#he understood why he had this dream and would face punishment and offer his friends closure in this dream

[polaroid-petals]

I'm this close to writing a fic where a few weeks post-confession, Hero has a dream where he gets the option to stab Basil in order for Mari to have never died, only for his knife to stab not this fictional dream version of Basil, but the real twelve-year-old one, whom he then slowly watches die as he's unable to save him from the gash in his stomach.

To his horror, as he wakes up four years after the murder with no memory of what happened afterwards, he learns that he covered up the murder, and he has no idea how or why he did it.

[mjanelupinblack]

starving creatures | chapter three🖤

pairing: xu minghao x reader // jun x reader (mainly lol)

description: starving creatures have arrived at your homeland in forks. little do you know, they not only intend to drain the blood out of you... they'll also to break your heart in two.

genres: slowburn (please bare with me), fluff, angst, vampire!au, ceramist!hao

warnings: blood drinking, lot of blood related themes, repressed emotions, family issues, miscommunication, kinda toxic friendship with cheol? blood and smut will be mixed. emotionally and physically starved vampires oops. did i mentioned blood?

minors dni!!!

fic playlist

CHAPTER THREE

He’s never been easily forgiving. And even if he was, the events after his transition couldn’t possibly be ignored like he was ignoring them. Joshua remembers it with such clarity—a young student with big dreams suddenly crushed by the weight of a life that wouldn’t find death. The morning after the attack, a maddening hunger made Vernon lock himself in a room for days. He made him swear not to let him go out until his appetite would miraculously vanish –which, of course, didn’t happened.

Joshua agreed to his terms, even though he knew they were sadic and unrealistic. With his bare hands, he tore apart the neck of a hen. He dampened his friend’s lips with some fresh blood and saw the color gradually abandon his face. Three days passed like this. Vernon grew more irrational and aggressive until Joshua understood he was stupidly trying to starve himself to death. He knew too well that the first thirst wouldn’t just go away with some stinky animal waste. So he got his hands dirty. He took the life Vernon refused to steal and fed the blood to his friend.

Vernon still punishes himself about it. And Joshua is still trying to convince himself that the person he attacked from the back would understand, if only he knew how desperate he felt in that moment.

In Vernon, he had found a companion. A friend for a life sentence he thought he would be serving alone. Should he feel grateful or enraged at Boo Yejin and his perverse brother? While he arrives at the Boo residence, he tries to get rid of all the conflictive thoughts he knows Seungkwan will read through like a kid’s book.

He knocks on the door like a civilized person. His fists are hidden at his back, clenched so hard that pain almost numbs his senses. If only he were strong enough, he wouldn’t hesitate to smash his way to the hallway. A servant asks for his name and, after checking with the master, reluctantly invites him to wait in the foyer.

The carpets are crimson red. There are no beams of natural light passing through the dense curtains. His childhood home used to have the same chandelier that is now hanging over his head. It has thick branches and crystal tears. And his stomach turns at the experience of revisiting the past without a warning.

“Took you long enough,” Seungkwan says, after a few minutes of letting his rage brew in the entrance. He is dressed pretty uncomfortably. An elegance no one would consider to carry at his own house. “I see this bloodsucking life suited you well enough. You look different from the student we cornered at the library”.

“Don’t you look into your enemies?” Joshua asks. “It’s hard to believe you’re oblivious to every trace of his face.”

“Enemies?” Seungkwan snorts. “Your pig-fed family is no enemy to me. If you think about it, a wolf doesn’t see a lamb as much of a danger. But for the lamb, well… the wolf is a significant threat.”

“Why did you send the mirror to my house?” Joshua asks, trying to ease his anger so he won’t lose himself in Seungkwan’s twisted game. “You thought it would be fun to mock us? You weren’t even capable of bringing the mirror by yourself. You had the girl doing all your dirty work.”

“She offered when I told her. She is very helpful, like a housewife but you don’t have to pay nor marry her,” he says that in a disdainful way “In response to your question, no. We weren’t trying to mock you. What you were given is a relic and an honor, even though you’re too ignorant to see it.”

“An honor?” Joshua asks, taken aback by the audacity of the statement. “Why would you want to honor us? You don’t even respect us.”

Boo Seungkwan and his family's contempt for animal-fed nocturnals is not a secret well kept.

“I was hoping to make amends.”

Joshua laughs. If Seungkwan was really hoping to reconcile, the making up of his wrongdoings would take a lot more effort than an old mirror.

“A hundred years have passed. One would assume your friend grew accustomed to this.”

He 's wrong. Vernon never got used to this life, he just went with it.

“Never contact us again.”

“Wait,” Seungkwan insists. And he grimaces at the bitter taste of having to plead someone so inferior to him. “Walk around town. Take your made up family with you and watch how you don't get turned into dust the instant you leave the house. Let all of that sink and ask yourself how hard it's going to be to abandon that ten, maybe fifteen years from now. Then come back."

“What are you…?”

“Agnes!” Seungkwan abruptly cuts his sentence. “Please, escort him out.”

II

You can’t stop thinking about Minghao. The cold wind bites the end of your feet, and even though the weather slaps your face with constant reality checks, the thought of him insists on spinning around your head. Like you had been bewitched.

Autumn is coming. You and the guys decided to go downtown to handle flyers for the Harvest Moon Festival, an annual event organized by the state cultural committee, also known as Seungcheol’s brother, Wonwoo. Of course Hoshi took advantage of the situation and spread the word of the party he would be throwing Saturday night without the permission of his parents. You don’t know half of the people he invited. You wonder whether Minghao would want to join the party. Of course your friends won’t invite him but, if they did, would he want to be there?

Something tells you he wouldn’t. Something tells you he’d rather stay home among brushes and wine and clay. You wonder how ridiculous he would think you are if he could get into your head and find out you think of him so deeply.

Next time you see Jun, you want to ask him so many questions about his brother. Like how old he is or what movies he likes to watch when the weather is too foggy and rainy. Jun does seem to be able to read your mind, so you try to dispel the thoughts before you end up ruining your auntie’s business because of a stupid infatuation.

“Will Professor Han be doing his weird representation of the Spirit of Autumn again?” Dino asks, while absentmindedly handing out pamphlets to random passersby.

“Much to our disgrace,” Seungcheol says. “I tried to convince Wonwoo to not let him. But he said he’s got some important shit to say.”

“Important?” You ask. “Last year he said to watch out for a fairy infestation.”

Your friend Dino scratches his nose while Seungcheol charmingly smiles at the tall blond girl he handed his last pamphlet to.

“He’s an old man and a frustrated storyteller,” he tells you. “The least we can do is bare with him.”

“He told me I was going to sprint my ankle last year and I did,” Soonyoung adds. “Thinking ‘bout throwing him an invite to the party.”

You laugh at your friend's joke. Then he forgets his pamphlet-handling duty and tries to seriously convince you about how awesome it would be to have Professor Han come to his house with lots of tequila shots at his disposal. You laugh until you can’t find the stomach to keep doing so anymore. It feels like air has been sucked out of your lungs when you see Minghao a couple of steps from you, smoking a cigarette.

Fortunately his brother is sharing the cigarette with him, equally intimidating but you’ve grown accustomed to the weight of his presence. He glances your way, almost as if he detected your doubtful glare the second you placed it in the cloud of smoke they are breathing. You must say hi. But Minghao looks like he’s been taken right out of a painting.

You’re about to greet them when your best friend grabs you by the arm.

“C’mon, t/n, let’s grab a milkshake,” he says as he abruptly diverts you from your neighbors’ pathway.

Before you lose sight of them, you can see Jun nodding at your friend with a smug, almost provocative smile. Minghao simply looks at you two, stone cold.

“What the hell, Cheol?” You ask when you arrive at the cafeteria. The cashier looks at your friend like he’s a boyfriend in a tight spot.

“What do you mean?” He asks obnoxiously, just before ordering for two oat milk lattes.

“Don’t play dumb,” you say. Or maybe at this point you're begging. “We’re not like this.”

You're not quite sure what changed, but the fluctuations in Seungcheol’s character became evident shortly after he turned the sweet age of eighteen. His shoulders are always stiff. The only way for him to loosen up is by downing a full package of beer. Most times he forgets his promises and the worst part is, he won't talk to you about it. He rather party it off and call it for the night.

It shocked you when he called from Sweden to tell you he had traveled unexpectedly.

“Don’t act like I didn’t do you a favor,” he tells you. “You said you didn’t like them.”

“Yeah. There was no need for being rude though,” silence falls between the two of you until the cashier hands him your drinks. “I'm going to apologize.”

“T/n, wait…”

“Hoshi can have the latte.”

There you go, running away from the cafeteria like you run away from home each time shit gets too hard to handle. You love Hoshi; he’s a good friend to you. Yet there’s hatred in the words you spit at Seungcheol. Maybe you shouldn't blame your friend for his poor coping mechanisms. Who told you yours were better to begin with?

“Running away from Prince Charming?” Jun teases you from behind. He takes you by surprise, like an always attentive wolf with his favorite deer for hunting.

“Shut up,” You say, turning to him and realizing your tone could’ve been nicer. “Fuck, sorry Jun. It’s just… I’m not in the best good mood.”

His self-satisfied smile turns into a concerned gesture.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be nice to me because my family is your client,” Jun says. “You can tell me if I’m being an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole,” you laugh. “Just annoying… at the very worst possible time.”

“Maybe we can share a drink and talk about the appropriate and non-so appropriate moments to annoy you,” He offers. “I’m afraid my brother won’t be able to join us.”

You arch an eyebrow. What a devilish vestige for the angelical figure of his brother.

“Sorry,” he apologizes this time. “I guess the timing was wrong for that too.”

III

Minghao got turned into a nocturnal creature a hundred years ago. One must say he did it by own choice, except Jun’s recklessness didn’t make the decision feel like a matter of volition at all.

It had been a beautiful night; lively with intense candlelights and people dancing and chatting to the sultry melody of a saxophone. Minghao had attended Jeonghan's gathering in hopes of releasing the tension work had left on his back. A girl asked him about his job and he would have confessed his hatred for nursing if it wasn’t for the unexpected arrival of Junhui.

Four years younger and not mature enough to take no for an answer.

“What on earth are you doing here?” He had inquired. The girl, still peering over his shoulder in hopes for him to resolve his problem fast.

“I was invited. Hard to believe?”

“Han said you could come, he didn’t invite them. Why you have to act like such a kid all the time?"

“They’re my friends even if you don’t fucking like them, alright?” he blurted, cheeks turning red from the blood that was still circulating through his veins. “I swear if you get to know them…”

“They're older than you. They’re always wrapped in some shit. There’s nothing else.”

Minghao’s own temperature was beginning to rise at a slow but certain pace. Not only were his words true but the group had embraced Jun as a puppet for them to handle at their own pleasure.

Some wine? Jun could bring it. A party they hadn’t got an invite to? They would sneak out with the kid.

“I’ll kick them out myself.”

“Wait!” Jun had stopped him by the arm, fear draining the color from his face. “Let me do it.”

It was a mistake to let him go like that. He knows it now, forty years have passed, and he got the chance to memorize that evening like a hateful poem. He reproduces it in his dreams. Sometimes, he even tries to change it. Each word is cruel and it sticks to his mind like tick legs that are just impossible to rip off. Jun’s friends weren’t friendly. Apparently they had forgotten what humanity was like, just like the Boo Family had when they beat the shit out of Vernon and force him into eternity without him doing nothing to earn it.

Minghao had read about it in Vernon’s diary; midnight, late night studying and the clock ticking amid the silent of the empty library. Boo Yejin had sent his brothers to ambush Vernon for his poor decision of not choosing her love over his studies. If only he had gifted her with a pinch of his affection… then, he wouldn’t be here. Alive and suffering.

Minghao wakes up panting on the sofa. If his heart was still beating, it certainly would be sticking out of his chest. He’s home, luckily. So the initial confusion fades away pretty quickly. Like today, the majority of his nightmares are about his brother and his friends. Their stories always terrify him because they weren’t given the chance to choose or refuse this life. They were just thrown into it.

His shirt is soaked in sweat; his face is hot and throbbing and there’s a reddened hand diligently squeezing his own. It feels soft; so soft he could easily crush it with a little more pressure. It’s also warm and gentle. He has to force himself to let go because, in such a long time, he hasn’t allowed himself to feel such tenderness.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you tell him in a soothing voice. You’re wearing a raincoat. A crimson red raincoat. “You’re fine. Your family is fine. Everything’s okay now.”

“Where 's Jun?”

“We found you screaming when we got here,” you explain. “Your brother went to find Joshua. We tried waking you up, but nothing worked and you scared the shit out of us... You had a nightmare or sleep paralysis, I’m not sure. It must have been terrifying. All the things you said…”

“What did I say?”

Minghao's voice carries a sense of worry –not only had he dreamt about his brother. The taste of your blood had also been a recurring theme in his dreams.

“Just Vernon and Jun’s name... And something about them to please don’t hurt them.”

A beautiful full moon outshines the stars through the window. It pierces Minghao’s sight like the blade of the sun when the day is too bright to handle.

He had withdrawn from your touch. He didn’t want you to lay a hand on him, yet there was something about the tightness of his body and the shivering of his lips that made you feel profoundly sad when you looked at him.

That something was the need to be held. You could see it in his eyes; a skin starvation that had him rotting instead of living. The craving for a gentle touch.

The feeling leads you to briefly comb his hair with the hem of your fingers, affectionate but not too much. Loving but not too intimate. And you must have been right because as you caress him, your neighbor closes his eyes. His lips, so red like he had just bitten a strawberry.

He has to stop you, but he can’t. You need to go home, but you can’t stop brushing your fingers through the strands of his snow white hair.

The texture tricks you into believing you’re caressing the soft fur of a lamb. But what if it’s just a facade? What if he’s truly a predator?

Seungcheol wouldn’t trust him.

“Sorry,” you say in a faint voice. “I have to go. If you feel better I will just…” it physically pains you to remove your hand from his hair. “My aunt has to take her meds,” Why are you escaping? Is little red riding hood scared to be hunted by the wolf? “I left some chamomile tea in the kitchen. You should have some. It’s good for the nerves.”

“I will,” he says. But all that occupies his mind is the desperate, almost childlike need for five more seconds of your time. Chamomile won’t do anything for him when his fangs hurt inside his mouth. They will tear his skin open if he keeps pushing them back. “Thank you.”

You smile faintly. Your lips form a curve that’s meant to be as friendly as possible, but you want to touch him again.

“Anytime.”

You need to feel him as much as he needs to feel you.

Taglist 🖤 @90s-belladonna @milopenne @angel-ishere @cheiyoma @hipsdofangirl @hayleyfields33 @sojuxxi

masterlist | next chapter

[iverlyn-things-05]

True Narrative

-Present s factual, detailed and real events or experience.In short its Non-fiction story.

Testimonies

-Personal stories based on individuals personal experiences, observations, or beliefs.

Examples

True Narrative

Where I’m From

I am from a new beginning,

From dictatorial China and free America,

I am from fragile cherry blossoms,

Rosy pink petals gliding on the breeze,

I am from the swing in the backyard,

Surrounded by luxurious grass,

Grown green with joyful times.

I am from Chinese noodles and Cinderella’s castle,

From complete terror of the dark

to the soft sweet sound of my mother’s voice.

I’m from storytellers

Bursting with magical and terrifying tales

Of enchantment,

Fairies, and ghostly monsters.

I’m from saying tearful goodbyes at the orphanage

To saying hello to a new family.

I’m from Alma and Pierre,

From knitting colorful sweaters

To saving lives.

I’m from ” Christmas Vacation” and 12 birthday parties,

From frigid snowball fights and the piano notes of Fur Elise.

I’m from dusty streets with thunderous noise where

My mother left me to be reborn,

And from Santa’s North Pole,

Over which i had to cross

To get the gift of a new family.

In my mother’s office

Is a folder which holds

The first pages of the book of my life.

In my dreams, memories waltz back to me.

Yesterday intertwines with today,

Making my two family trees

Into

One

Strong

Me.

http://www.brunswick.k12.me.us/hdwyer/true-narrative-essay/

Testimonies

I am an introvert. And I’ve always been one of those introverts who prefers my own space. My mission in life is to find seclusion and security. For example, when I was growing up, my dad would call me ‘the hermit’ because I’d hide in my room instead of being out with the family. And as a child I used to hide behind mum’s skirt so as not to face the unknown.

So I try to achieve this mission by finding my own space. For example, now as an adult, I still don’t like making phone calls! My heart pounds and worry surges through me: What if the person is interrupted by my call? What if they don’t want to speak to me? That’s one of the difficult things about desiring safety and seclusion from others; I get stuck with my own thoughts and doubts!

But the problem with keeping to myself is that I lack self-confidence that anyone would want to accept me. For example, I often think, “Why would God want anything to do with me?” I wasn’t anyone special for Him to care about. Couldn’t I just hide away and try make it on my own? For example, on sunny afternoons I used to go read my Bible on the back lawn and I found out that I wasn’t anyone who God should care about; I was disobedient and deserved to be separated from Him and His goodness. I remembered in P.E. class that day name calling a friend and telling a lie just so I might look better, then feeling the guilt of it, thinking God should just punish me and leave me. There’s no way He’d want me because I would stuff up when speaking and I couldn’t be faithful.

But this is what Jesus has done for me. The more I kept reading the more I understood that I didn’t need to hide from God because He has freely offered peace and safety in Jesus. Jesus didn’t stay secluded away from us, He became a man and lived and died for us. I just had to trust Him and would be forever accepted by God.

