your pussy to lick off your cum coating his fingers with his eyes intently staring into your eyes – swiftly has your juices pooling again.

It didn’t take long for Mingyu to notice the way your hole needily fluttered around nothing – drawing a mocking chuckle from him. His index and middle finger didn’t resist the urge to bury themselves in between your walls again. “Daddy-” a choked sob from your own throat stopped your sentence when his fingers started moving relentlessly in you. Mingyu hums, as if asking you to complete your sentence when he obviously had you falling apart around his thick fingers.

“What is it, love?” If you were in your right conscience – meaning if you weren’t about to squirt all over your boyfriend’s fingers – you would’ve slapped his shoulder for the feign curiosity in his tone. But the nickname rather pushed you down to your headspace. Tiny tears prick at the corner of your eyes when his fingers pumped faster in you, bringing you to your second orgasm faster than you could process the first one.

A drawl of his name followed by a loud whine was enough for Mingyu to uncuff your hands without a thought. He brings your almost bruised wrists to his plumpy lips. Pressing light feathery kisses before, he pulls away.

You had been floating in your pleasurable bliss to notice Mingyu had gotten rid of his pants and boxers until the feeling of the tip of his cock prodding against your entrance brought you out of your trance. “Let’s see how many rounds you can go before you turn into a whiny mess again.”

His husky voice, his large hands caressing your sore muscles and his veiny cock rubbing against your wet folds already had you turning into a whiny mess.

Mingyu barely gave you a warning before he slammed into you with a push, making your throat go dry and a breathy gasp to replace your whiny whimpers. Beads of tears swarmed in your eyes – you barely had a thought swimming in your head as his relentless thrusts turned you into nothing but a babbling mess.

His long fingers intertwined with your hair, pulling you up to smash his lips into yours. His movements were fast and rough but also possessive. His hips collided against yours to fill the room with skin-slapping noises.

Pulling away, Mingyu dragged his tongue across your cheek, groaning at the salty taste of your tears. “Fuck- your tears make me want to fuck you harder till all you can do is shed those pretty tears for me.” His words had your back arching as your walls clamped around him – cumming around his cock.

Mingyu groaned at the feeling of having his dick coated with your hot cum, his movements turning impossibly faster, forming a white ring around the base of his dick. But within a few minutes, he came inside you, filling you up to the brim with his cum.

Pulling out, a long stripe of white cum connected his dick to yours while the sight of cum leaking out of you had him cursing out.

Your head was back on the pillow, loud pants from both of you resonated throughout the room. He leaned down to peck your lips ever so softly, while his length slowly slid back inside you.

Your eyes widened from his action but Mingyu only drowned out any protest with a long kiss. Pulling away from your lips, a smug grin was painted on his face. “We’re not done till my dick is imprinted on your walls that you feel it for weeks.”

©️ WOOYOUNGMYBELOVEDHUSBAND.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Can I get sunflower for Frank with "I know you're struggling right now, but we'll get through this together, okay?" and "If you want, we can just spend the whole day cuddling"? 💕

You were still blankly staring into the shadows bordering the space when Frank woke, wishing they’d consume you with each slow blink. 

It was early. Too early for you to have been conscious for hours. Too early for you to be fighting back tears as Frank began to wind his muscular limbs around you. You remained silent as Frank planted kisses on your nape, clenching your jaw with such ferocity it was a miracle your teeth didn’t crack from the force. 

“Mornin’, doll.” He rasped, his nose dragging along your exposed skin. The gentle touch made your hair stand on end, a scream building in your throat. You felt trapped, the air around you stale and hot. Frank’s breath roared in your ears, making you squeeze your eyes shut. “You been awake long?”

You hummed noncommittally, hoping Frank would misinterpret the shaky noise as a stifled yawn rather than a muffled cry–though it was probable he’d see right through your effort. Your observant boyfriend knew you like the back of his hand, confident that you were awake even though he had yet to see your face. Most days, that certainty was comforting. Today, you just felt cornered.

“Did ya sleep well?” Frank murmured, sliding an arm underneath your body to cradle you to his chest. Dread plummeted in your stomach, circling into a pit like water flowing down a tub drain. Before you could un-furrow your brow or mask the glassiness of your eyes, you were caught. 

Frank’s soft smile slipped from his face, his expression pinching with concern as his gaze wandered over you. “Hey, hey, hey..what’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

Screwing your face up in a last ditch attempt to stop the inevitable tears from falling, you shook your head frantically. Trembling hands flew to cover your display as your lip quivered dramatically. 

“Hey, don’ do that. Don’t hide from me, doll. Please,” Frank pleaded, rough fingers curling around your wrists, dwarfing them as he pried your grip open to reveal your face. “What happened, sweetheart?”

His soft voice was the last straw, shattering your composure. A sob rang through the room, your breath catching on itself as you lost control of your fragile psyche. “I-I’m sorry, Frank. S-sorry, sorry..” You choked out, collapsing against his sturdy chest as he tucked you flush against him.

“Why’re you sorry, babydoll? Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for.” Broad hands pawed at your hunched back, stroking up and down as he shushed you. “Nothin’ at all, sweet girl.” 

You bawled harder, his sweet acceptance of your poor mood saturating you with guilt. 

“Let it out, sweetheart. I gotcha.” Frank kissed your forehead, hands continuing their motions as he let you ride out the crying spell. Soon enough, your body-wracking sobs dwindled to hiccupping breaths. 

“Attagirl. I know you’re strugglin’, but we’re gonna get through it together, sweetheart.” Frank promised, trailing tender kisses down the bridge of your nose. “‘M right here. Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“I thought I was better,” You spat out, your words garbled with lingering tears. “I had a good week. I should be better.” 

Frank tutted quietly, interrupting your blatant self-hatred. “That ain’t how it works, doll.”

“That’s stupid.” You sniffled, burrowing into Frank’s shoulder as he snorted a laugh.

“You're tellin’ me.” He huffed sympathetically, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from the responsibilities of the outside world with his massive body.

Sighing in aggravation, you chewed at your lip, your mind still racing with a list of all the tasks you needed to accomplish before Frank’s shift ended. The threat of failing to care for your shared home had woken you out of a restless sleep, the anxiety threatening to drag you into a spiral. As the pressure built in your skull, more thoughts popped up, reminding you of your rapidly approaching work shift in 24 hours, and the knowledge that Frank was comforting you again even though he surely was on a tight schedule.

 “I’m sorry,” You grimaced, wriggling out of his arms and scrubbing at your face. “You need to get up for work–”

Before you could fully escape your partner’s hold, he tightened his grip, snatching the edge of the comforter with one hand and tugging it over the pair of you. “Nah, don’t even start with that. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But, you have work.” You frowned, tears once again slipping over your waterline. 

Brushing the droplets with a thumb, Frank sent you a lopsided smile. “I got sick time.”

“Frank, you shouldn’t..you don’t have to–” You protested, voice faltering when he pressed your foreheads together. 

“Never said I had to, dollface. I want to. Would much rather spend the day with my beautiful girl than be surrounded by a group of shitheads at a construction site.” Brushing your noses together, Frank cupped your jaw, gaze boring into you as he pulled back. “That ok with you?”

Nodding once, you dove back against his chest, exhaling with slight relief as the weight of being alone in your wallowing receded from the front of your mind. “Yes please.” 

“Great. Now we’re both gonna catch some more shut eye because it is too damn early to do anything else.” He ordered, relaxing into his stack of pillows and lifting you on top of his frame. “And we’ll see how you feel after that, ok?”

“Ok.” You mumbled, fingers twisting around his shirt uneasily. 

Massive hand splaying over yours, Frank traced swirling shapes over your clammy skin. “We don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t wanna do, darlin’. If you wanna stay in bed all day, that’s fine with me.” 

“You sure?” You asked timidly, drifting off to the soft rasp you received in return.

“Course I’m sure, dollface. Get some sleep.”

[hismourningflower]

「 just breathe | kai's 2024 birthday special! 」 jing yuan & blade x gn!reader | hurt/comfort, nightmares | birthday fanfiction. ↳ additional tags. reader with ptsd (yet again, self indulgent for my bday!) but you can read it as reader with just nightmares in general!! ooc jing yuan & blade, kinda soppy/fluff with angsty themes. ↳ happy birthday to me part one! this is the honkai edition, there's a genshin special scheduled for later today!

data has been uploaded! - send an ask to join the taglist; specify genshin, honkai or both! @lovingluxury, @dumbificat, @starryshinyskies, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @ainescribe

the jade's guidelines | honkai masterlist | bday m.list | previous work

you could never forget the silk sheets that line your shared bed with JING YUAN, an aspect of the luxuries that the xianzhou alliance bathe themselves quite fondly over the years of their long-life species' existence. you would tease jing yuan that perhaps it was the xianzhou natives' way of comforting themselves after what happened regarding their ancestors but the more you considered it, the more highly likely it felt to be true.

every night you'd fall asleep in these sheets without fail, drowning amongst their soft touch that brushes against your skin. it slides against your every limb, wrapping itself around your body for comfort whenever you're forced to go to bed without jing yuan at your side; there'd be numerous occasions, ones that he was always forced to deal with. you'd always see the way his eyes soften and shift away from you when he admits that he'd be late to bed. it was always work related, of course it was, he was the esteemed general of the cloud knights, the luofu's very own divine foresight.

you could never be mad at him, you were lucky enough to even be on the arm of the general. in your eyes, there was no way you could complain about his workload interrupting things except when it weighs down on him, dragging on his ankles and his shoulders to the point where all he can do is smile and keep napping - this is normal behaviour you've adjusted to but where's that small smirk that you love so much?

unfortunately, there's a nagging that weighs you down too. even though you don't explicitly mention it to jing yuan, he's more than aware. he's by no means stupid and he's actually incredibly observant, especially for you, his dearest partner. he's been awake on more than one occasion when your peaceful sleep is disrupted, your brows furrowed as you clutch at the sheets - naively unaware of his presence in the first place.

the silence will fill with struggled whimpers and gasps for breath, evolving into tears you might not even know slip from your closed eyes, squeezed shut as if trying to wake yourself up. these things haunt you, remind you of your struggles and where life has taken you. jing yuan has never been one for interrupting your rest, after all you've never once disturbed him but he knows he can't let you lay there, thrashing as you cry. not only for your sake but his own, when it breaks his heart to even witness it.

jing yuan will force himself to disturb you, strong arms wrapping around you and fighting against every thrash and struggle your emotionally weak body fights with until you calm against the comfort of his chest, breaking out into muffled sobs as your knuckles go white clutching onto him. he'll let out a breath, noting that you're awake when you choke out his name between gasps for breath.

