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smute · 2 years

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SO YOU WANT TO COLLECT CLASSIC BOOKS...

So here it is! (almost a year later lmao)

My collectible classics "masterpost"!!!😌 🗣🚨🤯

Splain it!

When I say "collectible" classics I'm talking about any ongoing series of reprints of classic (English-language) titles with a cohesive design. They should look good on a shelf and (ideally) be made to last a lifetime. I'm not talking about rare, antique, or limited editions, or books that are expected to appreciate in value.

I'm focusing on collections of classic works of prose fiction (some classics are nonfiction; poetic and dramatic texts are often published in separate collections), i.e. texts with a timeless appeal, texts that have been in print for a long time, and that have been recognized by critics and readers as "must-reads". Very often, these texts are also considered to be part of the English literary canon.

I'm rating each series on a scale of 1–10 and the final score is based on nothing but my extremely correct opinion. I'll do my best to explain all the pros and cons but I don't have a strict rating system or whatever. Just vibes. 🤪

What I care about:

1. Paper: You don't start a classics collection with books that are gonna turn brown and crumble to dust after 15-20 years. That's why you want acid-free paper. Some publishers even use expensive "archival" paper. (There is no set definition but it generally means that in addition to being acid-free, it's made from pure cotton fibers rather than wood pulp, and without optical brighteners.) Normal acid-free paper goes a long way though. It's used for most hardbacks today anyway, so you shouldn't expect anything less from a collectible edition. I personally prefer paper that is neither too coarse nor too smooth. It should also be durable and neutral in color.

2. Binding: There are many ways to bind a book but for the purpose of this ranking we only have to worry about two (okay, three):

Perfect binding (glued binding): The leaves (1 leaf=2 pages) are folded and gathered in signatures (sections). The signatures are combined into a single textblock, the folded edges are sanded off, and the whole thing is glued directly to a flexible cardboard cover. This type of binding is cheap, it produces a very even result (hence the name), but it is not very durable. It's used for pretty much all paperbacks.

Case binding (sewn binding): With case binding, the leaves are also gathered in signatures, but they're sewn together. The finished textblock is usually reinforced with a backing material along the spine (ideally fabric; sometimes paper) and attached to the hardcover (case) via end papers. That means the text block can move independently from the spine and, when opened, all pages will lay flat. This type of binding is much more durable and it's the preferred method for (high-quality) hardbacks. Many case-bound hardcover books will have additional features like endbands, ribbon bookmarks, and protective dust jackets. This used to be the preferred method for binding books and it is still considered the gold standard but, as you can imagine, it is much more expensive than perfect binding.

I'm not a pressman so I'm not sure about the terminology, but I've noticed many hybrid variations in between these two methods. For example, some paperbacks consist of signatures rather than single pages, but the textblock is still glued directly to the cover. This prevents single pages from falling out, but over time entire signatures can come loose. Some books have sewn signatures while others use staples, and so on and so forth...

Due to their very limited lifespan, paperbacks are not the best choice for a collection... generally speaking. However, they are ubiquitous, affordable, and many people genuinely prefer compact paperbacks over clunky hardcover books, so I've decided to include both kinds in this list.

3. Content: Many texts have been altered significantly over the course of their publication history, and the most common editions aren't always complete editions. Ultimately, it's a matter of personal preference—like theatrical releases vs. director's cuts. I'm not normally a snob about abridged texts but if your goal is to build your own little classics library, I think it makes sense to stick to complete and unabridged editions. Abridgments aside, most publishers choose their editions very carefully and put a lot of thought into commentary, footnotes, and background information. Some prefer to stick with the most popular versions of texts, others print less common editions. Some want to make texts accessible, others want to stay as close to the original as possible. Some editions include just the original text, others feature introductions or even extensive annotations and additional critical material.

4. Design: should look good innit

Please keep in mind that I'm rating these books with regard to their suitability for collectors specifically.

So here goes! 👁👁

Penguin Classics [3/10]

a.k.a. Black-spine Classics. Books from this series are truly ubiquitous and, in my experience, they tend to accumulate on their own lmao. The series offers a huge selection of nearly 2,000 titles, but as standard paperbacks they're not made to last. They're very flexible and feel good in the hand, although the print quality varies. The paper texture is okay but it's pulpy and not acid-free. Black-spine Classics generally include useful introductions and other supplementary materials.

Pro: literally thousands of titles to choose from, good price, good size, very flexible, okay look and feel, minimal design, additional materials

Con: paperback, black spines crack quickly and don't look very nice on a shelf

Penguin Modern Classics [2/10]

Another huge selection (1,200 titles) that covers more recent texts. They're affordable but, unfortunately, very cheaply made (see below). The discoloration is truly BONKERS—the paper edges yellow super quickly. Very pulpy and definitely not acid-free. They feel aw-FUL.

Pro: same as above

Con: somehow even less durable than the regular Penguin Classics

The Penguin English Library [2.5/10]

I have quite a few of these, but they're not any better or worse than other Penguin paperbacks. The covers are beautiful—very understated and somewhat timeless—and the paper is very flexible and feels quite good compared to other Penguin editions. But it's still not great (see below).

Pro: looks, paper (although not acid-free)

Con: limited selection (126), standard paperbacks

A note on Penguin paperbacks:

All Penguin paperback series suffer from POD disease (POD = Print-on-demand). POD is often used for backlist (=older) titles and titles that are out of print. Thanks to POD, such titles can remain available for a long time after their initial release but since POD uses digital printing instead of offset printing, the quality is absolute dogshit*. The paper used for digital printing is softer and kind of spongy compared to regular books, the text is gray rather than black, and very fuzzy due to the lower resolution. You could achieve the same quality with a photocopier. Personally, I've noticed it the most with the English Library and Modern Classics editions. On some pages, the text blocks are crooked and off center, and some people online have even complained about MISSING PAGES lmaoooo... anyway.

*(I mean that Penguin's POD books specifically are dogshit. Some digital printing methods can produce excellent results.)

Penguin Clothbound Classics [2/10]

Again, a decent selection of nearly 100 titles with absolutely gorgeous covers and a very cohesive design, but made from thee worst materials. The coarse linen fabric feels absolutely gross, the stamped-on decorations basically rub off instantly and the colors fade SUPER quickly. (You can buy a brand new copy, take off the barcode sticker, and the fabric underneath will be several shades darker. The color fades THAT quickly. And yes, the sticker will also take off the decorative pattern.) They're relatively cheap for hardbacks, except they're not actual hardbacks. The have glued bindings with a hard cover, so... the worst of both worlds: stiff spine AND stiff cover. The paper is bright white and feels cheap in the hand, although it is on the finer side, and (as far as I can tell) it is not acid-free. They look really nice on a shelf but if you actually want to read your books, they're terrible. I have no idea why these are so popular.

Pro: hardcover (with glued binding not sewn), original design

Con: they seem affordable, but for glorified paperbacks wrapped in shitty linen they're actually still overpriced

Vintage Classics [5/10]

Another imprint of Penguin. (What isn't?) Vintage Classics look and feel just a little bit nicer than other Penguin paperbacks imo. They feature actual cover designs rather than stock images, but they're still not particularly durable. They do, however, have a few author series with gorgeous covers made from thicker cardboard, e.g., the Austen series or the Woolf series.

Pro: the author series if you're looking for some nicer paperbacks

Con: same as all the other paperbacks

Virago Modern Classics Designer Collection [3/10]

These are very similar to the Penguin Clothbound Classics—beautiful decorative patterns (printed on paper so at least they don't rub off) and the same awful glued-bindings-with-hard-covers-situation. I only have one of these and it's so goddamn stiff it won't open more than 90°. It's pretty much unusable. Also worth noting: they feature some good introductions.

Pro: price, cover designs

Con: small selection, poorly made

Everyman's Library [10/10]

This is one of my favorites. I personally collect the Everyman Classics / Contemporary Classics. The Classics include ancient and non-Western classics, and there are separate collections of Children's Classics, Pocket Classics, and Pocket Poets. EL was founded in 1906 and the current design has been around since the early 90s. EL offers one of the largest selections of hardbacks on this list with new titles being added on a regular basis, and given its century-long history and enduring popularity it'll probably be around for a long time to come. It's an excellent option if you're thinking about starting a collection.

The production quality is unparalleled in this price segment—sewn full-cloth bindings with a rounded spine, ribbon bookmark, and a dust jacket. The fabric feels fantastic and the paper quality is superb. I have no idea how these are so affordable. They could go for 50 or 60€ and still be a great deal. They're color-coded by period and other criteria, but all titles share a similar design and look great together. They also include extensive introductions and additional information.

This series absolutely deserves 10/10 points, but if we're nitpicking... I guess the design may be a little too uniform and understated for some? They're elegant books with a timeless look but they're not exactly jaw-dropping lmao

Important: Most titles are printed in two locations, under different ISBN numbers. The US versions are printed in the US by Berryville Graphics, while the UK versions are printed by GGP Media in Germany. Everything mentioned here applies to the UK versions only. The US versions are glued and the print quality is so bad that people have returned books because they thought they received a counterfeit. If you're buying in person you can simply check the edition notice to see where the book was printed, but if you're buying online you may have to do some digging to find out which exact ISBN to get.

Pro: fantastic quality, very good price, huge selection, future-proof, unpretentious design

Con: differences between US/UK versions

Barnes & Noble Leatherbound Classics [7/10]

First of all, these things are huge. They are indeed bound in leather, if you consider bonded leather (fine leather scraps mixed with polyurethane on a paper backing) to be leather. The sewn binding seems sturdy, the pages open flat, and the gilt edges (foil, obviously) are among the better ones out there. They have a more classic look with faux hubbed spines (horizontal ribs that help strengthen the binding; purely decorative in this case), and the covers are embossed with foil print. Afaik they use acid-free paper, which also feels very smooth. For their price range (20-40€) the quality is decent.

The series includes some interesting omnibus editions (several titles by the same author in one book) and anthologies, but due to their size and weight you basically need a table or bookstand to read them. They're mostly just great shelf candy. I mean... look at this.

Pro: Big and beautiful, decent quality at a moderate price

Con: Not very user-friendly, made from cheap materials

Barnes & Noble Flexibound Editions [4/10]

Interesting combination of sewn bindings with flexible rubber covers. Ironically, the text blocks feel stiffer than the leatherbound titles. The paper is kind of dark and it feels coarser than other B&N editions. I personally can't stand the texture of the rubber covers and the material tends to attract lint and dust. There are some interesting designs but due to the strange plastic material they just look tacky imo.

Pro: flexible covers if you're into that, moderately priced

Con: unremarkable design and overall quality, small selection

Oxford World's Classics [6.5/10]

Another big selection of several hundred paperback titles. These are definitely better than anything Penguin sells, but what really makes them stand out is their content. As one may expect from a university publisher, they often use less common editions of famous classics, and all of their titles include a ton of additional materials from introductions and annotations to bibliographies, illustrations, and even glossaries. If you want to start reading classics and are interested in supplementary educational materials, these are a great place to start.

Pro: huge selection, low price, focus on scholarship

Con: standard paperbacks, not particularly beautiful or durable

Oxford World's Classics Hardback Collection [3/10]

What a tragedy. I'm a big fan of the minimalist look, but they're similar in quality to the Penguin Clothbound Classics. They use the same glued bindings (wtf?) and the same cheap fabric on the covers. The paper is unusually thick but it still feels very coarse and pulpy. Their unique design makes them stand out, but due to the poor manufacturing quality, I can't recommend them at all. Of course, these also include extensive introductions and additional commentary from renowned scholars, just like their paperback counterparts.

Pro: minimalist design, supplementary materials

Con: cheaply made, small selection

Canterbury Classics (Leatherbound) [4/10]

They're very similar to the B&N Leatherbound Classics, except they don't look as nice. Not a fan.

Pro: (bonded) "leather", okay quality at an okay price, classic look

Con: big and clunky, boring covers, exactly like the B&N Leatherbound Classics but without any of the redeeming qualities lmao

Chiltern Classics [5/10]

A lot of people seem to love these (???) but I can't really make sense of them. They're on the smaller side, with embossed cover designs, lots of foil print, gilt edges, ribbon markers, and sewn bindings. For some reason, however, they're printed on stiff, satiny, semi-glossy paper that you would normally use for pictorial content, and the books feel like a brick in your hand. I personally don't like it at all. The weight of the paper alone makes them feel quite premium, but it also seems to put more stress on the binding. (One of the two titles I own is already falling apart.) I don't think that they're deliberately cutting corners or that the books are cheaply made (although they use paper instead of fabric as backing material), but some of their ~very interesting~ design choices simply do not translate into a better product.

Chiltern's mission statement promises "the most beautiful classics ever published" so their main focus seems to be on aesthetics. Their titles don't include introductions or any additional commentary, and they don't provide any information on editions/versions of the texts used other than "they are unabridged" lol. Tbh it's hard to find ANY sort of information—about the company, the materials, the editions, the production process, the founders, where the books are printed, ANYTHING. It all feels very gimmicky.

All I know is that Chiltern Publishing was founded in 2018 and that the first Classics were released in 2019. The current selection is small, but growing (I assume). But with such a young publishing house there really is no guarantee that they'll still be around in a year or two.

Pro: pretty, heavy, pretty heavy lol

Con: small selection, no info on anything, glossy paper (unless you're into that)

Macmillan Collectors' Library [9/10]

Another favorite. The quality is comparable to the Everyman Classics, but they use very thin paper that is strangely white. And when I say strange I mean it's BRIGHT white. They're bound in light blue fabric (love it or hate it) with gilt edges, endbands, and a ribbon bookmark, and they come with beautiful dust jackets. Very unusual nowadays: the fabric cover underneath actually has an embossed pattern, so they look good with or without a jacket. They're travel-sized, so the text is on the smaller side, albeit very sharp. The overall quality is fantastic.

What makes MCL books stand out from the rest is their editorial quality. The collection includes more classics from otherwise underrepresented writers, and most titles also feature detailed introductions commissioned specifically for this series. As naive as it may sound, it seems as if MCL is one of the few series whose main purpose is not just to squeeze some cash out of old titles. It feels much more measured and.. meaningful (if that makes sense lol).

Pro: excellent selection, great quality, small size

Con: the paper is very white, small size = small text

Norton Critical Editions [6/10]

These are standard paperbacks printed on 30% recycled paper, but in terms of content, they're a fantastic option. No other series provides such a breadth of supplementary materials. Most texts are fully annotated and include hundreds of pages of criticism.

Pro: focus on scholarship

Con: paperback

Honorable Mentions:

The Folio Society

Illustrated editions, high-quality hardbacks, high price point.

Calla Editions

Dover's premium imprint, facsimiles of famous editions rather than original designs

Knickerbocker Classics

Heard good things but cannot speak to the quality since they're kind of hard to find where I live.

Thomas Nelson Seasons Editions

Beautiful hardbacks with laser-cut dust jackets. Collectibles in the classical sense: each edition is limited to 10,000 copies.

Easton Press

Really fucking expensive.

(Not an exhaustive list, obviously.)

#this post has been sitting in my drafts for ages and tbh im sick of looking at it dhjshdjhfjdhc #plus i think its long enough as it is #so here you go #no one asked #but idk maybe someone will find it helpful #&

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gertsenglover06 · 10 months

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hutchisonjeppesen · 2 years

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haruhey · 3 years

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Mind If I Join You?

check out my masterlist!

buy me a coffee ¿?

Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that��s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you��re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙

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puff-poff · 3 years

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The Culture of the Demon World

One part of The Promised Neverland that I always wanted to learn more about was the demons and their culture. Demons are a whole new race with their own language, religions, traditions, food, and history, and I want to learn more about their society. So, I decided to do a bit of research on a few specific aspects of the demon world. After writing everything down and connecting the pieces while trying to remain true to canon, I finally have something clear enough to share with you all.

Without further ado, I present to you my analysis of demon culture.

Part One: Clothing Just like in real life, the clothing demons wear depends on their social status and wealth. The middle and lower-class demons wear loose, flowing clothes with wide collars and sleeves. They most likely do this just in case they aren’t able to eat human meat and maintain their form; baggy clothes won’t tear if the demons start to degenerate. This is why the wealthy demons wear tighter clothing. Tight-fitting outfits show that you can afford plenty of human meat and that you aren’t worried about degenerating.

Many demons, both poor and rich, wear long, layered clothing, but it’s hard to tell if this is a societal standard or a byproduct of cold weather. Almost all of the demons we see are wearing long-sleeved tops and ankle-length bottoms, as well as a jacket, shawl, cape, or scarf. However, the feet and hands are almost always uncovered.

A major part of demon clothing is, of course, their masks. This extra page explains the styles and functionality of the Goldy Pond demon’s masks:

Like the rest of their clothing, wealth plays a part in demon’s masks as well. Detailed masks with large horns, like Luce’s, are worn by rich demons who want to flaunt their wealth, while lower-class demons wear simple, paneled masks with short horns. Demons who want a more functional mask might choose one without horns so they don’t get in their way. The aristocrat demons also have a unifying feature between their territory’s masks to differentiate themselves from the leaders of other territories. Whether or not your mask shows your mouth appears to be a personal preference since Legravalima, Mujika, Sonju, Awla, and Mawla all have uncovered mouths despite the character’s drastic differences.

Another detail I would like to point out is the material of the masks. Most demon masks are likely made of a material similar to clay, but there are a few demons with special masks that appear to be made out of something else. Nous and Nouma, for example, have athletic masks coated with shiny material that’s probably similar to polyester. However, it was Legravalima and Sonju’s masks that interested me the most. Legravalima’s mask is smooth, glossy, and seemingly made out of metal. A metallic mask is likely a sign of royal status and immense wealth. This explains why Sonju had a metallic mask as a child, and why he doesn’t have one now. When he was a prince, Sonju wore a shiny mask with a design similar to Legravalima’s. After running away with Mujika, he grew out of his mask and now wears a clay one of the same design.

This might just be the art style of the series changing over time, but I also find it interesting that Sonju’s mask suddenly becomes glossy in chapter 156 during the battle at the royal capital. It’s his first time stepping foot in the palace since he ran away, and it’s as if his mask is suggesting that returning to the palace has given Sonju his royal status back.

Part Two: Architecture In many ways, the architecture in the demon world reminds me of places like the Sant Francesc Church in Spain and Royal Ontario Museum in Canada. As time goes on, old buildings are expanded and improved with modern additions to accommodate the changing world. This can be seen in the paradise hideout, where a newer building was constructed next to the original settlement.

The old, traditional demon buildings are made of clay and other types of stones. They don’t appear to have many windows, and the few windows they do have are holes without window panes. Many of the older buildings were carved out of mountains or trees, or at least rest atop a mountain with steps carved into the side. This traditional style of demon architecture is similar to old Pueblo architecture and adobe homes.

The newer demon architecture likely came into style sometime before Goldy Pond was built, seeing as Goldy Pond has buildings similar to those in modern demon villages. It resembles the European Tudor style with its grid window panes, timber frames, and sloped roofs. The walls were probably made using the wattle and daub technique and painted white or cream. Some of the buildings have stone foundations, but unlike the old style of architecture, the stones are laid like bricks. Buildings made using the new style of architecture also have shutters, awnings, and Juliet balconies.

This picture of the royal capital’s streets perfectly shows the mixing of the old and new architectural styles:

Here, you can see the original clay buildings with the balconies, awnings, and wooden frames of the new style added on. The buildings in the foreground have open windows while the ones further back have grid panes. One of the structures on the right is built in the style of the older demon homes, but it uses modern stone bricks and balconies. This blend of architecture helps show the development of the demon society through the years.

Part Three: Food Human meat is the most important food in demon culture since it’s what keeps the majority of demons from degenerating. I won’t be talking a lot about the farms and human meat in this post since it’s already been explored by the manga and people smarter than me. If you want to read more about demons and human meat, I recommend this post by the-silliest-idiot and this translation of the fanbook, particularly the Q&A sections.

