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haihaihaitani · 8 months

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1:04 AM ~ *Taiju Shiba*

Summary: You’ve made the 10th generation leader of the Black Dragons soft. Now you must pay the price. But you’re not scared.

Pairing: Taiju Shiba X Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst Drabble

Word Count: 530

Warning: mentions murder, bad swearing, blood, hurt to comfort, no one dies but it comes close.

Masterlist

A/N: I just want to try something.

The switchblade pressed against your throat was cold to the touch. You were completely frozen due to the cold steel against your jugular. However, you were as calm as could be. You weren’t worried as the person holding the blade pressed a little harder.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Taiju was pissed but he only showed it on his face. His posture was relaxed, his arms folded over his broad chest. You kept your eyes trained on his closed eyes.

Everything was okay.

“This bitch has made you soft. I’m just removing an obstacle.”

“No, you’re touching something that’s mine.” He snapped. “You draw a single drop of blood and I’ll bury you six feet under.”

See? Everything was fine.

“We could be great! Legends even! And yet you let this whore get in our way! She has to go!”

“She’s not going anywhere.” Taiju’s voice was deadly calm but razor sharp. “Now let her go.”

“I WON’T!” He pressed harder. A drop of blood dripped down your throat. Your breath hitched.

Taiju’s face turned murderous. “Hakkai.”

The blade jerked across your throat.

It then slashed down your clavicle before being pulled away from you entirely. Your knees gave out and you crumpled to the floor. Instantly, Taiju was by your side. You barely heard the gunshot behind you. Your hands pressed to your throat, assessing the damage.

You were pulled into Taiju’s strong arms and you realized you’ve never seen him so worried in his entire life. Tears were even welling in his eyes. But you were shaking too much from the adrenaline rush to hold his face and reassure him.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay! You have to be okay!”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was hoarse. “I’m fine, Taiju. It was a superficial cut across the throat. It didn’t hit anything. The one across my clavicle will need stitches though. He still didn’t hit anything. I’m just going into shock.”

He shook his head. “God, I hate how you know so much about this shit. Hakkai! Get the car! We have to get to the hospital!”

Hakkai’s footsteps fade away and you try to touch Taiju’s face. He grabbed your hand softly and placed it back over your wound. “Don’t. Don’t move. You need to be okay.”

“I will. Just keep me awake. Kiss me like a princess if you have to.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

“You’re stupid for not stopping him before.”

“He would have killed you!”

“No, he wouldn’t have. You would’ve stopped him.” You stared deep into his eyes as you said, “I know you, Tai. You would have stopped him from hurting me. And you did. You saved me.”

Taiju shook his head. “No, you still got hurt. You’re going into shock. You could still-”

“I’m not.” You snapped. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you until we go to the hospital. So just keep holding me tight and don’t let me go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hakkai popped up behind his brother’s shoulder and the two of them helped you to the hospital. You went under anesthesia and woke up in a quiet room, Taiju staring out the window. When he saw you were awake, he squeezed your hand and told you you were going to be fine.

“And now I’ll have cool scars.” You smiled, squeezing his hand back. “Also, I’ll look like Frakenstein for a while. Isn’t that cool, Tai?”

He glared at you. “Shut the hell up. You’re in the hospital and it’s all my fault.”

“You shut up. We’ve been over this. Everything turned out okay. We just need to be more careful in the future, that’s all.”

He sighed and dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed against your clasped hands. “I hate you. I should leave you and never see you for the rest of my life. You are the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you whispered, “But you love me too much. And I love you too. We’ll figure this out. We’re going to be okay.”

“You’re going to be okay. I’m never seeing you again.”

Chuckling, you shook your head. “You would never.”

He didn’t say anything. The two of you stayed like that until you fell asleep. He walked out of your hospital room and didn’t come back.

But you know Taiju. When you were ready to be discharged, he’d be right there by your side.

Because he would never leave you behind.

