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#fic i will prob not write
kimerawrt · 5 months
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DP x DC: Reincarnation
(this idea keeps bothering me so I'm launching it into the void of tumblr)
Danny is the ghost king, has been for a hundred or so years, and had been working non stop to fix the mess pariah dark made. He did but he keeps working almost like an obsession (its not thankfully)
Cause working with no pause is not healthy even if one is dead, CW and other ancients decide to give their king a forced reincarnation vacation. Their king gets a rest of his duties by living a human life while they manage the zone, cause a human life is nothing to ghosts that have existed for millennia, they can wait for their king to return.
The high king of the ghost zone is born again with a new name. His name is Bruce Wayne.
(more under the cut)
Bruce is a happy child, and a very smart one. He understand machines in some strange way and is incredible good with physics (specially astrophysics). His parents are aware of how smart he is and encourage him to learn more things, Bruce learns a lot of how to manage a business from his dad and his mom teaches his about lots of things but mostly on how to think logically and deduct the truth
For some strange reason animals seem to like him, specially cats, dogs, crows and bats. When Bruce falls into the well he is scared by the bats but calms down enough to know the bats are also scared
Bruce is a happy child, until his parents are murdered in front of him.
Bruce feels like something in him breaks at that. his emotions are so painful that its almost physical. Alfred is the only one he has left and he becomes very protective of his butler
Bruce grows up with grief in his heart. He graduates high school with the biggest honors and goes to college. He tries engineering and leaves it. He tries medicine and leaves it too. He cant move past his parents murder and he cant unseen how his beloved city seems to get worse and worse.
Bruce decides to do something to fix all of that. He now has a mission. He drops out of college, makes a well thought plan and leaves to train leaving a letter behind to Alfred cause he knows if he sees the butler he wouldnt be able to leave. He needs the training.
For a year, Bruce looks for the best experts in a lot of fighting styles, offensive and defensive, things happen and he stars training with the League of Assassins. Bruce is good and learns fast but there is something in there that makes him extremely wary and make him work very hard to not get hurt
The Lazarus Pit
Those glowing green boiling waters gave him a bad feeling. Sometimes Bruce could swear the were whispering at him, calling to him to let them give him something he ought to have. Bruce was smart and knew that would be nothing good and he didnt ask the others if they too could hear the weird waters. He was sure Ra's would kill him for it. The guy was obsessed with the thing.
Unfortunately for him, in the final test to be an assassin, Bruce got hurt enough to need to be put in the waters to not die. Ra's saw potential in him and he was not going to lose someone that good in fighting.
In the waters, Bruce was being healed but something else was going on. The Lazarus Pit was made of a mix of ectoplasm, purified waters from long lost oceans and death magic. That combination made the waters heal all organic organisms in exchange for something, for sentient beings was their sanity and for non sentients was their will
Its a good thing that the ectoplasm in it recognized their king soul and the death magic was not able to take, but it could give as well.
That day Bruce Wayne remembered his last life and knew what awaited him after he died. That night, Bruce escapes from the League and returns to Gotham.
Once home, Bruce pass some time with Alfred telling little things about his travels. Alfred gives him a look that told Bruce that the butler knew he was not telling him everything. It doesnt takes long for Bruce to tell Alfred everything, the hidden parts of his travels, the League and his memories from a previous life. He could never hide things from Alfred for long.
Alfred believes him and declares that Bruce is his guard no matter what he had been or done. Bruce is happy to have Alfred with him.
Bruce had not forgotten his mission to fix Gotham and after searching for a place to train and build things he finds the Cave under his house. For some reason it feels nostalgic, as if one could build a portal to the realm of the dead in there. Of course Bruce has no plan of doing that.
While building his gadgets to fight crime in Gotham, Bruce also builds something he saw the Fentons do before the portal. It was a machine to gather ectoplasm in a passive way. He had a suspicion that the city was not only contaminated by smog but there was also something supernatural in it.
When the first drops of glowing green ectoplasm filled the vial he had left under the machine Bruce knew he was right. As it only took some days to gather it, it was clear that there was an unusual high concentration of ecto in the city. It would be too easy to open a portal in here.
Bruce then used the gathered ecto to power up his supercomputer and many more tools. He was also working on making a car powered up with it. Of course he was not going to let the bright glowing green be seen in whatever he is making.
Alfred had a slight suspicion that besides being the ghost king, his guard might be also a mad scientist
Bruce might have also kinda tamed the colony of bats living in the cave. Making sure all of them were healthy and vaccinated was a nightmare he was not willing to repeat.
Because of working with ectoplasm, Batman always gives an uncanny feeling to the criminals and makes most of them give up in fear. Batman becomes a cryptid very soon, though the police still tries to arrest him, Bruce gets a odd nostalgic feeling at being chased with guns shooting at him
it only takes a year after Batman is out fighting crime for a ghost to show up. Luckily that ghost is just Cujo. Now Bruce has a very good guard dog to protect his house and Alfred
Thanks to Cujo Bruce discovers the city has an spirit and its kinda cursed. Its too bad he had no knowledge of what kind of magic is affecting the city. And because his current human body is not magical he can do little to help. Having Cujo chase away maligns shades seems to help some.
When the rogues appear they remind Bruce of the ghosts he fought when he was a half ghost. Though, he knows they are alive and can change for the better unlike the dead that are stuck and need something too drastic to change. Although Arkham is so corrupt that Bruce has to fight another type of fight to fix that, one that unfortunately he cant punch away
When Bruce sees how the child in the circus is left alone after witnessing his parents death, or course he would want to help. He didnt expect that Robin would join him in his night job
Then another child tries to steal his wheels and ends up adopting him, he also didnt expect the new Robin and by know he would seen the pattern
When Jason is killed by the Joker, Bruce is devastated and seeks vengeance. Batman cant kill, thats a rule he imposed to his vigilante persona. But he didnt need to be Batman to get revenge and the teachings of the League of Assassins come in handy. He knew that if he killed the Joker his soul would belong to him and he would get a better revenge when he becomes the ghost king once more.
An unknown assassin kills the Joker
Twice
There is something strange in Gotham. Something that makes the Joker come back to life a little bit more unhinged every time. Something that made Jason Todd crawl out of his grave some months after burying him
Time passes, Bruce gets more children and gets in more fights. Then Jason comes back to Gotham filled with the Pit madness. But when he tries to confront Batman, the Pit calms down in the presence of its king.
Jason is happy to not having to fight the Pit all the time, he still becomes the crime lord/anti-hero Red Hood, though his relationship with his dad is not bad after they had a talk, mostly of Bruce killing the Joker more than once already (they probably go to kill the Joker again as a bonding activity or something)
-There would be other shenanigans in between all this like:
+the kids discovering you can bring food back to like with ectoplasm and making a mess in the kitchen, everyone but Jason gets a life ban from Alfred domain
+the other heroes of the League thinking Batman has a meta power to make him appear intimidating, tho it wouldnt explain where he gets the strange technology or why some could swear a green see through puppy follows the dark night even in the watchtower
+Batman and Deadman make a strange friendship in the eyes of the other, Deadman knows the bat has the soul of his king but as he is not king now its fine to be casual, the ghost adores Cujo and pets it all the time
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bonchobrick · 1 year
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Dead on Main au where Jason is of course Danny’s Fright Knight and like all knights do he has a weapon—except it’s his gun.
The batfam + justice league + everyone (except ghosts duh) don’t know that his normal average everyday gun is actually like a super powerful spiritual soul shooter that is, yaknow, capable of blasting someone into an alternate dimension where their greatest fears become real.
So imagine there’s like a big battle where a ghastly ghoul reigns terror on Gotham. The world sends their best hero’s—wizards and occultists are notably high highest in demand—to stop the ghost but, nothing works. All of the weapons and spells and chants fail.
But,
As the fights worsens and the heros scream for people to flee suddenly--
Loud squeaking footsteps echo across the ground. Jason yawns strolling into the battle zone in a ghostbusters t-shirt plaid pants bunny slippers--he strolls up in pajamas--as if annoyed at being woken up and cocks his fucking normal 'i could buy you at walmart' gun at the ghost.