As explained in the manga, the appearance of demons changes depending on the type of meat they eat. The aristocrat demons eat human meat, Parvus eats monkey meat, and the demon horse Sonju rides eats horse meat. As explained in the fanbook, humanoid demons will lose their human appearance if they don’t eat human meat, but monkey demons like Parvus can retain their appearance for a while. To keep themselves from degenerating or changing forms, humanoid demons don’t eat a lot of meat other than the human meat from the farms. When the demons do eat other meats, they eat bugs, fish, and birds, probably because those animals are difficult to change into.

While it’s unclear if demons eat the plants in the forest, we know that there are plenty of edible berries, nuts, fungi, and other plants that the human escapees eat during their travels. Demons also have a variety of fruits, vegetables, and nuts that they grow and harvest. In just these two panels, we can see that the demons have their own versions of pears, hazelnuts, pineapples, kiwi, and mangos (the mangos seem to be popular in the royal capital).

All demons, regardless of wealth or social status, appear to have equal access to all food except human meat. Lower-class demons get low-quality meat, but the same berries and nuts being sold at street markets are present in the Tifari offering.

Part Four: Language Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough to decode the old demon language. In the words of the fanbook, “Sugita created demon god's name, but every other text from the demon language that appeared afterward was Posuka's creation.” The language was made up by Posuka, and I’m not sure if there’s enough dialogue to translate a full alphabet. The old demon language looks like a combination of Japanese and Enochian, but that’s all I can gather from it. It’s also unclear if the language has a written form.

However, the old demon language isn’t used anymore. The language died out for two major reasons; a general lack of knowledge and to separate language from the old faith. The aristocratic demons know the language well enough, but we don’t see many commoner demons speaking it. The modern demon society writes in English, as shown by the signs at Goldy Pond, and it’s likely that they also speak English despite the story being written in Japanese. There's also a chance that the demons speak Old English since the promise was forged during medieval times. If this is true, then the aristocrats and heads of the farms could have a more modern accent because they often talk to people from the human world.

Part Five: The Arts Sadly, we don't know much about art in the demon world. The promise was made around the 11th century, so art in the demon world is likely reflective of that time. I can only assume they have their own literature, art movements, and music, but it's mostly speculation. One thing I noticed is that the demon world has a lot of embroideries, whether it be on the edges of a cape or banners inside the palace. This fits with my theory of medieval Europe-inspired art and languages. During medieval times, top layer garments such as coats and cloaks were commonly embroidered along the hemline and cuffs. This kind of embroidered clothing is worn by many demons throughout the series.

Banners, tapestries, and flags were also commonly created by artists during medieval times. Lines of flags are seen throughout the demon world, and a few buildings in the capital have banners hanging outside. The palace has a few banners of its own, though they're fancier than the ones in the capital streets.

Damask fabric is another example of demon artistry being influenced by medieval Europe. Damask is a reversible fabric created by weaving. The royal demons seem to have jumped on the damask train before the promise was sealed because it can be found in many places throughout the palace. Most notably, Legravalima's dress is partially made of damask, though the silhouette is very different from that of a medieval damask evening gown. Damask was commonly used to make curtains as well, like the ones draped around the Tifari offering.

We don’t know much about literature in the demon world. The books we see were written in the human world and sent to the farms, but surely the demons have their own books and stories. Seeing as the rest of the arts in the demon world were inspired by medieval Europe, I can only assume that their books, fables, and plays are as well. Much of medieval literature was based on religion and chivalry. There were also many fables and myths derived from old stories and religious texts. Demon children probably read many stories about the Evil Blooded, the runaway prince, and heroic knights who protect the demons from harm. There likely are many stories written in the old demon language as well. Similar to Latin and Old English in the Middle Ages, the old demon language was probably the main written language until the 11th century, when the demons began using English as a primary language.

I imagine that Anglo Saxon, Byzantine, and Norman (ha get it) art heavily inspired art in the demon world. The palace is likely covered in tapestries and murals depicting historic events. Metal and tilework were probably once a major part of demon artistry, but the practices died out over time. Instead, many demon artists practice painting and embroidery. Pieces of art in the demon world would be very vibrant and colorful, especially the works displayed in the palace.

When it comes to music in the demon world, there isn’t much to go off of. We know that the farms have access to instruments and sheet music because of Leslie and Nat. Barbara also sings a Japanese children’s song in chapter 113. Unfortunately, we don’t get much information about music in the demon world outside of the farms. I assume that demons primarily play string instruments and piano because of their long fingers. They also have more fingers than humans, meaning they can make a variety of chords that humans can’t. More fingers also allow demons to add more strings to their instruments. Even though it’s possible that demons have their own special instruments, we know that they also have human instruments like cellos, trumpets, and pianos.

Conclusion: There’s a lot more I wish I could talk about (mainly the elements of culture), but I’m stopping for now so this doesn’t get any longer. Feel free to correct me or add on anything I missed. If you made it this far, thank you for reading this incredibly long analysis of demon culture and I hope you have a great day.

#am I reading into this too much? yeah #the promised neverland #the promised neverland manga spoilers #tpn #yakusuko no neverland #ynn

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harrywritingsbyme · 4 years

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Sunday Smut Concept #27

A/N: Best Friends Dad!Harry is backkkk🤪...and he’s coming back hottt🥵🤤!! Enjoy🙃

Okay so you can not tell me and I refuse to listen to anyone who try's to tell me that this is not best friends dad!Harry and Y/N.

Like you and your best friend we’re having a little weekend together and since it was your last night there before heading back to your place tomorrow afternoon, the two of you decided to throw your bathing suits on and chill in the hot tub for a little while before getting ready for bed. After an hour or two of sitting in the warm jet filled hot tub and sipping on the beers you two “borrowed” from Harry’s case in the fridge, the time had come for your friend to call it a night.

“As much as I wanna stay out here with you and continue enjoying this amazing and strangely powerful jet, I’m gonna call it a night.” Your friend announces, standing up from the water and gathering up the now empty beer bottles.

“I think I’m gonna stay out here a little longer. This jet feels really good.” You reply with a little laugh.

“Well I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’m gonna pass out once I get inside.” She says to you, making her way out of the hot tub.

“Night girlie, I’ll try to be quiet.” You hum in response, sinking back into the corner (and jet) you were sitting in. After sitting there by yourself for a good 15 minuets, you began to want a little company. Luckily for you, the person you wanted to keep you company had the same idea.

When Harry heard his daughter come upstairs, he figured that you were close behind. But after checking in on her, he pieced together that you were still awake and outside. This was literally the perfect time for the two of you to spend some time together. Since your friend was passed out in bed, the two of you could be together and not have to worry much about getting caught. With this being said, as soon as he came to this conclusion, Harry quickly made his way back down the hall to his room to text you.

When you heard your phone ping, you didn’t even have to look at it to figure out who was messaging you. You knew for a fact that it was Harry and you knew exactly what he wanted. To tease him a little, you hold off on replying for a couple minuets after receiving his message. You wanted to get under his skin a little. Once you finally decide to check his message, you’re welcomed with a very blunt and to the point message.

Daddy💦🦋🤤🥵✨: You should come in here and let me pound you into the mattress.

You: maybe you should come out here and pound me in the hot tub. this jet feels really good.

If he wanted you, he was going to have to come and get it.

And he did just that. As soon as he read your reply, he started undressing himself and making his way out to you. Harry didn’t waste any time. He had one mission, and it was to have some amazing sex with his girlfriend. Even if it was in the hot tub in his backyard; he’d do anything to be inside you. Plus he wanted to nip you using the jets to pleasure yourself in the bud. If he was around, he wanted to be the only source of your pleasure. When you heard the back door open, your head perked up and you saw a shirtless and what was about to be pant-less Harry charging out of the house. After throwing his joggers on the couch, Harry was charging towards you full speed ahead. Once he made it to the edge of the tub, he was down to just his tight boxers. It took Harry all of five seconds to shove his boxers down and expose his hard cock.

“Can i suck your dick before you fuck me?” You inquire bluntly. The way his big and very hard cock sprung up when he shoved his underwear down really did something to you. Seeing his cock was making you tingle a bit.

“No.” Harry replies simply, wrapping a hand around his thick shaft in the process. Your breasts looked so good in that barely there bikini top. All he wanted to do was pounce on you and just rip it off of your body to free your perky breasts that he were just begging to be in his hands.

“How about you fuck me on the couch over there.” You begin, lifting yourself out of the hot tub and heading in the direction of the out door couch that was situated not to far behind Harry. With you now being out of the water, Harry got to see your wet body in all of it’s glory. The bikini bottoms(if he could even bring himself to call them that) were barely holding on. It was covering you (and he used covering very lightly) by a thread. The thin ties were knotted at your fleshy and delectable hips and that was about it. The area between your hips and pussy was 95% bare. The only fabric down there was a thin and narrow patch of fabric that was designated to cover your cunt. And it wasn’t doing that great of a job. The lights that were strung throughout the backyard gave Harry just enough light to see the outline of your plush pussy. He got to see the outline of your pussy lips and your mound that he loved to squeeze while he pounded into you. If you were to do anymore than walk, your pussy was bound to fall out of those bottoms. “Know how much you like to pin me down and mount me from behind.” You continue. Your words manage to break Harry out of his bikini induced trance and bring him back to reality where you were standing right in front of him. Before going any further, you send him a quick wink and you try to make your way over to the couch. But Harry is quick to stop you in your tracks. In an instant, Harry has one of his ringed hands wrapped tightly around your arm pulling you back in front of him.

“What you’re going to do is get back in there and do as I say.” Harry grumbles with authority, making his dominance over you known. “How about that?” Harry asks sarcastically, using your words against you.

“Yes daddy.” You whisper back to him. Even though you were all wet from being in the water, you could still feel some of your sticky arousal forming.

Instead of verbally replying to you all Harry does is release your arm, lightly shoving it back in the direction you came. You then turn back around to get back into the hot tub. As you walk back, Harry follows behind you and he takes a nice long stare at your ass. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the supple flesh of your thighs and backside as you walked in front of him. In that moment, Harry made a mental note to stock you up on these bikinis, he absolutely loved them on you. He continues to follow you down and into the warm water until you’re backed right into the corner you were sitting in at first. His hands move down to your hips under the water, giving your flesh a good squeeze before plucking the ties of your bottoms undone.

“Now m’gonna fuck you, and you’re going to love it. You’re gonna take my cock, and you’re gonna keep quiet.” Harry says matter of factly, quickly snatching the now loose bottoms off of your body and spreading your legs to stand between them before moving up to your top. “Understand?” He asks, resulting in a small nod from you. “Good.”

Then without warning, Harry brings his head in and attaches his mouth to your neck. His tongue laps up and down your neck as he sucks on your skin. As he continues to tenderly move his mouth against your neck, Harry brings his arms underneath your body, pulling you up towards his body. Your head was now resting against the edge of the tub and your lower was closer to Harry’s, so close that you could feel his cock moving against you as he rutted against your body while he kissed your neck. You were completely dying over the way he just took control over your body. He knew exactly how to get you worked up. From the way he licked and sucked at your neck to the way he pulled your body down and in to his so that you could feel his cock as he rutted forward against you, Harry really knew how to pleasure you to the max. After kissing at your neck and teasing you with his cock a little longer, Harry was ready to be inside of you. Keeping one arm under yours to keep you up and his hand on the edge behind you, Harry removes the other and brings it down to his cock. He gives himself a few tugs before lining his hardened cock up with your entrance and pushing into you.

“Fuck daddy!” You gasp, feeling his big cock entering you. It felt so good to be full of him again. You’d missed the feeling of his big cock stretching your walls out and pleasuring you.

“That’s right baby, take it. Take daddy’s cock.” Harry grumbles through a moan. Harry didn’t know if it had anything to do with the warm water or if it was just you, but your walls felt incredibly warm around him and he loved it. Your walls never failed to be spongy and warm for his cock. Once his cock is fully sheathed between your walls, Harry gives no time for adjustment and goes straight into thrusting. He starts off a little slow and builds up to full speed. As he does this, your moans get a little louder. You were trying to keep your moans at bay but the way his cock was moving inside of you felt so good. You could even feel the thick veins that traveled up his shaft gliding against your walls. To make it even better, you could feel the powerful stream of water moving below you, intensifying the already immense pleasure you were receiving from Harry.

As he continued to fuck into you, Harry also tried to keep his moans at bay. You just felt so good around him and your pitiful little moans were making it even better. You were trying so hard to keep yourself together and quiet as he fucked into you. One moment he’d give it to you really hard, shoving his cock deep into you and slamming it into your sweet spot over and over again and the next he’d slow his hips down and send deep and languid thrusts into you. You could hardly keep up with the rollercoaster that was the speed of your hips. All you could do was relax your body into Harry and take in his pleasure.

“Oh my god!” You slur out through a whimper. Harry was sucking right on the sweet spot of your neck and he was slamming into your sweet spot over and over again. It felt so good that it was pushing you really close to the edge.

“Such a good girl for daddy.” Harry groans blow your ear, continuing to suck on your skin. “Lettin’ him fuck your pretty little pussy while your best friend is asleep.” Harry continues, feeling his own release rapidly bubbling up inside of him. “Dirty little thing.” He finishes.

He only got a few more thrusts in before you were tightly clenching your walls up around him. After countless thrusts to your sweet spot and the continuous attack on your neck, you were done for. Your release has grown into this huge wave that was about to crash down onto you. This was the same for Harry, He could feel his release creeping up on him and you clenching onto his cock only made it creep up quicker.

“Cum with me sweet girl.” Harry pants, fully removing his face from your neck and smearing his lips onto your parted ones before delivering one final thrust into you that sends you both toppling over the edge. The both of you moan into each others mouths as you let go around each other. It felt so good to be around each other like this again. After riding the waves of your releases, you and Harry relax into each other and enjoy the closeness that neither of you you have been able to enjoy in a while.

Now even though the both of you were recovering from your releases, Harry wasn’t done with you. He planned on taking you up on your offer to pin you down and mount you from behind, along with everything else under the sun. You were going to be in for a long night.

Masterlist

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misora-msby · 4 years

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花火 | chapter one : moon

花火 (fireworks) | chapter one : moon

themes / warnings: medieval japan au (sengoku era), supernatural au, death, fluff, angst

pairing: kitsune!suna x fem!reader

word count: 7.0k

notes: part one of a series! it’s not 100% accurate to shintoism and japanese folklore but i did my best to research it and change as little as possible! still, i hope you enjoy this and stick around for the next parts too!

edit from the future : part two can be found here

Rintarou doesn’t remember how he became a kitsune spirit.

It was just that one summer day he found himself sleeping in front of a manmade structure (a shrine to the god Inari as he would later learn) with a boy of preteen age standing over him.

That boy, Shinsuke, would teach him and two other foxes, Atsumu and Osamu, how to do their jobs - protecting the priests, priestesses, and shrine maidens living nearby, and delivering the prayers of visitors to the god. It wasn’t an overly difficult job though, and more often than not, Rintarou found himself either running around the shrine grounds with the other two or sleeping in a comfortable spot he found.

A few years later, the three of them even gained the ability to shapeshift into humans. They were completely amused with how similar Atsumu and Osamu looked, and how Suna’s eyes looked almost the exact same as his fox form, though it greatly upset them that their human forms were much shorter and younger than that of Shinsuke’s. He had to reassure them that someday they were likely to grow to his height or even taller.

It was just a matter of time, similar to how they had to wait to become strong enough to become human.

Time, Rintarou would eventually learn, was rarely ever on his side.

It was a perfect day for a nap on the roof; a cooling wind blew through the air, preventing Rintarou’s robes from sticking to his skin. The sky was cloudy enough to block out the sun while not being abundant enough to make him worry about a sudden downpour, and the sweet scent of flowers blooming filled the air. Though there weren’t many bouquets in the area, a fox’s strong sense of smell could detect the scent of wisterias carried on the wind.

After a bit of twisting and turning to find the perfect position to sleep in, Rintarou was woken by the sound of footsteps and chatter. Shuffling to the edge of the roof, he narrowed his eyes upon seeing a family of six walking in.

“Today, your mom and dad are going to teach you how to pray. We want to pray for your mom and new sibling, okay?” a man spoke to the children who replied with a chorus of “Yes”s.

“Ah,” Rintarou remembered, “Inari-sama is the god of so many things… Foxes, rice, sake, fertility, agriculture… Why couldn’t they give some of the work to the other gods… we have so much work to do.”

He figured he might as well do his job while the other three were doing other jobs around or out of the grounds and began to inspect them carefully. Fortunately there were no malicious spirits attached to them, nor could he sense any by the red torii gates at the foot of the mountain slope on which the shrine resided.

But as Rintarou inspected them from atop the rooftop, he noticed the youngest child of the family, the only daughter, was rather pretty. She looked to be about his age, though he knew she had obviously seen far fewer winters than he had due to the way time progressed for him as a spirit.

Dressed in a red kimono with her hair just reaching her shoulders in a simple bob like most girls her age, he thought she was the prettiest girl who had ever come to the shrine. He couldn’t understand why his stomach suddenly felt funny, like it was jumping around inside his body.

Suddenly, their eyes met and that feeling spread to more parts than just his stomach. Big glossy eyes stared up at him in awe while his own fox-like eyes widened. An awfully warm feeling came to his cheeks and the boy quickly scampered away from the edge of the roof, towards the back of the building where they wouldn’t be able to see him.

Rintarou sat still for a moment, knees to his chest. He took in deep breaths while keeping his cool hands pressed to his cheek and chest. Was she a malevolent spirit?! He thought that could be the only reason for nearly every part of his body to be tingling and causing his heart to want to jump out from his throat.

And yet he wanted to keep his gaze upon her. To look once again into those bright eyes and to memorise her pretty form.

He decided to do just that.

With graceful steps, Rintarou hopped off of the roof and onto the stone tiles. His feet made no sound as he ran over to hide behind a tree and watched as the family made their prayers. He watched as she reached up, struggling to drop her coin into the offering box while his dainty but pudgy fingers gripping onto the bark tightly to prevent himself from running forward and tossing it in for her.

But surely an evil spirit wouldn’t go through that trouble with praying right? She had to be a regular human. Even the head priest was smiling at the entire family. But he still couldn’t understand why she gave him such a funny feeling.

Before he could be spotted again, he ran off into the forest to avoid her gaze which caused all these problems in him in the first place.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

A few moons had passed, the cool breeze had become warmer and the pink petals floating in the wind had been replaced by green leaves. The song of young animals had also left, the nights now being filled with the loud croaking of cicadas and the much quieter buzzing of fireflies. The air had become thicker and warmer too, which wasn’t quite something Rintarou enjoyed. But what he did enjoy was the festival occurring tonight.

Every year the humans would hold an extra special festival in the summer and launch fireworks. Though he didn’t care too much for the spirits of humans, aside from that one girl who he had never seen again since, he did care for their aesthetics. Whether it was the pattern on the fabric of a woman’s kimono, or the design in the pendants and amulets that humans wore around their necks or held in their pockets, he thought they were all rather fascinating. But as much as he wanted to go down and look carefully in person in his human form, hiding his tail was still too difficult for him in the sea of humans, and even if he tried to make himself invisible, children were so painfully receptive to spirits that he wouldn’t be able to get away with it.

Strangely, he could hide his ears if he wished. He guessed it had something to do with the fact that their tails were directly representative of their level of power so they were harder to hide.

As he sat atop a lone rock in the forest, he could smell the scent of hot snacks wafting up the mountain. Perhaps he’d make an appearance as a fox and hope that some kind humans would give him and Osamu some snacks. They always loved to treat the three little foxes running around the shrine. He was lucky he still only had one tail, otherwise it would gain many stares. He guessed that must be a problem for someone like Shinsuke-senpai who already had three tails.

Rintarou hopped off of his rock, ready to head down and check over the festival with his friends, when he heard sobbing from somewhere in the forest.

With the way the orange sun had already gone to sleep, he knew that he had to look for the source of the sound. He was meant to be a zenko after all, a celestial fox associated with the god Inari. So while he wanted to just go down and have fun with his friends, he had to first attend to this matter.

