#as long as there's someone to keep the memory alive it's not gone not really !

[kiss-me-cill-me]

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: After spending a few days holed up with a rugged stranger, you finally can't take the tension anymore. Things get a little more complicated when he walks in on you.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation (f), Emmett walking in on you, quiet sex, biting, begging, one fleeting thought about breeding, some fluff, light angst

A/N: Emmett was honestly the start of my whole descent into Cillian Murphy madness, so I'm really searching for my people with this one lol. He's my sad, scraggly boyfriend and I love him <3

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

It’s strangely beautiful, in an overgrown way. Vines hang off of the chain-link fence as you push carefully through the jagged gap, just big enough for a person to pass through. The long grass reaches well above your ankles, and plants seem to spill out from the negative space of every structure littering the lawn.

The air has a cool, muted hue; it looks like rain later. Eyeing the building in front of you, you decide to stop here for the night. 

One step, and then a pause. Something feather-light brushes against your ankle. You look down to see a tripwire, and back away slowly in the direction you came. Interesting. It has been a long time since you’ve seen anyone else alive out here. Though the owner of the tripwire could be long gone.

You take a second look at your surroundings, this time scanning for any sign of a human presence. It’s quiet, but of course, everywhere is quiet now. Delicately stepping over the tripwire, you continue on your path toward the large building. Its looming, brick facade is featureless except for long stalks of ivy tumbling from broken windows, and as you advance you can’t help but feel that the building is watching. The sensation of eyes on you is made even more unnerving in the silence.

You pick your way across the lawn, careful to avoid shards of broken glass and open bear traps. This abandoned factory is quite the fortress, if anyone actually lives here. You reach the end of the grass, and step through a huge, weathered green door, left open on probably-ancient and squeaky hinges. The air here smells of cobwebs and must.

Inside, dripping water echoes faintly, somewhere from deeper inside the building. It’s cold by the open door, and it doesn’t get any warmer as you walk down the hallway, still keeping a careful eye out for anything waiting to meet you.

You turn a corner, and there he is, unexpected. Unexpected to you at least; the man in front of you seems quite prepared as he levels the sights of his rifle.

Instinctively, your hands fly up. The man’s face is covered, except for his eyes, which look to be the only part of him that’s still alive. Even his handling of the gun seems driven by muscle memory, as if he’s a sentry with no programming beyond, simply: “Defend.” You don’t breathe as he looks you over; relaxes a bit as he realizes you’re a lone woman, unarmed except for the hunting knife at your belt. He doesn’t look friendly, exactly - it’s hard to when you’re pointing a rifle in someone’s face. But he also doesn’t look like he really wants to hurt you. More that he just wishes you weren’t here in the first place.

As a show of good faith, you point to your knife, and then to the floor. You nod at him, questioning. He nods back. Slowly, you lower your hands to your belt and unclip the knife. The faintest click of steel against concrete is audible as you lower it to the ground. Straightening, you point to the man across from you; his gun.

Now you.

Just as slowly, the man lowers his weapon to his side. You point at your knife on the floor, expectantly.

Go on…

He’s reluctant, but after a moment of tense silence, his gun joins your knife on the ground.

You smile; hope that you look thankful and not threatening, like he’s just fallen squarely into a trap you’ve set for him.

Thank you, you mouth.

Beneath the bandana that covers his mouth and the hat that shadows his face, the man’s expression is impossible to read. His eyes, piercing blue even as they regard you more casually, move over your whole body once again. Checking you for weapons, though you don’t have anything else on you. When he’s done, you take a gentle step toward him.

Stop.

The man’s right hand flies out in front of him, fingers splayed. You freeze in your tracks. Desperately, you want to tell him that you mean no harm. You just want a place to stay for the night. There’s a cold fear soaking in the corners of his body; you can feel it all the way from here. You hold out your own hands, palms forward, telling him to stay calm. Nobody's going to get hurt. Keeping one hand in front of you, you reach around to your back pocket, intending to pull out the pad of paper you keep on you for the rare occasions you need it to communicate with someone.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall. There’s a strong hand clamped around your wrist; an arm pressed flat against your chest, restraining you. And the man’s face is inches away from your own, his eyes wild with panic.

The dust settles around you, and the echo of your body being slammed on the bricks fades away. You drop what’s in your hand and nudge your head to point at the pad and pencil, showing him. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he realizes - maybe exasperation at you, or maybe frustration at himself for reacting so recklessly. He starts to move away from you-

Click.

A familiar sound comes from just outside the factory door. It’s one of them.

Shit.

The man mutters something, barely audible through the bandana, and then he’s running. Deeper and deeper into the building, his hand in a vice grip around your wrist, pulling you along after him. You feel like a mess of  awkward limbs and flapping skirts as you try to keep up. The thing behind you is in the building now, crashing carelessly through the hallways in its pursuit. Your weapons are both forgotten - not that they would be any more useful here than they are back on the ground where you left them. 

Ahead, the man has let go of your wrist and is now running at a dead sprint, trusting you to either keep up or be killed. He clearly has somewhere he’s going. You blindly follow him, out of any other options and brain too high on adrenaline to think about where he’s taking you. The hallway has opened out into a room, and now you’re weaving through huge pipes and tanks. Your lungs are about to explode. You can’t keep up with-

Suddenly, the man veers sharply to the left and smoothly jumps into a metal structure. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing to do but follow. You breathe deep and hold it to stop from screaming as you jump in after him.

Dust. It’s in your throat and your eyes as you fall into whatever is piled at the bottom of the drop. You need to cough, but you fight hard not to. Before you can get your bearings, you’re yanked to your feet and thrust in a direction that seems random, until you reach the lip of the metal tank. The man all but throws you inside even as he’s climbing in after you, and then the heavy metal door is shut and the only sound is of two people breathing.

He tears off his hat and bandana. You watch, mesmerized, as the man’s chest rises and falls, struggling to push enough air into his lungs. Then, he utters the first word you’ve heard him say clearly.

“Fuck.”

The man’s name is Emmett. This you learn as you sit, huddled together but separate, in his makeshift bunker. 

You also learn that he doesn’t want you here.

“Please.” 

Your voice feels tight and painful; jagged around the edges from disuse. It catches sharply in your throat.

“No,” he replies.

The timer on his watch goes off, and Emmett opens the door. His chest is still heaving.

You both step out, listening carefully for any noise above you. The creature, thankfully, seems to have moved on. Emmett stands a little straighter as he turns to face you.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.” His voice is a whisper, and has the same rusty, unused quality as your own.

“I just need a place for one night.”

You beg with your eyes, and Emmett turns away. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by you.

Later, when it’s - almost- sure to be safe, the two of you go together to collect your discarded weapons. The sky outside has turned an awful gray, and sheets of rain pound into the earth. The sound is louder than anything you’ve heard in months, and the wind howls from all directions. 

Emmett sighs heavily, though he makes no sound. He looks up, seeming to question who would have the audacity to do this, and then turns to you.

One. Night. he mouths, holding up a finger for emphasis. 

He looks at you seriously, and you nod seriously in return. You follow him back down to the lower level, and settle in on opposite sides of the room.

One night, of course, turns into two, and then three. It’s nice to have company. Even Emmett seems to soften a little as the days go on. He doesn’t mention anything about you leaving after that first night, and you take care not to prompt him to. Emmett teaches you how to hide in the huge metal tank; explains the timer and watches you try it with your own alarm a few times to make sure you can do so safely. You busy yourself with mending a few things - broken backpack straps and holes in his old sweaters. He thanks you softly as you hand them back to him.

You catch Emmett looking at you a few times, barely getting a glimpse of the strange expression on his face before he turns away. You catch yourself looking at him too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen another person, but even if it hadn’t been, there’s something magnetic about him. His eyes are like spots of fresh ice against his weathered face. 

“I have something,” you say, over the meager dinner you’re sharing.

You go to your backpack and rustle around, moving slow so as not to make any noise. Finally, you pull out a bottle, its dark glass glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Cream soda,” you whisper, with all the thrill of a child showing off an ill-gotten prize from her mother’s cupboard.

The bottle hisses as you open it, and you both perk up, quickly alert for any sound of a threat above you. Safe. You pass the bottle to Emmett, offering him the first sip. It’s simple, but a rare treasure in this broken world.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asks, the barest hint of a smile drifting over his lips.

You watch as his mouth wraps around the bottle's opening, and as he gingerly tips it back to drink. He takes two quick swallows, his throat bobbing twice, then hands the bottle over to you. You take it, fingertips brushing against his for just a moment, and take a quick swig before you can think for too long about how his lips were just touching the rim.

“It’s just nice to have a treat sometimes,” you reply, shrugging. 

You hand the bottle back and Emmett takes it by the neck, letting the edge of his hand linger against yours for several seconds. You make no move to pull away. 

“It is,” he agrees. “Been a long time since I’ve had anything sweet.”

In the very back of your mind, you wonder if he’s still talking about the soda. No - stop that. You don’t need to go ruining the good thing you have going.

You had asked Emmett, on the morning of the second day, if he was alone. He’d paused for a moment before answering.

“Yes… Well, I mean… Yes.”

You'd decided not to prod any further. 

Now, as you look down at your hand ghosting against his, you notice again his wedding band, firmly wrapped around his finger. It's hard not to notice, and it's even harder to ignore the dozens of sketches that litter the room, pinned and draped on every surface. All of them show the same young boy. He could be a son, or a nephew, or just some random kid that something terrible happened to - you haven't wanted to ask. Everyone is beyond traumatized in this new world, and far be it from you to question whatever brings anyone comfort. Suddenly feeling guilty, you let go of the bottle and look away as Emmett takes another sip.

"Hey," he whispers. Your head snaps back up to look at him. "I have something too."

Emmett puts the soda down between you, methodically clears the table, and pulls out a very weathered deck of cards.

"You ever play Gin Rummy?"

The next morning, Emmett is up early. You stay in your sleeping bag, pretending that you haven't woken up yet, and watch him pull on his hat and boots. He slips on a pair of heavy leather gloves. You stir, "waking up," and Emmett walks over to you.

"Gonna go check the traps," he explains, kneeling down. "I'll be back."

You're struck by the way the moment feels almost domestic; as if he's promising you he'll be home for supper. Your eyes trail over him lazily, taking in the firm shape of his bare arms and the way his hands are abruptly covered by the work gloves. The thought of him roughly grabbing you by the waist flashes through your mind; the material rubbing your skin as his fingers sink into your sides. You swallow heavily; blink a few times.

"You should wear a jacket," you whisper.

Emmett has already started to walk off, but he turns around and smirks at your words. For a moment, it seems like he's about to say something. But it passes, and then he continues in the direction he was headed, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.

Once Emmett is gone, you have the place to yourself. Scant sunlight filters through the opening in the ceiling, giving you just enough light to read by. You pull out a well-worn book from your backpack, and settle into the chair Emmett's jacket was on to read it.

Quickly, the words start to swim on the page; falling forgotten into the margins. You can't get your mind off the image of Emmett leaving, blue eyes barely visible under the brim of his hat as he looked back over his shoulder. Had there been a teasing look to them, or was that just you imagining things again? Your mind flashes to an image of Emmett giving you his jacket, wrapping it around you, tight and safe. Pulling you close to him, and-

Okay, time to be honest. Emmett has been driving you crazy the past few days. And not in a bad way, but in an "imagining him tangled between your legs" kind of way. You know you shouldn't think like that. Your relationship with him is undefined and shaky at best; you shouldn't go risking it. But it's getting harder and harder to stop yourself from reaching out and snaking your fingers through his hair; against the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve; sliding them down past his belt and-

Stop.

You practically have to bite your lip as you beg yourself. You listen for a moment to the silence. Emmett should be gone long enough. And under three feet of solid concrete, you feel safe to relax a little. You desperately need to let out some frustration.

But still, it feels too open out here. Too exposed. Even if you are alone, you just want some more privacy.

Your eyes drift to the steel bunker.

Okay, you can be quick. You have your watch and can time it and be careful. With how horny you are, this shouldn't take long at all. And in the worst case scenario, Emmett will be back soon and can let you out if you get stuck. This is a perfect idea.

You climb inside, set your watch, and close the door. Keeping your head by the entrance in case you need to rush the exit, you don't waste any time getting started.

You touch yourself, shocked at how wet you are already. Might as well take advantage of the sound-proof tank. You hiss as you slide a finger between your folds, finally not bothering to keep quiet.

"Oh, fuck, Emmett."

You desperately wish these were his fingers instead of your own. You plunge two inside yourself immediately; revel in the delicious sting. Legs squeezing together, trapping your own hand, rutting up against your palm. You imagine him hovering over you, blue eyes staring into yours as he watches you fall apart.

"Oh, fuck!"

Above your head, the door swings open. You freeze, hand still plunged sinfully down the front of your pants and hips bucking halfway off the steel floor. Next to you, your watch alarm beeps, calling more attention to your shame.

You look up, and suddenly Emmett staring back at you isn't a fantasy anymore.

"I'm… uh," you stammer in a hissed whisper, searching for any words. But the power of speech has left you. It seems to have left Emmett as well.

His mouth is practically hanging open, and after a moment of shocked panic, he quickly tears his eyes away. 

Taking the opportunity, you sit up and try to arrange yourself - although it's impossible to look presentable after you've just been caught fucking your own fingers to the thought of the man standing in front of you. 

"I'm sorry," Emmett whispers, frantic. He’s pacing; tears off his work gloves and throws them to the ground. Tosses his hat onto a table and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought something happened, and I wanted… well I didn't think - not that it's anything to be ashamed of. Everyone has urges."

"Do you?"

The sound of your voice shocks even you, despite the low volume you're speaking at. Your legs are dangling out the open door of the bunker, and you watch as Emmett stops in his tracks. 

“What?” he whispers.

“Everyone has urges,” you echo, placing your feet on the floor. “Do you?”

“I don’t know what you…”

You stand up, taking a bold step toward him. Emmett takes a half step back. His eyes are blown wide, fear and confusion, as you take another step. This time he stays.

You place a hand on Emmett’s chest. It’s crazy, but you can feel his heart pounding; the heavy rise and fall of his breath.

You’re only inches apart. One more step and your body would be pressed flush against his, just like you’ve been thinking of these past few days. From this distance, you can hear the shakiness in his breathing. 

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s a dare; a challenge; a bald-faced lie. You look up at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stay quiet. To not stop you. To keep going. 

“Tell me to stop.”

You’re on your tiptoes now, lips hovering right in front of his. Emmett swallows hard, and you can feel it reverberate through his whole chest. Looking you right in the eyes, he shakes his head.

No.

Emmett pulls you the rest of the distance. His lips scrape against yours, parting so you can slip your tongue inside. Your lungs have left your body, leaving a hollow space in your chest, making it impossible for you to breathe. You feel lightheaded. But oh, the way he’s biting at your lips; tangling a hand in your hair and pressing against you like you can stop him from drowning. His leg is between your thighs and you practically melt on it. Emmett has to hold you to keep you from falling to the floor. 

Gently, he eases you down. You’re desperate, pulling at him, trying to bring him to you faster. Your legs open to wrap around his waist. God, you’ve needed this. 

Emmett is scrambling to take off his jacket, and even though it only takes a few seconds, it is an eternity. To exist without his body pressed against yours. You hastily unbutton your pants, and Emmett tears them the rest of the way down.

There’s a pause, and you look up at him. Emmett is transfixed, but seems to quickly snap out of it when he notices you - embarrassed. You lean up on your elbows, but Emmett stops you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. He brings a finger to his lips; fixes you with a gaze that shows he’s serious. 

Be quiet.

You throw your head back and close your eyes. If you look at him for another second, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from moaning. Even with the simplest gestures, he drives you crazy. You feel Emmett straddle you; reach his hand down between your legs. 

Oh, fuck.

His fingers are even better than you’d imagined. Two seconds in and he has you gasping for breath. If you were wet before, you’re positively dripping now. You dare to crack open your eyes. Emmett’s face is stoic with concentration, and you can’t believe how incredibly turned on it makes you. He bites his lip slightly, and you think you might pass out. Looking was a mistake, but you can’t tear your eyes off him. 

After teasing your entrance for a moment, Emmett slips a finger inside you. There’s that weightless feeling again; it’s like being drunk. You could ride his fingers until you forget your own name, and you already feel the coil tightening inside you.

Desperate, you scramble for something to hold onto. There’s nothing on the stone floor. Emmett is your only lifeline, and you grab at the hem of his shirt, pulling him to lean down over you. He kisses you. Rough and sloppy and frantic. You let out the smallest whimper into his mouth as you cum, hard, clamping your legs around his fingers. 

