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mikareo · 7 months

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⌗ RATIONALISM ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (6.6k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, rin's world has been in black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin's mom is reader’s art mentor, rin hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn (like a nice simmering burn), swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, rin sucks at flirting (very canon of him...) author's note; there'll be a part two titled "romanticism" eventually. idk when tho asjkl (i’m a slow writer XD)

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Rin knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Rin, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Rin hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Rin is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Rin purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Rin’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him.

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Rin is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Itoshi's son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Rin doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before.

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Rin feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Rin doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Rin recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Rin can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Itoshi!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes.

“Oh, Rin! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Sae decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Rin is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail.

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired.

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Rin, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does.

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea, ______.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Rin’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’?

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Itoshi. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Rin is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize.

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality.

God, he’s so bad at flirting.

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time.

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense.

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Rin is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together.

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin).

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind.

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will.

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear.

‘Hello, ______. You know me.’

Perfect.

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Ring can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Sae still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Rin. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Rin is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan.

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this.

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so.

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Rin’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often).

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again.

“Shit!” Rin hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?”

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Rin hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution.

Rin is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years.

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Rin finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his.

“Thanks, ______, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world.

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings - to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color.

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of.

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his.

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand…

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand.

Rin doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same.

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions.

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Rin happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Rin despite this.

“Really?” Rin dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?”

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.”

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence.

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Rin - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.”

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea.

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern.

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one.

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.”

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Rin tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?”

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Rin, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands.

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Rin flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces.

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Rin actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared.

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Rin been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger.

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Rin, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Rin can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?”

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Rin doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in.

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression.

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Rin, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free.

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

part two is ready!!!!! read romanticism here

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

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cheralith · 11 months

Text

a dedicated tenderness — 「 knives (nai) x reader 」

content warnings ; none

contains ; college!au, modern!au, secret relationship, just plain fluff with hundred spoons, polygun being sillies

notes ; could be read as a continuation of the previous nai fic, could not! still has the same aspects of it tho :3

You had met the Saverems when they moved across the street just barely diagonally from your house when you were just shy of six years old. Vash had caught you staring at their moving truck from behind the tall oak tree that provided a shaded sanctuary amidst the blazing summer heat. He remembers waving hello to the eyes that peeked out from the trunk of it before they flinched and ducked behind the sturdy wood again, slowly creeping back up to see if the pair of bright turquoise eyes were still staring at yours.

And when they were, Vash, being the more friendly and lively one of the two twins, decided to take it upon himself and drag his brother to go greet their new neighbor.

"Hi!" A sauntering young Vash had called cheerily to you, who was still hiding shyly behind the oak tree. "Are you our new neighbor? We just moved here!"

The young twins had managed to circle the trunk of the tree and before them stood a child around their age adorned in a colorful striped t-shirt and dirt-dusted overalls. Vash remembers you stepping back from the eager youngster, a less enthusiastic and distant version of him trailing not that far behind. You nodded, kicking at the dirt and not wanting to make eye contact with the sparkled-eye boy.

"My name is Valentinez, but you can call me Vash," he had said to you with a bright smile. He gestured to his lighter blonde and much more aloof counterpart. "This is Knives, you can call him Nai."

Your shy demeanor had suddenly faltered for a swift moment, your eyebrows getting all scrunched up in confusion at the odd names given to the two boys that little did you know, would set a place in your heart for the rest of your life. And it's returned back to the Saverem brothers. Your existence has stained each brother in such a unique way, and both Vash and Nai don't think they'll ever be able to forget you, not when your first words to them were,

"You guys kinda have weird names."

Such a sentence had lead a divide of two contrasting relationships involving the brothers—on one hand, Vash had taken it lightly to heart and merely laughed it off, easing himself into a breezy and steady friendship with you. On the other, Knives, or Nai as (only) you and Vash refer to him, had jutted out his lower lip in offense and insulted your dirty overalls, not taking into account that children still didn't have a filter before the age of ten. It forced you and him down a winding and tangling path, one that was devoid of flowery compliments and fresh smiles and laughs like the path of friendship you and Vash walked down together.

Oh no, the road you took with Nai was much more rocky, much more dwindling, and much more confusing. Insults jabbed at you and him like thorns as you'd trip over nonsensicality like sprouted tree roots waiting for you to stumble over them. The weather is never consisted as you travel down with him (never hand in hand, he'd so much as hiss out in faux pain whenever you'd brush against him). It could be stormy one day—the clouds heavy with misunderstandings, arguments and tears. It could be partly sunny—a ray of light peeking over the dismal clouds, similar to the nature of kindness that rarely shone through sometimes. Or it could just stay cloudy, as it has always been since the dawn of your "friend"ship with Nai.

Regardless of relationship status, there was certainly one thing that Vash had always knew of—that his brother had always had a quiet admiration for you. He just never seemed to act on it as much as other suitors of yours did. He isn't actually sure when Nai began to see you in a different light, but Vash can confirm that the longer he waits for something miraculous to happen, the more time will eat him alive.

He's seen it on his brother's face before. When you began your first relationship back in the more tender days of high school beginnings, Vash's eyes behind his glasses had flickered to a pair of similar ones across from him as you had introduced your then-boyfriend and he remembers the heaviness and ruddy ache that flittered across Nai's cavernous eyes. They contrasted your glowing ones, eyes filled with life and hope for the better future as you showed him off to everyone.

It was almost ritualistic, Vash thinks. Nai never seemed to care for romance unless it came to you. Vash thinks Nai would break all pairs of his glasses if he were to ever to say anything of a sort to his face, but he knew Nai was saving that blank space in his heart for you to fill, whether he realized it or not.

Nai Saverem is picky with people. He doesn't befriend those as easily as his younger brother, preferring to stay alone and distant with people that could easily take up his time so carelessly. It's why he shoos away any of his admirers with a cold glance that tells them they have zero chance with him and why there seems to be a certain thickness in the air whenever he's around that creates an invisible bubble around him. It's a thick barrier that refuses to let unknown others in and lets them know they won't be welcomed anytime soon. Introverted as he is, his energy is only so small, so there's a certain brand of people that wastes his time and therefore, he only uses his energy on people that he thinks are worth using it for.

And so Vash can't necessarily say he's too surprised like the others when Milly makes a separate groupchat that contains a series of images involving the two people excluded from it. The first is of Nai waiting outside the science building where your final class is held during Fridays. It was an odd place for him to be considering he only had one class on Fridays and would usually be home by mid-afternoon, so it was strange that Milly had caught him during the peeking hours of twilight still on campus.

The second is an image of you walking out the building and waving a hello to him, followed by the third of you and Nai's blurry figures connected via your hands in a sunset-inked sky making your way to Nai's car. The fourth of the photo sequence is a video. With a soft tenderness from Milly's hands, you get into the passenger seat with ease, the normal conversation of hostility and teasings between you and him seemingly devoid because there's no snooty faces or rolling of eyes. But it's when Nai properly starts the car that things take a turn. Its engines revving to life, he takes the time to pause and properly cradle the back of your head with his hand and properly give you a brief but soft kiss before pulling back with a dust of pink on his cheeks at the sight of your giddy, miniscule smile.

Behind the camera Milly gasps and drops her phone out of surprise on the concrete, and the video echoes the crack of the screen's phone before Milly's whine of "Oh no... it broke!" ends the video.

As buildings and nature of all arrays pass by, Vash replays the video over and over again in Wolfwood's car, examining it and the other images in full and wondering how Nai's daydreams finally came to life. Vash rubs his eyes behind his glasses, still attempting to process if what he’s seeing is real—that his icy older brother was truly thawing his resolve at the sight of you visibly and blooming a foreign affectionate that even Vash rarely sees nowadays.

Wolfwood groans when he hears the sound of the beginning of the video play again, grip tightening on the steering wheel as his knuckles whitening out of annoyance. "Would ya cut that out already! I get it, they're datin'!"

Vash flinches at his boyfriend's irritated tone. He tucks away his phone with a hasty laugh and apology. "Sorry, I'm just a little baffled that they're finally together after all these years."

The brunette makes a sort of scoffing noise. "I didn't lose all hope that your brother would never find love, but in all my years, I didn't expect it to be (Y/N) out of all people," he mutters, a cigarette dangling from his hand that sits on the edge of the window, its peppery scent lingering softly in the car. "How long do ya reckon they'll last?" he asks everyone in the car. "My bets on three months, their bickerin' is gonna put an end to it 'fore somethin' else does."

"That's mean, Wolfwood," Meryl scolds and flicks him on the back of his head, earning a yelp from him. "I'll admit myself I don't know how those two came to be, but I only wish them well and if they're happy with each other, that's all that matters."

Milly chimes in with a positive cheer. "Agreed! I'm just happy that Mr. Knives has finally found someone!" she chirps. "I really didn't want him to end up as a sad old grandpa alone."

"I wasn't insultin' them," Wolfwood huffs, "I was just merely statin' the reality. Y'all saw it earlier today too—both of 'em playin' musical chairs with the seat Knives stole in the lounge when (Y/N) got up to go get water."

Meryl shakes her head. "It's still really mean to assume their relationship won't last. I don't know about you guys, but I can see them—hey! You missed the turn!"

"Shit!"

Wolfwood swears aloud, hissing as he realizes he's passed the entrance to a vast park on the busy street. He makes a swift and hasty U-turn on the road that makes everyone grip onto the nearest object for dear life before zooming into an entrance that lead to a hidden field in the woods. The car slowly drives by it, where everyone can see a a lone picnic blanket atop a small hill with a laptop playing Miss Congeniality sits on a picnic basket. The back of two people face the parking lot, and it doesn't take long for everyone in the car to assume who they were.

On Fridays, it was a ritual to go to someone's house for a relaxing movie night and just wind down with everyone's presence for the evening. Today, however, you and Nai had excused yourselves from it with what seemed to be valid excuses until Milly's paparazzi work had jumbled in hours later.

“Can’t,” Nai droned, his eyes still glued on his laptop. “I’ve some papers to grade for one of my classes before the midterm ends.”

“And I’ve got a lab report to write up with my lab mates later,” you mentioned. “I can catch next week’s if that’s okay.”

It clicked to them that it was secretly code for you and Nai to actually attend a secret picnic movie date, which Wolfwood took mild offense to as Miss Congeniality was one of his favorite movies, disliking that it was being used for a date out of all things.

"They can't be serious," Wolfwood sneers as he pulls into a coveted shady area of the parking lot, safe from yours and Nai's view but still able to provide the gang with proper sights. "What screams romantic about Sandra Bullock having to attend a pageant? There's literally so much better romcoms out—"

"Shut up!" Everyone scolds.

"You'll give away our cover!" Meryl hisses. "The point is to be subtle and quiet, you idiot!"

Wolfwood snides and rolls his eyes, his hands throwing up in surrender.

On the other side of the hill, you gently press another strawberry to Nai's lips. His teeth gently bite into it, the juices of it slowly seeping out from the corner of his lips for your thumb to scrape away, a feather-like touch grazing his lips as it does so. You go to stare at the red-stained tint on them for a moment unconsciously, the natural gloss the fruit left off almost hypnotizing you.

It goes unnoticed by Nai, however.

"If you wanted a kiss, just say so," Nai says, plucking the greenery of the strawberry out your hand to put it into the trash pile.

You break out of your trance with a stunned shiver going up your spine at the sound of Nai's casualty. It was still somewhat unnerving for him to be saying such things, especially considering how he used to be before you two began dating. Words conveying such warmth were still unusual to hear, but it wasn't like you didn't like it.

A warmth creeps on your cheeks and you blink. "What? No, I was just simply... going to fix your collar, that's all!" you lie hastily. Your hand goes to fidget with an already-neat shirt collar before your wrist is grabbed by Nai's own. It pulls you into him and Nai's lisps peck your own quickly before his attention returns to the movie like nothing had ever happened.

You swear you can feel some steam coming out of your head. While you were usually the one that began the small touches of affections, it always felt different and much more intimate when Nai would return them or replicate them in his own fervor. Maybe it was due to the lack of intimacy he displayed to anyone else, or perhaps because they were from Nai himself that they felt more personal—the man who barely showed any emotion to anyone other than distaste and apathy—and so for such an individual to be sharing such liaison with you just felt more close to heart because he chose you to share it with.

"I thought you weren't one for PDA..." you mutter, fighting the urge the lick your lips as the acidity of the strawberry leftover lingers on them.

Nai shrugs. "We're the only ones around here, so the 'P' aspect of PDA doesn't necessarily apply right now."

"That's what you think," you interject. "There could be some weirdo prodding around the bushes as we speak, spying on us, y'know!"

He lets out a soft snort as the ending scene begins to play out, where Sandra Bullock begins to give her speech about friendship in the banquet hall starts to seal up the ending ropes of the movie. "And what weirdo would want to spend their time spying on two college students on a picnic?"

"A weirdo who tends to enjoy movies and real-life romance."

"Those people don't exist."

"To you they might not, but to me anything is possible."

"Shut up before I kiss you again."

You snort aloud, fighting the urge to react to his declaration like a schoolgirl. "You're acting as if I don't want th—"

Milly gasps loudly as she watches Nai dips his face to yours to once again, kiss you, but with more ardor than the last, this one lasting much more soundly than the previous one. She can sense there's true passion and dare she say, genuine love, in it and she melts at the sight of it fondly.

Vash himself watches the scene unfold with wide eyes, pausing his munching on his sandwich as he hogs the binoculars from a protesting Meryl. It takes all the fight in him to not proudly cheer aloud at his brother making a move and he gags on his sandwich when he witnesses Nai tuck a lock of hair behind your ear after the kiss. His lips still tell nothing of a sort, still a stiff downward line like they usually were, but the rest of his radiates a sort of fluster when you giggle softly at his antics. Confidence looks good on his brother, Vash thinks.

"Shit, they're on the move!" Wolfwood exclaims after a while of spying. Everyone hastily packs their things and duck as an ignorant you and Nai make your way down the hill and back into his creme white car, where Wolfwood's doesn't trail too far behind. The four of them spend the rest of the evening not watching a romantic movie as planned, but instead fending for the real life soap opera that enacts in front of them, tailing you and Nai as you travel around town and into various shops.

"Who do you think made the first move?" Meryl asks with her eyes peering behind the binoculars, peeking behind the window of the car that sits parallel on the same street a record shop was. "I'm placing bets that it was—oh no, everyone duck!" They shift under the seats when you two walk out with small bags in hand holding sorts of records and CDs, still talking aimlessly and the beat-up grey-black Camry still unnoticed in the background.

"Never really took Knives for a music-type of guy..." Wolfwood mutters. They slowly rise up from their spots and beginning to tail the car again.

Nai's eyes go to flicker to the rearview mirror. "Are they still following us?"

You give a chuckle and glance at the side mirror, where a familiar car of sorts drives only a car behind you. You had realized back at the ice cream parlor that four pairs of watchful eyes had their sights on you and Nai awhile back, but figured it'd be awkward to confront them and ruin the date. Instead, you let them have their fun being pretend James Bonds and went on with the date like usual, attempting to ignore them as much as possible (it was quite hard, however, when you could see Vash and Wolfwood almost start wrestling in the front seats for aux).

You knew that you and Nai had to come clean sooner or later, but he had admitted that he wasn't ready to state publicly that he was in a committed relationship. You still weren't sure whether it was because of his own pride of being frustratingly independent or it was nervousness of entering a new era that was holding him, but you respected his wishes and continued to play the part of a bickering old couple stuck in the bodies of college students like how you were beforehand. You think you were still just as nervous as you were in the first few weeks.

But when Nai's voice echoes the words he promised to you when he officially asked you out with sweaty palms and palpitating heartbeats, a warmth in your chest unfolds in comfort, reminding you to look on the brighter, warmer side of things, even if you weren't too confident.

"I... really want to make this work... so I promise to do all that I can if you'll do the same."

You give a soft smile at his promise he made awhile back to a particular no one. Nai raises a brow at your mysterious grinning.

"What are you smiling about?" he inquires as he leads you to the entrance of your apartment building.

"Oh, nothing..." you shrug off, leaving Nai in the dust of confusion.

Nai narrows his eyes for a bit in suspicion before sighing out aloud. His eyes go to hover on the sight of that dumb Camry again, its shaded windows concealing who its passengers was from view but Nai has seen it too many times to count to know whose car it was and only who could be inside of it. The smoke that wisps from behind the driver's window does nothing more that confirm his suspicions as he picks up the scent of familiar menthol cigarettes that doesn't take him long to guess who it belongs to.