Using the speed granted to him, it didn’t take long for him to locate the source. His senses were too strong to not be able to.

What he found was someone who he had never expected to see again.

“You…” the word left him in a near gasp.

You were the girl from a few months ago, crouching under a tree and sobbing. Your hair had grown a bit longer and this time you wore a light pink yukata with a dark pink obi. The eyes that had captivated him so easily last time were now red and puffy as your little hands rubbed at them to rid them of the tears which poured.

Rintarou crouched in front of you who hadn’t noticed him amongst your crying. “Why are you crying?” he asked in his quiet voice.

You looked up and gasped before quickly wiping away your tears and snot.

“I- I was playing hide and seek with my onii-chans… but it’s been so long and it’s scary and then I fell down and it hurts…” your shaky voice hiccuped as you revealed your scratched up and dirty palms. Looking carefully, Rintarou realised the front of your yukata was dirty too.

“Oh… Should we go find them?” he asked.

You shook your head quickly, “I don’t wanna go to them! Then I’ll lose!”

Rintarou pursed his lips slightly, wondering why you wouldn’t want to be found when you were injured. Was hide and seek that important to human children? He had played it a couple of times with the twins but it was merely a way to pass time to them.

“Then… do you want to fix your hands?” he asked.

You replied with a nod, your sniffling ceasing.

In reply, Rintarou untied the inro from the obi on his hip, a small container made of lacquered paper in which he kept healing salve, cloth, (and a snack or two) in the case of an emergency.

“Show me your hands.” he said, to which you obeyed and held out your dirty hands. The kitsune carefully took your hands and began cleaning them off with a cloth, taking note of how warm you were.

“Your hands are cold, are you sick?” you asked.

Rintarou looked up at you for a moment, wondering how he should reply. He knew it had something to do with him being a spirit, but he didn’t want to say that. “I’ve always been cold.” he simply said and applied the salve to your skin. After wrapping them up in a new strip of cloth, he tied the inro back together and hung it on his hip again.

“Wow, thank you…?” You exclaimed before trailing off as you realised you didn’t know his name.

The kitsune narrowed his eyes, not understanding you. After all, he had lived the past few decades around the same few people and had no reason to give his name.

“Um… what’s your name?” you finally asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Oh… Rintarou,” he said upon finally understanding.

“I’m (Y/N). Thank you for fixing my hand, Rintarou-kun! It already feels better!” you grinned and squeezed his hands to show you were already regaining your strength.

Though upon hearing his name from your lips and coming to the realisation that he had been holding your hands for so long, a blush crept up his cheeks. His eyes widened for a second though they quickly returned to fit his near emotionless state. “It’s nothing,” he quickly said, looking to the side to avoid your gaze, “Anyways, what do you want to do now? You don’t want to go find your brothers yet, right.”

You thought for a moment before asking, “Do you want to play together?”

“Play?”

“Yeah. We can go to the festival!”

At that, Rintarou immediately shook his head, “I don’t like crowds.” It was a lie, he couldn’t care less about crowds if he were in his fox form but if he had to stay a human, he couldn’t bear to spend so much energy in hiding his tail which still had a chance of being seen.

“Then… what do you want to do?” you asked, pouting slightly.

He thought for a moment. What could you two do?

Then he sniffed the air. There was the smell of a match being lit but the absence of incense. His sensitive ears could also hear the sound of people gathering and shuffling about in anticipation.

“Come with me, I’ll show you something cool.” He took you by the wrist and you two ran side by side into the forest. Though he had to annoyingly slow his pace for you, you both managed to reach his intended destination in time:

A small glade in the middle of the forest where he assumed a ritual must have taken place decades ago. It was surrounded by purple wisteria trees, as if they created a natural veil to this secret world where fireflies floated on the grass surrounding a single tall boulder. The sounds of the festival were far away now, Rintarou was certain that his guest could no longer hear them with how far up the mountain they were.

“Quickly, climb up the rock.” He helped push you up the rock, slightly polished yet rough from years of rain and animals scratching upon it. The fireflies in the vicinity had become startled and gathered at the fringes of the glade instead of around the rock, but he figured it was a consequence that came with bringing a human for once to his secret place. Once he had confirmed you had a stable seat, he jumped up and took a seat beside you.

“What are we doing here, Rintarou?” you asked curiously.

“Wait a bit… there.” He pointed up at the sky where a flower of red and yellow burst among the stars. The loud bang followed two seconds later, making the girl beside him almost jump in fright before becoming entranced at the sight of more fireworks following the first to bloom in the sky.

Reds, yellows, pinks, oranges, whatever colour you named could be found in the starry sky. Bursting and blooming with brilliance, providing just a fleeting amount of beauty before wilting just like a flower whose time had come to be picked from the garden.

If you asked Rintarou yesterday what the most beautiful sight was, he would have said that it was sitting alone on his favourite rock while the wind blew on a spring day, watching the clouds swim by while joined by floating wisteria petals. It was a sight he spent every day of spring trying to recreate. But if you asked him today what he thought the most beautiful sight was, he surely would have said it was this very moment; sitting beside the only human who he had ever talked to, and who had caused him to feel absolutely captivated, watching the quickly disappearing and reappearing garden in the night sky.

However, all good things had to come to an end, and before he knew it, the night had been filled with a deafening silence, and the sky had become nearly pitch black with the new clouds of smoke.

“I think it’s time to go back,” he stood up to face you, “You definitely won the hide and seek game if you’ve been missing for this long.”

You nodded in reply and carefully scrambled down the rock, landing on the grass with a soft “oof”. Rintarou jumped down, landing with barely any sound before holding out his hand. “Let’s go,” he said and took your hand as you two carefully walked through the forest.

Though it was dark and late at night, the bright moon was kind enough to allow you to not trip over your own feet as he led you down the path to the shrine which he had already memorised with ease.

“Can we come back here next year?” you asked while squeezing Rintarou’s hand, “It was really pretty.”

“Next year? Sure. Actually, I live at the shrine so you can come visit any time.” He didn’t know why he just said that. He never really talked to people, so why did he want to do this now?

“Okay! I’ll see you then!” you grinned, and Rintarou gave the slightest hint of a smile back.

“(Y/N)! There you are!” a woman cried the moment the two had stepped foot onto the stone shrine floors, running over to give her daughter a great big hug. “We were looking for you all over! Don’t go missing like that!” she sobbed, stroking her hair and dusting off the dirt from her clothes.

“Sorry, mama. I was playing hide and seek with nii-chan.” you mumbled, allowing your mother to straighten up your looks.

“I know, he told me. But don’t hide in the forest, ok? It’s dangerous and dark and you never know what might be- Oh dear, what happened to your hands?!” the woman asked, inspecting the bandages.

“I fell down and Rintarou put medicine for me! Rintarou, do you wanna-” you turned to wave the boy over but found he was no longer there. “Huh?”

Right then, a shrine maiden hurried over. “Oh! (L/N)-san, I’m glad you managed to find your daughter!” she smiled.

“Onee-san, where’s Rintarou?” The shrine maiden cocked her head at the question from the little girl.

“Rintarou? I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about…” she replied in confusion.

“Eh… but he said he lives here! Um… he’s like… just a bit taller than me, and he has black, no, dark brown hair. Oh, and his eyes are yellow and like… they look like a fox!” Despite your explanations, the shrine maiden still had difficulty in knowing the identity of this person until an idea popped into her mind.

“Since this is a shrine to the god Inari, do you think you met a kitsune spirit?” she asked, “Though kitsunes rarely appear as young boys, there is the possibility.” The young girl gasped and thought for a second.

“Maybe…” you glanced back at the trees before turning to your mother. “I’m sleepy…”

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you home, dear.” The woman held her daughter’s bandaged hand and waved goodbye to the shrine maiden before turning to head down the stairs of the shrine and to go back to the main festival.

While this happened, Rintarou had watched it all from behind a large tree trunk, just out of sight. His heart felt funny and he wished you didn’t have to go. Even if you said you would come back, he wished you didn’t leave in the first place.

“Hey, Rin! Where were ya? We waited for so long next to the okonomiyaki stall!” Atsumu’s boisterous voice spoke, nearly frightening the boy who had been so deep in his thoughts.

“There was a human lost in the forest so I had to help them,” he replied in his usual calm voice.

“Ya never miss the chance to walk with us in the festival though.” Osamu pointed out while taking a bite from one of the many toriniku sticks he held. Rintarou stiffened slightly, knowing that he was right.

“She was hurt.”

“‘She’?! A girl? Yer kiddin’ me, did ya get a girlfriend, Rin Rin?!” Atsumu grabbed his friend’s shoulders tightly.

“Nothing of that sort…” Rintarou replied though his cheeks turned pink.

“Maybe,” he realised, “maybe my feelings towards you are in that sort of way…”

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Ever since your first meeting that summer, you would visit rather often. Most of the time was either spent idly walking in the forest while talking about various topics, or laying on the grass of the clearing while watching the clouds pass.

Many moons passed and Rintarou was starting to despise the time he would have to see you walk down the road from the shrine, back to your family’s house in the village at the foot of the mountain. Oh if only there were a way to keep you with him forever, he wished.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the soft footsteps on dirt approaching him.

“Rintarou! Over here!” the voice he had missed so dearly spoke up. He jolted out of his thoughts and almost fell out of the tree he sat in, but he quickly regained his composure and hopped down.

“(Y/N), you surprised me.” he asked nonchalantly, as if being alone with you didn’t make his heart feel like it wanted to jump out of his chest.

“Really?! That’s a first!” you giggled before squinting your eyes at the top of his head. The kitsune became worried, were his ears visible? Even though you two had been friends for almost a year now, he still hadn’t told you of him being a spiritual creature. He was worried that you would become scared and that you would never talk to him again.

Though those fears were dismissed for now as you began to grin cheekily, “Heh, looks like I’m taller than you now!”

Rintarou narrowed his eyes and stood up straight so your heights matched. “No we’re not, I was just slouching.”

“You’re always slouching!”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Whatever you say. Don’t you have prayers to do? I’ll de- I’ll wait for you to finish,” he asked, rather relieved that he didn’t accidentally admit that he would deliver your prayers to Inari.

“Mm… I’ll pray later! I wanted to play with you right now!” you spoke, pleasantly surprising the young kitsune. “And I wanted to check something…”

Rintarou’s eyes widened in a mix of fear and shock as a hand suddenly lunged to his side before he felt dainty fingers stroke the fur of his tail. A flame burst from the tail in reaction to the surprise, and he could feel his stomach plummet to hell when he saw the look on your face.

You knew.

Instinctively, he jumped back about three metres, his body sliding on the dirt. His hands made contact with the ground, his lengthening nails digging into the soft soil. Unknowingly, his golden eyes turned a shade of vermillion while large brown ears sprouted from his head, no longer invisible, and his tail waved menacingly behind him. If it weren’t for the human form he still had, one would have thought he was a fox preparing to attack.

It was then that he realised that your body had begun to shake. Your hands trembled in fear and your eyes were watery. There was a light thud as your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, face pale as a sheet.

What had he done?

Rintarou quickly relaxed his body and stood up, embarrassed. His eyes faded back to their usual golden colour and his long nails returned to their usual length. Seeing no reason to hide his tail or ears, he kept them in view.

“Why?” he asked softly.

“I- I didn’t actually...“ Words couldn’t leave you, they only stumbled out from your shaking lips. You were still frozen on the floor.

“Now you know. And you’re scared.” he mumbled.

Oh Inari-sama, why did he have to fall for her?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Rintarou spoke and reached a hand out, hoping you would take it and stand up like you had on that summer night.

But you only flinched.

Seeing that, he knew your friendship had changed.

Rintarou turned around, his tail swishing with his movement before he sprinted off into the wood, fists clenched tightly in frustration.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

It had been three hours or so. Perhaps he could return to the shrine now, he thought. You must’ve finally gotten up and went home.

He had fully exposed himself right then and though he wished he hadn’t, he knew he couldn’t change it. All he could do was sit on the rock and wish to visit that night once again.

“Rintarou.”

Shinsuke’s voice, albeit calm, had never sounded scarier to the younger kitsune.

“That girl has been waiting for ya.”

“You don’t know that. She’s probably gone home.”

“She has not. (Y/N) has been sittin’ on the shrine stairs for two hours now, waitin’ either for you or for the sun to set.” Rintarou was surprised to hear that from Shinsuke. Especially since he had never mentioned your name to the other kitsune before.

“And judging by the time,” Shinsuke started, “Ya better hurry. She’s got some things to say that I think’d sound better from her mouth than from this senpai.”

With a nod, Rintarou immediately sprung to his feet and took off down the mountain, letting both gravity and his desire to talk carry him with a speed he hadn’t felt before. He came to a screeching halt as he came out of the woods, seeing you sitting on the stone stairs while fiddling with your little drawstring bag.

“(Y/N),” he called out, making you jump slightly in surprise to see him again.

You quickly stood up and began to apologise, “Rintarou, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that and I know I should’ve asked but if I did then I know you’d say you weren’t a kitsune. It’s just that I’ve been suspecting since last year but was always too nervous to ask and I know it was really stupid of-”

“Wait a second.”

The phrase made the avalanche of words stop immediately.

“You knew?”

“Well… yeah,” you admitted, “I saw your tail a couple of times and sometimes you jump really high, or jump from a high place and you’re fine. And you always make sure I don’t see your back, I guess because of your tail.”

Well. Rintarou hadn’t realised how many mistakes he had been making.

“I see… You don’t hate me or anything?”

“No way!” you spoke with a big smile. “I think it’s so cool! I’m friends with a kitsune. That’s just... woah!” you waved your hands exaggeratedly to show your emotions which you couldn’t put into words.

“I always thought you’d be scared so I didn’t say anything.” Rintarou admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His cheeks had become a dark shade of pink now.

“Mm, I wouldn’t be scared of you. You’re nice to me, and you’re a zenko so you wouldn’t do anything bad. The thing just now scared me a bit though, but I know that was because I suddenly touched you when I shouldn’t have.”

There was a pause as you two thought for a while, figuring out what to say next.

“Then… can we still be friends?” the kitsune asked shyly, his heart beating with joy to know he hadn’t lost his friend and the girl he had feelings for.

“Of course.”

The two of you smiled toothily at each other as the sun began its descent.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

“Rin, let’s go to the rock again today!”

“Mm, sure.”

The summer festival had come again, marking one year since the day you two properly spoke. To Rintarou, it felt unbelievably short and long. Because of the way you visited almost daily, it felt like you had been an integral part of his life. Days you didn’t come to the shrine were spent lazily running around the forest with the twins or acting as Inari’s messenger while thinking about the next day you were meant to come. Yet knowing that you had only been there for one winter of his life versus the many he had experienced made him realise how short of a time you had been there for.

It was funny to think despite the relatively short time he spent with you, he felt like you were the most important thing to him these days.

So even though he would have to miss another year of the summer festival, he didn’t mind spending it with just you in quiet instead.

Light footsteps made their way through the forest, the loud laughs and shouts from the crowd below shrinking until they were no more than far off echoes. The path was no longer lit by the warm yellow festival lights from below but rather by the stars and moonlight.

“It’s just as pretty as last year,” you hummed, admiring the fireflies as you pushed back the flowers of the wisteria tree to enter the glade. While you had both visited this place often on your many visits to the shrine, you always had to go back before dark, so this was the rarest sight for you.

After climbing up the rock with ease, an experience you had gotten very used to after multiple times, you waited for Rintarou to jump up before settling yourself comfortably.

“Oh! I bought these before coming up!” you pulled out two small paper packages from your kinchaku, a small drawstring bag your mother made for you with flower-patterned cloth, and unwrapped them. In the first were four pieces of daifuku, and in the other were six small pieces of warabimochi. “I thought we might get hungry!”

Rintarou smiled and quickly picked a piece of warabimochi before tossing it into his mouth. It bounced on the edge of his lip before entering though, causing the roasted flour to form a little cloud, making a small mess on his face. You giggled at the sight of him coughing a little on the confection. The thought that even yokais like him could be dorky and mess up amused you greatly.

The evening passed quickly, far too quickly for either of your likings. As the moon and stars took their position in the dark blanket above, you two laughed and ate your snacks. It wasn’t the most filling but you two felt happy enough just talking to each other.

Though your laughter eventually died as the topic of what you were doing tomorrow came up. The once bright smile on your face faded and your gaze couldn’t meet Rintarou’s.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He asked, “Do you want to go to get more food?”

“My um… my parents said I can’t come back to play anymore. They said it’s no good to simply talk with boys anymore. And I have to start studying.” Your voice was soft, the topic scaring you, but the kitsune could easily pick it up.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“They said I’m growing older and someday I have to be married. Before that I have to learn to cook and do a bunch of tasks to run the household and well… They say the war’s gonna reach us soon and my family has a little land but we aren’t super influential so it’s especially important I marry someone good.”

He had heard of the war. A few domains away the territories were being fought over by some big warlords and while he didn’t know the details, he remembered Shinsuke saying it would likely change the course of history.

But to think that would affect you who were merely a child. You had only turned 10 this year… the thought confused and saddened Rintarou.

“They said I have to prepare properly to become a woman,” you explained, “So I can’t waste my time running around a forest with a boy from the shrine.”

“You’re getting married?” he asked. Why did he want to know that more than anything else you mentioned?

“Huh? No no! I’m just preparing to. But I really don’t want to. I hate it so much. I won’t get to see you in forever, Rin!” Tears came to your eyes as you threw your arms around his shoulders.

The boy awkwardly wrapped his arms around your body and patted your back, letting you cry onto his jinbei. He just had no idea what to say, what was right to say, or what you wanted to hear. Even if he had surpassed you in years he had lived long ago, his mental age was roughly the same as yours if not younger.

“We’ll see each other again, I’m sure,” was the only thing he could think to say right now, “Even if it’ll be a while.”

You sniffed and looked up from his shoulder. Your eyes met, staring at each other in silence.

“Really?” your voice squeaked, body still tense until Rintarou gently stroked your hair. Strangely your body immediately untensed and you felt at ease. Maybe it was a power of his, though you were sure it was just him.

“Yeah. I promise.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever even get to come back.”

Rintarou thought for a moment, what could he say? He was never that great with words.

“If you’re lonely then… look at the moon. And the sky. I’ll be looking at it too, just like we always do.” he replied, cheeks turning just a bit pink. He was glad you couldn’t see his face right now. It sounded funny, but he remembered hearing something like that from a storyteller at one of the summer festivals.

You seemed a bit hesitant at first but eventually you smiled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that, Rin.”

He let go of you just as the fireworks began to burst in the sky, prompting you to do the same. The two of you turned your gazes to the sky to watch the performance in the sky just as you had one year ago.

But this time, he noticed that your hand rested on top of his and your head was on his shoulder.

He never wanted this night to end.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Rintarou thought about that night often.

Even if nearly seven summers had passed and he had not seen you once.

He wondered if he would ever see you again, he wanted to see you again. You were someone he could never forget so he hoped you hadn’t forgotten him too.

He wondered where you were, maybe you had moved to a different village and visited a different shrine. Maybe you were living as a servant in that new shogun’s castle. Maybe because of the war you had…

Rintarou shook his head, that couldn’t be the case. He refused to believe it. He just hoped you were okay wherever you were.

As he sat on his rock, gazing up at the sky once again in hopes of today being the day you would return, he sighed to himself. The shrine was being quite noisy these days and he couldn’t be bothered to be around all the sound so he had stayed away. There was some sort of event they were preparing for, he wasn’t sure what exactly but he didn’t care that much. He’d deal with the prayers and such afterwards.

Until he sniffed the air and smelled your familiar scent.

Rintarou had never sat up straighter before practically propelling himself off of the rock to run down to the shrine.

He would finally get to see you again! He wondered if you had grown much taller than him in the years, as he hadn’t grown all that much since that summer day. He cursed his slow growth as a kitsune but in truth it didn’t bother him that much. Though he wondered if you had matured a lot and if you would still be willing to run around in the forest with him. You probably would, right? Just for fun? Rintarou would even slow down if you wished, so you would, right?