"just breathe," he coos, a large hand smoothing down your back as his face buries into your hair. long, white hair drapes over his shoulders, tickling at your nose now that it's not tied up with a red ribbon, "it's okay, i'm here."

never once has jing yuan pressed into what your nightmare was about, simply listening as you follow his instructions and take a deep breath, trying to regulate as your body calms. there's a soft sniffle every now and then, his chest damp from where you've been sobbing but he'd rather it be like this instead of the bedsheets from where you've struggled alone.

every time it'll break his heart but he'll do it over and over again, knowing that his mere presence is what soothes you and keeps the tormenting demons at bay. maybe you'll never say it to him but all you need in those moments is him and he's more than happy to hold your shaking body until you fall back asleep.

BLADE isn't a fool, in fact he has his own fair share of nightmares from the mara within him and his past deeds. even if he denies it, you're no fool too and you've been present many times when it comes to blade panicking in his sleep. you do know however not to wake him, aware of his violent tendencies - you could be anyone to him when he wakes up and despite putting every inch of your trust into him, you know that's something you can't risk with him.

the next morning, he'll always avoid your gaze. dark hair will hang over ruby red eyes, concealing them from your view as he goes about his business, still closely knit to your side. he's aware that you know, that you was there and you witnessed it. there's no convincing him for a moment that he can trust you enough just to receive some form of comfort, even if it's hours later when dawn is breaking and in his eyes, just another day begins.

despite his avoidance of the topic when it revolves around him, blade doesn't shy away from your nightmares at all. in fact, considering how well acquainted he is with them - and dealing with them alone, - blade is way more comforting than many may suspect when it comes to your nightmares. it can be a surprising addition to the relationship at first when you experience the first night of having a harsh nightmare while the two of you share a bed.

blade isn't afraid to give you a snap back to reality in the moments you need it the most. in his eyes it's better than letting you lay there and struggle, your body thrashing on woven sheets that are soft from the fabric detergent you'd recently swapped to. when your relationship had started, he'd been against the idea of you staying with him at the stellaron hunters' headquarters but blade was observant enough to notice how often you had nightmares when he'd come to visit your home outside of work. he'll never admit it out loud but that's what changed his mind about where you slept at night.

there's a cold exterior that your boyfriend wears but deep inside, he can't bear the sight of seeing you go through it. he can't bear to hear the way you cry out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck as he gently shakes you awake to wake you up from the horrors you were witnessing. that's why he'll clutch your body into his, never letting go even after you've calmed down. his fingers dig slightly into your soft flesh, his face buried into your neck as he takes a moment for him too to calm down.

"blade? you can let go..." you mumble against his scarred shoulder, bandages decorating the flesh of his upper arm. he'll grunt in response, the cold tip of his nose pressing harder against your skin.

"just a little longer," he mutters in response, albeit a little stubbornly as his hug tightens for a moment, squeezing you reassuringly, "just... keep breathing for me."

you're okay, you're awake, your breathing is slowing down. he repeats these things to himself like a mantra, ruby eyes fluttering shut behind long, dark eyelashes as he presses chaste kisses to your shoulder. you personally never understood why he seemed so affected by your nightmares as the two of you curl back up, pressed together so intimately with the sheets draped over your bodies but blade knows he can't cope with the idea of seeing you in any form of pain, whether physical or mental.

if he could, he would take every inch and sliver of your pain for you. he'd carry the weight of your past and struggles, just to never see you sob from another nightmare ever again.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[sundew199]

tags: reiner x f!reader, implied child birth, fluff,

His world stopped. Everything stopped. Maybe even the beating of his own heart as he heard the cry that instantly rang in his ears even after it had subsided.

They were here. They were…they were here.

And yet Reiner stood there like a statue as nurses rushed around him and he limply held your hand.

Shit. Were you okay?

Breaking out of his trance, like the play button had been pressed on a remote, Reiner hunched over the bed, grasping the back of your head and kissing you just firmly enough to drive his point across.

“I’m so proud of you, you did amazing sweetheart.”

Breathing the words into your lips, pressing his forehead to yours and letting out a choked laugh.

Nine months later, and his life had changed. For the better of course, but it hadn’t quite set in yet.

Nervousness came over him when one of the nurses called him over, holding a pair of scissors maybe, Reiner wasn’t sure, his vision dull and blurry from tears that hadn’t fallen yet clouding his vision. An outline of a baby could be made out, as his shaky hands held what he still thought were scissors and cut something.

Another cry and his heart beat into a panic, looking to the nurse closest to him who gently placed a hand on his shoulder, saying something that he couldn’t quite understand other than,

“It’s okay.”

Hm. For the moment he’d take that nurses word for it, not wanting to dive any deeper into what she could be talking about. Reiner stepped back out of the way as another nurse carried the baby over to where you were on the bed, passing them to you and prompting Reiner to rush back to your side.

Parts of him were irritated with himself for not being able to focus. Like he were in between panic and calm, floating in limbo as the situation and adrenaline hadn’t worn off all the way yet.

“It’s a girl, congratulations.”

Whoever said that sounded sweet and tender, but Reiner didn’t bother to see who as his eyes landed on the baby in your arms, soothed by your presence and gentle voice cooing at them.

He couldn’t help but swallow the lump that had formed in his throat for the hundredth time, hoping it go away as he didn’t want embarrass himself with emotions rising rather quickly. But he also felt himself breaking, withering away from the sight before him.

He wasn’t just a man or a husband anymore. He was a father now. A father to a little girl who’d one day hold him on a pedestal he thinks and see him as nothing less than her hero.

The pressure would be immense, but how could Reiner ever find a way to complain. Just seeing her clearly for the first time had his purpose in life amplified.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Nodding and muttering out a hushed “yes”, Reiner took in a deep breath, wiped his clammy hands on his pants and leaned over to receive the transfer of the baby from your arms to his.

Everything stopped again, so much faster than before. His body steeled where he stood as his baby squirmed in adjustment in his arms, her eyes adjusting to the light and blinking slowly when they finally landed on his face.

Reiner couldn’t stop the quiver in his bottom lip. She was so beautiful. She was so perfect. She was everything he wasn’t, and he’d never been more thankful for that. She had everything of you, all the good, all the kindness and tenderness that once put him back together and he couldn’t be more grateful.

“Hey sweetheart.”

Bringing his finger to trace her soft cheek, blinking away a tear as her tiny hand came to wrap around his finger, increasing the sobs he was trying so hard to stifle but failing so miserably. Fuck, he was ruined wasn’t he? His daughter not even an hour old and look how fast he was crumbling from the tiniest thing she did.

If Reiner were the same person he were a few years ago, he would be questioning what he did to deserve this gift. But now, he stood there in awe, admiring the product of love created by you and him.

Everything had come full circle for him in that moment. All the pain and suffering brought by his own hand and the hands of people who he scorned in the past, had somehow led him to holding his daughter for the first time. Everything suddenly became worth it, because if he hadn’t been set on this path from the beginning, then Reiner wouldn’t have been able to experience one of the best days of his life.

a/n: baby fever has been so bad lately, good lor

[bwabys-scenarios]

If reader was the sweetest person ever but started throwing low blows towards Kurapika (clan), acting sassy, being snarky, in an attempt to make Kurapika grow to not care about her, would Yan Kurapika forgive her? Would he be understanding/see through whats shes tryna do? I mostly wanna know how’d he “handle” blatant disrespect from someone he cares about or if he’d even take it and just let her go without being able to forgive her

warnings: choking, bruising

Kurapika is a smart man, he knows this isn’t how you usually behave. He’s studied you for months and spent so much time with you that he almost knows you more than you know yourself.

He’s read up on how humans react to captivity, knowing that you’ll have mood swings and bouts of depression or rage. Kurapika has planned for all of this, and prepared to eventually be insulted or degraded at some point.

Well… he thought he was prepared, but when you said that his clan was better off dead… he kind of lost it. Before you knew it, you were pinned to the ground with his hands around your neck, choking you.

“How dare you!”

His eyes were a harsh shade of scarlet, not the usual soft red you’d see when he let adoration get the better of him. No, now it was the color of blood red rage.

“You know nothing about my clan, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!”

You choked out an apology, tears pooling down your cheeks as you clawed at his hands, trying to take in air and failing.

Kurapika wasn’t present, he was so overtaken by rage he didn’t even realize what he was doing. It wasn’t until you stopped struggling that he snapped out of it, his eyes going wide with terror.

“N-no…”

He let go, and you immediately took in a shaky breath, your eyes hazy from the lack of oxygen. Kurapika’s hands trembled in fear and shame, tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he noticed the bruises forming on your neck.

Shaped like his hands.

“My angel… oh, my love…” he choked out, gathering your weak body in his arms. “I’m so sorry, fuck…”

He rocked you back and forth, sobbing into your hair. Kurapika knew, he KNEW that you hadn’t meant what you said, and yet he still attacked you.

‘I’m such a hypocrite…’ he thought, his grip tightening around you. ‘I took her to protect her… yet I’m the one hurting her…’

Kurapika wouldn’t let go of you the entire night, as if he was terrified he’d lose you. He was so scared, he had lost every important person in his life, and now he had almost killed you, the person he loved with his entire soul, his entire being.

You were so fragile, your life so easy to snuff out with just a little pressure to your throat. He knew that, he understood just how much weaker you were than him. And yet he still put his hands on you, nearly taking away your life.

It was enough to make him more unstable than usual. Kurapika clung to you desperately for the next week, carefully tending to your bruises and being much more lenient with your little requests. He spoiled and pampered you even more than he usually did, and you slept with him every single night.