"Do you think we should confront them?" you ask.

Nai shakes his head, "Just let them be for now. I'll deal with them later," he murmurs when he leads you safely into your apartment building. "Text me when you get up to your apartment," he directs before brushing his lips against your cheek as a goodbye.

You nod, affirmative. "I will, thank you for today, too," you praise fondly and give his hand one last squeeze before you let go. You watch as Nai makes his way back to the entrance before you call his name out again.

"Hey, Nai?"

His head turns back to you, raising a brow. You take this time to fully embody him before your own eyes, from the tufts of his hair to each freckle on his body.

Nai before your relationship and Nai in a relationship you think are two vastly different people, and you still can't place your finger on who the real one was. A part of you thinks he's putting up a front in the eye of the public for his own self-preservation, but another part tells you that he's merely just showing a newer, more refined side of him that you've never seen before—a more tender and protective version of Nai that you think only Vash has seen before a handful of times. Sometimes, you pride yourself in confirming that this side of Nai, whether it was real or not, was only shown to you as a sign of trust from his desolate self.

However, there were other times that made you think this honeymoon era might not last and you and him will go back to how things used to be, altering the fate of your relationship for the worst. A petal of guilt would bloom every time that thought crosses your mind due to the unsettling feeling that perhaps you didn't confide in Nai enough, that maybe you just didn't earn enough of him to lock your feelings into place.

But when he waits patiently for your response, blinking slowly, you realize that perhaps it was indeed the latter—a slow exposure to a new side of Nai Saverem—that was yours for the taking.

"I love you," you declare in the foyer, your voice echoing and forcing your message to repeat itself to him for a few seconds.

Your eyes scan for a reaction from him and you earn a flustered, non-verbal one as a response, one that makes his lips thin and makes him thickly swallow and cheeks flush. A grin teeters on the corners of your mouth as you watch him attempt to utter out a reply. It falls short on his tongue, however, and you're only given a nod and wave before Nai (almost hurriedly) exits the building, the tips of his ears pink.

A giggle slips its way out of you as you enter the elevator, fondly thinking on his lasting image. Baby steps, you think.

On the floors below, Nai groans and drags a hand down his face at the memory of your declaration to him. It's more difficult than he thought to ignore the loud thundering of his heartbeat, and he doesn't quite enjoy how it twists his chest so... tightly. He feels foolish for not even gathering up courage to just say a mere "Me too." back to you, but his embarrassment suddenly dissipates upon seeing the same car still in its place. Nai suddenly remembers the last errand he has to take care as his feet carry him to it, the scent of a cigarette growing stronger each step.

"Wolfwood, can you at least take that outside?" Meryl complains as the the black haired man lights up his fourth cigarette of the night. It's a miracle how his car seats don't reek from the stench.

He shakes his head, jutting it towards the building. "No can do, sweetheart. Our cover will be blown if Knives sees m—what the hell?!"

A loud bang rumbles through the car from the roof and the familiar figure of Nai Saverem looms over the car before he ducks his head down and gestures for a nervous Vash to roll down the window. Vash, fear-stricken, obeys his command almost automatically, leaving Nai to stare boredly back at everyone's pale faces. Wolfwood thinks Nai's fist had created an indent on the top of his car, but his words fail him when he goes to stare at Nai's icy face.

"So did you guys have fun spying on us?"

a/n ; this was just kind of a fluff blurb to help me write something that was the next chapter of if the shoe fits because i kind of needed something fresh and new to work on. writer's block? i'm not too sure! i hope you enjoyed either way!

thank you for reading once more and as always, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <;3!

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun 1998 #trigun maximum #millions knives #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #nai x reader #knives fluff #trigun fluff #trigun fanfic #trigun x reader #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #meryl stryfe #milly thompson

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acupofqueercoffee · 1 year

Text

“Offer me the deathless death”

Andromache the Scythian x Female Reader

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

|･ω･) go wild, you said and go wild, i did. i included as much of the provided details as i could. hopefully, you’ll find it agreeable

cw : 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ // dubcon-ish // ✂️ ✂️😼 // overstimulation

casually quoting hozier for all my andromache fics. that fight scene on the plane and the way she grabbed nile by the jaw tho 😩 wanted to incorporate it in a fic ever since i saw it, and fucking finally did

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Hallucinations. A fever dream.

Anything but reality is what you tell yourself, and what a job you have been doing thus far! Fantastically foolish if nothing else. Cocooned in a bubble of lies that spill forth none other than your lips, and illusions that are carved by your very mind itself, you harbour not a droplet of doubt that the reality in front of your eyes is nothing but bona fide.

People after all are the most masterful at fooling themselves.

Ensnared in a web of deceit weaved by your fingers lie no hapless preys, but you, yourself, who revel in the sweet taste of false security as you do in the richness of the creamy warm chocolate drink that coats your tongue.

Even though business in your shop today is notably satisfactory if not the most profitable, it is not the digits that matter to you the most. Your little shop is borne purely out of your profound passion and desire; obligation is out of the picture. It is where you feel the most at home, doing what you love while bathed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and cocoa.

Amidst brewing a cup of americano as per the order of a customer with stylish sun-glasses and a striking jawline, your dress is accidentally soiled. Little do you know, the scatter of black and bitter constellations along the pristine white of your sleeve is merely the dawn of a darker, more bitter happening.

──────── ༻✿༺ ────────

Finding you has been relatively easy.

When the familiar dreams begin plaguing her usually dreamless nights, a telltale sign of a new immortal on the horizon, Andromache has half a mind to ignore them altogether. Had she not seen the places that stoke recognition amongst the wild tapestry of images, she certainly would have. But alas, her target, as it so happens, is no stranger to her. By no means does the Scythian know you. Nor you, the Scythian. New immortals bring together with them an assortment of risks, one of them being the exposure of their secret. It is with such knowledge in mind that Andromache feels obliged to set out for you despite her reluctance. You living in the neighbourhood of her temporary place of residence only makes the search all the more convenient.

Being a warrior for many a millennium has developed a vast array of tactical traits into personal trademarks. Those that once upon a time had had to be mindfully exercised, now occur as easily and effortlessly as breathing, involuntary more often than not. Beneath the dark shades of a spectacle perched on a well-defined slope of a nose lies a pair of sage green eyes, scanning the vicinity of wherever she goes like an eagle on a hunt. They have landed on it then, during her visit to a store, standing adjacent to it is a cafe in the name of “Trouvaille”. The Scythian is not one to be easily intrigued, but what a lie it would be to say that the charming building with its vintage air and curious name had not tickled her fancy. Or its owner whom she has noticed is all sweet smiles and dulcet eyes.

Eyes which she has only seen from afar then, now she stares directly into them. Protected by the shades, the intense greens study you with brazen openness, roaming all over your frame, from the tiny clips that decorate your cascading hair like colourful Christmas lights to the butterfly pendant that dangles from a simple silver chain, hovering directly above the dip of your throat, from the little flower prints on your dress, the skirt of which softly caresses your thighs, to occasional glimpse of seemingly soft flesh that teases the Scythian, left uncovered by a pair of white thigh-highs.

It is retrieving you that is the hard part.

Immediately upon arrival, Andromache has read your features for perhaps a trace of recognition. You paying the Scythian a visit in her dreams can only mean one thing after all: that she, too, must have appeared in yours. Yet, no widening of your eyes greet her, only a smile that does not waver.

“Hi, welcome to cafe Trouvaille. What can I get you?”

“Americano will do. Hot.”

Beside the fact that it is broad day light, a few people roam the place. As capable as Andromache is of manhandling you, it is not in her best interest to attract attention. The situation calls for patience. Rushing will spell only more trouble at best. Wait she must, and so, wait she does.

Leisurely, the Scythian sips her coffee, studying you periodically as she does so. It is after some minutes have ticked by, the cup of coffee sitting on the table, empty and cold, that she decides to fish a book, leather-bound and well-worn, out of her backpack. Thumbing through old pages, Andromache spends the better part of the wait indulging in literature, until one by one, people start trickling out of the shop.

In due time, it leaves only the Scythian and you.

The sky has taken on a deep orange hue by the time she stands to approach you. She eyes you surreptitiously, and upon confirming that she is not at the receiving end of your attention, the Scythian moves to lock the door. Ever the diligent wielder of caution, she does not forget to flip the little dangling plate. The letter “We’re closed.” that is carved into the wood will help ward off potential visitors.

Even as she walks towards the counter, you do not seem to notice her for you are kept occupied by the book in your lap, fingers busy scribbling onto paper. It is the tinkle of porcelain on marble as she drops the cup and saucer atop the counter that finally has your eyes zeroing in on her. She watches you watch her. Backdropped by the sunset with her shades finally tucked away into the pocket of her jacket, the sight of the Scythian brings about a subtle shift in your mien. Although fleeting, the furrow of your brows that must have been imperceptible to others, does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, again. I hope you’ve had a good time.”

The smile that you give her is sweet, if not the most genuine.

“Why don’t we save the pleasantries, hm?” The smile that touches her lips, in contrast, has a hint of sourness. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have.”

Your answer only brings about a twofold increase in the Scythian’s irritation. Judging by the slightest delay in your response, she knows that you are well aware that she has not meant it as a query, and so, she says as much.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The adamant denial from you has strong, slender digits tightening around the strap that is slung over one shoulder.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You died, and then you woke up, saw a bunch of people you had never seen before in your dream, including me.”

“But, that was- No. Surely it was-.”

“Look, kid-” Forming into a thin line are Andromache’s lips as she takes a moment to compose herself, slowly huffing out an exhale through flared nostrils. “-I know you’ve got questions but I need you to come with me first.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Leave, please. I need you to leave.”

Lips that slowly curl into a smirk and a chuckle that comes out dark and dangerous. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Battered boots that come to rest just shy of polished loafers.

“You know…your folly is, dare i say, commendable. Reality is not just something you can rewrite, and yet, you managed an impeccable job of tricking yourself into thinking what you believe to be the truth is the truth.”

One foreboding frame that looms like a predator and the one that cowers like a cornered prey.

“Alas, I almost feel bad for shattering your little illusion. But then again, I’ve done a great many questionable things in my life having lived as long as I have. What significance would it make to add another?”

“What I saw in my dream. They really happened.” It is a question albeit not being voiced like one. The Scythian does not find the need to answer. Why bother when the answer already lies in your hand?

At her silence, a look of horror dawns on your features. “You’re a murderer. You and your friends. I’ve seen them. I- I’m not- I can’t.”

“Oh darling, a rose without thorns is but a weed, easy to be plucked, to be trampled on. You’re one of us now. You will come with me whether you like it or not, and you will do so this instant.”

Every single step you hesitantly take back is met with an immediate footfall of boots as they fall right onto the place that your loafers have just vacated. It goes like this for a while, you actively ruining the close proximity, and Andromache rectifying it, until there is nowhere for you to flee, and your hips collide with the counter edge.

“Why me?” She parries your plea with a nonchalant shrug, face impassive. “Beats me.”

“Please, I-” Tears glisten in your eyes, murmuring beseechingly. “Let me go. I can’t kill. I know nothing about fighting.”

While her hands grip the counter on either side of your waist to cage you in strong arms, her lips lower to the shell of your ear, breath warm as she speaks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can kill. In fact, anyone can. You just have to listen to me.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want-” Yells dissolve into a yelp by way of digits seizing your jaw.

“I’ve gone out of my way to exercise great forbearance, but it is running terribly thin. It would do you well not to try it any further.” She husks threateningly, feeling the softness of your cheeks giving under the roughness of her battle-hardened fingers. Salty droplets drench her digits as tears start spilling in rivulets down your cheeks.

“Go on, bite me with those baby teeth. Scratch me with your little paws.” She taunts. “Why, would you look at that! All bark and no bite. How pathetic.”

It is as she says this that your teeth sink into the palm that is pressed tightly against your mouth. The unexpected retaliation has her stance faltering, and although you manage to break free from her bodily confines, the Scythian, being far more nimble and dexterous, hardly has to break sweat in recapturing you.

“You're a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Two can play that game, although don’t say I didn’t warn you. Breaking men, after all, is considered one of my fortes.”

Wrists locked behind your back in her iron grip, and body bent over the marble counter, Andromache revels in the quavering of your body beneath her own as one wicked hand, like a sneaky serpent, slowly slithers up your thigh.

“Are you-” A whimper flies past your lips when your arms are pulled taunt, shoulders craning uncomfortably. And then, she yanks, hard and unforgiving, until you are forced onto your feet, back colliding with her front. “Are you going to kill me?”

Andromache cannot help but laugh at your question, a rich throaty sound that brings about the erection of soft little hair on the nape of your neck.

Your wrists are released at the cost of your cheeks bearing the brunt of her ire as rough fingers dig into your flesh. They flee from their cage between the two of your bodies to take sanctuary on her forearm, soft fingers grasping the sleeve of her jacket. “Where’s the fun in killing you when I can just have my way with you, hm?” Her hold around one of your thighs remains unrelenting while the hand on your jaw coerces you into craning your neck. Your head rests on her chest with a grunt, and you drown, held spellbound by the intense green of her eyes. “I’d rather enjoy the view of you crumbling beneath me than watch you bleed out only to come alive again.”

Although it douses you in shame, you have to admit that you are not entirely immune to the woman. How can you when she oozes charisma, frighteningly beautiful even as she looms over you with all the grandeur of a great menacing panther.

And then, too many things happen all at once; fingers that crawl into a forest of hair to grab a fistful, with a yank to the side, a throat that is bared for the predator above to conveniently sink her teeth into, the frenzied little flutter of a pulse beneath the flat of a warm tongue, chocked sobs that dissolve into a strangled gasp as a cold hand journeys into the waistband of an underwear.

Previously, your hands have found home on her thighs, fingers grappling fabric, but upon feeling wandering digits inside your underwear, one of them flies towards the offending hand, locking around a wrist.

“N-no. You can’t.”

“You would do well to remember that I am in control here.”

The Scythian’s growl is not only heard, but also felt on your skin as teeth nibble, mouth suck, and lips soothe the stings that afterwards will linger on your body in the form of dark blues and bright reds.

Horror and humiliation dance a wild tango whereas fingers waltz delicately along your folds, a condescending tsk echoing off your nape when they come away wet. Betrayed and backstabbed by your own body, mortification colours your face as not one but two of her sizeable digits sink into your heat with little to no effort. Although sudden, it does not hurt, though it stings, leaves you breathless still. Dewdrops bloom on your lashes and they drop down your cheeks when fingers in your core bury knuckles deep, abuse your tightness. You feel them in the very depths of your body, filling you so deliciously that when they wiggle so much as a little, it is more than enough to sucker-punch a breath out of your lungs.

Between her hot mouth kissing your neck all rosy and sore, her fingers cleverly caressing your insides, and her hand toying with your breasts beneath your dress, it is no surprise that your undoing greets you with a tidal wave of pleasure.

It is, however, a surprise to find yourself being shoved back-first onto the table, legs being pulled wide by fingers twining round your thighs. You are still suffering through a series of aftershocks from your first orgasm when her mouth attaches itself to your quavering folds, that wicked tongue immediately slithering into your hole. It does a cruel little nudge and your fingers wind up entwined in her hair. Instead of a reproach, it is a hum of satisfaction that you earn as the Scythian grabs a handful of your buttocks and devour you like a starved man.

By the seventh one, you are well beyond exhausted, brain foggy courtesy of being fucked into oblivion, and body agonisingly sore, littered with deep hues and teeth marks. Somewhere between third and fourth, if you recall correctly, she has stripped you bare, bar your thigh-highs, and completely rid herself off clothes, magnificent muscles coming into display. You have ogled them with barely restrained awe until your attention is swayed elsewhere by her mouth leaving traces of herself all across the expanse of your body.

Now, once again, you marvel at them, entranced by the impressiveness of her muscles that ripple with every roll of her powerful hips.

You barely recognise the face that is staring right back at you, reflected in the surface of sea green eyes, or the sounds that are oozing out of your lips. Sweat clings to the forehead of the woman towering over you as it does to yours. One of your legs is slung over her shoulder, and the other lies limp and useless between her thighs, as she rubs herself into your core with wild abandon.

“I- I can’t. Too much. It’s too muc- ah!”

“Yes, you can.”