Panting. You’re actually panting as he pulls out of you, instantly missing the way his fingers curled up inside of you. You’re still holding onto his t-shirt for dear life, and he gently removes your hand. You can’t see straight, but there’s the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone, and a zipper loosening. When you look up again, Emmett is hovering over you, his body planted between your legs.

He puts a hand on your waist to steady you, and you feel him line up with your entrance. It takes everything not to scream as he slides into you.

The stretch is intoxicating. You haven’t even recovered from your orgasm, but just the sight of him pausing after he’s plunged into you, needing to collect himself, breathing hard. It’s enough to make you ache.

“Please, Emmett.”

The fingers on your waist tighten, digging into your side. For a second, you worry you’ve upset him, but then he looks up at you, eyes blazing with lust. He looks like a man about to lose himself, and you smile as you move your hands up to his chest, gripping at his collar to pull him close as you whisper again. 

“Please.”

Emmett is pounding into you, careful at first to stay quiet, but getting sloppier every second. He can’t pull out all the way for fear of slapping too loudly against your thighs, but the result is an incredible friction that has you soaring. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good. You grab at his shoulders, his neck, and Emmett lets you. When the pleasure has you tear open your eyes, you catch him watching you again. Enjoying the way you fall apart on his cock. It makes you clench around him even harder, and you catch the faintest whisper of a curse fall out of his lips as he leans forward, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck, Emmett.” 

You whisper in his ear, breath brushing the strands of hair that fall around his face. Emmett brings his own lips right to the side of your cheek; his words tickle as he continues to fuck you.

“You know, you have a dirty mouth,” he tells you. “And here I thought you knew how to stay quiet.”

You whimper, and a hand is slapped over your mouth, the side of it slotting just under your teeth. Your heart pounds as Emmett leans in to whisper to you again, devilishly. 

“Bite down if you need to.”

Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you.

Emmett is grunting, softly, as he fucks into you just a little bit faster. The sound of him coming undone is enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut and bite down onto his hand, muffling the sound of your cries as you orgasm. 

If he’s hurt, he doesn’t show it. Emmett continues to rut into you as you bite the side of his hand, trying desperately to stay as quiet as you can. You want him to hold you down, breed you, spill everything into you with no care for the consequences. Emmett pulls his hand away and plants it on the ground, trying to balance himself.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

His words are breathless; you love hearing him like this. You bask in them, arching your back against the floor, not answering.

“Where do you want me to- Fuck!”

Emmett pulls out of you, trying and failing at the last second to cup a hand around himself. Cum gets everywhere, dripping from his fingers to the floor, coating the insides of your legs. He looks down at himself for a moment; shakes off his hand before wiping it on his pants, still halfway on in his rush to be inside you. 

“Now you decide to be quiet, huh?”

He’s leaning over you again, whispering teasingly in your ear. He pinches your waist and kisses your cheek before pulling away, showing you the mischief in his eyes.

Somewhere above you, there’s a crash followed by a loud screech. Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you’d thought.

“Shit.” Emmett yanks his pants up and pulls you both to your feet. The sounds of something getting closer are clearly audible. You should be scared, but instead you’re excited.

“Let’s go.”

You tug at Emmett’s wrist as you lead him toward the bunker. Two minutes and thirty seconds - that’s how long you have before the timer goes off. You tumble, pulling him in after you. The door closes behind you with a soft thud.

You want to hear him scream.

[sassydefendorflower]

In case of their death, each Bat has a dedicated spot where they keep their will/private messages to different members of their family/their friends.

It makes sense in their line of work.

Tim's is a hard drive, no surprise there, but he made sure the code to access it was just stupid enough that most of the family would have to come together to crack it (and even then, they still have to call Bart for the final clue) - it’s something stupid and sentimental, something Bruce would never have guessed Tim would choose as a password. Maybe Quadruple Summersault. Or Short Pants. Or Second Mask. Or Always Be Prepared. Or maybe just I Love You.

Babs has a lot of video messages just in case. She wrote code that would automatically send her last words to everyone she cherished (her dad, the Bats, the Birds of Prey, her co-workers at the library) should she forget to enter the I'm Still Alive Code. (she has to stay at the hospital once without her phone and accidentally sends her last words to everyone - Gotham is chaos for a day until people manage to check in on her).

Cass has already hidden all her goodbyes in the rooms of those she thinks deserve it. Once she is gone, she hopes Bruce will find the letter in her nightstand. The one that says "my words are still here, you just have to look for it" - which is a bit ironic, considering most of her letters consist of funny cartoons and nice memories captured in the chicken scratch of someone who might never be a portrait artist but can undoubtedly catch a moment in time with just a few strokes of a pencil.

Dick updates his will every couple of months, just to be safe. And his letters? His final words? Those are usually stored with a civilian friend or two. One batch is definitely kept at Titans Tower. All of these people have instructions to send them once the news of his death has hit the public. His letters are unusually long, filled with jokes and anecdotes, and a lot of things he never quite managed to say before. For someone who likes to talk, Dick is awfully good at saying nothing. But that's not how he wants to die - at least not this time, so long letters it is.

Jason doesn't have a lot of letters, or a lot of anything really. He just has a very detailed will. A binding legal paper that explains exactly what the family is supposed to do with his body. He's not gonna take any more chances with this. At the end of his will, there is only one addendum: I love you. Please let me be dead. Nothing more - nothing less.

Steph is a bit obsessed with the details of her death, maybe because her first close encounter resulted in a complete loss of agency. She wants to plan it down to the smallest bit, and since she knows she cant do that, she plans everything else. Where she wants to be buried, what songs should be played, what kind of food should be offered... and in each of these instructions there is a personal message hidden just within. She wants Bruce and Tim to carry her coffin, carry her one last time. She wants Cass to dance at her funeral, and Babs and her mom to write the speeches. Small love letters hidden in a search for control.

Damian is needlessly good at compartmentalizing, or maybe its because he's just twelve. He should think of himself as immortal, and nothing is crueler than the fact that he doesn't. He has a will, hidden underneath his mattress because he's too young to actually request legally binding documents. And he has letters and paintings and notebooks - in the hopes that when they find them they'll remember him as a boy and not a weapon. For someone so desperately striving for the title of Robin, Damian mostly wants to be remembered as a son.

For a long time Duke didn't partake in this "family tradition". Because he saw himself as outside of them, as someone with parents, as someone with a home. But a dozen close calls, and suddenly mortality becomes something else. So he saves his will on the Batcomputer, addressed to his parents but protected by Bruce. And he writes small notes. Thoughts. Ideas. Things he thinks they will appreciate should he be gone one day. And he leaves them lying around. Maybe the mark he makes is hidden in the small things. The post-it notes and exploded overhead lights. Duke would be fine with that.

And then there is Bruce, who - in a way - cannot die. His legacy is the Cave, his brain a part of the mainframe they use to fight crime. And he knows that. He knows that no matter where he goes, he will never be really gone. So he makes sure that one day - long after he has passed - the Batcomputer destroys itself. To set them free. To leave them with the physical memorabilia of Bruce Wayne, and no longer with the desperation of the Bat. It's the biggest love letter Bruce can imagine writing - the possibility of being free.

[chefkids]

I love your meta!!! It’s amazing that you’re still able to identify and connect new things that the rest of us overlooked. Do you have any predictions for next season? Not just with SydCarmy but also any thoughts about where the show may take us

Thank you!

I think a big focus of next season is going to be on their lives intertwining and their families coming together. Season 3 ended with Richie, Nat, Carmy, and Sydney all coming together to open the restaurant and including her in their core group like family. And like Ayo and everyone in the show has said, this is all about chosen family and real family. But I also think a lot of bad shit is going to happen, especially at the very start of the season.

After Carmy practically begging to meet Sydney's dad, I do think Emmanuel and Carmy will finally meet. I do not think he is going to like Carmy at the start. He is very sceptical of their whole arrangement, he knows Sydney quit for a minute and might have heard Sydney talk shit about him. And if he ever finds out what went down on opening night, I don't think he'll be too happy with Carmy. But I do think they will eventually bond and get to know each other, I think including that Sydney's dad was sober from alcohol is going to be a big conversation for them.

I think they were alluding for Natalie having some sort of complication maybe preeclampsia with her shoulder pain. I think she's going to give birth sooner rather than later. Natalie giving birth is going to bring Donna back and is what is going to get Carmy and his mother to finally see each other again after seemingly years apart.

I also think Donna and Sydney will meet. I think Natalie and Sydney are both going to try to get Carmy to at least try to give his mother a chance because they are both much more optimistic and forgiving people than him. I think it's going to cause a lot of tension between all of them because Carmy doesn't want Sydney seeing that side of his family.

Sydney's share/ownership of the restaurant comes back into question. I also think Carmy getting more credit/recognition than her in reviews or press will bother her. I think she will basically say that this place is not really hers. Someone tries to poach Sydney, Carmy freaks out. Sydney starts to consider if it is worth staying if another good opportunity comes along.

Marcus' mom is dead and gone. RIP to that lady. I think grief and how they all deal with it differently will be a big theme. Carmy ignored his grief for a long time and tried to use work to fix things. Sydney and her dad still keep her mom's memory alive but she still struggles with letting others know about her grief. I think Marcus will be letting others help him and be there for him and Sydney will be there for him. I think this will bring back things Carmy about his own grief and how he's still dealing with it.

Luca returns to fill in for him for a bit and emotional support for Marcus. Which I think will also bring us to see Competitive Carmy in full force as goes into Michelin Mode, for Syd's sake. No amusement or enjoyment. I also think this will kinda turn the crew against Carmy as they'll prefer Sydney, they kind of already do. Especially considering she was more involved in training them and in the build than he was. Plus she's just nicer than him.

Sydney will overwork herself and burn out, she won't trust Carmy on his own and will inevitably put a lot of pressure on herself. She's not going to want to quit or stop but Carmy and her Dad will be pressuring her to slow down because she's making herself sick. I think a large focus of Season 3 will be on their energy. In Season 1 it was all about the pressure of money, Season 2 about time pressure, and now they need to find the energy to keep going because they need to make back money in a set time frame. The focus on energy and their internal dynamics between them, rather than external issues like things in restaurant being broken.

Jealous Carmy. When he realizes Marcus likes Syd more than a friend, he's going to view everyone as competition and a threat, even though he's still to scared to do anything about it. I think Sydney will grow closer to Marcus and Richie and maybe even Luca or new guy Connor, not in any romantic way, but it is going to bother Carmy a lot that she never spends any time with him and that they know her outside of work but he doesn't.

Menu overhaul is inevitable, aside from Marcus dishes, most of the menu is not that remarkable and they really need to pull out new interesting ideas if they want a star. I'm sure we will see a lot more of Syd and Carmy actually testing recipes together. Carmy is just not as creative as Sydney when it comes to food, he struggled with the chaos menu. Mostly as Carmy's way to force proximity with Syd when she doesn't want to be around him.

I'm also still rooting for the return of the short rib risotto and the missing acid chaos ingredient. They have to bring it back.

Tina and/or Richie straight up comment on Sydcarmy. I think Tina knows and suspects a lot more than she lets on. She is very observant and protective over Sydney. She's overheard and seen a lot of what has been going down between them. She's going to put Carmy in his place and scare him a little on Sydney's behalf.

Richie on a similar note is going to put 2 and 2 together on what Carmy is feeling and basically tell him to stay away from Sydney because he doesn't want a Claire 2.0 to happen to her and he probably feels like Carmy does not even deserve Sydney in any way and he would just fuck things up for everyone at the restaurant.

Natalie finally says something to him and that's what finally gets him to do something and stop bottling everything in. She never commented on his relationship to anyone except Sydney, and that was more so to get her in the loop and protect her, because she knew Carmy was leading her on while seeing Claire and not telling her. She's going to subtly or not so subtly ask him wtf he is doing. I also think Jimmy fully thought Sydney was his girlfriend.

Fire Suppression System will tested for real with an actual fire. I have a lil theory that Sydney is going to be the one to accidentally start a fire next season. The fire suppression test was all a metaphor for Syd and Carmy suppressing their feelings and the spark/fire that they have. At the end of season 1 Carmy started a grease fire after Sydney quit, because he couldn't suppress his sadness and feelings for her. In season 2 they passed the fire suppression and Carmy decided to declare Claire his girlfriend. They managed to contain their feelings, but eventually they still came out with Carmy and his panic attack. But now I'm sure Sydney is going to be the one trying to suppress feelings because of how everything went down, and I think it will just blow up in her face literally and metaphorically. They spent so much time explaining the fire suppression system and the electrical wiring and the amperage of it all, that I think it's going to come into play again.

Carmy uses Sydney for emotional support without her realizing. When he texted her because he needed her comfort and forgiveness before opening Mikey's note, she didn't know that was what was happening. When he had panic attack and thought of her to calm down he used her for comfort, but she doesn't know all that. I think he's going to tell her or show her that she is his comfort person. I also think we will also see Sydney eventually reach for him for support and comfort as well.

Sydney's catering days and UPS flashback. Please I am begging. We need more of her lore. I think next season will be a lot of seeing her as more independent and being the boss, we only just started to see her at her peak performance in the last episode. I think we'll see more of her evolution, and also her flighty nature. She went from restaurant to restaurant. I think the idea of her leaving The Bear will hang around all season, but she won't leave.

Claire apology then goodbye within the same episode. Sorry to that girl. I think Carmy was already planning to breakup with her after he had the panic attack and the talk with Uncle Jimmy, which is why he freaked out when after he saw her at dinner. I don't think there would be much place for her unless they throw her into some hospital scenes with maybe Nat or Sydney being sick. I think her work here is done. I think she might make other appearances with the Faks. They are close family friends. Maybe she's friends with the elusive Francie Fak that everyone is dying to know what happened between her and Nat.

I think Richie will try to work elsewhere for a bit. He wants to prove that he doesn't need Carmy and that he can succeed without him. I think he'll come back when Sydney asks him to. The situation with him and Tiff feels very 50/50 to me. On the one hand I think it could be him learning to move on from his ex, on the other hand I think Chris and Joanna are all about second chances and I could see Tiff seeing Richie change and wanting to give things another chance.

I also think there's opportunity to see another city like we did with Copenhagen. I'm still rooting for Carmy to take Syd to Noma before it shuts down. I could also see a New York flashback episode with Carmy working at Eleven Madison and Sydney going on her NYC food tour and their whole invisible string coming together.

Not in this season, but The Bear Cookbook will happen. Trust.

And The Psychedelic Musical Episode. A girl can dream. But I do think we'll get another karaoke scene, maybe with the whole crew going out after a shift and just letting loose for once.

[llamagoddessofficial]

how would the normal boyo's react to mc's death?

no murder, nothing crazy, just old age taking away the love of their lives.

and for bonus points lets say they had been happily married for decades as to add on the memories and the sudden shock of losing someone that had become such a key factor in your life.

I think I've mentioned this before, but it doesn't hurt to bring it up again. Aggre Mc is going to live a lot longer than she expected. Even with absolutely no intervention, thanks to her connection with the guys, her Soul has three major sources of magic nearby that instinctively constantly share their power with hers. It will probably expand her lifetime by a century, minimum. Her big issue isn't going to be dying; it's going to be dealing with the implications of living so much longer than she thought she would.

There's also the topic of a Soul bond. If she Soul bonds with any of the three of them, and doesn't have kids, she's pretty much going to live as a monster does (forever, unless interrupted). In Aggre, they definitely discuss the subject of her possible death eventually- and my personal canon post-Aggre is that after settling into a rhythm and spending a few decades together, when Mc decides she wants to Soul bond, the boys elect Sans to be the one she bonds with. She'd then live with them like that.

But... in a hypothetical scenario, where Mc resists everything and dies... I think this is how it would go. Obviously, angst and death under the cut.

Sans: Honestly, Sans takes her approaching death the best. Which should really worry you about how the other two would react. Does he fall apart? Absolutely, the last time he felt this kind of agony was when he lost his mother. But Sans has always been good at disguising his emotions, hiding tremendous pain under an easygoing exterior. He keeps up with the dishes, organises her end of life care, keeps contact with his friends. Papyrus would be the only one to see even a fraction of the true extent of Sans' grief. Sans is about to lose the love of his life, and has completely frozen over to avoid crumbling.

Red: He definitely takes it better than you'd expect, considering he'd have a mended relationship with his brother. But it still hits. It's cruel that the universe sent him someone who taught him how to let himself feel, then took that person away and delivered the worst pain he's ever felt.