You never tried that method again… you never wanted to make Kurapika that angry, it was the worst experience you ever had with him. Even if it meant staying captive, you would much rather see the soft side of Kurapika than the one full of rage and violence.

And Kurapika was more than willing to stay the gentle, sweet man you wanted. He adored you after all… and he would never hurt you again.

He couldn’t take the knowledge that his own two hands caused you pain and fear… so he made sure to control his anger better… and you never mentioned his clan again.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 3: Friendly Fire

Ao3 link

- Legend & Four

- Summary: Legend risks everything to save Four

CW for blood/injury and possession

——————————————————-

He should have seen it coming.

That is what he thinks as he stares down at the blade that protrudes from his abdomen. That is what he thinks as his knees weaken and fail, as blood turns his flesh slick and sticky; as raging, roaring pain engulfs him.

He should have known. Damn it, he should’ve known. 

Legend’s knees hit the ground with a finality so thick it rattles his teeth. 

He let himself grow too comfortable. He dared to trust in what his eyes saw, what his hands touched, the roads his feet walked. He allowed himself to believe that this beautiful dream was anything but. 

He believed that they were real. 

It would be easier now if they weren’t.

If this was a dream, he could open his eyes and breathe. He wouldn’t have to see Time lying crumpled, motionless, wouldn’t have to hear Wind crying his name between bitten-out sobs. He wouldn’t have to see Warriors and Twilight trying to stand on failing legs with one another's support. He wouldn’t have to hear Hyrule’s dangerously raspy breaths, see Sky’s eyes roll back in his head as he finally falls, hear Wild’s choked cry at the loud crack his skull makes against a nearby rock.

He…he wouldn’t have to lift his head now, he wouldn’t have to lift his head and stare into the eyes of a brother, someone he had trusted, someone he had loved.

Hell. Who’s he kidding? 

He still loves him. He still trusts him.

How could he not? This was never his fault.

Legend raises his eyes and makes himself look. Four is there, just as he knew he would be. His eyes are darkened, just as he knew they would be. Shards of deepest purple embed themselves within his skin, humming with a heinous melody. They crowd beneath his left eye, forming an ellipse like a tear.

The veteran lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over it. Four doesn't move. Not now. He had raced about before, splitting and reforming with lightning speed. He had doubled, tripled, quadrupled the ferocity of his attacks upon those already inundated with monsters, gone for the weak spots only a brother would know. But not now.

His foes are felled. Why should he not freeze here? What good is a pawn without a mission?

Is his mind empty now? Legend wonders. Can he feel? Can he think?

Or can he only hear screams?

“Smithy.” The name hisses out from between his lips, born upon agony, washed away by blood. “Four…”

Fight it.

This is not you.

Don’t let the Shadow win!

We’re here for you.

Come back!

They have all said them all. Legend doesn’t have much breath left and he doesn’t plan to waste it. Veteran of hero business or not, he won’t flatter himself to believe the words will have any more power coming from him.

Especially not from him. They ring hollow flying from the lips of the one who, not so very long ago, slayed four fractured phantoms.

He would rather die than do so again.

So, instead, he says, “keep your eyes on me.”

Instead he says, “take a deep breath.”

Instead he says, “this is gonna hurt like hell.”

Blood bubbling from his lips, pain like lightning in his veins, determination running hot, he digs his fingernails into the tear of glass and metal. 

There is a place deep within his gut where his magic curls, like a kitten slumbering softly. It is exhausted from the battle already, strained with the task of simply keeping him alive. But when he barges through the silken walls of its sanctuary, when he begs it to come forth once more, it unfurls its powerful body, roaring at his desperate cries. It rises and lunges, a prowling lion released. 

He and his magic are one. Their bond is one that is deeper than all others, stronger than all others. So, when he pours it into Four’s screaming, thrashing form, he pours his own soul along with it.

There is little chance of coming back from this. He knows that, his magic knows that. But he was a dead man the moment Four’s blade brought him to his knees. There are no fairies left, no potions. The remnants of empty bottles are strewn in jagged shards amongst items dropped from trembling fingers, blood dripped from shaking hands. 

He’s going down, whether he likes it or not. But before he does, he will rid Four of this dark influence. 

To gaze upon his crimes will break him. Given time, however, he will be able to get back up. To live a life of mindless servitude will turn his spirit to ash. 

Four’s screams are deafening now. Legend can’t tell if his own have joined or if it is only the smithy’s that ring in his ears. The agony in every part of him, however, that he knows is his own. 

His vision is a clouded mix of blacks and grays. The acrid taste of iron is on his tongue. His lungs heave, his heart pounds. Their efforts are in vain. Ever inhale garners a thin bit of air. The blood that should be circulating throughout his body runs down his stomach, puddles beneath his legs. 

He is getting closer though. He feels it, feels the slight give in the defense. The darkness within Four is desperate. It is scared. It had lashed out violently at the start, battered his mind and soul, so certain it could win through brute force alone. But now it has begun to cower before his perseverance.

Legend grins, all sharp edges of white and red. 

Just a little longer and he’ll be there…

Oh, you didn’t know? He sneers at the beast that backs up before him, whispers of darkness dissipating into the sun. Stubbornness is my principal characteristic. 

You never stood a chance against me. 

It snarls, lunges. Legend draws back just enough to gather his remaining strength, then with infuriated abandon, rushes forward. 

The gray-scale world lights up in shades of violet and pink, petals of flame open to face the smiling sky. His magic screeches, his body burns. His head snaps back, blood on lips, trailing from his eyes, filling his nose. Four bucks beneath his hold. 

The blade finds him again in a last ditch effort of hopelessness, finds him and twists. 

Legend screams. Something snaps. Everything goes dark. 

[boyfiejay]

Run Away (From You)

PAIRING : Park Jongseong x gn Reader

GENRE : friends with benefits, they are scared of commitment, hurt no comfort

Warning : sexual themes, reader is insecure, jay is scared of his feelings

Word Count : 0.8k

Author's Note : pulled this out from the depths of the drafts

You and Jay weren't really dating, not were you exclusive. But he always managed to give you butterflies, always making you feel that warm feeling everytime he smiled.

The term that suited you best was 'friends with benefits' and that too wasn't entirely right. Because Jay cared, he truly cared about you more than just sex.

But it seemed that tonight wasn't the night when Jay cared, when he softly asked you every step if it was alright, if you were okay. He was rough, his hands and touches were rough against you.

Unlike his normal self, he had failed to notice your slightly red nose and eyes, how you had stopped crying just 15 minutes before opening the door for him.

He had also failed to notice the way you weren't even reacting to his touches, the way you stood still till he was satisfied and moved you to the bed.

Then started the tears, you weren't sure why you were crying. You could tune out your thoughts and focus on him before, what was so different now? But you couldn't stop yourself, before you knew it you were hyperventilating, your breath coming out in small gasps and you choked on your sobs.

Jay has never seen you cry so much during sex, the cries didn't look like those of pleasure. Rather you looked distraught, your choked sobs pulling him out of his trance and quickly getting away from you. Had he hurt you? He felt lightheaded at the mere thought of hurting you.

You flinched when you felt two warm hands cradling your cheeks, "Hey, hey, calm down" he said, as if he wasn't the reason behind those tears.

Oh, but he didn't know. He didn't know how you felt so much for him, how you wanted him to see you more than a friend, more than someone he fucks once a while.

Noticing him not touching you anymore, you push him away. Turning on your side, you curled in on yourself, wrapping your arms around yourself. Rocking your form back and forth, you tried to calm yourself.

"Go, please." your voice came out weak, but you were surprised at how stable it sounded. You probably looked so crazy right now, Jay was going to laugh at you and never talk to you again. He would tell all his friends about how much of a crybaby you are and make fun of you. You probably weren't even going to be his friend anymore.

In the midst of your overthinking, you heard his soft voice, "B-but [name]," you didn't want to hear anymore. He probably hates you, God this must be so awkward for him.

"p-please." your voice now sounded far more worse, so weak.

Jay felt his stomach churn with how the night was playing out, he wasn't mad or disappointed. God no, he was far more concerned for you.

He felt hopeless. He's been there and comforted so many people, but never in his wildest nightmares did he think that he would be the reason for someone's tears. He didn't want to leave you like this, but at the same time he knew he couldn't push your limits.

He grabbed the shirt he flung off minutes ago and wore it. He thought to himself, what would have happened if he had just asked you about your day or made small talk instead of pushing you against your door before you could even realise that it was him.

He always hated seeing you cry, but the sight of you crying because of him was a sight he hated more than anything.

He knew, oh he knew how much you hated whenever he mentioned that this thing was ‘no strings attached’ and what not. But he didn't know what to feel when he went against his own words.

That he loved you, but he was scared. He was so scared that he would ruin this for both of you, so he stayed quite pushing his feelings down. But he ended up pushing you away.

He glanced at your hunched up form as you shook with the intensity of your tears. He swore he didn't care, that he didn't do feelings that he didn't feel about you in that way. But the sound of your sobs was searing through his heart like a knife laced with poison.

Turning his back to you, he stopped himself from running to you and pushing your head in his chest. He's done that numerous times, he's comforted you through heartbreaks so many times yet now he knew he couldn't.

So he did what he did best, he ran. He ran away from you and your shaking figure, from your apartment, away from your life. But most importantly, he was running away from his feelings.

[azullumi]

“heart to heart” ; kaveh, wanderer, xiao

summary — he could only watch as you die ; alternatively, he’s there to comfort and hold you as you take your last breath.

characters — kaveh, wanderer, and xiao (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — angst but not that heavy but not that light also, grammatical errors bcs i don’t like to proofread, established relationship ; scenario/one-shot

words — 1431

note — u all had too much fluff these past few days, anyways, this is part 2 out of 2!! read the previous one here (^^)/

;; KAVEH

not again.

you were his but right now, death seems to hold on to your hand as if you were never his own, the half of him, his heart and his soul. they cannot take you from him, not again, not you—why does he always someone dear to him? why does it have to be you?