She has taken the hand that goes to rest on one of her hipbones only to weave her fingers with yours. Now, they hover in the air, tightly intertwined, suddenly made much tighter by the white knuckled grip of your hand.

“Slow- nghh please! Be gentle.”

“You do as I say. Not the other way round. Is that understood?”

The desperate nods of your head is met with a bite to the succulent inside of your thigh just above the brim of your sock.

“Answer me.”

“Yes!”

“My word shall be your command, and you will dance to my every desire, won’t you darling?”

“Yes! Yes, I will.”

“You are mine after all, aren’t you? Mine to do with what I please. Mine to use how I see fit. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m yours- ngh- all yours.”

“Good girl.” She moans, movements escalating from lazy strokes to untamed gyrations.

“Andy.” She rasps breathlessly. “I want to hear my name dripping down those pretty little lips when you fall apart.”

And hear she does. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Her name is all you can cry out as your juices mingle with one another’s, the combined essence soiling your thigh-highs as well as the couch beneath you.

Back curving, toes curling, you soar high, high into heaven, swimming amongst clouds, drowning in euphoria. And then, you plummet, down into the pit of hell, down into another one of those little deathless deaths. An intense blinding white replaced by an absolute dark.

When you awake, it is to the heart-melting sensation of lips softly caressing your forehead. You find yourself on the same couch that you have passed out, cocooned in toned arms, face tucked snugly into a warm, musky throat. Reflexively, you begin nosing the soft underside of her jaw before you are startled by fingers wandering down your very naked thigh.

“Look at me.” Obediently, you oblige, reluctantly leaving the pleasant warmth of her neck to do what she desires.

“What have I told you?” All too delicately, or as delicately as the callouses on her hand will allow, the pad of a thumb grazes the apple of your cheek.

Fighting against the urge to slip your eyes shut, you sigh dreamily instead. “That as long as I remain a good obedient girl, no harm will befall me.”

“That’s right. And are you?”

A nod as an answer prompts a pat of a forefinger on your cheek, and then, another. You know what she wants, so you give her just that.

“I’m a good girl.”

Not only do you see the smirk on her face, but you also feel it on your skin as she leans down to drag her lips across yours. “You forgot to mention whose, darling.”

“I’m a good girl, Andy. Your good girl.”

“And will my good girl obey my every command like she had promised?”

“Mmhm.”

A breath catches in your throat as her lips journey down down down, admiring the traces of none other than herself until that ravenous mouth adjourn to your hip, sucking the tender spot on your hipbone to make it all the more vibrant.

Although it has not been the main purpose of her doing what she has done, it is without doubt that Andromache gets a sick sort of pleasure out of seeing you covered in her marks. Every inch of your body and soul, all irrevocably hers.

You have said it so yourself, willingly given yourself up to her. That being said, it is purely her own greed that has her craving more and more and more of you. The scent of you that is sinfully sweet, heady and uniquely yours, makes her ache. The sight of you, like the dewy petals of an exquisite flower, pretty and pulsating, makes her mouth water.

It is with this insatiable hunger swelling inside of her that the Scythian sinks to her knees between your luxuriously smooth thighs.

“One more, darling. Give me one more before we leave.”

And you do, oh how you do even as one bleeds into two and two into three, because a good girl does what she is taught, does she not? And you are a good girl, Andy’s sweet little good girl to do with what she will.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

#andromache the scythian x reader #andromache of scythia x reader #andromache x reader #andromache x you #andy the old guard #andy andromache of scythia #andromache the scythian #andromache of scythia #character x reader #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron #the old guard #smut #gif #movie gifs

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lonesomelad · 3 months

Text

i don't know why i've decided to make this account known, but i did anyways.

anyhow, as a song goes and I quote ; i . f . l . y .

get to know me, maybe ?

⎯ i'm a filipino / filipina . . . something i indirectly revealed once .

⎯ i'm a minor . . . so back off weirdos . let's keep this a safeplace, alright .

⎯ i'm an infp - j . but i act the exact opposite online .

⎯ i'm an afab ; abrosexual whose currently an aro/ace. tho, my pronouns are she / her , but i don't mind being referred to as they / them .

⎯ i'm very fond of nature , just as i am with animals .

⎯ i like drawing / writing / admiring the scenery / getting lost within the depths of my mind whilst listening to music .

⎯ i somewhat stan enhypen ... don't take me for a fanatic .

⎯ i love ... yoasobi , fuji kaze , kikuo , chase atlantic , the neighborhood , the weeknd , ayesha erotica , cigarettes after sex , tv girl , radiohead , lana del rey , mixed matches , wave to earth , laufey , melanie martinez , isaac dunbar , ari abdul , d4vd , coldplay , alec benjamin , jawny , prettymuch .

⎯ i am a self-proclaimed embodiment of anti - romantic by t x t & new person, same old mistakes by tame impala .

⎯ my favorite song(s) as of now is / are ; just for me by pinkpantherees ,, itgirl by aliyah's intelude ,, super bad mantra by jawny ,, not around by nova ,, heaven by julia michaels ,, only by lee hi ,, dandelions by ruth b ,, pasilyo by sunkissed lola ,, sex , drugs , etc by beach weather ,, my love mine all mine by mitski ,, dawn of spring by anson seabra ,, that's life by still woozy ,, nun id change by yeat ,, shaded in by filous ,, breakin' dishes by rihanna ,, sick of you by sub urban & dnmo .

& many more !!

p . s . i love you .

refer to me as either hanamari or aika , if you wish . ( the latter is my real name , jtlyk . . . fun fact, ig ? )

yes, i've been a kazuha

enthusiast for a prolonged period of time . . .

yet, the same can be said with how i am with muichiro,

however, it seems that

neither of those facts are blatant, or so my frustratingly idiotic loveable friends claim .

| i thoroughly enjoy fantasizing when i've got nothing to do . so i tend to space out a lot .

y'know the drill.

proshippers, pedophiles, certified jerks, etc ... don't interact.

your not welcome here, at all.

as i've mentioned countlessly, this blog is merely just for my own personal reasons & preferences. that's why you shouldnt be expecting anything else here besides me just being an absolute dogshow .

additionally, this acc has been up for a while now . i only decided to actually pay better heed to it bc a certain bug ( isn't that right ? @scarasonlywhore ) won't stop pestering me to let them buzz at me tremendously online even tho we're practically always together .

the once said ( my tad bit more sane ) blogs are this & this .

and if you wanna have full-blown conversations with me, feel free to add my dc !! ( user is insomniacwhosesleepdeprived)

that'd be all . nothing too much, nor too little presented here, huh? hopefully . . .

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velvetmud · 1 year

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the met gala pics of pedro in that shade of red??? vampire he's a vampire. when he's torturing the silver lake guys and says the very gentle/terrifying "it's okay, I believe him" — i want that tone of voice as he drinks from you and soothes you through it, and while he’s drinking you you’re riding his cock

I go so all out with an idea that I have genuinely no idea how to make it short when I’m fired up ohhhh my god but this hit different. bless bless tho this idea fucking hit 11/10

warning(s): 18+ explicit, blood, daddy kink, dirty talk, smoking, drinking, passing out, generally dark vibes. you’ve been forewarned

he was drawn to you. the rapid thump thump thump thump of your heartbeat taunts him from across the bar.

it’d be humanly impossible for anyone else obtaining the same delight of smelling the pheromones dripping off of you in beads of sweat, coming down your chest - but that’s just it. joel wasn’t human.

he’s spent a good portion of his time in recent years bored and unsatisfied by himself. these days bar hopping in hopes to meet a woman to bite and drink and fuck became his new favorite pass time.

he eyes you sipping a fruity drink through a dainty straw. chewing on the melting cubes of ice. daring red lipstick leaving a stain around the tip after each sip. he wonders what it would look like if you smeared your lips all over the base of his dick. a grin crept on his face when he also notes it’s the very same color as the coat he has on.

god, and that fucking neck.

there’s over a million ways to turn a vampire on, given they have as simple of taste as joel does. seeing a gorgeous naked neck that just begs his teeth to sink into—nothing could ever get him pounding so fast. now you’re laughing at something one of your girl friends say, throwing your head back and stretching it out. almost mocking him.

joel’s intent stare doesn’t leave you as he took the last swig of thick whiskey remaining in his glass. settles himself down a little bit. the last thing he needs is for his teeth to come out in public, or coming on too strong. before he has a chance to flag the bartender down to order you something, he knows when it’s your scent coming closer. that steady growing thump thump thump of your pulse got even louder—

“hey there,” you greet him, cheeky as you flop down onto the chair right next to his. the space is squished enough that your knees brush each others. although taken aback by the pleasant surprise, he can’t believe it being as easy as dangling a carrot in front of a bunny.

“couldn’t help notice this coat actually matched my lipstick. thought to myself maybe I’d try and buy the man a drink,” you propose.

he loves just how easy you’ve made this for him.

joel decides his next move as if he were playing chess. his pale fingers crept over to your hand resting beneath the table, hovering for a moment before finally joining them together.

you feel the flashy gold pinky ring that shined in the light, figuring that must’ve cost him a kidney as he stroked the back of your hand. once he leans down in your ear, he can’t help himself but inhale the scent. licks his lips, he really isn’t fucking lying when he says —

“well sweet girl, I was gettin’ pretty thirsty over here. m’glad you asked. ”

two rounds of drinks he pays for later, you’re both drunk putty in each other’s arms. dancing on the lines somewhere between reckless and buzzed. making an obnoxious exit wrapped around one another, determined to get back to his. joel might’ve been tipsy, but he knows he’s got nine good hours of dark until dawn inevitably came.

he gets his lips on yours in the backseat of a cab. your lips felt so soft and cruel against his. the way your lipstick smears around his own lips makes it all the more thrilling. unbothered by the driver’s presence, he moans hungrily once he sees his chance and latches right onto your neck, like an addict’s relief after finally getting his fix. containing himself for when he’ll get to break the skin and taste the crimson running down his tongue.

you prop a thigh up and lock him in, running your fingers through his slicked back hair. ruining it. joel suckles on your neck with unquenched thirst, already working on a third hickey once the driver pulls up in front of joel’s flat. it took longer than it should have to realize the vehicle was no longer moving, as pissed as the driver might’ve been, but you’re both void of any shame.

as you both skip inside, unable to pull any limbs away, he practically has to kick open his front door.

the personality of the interior intrigues you as he welcomes you in. the vintage art crowding the walls, the sixties and seventies themed furniture, the red velvety comforter of the master bed. you also couldn’t help the curious eye at all of his blackout curtains. you don’t get the chance to start the question before he predicted you’d ask, telling you he just likes keeping it dark.

he wipes the puzzled look off your face when he goes in to grab your chin and smash his lips back down on yours, this time around not containing anything now that you both have the privacy.

“smell so good to me, angel. couldn’t focus on nothing else—fuck I ain’t getting enough. need to see you some more. let’s get those arms up, take this off, yeah. there she is. my precious fucking girl.”

he showers you in pet names and praise. that nose stayed buried in your neck, marveling at the skin. nipping gently and sucking the red skin, pulling back to admire his work and watch the mark turn purple. the vibrating beat of your pulse so close put him in a trance. one other greedy hand snakes down and began pinching and twisting your nipples. with there being no need to conceal any of your own thoughts and noises, you hum his obscenities right back at him, fueling his desires. when you whine in his ear for him to fuck you, he laughs and guides your back to fall down on those velvety sheets.

“mhm, just relax for me little one. lay back, let daddy do the work.”

judging by your squirming, you really like that.

still sticking to his mission, he slowly claws at your remaining clothes with intent. in the soft candle light of his room, you’re giddy once you spot the evidence of your lips still all over him. it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, it looked like red was even his favorite color.

his kisses get longer and wetter once he’s met the insides of your thighs, moving to your gushing outer lips. with a possessive grip, he squeezes your thighs in the palms of his hands and damn near salivates after you spread for him.

“prettiest pussy I’ve eaten in a long, long time.” he sighs. effortlessly raising your knees up to hook around his shoulders. his mouth waters and his teeth threaten to show as he lifts your hood up with his thumb. if he couldn’t see in the dim light, he’d be able to hear how ready you’ve been. “oh yeah. this is wet. is this pussy begging to sit on a cock already baby?” he taunts, smoothing the pad of his finger in between to listen to the lewd glide it makes. his stubborn dick bobs around, still helplessly trapped in his pants.

“take yours off too, daddy,” you plead, weakly pulling at the collar of his button up.

joel exhaled through his nose, still holding onto a great deal of self control even if you insist on breaking him down to itty bitty pieces. he prods himself up onto his knees, keeping those legs wrapped around him like a necklace before he gives you further instruction. “I’ll get the rest, but you need to unbutton this for me, angel, use those fingers.”

with haste fingers and patience worn thin, you manage to tear open the shirt while your feet rest on his shoulders. he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss each one as you finished up, his broad naked chest out in the open.

“good girl. spread those legs again for me.”

the shirt and pants that were previously in the way have now been carelessly flung to the ground by his arms. he eagerly nestles his head back down, guiding you to lay back again and let him continue drinking you up.

your pathetic pleas get muffled into the pillows beside you, your head thrashing back and forth like a fish out of water. if it was another woman, concealing all her squealing and howling like a bitch in his pillow, it wouldn’t phase him as much. but he fed off seeing all of your faces, pouting and scrunching up in beautiful ways with every swirl of his tongue on your clit.

“c’mon baby, stay with me, keep those pretty eyes on daddy. like when I can see those little faces you make.”

joel’s condescending tone doesn’t allow any room for opposition. with a nervous swallow, you obey. your reward for listening is instantaneous, because the tongue between your legs doesn’t relent, doesn’t resist once he has you right where he needs you.

he butters you up further to the point where you aren’t getting scared off by his experiments pushing the boundaries. gets harsher biting and nipping on your inner thighs when his fingers take to occupying you. he sees just how far gone you are, how you’ve creamed all over his fingers. you can’t even help closing your eyes again anymore despite his wishes. this time he lets you drift off and wallow in pleasure. you rigorously grind up and down to fuck every inch of his digits, distracted and immersed.

nothing could stop him anymore. now he wants to show his teeth.

wants to feast with his teeth.

joel’s fangs unsheathe from the upper corners of his gums with a clench of his jaw while you’re above him. oblivious. his tongue takes it easy on the meat of your thigh at first before slowly sinking his sharp teeth right into the meat of your thigh, drawing out some small drops of blood from the poke.

he groans like you’re the first happy meal he’s ever tasted. savors the little droplets of red beading from your skin, kitten licking to soothe the blow. fuck.

you’ve snapped your head up after feeling an unfamiliar pinch.

“w-what was—“

the bite he made still pearled more drops of blood and he catches it with his finger, sucking it into his mouth.“shhh, it’s okay baby. you’re fine. you’re okay.”

before you could ask any more questions he plunged another finger in you and fucks you with it. the pain immediately forgotten, you fall back into riding his fingers as he licks his leftovers.

“shit, I’m in for a treat. alright baby girl, m’gonna give you what you need. sit up for daddy. that’s right, pretty girl.”

he grants his dick a good few pumps from his hand before maneuvering you around to swap places. he lies his head back against the head board and settles you down on top of him.

you thought you catch a flash of sharper teeth when he grins down where you brush your pelvis on his. but you chalk it up to nothing more than imagining things, especially after the drinks you’ve had tonight.

“wanna watch you bounce on it for me. line me up, just like that,” he coached, watching you spread yourself with your fingers to accommodate his girth. he doesn’t stop eyeing your joining bodies like a hawk as you finally start to sink down, the head of his dick disappearing in your warmth. you close your eyes and breathe, slamming all the way down and surprising the two of you.

knocking the wind out of joel, he stutters and growls before tilting your face close to his.

“what a good girl, taking it all in one go—shit honey, that’s it.”

the sight alone of your bouncing chest as you rode up and down without mercy made joel wish he could fuck you like this in the sunlight. study every bump and curve and freckle on your body.

your neck extends just for him when he trails his thumb down to smoothe circles on your clit. he doesn’t miss the opportunity to dive right in, starting innocent to ease you through it. rough lips sucking and nibbling down. harmless at first.

his lap is drenched with your juices, filling you up with each pump of your hips relentlessly fucking him up and down. the trail of kisses followed the bone of your jaw, moving right up to your ear to whisper:

“want’chu to take a deep breath for me, baby girl. there we go.”

you’re too blissed out on his dick to ask questions, moaning out his name and holding tight onto his broad shoulders. joel can feel the vibration in your throat, every noise you make, amplified. your heart skips a beat once he plunged his fangs into the thick skin of your neck. he’s cutting deeper this time, instead of the innocent paper cut trail of blood coming from your thighs, it’s a stream that steadily gushes down to your chest.

the animal in him bursts out of the cage once the flow hit his tastebuds. he grasps your back to keep your body on him when you wail out of shock. the initial sting forced a scream out from you, but he just greedily keeps on drinking.