Mc would be proud of him, though. Despite the pain, he avoids falling back into the worst of his old addictions, because he knows its not what she would want and it won't actually make the pain go away. It will just numb him to everything; including those who are trying to help. He picks up smoking again in the days leading up to her death, but he avoids the bottle.

Skull: It's hard, for him. It's really hard.

All of them knew it would be particularly difficult for Skull. They had a long time to discuss it- a long time to talk the subject over. Mc prepared stuff for him, for after she's gone... people to talk to, things of hers to hold when it hurts, exercises for him to hopefully learn to deal with it. For a while, everyone was convinced Skull was ready. Even Skull.

... But he just... he just can't do it. He can't do it. He can't let her go. It doesn't matter how many hours she spent holding his hands, how hard they all believed he'd be fine without her- it doesn't matter how much he healed by her side and how well adjusted he seems now. The moment he realises she's really genuinely dying, the journey ahead of him looks so impossibly dark, so frightening. He holds her as she's dying and he feels so small. He cries like a baby and begs her not to leave him behind.

The moment she dies, he catches her Soul. He holds it in his hands, hushing it like a scared bird and tucking it away into his chest, where he can keep her alive. Honestly, they'd have to cut him open if they wanted to let her pass on.

... But I think at that point, Red and Sans aren't exactly fighting to make him let go. In fact... something unspoken passes between the three of them. Skull just did what all of them wanted to do.

Skull gives her to Sans, who keeps her hidden away, within his own Soul. Her Soul knows his best, and will feel most comfortable there long-term.

They'll figure out something. They have all the time in the world.

[ronwestbreeze]

bow to me

pairing: geto suguru x non-sorcerer!reader warnings: gore and violence, use of the word "monkey" lol summary: you're your mother's deadliest sin word count: 5.1k author's note: i had fun with this one, hehe. hope you guys like it <3

part 1 | read on AO3

You weren’t a cursed spirit.

Or maybe you were, you weren’t necessarily well-versed in the world of curses and sorcerers. You just knew them by name.

You weren’t human.

Well, maybe you were, just a different kind. Cursed.

Yeah.

Maybe you were cursed.

There was an eerie quiet now. Your mind had never been so quiet. Not in a long time.

It was a rarity. This silence.

You decided that this was what peace felt like and that you weren’t going to let it go. You weren’t going to deny yourself any longer.

In the end, it was pathetically funny. Pretending to be normal whenever you never were. From birth, you had always been like this. So, you leaned back in the chair, your arm covering your face, and laughed.

And laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

It was hilarious.

The bodies lying at your feet were quiet as stone. But you figured they’d laugh too if they were alive.

Once your laughter went to giggles, you peeked over your arm and stared up at the ceiling fan.

“You’re your mother’s deadliest sin.” You sang to yourself. At least that’s what your father always said.

“She’s saved!”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

You dropped your face into your hands and shivered. Bile coated your throat, tightened with such conviction. But none of it was from the stench of the bodies around you. It wasn’t the taste of flesh on your tongue.

Tears spilled out of your eyes uncontrolled.

You laughed. You cried. You couldn’t really tell anymore.

“You won’t have to suffer anymore.”

Applause.

Applause.

Applause.

What the hell were they clapping for?

You opened your eyes, staring straight at one of the bodies lying down in front of you. Lifeless eyes that were once pleading for mercy, staring back at you. And for an instant, that little voice—the you a year ago, still trying to be human, still trying to live life as a regular sixteen-year-old—whimpered.

What am I doing?

You were cursed.

No, no, no, I promised I would. I promised!

Your father saw you as a blessing.

What am I doing? This isn’t me. This isn’t—

And your mother died for it.

“Now you can rest, my sweet girl.”

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

Your breathing was shaky. But your body gave in multiple times. You sat up straighter, taking in all the bodies in the small living room.

Perhaps, you went a little far this time.

Then again, you’ve been hungry for a long time now.

“Do you have any more rice balls?”

You remembered their little faces so vividly. The only memory you allowed to snake its way through your mind while pushing everything else back into the tight box.  So detailed. Precious. Undeserving of this world.

You failed them. You should’ve fought harder and killed the townspeople yourself.

Unfortunately, someone had beaten you to it.

2007

It’s been a pretty hellish day.

Granted, it might’ve been partially your fault.

You had gone on another binge but made sure to keep the bodies to a minimum of five this time around. But you supposed that was still too much because it drew some unwanted attention.

Usually, you kept to yourself at an abandoned hospital south of Tokyo. That was where you fed and left the bodies to rot. No one questioned it since many locals tended to stay away from the hospital. Something about it being haunted.

The haunted part was also, technically your fault but that’s beside the point.

Earlier in the day, it was pretty regular. You had a new job working at a café which gave you a lot of access to coffee in case you got a little squirmy around people, especially flesh. And the job had been pretty steady, you’ve been in the city for about half a year now. And it’s been pretty simple.

You’ve somewhat learned to control your hunger, choosing certain days to feed. Choosing the type of people to feed from, such as perverted men or just men in general whenever you felt extra pissed that day. Rarely did you go after women unless you were really, really hungry.

Children were off limits.

Sorcerers were a rarity. And all the more fun.

So what you expected as your usual day suddenly turned interesting when an older man you were serving started asking you strange questions.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not on the menu, sir.” Was your casual answer with the usual customer service smile.

The man grinned, “Wow, you almost seem convincing. I’m impressed.” He leaned his elbows on the table with a smug smirk, “Curses have gotten so advanced in this day in age, especially compared to when I first started.”

You kept your face neutral, “Sir, are you going to order or not?”

You weren’t human.

You knew this.

“Tell me,” The man continued, pinning you in place with an intense gaze. “How were you able to hide from us for so long?”

Now you were irritated. Strange how quickly that happened these days.

Instead of taking his obvious bait, you offered a sweet smile, “I’ll go get you another waitress. And when you’re ready to order she’ll help you.” You tucked your notepad into the pocket of your apron. “I have other tables to attend to. Excuse me.”

After a quick bow, you left his table. He didn’t stop you either with another strange question or observation.

This was going to be a long day. But you couldn’t help the secret grin tugging at your lips as you entered the kitchen.

“Heh.”

“And where is the curse now?”

The human man, Geto never bothered to learn his name, swallowed nervously, “It was at the hospital for awhile and then, well, we lost it for a second—but we managed to track it down to a local café. Since then, the curse hasn’t left.”

Geto hummed and stood from the altar, “Any sorcerers?”

“One found it. But updates have told me neither of them have left the café yet.”

The curse was elusive, Geto figured. A month ago was the first time he received word about it. There were many bodies left in its wake, so it sounded like they were quite the powerful curse. A special grade, perhaps.

It’s just that no one has managed to catch a glance of it. But apparently, it was attached to a human girl.

Simple enough.

“Bring Larue. We’re taking a small trip.” Geto smiled passively at the man. “You’re of no use to me anymore.”

He should’ve sent Larue in the first place instead of this monkey. A mistake he would not make again. While yes, the human could see curses, he was still of little use to Geto-sama. Plus, he was slightly irritated that he nearly lost the curse.

That deserved some form of punishment.

Geto sent him another smile, “Why don’t I award you accordingly?”

A curse appeared next to him, startling the human into a frightful scream as he stumbled off and ran.

“Make sure to go and find Larue for me whenever you can!” Geto called happily as the man kept screaming further into one of the temple corridors.

After a moment, he dusted his robes off and sighed, “Alright then. Time to get to work.”

“Huh, I thought you’d last longer.”

You mumbled as your kagune tore straight through the sorcerer’s abdomen and pinned him against the now scarlet-stained wall. By now you were sure that all the coffee was filled with drips of blood from all the deathly pale customers and former co-workers. How unfortunate.

The sorcerer didn’t respond or move. At this point, you were talking to a corpse.

“Aw, man! Now I have to get a whole new job.” You pouted, letting the body drop to the floor with the rest. “You see what you made me do? Could’ve left me be, serving gross-ass coffee. But you just had to play hero—not a very good one—but a hero, nonetheless.”

You allowed your kagune to retreat into your spine and get off the front counter. “Now how should I paint this canvas? Leave you all as is? Let the humans believe this to be a random homicide?” You stuck your tongue out, “Bleh, boring!” You knelt in front of the dead sorcerer and found yourself giggling as if he told you a joke, "Or maybe you killed them all and then yourself. Yeah, seems fitting. Sure to keep the rest of your kind off my back for a little bit. Including the humans.”

With that, you nodded to yourself and hummed a catchy tune to yourself as you went to grab a knife from the kitchen. After dancing to the song in your head, you stabbed the sorcerer in the abdomen multiple times until it was coated in his blood.

The whiff of the blood was delicious and you couldn’t help but get a few licks before putting the knife in his limp hand.

For a moment, you remained crouched in front of him. Staring straight at this corpse. Wondering when you became so used to the blood. To finding flesh so delicious.

Guess you couldn’t help who you were in the end.

Was it sad? Was it relieving?

You couldn’t say.

With a sigh, you stood, instantly catching movement in the reflection of the café front window.

“Hi, there.”

You barely had time to turn and see who else was in the café with you.

It felt as if an invisible chain yanked you back.

And everything turned black. Though, you weren’t unconscious.

And here entered the hellish part of the day.

Perhaps it wasn’t simple.

When Geto saw the curse for himself, he originally, only saw a human. But upon further inspection, he saw it. That cursed spirit. It was just hidden by that human cover.

Was it inside of the human? Was it even attached?

Or was the human the curse?

Either way, he was able to capture it and swallow it down like all the others.

The taste was strange though. Putrid like the rest but there was a sweetness to it. It was a pleasant surprise. Apart of him wished he could taste her all over again. The type of sweetness that was addicting. What a nasty drug.

It was definitely a special grade. That much was clear.

Useful. He needed power like this on his side. He was lucky to have caught it first before those sorcerers could.

Well, technically the dead sorcerer did find it first but didn’t have much time to exorcise it. Clearly.

He chuckled at the scene before him, “Well, aren’t you a gruesome little thing.”

And it was his to claim.

Proud of his recent accomplishment, he and Larue went back to the temple with more work awaiting them, well for Geto mostly.

“They’re all waiting for you, sir.” One of his followers informed him.

Next to him, Larue grinned, “Another speech tonight, Geto-sama?”

“That’s where I do my work best.” Geto smiled with a nod as he walked to the main room.

Upon entering, dozens of followers left from the Time Vessel Association got on their knees and pressed their foreheads to the matted floor.

“We live in a disease. Sickness everywhere we look.” Geto took his seat at the altar, brushing out his robes. “And it is our job to get rid of it. To clean this world of monkeys. And I recognize that many of you are hungry for that. But all followers must be guided in the right direction.” His smile grew as they kept their heads down. None of them dared to look him in the eyes as he spoke. They respected him. They adored him.

It’s what he deserved.

“You all obey me now if you wish to live and see the world we create.” No one objected to this. Larue stood further at the back with a proud smile. “Do you trust me to lead you all without question? If not—”

It’s as if for a short moment, he wasn’t in control of his body. His stomach twisted into painful knots, and his throat both retracted and tightened until he finally lurched forward and retched the ball with the curse out onto the matted floor.

“Geto-sama!”

That had to be Larue’s voice. But Geto couldn’t hear much of him. Not with a bleary mind, dazed in confusion and shock.

Yes, in the past he had vomited after swallowing curses. But they never came back up.

What the hell?

You weren’t sure where you’d end up after scaping but you sure as hell wasn’t expecting to be standing before a bunch of people, bowing but staring at you in utter shock and delicious fear.

Of course, you were still pissed about being captured but your lips lifted upward into a smirk at the sight. That is until your eyes caught on an old insignia on the wall.

The symbol for the Time Vessel Association.

You scoffed, “You guys never give up, huh?” You wiped the leftover blood off your lips and grinned, “Can’t even let it go after almost three years? That’s fine, I guess. More food for me.”

In your mouth, your canines began to ache just as your eyes locked on one of the men.  Frozen in fear at the sight of you. Looking like he was just about ready to run out of there.

“Excuse me.”

The voice rang in your ears. Coming from behind you like at the café. Lazily, you glanced over your shoulder only to be met with the last person you ever expected to see.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t eat my loyal followers.”

You didn’t recognize him at first. His hair was longer, and he wore a kasaya over his black robes—but his smile was the same, just with something a lot more sinister.

“Hey,” You mused with a raised brows, “You killed me last year. And took my girls.”

He stared at you too—you were sure he recognized you too with the subtle look of familiarity flashing in his eyes.

Of course, he recognized you.

The sweet store clerk from that village. The non-sorcerer that had made him falter back then—only by a little.

His conviction about it had been long resolved though. To him, you were just like the rest of them. A monkey.

Although, you looked quite different with blood tattooed onto your face, clothes, and body. Wearing it proudly like a second skin.

Showing little reaction to recognizing you was easy.

But it was the way you said ‘my girls’ that made his fingers twitch and his smile become stiff.

“Larue. The meeting’s ending early. Please, escort everyone out. Some important matters that need tending to.”

After the man, Larue, gave you one last cautious stare—you didn’t bother sparing him a look—he led the rest of the group out of the room. Leaving only you and this man. A cult leader if you had to guess.

“I didn’t think you were close with the girls.” He mused as he began circling you, brown eyes staring intently at every part of your body. Almost as if he were looking for something.

“Yeah? How could you after you killed me?” You threw back easily, unmoving from your spot as you let him circle you. It was a little game, you thought. You would pretend to be the prey while you let him be the predator. “Didn’t leave me much room to say anything more either. Not with your—you still on that whole killing humans shit?”

You heard him chuckle faintly behind you, “Yes, I am.”

“Mmm. How quirky of you.”

He appeared in your vision, stopping before you with his hands tucked behind his back. The way he moved was elegant like he was acutely aware of his body and those near it. “I hate to break it to you but they’ve long forgotten about you,” His smirk grew, eyes gleaming as he watched your reaction—or rather something else, you remembered he always did that when the two of you first met. “I made sure of that.”

Of course, he still wanted some reaction from you but it didn’t help that he naturally had the face of a liar—even more now than back then—so you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

The man’s—whom you still had yet to learn the name of—smirk never wavered but he still kept staring. Right through you. “You wouldn’t be meeting them, unfortunately. Not when I’m done with you.”

“Ooh.” A grin left your lips as he continued circling you. “Done with me, huh? By a girl dinner first.” He hummed from behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, having to look up only a little to see his face. Your voice was slow when you asked, “What do you plan to do to me?”

There was a chuckle as he slipped from behind you to appear in front of you once more. “So are you a vengeful spirit? I don’t particularly have time for a random human to be haunting me. I’d just kill you and be done with it.” You tilted your head but didn’t respond. Nor did he look for one. “Or you could just be a simple cursed spirit, but then there’s the question of your cursed energy. It certainly isn’t similar to a cursed spirit. And considering none of the ones I capture come back up, I’d have to cross that possibility off my list.”

“You’re talking a lot more than last time.” You pointed out, watching him curiously. He was dangerously close. And you were all too ready, all too hungry for this.

“Or,”

He continued as if you hadn’t said anything. His eyes still searching, a neutral smile playing on his face.

“Ah yes, now I see. The curse could be attached to you. A cursed human. Now how did your filthy monkey hands get a hold of this curse—”

He was close enough by then. That was his first mistake.

You snatched his neck and slammed him down onto the steps of the altar in a matter of seconds, completely taking the man off guard.

Now you straddled his waist, gripping his neck with both your hands as you laughed with wide ghoul-like eyes. His larger hand gripped your wrist, trying to free himself from your otherwise ungodly strength, his own eyes widening slightly when a red glimmer shot out of your back, sharpening to a point where it was pointed directly at his forehead.

“Who the hell do you think you are, huh?! Some god? Could’ve fooled me! Hey, why don’t we have a rematch? Maybe this time it’ll be a fair fucking fight!”

In a blink, something heavy snatched you up and swallowed you whole.

Geto sat up, rubbing his now sore neck as his curse flung around the room and landed on the ceiling, swallowing you.

“Heh,” He grunted out as he got to his feet.

Maybe he was pissed. Maybe he was intrigued. Maybe a little bit of both. Fortunately, none of his followers were in the room. Imagine they saw you manhandling him with ease like that. What leader would that make him? How could he appear weak like that in front of them?

But that didn’t stop the growing grin tugging at his lips. This was a completely different person compared to the human he met at the store—if you were even human at all. You had been so nice, and sweet—your smile so genuine. And now? Maybe death changed you. Maybe you were a cursed human.