#Tokyo Revengers #Tokyo Revengers Fanfiction #Tokyo Revengers Drabble #Anime #Anime Fanfiction #Anime Drabble #Black Dragons #Taiju Shiba #Taiju Shiba X Reader #Taiju Shiba Fanfiction #Taiju Shiba Drabble #Taiju Shiba Angst #Taiju #Taiju X Reader #Taiju Fanfiction #Taiju Drabble #Taiju Angst #Drabble #Angst

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reality-liver-n0 · 7 months

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This is going to be my worst post to date (in my opinion)

But after the anguish and turmoil that has hit Balalaika fans after her appearence in the latest chapter like her lack of muscle/strength that we know she unleashed on Rock, the fading of her scars, and other things I decided to investigate myself to see how much she changed.

The majority of these pictures are from the anime. Sad, I know, and hopefully once I find the direct panel from the manga that mirrors it I will edit or add more to this post.

I will start this by saying that Anime Balalaika is an absolute fucking unit. Like reviewing the pictures I realized that she's built like a very beautiful Russian tank and that is really the best description here.

Do you see what I mean? It's most likely the coat but still, it has to touch her shoulders to even drape.

Although, it depends on the scene as she can be like this too

Her shoulders are less defined and aren't quite as cut as the top ones but her muscle is there at least.

Above is the Virgin Rock as physical comparision

She's obviously fucking built way beyond his physique and she knows it. She corners him in or crosses her arms while his remain at his side as he tries to be unaffected. And honestly, kudos to him. He stood pretty strong in this scene and I think he knew he had to do that to even try and talk on her level.

I mean we've seen what happens when he doesn't. Disclaimers ahead, Rock is in for a rough ride. I on the other hand, laughed my ass off when I took these screenshots.

Also, here is what I personally think went through Balalaika's head in each scene and the progression of it.

% Anger Level - Annoyance

Jesus Christ, he's on this bullshit again. Sounds like one of those family dogs I keep having to put down.

% Anger Level - Frustrated

Maybe if I make it clear I'm pissed right now he'll have some sense left in him. If he says one more word I am going to make him the hood ornament for the car.

% Anger Level - Hostility

Just looking at this cigarerette is giving me an idea. I could just throw him like I could with this. Sooner or later he'll be stepped on; fire dying out.

% Anger Level - Rage

I'm certain his face will never change in his casket

With one strike I could gouge his eyes out. Maybe then he'll see justice.

You've sealed your fate Rock. Now you'll suffer the death of a true hero.

(Woohoo! 🎉You passed the slideshow and now I'll do my commetary. Here's a Boris photo as a reward.)

This is the face he wanted to make right when Rock started talking.

Anyway, I must have forgotten just how Balalaika threw Rock since I took those screenshots. I knew that she did it but somehow forgot that she did it with one arm. Or at least how much power she put into flinging him like a ragdoll. LIke she fucking lifted him in the air with one hand and with a single move had him on the hood in split seconds.

Here's a funny picture I caught mid-shot as well

His feet aren't touching the ground. He's fully straight as if he didn't have have a second to take it in, meanwhile his hands are just open and it's like he forgot he was even alive. No doubt, he had a vision that when Balalaika even reached for him that she just punted him to the afterlife.

Meanwhile, I cannot imagine the raw terror Revy must have felt seeing this happen.

She is scared as hell here. Keep in mind that this entire exchange she can't see Balalaika's face or Rock's. Both their backs are to her until Balalaika throws Rock. Still, I doubt that she really could've seen him past Balalaika's frame. Meanwhile, she's probabaly just processing that Balalaika's strong enough to do what she just did. Most likely she already knew she has a lot of physical power, I mean look at her, but this is the first time she's seen it and it happened to the worst person possible.

I can fully say that Balalaika is a fucking beast in hand-to-hand combat with the body to match it. And this is only focusing on her throwing Rock! She already snapped a neck by this point. Rock saw that and again, he does have some courage or maybe stupidity to even do this since he saw that with his own eyes.

Revy hasn't. And I don't think Rock told her, at least not until he knew they were back in Roanapur and safe. He was still traumatized by it too so chances are he is suffering some recurring nightmare of it. To top it off, this event alone was so visceral in his mind that he draws a direct comparaision to Chang, symbolizing how truly helpess he was.