“f-fuck, what is that…. are you…?”

he shushes you some more, pulling back for the first time and moving your hair to the side. you see his mouth drenched in more red, but it’s sure as shit not from your lipstick.

“knew you’d taste sweet,” he murmurs, voice hoarse as he goes back in to kitten lick your wounds. he sucks down the drying trail of blood that made its way down your breast. he pants and sweats enough to sound like he just ran a marathon before looking down at the skin of your neck and then right back to your eyes. “you’ll feel so good, promise. just need to keep going. don’t stop riding, princess.”

your confusion muddles with arousal. the glimpse of what could’ve been fangs when he smiled down at you, the stabbing pain on your neck and thighs, the freaky black out curtains, not to mention his obsession with kissing your neck.

you’re dizzy as the world around you starts to fog. he sees how weakened you’ve become and takes over, bouncing your tired body up and down with his arms hugging around your waist. he couldn’t resist going back in to take another long bite on the neglected side of your bruised neck, drinking right from your flesh. more spills down while he shakes you awake to rub your clit.

“that’s it, stay awake and cum for daddy.”

you don’t know how he’s managed to still make you cum this hard while only being half conscious, but you’ve made an even bigger mess on his groin.

that was the final straw and he can’t take it anymore. he bites down on the first mark he made between your ear and your shoulder just one last time. he doesn’t hold back his own animalistic sounds, roaring deep down from his chest while his cum floods the mess of your blood.

as you both come down, he still takes some time to catch his own breath as he gently moved your boneless body to lie down next to him. he reckons you’ll either go through a little hell or just go to sleep. wake up as his own little vamp, pestering him to get fed. he can’t help it, he smiles when he really starts to imagine it.

propping up an arm to support the back his head, he extends the other arm to his night stand and fetched himself a cigarette. after puffing on it for a few moments, he noticed how he’s already left behind his own stain on the butt of it from your combined remanents of blood and lipstick all over his mouth.

up to you if she just d!3d or if he turned her then they live happily ever after and drink tons more people together. your pick!

this was honestly so fun to write, more dark au’s might be another route I’ll take in the future. lemme know if you get that appeal too :)

masterlist + buy me a ko-fi

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller/reader #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal #tw daddy kink #anon

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revlischarm · 3 months

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what are some of your favourite one piece hc's :?

Sorry this took so long I was jotting them down as I went. I’m sure I missed some of them because a few weren’t coming to mind but uhhhh. The list turned out way longer than I thought it would be!!

• All of the ones you listed because they’re great

• Transman Crocodile

• Transman Ace

• Sabo has a tattoo like Ace’s except on his right arm, and it says “SABO” but with the “A” crossed out. heheheheh ‘SBO’ lmao

• Sharp teeth Zoro supremacy

• Ace has narcolepsy

• Luffy has a tattoo of the dawn that doubles as a Strawhat on his forearm!! I saw that idea somewhere and I’ve just. Amassed it into my horde.

• Zoro getting the Strawhat Jolly Roger tattooed on his back after Luffy is King of the Pirates,,,my beloved,,,

• Luffy has a bracelet of beads like Ace’s after Marineford!!! So does Sabo :)

• Zoro instinctively likes doing things in sets of three’s. Has a thing when it comes to numbers and counting. I’m inflicting him with a very specific brand of OCD/Autism. I saw this stuff with him counting certain things in this one Lawzo fic?? Fucking amazing, highly recommend. I’m gonna link it here just for how incredible it portrays Zoro.

Seriously, even if Lawzo isn’t your thing, I recommend it alone just based on that particular Zoro trait.

• Robin can do an impeccable horror girl scream. You know the one.

• Zoro can do math in his head insanely quickly

• Zoro knows how to garden a bit after time on Kuraigana

• Luffy is super knowledgeable about bugs, actually! His favorite kind of insects are Atlas Beetles

• Sabo is fucking unhinged. Good for him. Would crush the skull of anyone who so much as looks at Luffy the wrong way.

• I’m partial to the idea that Luffy has a super high metabolism

• Zoro’s got an oral fixation (Luffy might too, actually)

• Colorblind Crocodile

• Zoro is agender!!! Mostly uses they/he, but honestly, I don’t think Zoro would fucking care what pronouns you use for them

• Luffy has a bad habit of gnawing on things, especially fingernails, when he’s hungry. Which begs the question, are his fingernails rubber as well? When they fall to the ground like rubbings from an eraser, do they too retain their elastic properties? Who can say. Do Luffy’s teeth fluctuate between solid and rubber. Is Luffy capable of breaking any bones at all. I have so many questions about the physics of devil fruits sometimes you have no idea

• Sanji smokes because it can stave off hunger; he’s also always the last to eat, waiting until everyone else has their meal before eating himself

• Law is a fucking nerd and I’ll say it. He’s absolutely the type to try and act/look cooler than he actually is and I think most of the fandom has fallen for that ruse. I love him still, tho. Pathetic wet meow meow. You are sad and depressing and a genuine freak. Good for you.

• I like thinking that Doflamingo is partially blind in one eye from getting hit by an arrow during his whole backstory as a kid, that’s why he’s always wearing the glasses. Yes I know he’s also wearing glasses as a kid, leave me alone, it’s between that and the idea that maybe he and Rosinante have some sort of light sensitivity, since they both have their eyes covered when they’re younger.

• Crocodile’s eyes are the most gorgeous shade of lavender I’ve ever fucking seen, I swear to god

• Goth family. Goth family. Goth family!!!! I don’t care how unlikely it is I FIRMLY believe that all three of them keep avid tabs on each other, and would 100% do frequent calls on den den if they weren’t affronted by the idea that it would seem needy(Idk if that’s the right word but. You know what I mean. They’re embarrassed to admit they care.)

• Zoro picked up a mishmash of behavioral traits from both Perona and Mihawk after the two years. Man knows how to do hair and paint nails now. Picked up a smidge of fashion sense from them both, too (and by that I mean goth)

• Law and Robin get along insanely well, they have the same sense of humor.

• Law loves anything even slightly bear-shaped. He has so many items that go along with the theme. Fucking loser nerd.

• Law also gets super moody on winter islands; I read a fic once where he tends to go to the local church whenever he visits one and. Yeah idk that felt right to me. Law’s got an overall SOMETHING of a relationship with religion (just based off some of what we saw with his childhood I think) that I’m not complex or knowledgeable enough to do a justified analysis of

• Sanji makes recipe books, and labels them with notes on what’s easiest vs more hard to make in case the crew ever needs that. Dude also absolutely has a notebook somewhere on how to prepare human meat should it ever come to that. The ideal way to mourn his passing. Consume the flesh of the fallen. Become feast.

• Sanji’s hands don’t have a single blemish on them, and he moistures them frequently, actually.

• Luffy gives platonic kisses to all of his crew mates!!! All of the love

• Franky sacrificed a lot of the feeling left in his body during the two year skip in order to get stronger for everyone :(

• Law has golden eyes, Zoro’s is silver, Luffy’s are an abyss of darkness. Like a bug!!!! Bug-eye luffy. He’s a creature to me.

• Luffy likes to walk up stairs on all fours

• I think another reason that Luffy’s built up such an immunity to poison is because he puts his mouth on literally EVERYTHING. Consumes so much that should be inedible and takes it in stride.

• On that note, I think that Zoro would deliberately ask Sanji to poison his meals sometimes just to build up his own resistance. Because that’s also the safest way to go about it honestly.

• Sanji burns really easily in the sun actually I think lmao. And he always has one part of his face that’s perfectly off-color

• The arm that Shanks lost was his dominant one :) that’s part of the reason Mihawk was so disappointed he lost it. He would sword fight with that hand. Any letters he tried to write to people came off as shaky and uneven for the longest time

• Zoro is ambidextrous. He can also write shockingly well with his mouth and his feet if need be. Fucker is absolutely planning to go multiple different sword styles one day. Cut off his legs, replace them with blades.

• Luffy will bite Zoro a lot just because. It’s Zoro. Why would he mind. Captain is just releasing pent up energy cause he got excited.

• Luffy is immune to getting acne—as well as most other skin conditions—since he’s made of rubber. Lucky bastard.

• Kidd has a ton of piercings that he can and will use as projectiles. He’s also 100% had tetanus and rabies as a child. It just fits.

• I think that—Zolu or not—Zoro was Luffy’s first kiss. Just based on principle. A captain and his first mate, sitting in a cramped dinghy for who knows how long together?? Listen, all I know is they must have talked about some weird shit. And Luffy probably mentioned that he’d never kissed anyone before if it was brought up, before going suddenly silent and then asking if he could kiss Zoro. Just because. And who’s Zoro to say no to his new captain?

• Sometimes Sabo will sit and just. Let himself be on fire. Just to see if he can feel Ace.

• I firmly believe one of the reasons Zoro and Sanji don’t get along is because of their differing views on woman—or more specifically, how Sanji acts with them that pisses Zoro off to an extent. And that’s due to the whole Kuina thing. The fact that Sanji would not only treat women like they’re glass, so capable of breaking and delicate, to the point where he refuses to so much as lay a finger (or toe in this case??) on them—it really fucking grates Zoro. If a person is demanding you to fight them on equal grounds, regardless of their gender, you shouldn’t disrespect them just because they’re female. Just feels like an insult. Cant fucking believe I gotta argue in defense of hitting women here because of you, Sanji

• Usopp has the second best observation haki on the crew—and I say second only because of the whole Luffy and Katakuri thing. Yeah. Third best would be either Zoro or Sanji, because we see Zoro specifically training with haki during the timeskip, and after losing an eye I refuse to believe that Mihawk wouldn’t give Zoro a pretty decent training in observation haki to make up for that. And Sanji just. Idk man he gives me the vibes, plus he always seems adept at being able to know when someone’s in danger (even if that’s only catering specifically to the female sex)

• I think that Zoro postures a lot whenever Luffy compliments Sanji or talks about how cool someone else is because he doubts his place on the crew a lot. Like. He’s just the swordsman, right? He’s a lot more replaceable than the other members of the crew, a swordsman isn’t totally needed to survive in the New World. Y’know. Stuff like that :)

• Zoro has a super high alcohol tolerance, so it takes a lot to get him drunk. He’s also got a high tolerance to most heavy sedatives.

• Zoro does the boob-grab thing to himself sometimes when he’s thinking. You know the one. I sure do. Hold the titty for comfort and serotonin.

• Law is an EXTREME control freak. Just in general.

• Zoro and Usopp are part of girls nights. Just because. They are.

• Transmac Usopp my beloved also—this is UNRELATED TO THE PREVIOUS HC. Usopp is part of girls nights because of his chill vibes!!!! Don’t get it twisted. I’ll bite you.

• Everyone is autistic. Not just the Strawhats, but like. Everyone in the One Piece universe. Luffy is the most autistic. He’s going to be King of the Autistics. His hyperfixation is pirates and he’s collecting crew mates like plushies at the end of his bed

Idk if I have more, I probably do just stirring around in my brain somewhere

#op #one piece #op headcanons #ask #Revlis speaks #thanks for the ask btw!!!!#I don’t get many asks haha #:3

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dummybirdnero · 7 months

Note

What is the fur coloration of the bumblebabies and the kidroses? I imagine Ivory has white fur, hence the name but what of the others?

For kidroses:

There’s 5 male buns and 5 female buns, the boys fur colors are closer to Rubes but their bellies are white, and the girls are different shades of pink, tho not all are fully pink since some of them have little patterns of white.

Ivory has white fur yes, but she does have some hints of red (mostly on her tail).

For Bumblebabies:

They’re twins just not identical in fur color, their names are Dawn and Dusk.

Dawn having Yangs fur color and Dusk having Blake’s.

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lluzionz · 2 years

Note

hi can i request fem reader x diluc where reader is drunk and diluc takes her home (they live in dawn winery) so ofc since she is drunk she doesn't know its diluc carrying her back home so she goes like "diluc my beloved boyfriend i love him but i am not worthy of his love he deserves better" stuff like that yk? and he asks her abt it in the morning (hurt/comfort pls) feel free to ignore this, have a good day/night/afternoon

Hello there dear anon (hope you don't mind if I call you dear). First of all I hope you have a great day/night too. Second, you won't believe what happened. I had the same idea as you but in my scenario Diluc was the one who thought he didn't deserve y/n. Anyway, I just found this crazy and wanted you let know. Sending you my love <3

"Unworthy of your love"

Diluc x fem!reader

Tw: comfort

"More please!" Y/N raised her grass to the air towards Diluc, expecting him to refill it as he did before. But he didn't make a move towards that. Instead, he took the glass off of her hand and placed it on the counter behind him, away from her reach. "Hey what are you doing? I want to drink more!" Y/N yelled at him as she crossing her arms over her chest, causing Diluc to glare at her. "You drank enough. It's time for you to go home." He scolded her. "I don't want to go home. It's not like anyone is waiting for me there anyway." She mumbled, thinking that Diluc wasn't able to hear her little comment, but he did even tho he didn't say anything. He knew that if he tried to ask her about it, she wouldn't tell him so instead, he took her glass from the counter, picked up a bottle of wine and filled her glass, giving it back to her. "Here, drink this. It's a new wine that I made and I would like to know your opinion." Y/N took the glass from his hand, electricity rushing through her entire body the moment the tip of her fingers touched his. "Sorry 'bout that!" She drunkly apologised as her cheeks took a darker shade of red from the one they already had. Diluc didn't say anything in return, just got back on serving drinks to the customers.

Hours past and the tavern was finally closed for the night. Everyone had left, well everyone except one person. Y/N. Her head was layed on her arms and her eyes were closed. "Is she sleeping?" Diluc wondered as he walked over to her, tapping her on the shoulder as he called her name. "Y/N, wake up we're closed. You need to go home." He said in a soft, low voice causing her to open her eyes. "What? Closed? I need to go home then." She said as she got up from her seat and made her way towards the door of the tavern. She was so drunk, she could barely see in front of her when suddenly, she stumbled and fell but before her body could hit the hard floor, a pear of strong hands wrapped around her body, pulling her back on her feet. "Come on, I'll take you home." He said, picking her up in his arms bride style, her arms finding their way around his neck as he started walking towards her house.

"Mr, do you know a pretty red haired guy who's name is Diluc?" Y/N suddenly asked him, causing a small gasp to escape his mouth. "Mr? Doesn't she recognice me? Also why is she calling me pretty all of a sudden?" Diluc thought to himself. He was about to ask her what she meant by that but Y/N continued to talk. "He is my beloved boyfriend or rather the man I want to be my beloved boyfriend but..." Her voice trailed off as a sob escaped her lips. "I'm not worthy of this man's love. He deserves so much better. He deserves the whole world. He dererves all the love in the world which I can't give to him. I just can't. I'm so worthless!" She cried as Diluc subconsciously tightened his grip around her body, pulling her closer to him as he tried to comfort her with his words. This seem to work as after a while, she stopped crying as her eyelashes grew heavier. She ended up falling asleep in his arms and he secretly wished to delay his arrival to her house, just so he could hold her in his arms an and show her what she really worth, without letting go of her. Ever.

Sadly his wish didn't came true as after a few minutes of walking, he arrived at her house. As silently as he could, he opened up the front door and entered her house, holding Y/N in his strong arms as she slept peacefully against him, her arms still holding on to him as if she feared he was going to leave her and she was trying to stop him from doing so. Diluc sighed as he carefully unwrapped Y/N's arms from his neck and placed her on her bed. A little whine came out from her as she felt his warm body leaving hers.

Sitting down on the bed besides her, Diluc reached out his hand and started stroking her hair as he started whispering sweet words to her, words she sadly wasn't able to hear. "Don't worry Y/N. I won't leave you. Not now I know how you feel about me and about yourself. I will always be there for you no matter what." He said, leaning over and placing a kiss on her hair. As if she understood what just happened, a faint smile made it's way across Y/N's lips as Diluc got up from his seat besided her and left her house. He planned to visit her again in the morning to check up on her but most importantly, to ask her about what she said to him while she was drunk.