“how about a house on top of the hills or the mountains?” you say over the warm beverage that you held in between your hands and a short sound of laughter escapes him, “wouldn’t that be dangerous? a landslide could occur while we’re inside our home.”

“at least we’re going to die together, right?” he pauses, turning around to meet your tender gaze and he answered with a small smile on his lips. “that is romantic but i would rather grow old with you and die together by natural causes.”

“i can’t fight anymore. i’m… tired.” you muttered, loud enough for him to hear, as you could only stare at the same boring ceiling—he insisted that it was beautiful by the time this very home was built but if you were to always see it, wouldn’t you be tired of its beauty?—and lay on the soft bed. it’s almost like you were a corpse and oftentimes, the thought of death being the kindest thing for the both of you two occurs in your head.

“don’t say that, please…”

you couldn’t live until you were old and frail with him but even so, you were happy. you were happy that you got to meet him, you were happy that someone as lovely as him was willing to kiss your scars gently as if all that you were was a fragile being. in the short amount of time you have spent together with him, he made you the happiest, the most loved, the most cherished, he made you feel alive.

“i don’t care where we are as long as i’m there with you.” he murmurs against your lips, a pretty shade of pink and smiling. you tangle your fingers in the strands of his blonde hair, feeling his breath fan your skin and it was ticklish yet comforting at the same. “what if you’re not there?”

he presses yet another kiss, a short one but the sweetness lingered on your own when he parted. “i will be there, always, holding your hand.”

“i’m getting sleepy, kaveh…”

he chokes on his own sob, hand coming up to hold your own and intertwine it with his. he squeezed it rather softly and you tried to do the same but there was nothing left in you, just a slow heart and a weak body that is holding on to the faint light that you call life. “p-please, hold on a little much longer, okay? i’ll find a cure, i’ll find the medicine for you so please—stay awake.”

“i can’t—i’m sorry I won't be there until the end.”

“but i—i love you so much, i love you. please always remember that, kaveh.” he wasn’t even given the chance to answer when you had already closed your eyes and anything he would say at that point will not reach you.

as your hand loosens and slips off his hold, so does he falls to the floor. nothing could have prepared him for your last goodbye.

;; WANDERER

“i have a confession to make.”

you spoke weakly, voice nearing to a whisper, a testament to your state, and in contrast to your loosening grip on his hand, he holds you rather tightly as if you’re going to be taken away from him—a denial, eyes choosing to be blind to avoid facing the dreadful truth. “shut up, stop acting like you’re going to die!”

he continued, holding back a sob, “you are not going to die.” you never failed to notice the smallest falter in his expression—his crumpled expression relaxing into a soft one when he sees you, the small and genuine smile tugging on his lips, and right now, especially at this moment when his voice cracked and softened while speaking. he had already expected the moment when you’ll leave him, he was a puppet that can live long and you were just a mortal, a weak one. he was going to outlive you but why? why does it have to be this soon?

“you can tell me your confession later so please…”

but you knew better than that, you know there wasn’t going to be a later for both of you—maybe for him and only for him—, you weren’t foolish to not know that, death was already waiting for you with an open door but he was still tugging and holding on to your hand.

“i—i love you, kuni.”

he doesn’t respond, only holding his tongue back as he brings your hand to his lips and presses a long kiss on it but you were numb, you were already feeling numb and you hate how much his warmth was slipping off you, you hate how you couldn’t feel him underneath your touch, you hate that you’re dying right now and you don’t get to live your fullest with him.

“i love you, say it back, please?” a sad smile engulfs your lips as you try to meet his eyes with your unfocused gaze, was it the tears or was it the fact that your consciousness is fading off you?

“i—i love you. i love you, i love you, so please just stop talking, just stop it.” if you truly love him, you’ll stay. “don’t—“ his voice breaks out into a sob, tears that he had been holding back since earlier came like a waterfall. to love is to stay, is to be with him.

but you didn’t, you couldn’t, and for the last, you mouth those three words at him with a smile on your face, feeling your body going limp as your eyes closed.

he whispers, “—don’t leave me,” to the ghost of you.

;; XIAO

thoughts still continued to haunt his mind every time the memory resurfaces on a silent cold morning: if only he was a second early, if only he was there, if only he was able to protect you. if only he wasn’t so foolish.

“xiao.”

he could still recall your voice and the way you called out to his name, it was distant, almost seemed to be fading and everything started to piece together into the sight before him as soon as the environment changed when he answered to your feeble call of his name.

it looks like a fight has occurred, the scent of it wafting to his senses—it reeks of blood, it reeks of death, and his frightened gaze laid on your figure on the cold ground, almost lifeless.

he calls out to your name and in contrast to your soft voice, his was audible, loud enough to keep you holding on the last strand of your slipping consciousness. it was a shout, deriving from panic and fear, and you noticed yourself being picked up by a pair of arms, familiar ones soon after.

“xiao…?”

“i’m here, don’t talk. i’m going to find you some hel—“

you quickly interrupted him with a cough, blood sputtering out of your mouth as you did, and his eyes widened, a breath getting stuck on his throat. and just for a brief moment, he saw his world crumble down seeing that rude warm liquid staining your clothes. his body shook, he was all too familiar with this sight, all too familiar with the scene—he had taken many lives in the battlefield to not recognize the death that seeps into your ragged breath.

and he yields to his crumbling resolve because even if he chooses to deny what is happening, it still won’t stop you from dying. he wanted to scold you, he wanted to reprimand you for putting yourself in danger, but that’s not what you needed, not when all you needed was him and his comfort in your last.

“why…?” was all he could say as he dropped to the floor, tear-stained eyes clouding his vision while he holds you close. you knew what he was asking and you knew the answer to it but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him—if ever he’ll learn the reason, he’ll blame myself and you don’t want that, you don’t want him to be in such misery when it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t there.

“you’re here… thank you.” and with all the strength left in you, you spoke to him in a low voice, a smile plastered on your blood-stained lips, before your vision dims and you lay limp in his hold; he could only cradle your head closer to him as weak sobs started to escape his lips.

if only.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[thetraumaking]

Accursed Crown

Child soldier program within the Fire Nation. Princess Ursa will be having the first grandchild of fire lord Azulon, and as a gift, he sends his son, prince Ozai, to find an appropriate bodyguard for the mother of the nation.

After prince Zuko was born, princess Ursa became pregnant once more.

When she gave birth to her second. Not only did she suffer from a burn from the newborn, she didn't feel the motherly love she felt for her firstborn to her second. She couldn't hold her or even look at her. But she's not a cruel woman, so she found a wet nurse and let the other woman raise her. Well, that was the plan until for a whole day straight the baby girl wouldn't and couldn't stop crying. Even Ozai heard it and came to yell at Ursa for failing as a mother.

When the child had finally shutten up, Ozai turned to see the young guard gently holding the baby.

From that day onward, you, who was nothing but a child soldier, became the guard, the nursemaid, and mentor for the new princess.

NOT for the faint of heart!!!

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter 2: Old Child

Chapter 3: Her Touch

Princess Ursa has been getting too comfortable as time went on. Her advances continued on and, fortunately, her affection hasn’t exceeded hugs.

Her hands and fingers felt like ropes tangling around you.

It felt suffocating.

You have put the young prince to bed.

Originally, it was supposed to be the actual mother that was going to put him to sleep, when Prince Ozai came in. He ordered for you to take the child to his room and deal with him before announcing that he would be waiting for Princess Ursa in her chamber.

Making sure Prince Zuko was asleep, you made your way out. As you were walking towards your room, the door ahead, Princess Ursa’s door, opened, and out came Prince Ozai.

He didn’t spare you a glance before adjusting his robe and walking away.

The moment he was out of sight, you heard choked sobs from the room the prince just come out of. Taking a deep breath in, you walked towards the large double doors. Clenching your fist, you steeled your nerves,(you didn’t want to do this) and knocked thrice.

Waiting for three seconds, you let yourself in.

Her bare back was to you, smooth skin, and shoulders shaking. You bit the inside of your cheek and took out one of her night robes before walking towards her.

Wordlessly, you drape it over her shoulders, trying to cover her up as she tries to collect herself. You stop as she raises her hand. “Don’t, I want to take a bath.” She wipes her tears, “I feel filthy…”

You nod.

You have helped prepare the prince’s baths a couple of times so you know more or less how the bathing preparations are for noble descent. 

Unlike the common folks, those who have both money and power, rather than a tub, have a whole room for bathing: large enough to swim in, large enough for the entire family and then some. 

Turning the two knobs on your right, hot water began to pour out of the marbled dragon’s maw, slowly filling up the large tub in the ground. On the shelves next to you were jars of dried petals and skins of fruit. 

You sprinkle a bit from both jars before pulling out a sack from the bottom, before pouring some into the water. The once clear water now turned pink with bits and pieces of florals and fruit floating around. 

As you were putting the jars away, the princess walked past you and dipped into the water. Her shoulders sagging with a sigh as she leaned onto the wall. 

With her head hung low, there was a moment of silence. You had turned the water off when it reached her shoulders. 

The mirrors had fogged over, water vapours thick as it clung to any and all surfaces.  Small droplets of cold water falling every so often back into the tub and ground. 

“… hold me.” 

Her sudden whisper came out a slur. 

Wordlessly, you stepped into the bath. Your shoes, clothes, and gear, getting soaked the deeper you step down the submerged straits. The fabric of your shirt and pants clinging uncomfortably to your skin as you drew closer to the princess. 

You wrap your arms around her, eyes staring ahead as you do so. And in response, she returns the hug. 

Her hands on your back as you stood there, wondering when you would be dismissed for the day. The moment you felt the tip of her nose touch your neck, you froze. Your knuckles turn white for how hard you were squeezing onto your arms, nails digging into your flesh. 

The tip of her nose runs over your pulse point, taking a deep inhale as her hands find home on your shoulder blades. Her lips pressed onto the skin of your neck. 

The two of you stood there in the hot bath. Water droplets fall from the ceiling. 