With all that out of the way here isthe recent manga depiction of Balalaika

(no comment needed)

Here are the earlier depictions of her in the previous chapters. All the thanks to @crystallinee-waters and @progmanx for the posts concerning the chapters and the usual girlboss stuff 💅

Love you two for that

In conclusion the only explanation for this is that Chang used his CIA connnections (Eda) to tamper with the latest chapter to make himself look cooler. And I guess he had enough mercy to include Rock in that upgrade too, for whatever reason.

Hero of the chapter was definitely Le Majeur

Homegirl got sacraficed by Balalaika to the gays

Which will probabaly be another cursed post sometime in the future with the Holy Trinity (Balalaika, Revy and Le Majeur)

✊ They're staying strong and holding down the series' reperesentation of the ABC Mafia

(😔 not canonically tho only Le Majeur has officially come out, or got outed by her comrade. But then Revy saved her ass and definitely did not hear anything and now does not knows what Le Majeur really is.)

A homosexual 🌈

Okay. I think I'm finally done with this, and I went off the rails by the end but this post now exists so I will return to my secluded hole 🕳️

(Forgot to add buff Revy too, so here she is)

She can be both happy and mad but she's still jacked af (and silently judging you at all times because of your gayness)

#black lagoon #revy #balalaika #rock black lagoon #le majeur #Sign the petition to bring back B's muscles #Interact with this post to show your support of this worthy cause #Long ass cursed shit-post #Revy hates everyone equally #Including gays which includes herself #Obviously #analysis

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iwahajii · 2 years

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• scars fade (Chapter 6)

Iwaizumi’s sins cost him the one thing he didn’t want to fuck up. Yet he still did.

Oikawa can count on one hand the actual times he punched Iwaizumi in the face. This was one of them. And it wasn’t just once that he did.

This is the story of how Iwaizumi fucked up so bad Oikawa had no choice but to step in and save the day. And whether it’ll be a happy ending or not, it’s all up to you.

warning: contains cheating, explicit language, mature themes

taglist: @jcrml @on-crows-wings

then • now • next

When Oikawa heard that Iwaizumi's voicemails started getting through again, he was beyond pissed, not only because his ear probably sustained irreparable damage because of Iwa's screaming, but also because he can't contact you on his own at the moment without incurring huge financial loss. He was in Rio for heaven's sake!

Still, it was a loss he could forego, no matter how much he needed to pay nor how he would probably get ignored anyway. It was something he'd still do, regardless of the consequences.

So he did.

Sent a text with lots of emojis he knew you'd definitely call obnoxious, to make his money worth.

He left it at that, didn't wait for five minutes for a reply that he knew would never come. Instead, he went on his day, focusing on practice, polishing his serves and setting brighter than the sun. They were on a break when he found his phone blinking because of a notification. He picked it up, expecting some Twitter or Instagram notification. What he saw made his heart literally stop before jolting back to life in an abnormal speed. In a haste similar to a toddler opening his Christmas gift from Santa, Oikawa messed up twice on his PIN before he was able to unlock it.

Then he laughed, then screamed, then laughed again, jumping all over the place, in glee, happiness, excitement and relief all bundled tight in his long limbs. His coach and teammates, bless their patience and tolerance, only shook their heads at his display of wild craziness.

He replied before dialling Iwaizumi's number, fees be damned.

"Iwa-chan!" He gushed at the first click of the phone. "Oh my god! You won't believe this- oh my god!"

"Trashykawa, what the hell? It's-it's two am!" Iwaizumi grumbled.

Oikawa stomped his foot, but he was still smiling like an idiot. As though Iwaizumi could see him. "Iwa-chan! Yuki replied to my text! Just now, she replied!"

A loud thud and a groan before Iwaizumi was shouting in Oikawa's ear. Questions pouring out of his mouth like bursting fountain, but Oikawa was laughing again, hard enough he fell to the floor gasping.

"Did-did you-" Oikawa couldn't force the words out in between his laughter. "Iwa-chan, did you-"

Oikawa snorted, laughter taking over his whole body until he was crying happy tears. Iwaizumi, realizing his actions, and hearing Oikawa switch between snorting and laughing, felt himself loosen up before he himself was also snorting and laughing on his bedroom floor, a thousand miles away from the person he was laughing with.