The next day finally rolled around and Y/N woke up with a massive headache, unable to remember what exactly happened the night before. "Ugh my head. How much did I drink yesterday? And how did I ented up in my house? The last place I remember being is the tavern where I was drinking some of Diluc's new wine." Suddenly the memory of that strange man provoking her from falling and picking her up bride style formed on her mind. "Who was that man anyway?" She asked herself as a light knock at the door pulled her out from her thoughts. With slow steps, she walked up to the door and opened it only to find Diluc standing there, a worried look covering his beautiful, red eyes. "Diluc, what are you doing here so early in the morning?" Y/N asked him as she moved out of the way so he could come in. "I came to check up on you and also, here, take this." He said, handing her a bottle of painkillers. "You didn't have to come all the way just to check up on me and give me some painkillers." She gave him a faint smile as she took the pills from his hand. "The is another reason I came here besides the painkillers. I wanted to ask you about something you blurted out while I was caring you home."

Flashes of lasts night encounter rushed through her mind. Her smile fainted from her face as the realisation hit her like a brick. "Was Diluc the on ewho brought me home last night? Did I comfessed my feelings to the man I love but accidentaly let him know about my low self esteem?" She wondered as she slowly sat to the couch behind her. "D-Diluc, what did I say last night while you were caring me?" She asked, fearing his answer. "You said you don't deserve my love and that I deserve better." He reminded her as he sat next to her on the couch. Y/N's eyes filled with tears but she quickly blinked them away. Having someone else pointing out her low self esteem and the thoughts she had for herself really got to her. "Uh, it was actually nothing, just drunk-talk, you know." She tried to force herself to smile but nothing came out.

"People speak the biggest truths when they are drunk." Diluc commented as he moved closer to her, placing his gloved hand on her cheek, lifting her face up so he could face her. "So please Y/N. Open up to me and tell me every single feeling you held hidden for so long." He spoke in a low, soft voice causing Y/N to brole down and tell him every single thing she felt, for him and for herself. How she fell in love with him since the first time she met him, his serious but caring nature had her heart beating faster and faster everytime he was around her. But she never felt that she deserved him or his love.

"You are such a great person who deserves all the love you missed for all this years while I, I'm just a nobody who fell for you. A nobody who will make you sad and miserable if you're around. I am someone who never loved herself and probably never will. I don't deserve to be loved by anyone or love anyone. Especially you. I will hurt you if I stay by your side Diluc. I'm horrible and I don't deserve to to love you!" Tears ran like rivers down Y/N's cheeks, as Diluc stood there, starring at her crying but still beautiful face. How could she think such things for herself? Why she didn't deserve to love him? She was such a kind and lovely person so how could she think so low of herself? He was the one who didn't beserve to be loved by such a person. He was the one who was so broken and empty inside that it was a big surprise for him to find out that he had started having feelings for her.

After his father's death, Diluc thought he couldn't love anyone else so he locked all of his feelings away in his heart to never be seen again and became that grumpy man who never smiled. But then she came appeared on his life, making all of his possitive feelings come back one by one. She was so bubbly and cheerful and always had a goofd thing to say about him. She also spend a lot of her time on the tavern, keeping him company either by offering him a hand or just drinking wine while happily chatting with him.

But now, that cheerful mask had fallen off, revealing Y/N's true feelings which were dark and awful, nothing like he expected from her, the happiest person he knew and the one who managed to make him smile after so long. Without loosing any moment, Diluc wiped her tears away as he pulled her closer, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "Nothing of what you said is true Y/N. You are such a incredible person who deserves to be treated like you treat the people around you. With so much love and care that you can make even the grumpiest, most deppressed person in the world, like himself, feel happy and loved just by being around them and giving them the words of courage that you are the first one who needs to hear." His thumb stroked her cheek, wiping a tear drop away.

Y/N wanted to say something, to tell him that what he said wasn't true but hearing those beautiful words coming out of this man's mouth, really left her speechless. "Since you don't love yourself, as you said, I want to be the person who will give you what you deserve. Love. I want to be with you and give you all the love I have Y/N and even more." He said causing tears to fall down Y/N's face. Diluc loved her? He wanted to be with her and give her all the love he had? Surely this coudn't be true. Diluc couldn't actually be in love with her, could he?

"Do you really mean what you just said Diluc?" She asked him, a faint smile slowly making it's way on her lips. "Of course I do. I couldn't ask for anyone else to love me rather than you. You are the one who deserves to be called my girl, the love of my life, no one else." He said to her. "So this means I can call you my beloved boyfriend now and this time be true?" She hesitatly asked, wiping the remaining tears away from her eyes. Diluc nodded his head and a the brightest smile he had ever seen plastered on her lips as she through her arms around his body, pulling him closer to her a she connected their lips together. Perfect fit, like the perfect fit they were for each other.

#diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #diluc ragnivindr x you #diluc x you #diluc x fem!reader #master diluc #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin diluc #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin boys

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theriverpointace · 4 days

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Like The Dawn by The Oh Hellos: Mina arriving to find Jonathan hospitalised in Hungary with brain fever and mad, and still they get married right there

And like the dawn you broke the dark and my whole earth shook I was sleeping in the garden when I saw you

At last, at last Bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh, at last

You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen Your skin was gilded with the gold of the richest kings And like the dawn you woke the world inside of me You were the brightest shade of sun when I saw you

Work Song by Hozier: Mina finding Jonathan unable to remember what happened to him, and not demanding answers, after he crawled down the cliffs of the castle to find her

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

anon you should know i love you. i would say we shall have a summer wedding but i'm already attending one and i think that maxes me out for the year ;)

okay okay "like the dawn." goodness. that's about adam and eve. that's the creation story. are the oh hellos a christian group, or do they just use christian themes? either way i should listen to more of them.

a couple unrelated-ish thoughts about this song.

first, i love the connection to adam and eve: jonathan and mina being made for each other. god created eve for adam so that he wouldn't be lonely. it's not good for people to be lonely. and i love that theme in jonmina. they share everything with each other, they know each other so well, they were built to be together.

next, i like the imagery of jonathan waking up to find mina from the first verse. it's so lovely. and i like the idea of him being in this brain fog, not really sure what's going on, mostly just lost in his own mind ... and suddenly, there's mina, shining through like the sun, waking him up.

kinda like the first verse: bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh. wowzers. again i love how much they are together. there's another verse in genesis, i think it's around the creation story? it says that a man will leave his family, and woman will leave hers, and they will become one body, basically. i really love that for jonathan and mina especially tho cause their families are already gone.

yes good song i am obsessed.

and "work song." i like the lyrics you pointed out: "and i was burning up a fever/i didn't care much how long i lived/but i swear i thought i dreamed her/she never asked me once about the wrong i did." i love mina being concerned and worried and curious, wanting to know where the hell her fiance was for two months, but still just letting him recover, knowing that if he wants to share that with her, he will. (and knowing that he will want to share that with her.)

i also really liked some of the lines at the end! "if the lord don't forgive me/i'd still have my baby and my babe would have me/when i was kissing on my baby/and she put her love down soft and sweet/in the low lamp light i was free/heaven and hell were words to me." mmmmmmmm holiest love strikes again <3 i particularly like "in the low lamp light i was free."

#i love that people are giving me songs :D #this is fun #sorry again about the long reply!!#i wanted to listen to them first and then. i forgot this ask was here.#oops #dracula #jonmina #jonathan harker #mina murray harker #ask tag #anon #talk tag #music

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tryingtimi · 1 year

Text

Old Times

Inspired by Disappearance of the Girl by PHILDEL while failing my poll dears. It’s at least still a Darmon piece, even if not the promised one. I’m on it tho. Also, first try of figuring out their dynamic, so no context.

BOOK I EXPLORATION | CHARACTER EXPLORATION | DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | WC: 1,640

The Crystal Palace always showed its true magnificence at dawn.

Thick, sparkling blanket of snow covered the infertile soil outside as if its freezing white wouldn’t have hidden rough blackness underneath. Flakes rarely fell so deep in the belly of the circling mountain range, and yet the snow never seemed to dwindle.

Darmon turned from the groove they used as a window. The dining room showered in the red-orange light that seeped into the space, the palace’s crystal walls reflecting and multiplying its brilliance. They couldn’t see the auroras this far from Atarq, still, their colors reached them at every dawn.

“Its power to chain you to the window could not die away with the years. I dare say it never will,” Zheva called from the end of the refectory table.

The Nordic shines of the sun bathed her sitting figure in its slowly disappearing light. Since the day she put her armor down, she preferred to wear shadow-colored long tunics made of warm and strong textile, embroidery decorating its full length in rich shades of red and gold. Such as it did today as well. Her midnight tunic had sewed-in golden leaves scattering around in a somehow organized way, broad red hems on the sleeves and neckline adding to the harmony of colors, while a same shaded wide belt tightly wrapped around her waist.

Darmon nodded, then hesitated for a second.

His mind has been plagued with that old prisoner’s words. Words of suspicion and secrets. He found himself growing somehow careful around her. A disturbingly foolish act on his part.

Darmon joined the servants bringing in their many servings feast as they walked to the table. One of them leaned over to pull out his seat, but he stopped them with a soft gesture of a hand. The servant bowed their head, then placed four plates before Darmon as he seated himself.

“Is there a special occasion I‘m not aware of?”

Various roasted meats and vegetables ruffled up his hunger, the scent of melted butter, rosemary, and thyme twirling into his nostrils. Beside them, beautifully shaped glass bottles contained the translucent alcohol beverage made of anise, its curving form ornamenting the deeply shaded grape and pistachio bowls secured with lemon-mint tarts.

All Darmon’s favorites.

Zheva smiled a little.

“Can’t an old woman be lonely at times?” She earned a glance from Darmon.

Zheva’s face had been painted with curious tenderness today. Her features bore age, and maturity, something Darmon had grown accustomed to through the years. Her sharp, narrow eyes carried authority and wiseness while they let some visible wrinkles build a nest beside them.

Yet, Darmon wouldn’t ever call her as simple as old.

“I just find it unusual, that is all,” he added eventually. There were times when he – shamefully – craved to dine with her, but they never did. Only during lunch, they shared their meals and company truly.

Zheva took a bite from vibrant pink meat, the crystals orienting the last rays of dawn at her as a reflector. Her focus never left her meal.

“You are right, there is an occasion you might not be aware of. Two, perhaps.” She cut another slice, something almost like blood glistening on her chopsticks. “Have I ever told you about my son?”

A piece of carrot stuck in Darmon’s mouth as he stopped chewing. Only for a second, but he did.

“No, I didn’t know you had children.”

“Child,” again, she smiled a little, “only him. Especially after I left his father… or he left us, I am not certain anymore. It doesn’t really matter, I barely remember him and my son didn’t need him to outgrow him. He was a rascal since his birth, but he’d also been loyal and valiant. One could always rely on him in times of need. Qiang, that was his name.”

The biting sensation of the anise liquor did not ease the dryness of Darmon’s throat. All the food tasted delicious, yet somehow still felt as if he was eating sand.

He never heard such affection in Zheva’s voice before, not once. He couldn’t even recall if he ever heard her talk about her past. A legendary warrior of the ages and a believer left with a crumbled faith. There was not a seed of questioning in Darmon for why she never mentioned any of it before. Still, he couldn’t deny his surprise. And something else; a stirring, unsettling shred of thought.

The seed of how little he knew about her truly.

“Sounds as if you two were close.” Why continuing the topic felt like dragging a limp leg, Darmon couldn’t say. His plate almost emptied, his stomach nearly full, but he picked up another, large meat slice nevertheless.

“Hardly. We shared a lot, but his innermost thoughts remained his in the end. I knew only a version of him, one he felt comfortable sharing with me.” Zheva gestured with her hand, and the chandeliers brightened above them. A moderately dim, purplish light conquered the hall. “Raising a child does not equal that you’ll know them best.”

A strange sensation scraped Darmon’s throat; a scoff. He didn’t felt this reaction since… well, a long time ago.

He packed another bite in his already full stomach.

“You two are very akin to never asking questions. Unlike him, however, your nature is curious, Darmon. That much, I know. So, why don’t you ask?”

Traveling rays of light fell under the horizon, and the end of dawn brought darkness to the mountain range and everything slumbering within. As the hall turned completely amethyst from the only remaining source of light, Darmon found himself frozen. He cut the meat in half on his plate, his chopsticks abandoned beside it. He stared at the food, then with slow realization in his chest, he turned to Zheva.

“I never expect to receive an answer, hence why bother.”

Deepening crow’s feet, gentle, dark eyes, and a pause of silence. Then, Zheva put a comforting hand on Darmon’s, and all the cold of the world evaporated into nothing.

“You are free to ask, and with that, you shall earn answers.”

It’s been such a long time. More than a thousand decades, perhaps, since he saw the difference between Zheva and his family. Darmon couldn’t even recall when was the last time he just thought of them, yet their impact still reached him. However, with them, the reason why he joined her in the first palace was reborn as well.

“Why telling me about him now?”

She did not pull her hand back.

“Because today is the day he left me. You see, he did not share my view on how things should be. He loathed the cause I represented, and therefore, he loathed me. Some thousand years before, on this very day, he abandoned his mother. On this very day, I lost my son.” She sounded utterly mournful as she looked into Darmon’s eyes. For the longest time, he even caught a glimpse of some kind of exhaustion and age in that dark gaze. Then, ever so lightly, Zheva squeezed his hand. “Then, on this same day, you joined me.”

Crystals sang under the wind that sneaked inside the place. It reached Darmon, crawling under his padded tunic, yet it could not make him cold. He glanced at the table again, drinking in the view of the delicately prepared food. Meats, spices, alcohol, and tarts. Favorites, with just enough sweetness. Thoughtfulness to please one.

Darmon realized there was a tradition he completely forgot through the years.

And with that, the words unspoken made his eyes sting. Those words Zheva didn’t need to speak aloud. She lost someone today, and still, he was the one she celebrated. When he joined her, when he was reborn. Today, they weren’t celebrating something mundane, but the birthday of her son.

Darmon reluctantly put his hand on hers.

“I could say so many things, I don’t know which to actually say,” he said quietly.

“There’s no need for such formalities. I am grateful you’re beside me. I know what we do is hard, and it is delightful to have someone around, especially when one has a tender heart. Speaking of, I’ve heard you frequently visited the chambers recently.”

Darmon froze upon hearing this. Of course, she would know about it, he wasn’t trying to sneak around. Yet, it still made him tense under her motherly touch.

“It’s admirable how you manage those creatures, I was certain you’ll be the best to take upon this task.”

However appealing the words sounded, he knew it wasn’t exclusively a compliment. Oh no, it wasn’t. Darmon did not break the eye contact, letting those dark irises devour his soul as they stared into them. He would almost say that they spread the darkness around them as the night deepened.

“You can trust me,” he uttered. Why that was the first thing that tiptoed onto his tongue, was a mystery to him as well. He could have thanked her, he could have said he had a plan. But he didn’t. He knew she would be aware of his lies if they were actually those.

Was he worrying about lying without knowing it?

He wasn’t sure anymore. Not when he stood trial under those unwavering eyes and that oh-so-longed motherly touch. Darmon felt shame washing over him as in his shuddering heart he found the tiniest speck of desperate alarm.

Zheva did not smile anymore, yet she leaned closer and breathed a kiss upon Darmon’s forehead.

“I know,” she whispered. “I do.”

#Peoject Metalsea #Metalsea series #Darmon Strotagor #Zheva Wong #Metalsea: Turning Fates #its adding to the time before Darmon decides to leave #idk what is this or where it goes #didnt mean this to be this touchy #i would say its a special occasion and maybe their firsts

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one-and-lonely16 · 2 years

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Having a hard time describing it but the vibes of pumpkin spice Oreos, warm milk, warmer smiles, cool breezes, fuzzy sweaters with ghosts on them, colorful leaves, and staying out till dawn.

(Warm fall vibes, not to warm tho. Let them freeze.)

Autumn had always been Lance’s favourite season. From fuzzy sweaters, to pumpkin spice everything, to cozying up on the sofa with a hot chocolate and to the fun at Halloween. It was just amazing. It had been amazing when he was little with his family, and now he had his own platonic family (and wonderful boyfriend) to share his joy with.