His brothers screech at him yelling ”Are you insane” and to "get the hell out of here" in fear and panic because their idiot brother is trying to kill a real life ghost with a damn gun.
But then Jason shoots the ghost and it works.
The ghost fizzles down with a cry into just a little blob.
The young man then spends 30 minutes lecturing the spirit saying things like “you’re glad I’m not calling the big guy” and “you know our highness would not be happy learning what you’ve been doing” before taking out a thermos of all things and sucking the ghost into it.
Jason then sighs and walks away as if he hadn’t just defeated a hell raising ghost with a gun people can buy off a corner pawn store and a soup container.
Immediately the bat family swarms him with questions
Dick grabs him by his shoulders tense with worry, “Are you okay?”
“Um yeah—“ Jason tries to reply squirming in his hold
Damian cuts him off, “How the hell did your gun a physical weapon hurt that ghastly demonic spirit!”
“Uh that ghost is actually pretty chill you guys just pissed him off." Jason replies plain
They stare at him with a look saying 'you did not call a ghost that has been decimating gotham chill' probably because he did just that.
Tim is the first to break out of the disbelief stupor as he very inteligently says, "What?"
Jason responds easily with a confused quirk in his brow, "Second, my gun affects entities of all sorts, perks to my job and all that."
"How did being a vigilante and also probably crime boss give you a gun that could do that?" Dick asks
Jason sends him a look saying "are you an idiot" as he replies, "Yea, sure, kicking petty thieves and druggies got me my all powerful spirit weapon--No you dumbass, it's from being the bodyguard of the King of the Infinite Realms! How the hell did you guys not think of that!”
Tim breathes in, then breathes out, then breathes in again and screams, "Why the HELL WOULD WE THINK OF THAT JAY?!"
"The--" Batman, suddenly beside them, chokes, "Bodyguard of T-the what."
Jason blinks at his family then his eyes widen, "Oh shit."
"What?!" His family screech in panic
"Oh fuck," Jason says with a growing hysteric smile, "Danny's gonna have a big ol' fucking laugh with this."
"Brother who is Danny!" Damian demands for an answer
Jason coughs into his palm, "Oh yeah you guys really dont dont know. So I may have forgotten to explain some... things."
Bruce levels him with a stare that says "you think?"
Jason chuckles nervously, "So y'know how I'm half dead?"
pause
Damian very eloquently responds for the suddenly dying screaming combusting members of his family, "...sure."
"Well I met the King of the afterlife which is like the Ruler of Everything and he was really cute--" Jason says distant in his own world
"Theres a afterlife?" Superman asks casually appearing beside the emotionally wrecked family
"Yea its pretty cool. So I start flirting a bit with the guy and we hit it off, I now im his zombie ghost knight boyfriend lover for all time. Oh and i got this sickass gun." Jason says with a happy grin
"That is a pretty sick gun." John Constantine nods
"I know right?" Jason chirps
"You wouldn't mind if I inspected--" John reaches his hand
Jason slaps it away, "Not a chance you soul whore. Y'know your basically the tax evasionist of the Ghost Zone right?"
John only sighs and leaves
"But yea so I'm like the ghost world equivalent to married with the king and became his knight and thats how I was able to stop that ghost guy." Jason reiterates as if explaining a simple question, "Y'guys get that?"
Tim is on the ground trying to decide whether; sobbing hysterically, interogating jason to find out all the things he doesn't want to know or sleeping would be a better use of his time.
Dick has decided to blame himself and has started to draft a reddit post in the middle of the street starting with "I (23 m) have a younger brother (19 m), who I used to resent but really regret now, he died and came back and doesn't even tell me about what goes on in his life anymore. How do I fix our--"
Damian is just staring at the gun and... Jason pushes it deeper in his holster and shifts to the side, better to be safe than sorry with this thieving shit.
As Jason adjusts his weaponry he hears Bruce sob in the background, "He didn't even invite me to the wedding! Am I that horrible of a father!"
Wonder Woman pats his shoulder reasuringly whilst the rest of the League seem to be trying to calm him down
Jason looks around tiredly at the mess he had created and decides fuck it
"Alright I'm heading out for the night, you guys get home safe!" He yells and without caring to listen to anyone and everyone voicing their confusion he zips open a green portal and stumbles in
He crashes down on an unbelievably comfortable bed
Danny blinks blearily before sending the young man a sleepy smile, "Hey Jay, what kept you up so long?"
Jason slipping under the blankets with a yawn says, "You would not believe the night I just had."
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Edit: UMM HII The fic is out now here!! you guys are awesome I'll post the new chapter 2 in a hot sec after editting ^^
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anotherpjofan · 1 year
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Imagine Paul and Percy’s first meeting like you have Sally telling Paul her child is the sweetest person on earth who wouldn't hurt a soul while in the same breath she goes
Sally: Speaking of, can you convince your school to accept him?
Paul: Uh sure?
Sally: Great! You know what they say eight time's the charm
Paul: Wait -
So obviously Paul does an Internet search and he finds dozens of articles which show that percy is a terrorist who a) blew up an arch b) dumped his class in a shark tank at age 7 and c) casually kills old ladies according to some twitter user so Paul loses his mind. He doesn't know what to believe
Paul: So.. um has Percy ever visited the arch
Sally: Yeah apparently it was destroyed when he was there
So poor Paul is under the impression that Sally is unaware of her son's terrorist activities and expects to find a 6'2 hulking teen with tattoos but instead meets Percy who's 5'5 and hasn't had his growth spurt yet and loses his mind cause what if he's being blackmailed into being a terrorist??
Paul: *trying to be calm*: Hey
Percy: If my mom likes you we're good
And the fact that Percy is 100% a momma's boy and seems nice if not a bit silent? Paul is losing his mind
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peachesofteal · 6 months
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Oh god - I’m still stuck on this.
18+ MDNI / explicit sex, dark and twisted themes
I've been thinking a lot about Simon Riley who doesn't want the divorce.
Simon who never wanted to be separated, who hates living apart. Simon, who would drag you to a tattoo artist to get your ring permanently inked to your skin so you could never be rid of him, if he could. He’s been actively avoiding the stack of papers that are waiting for his signature, staying on longer Ops, picking up extra work.
Can’t be divorced if there’s no signature.
Simon, who unbeknownst to you, still comes home. Still pushes open the back door in the dead of night, keeping his steps silent so he doesn't wake you. Simon, who stands in the doorway of your bedroom, his old bedroom, and watches you sleep on his side of the bed in those little, ratty shorts with your ass perked up in the air like you're waiting for him. Like you’re ripe, and ready.
Simon, who checks your birth control every night. Who’s pleased when he realizes this month’s pack hasn’t even been opened, every color coded pill still in place, foil glinting at him in the low light of the vanity.
Good girl, he thinks to himself, shutting your medicine cabinet with a silent click. Getting yourself all ready for him.
Simon, who agrees to meet you for dinner.
"Let's just sign and get it over with. We can catch up, too. Talk about what we want to do with the house."
"Alright, love. Whatever you want."
You're a bundle of nerves when he shows up, seated at a little table in the back, glass of wine already half gone.
Normally, he'd try to soothe you. You've always been naturally anxious, a little dependent, and in a social setting, a little high strung. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch.
But this time, he doesn't bother. He sits there with his arms crossed, watching you nervously chatter away, one hand flat on a manilla envelope. He stays quiet, letting you go on, watching your hands seek something to do, fingers finding your wine glass over and over.
You drink two glasses of wine before the entrees are served, dangerously close to your usual self imposed "three drink" limit.
One thing bleeds into another. You start to lean a little, in your chair. He nurses a bourbon, you order a shot after the meal.
"Want one?" Your tongue follows the seam of the lime wedge, dabbing along the spongy, white fibers before your teeth sink into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.
“You know I don’t like tequila, but you go on.”
You’re a bit sloppy by the time he gets you home, but still sweet like honey, like you used to be years ago. Before everything changed. Before you asked him to move out.
You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the kitchen table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.
You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.
“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He cooed, relishing in the way you moaned with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Don’t worry, I’m gon’ take care of you and this neglected little pussy.”