Slowly I did begin to trust Him and found Him to be loving and a refuge. For example, there was the time that I was a teenager at a camp and a bunch of girls were picking on me and my friend. One night in the cabin they were particularly mean, I lay there pretending to be asleep but praying desperately that God would intervene. I was shying away from confrontation but God gave me courage and I rolled over, faced the girls and told them to stop. I went out to find a leader and things were resolved. I had renewed confidence that God did care and could provide peace even when I

couldn’t control what happened around me.

And now I’ve continued to find that even when I want to shy away from life’s hardships, God is trustworthy and gives me hope to persevere towards the time when I’ll be with Him in Heaven in total peace and safety. There are still many times when I stuff up and I feel like I’m no one special, but then I remember the true stories in the Bible of unlikely people that He still worked through, like Moses, and God reminds me that He’s already accepted me and is with me always, He can help me to do what He wants.

Now, you may go looking for safety in separating yourself from others and the world, or you may look for it in other places, but ultimately we’re all searching for peace and assurance. The trouble is we can’t control life; things on earth will always be hard. So what about you, do you want a refuge? God is offering you His peace and safety in Jesus.

zondervanacademic-cdn.sfo2.digitaloceanspaces.com

[goldenkirstein]

i've been on fire, dreaming of you

or alternatively, when both you and jean thought you lost each other

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

anonymous requested: hello there! I love your stuff. if requests are open, may I request a canonverse post-rumbling jean x fem reader where y/n is wounded + passed out from exhaution after the rumbling and wakes up warm and safe, with jean tending to her wounds. Y/n is shocked bc she remembers how she almost lost Jean (she didn't get turned into a titan, maybe she isn't Eldian?) and she just shoots straight up to embrace Jean without realizing the intensity of her wounds. Jean gets extra worried so he has to gently guide her back to lying down on the bed because she has a fever and her injuries aren't all better yet 🥺👉👈 maybe they cuddle afterwards until she falls asleep or smth aaaaaa 🥺 pairing: jean x fem! reader wc: 2.7k+ tags: angst to fluff, cursing, female reader, mentions of death, blood and violence, hints of blasphemy (?), mentions of injuries, aot manga spoilers.

a/n: sorry this took so long, (i was shadowbanned) i changed up the request a teensy bit but otherwise i hope you enjoy !!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Hot, burning, searing pain is the last thing you remembered before your vision went black.

That and the sight of the man you loved transforming into the one thing you feared the most.

Whether it was the heartache or the open wounds on your body that made you lose consciousness, you don’t know.

Truthfully, you were angry at Jean.

It was a whispered confession on the Azumabito airship. You and Jean sat in the corner, Captain Levi and Pieck in front of you, eyes cast away. The rest sat in silence, reeling from the situation that had played out on the ground below, quietly preparing themselves for the hell that awaited them at Fort Slava.

Jean’s hands were trembling; you would expect that after years of seeing your comrades die at the hands of humans and titans alike, you would get used to the death.

This wasn’t that, though; this was a different fear and anxiousness. Jean’s hands were clammy and his face pale; you could gauge that from one look at the man next to you, whatever worries were bubbling inside him were the accumulation of all the events from the past couple of days.

Jean was a collected man most times; as commanding officer, he didn’t have a choice but to be stoic and calm in the face of danger. But when that facade began to crumble, you would be there to ground him, remind him of why he was fighting. You knew that if you locked eyes at that moment, Jean would be able to see right through the front you were putting up, see the fear etched into your irises as you all were hurtling towards your deaths. So instead, you made the executive decision to swallow that panic and be that rock he needed, offering him your hand.

You took hold of his hand, staring ahead, and squeezed it three times, a reminder for both him and you that at least you still had each other. You could feel his eyes on you after you performed the simple gesture, but you continued to look ahead, focusing on the clouds, knowing that a couple of meters below, havoc was being wreaked by those mindless titan drones.

He said it so faintly, so lightly that you barely heard it past the sounds of the engine reverberating around the metal cabin.

“I’ll love you now and forever, even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.”

It’s like he knew. It was his way of saying goodbye to you. And you ignored him.

You clenched your jaw and pretended that you didn’t hear, pushed it to the back of your mind because this was no place for hushed confessions of love and, even more so, goodbyes. You were sure as hell were not letting Jean say goodbye to you. There would be no reason to, not if you had it your way. The both of you were bound together, and goodbyes were never to be uttered between the both of you.

Even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.

Is that what remains of him now? The muscle, sinew, and skin that pieced Jean together all reduced to ash and soot? The body that you had spent hours tracing, memorizing every detail of scattered in the wind. You would never feel the weight of his body on yours again, be able to graze your fingers over the scars littered on his torso, feel the way his heart would beat against your hands.

Jean Kirstein would only exist in your mind from now on.

He had left you alone with nothing but his memory, but even then, it was plagued by the image of a senseless titan taking the shape of Jean.

You wished to go back and tell him to shut up, never to utter those words again. Tell him to get those foolish notions out of his head, slap your hands over his mouth, silencing him, so that you could continue to live in your deluded reality that both of you would make it out alive. Tell him that he was selfish, of leaving you here to endure this torment by yourself.

Would that stop the scathing agony you were feeling?

Maybe this was hell you were in, you thought. That you were being punished for ignoring him, that you were the foolish one. Perhaps you should’ve held him tight to you, found a way to fold himself into you, so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Were you angry at Jean, or was that resentment directed at yourself?

The pain spread from your chest to your arms, down your legs, coursing through your veins.

You should have looked at him, told him that you were just as scared; maybe that could have changed his fate. If only you repeated those words back to him. He would still be here now.

I’ll love you now and forever.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Bring him back to me.

The silent prayer came from the depths of your heart; whether God or who knows what would hear it, you didn’t know, but the thought of having to live with this ache was enough for you to continue repeating the mantra in your head.

--

Jean looked at your unconscious form that laid next to his seat. If it wasn’t for the gentle rising and falling of your chest, he could have sworn you were dead.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Jean had made peace with the fact that he would die when he transformed into a titan. Seeing you, like this, however, barely grasping onto your own life, made his body ache; he was okay with dying, but the thought of having to live without you was a fate worse than death.

He reached over to grab your hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of your palm before grasping it and squeezing it three times. He let go of it, placing it back gently over the top of your torso.

It was time to change your bandages and clean your wounds. Jean was a strong man; he had seen firsthand what a titan could do to one’s body, but his hands quivered as they unwrapped the bloodied bandages from your thigh. One singular thought overcame his mind.

Was he the reason that you were injured this badly? Did he hurt you?

Jean had spent many nights tending to your injuries, his hands careful when it came to you. However, the cuts and gashes he would tenderly patch up would always be inflicted by other humans or titans. Never did he think that his hands would be capable of hurting you. Jean was disgusted with himself as he stared straight ahead at his hands, now covered in blood.

The worst part of this, Jean thought, was that he couldn’t even remember if he was responsible for this, or maybe, that was a blessing. Recalling the situation would drive him into madness. The man winced at the thought of his arms tearing up your body.

He reached over to the tiny side table holding the medical supplies, grabbing the antiseptic solution. Dabbing it on a cloth, he attentively cleaned the wound, instinctively checking for your reaction. You would always make a fuss when he would apply it, but Jean averted his eyes once he realized that there was no reaction from your comatose form.

Usually, he would scold you when you would pull back from his hands when he tended to your wounds, but now any response would be better than having to tolerate the silence in the tiny room.

Jean got up to clean his hands in the basin, warm water turning red once he dipped his hands in. This was his punishment; he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions. The both of you were alive; Jean knew that he should be grateful, get on his hands and knees and thank the gods above. However, why should he be thankful? It was cruel. The both of you were not alive by the grace of God; this wasn’t mercifulness or benevolence.

What good is living if you have to sit and watch the one you love the most deteriorate in front of your eyes.

“You need to sleep; this isn’t healthy.” Connie was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Although he was speaking to Jean, his eyes were transfixed on you.

Jean didn’t need to look at himself to know how terrible he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. He spent his days and nights in your room, never wanting to miss the moment when you would wake up.

If. If you woke up, not when. Even that was not guaranteed.

“I’m not leaving her side, Connie.” Jean dried his hands on the cloth next to the basin. He turned his head to look at his friend, whose eyes were now staring back into his.

Connie understood the situation; he wanted you to wake up as well, but it pained him to see Jean suffer like this, “Spending your days sitting next to her waiting for her to wake up won’t help her, Jean.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” Jean slammed his hand down on the basin, hair falling in front of his face. Connie’s eyes widened at his friend’s action; to say that Jean was frustrated would be an understatement.

“You got your mom back, Annie got to see her dad, even those damn kids found each other. I got her back, but it’s my fault she’s like this.” Jean gritted his teeth, lip quivering.

Connie’s heart sank; he had seen Jean at his worst, but this was almost unbearable to witness. He made his way over to the hunched-over man and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault Jean. This is difficult, believe me, I know, but you can’t be blaming yourself.” Connie’s eyes flickered your form, and he clenched his jaw.

Jean shifted his head, sullen eyes peering at your face through strands of hair; the man shook his head as a sob escaped his lips, “I need her to wake up Connie. I can’t live without her; I don’t know how to.”

--

You felt a gentle breeze on your face and an odd pressure around your ribs. Laying still for a moment, you waited for the pressure to subside, but instead, it made its way down to your thigh. You tried to open your eyes, but it was as if they were glued shut; there was no strength left in your body.

How many days had it been? Where were you?

Questions circled amidst your clouded mind as you lay immobile. You realized that the pressure you were feeling on your body was the weight of someone’s hands. How badly were you injured?

Memories flooded into your mind as you became aware of the situation you were in currently. Someone had rescued you at Fort Slava, and you were being treated at a medical facility by nurses. No, not nurses; the hands felt oddly familiar. They were careful and precise in their movements but carried tenderness as well.

You tried to take a deep breath in, to gather strength to move any one of your limbs, but paused immediately as the pain in your ribs was far too great. Shallow breaths would suffice for the time being. You began to focus on moving your fingers, channelling whatever energy you had left to at least get them to move.

The sheets underneath your fingers were soft as you gently moved your digits along the fabric. The hands on your thigh briefly paused before continuing their movements. You waited a minute before moving again, this time lifting your hand.

You couldn’t feel the hands on your body anymore.

Whoever had been treating your wounds whispered your name. It was a man, but you weren’t able to recognize their voice as everything was still groggy.

The man sharply inhaled, his voice shaking as he said your name once again.

You mustered the strength to open your eyes; your eyelids were heavy and hard to fight to keep open. The room was blurry and far too bright for your liking, but you continued to blink, and soon, the details surrounding you came into focus. The figure was still, waiting for your next move; you lolled your head to the side to get a better look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He slowly came into focus; he was holding your hand between his and planting kisses on the back of your palm.

Why was he apologizing? Who was he?

Your heartbeat quickened as his voice became more apparent; this had to be some sick nightmare. You slowly sat up and reached out to him to cement the fact that this couldn’t be real. Your hand made contact with his knee; he was warm, he was alive.

Tears were running down your cheeks as your eyes scanned up his frame until landing on his face. Jean stared back at you, eyes wide, your hand still held in his.

Your face contorted as you took in the sight in front of you; you were so sure you had lost him, and yet here he was. Sitting up fully, you used your free hand to grip on to his white button-down and pull him into you with whatever remaining strength you had. Jean dropped your hand, and you swiftly wrapped both of your arms around him, eyes fluttering shut to take in his presence.

A pile of burnt bones.

It wasn’t a dream; you could feel his heartbeat against your body, feel his hair against your cheek. You sobbed into the crook of his neck, ignoring the immense pain you were feeling, scared that if you let him go, he would scatter in the wind.

“Jean, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you-” Your voice was scratchy and hoarse, still weak from the slumber which had woken from a few minutes ago.

He brought a hand up to rest against your head, “I’m the one who’s sorry; why are you apologizing?” Jean pulled away from you, causing you to wince.

You furrowed your brows in confusion; he gently laid you back down on the bed before continuing, “I hurt you when I transformed into a titan; I’m the one who’s responsible-” Jean paused, his eyes landing on the gauze on your upper leg.

He wasn’t making any sense to you; shaking your head, you frowned at him, “What do you mean? I saw you transform before I passed out; I got injured by the rubble falling from the fort.”

“I should be apologizing, not you. When we were in the airship, you told me you loved me, and I ignored you, Jean, and then I thought you died and lost you. I’m terrible-” You looked up at him through teary eyes; Jean wiped your tears before kissing your cheeks.

“All this time, I was scared that I had almost killed you, and here you thought that I was dead.” He whispered, hands caressing your cheek.

“You’re not dead right; if I close my eyes, you’ll still be here?” You brought your hand up to hold his, letting out a shaky breath.

“No, my love, I’m not dead, and I’m not going anywhere.” Jean pressed a light kiss to your forehead. You cautiously sat up before moving over slightly to make room for him on the small bed.

“Can you lie here with me? Don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He nodded his head before getting up from his seat to lie next to you.

You placed your head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand traced the buttons on his shirt, slowly getting lulled to sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Jean’s fingers skimmed your side; overwhelming happiness filled his chest; he was relieved that you were alright and that he hadn’t been the one at fault for your current state. He felt you press a kiss where his heart was, and his lips curled into a smile.

“You know why I said what I said on the airship?”

“Hmm, why?” Your ears piqued in interest.

“Because I knew that even if I died, I’d find you again, somehow somewhere.”

You let out a sigh, silently thanking whoever it was that answered your prayers.

I love him and you brought him back to me.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this !! any feedback is appreciated !! i tried something a little different than how i usually write, so please don't be shy to tell me if you liked it or not and what could be improved !!

also i apologize for not being active these past couple of days, my tumblr went haywire and i was shadowbanned, its all fixed now but again super sorry !!

taglist: @c0urtn3y, @depressedbisexual, @dai-tsukki-desu, @clean-soap, @nevcrmxre, @conniesspringersgf, @glittrkink

click here to join my taglist

As always, please leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed this, I appreciate it lots <33

[sur-un-fil]

Ink demonth 2022 - Prize

Or... How did Joey think of black magic?

Chapter 1: before 1920

He could not understand how anyone could waste his time - and his money! - on such stupid things. How could people like Nathan and his rich friends, who had been lucky enough to get an education, believe this?

Joey had been deeply bored for two hours, but he continued to smile and say sentences in Latin, a language he was the only one not to speak, without complaint. Being able to hang out with Nathan Arch was at that price. He knew how lucky he was that the young man had taken a liking to him even though he had no wealth, no influential protector and was clearly not part of his world. So he followed him to all his secret meetings pretending to be as passionate as he was, hoping that this "common interest" in the occult arts would lead to a real friendship.

Joey was as young as they were, but he already had plans. He had the motivation, the unshakeable confidence that he would succeed, and a gift for spotting talent. Most importantly, he is ready to do whatever is necessary. He hadn't been to any great schools, far from it, but if poverty had taught him anything, it was that all dreams, no matter how beautiful, needed funding.

And that was why he was wearing this ridiculous dress, in this freezing cellar, instead of having the fun he wanted. He puckered up his lips. We had to get in the mood, didn't we? To give themselves a thrill without risking anything... They who had never had anything worse to fear than their father's refusal of one of their whims. He stopped himself from letting the contempt that these fat, white roosters, sitting in a circle around him, inspired in his face. The incantation was finally coming to end, he could leave soon. And of course nothing happened. He listened distractedly to the debates that arose around him, talking about insufficient offerings, or directives that were not clear enough. One of them suggested that they should have chanted a specific name, instead of calling out a vague call in the demon dimension. Joey held back a chuckle. As if hell really existed. Life could be horrible enough without needing to invent a afterlife, and he wasn't a child anymore to need to believe that those who hurt him would pay next. No one would be punished, no one would save him. So why bother with morals to get what you want? He had already understood that to get what he deserved, he had to take inspiration from the worst and not hesitate to get dirty.

He was startled when Nathan put his hand on his shoulder. The others were all looking at him. Nathan handed him a thin, black book with a surprisingly plain cover. He took it and examined it politely, then looked up with a questioning look.

"I've seen how much you enjoy our meetings, Drew. That's pretty unusual for a poo... For a young man like you, so the fellowship and I decided to reward you. This is a very simple summoning manual, absolutely within your reach. You will be able to increase your knowledge and be all the more useful to your brothers."

It was offered so condescendingly that joey felt like tearing it up in front of him rather than accepting it. Instead, he nodded and thanked everyone, promising himself to throw it away as soon as he could.

Yet the book was still in his hand when he got home. He left it on his bedside table, telling himself that he would get rid of it the next day. But without really knowing why, he found himself putting it back on his shelf, among all the books he had painstakingly bought. And the book stayed with him, resisting his frequent moves and lack of money. He couldn't walk past it without wanting to throw it away, without picking it up to do so. But he never finished the act, strangely enough.

Fifteen years later, he still had it.

NEXT

..................................................................

Hey!

I'm going to participate in the Ink demonth this year. I'm not sure if I'll finish in time at all, as I have very little time to write and a lot of other projects going on, but I'll try anyway, and I don't care if I miss the deadline. I just want to have fun ^^ ( and not stress!!)

SO! I've been writing - laboriously - a fiction on BATIM for some almost a year now, "What they deserve" ( the link is HERE) which takes more or less the story of the game, but with an extra detail: what if Henry, mortally wounded, managed to slightly deviate the scenario from the loop?