Maybe you’ve always been like this.

“You’re not going to make this any easier on me, are you?” He sighed as he stepped off the altar, glancing toward his curse who still stuck to the ceiling. Watching him patiently. “I was going to offer to kill you quickly and then take the curse, but I see now you don’t deserve my mercy. I could have saved you. Maybe you should’ve stayed dead—either way, I’m going to enjoy having your cursed spirit under my control. It’s useful. Powerful. Something you monkeys lack—”

His curse exploded. Bits of it’s skin falling. Blood spilled onto the floor.

And a blurred object flying toward him at an ungodly speed.

Geto barely dodged you as he jumped out of the way.

You left a large hole in the floor when you landed where the man had been standing. Now your kagune was out and gleaming, hungry, and simmering with rage just as your blood was.

The man landed a few feet away from you, black holes appearing at his side with more curses spilling out of them. You grinned at this and stood straighter at the altar.

You looking down on him. Just as he had done with his followers.

Geto tried not to react at that. Tried not to show how pissed he truly was.

But you noticed it of course.

It made your grin follow into a laugh as you sunk easily into your fighting stance.

“You done spittin’ that narcissistic shit, yet?” You called amusingly. “Or are you ready for that rematch now?”

“That’s enough out of you.” He now didn’t look so amused as his cursed spirits launched themselves at you at once. “That curse does not belong to you. I believe it’s time you hand it over to me now.”

You allowed the two cursed spirits to get as close as possible before dashing from the altar and ending up in front of the man with a sickening sweet smile.

“Make me.”

But he didn’t lean away, your noses practically touching. He matched your grin, white teeth glistening in the dimly lit room.

“Gladly.”

More curses came flying at you. Some large and others small. You dodged and killed the smaller ones. The larger ones were a lot more difficult to get through. Truthfully, you didn’t know much of your limit to your strength or speed since you spent most of your life trying to suppress it all, but it seemed you were able to keep up anyway, coupled with your skills in martial arts.

And it seemed he was using the curses to keep you distracted long enough until he could get up close himself. His arms wrapped around you from behind, restricting you as a flying curse was zooming toward you, its beak wide open and ready to take your head.

“Comfortable?” He whispered in your ear, his chuckle tickling the lobe. “Is this what you wanted when we first met in that store? To be this close?”

You grinned and leaned back into him just a bit, “Your such a tease.”

With that, you smashed the back of your head into his face, forcing him to let you go as you spun and kicked him hard enough that he flew.

Fortunately for him, one of his curses caught him and another smashed into you, throwing you across the room. You quickly tore through it with your kagune and leaped back up to your feet just as he came at you.

His combat style was fast and far more experienced than you were, but you managed to keep up. You managed to land in a few jabs of your own until one of his curses took you down again.

You threw it off and spat out a mixture of spit and blood, “Cheater.”

“Like you’ve been playing fair.” He scoffed, rubbing his jaw from the last blow you had given him.

“Try not throwing your stupid curses at me and fight me yourself.” You challenged, jumping to your feet. “I can’t be the only one making the first moves here.”

Just as you said that you tackled him into the damaged altar stairs, straddling his lap again, tugging his hair so he was looking up at you, “Comfortable?”

He was staring up at you again, this time with visible interest, “You’re not human, are you?”

You rolled your eyes and let his hair go but kept your legs straddled at his waist, “What gave that away?”

“Are you done with your little show now?” He asked with a lazy smirk now on his face.

There was movement in the corner of your eye and you glared, “I swear to go if another one of your stupid curses—”

Another one slammed into you and threw you into a wall. “Asshole!” You grunted, holding your shoulder as you dodged another attack from the curse, “Play fair!”

The cheeky bastard grinned, “Make me.”

Your kagune came out. It was like a tail, almost. An extra limp that was a part of your body but hidden. It swished around, cautiously waiting for your command. Waiting for your next target.

The both of you were bruised and bloodied, surrounded by curses, but neither ready to back down just yet. You wondered how long the two of you would keep at this. Which one of you would eventually give in? Which one of you would die? Is that his end goal here? To still kill you?

Well, with the way the curses and him surrounded you, the latter seemed more possible with each passing second.

That didn’t mean you were ready to give in. Not like last time. Not like that night in the temple. The two of you stared at each other with silent challenge. He was back on the altar as if expecting you to bow down. Like you were supposed to submit like his little followers. He hid it well back then.

Only this time, there was a subtle look across his face. One he didn’t bother to hide.

He was hesitating.

Now was your chance to—

The doors behind you swung open behind you and a call of your name screamed desperately as a smaller body crashed into your back.

Your first instinct was to attack, to direct your kagune at the newcomer. Only when you felt smaller arms wrap around your waist from behind, you faltered.

Now you were hesitating.

Another body came at you at the front, just as small as the other one.

Nanako looked up at you with wide teary eyes, “Don’t hurt him! Please! We don’t want you to get hurt!”

Through your shock, you were a little offended. If they took one look at him, they’d see that you were managing just fine. But you didn’t voice that out loud. Instead, you allowed your kagune to disappear.

“We thought you were dead.” Mimiko whimpered from behind you, her hold tightening. “When Nanako said she heard your voice, I didn’t believe her. But you’re here! And we don’t want you to go!”

“Please don’t leave us again.” Nanako buried her face into your stomach, her voice becoming muffled. Silent tears were falling down your cheeks as you knelt to their height. “Please, please, please, don’t leave.”

“Okay,” You whispered to her, allowing Mimiko to come around and hug you from the front as well. You wrapped your arms tightly around them, ignoring how most of the curses that had surrounded you had disappeared. Ignoring how easily you melted in front of your girls. Ignoring how much your heart had been missing a void up until now. Ignoring how he watched the three of you intensely from the altar. “Okay, okay, I won’t leave. I’m right here.”

Mimiko pressed her cheek against yours, “Promise?”

You chuckled shakily, realizing how much you were trembling as you held them. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Okay, well, we have to pinky promise on it,” Nanako said pulling back a bit as she wiped her tears on her hoodie sleeve. “We kept our promise. Now it’s your turn.”

Nanako held out her pinky which you took instantly. Mimiko lifted her head from your shoulder and joined her pinky with yours. You allowed them to fight over covering your much longer pinky with their little ones, earning small giggles from the girls.

Geto watched the interaction, silently.

The girls never approached anyone other than Geto himself. Not even the people he trusts the most, the girls weren’t as comfortable as they were with him.

He didn’t doubt the girls' adoration for him. Not one bit. They were his.

But perhaps he saw why they were also equally yours.

Mimiko and Nanako weren’t secretive about their relationship with you, even after they thought you had died—like he told them. They always spoke fondly of you, despite knowing you for only a short amount of time. Still, in that short time, they experienced the most kindness they had ever received.

He remembered you freeing them from the cage. He remembered your protective stance when he appeared to you at the temple. He remembered the distraught look on your face when the girls willingly went with him. It wasn’t betrayal. It was sadness mixed with the simmering rage that was directed at him.

You weren’t human.

That much was clear.

You weren’t entirely a curse spirit either.

Probably more human than curse.

Geto wasn’t too sure how to feel about that yet.

Not yet anyway.

The girls were now in front of him, staring up at him with big pleading eyes. They didn’t have to say it with words.

They wanted you back into their lives. Now that you were here and alive, they wanted you. Just as much as they wanted to be by Geto’s side.

Then there was the fact that he didn’t want to kill you anymore—which was oddly unsettling for him. Technically, you weren’t human. But there was still so much to uncover about you.

And your power was useful. He couldn’t kill something like that.

He was smiling at you again. That passive one. The one that was meant as a warning as he approached you with the girls following in tow behind him.

“I don’t believe we’ve formally introduced ourselves.” You raised a brow as he leaned forward, your faces now inches apart. “You can call me Geto-sama.”

You didn’t utter your name, but he said yours with ease. Falling off his tongue in his deep and smooth voice.

“The girls told me so much about you.”

“Geto, huh?” You mumbled when the last curse sunk away.

“My followers refer to me as Geto-sama, yes.” He nodded, the smile remaining on his face.

It was annoying.

You sent him a grin, “I’m not one of your followers. Geto.”

Ever so slightly, you could see the subtle twitch in his brow. And at that, your grin grew.

Mimiko was the one to speak next, “Can we keep her?”

[1-800-cr33py]

STILL GREEN

RZ! Michael Myers, AFAB Reader, Feminine Terminology Used, reader is lowkey highkey delusional

Green.

Green like freshness.

Green like new.

Green like envy.

Green like the jealous pit that lingered within his stomach every time he saw you talking to the neighbors. The same pit that ever only grew in size when it concerned you. You, his darling little mouse, so friendly, so kind. It’s what drew him to you, you know. Kindness wasn’t something that stayed within Smith’s Grove, nor was it catered to. Kindness was snuffed out, diminished at the first sign, but not you. Never you. It was an honest mistake really, you being there. Taking the fall for something someone else did, so valiant weren’t you? Oh, and then you met Michael. Just a boy he was, barely breaching 5’8 at the time, and then you came in, practically skipping. You were a mere year younger than him at the most. The nurses, god fucking damn those nurses, were rough with you, he was and would never be rough with you. Michael watched, a lot. He likes to watch you. You’re quite pleasing to look at in his eyes. You were kind to everyone despite everything the staff and patients did to you. You, his own personal sun, his warmth in this filth-ridden world.

You were his.

And he was your’s.

After your departure from Smith’s Grove, a sad day indeed. You didn’t leave Haddenfield. In fact, you moved back into your old house, fell back into a steady routine. It stayed like that for a good few years, you shedded that girlish immaturity of your’s. But you remained kind, warm. Your days at Smith’s Grove weren’t forgotten, your mind lingered on the boy you’d tried to befriend those handful of years ago sometimes you’d try and visit, though once again in vain. Soon, you moved on, or tried to. You lead a simple life, one that suited you. Work and home. That’s mostly what your days consisted of. Though the news blaring of a highly dangerous patient’s escape from the Sanatarium. Though the name was what made you drop the glass you’d been washing.

Michael fucking Myers.

Any normal person would be scared, terrified even. But you? Not a thing, well not a thing any one word could describe. He was alive after all of this? Something, a small string in your heart pulled for him. You knew how the staff treated the patients within those walls, how they treated Michael. It made you sick, and the memory of Dr.Loomis’s ‘interviews’ left you scarred. Michael was young then, still a boy.

The days were long, dull. Blending together with one another. People’s fear left them paranoid, and paranoia leads to other erratic behavior. Just the other hour an older couple practically had a melt down when they say some kid’s preparing for Halloween. It was sad, but not any of your business. Still, you continued your routine. Though your garden needed tending to. It was something you’d picked up from a grandparent, now it was just something to keep you busy, something to care for. The crisp October air was a pleasantry you’d taken comfort in, letting you wear your comfort jumpers to your hearts content. You knelt, the cold dirt hardened as you plucked at the weeds, tugging a few carrots, and clipping sweet peppers for dinner, though a chill ran down your spine. Not of fear, no, but of a feeling of being stalked. Like prey sensing their impending doom at the awaiting jaws of a predator. You straightened your back, head turning to study the surrounding neighbor’s yards and short stretch of wood.

The hair on the back of your neck bristled.

Him.

Michael was big, bigger than you thought a man could get. An orange mask covered his features, but even then you remembered those eyes. Oh his eyes.. Dr.Loomis was wrong, at least to you. Because Michael looked at you you’d hung the stars and moon themselves, like you were the holy being prophesied to save him. But in a blink, he was gone. You’d think yourself crazy had it not been for his eyes. The same eyes you’d felt drawn to in your youth.

That night you found little sleep. Creaking of your house made his presence know. He wanted you to know. Michael knew how to be quiet, how to make himself invisible, but he wanted you to know he was looming just a few feet away.

“ Michael. “ you announced, voice hoarse. The creaking stopped.

~Time Skip~

You’d gotten used to Michael’s presence, sure, the fact he’d eat any and everything sweet within your house and the neighbor’s was a bit..odd, but everyone has their quirks right? Some days, he’d stand behind you whilst you cooked, almost close enough to touch you. It took a long while to build that up, you weren’t complaining. But Michael was greedy. He wanted everything from you and more, it was the least he was owed after you left Smith’s right? It was the least you could do for him after he keeps your house protected! He encroached slowly, it started off with simple touches on your ankle, then you’d awake with his hand on the inside of your knee and so forth. And here you were now, underneath the mountain you called your house husband.

Michael’s cock throbbed in your heat, this was what? Your fifth orgasm? Sixth? Neither one of you cared enough to keep count. You were so faced out, crossed eyed and drooling at this point, and Michael was panting, guttural moans bordering whine erupting from his throat. He’d mumble what sounded like broken sounds of your name and ‘mine’, you couldn’t quite make it out even if you weren’t so cock-drunk. Michael’s hand crept from beside your head and made its way to your throat, he didn’t choke you, simply felt how small you were compared to him. How delicate you were beneath him. All his. The mere thought has his cock aching, and the look you gave him was delectable. Your perfect lips parted, he stilled. Awaiting your words with a bated breath. “ Please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-“ you begged. The sweet whines you gave Michael were his salvation. You were his heaven begging him for entry. You were his God. His Heaven, his Hell. All gift wrapped into one, perfectly flawed being and all his for the taking. Michael groaned, a guttural sound, his head falling beside your’s, his dark blond locks falling over his face. The night was still young, and your pleas only egged him on further.

Michael’s thrusts quickened, his tip kissing your womb. He could feel you getting close, after all your were practically milking his cock as it was, but now? Your weeping cunt was like a vice. You wrapped you legs around his broad waist, whining and keening for him to bring you past the edge again, despite being so sensitive already. Needy baby, weren’t you? Michael smiled, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as you came. Your vision turned white as you tightened your legs around Michael, spent body trembling as you began to go limp. Michael’s head rose from your shoulder, blood staining his teeth as he stared you down, his eyes blown with lust. His kiss swollen lips quivering lips muttering silent words before uttering a statement that had your core aching once more.

“ Not done. “

Author’s Comments: OKAY SOOOO I’m a day behind and it’ll most likely stay that way because my schedule this month is packed as hell already. Mod 800 is currently on break for reasons I will not disclose nor discuss and I will most likely be handling the rest of KinkTober. This is kinda rushed and once again English is neither Mods first languages so please be considerate. Thank you ghoulies!

Signing off,

Mod 888

[redrobin-detective]

Simon Petrikov headcanons

Only child, had loving parents who supported him but often left him alone for long stretches of time. An eager, empathetic child, he craved relationships with others and struggled to find them. The people he cares for, he loves completely and with everything he has.

He and Betty were such an obnoxious couple. They were each other's first everythings and became attached at the hip from the moment they started dating. They did everything together, mostly because it was Betty helping Simon with all his books and expeditions and research. Dated 2 years before proposing and things fell apart not long after. Simon had his doctorate while Betty was finishing hers, they planned the wedding for after she got her degree.

Was in his mid-late 30s when he first put on the crown. He'd just gotten his PhD and proposed to Betty and was at the happiest point in his life. Secretly believed but never really acknowledged that the reason Betty disappeared is that he accidentally killed during during his first bout of crown induced madness. That lingering grief and guilt was a major driver of his later princess kidnapping mania, seeking out the princess his heart knew was gone. He calmed down again once he realized Betty was alive.

After Betty disappeared, he became a hermit to avoid hurting others and the War happened a few years later. He was affected enough by the crown's magic to not suffer from the radiation sickness. He met Marcy a few years after.

Always wanted children, even when he'd been a child. Was somewhat resigned to it never happening until he met Betty. One of their first big discussions as a couple was about their mutual desire for kids. They both wanted a big family.

Has a somewhat addictive personality which is one reason why he could never truly abandon the crown. Goes through phases with food where he'll only eat a certain thing for months on end. Smoked like crazy, he was trying to quit because it bothered Betty but never quite managed. Even a thousand years later, he still wakes up sometimes craving a cigarette.

Is actually quite different physically from modern humans. Future humans only have 4 fingers and toes, they also have a slightly different internal organ structure that evolved post-war. Simon and humans give each other slight uncanny valley vibes, facial/skeletal shape is mostly the same but a bit tweaked that they can tell something is off slightly. Oooans live longer, are more durable and have more flexible bones. Simon nearly faints when he sees Finn bend his arms in ways that's impossible for him.