Two beeps rang in their ears before it was silence, and they both stared incredulously at their phones before cracking up, two grown men, on separate floors, laughing their hearts out.

A few minutes later, Oikawa was settling down, lying on the floor unmoving, staring at your words on his screen. Then, the device was ringing, Iwaizumi calling via FaceTime.

"You hang up on me," was Iwa's accusation and greeting, all grumpy and hoarse.

"No, I didn't! My spending limit was reached," Oikawa explained calmly.

A beat and then Iwaizumi was laughing on the other side. "So you spent how many million yen to call and laugh?"

Oikawa felt himself go red in embarassment. Indignant, he replied, "I was happy Yuki replied!"

Calming himself down, Iwaizumi muttered, "alright, alright" before clearing his throat. Then, in a more firm voice, "What did she say?"

"Like I'd tell you after you just laughed at my financial misery," Oikawa grumbled.

He heard Iwaizumi sigh. "Oikawa, just tell me. I'd even pay half of the bill if you do."

"You will?" Oikawa asked, bright and chirpy real quick.

"Hmm," Iwaizumi hummed. "Depends on what Yuki said."

Oikawa groaned, rolling his eyes. "You guys are so mean to me."

"You make it so easy, Oikawa."

Oikawa imitated Iwaizumi's line in a petulant way, throwing the two of them in a fit again. They quickly sobered up, and Oikawa took a deep breath before reciting your reply.

"Stop the emojis. They're obnoxious. And stop texting me. You're in another side of the world for ducks sake, Tooru," he finished. "Do you think she misspelled the f-word or it was on purpose?"

"Definitely on purpose," Iwaizumi answered without pause.

Oikawa shrugged, actions justified now that Iwa could see. "Well, it was worth asking," he mumbled.

They were both quiet, before Iwaizumi was groaning loudly over the phone.

"God, Oikawa, I miss her so bad."

"I know, Iwa-chan," Oikawa soothed. "I'm a god, after all."

Iwaizumi snorted. "Definitely obnoxious."

Oikawa cried in protest. "I am not obnoxious! I'm just awesome and you're all envious!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say."

They were both quiet before Oikawa was sighing, sadness bubbling up at how badly he misses you. "That's so like her, though..."

Iwa nodded, smiling a little. "It is."

"We'll get her back, right?"

They stared at each other, two men sharing in the same agony from your absence. Oikawa's eyes burned with hope beneath the sadness. Iwa's burned with determination beneath the regrets.

Then, at the same time, they both said, "We will."

And then, they laughed.

Because what else were they supposed to do with their misery when they're miles away without you?

The loud, high-pitched cry of 'Iwa-chaaaaan!' rang in the large expanse of the arrival area of the airport. Iwaizumi thanked all his stars he decided to wear a face mask and a cap when he went out to pick up Oikawa. As suspicious as he may have looked, he didn't care. At the very least, the only thing the people staring at Oikawa's grand entrance will remember was the name 'Iwa-chan' and nothing else.

"Shut up, Trashykawa," he greeted.

Oikawa shamelessly hooked his arm with Iwaizumi's, giggling like a fifteen year old, as he waved goodbye to his laughing teammates. Iwa wanted to bash his head on the nearest wall, or maybe throw Oikawa back to wherever part of South America he came from.

"I know you missed me, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa said haughtily. "After all, I'm the only one who willingly hangs out with you with less judgement."

Iwa sighed, his annoyance replaced with guilt, because Oikawa's words were true. But he didn't need a verbal reminder of his poor, for some, even strained, relationship with his family and friends after what he's done. One look in the mirror was enough for that.

"I'm sure Makki will come around soon," Oikawa rushed, sensing Iwa's immediate withdrawal.

He shook his head, smirking. "We both know he'd rather bury me six feet underground for what I did. Matsukawa will probably help."

Oikawa turned to him with a dark glint in his eyes, a blatant contrast to the smile plastered on his lips.

"You too, of course."

The only reply he got was Oikawa's boisterous laughter, before he bounded off to Iwaizumi's car, leaving his suitcase for Iwaizumi to lug around.

'You cleaned up well' was Oikawa's first comment as he looked around the apartment.