“You have to pull out.” You slurred, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.
Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?
“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.
To have and to hold.
“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.
“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.
“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.
“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.
“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.
“You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“
“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.
“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you wanted years ago, the thing that made you cry alone in the middle of the night whenever he refused.
Well, he’s going to give it to you now.
“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.
And he’ll throw away the key.
His phone dings with a text, two days later.
“Still mad at you… Can we please meet up about these signatures?”
This became a full fic here.
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sadisthetic · 3 months
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limewire virus
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synesthete-sylke · 7 months
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selkie smajor selkie smajor selkie smajor !!
the fact pirates!scott could've been secretly mer,,, please the angst would be so good
also scott as a chubby little seal would be so funny, he'd break into the kestrel's base to eat their snacks and to avoid being caught turn into a seal whenever someone walked by
imagine going to eat your 3am shredded cheese and you walk into your kitchen only to find a harbor seal covered in jam eating all of your pastries.
how did he get there? why is he eating that and not the fish? how did he open drawers with flippers? these are all questions scott will not answer!
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bitterie-sweetie · 3 months
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Heyyy! If you’re open for requests, there’s this TikTok that I saw where a pregnant lady had her husband lift her heavy belly for a few minutes and it gave her some relief. I somehow could see Mingyu do that. His wife having a hard time getting used to her growth and him trying his best to help her 🫠🫠���
baby ⇢ mingyu x reader, 1k, fluff, domestic au ⇢ warnings: pregnancy, "baby" as a term of endearment, mingyu being his usually sweet self (mostly), established relationship
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"This is all your fault, you know."
At the sharp tone of your words, Mingyu looks up from his phone. 
"This," you gesture at yourself, at the unmistakable way your stomach now protrudes, a little larger each day as time creeps closer to your due date. "This baby is already huge and we're not even halfway there. It's all your fault, Kim Mingyu. You and your—your stupidly big bones and your long limbs and your giant frame and, and—" 
It's another empty complaint, that's all. Lately that's been much of what comes out of your mouth the moment your sore feet touch the floor, having to support your new weight, and when you're rushing to the bathroom again after just having left it. And when you hear Mingyu's mom lament about how heavy he was at birth, you don't even want to think about how the next few months are going to go. 
This pregnancy is both a blessing and a curse.
You get up from your chair, eager to crawl into bed and let sleep magically melt away your problems if it comes at all tonight. But before you can take a single step, Mingyu is there. It takes him two steps to cross the room and come to your side, and while he usually wears a big smile whenever he looks your way, now it's been completely replaced with a frown. A solemn expression.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, gingerly pulling you into a hug. 
"W-what? What are you apologizing for?"
"All of it."
You take a step back and try to wiggle out of his arms so you can properly read his expression. "Hey, I was just joking—"
"Y/N," he says, shaking his head as he loosens his arms, "it's hard going through all this alone. You know I would help if I could." 
He's being genuine—that much you can see, but that makes you all the more concerned. Is there something going on? What does he mean? So much of your attention has been focused on preparing for the baby ever since finding out the good news that you hardly had a moment to stop and consider his feelings in all of this, and for a second your heart drops at the thought that there might be something wrong. 
Mingyu's never been one to hide anything though. He always wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks without a filter—which is only a bad thing when he showers you with overly cheesy compliments—and even now, one look in his eyes tells you exactly what you want to know. You can see the excitement floating in his eyes, the absolute adoration at the start of this new chapter in your lives, the nerves of being a parent for the first time. 
But also mixed in there is a ton of guilt. 
While none of it is his fault, you can tell that he's feeling the immense guilt of watching you suffer to bring a child into this world while he is, well, still very much his regular self. 
"Mingyu, you are helping. You've been doing all the cooking and running around to get me whatever I'm craving, which has been a lot these days. You set up the baby's room all on your own, and then there are your massages—I'm going to get so used to having this luxury that I'll be asking for them even after all this." 
His frown only deepens. "Baby, that's not enough. I hate seeing you in pain and being unable to do anything about it. I wish I could take it from you." 
"Hey, look at me." You heave a sigh, reaching to take his face between your hands. "I'm fine, Mingyu. You know how strong I am, right? I can handle it. In fact, you should worry more about what this kid might do in the future."
"Knowing the two of us, that's probably true." He wavers for a second before a smile starts to creep onto his face, but he holds it back, almost shyly. "Y/N, can I try something?"
"Like what?"
Mingyu steps closer until the space between you diminishes, leaving only your belly pressed against his. Then in one motion, he takes his hands and carefully places them under your belly, and then lifts. 
"Does this help at all?" he asks, face gleaming with tentative hope.
You slowly relax into his hands and take notice of how everything shifts. The weight pressing on your bladder is alleviated immediately, and your sore lower back feels much better. Even your feet aren't quite as in pain as before. "Yeah, actually. This helps a lot. Thank you, baby." 
"Good. Then I'll do this for you all day." Then he nuzzles even closer to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around him as much as you can. There's still too much space between you with the baby in the way, but when you close your eyes and listen to the sound of Mingyu's steady breaths, it's enough to spread a warmth in your heart that takes you back to the early days of your relationship. 
"Hey, Y/N?" Mingyu pulls back slightly to look at you.
"Hmm?"
"Do you really think we should be worrying about how our kid might turn out? What they might be like?" 
You study him, looking beyond the spark of anxiety in his eyes. "Well, yeah, but they'll be fine. Trust me, if they have your genes, they'll basically be perfect already. You were a perfect kid." 
"I guess I kind of was." He stays still for a moment, but when he meets your eyes again, there's a mischievous smile threatening to creep across his lips. "Yeah, see, I wasn't exactly worried that the kid might turn out like me." 
"Hey, Kim Mingyu!"
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idyllcy · 8 months
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couple tiktoks with the robins
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Word count: ~ 700
Summary: cheesy tiktok trends with the robins :3
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𓅫. "Heard you're looking for a boyfriend" - Tim Drake
"'kay, just," you show Tim the tiktok, fingers laced together, practically begging him to do the tiktok with you. Tim grimaces, but it's minimal effort, so he listens. He stands to the side as the audio plays from your shared airpods, waiting for you to move the camera to the side. He hates to admit it, but as he steps next to you to lean on the mirror, raising a brow with a mask on and your eyes light up, his breath catches in his throat. You're always so pretty— too pretty. You're always so pretty. And god, if doing couple trends meant that you'd stare at him like that, then he'd do all of them with you. (Though, he has to make sure none of his friends finds out about them. The embarrassment would eat him alive) Tim waits for you to stop recording, the noise going off in his ear as he steps next to you, staring at the tiktok. He looks just as lovesick as you. "Aww, you're supposed to look a little intimidating." You mumble quietly. "You're looking at me too cheesily" "You look too excited too." Tim sticks his tongue out at you, pointing at the way your pupils were blown wide. "Maybe we're both just lovesick fools." Tim doesn't see a problem with that.
𓅫. "she is the best thing that's ever been mine" - Jason Todd
"I know this is a trend for sapphics but please please please PLEASE—" You beg. "The only photos I'd be able to put are the ugly ones of you." Jason rolls his eyes. "No." "But you have a whole album of—" "No." You pout, jutting out your bottom lip at Jason as he wavers slightly. He doesn't even have capcut downloaded. He doesn't want to download it. It's just a silly tiktok trend, and sure you're obsessed with showing him off on your private social media, but there was no way he was posting you on his accounts. You grumble, going back to scrolling through your phone, typing on it, and Jason assumes that you're complaining to your friends about how he won't do the trend. He goes back to his own phone, putting his airpod back on, a video playing. You could complain all you want— He wasn't doing it. Yet, the recently deleted app on his phone and the newly downloaded video on his hidden album suggest anything but. Stupid. It's in his drafts. (Not that he'd tell you.)