He and Keith decided (more like Lance had begged) to go for an evening walk. The sun was just setting, casting the world in a soft orange glow and there was a chill in the air. Lance had only had to put on a hoodie, but Keith was wrapped up as if it were winter: a jumper, coat, scarf and beanie he had managed to shove his unruly hair under - though it did flick up as it peeked out from underneath it. His nose and cheeks were flushed from the chill and despite how cold Keith obviously was, he still insisted holding Lance’s hand.

“I still don’t know how you’re so warm in just a fucking hoodie,” Keith grumbled.

Lance grinned. “You’re just always cold. I am the perfect temperature. This is why autumn is my favourite.”

“Why? Because your boyfriend freezes to death?”

He snorted, causing Keith’s scowl to melt into a soft, warm smile. “No. Because it means when we get home, I get to snuggle up with you on the sofa to warm you up.”

Keith’s face became a deeper shade of red and he looked off to the side flustered. Lance chuckled, dragging him closer using the hold he has on his hand. He nuzzled Keith’s cold face with his nose, pressing light kisses all over his cheek. When Keith laughed, you could see it come out of his mouth in a small cloud. Lance leant back and looked up at the tree above them, which had started becoming orange.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Keith didn’t bother looking at the trees. “Yeah, it is.”

Lance looked back to him with a smile. Keith tugged at his hand and begun walking back the way they came. “Come on, let’s go home.”

The two got home quickly. As soon as Lance got his shoes off, he bounded off to the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m making warm milk, you want any?” he called out as Keith was taking off his scarf.

Keith hug the scarf up and padded into the kitchen in the fluffy socks he had stuffed on under his boots. “Yeah, sure.”

Lance glanced at him and snorted.

Keith dropped the smile he had and scowled. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Keith raised an eyebrow as Lance very poorly tried to hide the smile on his face. “Lance.”

Lance let out a snigger. “It’s just, your hair has gone all poofy from your hat.”

Keith’s face flushed bright red and he dragged his hands through his hair in an attempt to flatten in. That just made Lance laugh even more.

“It’s not funny, Lance!” he protested.

Lance finally calmed himself down and walked over to Keith, ruffling his hair. “Go have a shower, it will warm you up as well. I’ll make us warm milk and get some snacks.”

Keith shoved Lance’s hand out of his hair and messed up Lance’s hair, causing him to squawk indignantly. Keith smirked in victory and started walking out of the room. “Fine. But don’t just put those pumpkin spice oreos you love so much, get some snacks I can eat.”

“I still can’t believe I’m with someone who doesn’t like these masterpiece of oreos.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again!”

Ten minutes later, Lance was flicking through movies whilst snuggled under a blanket when Keith padded into their living room. Lance glanced at him and smiled.

“Hey! You’re wearing the jumper I got!”

Keith tugged at the hem. “Well, yeah, its comfy.”

The jumper was black with ghosts stitched along the bottom. Lance had seen it the other day and knew he had to buy it for them. Technically, the jumper was Lance’s, but in Keith’s defence, Lance owns so many jumpers and hoodies that it’s his role as his boyfriend to steal at least a few of them. And if they’re the comfiest ones, no one has to know.

Keith sat down next to Lance and pulled the remaining blanket over him. Without taking his eyes off of the screen, Lance lifted up an arm and Keith tucked into his side so they could both fit under it.

“Shiro texted me whilst I was upstairs. Apparently everyone is thinking about doing a quiz with Coran as the quizmaster tonight. He asked if we wanna join,” Keith asked, reaching forward and grabbing one of the cookies Lance had brought through.

“Yeah, I saw something about that on the group chat. It’s Halloween themed, so obviously we’re going to win. I’m literally the Halloween king.”

Keith nudged Lance’s side. “You could’ve called yourself the Pumpkin King.”

Lance paused and thought it over. “Fuck, you’re right, that’s so much better.”

Keith chuckled. “So, I guess I’m telling Shiro yes for later.”

“Yeah, of course. Now, we watching the Corpse Bride or Coraline? I’m in the mood for some Tim Burton tonight. Maybe there will be questions on them.”

Keith shivered slightly at a draft coming from somewhere (no doubt Lance left open a window in the kitchen) and snuggled into Lance’s side even more with a warm smile. “Whatever you want.”

“The Corpse Bride it is. Jesus christ, your nose is freezing,” Lance exclaimed when Keith pressed his face into the crook of his neck. He pressed a gentle kiss there before bringing his head up and planting another on his lips. When he pulled back, Lance had a surprised but soft look on his face. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but what was that for?”

“Nothing, I just love you.”

Lance kissed the tip of his nose. “Love you too, bubs.”

The two turned back to the screen and one thought went through Keith’s mind.

Autumn is definitely my favourite season.

-------

this was really fun to write. i now realise that u might have meant all of the paladins but i couldn't help myself with writing klance so

#klance #voltron #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance fic

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lilac-5ky · 1 year

Text

Killing Butterflies (Part 8: Hard Truths cut Both Ways)

A/N: It's been so long since I've written this story omg (or anything for that matter). Ngl, I wasn't sure if I should make things go this way or another way or whatever, but I feel like this is closest to what I had envisioned! This chapter is mainly Takasugi-centric and there will be a bonus A/N at the end to explain something. Hope you enjoy and that the route I chose didn't disappoint!

Warnings: Again tons of violence, emotional abuse and a fuckton of angst.

gotta reinforce my shinsuke manga screenshot collection ;-; even from this angle he looks so good tho :3

The first thing to capture your attention upon entering the final room at the end of the corridor, was the sliding paper doors that separated the space into two parts. Closest to the entrance stood a short legged table, decorated by a single quill, and a paper blank of any words, while on the side of the window laid the creased sheets of a futon.

Unlike the rest of the rooms you got to see during your rather prolonged stay in his ship, this one resembled home the most. From the wooden finishes of the few furniture, to the earthy tones of the walls, this room could only belong to someone with great knowledge of Edo’s traditions.

And that was when it finally dawned on you. This was no ordinary room. This was his room. The room he lunched and dined in. The room he devised tactics and wrote lengthy letters in. The room he slept and sought refuge in, whenever the weight of this world felt too heavy for him to shoulder.

You wondered how many times he’d gazed outside that window. How many sleepless nights he’d spent contemplating over the past and the future and everything in between. You could easily see him leaning with his back against the frame, foggy smoke pouring out his lips only to clash with the panes. A reminiscent of the time he spent under the shade of your estate’s old cherry tree. Old habits die hard, after all.

Moving onto the other side of the room, your fingers traced a long line along the dusty surface of his desk. Did he use it often, you wondered. You’d never thought of him as the scholarly type, but then again he always spent his free time reading. Did he insist on flipping through the pages of the same rusty green book, or had his interests perhaps shifted?

The hushed shamisen behind the table suggested this much. Your hand ghosted over its neck, imagining a gloomy melody to accompany the monsoon. Even in there, the rain kept haunting you both, foreshadowing what was to come.

“If you are done inspecting-” His words were cut in half by a foul strum. You’d nearly forgotten of his presence, along with the reason behind you being in there. This was no field trip, but your chance at getting a taste of the truth.

Stepping away from the shamisen, you turned around to face him. He was standing by the futon, his yukata barely draped over his torso as he cautiously tugged at the wrappings, tearing them off his body one by one.

You watched his every move with bated breath, silently sharing his distress while he struggled to replace the bloodied bandages. He seemed to be in much greater pain than he previously was, repeatedly grunting in frustration and wincing at his own touch.

But even so, he didn’t dare ask for help. He kept inconveniencing himself over and over again, until the sight of his suffering became too much for you to ignore, and you rushed to his aid.

Takasugi quirked a brow at your gesture, evidently taken by surprise. At this point, keeping appearances up didn’t sound right. Whether you cared enough to admit your feelings for one another, he kissed you and you kissed him back, and that remained the sole fact you were certain of. Helping him out when he was in such pain seemed only reasonable.

The wound itself didn’t look so bad. Other than a minor thread coming loose, his stitches seemed intact for the most part, with only bits of dried up blood lacing his abdomen. You grabbed a clean gauze, cutting it in half and then gently wiping him clean. He was compliant enough to stand still, although, whenever your fingers hovered too close, you could feel his muscles tense up.

“You don’t have to do this.” Takasugi mumbled through gritted teeth.

He was right. You didn’t have to bother. But when you thought of how he’d done the same thing for you a little while ago, you couldn’t help it. Your injury was because of him, and now his injury was because of you. It was only fair you got even.

Ignoring his suggestion, you spotted a spare roll of bandage through the slew of medical supplies. Even when your expertise was next to nothing, this much you could do. Placing a palm upon his waist, you stilled him enough to wrap the first layer of bandage around him, followed by another, and then another, until the entire roll was used.

Come to think of it, this was the first time you saw him bare himself like that. He had no qualms about flaunting his body left and right, but when it came down to you actually touching him, this was a first for you both.

Every curve, every peak. The firmness of his chest and the softness of his stomach. You got to experience all that as you mindlessly trailed your fingers along his toned physique. You’d like to think you were doing him great service by fixing him up, but at the same time, you couldn’t refute that part of you enjoyed this. Just how you’d enjoyed the way his hands took hold of your cheeks, just how you’d enjoyed the way his lips crashed against your own mere moments ago.

“I think you can take it from here.”

You stopped before your thoughts could escalate, first averting your gaze and then you steps away from him. Last thing you wanted was to be ridiculed over your reactions. It was only natural that in such situation you’d fail to keep your cool, especially when it involved Takasugi of all people.

After a while of you refusing to face him and him working on his attire, you heard some light rattling from his direction, though you didn’t have the courage to check on the sound just yet. For now, being away from him was all you needed, and so, you let things be.

“Tea?” He more or less announced, as he presented you with two ceramic cups.

Explains all the commotion.

You hesitated to accept, but seeing as there wasn’t much of a choice, you went along. Rainy days did call for hot beverages, and you couldn’t even remember when was the last time you had something that wasn’t preheated.

The warmth was much appreciated, however, the fishy smell emitted by its murky depths made you reconsider. It wasn’t as if he was trying to poison you, right?

Or that’s what you wanted to believe, up until you took the first sip. Horrible was an understatement. It tasted as if someone had combined the world’s worst ingredients and scorched them till they burnt.

Immediately, you cringed away, battling the urge to spit it back in, while Takasugi huffed in amusement, having downed his own share in one go. How could he offer you such a thing? And more importantly, how could he afford to drink it himself?

“What’s in there?” You spelled in between coughs.

“Not poison, that’s for sure.”

You scowled at his antics and he smirked at your reaction, finding great satisfaction in how your tongue repeatedly clicked against your mouth’s roof, desperately trying to rid itself of the foul bitterness.

“Couldn’t you have offered some Yagult instead…”

“Yakult.” Takasugi corrected without thinking twice.

The two of you shared a look. So much had changed over the years, yet in just one day, you’d both let your guard down almost completely. It was easy to joke around and tease each other as if nothing had ever gone wrong. It was so easy that honestly, it scared you. Taking care of him, sharing a laugh with him, loving him. All those things felt much easier than hating and resenting him.

It was time.

“Sit down.” He instructed, pointing at a floor cushion before moving to his desk.

You did as you were told, bracing yourself for what was probably going to be the hardest conversation of your life.

There were so many questions you meant to ask. Answers that once given, would only cause you more heartache. Still, it had to be done. No matter what he had to say, you would listen and you would accept, and coming out of this room, you’d finally start to heal.

Takasugi returned with a light yellow folder, one you’d certainly seen before, despite being unable to place in your memory. It looked worn out, half torn at the seams, but still intact for you to read the name on the front page; Tsugaru Michihiru

“What’s this?” Your heart tightened within your chest.

“Why don’t you see for yourself.” He suggested, sliding the folder across the tatami.

You took it in your hands, fingers brushing over the dried ink of your father’s name. You remembered now. He used to hold onto this folder, continuously scribbling words in its pages when he thought himself alone.

Once, you’d jokingly taken hold of it, but before you had the chance to do so much as take a peek, he apprehended you. What was it that he said? That it’s improper to look into others’ journals? It must have been something along these lines. However once you started going through the pages, you realized how far from the truth you were.

It appeared to be a ledger of some sorts. A list that went on and on, featuring names you’d never heard or seen before. Some were underlined, others were crossed, while others had completely faded into incomprehensible ink stains. You honestly couldn’t make much of it. Any of it, for that matter.

“Who are these people?”

“These are the names of people I once happened to know. People I once worked with. People who were, but no longer are.” Takasugi said, bitterness waning past his words.

“What happened to them?” You already knew the answer.

Your eyes locked in with his, expecting something that would prove you wrong. For so long you’d lived revering your father and his memory. He was a good man, a great man even, one who worked hard to help peace prevail, one who helped people. He was your father after all. There is no way he could-. There’s absolutely no way he could have ever done something like this.

“Sometimes life isn’t as simple as a story, Y/N. Sometimes, rather than noble samurais and just magistrates, you encounter vicious beasts who seek to destroy everything in their passage, and greedy villains who seek to exploit till there is nothing left. Unfortunately, you had to face both in just one life.” He said, grabbing the ledger from your hands and then pointing you at the final page.

A couple of letters were caught in between the endpaper and the cover. It was unclear who the recipient was, but the sender remained the same, his name engulfed by the golden peony seal.

“Tsugaru Michihiru was the one responsible for every one of their deaths. Not the Amanto, not the war. He and the government of puppets that backs the Bakufu up is what killed these men.” Takasugi flipped through the pages again, pointing at a name.

“I remember this one. His folks thanked me for keeping their son safe, only to see his head on display not long after. I heard the old lady was driven mad by the sight and took her life a few days later. Can you imagine it, Y/N? Can you imagine the horror on their faces? The horror of seeing their son’s corpse paraded around as if he were a traitor?”

You winced away from his words, finding the picture he described too horrid for your brain to process.

Was it true that your father was responsible for their deaths? That he could really do such a vile thing as order these war heroes be executed for no reason at all? You wanted to deny his claims, to argue against such fabrications. It’s easier to dispute the claims of a liar and a murderer, but if everything Takasugi presented was the case, you wouldn’t know who to trust anymore.

“Are you still insistent on hearing my truth?”

And slowly, you nodded.

Sandals clicking against hardwood. One step following the other into the hollow corridor, steps defined by both certainty and impatience. No matter how many years had gone by, for Takasugi, the memory of that day remained rather intact, vivid as if it were yesterday. With the fingers of his left hand clenched tight around a small red-lidded bottle, and his right fist ghosting over the doorknob, he contemplated whether to enter the room, or not.

It was a quarter past twelve; precisely six hours since you parted.

All night long, his persistence had kept him from getting a wink of sleep, as he merely settled for the comfort your body offered his. He wanted to savor that moment. To imprint each color of the sky as it crossed over your features, so that he never forgets. So that it lasts him a lifetime.

One night only, and that was it.

The end of your regrettably short love story came with his carrying you into your chambers. Carefully, he replaced his yukata with your duvet’s cover, making sure no limb was left to dangle. You were so docile while sleeping. Nothing like the typhoon of a girl that swept everything in her wake.

But even in your sleep, you didn’t stop reaching out to him. Your hands kept tagging at his sleeves and fingers, begging for him to stay, and honestly, he would. He wanted to. There was nowhere else he’d rather be, than by your side. No other sight he’d rather behold, than the one before his eye.

When he thought of how the first thing you’d do upon waking up would be to search for him, he wished to be found next to you. To take in each and every one of your confused, yet cute expressions once you’d realize he’d been there all along.

Would you hide yourself from him? Jumble your words and turn bright red? Or would you be shameless enough to scoot closer and curl in his arms? Both sounded equal parts endearing, and while he couldn’t decide on your reaction, he was certain of his own.

He wanted you. He wanted to kiss you, touch you, have you, worship you, defile you. He wanted you to call out his name in between heavy breathings and light whisperings. He wanted your clothes to carry the scent of him every morning, only for it to be rewritten every night. He wanted you to be his in each and every way a man could possibly hope to possess a woman.

One night with you was all it took to incite his greed. To make him wish he could have another, and then another, until he’d spent a thousand nights holding onto you. But even then, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. Even then, he’d keep on asking for one more, until his every night was shared with you; filled by you.

A sudden pang of remorse in his chest forced him still. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He’d come to terms with the idea of letting you go. He was confident that when he dropped you off this morning, he’d made it to the finishing line, yet somehow, his feet had dragged him back to your door-only this time, with a token of his affection in hand.

He could argue that he was simply honoring a promise; that you’d earned it. Perhaps that was the sole lie he wouldn’t feel guilty of.