Iwaizumi scratched the back of his head, shrugging. "I have time."

Oikawa only nodded, Iwaizumi noting the raised eyebrow but kept quiet. Iwaizumi watched as he proceeded to the refrigerator, probably to get a drink as he kept on whining in the car how thirsty he was. A loud gasp escaped his mouth, probably at the sight of the contents of the fridge, or maybe its lack of contents. Iwa just shrugged, taking a bottle of Pocari for himself, downing half of it.

"Are you even eating?" Oikawa asked, anger and pain evident in his voice.

Iwaizumi pursed his lips, keeping his mouth shut. He watched Oikawa snatch a bottled water, before slamming the refrigerator shut. The appliance shook at the force of it, but Iwa remained mum.

Oikawa sighed, shaking his head as he stared at Iwaizumi long and hard. "Don't think we don't notice your drastic weight loss, Iwa-chan..."

"I just don't have the appetite, Oikawa."

Oikawa's eyes flared. "Oh yeah? Well, sorry to bust your ass but the starving look don't fit your image."

Iwaizumi snorted but stopped as Oikawa glared daggers at him. They stared at each other, Iwaizumi trying to stop the laughter pouring out of him because of Oikawa's words, while Oikawa was still staring daggers. Oikawa's lips lifted to the side, his composure cracking. Iwa burst out laughing, Oikawa joining a second later.

When Oikawa sobered up, he faced Iwaizumi, his lips set in a tight line. "But seriously, Iwa-chan. Please don't make me worry about you too. I'm stressed enough as it is with Yuki!"

Iwa sighed, nodding at Oikawa's words. "Mom also said the same," he muttered.

"It’s not that difficult to see, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said solemnly. Shaking his head, he steered away from the topic. “Does Yuki contact them?" he wondered, immediately picking up that Iwa meant your mom, not his birth mother.

"At least, that's what I think. I couldn't really ask since…" Iwa replied, his whole body slumping in defeat.

Oikawa simply nodded in understanding. "That aside, any idea where she is?"

Iwa shook his head. "I already went around the places we used to hang out to," Iwa replied. "Even went back to Miyagi for a week and tried searching with Mattsun, but she wasn't there. Nobody has seen or heard from her."

"Well," Oikawa said, sitting down exaggeratedly on the couch and patted the seat beside him for Iwa. "It's time to use my secret weapon!" Oikawa exclaimed before whipping out his phone, grinning wide.

Iwa, for all its worth, felt alive once again, as though Oikawa's words injected all the hope in the world in his bloodstream. It was a risk he dared to take every day for eight months now and for all the days he has yet to live, dedicated in leaving a voice mail once a day, praying to all the gods that one day, you'd reply. At first, they were all sorrys and begging and telling you how badly he fucked up. And then, when his voicemails resumed getting through, he decided to tell you about his day, the neighbor and his loud metal rock, the plants you had in the balcony, the renovation on the park you liked hanging out to.

His luck seemed to run out since there was still none from you.

With Oikawa, maybe, just maybe, you'd answer. You already did. Once. Knowing how much you adore Oikawa (he was your favorite, after all, no matter how much you lie), Iwaizumi hoped that little extra affection you had for him gave him much higher chances of you responding.

"Let's hope she doesn't ignore me, alright?" Oikawa mumbled, looking pale and hesitant despite his initial bravado.

Iwa could only nod, palms shaky and sweaty with anxious hopefulness. He started praying to all the gods he knew in every religion he was familiar with, because maybe, one of them would take pity on him and make you answer Oikawa's call.

On the first try, Oikawa's fingers were shaky enough to press the wrong number, accidentally calling his own mother. You were registered as My Wife on his contacts, much to Iwaizumi's chagrin.

"Beggars can't be choosers, Iwa-chan!"

Oikawa listened with absolutely zero interest while his mom took a good fifteen minutes of talking his son's ear off about not coming straight home from the airport. At Iwaizumi's kind interruption, his mother changed mood so quickly Oikawa had to roll his eyes, because despite Iwa's recent misgivings, he was still Oikawa's mother's favorite. Oikawa's only consolation was that his mom made Iwa sit in seiza every time he was in her presence, because 'he had to realize his mistakes' (which was good because his mother always drops by unannounced to Iwa's apartment, at Oikawa's request mostly, to check on him).