𓅫. "Oh, I can't stop singing" - Damian Wayne
"Stay still." You set your phone on the table as you squish onto Damian's lap, and he raises a brow at you, setting his pencil down. He notices your phone recording, and you pull out your lipstick. Damian pauses. He knows this audio. He's pretty sure one of his classmates was showing him it a while ago. You draw half a heart onto your cheek, pressing your cheek to his affectionately, warmth pressed to Damian's cheeks, leaving the mark of a heart... no you drew the half the wrong way. You pause, the mistake registering in your head as the audio continues playing. "Habibbti, I don't think—" You burst into laughter at the accident, hiding your face in his collar, kicking your legs in embarrassment. Damian purses his lips in amusement with you, running his hand down your back soothingly while shaking slightly. That was funny. "Sorry for messing up and making you pause." You stop laughing after a while. Damian smiles, shaking his head, reaching for a wet wipe on his desk. "Would you like to try again?" Who are you to say no?
𓅫. "stay with me, I don't want you to leave" -Dick Grayson
"Okay, so—" "I'm in." Dick gives you two thumbs up. "I recognize this audio." "I really can't surprise you with any couple trend, huh?" You laugh. "Sweetheart, I'm on Tiktok more than you." Dick smiles, handing you your lipstick. You pout, taking it anyway, peppering Dick's face with kisses before the lipstick dries, smudging some of the kisses, letting the others look fine on their own on others. Dick presses kisses back to your skin while you reapply the lipstick, some of the red on his lips getting on yours, causing you to pout. He was getting you red too. You finish, eventually. (Dick's face is practically a red mess from both you and the lipstick) You step to the side to wipe the lipstick he got onto your face, setting up your phone and starting the tiktok. Dick stares at you the whole time, eyes gentle, sick with an affection reserved for only you, lips pulled into a foolish smile. You pout when you ruin your lipstick, only for Dick to reach for your chin, the phone panning to his face, a mess of red on his face, a stupid smile on his face, eyes crinkled, holding all of the love in the world for you and only you. (and god do you melt at the sight)
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diorsbrando · 12 days
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I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )
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sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.
cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).
word count ━━ 11k
notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!
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THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.
It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.
Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.
Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.
The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.
His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.
Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.
Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.
Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.
Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.
So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.
But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.
Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.
With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.
Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.
But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.
Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.
After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.
When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.
But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.
Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.
You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.
The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."
"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.
The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.
"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."
You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."
You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.
"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"
You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."
Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.
"Shall we be on our way?"
You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.
Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.
But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.
After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."
Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”
The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”
You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.
"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"
He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"
You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.
A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."
The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.
You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.
"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"
"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"
You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."
The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"
With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .
"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.
Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.
You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.
The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.
"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.
The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.
“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.
It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.
A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”
The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.
The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.
“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.
The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.
Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.
But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.
He seemed . . . . closer.
“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."
Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.
The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.
"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."
You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.
"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.
You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.
Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?
The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.
"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."
"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?
Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .
"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."
Wait, what did he just━
Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.
But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.
It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.
It was blood.
Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.
Aizen's blade.
"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."
You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.
You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "
A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.
Fuck....was this really happening?
"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."
'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.
The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.
Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.
As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.
Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.
A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.
What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.
Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.
"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "
"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."
All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.
You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.
There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.
That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.
It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.
The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.
" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.
There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."
The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.
His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.
This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .
Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.
"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"
Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.
"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."
A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.
It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.
The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"
The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.
" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."
At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.
"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.
The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."
You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.
Which reminded you of something else.
" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.
Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.
You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.
"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"
The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━
A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.
Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .
Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.
Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.
It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.
And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.
Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.
Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.
"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.
"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."
Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.
You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.
But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.
This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.
"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.
Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.
And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.
That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.
They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.
The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.
And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.
Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.
And yet.
He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.
It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.
━━━━━━ 鏡  ━━━━━━━
It was dark, and there was nothing.
There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.
He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.
Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.
Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.
Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.
And yet, here he ended up.
Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.
Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.
The thrill of a challenge.
Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.
It made him feel alive.
Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.
All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.
As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.
Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.
Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.
These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.
Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.
Or at least, that's what he thought.
Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.
Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'
Aizen found amusement in that.
Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."
There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.
But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.
The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.
What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.
The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.
His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.
After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.
This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.
Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.
Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.
His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.
And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.
When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.
Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.
How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.
But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.
Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.
What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.
The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.
Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.
He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.
So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━
"Y....know, S....."
Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?
It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.
One drop at a time.
Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.
"You...know.....Sōsuke."
In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.
That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.
Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.
"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.
Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.
An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.
A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.
Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.
"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."
The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.
He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.
"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"
Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"
Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.
"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."
Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.
"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.
With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.
"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?
Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.
"I called you here to save you from yourself."
Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"
"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."
Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.
His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?
"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."
"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."
The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.
Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.
"You regret . . . killing me."
A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.
Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.
The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."
Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.
The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.
He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.
Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.
"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."
Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.
He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.
Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"
Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.
Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.
Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."
Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.
Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.
And they loved it.
"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."
Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.
"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"
Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.
Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."
The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.
Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.
The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .
As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.
Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.
The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.
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yeyinde · 2 months
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“When your need grows teeth” is so good I literally bite the pillow like a dog while reading it!!! I need to know more about Ghost and the ‘unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog’.!!!!!
haha i really didn't think people would pay much attention to it, tbh! i like adding little things like this into the stuff i write. a little story within a story, i guess. but i would love to flesh it out, since where it was this undertone of "oh, you..." (sort of cheeky, kinda sly when you looked at the bigger picture) with Price, it would more-so be, "oh, no..." with Ghost.
Price's original convo with Ghost would have been acknowledged as gospel and adopted into Ghost's own scripture for the longest time (since it's my weird little hc that Ghost uses Price as a yardstick for normalcy—or, almost like a needle in his morality compass), and then seeing Price give into those needs was sort of like this big moment that caused that compass to go haywire.
essentially, if Price is a starving dog, then Ghost is one on the verge of death, willing to sink his teeth into anything just to survive. and that's sort of the crux of it. in my head, Ghost would have been unleashed by this, but what took the muzzle off is his own MC, who thinks they're taking in this sick, old dog from off the streets, and helping it as much as they can, only to wake up and realise this dog is rabid. and it already bit them. but what really caused this poor person such misfortune was that little tossed in line by Price when he's volleying with Laswell about his status. Or damn near close to it. and that's what sealed their fate lmao. the implication that this baby is somehow more permanent than a ring.
idk! i like the idea of someone sweet, if a little naïve, being bit by him, a man who wakes up most days thinking he's still buried in a grave. or what happens when a living corpse feels heat for the first time in ages after being given a bed and a warm body with a soft touch. quite catastrophic, imo.
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fentoaster · 3 months
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Dead On Your Feet
Happy Ecto-Implosion everybody!
I was fortunate enough to be paired with the lovely and extremely talented @probably-dead for this first year of @ecto-implosion!!! My dear friend and I cannot overstate how excited we are to share what we've been working on, and I hope you all check it out!
Summary:
Danny returns home from a ghost fight, sick, hurt, and exhausted. Thankfully, he's got two best friends to pick him up and get him back on his feet - or even better, into his bed.
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kimerawrt · 1 year
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Schrödinger's cat a la DP
(why does the title sound like i'm making pasta?)
DP AU! in which everything is the same but Danny ghost for is the "Schrödinger's cat"
When Danny had the accident he became something not alive but not dead, but also alive and dead at the same time. Because concepts, ideas and myths can become ghosts in the ghost zone, and Danny becoming the definition of Schrödinger's cat theory his ghost form became that of a cat
Being a cat didn't change any of his powers, he is just a little more faster agile and very hard to catch
But what makes him the embodiment of that theory is the fact that his ghost form is different every time he transform, sometimes he is a black cat that looks perfectly normal, others he is a white cat with wispy fur, also a green cat with red eyes that's obviously a ghost, he can be a black cat that glitches in a way that people thinks reality is breaking around that cat, though the form of the white cat made of snow makes it the favorite for his friends in summer
Danny doesn't know why his form is like that until he finds out about Schrödinger's cat thanks to tucker, though knowing doesn't change anything, the various cat forms are almost infinite, though they tend to repeat sometimes the forms are too random that are impossible to predict, after some time Danny learn to live with it and appreciate the pets his friends and other people give him in that form, though his favorite one, and the one that repeats more often is the form of a cat black as the void of space with stars and galaxies moving on the fur
One of the advantages of this cat forms is that no one, besides his friends and sister, knows his secret, though nobody expects a living teen to be a ghost cat, the ghost just think that there are multiple powerful ghost cats in amity and are very territorial about it, the Fenton parents try to trap the cats putting traps with cat food for ghosts in there, Danny always destroy those traps and gets rid of the food before it poison the living stray cats, Vlad plans to kill Jack always getting stopped by those cats is very humiliating and he doesn't brag about any of it
Cujo is a good dog, he like to play with the cat boy a lot, playing is always fun for the puppy and he is happy to have a friends that doesn't mind if he is bigger sometimes, Danny thinks Cujo is a very friendly dog that doesn't mind cats, though he would prefer to not be licked so much, ghost dog saliva doesn't smell good at all
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ninzied · 5 months
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his hands are in my hair, his
in which henry’s hand in his hair just does things to him, okay?