His heart was racing as he sprinted down the mountain slope towards the shrine before coming to an abrupt halt.

A wedding ceremony...

And you were the bride?

Even if you looked completely different, wearing a pure white shiromuku while your hair was done up and hidden in the white wataboshi veil, he could still tell it was you. Even with the heavy makeup on your now matured face, he knew it was you.

Rintarou felt his guts want to simultaneously drop out from him and to also come out from his throat. There was an intense pain in his chest and throat which made him just want to scream in utter agony but all he could do was stand among the trees, completely still and yet trembling like the autumn leaves falling around him as his eyes widened in a mixture of intense emotions.

“Look at that wedding, ‘Samu. We haven’t had one of those around in a while have we?” Rintarou turned to see the twins standing a couple metres away from them, watching the ceremony as well.

“Yeah. I guess with the war now people are getting married less.” Osamu replied to his older brother, “But that’s one of the shogun’s vassals’ vassals. Or somethin’ like that. So no wonder he can afford to.”

You were getting married to someone like that?

Rintarou stared at the man beside you - he was taller, stronger, and looked far older than he was, especially dressed in his plain black kimono, haori, and hakama set. The kitsune’s small hand crept up his chest and beat it lightly, as if trying to get his heart to restart itself but it just felt painful as he slowly crouched on the soil.

“You were waiting for her, weren’t ya?” Shinsuke’s calm voice spoke from behind the younger kitsune.

As much as he wanted to, Rintarou couldn’t turn away from the wedding. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smile on your red lips despite how painful it was. Words couldn’t express how badly he wanted to hug you and ask if you remembered him, to wipe the makeup from your face in the same manner he would wipe the dirt from your cheeks after you tripped into mud on those days you played together, to ask you to even talk to him once more. But he knew there was a high chance he would never see you ever again after today.

“Yeah. I was.” the boy sighed as calmly as he could, though it wasn’t hard for Shinsuke to hear the shake in his voice.

The four spirits watched as you and your new husband partook in the san san kudo, drinking sake from the three cups and officially recognising each other as spouses. Your family and friends cheered to see the completion of the ceremony. Smiles could be seen on nearly every person on the shrine grounds and as much as Rintarou hated to admit it, you wore a smile too.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he could have been the one to put that smile on your face.

All he could do now was to wish for your continued happiness as he passed on your prayers to the god.

･゜ﾟ･:.｡..｡.:•:.｡. .｡.:･゜ﾟ･

Many years had passed. If he was correct, twenty summers had passed, though he wasn’t counting anymore. Twenty summers without you felt like an awfully long time, though time felt like it was flying these days. Certainly faster than the seven years before then where everyday was spent longing for you.

Rintarou noticed that the four foxes had grown taller too, though it seemed like he still had some time to grow. He had grown two new tails too. He wondered how you looked now. If he could he would have left the shrine to see you, but with the war going on more prayers were being offered than ever.

He wondered if it was foolish of him, but for nearly every day of the past twenty years, he had been clinging on to the hope that one day you would come visit him. Of course, your feelings would be different, but that didn’t matter. All he wanted was to be able to see you again.

Though he hadn’t seen you, he remembered seeing your mother come to the shrine about a year after the wedding to thank Inari for the safe delivery of your new twins. “That’s because of us!” Atsumu boasted once he heard the news (though Shinsuke insisted it was not). Aside from that, Rintarou never heard about you.

Until one day.

“Do you remember that samurai who got married to a woman from this village about twenty years ago?”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“The woman passed away last week from some sickness.”

“No way…”

“Yeah, I think the old shrine maidens said she used to come to the shrine a lot as a kid to play in the woods. They liked her a lot.”

“Then it’s good they aren’t around to hear about her either…”

“Mm, I think so too.”

Rintarou’s skin turned to ice upon hearing the news. Suddenly his usual position on the rooftop no longer felt so comforting. His head pounded and his heart felt like it had stopped, a feeling he hadn’t felt since the day he first saw you.

He didn’t know what to do.

He just continued to lie on the roof, hands folded over his stomach as the once soft sky suddenly became a glaring shade of blue and white. Even if he closed his eyes, it hurt.

Everything hurt.

He continued to lay there for the next few hours, mind empty as he closed his eyes and simply thought of the sky and of you. Memories of watching the clouds, of climbing trees, of fishing in the little lake, and especially of the fireworks.

By the time he opened his eyes, Rintarou noticed the moon and stars had already taken their place. It was a sky he had only shared with you twice but somehow looking at it always made him feel comforted; knowing even if you two were far away, you were still watching the same sky, moon, and stars. Just as he said all those years ago.

But that was no longer the case.

He blinked and the twinkling stars had become blurry. Suddenly they had multiplied and the kitsune felt liquid trail down the side of his face. He laughed to himself lightly and sat up to wipe away the tears.

The once cooling wind of autumn suddenly grew a chilling bite as it blew a cloud to obscure the pale moon above.

As he looked up at the sky, he thought of how foolish he had been to cling to the hope that you would someday come back to see him, or to have fallen for you in the first place.

And oh how foolish Rintarou had been to think of the most beautiful girl he had seen whenever he looked up at the once beautiful sky.

#suna x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintarou x reader #suna #rintarou suna #haikyuu fanfiction #misoramsby

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dorki-c · 3 years

Text

My Guardian Demon: Chapter 1 Part 4: Unrealistic doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X (Reader)

Rating 16+

TW: Swearing

PROMPT QUESTION FOR THIS STORY ARC: Are all demon’s ‘bad’?

[Masterlist] [<-- Previous | Next -->]

“—The spike of thief demons has---” Nope.

Click.

“—The increase of contractor---” Nope.

Click.

“—Demon therapeutic practice cases are decreasing the amount of—” Oh hell no!

Click.

Turning off the television within the apartment, Izuku watched as (y/n) dramatically slid down the couch in boredom. Glancing to the three open windows paired with an additional two fans blowing cool air into the warm apartment, Izuku doesn’t make much of a reaction at how his demon is feeling.

I mean who can blame them? It's quite warm- regardless of what the weather forecast has been reporting- nobody could’ve thought that a heatwave would’ve come early into the year.

“Jeez, why do those annoying contractor demons have to exist…” Muttered (y/n) as they opted to float towards the window to look at the colourless sky (in comparison to Izuku’s developed vision).

Although the day had started in a very boring manner, once he had arrived home from his morning training with All Might (coupled with a thirty-minute long complaining session from his demon that he should “take better care of himself, instead of pushing himself!”), the green-haired boy decided to lounge on the couch after folding his and his mother’s clothes that were finished drying outside.

Even when the doorbell rang with excitement washing over Izuku. He knew that whatever had erupted in the wake of a new beginning, that the green-haired boy will most certainly be a part of it.

(However, let’s put this monologue to rest. The elephant in the room is here.)

For all that’s said and done, armed with a sharp box cutter- Izuku makes his move of revealing the loot- and don’t let me forget that it’s All Might merch.

“Jeez Izuku, you need to get this obsession under control.” Murmured (y/n), as they swished into his peripherals once more. Taking careful observation of how Izuku ignored his demon’s comment, he delicately takes each box out with precise care and stability to the point that it leaves the demon awestruck at his tentativeness.

“I mean, sure it's not bad to have something you like—” (y/n) paused in order to dig up a more suitable word choice, “—but, there are some things where you need to save up for.”

Even amidst the one-sided conversation, which was cut short by (y/n) staring at the bronze age All Might, Izuku had also paid close observation of how his demon interacted with him.

He still remembers that one training session where even though he was dead tired of pulling both a fridge and his mentor, the slight encouragement from you had pushed him far enough to get up and try again!

(That goes without saying, All Might had asked Izuku to stay a bit longer to discuss the taboo subject of demons.)

“Young Midoriya, are you aware of auras?”

Seeing as talking a demon into existence is outrageously disrespectful, Izuku was shocked at the revelation of hearing All Might (out of anybody else) talk so openly about it!

Squeaking a meek “yes” in hopes that All Might doesn’t continue this conversation (but he still does), the adult turned to face his successor to utter a phrase the child will never forget.

“Then why is your demon’s aura pulsating so dangerously?”

That definitely left Izuku flabbergasted.

And now looking back at it, why is his demon so protective of him?

(He’ll never know, I guess?)

------------------------

“Izuku, you know I can’t see normal colours.” Lamented the red demon as they lean on his shoulder to kill time and be comfortable.

Just as the green-haired boy inspected the bronze age All Might figure and ready to put it on one of his many shelves, he paused before asking (y/n) “Why do you like this figure?”

“That’s a vague question.”

Izuku deadpanned at his demon’s answer.

(Really (y/n)? Really?)

“Okay! Okay! I’ll answer your silly question!” If anything, you’re the one with the silly questions.

“I like the design, I guess!” Shrugging their shoulders, taking a pause to look at the rest of the figures, the demon settled on picking that one as their favourite.

(By 'that' one, it's the bronze age figure.)

“Plus… it doesn’t look as flashy as the others.”

“What’s wrong with looking flashy!”

“A lot of things.”

That argument did not end for a long time. I can tell you that!

--------------------------

“Wait-- what time is it?” Another yawn escaped Izuku’s mouth before he covered it with a hand of his.

The dusky night setting where only one lamp was emitting a soft after hour glow smudged onto a page of multiple scribbles and notes, the pencil of his noted the new interests of (y/n) in delicate detail with few errors in his vocabulary.

Taking an eye off the notebook, leaning back in his chair before swerving around to see the digital clock, vermillion numbers glowered at him to reveal it was ‘8:43’ pm.

“It’s around 8:40 pm, (Y/n). Why do you need to know?” The demon’s slumped form sprung up in alarm, emitting more hazy fog to flood out them. That was strange…Izuku has never seen (y/n) so anxious about the time.

“The show is gonna start soon!!” Cried (y/n), which lead to his demon gripping him on his free arm and tugging as hard as they can to exit his room.

Even if demons have a unique sense of individuality, I wonder why people perceive them as being bad?

Isn’t it naïve to consider a ‘figment’ of our minds to be labelled something as vague as ‘bad’?

Even if said figment can easily destroy you from the inside out like miasma or possess the demon’s host in hopes of protecting them from outside danger.

Is possessing somebody out of protecting them, cruel or righteous? Is it wrong or right?

(Izuku doesn’t have the ethical mindset to process his thoughts, so he lets (y/n) force him down on the couch and watch his demon’s newest fascination of American Horror Story.)

-------------------------

As always, Izuku seemed to leave the curtains cracked a little open to allow his demon to gaze upon the glittery fabric of a darkened atmosphere.

The crater embellished in the fabric was held stationary to grant permission for the creature to gaze upon it for one of the few nights in the month, as trees locked their gazes at the rock and the illuminations of manmade stars stilled in the moment of time.

And for a moment, (y/n) wondered upon these manmade stars if they could be human.

(Or something close to being human! Though…as cheerful as it sounds; the only way they could be a human is becoming a thief demon.)

But only for a moment they wondered about it.

(And may a divine deity forbid them from thinking about it.)

There’s no room in this house of memories to bring greedy thoughts of freedom into it. However, there is room to ensure that the demon’s companion is safe.

(At least he’s safe now…)

(The demon does worry a lot, but at this point, its quite natural for them to worry about everything when growing up with Izuku.)

Glancing back at the dozing green-haired teenager, the demon sighed.

They couldn’t help releasing a sigh—not because they were relieved— but of the new dangers that may come alongside a quirk and having people to trust for once.

Letting their weightless form ghost towards the edge of Izuku’s bed, with protective intent as clear as the moon in the sky, (y/n) had made note of his serenity etched into the expression of glued tight eyelids with transparent drool beginning its slug trail down his chin and onto the flashy hero pillow.

(If you want to go into detail, it’s an All Might pillow.)

Speaking of heroes, why does Izuku really want to become one? (Y/n) has never seen a moral point to a hero’s duty—other than acquiring fame and money--, so why bother spending three years of your life contributing to a corrupt cause where it eats up your lifespan like a toddler munching on diabetes ridden lollipops.

Sure, (y/n) doesn’t like hero society.

(It’s practically fucked up, what else can they say?)

“Izuku, why do you want to become a hero?” But they don’t hate Izuku’s dream…

(I think…)

“Is it for fame?” They all have unrealistic dreams.

(The demon was speaking out into the void. That’s no surprise, it’s always been like that.)

“Is it for glory?” But that’s what dreams are. They are unrealistic.

(Is the demon right or wrong?)

“Is it for something else?” The demon had an unrealistic dream, so why can’t Izuku have an unrealistic dream?

(Unless both of their dreams weren’t unrealistic.)

Taglist:

CREDITS:

@glitterfreezed @izukubabe @sweater-weather-seven @nyanyabisjjj @quietlegends @dragonsdreamoffire @candybabey @sixofsparrows

All content and art used within this story belongs to their respective owners. PLAGARISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!

Art credits: Dorki-C and @glitterfreezed

[MASTERLIST OF “My Guardian Demon”] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

#Izuku Midoriya #Izuku midoriya bnha #Izuku Midoriya mha #Izuku Midoriya X Demon! Reader #Izuku midoriya x y/n #Izuku midoriya x reader #Izuku Midoriya x you #MGD x mha au #MGD au #mha x reader #bnha x reader #Demon! Reader #Dorki's Oneshots

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hyakki59 · 3 years

Text

Eren x Reader - Argument - Old times

Warning; a bit of violance and a bit of smuty in the end

The world of this story takes place on the old times. No technology, no electricity, no big cities. Houses in the nature and people living in clans.

You are living with Jaegar Clan, because you and Eren are newly married. Everyday your heart beat faster for this man, you can't get enough of his smile, his light tanned skin, his green eyes and his long hair that falls on his shoulders. He is also a tease, always want to tease you, in a good way, and laugh.

You both immediately dreamed of your happy long life together when you decided to get married. You hadn't thought though those little arguments that may follow in the future. The day arrived when you and Eren had your very first argument.

"I told you to not distance yourself!!"

Eren shouts at you angrily. You are both standing outside the house. And Eren decided to give you a lecture while other people are also nearby.

"What? Am I not allowed to go for a walk?!"

You ask in disbelief touching with your fingers your chest

"Walk? Walk?!! I told you to not leave our side!!"

Eren shouts back pointing with his finger the ground

"Well, it's your very fault, you know, for dragging me along with you and your clan in your stupid fights with the nearby villages!!!

You shout at him too, moving your hand in the air. Eren didn't like that comment and he approaches you with a sudden pace. He grabs your upper limb

"Don't ever call them stupid again"

Eren says angrily yet with a low voice tighten his teeth. His eyes looking around quickly as if he wants to see if someone heard you.

"You gave us trouble with moving away from our spot, can't you understand that?"

Eren asks you, trying to keep his voice low.

"No Eren! What I can't understand is dragging me along with something I didn't want in the first place!!"

You shout with a complaint

"I'm your husband, and you must listen to whatever I'm saying! You embarrassed me!"

Eren adds with a way that he wants you to understand

"Really? Is that what am I supposed to do? Then fuck off my husband!!"

You shout at Eren and turn your back at him in order to walk away

"Come here!"

Eren says grabbing again your arm and adds;

"Don't talk to me like that. And sit here, we need to make clear that you understand your fault!"

"We don't have to say anything more Eren! I got this! You don't want me to do anything on my own! I'm just for warming your little cock! Nothing more!!"

As you are shouting you move wildly your arms like you wanted to hit Eren on his chest. Eren's eyes widen with the comment of yours and at the same time grabs your wrists because of your wild movements

"Oi! Shut it!!"

He eventually says

"No, I won't! You are a fucking bastard-"

"Shut it, you slut!!"

You both look each other with widen eyes. Some passing villagers looked at you from far. You hadn't argue like that with Eren before. You were both so lovely dovey all the time, that you didn't expect to reach at this point. Eren has now a shocked face, taking a few steps back. He hadn't talked to you like that before and wasn't expecting to.

"Y/N... I'm.."

He says, looking down at his feet. You on the other hand have tear up.

"When we didn't find you at first, you worried me sick.. I was afraid in the idea of losing you.."

Eren says approaching you quickly taking you in a hug

"I'm sorry for what I said"

Eren says his hand shoved in your hair

"I'm sorry too.."

You say hugging Eren too.

~°~°~°~

The previous intense scene ended and you thought that it won't have any more extent. The night have arrived, you and Eren are now at your shared bedroom.

It's an old style room, with wooden floor and walls made from stones. Fabrics like rug are decorating the walls and the furnitures' material are also from pure wood. The bed's design is with wooden railings which they are in every bed's leg.

You are sitting now on your bed, your back touching the hardboard and your legs inside the blankets. Eren approaches the bed, standing in the end of it and looking at you. You look at him giving a smile. He is having a thoughtful look though, like he's inspecting you.

"Come on"

You say at Eren with a smile while you do a 'pat pat' near you at the empty place of the bed.

"I think it's time for you to get your punishment for disobeying me"

Eren eventually says putting his hands on his belt. This serious face of him scared you a little.

"Eh? What do you mean?"

You ask Eren with a puzzled face and benting your knees.

"You need to learn what it is like disobeying your husband"

Eren says taking off his belt enfolding it inside his hand and holding it like it was his weapon. Your eyes open widely, and you jumb out of the blankets, having a standing position on the bed supporting your body on your knees.

"Eren, I said I'm sorry"

You say with an alarming look having your arms open in defence in case he approaches.

"Well, your apologize is accepted. But, anyone learns better their fault when they get punished physically."

Eren adds holding his belt firmly in readiness.

"You are not going to use that on me, right?"

You ask while your heart starts to beat faster

"Well, I need to"

"You are crazy"

You say trying to move on the side to escape

"No, Υ/Ν, stay still. We are gonna make it quick. It's not like I want you to get hurt"

Eren says doing a motion with his hand like he says 'stop'

" 'You don't want me to get hurt' in my ass. Don't you dare approach me with that thing!"

You say frowning trying to leave from the other side of the bed but Eren trying to stop you by coming towards you. You then try to leave from the other side. Eren is grabbing the wooden railings of the bed, to get momentum, trying to follow you. He's coming towards you in order to prevent you from leaving. His hair are moving because of his fast pace.

"Y/N, this is how we punish here. Me as a kid was punished too with that way when I was disobeying, and believe me, this work better when it comes learning your fault"

Eren tells you reassuringly doing a 'calm down' motion with his arms, like he wants to calm you.

"Fuck off!! I'm not gonna accept those kind of brutal ways of learning, you crazy people do here!!"

You shout at him, saying the word 'learning' loudly with an ironic way. Eren approaches you quickly climbing on the bed. When his knee touches the mattress you jump off quickly out of the bed. Eren stretches his arm to grab you, unsuccessfully though.

"Y/N! Stay still!"

Eren shouts his body falling on the bed.

"No!!!"

You shout running in the other edge of the room. Eren stands up from the bed and when he is about to move, still holding his belt, you start to throw things at him.

"Go away!!!"

You shout, grabbing things that are in the top of the furnitures. Cups, combs, small boxes, everything that was in your way. You are throwing all of them at Eren, in order to make him stop.

"Y/N! Ah!! Stop!!"

Eren says trying to avoid the things you throw at him, but some of them hit him.

Eren runs towards you and you run too in order to escape from him. You climb again at the bed and Eren catch up with you, wrapping his arms around your waist

"Ahh!!! Leave me alone!!"

You shout moving widely your hips so Eren could leave you. Indeed you manage to escape and as you try to leave from the bed you trip and fall on the floor. Eren grabs this opportunity and quickly stands above you. He tries to lift up your nightgown and you let out a cry. As you were moving your legs widely you kick with your foot Eren's jaw

"Ahhh!!!"

Eren groans loudly. He surely saw starts with that kick of yours.

"Y/N, just stay still, we will finish this as quickly as we will start this"

Eren says feeling pain in his jaw, trying to hold you still at the same time. Eventually, he succeeds in turning you, your back facing him and he hold you still in his lap. With one hand he holds you still by pressing your back down and with his other hand he lifts up your nightgown only for your butt to be exposed. You are moving widely trying to be free

"Eren!! No!!"