On the second try, Oikawa succeeded in pressing the right number, but it went to voicemail after ringing. They both sighed, one with impatience, one with despair.

On the third try, they both jumped at the click after the fifth ring, and then a child's voice rang out the apartment from Oikawa's phone.

"Hello?"

Oikawa screamed. Iwa froze.

Oikawa was the first to recover. Quickly, he snatched the phone off the table, grasping it in his hands, staring at it like it came from aliens.

Iwaizumi remained frozen in his seat. It felt like every fiber of his being stopped, except for the loud beating of his heart which he can hear loud and clear.

A thud and a loud static. Then, it was your voice coming from the speakers.

Oikawa screamed. Iwa stopped breathing.

"Oh fuck!" The curse loudly bounced off the walls. "Ren!"

And then a beep.

then • now • next

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa torū #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu angst #angst #this has got to be the longest chapter ever #you are gonna hate me for the suspense and cliffhangers

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geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek · 3 years

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It takes Jaskier three days to find out Geralt is his soulmate.

After the whole thing with the elves, he follows the witcher to the next town, ostensibly to debut his musical genius, but also because—well. He just finds Geralt of Rivia to be the most interesting person he's ever met. Jaskier is drawn, first and foremost, to interesting people with stories to tell, and Geralt, as he'd said that first day, is just full of stories waiting to be told.

He sings Toss A Coin to much warmer reception than he's gotten yet in backwater towns like this, and Geralt comes back from a contract for some creature bleeding out his intestines and looking like he'd rolled in every single mud puddle on the way back.

"Did you go out of your way to jump in every puddle you saw?" he asks, face screwed up in disgust as he helps the witcher up the stairs to the room he'd rented with his new earnings. "If you were thinking to clean the blood off, you didn't do a very good job."

Geralt just grunts, slumped against him and breathing through his nose in a way that seems very concentrated. His eyes are very black, like pitch, and there are veins spidering their way over his cheeks. He's also much, much paler than Jaskier has seen so far, and for a brief moment, he wonders if he's going to watch one of very few witchers left in the world perish on the spot from some poison or other.

That would certainly cock up his plans to give the sod an image makeover, and he says as much as he watches, with concerned bemusement, as Geralt struggles to get his armor off to check on his wounds.

"Do you ever shut up?" Geralt finally asks, squinting at him. He yanks a vambrace off and tosses it aside, teeth gritting as it pulls at his wound. It's too dark in the room with all of the witcher's black clothes to see just how much blood there is, even with all the candlelight.

Jaskier huffs in offense and puts his hands on his hips. "I wouldn't have to if you weren't so silent all the time. Honestly, it's like you don't know how a conversation works."

"I don't want to have a conversation with you."

"Tough shit," Jaskier says, and finally steps forward to help. "Gods, maybe you should just climb into the bath like this. Might soften up the coagulating blood in your shirt to let you take it off. Here, c'mon. You're disgusting, and I might have to throw up from the smell alone."

Geralt gives him another look but doesn't argue when Jaskier helps him up and over to the bath. The water is only lukewarm now, but it's clean, and that seems to do it for a nasty, gross, blood-covered witcher.

He splashes in with little other fanfare, and then Jaskier jumps away as Geralt makes a strange motion with his hand and the water starts to steam. He stares in awe as the witcher settles in with a content sigh.

"How did—what was that?" he asks, curiosity brimming. "How did you do that? Witcher magic, obviously, but what was that?"

Geralt opens one pitch black eye to look at him. The spidery veins are starting to recede, barely. "Witcher magic," he deadpans, and Jaskier makes a face at him. There's the smallest, tiniest curve of his mouth, though—the bastard is smiling.

"Ha ha," Jaskier shoots back, sitting beside the tub. He dangles his hand in to feel the water now pleasantly, muscle-relaxingly hot. "Keep your secrets, then. I'll get them out of you one day."

"Will you, now," Geralt teases—teases! Melitele, the man has a sense of humor.

Jaskier just sniffs primly and stands up again, moving to grab some of his soaps and oils. "I will indeed, witcher. Now—which one of these do you like best?"