He’s not the big spoon all the time.
When they’re pressed for space (the limo in Berlin, for example), he somehow ends up with his head tucked into Henry’s shoulder—blissed out, fuckstruck, arm draped over Henry’s torso, Henry’s fingers in his hair.
Or when Alex falls asleep in other places Henry would call inopportune (listen—the Met Gala ran late and it’s a long train ride back to their brownstone), it’s always to Henry’s body wrapped warmly around his, the soothing feel of Henry’s fingers lightly dragging through his curls, against his scalp down to his nape, and…mmm…Alex can’t help but nod right off.
All right, so, maybe he’s starting to see a pattern form here.
Henry has a thing for his hair. Alex knows it. Alex likes it. (More than likes it—can be very vocal about it in fact—and it’s not not partly because of the way Henry flushes pretty pink when they’re dancing in front of a statue of Venus and Alex makes how much he enjoys it known directly into Henry’s ear.)
Alex is also learning that under the right circumstances, he likes it to the point where his brain short-circuits by shutting off altogether—which, whether it happens while they’re at June and Nora’s or on the couch in their own home, so entirely not his own doing.
Alex can’t help if his boyfriend’s obsessed with touching his hair.
Anyway, case in point: tonight they’re sprawled out on said couch, Alex with a textbook, Henry with David curled up on his other side, the two of them engrossed in their third episode of Bake Off. Alex is so content that he feels warm with it, even halfway to drowsy, even though he still has another chapter or four to get through before bed.
It’s a valiant effort, staying awake, considering Henry’s wound his hand through Alex’s hair yet again, his elbow resting on Alex’s shoulder, and he smells like home when Alex buries his face into his chest, just breathing him in, breathing in this, and—wait. Wait a minute.
Alex leans back, though not far enough to pull Henry’s hand away from his hair. Not that, never that. “How dare you try to lull me to sleep with your hand in my hair right in the middle of biscuit week?” he demands, suitably indignant for someone who’s just yawned so loudly that even David looked reproachful.
Henry levels him with a bemused expression. “Darling,” he says, like Alex is being a little bit slow. “You’re the one who put my hand there.”
“What?”
“You put my hand there,” Henry repeats. The corner of his mouth twitches up in the slightest hint of a smirk, which Alex resolves to do something about momentarily. “You literally reached over about five minutes ago, wormed your way beneath my arm and then bodily forced my hand in your hair.” Almost a full-blown smirk now, and yep, Alex is definitely going to kiss it right off his face in a second. “Wouldn’t be the first time, either, in case you happened to wonder.”
Lies, Alex thinks.
“Lies,” Alex tells him. “That is not a thing.” At Henry’s look, which is altogether too smug for his liking (another lie, thinks Alex again, he actually likes it a hell of a lot), he leans back in, pressing his nose against Henry’s jawline. “But I do like it when you talk dirty to me.”
Henry’s breath gives the tiniest hitch, fingers tightening almost reflexively in Alex’s hair. It sends a full-body shudder down his spine, driving all rational thought from his mind as he presses even closer, and, well—even if it is a thing that he does (it isn’t (oh, it so, so is)), Alex can hardly be held accountable when this is the state it leaves him in, can he?
also on ao3 because why not.
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aidaronan · 9 months
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You, Like Me
Rated M || Tags & Warnings: Blood, Internalized Homophobia, Vampires For @steddiemicrofic's July prompt: Pool It started with a pool of vomit and ended with a pool of blood.
"When?" Eddie asked, staring at Steve with brown-red eyes in the pits of hell.
"Yesterday." Steve figured he didn't really have to describe it, but he did anyway. The cold sweat, the nausea, the way the bites had burned and itched so much he thought he'd have to claw his fucking skin off to make it stop. "Hit me last night that if I…"
Eddie's mouth twitched. "Sweet of you to think of me, Steve."
"I came to get you."
"Oh, did you now?" Eddie looked ragged, clothes shredded on his slight body, bites standing out in shades of mottled pink, already looking like years-old scars. Steve's hands itched to see if they felt like his own.
"Do you remember Jeremy Tompkins' grad party?"
"Oh I remember. Do you know that was Corroded's first ever paying gig? We got a cool twenty bucks from Mommy Tompkins to cover gas for the van." Eddie's faced softened a bit, wistfulness smoothing the sharp edges before falling away and leaving behind marble in its place. "Your point?"
"I've known I had a thing for guys forever. I kept pretending I didn't, telling myself I was imagining it, telling myself it didn't matter anyway because what the hell could I do about it, right?"
Eddie tilted his head in a way that was distinctly inhuman. "I think I like where this is headed, Steve."
"I stood in the back that night and pretended I didn't care. But I watched you. I watched the way your hand wrapped around that shitty mic. I watched the way you rolled your hips into your guitar."
"Keep going."
"I wanted you. I think that's why I hated you when you started hanging around, not because of some stupid, uh, repression or whatever. But because it was easier to pretend to hate you than to admit I wanted your mouth on my neck."
"You can't say the words 'mouth on my neck' anymore, Steve." And even standing several feet away, Steve could feel Eddie's eyes boring into the skin of his throat. Fair. His own eyes had been doing the same to Eddie's since he'd spotted him.
"Better if we try it on each other than risk it being someone else."
"Touche." A beat, then a slowly-growing smirk. "Okay then, Stevie. Come get it."
In another life, Steve would have--could have--resisted. In this one, he couldn't, didn't. He closed the distance, sinking his teeth in, blood pooling in his mouth and in the hollow of Eddie's clavicle.
It tasted of iron and salt and the sweetest relief.
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tsukkisloser · 1 year
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fuck- lately I’m so stuck on the thought of being stoic, quiet, cold museum employee tsukishima’s coworker that no matter how hard he tries to push from his mind- turns him on so heavily to the point that he fucks his hand in his office when he’s stayed late because he can’t get the thought of you out of his mind. And then eventually it turns into him with his cock rammed 8 inches deep into your dripping cunt- bending you harshly over his desk, spanking your ass while calling you a slut, breathy groans spilling from his lips desperately. It started happening so often that all he’d have to do is walk by you and gently run his hand over your hip and you’d be following him to wherever he wanted you.
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razypie · 8 months
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Colors of Different Hue (You) || Gun Park x Reader
cw: a bit graphic in one of the scenes, wc: ~5.2k summary: gun is a lovesick idiot but doesn't want to admit it third-person pov, fem nurse!reader, ooc gun (my delulu version actually), and reaally fast-paced a/n: heavily-inspired by 'Hotarubi no Mori e' story-telling, so there are lotsa flashbacks hehe
"Oooh, look who’s got a date today!" Goo giggled as he peeked back from the wooden porch facing his partner's backyard.
Gun almost had uncharacteristically gotten on his knees in front of the chairman to let him off on this specific day, and now this weapon freak's presence was about to wreck the day before it started.
"Not now, Goo. Why the hell are you even here?" Gun fixed his tie in front of his wide half-length mirror, scooped a generous amount of gel, and brushed his hair back neatly.
"Oh, come on, I was getting bored. Samuel wasn't picking up because of his Workers' Affiliate BS, and Logan has exams this week. For real? That guy should drop out already, it's no use."
"So you decided to stroll your way here to annoy me instead?"