You couldn’t remember what happened next. You just remember standing there, in the water, being clung to by the princess. You felt something rising in your throat as you clutched into your muscles. 

Once you made it back into your room, you were quick to run into the bathroom and lock the door. Once you were safe, you ripped your clothes off as fast as possible from your body. 

Every contact you had with her felt forbidden. 

Lecherous. 

Appalling even. 

You snatched your scrub and rubbed your skin raw. Rubbing until your skin turned red and stinging, sucking in sharp breaths through your teeth you kept on rubbing. You could feel your eyes stinging and your chest caving. 

What was happening to you these past few months? Why do you keep having these horrid symptoms? Why do physical interactions with the princess leave you in such a mess? 

Shame and disgust were no strangers yet despite feeling them here in the palace, there’s also pain that throbs in your chest. 

Water droplets fell on the marbled floor as you pressed the scrub harder onto yourself. 

Shakingly, you looked up at the mirror. Your neat hair is now a mess from your frantic scrubbing. Through disheveled strands, you looked into your bloodshot eyes. You looked pitiful. 

A disgrace. 

What a waste of a soldier. You thought. 

All that training and pain you went through was for nothing. Now you have to stay put within the castle walls looking after a mess of a princess. 

It is your job to serve the royal family, yes. But not like this. 

Your gaze hardened as it landed on the spot you felt her highness seemed to favor. Even now, after all that scrubbing, rubbing, and scratching, you could still feel the warmth. The tingling from how she nuzzled into your neck and kissed it. 

Bring your hand up, you place it over the patch of skin her lips have landed on. 

Gritting your teeth, you slowly brought up the heat within your palm. 

In the room, you only heard the growing sizzling as the smell of burnt flesh spread. 

For the last time, you indulged in your vanity, looking at your finished work. You let out a sigh of relief. Never in your days have you thought you would reach the point of feeling such relief in the sight of red blistering flesh. 

[monstrousdesirestudy]

So I forgot that Ao3 makes it so that you need an invite to join and they are telling if I’ll get the invite AUGUST 4th. So. I’m posting my lesbian pirate x selkie romance here lol.

Prologue

From the bobbing ship deck, a small child watched as her home burned. She had long since stopped sobbing, though the tears continued to run freely down her cheeks in silent trails. Flames engulfed the shore, so brilliant and bright it hurt the child’s eyes to watch. But she dared not look away. Not from the smoke that choked the sky, from the monastery which could hardly be seen as it was swallowed whole by fire. Not from the bodies of the clergy that lay limp and still on the dark sand, between the thick copses of trees.

The acrid smoke tore at her throat, the tender skin of her wrists raw from the rope biting into them. A scream was building inside her small body, expanding in her lungs and crashing against the back of her clenched teeth like waves breaking against the cliff sides. The child dared not make a sound.

There, just behind the crumpled body of Brother Eamon was the tree she used to climb at least once a week. Flames consumed it, eating at its pine foliage and thick truck before the great tree snapped with a tremendous crack, hurdling to the ground. She had never seen bodies so still, not even while they slept. Eamon had always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning in his narrow cot. He had never been this still before. Nothing more than a lump of rumpled robes.

All those busy clergymen who had hustled to and fro within the monastery like bees in a hive, their robes flapping around them as they chastised her for stealing from the kitchen or tended to the herb garden, just. Gone.

Beneath the roar of the fire, she could hear a low, unearthly, groan building. She caught glimpses of the monastery through the shifting veil of smoke and fire. Was it a trick of the heat, her own eyes failing her, or was the structure actually shuddering?

A heavy hand speckled with blood and ash clapped her shoulder, causing the child to flinch. She hadn’t even heard the man walk up behind her.

“Come, boy,” the man commanded.

She didn’t move, not yet. Not as she watched the monastery where she had been taken in as a small child collapse. It died much in the same way the clergymen had, giving one last painful breath before folding in on itself and toppling to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“Come,” the man said again, this time with impatience.

She followed, but even as the ship began to sail, she did not take her gaze from the island. She did not look away when the island became small and inconsequential. She did not look away when the island had all but disappeared on that long, lonely horizon.

Chapter 1

There were many places that Síleas could be found: hunched over a table assessing maps and coordinates in her captains quarters; tangled in the unwashed sheets of a random wenches’ bed, her face buried between buxom bosoms or twitching thighs; at the bottom of a bottle, slumped wherever her drunk carcass decided to fall. And since their raid had gone rather successfully that week, if she did say so herself, she would no longer be relegating herself to the perfect, wretched, confines of the Luath.

Tonight—and for a blissful, agonizing, week— she would be free from the unwashed stench of her crewmates; from Cabbage’s poor excuse for cooking; from Crux’s rattling cough that kept everyone up on the ship, no matter their vicinity to his hammock.

She would also be free from the wide open world all around her, the smell of cannon powder coating her nostrils, and the salty wind against her burnt cheeks.

Sìleas stopped short at that thought and peered around her small room, grimacing. It was a room she commonly got at the Fat Goose Inn while they all marauded around the island, drinking, fighting, and fucking themselves into enough trouble that someone inevitably drove them out of Perthlochry and back onto the Luath. Tavern owners who had enough of the gambling sessions her boatswain Santino hosted, and cheated at; the drunken fights her powder monkeys and gunners wound up in, because they were still riding the highs from raids; angry citizens whose wounds got worse after seeing her surgeon Twoosies. And then there were the hefty unpaid tab bills that she and her first mate, Asher, racked up. Even with purses fat with stolen gold, it could never amount to how much they drank together.

Sìleas considered herself lucky she could even count on room and board at the Fat Goose because of her piss reputation, however, her schmoozing of the inn owner’s wife Maggie had helped her considerably. Then again, it wasn’t always a given: she had been tossed out in a fit of jealousy a few times after being caught with another woman.

The room was sparse and worn, but clean enough for it to be a reprieve from her quarters in the Luath, which had begun to take on a stench and needed to be aired out for a few days. Her room had a rickety, wooden chair in the corner; a lumpy but decently-sized bed against the wall; and a bedside table with a melted candle that had fused itself to the surface after years of use. If she managed to find herself in Maggie’s good graces, Sìleas knew she could have a hot meal, on the house no less. Tonight it smelled like some sort of stew and fresh, chewy bread. The cook wasn’t superb, but was certainly better than Cabbage.

Her trunk sat in the corner, ragged like a defeated stray dog. For a moment, Síleas felt an overwhelming urge to tear through the trunk’s innards to find her tin box of cigarillos, buried somewhere under her clothes. Tension crept into the back of her neck, a tremble settling in her hands. She needed a drink; no–she needed to get drunk.

It was always like this after docking. She couldn’t really blame her powder monkeys and gunners for being lawless animals constantly looking for a fight; being on land after long durations on the Luath made her agitated as well. The crew knew to scatter like the roaches they were after pulling into the harbor, far from her dour mood. All except Asher, who weathered her surly glares and grunts. Asher knew that Síleas’ mood was not long-lived and after enough ale and port, she would be back to yelling shanties at the top of her lungs and howling with laughter at bad jokes. It didn’t hurt if a few beautiful women were involved as well.

A knock on the door shook Síleas from her thoughts. Answering it, she found Maggie on the other side.

Ah, Maggie.

Maggie brushed the fringes of her brown blonde hair from her face with fluttering hands. It was as if she couldn’t keep them still as Síleas grinned and leaned up against the door frame. Maggie’s hands oscillated between her hair and her skirts, where she wiped her palms against the stained fabric, trying in vain to smooth them.

“Ah, I see you’re settling in well,” Maggie said, clearing her plump throat. Her eyes darted from Síleas to the room behind her. The perpetual flush in her cheeks darkened.

“Mhm. All thanks to you,” Síleas replied. Maggie stammered out an incoherent sentence, her hands even more restless as they twitched at her hair and clothes. Síleas’ amusement rose. “Where’s Robert?”

Síleas already knew where Robert was: far, far away from the inn, oblivious–or perhaps, uncaring–of his wife’s actions. Robert often left Maggie in charge of the inn while he went to trade for booze and metal goods in the Arasen desert. It left Maggie exhausted as she was to now look after the business of the inn on her own, on top of chasing their three children. It did, however, afford them to have their trysts without having to sneak around and, more importantly, provided Síleas free room and board. Not that Robert was perceptive enough to spot anything so clearly under his own nose.

“Another one of his trips to visit the Yurukhan. He shouldn’t be back for another fortnight,” Maggie said, feigning casualness, but Síleas could see the bright gleam in her eyes. It was a look she knew well, one that normally led to them closing the door and retreating to the darkness of her bedroom, but Síleas found that tonight it made her stomach ache.

Maggie had once been a beautiful woman–she still was a beautiful woman, but life and all of its responsibilities had lay claim to her body: deep-set lines bracketed her pursed mouth and cut between her furrowed brow, her face appearing to sag with a defeated weariness that dulled her brown eyes. She had once asked Síleas if she could leave with her on the Luath, to never come back to the Fat Goose or her children or her husband. And in a moment of weakness, that was less of a moment and more a habit, Síleas had talked her out of it. She wouldn’t have liked it, Síleas had argued, the ship was disgusting and full of farting, vulgar men. It was too dangerous, too uncomfortable.

But the truth of the matter was, if Maggie was with her on the Luath, where would Síleas stay when they docked? She had enough enemies in Marauder’s Cove without adding Robert to the ever-growing list, who would invariably be furious that his wife had upped and left him with their children and the inn. The reality that presented itself in that turn of events was a bleak one: Robert in a probable fit of rage burning down the inn to free himself of it once and for all, and Maggie everywhere on her ship, around every corner. Síleas knew she’d never have a moment to herself after that. Maggie would be waiting for Síleas in her captain’s quarters with hopeful eyes that Síleas couldn’t bear to look at: hopeful that she’d stop drinking so much, stop fighting so much, stop slinking around and fucking so much.

Maggie stepped closer, trailing a finger up Síleas’ shirt, her knuckles chafed from continuous handling of boiling-hot laundry. She forced herself to stay still, to not put distance between them, as Maggie raised her head and gave a coy smirk. “So, you can stay for however long you like. No need to rush back to the Luath. Hope you’re not too tired from your travels.”