That's for my fic. During the Ink demonth, I'm going to use the daily themes to develop with small texts the story BEFORE "What they deserve", from the creation of the studio to the ink machine, including all the years Joey was 'active' between the closing of the Studio and the letter he sent to Henry... (I couldn't do it in the fic, so I figured this was my chance).

-> The main periods :

Before 1920: Joey's youth

1929 - 1939: Studio opens, Henry leaves (1930), 'normal' cartoon and comic book production.

1940 - 1959: experiments with ink, production of the ink machine and decline of the Studio until its bankruptcy and closure.

1960 - 1963: Joey still has hope and continues his experiments.

1964: he knows he'll never be famous and he just trying to save his old ass.

Just to clarify, I haven't read any books and just used the first game, BendiWiki and my imagination for these stories.

I hope you like it :)

[jtsfavslut]

Desperado [GD]

Description: Grayson participates in the famous November challenge, but Y/N has made it her mission to make him fail. 

Warnings: Ahh yes...smut, cinge, idk what else 

Word Count: 2.5K+

Touch starved.

The term was an understatement for your current situation. Why? Because your boyfriend decided to participate in the famous no nut fucking November. To say you hated it was another understatement.

You despised how committed he was to it. And to make matters worse, he didn't shave either.

And you being you, you were a whore for Grayson's beard. It was mid-November so it was right where you liked it, a bit past the scruff period.

Every Time you looked at him, your core did nothing but ache. Your legs clenched at the memory of how good he felt between them, his big arms wrapped around them; Holding you close to him as he made you cum for the 4th time that night with just his fingers and mouth.

"Penny for your thoughts?" His voice ranged in your head making you shake your filthy thoughts and memories away.

"Hmm?" you hummed turning to look at him, a smirk on his face disappearing when he licked his lips, coming back short after.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"Nothing," you shrugged it off, but he knew. Grayson was fluent when it came to your body language, knowing what everything meant, even the slightest movement.

"Nothing? You've been staring at me and cleaning your legs, you're biting your lip and you're flushed. I know that look from a mile away, Angel," he taunted, making you turn your head and look away, scoffing in response.

"It's just hot in here. You have the heat all the way up," you murmured before getting up and walking away. 

"Are you serious?"

"It's just really hot in here that's all" an idea comes to mind and you strip your hoodie.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, already knowing where you're going with this "really"

"Yeah just really hot" you take your shirt off as well, leaving you in a bra and jeans, you were about to take off your pants before he verbally stopped you.

"Angel, don't you dare," his voice was stern and rough, letting you know you were working him up.

"What? I'm not doing anything bad, I'm gonna go swim," you replied before walking away, a smirk on your face, "To each their own Bailey, to each their own,"

"Keep it up, y/l/n," he whispered but you were long gone to even hear it, your feet dipped inside the cool pool water as you looked up at the clear sky.

Your attempt was a slight fail, it was good, just not good enough to crack Grayson.

Grayson Dolan was stubborn. Maybe as stubborn as they came, you blamed that on three things; his cockiness, his ego, and the fact that his top three had an influence on his personality.

But you couldn't give it. You had made it your mission throughout the entire month of November.

It was now the last day of the month, and you needed Grayson to crack. You needed him to crack hours before the month ended. You wanted to be as close as he could, yet as far as he could. Your plan was evil, perhaps it was, but it wasn't fair that you were forced to compete in a ridiculous, immature, high-school like bet.

You were sure this plan was going to work. You felt it in your bones. You were clever enough to use one of Grayson's qualities, and a few of his traits against himself.

If there's anything that Grayson was, other than stubborn, was dominant and jealous. One wrong look from a guy and he was railing you, fucking the pretty out of you, not that it worked since in his eyes, your prettiest state was when you were fucked out. Hair frazzled into all sorts of directions, a few beads of sweat dripping down your hairline onto your forehead, mouth slightly opened as deep, tired breaths fell past your lips, sore shaking legs, chest rising up as your eyes closed. A sight only he got to see, a sight he caused.

Your skimpy blood-red dress clutched onto your body in the most perfect way, a pair of matching heels covered your perfectly pedicured feet, a pair of silver snake earrings held onto your ears, and a simple matching snake necklace adorned your neck. A silver purse completed your outfit as you applied the last bit of gloss and highlighter you needed before slipping out of your vanity, grabbing your phone before leaving your room, walking towards the couch where Grayson laid on, a pair of gray sweats, with air forces, were present on his body.

"I'll be back around 2 am, don't wait up for me," you spoke, your nails suddenly becoming more interesting than a shirtless Grayson, "Peace you," you turned to walk away before his voice suddenly stopped you, a smirk making its way on and off of your face before you turned back around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, placing his phone down before sitting up straight, his once hazel eyes scanning your body up and down.

"Out, where else?" you carelessly replied as he chuckled.

"Out where? With who?" he questioned, a dry chuckle falling past your lips as you shook your head, clutching on to your purse.

"The club, with Vinnie, invited me out for some drinks," you replied, only receiving a glare and a scoff.

"Since when do you go clubbing?" he asked and you shrugged.

"Since when do you care?" you scoffed, "Anyways, he's here, I need to go, have fun," and with that, you were gone.

You were out the door, as Grayson's anger increased. Sure, he did trust you. But he also knew about your history with Vincent.

He knew everything, from how you went from best friends to fuck-buddies, to best friends again, so he felt a bit uncomfortable with you going out for drinks with someone you spent countless nights with.

Vinnie however, was aware of everything. He was your last resort. You knew how jealous Grayson got whenever he was around. Of course, he agreed, knowing how sexually active you were. He knew you couldn't last a month. He was in fact surprised you had gotten this far without touching yourself, which he knew because you told, just like you did with everything else.

"Do you think this will work?" He asked, taking a shot of the tequila he had ordered, "Like was he mad?"

"He was furious, you should've seen his face," you replied after swallowing the aged liquid, the slight burn giving you nothing but satisfaction, "He should be checking my location right about now," you giggled when the tiny typing bubble popped up in your texts with Grayson. It had been a few hours since you left, meaning Grayson was probably getting ready to bring you home and punish you for being bad and bratty.

"Hey, if he doesn't give you what you want, just know, I'm always up for you," Vinnie smirked, flashing his hand on your face, rings adore his fingers, as black nail polish perfectly laid on his nails.

"In your dreams Vincent," you playfully smacked his hand, knowing he was only playing around.

"You're right, you know? I liked you more when I had you to myself," he scoffed, shaking his head, taking another shot letting out a groan at the taste.

"Oh please V, I'm sure you have plenty of entertainment around," you rolled your eyes as you stared at his hands.

Oh, how you wished Grayson would accomplish your wishes of painting his nails black, but he claimed it was simply not his style. Of course, you understood, but you still wanted him to do it, it was, after all, something you found incredibly attractive.

"Not really, no one offers what I need, you know? They all like that vanilla shit, with the aftercare and soft shit,"

"But you did that with me?" you asked confused but he just shook his head.

"Because it's you. You gave me what I needed. But anyways, your boy toy is here," he spoke as he noticed Grayson walk in. An angry look on his face as he caught a glimpse of your back and Vinnie’s face.

"Ughh, finally," you scoffed as your core throbbed, your mind suddenly imaging certain scenarios on how Grayson would take you.

"What are you doing here?" You asked as soon as you felt his presence next to you, his cologne slapping you on the face.

"I came to pick you up and take you home," he said, no emotion laced with his voice, you mentally rolled your eyes.

Your hand reached up to Vincent's, intertwining your fingers with his before letting out a whine, "But we just started to have fun,"

"I don't care. We're leaving," he spoke before leaning down close to your ear, "You're gonna get it as soon as we get in the car,"

"Ughh fine. You're so boring. You should take a shot or two sometime," you dramatically sighed before letting go of Vinnie's hands and grabbing your phone and purse, "I'll see you another time V, love you, take care," you said, sending him a smirk in an angle that Grayson couldn't see.

"Love you too, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he waved you off as Grayson carefully dragged you out of the establishment. He had parked his car in an empty and abandoned parking lot, having a plan thought out for when he arrived at where you were at.

He opened the back door of his Tesla, before throwing you inside, making sure you wouldn't get hurt, but wanting the message that he was upset to get across, "You think you're funny? Acting like a whore, wearing a slutty outfit to go out with Vinnie? Teasing me all fucking month long, acting like a fucking bitch," he spoke as his fingers came in contact with your jaw, squeezing it in the most perfect way.

Never in his life did Grayson think he would call a woman a whore. But when you came along, you brought a Pandora's box with you. He wasn't sure degrading a female would get him laid, but you introduced it to him, at first it was weird, but he took a liking to it, only with you.

"I didn't do anything," you pouted against his hand, making his other hand squeeze your hip.

"Did I tell you to speak?"

"You asked," you scoffed, eyes widening as a burning sensation spread over your thigh, followed by a moan.

"Open," he muttered, tightening his grip on your jaw, making you open your mouth before he leaned down, doing something you thought Grayson Dolan would never do, "Swallow," he muttered after spitting in your mouth. You did what he said, no questions asked, and no ounce of hesitation in your body, "good girl," he whispered before moving down to between your legs.

His hands explored your legs before you felt a couple of cold things making you look down to find a couple of rings on his fingers, yet no nail polish.

"You wanna behave like a whore, I'll treat you like one," he smirked at your facial expression, he was loving every single second of what was happening, "Mouth of fingers? Never mind, you don't get to choose, don't you dare make a sound," he muttered before pulling down your underwear.

Your body slightly jumped and the long-awaited feeling of his fingers. You bit your lip, feeling so touched that just the slightest feeling of his two fingers spreading your arousal around, "Look at you, so desperate, and wet. It's pathetic," he chuckled making you shake your head before throwing it back as he slowly slipped a finger in, just one, feeling satisfied as you spread your legs and threw your head back, he added another one, and you felt out a whine, earning a thigh smack from him, "I said no sounds,"

He dipped his head down, just feeling the presence of his mouth near you pussy was enough to make you bite your lip, and hold back a moan as he pressed soft kissed on the inside of your legs, fingers wholly moving in and out of you, until he finally placed a soft kiss on your clit, and started moving his fingers faster.

You quickly moved your hand up to your lips, muffling any sound and moan that slipped out. The feeling of euphoria and ecstasy spread quickly over your body, and a knot started forming on your lower stomach at how good Grayson was eating you out and finger fucking you.

"Gray, Grays please," you started chanting his name, not being able to hold it back any longer, the amount of pressure building up was much more than what you could handle.

"You wanna cum for me Angel, Wanna be a good girl for daddy?" He teasingly asked, his fingers moving at a pace that you thought was impossible.

"Mhm, I do please. I'll be a good girl I promise,"

"Let it go, cum for me," as soon as the words slipped out, there was no holding back, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as you let a pornographic like moan, squirting all over his face and making a mess in the back seat of his car, your vision had truly gone white, never feeling something as strong before, not that you minded, you loved every single second.

"Oh my God," was the only thing you managed to breathe out, finally opening your eyes after a few seconds, Grayson was above you, his white shirt having some wet patches, showing how good he truly made you feel.

"I don't think you should be saying his name right now," he smirked as you shook your head, "Not after this mess you made in my car, at least,"

"I know a perfect way to make up, but you know, it's still November so," you smirked, looking at your watch, the time being 11:51, he had nine more minutes.

"Really? How so?" He teased, picking you up as he sat down, placing you bare half on his black dress pants.

"To make you feel really fucking good, right here. In this car, and you can do anything you want to me," you smirked, palming him through his pants, his bulge was apparent, but you were running out of time. 11:55

"But it's only valid for today," you added, unblocking his belt before lifting yourself up to pull his pants down, You spit on your hand before moving it, just to make him harder and work him up a bit more.

"But you have to say yes,"

11:59

"Fuck just do it," he groaned before placing his hands on your hips, making sure to align himself before slamming you down on his dick.

12:00

"Look at you, couldn't even wait one more minute," you struggle to say as he bounced you up and down on his dick, loud groaning falling past his lips at how good you felt around him.

"Shut up,"

Please I am so sorry!!! This is so bad and gross, and I got carried away...I also wrote this in like an hour!! But I said I would do it so here we are!! Anyways yeah, if you made it here because you read it I love you!! And big thanks to @blazedgraysons for helping me and motivating me to write it, I love you bitch!!! 

[bimormondisaster]

Four times Crosshair helped his brothers and one time he did the best he could.

Hello! This is my first time doing something like this so I hope you enjoy it. I'm still very new to writing and I suck at editing so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 2,781

Warnings:

Wrecker- Mentions of blood, violence, Hurt character.

Hunter- Mentions of overstimulation and migraines

Echo- Nightmares

CT-9904- That scene from s1 e1 tbb

Wrecker (Cadets, age around 16)

The feeling of the clone’s face against Crosshair’s fist was satisfying. Even after the blood started to cover his knuckles, he kept punching. It wasn’t until the cadet’s eyes closed that he stopped. He let the boy’s tunic go, and he hit the ground with a dull thud. He would wake up eventually and Crosshair would inevitably get punished but right now he didn’t care.

He was alone when he got the com. He was getting cleaned up after some private training., about to meet his brothers in the cafeteria but when Hunter told him that kriffen reg had landed Wrecker in the med bay he changed course.

He made his way to the medbay. Stopping only to wash the blood off his hands. Looking in the mirror he noticed his hair was getting grayer. He wasn’t sure why his hair was graying so early but he didn’t mind it. Wrecker always teased him about it but he thought it made him look more mature.

The med bay door slid open revealing Hunter sitting beside a bed as Tech paced. A droid was hovering over the bed occupied by Wrecker.

Hunter stood as he walked over. “What took you so long?”

“I was busy.” He forced himself to look away from Wrecker’s bloody and bruised form and to Hunter. “How is he?”

Tech answered first. “Under these conditions, there is a 15 percent chance that he will wake up in the next hour, Every hour after that the chance goes up by 7.5 percent until hour five where if he’s not awake by then the chances lower by-”

“He’s going to be fine.” Hunter supplied, sending a comforting smile to Tech. The droid left without a word and the boys settled down. Wrecker’s face was swollen. The left side of his face was covered in bandages, including his eye. Every moment that he watched, that he saw his brother in this state, his fury grew.

“What happened?” He asked through clenched teeth.

Hunter and Tech shared a look and Tech adjusted his goggles.

“No one knows yet,” Hunter said.

His hands tensed into fists. The quickly bruising knuckles protested but he didn’t care. That’s when he saw it. Lula, tucked in beside Wrecker, was looking almost as bad as its owner. One of the ears was hanging on by a thread and a leg was missing.

Without saying anything Crosshair stood up and grabbed the stuffed toy.

“I found the leg in the hall.” He pulled it out and offered it to Crosshair who took it without a word.

Crosshair didn’t know how to sew but he tried his best with the supplies he could find in the med bay. They all waited. Hunter as still as possible, trying to keep the squad as calm as possible. Tech buried himself in his padd and tried to distract himself. Although every hour Crosshair could hear him whisper the new odds of Wrecker waking up.

Crosshair folded in on himself completely focused on fixing Lula. His long legs protested being forced into the chair, his back ached from being slouched, but he didn’t mind. After two hours Lula was all fixed up. It wasn’t what Crosshair would call a good job, but it was the best he could do. He just hoped it was enough.

Tech

If Tech wasn’t dead at the end of this Crosshair was going to kill him. Not surprisingly the job went bad and now they were in a shootout. His scope allowed him to see the chaos in the warehouse from the hill he was nested on. Amongst it all was Tech. Who disobeyed orders and abandoned his cover; running like a kriffin idiot trying to get to the computer.

“Tech get under cover!” Hunter’s voice came through the comm.

“No can do Hunter. If I can just-” Tech was cut off as more droids entered the warehouse, open firing.

Crosshair cursed under his breath and started to pick them off. There was little chance of this mission succeeding but that’s where they worked best. In the midst of the blaster fire, yelling, orders being called, and explosions he noticed something. Another blaster was shooting into the warehouse at Tech who had, so far, dodged the fire purely by dumb luck. He watched carefully, tuning out the bickering in his ear.

A streak of a blaster shot through the air heading for the very clueless Tech who was pinned down. Without thinking he aimed. Time slowed as he watched the bullet fly through the air. His finger tightened on the trigger and in the time of a heartbeat he fired. The bullets collided and went wide, missing Tech who was quickly getting surrounded.

He aimed again, this time at the chains holding up the large doors. He shot. The first chain broke. Reaming at the other chain he fired again. His brothers could handle the droids, He’d handle the sniper. He shot again. The chain rattled but stayed in place. Another shot and the door dropped crushing the few droids underneath.

“Cross what’s happening? Was that you?” Hunter’s voice broke through the wall of concentration he put up.

“Little busy” He replied, moving positions to aim where the other nest would be and waited. One breath, two, three, there. Movement caught his eye as someone poked their head up. His finger tightened and he felt the familiar kick of his gun. The figure dropped and He stood.

By the time grabbed a speeder and made his way to the warehouse the fight was over and other than a few burns and cuts his brothers were safe.

Hunter

Hunter was having another bad day. He didn’t have them as often as he did when they were cadets. He had learned how to suppress it better. Or, Crosshair suspected, how to hide them better.

However, he still had days where he was easily overwhelmed. They all knew the signs. Talking quieter, flinching more, headaches, tensing at the smallest sound, not wanting people to talk or touch him, sitting further away from the group. Crosshair had had migraines before and remembered how awful those were, he was glad that he would never have to deal with increased senses.

Hunter was in the cockpit looking out the window. Everyone had tried to give him as much space as possible so they were making themselves busy elsewhere. He set a steaming cup of the tea he always drank when he had bad days down as gently as possible in front of Hunter and sat across from him. They sat in silence for a time. He watched Hunter slowly sip the tea.