Simon retains some effects of the crown. His dark brown eyes became a piercing light blue after that first time and never went back. While he loses all magical ability, he has a higher sensitivity towards it. Has a crazy high physical cold tolerance and can survive temperatures that would harm a normal person. However, his mental tolerance for cold is low. Hates being cold and bundles on layers whenever it's chilly.

He didn't keep memories well while as Ice King. When he came back to himself he found he remembered cold hard facts he learned as IK (names, events, general history of Ooo) but personal memories were only 'dreamlike impression'. People will tell him things he did and Simon will not remember, he finds it very upsetting. Every now and again, a memory will bubble up and no matter what he's doing he'll need to hide away out of embarrassment.

A musical prodigy, someone who can pick up and learn instruments quite easily. Could have done music professionally if he'd been so inclined but preferred it as a hobby. In order of proficiency it was piano -> keyboard -> harmonica -> acoustic guitar -> fiddle -> violin -> ukulele*. *Can only play his and Betty's song which he sang when he proposed.

Drums was never an instrument he learned pre-crown, it was never something he wanted. He learned as Ice King, a way to express his innate musical talent in a medium that fit the cursed king. Plays intermittently after being freed but it takes him years before he becomes comfortable with them.

Taught Marcy the basics of guitar while they traveled together. She'd already expressed an interest in music and he was happy to teach her and sing to her as a way to keep up her spirits. Often joked guitars weren't his specialty but they were easier to find/more portable in an apocalyptic world.

Every couple of months, he and Marcy will pick a venue and play together. Its never announced, they just show up someplace and start playing. The audience goes wild but they're just having having a little family jam session.

Goes grey early. He has a massive panic attack when he first noticed streaks of white in his hair. He thought he was turning back into Ice King before he realized he was just getting old. Its a concept just as foreign and frightening.

It took a long time for Simon to admit what Marcy was to him, it felt presumptuous to think of her as his own when he could barely provide for her and was slowly losing his sanity. Meanwhile Marcy saw him as a parental figure right away. They've since talked about it and acknowledge it but just call each other Marcy and Simon for simplicity's sake. Sometimes, when she's feeling fond she'll call him 'old man' and it makes him feel like a king.

Marcy has a serious fear of Hunson taking offense to Simon filling in the father role. Its one reason she doesn't call him dad even if she feels it. Hunson is cruel and apathetic and possessive. She won't risk Simon falling victim to his petty whims.

Worked hard to make up his past behavior to the people he'd hurt. Many were forgiving but some weren't and he had to learn that some people would never accept his efforts. Took a long time for he and PB to get on good terms. Bubblegum holds grudges and Simon was so ashamed over his actions he would've avoided her if not for Marcy. For her sake, the two of them painfully, awkwardly made peace with each other. They're now quite friendly and even hang out occasionally without Marcy.

Is super uncomfortable around Gunter/Ice Thing for a while. Takes him awhile to work up the nerve to go back to the Ice Kingdom. Ice Thing thinks of Simon as his father and refers to him as such which initially flusters Simon but he gets used to it. They're friendly, but not really close. Ice Thing houses the majority of Simon's book/artifact collection until he donates it to museums. Simon visits every now and again for research purposes and to see the penguins who mutually miss him. The more Simon feels separated from Ice King the easier time he has with Ice Thing.

Everyone but Finn realizes that Simon has basically adopted him. Finn continues to live with Jake until he dies then alternates between crashing at Marcy's, PB's and Simon's place and disappearing on quests for months at a time. Simon worries and dotes on the young human: making meals, keeping his place clean and generally being supportive until Finn is a bit more stable. Finn's obliviousness to Simon's paternal feelings makes him back off a bit more into friend territory but he still worries.

Simon not only moves out of his museum apartment but also out of the floating human city. It isolated him up there, being so unrelatable to the other humans. Moves back down to Ooo and Bubblegum gets him set up with a big house with plenty of extra bedrooms for his friends kids to stay in.

After the events of F&C, he throws himself into his third chance with a gusto. Still has bouts of depression and anxiety the rest of his life but its more controlled. He helps formalize education across the board and creates the first higher education institute in Ooo. Teaches not only about pre-war history but becomes the historian on the history of Ooo. Keeps records, writes books and does interviews that help capture the world which are referenced far into the future. While he will always be associated with Ice King, Simon makes a name for himself as well.

[miammey]

Very rare HSR post from me, but idea that I don’t feel like writing

(ALSO BOOTHILL BACKSTORY LEAKS!!!)

Little agrenthill thing!!

Boothill’s told Argenti about his daughter and what happened, so he already knows that part, but late Boothill’s feeling kinda down one day, and off-handedly mentions it’s his daughter’s birthday (well, the day she was found), and how he kinda just wants some space (you know to be sad and broody and stuff)

Now imagine Argenti taking the time to make a small cake or something for her, nothing special, and he couldn’t make it personal to her since she wasn’t even old enough to form her own interests yet, but he still wants to do something for her, even if she’s long gone and they had never met before, she was someone important to his beloved.

Boothill walks in on him icing the cake, asking what it’s about, and Argenti tells him his thought process, how even if she’s no longer with us, and even if he had only known her for a short amount of time, she deserves to be celebrated.

Boothill was silent, Argenti asked if he’d overstepped and apologized if he did, but Boothill just starts crying, tears silently falling down his face. He hadn’t cried for her, or anyone in his family, for years now. He’s cried for them enough, days huddled out in those reserves just crying, barely eating, unable to do anything just yet while he processed what had happened, but here he was, casual clothes, no gunslinging that day, meant to just be spending his time with his boyfriend, the perfect time to finally crack the jar bottling up his emotions just enough to breathe.

His life, whatever was left of it, was so focused on revenge, tearing away his own humanity just to tear down the bastards who took away not only his home, but the home of so SO many others.

For a moment, he was not a machine built for destruction, but a man who missed his family.

He missed his parents, his siblings, his daughter, his horse and the farm dogs they kept around, even the asshole neighbors that likes to steal eggs from them. None of them survived.

Argenti went to comfort him, apologizing, but no, Boothill wasn’t upset about the cake, in fact he was glad that Argenti cared enough to make a cake for a long dead child. He thanked Argenti for the effort, and for doing this in the first place, and tells him that she would’ve loved it.

Boothill spent the next couple hour telling stories about his family. How his daughter loved sweets, or any food really. The stories his parents would tell, funny stories of mishaps on the farm, with Argenti giving him his full attention.

While enjoying the cake, Boothill spent the rest of the day keeping the memory of those he was fighting for alive, even if he himself was a dead man walking.

[harrywavycurly]

The Last Visit: An Eddie Munson Oneshot

TW: Death/dying, mentions of blood, cemetery

A/N: This is pure sadness, but like a tiny tiny tiny hint of happiness if you squint? I’ve had this idea in my head all day and it just seemed interesting and I hope y’all enjoy also sorry I didn’t edit it much I wrote it in one sitting✨

Eddie zips up his jacket as he walks down the worn out path, the only sound he hears is the crunching of leaves beneath his shoes and trees blowing in the slightly chilly autumn breeze. He looks around and can’t help but feel a little sad at how empty it is, he knows it’s an odd time to be here but still he feels as though he shouldn’t be the only one here every time he comes to visit. The moment he turns the corner his eyes land on the reason he’s here, the Hawkins cemetery, he smiles when he sees the flowers he put up last week are still there and haven’t blown away or dried out yet.

“Hey sweetheart.” he whispers as he places his hand on the cold stone. “Miss me?” He asks as he takes a seat on the bench in front of the headstone.

“It’s a little hard to miss someone who doesn’t ever really leave.” Your voice is as clear as day as you lean against the shiny marble stone that has your name etched on the front of it. Eddie just rolls his eyes as you playfully glare at him.

“I don’t want you to get lonely.” Eddie watches as you look around at all the headstones covering the ground of the cemetery.

“I’m not alone Eddie.” You explain as you walk around your headstone and pick up the flowers he had picked just for you. “It’s been six months.” Eddie looks down at his feet as you bring the flowers up to your nose so you can smell them. He doesn’t need to be reminded of how long you’ve been gone, he knows exactly how many weeks, days and hours it’s been since he lost you.

“It feels like it happened yesterday.” His voice is low and you know he’s a few moments from losing it by the way he runs a hand over his face and looks away from you. “I can still hear Harrington’s voice in my ear telling me you’re gone.” His voice cracks as you slide down the front of your headstone so you’re sitting with your back against it as the memories of your last few moments alive flood your mind.

“No no no.” Steve’s voice is frantic as he runs to the middle of the street in front of Family Video where you were headed to start your closing shift. “You’re okay.” You can tell by the way his eyes get wide as they scan over your face and your body that he’s lying. You can’t feel much as you lay in the middle of the intersection’s crosswalk, Steve carefully lifts your head so it’s resting in his lap.

“It’s just a scratch right?” You mumble and Steve just nods his head as a few tears slip down his cheeks.

“Yeah just a scratch.” He repeats as he grabs your hands and holds them in his, you can hear sirens in the distance but you know they’ll be too late because you can feel the warmth of the blood coming from your head now covering Steve’s lap.

“Tell him,” you find it hard to speak but Steve just holds onto you tighter as he nods to try to encourage you to keep going. “I love him so much.” You feel your eyes water as tears freely fall down your face. “And I’m sorry I won’t be home for dinner.” Steve looks away from you as he tries to hold himself together.

“I’ll tell him.” He promises as he looks at you one last time before you feel everything beginning to go dark. “It’s okay.” Is the last thing you hear Steve say before your eyes close for the last time.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say as you look over at Eddie who is already staring right back at you as a single tear rolls down your cheek. “But you can’t just keep coming here Eddie you need to try to move on.” Eddie lets out a sigh of frustration as he stands up.

“Move on? How the fuck am I supposed to move on when my wife was taken from me by some asshole on a random ass Tuesday afternoon on her way to work?” You let him get it all out because you know he’s been holding it in for a while. “It makes no fucking sense so that’s why I can’t move on.” He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at your headstone. “Why’d it have to be you? Of all the people in the world why are you the one that had to die that day?” You stand up and drop the flowers letting them land right in front of your name.

“It was going to happen eventually.” You know that’s not what he wanted to hear as he takes a step closer to your headstone. “You deserve to be out there living your life not hanging out with dead people.” You fight the urge to reach out and touch him but you know it’s pointless because he can’t feel you.

“You know she looks just like you.” You smile at the mention of your daughter. “Sometimes a little too much but in a good way.” Eddie reaches into his back pocket so he can grab his wallet.

“Better me than you right? Isn’t that what Wayne would say.” Eddie just chuckles as he shakes his head, he opens the wallet and holds up a photo of your little girl who just turned two almost three weeks ago. “If you needed a reason to move on and start living your life to the fullest you have the biggest one in your hand right now.” Eddie looks down at the photo and smiles at his little girl’s big goofy grin on her cake covered face. “She needs you.” You watch him bend down and place the photo next to the flowers by your headstone.

“I love you.” Eddie swallows back the lump in his throat as he looks at your name etched in the stone.

“I love you too.” You answer as you move so you’re back behind your headstone. “Moving on doesn’t mean you love my any less Eddie.” Eddie turns so he can look at you as you speak. “It just means you’re making room to let others in.” You give him your best reassuring smile making him just nod because you’re right, as usual. “This is our last visit.” Eddie knew this moment would come, where he’d stop being able to see you and it would become all too real that you’re actually gone.

“I’m not ready.” He knows he sounds like he’s begging but he doesn’t care, you feel his sadness and it’s overwhelming making tears flow down your cheeks. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You already are.” Your voice is soft and sweet as it flows into Eddie’s ears. “You’re going to be okay Eddie.” You look away from him as you begin yourself starting to fade. “I’ll check in on you two from time to time.” Eddie just nods as he wipes at his cheeks with the back of his wrist.

“I love you.” Is all he can saw as he watches you give him one last smile as you fade away and eventually disappear. “I’ll always love you.” He whispers as he places a hand on top of your headstone. He stays there for a few more minutes before he looks at his watch and sees it’s almost time for him to go pick his daughter up from your mom’s house so the two of them can go have dinner with Wayne.

“See you later sweetheart.” Is all he says before he turns and begins his walk back towards his car. Eddie knows this is the last time he’ll come visit you for a while and deep down he knows you’re somewhere smiling down at him because you’re right, he needs to start living life again but not just for himself but for the little girl that calls him dad.

[azurevi]

how they lose you

characters: malleus, leona, ace

cw: major character death, wounds and blood (leona), brief mention of blood (ace)

note: not my best work but i just wanted some good ol’ angst 🤌

Malleus: inevitably

"You know this isn't right." Lilia said with a sternness that he so seldomly displayed, arms crossed and gaze piercing. "You've kept them for what, hundreds of years?"

Two hundred and thirty-two, to be exact. Malleus kept his silence.

"Look, this is your decision, not mine. But you can't cheat death forever. The longer you go on-"

"I get it, Lilia." 

With a brief shake of his head, Lilia walked down the hallway and vanished into the shadows.

Malleus remained as still as a statue for another minute outside your room. It wasn't as if he wasn't aware that there was a limit to how much he could do to keep you alive, but what was he to do except to go on? 

It seemed that time didn't give him the choice this time.

Mustering a gentle smile, he knocked on the door and entered. The sight of you lying on your bed made his heart squeeze. Your lunch remained untouched on the nightstand.

"Malleus," you raised your hand weakly, and he strode to capture it.

"Hey, my dearest. How are you feeling today?"

A forced chuckle came out of you. "Could always be better."

In the strained silence, he took a seat by your bed and clasped your hand, bringing it to his lips. You looked as young and endearing as the first time he'd met you, but the shine in your eyes, the one that would always brighten as you took him in, had long vanished. In its place was hollowness. A husk devoid of life.

Magic was not invincible. It could prolong your lifespan for longer than you could ever imagine, but it couldn't shield your soul from the passage of time. It could preserve and care for the flesh, but not the mind.

And here you were, jaded, waned.

"Lilia was just telling me," he started, though every word felt like the worst betrayal to himself. "He thinks we've gone too far."

"Have we?" There was a moment of hesitation in your eyes. "What do you think, Malleus?"

"I think you have spent far too long living for me, my love. I'd like to know how you really feel."

The silence was deafening as he waited for your answer. He understood that you loved him with all your heart, and he was no different, but somewhere in there, he'd known all along that you were only doing this for him and his happy ending. You couldn't bear to burden him forever with grief, so you proposed using magic, spells, potions, anything that could grant you more seconds. 

It was great at first, but a long life was lonely. People came and went like wind, and no one ever stayed long enough. Malleus would know. Everytime he sat beside you as you mourned for another lost friend, he felt as though he'd been the one driving the blades into your heart, forcing you to shoulder the brutality of eternity with him.

At one point, life became wearisome. You could not escape the Sisyphean cycles of life, the constant loving and losing, the mountainous weight all these feelings and memories put on your mind. You were never meant to live this long and feel this much, but you kept going anyways, staying for one last hug, one last kiss, one last day where you could pretend everything was fine.

But it was not fine, and Malleus had hogged you from death long enough. The expiration date had long passed.

"You know I love you right?" Your voice pulled him back to reality. He nodded surely. 

"And frankly, I would do anything just to be with you till the end of time, but the truth is," you flexed your fingers, wetness forming around your eyes. "I can't… I can't feel your touch anymore. I know that you're here with me, but I always feel so far away. It's like someone is beckoning me home, even though you're my home. I'm trying very hard to fight it, and I–"

He put his arms around you as your body shook from the tears overflowing from you. If it was decades ago, it would be enough to calm you down, but he couldn't pretend anymore. Time was banging on the door, demanding what belonged to it. 

As powerful as Malleus was, there were still things he couldn't win against.

"I know we've spent a long time together, but it will never be enough. I will always have new things to tell you about, new places I want to go with you, new discoveries to marvel at together, but I'm at the end of my line. I can't go any further," you buried your face in his hair, taking in a shuddering breath. "Do you think we can try something else? Doctors, medicines,..."

Yes, there's always something else, Malleus wanted to say. Yet the moment he felt your tears scorching his skin, he knew that his love for you could never be blindsided by his selfishness. If it was something that made you happy, he would go to the end of the universe and back to get it. 

And if you wanted to let go, even if it took everything in his soul to accept it, he would make sure to be there as you took your last breath.

"I don't think we will ever have enough time together, love," he fought against the louder voice in his head. "But the years we've spent together were nothing short of amazing, weren't they?"

You made a sound of agreement. 

"I believe we have tried our best and loved each other to the fullest. That is enough for me."