It was now Síleas’ turn to feign casualness as she shrugged. “I could definitely eat.”

Maggie’s face fell, her eyes dimming briefly, before she nodded and found her momentum again. “Of course, you must be half-starved after all your travels,” she soothed, her fingers playing with Síleas’ shirt strings. “We can go down to the kitchen and fix you some supper right quick. I’ll join you–”

A loud raucous crash came from downstairs and both Síleas’ and Maggie’s heads swiveled towards the cacophony. Baritone voices were yelling, arguing, the noise cut by the adolescent squawking excuses of children. Children that Maggie immediately recognized.

“What is going on down there?” she yelled, bolting down the hallway and leaving Síleas behind, forgotten.

Síleas huffed a relieved sigh and darted back into her room to grab her cigarillos from her trunk. It took a moment too long for her to find the tin before she rushed from her bedroom, almost forgetting to lock her door.

The fighting downstairs was still ongoing, only now Maggie’s voice had joined the pandemonium. As Síleas crested the staircase at the end of the hallway, she pieced together the scene within the dining room: three, large men, dirty and tired from their travels, were yelling at Maggie with aggressive, jabbing fingers. She stood firm, a barrier between the men and her two eldest boys, who hid sulking behind her. The drama didn’t seem to affect the other patrons within the dining room, who either watched with detached amusement or kept their heads down in their drink and food. From the chaos, Síleas could pick out snippets of the argument, something about Maggie’s children trying to pilfer from their coin purses; which, having known Maggie’s shithead children for some years, Síleas could absolutely believe. Perhaps they were the way that they were because Maggie was more concerned about keeping the inn up and running than raising her children; or perhaps it was because all sorts of dubious figures–herself included–came and went at the Fat Goose while the children grew up. Síleas was suddenly struck with the memory of teaching the middle child, whatever his name was, how to play pinfinger when he couldn’t have been older than six. In her defense, she had taught him with a dull butter knife. Nothing the child could have really hurt himself with.

Apparently the accusation was not far-fetched for Maggie to believe either. As Síleas crept down the stairs, careful not to draw attention to herself, Maggie turned on her boys. Síleas kept close to the wall as she reached the bottom of the staircase and slunk to the left, behind the fighting group. Maggie had turned her back towards the men, new lines drawn in the sand as the men and Maggie began yelling as a unified front at the boys, who had long since given up on their martyred, silent-suffering appearances and shouted in return.

Síleas was so close to freedom, the door a stone's throw from her. She knew that once she left the Fat Goose, it would be easy enough to find Asher and begin their night of revelry. Perhaps she could convince the owner of the Smoking Fox to let them in; she had plenty of gold this time around to cover her outstanding tab. Their ale was cheap and the barmaid was a young woman who thought Síleas was charming, charming enough to fill her glass to the top every time.

Without warning, her stomach growled and Síleas hissed in frustration at the reminder. She hadn’t lied when she told Maggie she could eat; the smell of stew, with whatever mystery meat they put in it, permeated the air. But if she stayed any longer Síleas knew that she would be spotted and pulled into the mess or made to stick around. At the moment, she would have rather danced with Jack Ketch, which meant she would have to skip supper, to her chagrin.

Síleas weaved around the last table, her hands quick as she snatched a piece of bread from the plate of a pock-marked patron who was paying more attention to the escalating scene than her. While it wouldn’t satiate her, it was enough to take the edge off her hunger. Besides, Síleas tried to reason with herself, drinking on an empty stomach was much cheaper.

With the hunk of bread clamped between her teeth, Síleas opened the inn door and escaped into the night without a backward glance.

Read the rest of the first chapter on Ao3 here!

[arafilez]

੭୧ ⼂ MY MIND AND ME ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ kgv x reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤangst comfort 𓏧 drabble ㅤㅤ warnings depression crying ㅤ﹢ㅤ0.6k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ req

You look outside your window and lean your head against it, letting the room's quietness consume you. Your eyes follow a group of kids on their bicycles laughing and playing around on the road on the spring morning. It is beautiful actually! The air smells nice with all the flowers, the breeze is cool and the birds are singing but none of that removes the emptiness within you.

The negligence to do anything at all, the knowledge that you will probably mess up even if you try well haunts inside your mind as if it has dug up a hole and peacefully rests there. You look over at the dirty pile of papers you wanted to arrange for your project last night and sigh.

What’s the point? You will probably fail it anyway! The room looks a mess, unlike your mind! Your mind is peaceful. Cool, calm and useless. It has established you are good for nothing, a house of cards which will break with the lightest gush of wind. Or is it working through the torture in its sails? You don’t know.

You would rather not solve anything with this irresponsible and useless self of yours. A creak of your door makes you look up in panic. Did your forgetful self not lock the door? Your eyes widen in fear, breaths shallowing and mind hazed. Something’s severely wrong and you are the cause of it.

Your breath quickens and becomes heavier as your eyes dart frantically across the room until your eyes lock with your roommate Gyuvin and his brown eyes that are filled with concern. “Gyu hey,” you mutter out as cheerfully as possible as Gyuvin’s eyes hold yours and a shudder rakes through your body.

He can’t. He won’t possibly know what is going on with you. Is anything going on with you?

“Are you okay?” he asks, crossing the room with quick strides and gently threading his fingers with yours as you nod. Yes, you are fine, you just feel worthless and that’s realistic. So basically you are fine.

Gyuvin’s eyes go over your features and the past few weeks come crashing back to him- the small amounts of dinner you had, your messy desk, your reluctance to attend classes and so many more issues he had missed. He knew something was wrong and his instinct suffered from the idea while his conscience told him he was overreacting. But today he knew!

He looks at you and whispers, “Hey we’re gonna be okay,” and you snort. You probably want to cry but what is the point? And what does he know? You might never be okay anymore. Your throat constricts and you choke a light sob as you feel Gyuvin’s arm circle around yours. You cannot break down; you have been building it up so well and must use it when needed.

But when Gyuvin puts his head over yours, his arms becoming tighter around your body, your eyes tear up at everything that has happened for so long and worsened over the past few weeks. A small tear runs down your eyes and his fingers hold your hand tighter.

Pressing a light kiss at the top of your head and making a mental note to book an appointment Gyuvin caresses your fingers. He knows he can’t fully help you but he will do whatever he can. Even if it means, holding you and never letting go.

Because you need someone and he will gladly be that someone any day of his life.

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤtysm anon for requesting this, i did some cosulting with my dad's psychiatrist friend about depression and tried. so i am aware it isn't goodㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ zb1 shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @slytherinshua @sxmmerberries ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[neverchecking]

Day 7: Virginity- Calamity

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Cal being a virgin, he busts a lil earlier, I tried to keep it pretty gender neutral but if I missed something let me know?

This is Day seven of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 6 >>>Day 8

He was…nervous. He knew you knew he was nervous, that the tempo you were going at was not for yourself, but rather him.  He knew this. He knew this because he was sure he told you it. He hadn’t uttered a word but it was all over his face. 

Cal had prided himself on holding his reactions and emotions to his chest. During training, he was the poster child for the perfect soldier. Silent, obedient, and almost mindless when it came to orders. He almost preferred it that way, really. He didn’t have to think. 

Because thinking was hard. It was so, so, so hard to do anything really. He could barely breathe with the way your hand was wrapped around him, even as featherlight as it was. Your touch was sacreligious with how much he yearned for it. Golden goddess above, he was ready to burst under the tension. His gut was tight and his abs flexed under him as his back arched. A whine left his lips, high and pretty, as his eyes burned with tears. It was so overwhelming, but not nearly enough. Just the absolute phantom of euphoria. 

He was absolutely shaking beneath you, fingers clutching the sheets beneath him. He was sure he had nearly ripped a hole in them. 

Watching you carefully, he sucked in a harsh breath as you moved over him, hole glistening from the earlier prep you had done (Under his careful eye, which was an experience spent shuffling from where he sat, hands covering his crotch to the best of his ability), hovering just over the head of his weeping cock. Drops of precum had drooled over the rest of his shaft from where your hand had earlier been toying with his cock, quickly cooling into an uncomfortable chill. He led out a small little choked noise, somewhere in between a sob and a whimper, as he bucked his hips uncontrollably. You hushed him, with that same gentle smile you always wore, before gently sinking your hips down. He cried out in alarm, warm tears trailing down his cheeks at the sudden feeling of pure warmth that surrounded him. It was foreign and so new and a sudden jolt of electric stimulation that had him grappling at you like his soul would leave his body if he failed to do so. It was divine, the feeling of your velvet walls clutching around him in a suffocating hold, pulsating in time with your heartbeats. But it was so much, too much. Shame filled his core before he even fully registered what was happening. 

It happened too quickly to process properly too. Before he knew it, his hips were jutting as far as he could and his hold on you turned into nail-drawn lines that flashed white before fading into rosy red. Whatever warmth there was previously meant nothing compared to now as it trailed down is cock and past the opening of your muscles, muddling onto the divot of his balls as he sobbed into your chest. Your fingers dug through his hair with soft hums of reassurance which didn’t make the situation any better. 

It was something so pulsatingly good, he nearly swore this was what heaven was in all its golden promises and clouded bliss. 

With you still seated on top of him, kissing his temple and talking him through what exactly you’d do to him next, he was sure of it.

[darlingdekarios]

so this is goodbye.

rating: mature for canon themes length: 1,752 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, established relationship, hurt no comfort, set in the hours leading up to Arthur's death, mentions of blood (tuberculosis related), canon compliant

Arthur Morgan's most important goodbye - the one he gives to you.

"Let's just go together."

It was an impossible plea - one you knew the answer to long before he turned to face you, blue eyes transparent with the cold truths of the situation. For as many roads as you'd taken together, it seemed the path had thinned - going forward, there was only room for one.

"You and I both know it's too late for that now," his voice was thin, the result of his lungs failing in every aspect - you couldn't stand the sound of him like this anymore. "Even if we ran, I'm on borrowed time. I'd just die on you tomorrow, we both know it."