“Thank you,” Hunter whispered

“You should go lay down. I’ll keep the others quiet.” Although he had lowered his voice Hunter still winced.

“I’m okay, We’re almost to the mission anyway.”

Stubborn as always. Wordlessly Crosshair checked the computers, there was an uninhabited planet not far from them. He entered the coordinates and the ship changed course.

Hunter raised a questioning eyebrow and he just gave him a smile.

“Where are we going?”

“Jargon. It’s quiet.”

“Cross I-” He glared at the dash that beeped and sighed. “Thank you”

He hummed in acknowledgment. The mission could wait a few hours, or even a few days, as long as his brothers were okay.

Echo

Crosshair couldn’t sleep. He and Echo had just gotten back to the ship after a week away. Tech, Hunter, and Wrecker were still away and weren’t expected until at least the next day. Why Hunter decided to make him go alone with the new guy was beyond him. He wasn’t interested in making friends. He had his brothers and that was more than enough.

He laid in his bunk staring up at the ceiling. The ship was eerily quiet with everyone being away. As much as he wanted to enjoy it, it filled him with dread. He had grown to love the noise and chaos that came with the bad batch and missed it when it was gone.

He heard movement and was pulled from his thoughts.

“No… No” Echo was murmuring. He sat up and got out of bed to see what was going on. Quietly making his way over he could see Echo tossing in his bunk. His first instinct was to call for Hunter. This was more of his thing. However, that wasn’t an option.

Kneeling beside the bed he put a hand on the clone’s shoulder. “Echo,” Echo responded by getting louder.

“No! Please!”

“Echo!” He shook him. “Wake up.”

The tossing stopped and his eyes opened with a deep breath. He tried to sit up but the hand stopped him. “Rex will come back for me!”

“He already has.” He removed his hand and leaned back to give the man some space. Dealing with nightmares wasn’t anything new. They all had them.

Clarity came into Echos eyes. “Crosshair?” He sat up, still breathing heavily.

“You had a nightmare.” It was a fact and yet Echo looked down ashamed. Crosshair watched carefully as Echo looked everywhere but him. “I’m sorry I woke you.” With that, he laid back down. Crosshair internally cursed both the regs and Hunter.

Nightmares were a part of life for the clones however the regs had something against talking about them. They preferred to keep the pain a secret, pretend it wasn’t there. Why they were taboo to talk about was beyond him. He had spent many nights listening to his brothers talk about theirs and he had spent almost as much time sitting up with at least one of his brothers because of his own nightmares.

While he understood why and even accepted bringing Echo aboard he still wasn’t that close to him and didn’t plan on getting close. He was, after all a reg. A reg who had special abilities now, but a reg nonetheless. He knew that Hunter wanted him to let Echo in the way he had let in his brothers. He also knew that he didn’t care what Hunter wanted. However, as he watched Echo close his eyes and pretend to fall back asleep his heart twisted.

He stood. “Come with me.” Without waiting he walked out of the ship. On his way out he grabbed a blanket.

A few moments after he walked out onto the ship’s ramp, Echo joined him.

“Crosshair? Is there a problem?” He still looked scared. Like any minute he’d be sucked back into his dreams never to return.

“Sit.” Echo did as was ordered. Sitting on the ramp. The black sky was filled with twinkling stars. Cross put the blanket over Echo’s shoulders and sat next to him.

Crosshair was looking straight ahead. “If you are going to be a part of the bad batch you need to learn to accept help.”

“I don’t know what you-”

“Fresh air is the best remedy for nightmares.” He turned to look at Echo. “There is no use in keeping them bottled up.”

They sat there most of the night. Echo told him about his time before being taken, his brothers, his commanders. He told him about Fives and Rex. He told him about his time as an unwilling traitor to the republic he loved.

They both silently promised to not talk about that night again. Echo didn’t want to be embarrassed and Crosshair didn’t want this responsibility any more than he needed to take it. Or at least that’s what he would say if pressed.

The next morning Crosshair was woken up by his brother’s arrival. Their part of the mission was a success. And as the five of them walked into the ship and Crosshair figured that maybe four brothers wouldn’t be so bad.

CT-9904

Good soldiers follow orders.

The rest of the bad batch was in the hanger. Predictable. They always thought they were a step ahead. Now he would show them how flawed their thinking really was. They were cowards trying to run away.

Hunter walked out from behind the crates. Reckless a small part of him thought. He ignored it. He had eyes on Wrecker, Echo, and Omega. All behind the crates. Tech was most likely in the ship.

“Best stand down Sargent,” He said. They were in a standoff and Crosshair knew who would win when the time came. The traitors wouldn’t hurt him. “Make it easy on yourself.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Hunter replied.

Yes

‘Quiet’

“We should’ve killed that Jedi. You disobeyed orders” Why didn’t Hunter follow the orders? If he had just been a good soldier, a good leader, then none of this would be happening.

“I did what I thought was right.” Hunters snapped, stepping forward.

“You never could see the bigger picture.” He shrugged. “Now surrender.”

Let them go.

Hunter glanced back at the group as they prepared for a firefight. Wrecker put his helmet on.

These are your brothers.

“Is that an order?” Hunter looked back at him.

He let out a chuckle. “I guess it is.”

Don’t do this.

“Well, I guess I’m disobeying that one too.”

They stayed staring at each other. Waiting to see who would make the first move. He spat out the toothpick.

Stop, please, no.

‘Quiet,’

His finger tightened as the thunder rumbled. He wanted Hunter to come peacefully. Why did Hunter never listen? He didn’t want to hurt them.

But he would do what he must.

In one motion he lifted his arm, set the blaster on it and fired. Hunter ducked and it hit the ramp of the ship. A part of him was screaming that this was wrong but he continued. The clones he was with open fired. Clone force 99 returned fire and two smoke bombs were thrown. They moved in.

He took aim again. This time using a heat sensor. He let off a few shots then waited. They needed to clear the smoke and when they did…

The sound of metal hitting metal rang through the air as the smoke cleared. Wrecker was in the middle of it and through one of the container lids, knocking some clones down.

Taking aim all he could see was the second one coming for him. He rolled out of the way as the containers fell where he was moments ago.

He aimed.

NO!

He shot, hitting Wrecker’s armour. He’d survive.

This time Wrecker fell. His brothers wouldn’t fall for it but the girl might and if he got a clear shot on the girl Hunter would soon follow.

Sure enough, a blonde head poked out from behind the crates and he fired again. He missed as she was pulled back undercover.

The ship started up. They couldn’t go. They needed to stay, needed to see that this was the right thing.

“Seal the bay doors!” He ordered. The clone to his right. He ran for the panel on the wall.

A light started flashing and a warning alarm beep. The door didn’t shut.

“Sir! Someone is overriding the controls.”

Tech.

He took aim once again. Hunter was giving Omega orders. She would be his target as they tried to leave.

“Only one way out Hunter. Your move.” He said.

Traitor.

The voice was loud and annoying. He shook it off.

He put his finger on the trigger.

“Go!”

Hunter and Echo stood and fired. Moving into the walkway, towards Wrecker. Towards the ship. Moving forward to cover he fired. He made it behind the crates and mentally kicked himself. Why wasn’t he aiming properly? This should be over already.

The last clone fell, hit by the oncoming fire. He turned his head to try and see where they were but couldn’t see them. Only the blaster bolts. He stood and took aim. Hunter was in his sights. This time he wouldn’t miss and he wouldn’t have mercy.

Stop!

His finger tightened on the trigger when suddenly electricity ran through the gun. He watched it drop and looked to where the shot was fired. Standing on the ramp was Omega. Blaster in hand.

He could swear he heard laughing from somewhere inside of him.

He pulled the blaster off of his hip and aimed. Omega shot first. Both the shots missing as he ran for cover.

You’ve lost. Let them go.

The ship lifted off and he ran towards it. Firing. None of his shots hit and soon the door was shut.

He stopped running once they were in space. He put the blaster away and took off his helmet. He looked into space as the mix of emotions bubbled inside of him. They left him. He failed his first mission. He knew Wrecker would live and his brothers would be okay. That’s all that matters.

[aj28gaming]

How post-game SDR2 should've been like

BTW THIS SHIT IS RUSHED AND DEFINITELY NOT MY BEST WORK, JUST GO TO MY AO3 FOR SLIGHTLY BETTER WORKS

https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJcooper28/works

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"I...almost got Junko to take over everyone's bodies and spread despair to the entire world."

He finally said it. He finally admitted it

After realizing everything, from how Nagito was right all along to how everyone else was and is far far worse than Nagito could ever be

And that includes Hajime, who just admitted to being the worst of everyone on this island.

Because he just now admitted to Nagito, his friend that he hated and abandoned throughout the killing game all because of a misunderstanding, that he almost caused the worst nightmare Nagito could ever dream of

Total, utter, despair. To the entire world

Again.

It took some time for Hajime to accept it, to accept, with the help of his multiple analytical talents of course, that he was probably the worst possible friend and person anyone can ask for.

Sure, Nagito was "weird," but boy was he right about almost anything.

His "hope" is truly the literal definition of hope.

As his "Ultimate literate" and "Ultimate English Major" would say,

hope /hōp/ 📷Learn to pronounce

noun 1. a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. "he looked through her belongings in the hope of coming across some information" Similar: aspiration, desire, wish, expectation, ambition, aim, plan, dream, daydream, pipe dream, longing, yearning, craving, hankering 2. ARCHAIC a feeling of trust. "our private friendship, upon hope and affiance whereof, I presume to be your petitioner" verb want something to happen or be the case. "he's hoping for an offer of compensation"

Everything checks out

No wonder Nagito called Peko Fuyuhiko's hope. No wonder Nagito said that Teruteru's hope was to see his mom and save the culinary family legacy.

No wonder Nagito said Mikan murdered for despair, after all her beloved was Junko Enoshima, the ultimate despair herself.

It's crazy how right Nagito was all along, how much empathy and understanding he has had for every one of their classmates.

It's just that, sadly, no one understood how right he was all this time.

Not even Hajime himself.

He always thought Nagito couldn't be trusted, that he was always scheming something or up to no good. Trying to plan something to mess with their heads or trick them once again.

Once again...

Hajime would laugh. Because, now, he finally realized how wrong he was with that mindset.

And he only developed that mindset after the first trial.

And what did Nagito do during the first trial?

Everyone thought Nagito tried to kill Byakuya out of pure insanity but failed thanks to Teruteru killing him instead. That's why everyone started to change their perception of him.

And what made it worse was that "maniacal laugh" he did during the trial, it amplified everyone's fear and hatred of him even more.

But that couldn't be farther from the truth.

You see, and Hajime has just found this out thanks to his observations and ultimate talents, Nagito doesn't laugh out of joy or happiness. No, not at all.

In fact, he laughs when he gets surprised, not because he is having fun. And considering the situation he was in, from indirectly causing two murders to being ganged up on by everyone else because of being suspected as the culprit, who wouldn't go crazy and stressed at a predicament like that?

He wasn't enjoying any of that one bit, in fact, it was quite the opposite.

Thinking about it now, it's starting to become painfully clearer. Nagito wasn't at all enjoying the killing game, he was terrified. He hated it more than anyone else, it was his personal hell after all.

That's why he kept clinging to hope. After all, it's normal for a person to cling to a shining hope in a despairful situation. A beam of light, a tiny spec of happiness.

A good ending. That's what Nagito wanted.

No wonder he kept talking about hope, he was desperate for it, everyone was.

But god did they mistreat Nagito.

And back to what Nagito actually did during the first trial.

You see, he wasn't actually trying to get anyone killed.

He was trying to become the first victim himself

It may seem weird at first because that would mean kickstarting the killing game, but it makes sense the more you think about it.

The killing game would've started regardless, and the murders and trials after the first prove that.

And Nagito knew this, which added to the reasons he was paranoid during the start. It was his personal hell, after all, seeing death surround him and his classmates once more.

As if his luck cycle hasn't already tormented him enough...

And so, that's why Nagito did it. He knew that no matter what, someone would've killed someone

He just wanted it to be him and no one else. So no one else has to die like the victims of his horrid luck cycle.

Damn his selflessness...

And that includes his stunt during the 5th trial.

Who can blame a guy, who just found out he is stuck with a bunch of terrorists and remnants of despairs that terrorized the entire world for god knows how long, for wanting those very people dead?

Those very people, that tortured, murdered, manipulated, brainwashed, blackmailed, amputated their bodies, for the sake of despair.

Who wouldn't want them dead? Who wouldn't go crazy at that revelation?

No one. No one at all.

Not even Hajime. After all, he did go crazy after finding out that very same fact that Nagito found out.

So crazy that he almost did the complete opposite of what Nagito tried to do and nearly got everyone to get taken over by Junko and to spread despair again.

To torture, murder, manipulate, blackmail...

All that to happen again. All because Hajime didn't want to die.

So much that he was about to commit the biggest mistake in human history, causing everyone's greatest fears to come to life once again.

All because of his stupidity, his uselessness.

Maybe he really was just a useless reserve course student after all...

No wonder Nagito hated everyone, no wonder Nagito hated Hajime the most.

Who wouldn't?

Damn Hajime's selfishness...

Damn him for thinking about himself instead of everyone else.

Damn him for not being there for his first friend who was the most stressed and vulnerable throughout the killing game.

Damn him for his uselessness, his stupidity.

Damn him...

And so, that's why Hajime admitted it. Despite knowing that what he almost did would've caused Nagito's worst fears to come to life again.

Despite knowing that this would give Nagito even more reason to hate him and despise him for the rest of his life.

Despite knowing how much despair Nagito is already in after finding out he is still trapped with the very people he hates and fears the most

Despite all this, Hajime still pushed himself to be honest. Because he couldn't take it anymore.

After everything he and the others have done to Nagito, how they treated him like a psycho when in reality he hated the killing game more than all of them combined, which was the main reason he went crazy, Nagito deserved to know the truth.

To know how despairful and horrible Hajime really is.

And so he said it, and the boy's response from the inside of his cottage was to be expected of course.

"What?" he barely croaked out, of course too shocked to even understand what he just heard.

Despite his heart-wrenching guilt already clawing the back of his mind into the deep crevices of hell, where he truly belonged at this point, he still pushed on.

"I..."

"You could've caused despair!?" It was louder this time, the interrupting scold almost hurtful and loud enough to make Hajime want to cover his ears and walk away, to pretend like none of this was happening.

"I-"

"Do you...have any idea what you could have done!?" Nagito took a quick breath in the middle, he was hyperventilating.

Makes sense, after all, it's not every day that you get told by your supposed "friend" that he almost caused everyone's nightmares and despairs to come to life by a press of a button.

It's not every day that you find out that same "friend" of yours would've picked causing terrorism and mindless torture to spread throughout the entire world instead of suicide.

It's not every day that you find out this "friend" of yours, who you helped and cared about the most throughout the killing game, would've caused you the most despair and trauma that your luck has ever given you in your entire life.

It's not every day that the person you care about the most, is also the person that would hurt you the most.

And Hajime knew this. Boy did he know this.

Which explains the protruding and continuous sweat dripping so much that they began to sting his eyes, the aching chest covering a heart beating so fast that he wouldn't be surprised if he passed out on the spot.

But he couldn't, he had to push through.

After all, it's all his fault. And he had to take responsibility.

And Nagito definitely deserved to know everything.

But still, it didn't stop him from facing away slightly, like a kid scared of getting punished by their infuriated mom.

"You...you could've caused despair! No! Complete terrorism! Everyone and everything would've been in total chaos and despair all because of you! You...you monster! You absolute monster!"

Every word followed by a broken and betrayed sob. Despite him being "prepared," it didn't stop Hajime from wanting to cry in shame and kill himself to just end all of this already.

"You...I...Why? Why would you do this?" Nagito begged, almost on the verge of tears.

"W-well...it's not like I went along with it in the end!" Hajime "reasoned."

Then, he realized his mistake far too late. Of course, it didn't matter if he did it or not, what matters is the fact that he considered the idea. And that fact couldn't be more true for Nagito.

So Hajime tried to backtrack his mistake, realizing soon after that his destiny was sealed, "Nagito, I didn't mean-"

"Do none of them matter? Countless people, murdered, tortured, manipulated into despair for despair, all because of you. Do they seriously not matter? You think it's okay just because you 'didn't do it in the end?' Of course not, just the fact that you considered it is horrifying enough!"

"WELL WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE!?" Hajime snapped, realizing too late that due to his impulsiveness and anger, he asked the dumbest question anyone could ask.

"WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE IF-"

"I WOULD'VE SACRIFICED MYSELF!" Nagito snapped back.

"I WOULD'VE SACRIFICE MY EVER USELESS, DESPICABLE SELF NO QUESTIONS ASKED IF IT MEANT PREVENTING THE WORLD FROM TOTAL DESPAIR! I WOULD'VE GLADLY LAID MY LIFE DOWN, BE TORTURED ENDLESSLY IF IT MEANT SAVING THE WORLD FROM TOTAL ANNILATION!"

Nagito was breathing heavily now, so heavily it's practically an asthma attack mixed with tears and hyperventilation. Hajime could almost hear him trying to keep himself stable while his mental state continues to worsen the process.

His saliva spitting out of his mouth from him trying to breathe properly and lashing out in anger, agony, and betrayal.

Nagito was in tears so much that he almost can't see anything because of the number of tears accumulated in his eye sockets. He hated this, he hated this so much. It hurts him so much.