"You got that right!" The blonde eyesore jumped up and hopped his way on square concrete blocks to one of the bamboo trees lined up along the fence.
"Whatever. You better leave the house before I do, or I'll stick that bamboo shoot you just pulled up your ass." Gun warned his house's intruder, who reached out to one of the young bamboo plants.
"Not everything is a katana, you anime samurai wannabe." He picked up his sunglasses and black coat and made his way to his Porsche parked in the space opposite the bamboo trees.
"Says the guy who bought a Japanese mansion in the middle of nowhere." Goo huffed a childish pout. "Jeez, I was gonna use these for cooking snacks, but you just had to give me a disgusting picture."
He gave the man in the car a side glance and sighed. "I was doing you a favor here, man."
-
The morning sun radiated a warm glow on the dark sheen of Gun's sunglasses as he swiftly drove through the outskirts of Seoul. The wide stretches of green pastures emerging from both sides of the road whistled a soft tune into his ears.
Unlike most people who want to live in extravagance with cameras shoved in their faces every single moment, there were times when Gun preferred to settle in a remote area, far from the reeks of city lights, where he could be alone with himself, his thoughts, and his hard-earned (i.e. bloodstained) money.
But of course, the nature of his work required Gun to be by his employer's side around the clock else his grand funeral wouldn't be much later.
So he made the best of these hand-picked moments when he could persuade his boss to grant him off-days.
-
Gun has the whole map of Seoul memorized from his monthly crusades and made that mental map involuntarily take the wheel and let his mind wander off for a while.
-
He pulled his car to a stop in front of a flower shop. As he got out, he noticed a gray umbrella hanging on a covered shed's railing.
'That bastard still owes me for that… and a shit-ton of money for losing in every bet.' But then again, he wouldn't have met Y/N if Goo didn't break his umbrella.
'Hah. No way I’m telling him.'
-
It was a stormy night with distant rumbles of thunder.
His eyes landed on a small figure of a lady in front of him and a bit to his right; the two were taking refuge under a mono-sloped roof of a bus stop.
Even with thick layers of bright-colored clothing enveloping her figure, Gun noticed her shivering with her arms crossed to her chest gripping her shoulders.
The man had nothing to do anyways beside impatiently waiting until the rain wanes, and everything else around him was too dull and gray to entertain him. So, his eyes remained on the peculiar lady, the only other color he could see; a color that penetrated even the darkest tints of his shades.
He examined her.
'The hell is up with this woman? It's not even that cold.'
-
Gun turned up an amused grin at the memory as he stopped over at a flower shop. He grabbed his coat and caught a whiff of lavender-scented detergent he recognized as Y/N's.
-
'Oh. It's her again.' Gun recognized the woman from the other day who had now crouched down to check his injuries. He tried telling her off but to no avail.
"I knew you were a gangster five meters away, dumbhead, but that doesn't mean these 'scratches' (as you called them) will heal themselves… I'm only here to do my job."
'Okay, lady. Be my pest.'
He yielded and rested his back against the brick wall at the end of an alleyway where this meddlesome woman found him.
A light trail of lavender caught his nose; 'That's odd…” his eyes lingered on the lady. “for someone with a sharp tongue and flashy style.'
Now that she's much closer with her hair tied up in a bun, Gun could examine her more closely. Unlike yesterday, she's in full white get-up now: a clean set of white scrubs matched with white shoes.
'A nurse, huh. Probably an intern because I'm looking at a fucking dwarf.'
"Shoot."
Apparently, patching Gun's 'scratches' made her miss the last bus.
"That's what you get for doing your job."
"Oh, shut up."
Droplets of pouring rain halted the bickering that was about the start.
Gun had to admit though, she did a stellar job mending his wounds.
Ego not permitting him to tell her his thanks, he nonchalantly dropped his thick coat over her head instead while noticing blotches of rain wet her uniform.
Recalling her trembling the other day, the self-proclaimed gentleman also offered to drive her home.
-
Gun's eyes lingered down his coat and figured he hadn't picked it from his wide selection of corporate attires to wear since Y/N returned it; he might've intentionally kept it there to let her fragrance rub off on his other clothes… or not, only he and God knew.
A bell chime signaled his entry to the shop, and a lady from the opposite end greeted him with a welcoming smile.
-
After paying for a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, Gun bowed and turned his heel to the wooden-framed glass door.
The cashier gave him a concerned look but settled with a short smile.
-
Gun decided to walk the rest of the way, paced long strides along the stone-paved sidewalk into the busier streets of Seoul.
Turning his head towards ordinary stalls he used to turn a blind eye to as flashes of Y/N’s twinkling eyes with her hand around the doorknob and an arm linked to his tattooed one surfaced.
A grin crept up to his cheeks.
Since their first encounter, Gun found himself driving past the hospital Y/N works at. Later on, it became a routine. Random nights when he stops by and waits for her at the bus stop in front to chat about each other's day or to give her a ride home, especially when it's raining. 
But of course, he took account of his schedule. He's a busy man, and his spare time, scarce; all of which however, have been filled in by Y/N the more they hung out:
Mondays to Thursdays, he would take the longer route to HNH Building, to have a cup of morning coffee (or so he says) at a restaurant near the hospital. Y/N would walk in, couple of squints later, then wave at him. 
"What a coincidence!"  she exclaims. "Yeah." he replies dryly. 
Fridays to Saturdays, Y/N's off-duty schedule. She would go to the public library to study for her weekly moving exams. It just so happened that Gun also reviewed for GED exams there (the real coincidence).
Surprisingly, Gun is good at memorization, so is Y/N at general trivia. It was effective mutualism.
Sundays were the wildcard. One is busy. Or both are busy. If neither, Gun would accompany Y/N to a random place she keeps going on and on about for the entire week or they would chill in his house (whether he wants it or not).
It's an actual miracle that Goo didn't catch them hanging out, really. Although, he had suspicions… getting a sweet trace of lavender in his partner's house when he barges in without notice (you don't just put "sweet" and "Gun" together). Or when Gun's mood swings become less and less frequent despite the blonde's incessant annoyance sprees.
Goo was itching to bully him for it, but he needed concrete evidence—the ones that would put the jackpot horrified look on the demon's stoic face.
Gun needs to be more cautious around his pest of a partner.
It won't be too long until Goo sees through his lies of checking into brothels on Sundays.
Ah, about that.
It's been ages since Gun set foot into one.
Huh.
Guess he found Y/N a more entertaining distraction from work than any bent back he broke.
They just… instantly clicked after their first encounter–like a string of Fate wrapped each of them in a disgustingly cute bow as a present for each other.
They were inseparable. One was the other's breathing space: from Y/N 's tiring hospital duties and from Gun's major crew business.
They were each other's pieces in the puzzle they didn't know were missing.
Friends... they would call each other. But were they really? Might've been even more if they knew what the force that attracted them to each other actually was.
(Ugh. Fate was having none of this folly.)
-
Gun stifled a laugh. A lot has happened in the short time he met her, yet there's still a lot to be unpacked for this lady.
-
"W-wait!" Y/N huffed, holding up a hand between her and Gun. "Not the one to use gender cards here but… go easy on me here, man. Clearly, you have the men's advantage in stamina." Y/N pouted at Gun with what seemed like an attempt to do a puppy face, but she only looked like a constipated shih tzu to him.
He raised an eyebrow but maintained his stance.
"Oh, cut the bullshit, woman. You run around the hospital 24/7. Sparring should just be a piece of cake to you."
"Still–"
"You think those harassing fuckers were the same brats you fought in middle school and go easy on you because you're a girl?"
His eyes scanned her from head to toe. He sneered.
"I bet bruises aren't the only thing they'll leave you had you let your guard down."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
"Anyway, I don't know why you're suddenly so adamant, teaching me how to fight." Gun didn't answer, earning a glare from Y/N.
"Besides, I only wrestled those wimps back then to keep them from bullying other kids. That doesn't mean I'd actively engage in one now," She put her hands up in the air in surrender and crossed her legs to sit down, to which Gun loosened up.
"...unlike SOME people."
"You did last time at the park." He jeered.