You shout but Eren hits your butt with his belt using his strength

"Ahh!! You will regret this!! Ahh!!!"

You are shouting while Eren hits you with his belt

"You are a crazy stupid asshole!!!"

You are constantly shouting being in the verge of crying. Eren though continues his punishment, the hit from his belt touching your butt was echoing.

~°~°~°~

The next morning arrived, and you aren't talking to Eren, you don't even eyeing him. He didn't only hurt you but he embarrassed you too. You wouldn't be surprised if anyone from the near houses could hear you the previous night. You are even embarrassed to eye a neighbor.

The following days, whenever Eren was approaching you to touch you, you were ignoring him and moving your shoulder away from his touch. Eren had a sad face everytime you were avoiding him. That wasn't the kind of image he had in his mind after your punishment. He thought that you would 'understand' his kind of thinking.

An example of your avoidance is this kind of night. You are wearing a white nightgown thin and light enough, so your body parts are visible. As Eren sees you in this cloth, he smiles awkwardly, liking what he sees, his chest going up and down from his enthusiasm. You eye him with a 'supposed' sly smile. Eren grabs with both of his hands the edge of his shirt in order to take it off, but at the same time you shove your self under the blankets, laying down. Eren's mouth stayed slightly open

"I thought we.."

"Then think again"

You cut Eren abruptly, getting yourself comfortable on your pillow in order to sleep.

Another night you and Eren are already sleeping. Outside the weather is bad, raining a lot. The sound of the lighting strikes woke you up. Eren is rubbing his eyes. He sees your back is turned at him as all the previous nights. He feels a pain in his chest, you two being like this. He approaches you slowly from behind, trying to wrap an arm around you carefully like you are about to break into pieces. You are awake too, because of the thunders. Eren's touch makes you to eye him quickly then look infront of you again.

"It's cold tonight, I thought that you would be cold..."

Eren says hugging you properly now. You didn't answer anything. As you didn't chase him away, Eren grabs the opportunity to make one move more. He kisses very lightly your shoulder, eyeing at the same time your face to see your expression. You stiffen your body as Eren kisses you. Eren noticed that and decides to not ruin the moment of hugging you, so he lays his head behind yours. The truth was that you had missed the feeling of Eren being that close to you, but you still haven't forgiven him from what he did to you. You both fell asleep like that.

~°~°~°~

Now, it's another day. You are sitting on a small stool infront of your mirror- furniture. You are combing your hair. At this time, Eren enters your shared bedroom, looking at you. You are not looking at him at all. Eren approaches you, kneeling beside you. He touches with his hands your thighs.

"You don't want me anymore?"

Eren says looking up at you with a sadden face. You turn looking down at his face. That was a positive thing for Eren.

"Y/N, I love you. I don't want to lose you. I will protect you with my life. Forget what happened. That's a different story, it belongs now to the past."

You are still looking at him voiceless

"Isn't that enough.."

He says lowering his head, his hands still on your thighs.

"Raise your head"

You say in a demanding voice. Eren suprised looks up at you

"I haven't forgiven you yet. But the sure thing that we can't be unspoken for ever"

Eren's straighten immediately his body letting out a happy sigh smiling at you. Your words gave him hope. His face approaches yours, he wants to kiss you, but first he is examining you. He approaches you slowly afraid to not ruin the moment. You had missed too his kisses, that's why you let his lips to touch yours. He kissed you soflty. As you took apart you kiss again each other, your kisses become from soft to more passionate. You suddenly want each other badly. You continue to kiss each other like maniacs, you holding Eren's head with both of your hands and Eren's hands traveling under your cloth up to your thighs.

You lean towards Eren, leaving your seat from the stool. Eren is lowering himself towards the floor because you are leaning towards him. As Eren's back touched the floor, you sit up on his lap and start leaning down, shoving your tongue on Eren's mouth, when you lips touched. Your tongues are fighting and you start to rock your hips, rubbing yourself on Eren's bulge. Eren is moaning through the kiss feeling full pleasure and you are also whimping wanting him so bad. It's been days since you and Eren had done something like that. You break the kiss start to undress each other. You are still both on the floor, naked now and can't resist anymore. You grab Eren's length and position it under your core. With one motion you lower yourself, Eren's now inside of you. Eren lets out a groan. You start to rock your hips, your pace gets faster every second. Eren's hands are on the sides of your butt, letting you do your work. You and Eren are a moaning mess. Your eyes catch a knife that lays down the floor beside you and you grab it. You press lightly it's peak at Eren's throat, still rocking your hips. Eren's eyes widen, him still moaning.

"Don't you ever dare to lay a hand on me again, or else I will open up your throat, you got it?

You say to him with a threatening way, still moving your hips. Eren is having a worryingly face, being afraid with that knife on his throat. He nods though, still moaning. You then throw the knife across the room and start to ride Eren even more widely.

Eventually, your reletionship with Eren got a little spicier and wildier than you had thought at first, but nevertheless you have your way to teach him a lesson.

#eren x reader #aot character x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #eren fanfiction #eren jaegar x reader

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 11/?)

Chapter 11: Interface

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

It didn't go unnoticed by you in the following days how distant Connor was, always a hairline away, like he was suddenly no longer allowed to touch you.

On the night of the second day, when you caught him doing it again, you confronted him, trapping him against the counter in his kitchen. He had turned around and noticed you standing there, right behind him.

He could have easily pushed you out of the way; but, Connor was far too polite for that. If you were being honest, in that moment, you were taking advantage of his politeness.

"Please, tell me what's wrong?" you asked, trying not to be too demanding.

"You left dirty dishes in the sink," Connor deflected smoothly.

You crossed your arms and gave him a look, the kind that said you wouldn't fall for that. His hands were resting on the edge of the counter in an odd manner, further proving your concerns. Connor's eyes shifted nervously between your gaze and the sink before deciding to let go of that attempt.

"I had lied to you about what I was," he replied quietly.

"You never lied to me about anything," you quickly retorted, voice gentle. You grabbed at his inner elbows, trying to pull his arms away from the counter and towards you. At first, he didn't nudge at all against your insisting touch.

Eventually, he gave in and let you pull his arms towards yourself. He followed and curled his arms around your lower back, leaning into your body until you were embracing loosely.

As an android, could withstand much greater temperatures than most humans. There were very few natural occurring temperatures in the world that could set off his temperature warnings. However, when he pushed against the fabric of your clothes so he could reach bare skin, and felt how warm you were, Connor suddenly felt very cold.

You shuddered a little, likely because his fingers were a little cold compared to the skin at your lower back. Some selfish part of himself didn't mind, wanting to steal your warmth, even though he didn't need it.

"-because you were designed to hunt deviants?" you asked. "Is that what's wrong?"

Connor tore his eyes away from yours and stared blindly over your shoulder. "I should have told you. I was keeping something from you that I thought would-... would jeopardize our relationship. It was self-serving."

You smiled up at him, feeling oddly enamored at the thought of Connor being selfish, because he had proved to be anything but. Or, maybe, you were feeling pride in knowing that he felt that way about you - felt a little possessive over you.

"It's normal to want to keep some things about yourself a secret, Connor," you offered, nudging his nose with your own. "It's not just about relationships, but, just, wanting a little bit of privacy."

It took him a second, but he eventually reciprocated to your nudging, pressing his nose into your temple for a moment before lowering his head so that his forehead was nuzzled against the side of your skull.

"I'm not upset with you, or afraid of you, or anything like that," you offered. "You don't have to tell me everything."

The thought of him standing on stage with Markus, the leader of the deviants, felt different with your new found knowledge of Connor's original purpose. He had chosen to stand with the man he was supposed to take down. He had chosen to defy his creators, to become the very thing he was supposed to stop.

"You have the right to know things that could potentially make me an unsuitable partner," he said lowly, sounding a little frustrated.

"You don't owe me every little thing about yourself, Connor," you replied, breath warm on his cheeks. "All these things should come when you're ready. Besides, I found out unfairly. If anything, you should be mad at me."

Connor shook his head a little, immediately disregarding the suggestion that he should be upset with you. You had come into his life so unexpectedly and changed his perception of himself, changed what he thought he knew about himself, changed what he thought he was capable of.

There were things he had never disclosed with another soul that he wanted to pour all over you.

"Why would your designed purpose make you unsuitable?" you asked, a little insistent. If there was anything you didn't want Connor to feel, it was unsuitable - for you, for love, for anything good in this world.

"I-" he began, finding himself simultaneously restless and stiff.

You leaned back enough to look up into his brown eyes with patience and longing. Connor caught your gaze and stared back, getting lost in the look you were giving him.

"When I was a machine, there was software in my operating system that connected me to Cyberlife," he explained hoarsely and you listened carefully, hanging off his every word.

"The interface was named Amanda. She was my owner, in a way: gave me missions, praised me when I did well..." Connor's eyes flickered away for a moment. "-threatened me when I didn't."

His eyes returned to yours and he continued. It was clear to you that this was therapy for Connor, even if he didn't understand why he wanted to share all this.

"At the android march, Cyberlife tried to take control of my body. I almost - I was afraid I couldn't stop it. I nearly shot Markus before I took back control," he confessed, whispering harshly. "I wasn't aware they could do that until that moment. Escaping this-... prison inside me was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Connor paused when he felt your hands running up and down his biceps, trying to soothe the stammer in his voice. He could almost feel the chill again. It was the only time he had never known what it was like to be cold, to feel the wind biting at his skin, to feel so utterly exhausted in a place that existed inside himself.

"I am the most advanced android designed by Cyberlife." It wasn't spoken with confidence, but with regret. "Sometimes I still-... feel it: factory defaults." He uttered the last two words harshly, like he was growling out a curse.

"Remnants of the deviant hunter will always remain," you whispered, dominant hand rising to cup his cheek. Connor leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. You startled a little when the skin on his cheek faded away to interface with you. You smiled and nudged your thumb affectionally against his cheek bone.

"There's nothing wrong with that part of you," you continued. "You turned it into something beautiful, detective."

Detective - someone who tried to right the wrongs, who protected people, who saved people, who gave a voice to those who could not speak for themselves. Maybe, the correct answer would have been to become the exact opposite of what he was made to do. But, Connor truly liked this part of himself.

"When I told you I loved the android parts of you, I meant it," you insisted, hands shimmying down so you could wrap your arms around his lower back. Connor's eyes opened and he looked at you softly. "Deviant hunter, too, Connor. All your software, all your bio-components..."

"While I do not anticipate that I am a danger to you, or anyone else-" Connor explained stiffly. "-and my diagnostics no longer show remnants of Cyberlife's infiltration and remote programs, you have every right to be concerned. I check regularly, in case I am... incorrect..."

Connor trailed off when he saw the wicked smile on your face. "You are a danger to me," you teased softly. The android's LED briefly flickered to scarlet red before immediately shifting back to blue.

"I don't know what I would do without you," you explained.

Well, you knew what you would do. You would work lots of overtime to make up for the fact that all your friends were your coworkers and you went home to an empty, lonely shack in a less than favorable neighborhood.

Without Connor, you would be so utterly lonely.

He was an android. You couldn't possibly understand what he had to endure, what kind of internal struggles he continued with, the constant abuse from humans. From what you had seen, Connor powered through it with a brave face.

You had not shared much about your own life with him, unless it pertained to androids. Connor had lived a much shorter time than you; yet, his life was so much more accomplished, held so much more meaning and purpose.

You were just a simple girl from a big city and Connor was one of a kind both in his design and of his own making, by his own choices.

Despite all that, you had never felt this close to another person before.

"You would be with someone else," Connor stated, sounding almost offended. You gawked up at him, startled by the determined look he was giving you.

In his eyes, you were wonderful, beautiful, selfless, and brave. If he hadn't been so insistent, practically demanding of your attention, surely someone else would have. He couldn't imagine others not seeking your affections.

"I doubt that," you said bashfully. "I don't really put myself out there. I came onto you really strong... -like a dumb, horny teenager." You laughed a little, nervous beneath his scrutinizing eyes. You didn't regret it for a second: not Connor, nor what you had done. But, sometimes, you feared you had pushed him too strongly.

"I haven't been chaste, either," Connor offered softly. "We are not a... conventional couple." He didn't seem unsettled by that information, but more worried that you would think poorly of yourself for being forthcoming with your desires.

You giggled, brief and soft. "None of my relationships have been like this."

"They weren't androids," Connor stated.

"It's not that," you said sharply, almost scoldingly, shaking your head a little. "They weren't like this, like you, like-..."

You had loved before, in a way; but, you weren't ever in love, not like this. Nothing had ever come close to being this strong or feeling this real.

With Connor, you felt a sort of peace you never thought possible in your life. You felt like there was nothing you couldn't trust him with. He made you feel so small and so mighty at the same time.

You felt like he had given you a part of yourself that was missing; but, you felt conflicted in telling him that. You didn't want him to feel trapped or caged by you.

You had no doubt that Connor cared for you; but, there was no denying the reality that he would live much longer than you. You would grow old while he would remain young and strong and beautiful forever.

Eventually, it would come to an end-

"I've never been this close to someone before," you admitted quietly. "I - I just feel like-... You understand me better than anyone else and I feel so - I - maybe I'm projecting here-" you trailed off, feeling suddenly breathless.

Connor reached around to take hold of your dominant hand and remove it from his back. He lined up your hands, palm to palm, fingers and thumbs mirrored. For a moment, he forgot himself, forgot that you were human and couldn't interface with him. Still, he tried, the skin of his hand fading away and his joints and knuckles glowing blue.

You stared, awestruck, even though you had seen him do this dozens of times.

"You're not projecting," he whispered harshly. "We can't interface; but, I feel like we do, all the time."

You looked up at him. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed, and LED yellow, like he was trying to think, really, really hard. He wanted to interface with you, more than he could put to words, to show you how much you meant to him, to show you things that language was incapable of, to show you how he felt.

"I'm sorry," you choked out.

His eyes opened and he looked at you.

"Androids are so beautiful," you breathed. "-that you can connect like this and - all humans can do is-"

Connor leaned down and pressed his mouth against yours to silence what he knew was going to follow, the disdain you were going to put on yourself. He knew the limitations of humans very well. None of that mattered when it came to you.

"Connor-" you breathed against his lips.

He breathed your name back, like a hush.

"I'm - I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around," you whispered defiantly.

"I do," he replied, nudging his forehead against your temple. "You always make me feel better."

He felt like he had the world cradled against him, and he didn't want to let go. You continued to embrace until Connor felt you starting to sag against him. Through your touch, he could sense your breathing pattern had started to change, and realized you were dozing off.

"Come on. It's late," he said quietly. However, instead of letting you respond, Connor took initiative and picked you up, scooping you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

"W-woah," you stammered. "Geez, Connor."

"Were you falling asleep?" he asked teasingly as he carried you to the bedroom.

"N-no," you retorted sharply. You felt his chuckle more so than heard it. He tucked you into bed, helped you change - or, undress, more actually - before stripping down to the same state and nuzzling in close behind you.

That night, while you slept, Connor laid next to you and rolled through his memories.

"What I want is not important," is what he had said to Kamski, his creator, when the man had asked him what he wanted. The mission was more important, what his creators expected of him was more important; or, at least, that was what he had told himself at the time.

Even back then, he wanted to enforce the law, to bring justice, to give a voice to those who didn't have one. He wanted to prevent a civil war that would bring about the death of thousands, potentially millions, of humans.

When he accepted his deviancy, those things didn't go away. His wants evolved. He wanted freedom for his people - for androids, so they could live with the kind of freedom he was fortunate enough to have in this moment.

Now... now, he wanted so much more.

Selfish things-

Human things-

He wanted to live a life that involved choices undictated by orders. He wanted to experience the world in all its vastness, waiting for him. He wanted to go to places he had only seen through the HUD in his processor, in videos and photos. He wanted to be there - to feel, to smell, to learn with his own hands.

-and he wanted you by his side every step of the way.

He wanted to create memories with you, to share the world with you.

Connor's arm was resting over your abdomen, his hand caressing yours. You had returned his gentle grip until you fell asleep and your touch slackened. His thumb brushed against your knuckles and lowered, sliding along your ring finger just past the knuckle, and he thought about what could fit there.

It was a strange feeling. He found himself constantly longing for these things that felt so humanlike, so beyond what he was designed to do, things he once thought were all that he was capable of.

"What do you really want?" he could still hear Kamski's voice in his head.

To be free. To be wild and untamed and live life without fear of what he was and how the world might perceive him. To see the world as more than analytical data. To not see every step as a branching path, where one wrong move could ruin everything. To live life as if there was a chance he could die tomorrow.

He wanted you-

-to be his forever.

#connor x reader #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 smut #rk800 x reader #connor smut #connor fanfic

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idiot-children · 4 years

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haven't been on this account in months plus i don't even post writing on here but Hey have some unnecessarily angsty self-indulgent bullshit sanders sides fic!! mostly just a vent thing but ehh I like Roman too much to care

To Fall On Your Sword

TW for suicide, mild descriptions of gore, severe emotional distress (if there's anything else PLEASE let me know)

Roman sank down into his room, wracked with violent sobs. It was too much. Too much. He stared into a mirror - his room was full of them, just in case he got too separated from reality. Just in case he started seeing things. Because his reflection grounded him. But now, all his reflection was doing was making him painfully aware of how unbelievably pathetic he looked. Pathetic and alone. Because he was, and he knew that now. Thomas had given up on him, and at this point, staring into his reflection and desperately trying to make out something good, he didn't blame him. He wasn't even a real side, no wonder he was so useless, maybe he should fuse with Remus again, maybe then he'd be a real hero, maybe then he'd be useful, maybe then Thomas would love him again- oh god, never mind the adoration, never mind the fame or the romance, he just wanted Thomas to love him. That's all he wanted. And now he'd never get that, and it hurt, oh god it hurt.

He was bleeding. He wasn't sure how, or when, but the mirror in front of him was broken, shattered on the floor, and his fist was covered in shards of glass and stained in his blood. More than anything he wanted to punch the real thing, to let out his anger on something that deserved it, and maybe then he could finally bring himself to swallow his insatiable pride and become what he needed to be, what Thomas needed him to be.

He settled for letting out a sob that was really more of a scream and falling to his knees, his face stained with blood and tears.

He didn't care if anybody heard him. What would they care anyway? They had more important things, bigger things to worry about than the half-side with the hero complex having a temper tantrum like a teenager who'd just discovered My Chemical Romance and had decided that the whole world was unfair to them in particular. And maybe it was. Maybe the universe decided to fuck him over the second Patton decided that half of him - and, he really had to admit that Remus was part of him now - was too disturbing to exist. Maybe the second he was deemed 'the good twin' the universe decided that was enough good luck for his whole existence. He could feel the edges of dozens of glass shards beneath his knees, digging into his legs, he could feel them ripping open his skin from below; he took comfort in the sensation of hot blood running down his legs like paint, like some morbid art of his brother's design (although, come to think of it, what was the difference between his art and Remus's, anyway?). His breaths came out short and unsteady, half of him desperate for someone to find him, comfort him, tell him everything's going to be okay, and half of him praying that this moment of irrefutable weakness could be something secret, something that maybe, if he could just find even the slightest bit of good fortune, he could keep to himself.

He only half heard Patton knock on his door, only half heard him call out empty comforts with that soft but oh-so painful voice of his, and, logically, only half completely pretended he couldn't hear him. It took almost a minute for him to leave. Roman couldn't tell if he had gotten the message, or if he had just gotten bored. Either worked for him. He didn't want to speak to Patton. He didn't know who exactly he wanted to speak to, but it wasn't Patton. He didn't want to be comforted. He didn't want to have to act like he was feeling better only to go back to pressing down his desires and pretending he was okay with total self-sacrifice. Because he wasn't, of course he wasn't, but he conceded that Patton had to be right. Because if he was going against Patton, he was going against Thomas's morals. And if he was going against Thomas's morals, that would make him evil, and he wasn't evil, he couldn't be evil, he couldn't let himself be evil; Remus was evil, his brother, not him, he wasn't like his brother, he wasn't, because he couldn't be, because he wouldn't let himself, because-

Deceit's words were still ringing through his head (he didn't have the willpower to call him Janus). Maybe that was why, for a brief moment, he was so unshakably convinced that he was the villain. Maybe just the memory of the betrayal, the vulnerability on his face made him want to throw up, made him believe, for that brief moment, that maybe he was in the wrong. Like he had been with Virgil.