It was true, there was no denying it - only a fool would try.

"I'd rather you die with me in peace than at the hands of men who never deserved to be in your company," your words fell into the air like shattered glass, broken beyond repair.

"I will die in peace knowing you're safe," he promised, reaching forward to grasp both of your hands in his. It occurred to you this was the last time you'd feel his hands against yours. "But I can't do that if you don't go now, while you have the chance still."

His thumbs ran across your knuckles, memorizing the feeling of them one last time - the same thoughts in your mind echoed in his. You tried to steady yourself, deep breaths in and out to pretend you were okay - the façade dissipated when a quiet sob left your lips, though he'd been waiting for it all along. Just like his death, your brokenness over it was inevitable.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye," you choked out, words squeezed through a throat that felt smaller by the minute, much like the world closing in on you. "I should…I should be with you until the end. I should be by your side."

"They won't allow that. You've been by my side all this time, don't you ever forget that counted for something. Everything we did together counted for something."

Some part of him was glad for all the trouble that was about to be caused so you had to go your separate ways. In truth, since the doctor had informed him of his fate Arthur was certain of one thing above most others - he didn't want you to be around when he succumbed to this cough, despite the fact that seeing your face as his eyes closed one last time would be a dream for any man. He didn't want you to watch him suffer, because he didn't want you to live with that suffering forever.

So now in his final hours, finally in a semblance of control of his own actions, his mind and heart were radiantly in love with you - so much of his remaining energy focused on your ensured survival through another day. He could only be thankful for the time he'd received with you, for every day you'd spent telling him you loved him - particularly knowing he never deserved something as divine as your love.

Any amount of time with you was more than a man like him had earned in life to begin with.

But as for you and your heart?

"It hasn't been enough time. We didn't get enough time, Arthur."

Tugging you forward gently his arms wrapped around you in a hug, the only comfort you'd ever found in this life wrapping you in warmth once more. He was filthy, but that wouldn't stop you from taking as much of him as you were allowed now - your face buried into his chest, arms tight around his torso, clinging to him as though it gave you life.

He pulled away to shed his jacket from his frame, reaching around you to wrap it on your shoulders. He'd always preferred it on you, anyway.

"But the time we did get made me a happy man," he reminded, his voice earnest and truthful, words offering no amount of doubt. "You made me want to be a better man."

His hands came to your shoulders to squeeze gently, holding you against him still.

"I need you to promise me you're not gonna turn that horse around and go back up there after me," his voice was serious, steady - it left no room for disagreement and yet you couldn't help the desire to do just that. "You've got to promise me. You are not to follow me. That's no place for you anymore."

"Arthur, I…"

"Now, I don't want to hear it," he grabbed both of your hands again, squeezing them in his - even now you could feel his strength waning. You were hanging on his every word, memorizing how each syllable fell from his lips - already dreading the day you couldn't remember his voice anymore. "Please listen to me. Those men up there…they're nothin' more than animals now. They will kill you to hurt me, and you're all I have left that they can use. Already lost John…don't make me lose you, too."

There was so much…too much to say in this moment, this goodbye you'd known was coming and yet had sprung so suddenly. It was impossible to pick which words to give him, which words would hold the most meaning - which would make him feel the most fulfilled. They were in your mind like debris picked up by a tornado, far too much chaos to make sense of.

"I can't do it without you. I'm not ready to live without you."

"You're goin' to have to, sweetheart," his hands left your shoulders to hold your face instead, thumbs running over your cheeks as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. His next words were whispered against your skin - his private form of begging between the two of you, one last time. "You go on and you live your life, and you don't ever try to find Dutch or Micah or any of 'em, outside of Abigail or Charles or Mrs. Adler. Forget the rest of 'em. Please."

He leaned away to meet your eyes again - you gave yourself a moment to hold your response purely to enjoy the splashes of color in his blue eyes, knowing no other would compare to these hues again. You nodded, knowing this is what he needed, knowing it was the only remaining peace you could offer him.

"I won't go lookin', but if I see Micah or Dutch again I will put a bullet between their eyes, Arthur," you promised, eyes dark as you spoke the names of the men who he would soon face. "I swear I will, even if it's the last thing I do."

"I know you -"

He was overtaken by a cough, the worst one yet - he leaned against a tree to support himself but you were also there - just as you had been all these past weeks. You rubbed his back as he coughed, reaching upward to smooth his hair away from his slick forehead as it fell about. He tried to motion you away when blood spurted from his lungs, spraying the grass beneath you. You held strong, instead pulling a cloth from your satchel to wipe his mouth.

He loved you with a passion you were certain no one else could come close to matching. You could see it manifested in his eyes.

"You are the best man I have ever known, Arthur Morgan," your words were quiet, movements delicate as you wiped the sweat from his brow as well, pushing his hair back again. One of his arms wrapped around your waist again, a wheezy breath sucked into his lungs as he watched you talk. "You deserved far better than what the world gave you."

"I got more than I deserved."

When I got you.

His eyes gave life to the words he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.

You stepped closer despite the fact he tried to push you away again briefly, ignoring his plea as you wrapped your arms around his torso again, pinning him between yourself and the tree, wondering how long you could get away with holding him there. Almost as if he sensed your thoughts he kissed your forehead weakly, a heavy, raspy sigh huffing from his lungs. You turned your head to kiss his cheek gently.

You both nuzzled your heads together for a moment, enjoying the closeness and serenity of one another for as long as the cruel circumstances would allow. When he pulled away it was to lift you back onto your horse - one he'd gifted you years ago now - strong hands rubbing your thighs one more time.

"You go on 'n' get out of here," his voice was firm, resolute - you had one option as to what to do next. "And don't you dare look back."

He withdrew from you, turning his back to hide the way his Adam's apple bobbed as the threat of tears welled in his chest, something he'd sworn from the beginning he'd never do in front of you. As he climbed on his horse the leather reins shook in his trembling hands, leaving you for the last time becoming the hardest thing he'd been asked yet.

He heard the hooves of your horse as you attempted to retreat, and was painfully aware when they stopped - an immediate fear taking over him that you wouldn't be able to go through with this.

"Arthur," you called out, the sobs chasing the end of your words a hammer to his heart each time. "I loved you. I do love you…I will love you always. Every day."

He turned his horse to you, glistening eyes mirrored by your own as he rode up along side you. He removed one of his gloves to reach out and hold your cheek in his hand, thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye gently.

You would never let yourself cry again.

"So many things I should've done different," for everything that was happening, Arthur sounded at peace with what he had chosen, content with all that he was leaving in the world as long as it included you. "I don't know what happens when we die, but I know if this…all this shit in life…ain't it for us…I'll be waitin' for you."

He released your face to reach for your hand, raising it to his lips in one final kiss. With that, you watched Arthur Morgan set off on his final ride.

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th] It may be Shinji who has more of a way with words between the two of them, but Akihiko has always been the one who fills their silences. Shinji’s the kind of guy who would rather listen than talk, unless he’s really got something to say. So naturally, that means it falls on Akihiko to break the silence they’re mired in now, as well. 

But he just can’t bring himself to do it. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t know what to say– he can think of plenty of things that he should say right now. The issue is whether or not he can. He tries a few times to speak up and feels bile rise in his throat instead of his voice. 

So he chokes it down and they’re left with…nothing. Nothing besides the scorched atmosphere Akihiko left in his wake.

Maybe it would be for the best if he leaves. Maybe getting away from here and taking some time to calm himself down is the better option, even though he’s loath to think about parting ways with Shinji on such an awful note. Even if it should only be temporary, how can he be certain it will be? How can he know for sure that their luck will hold, and Shinji will still be here when Akihiko gets his shit together?

He doesn’t know how he’d live with himself if the worst came to pass, and that was the last conversation he and Shinji ever had.

Akihiko’s inability to swallow his shame and talk past it turns out not to matter, ultimately. It’s Shinji who finally breaks the arid silence with a heavy sigh. 

“Look, I’m…really no good at this sorta thing,” he starts. “You already know that. An’ I’m also kinda high on painkillers right now, ‘cause– turns out getting shot doesn’t feel great. So maybe nothin’ I say’ll make any sense.”

Despite himself, Akihiko wheezes out a small laugh, and Shinji’s mouth twitches up on one side. He wants to believe that maybe this is a step in the right direction. It’s not like he’s wrong either; Shinji’s talents with words have never extended to talking about his feelings, even before his Persona went berserk. 

“But…you’re right,” Shinji continues. “I knew what the consequences could be, but I didn’t take ‘em seriously enough– not for Amada, or for you ‘n Kirijo– because I was too caught up in my own reasons.”

Shinji’s hands clench into fists around the bedsheets, his fingers trembling. “None of it– nothing mattered to me as much as the thought that maybe… Maybe I wouldn’t have to live with the fact that I’m a murderer anymore.”

“Shinji…” Each word out of Shinji’s mouth feels as heavy as a cinderblock, and Akihiko’s chest aches under the weight of them all. 

Shinji closes his eyes and sags back against his pillow, exhaling a weighted breath through his nose. He looks utterly exhausted. “That’s all I’ve cared about these last two years. The only thing I wanted was to atone, no matter how. And my life for the one I ruined seemed like a fair trade, y’know?”

When Shinji opens his eyes again, his gaze falls on the open window. The Moonlight Bridge winks back at him, the morning sun glazed mirror-bright over its arches, forcing him to wince and look away. “But I guess that’s pretty screwed up, right? I was just pushin’ my selfishness onto a kid and takin’ the coward’s way out, like you said.” 

Akihiko doesn’t quite trust himself to speak without a sob bubbling up instead, and in any case, the glare off the bridge is starting to get to him too, so he gets up to close the curtains. He grips the stiff, plasticky fabric tightly and bites his lip. 

“And that’s…” He almost doesn’t turn back around to face Shinji, but decides at the last moment that he needs to. “That’s really how you feel?” 

Shinji holds his gaze for just a moment before looking away. “Mhm.” 