And what hurts him the most is that despite all of this, he still can't stop loving Hajime, he can't stop having him deep inside his heart...

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(OKAY TO BE CONTINUED CUZ I NEED TO WORK ON OTHER SHIT BUT HERE IT IS IN CASE YOU GUYS WANNA READ ABOUT IT

I MIGHT CONTINUE OR FINISH THIS SOON)

[mooncat457writing]

Hiii!! For the summer prompts -5 (watching fireflies) and Deamus, if it catches your fancy, please? Maybe some post-war summer nights there 💜 but honestly whatever you want to do with it would be great!

This took so long and it kind of got away from me, so thank you for being patient <3

Dance of the Fireflies

Part of Here Comes the Sun

Fandom: Harry Potter Ship: Wolfstar Rating: T Prompt: 5. Watching the fireflies

“Seamus.”

“Seamus.”

“Shay?”

Seamus turned over to face the whisper, the blow-up mattress he was sleeping on sagging under the shifting weight. “Hm?”

“Are you awake?” Dean whispered.

“Well, I am now,” Seamus grumbled. He opened one eye and looked up to see Dean hanging over the edge of his twin bed. “What is it, Dean?”

“Can’t sleep,” Dean admitted. “Can we get some air?”

“We won’t wake your mum and dad?”

Dean shook his head against his pillow. “They’ve gotten used to it.”

Seamus wasn’t quite sure what Dean meant by that, but looking at the way Dean worried at his bottom lip, he thought figuring it out could wait. Seamus’ face softened, and he sat up, the mattress lurching again with the movement. “Yeah, let’s go then.”

Dean gave him a half-smile and swung his legs out of bed. They didn’t bother changing out of their pajamas and just slipped on their trainers before tiptoeing down the hall to the back door leading to the garden.

It was warm out but not unpleasant, and there was a soft ambiance due to the fireflies in the air. But what stood out to Seamus was how quiet it was. He’d grown used to the city sounds every time he stepped out of the shite-hole flat in London he’d moved into right after the war—a flat he’d offered to share with Dean. But Dean had opted to stay with his parents, and as Seamus took in the Thomas’ backyard, he understood why. It was peaceful.

Seamus looked over at Dean and watched the tension leave his face and body. “Better?” Seamus asked.

Dean nodded and walked further into the yard before plopping onto the ground under a tree. Seamus followed suit, laying down to stare up at the night sky.

“You know,” Dean mused after a few moments of watching the fireflies in the cricket-filled silence, “you’d think I’d be tired of the outdoors after all the time I spent on the run, but it’s kind of the opposite. The longer I spend inside, the antsier I get.”

Seamus turned his head to look at him carefully. Dean never talked about the time he spent on the run before, and Seamus never asked. Actually, the two of them hadn’t talked about anything regarding the war in the two months that have passed since Voldemort was officially defeated. Not Dean’s time on the run from Snatchers, not Seamus’ endless punishments from the Carrows while at Hogwarts, not even the almost moment the two of them shared when they were finally reunited in the Room of Requirement. And Seamus was too afraid to bring up any of it. He’d almost lost his best friend once; he couldn’t risk scaring Dean away by starting a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

But maybe now…

“What was it like?” Seamus asked.

“Being on the run?” Dean asked in response.

Seamus nodded, but when he realized Dean wasn’t looking at him, he hummed affirmatively.

“At first, it wasn’t so bad, but I think I hadn’t fully realized the severity of the circumstances. I had people to rely on—fully grown wizards who knew a hell of a lot more than me. But as time went on….” Dean shook his head. “But it never really became real. It was like it was all happening to someone else.”

“It was like that for me at Hogwarts, as well,” Seamus admitted quietly. “Sometimes I would pretend it was like a horrible dream because if it was a dream, then I could wake up. And if I could wake up, then the Carrows wouldn’t be there, and you would be there instead.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Seamus saw Dean turning his head to look at him.

Seamus took a deep breath, steeling his nerves to say what he’d been wanting to say since they reunited in the Room of Requirement a few months ago. He wanted to look at him, but he kept his eyes trained on the fireflies dancing above him, too scared of Dean’s reaction. “I really missed you.”

Dean’s breath hitched, but he said nothing.

Seamus held his breath and closed his eyes. He’d said too much.

“I missed you, too,” Dean said finally, just as Seamus was opening his mouth to apologize. “I missed you so much. I didn’t let myself think about how much I missed my family or anyone else—because whenever I did, it got too hard—but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about you.”

Seamus heard a shuffling.

“I thought about you all the time. It was the only thing that kept me even the slightest bit sane. Remembering the good times, hoping you were safe, imagining when I’d see you again….”

Seamus felt Dean’s warm hand brush against his, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

“Shay.” Dean’s voice broke slightly. “Look at me, please.”

Seamus swallowed, opened his eyes, and turned his head to find Dean lying on his side staring at him. He was worrying at his lip again, which always drove Seamus a little mad on a normal day, but after nearly a year of separation and what he thought Dean was confessing at that moment, he broke.

Their lips met clumsily at first. Seamus had minimal kissing experience, and he hadn’t taken his time to get into a less awkward position before basically launching himself at Dean’s face, but once Dean seemed to register what was happening, his experience made up the difference. That first frantic and too-hard kiss turned into several softer, unhurried ones as Dean’s hand slipped into Seamus’ hair, anchoring their mouths together. Seamus’ hand came up to cradle Dean’s head as he shifted their position into a more comfortable one, with him on his back and Dean hovering just above him.

Minutes passed—or at least what Seamus thought were minutes—until they finally had to pull apart for air. Seamus stared up at Dean, his pupils surely blown wide. “I—uh—I couldn’t—was that alright?”

Dean smiled softly and nodded. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages. Planned on it when I knew I’d get to see you again, but then I saw—” He trailed a thumb over Seamus’ cheekbone, which had been mottled with bruises from the Carrows at their reunion.

“So I wasn’t imagining that moment then.” He’d been going for a teasing remark, but it came out as a whisper as Dean replaced his thumb with his lips, softly brushing them against Seamus’ cheek. Seamus inhaled sharply.

Dean shook his head and brushed another kiss to Seamus’ cheek. “I think this makes for a better memory anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’d have wanted our anniversary to have been that day, anyway,” Seamus mumbled in agreement.

“Anniversary?” Dean lifted his head to look into Seamus’ eyes. “Seamus, are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“I—I thought—Well, I assumed since we—” Seamus gestured inelegantly between them, then let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not great with words, but you know I’m absolutely mad for you, right?”

Dean grinned and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Seamus’ mouth before dropping his head to rest on Seamus’ shoulder. “Boyfriends, it is then because I’ve been gone for you for ages.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the fireflies and listening to the faint sound of crickets. After a while, Seamus felt Dean’s breathing even out. Assuming he was asleep, Seamus closed his eyes, content to fall asleep in the grass, when Dean mumbled, “Hey Shay? Is that roommate offer still open, or did you find someone?”

Seamus tightened his arm around Dean’s shoulder. “There’s no one else I would have wanted to live with, so yeah, it’s still open.”

“Good.”

🍉 🍉 🍉

Send me a prompt (or several) and a pairing!

[silvanable]

Idk if hcs are open and ignore me if it isnt!! Can i request an angsty ikevamp prompt? How would suitors react to an MC he likes who likes another suitor? Both suitor and MC's love can be unrequited, and MC could come to suitor to talk about her unrequited love. If you want to make it super angsty, MC could be suitor's first actual romantic interest in a very long time. Plz feel free to choose any suitor, but my favs are leo/comte. I love your writings :) thanks so much!

i know you said headcanons but i saw this as a perfect opportunity to slap down an angst filled fic because i’m not doing so hot and i can’t process emotions unless it’s written format. anyways, i hope you don’t mind!

i figured it was about time i got back to my roots, bringing the unholy angst back that started this blog— 

SO HAPPY THANKSGIVING AND WHY NOT WRECK CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAYS WITH A LITTLE ANGST, EH?

and everyone can cry with me because we all abso—fucking—lutely know that comte would sideline himself and his feelings for the better of others.

↪  GUIDELINES

✒ tags : unrequited love, comte x mc, mentioned mc x leonardo, angsty af, gn!reader mostly but love languages don’t have fucking gn terms

✒ warnings : n/a

✒ word count : 1740

It seemed this was some sort of punishment. It had to be, perhaps to make up for all the things he had done in his youth. Fitting, he would agree, but it did not lessen the pain.

Here you are, sitting in the garden with him.

A wistful sigh falls from your lips.

The things he would do to comfort you. To assure you that you were deserving of all admiration and love.

He would steal your breath with amorous kisses, only daring to relent when neither of you could last a moment longer without air. He would whisper every loving and reassuring word he could muster from his tongue. He would hold you close and keep you in his embrace until you understood how much he adored you.

He would do all these things because he loved you like any other before. You were intoxicating. The way you smiled brought warmth to his chest. The sound of your laughter was a melody he could never tire of. The scent of you was more intoxicating than any vintage wine that ever grazed his lips.

Without you, he was empty and hollow. You had brought the light back into his life. You had offered a hand to him and showed him a gentleness he believed he was undeserving of.

And perhaps he still was because your heart belonged to another.

Comte forced a small smile.

“Ma cherie,” He called your attention. Those beautiful eyes flickered away from the cup of tea in your hands and up to him. His heart still had not gotten used to such a sweet gaze upon him, yet now it was broken with sorrow.

“You said you wanted my advice on something?”

You pursed your lips in response. It seemed you were second-guessing yourself on the need to talk. Comte knew the expression you made all too well and offered a small, encouraging nod.

Another sigh escaped you, far heavier than the one before. “There’s… Someone I like and the problem is, well, they don’t seem to feel the same way.”

What a bitter irony of life.

“See,” You shifted, sitting up and twisted your hands in the hem of your sleeves, “It’s been a long time since I felt something for someone and… I don’t know— maybe I’m just over-analyzing it because they were nice.”

He understood, Comte understood entirely what you meant. After all, he was looking at the very person who had set a spark to his heart’s fire and he would never say a thing.

“Are you sure this mysterious suitor is just unaware of your affections?” He took a sip from the teacup in his hands. He tried to play it off calmly, to hold himself together.

Nothing was allowed to slip through his carefully crafted facade. It took decades to build such a gentlemanly persona and he would not allow himself to fall in shambles, back onto his old ways. No, he had to be a better man.

No matter how much this drove a knife into his chest.

You shrugged, defeated with a gesture of your hand. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because we’re just too different—personal—and don’t even get me started on time-traveling culturally!” An exasperated huff left you, somewhere between a broken laugh and squashed sob.

Comte said your name softly, “Surely there are things you have similar, things that drew you to this person,” He set the tea aside on the table between you both, “Have you confronted them about your feelings?”

As if he was one to talk about such a thing, with you just across from him, yet he hid a secret from you.

A growl of frustration erupted from your throat. “That’s the thing! I’ve tried so many times to find a good moment but any time I start, he somehow always manages to run away!” By now you were on your feet, angrily pacing through the gazebo.

“I mean, did I do something wrong? Is it because he’s a vampire and I’m not?” You vented, too caught in the whirlwind of your growing anger to notice the softness the pureblood gazed at you with.

He understood the fear of that commitment. You were mortal after all, he was not. No doubt the resident—who Comte had a growing suspicion of who, yet would not dare entertain the thought, not yet—feared their long life and falling for someone who would, eventually, pass away and leave them a broken heart.

He would love you nonetheless. If you were his, he would dare to turn you if you let him, so that he could have you to himself longer.

Selfish, yes, but if he had been fortunate enough to have your heart he would never want to let it go.

“Or is it because of the door? I don’t have to go back—hell! I’ve thought more than once these past few weeks about not going back!” You glared heatedly at the mansion. A gaze that was so fierce that the flames of it practically glowed in your eyes.

“But when I mention I might suddenly Leonardo—” Comte visibly flinched, you did not notice, “—is insisting that I go the moment I’m able when all I’ve been trying to tell him is I want to stay for him!”

How could you be so cruel and yet so gentle at the same time?

Comte had only wished you had never said his name, his closest friend. He could feel his heart twist, the ugly head of jealousy reared like a viper, but he forced it down.

He was a gentleman, one of the utmost kind.

Comte’s smile strained but to you, it was sympathetic. “You must understand, ma cherie, as pureblood vampires things are different for us.”

“Yes and?” You turned to Comte, expression twisted and asking to explain how any of that mattered. How did being different like that matter so much when you were so enamored with him that you were willing to give up everything you knew just to be with him.

“Does he not want me and just doesn’t want to tell me?” Your voice welled with emotion suddenly, “Does he think it’s sparing my feelings instead of telling me straight?” Tears gathered in your eyes.

It was painful to see you becoming so unraveled. At that moment, it took all his strength to remain poised and still, to not reach over and take you into his arms and kiss away all of your tears. But he could not be the jealous man, it was not his place, because he was not your lover. He was nothing but your host and he had to remain the courteous host for you. 

 And now of all times, he damned himself for taking that position, because it meant he would never have you.

“Perhaps he believes that not telling you will spare you of forcing your decision, of stealing the life you have ahead of you.” And to protect you from the heartache I feel now.

You sank back into your seat. A disheartened sigh fell from your lips as you put your head in your hands. “What should I do?” You lifted your head to look at Comte.

He could not resist your gaze, the way your beautiful eyes plead with him. He wanted to see that stunning smile of yours again, the one that brightened his days, the one he cherished in his dreams.

It was decided at that moment, he would see your smile again. Even if it meant he had to break his heart to have you happy. To see you happy was all he wanted.

“Let me speak with Leonardo,” He prayed you had not heard the jealousy hidden in his chest in his voice, “I’m sure I can find what is troubling my friend and spare you from any further pain.” He leaned forward, taking your hand in his.

If he could freeze time he would have, to engrave this moment in space and never let it pass. The warmth of your hand in his. How the light returned to your face with newfound hope. The sparkle in your eyes. Everything, he wanted to remember everything about you at this moment forever and preserve it.

Alas, time was fleeting, and moved on despite his desperate wishes. So he had to keep the memory, tucked away somewhere close to his heart, never to leave him even with the wear of time.

“You would?” The eager hopefulness in your voice was heart-wrenching.

“Of course, ma cherie,” He patted your hand before he reluctantly withdrew his touch, “This is an issue you have with one of my residents and I would not be a decent host to let these problems fester when they affect you so.”

You were absolutely beaming, a bright smile that could rival the sun’s own warmth and light. It was something he wished he could have basked in for eternity.

“Thank you so much, Comte,” You jumped from your seat, throwing your arms around him.

The action was so sudden it had taken him by surprise and yet before he could process and return the gesture, you drew away again.

“Thank you!” You repeated, gathering up the dishes from your tea chat, “I should go help Sebastian with dinner.” Your tone was practically ecstatic as you moved back towards the path to the mansion.

All the while Comte only smiled at you. Yet as your figure grew further and further away, fading into the gardens lush greenery, his smile began to gradually fall.

That facade of a caring, gentlemanly host shattered the moment you were gone. Emotions erupted from the tight fist that had held them at bay. Comte pressed a hand to his mouth, restraining the sounds of sorrow that threatened to burst from him. Amber eyes welled with unshed tears.

Emotions rushed over him like a tidal wave. There was no moment to breathe, not a chance to catch himself. No, these feelings grabbed hold of him and dragged him under. He would drown in them and nothing could save him now.

Comte swallowed hard and his eyes fluttered close.

The sky grew darker as time passed him by in silence.

He took a shaky breath and steadied himself, dropping his hand into his lap, as he regained his composure.

“For you,” His voice betrayed the emotions under the calm face, “For you, ma cherie, and your smile.”

[andhumanslovedstories]

the old guard, 2k words, nicolò in the earliest days of immortality. cw for suicide attempts and self-harm. 

The promise of heaven is life unending after death. What then is life unending without dying? It is suffering eternal. To be a body in this imperfect world is to be ground by the millstone. Death is the temporary liberation from the frail and tortuous flesh. Even the bodily resurrection of the end of days promised the spirits of heaven to return to the earth only when the earth was made at last perfect again. Jesus Christ, both God and Man, was His body and inhabited His body, offered His body, endured His body, and eventually vacated His body. 

That Jesus Christ returned to His body no longer seemed, to Nicolò, miraculous. It seemed to Nicolò, who despised himself for the blasphemy and yet blasphemed regardless, intolerable cruelty torture a man to death and then refuse to let him die.

What would you call such a thing? Nicolò called it Hell. 

In his agony, he found relief by listing his sins. They slid like beads in place, the endless flaws and crimes of his mortal life; they explained his suffering. Here he acted in anger, here pride, here disobedience against his betters. He counted up lusts and vices, finding new perversions and indecencies in each memory he revisited. He flagellated, paid penance out of his accursed flesh, and watched those wounds, his offerings to God, seal up without an answer. Determining that he must not have atoned in full, he searched his life and repented new crimes. He wept for the times he lowered his eyes from God to the jawline of a handsome man. He whipped himself for the mornings of prayer when he resented leaving the warmth of his bed. The tears dried. The wounds healed. Nicolò remained. 

Even now in Hell and burning, he still could not cease his sinning, his blasphemy. He would think, God has placed me where even He cannot reach, and sink further into his heretical misery. 

It is worth auditing his accounting. Nicolò was not an impartial observer of his own life. Who is? We none of us stand outside ourselves looking in until our bodies have given up the ghost. And Nicolò’s body gave up nothing. What crimes then did Nicolò neglect? 

Do you think the crusader thought, My sins include the butchered Turks, my sword buried in corpses of its own creation? We know the disappointing answer. Nicolò was not yet what he would someday be. 