“Takasugi-dono?” A somewhat familiar voice made the smile drop from his lips.

The old spinster who served as your attendant stood behind him, her sharp hawk-like eyes boring in his own. This wasn’t the first time, he noted. Even when the two had exchanged no more than a few words, he’d always found her staring at him with nothing but contempt.

Contempt, as if he were a disappointment. Contempt, as if she disapproved of his very existence. Contempt, which felt oddly familiar, and that was when he realized. Her eyes were the same as his father’s.

“Are you here to see the young miss?”

His glance traveled between his fist and the door. What else could he be standing here for?

“What if I am?” He asked in a defiant tone.

“In that case, I must inform you that Lady Y/N is still in deep slumber. Courtesy of your late night get-together.” She was quick to add.

“Is she?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

It wasn’t surprising that the alcohol did a number on you. Someone as inexperienced downing about half a bottle of sake shouldn’t hope to get away with no consequences. Besides, spending an entire day asleep beats having to with the excruciating headache of your first inebriation.

Forget acting all coy or shameless. You’d most definitely throw a fit if you woke up in the same bed, accusing him for your faults as if they were his own; as if he got you drunk on purpose. That seemed more in line with your character.

Without being too aware of it, Takasugi found himself smirking at the image, agitating the woman even more. To think that someone his age,- someone she couldn’t even discipline-, dared treat her with such impertinence, had Harumi throwing one furious huff after the other.

“I know you are but a mere guest. However, this house has a certain order; certain rules that ought to be followed by everyone, guests included.” Her semi stunned expression persisted even as she recited the clan’s doctrine.

He was beginning to regret his visit. Decorum and protocols were of little interest to him, and there was no reason to pretend otherwise.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Seeing as there was nothing left to be said, he was about to get going, when Harumi stood in his way. For a woman who detested him, she appeared awfully desperate to keep this joke of a conversation flowing.

“Takasugi-dono, pardon my intrusion for I must ask.” She initiated, awkwardly clicking the heels of her shoes together. “What are your intentions?”

“My intentions?” He repeated. Surely that old hag hadn’t caught up to him, right?

“What are your intentions regarding young miss? How far has the relationship between you two progressed?”

So that’s what it’s all about.

“Are you asking me whether I’ve yet to deflower her?” He sneered, earning himself another, more infuriated call out of his name.

Making others uncomfortable for the sake of dodging such difficult topics was second nature to him. A haughty suggestion here, a vexing comment there, and no man who valued his sanity enough would insist on receiving answers. Still, it didn’t seem as if that’d be the case here. If anything, the resolve in Harumi’s eyes burned brighter than before, at last, earning a fraction of his attention.

“Lady Y/N isn’t someone you can fool around with. She might be our clan’s treasured heir, but she remains a young girl. An impressionable one, at that.” Harumi clasped her hands against her stomach.

“You’ve certainly been in her company long enough to realize how she differs from girls her age. Notably, girls her status. She possesses a certain childlike quality that doesn’t befit the harsh reality of society. Such… innocence is most endearing, but the naivety that comes with it is quite alarming.

“Young miss was deprived of a normal childhood. For the longest time, she’s remained sheltered by these four walls, as if she were a songbird entrapped within a cage. One that’s been taught when and how to sing, as well as when and how to keep quiet, if needed.

“Perhaps, my inquisition seems out of the ordinary, if not uncalled for. But the reason behind my words is of grave importance, I assure you. After a lifetime of serving young miss, it troubles me to admit that my sermon and admonition resonate with her no longer. Ever since she met you, she’s been chirping new tunes, and for the first time, she’s dared express her will to fly.

“Takasugi-dono, I’d much rather not interfere with my employer’s personal affairs. As the clan’s most senior retainer, it is my duty to see Lord Tsugaru’s plans through. However, as Lady Y/N’s most trusted companion, I solemnly wish for her happiness.

“You see, young miss is quite fond of you. She speaks of you as if you put the stars in the sky, and in spite of her recent defiance, she’s been far livelier than before. I know little of romance myself, but I know when I see true happiness. If your encounter caused such happiness to sprout, then I can only imagine how a potential union would contribute to its growth.

“Do you share that sentiment, Takasugi-dono? Do you cherish young miss the way she cherishes you?”

Cherish you. That was a way to put it. Would someone who cherishes another really mean to hurt them like this? Would they come knocking at their door like the grim reaper and threaten to take all that was theirs? Would they have no qualms about leaving them in shambles? Could someone like that truly claim to cherish another?

Someone like that was incapable of such profound statements, yet his hesitation suggested otherwise. If he was as indifferent as he thought, then why was he standing there? Why was insistent to hear the ramblings of some nosy crone? Why was he not putting an end to this charade?

Maybe cherish was too small of a word to express his adoration.

“Takasugi-dono?”

Her voice caught him off guard. Not because he was lost in his thoughts or anything, but because of how mellow it suddenly became. When she spoke of you, her entire demeanor shifted. All those formalities he abhorred had given way to genuine concern, and in place of that shrewd look, a far gentler expression embellished her features.

He was wrong, he realized. Those weren’t the eyes of an imposing father anymore, but those of a considerate mother.

“Interesting. Very interesting.” A strained chuckle was caught in his throat. “A formalist retainer who’s willing to go against the very rules she’s sworn to preserve, and all in the name of feeble sentiment. Truly interesting.”

“There is more than meets the eye, Takasugi-dono. My affiliation to Lady Y/N runs far deeper than any conviction or oath does.”

“Your loyalty is quite admirable, but you haven’t considered what entrusting me with that girl’s precious future entails, have you?” He asked, expecting no answer.

“A domesticated bird in the wild can only be as good as one with its wings plucked out. No matter how fervently it flaps them together, it’s pointless if it can never reach the skies and soar beyond. For someone like her, the ends of her cage mark the ends of her potential, and that’s precisely why there’s no survival for her outside that cage. Only fall.”

For a moment, it looked as if the woman was about to object, and for that, he couldn’t blame her. Not when he didn’t mean a single word he uttered. Hypocrisy was an intolerable flaw, but in this case, hypocrisy was the only way out. For him, and for you.

The steps of a third person filled in the short-lived silence, revealing the figure of a man Takasugi recognized to be one of Tsugaru’s personal guards. His worn out eyes eclipsed past the dusty gray of his hair, depriving them of a clear look at his face.

“Tsugaru-sama has called for you.” He said in an abrupt manner before slightly distancing himself from the two.

Glancing at the door a final time, Takasugi slid the bottle back inside his sleeve. This is for the best. It was never meant to be, after all.

“Stop wasting your breath on me.” He directed to Harumi. “Whether you plan on transferring Y/N from one cage to another, beats me. I don’t intend to stick around long enough to see the end of it, either way.”

And so, his steps echoed more hollow than before.

In the company of the guard, Takasugi began to wonder; had the second floor always been this vacant?

The perfectly polished image of the corridor- porcelain vases on each side, expensive crystal chandeliers that seemed more akin to a western household, and lastly, a handmade carpet of 1200 combs- implied the opposite. Still, he couldn’t quite get that visceral feeling out of his system. Something about this place felt unnatural, if not unnerving.

Door after door, tile after tile, and the only people they encountered came to be their own reflections glaring at them from inside the windows. No one was around. No maid to wipe the non-existent dust off the picture frames, and no guard to assume the duty of a watchdog. Everything was quiet, and while he knew to appreciate a moment of peace, he could tell there lied purpose in the silence.

Suddenly he stopped. The last sliver of sound was gone the moment his feet stayed put, little by little confirming his suspicions. He took one step and then another. And then he skipped two more, just to make sure. There wasn’t a single fall out in the rhythm. No second footing to obscure his.

Each step the guard took was perfectly attuned to his own, matching the pace down to the light grazing of his sandals. A predator’s imperfect attempt of lowering his prey’s defenses, something of which a mere sword-for-hire could never be capable of.

By the time they reached the end of the second hallway, Takasugi became certain of two things; The first being that, however great his disguise, this man hardly was the one he impersonated, and the second being, that today would be his last day in this place.

The time to show his hand had finally come.

“That’d be enough.” He waved dismissively. “I don’t need further escort.”

“Tsugaru-sama was adamant. I am to personally bring you to his office.”

“And so you have. But I suppose your orders don’t conclude there, do they?”

Not until you escort me to Sanju river, that is.

“I’ve heard of your organization’s special services, although I didn’t expect to be on the receiving end so soon.” A smile masked the gentle gesture of his fingers as they swiftly grasped the hilt of his sword. “Oniwaban.”

Without giving him the chance to react, Takasugi forced his blade through the center of the man’s chest, impaling him all the way through. Despair glinted in his eyes, while his lips remained pursed in a straight line, refusing to betray further emotion. He didn’t try to to scream nor fight back. The moment he realized what was coming, he quietly embraced his destiny. That was Oniwabanshu’s not-so-finest for you.

Perhaps taking down the Bakufu wouldn’t be as much of a struggle as he originally thought it’d be.

In one rapid move, Takasugi yanked the sword out, letting the body collapse onto the floor. A thud followed in its stead, putting an end to the pretense of silence along with the man’s life.

He looked at him. He looked at his face, the face that wasn’t even his, and for a second, he was tempted to pull at the invisible strings of his façade, but he held back. Whether he got to peek at his real identity or not, it didn’t matter. He’d quit of counting faces and keeping score a long time ago. This was nothing but a drop of blood in a path carved by carnage.

Shaking his sword clean, Takasugi rose back to his feet. One shinobi was hardly gonna be the end of it, and judging by the ease of which he fell, the second batch was bound to be stronger. He turned around, readying himself for an attack that wouldn’t come just yet. Instead, he was met with the horrified expression of the incident’s sole witness.

Trembling hands covered gaping lips, failing to truly conceal the terror in their owner’s eyes. The whites had blended with the paleness of her complexion in a manner that was unsightly, though not unsightly enough to compete with the spectacle beyond.

“What have you done?”, was what he’d imagine Harumi saying, if words could come out of the meddlesome attendant’s mouth. She was at loss. Even when her right index managed to point at the lifeless body, no such comment or shriek was formed. She simply stood there, utterly frozen in time

But he wasn’t.

“Take Y/N and get the hell out of here.”

“Wh-what?”

“There’s no time for explanations. If you don’t want to join him, then do as you’re told.” He coaxed, turning his sword in her direction. “Now!”

To threaten an unarmed woman -one that he very much knew you regarded as family- meant hitting new lows, even for him. But what else was there to do? As unlikely as the possibility of them touching a hair on your head sounded, he couldn’t deny you wouldn’t try anything stupid, and the last thing he needed was to worry about your safety while duking it out with paid assassins.

Whether Harumi saw him as a monster, he couldn’t care less. Right now, he wanted her gone, and you to be gone with her. If scaring her into leaving was all it took, then so be it.

Fortunately, the direness of the situation seemed to have caught up with her. That or, his bluff finally did the trick. Either way, Harumi’s inner conflict had reached a dead-end. She could stay in place and test the sincerity of his words herself, or she could make a run for it and risk far less than she would by challenging him upfront.

What empty threats could not affirm, the corpse sprawling before her feet attested. Only one real option remained for her to choose from, and so, she got moving before Takasugi could change his mind.

Relieved, he allowed himself the privilege of a sigh. He didn’t trust that woman one bit, but should it come down to it, he trusted that she wouldn’t hesitate to put her life on the line for you.

Still, that wasn’t to say he was completely unbothered. The fear with which she looked at him kept haunting him long after she was gone, making him ponder whether that’d be the only look others would spare him from now on. Whether one day, that’d be the only look you’d spare for him, and that alone was enough to weaken the grip on his sword.

How foolish, he mumbled, staring down at his hands. He never really cared about how others perceived him, yet he’d been so used to that unconditional puppy love of yours that the thought of losing it scared him.

The rustling of the leaves grew louder, drawing his attention to the window. A lone reflection stood there, slowly turning its back on him as he pulled himself together. They were coming. He couldn’t tell where from or how many it was, but he knew for a fact this was no time for self-pitying.

Gritted teeth turned into a brazen smile and hesitant fingers locked into decisive fists.

They are here.

Stepping among scattered corpses and broken pieces of ceramic, the hallway’s refined image had long faded into oblivion. Metallic skeletons hung naked from the skies, the invaluable gems that once bejeweled them reduced to stardust that continuously fed into the sea of blood below, one that Takasugi was determined to traverse.

With his sword serving as paddle, he hushed the leftover groans and whimperings of those around him. It was a fierce battle, and a close one too. A single misstep was all it’d take for him to meet his demise, though perhaps it’d be better if he did. At least then, your tears would be for him and not because of him.

But even with that thought in mind, he couldn’t bring himself to die there. He fought valiantly till he was the last one standing, because deep in his heart, he knew he could never give up.

Those who’d fallen in battle would never return. Sensei would never…

He owed it to each and every one of them to keep on going. To show the world the samurai had all but gotten wiped out, though that wasn’t quite right either. His cause wasn’t so noble. In the end, all he wanted was to curse, and thrash, and destroy everything that got in his way, until he’d have no anger left to pound the world with.

Fury was what led him to your father’s office, and fury was what made him push that door wide open. For so long he’d held back, but there was no reason to anymore. Bakufu was about to take its first punch in the guts, and Tsugaru Michihiru would finally pay for his countless crimes.

The man in question was seated in the middle of the tatami. His hands were placed atop his knees, and a tanto knife rested on a low stand in front of him. Dressed in white garments from head to toes, he’d painted quite an image for himself, one that perfectly matched his little seppuku theatrics. Except of his snide grin, that is.

“You’ve made it!” He said in excitement. “Those damn crows insisted there was nothing left of that man, but I’m seeing the living proof with my own two eyes. Takasugi Shinsuke, commander of the Kiheitai and Yoshida Shouyou’s disciple, you’ve exceeded my expectations. Pleasure meeting you, at last.”

“So you knew.” Takasugi smirked. “Guess Tsugaru Michihiru is more than the pawns I just broke.”

“Your words are flattering, but I’m afraid I lack the battle prowess.”

“Is that the reason for the act?” He nodded towards the knife. “Didn’t take you for the type to give up so easily.”

“Give up?” Tsugaru laughed. “Not quite. Considering the role of the kaishakunin was taken, I simply thought I’d assume that of a daimyo myself. Isn’t that how it went down between Hideyoshi and the disgraced Hojo clan?”

“As far as I’m concerned, Hideyoshi merely instigated Hojo’s suicide. I intend to end you with my own two hands.” Takasugi sternly replied.

“Such hateful words! One would think that after months in my care, at least some warm feelings would remain.”

“Don’t deceive yourself into thinking I ever warmed up to you.”

“But you warmed up plenty to my daughter, did you not?”

“How about we cut straight to the chase?” Takasugi spat through gritted teeth. “Nothing you might say will amount to a different result, so why not speed the process?”

“Oh, but there’s plenty to discuss.” He cackled, entertained as ever. “Unlike Sada Sada and the fools behind him, I consider the era of samurai far from over. It’s true that allying ourselves with the Amanto increases our chances of survival, but what’s to say they won’t go pointing their fancy canons at Edo again? Rather than disposing of our dogs, don’t you think we ought to train them harder, and keep them close, should push come to shove?”

Now was Takasugi’s turn to laugh at the outrageousness of his ideals. It was either that, or repeatedly bashing his sword into his skull till he made dog food out of his brains.

“Tsugaru, you—You actually thought that by taming me, you could use me to tear at their throats instead of yours?” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “A wild beast can never be tamed. My ambitions aren’t so cheap as to be bought off with money, power, or any of the fragile things you deem important.”

“And this is what makes taming you all the more fascinating!” He countered. “Why do you think I made you tag to all those pointless meetings? Why do you think I let you in on my secrets? Why did I turn a blind eye to you mixing it up with my daughter?

“Before adopting a pet, you test its capabilities. Someone who knows about tactics; someone who uses their wits along with their sword; someone who stays dedicated to their goal no matter the distractions; someone like that, has the potential to become the finest of hounds.

“Tell me, Takasugi. Did she not move you? Did you not falter because of her? Those files you smuggled out my office, they were what you’d been after all along, right? So why is it that even when you had the means to put an end to this, you stuck around? If not for her, why did you only make your move after I made mine?

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because, even when you have no leash around your neck, your heart dictates your every move. Be it an emotion as meaningless as love, or one as powerful as vengeance itself, I want it. This sword, this heart, this spirit of yours. I want it all. Rather than you lending your strength to me, I want to consume it.