"That is enough for me too." You chuckled wetly. "Do you think you could… ever find love again? For my sake?"

The thought of his hand in someone else's felt like someone had misplaced his limbs or cut off one of his nerves. It felt wrong. 

"I don't think I can ever love anyone else as much as I love you."

"Alright," you drew his face up and met his lips with a note of apology, but within there were also longing, gratitude, hopes and wishes for a happier future. All the things you couldn't fit into words had been encompassed into this tender act, spilling into him, pushing the sorrow in his heart away.

Somewhere in the middle, he reckoned that this felt just like the first ever kiss you'd had together: tentative, gentle, scared to hurt, yet as magical as constellations colliding. You'd always had the ability to make him feel like the brightest star in the whole, wide sky.

With a few more farewells and arrangements later, he found himself seated on the balcony, overlooking all the sharp-edged pointy hills. The night sky was chasing the sun away, the last rays of light fighting through the cracks of mountains. You rested your head on his shoulder, fingers intertwined with his flawlessly.

"This is a bit scary," you confessed quietly.

"It's okay, I'm here." He squeezed your hand. "It's only you and me."

Once you'd given him your final nod, he wrapped his other hand atop of yours, and closed his eyes. All the magic that'd been fueling your body streamed out into his touch. Each memory, each laugh, each cry, each confession, each rejection, the whole of your life flowed under his touch. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever felt. 

He knew he could still pause this, but he wouldn't. Even as tears streamed down his face, even as he had no idea what the years ahead would be like, he kept on drawing the spell out of you. Even as your hands turned calloused and wrinkled, even as your hair turned into the color of snow, with all the years catching up on you, he still insisted to grant you the peace that you deserved.

As the sun sank under the dark silhouettes, the air carried your voice to him one last time.

"It's only… you and me."

Leona : a hollow victory

The fight had ended. There were no more cries and shouts for blood, instead replaced by relieved sighs and triumphant cheers. 

Leona’s heart was still drumming in his ears. Fatigue paralyzed his body. All around him were debris and a gooey dark ink, a byproduct of overblots. He reckoned that he was a skilled fighter, but this monster far stronger than everything he’d encountered before. Even with the concerted effort of what was basically the whole school, the lengthy and demanding battle still sapped all magic out of him.

He would probably need a whole week to recover, at the bare minimum. In fact, he could pass out on the ashy ground now, but there was something else on his mind.

He trudged past student after student, saw a few of them crowded together with tears of joy shimmering in their eyes. The longer he went searching, the more restless he felt. Possibilities flitted across his mind like a supercut of all his greatest fears: a body that wouldn’t answer, a wound that could not be salvaged, a pool of blood on the ground.

The thoughts were just about to drive him insane when he spotted you walking out of a thin cloud of smoke, where a wall seemed to have collapsed. There was a limp in your steps as you pulled your jacket closer around you, but you were okay. Thank the sevens, you were okay.

“Leona!” You noticed him a moment later, your mouth curling into a smile that trembled at the corners. He was too relieved to notice that, as well as the thick scent of blood that clung to you. It was probably someone else’s.

The distance between you shortened quickly thanks to his large strides, and you gripped onto his arms immediately, checking him for any injuries. It was ridiculous that you would even think that he would be wounded, but he let you look, bathing in the knowledge that you were both still here. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Tired as hell. I need a nap right this instant.” He said. 

“Of course you do,” you cupped his face with your shaky hand, an intimacy that he usually preferred to be exclusively private, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was just both of you and a war that was finally over.

Leona hadn’t realized how on edge he had been before this confirmation. His blood was still pumping with adrenaline, the fear that something else was coming looming over his head.

“You’re smearing ink on my face,” your touch left a sticky wetness, and he scrunched his face up. “Come on, let’s go find others.”

“Yea,” you followed him by your interlocked hands. “Okay. We’re going to find others and get a nice rest. Then we’re gonna… we’re gonna…”

You couldn’t make more than five steps. First Leona felt your hand on his bicep and heard you weakly asking him to slow down, then the slip of your hand, the slump of your body.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He questioned, cradling you tightly. There were spikes in his throat as he pushed the words out. 

“Nothing,” you tried to mask the shake in your voice with a chuckle, but it only came out as a pathetic wheeze. “I'm… sorry. I just had to see you again.”

As you grabbed at his hand again, the jacket fell away. Blood rushed away from his head as he took in the large, red gash on your abdomen, tainting the air with the thick smell of iron. 

Frantic eyes shot up to the hesitant bystanders before he barked out, “Call for help! Now!”

“Hey, calm down,” you tugged at his hand feebly.

“I should’ve never let you out of my sight. Screw those friends of yours,” he gritted his teeth, holding onto you for dear life. “You’re alright. You’re alright, just hang on-”

“Leona, breathe,”

He didn’t realize how hysterical he sounded until he stopped, breaths hitching as he tried to clear his head, but his mind split into thousands of voices, all demanding him to do something about your life passing in his arms, pulse by pulse.

“How do you expect me to stay calm in this situation?” He hissed. 

“Mm. I suppose you’re right,” you laughed dryly. “But I need you to listen to me first, alright?"

After mustering enough energy, you continued, "Promise me you'll be fine. Promise me that you will-"

"Sevens, no. Don't you dare pull this shit on me."

"Leona, you and I both know I can't make it."

Of course he knew– there was no way this amount of blood loss was normal, and he could feel how your body weighed heavily in his arms with nary a strength left in it. But you were the one thing he couldn't bear losing. He would rather admit defeat in the battle than lose you.

Before he knew it, there were hot tears running down his face. He wanted to scream at the world at its unfairness, at its cruelty, at its sheer audacity at snatching what he cherished the most away once again, but not even he was clever enough to have predicted death.

"Just promise me you'll be fine, please? I don't think I can go seeing you like this." 

It would be a lie, you and he both knew that. He would never get used to your absence, not when you'd been the one who broke down all his high, prideful walls and saw him as who he truly was, not when you'd been the person who made him feel hope after all this time, not when he still had so much of his future planned out for the both of us. 

Though he couldn't break your heart, could he? Especially not now.

"I promise." He bowed his head, touching your forehead with his. Even his tears were warmer than your skin. Your breaths slowly turned labored, each one fanning his cheek until there was nothing left. 

"Hey," you sighed. "At least we won, right?"

His body shuddered when your hand finally slipped away. He pulled back and held your face between his hands, whispering your name in hope that you would wake up, if only just for a second. The only response was silence. It gnawed at his insides until there was nothing left but the cold wave of grief that seized him, scraping his throat as it came out in the form of a guttural cry. 

The dust had settled, everyone celebrating their long-awaited victory. But Leona didn't feel like he'd won at all.

Ace : at the wrong time

Deuce had often berated Ace for the occasional harshness of his words, and rightfully so. He just never thought that they would bite back at him one day.

It was just an insignificant argument, one that took a turn for the worse only because neither of you were willing to back down. He’d offhandedly said something mean, and you hadn't taken well to it. A few clashes of wounding and stinging statements later, he had his back to you as you stormed out of his room.

He realized that evening that perhaps he’d made a mistake, that he couldn’t really sleep well without making up. There were times when he wondered whether there were venoms under his tongue that dipped everything coming out of his mouth in hate. But he supposed that it was just easier to be bitter than honest. 

The sleepless night filled his guts with remorse. He was determined to make it up to you. It would be easy, he’d done it a few times before— a nice tart from the local bakery, optional flowers, and a sincere apology to revoke all the things he’d spat out, that would go something like,  no, you’re not annoying, I just wanted to one-up you because I couldn’t admit that I’m at fault , or that line about how you weren’t worth my time? Sorry, I crossed a line there.

His sharp words ate away at him. Their weight only sank in after he’d blurted them out. The truth was, you meant to him a lot more than he was willing to admit. It’s just that he got clouded by his ego sometimes and forgot how you were basically the best thing that’d happened to him.

But that’s alright, he was going to make it up to you, and hopefully you would forgive him.

Perhaps the true mistake here was how he took everything for granted— your forgiveness, your love, the time that you had together. He never imagined that you would be taken away from him, not this soon, not this unexpectedly. 

Yet the truth still stood as he held the phone to his ear, the few spoken words dancing in his head: night, attack, critical. He was going to tell Deuce to knock it out until he heard the choked sobs strangling his voice.

He was no stranger to danger. The two of you were always getting into all kinds of mortal perils, ranging from forgetting Crewel’s homework to being chased by the overblot form of his short-tempered dorm leader. But the difference was that he had always been there with you.

All of his facades, all his dumb hope that he was just dreaming vanished as soon as he saw you on the bed, so serene that he tried to wake you up with a ‘hey’. But you were not going to wake up, and your hands had long gone cold.

Crouching next to your body, e imagined you, alone in the dark, shouting for help. He imagined your life trickling out of you along with the blood. He imagined you thinking that he never loved you in your last seconds, even though he did, so much.

The pain came in spasms, shooting out of his heart and spreading to his limbs. His voice was laced with desperation as he clung to you, begs and bargains spilling out of him like a broken dam. He would give anything to turn back time, to take back all those things he’d said. It had never crossed his mind that he would have to change himself, but he would now. If only you would wake up, come back to him, he would try harder to be someone you deserved. 

But there was no rewinding time, and nothing he said could ever bring you back. His love and apology hung in the air, and eventually returned to him as a knife lodged in his throat, a reminder that he hadn’t been there for you when it mattered most.

[doumadono]

"I love you more than life itself" - Akaza x Reader

Warnings: demon!reader, mentions of dying Synopsis: in the aftermath of a fierce battle with a Hashira, Akaza finds himself teetering on the brink of death. As his final moments approach, he realizes that he must make a choice: does he embrace the afterlife with his beloved Koyuki, or does he cling to the hope of survival for the sake of his demoness? Requested by: anonymous

MASTERLIST

Akaza fought a fierce battle against one of the Hashiras, but unfortunately, he was fatally injured in the process. His once-powerful body now lay on the ground, weak and unable to move. He could feel the warmth of his life force leaving his body, and with it, his strength and power.

As he looked up into the brightening sky, he couldn't help but think about his life and all the choices he had made. As he felt his life force slipping away, he closed his eyes and whispered a heartfelt apology to his wife, who had been taken from him so many years ago. He had longed to join her in the afterlife for so long, and now it seemed as if his wish was finally coming true.

Akaza's memories were slowly returning as he lay dying. His mind drifted to the past, to a time when he was still human and had a wife named Koyuki. They were deeply in love and had promised each other to never leave each other's side. However, fate had other plans. He could feel her presence calling out to him, urging him to join her in the afterlife. Memories of their time together flooded his mind, the laughter they shared, the love they had for each other.

Suddenly, a figure appeared before him. It was Koyuki, his wife, dressed in a pink kimono with her black hair pinned in a bun.

"Koyuki," Akaza whispered, his voice cracking as he slowly raised his hand as if he was about to grab her palm. "Is that really you?"

Koyuki gave him a small, sad smile. "Yes, Hakuji. It's me."

Akaza's heart swelled with emotion as he took in the sight of her. Her beauty had not diminished since the day she died, and it only made him ache for her even more. Her words set his heart ablaze.

"I've missed you so much," Akaza whimpered, his voice shaking.

"I know, my love," Koyuki replied softly. "But it's time for you to let go. You've done enough. You can finally rest."

Akaza shook his head. "I can't leave, not yet… There's still something holding me back."

"What is it?" Koyuki asked, her eyes full of concern.

Akaza hesitated before finally admitting, "I… I've met someone else."

Koyuki's expression changed - there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. She knew that her husband had found someone else in the years that she had been gone, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. "Hakuji, my dear husband. I understand that you have found someone new, but you must remember our love. You promised me forever, and I believed you. I want you to be happy, but you can't ignore your past, our past."

Akaza hung his head, ashamed. He knew Koyuki was right. He had made a promise to her, a promise he intended to keep until the end of time. But you had made him feel alive again, something he hadn't felt in decades. "I'm sorry, Koyuki," Akaza uttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've let you down."

Koyuki nodded slowly, her eyes downcast. "I see. And what about me? Have you forgotten about me?"

Akaza's expression softened as he reached out to her. "Never. I could never forget about you, Koyuki. You were the love of my life."

Koyuki smiled sadly, her eyes brimming with tears. "Then why are you still holding on to someone else? It's time for you to let go, Hakuji. You've suffered enough." Koyuki stepped closer to him, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek. "It's alright, my love. I forgive you." With that, Koyuki leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead, and Akaza felt a sense of peace wash over him.

However, just as he felt the embrace of his beloved, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him from beyond. It was you, the demon he had dated for decades, and a part of him hesitated. He had always felt a connection with you, a bond that transcended the differences in their species. But now, with the promise of reuniting with his wife before him, he was torn.

Akaza's senses were heightened as he tried to locate the source of the familiar voice he had just heard. He looked around, scanning the empty void that surrounded him. The air was thick with an eerie silence, and he could feel the weight of the emptiness pressing down on him. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of your voice, trying to drown out everything else. Akaza's eyes widened in surprise, his mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. "Y/N?" He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is that you, Y/N?"

The voice spoke again, clear and unmistakable. "Akaza, it's me. I'm here."

Akaza's heart raced with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he felt an overwhelming sense of joy at hearing yuour voice again after so long. On the other hand, he was torn between his love for Koyuki and the deep connection he shared with the demoness. Memories of their time together flooded Akaza's mind, reminding him of the passion and love you had shared. He remembered the way you had looked at him with such intensity, your eyes full of love and desire. He remembered the way you had touched him, the way your body had felt against his. Akaza's mind raced as he struggled to make a decision. Should he choose to join Koyuki in the afterlife, or should he continue to live with the demoness he loved?

Meantime, you were struggling to keep Akaza conscious, and you begged him to stay with you. "Please, don't leave me here alone. You can heal your body. You're a demon, you can recover from this," you pleaded, gripping his hand tightly, gently shaking his shoulder with your other hand.

Akaza's breathing was labored, his body trembling with the effort of staying alive. "I don't know if I can heal from this. It's too much, even for a demon," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he was hung between life and death.

"But you have to try," you insisted, your voice cracking with emotion. "I can't lose you, Akaza. I won't be able to live without you."

Akaza's eyes slowly closed as he drifted away into the unconsciousness again. His breathing became shallow and his body went limp. He knew that he was badly injured and that he might not make it through this. The pain was excruciating and his mind felt fuzzy.

Akaza's eyes fluttered open once more, and before him stood Koyuki again, her pink kimono billowing gently around her.

"Koyuki…" Akaza breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at him with a smile. "It's time, Hakuji. Time to let go of this life as a demon and join me. We can finally rest in peace, together."

Akaza's gaze drifted down to his battered and broken body, his wounds oozing blood. He knew that Koyuki was right, that his time as a demon was over. "But what about… her?" Akaza asked, his mind drifting to you again.

"She will find her own way," Koyuki replied gently. "You have done all that you could for her. Now it's time to focus on yourself."

Akaza's eyes widened as he looked at Koyuki, her image fading slightly before him. He took a step back, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I can't go with you, Koyuki," he uttered, his tone filled with sorrow. "I'm not ready to leave yet." Tears streamed down his face as he spoke, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. "I know I've been gone for so long, and I'm sorry for that," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't leave now. Not when there's still so much left for me to do."

Koyuki's image flickered once more, a look of sadness on her face as she spoke. Hakuji, my love, it's time to let go. You've lived a long life, and you've fought so hard. It's time to rest now, my love."

Akaza shook his head, his body trembling as he spoke. "I can't leave yet," he repeated. "There is still someone who needs me. There are still battles to be fought."

As he spoke, Koyuki's image began to fade away completely, leaving Akaza alone once more. He fell to his knees, surrounded by the darkness, his body racked with sobs as he realized that he had made his decision. He would not go with Koyuki to the afterlife just yet. There was still too much left for him to do in this world.

You gasped in disbelief and joy as Akaza's body began to slowly heal. Tears streamed down your face as you watched him, unable to contain the overwhelming emotions you were feeling. You thanked the heavens above for bringing him back to you.

As Akaza regained consciousness, he looked around in confusion before his gaze finally settled on you. He attempted to speak, but his voice was weak and strained. You hurriedly assured him that he was going to be alright, petting his bare shoulder.

With tears still streaming down your face, you recounted to Akaza what had happened and how worried you had been. You told him that you were grateful he was still with you and that you couldn't imagine your life without him.