He did not yet think, My sin is this burning land, the torch set to the raided field that our enemies will know no succour. Here is a body, there and there and there as well, killed if not by my hand then by my cause, the liberation of a holy dream that I found was inhabited by men of matter. I killed a Turk as one would a rabid dog incapable of reason or love. He was a man as I am a man, and therefore surely if I am beloved by God (although I cannot, as I once did, believe that), then he must be as well. God made man in His image and then made Himself in the image of man. God is in any man and every man. I have killed this man in hate. I have killed God. 

He did not, he could not, or rather could not allow himself to think such a thing. It is no simple thing to look upon the suffering Christ and understand yourself to be the Roman soldier. And when he did, when he could, despite the impossibility of such fancies, he cursed the treachery of his weak heart. Those thoughts were not his own. They were the whispers of the demon. 

Oh yes. We come now to sleep, as Nicolò came to sleep: haltingly, reluctantly, with terror in our hearts. How cruel of his body to refuse death but to demand this nightly dying. 

The demon visited Nicolò nightly. After too many failed killings at each other’s hands, they had fled each other in waking hours only to find themselves shackled together in dreams. He was, as all temptations are, too sweet and too rich and too fine. He was a Turk with a handsome face and cold eyes and cold steel. In dreams, sometimes Nicolò watched him, and sometimes Nicolò was him, and sometimes the demon was Nicolò, and sometimes they were two women in a distant land, two women who were walking closer and closer and closer. 

“I think sometimes,” the demon said to Nicolò one night in dreams, “that those two women are the only people who can kill us. And that is why they come.” 

“You’ll die at no one’s hand but my own,” Nicolò replied. 

He flayed his back with self-flagellation and when that gained him no results, he found other ways of punishing the flesh. But these methods proved imperfect in their efficacy. How to torture without executing? One day in his zealous repentance, he sliced too deep. He knew he was dying when he suddenly felt cold underneath the noon day sun. A sin, a sin, an unforgivable sin, he thought, cut again, and let death happen. The blood left him, running out of his arm like the plagued river of Egypt, and on the other side of this horror, this punishment, Nicolò knew, there would be the long desert, yes, but there would be freedom, there would be peace. His numbed fingers dropped the knife, that key of liberation, and embraced eternity. 

When he woke, he was hot again. The sun had baked him and his skin burned. But his skin would heal. It would heal that it might burn again and again and again.

“I felt you die today,” the demon said that night in dreams. 

Nicolò’s laugh filled his mouth like sand. “But here I am.” 

The demon touched his own neck. There was no scar there--never, Nicolò thought bitterly, any scars--but there was a line in the beard like a skilled tailor’s seam, visible only with the closest observer. As though a blade had once sliced through cloth now repaired. “You have to try. It was with this dagger.” He held up the dagger. Nicolò recognized it, had been impaled and sliced by it for all the good it did. “In the fire of Hell I will be punished with this dagger for what I have used it for. And yet I did not die.” The demon looked at Nicolò, and while his steel remained cold, his eyes were not at all. “Is that suicide, Frank? If I cannot die but hoped I would? Will I burn?” 

Every man, no matter how aware of his own sins and failings and culpability for his woes, in the lowest and darkest hour of his life finds himself in Job, that blameless man tormented by God. And in Job’s misery, his friends arrive and dissect in all the ways Job deserved his agony. And Job protests, no, no, I did nothing but my children are dead, my wife is dead, my fortune is gone, my health is gone, I am defenseless before God and I do not understand why. 

Nicolò, too aware and still unaware of his failings and faults, cast himself as Job and Job’s friends: both the blameless victim and the accuser of blame. And Nicolò lamented and hated himself for lamenting, repented and believed he had nothing left to repent. And where was the whirlwind? God sweeping down to answer questions with questions? Were you there at the foundation of the earth, God asked Job. If God asked the same of Nicolò, he could not hear. What was the story of Job? What was the point? Why did Job suffer? Why had God done this to him? Why could Nicolò not submit to the mystery? 

In the face of Nicolò’s silence, the Turk turned cold again, cold as steel and more painful somehow. Perhaps Nicolò had grown too accustomed to the pain of steel. “Why do I ask you? Of course you think I will burn. You have made clear what you think I am, what you think my countrymen and my brothers in faith are. Get out of my dream, Frank. I am sorry to have felt you today in my waking hours. Give me the privacy of my sleeping ones.” 

“Elihu tells Job that God speaks in two ways,” Nicolò said. He did not know why he said it. The Turk looked as if he did not know why Nicolò had said it either. “He speaks to us in dreams when our eyes are closed and in calamities when our ears are open.” 

“What do you mean to tell me with this?” asked the Turk after a moment. His face was still cold, still sharp, and Nicolò could not look away from it, like running his thumb along the edge of a blade. 

What was intolerable about Job’s friends? Their certainty. Their certainty that they understood God and suffering and the reasons for the universe, as if there was reason understandable to mortals, as if God need explain Himself to the world He created.  

“I don’t know,” Nicolò said.

The Turk looked at him, and Nicolò looked at the Turk, in the strange world of dreams where God talked and no one understood.  

Nicolò woke. He woke and thought about the undying Turk. He woke and thought--allowed himself at last to think--of the Turks who died. Whom he killed, and wished to kill, and believed should be killed, in the name of God and glory. Those men allowed to recieve the gift that Nicolò was denied again and again, and he thought, as Job thought, as Job’s friends thought, what his crime was. If I am innocent, Lord, release me. If I am guilty, tell me my crime. The men I killed died and are dead. The men I killed alongside died and are dead. I died and am living still. The Turk is living still. What crime have we both committed that our sentence is the same?

What good have we both committed to have earned this boon? 

Nicolò had never before this moment thought that their undying lives might be a gift. 

Two days later, the Turk found him again. This time, in the waking world. Their swords remained in their sheaths. They emptied instead their boots, and sitting in silence side by side, they sat on the bank and let the river wash their feet. 

“I am tired of dreaming of you,” the Turk announced to the buzzing insects of the encroaching night. “When I followed you to slit your throat, I never dreamed of you. Nor did I dream of you when you were stalking me.” The Turk almost smiled, and Nicolò’s skin burned again, a burn that would not heal for it was no injury at all. “I knew you were near, those times. When you are near, my sleep is easy and punctuated by nothing but a blade.” 

“I am tired. I am confused. I am, I think, more wretched than I ever dreamed, and I understand nothing.” Nicolò said. “I will not kill you again.”

“Our problem is that you have not killed me yet.” 

They sat together, feet in the river. They said nothing and understood nothing. The sun went down and the moon arose, and too the stars. Job had asked God why he suffered so, and God had asked Job if he could bind the chains of the Pleiades or loosen Orion’s belt. Job could not and neither could Nicolò. Nor could the Turk, whose name was Yusuf and who smiled at last in the surprise of being asked. 

[lune-hime]

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Tea Time #5

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

So these little Tea Times were written as little filler-memory chapters to place in between the main story line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not So Indifferent

↞♞♘↠

“Levi why don’t you ask her yourself?” Petra chuckled at her captain’s unamused frown.

Why didn’t he just ask her? He didn't want to seem intrigued. Plus, he had realized he hadn’t been the most chivalrous man to you as a cadet.

Damn your perfect tea and perfect face-

…

Fuck.

“She’s your cousin.” He quipped back defensively. His nonchalant exterior was broken for a moment and it did not get unnoticed by Petra. She threw him a knowing smile.

“Who happens to think you still hate her.” Petra said as they glided through the hallway.

“I drank tea with her though.” Levi replied in slight confusion. Shouldn’t that mean that there was no bad-blood between them? Petra laughed at his reasoning.

“You forced her to drink tea with you.” She pointed out with a fond shake of her head. “Simply drinking tea with someone doesn’t wipe away yelling at them, pushing them extra hard in training, nor acting cold.”

“I’m a captain.” He stated as if that was an excuse for his rocky behavior.

“Yes, and while you are most effective in discipline you’re less specialized--and I say this respectfully sir--in pleasantries.” She declared with a scrunch of her nose.

Levi narrowed his eyes at her assessment. She wasn’t wrong. Though he had no problem with how he treated the cadets he did have a problem figuring out how to rectify his actions regarding you.

Just to get the tea recipe.  

....

Fuck.

Petra sensed his inner confliction and halted their journey through the corridors. She stood in front of her captain and sighed.

“But lucky for you my little cousin is a sweet girl. If you are nice to her, she will probably forgive you for being standoffish to her--within reason.”

~

Why was this making him feel weird , why was the thought of confronting you poking his entire body with pins and needles? He told himself over and over and over it was for the tea. To establish better relations with a relative of one of his squad members.

But he was clowning himself majorly to try to suppress his blossoming intrigue and desire for your company.

As he approached Hange’s lab, the sound of laughter mingled with the clanking of chains. Levi twisted the doorknob with a moment’s hesitation before barging into your workspace.

You were balancing a recently unloaded tranquilizer gun on your shoulder as you smiled at the mess Hange was making with taking a sample of one of Bean’s teeth. Levi stood at the entrance of the titan viewing chamber unnoticed until Hange got up from her knees and spotted him.

“Oh, Levi-what’s up?” She called, saliva dripping down her arm. That same arm held powerful pliers that encircled the prized trophy of the giant molar. Levi swallowed in disgust. When his eyes darted to you, you immediately averted your gaze and fiddled with the strap of the firearm.

“Let me borrow Y/N for a moment.” His command was as chilled as normal but he tried to seem more inviting than usual. By the alarmed look on your face he gathered he had failed.

“Fine, fine. Just don’t kidnap her because she just got here.” Hange waved him off with a flick of the toothed arm and moved over to her work station.

You propped up the gun on Bean’s cage and wiped your hands along your trousers. You inhaled deeply as if you were about to be face to face with a formidable foe.

“Yes, sir.” You said with plastered obedience. Your eyes only met for the split second it took to salute. A splash of saliva that had flown onto you now sprayed the captain with your movement. You gulped at his obvious irritation. Something inside you was thankful to jab back at his previous crudeness to you. But your fear of being punished was overriding that momentary satisfaction.

“Join me for tea again.” He invited with a simple directness that made you do a double take. You felt like you were dreaming, although this was on the cusp of a nightmare rather than a pleasant fantasy. However, you noted there was no malice laced in his words. Nor was there any displeasure in his statuesque features.

“That is, if four eyes ever lets you leave her clutches.” He picked up on the stiffening of your body and softened the offer with an ultimatum if you truly didn’t wish to.

“I would like that, sir.” You replied with an equal parts mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

Did this mean you were in the clear? That you were no longer on the hit-list of the captain? Little did you know you were never on that list to begin with.

Intimidation

↞♞♘↠

Jean knew what he had to do. He didn’t care if it was stupid, traditional, or awkward. This was Y/N we were talking about. He waited for a day when he was feeling extra cocky and bubbled with a confidence that overrode the lingering nervousness.

“Captain Levi.” He called as he approached the man in question from across the stable walkway. His voice resonated with an ego that irritated Levi. Jean inhaled and straightened up to make sure his full height advantage was displayed. He placed all of his focus into portraying a stern façade.

As stern as a kitten could look next to a tiger.

“What is it Kirstein?” Levi drawled without a hint of welcoming in his voice.

“You know that I’ve known Y/N since we were kids. She’s my closest friend-” Jean began, feeling more and more pumped as he looked down almost chest to chest with the smaller man.

“Scratch that-she’s like my sister.” He corrected his previous statement. Levi raised his eyebrows and wondered why the hell he was professing this to him.

“I swore I would always look out for her. Now that you're together if you ever do anything to hurt her-” Jean warned with a brotherly guard.

Levi blinked.

“Are you threatening me, Jean?” Levi challenged with a fire that slapped the younger man's blazing nerve right off its tracks. The captain’s eyes narrowed and he suddenly seemed leagues larger than his lanky companion. The way Levi used his first name in his searing offense deflated his vigor instantly.

“Uh, no sir. I’m just saying-” He sputtered and began stepping backwards to the stable wall when Levi advanced. Shit shit shit what had he gotten himself into?

“You think I would lay a fucking hand on her? Or willingly put her in any situation that would cause her the slightest bit of harm?” Levi seethed, his eyes steely pitchforks swimming in his ignited intensity. Jean felt his back hit the wood of the stable wall and he gulped.

While Levi was offended by his brazen stupidity, he understood where he was coming from. He too once had those in his life that felt like his siblings. Connected by a common will to survive rather than by blood. So he did everything he could not to knee the boy in the dick.

“20 laps for being a fucking idiot.”

[whereflowersbloom]

Superwing

In her dreams she was still a girl living in Krypton with her parents. With her kind-hearted mother, Alura, a brave and virtuous Judicator on the Council, who sentenced criminals to Fort Rozz or other punishments. Aunt Astra, admired and honorable General of the Kryptonian Army, who never meant any harm to others and was bound by the Kryptonian Code of Honor. Who loved her like she was her own child, who always told her she had the strength and determination to achieved her dreams. Zor-El, her father, a brilliant scientist, researching, astounding the kryptonians with his findings, developing new technologies, making their planet a better place for future generations. Building a better tomorrow for you Kara. Her mother would say. She was a girl lying in a comfy bed tucked in with a pillow under her head, and for a single minute it felt as if the thought of Krypton being decimated was just a terrible and dark nightmare. Shadows seeping into her heart, tormenting her sleep. Paralyzing, Twisting the realities and words of her loved ones, causing sorrow, agony and unspeakable despair. Until she wakes up screaming for help, drenched in cold sweat from the tossing and turning, fighting off the demons of her past. Her perfect life was taken away from her. And as much as she loved all the things about being Kara Danvers, there was a part, deep down to he very core that missed being Kara Zor-El. Missed her parents so much that it physically hurt. Missed being under the warm, glowing light of the red sun. She did not dare speak about the matter with her friends, not even her sister, Alex, closest to her heart. For her nightmares where only growing stronger, and her sleep shorter each day, for the last couple of weeks.

In a flash, her precious Krypton was gone, an entire civilization crumbling beneath the ashes and Kara found herself in the darkness of her apartment’s bedroom once again. As she attempted to calm her racing heart which could be heard pounding in her ear like war drums, she knew there was no way she could go on liked his for much longer. It was infinitely frustrating to feel this powerless when she possessed incredible strength. She looked at her family’s emblem. El mayarah, stronger together. Stronger. Together. It had never made her feel more set apart than it did in that moment.

“Kara?” She heard a masculine voice call, gentle but firm. Her heart stuttered for a second, thought it made her feel a little better to hear his comforting voice. Wait a minute. What was he doing here. She frowned as she did not recall hearing shuffling footsteps or a door opening with her superhearing.

Taking a deep breath once and then twice again, she finally stepped forward and creaked the door to reveal the figure of Nightwing on the other side, wearing his vigilante suit. Why is he here? Why would Nightwing be standing at her bedroom’s door at 2:38 in the morning?

“Nightwing? How did you exactly get in here?” Kara snapped her head up to look at him with a slight frown on her face. Frustratingly, Nightwing appeared to enjoy her expression of utter bewilderment as to how he managed to sneak inside.

“I prefer Dick.” He said, offering a sheepish grin and amusement flashed across his blue eyes. “A magician does not reveal his secrets.”

Kara crossed her arms, letting out a silent huff under her breath. “Is breaking into single women’s apartment an habit of yours?” She asked with a raised eyebrow ash she stared at him.

He was exactly the same as the last time Kara had seen her, with his dark hair, olive skin, eyes full of intensity like a bird of prey, softening as he gazed upon her and the soft curl of his lips. He smiled at her, and for a second she thought perhaps she understood why women fawned over the ward of Bruce Wayne. But only for a second. She shook her head pushing away those thoughts.

Nightwing was still standing there, poised and looking as calm as anything. He let out a low laugh And leaned against the doorframe “Seems to be a family trait but Bruce would definitely deny it.” Then she noticed how his smiled was a bit strained, a little tired around the edges just like those shadows under his eyes. It didn’t make him any less handsome.

She shifted from foot to foot, tearing her eyes from his face that had lingered longer than she intended to. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I heard you kicked some alien-reptilian ass today and...” He ran a hand through this hair as if he were somehow nervous or struggling to voice his thoughts. “I just wanted to check on you but then I heard you scream.”

I’ve been working on this and I don’t know if I should continue. I blame 100% @chromium7sky for getting me into this ship 🙈🙈🙈🙈😂😂

[xx-rayne-writes-xx]

The Particularly Odd Timings of Oridon: The Reason pt. 1

Anthony returned soon after. What exactly did Manaphel have to know about the situation? In all truth, nothing, nothing at all. I could get away with making Anthony swoon for me without her having to know a thing. It was as simple as never confirming it.

Who was I to think that would work for long?

It would all be mere things. Giggly things. Shy things. Things that don't really matter enough to mean anything on a larger scale.

It was almost like that.

Lazy rooftop nights spoke otherwise. I couldn't help it, and neither could he. It would just be the two of us up there. Nobody knew about us. It was one of those nights, just one of those nights. The moon was as bright as the sun. He couldn't sleep because of it, but he couldn't sleep because of other reasons too. It was almost like he knew what was coming.

Of course, I invited him to sit out with me. He smoked a tobacco cigarette outside. The scent of it was too strong to be pleasurable, but he liked it, so I let him. When he offered it to me, I accepted. Anything to make him happy after all, even if it caused me to suffer.

The tobacco didn't help much. I still had that fluttery feeling in my stomach. That damned big ball of emotion. It deserved to be thrown out and forgotten about. I figured there was only one way to do that, and that was to get the truth off my chest.