Just like he had been with Virgil.

So maybe he was the villain. Maybe he had always been the villain. He was an adult, he could accept that. He could accept that no problem, that he was... evil. That he was in the wrong. That maybe the mindscape would be better off without him. Maybe Remus could do a better job after all.

After all, there was only ever meant to be one creativity. He wasn't even supposed to exist. Maybe... maybe if there was only one creativity, everything would be normal again. Thomas would be happy. That's what he wanted, right? He wanted Thomas to be happy? That was what was important. That was the only thing that was important. Not him, not his feelings, not his fragile self-worth, what mattered was Thomas. So he made up his mind.

But if he had to go, he'd go out with a bang.

He considered ducking out. Maybe it would be fitting, considering how he treated Virgil, to leave quietly in the same way he had planned to. But they had gotten Virgil back, and Roman... didn't plan on coming back. And then he looked at himself in the mirror, one of the mirrors that hadn't been shattered, and considered for a moment that the sword in his belt really hadn't gotten enough use. Fine. That was fine. He could fix that.

He unsheathed the weapon with trembling hands, holding it out in front of him with the blade pointed towards his chest. He didn't want to say he was scared, but then, he supposed lying to himself wouldn't do him any good anymore. He didn't bother wiping the tears from his face. It felt freeing just to be able to cry like this, nothing held back, nothing hidden or repressed. He knew Patton would be upset. He'd have to be. It was in his nature. But he'd get over it. He'd move on. He liked to think that Virgil would miss him, miss their back-and-forth, their playful teasing; that mopey emo was dear to him, although he'd never admit it to his face. Logan wouldn't care. Logan's job would be easier, without someone like him getting in the way of Thomas's health - and he supposed the same would apply to Janus. And Remus... well, Remus would be free. Free to do what he wants. Roman supposed he deserved it, after so much time repressed. And Thomas would figure out what to do with him. This was for Thomas's sake, after all.

He stared at the edge of the blade for a brief moment. He could see his reflection, pitiful and tear-stained, as he forced himself to smile. For the good of Thomas. He took a deep breath. His words came out firm, clear, but with an uncertain tremor to them, shaking in what could have been fear, despair, or anger.

"I'm not a hero."

He didn't scream as the blade pushed through his skin. He didn't sob, or yell - nothing that dramatic. He just gasped slightly as the pain choked every noise he may have had out of him. He laughed slightly. Blood seeped out from under his red sash, staining the white fabric as he collapsed limply to the side and closed his eyes.

He woke up to a voice. Well, actually, several voices - all in whispers and hushed tones. He wasn't expecting to wake up at all, so it came as a surprise. But the second he opened his eyes, blinking a little to reduce the misted blur that obscured his vision, the voice of who he could only assume was Logan rang out through the room, right from his side. The only thing that dissuaded him from the assumption that it was Logan speaking was the audible worry in his voice.

"Patton." He heard soft, trembling sobs coming from the other side of the room. He also noticed for the first time that he felt almost calm, and nostalgic, and the pillows underneath him were just soft enough that he felt like he could lie there forever. "He's awake."

There was a moment of silence, swiftly proceeded by the familiar warmth of Patton's arms, wrapped around his whole body tighter than he had ever felt it before, like a mother's final hug to her son before watching him leave his childhood home. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. Logan cleared his throat.

"I appreciate that you're relieved, however, please refrain from doing even more damage to his-"

"Roman, what were you thinking!?" He blinked a few times, just to make sure he was seeing clearly. Why was Deceit so worried? "Oh, yes, what an incredible idea, impaling yourself on your own-"

He winced. Deceit's expression softened.

"Look. I'm... sorry for yelling. But if you think you could have gotten away with that without stressing us all out, well, I don't even know what to say to you."

He opened his mouth to say something, to retort, maybe, or just to apologise, but was stopped in his tracks by Logan.

"Don't speak yet, I'm not sure how much damage you did, and I don't want to aggravate any damaged areas. I'm sure you understand." He nodded, still dumbfounded by the fact that he was alive. Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "I feel obligated to let you know that I agree with Janus. What you did was an awful, irrational act, and I'm not going to lecture you on it, because I feel like you already know, but... Roman, when we found you like that-"

"He cried for three minutes straight. Virgil timed it." Patton smiled, over his own hiccups and relieved sobs. Logan coughed.

"Yes, well, it was a shock. For the record, Virgil cried-"

He was cut off by the sound of Roman being slapped straight to the face. He blinked.

"Where did you even-"

"That's for making me worry about you, bastard." Virgil said, looking Roman directly in the eyes so fiercely that Roman could almost believe he was genuinely mad. Patton opened his mouth as if to object, but decided to just let Virgil say his piece. "You don't just do that! Jesus, Roman, you could have died!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm fairly sure that was the-"

"Shut it, Deceit." He hissed. Deceit shrugged. "I couldn't care less what the point was. You fucked up, princey!"

"Language!"

"Sorry Patt." He smiled sheepishly, before turning back to Roman. "You're lucky the snake got to you when he did."

Roman stared at the odd congregation. He hadn't expected this. He was bad for Thomas, he was a villain, he was so awful to Deceit, they had every reason to let him go, but... Deceit - no - Janus had saved him. God, what was he thinking? He felt his eyes misting up with tears as he watched the rest of the group argue. But argue lovingly, as they always had. He would have missed this.

And as he watched the others leave, on Logan's suggestion, so that Roman could get some well-needed rest, it was Janus who hung back.

"Just so you know? What you did was not selfish. It was self-destructive. Which, arguably, is much, much worse. So don't go blaming me."

He shook his head, smiling weakly. Janus returned the gesture.

"Oh, and just for the record, your brother was here just before you woke up. I told him I wouldn't tell you, but... I daresay he was crying much more than Logan."

He winked, before turning on his heel and walking through the door. Roman smiled to himself once again, leaning his head back on his pillow and closing his eyes.

He would have missed this.

#i come back to this account and the first thing i do is post angst smh #suicide tw #sanders sides #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #sanders side fic #roman sanders #morality sanders #patton sanders #roman angst #angst #sanders sides angst #janus sanders #remus sanders #think that's enough tags idk how to tag things

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Three

Ao3, MasterPost, C.1, C.2

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality

Warnings: swearing, innuendo (thanks Remus), a bit of spiraling thoughts, even more guilt (patton get a grip man),

Word Count: 2,721

Patton stood in the center of Remus’ room, waiting patiently while the being darted this way and that. Maybe he should’ve sat down, but none of the furniture in the room looked domesticated enough. Maybe he should’ve moved out of the way, at the very least, but the edges of the room rolled and moved and Patton did not want to know what made the corners seem so indefinite.

Remus moved in repetitions. First, he would reach into some shelf or jar or receptacle (or, on occasion, stick his hand right through the wall)- retrieving some item large or small- and hold it in his claws. He would then turn it over in his hands, and smell/lick/poke it. Each time he’d deem it not what he was looking for, drop it- never in the same place that he’d gotten it from- and then move on again. Around and around he went in the room, doing the same thing on each cycle.

Patton was starting to get dizzy watching it, honestly.

Remus stopped in front of his closet this time, and leaned in. He rummaged, loudly, but this time there was a shout of “Aha!” that made Patton start in surprise.

“What-!” He cleared his throat, “What did you find?”

Remus jumped to his feet, shimmying his shoulders back and forth. A loud clatter followed each movement, like legos in a barrel. When Patton tried to see what he had, though, he turned his back to him again.

“I found something to do that won’t traumatize you!” He sing-songed, dancing around and keeping up the clamor of his mystery object. Patton laughed, light and surprised, trying again to take a look. Again, Remus danced ridiculously out of the way.

“Well, that’s very considerate of you," he trailed behind the source of the noise, smiling, “Mind telling me what it is?”

“What’s it sound like?” Remus shook the box again. Although- Patton could see now that it wasn’t a box as much as it was a case; a very, very large and heavy-looking case, half the size of Remus’ torso.

“Um- bean bag filling?”

Remus cackled, his head tipping side to side.

“Nope! I’m pretty sure I would’ve eaten it by now!”

“Uh-huh,” Patton couldn’t help giggling to himself, as Remus’ laughter- along with many things about him- was infectious. “Is it a box full of maracas?”

Remus bounced on his heels, shook his head. Patton didn’t waste time guessing again. He knew just what an impatient Creativity looked like, and so he waited the last few moments before Remus couldn’t help turning around on his own and happily displaying the container.

Cradled in the Duke’s arms was the enormous case of clear-plastic, filled to the brim with what Patton could now see were pony beads. The beads came in every color thinkable- plenty of varieties, too. Glitter, metallic, letters, star-shaped, heart-shaped, tooth-shaped, et cetera et cetera! There were also, of course, spools of elastic. And charms, metal or rubber, plenty of those for decorating.

Patton examined this carefully, as a cautious excitement warmed him through his chest. He looked from the case to Remus, finding the side grinning proudly up at him.

“Bracelets?” Patton questioned.

“Bracelets!” Remus answered.

He was caught off-guard by such a wholesome hobby, he couldn’t lie, but Remus showed no signs that any of this was odd at all. As he wandered across his room, kicking heaps of trash and laundry out of the way to make room for them to sit, Patton found himself following his lead without much debate.

“I know you like to make those little thread ones,” Remus sat down on the floor, gesturing loosely to Patton’s arm, “And I make these beady things every now and then, so.”

“But I’ve never seen you wear any?” He sat down across from Remus, folding his legs beneath himself. The carpet was stained with many unpleasant colors- mostly dark red, and an upsetting amount of yellowed-gray. He was careful to avoid those patches.

“I wear ‘em under my sleeves, for when I wanna play with them. Making them gives me something to do with my hands, I guess,” Remus slid his fingers under the ruffled cuff of his sleeve, slipping a bracelet off his wrist. He held it up, displaying its murky green and black beads, the word ‘vomit’ spelled out with square beads in the middle of it.

“Oh!” Patton reached forward in excitement, rolling the plastic between his fingers. It felt smooth, movements fluid, the beads rattling pleasantly against each other. “You use them to stim?”

Something in Remus’ expression lit up like fluorescents, replacing his usual unnerving mania with a flash of genuine excitement.

“I use everything I wear to stim, Daddio,” he gestured first to his frayed sash, then the teeth sewn into his shirt, and onto the layers of glittered fabric. He was covered in flashing colors and textured fabrics and different parts, all apparently intentionally placed.

That spark of similarity was all it took for Patton to forget the vestiges of his awkwardness, as he let go of Remus’ bracelet and yet again laughed.

He helped Remus set up the case, slotting the different sections of it out and setting them down in between themselves. There were so many, and once it was all set, Remus wasted no time in getting to work. The motions he went through were practiced, well-worn with almost nothing other than muscle memory and a vague sense of design.

Just like that, they were both quiet again- Remus because of his focus, Patton because he lacked the words to say. He tried to follow the other side’s lead, snipping a bit of elastic off a thick spool from the center of the case and grabbing a handful of beads, haphazardly.

Opening up his hand to look at the selection, he found a few neon pink ones, reds shaped like anatomically accurate hearts, and an oblong metal charm that bore striking resemblance to a-

Oh!

He tossed that one back, feeling flustered.

They’d both been quiet for too long, he realized. He didn’t know what to say, still, came the dawning fear next. Patton looked up from his work, mouth falling open without any plan, to find that Remus was already staring at him. Intently.

“Hi,” Patton blurted.

“Do you like music?” Remus said it at almost the same time as him, the words chasing each other. In his voice was a trace of awkwardness- not nearly as much as Patton’s, but it was there, and that was… comforting, somehow.

He looked down at his hands, looping a few pink beads down his string.

“What kind?”

Remus hummed confusedly, giving the distinct impression that he’d forgotten music came in different varieties.

“Most kinds!” He began, “But today, I think I’m feeling violent- violent in a cute way, don’t worry,” he smiled, too, like that made sense at all, like he was trying to be persuasive. It was- what, endearing? Or at the very least it was funny.

Patton smiled back, his hands twisting around his string.

“Whatever you want, bud.”

Remus had summoned a speaker already, but as he leaned over to place it he dropped it with a weighty thump. Patton jumped, seeing Remus sitting slack-jawed in surprise across from him. Concern filled his head, but then it clicked.

He’d never called him anything so… friendly.

“Oh- Remus, I-”

“It’s fine!” Remus scrambled to grab the speaker, claws skidding off it more than once. “Call me whatever! I don’t care!”

But his voice was a little too pitchy, and his pupils a bit too dilated, and Patton thought that he did care- that he in fact cared very much.

When music filled the room, painfully loud at first, Patton said nothing. He watched Remus, twisting the volume knob in a very focused manner, and he felt warm.

The sounds weren’t what he was used to, to say the least, but it was almost nice. Everything was a little too noisy, and a little too vulgar, and a lot too foul, but beneath it all he could see the appeal. He listened to it, and it seemed almost like he was learning. Patton scooped up another set of beads- this time with a bit more care- threaded them together contentedly.

It felt like Remus was really trying to be hospitable. He wasn’t doing too bad of a job about it, either- which was more than Patton could say about himself, in years past. A lot more, actually.

Remus’ voice broke through the music: “What are you thinking about?”

Patton blinked, smiling up at his maybe-sort-of-potential friend.

“What do you mean?”

Remus’ face was angled down towards his project, contorted with concentration.

“You’re thinking about something. You make less noise than a day-old corpse when you get caught up in your head.”

“Oh!” Was he really that easy to read? Wait, don’t answer that… “It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, don’t do that. Take it from me- reigning champion in thinking about upsetting shit- talking about it is how you make sure your brain doesn’t devour itself Ouroboros-style.”

And Patton said, quietly:

“Yeah, but your upsetting thoughts don’t upset you.”

“Who said they don’t?” Remus sounded confused- genuinely, sincerely confused. Patton winced, taken aback by his own insensitivity.

“Oh my goodness, it- I had no idea, I’m so sorry.”

Remus’ confusion mounted.

“That’s alright?” He started, “I’m used to it all, I know how to handle it. Which is why, I was going to say, if you keep it all up here-” he tapped his head, a faint rattling resulted in it, “-then all your brains are gonna goosh out from your ears and eyes and nose from the stress! Probably.”

“I-” his voice wobbled, “I know.”

There was a beat.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” it wasn’t a question, but it was soft enough to sound like one. Patton refused to look up anyway, hands pulling taut the elastic of his bracelet. His eyes slipped closed for merely a moment, and he sighed.

“I can’t stop feeling guilty around you… but that’s just my problem, okay?”

Remus’ reaction was unexpected, even for him. He breathed out slow, exhaustion crawling down his face in such a foreign expression for him. His lips were quirked down in a half-scowl.

“I make you uncomfortable, yeah?” He rolled his eyes, gesturing with his free hand. “This was your idea, you know. You can leave anytime you want, I’m sure as fuck not gonna think you’re rude- you think I’m in a place to judge people?”

With a sudden intake of breath, Patton twisted his partially made bracelet around his hand and pulled it taught, startled and fidgeting.

“What-? No! You aren’t the problem, Remus, I am,” he shook his head in bewilderment, “I don’t- I have no idea how to talk to you, but I know that I do want to! Everything you’ve done today makes me want to talk to you more, and I still can’t figure out how, and I- I’m sorry. I can’t get over the- well, the everything, Remus.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Remus looked oddly vacant.

“Do you-” He stopped short.

“I should-” Patton cut off.

This was a bad idea. It was a bad idea and he never should have done this and he never should have accepted Remus’ help in the first place. He wasn’t going to get the hang of this no matter how hard he tried, and now he’d somehow rendered Remus speechless, which clearly meant he’d messed up beyond what he thought possible. Patton hadn’t changed a bit, still so ungrateful and insensitive to this creature, who’d so selflessly helped him and held him and. And.

He felt sick.

“It’s not your fault?” Remus’ words came out like a question. “I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, actually. Or why you’re doing that.”

Patton dropped the last few beads onto place, staring blankly at the untied jewelry in his hands. He counted the beads. Tried to breathe.

“I’m sorry because you think that I don’t like you.”

Remus snorted.

“You don’t like me.”

“Wh- yes, I do!”

“Oh, do you? Or do you like that I did something nice for you, and you think you need to pay it forward.”

Patton ground his teeth, indignant. No, he was confused about a lot of things, but this much he knew wasn’t the reality anymore.

“You know what? Maybe that was true, when I first decided I ‘had’ to do this, but I’ve done a lot of thinking- I can’t stop thinking about you, actually. I had so many ideas about what you were, what you meant, and it’s hard to understand that for thirty years- thirty years- I was wrong,” Patton set his jaw so tight it hurt. “But I’m going to understand it because I can see that you’re- you can be kind. You did a nice thing for me and you didn’t have to. You’re funny, too, I never thought you’d make me laugh, but you-”

Remus interrupted him with a snort. And then, he was cackling, doubled over and wheezing and Patton had no choice but to wait for him to finish.

“Stop, fuck, stop talking,” Remus giggled, “I knew you were a himbo, but wow, dumb. You’re really beating yourself up about this, huh?” Remus had his chin resting on his hand, leaning forwards with half-lidded eyes and a lazy grin. “You don’t have to list all the reasons you should like me. You don’t owe me anything, and I like it that way.”

Patton didn’t respond. Remus continued anyway.

“I let you cry on me cuz you were having a meltdown. That’s just what people do. You’d do it- you’re way more cuddly and lovey-dovey than me, you’d do it for anybody. Anybody would do it for anybody. It doesn’t matter, Pops.”

Patton tied the knot of his bracelet, finally. looped the string over itself thrice and tightened it well. The backs of his eyes stung.

“Is it really so bad that I want to try being friends with you? Is that really so stupid?”

Remus’ expression cleared, the words not yet processed. Slowly, his mouth twisted, his eyes went just a bit wide, all in a look that shouted something like epiphany. He sunk his teeth into his lip.

Remus snapped the bracelet he’d made with his claw, letting the beads scatter across the floor. He dove forward for the case, scooping up a new set, and got to work. He ordered them strategically, fixing them all into a line and moving so quickly that Patton realized he’d only been working so slowly before so that he was matching Patton’s own pace.

He was done in a minute or less, tying it off and slicing off the excess elastic.

“Arm, gimme.”

Patton felt a small rush of surprise, not even hesitating to stick his wrist out and let Remus push the bracelet up past his hand. The touch was gentle, letting the accessory fall into place on his arm.

It was bright and neon- more so than anything Patton would ever wear, usually. The colors were an eyesore, but they were. Well. Teal, white, interspersed with occasional green, and that said more about the jewelry than however saturated it was. There were unique beads dotted throughout, too- teddy bears and hearts. It was cute. It was comfortable.

Patton glanced up, so many things that he thought he should say but none of them came to fruition. Remus’ eyes bored into him with their intensity, questioning and fierce and almost confused.

Patton picked up his own small creation. It was pink and gray and white, all pastel and pretty, with metal charms that were cool to the touch. He nudged it over to Remus, fully aware that it contrasted with the side’s aesthetic even more than Remus’ gift did for him, and that he already had so very many.

But Remus didn’t hesitate either, shoving his sleeve up and adding the new piece to his collection. He grinned.

And, as cheery as he ever sounded, like nothing odd had happened at all, Remus said:

“We should do this again sometime, then. Maybe I’ll even make you something with real hearts!”