Y/N rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. Those two creeps kept pestering me, asking for my number. I also texted you, but you left me on read. Did it look like I had a choice?" She eyed him daggers.
"Could've at least used your strength for something genuinely helpful, you sadist."
"Which I did, your punches were getting slow, and you couldn't defend yourself for two whole minutes when I got there, so I finished the job for you. Good work lasting for even a minute."
He was lying, of course.
As soon as he read her message, he sped to the location she sent. When he arrived, the fight had just broken out with Y/N caving in one of the creeps' faces with her clenched fist. He saw her give the other one a solid kick on the ribs and counter back with a knee to the face.
He could tell she had fighting experience, despite sluggish, with those limbs; and he just watched her fend for herself until she wore out…
He cringed.
Yeah… he is a sadist.
"You're right. Let me make it up to you by making you tea then." She used that as an excuse to end their training for the day as she stood up and went to Gun's kitchen.
The latter watched her back disappear in the hallway.
With how their conversation went, it seems Y/N isn't interested in becoming his successor at all. She already rejected him before he could even offer it.
"I guess beating people up for money isn't her 'cup of tea.' It's way easier than having a hospital suck your life out."
But not long after, when they were on their way to a cake shop Y/N wanted to check out, some weak-ass thief was also on the loose and unfortunately chose Y/N to be his target. 
Yes, that's right. Unfortunate for the thief.
Long story short, Y/N's hospital will get another patient.
Gun looked at the disfigured face of the stupid fucker with beaming pride at what his student is capable of (Y/N dislikes the idea of Gun calling her his student, though).
He then turned to his masterpiece with a pleased grin and noticed her with arms across her chest while shaking.
"What are you doing?" No response; she was uttering something with her eyes closed.
"I am safe; I am strong."
She seemed shocked.
'Eh. It'll pass. I taught her enough to deal with punks like these.'
-
The sun's afternoon rays peeked from the thin linings of thick-smoked cumulonimbus clouds. It dulled the shadow of the man walking on copper-bricked pavement.
Gun heaved a deep sigh. A couple of months ago, he was laser-focused on managing their debt-collecting business, then working as Crystal's bodyguard and finding a successor.
That felt ages ago somehow. His recent calendars have been him dealing with Y/N's antics. Not that he was complaining, he found it amusing to know a woman he could see eye-to-eye on things. No strings attached.
There was something about how she looked at him; neither a hint of fear nor looming intimidation.
Just warmth.
Warmth that melts the iciest of his glares. A soft smile that ebbs his turbulent chaos. Words that tear down his barriers, strip him off his 'Shiro Oni' persona, leaving him with just plain Jonggun Park.
He's also seen patterns of her behavior: the way her eyebrows arches up when she looks at him, the glimmer in her eyes when talking about her pets at home, her nose scrunching up as she recalls medical acronyms, her fingers curling up as she tucks strands of her hair behind her ear, her pouty lips and rosy cheeks when he teases her (his favorite). He memorized them all; and still she continues to surprise him with more.
Stitch that with mood swings and annoying outbursts, and you have Y/N!
How can a woman be so complex yet so... normal?
'One moment she gets mad when I keep my clothes all over the place in my own house, but then when I visit the hospital, she's the one who was all over the place herself with stress and panic...'
-
"The hospital was packed when you came in; it was just bad timing. I'm perfectly calm most of the time." She huffed.
That didn't convince him one bit.
-
She continued to weave questions into his mind.
'What was this weird fixation on this lady? How very unlike me to have interest in anyone beyond their physical strength. When did I start to…'
She does have a slightly above-average physical strength; he wouldn't have batted an eyelash at her if he didn't see potential.
Was that the reason why he was so drawn to her, though? Did Gun ever really sit down and mull over his odd relationship with the quirky Y/N, who is living a life opposite to his?
Oh.
...
That IS the very reason he got attracted to her; the fact that she's composed of a lot of things.
Unlike him, who lived the script laid out for him, she wrote her own.
Unlike him, who has only ever seen the thick crimson stains on his shirt, the light gray smoke he exhales from his cancer stick, and the overall black-and-white world he's caged in, hers was made up of different shades of life, the different hues of people she met, and different flavors of memories she savored.
All of them painted a picture of a woman that spilled color onto anyone she touched--including him.
She showed him what lies beyond his dog-eat-dog world.
-
"Dude, tell me. You're actually blind, aren't you?"
'Ah, shit. Here we go again.'
"Your eyes were gouged out in a fight and you spent years training with your remaining senses, didn't you? Now, you're hunting to seek revenge on those who wronged you."
Y/N gasped at her eureka moment. "I cracked the code."
"Cool backstory you've built there, but no. How the fuck could see the road if--"
"Or maybe you are a famous celebrity! They always wear sunglasses to hide their identity."
"Ever heard of famous celebrities getting into gang fights?" Gun knows one, though. But Y/N doesn't.
"..."
"There's your answer."
"Ditch the sunglasses then, you hitman try-hard." She pouted in dismay and looked away with her crossed arms on her chest.
"It baffles me how you still wear them even in training. Even now, you look more like my bodyguard instead of a friend. What the hell?!"
"Then, deal with it."
"Gah! You insufferable prick!" Y/N buried her face in her arms on the table.
Gun stared at her small figure with the very eyes that tickled Y/N's curiosity.
He had long forgotten what his inborn eyes looked like… those wretched eyes.
He'd rather gouge his eyes himself had he failed to unlock his unconscious sense.
He hated those eyes.
He hated how they made him look vulnerable and inferior.
He hated how "soft" they were and made people deem him incapable at a young age. Gun eventually made them eat their own words.
But most of all, he hated how they began to resurface around Y/N and became more frequent the more they hung out… he didn't want her or anybody to see his image that's been long since buried.
So Gun dulled them out with tinted shades. 
"Hey."
He called to break the awkward silence.
No response.
Gun leaned closer. At the same time, Y/N looked up.
He was caught off guard when she suddenly sandwiched his face between her palms.
"Hehe. Gotcha!" She snickered.
His sunglasses loosely fell down the bridge of his nose. Y/N caught a view of his ebony eyes for the first time, at which her eyes widened.
"Gun, your eyes..." Naked eyes meet each other for the first time. Locked as time stopped. Her sudden perplexion eventually subsided, turning soft as she rubbed his cheek.
"They are pretty."
He didn't know which pair of eyes she was looking at right now. But it didn't matter anymore.
The red string was dusted off to clarity.
-
He was taught to discard his humanity aside and embrace his pitch-black monstrosity all his life. Since then, that was all he saw--darkness. The void he had ever known engulfed all colors visible in the spectrum.
On the other hand, white emitted them, like how her ridiculously bright-colored clothing pierced his dark-tinted sunglasses. Her comforting rays of light were outstretched for him to latch on.
It was no wonder how he was captivated by her, ensnared in her mere presence.
He was a pathetic moth bewitched by the warmth of her lamp's flame. It was blinding. He knows she is a whole 'nother kind of destructive, and he shouldn't come close, yet her tiny blaze's euphonious crackle, egging on him to inch closer, lulled him into submission.
He was an Icarus flown to her scorching sun. He knew she would destroy him all along, and he let her.
-
Gun stopped in his tracks at the sight of Y/N 's family nameplate. He collected himself and took a deep breath.
"What a surprise, Jonggun! Are you paying Y/N a visit?" Her mother greeted him with a warm smile.
"It's been months, young man! We missed you!" Her father guffawed, lightly smacking Gun's back.
"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. L/N." Gun bowed his head and offered them a box of cupcakes he remembered Y/N was gushing about. He appeared calm in front of her parents, but he couldn't meet their eyes–not like they'd notice anyway.
-
Gun snapped his eyes open and landed on Y/N below him; her eyes closed, and her hair sprawled messily around her. She looked ethereal with white draped over her peaceful form.
He got so used to seeing her face filled with intense expressions that her relaxed face seemed fresh as her other features popped out.
It's like falling in love with her all over again.
God, does she look beautiful right now.
She resembled an angel with wings spread on the cold, hard ground.
Ground?
Color drained from Gun's face as he got pulled back to reality at the sight of carmine ichor oozing from Y/N 's side, seeping through the stitches of her white dress.