"Anthony, was it worth Hell?"

He hummed for a moment before responding, "I suppose it is. Why ask now?"

"I think I've figured out that odd feeling. Do you understand?"

He glanced up at the sky as if Heaven was judging him. Maybe Heaven was judging me too. He was human, and I was me. I never understood why he was punished like he was supposed to be pure. The universe lets nobody go without punishment however. Knowing he was heading towards suffering was my punishment. I just wanted to carry the weight of his world on my shoulders.

"I understand," he whispered as he grabbed my hand. Both our eyes seemed to drift down at out intertwining fingers -so wrong, but so right. A little gasp of air escaped my lips as I glanced back up at him. To tell him no then would have been a crime, but I should have. It would have been simple to pull my hand away and stuff it under my jacket. It would have been simple to keep him safe. I could have thrown away all those feelings there.

Saying no in that moment was impossible.

His eyes begged yes. If we were anymore secluded, he probably would have been down on his knees begging for me. Giving it to him would be so simple. Everything about his face was so beautiful in that moment. The glorious moonlight on his flushed skin. The little freckles that danced across the bridge of his nose. The way his doe eyes begged me for more.

I pulled my hand away and laid it on his knee.

"Good. You should go back to bed now. You've had your tobacco fix. Go. Back to bed."

There went that sparkle from his eyes. He jerked back a little and his eyebrows knit together.

"W-what?"

"Go to bed, Anthony. Just go to bed, please."

He pushed himself to his feet, then looked down at me. His lips, sweet rose lips, parted, like he was going to say something. No words were spoke between us. There was nothing left to say right now. Simply, he went back inside, and I stayed with the moon till the sun's next dawn.

The next morning we couldn't look each other in the eye. It was sickening the stay near each other. He had no more radiancy, is cheeks were less pink than usual, and most concerning he was wrapped up in a quilt while moping around. As for me, I spent the day in bed. The pounding in my head was like I was living in somebody's heartbeat -his heartbeat.

There was something I could have done. Anything I could have done but that. Why was I ever so stupid? Human daftness was getting to my head more than the day dreams of Anthony. It felt like God's eyes were down upon me again. Every knot in my stomach clenched tighter. It's impossible to run from the world when all eyes are watching.

Only Anthony mattered to me.

I flung myself out of bed around noon. He was in the common area reading a copy of the Bible.

"Do you think that's going to save you?"

He mumbled, "You're sure not."

"I'm trying to save the both of us. Can't you see that?"

He closed that book. "Maybe I don't want to be saved. Maybe what I wanted was you."

"No. I'm not meant for you."

His lip was pulled between his teeth and curtains closed over glossy eyes. Two little sniffles tickled his nose. The muscles in his forehead were clenching as hard as they could.

"Let it out," I whispered, "I need to hear it."

The stage play began. Tears ran down his cheeks. His bottom lip trembled. He threw the Bible at me, but I didn't flinch. His palms went into fists because of that.

"Who fucking cares about what's meant? There's lots of things that aren't meant! You're not meant to be here, yet you're standing there! I'm not meant to be like this! Yet here I am! I'd be damned like this anyways! I can sit here and pretend all day long! I can lie to myself and act like nothing ever happened! I'm not going to do that though! Do you have any thoughts in that oh so holy brain of yours as to why?"

I nodded my head and sighed, "Tell me though. Go on."

"Because damn it Ollie, damn it, I really love you! I give a fuck about you! I want you!

He let his fists fall loose. His lips went back to trembling.

"I want you," he sniffled, "Just you. I don't want to be holy, I want you. You make me holy."

I turned away from him and glanced into the mirror propped against the wall. "I don't make you holy, and if I do, then you're confused. It feels like all I'm doing is making you hellbent. Don't say you love me, not when you'll hate yourself for it."

There he was behind me, all dew eyed and red-cheeked, like he got slapped across the face. And there was me, with my tired eyes, powdered face, and disappointment. Who was I anymore? The reflection in front of me was something more than human, but less than holy. It was a mask I was hiding behind -everything from the powder, to the body I was kept in, to the heart that kept my secrets.

I put my hand over my chest.

"I think I need to let it out too," I grumbled as I walked to the kitchen. I grabbed a wet cloth and scrubbed the makeup off my face. Then I glanced back at the mirror. There I was again, with my tired eyes, freckles that glowed like stars, darker complexion, and my natural self.

"I'm sick of hiding things," I mumbled as I turned to Anthony. "You know who I am. You know what I am. You know I'm suffering too. Don't you? And don't you know how badly I want to take you in my arms and have you as my own? Do you not think that I would say yes if I could? Anthony, don't you think?"

His eyes were open wide. He was staring right at me, and I could stare right back.

"Don't you know how selfish you are? You want me to be less and less holy by the day. If I go through with this, I'm not going to have a chance of being allowed back in the gates. I don't want to fall, and if not that, I'll walk the world alone. And you'll be stuck in Hell. Think about that."

He folded his hands together as if he was about to speak a prayer. "I have thought about that. Where's your selflessness? Where's the angel whose supposed to sacrifice himself for me? Where's my dear friend who has spent countless hours drawing me to him? I miss him. Don't you miss him too?"

"Anthony, you have no clue what you're talking about."

He stood up and approached me. He stopped when he was about a foot from me. "Maybe we need to do less talking. Much less. You're hiding behind your words. Sometimes you're all talk. I know how you act. That's what I know."

I glanced down to the floor and noticed his palm open. "Anthony, please I can't. Anthony, just listen to me."

"Will you let me suffer now with no content, or suffer later and be at peace with it?"

"Stop."

"What will you do?"

[caxsthetic]

PHANTASM BLUES • Suna Rintarou x Reader x Kita Shinsuke

Episode 3: From Zero

Type: TV Series (Multiple Chapters)

Cast: Suna Rintarou, Kita Shinsuke

Storyline: There was no good ending when your heart was bound to love more than one. And up until now, you still asked the universe why you have been given such curse.

Genre: Slice of Life, Drama

"I know." He pulled away a little, wanting to see your expression, "It's okay." And he sounded so sincere as he said it, as if he knew it was the price that he needed to pay to make you his, "We have all the time in the world, I can wait."

It felt like a daydream, like when the world took you back to your high school year. Everything felt so warm; however, when you looked around, that was when you noticed something. You were reverted back to your high school self, wearing the Inarizaki jacket that you were familiar with.

The comfort that you had when his jacket wrapped around you, masculine scent that filled your nostrils in an instant, and the initial that was written with black permanent marker on the sleeve, making you sure that it belonged to the middle blocker, your everything, Suna Rintarou.

There was no wind at the place you stood right now — to the point that you couldn't even feel anything that grazed your skin. What was strange was the cherry blossom petals that were swirling in the air, dancing around like there was a wind manipulating them to act like so.

It was strange, and you wondered what kind of sorcery that brought you here. To the first place where you first met him. But more importantly,

Why were you here in the first place?

Panic struck you to the core. You were terrified as you walked around and found out that you were alone. That was when you decided to run, to sprint somewhere, anywhere just to get out from the mysterious place you were currently in.

Your feet brought you to a variety of places. Every time you closed your eyes and opened them up again, you would always stand on different points. There was the train station where you said farewell, then came your graduation venue when he surprised you with his sudden appearance, and there was the place where he kissed you for the first time after years holding back.

But then you stopped running when you saw the familiar house with a sandy beach on your toes. The firepit in the backyard made you realize where you were right now. You finally went back to the real time, you were finally home. And you couldn't help but feel relieved at the knowledge.

Then your eyes caught a familiar dark brown lock, his hair swayed over by the invisible force. And even if you could only see his back as he stood on the porch, you knew too well who the man was. The existence that was enough to make a genuine smile graced your lips.

"Rinrin!"

You called out to him as you ran, to the man that owned your heart since the first time you laid eyes on him completely. He was beautiful, a beautiful creature that always radiated invincibility and warmth whenever you were around.

He turned his face towards you, his face showing you a gentle smile that was only for you. A genuine and loving smile that he had automatically every time his eyes fell on your figure. He opened up his arms, ready to be tackled to the ground; a habit that you had every time you saw him.

But when you were only five feet apart from him, he was gone.

"So, you were going to Tokyo for real, eh?" You repeated the information once again as you plopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling after you helped him pack.

It was the last day he would be in Hyogo. Tomorrow, he would have to go to Tokyo as he was chasing the dream to be a professional volleyball player. Two years you have spent your time together with the middle blocker, you have known that one way or another, the two of you would be apart.

But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt any less.

"Yeah," He answered before he laid beside you, arms wrapped around your figure as he put his head on top of your chest, "I am going to miss you so much..." He whispered softly under his breath, so soft that you almost couldn't hear it.

"I am going to miss you too, Rintarou." Your hands got lost in his soft hair, caressing it as he snuggled even closer, making your heart tingle. "Hey, Rin?" You called out to him, and he just hummed a little, starting to doze off from your touch.

You didn't continue your words, and it made him confused by now as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"What is it?" His lips shaped into a frown as his green orbs filled with curiousity, "Don't 'Hey,' me and then say nothing. It will haunt me to sleep."

"Well the sun still shone, Rin." You flicked his forehead gently, but he hissed anyway since he always disliked it when you did that (even if he actually loves any kind of tease that you threw for him), "You shouldn't have fallen asleep you know."

"I don't care. It's your fault for being here." He shrugged his shoulders a little, making you roll your eyes as he continued to nuzzle his head in the crook of your neck.

You were always getting blamed by him for his sleepiness. Every time you went to his house to help him with some homework, it would end up with him tackling you to the ground and just asking for your little affection. No matter how many times you wanted to scold him, at the end, you would just be there — and sometimes even did his homework if he looked extremely tired after some joined practices or match.

"I am serious though, what is it?" He suddenly spoke up once again, making you jolt since you thought he was already fast asleep by now.

You let out a long sigh, and somehow, it made the middle blocker worried about what you were going to say next. The two of you were always pining over each other, saying the three magical words like it was a habit, without anyone dared enough to say the real meaning behind every affectionate word that was being spoken.

And before he goes, you want him to always remember it.

"I love you, Rin." There was no playful tone in your voice. It was sincere, and his heart stopped once the words rolled down from your lips. He gripped harder on your shirt, biting his lips as he tried not to show any kind of emotion. Either from excitement, or sadness because it was a little bit too late.

From all these years, he always thought that your love towards him was platonic. All the longing feelings, the cold sweat that you produce when he touches you, he kept saying to himself that you only saw him as a best friend, one that you wanted to invite to your wedding.

He was afraid, if he ever mistook your love to be more than that. You may be the only person that he fantasized to be his lover, but he never knew what was exactly on your heart. After all, why would someone as wonderful as you want to be with a man who could not even voice his mind so freely?

But as he replayed the words that you said, he knew for sure that what you felt was more than what a best friend should have. And right now, he cursed at himself as some tears escaped his eyes, without him even realising it.

From all the time he was together with you. He wondered why this realisation happened on the last day he would see you possibly for years. He couldn't pinpoint the right time he would come back. He never knew what would happen while he was away either.

And here you were, confessing your love while it would be the last time you saw him until God knows how long.

"I love you too." So much. "You have no idea..." He trailed his words as he wiped his tears that fell on your shoulders.

"A-Are you crying?" You asked timidly as you could feel how his body trembled in your arms, "Rin... What is it? I am sorry I didn't mean to make you—"

"It's not your fault." He cut you off, sitting straight as his eyes gazed at you. You could see his orbs glistened, bringing a guilty feeling as you knew you were one of the reasons he shed tears like this, "It's just... I will miss how you always say it every day."

You gave him a sad smile at his words, your thumb wiped the tears that slipped from his eyes, down to his skin that felt so velvety.

"There will never be a day I don't say it to you, how about that?" Your sentence was more than just an offer, it was like a promise that you were going to keep, as long as you could.

"What?" Even if he tried not to show how much the offer brought joy, his green orbs wouldn't lie as they shone with excitement, "I would be happy with that, I think. I would feel like I am home every time you say it." He averted his gaze from your eyes, somehow knew that you understood his feelings, "But, are you sure?"

"I am sure, Rin." You giggled at how adorable he looked right now, "Why would I lie? We have been doing it every day, why not for another year to come?"

It was in this particular moment when Suna realised that he needed you. Your mere existence was something that helped him cope. If someone like you could love a man like him, if someone like you could understand him, then maybe there was hope for him after all.

"Promise then, (Y/n)?" He looked straight at you, extending one of his hands for you to take. You chuckled at this, but then turned serious as you shook his hand and pulled him back into your embrace, whispering,

"I promise, Rintarou."

Comfort, it was something that you always felt since you met the middle blocker that day after your club activity. He was your everything, and you were his everything. Both of you were meant for each other, and for nine years, you and him were almost inseparable — even when distance separated the two of you apart.

"Rin..."

You called out, wanting to feel the warmth that was suddenly ripped apart from your being. It was unfair, to be punished for something that you couldn't even control. For loving two men, at the same time. A curse in life that brought doom either to you, or for the two men that were in love with you.

The fact that you made the two of them become distant, worsening the guilt that you had in your heart. You remembered how the captain's name always slipped from his lips, or how his name brought up when you were in a relationship with the gentle senior. They were always thinking of each other so highly, and because of you, it seems like they could not even see eye to eye anymore.

"I am so sorry,"

"Oh..." His voice was flat after seconds he debated what answer that he should give to you— and you knew it was all your fault, "Congratulations, I guess." He chuckled, but there's a bitterness coating the words that he spoke.

"Yeah, I met him around a month ago." You sipped the coffee in your hand as you sat in the café near your college, and didn't realize that your hands were trembling by now. "I never thought I could fall in love you know." Fall in love again with someone else that's not you.

"Then, it needed to stop doesn't it?" There was some lingering hope as he muttered the question, "Our little promise."

It's not little.

You wanted to scoff at him for even saying that your tradition was only a little thing. Because you know for sure, deep down, it was the thing that made both of you sane, even though you never shared the real warmth of physical contact for months.

"No," It was a selfish request, because that means you asked him to still love you. "I will still say it anyway, but—" You let out a shaky breath, hearts pounding as you spill what was inside your heart, "But you don't have to say it back. I will understand."

There was a long silence from the other line. You couldn't blame him for it, and for him, he couldn't blame you for falling in love with another person — or even worse, being in a relationship with someone else that's not him.

"I wouldn't." He said it matter of factly, and right now you could imagine him clenching his hand into a fist out of frustration, "I love you, and only you."

You bit your lips, knowing too well that you couldn't answer him the exact same words. You hid your face behind the menu, tears cascading down your cheeks by now,

"I love you too, Rin." And I am sorry I couldn't love you and only you.

In the middle of the love that you felt, you never thought that you would find someone else that could give you the same warmth like he did. The warmth that once could only be tasted when the dark brown haired middle blocker was around.

It was the college era, when he was far away from you. You were longing for his touch, longing for his existence beside you. The two of you were never a couple from the start, but deep down, you knew the love that you had for each other was something that couldn't die down so easily.

So it was a circumstance that you never thought you could feel in your life, to fall for someone else while you knew for sure your heart still beats for another.

But you didn't know anymore if it was a blessing, to love two men equally, not even once falling out of love from the two. Or call it a curse, because in the end, society would ask you to choose.

"You need to choose him."

The words were ringing around you, never once stopped as you were still here, at the place between life or death. The whispered voice resonated in the empty space around you, it was him, someone who you spent your life with for the whole four years in your life.

"I will be alright."

His voice was always so gentle, reassuring you that everything would be fine, reassuring you that it was alright to leave the beautiful relationship behind. And the voice always ignited some tingle spark inside your heart, but at the same time, overwhelming you with shame.

You were standing in front of his childhood house. Your eyes scanned the neighbourhood while you waited for the door to open. The sun was almost replaced by the moon, igniting an orange hue on the horizon.

The sight made you smile, and it made you calm down by now. You were so fidgety before, afraid that he wouldn't want to meet you anymore. He asked for your love, and you couldn't do that because you belonged to someone else when he asked.

But now, you were standing here as a free woman. This is it, the only chance you got to be with the man who owned your heart since high school. And you hope, you really hoped this one would last forever.

The door creaked open, making you turn your head. There stood the man who somehow still made you feel like a teenager in love with how much butterflies that he put inside your soul. There stood Suna Rintaroy, and your eyes immediately caught every little thing that you could gather from him.

He looked so tired as if he hadn't slept for days. His hair that usually fell perfectly, now unruly, and the dark circles under his eyes was a proof for your previous conjecture. But once his green orbs laid on your figure, fear immediately coat his pupil. And the next second, he slammed the door closed in front of you.

You were taken aback by his motion. But then again, you couldn't really blame him for acting like he just saw a ghost. So you stood there, waiting for him, because you knew for sure he was still on the other side of the door.

After a minute, he decided to open up his door once again. Eyes glossy from all the tears tears that he just shed,

"Are you real?" His voice that was usually low now even sounded like a whisper as he said the words carefully, like someone who was afraid everything was just a mere fantasy, "I haven't slept for days now, I am afraid you are not real."

You gulped down, you never thought all of this through. The thing that you were going to say was certainly bizarre. A proposition that you didn't even think would happen in your life. You wanted to run away, afraid of the answer that may come from his lips.

But if you backed down now, that means you wasted the feelings that someone else had for you.

"We are through." You fiddled on your fingers before looking up at him, "Shin— Kita-san and I, we are through."