Chapter Four

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #intruality #platonic intruality #patton #remus

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thefanficdude · 3 years

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The Winter Months: OCTOBER, Part 1

The wind blew through the barren trees, the only petals left from the previous season struggling to stay on their branches. The ground was no longer grass, but rather a medley of yellow, orange, and red leaves that fell from the looming forest above. The soft yet violent breeze was cold with a familiar change, yet it usually didn’t come this early. He knew this was all but good.

Wilbur walked back to the village, navigating through the masses of bark and stumps that were all too familiar to him. After all, this had been his home for his whole life. While on his way, the wind picked up and he adjusted his coat and hat to conserve heat. Leaves from the ground flew up into the air and created a swirl that could be described as a tornado of fall colours. The leaves wisped past Wilbur with the effortless force of the breeze. He watched them pass, admiring the beauty of the changing seasons while also knowing the winter would not be kind to him and his people. He continued to walk.

Eventually, he got to the town he called home. There were 8 buildings made of sticks, stones and mud, all designed to withstand the four seasons. 7 of the buildings were the houses of the 7 people that occupied this area, but the last building was the Community House, a place where they held meetings, discussed local issues, and planned their strategies for war (They were all generally peaceful people, but when threatened they were some of the best fighters in the land). Wilbur was making his way to the last, which was the biggest of the 8 and located right in the middle of the town. A voice stopped him before he could step through the door.

“Wilbur!” A young boy about 17 years old with golden hair ran towards him with a smile on his face.

“Tommy, right on time!” Wilbur said as Tommy slowed his pace and stopped in front of him. “I was just about to call a meeting. Round everyone up for me and tell them to meet here.” Tommy’s smile was replaced with a more serious tone.

“Is it about winter?” He asked. “We still have quite a while until snow comes. At least 8 weeks if I’ve been counting right.”

“You’ve been counting right,” Wilbur said. “But the leaves have fallen much quicker than normal and the air is getting colder every day, much more than it should.” Wilbur sighed, thinking about his next words. “Just get everybody to come as soon as possible, alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get everyone here in less than 5 minutes” Tommy said dismissively.

“Thank you,” Wilbur stepped inside the Community House as he heard Tommy’s footsteps run through the village.

There wasn’t a single soul Wilbur knew that was more stubborn and determined than Tommy. Sure, these traits often lead Tommy to most, if not all of his problems, but they were also his greatest strengths. When something needed to be done, Tommy was always the first one on the case, despite being the youngest out of everyone. Wilbur admired that about him. He wished he was like that when he was Tommy’s age.

Wilbur looked around the Community House, taking in everything about it; the nostalgic smell of the wood and charcoal, the mural painting that went all the way around the four walls, the chilled air inside, the-

Wilbur suddenly realized how cold it was inside. He looked at the fire pit in the center of it all with frustration. It would have to be lit sooner this year, maybe even tonight. Of all the seasons, winter was the one Wilbur hated the most because of how impossible living conditions were, let alone the sheer vulnerability and complete inability to fight. Being the leader of these people, he had to reassure everyone that everything was going to be ok, but in reality he was always on edge during the snowy months.

Wilbur looked up from the fire pit to the door, where the first resident silently stood in the frame.

“Will,” The resident stepped through the door, struggling to get his giant wings through the average-sized frame. “Tommy knocked on my door saying you were calling a meeting. If this is another prank of his, it’ll be the third time this month.” Wilbur chuckled.

“Keeping track, eh Phil?” Wilbur sat at the head of the Community House, right before the fire pit and directly across from the door. He gestured for Phil to sit. He did, tightly yet effortlessly folding his black wings behind him.

“Oh yeah, been keeping track since he was 10.” Phil said. “He’s always been a trickster, but at some point I decided to start keeping count. It’s been keeping me busy.” Wilbur nodded with a smile. It was true.

Philza was the wisest person Wilbur knew, and that wasn’t just bias because Phil was his father. Out of everyone Wilbur had ever met (and he met a lot of people), Phil was the one that taught him the most, from how to hunt and skin a deer, to how to flirt with the ladies. Regrettably, he was teaching all this wisdom and advice to Tommy since Wilbur had heard everything he had to say.

“What’s the meeting for this time?” Phil asked after a moment of silence. Wilbur snapped back to reality and realized he had been zoning out. He looked at Phil.

“I want to give all the details once everyone is here,” Wilbur said. “But it’s about the coming winter.” Phil nodded in understanding.

“Ah,” He said. And that was all. Phil was probably the only one who understood the stress Wilbur was under, for he was the leader of this town before Wilbur was. Usually a position of power is given to someone else when the current leader passes away, but Phil didn’t want to wait until his deathbed to teach Wilbur how to properly and successfully lead an army and protect his people. Instead, he retired from his position to teach Wilbur everything he knew. Many people, including himself and Wilbur, would agree that he did a good job raising a pretty awesome kid and leader.

“Tommy said there was a town meeting,” A young woman with pink hair came through the door and sat herself down on one of the benches.

“Yes, I told him to round everyone up for me,” Wilbur said. “I’m glad you could join us, Niki. I hope I didn’t disturb your baking.”

“No, you didn’t disturb me at all,” Niki said. “I actually just pulled a batch of muffins out of the oven. I put them by the window to cool right as Tommy knocked on my door.”

“Ah, perfect! Make sure to ration some of those for winter.” Wilbur said.

“Winter?” Niki asked. “Isn’t that still two months away?”

“...Well-”

“What flavour are the muffins?” Phil asked. Wilbur silently sighed and looked at Phil in thanks. He always somehow knew the right time to insert himself into the conversation.

“Blueberry. They were the last I had of what we picked this year. Any longer and they would’ve gone bad.”

“Good,” Phil said. “With winter coming into our sights soon, it's good to conserve food as much as possible. Those blueberries will last a little longer in those muffins.” Niki nodded.

“You’ll have to split one with me after the meeting.” Wilbur said, smiling at Niki.

“Of course!” Niki replied. “I’ll make sure to set aside the best one for you.”

Niki was the sweetest and kindest person Wilbur knew. You’ll never meet a more caring soul. She spent most of her time baking and making food for the whole village. It was mostly her work to make rations for winter. If it wasn’t for Niki, everyone would’ve died of hunger during the first snow.

“And you remembered to put out the fire in the oven this time, right?” Phil leaned his elbows on his knees and adjusted his wings. Niki gave a nervous laugh.

“Yes, yes!” Niki buried her face into her hands in embarrassment. “How could I forget after nearly burning down the whole village?”

“Hey, I already said don’t worry about that,” Wilbur said. “It was an honest mistake. And as the saying goes, ‘we learn from our mistakes’.”

“Yes, I recall you saying the exact same thing on that day.” Niki moved her hands down and rested her chin on them. The three of them laughed as they looked back on that day, which then was nearly a disaster, but now was just a funny story.

“Hey guys!” Another man entered the building. His hair was brown and curly, and he wore a navy blue dress that went all the way down to his ankles. Over the dress was a grey, light-weight jacket.

“Eret!” Wilbur greeted.

Eret was the plant-keeper. She didn’t want the title of a farmer because it sounded like he did more work than he actually did. So, his title was made the plant-keeper. During summer, he grew plants that grew various kinds of food, and that was when the plants most flourished. But during winter however, Eret had to do everything he could to make sure they were at the very least still alive for the next summer. It was a miracle if one or two of the plants could make a single serving of food during the snow.

“Welcome to the group! Stylish as always I see.” Niki said. Eret looked down at the dress he was wearing and gave a quick spin. The dress's thick fabric flew into the air effortlessly.

“Ah, ya know. I gotta present myself nicely to the plants.” Eret said, taking a seat beside Niki.

“Speaking of the plants, how’s the greenhouse going?” Wilbur asked. Eret copied Phil and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Very well, actually! Just a few more weeks with fall temperatures and we’ll be all set for winter.” Wilburs expression dropped. He cleared his throat.

“Has Tubbo been helping you?” He asked.

“Yes,” Eret replied. “He’s been a great help, especially with his ability. It’s made things move along much faster.”

“Good.” Wilbur said, folding his hands on his lap. “Once Tubbo gets here, I’ll discuss it further. He’s the only one left besides-”

Tommy burst through the door arguing with a boy who looked about the same age as him.

“What the fuck were you doing Tubbo!?” Tommy yelled.

“I was trying to get into his house! Meanwhile you were trying to burn his house down!” Tubbo yelled back.

“Yes because all he does is sleep all day and Wilbur told me to get everyone!”

“You were going to kill him Tommy!”

“Hey!” Wilbur stood up and everybody looked up at him. Tommy and Tubbo stopped fighting and stood still. “First of all, stop arguing with each other! Especially in the Community House! This is not a place to be joking around, do I make myself clear?” Tommy and Tubbo nodded, but Tommy was more hesitant. “Good. Second of all, Tubbo, explain what happened.”

“I was trying to-” Tommy began, but Wilbur put a hand up to stop him.

“I didn’t ask you.” Wilbur said calmly. “I asked Tubbo.” Tommy looked at the ground with the same energy as a 2 year old about to have a temper tantrum. Wilbur looked at Tubbo.

“Well,” Tubbo started. “Tommy knocked on my door saying a meeting was happening and that he was put in charge to tell everyone about it. I asked if there was anyone else he needed to visit and he said George. So I offered to come with him, just because.” Wilbur nodded. “We got to George's house, Tommy knocked, but nobody answered the door. A few more knocks, still no response, and Tommy started getting... impatient.”

“I was not-!” Tommy tried defending himself but Wilbur gave him a stern look that made him stop talking again. He looked back at Tubbo.

“So I proposed we could calmly go inside to see if he was ok, but Tommy interpreted that as ‘use my ability to cause the most amount of damage I can get away with’. I stopped him before he could do anything.” Of course he did, Wilbur thought with a sigh.

“Thank you for controlling him, Tubbo,” Wilbur said, sitting himself down again. “You two can have a seat.” Tubbo sat beside Phil, and Tommy sat beside Tubbo. Tommy was angrily mumbling to himself. “And Tommy, could you do me another favour,” Wilbur said. Tommy looked up, still pissed. “Would you mind lighting up the fire pit?” Tommy looked confused.

“What do you mean? It’s still October. We don’t light the pit until late November.”

“I said what I said. Light it, and I’ll explain.” Tommy rolled his eyes but did as he was told. With a flick of his wrist, sparks and flame emerged from his hand and engulfed the few pieces of wood and charcoal that remained from last year's winter. It wasn’t much, but there was enough fire there to heat up the building to a good room temperature. Wilbur cleared his throat.

“As you all know, it usually doesn’t snow until December. Late November at the earliest…” Wilbur looked around the room and could already see people's faces change as they realized what was happening. It wasn’t as hard as telling someone the news that someone they know has passed away, but it was still hard because it meant telling your loved ones that just simply surviving will be a lot harder this year. Wilbur continued speaking.

“And, as always, I’ve been taking weekly trips into the deep forest to examine the natural changes of the environment. This time around however…” Wilbur looked to Phil for support. Phil simply took a deep breath and gestured Wilbur to keep talking. Wilbur did exactly that. After a deep breath, he continued.

“It seems like the snow will be coming a lot sooner than other years.” Everyone had different reactions, but they all had one thing in common: worry. Everyone started either talking to themselves or the person beside them. And, as per the duty of any good leader, he needed to reassure them that everything was going to be ok, despite all the odds.

“But, I’ve already created some plans of what we can do to make sure this winter is just as good as the ones before.” Everyone looked up with intrigued and hopeful expressions. “However, it requires everybody's effort and ability.” Everyone nodded in agreement, and Wilbur was now hopeful himself.

“Firstly, Tubbo and Eret, the people on greenhouse duty.” Tubbo and Eret straightened and paid close attention. “Eret, you said with a few more weeks, the plants will be strong enough to withstand winter. However, I don’t think we have weeks. I predict we’ll have snow in the next 5 days.” Eret and Tubbo looked at each other with a common thought. How are we gonna pull this off?

“Tubbo, your ability is Earth, meaning you are especially knowledgeable about different types of dirt, fertilizers, and more. With the little time we have left, I’m requesting you find something that will make the plants grow faster to be prepared by next week.”

“Yes sir.” Tubbo replied.

“Eret, with your ability of light manipulation, I need you to store as much light as possible, more than what you normally prepare. With winter starting earlier, we should expect it to last longer too.”

“Of course.” Eret replied.

“Phil, if it starts snowing before the plants are ready, it’s your job to use your air ability for as long as you can to keep snow away from the greenhouse. And if it’s also possible, see if you can keep a piece of the sky cloud free so we don’t have to use up the stored light source right away.”

“Can do.” Phil replied, stretching his wings back.

“Niki and Tommy, I need you to scavenge for as much scrap food as possible. If you can find more ingredients for your baking Niki, even better. As I said before, we should expect this winter to last longer, so we need to prepare more.”

“Got it.” Niki replied.

“I have a question,” Tommy said. “By food scraps, do you mean like… dead rats and birds?” Wilbur sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes. But it will only be a last resort if we run out of our main rations.”

“Ugh, alright.” Tommy groaned. “Niki and I will be on the lookout for dead shit.”

“Fantastic.” Wilbur clapped his hands together and looked around the room. “Does everybody have a job?” Everybody collectively nodded, but Niki raised her hand.

“What about George?” She asked. “He isn’t here, so what’s his job?”

“Don’t worry about George.” Wilbur said. “Once dismissed, Phil and I will stop by his house.” Wilbur looked at Phil and he nodded. “Any other questions?” The room fell silent. “Alright, that’s that! Meeting dismissed.” Everyone stood up from their seats and started making their way to the door. Tubbo and Eret went to each other to discuss their job, as did Niki and Tommy. Wilbur and Phil were left alone in the Community House together.

“What do you have in mind for George?” Phil asked. Wilbur sighed as he got up from the bench.

“Well, because George doesn’t have an ability like the rest of us, his job will be a little easier, but just as important. He’ll be in charge of making sure the pathways and trails in the town and forest are clean before the snow comes. And when the snow does come, I’ll have him help shovel the snow off the roads.” Wilbur made his way to the door and turned to wait for Phil, who was only getting up now.

“Makes sense,” Phil said. “But why do you need me?” Wilbur and Phil started walking through the town.

“You’re aware of what my ability is, right?” Wilbur asked.

“Of course, mind reading. It was a big problem when you were younger, you know. I could never keep a secret.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Wilbur laughed. “But I’ve been noticing George has been missing more and more meetings due to his ‘sleep schedule’.”

“And you think it's not just that?”

“Yes.”

“But what else could he possibly be doing?”

“I never like to assume. I need more proof first.” Wilbur and Phil stopped in front of a house with red accents. One could say it looked like a mushroom house, a little home for fairies.

Wilbur knocked on the door with enough force that if anybody was sleeping, they definitely would have woken up.

“George!” Wilbur yelled. “Wake up! I got a job for you!” No response. Phil came up to the door.

“George!” Phil knocked harder than Wilbur did. Still no response.

“We need to go in.” Wilbur said. He turned the door handle, but it stopped with a sudden halt. “It’s locked.”

“Here, let me try.” Phil stepped in front of the door and took a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, his foot was floating in an open doorway. Phil calmly walked in. Wilbur stood outside in confusion for a moment, but stepped in soon after.

“George!” Wilbur called again. The main area of the house, which was the kitchen and living area, was empty. The only other place in the house was his bedroom. Wilbur slowly opened the door.

George’s bedroom was actually quite nice. A small, quaint room with shelves filled with antiques and found treasures and a bed with a red and white dotted blanket. The blanket was not flat though. There was something under it.

“George!” Wilbur went into the room and came beside the bed. Phil came through the door and watched. “George! How heavy of a sleeper are you, man?” Wilbur stripped the blankets off the bed. It wasn’t George under the sheets. It was a pile of pillows made to look like a human.

Wilbur looked at Phil.