“I’ve fed you, I’ve trained you and I’ve tested you, and now it’s time both you and I got our rewards. There’s much bigger fish out there. The Shogun, the Crows, the Heavens themselves. If it’s revenge you’re seeking, then I’ll give you the means to exact it. If it’s a house, a title, a wife, or something to clear your name, I’ll offer it to you.

“Your owner lives no more. There’s no need for you to live like a ghost on his stead. As long as you sit down when I tell you to sit, and bite when I tell you to bite, I’ll make sure you achieve your goals.”

Anyone in their right mind would be tempted by the easy route Tsugaru presented. By sparing one, Takasugi could not only gain direct access to all his targets, but he could also have a real chance at a living.

He could go back to being a samurai, one of far greater prestige than his father ever dreamed for him to become. He could rid himself of the stench a traitor’s name carried, and he could even make you his wife, turning each and every one of those stupid intrusive fantasies into reality.

So much to gain, yet such empty benefits did not faze him in the slightest. If he wanted fame and riches, he wouldn’t have turned his back on his family. If he wanted a clean slate, he wouldn’t have taken this road. And if he wanted redemption, then he wouldn’t have left Gintoki and the others to pick their pieces on their own.

Those were his choices. His decisions. His mistakes. And as for you, he’d soon get to name you as another one of his regrets.

“You talk big for a man who’s about to lose everything. But you know, big words rarely translate into equal strength.” Dragging his sword against the wooden floors, Takasugi slowly approached him.

“Whether you’re another Bakufu lapdog, or the one who carries their leashes for them, it doesn’t concern me. Right now, you’re nothing but a useless mutt that’s expired its usage. To think that I would side with you-I knew it.” He paused. “Bakufu really is built upon the corpses of idiots, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure their foundations strengthen by adding one more corpse to the pile.”

“Drop your weapon!” He stuttered. “I said drop it now!”

“And I said, I have no intention to become pet to a lapdog who refuses to get his hands dirty. Where are your orders now, Tsugaru? Who’s left to follow them? Who’s left to fight for you?” He raised his sword, waving it left and then right. “There’s no one left, so quit lamenting.”

For the first time since their conversation began, Tsugaru’s complacency seemed to subdue. With his hands pushing his body backwards and his rare soon backing against the desk’s legs, he resembled more of a lamb before slaughter than a powerful faction’s daimyo.

Pitiful, pathetic and utterly powerless.

“Takasugi!” He hissed. “If you do this, know that she will never forgive you!”

“Perhaps. No, I know that she won’t.” A sorrowful smile clung onto his thoughts. “But that is fine by me. I’m counting on that. I’d much rather play the role of a heartless villain, than have her cry over a worthless father who hid behind his daughter’s name even in his final moments. Keeping this between you and me is the first and last kindness I can spare for that girl.

“So rest assured. I don’t seek the forgiveness of either one of you. What I really want is to destroy every last vermin until this house of cards you call government falls apart. Your death will be the first quake.”

In the end, all the memories he’d made, the dreams and hopes he’d shared with you, didn’t get to sway him any more than the wind swayed a mountain. Inevitably, he’d reached the same conclusion, finding himself in the same spot he was destined to stand with his blade high above his foe’s head.

This was it. The beginning of his ambitions and the ending of your own.

He stared down at Tsugaru who kept pleading for mercy with both hands and eyes however best he could. He was scared and he was angry, though he remained full of wicked pride in spite of his undoing.

A man who’d always had his way with others did not know how to lose. He didn’t know what it felt like. He didn’t possess the slightest idea as to what losing everything really was like. The demons that accompanied you through every night; the hell you were forced to walk through every day; the agony that stayed with you through an entire lifetime. He knew none of those.

And it pained Takasugi that this abomination of a man had to go without learning of any of those things, when he was forced to endure everything himself. It saddened him, and it angered him, and before he knew it, he was aiming that sword at his throat and swinging forward with all his might.

Father!

The sound was meek and frail, but it was enough to make the blood in his veins freeze within an instant.

Father!

The voice grew louder and his determination dimmer.

What kind of sick joke was this? You weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to follow Harumi and leave. You were supposed to be safe, you were supposed to escape, but then again, he shouldn’t have put all his eggs in one basket.

It was too late to go back, and for better or worse, that was something Tsugaru became well aware of on his own. In the blink of an eye, the man plunged forth, snatching the knife and then shoving it deep within his guts. A sinister cackle diminished to a low grunt as the slash deepened, the pits of his stomach pouring out his white kimono.

Takasugi took a step back, lowering his sword at once. His eye was glued to the man, watching as he struggled to maintain his posture. This was far from how a typical seppuku ritual goes, though Tsugaru never had any dignity or honor to begin with.

“You should know, a kaishakunin would end your suffering.” Takasugi smirked, attaching his sword back at his hip. “I’m not that honorable.”

“Even if I die at the hands of a scum, I refuse to die by their hands.” Blood spewed out his mouth, drowning his every word in crimson “Bakufu won’t fall. No matter how many snake heads you cut, rest assured that new ones will come to replace them. Bakufu will not fall that easily, it won’t-”

“Maybe not. But my aspirations were never this meager.” Takasugi interrupted. “Between the world and the Bakufu, let’s see what breaks first. Shame you won’t be around to see either.”

Tsugaru kept yapping until his words became muffled whispers behind a closed door. There was no reason for Takasugi to witness his death. Judging by the cut, the man had a little less than a few minutes’ time before succumbing to his wounds.

It was over. It really was, yet oddly, he didn’t have it in him to celebrate one bit. Not when the sound of your voice constantly rung through his ears, and certainly not when you finally entered his field of vision as an awkward bundle of limbs that tried to find their way through the darkened corridor.

You looked so lost and frightened, searching through the bodies while calling out to someone-anyone who might be alive enough to hear. Back in the city you couldn’t even stand to gaze upon those corpses, but this time, you closely examined each face as if you were searching for something.

No, you were definitely searching for something. Someone to be precise, and it broke his heart that you had to be the one to find that “someone”.

To him, Tsugaru was no more than a lowly insect in need to be disposed of, but to you, that man was the one who’d raised you. The man who’d shaped you into who you were today. The man who’d instilled his values in you. The man who meant the world to you.

Without realizing, he’d shifted from thinking about you to thinking about that damn day. Shouyou’s smile. The last words he never got to hear. Gintoki’s tearful expression as he held that sword. Katsura’s faint grunts. His own cries. And again, Shouyou’s smile.

Why did he have to smile? Why did the last thing he got to remember him by had to be that smile? Why did he have to be so compliant as to accept a death that was unjust after they’d fought for so long to free him? Why did he have to swing that blade?

The lines between who was whom and who did what became blurred in his brain. So blurred that he couldn’t follow up on any of his thoughts anymore. He was endlessly trapped in that day, and soon, you’d find yourself trapped in that day too.

Part of him wanted to jump out of the shadows, grab your hand, and take you someplace far away from all the horrors that door concealed, so that day would never come to haunt you. There was no reason for you to suffer as much as he did, but he knew best that certain pain was unavoidable.

You were one step from following in his footsteps, and if you were lucky enough, then at least you’d get to say your goodbyes. That’s more than he got.

Before you had the chance to cross paths, Takasugi hid past a half-torn folded screen, allowing for you to enter the office undisturbed. After what you’d seen, there was no stopping you, though that was exactly what you did. With your hand clenching around the knob, you hesitated as if you already knew what lied ahead, and that only tempted him to intervene.

But he didn’t.

He patiently waited for you to push that door open, and then he waited for you to say something, only to realize he hadn’t braced himself to tolerate the sound of your wailing.

He knew those tears. The desperation and sadness they carried. The feeling of utter incompetence and helplessness that went with watching everything slip from your fingertips. Tears that gradually turned into misty fog and ashen cinder. Tears he’d shed himself not too long ago.

And that was when he made up his mind. He’d had enough of this despicable sound.

“He is right. You should have never trusted me.”

“I wasn’t the one who killed your father, Y/N.” Takasugi said, breaking free of his narration. “His arrogance and greed drove him to his demise, and while his blood does not stain my sword, it stains my hands all the same. I was the trigger, and had it not been for his suicide, I would have taken his life without remorse. That is my truth, the only truth there is to the story.”

You didn’t know what to say. Even when he’d spoken in such great detail, you were none the wiser, and the longer he went on, the more you wished for him to stop.

His every word stomped on your memories, tainting and defiling them one by one till nothing of actual value remained. This monster he described couldn’t be your father, but no matter how much you waited for Takasugi to take it all back, he wouldn’t.

A single lie could never obscure the actuality of a thousand truths, nor would it ever be enough to ease the pain they brought. What your heart refused to acknowledge, your brain knew to be true. The man in the story was the same as the man who raised you, the same man who’d threatened to eliminate Takasugi all those years back, and the same man that ended up eliminating himself in the face of disgrace.

How could he do such a thing? How could either of them do such things? Your father’s death. Takasugi’s betrayal. The sorrow you felt for the one and the hatred you felt for the other. The years you’d spent in desperation over a love that never came to be and the immediate guilt that feasted upon your conscience. How could they subject you to such cruelty?

Many a times since he finished talking, you tried asking him, only to get further sucked in by the vortex of your unpolished emotions. If he wasn’t the one who killed your father, then why did he lie as if he did? Why did he run away like that? Why did he leave you behind?

Because he was the one who led him to it. Because he would have done the job himself if you hadn’t interrupted. Because after it was done and dealt with, he wanted nothing more to do with your kind. Because of you.

It hurt.

It hurt so badly that you yearned to claw the thoughts out your skull. You couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Not without choking on your own tears, that was. Drop after drop, they slid down your cheeks and onto your palms, slowly but surely soaking the cuffs of your kimono.

Suddenly, he got up and walked to your side. He must have caught onto your crying, though he didn’t say a thing. He simply loomed as a shadow over your head, one that attempted to both console you and get you to look up, but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

And then a hand reached out to you, urging to close around your shoulder, but it didn’t. He didn’t. He couldn’t. It was as much painful to you, as it was to him, and when there was nothing either one of you could do to comfort the other, he walked again, this time towards the door.

“You can stay.” He said in a gentle tone. “Rest.”

“Was it real?” Your question was sudden and it took him by surprise.

Eyes that met halfway answered all there was to know, though you weren’t sober enough to interpret the meaning of his gaze.

And so, you rephrased.

“Was any of it real? Were we… real?”

He furrowed his brows and shut his eyes, inhaling sharply and then shaking his head, without quite denying or confirming anything.

“Rest.”

“Has anyone ever told you how heavy you are?” Takasugi complained, his arms numb from carrying your body around.

He didn’t have much of a choice. There was no other way. Lies he sought justification in for unjustifiable actions. In reality, he did have a choice, and there certainly was a better way that didn’t quite involve knocking you unconscious.

He could have stayed out of it. When you didn’t know, when you hadn’t seen him, he could have made a run for it and disappear completely. But if he did, hope would remain in his stead, and he knew all too well how dangerous hope could be.

No, this wouldn’t do. You had to be certain, and wholeheartedly believe that he was the one responsible. Only then you’d survive. Only then you’d move forward.

“Heavier than Tatsuma and that silver haired idiot, for sure.” He murmured, pressing a palm flat against the back of your head as to protect it from the banister.

Before he had the chance to move past the first step of the stairs, you shifted closer, nuzzling right into his touch. He took a quick glance at your face. Your eyes were shut and your lips were sealed. No need for him to be alerted. You were still passed out, or else you wouldn’t be cozying up to him.

It really was the last time. Even when he previously deluded himself into thinking the opposite, no room for doubt was left.

He smiled. An unhappy smile he didn’t mean in the slightest.

“You shouldn’t do that anymore.” He scolded, though he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He was scared that if he did, he’d get used to your absence and he didn’t want that. Not now, not ever.

How was he supposed to? How was he supposed to live in a world without you? A world without your smiles. Without your laughter, without your voice, without your warmth, without everything he’d fallen in love with.

“Say, Y/N. Do you still think of us samurai as heroes?” He knew better than to wait for an answer. “You said a lot of stupid things that day, but this one struck me the most. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m doing all these unnecessary things right now. In the end, you got it your way. Is this close enough for you? Are we close enough to be sharing such painful memories together?”

“I suppose we are.” He admitted. “We should be, or else why would I volunteer to carry this heavy burden for you?”

Downstairs was about as empty as the second floor was, albeit free of the countless bodies that adorned the latter. He wondered if he should just leave you there, but you’d probably rush upstairs the minute you woke up.

Where’s that old hag when you needed her?

“Say, Y/N. If the offer still stands, then it’s not too late to confide in you, is it? In that case, listen carefully because I don’t plan on repeating myself.

“Someone once taught me; it takes more than a sword to win a fight and less than a battle to lose a war. That man-he used to say this every time I sparred with that idiot. I kept writing his words off as loser’s talk for motivation, but I think I finally understand. Even though you never won against me, it’s been a while since I lost to you.

“You don’t know what that means, do you? Even if you were actually listening, you still wouldn’t know, would you?” A chuckle broke through the eerie silence.

“How could I let myself lose to such a stupid girl?” His voice caressed your ear devoid of any malice as he leaned closer. He considered planting a kiss on your forehead right where he’d hit you, but he quickly shook the thought away.

“You should hate me.” He drew his lips back. “No matter how hard it gets from now on, you’ll only endure it if you hate me. I won’t ask you to erase me, so instead, hate me with all you have. Hate me until no other emotion remains, until you can no longer remember how to love me again. Hate me, and get your revenge. Let hatred fuel your blade, and when the day comes, lead it into my chest. I’ll be waiting. I won’t die. As long as you insist on living another day, I won’t die.” Takasugi paused, pulling the door open with one hand and holding you with the other.

Finally, you’d made it out of this hellhole.

“You were never weak, Y/N. No matter how many tears you shed now, I’m sure that next time we meet, you’ll have the means to defeat me.” He continued, pacing across the porch and towards the main gate.

The faint outline of a silhouette awaited at the end of the road. Unruly gray hair matched the woman’s frantic steps, both moving in opposite directions. He could sense Harumi’s worry from where he stood, though he couldn’t quite condone her negligence. Because of her you had to see what you otherwise wouldn’t have, and because of her he had another’s pain to shoulder.

With his destination now set, Takasugi became more unwilling to let you go than before. His arms snared around your waist, lifting your forehead against his own. He breathed in your scent, allowing it to override all senses for a moment’s time.

You smelled so divine. He doubted he could ever love anyone’s scent the way he loved yours.

“If I don’t let you go right now, I don’t think I’ll ever will, Y/N.” He mumbled, feeling his heart flatter at the notion. “I just might be selfish enough to force you to love me like you always have. Like I always have. Like I… love you.”

Admitting it was far more painful than keeping it to himself was, though he couldn’t deny it to be liberating. At least now he knew what saying those three words out loud really felt like.

Lowering your head from his, he began to move again, until Harumi became aware of his presence. Hurried movements succeeded incomprehensible shrieks as she took hold of you, not so gently browsing your body for injuries and then sighing in relief once she realized you got none.

“Tell her I-” He initiated, only to nod the rest of his sentence off. “Tell her that I did this. All this.”

Without lingering a second longer, Takasugi let himself be guided by the first gust of wind away from there. So long as he left this place behind, the destination matter not.

And so, he kept on walking, and he kept on sprinting, and he kept on dragging his feet forward until the streets thinned and the trees densened. Until the sun set behind him and the winds stop carrying him forward. Until your story ended and a new one began.

A/N: Some of you may wonder why there seems to be a difference between what FL remembers (as per chapter 1) and what actually happened. I never meant for the dream she had in c1 to be a 1:1 description of how things went down. Memories get distorted over time, especially when they are traumatic. So, nope, Takasugi didn't stab her, there wasn't any smoke, the bloodshed was restricted to the top floor and those who died were mostly Oniwaban if not for a few actual guards here and there.

Anyways, that's about it for this chapter! The way I see it, about two chapters remain, tops three but I doubt that. I'm looking forward to ending this story because writing full on angst stories takes its toll on me, but at the same time, I don't intend to rush it. Will however take a short break before chapter 9 so I can do some requests.

#killing butterflies #takasugi shinsuke #takasugi #takasugi gintama #takasugi shinsuke x reader #takasugi x reader #takasugi reader #takasugi angst #takasugi fanfiction #takasugi imagine #gintama imagine #gintama fanfiction #gintama angst

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