You expected him to scoff at you, slamming the door in front of your face once again. After all, your love for him was not whole anymore, why would someone like him want you? A woman who couldn't even choose.

Then again, Suna Rintarou didn't care about that at the moment. He didn't care what the reason was behind the break up, he didn't care anymore at this point of life as he could taste a future where you belong to him.

He immediately pulled you to his embrace, hugging you tight as he buried his face on your skin, thinking that, finally—he would have a chance to be with you.

"I need you." His voice sounded muffled, "I need you because I love you so fucking much, (Y/N)."

You were too dumbstruck to move, but then you made yourself to hug him back; one hand fell to his hair, soothing him with a gentle move.

"I-I have to warn you about something, Rin." He stiffened a little, not ready to hear what would come out from your lips. You didn't want to say it, but if you want whatever is this with him to work out, you have to, "Loving me would be hard, because you know — my heart still beats for him too."

He closed his eyes, knowing for sure that he couldn't have all of your heart. Who was he kidding? Kita was such a perfect fit for you, and he knew how much his upperclassmen loved you at that one time he mentioned about moving in with someone that he adored so much.

However, he was sure that someday, someday he would have it all.

"I know." He pulled away a little, wanting to see your expression, "It's okay." And he sounded so sincere as he said it, as if he knew it was the price that he needed to pay to make you his, "We have all the time in the world, I can wait."

He cupped your face, grazing his thumb on your cheek. His gaze was reassuring, like he was saying that he would love you anyway, even though he had to wait for a while to make you love him and only him.

And by God, how you wished time could solve it all.

For nine years you had been in love with Suna Rintarou, a man that was actually so much more than what his façade shows. When you first met him, you swore that you felt you were in some kind of nirvana — as you never saw someone as beautiful as him.

And when days went by, you unfurled every little thing about him. From why he seemed to always keep his mind by himself, to the reason why he didn't want to have you around at first.

But you stayed, devoting yourself for him as you realised that he was more relaxed when you were with him,

"Give me your hand. I know what to do."

It was the first sentence that you ever said to him on that particular day. The time when he felt at loss when you wrapped the tape on his finger, to have such a foreign feelings with how you made him so secure. And you were there, filling the empty of his life, uninvited.

"It was no use, (Y/n)."

So why would he leave, why for all the years that you spend together with him, he just had to leave you now? Today, the day when everything almost falls into place. Right when happily ever after could be achieved days from now, he just had to turn his back on you.

"Marry me?"

It was around six months after you rekindled with your first love. The two of you were cuddling on top of the couch in the living room, seconds after sharing a passionate rendezvous, feelings like you and him were the only people who live in this world.

Such a fine morning that day, as you cuddled up with him while replaying some of his volleyball matches. One minute you were on top of him, curled up in his embrace. Another minute the two of you warmed each other's bodies as every touch ignited a beautiful spark of love and lust—right at the same amount.

So when the silence engulfed the serene atmosphere, you didn't expect such words to break the quiet space.

"W-What?"

He had this smug look plastered on his face as you looked so starstruck by the question. Something that he believed when he took a look at your face, was how you were too shocked; too happy to answer,

"Marry me? Would you?"

You knew when you came back to his arms, one day, he would ask for your hand in marriage. But you never thought it would be this soon. Your heart was in a state of healing, and yet, he threw you the question already. He looked so fidgety all of a sudden as he gazed deep into your eyes, searching for an answer.

Suna Rintarou could be such an oblivious man. Oblivious, or someone who was so confident that your heart already belonged to him completely. After all, you never once mentioned the name of your old flame, you never showed any kind of sign that you were somehow still in love with his ex-captain.

But that didn't mean your heart stopped beating for the other.

"Y-yes." You couldn't believe your own voice as you answered the question, and you never saw him with a smile as wide as this, "I will marry you, Rinrin."

He was now the one who had a starstruck look on his face. Even if he was sure that you were going to say yes, hearing such affirmation from you made some tears pricked on his orbs. He was grateful that you said yes, because in his mind, that means you were going to love him and only him.

You wanted to tell him about your feelings once more, you really want to. He needed to know that even after six months, your love towards Kita was never once dwindled. But as he kept saying the three magical words to you repeatedly, whispering on your ear about how he would make you the happiest woman alive,

You just couldn't.

It was bizarre as you heard the voices that were ringing inside your head. "I love you, you know that?" Your sight was blurred, you could only see someone with soft dark brown hair, the strands blew with the wind as he had his back on you.

But it all felt like a distant memory by now. You couldn't see his face, and you wondered who the man was,

"I promise I only love you."

The next snippet that appeared on your mind was how you could hear a car engine start, and the white cold sand that you felt on your skin. You could only see some mixed memories, all appeared at the same time. And then at the next moment, it was all gone.

You could see a glimpse of a familiar beach house, feeling someone pulling your body into his embrace. "Hey, my angel." The dark brown-haired man felt like a distant future—something that was only an imagination. "Please wake up,"

And what you could see right now as you opened up your eyes, was your boyfriend, Kita Shinsuke.

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[tsuki-chibi]

Blueberry Peach (Adrien AUGreste) Part 31: My Prince

Start from day one on AO3: Blueberry Peach

Or read the whole series on AO3: Fruitful verse

--------

"What do you think, son?" Tom asked, straightening the covers on the bed. He stood back and surveyed the room, then added, "I know it's probably a bit smaller than what you're used to, but -"

"It's perfect," Adrien said, a warm glow filling his chest. Tom had called him 'son'. Him.

He looked around at the room, which admittedly was about a third of the size of what he was used to. It was laid out similarly to Marinette's, with a loft bed. A desk had been set underneath the bed for his computer and schoolwork. On the opposite wall was a large bookcase which held all of his books, his games, and his DVDs. Next to that was his television and gaming consoles. Then there was a large window which caught the sun in the early morning. Adrien had already checked - if he stuck his head out the window and twisted to the right, Marinette's balcony was just a hop away.

The closet was only about half full, mostly because Adrien had left a lot of his clothes behind. Amélie had looked like she wanted to spit nails when she realized that almost all of Adrien’s clothing was made by Gabriel. On the one hand, it made sense. On the other hand, it meant Adrien was constantly a walking, talking advertise for his father’s company. Amélie had promised that he could get some new clothing this coming weekend, and Adrien was looking forward to it.

It had only been two weeks since Amélie had given her official permission for Adrien to move in with the Dupain-Chengs. Things had moved very quickly since then. Émilie's second funeral had been held on a quiet Sunday morning. Gabriel, of course, had not been in attendance. Adrien hadn't spoken to his father since the day Hawkmoth had been arrested, and he was perfectly fine with that.

This past weekend had been spent moving all of his things into the Dupain-Cheng’s spare bedroom. For now, the mansion was going to remain empty. Amélie and Félix had returned to London because Félix couldn't stay out of school any longer. But Amélie had promised that they would both come up on the train next weekend, and the weekend after that Adrien and Marinette were going to go to London to stay with them. Adrien was looking forward to that, but of course he had to deal with this week first. He hadn't been back to school since his father's arrest.

In short, the room might have been smaller, and it was a tiny bit crowded because Adrien had way more stuff than he had ever realized he did, but it was the manifestation of Adrien's dreams because it had been prepared for him by people who cared. Not just by an interior designer who was only interested in collecting a considerable paycheck.

"Well, I don't know about that," Tom said, drawing Adien’s attention back to him, but he gave a pleased smile.

'Adrien, we're going to be late for school,' Marinette thought.

"I have to go; we're going to be late," Adrien said out loud.

Tom chuckled. "Marinette remind you? That's a new one. Usually she's running downstairs at the last minute."

The flush of indignation through the bond made Adrien smile. "She heard that."

"The truth hurts," Tom said, a twinkle in his eye as he picked up Adrien's backpack. He passed it to Adrien. "Are you kids coming right home after school?"

"I think we might go get ice cream with our friends," Adrien said, slightly uncertain.

"That's fine," Tom said. "Your curfew is the same as Marinette's."

"Uh... okay?" Adrien said. "I can just... go?"

Tom's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Adrien, we told you that you didn't have to keep doing all those lessons and being a model unless you wanted to. You said you didn't want to. Did you change your mind?"

Adrien shook his head. "No."

"Then yes, you can just go when you want. Within reason, of course. But Sabine and I didn't invite you to live here so that we could control your every move," Tom said, gently patting Adrien's shoulder. "Now I have to get back downstairs to the bakery, and you need to get going. We're both going to have annoyed soulmates on our hands otherwise."

"Thanks," Adrien said quietly, and Tom smiled again at him.

'I told you,' Marinette thought, but it was kindly.

'I know you did. It's just hard to wrap my head around,' Adrien thought, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Not having every minute of the day scheduled was going to be an adjustment – but a nice one.

He followed Tom downstairs and found Marinette waiting for him. She greeted him with a smile, a kiss to his cheek, and a warm scone. As Adrien took a bite of the scone, she slipped a couple wedges of cheese into his pocket for Plagg.

'I love you,' Adrien thought, and she laughed.

'I love you too,' she thought. 'Now come on!'

They made it to class a few minutes before the bell rang. Madame Bustier wasn't there yet, and neither was Lila. Adrien found himself to be a little glad about that as he took a seat beside Chloé. She looked really good today, wearing a white sundress, black knee-high boots, and a cropped yellow cardigan. The Bee miraculous was a perfect accessory for her color-coordinated outfit.

"So how's the new place?" Chloé asked, propping her chin on her hand.

"It's really, really good," Adrien said, smiling. Chloé had also offered him a room at the hotel, which he appreciated. It was nice to know he had options. He also liked that she had accepted that he was going to stay at Marinette’s without argument. He thought that Chloé might have finally understood how important she was to him, but more than that she had finally accepted it.

"Whenever you need a break, you can come play video games with me," Nino said from across the aisle.

"A break from what, exactly?" Marinette said, leaning over her desk and narrowing her eyes.

"Uh," Nino said. He cleared his throat. "I mean, whenever you need some guy time."

"I'll keep that in mind," Adrien said, trying not to laugh.

The door slid open and Lila came in. Adrien sighed to himself as he watched Marinette catch Chloé's eye. Both girls had an identical expression of mischief on their faces.

'I never should have made the two of you friends,' he thought.

'You shush,' Marinette thought at him. 'Let us have our fun.'

"Don't be ridiculous," Chloé said loudly, her voice perfectly pitched to carry. "Adrien won't need a break from his soulmate."

Instant silence.

"Wait, what?" Rose said in surprise. "Soulmate? Adrien found his soulmate?"

Chloé swung around to face her. "Yeah. He moved in with his soulmate over the weekend."

"Who is it?" Mylène asked, pointedly not looking at Lila.

"It's me," Marinette said, and she deliberately looked at Lila.

Lila's jaw dropped.

The class exploded.

"What the hell?!"

"Are you serious?!"

"Oh my god!"

Marinette's delight in the shocked, embarrassed look on Lila's face was enough to make Adrien smile too, though he tried to hide it. Chloé’s smirk stretched from ear to ear. They really were terrible, but there was no downplaying it now.

"Yes, we're serious," Adrien said, turning to face their classmates.

"So you've been soulmates this whole time?" Alix said, eyes wide. She looked like she was rethinking a lot, like two plus two was suddenly adding up to four when all along they’d thought it was three.

"Yup. They kept it secret because Adrien's dad is a jerk," Chloé said, idly examining her nails. Then she looked up with an innocent expression. "I knew because I was there when it happened at Daddy's party. Marinette tripped and dumped macarons all over Adrien."

Marinette flushed as everyone laughed.

"Did you have to tell them that?" she complained. “It was just a couple macarons! Not a whole tray!”

“I’m not sure that helps, Marinette,” Alya said, still giggling.

Chloé grinned. "But either way it's still true. Right, Adrikins?"

Adrien nodded. "The 100% truth, but I thought it was adorable," he said, giving Marinette a soft look. Marinette’s ire faded and she smiled back.

Lila's face was getting steadily redder. She had clearly worked out that Marinette and Adrien had been soulmates all along, but all she said was, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why should I?" Adrien said coolly. "The people who needed to know already did."

Chloé snickered. "Yeah, so you basically spent like three weeks pretending you were a soulmate to a guy who already one," she told Lila. "And the rest of you thought Marinette and Adrien should break up!"

There were various guilty and uncomfortable looks, Alya included. Lila just looked even more embarrassed.

"Like Chloé said, we can tell people now because Adrien's dad isn't an issue," Marinette said, bringing the attention back to her. "He can't keep us apart. No one can." Her tone was challenging, and she looked Lila right in the eyes.

Lila looked away - and then, without a word, she slunk up the steps and sat down in the back row in what would normally be Nathaniel's place, but he was out sick today. Marinette looked satisfied as she lifted up her bag and set it on the empty seat beside her.

The rest of the class peppered Marinette and Adrien with questions until Madame Bustier arrived. She had already been told about this - Tom and Sabine had contacted the school to let them know last week - so she wasn't surprised to see it was the topic of conversation. She just smiled and gently urged the class to take out their books. No one heard a peep out of Lila for the rest of the day, and when classes let out, Lila grabbed her stuff, ran down the stairs, and out the door.

Adrien watched her go and didn’t feel bad. Lila had brought everything on herself. If she hadn’t made such a big deal of it, no one would have said a word to her about this. He didn’t think anyone would tease her too badly, but as word about him and Marinette spread, Lila was going to have to deal with the consequences of her lies. This might even lead to more and more people realizing she had been lying all along. It seemed like a fitting punishment.

‘Damn straight,’ Marinette thought, getting up. ‘Now, you and Chloé hurry up! I want ice cream.’

"Wanna come get ice cream?" Adrien said to Chloé, who seemed surprised by the invitation but nodded.

So it was that Adrien, Marinette, Chloé, Nino, and Alya made their way to André's little cart. André whipped up a concoction for Nino and Alya first, loudly proclaiming them to be an adorable couple who deserved a blend of coconut, pistachio and mango ice cream. Then he turned to Chloé. He looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought, then smiled and gave her two scoops: one of banana ice cream and one of chocolate. Chloé took her ice cream cone, looking pretty content, and stepped aside. Then it was Adrien's and Marinette's turn. They stepped up together.

"Ah, young love," André said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I will get you something special. Yellow passionfruit to match his hair, blackberry for her hair..." He quickly scooped two balls of ice cream onto a cone, then added a third. "And lastly, blueberry peach to match her sky-blue stare and his pink lips! A perfect combination indeed!" He offered Adrien the ice cream cone.

"Thank you," Adrien said, taking the cone carefully. The combination of flavors was unusual but sounded delicious.

André tipped his hat to them. "A good day to you, my friends!" And then he headed off, whistling.

'Would you like the first taste, My Lady?' Adrien thought, scooping up a bit with the spoon and offering it to Marinette.

'Thank you, My Prince,' she thought back, her eyes twinkling, and opened her mouth. A flow of contentment came through the bond, so Adrien quickly scooped up some for himself to try. It really was as good as it had sounded. The fresh fruit taste danced across his tongue: a perfect medley of tart and sweet.

"Marinette, Adrien! Come on! Let's go walk along the Seine!" Alya called.

Adrien looked over at them, realizing that their three friends had walked ahead without them. Alya and Nino were chowing down on their ice cream, while Chloé was furtively sneaking tiny spoonful’s into her pocket for Pollen when Alya and Nino weren't looking.

It was nice. Nice to enjoy the warm afternoon sunshine with his soulmate, his partner, and their friends. Nice to not have to worry about familial or work pressure or akumas. Nice to see Chloé smiling and laughing with Alya and Nino.

He didn’t know what would happen with his father. But frankly, right now he didn’t care. He’d deal with it, like he had dealt with everything else, with Marinette at his side. The knowledge that his partner would be there was more than enough. They could deal with anything that came their way, especially with the help of their friends and family. His father couldn’t control him or anyone else anymore, and that was strangely freeing.

"I didn't know it could be like this," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, but of course Marinette heard. She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Aren't you glad I dropped those macarons on you now?" she asked playfully, and Adrien chuckled.

"I was glad for that from day one, but yeah. I really am," he said, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. She tasted like fruity sugar.

But of course, the kiss only lasted for a moment before Alya called to them again. Adrien and Marinette ran to catch them. The five of them ended up finding a small spot on the banks of the Seine to sit and enjoy the sun. Adrien distracted Alya and Nino so that Marinette could sneak some ice cream to Tikki too. Even Plagg ate a little bit of it, though not before informing Marinette in a hissed whisper that cheese ice cream would've been a much better choice. Adrien would treasure Marinette's disgusted expression and feelings for the rest of his day.

For once, there was something right with the world, Adrien decided, when a fourteen-year-old boy could have this much fun with his friends on a lazy Monday afternoon. He smiled around at them all and wrapped his arm around Marinette's shoulders, contentedly breathing in the smell of her shampoo and basking in the contentment flowing through their bond. Chloé leaned against him on the other side, and Adrien wrapped an arm around her shoulders too. Nino, laughing, stole Alya's phone and leaned over to show them something on the screen, while Alya pouted and poked at him. Eventually Nino gave her phone back, and then gave her a kiss for good measure.

"Eww, no public displays of affection please!" Chloé said.

"Alya, stop kissing your boyfriend and show me that write-up you did of the new Fox and Turtle," Marinette said.

Nino sighed as Alya jerked away. "Rude, Mari."

"You'll survive," Marinette said with a grin.

"They were so cool!" Alya said gleefully, and Chloé gave a quiet, amused little snort. Marinette giggled too.

Adrien closed his eyes as their playful banter swirled around him, lifting his face to the sun like the cat that he was, and relaxed.