Akaza listened to your words quietly, his own eyes glistening with tears. He reached out to take your hand, his grip weak but reassuring. Akaza knew that he had given up on his past, his old way of life and beliefs. All of it seemed so insignificant now, in the face of the love that had pulled him back from the brink of death. It was a love so pure and true that he couldn't deny it, even if he wanted to. He had found something worth living for, someone worth fighting for. And in that moment, as he lay there healing, he knew that he would do whatever it takes to hold onto it. "I love you more than life itself."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The fact that Lilia found Silver all alone is curious tbh. Like, did the fairies' magic prevent silver from being moved and everyone was forced to ditch him? Did Heinrich willingly ditch his nephew or didnt want to leave him for whatever reason but had to (tho, considering that he's a jerkwad who sees everyone, even Knight of Dawn, as expendable, he probs thought Silver wasnt worth the hassle)? Where's Silver's mom?

It's actually not that strange that Silver was found alone in the castle! 😅 I do understand that this confusion may arise from there not being a fully detailed fan translation out at the moment, so I'll try to explain why this is. Firstly, let's talk about time frame. Lilia is coming across baby Silver ~17 years ago from present day. The war in which Lilia fought against the Dawn Knight was ~400 years ago. (The only reason Silver still appears young is because the sleeping curse cast on him must have prevented him from aging regularly until he awoke.) That means anyone that would have been alive 400 years ago is most certainly dead and/or wouldn't know of Silver's existence now. A lot of information gets lost to time. Shortly after Wild Rose Castle was seized by Heinrich, another conflict broke out (I believe it was a territorial dispute) which Lilia suspects claimed the lives of Heinrich, the Dawn Knight, and Leah (Silver's mom). So... sadly, they didn't die of natural causes. In fact, the Dawn Knight is confirmed to be dead (from a battle, I presume) in a flashback/memory sequence. The guardian fairies that cast the spell on Silver have dialogue which states the "Land of Swords" (ie where the Dawn Knight and his family hail from) has fallen and that Leah should flee. Again though, she's almost certainly no longer around. With the country now in shambles and their monarchs missing, it's safe to assume that the citizens themselves would be long gone (dead, absorbed into other countries, willingly leaving to search for opportunity elsewhere, etc). This would likely leave Wild Rose Castle abandoned and the surrounding area pretty abandoned.

Lastly (but still an important detail to consider), Lilia says that he senses residual magic coming off the thorns that cover the castle. He theorizes that diurnal fairies could have casted a spell to keep humans away from the area (though it's unclear whether the thorns are a part of the spell or not). Furthermore, Lilia mentions that humans believe the castle to be haunted, so not many try to get near it or to explore inside (which would also be pretty difficult to do for anyone that tried, since the thorns are a hassle to deal with).

Altogether, I think those are some pretty compelling and logical reasons as to why no one else stumbled across Silver before Lilia did. He was just lying there sleeping for 400ish years anyway, he's not really going anywhere by himself 😂 (Silver only seemed to wake up and cry when Lilia entered the castle, which I believe ties back into the condition set to break the curse: when he meets someone who is able to truly love him, it will be lifted and he will awaken.)

[only-the-moon-will-tell]

The Kids Aren't Alright by Fall Out Boy

As he walks down the sidewalk, so many people pass by him all smiling and laughing. It makes him smile a little, seeing the good that has happened over the years. He walks into his favorite coffee shop, he likes the soft music that is played there, reminds him of when he was younger and more innocent. As he walks up to the cash register the barista seems to look familiar. He freezes cause it looks exactly like someone he had lost years ago.

“Sir, are you ok? Sir?” The Barista called out to bucky. “You sound just like them” He mumbled to himself. “What was that? Do you know what you want to order?” The barista looked confused, but he assumed it was because of his mumbling “Oh sorry yeah can I get a large caramel iced coffee.” The barista inputs it in the register “and can I get a name for the order?” “Jamie” After he pays the barista says, “Alright sir if you go down to the other side of the counter that’s where you will get your drink, have a nice day.”

You and Bucky had been best friends since you were kids.You two would talk about everything there was no secrets you kept from each other, even his little crush on the twig Steve Rogers, you accepted him with open arms when he came out. It seemed that nothing could separate the two of you. Then the war happened and Bucky got drafted.You were terrified the whole time he was gone and when the war ended he never came back, You couldn’t bear it, he was your rock. So many years you spent crying and learning how to live life without him by your side. You somehow managed to go through life without him. Something seemed wrong as the years passed on you didn’t seem to age at the rate of everyone else. You look like you were 23 at the most, having not aged a day. So you had gotten your name changed and had a funeral, so that no one would suspect anything.

5 years ago, you had discovered Bucky was alive from watching the news, when you first saw him you cried for so long. “My jamie is alive, He’s alive” Even saying his nickname felt weird to say after all these years. You were so ecstatic, but you also learned that he was brainwashed for a long time. You make the decision to keep your distance and not come in contact with him as he probably has no memory of you. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him and you were nothing but a complete stranger to him. You would rather save yourself the heartache.

You have recently relocated and found a job as a barista. It seems like a regular Saturday morning rush. Then you see a face you had only been able to see through screens and photographs. Bucky came up to the counter and you couldn’t believe your eyes. You wanted to jump across the counter and hug him so bad but you were unsure if he remembered you. You try to act as unfazed as possible. When you asked him for a name, he said Jamie and you almost cried right then and there. He remembers you or at least some of the memories the two of you shared. After you rang up his order you asked for someone to cover for you up front, you claimed you felt ill. You went home to your apartment and slid down the wall hugging your knees to your chest as you cried. You cried because he remembered you. You cried because he remembers all of the things you two had been through together. Mostly you cry for yourself as you know you can’t tell him that it’s really you. He seems to be doing just fine the way he is, you don’t want to ruin that for him. Nightfall comes and the street signs illuminate your room. You made the most difficult decision you could have, and that’s to remain dead.

“In the end, I’d do it all again I think you’re my best friend Don’t you know that the kids aren’t al- Kids aren’t alright?”

[kyojurosprettygirl]

it doesn't always have to be day

Shinazugawa Brothers, Hotaru, and Kyojuro (seperate) x Fem! reader

a/n: SURPRISE ! jst some headcannons about winding down with the slayers. they deserve rest too ! let me know if you want anyone else, i'll make a part two 🙈

Genya Shinazugawa

. genya kisses your ring finger every night before he sleep, and neither of you recall when it first began. all you both know is that it's an unbreakable habit, and it's never going to be a different finger. he kisses your palms, the top of your hand, your wrist even, but the only finger he will kiss is the ring finger. he's committing to memory, your bare ring finger. one day, he'll be kissing metal on it, so might as well enjoy it while he can.

. as much as genya insists it's not true, his voice gets extremely soft when he's tired, it oozes out like warm honey and his words only make it sweeter. although it's soft, it gets about an octave deeper, so he sounds like completely different person before he finally rests his eyes. but deep down, you know that's what genya would have sounded like had he not experienced so much trauma. he's aware that you like his voice when he's tired, so even though his body begs to sleep, he indulges in your silly conversation topics, loving the way you kiss his adams apple before your ready to finally close your eyes.

. as he sleeps, his hand subconsciously makes its way onto your wrists pulse point. for you, your head drifts to his chest where his heart beats. you wake up with his hand around your wrist, and it's a gentle hold, but you can feel your own pulse radiating off of his hand. he wakes up with your head on his chest, your breathing pattern matching his heart beats pattern. he savors it every morning, because he realizes he found a love many people take years searching for. he found someone who cares enough for him to make sure he's still alive and breathing during the night.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

. contrary to popular belief, he sleeps with clothing that hides his scars. he wants to pretend, just for a moment, that he is a normal man sleeping in bed with his lovely wife. (you're not even married) when he first began to sleep with you, he'd try to hide his facial scars with bandages but you would gently remove them and kiss them. your praises replay in his head like a mantra, making him feel somewhat normal with the scars out.

. he cannot sleep with pillows, at all, he finds them aggravating. (and they always leave his neck sore) if he has to cushion his head on anything it'll be anywhere on you, but he prefers to sleep without pillows regardless. nonetheless, if you truly need pillows, he'll put aside his discomfort for your comfort.

. while sleeping he tends to drift from you, but, sometimes you'll wake up with your hand interlaced with his own. it's a tight grip too, so you know he's awake when it loosens. you never bring it up to him, and he never brings it up to you. you both think the other is the one who starts the hand holding, and he wants to keep waking up w your hand in his, so he just stays quiet, as do you. (your hand finds his, but his hand is the one that tightens the hold)

Hotaru Haganezuka

. before he met you, he would sleep with his hair up. he found it too long to keep down and it would bother him while he slept, but when you began to sleep together, he figured out you liked his hair down, and so he stopped putting it up. (he's never gone back, his hair up while sleeping feels extremely uncomfortable now) you always massage his scalp or play with his strands, and what really did it for him was when you told him, "i like this, seeing you. it feels like the entire day you're ripped from my hands, it's not often i see your handsome face." raking your fingers in between his locks and staring at him fondly.

. it doesn't matter how you slept, you'd wake up with him spooning you and his back toward the door while your practically shielded from any light. not once has it ever been you who's faced the door, or had your back at the door, it's always him. once, a demon had stumbled into the place you'd temporarily stayed in and had he not been in the position where he's the closest to the door, you would have been hurt badly. he feels safe in your home at the village, but regardless his body always manages to be the one behind you.

. he hums, not in his sleep, he just hums. it'll be a melody he knew from years ago, or maybe a melody you've sang to him before, but he hums it. it's not for a long time, but the minute it takes for him to finish, you're dead to the world. it's a soothing hum, the raspiness of his normal voice prominent as he does so. he didn't know when he picked up on doing it, but he continued to do it when he noticed it got you to sleep faster. he can spend days staying awake, but he'll be dammed if his beloved wife doesn't get her full 10 hours of sleep.

Kyojuro Rengoku

. kyojuro is a natrually loud person, but, when he began to sleep with you he quickly learned to speak to the point where he sounds inaudible to himself. hr figured out it calms you down immensely. even though he cant hear himself, you can hear him, and his tired voice makes you ten times more tired than you initially were.

. on the topic of his deafness, he always lays down on his bad ear, that way he can pick up on sounds while he sleeps incase he ever needs to get up to protect you. (in any way shape or form) it started as a subconscious thing, but he swears up and down that he does it intentionally. (he does now, but it didn't start that way)

. his body temperature tends to be hotter than normal. it's what his breathing style calls for, so right after a mission he's a personal heater. but, his body naturally runs ice cold, and he always feels cold, so he has to hold you close and tight. it's an attempt to warm himself up, your warmth bringing him an immense amount of comfort. because he's so used to being warm all the time, the coldness he feels at night comes as a surprise to him no matter how often it happens. on the contrary, your body runs very hot, so you use him to cool yourself down at night. you both wake up tangled in eachothers limbs and it takes a few minutes to properly situate yourselves, kyojuro finds it hard to rip himself away from your warmth and you find it hard to rip yourself away from his coolness.

[the-pobble-terrarium]

YEAH THAT'S RIGHT, I WROTE A JOHN DORY ANGST FIC

Listen. I'm insane

You Don't Know What You Have, Until It's Gone

Summary: John Dory returns to the troll tree, ready to greet his brothers with open arms, but instead finds himself alone in a desolate place full of memories. He can't help but feel something's off.

[AO3 Version]

"No no no NO NO COME ON!"

John Dory flipped over the dining room table, hastily filing through cabinets and sifting through old boxes. He was looking for a sign, a clue, ANYTHING. It had only been a few months. Okay, a few years but surely at least one of them had stayed behind to take care of the two, right? Or did they leave it up to their 'big bro' to be chained to the nest, never allowed to open his wings and fly.

The mere thought sent JD into a furious state that pooled in his hands and left a hole in the wall. This wasn't fair. This wasn't RIGHT. Everything about this situation made him feel sick.

He had returned fully expecting the troll tree to still be alive and well. Sure, nobody would be as bright as normal- Trollstice always left the village in a state of gloom for a week or two- but instead of bright cheery trolls who forced a smile through the horrors they witness every year, he found... a ghost town. It was like walking straight into a nightmare. The ground below had been upturnt violently, holes left in the wake of whatever desperate attempt the bergens had made to capture every last troll they could. Various pods lay on the ground, walls caved and furniture destroyed, every critter that would normally fill the area with life was nowhere to be seen, and it was... terribly quiet. Like whatever happened here killed the life of everything around it. The color had been sucked out of this place and it left a sour taste in JD's mouth and a sense of dread in his chest.

What happened?

Where was everyone?

Finding his way to his room, he caved for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh and leaning his head into the mattress of the top bunk. This was Clay's bed. He had always insisted on JD being his bunk buddy. He chalked it up to "keeping the bed from toppling over in case the pod swings," but JD knew Clay had a soft spot for him. Back then they were the pranksters of the house, leaving hilarious but cruel jokes for their fellow siblings to burden. It would always be quiet giggling into full blown laughter as some poor soul would come across what they had set up, and then the sign to book it out of there: "GRANDMA!"

Grandma...

With some intense resolve, he hauled himself back up and continued his search. There was no point taking comfort in memories long gone and there had to be something- for as cruel as the bergens are they're too stupid to successfully capture an entire village of trolls.

...

Right?

No, right. The bergens are idiots they couldn't be that smart. But then... where was everybody? Why was the ground so carelessly upturnt? Why hadn't anything in the entire village responded to his call? That sickening churning came back as his mind wandered further to answer his incessant questions, and he quickly picked up his pace. John wasn't stupid, just headstrong.

As he continued his search he found yet another memorabilia, one of Spruce's weights. When Spruce was around twelve, he became a bit obsessed with being strong. Finding it cute, John leaned into it, acting like his coach. Spruce had been ecstatic to have someone help him become "strong like the guys in the comic books!" but over time he lost his interest in the goal. After that, though, it had become a part of their brand, and Spruce had always made it a habit to eat healthy and work out- although he didn't really... enjoy.. it. No, let's be honest here, it was never Spruce's habit- it was the one John gave him. It was for the good of the band, sure, but he really did push Spruce to his limits hadn't he... maybe if he hadn't been so tough on them...

He placed the weight down and quickly left the room. He wasn't having that conversation with himself He turnt into Floyd and B's room, cringing at the sight of disarray it was in. B's crib was toppled over, his toys scattered across the ground, flowers that once bloomed here were wilted and shriveled, and a blanket meant for Floyd's bed laid draped over his vanity. Something about this room made JD... pause. It was almost somber to see it so empty, as if his brothers had just been... plucked out of a scene and everything had been left to rot. That idea sent a chill through his spine, and he promptly willed himself to forget it.

Instead he grabbed the blanket from the vanity, and admired it softly. It made him recall a memory of Floyd when they were younger. He had heard about blanket forts from some kids in his class, and insisted JD would help make him one since he was 'the oldest which meant he was the smartest.' They used some chairs and blankets to set up the roof, and pillows for the ground and sides. John had to squeeze himself small to fit inside, but it was rather cozy, and he ended up falling asleep with Floyd in their little makeshift fort.

...He missed when Floyd used to look up to him like that. Like someone he was proud of.

Instead, he looked ashamed of him the day they broke up. He'd never admit it out loud, but it hurt to leave his brothers behind. He had always meant to come back sooner but... things got away from him. It was too much. He gently placed the blanket on Floyd's old bed, smoothing out the wrinkles, then made his way to the toys. He came here with high hopes and a confident air about himself, but now he couldn't help feeling... upset, defeated. This place had brought up too many old memories for him, too many reminders of what he and his brothers used to have, and it was quickly breaking him down.

After putting all the scattered toys back, he moved to tip B's crib back into place. Looking down into the soft bedding, he didn't remember when he used to sleep here, but he was always the one tending to the rest of his brothers when they did. JD certainly wasn't a guy who enjoyed taking care of babies; they were loud, obnoxious, disgusting little molds of nature- but each one was his brother, and that was a kind of love that trumps any amount of negative qualities one can have. When Branch was born, he was getting awfully tired of the care routine but Floyd had taken quite well to caring for B, and JD was glad to finally have a break. Though, on quiet nights when B would wake up in a fit sometimes... JD would find himself caring for that little mess of blue, all swaddled in his blankets. With a bottle in one hand, and Branch in the other, he'd sit in the kitchen listening to the crickets outside and humming a lullaby for Bitty B.

It was just B and him.

And life was good.