It’s the first time Akihiko has heard Shinji like this– so somber and serious– in a very long time. But if he’s being truthful (Akihiko hopes to god that he is), it only serves as a horrible reminder of just how much Akihiko has failed. 

He must be making a face, because when Shinji looks at him again his mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Still mad, huh?”

“Of course I am.” Akihiko’s answer is immediate. “I just…am I really that unreliable?”

“...What?”

Akihiko almost returns to his seat but overshoots it and ends up pacing instead. “Shinji, you helped me so much when Miki died. You were there for me, you– you never left my side. You always made sure I was okay.”

Memories flood over him like a tsunami, churned together by time and grief until they all blend into an amorphous impression of those days, individual moments of shocking clarity floating within the tide like flotsam. 

Shinji had let Akihiko cling to him for days after the fire with minimal breaks, while Akihiko had cried until he’d been sick. Shinji had held him tightly all through the funeral as he’d choked on dry sobs, all of the tears wrung out of him, his eyes throbbing and swollen almost shut. Afterwards he’d bullied Akihiko into lying down and draped washcloths soaked in cool water across the top half of his face. 

Shinji, checking in with him between classes since they didn’t have the same homeroom that year. Shinji, walking the entire way home with him after school even after the adoption had been finalized and Akihiko had gone to live with his parents, their house in the exact opposite direction as the new building that served as the orphanage.

And that was just the aftermath of Miki’s death. Shinji’s been looking after him all his life and never expected anything in return. All those memories blend together until it’s impossible to keep track of them all. 

Akihiko had certainly appreciated it at the time, but he’d still taken it for granted. It’s only now that he realizes just how much it all meant to him. His breath shakes, his voice trembles. “I don’t– I don’t think I could’ve gotten through it at all if I hadn’t had you. So– the fact that you thought I couldn’t be there for you–”

“That’s not it.” Shinji cuts him off. “You’ve got it all wrong, Aki. I knew you would’ve been.” He glares into his lap. “That was the whole problem– I didn’t want you to be. I didn’t want your help, or Kirijo’s, or anyone’s. It all goes back to me bein’ a selfish asshole.”

Oh.

That makes an unfortunate amount of sense. 

“...Was it that you didn’t want it, or–” Akihiko swallows, the sound uncomfortably loud in his ears. “Did you think you didn’t deserve it?”

Shinji shrugs. “Same thing at the end of the day, ain’t it.”

“No.” Akihiko shakes his head. “It’s not the same at all. You did deserve it. You do deserve it, Shinji.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His expression is stony and contemplative as he mulls over Akihiko’s words. 

“...If I’m honest, ‘m still not sure I can believe that,” Shinji says quietly. He looks at Akihiko again, meeting his gaze and holding it this time. “But I am sorry, Aki. Sorry for bein’ that selfish asshole.”

Despite what he’d demanded earlier, he hadn’t really been expecting any kind of apology. He wasn’t sure if he’d even really wanted one, or if all he’d really been after was the catharsis of throwing a punch. But hearing it now, with Shinji sounding so genuine, so sincere– emotion starts to swell in Akihiko’s chest again. 

He pushes it down before it can strangle his voice. Shinji isn’t the only one who needs to apologize. It’s time he stops being so self-centered.

Akihiko makes his way back to his seat, pulling it even closer to Shinji’s bedside as he sits. His knees knock against the bed frame. 

“I’m sorry too,” Akihiko murmurs. He ignores the look Shinji gives him. “I kept saying I wanted you to rely on me, but– I didn’t take your feelings into consideration at all and I forced you back into a fight you didn’t want to be a part of. 

“And because of that…” He shakes his head, glowering down at his hands. He clenches and unclenches them into fists, watching the tendons in his wrists flex. “If I’d been paying more attention, if I’d just realized what was going on when Amada joined us–”

“Hey,” Shinji interrupts him using the same tone of voice he does when he’s about to tell off one of the juniors, or when he’d scold one of the younger kids at the orphanage. “Don’t you dare start blamin’ yourself for this, alright? None of this is your fault.”

It’s nice of him to say, but Akihiko knows it isn’t true. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You’ve told me a thousand times how tunnel-visioned I am. How I always run off on my own without thinking because I focus on one thing and forget about everything else.” Suddenly it feels like every lecture that Shinji’s ever given him and he’d brushed off is weighing down on his shoulders, heavy and shameful. 

“I told myself I needed to be stronger, but… In reality, I was just doing the exact same thing I accused you of. I was just running away too, from any problem that I couldn’t solve by knocking it down hard enough.”

What else has Shinji lectured him about that he just passed off as nothing when he should have listened? Why had it taken him until now to realize it? Why had it taken this? 

“You were right all along. And in the end, it didn’t even do any good. It didn’t matter how strong I was. Look what happened!” He gestures at Shinji, at the bed he’s propped up in– at everything in the room. It speaks for itself. 

“You almost died, Shinji! If one thing had been different– if just one thing hadn’t happened the way it did…you wouldn’t be here.” A sob clogs his throat. He drops his head into his hands, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes in a futile effort to keep the tears at bay. 

“All that strength, and yet I still couldn’t do anything for you. Not a single goddamn thing. I couldn’t even donate blood when you needed it, did you know that?”

“Aki…” Shinji doesn’t say anything more for several long moments, and the silence between them grows so heavy. Eventually, though, Shinji reaches out and puts a hand on Akihiko’s knee. 

“Listen,” he says. “We both fucked up. But there’s nothin’ we can do about it now. And…” He gives Akihiko’s knee a soft squeeze. “If it means anything, I don’t hold any of it against you.” 

Attempting to hide how emotional he’s gotten was hopeless from the start, but he’d been holding the line so far, if only by the skin of his teeth. Now Akihiko crumbles. He’s thankful that it’s just Shinji here instead of the whole team. He’d never live it down. At least Shinji’s seen him cry a million times before, so the blow to his pride doesn’t sting that bad. 

“I-it does. It means a lot to me, Shinji,” he replies, his voice quiet and hoarse, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

[poeticlilies]

I really loved the akutagawa x reader post. Could you maybe do one for dazai?

♡ Melancholy

Dazai Osamu x Reader

Desc: You comfort Dazai after a bad day. (fem reader)

TW/CW: angst, spoilers, harmful thoughts, dazai's past, abuse, might be ooc? not too familiar w bsd yet i'm new to the fandom :')

Dazai Osamu was a man who had lived through at least seven lifetimes in the span of one.

He'd seen things; things that nobody should've seen, but it didn't stop him from seeing them.

He saw Mori kill the old boss and rebuild Port Mafia anew; he was abused by him, and continued the cycle of abuse with Akutagawa, who eventually did it to Kyouka.

Oh, he was a bad man; a wicked, bad, person who had done unspeakable things under the orders of Mori (although some of those actions were not orders; rather, they were committed of his own will).

And although he has betrayed the mafia and joined the Armed Detective Agency, although he has saved countless lives (and the city of Yokohama, several times) he still sometimes finds himself thinking it wasn't enough.

Wasn't enough to wash his hands of the blood he's spilt; wasn't enough to cleanse his sins as they clung to him, digging their claws into his back and oozing inside, whispering in his ear that he'll never be good enough, never be able to do enough, never be able to save enough lives.

And sometimes, when you aren't around, he curls up into a little ball under his sheets and cries, sobbing into the comforter and choking as he tries to breathe (but miserably fails).

He wails into his blanket, shaking all over, hands trembling and eyes wide as he scratches at his throat and his chest, leaving red irritated marks as he tries to rid himself of his sins.

In the detective agency, he was Dazai; a charming, annoying, womanizer who never worked but always somehow managed to turn his share of the paperwork in.

At home, in the privacy of his bedroom, he was Osamu; a man who grew from the broken mold of his childhood, desperately picking up the pieces of his heart and gluing them back together only to fall apart at another one of Kunikida's scathing remarks or the looks from the Agency members varying from pitiful to condescending.

Osamu is sure that he's useless. A burden to the agency; kept around only as a pretty face for sore eyes.

He's been hurt much too much to let anyone know of his meltdowns; there was one close call when Atsushi questioned the splotchy patches of red on his face when he came out of the bathroom, but he managed to convince him it was the aftereffects of another poisonous mushroom and that he was fine, having already been treated by Yosano.

He's hurt too much to even want to fathom the idea of letting someone into his heart. No, what if they see the ugly creature of anxiety and fear and shun him, kicking the soft organ in disgust and making it crumble further into pieces?

You had been let in unwillingly; after worming your way into his heart, one day, things had changed.

You found him crying in your shared bedroom; chest heaving as he sobs into his palms, occasionally pawing at his bandages and tearing the soft fabric. He was so scared, that day, that moment; everything seemed to have been frozen as you two lock eyes, and for a moment, he's absolutely sure that his worst fears have come true, that you will shun him and kick him and sneer at him in disgust, before leaving and never coming back.

Oh, he was so surprised to learn that wasn't the case; when you had shushed him and pulled him into a soft, gentle, hug, and told him it would be alright, despite not knowing what he was crying about, he almost giggled; you didn't hate him? even after knowing his past? you didn't hate the monster that was in your arms?

Of course not, you told him. You're not a monster, Osamu, you murmur, hand carding through his hair as he shudders in your arms.

He blinks, once, twice; before fresh tears come into his eyes (these are ones of happiness) and a soft smiles curls his lips upwards as he lets his façade melt away and allows himself just this once to be rocked to a comfortable nap, knowing that if you've seen this side of him and still chose to embrace him that nothing would hurt him now because you were here, and you cared, and you forgave him for his sins.

And his heart twists in melancholy; there's something just on the tip of his tongue, something about his past that he can't quite piece together, but you press a soft kiss to the crown of his head and the thoughts and sadness melt away until he is not Dazai Osamu, the demon prodigy of the Port Mafia, the ability user who harnesses No Longer Human, and he is simply just a man who has found someone who cares about him.

And he feels a little branch grow out of his cold, dead heart, and he tells himself that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be loved by you.

--

shii bro this one was long asf... uhmmmm i kinda got carried away :') wHOoPsiE

still very new to the bsd fandom so i apologize if my little scrunkly is ooc