It… it all happened in a blink.
She darted towards a lost kid who aimlessly crossed the highway, unknowingly about to get hit by a speeding car. She pushed him to safety and took the hit.
The lady beside Gun shrieked in panic and frantically fished out her phone to call an ambulance.
'She might not make it if we still wait for the damn thing.' He knelt down and checked for response and airway in her system.
She was unresponsive but breathing.
He knew this method. With how frequently he and Y/N were together, how she talked 80% of the time, more often than not, she had run him down the basics of first aid, even if they were out of the blue.
'Must've thought I didn't pay attention, huh? Too fucking bad, Y/N. I always listened to you.'
He carefully roamed his hands on various parts of her unconscious body to check for severe bleeding.
'Shit. Three of her ribs are broken. Her right arm is fractured, and she's rapidly losing blood.' His calloused hands cupped the side of her face where her silky strands loosely hung.
'Her temple is also bleeding, probably from the impact when she hit the ground.'
Blood. All too familiar. It never left Gun as soon as he got his first kill.
The sight of blood shouldn't faze him. But his hands were trembling the more he realized how grave her condition is.
It took everything for him to stop driving his fingers to her hair despite being spotted with dried blood. He withdrew his hands and brushed his stray locks back instead in an attempt to keep his composure.
He was planning on taking her to the hospital himself or treating her in his house (he already has enough nursing supplies for his personal use, but Y/N constantly nagged him to buy more for emergencies). But, in her current state, he couldn't carry her otherwise the issue with her ribs gets worse and affects her internal organs, if they weren't already.
"For emergencies, my ass. Can't use them right now, can I?"
Funny how Y/N remained her composure and even kept their banter going when she first treated Gun. Just goes to show that she IS calm at work.
It's kind of ironic now that they've switched places, though. Even if Y/N taught him all this medical stuff, Gun still couldn't do anything more helpful than wait anxiously for the fucking ambulance.
Gun pinched the bridge of his nose. These injuries wouldn't be a problem for Jinyoung Park. Gun could certainly vouch for that, as he and Goo were regulars in his lab when they were still on probation… when the man was still borderline mentally stable.
He would phone him immediately if he wanted to but decided against it because God knows what that maniac would do to her now at his current state, if he even agrees to tend to her injuries.
Gun withdrew his coat and covered Y/N 's upper body. He rested his left hand on her cold ones in hopes of delaying Death's touch on her.
Honestly, he was at a loss--which was a first; he didn't know what to do with it. But Gun knew he had to stay with Y/N until help arrived.
He curled his hand around Y/N's.
"She is safe. She is strong… She isn't alone."
-
Gun found himself uttering the same chant again as if in prayer.
He always viewed Y/N as a warrior shielding the weak, a saint devotees pray to for protection. She had always put others' well-being above hers--a trait befitting of a nurse.
But that overshadowed the image of blood and bones beneath her soft, paper-thin skin as it was under the guise of a rigid exterior.
Fucked up it may seem, but Gun knows he isn't at fault entirely for what happened: Y/N made her decision, was well aware of the consequences, and still chose to do it.
Even so, he could feel a stinging pang in his chest, telling him that he should've caught up to her had he ran and pushed Y/N and the stupid boy himself. But the four major crews were at peak then, so he ultimately chose to do nothing.
And it tore his heart--something he thought had been long abandoned.
The 'heart' was meant to be just an empty hole where every last bit of tenderness was carved out of his chest. The hollow pit that reminded him of his decision to walk the path of blood… was forcefully filled with infectious laughter, sweet melodies, and soft rhythmic heartbeats of life.
The words "Gun" and "sweet" didn't seem uncharacteristic when put together now, huh.
-
He gazed at what remained of her longingly, reminiscent of memories they'd shared, despite short.
"You painted my heart in different forms that I can hardly call it my own anymore."
Gun's grip on the bouquet tightened.
"We shouldn't even have met--we're worlds apart, for crying out loud. But Fate decided to fuck around people and chose us, I guess."
But at least he was able to see the world in color--for the first and last time.
He was never meant to have it, anyway.
...
"PFFT--"
Gun jolted on his seat as laughter echoed around the room.
Y/N wheezed. "I didn't know you could be so poetic, Gun Park!"
It took a moment for Gun to process his surroundings.
He is currently in Y/N's bedroom. A relatively small space compared to his bedroom, which is infinitely wider. Her room looks more lively and festive than his empty one, though.
Other than her working table, everything else was decorated with strings of polaroids, LED lights, and stuffed toys ranging from tiny crocheted keychains to life-size pillows randomly decorated the room.
Wow. There's a whole new world to be explored in here.
Gun waved his trailing thoughts away and finally faced Y/N, who sat on her bed. Her lively demeanor didn't cover up her poor condition though, which is painfully understandable.
He should've brought medical supplies that were piling up in his house. And cupcakes, really? He didn't go out for a picnic.
Well, it's nothing worse than her in a casket.
He cleared his throat.
"More importantly, how long since you left the hospital?"
"Two months."
"And you never even contacted me once?"
"Well, you've never visited me since… the accident. I thought you simply forgot about me, you being a busy person and all."
-
He TRIED to forget her, for Christ's sake.
After Kouji tracked the bastard's location with the car's plate number he sent, Gun didn't waste a second and pummeled the hit-and-runner to death.
Then… he carried on to another chapter of his life, as usual.
Gun wholeheartedly believed Y/N was just another fleeting name in his book, just torn scratched pages of requiems lacing love songs that weren't supposed to be written.
So, he let time help him forget.
Spoiler: he never did; he just couldn't. How could he when everywhere he looked, he saw her?
-
"I was… busy at work."
"See? Anyway, that's okay. Don't sweat it, man. My prank made up for it." She laughed it off.
Gun prepared himself for the worst when he entered Y/N 's house; he felt his stoic façade crack as a flash of disappointment in Y/N's face was conjured in his mind.
Her cheerful welcome (sneaky prank) washed all of his worries away.
In the end, it was better than what he anticipated.
"So, how are you feeling?"
She frowned, an eyebrow arched up in disapproval.
"The Gun I know doesn't give a shit about 'feelings'. Who are you and what did you do to him?"
He deadpanned. "Just… answer the question."
"To be honest, I feel like shit right now. Being bedridden for months? Getting injected with pain relievers, tons of prescriptions and rehab sessions, everyday? Now, I know how my patients felt…"
How talkative for someone feeling like shit. Even so, he let her talk–like how they usually did. It felt melancholic.
"...and I was finally discharged. They said I can go back to work when I'm fully recovered." She sent him a toothy grin.
Her eyes landed on the bouquet in his arms, and cocked her head to the side.
"Are those white chrysanthemums?"
"...Yes." He could almost see a question mark form on her lips.
"Dude, you thought I died or something? Why bring 'mourning' flowers?" She giggled.
"No? But…" He set down the bouquet on her bed.
"I heard that they have other meanings…"
"Oh? What are they?"
He plucked two flowers from the bouquet and inched closer to Y/N.
'Eternal…' he tucked one of them behind her ear.
'...and devoted love.' he pried her hands open and placed the second flower on them.
Gun rested his forehead on her shoulder, his eyes welled up at the contact.
He couldn't say the words out loud.
Not after leaving her when she was at her lowest.
...
Ugh.
This isn't how he planned it to go.
He really did love her--but he was also selfish. Distancing himself didn't do any better for the both of them; quite the contrary.
Would stitching back the torn pages heal their wounded hearts this time? Let their colors paint over the dried stains of their past and turn over a new chapter?
-
Splashes of rain decorated her bedroom window. The colors in her room desaturated as evening enveloped the sky.
"Gun," Y/N held his arms, squeezing them. "It's getting dark. I'm gonna turn on the lights."
"Let's… stay like this for a while." was Gun's only response.
Their close proximity. The familiar scent of her detergent. The nostalgic periods of tapping raindrops. The yoke of her shirt getting wet.
It was similar to their first meeting but a little different.
Y/N felt him shake. She chuckled and rubbed circles around his back.
"What's up with you, dummy? It's not even that cold."
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