He could feel his knees growing weak, his eyes burning. The reality he was trying to ignore was settling into place with this final memory, and he fell to the ground with a choked sob, pressing his head against the bars of the crib. Branch and Grandma were almost certainly gone. No house is left this destroyed without cause, and they likely weren't outliers in the bergen's last, greediest attack. If his brothers did stay after he left, they were dead too. The bergens had taken his entire family. They had taken his baby brother. And he wasn't there to save them. Any of them. He wasn't there to do the one thing all big brothers are supposed to do.

Protect their family.

And now he could never take any of it back.

Authors Note: Hope this hurts you all so so bad, we don't get enough JD angst methinks. I mean imagine coming back to you're entire town and finding it COMPLETELY EMPTY. No friends. No family. Just you and the sound of howling wind. That's going to fuck you up BAD.

[plush-rabbit]

Spots and Stops

Continuation to Cookies and Cream this isn't really a fix-it fic, cause like i got like a request to do so and i'll defs try to, but also i got like two people who wanted a part 2 so here it is

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: People wanted a part two and i want to please the masses, and i have ideas so like here you go

-

Regret is all that you know. It consumes you, starting at your chest, making it ache the entire day, and settles in your stomach to the point that you can’t consume anything without it tasting bitter. You should have reacted better. You should have held him and told him that him being spotted wasn’t a dealbreaker. 

But you didn’t.

Instead, you did everything wrong. He needed you. He needed someone, and he came to you. Somewhere, he thought to himself, that you would have accepted him, past your fear, past your hesitations and desires. He thought that you would want him. 

In your entire relationship, you never thought that he would have ever been wrong. But he was, and in the worst way imaginable. 

You have to force yourself to hide what belonged to him. You can’t bear to look at it- at him, at what used to be his. You hold his nightshirts in your hand, staring at them for far too long, lost in thought of what could have been. You really did think that you two would be together for a long time. 

The fabric is wrinkled, the tag of the shirt curled in on itself and frayed at the edges. His toothbrush is still next to the faucet, and his face wash remains untouched. You can’t bring yourself to throw it away. 

He won’t return. You won’t see him again, and as selfish and awful it is of you to keep something of the man that you rejected- you need to keep his things. You need to keep his shirts, and pants. You need to keep his skincare products. You need to keep his toothbrush. You need to keep some part of him with you. 

A part of you wants him to return. You want him to come back; you want to take him up on that deal of starting fresh, of how he won’t hold what you said against you. How he was so willing to hide himself, just to stay with you. At some point, you expected to come into your home and find his stuff gone- the final sign that he has left your life- that he took what was his when you weren’t home. But he hadn’t. And he won’t. He would always listen to you. Always respected your wishes, and the final one was for him to leave.

You’re an awful person. You’re sickening. Tears dot on his shirt, and you place it beside you on the edge of the bed. Your knuckle wipes harshly at your eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to think of something happy. You don’t deserve to grieve the loss of the relationship. Not when you still have a home. A job. Loved ones. You have it all. He doesn’t. If anyone deserves to cry, it’s Jonathan.

You think of kittens and puppies.

You think of how his voice broke when he called your name.

You think of a memory with a friend where you had a picnic.

You think of how you couldn’t handle his touch.

You think of how he would hold your hand, and act as if it were the greatest honor to do so.

You think of him crying without a face.

You think of him lonely, and cold out in the night. 

You bite your lips harshly, desperate to bring yourself back to your senses. 

The sound of the city is alive outside your window. Lights flash, colors change, and you stand in the middle of your room, willing yourself not to cry. 

-

You unlock the door, and throw your jacket on the couch. It slips and you pull a face at the audacity of having to pick it up. In your hand, you clutch the phone and listen to your friend talk.You shake the jacket, ridding it of any dirt that could have attached itself from the floor.

“Mhm,” you hum, kicking off your shoes and turning on the standing lamp, turning the knob to let a warm glow illuminate the room. You think you hear something somewhere, but you reason to yourself that it must be a pipe. “No, no. I get it. I mean, if it were me, I think I would have liked died.” Your grin is sharp when you hear your friend laugh.

“Exactly. So, that’s why I can never return to that specific bubble tea shop. Honestly, I just- it was so embarrassing,” they whine. You hear them sigh over the phone, and you stretch yourself over the couch, letting your head fall back. “Anyways, how was the date?” Your mouth pulls into a frown. “It’s been a good minute since-” they trail off, not wanting to mention his name, and you whisper a silent “thank you” at the courtesy. “Did you have fun?”

You straighten yourself back on the couch, pulling yourself close to yourself. “It was okay,” you mumble. “I don’t- I mean, he was nice and stuff, but I don’t know. I don’t really see it going anywhere.” You ate across from your date, and you wished that it was Jonathan.

“It doesn’t have to go anywhere,” the counter. “You can just have fun. You’re allowed to have fun after your last relationship.” You clench your jaw. “I know you really liked him, but he’s- you know.” You’re trying to find your words, but none come to mind. “You’re a catch- honest. You’re allowed to go on dates and enjoy yourself.”

Tears sting in your eyes, and you swallow the lump that’s made itself into your throat. “Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, without even trying to add faux emotion into your words.

“You uh-” they clear their throat- “Have you heard from him? Or about him? It’s kinda hard for a guy covered in-”

“I gotta go,” you mumble, not waiting for a response before you end the call. You toss the phone to the other end of the couch. You close your eyes, trying to steady your thoughts, and on the other end of the couch, you hear your phone buzz. 

There’s another sound in your apartment, and you hope that it’s an intruder. You hope that they rob you blind and leave no witnesses. You hope- selfishly hope- that you can be put out of your misery without having to do anything. Then maybe, you wouldn’t have to feel guilt and regret eat away at you. You wouldn’t have to go on anymore dates or live in an apartment with items that don’t belong to you. 

The room spins and closes in on itself and it’s difficult to breathe. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed, held tightly with the palms of guilt and regret, squeezed until your ribs would splinter and heart would burst. Your breaths are quick and uneven. A hand clutches at your chest, and the other muffles any cries with the palm. You haven’t grieved, and the date that you went on, only confirmed that you shouldn’t. You tossed out your previous partner when he needed you the most. He cried in front of you, begged for you to accept him and you couldn’t. You’re able to continue your life as if nothing happened, he doesn’t have that same luxury. Even if you weren’t the one to cause the incident, you’re positive that you caused something worse to happen to him.

You miss him, but you shouldn’t be allowed to miss him.

Loneliness covers you in a warm blanket. It’s suffocating, and burning, holding you down as you wrap your arms around yourself. There is no comfort that you bring to yourself. There is no one that you can call. You wheeze and hold yourself. Tears burn themselves onto your face, and drip down your chin. You close your eyes tightly, biting on the bottom of your lip. You can’t cry. You won’t cry. You won’t allow yourself to feel bad about the ending of a relationship that you brought upon yourself. 

Nearby, you hear a door click open, and footfalls thump softly against your floor. There’s a knock somewhere- too rhythmic to be a pipe or anything of the sort. You cry more, hiding your face in your palms, hoping that whoever is there will take pity. There’s another knock, and you shrink in on yourself. You can’t mumble anything other than a plea for nothing and anything. Finally, the other person speaks. 

Your name is said softly, and you don’t respond. “I- I know you don’t want to see me, but are you okay?” Your chest shakes and heaves. You’re being tortured, you have to be. You’ve thought about him for far too long that you’ve begun to hallucinate his voice. “Do you need anything? I can um- I can get you a drink?” You take in a wheezing breath, one that hurts your lungs and chest. You hear rushed steps that echo away and come back in a flurry, and something blue is placed in front of you. You peek through the gaps between your fingers, and grab at a tissue.

Time seemingly doesn’t pass for as long as you cry. You sit there, whimpering and sniffling. You must look pathetic to him. And even then, he stands there. The thought of his previous form is what you picture. Picturing him as who he is now, only makes you cry harder. 

You tried to get over your silly fear. You forced yourself to look at spots and holes in clusters. You forced yourself to eat cookies and cream flavored snacks. Even after all that exposure therapy, it still made you sick to look at spots. 

This isn’t fair. None of this is. You wish that he had met someone better before he became what he is. 

You bite the inside of your cheeks and look at him through wet lashes. You can’t even tell if he’s thin or not. His body is too off- too stretched at the limbs and compressed at the torso. You can’t remember if he looked like this all those nights ago.

“I know you told me to get out but I needed some stuff.” His voice rushes at the end, and he shifts his weight, tightening his hands around the clothes and pulling it close to his body. You watch as their clothes and other items fall into a hole, and fall in a crumpled pile near the door. You turn back to look at him. “I meant to do that,” he says weakly. He clears his throat, and stands taller. “I’m allowed to come in here and get my stuff. Okay? That’s fair.” The holes swirl around, thin black lines that wrap around the edge of the circle, smaller, black dots that linger around the bigger holes. You turn your head, tears still making their way down over the curve of your face. “But um, are you okay?” He connects his hands, and fiddles with his fingers, and you can picture who he was before. 

Even after everything, he still asks if you’re okay. He does the one thing that you didn’t do for him. 

You should tell him no. You should be honest. It’s not as if lying will do any good, especially at this state. Your face is wet, and you’ve cried. In the corner of your eye, you see your former partner stand and tilt their head, trying to get a better look at you.

Looking at him hurts in a way that it hadn’t before. “I’m sorry,” you say in a quiet voice. He doesn’t respond. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, lowering your head. “I’m really sorry.” You cry, hiding your face in your hands once more. “I’m so sorry,” you wail, gasping for breath. Your shoulders shake, and your chest hurts. “I’m sorry, Jonathan,” you say as you gasp for breaths.

He stays silent, and you hope that for his sake, he left you. You hope that he’s the one who gets to leave. 

Only quivering breaths that are coupled with a flushed face and teary eyes are the remnants that you mourned. Faintly, you remember a time where he held you, where he came home to find you crying, and how he raised over still in his work attire to hold you and rock you to sleep. You blink rapidly to rid yourself of that memory. 

He sits beside you, and he’s made sure to keep his distance, perched on the other side of the couch. He turns to you, and your tissues crumble and drop to the carpet. “You look nice,” he compliments. “I always liked that color on you,” he mumbles, looking away.  

You nod. “I went on a date.” Bile burns your throat at the admission. 

“Oh.” Jonathan pats his thighs, and his nails claw, the spots seemingly swimming away from his touch. “Lucky guy.” He pauses, and clearing his throat, he turns to you. “How did it go?” He asks slowly. 

“I didn’t like the guy.” Your shoulders slump, and tears prick your eyes once more. “Um-” your voice cracks, and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand jump, reaching over to comfort you, before having to pull himself back. “He was nice. But I wasn’t-” You stop yourself. You weren’t what? You weren’t ready? After all this time, after the break-up that you initiated, you weren’t ready to put yourself back out there. You weren’t feeling the date because it wasn’t what you wanted? You didn’t want him. You wanted-  You clear your throat. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again,” you mumble. You cast a glance over to where he watches you, the hole where his face should be, spiraling and growing smaller under your gaze. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

He snorts despite the lack of features. “People aren’t really fond of my new look.” You wince and turn back to look at the floor. “But it’s fine.”

“How have you been?” You grab at another tissue, folding it into little squares. 

“Well you know me, I’ve just been here and there. Messing with my holes and stuff.” You give a small smile, turning your head to look at him. “Money’s been a bit tight, but-” he lifts his hand in the air, doing a see-saw motion with it- “Eh. What can you do, ya know?” You force yourself to look at a small cluster of spots that have congregated at his shoulder. He turns to look at you, and when noticing where your eyes have landed, he covers the spot almost self-consciously. “And you? How have you been?”

You give a shrug. “My boss has been a bit of a dick as of late,” you mutter. 

“The one with the mole?”

Your smile brightens up a bit. “Yeah, that one.” You look to the side, and back to him. “Cut my hours after I asked for a day off.” The tissue in your hand tears. “I probably should quit.” You tear the tissues into strips, letting them fall to the floor. You’ll worry about the mess later. “But after the lack of hours and the rent, I really can’t afford that.”

Jonathan stays silent for a moment. “You think you’ll be okay?” You give another shrug as your answer, and when you don’t elaborate, he presses on. “I have some money saved up. I wouldn’t mind- it’s you, you know. I know-” His offer only makes the tears start up once again, and he stops. 

You take in a quivering breath, and rub at your eyes. “You shouldn’t,” you mumble. “I’ll figure it out.” You look away from him. “Plus, I’m sure you got your own things going on. Um-” you turn back to him- “where are you living?” You hope he gives you an address. You hope he has an address to give.

“Turns out, when you work for seedy people, they know even seedier people.” He doesn’t offer anything more than that.

Silence befalls the both of you. You should say something. You should close the gap between you. You should do anything. 

Your hand slides beside you, reaching out, and you see his spot, lower itself, acting as his eyes, lowering his gaze to watch you. Sucking in your bottom lip, you turn your head. Your nails claw at the couch. 

This is wrong. You shouldn’t do this to him. He deserves better than what you can give him. You haven’t even gotten over your trypophobia. But you still want to kiss him. You want to reach over and hold him, and beg to be forgiven. You want to cling to him like you used to after a long day. You want to kiss him, and hold his hand.

To whoever is listening to you, you plead for him to reach over. You want him to take another leap of faith and beg for you. You want him to need you as bad as you need him. The box of tissues becomes blurred, and your cheeks are wet. 

“I should go.” The silence is broken, and you watch as he stands. His spots seem to drag, weighted at the bottom and stretching as he walks further away from you. “I think I got most of my stuff.”

The hole is his stomach bubbles around the rim, the circle wavy and imperfect. You rise with him, and he stands so much taller than he did before. “Do you want to borrow a tote bag or something?” He tilts his head at the offer. “It’s just that when you hold onto things, it um- it looks like they fall into you. I thought a tote bag would make it easier to carry,” your words trail off, softer and softer by the syllable. 

“I’d appreciate that,” he replies.

You nod your head and rush to your room, grabbing at a tote bag from the closet, holding and running your thumb over the stitched handles. He’s going to borrow it. You bring the handle close to you, and press your lips softly against it. 

When you walk back to the living, he stands at the end table, holding a photo frame of the two of you on an early date from what seems like a lifetime ago. You let your gaze linger on him, and when he turns, you scurry to the door, grabbing at his clothes and items, placing them delicately in the bag. You take your time to make sure everything is neat. 

He meets you halfway across the room, and when you hand the bag over, he makes sure to hold the bag above your hands. His pinky touches briefly against your index. You clench your jaw, and try not to look at him.

“Thank you.” He pulls the bag close to him, and you give a curt nod.

“Anytime,” you answer.

Turning on his heel, he walks further from you, and he stops. “I’m going to use the bathroom. I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do.” You want to see. You want to get desensitized. “It won’t be long, I promise. I’ll be out of your way soon.”

“Jonathan?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes once more. 

“Yeah?” 

“I-” You need to apologize to him. You need to tell him that you’re sorry. You need to tell him that you miss him. You need him. “You can- You can always drop by if you need something.” 

He visibly deflates. “Oh. Yeah- cool. Um, Thanks.” 

All he has to do is say that he wants you. He needs to just say it, to ask one more time- that’s all he has to do. You can’t do it. Not when you broke his heart, not when you’re unsure about where you stand in his life and his wants. 

He just has to look back, and you’d tell him that you need him. You’d kiss him, again and again. You’d plead for him to stay. You’d get over your dumb fear, and you’d be happy with him. He takes another step away from you, and you need for him to hear your heart beat against your ribs in an attempt to bully itself out of you. You need for him to stand there for a second longer, to watch and look at the lines that wrap around his body, and the holes that sift and move. You’d get over it, all for him. 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. He’s walking further away from you. He grabs at his body and pulls out a spot. Your stomach churns at the thought. Over the sound of cars and life, he needs to hear your heart break. He needs to understand that you need him the way that you need air. You’d die without him. You’d let yourself suffer. You stand, and lift your hand up, wanting to reach out for him. 

Turn around. 

Please.

Turn around.

That’s all he has to do. Nothing more. He doesn’t have to be someone else. He’s yours. He’s already himself. 

The door to your bathroom closes, and you suck in a breath, tears springing to flood. “Jonathan,” you croak out, finally, and you rush to open the door to the bathroom, and when you do, he isn’t there. 

You rush to your bedroom, and move the pillows, and you cling to the one shirt that he missed. The one that you hide underneath your pillows. The one that no longer smells like him, but still belongs to him. With all your might, you wish that he would return, but your prayers remain unanswered. Instead, you sit alone in a bedroom, clutching a shirt that no longer belongs to you. A shirt that has no owner. A shirt that is all that remains of someone who you need.