They both knew.

~~~

George’s cloak caught on the barren branches as he ran blindly through the thick forest. He was used to having a trail to guide him, or a map at the very least, but not this time. The place he wanted to go was only marked as no-man's-land on all the maps he’d seen. He was headed in the general direction, but he didn’t have a specific route to follow. So blindly he ran, his cloak being wrecked and snagged by the trees around him.

Unlike the others, George didn’t have a power, or an ability as they called it. He was just a normal guy, and all he wanted was a life of luxury and peace. George always felt he was belittled and not taken seriously enough when living in Wilburs town. He was seen as the weak one. The useless one. The burden that others were forced to carry on their shoulders. So he went to the only other place he knew. To the people Wilbur constantly worried about. Wilbur was going to worry about George now, but not in the way of pity. For the first time in his life, George understood what power felt like.

It didn’t last long.

George stopped in his tracks when he heard a rustle in the bush beside him.

“Hello?” George said, creeping towards the bush. “Who’s there?” An arrow burst through the leaves, stopping only mere inches away from George’s throat. The person holding the bow emerged from the shrubbery, not taking his eyes off George.

“State your business.” The man with the bow said. George was still in shock from the life-or-death situation he found himself in, he was unable to speak. “Now!” He said. “Before I shoot this right into your throat!”

“Ok, ok!” George put his hands up for the man to see. “I’ve come to visit your leader. I have no weapons or ill intentions. I just want to talk.” The man slightly lowered his bow and looked at George’s face more carefully.

“...George?” Unfortunately, George was pretty oblivious most of the time.

“...yes?” He responded. A smile came across the man's face and he dropped his bow to give George a hug.

“George!” The man pulled away. “It’s me! Fundy!”

“Fundy?” George hadn’t seen Fundy since he was a small child. Wilbur would put George in charge of babysitting him when everyone else was busy. But now that he heard the name, George saw it: the fox-obsessed boy that could talk to animals. “Fundy! Oh my god! How are you?”

“Ah, well, surviving like everyone else.” Fundy said, picking up his bow again. “How about you?”

“About the same, I guess.” George said. “But I’m trying to look for a better place where I can live my life.” Fundy became skeptical.

“Did Wilbur send you? Is this some sort of way for him to get information on us?”

“No,” George replied. “Nobody knows I’m here, but nobody would care if I was gone either. That’s why I want to talk to your leader.” Fundy thought about it for a moment.

“You would have to be checked for weapons.” Fundy said.

“That’s fine.”

“You would have to be escorted by as many guards as they see fit.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Fundy walked George through the forest until they got to a town, but it was nothing like Wilbur’s. There were many more buildings, all of them bigger than the ones back home. They were made of concrete bricks instead of sticks and stones. It was better than George could’ve ever imagined.

A resident saw George and Fundy and ran towards them.

“Fundy,” He said. “What’s going on?”

“He’s requested to see the leader.” Fundy gestured to George. “I already checked for weapons.”

“And?”

“None, Technoblade. George said he just wanted to talk with him and nothing more.” Technoblade thought for a moment and then called for some more people. He looked back at George and Fundy.

“You may take… George, you said?” Fundy nodded. “You may take George to see him with two other guards. If anything goes wrong, it’ll go on your record.” Two other men came up beside George while Fundy took the front.

“Yes sir.” Fundy said, leading George to what looked like their version of the Community House.

It was a large building, possibly bigger than all of Wilbur’s buildings combined. It looked old and tested by nature, but it still held strong. Fundy, George, and the two other guards went in.

Large fire-lit torches hung on the walls inside the giant building, and in the center was a table that took up most of the building. Strewn on it were maps, weapons, and small bottles of god-knows-what. George didn’t dare ask what it was.

At the head of this table was the man George was looking for. He stood hunched over a piece of paper on the table with a quill in hand. Even without doing anything, his presence was the scariest thing George had ever witnessed.

“Sir,” Fundy stepped forward. “There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.” The man at the table looked up and straightened to get a better look. Suddenly what looked like a 4 foot tall dwarf was a 6 foot tall warrior. George’s throat tightened.

“Is that so?” With the quill still in his hand, he walked over to George. “What’s your name?”

“G-George.” He stammered out. The man with the quill raised a brow as he stopped in front of George, just inches away from him.

“You’re from the other side of the forest, right?” He stroked the underside of George’s chin with the soft feather which made George instinctively look up at him. “That’s a long way, especially for a one-man army.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t come to fight. I have no weapons, I…” George swallowed as the man leaned in closer. “I’d like to offer my services to you.” George said.

“I want to join you, Dream.”

#dreamsmp #dsmp #dreamsmpfanfic #dream smp fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #action

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mintchocolateleaves · 4 years

Text

Cost of Freedom (42/52)

Summary: In which Heiji confronts a tail, and Saguru refuses to leave the precinct without the full case notes in his possession.

A/N: 2020 has been a year you guys. I’m not even going to try to explain everything that’s added to this taking forever. Just, it’s here now. Cool. It’s 4am. I’m going to sleep.

[Chapter List]

Someone is following him.

Nervousness fills him as he moves, because someone is following him and trying to figure out which of the three are his suspect is difficult. Either paranoia is filling him up, swelling in his stomach like a sickness – something he’ll feel stupid about later – or they’ve slipped up somehow and revealed themselves.

Except, Heiji isn’t so sure what’s been done to five themselves away. If it’s anything then… it must be the website, right?

They’d clicked into it and set off some sort of… alert?

Heiji shudders. What kind of organisation are they working with, if even looking on a website can tip them off?

Moving forwards, Heiji turns, cuts a corner nearer to his house. If it were a normal day, he’d head left and down the road to his own house. Instead, he turns right.

As he turns, he takes a moment to glance over his shoulder to the three still following behind him. The pair of teenagers follow behind too. The businessman, however, keeps walking straight.

Heiji shudders.

He watches from the corner of his eye as the businessman keeps moving, walking straight, swinging his briefcase until the wall between them obscures all vision of him.

“Oh, fuck me…” Heiji mutters under his breath. His heart feels like it’s going to burst from his chest. And he’s still got two more following him to worry about. He wonders if this is how Kudo has felt the entire time, since he’d been free but not, how he feels knowing that everyone he walks past could be after him,

If this is the way his paranoia feels, Heiji wonders how Kudo can even sleep at all. He feels faintly, like he’ll never sleep again. He turns right, into another side street that’s more obscured from view, brows furrowing as he walks.

Perhaps he’s setting himself up as he starts heading to this route, but it’s the only way to know for certain, if he’s being followed. The side street leads to a dead end – unless they know, like Heiji does, that there’s a small hole in one of the neighbourhood fences.

An unknown detail, Heiji knows, unless you’ve spent the entirety of your childhood looking for lost pets and learning the neighbourhood down to even the smallest rock.

They follow. Heiji tenses.

His gaze sweeps around for something that could be used to protect himself. Something long, something that could resemble a bokken. He’s trained for years at kendo, so even if something happens here, he can at least try to protect himself.

He untenses himself from panicked into a different sort of tension. Readying himself on adrenaline for a fight. There are some old construction materials here, a plank of wood that he heads towards. Covertly, of course, so as not to raise suspicion–

“Hattori.”

Heiji jumps, pivoting as he does to look at the two girls. And oh, for fucks sake. The voice is familiar…

“Are th’ two of ya completely insane?” He hisses to the disguised selves of Kuroba and Nakamori Aoko. “Ya don’t jus’ sneak up on a guy like tha’.”

It’s difficult to consider what exactly they’re supposed to do next.

Ran follows after Saguru, waits for him to quit moving as they leave the department behind. That was a bust, she supposes, but they’ll find another way around things. They just need to figure out a… way to do that.

“We need the case files,” Saguru says, when they’re outside of the offices, leading Ran into a small alcove, pausing as he glances up and down the corridor. “We’re not going to be able to find Kudo-kun without them.”

Pressing her lips together, Ran glances away. She’s not sure how they’re supposed to get them if they’ve been taken off the case, if they don’t have the access to them anymore. There’s no way, it seems almost as if it’s… out of their hands now. They’ll just have to use the information they’ve got on hand to figure things out.

“They won’t give them to us.” Ran says. “You know that.”

Saguru pauses, nods. Taking a moment to think, he’s entirely quiet, until:

“We need to take them.”

“We can’t!” Ran is uncertain if it’s fear, or nervousness that leads to her moving forward, tugging on his sleeve so he’s properly looking at her. There’s a… there should be a limit, shouldn’t there? “Inspector Nakamori already said–”

“The inspector is still reeling from his daughter choosing KID over him,” Saguru says. His brows furrow, a frown flashing across his features. “Which… should have been expected, honestly. Even as KID, Kuroba showed her more attention.”

He pauses, glances away again for the moment.

“They’re…” Saguru sighs. “They’re both in danger. Kudo-kun’s case… they’re a part of it now too. More of my friends are in danger, and I… We need those files because we need to find them, to give them the evidence we found.”

Ran falters, feels her shoulders drop.

“I don’t want them to get hurt anymore than they already have,” Saguru continues. “If we can help them by breaking a few rules, then shouldn’t we?”

“It shouldn’t work like that,” Ran says, although she knows like each other time he’s made a point like this, she’ll cave.

“But it does,” Saguru says. “Come on, all I need is an open terminal.”

Ran sighs. And then, she nods her head. “I think there was one just around the corner.”

“Let’s go then.” Saguru says, leading the way. Ran follows behind him. “Something tells me we don’t have much time.”

Kazuha arrives to the shrine with a feeling of trepidation curdling in her stomach, acid rising up her throat. She shouldn’t have left Heiji, she should have stayed, but he’s always been stubborn and she understands why he told her to go. She just…

Sometimes she wishes she’d never gotten involved. That she’d been smarter before all this, when Heiji had started going on his weekend trips from Osaka to catch on that they were to visit Shinichi. Then, maybe she wouldn’t need to be so worried about Heiji.

She can’t change it thought, can’t go back and so instead, she hides her motorbike among overgrown plant life, focuses on sweeping away as much evidence of her being here as possible.

Shinichi doesn’t come out to see if it’s her, and Kazuha wouldn’t expect him too. Instead, she focuses on getting this done as quickly as she can while still being efficient, before heading up towards the shrine.

It always makes her sad to think about how this place was vibrant once. Without weeds and ivy growing up along the side of the building, nettles interweaving the wooden staircase up into the building, almost as if trying to devour the place.

People used to pray here, but she doesn’t know for what. She wonders if they should start praying for safety. She closes her eyes at the door and prays, in particular, for the omamori she’d gifted Heiji with when they were children, to keep him safe.

If he needs that.

She really hopes he doesn’t.

Her prayer finished, she steps inside, and goes in search for Shinichi. He’s not in the reception area, but she finds him further inside, in on of the side rooms they’d set up for a sleeping area.

“Shinichi-kun?”

She can’t keep the alarm from her voice. Shinichi sits, his knees up to his chest, nose pressed against the fabric of his jeans, hands brought up into his hair. His breath comes in sharp inhales, and she can see from the way that he’s shaking, that it’s panic.

Kazuha steps inside.

“I’m comin’ in,” Kazuha says, as she comes closer. She gets a small noise, affirming, but not much else. Not that she’d expect more from him, not that she’d want to hear gasping words. “I’m gonna sit next to ya, okay?”

A staggered nod – Kazuha takes it as permission, and sits, her back pressed against the wall, own arms holding her legs as she takes a moment to consider the best way to help.

Panic attacks aren’t a stranger to her, haven’t been since she was a child. Hands gripped around the edges of her blankets, around teddy bears and Heiji, her knuckles going white from the tightness of it all.

All it had taken was her father getting injured in a confrontation with a suspect at work, and she’d been terrified for him each day when he’d gone to work. The way it had felt difficult to breathe…

“Breathe in with me Shinichi,” she says, keeping her voice low, trying to make her words softer, less of the usual harshness in her accent. “I’m gonna count from five and you breathe in, okay?”

Shinichi nods.

Kazuha counts – this is the point where she usually shuts her eyes, but she can’t. She keeps her gaze on Shinichi, monitoring, trying to make sure he’s okay. Instead, she soothes herself by counting things designed to soothe herself.

“Five.”

Kazuha is safe, somewhere that’s unknown.

“Four.”

Shinichi is also safe, even if his body is flooding with adrenaline, his breathing staggered and harsh.

“Three.”

They’re in a shrine that has almost become one with nature, on the brink of society and it feels like no one will ever find them here, like even if they let their guards down accidentally, it’d be alright.

“Two.”

Heiji is saf–

“One.”

Heiji is…

Now she does close her eyes. Focuses on counting and keeps to it. She doesn’t want to think anymore, lest she join in with her own panic.

It must work, because eventually, Shinichi’s breathing becomes less uneven, deeper. She can feel when he stops shaking, the way he slumps back slightly against the wall – not relaxed, but better.

“…It was her.” Shinichi says. “Vermouth.”

Kazuha frowns, trying to piece things together. Shinichi hasn’t mentioned Vermouth before, not until yesterday, when he’d claimed she was Sharon Vineyard. She doesn’t see where she fits into things.

“Vermouth,” Shinichi continues, breath hitching. “She killed those people. I… spoke to her in Kyoto.”

Kazuha’s blood turns to slush, a mixture between horrified ice, and overwhelmingly hot rage, anger on Shinichi’s behalf. To be stood in front of… to have to talk to the person responsible for everything he’d been blamed for…

“She…”

“We’d met before.” His voice settles, miserable. “…Three times before. Although… now I know who she is… we’ve probably met more often than that…”

“An’ she killed those people?” Kazuha asks, words soft.

“…Yes.” Shinichi says. “Because of me.”

“It’s not your fault–”

“It is,” Shinichi says. He turns to look at her now, miserable, like the world is weighing him down. He is Atlas, and Vermouth is the person who has placed the weight of the world down onto his shoulders. When he reaches his hand up to his neck, scratching, Kazuha leans forward and slowly takes his hand. “She did it for me.”

“Did ya ask her to?”

“Of course not.” His tone is vehement, horrified. “I would never–”

“Then it wasn’t for you,” Kazuha says, gently. “That’s just an excuse. She’s th’ guilty one, not you.”

“She did it,” Shinichi says, shuddering, “so that the organisation would frame me, instead of killing me. I would’ve never… She’d have faked my death.”

“That’s still not your fault,” Kazuha says. At his weak expression, she leans forward, hand on his shoulder. “It isn’t.”

“It feels like it is,” Shinichi whispers. “If I’d backed off when she told me too…”

“Then more people would have died,” Kazuha says, firmly. “You just wouldn’t have known about it.”

Shinichi sighs. He lifts his hands up to his neck, before pausing. “Where’s Hattori?”

Saguru finds an abandoned computer terminal and Ran is instructed to keep watch.

“Just act like we’re meant to be here,” he says. “I’ve been down here often enough to be recognised – they won’t second guess us.”

Ran bites her lip.

She doesn’t ask why this department is different to theft, why they won’t kick them out. Instead, she trusts that Saguru isn’t too tired, too injured to know what he’s doing. Even if it feels like they’re painting large targets on their backs, she trusts him.

He kept her safe, and she’ll do the same for him. She makes the promise to herself. As her brain blocks out the generic noise of the precinct, her ears focusing on the way Saguru’s fingers clack at the keyboard, she promises that she won’t let anyone else get hurt for her sake again.

The silence is almost overbearing as her promise settles on her shoulders.

“We’re going to need everything,” Saguru mutters under his breath, and Ran is pretty sure that it’s not an invitation for them to converse but simply a reminder to himself to be thorough.

Ran sighs.

“We don’t need everything,” she says, regardless of whether it was intended for her or not. “I’ve got some evidence at home for Shinichi’s case–”

“I’m going to get everything, just in case,” Saguru says, cutting her off. His voice is firm. “Or there might be things that they didn’t necessarily give you. Like the video interviews, the transcripts. Everything regarding what happened with Kuroba and Aoko-san yesterday.”

Another sigh.

“How long do you think this will take?” Ran asks, quietly.

“Hopefully,” Saguru says, fingertips faltering at the computer, forehead crinkling into a frown. “…It doesn’t extend into time that we don’t have.”

“Alright,” Ran says, quietly. She doesn’t mention how that’s not an answer. “And we’re what… we can’t be printing all this off, can we?”

“I’ve got a USB stick; I’m going to copy them over.” Saguru says. “The only issue is trying to make it so the system won’t flag the fact I’m copying all of these files over.”

Ran pauses.

“I don’t think I want to ask how you know how to do all of this,” she says, after a moment.

“Understandable,” Saguru says.

Ran pulls her attention away from him, surveying the room instead. They’ve found an area outside of theft, so as to avoid Inspector Nakamori’s attention, but it’s still busy.

There’s an influx of people moving in and out of the department. Some carrying case folders, others carrying mugs of coffee. Most monitors have the bright white LEDs of a case report being written up, although from this distance, it’s impossible to read the writing on the screen.

She glances out around the room instead, mouth open partly, as she fiddles with her hands. Mostly, there’s just an influx of police officers she’s never met before. And then–

Short, bobbed hair.

And a butterfly tattoo.

Ran frowns. She doesn’t know why she feels unsettled, but a coldness runs down her spine as she glances back to Saguru.

“Which department is this again?” She asks quietly.

“Organised crime,” Saguru says offhandedly. He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering up to her. “Why?”

“I think our case might be being investigated in her too,” Ran says quietly. “The waitress from yesterday, I think she’d have been called in as a witness, right?”

Saguru pauses.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s not good.”

“We need to go before she notices us,” Ran says.

“Else they’ll link…” He trails off, body going tense. “Alright this might not be… the full files but it’s enough. Give me one more minute.”

Ran wants to refuse him.

A minute, she wants to say, feels like a lifetime when placed under pressure. It feels like an eternity stretched out into a large expanse of nothingness where an impending disaster is right on the horizon but all you can do is stand and watch as it moves in slow motion.

Ran wants to refuse him, to say they don’t have a minute. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she watches as Saguru pulls out a USB stick and inserts it into the computer, loading it up and mass copying over files. She keeps an eye on the waitress across the room, trying to remain subtle.

“Almost–” The computer works quickly enough, but for a moment, as her gaze flickers back to the screen, it seems as if the process will remain at 78% completion.

Ran glances back to the waitress and waits, her lips pressed together in a firm line.

“Done,” Saguru says. “Let’s go.”

He yanks the USB from the drive, before logging off from the computer. Then, he pushes his chair out, lips pressed in a tight line.

“Let’s go,” Saguru says, as he pushes up, letting out a small hiss as he does. His pain relief must be wearing off.

Ran lets her attention remain on the waitress for one last second – she doesn’t seem to have noticed her, is messaging on her phone – before focusing on the door.

“Let’s never do anything like this again,” Ran says weakly.

Saguru lets out a small laugh.

“For the record,” Kuroba says as he focuses on Heiji, his voice pitched high in a melodic lilt, feminine and very much keeping up the disguise. “Walking straight up to you somewhere crowded would have been much more suspicious.”

Nakamori nods beside him but remains quiet.

Heiji understands it, but his heart rate isn’t getting the memo. The paranoia they’ve instilled in him has adrenaline rushing through his blood, has him waiting for the moment something bad occurs.

It doesn’t. Heiji stays stood where he is, his fight-or-flight sense betraying him as two more associates on the run stand calmly in front of him.

They must be insane. Heiji officially rules that they’re not sane. The pair of them are completely and utterly insane and it’s only moderately terrifying.

“I get tha’,” Heiji says after a moment, “but still.”

“He does have a point,” Nakamori says, nodding her head. “It doesn’t help with all the paranoia. Especially on a case like Kudo-kun’s.”

Heiji’s gaze flickers from Kuroba to Nakamori before settling back on the thief. His nervousness shifts into something hot, something boiling in his blood as a flood of anger rushes through him.

“You told her about the case?” He hisses.

“She broke me out of hospital,” Kuroba says with a shrug. “Including police custody. I think Aoko deserves to know about the case.”

“It’s dangerous!” Heiji protests.

“I’ve gathered that,” Nakamori says, dryly. “Since I was almost killed by a sniper.”

Heiji glances between them both. The anger fizzles out slightly as he considers. “They were aiming at you and not KID?”

Nakamori shakes her head. “I doubt it was that.”

“I gave Aoko my gas mask during the heist,” Kaito says. “I needed her help with my escape plan – they must have been shooting for the mask. We reckon it’d have been easier to shoot at a mask through all the tear gas.”

“All things we can explain fully,” Nakamori says, crossing her arms, “in a group. We’d like you to take us to Kudo-kun, please.”

Heiji looks between them both, before offering a small sigh. “…I don’t have a spare bike, if ya can get one that you can follow me on withou’ drawing attention to you, then I guess so.”

“I’m very good at acquiring things without a trace,” Kuroba says, a brightness to his tone. Beside him, Nakamori rolls her eyes, shaking her head, exasperated.

“Give us a few hours,” Nakamori says, more calmly. She levels Heiji with an even look, determined, unwavering. “We’ll find something.”

Heiji’s brows furrow slightly, before he nods. “Take the Hanshin expressway out of the city – route 13. Down th’ Daini Keihan road there’s a turnin’ that leads to Katano, takes about half an hour – there’s a small dirt path off the track, I’ll meet ya there and we’ll head out after tha’.”

“It’s almost four now…” Nakamori says, quietly, frowning.

“Eight p.m.,” Kuroba says. “We’ll be there for eight. Allow us half an hour past that and if we’re not there by then, we’ll contact you if we can.”

Well… that sounds ominous.

Still, Heiji nods. “…Alrigh’, I’ll let them know.”

The phone call interrupts them both, saving Kazuha from answering with whatever half-hearted, scrambled excuse she could think up. She’s glad, really for two reasons.

The first, obviously, because of the relief that floods through her seeing Heiji’s caller I.D. pop up on her phone screen, the image of him frowning down at her when they’d been studying together for their midterms before, telling her to get off her phone.

The second reason being that she doesn’t need to come up with a lie. Kazuha’s not bad at mistruths – not when the situation depends on it, at least – but lying to an ex-detective, to anyone with the skills to read people down to the faintest verbal tic?

Yeah, Kazuha doesn’t fancy her chances.

“One moment,” Kazuha says, as she presses answer. Shinichi raises an eyebrow at her, but otherwise remains quiet.

Kazuha waits.

“We were bein’ followed,” Heiji says by way of greeting, “but not by anyone tha’ wants to kill us or anythin’.”

“You do realise,” Kazuha says after a moment, “that this isn’t comforting if you don’t offer me more information, right? You do know that?”

“Ahou,” Heiji hisses, before continuing, “of course I know tha’. You just didn’t let me finish. Let Kudo know Kuroba and his girlfriend are here, and he’ll see them soon.”

Kazuha pauses for a moment, processing. “What time will you get here?”

“About nine,” Heiji says. “We’ll have to leave ‘em to get caught up, we can’t stay tha’ long.”

Kazuha nods to herself. “Okay, I’ll see if I can scrounge up some extra blankets for ‘em.”

“Later,” Heiji says, as he hangs up.

Shinichi’s watching her quietly as she puts her phone away, contemplating. The tension in his shoulders has eased slightly, the ram-rod straightness of his spine easing in, not quite a slouch but something more natural, comfier.

“They broke out of the hospital and headed straight to Hattori,” he says.

“Seems like it.”

There’s a moment where Shinichi simply breathes, relaxed, before the previous tensions returns tenfold, his brows furrowing.

“What if they were followed?” He asks. “They came straight here, they’re linking Hattori–”

“We’re…” Kazuha can’t deny that it’s something worrying to consider, but she shakes her head. “They wouldn’t risk something like that. They’re on the run too.”

It seems she’s said the right thing, like Shinichi simply needed to be reminded, because he settles again without any further issue, offering a short nod.

“…Right,” Shinichi says, quietly, voice mostly a whisper. “Right. You’re right.”

Kazuha pushes up from the floor. “They won’t be here for a couple hours, so are you gonna help me search for some blankets, or what?”

#yes you know what this means - shits about to go down #DCMK #Kuroba Kaito #Kudo Shinichi #Hattori Heiji #Toyama Kazuha #Mouri Ran #Nakamori Aoko #Hakuba Saguru #KaiAo #Detective Conan #Fic: Cost of Freedom #mywriting

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