Geralt grumbles and scrunches his nose at all but two of the soaps (the unscented ones, he should have known), complaining how they're too much for his senses right now, heightened as they are with the potion he'd taken earlier—also the reason for his current black-eyed state. Jaskier is fascinated by that, of course, and immediately starts asking him about the contract, how it went, what he'd fought, what other potions he has in his arsenal.

He just—he wants to know. Geralt is intriguing and fascinating and interesting and there's just something about him that draws Jaskier in and makes him want to know everything.

To his surprise, the witcher, while brief about it, does indulge him and give him a bit of a retelling of the fight as Jaskier helps him out of his shirt finally and washes his hair, combing out the gore and tangles. He gets a bit more about the mechanics of making witcher potions and what ingredients go into them, and a bit on the habits of the creatures—drowners, it turns out—and how they compare to other beasties he faces.

Jaskier files away the thought that Geralt prefers talking about the gentle, everyday things in his life over the blood and death and fighting. He wants to keep that for himself, he thinks.

He's so caught up in this quiet revelation that he doesn't realize he's let his hands fall to strong shoulders, fingertips brushing delicately, feather-light over scarred skin, until he notices a bright spot of color from the corner of his eye. He looks down reflexively and feels himself still, sucking in a sharp, startled breath.

Geralt with his witcher senses notices immediately, body tensing up under his touch. "What."

Jaskier, rare as it is in his life, can't seem to find his words. He watches, gobsmacked, as a trail of soft light blue follows the places he touches the witcher. It shimmers as he moves his fingers, like the tail of a star shooting across the sky, almost glowing, and he's mesmerized.

It's not the having of a soulmate that's rare—most people do, in fact, and many times even multiple ones—compatibility is always in flux, after all—it's the Color Touch that most people never get to experience. One in every one hundred thousand people will be lucky enough to find the person—or persons—that will show their Color Touch.

It's the presence of a bond so immediately strong that it manifests to the naked eye.

"What is it," Geralt repeats, tone sharp. "What the fuck are you—"

He sits up in the bath, as if to move away from Jaskier, but Jaskier keeps him in place, sliding his fingers down to his forearm where Geralt can see the trail of color left in his touch's wake. He feels the witcher still, eyes—no longer pitch black, now back to their normal, beautiful gold color, the spidery veins gone—boring into the places Jaskier's fingers leave spots of blue as he dances them up and down his pale skin.

"Impossible," Geralt breathes, but it sounds more like he's talking to himself.

He reaches out and grasps Jaskier's wrist, stilling his movements, and when Jaskier gently pulls out of his hold they watch as the burnished gold color he leaves behind shimmers for a few heartbeats before fading away again slowly.

"Impossible," Geralt repeats, just as soft, and finally, Jaskier finds his voice again. He laughs, breathless and excited.

"Oh, my dear, I don't think 'impossible' is a word that's familiar with you," he says.

He smiles when Geralt turns wide, wary eyes on him, full of a hidden, repressed hope, reaching out and trailing his fingers over the witcher's jaw, once again mesmerized by the blue of his own Color Touch. "I knew from the moment I saw you there was something special about you, Geralt of Rivia, and I wanted in on it."

Geralt swallows thickly at that, throat bobbing as Jaskier's fingers caress over it. He looks away, clenching his jaw. "I'm not a fan of Destiny," he grits out. Jaskier feels him lean into his touch, though, almost instinctively.

"Can't say I am, either," Jaskier agrees. "Doing what I'm told has never been one of my strong suits. I prefer making it up as I go, and to hell with the rest."

It gets a snort of laughter out of the witcher, the tense lines of his body relaxing back into the warm bathwater. They'll be alright, he thinks.

Jaskier can't help but lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, though, just to see if that leaves a Color Touch, too.

It does.

#the witcher #geraskier #fics.#time for my monthly reappearance on this hellsite #just to post this single fic and fuck right back off lksdjf #anyway have some soff soulmate fluff <3

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thatweeboverthereisthirsty · 3 years

Text

Can I call you mine?

A commission from the lovely @carlottastudios who I absolutely adore after only having a few conversations with. These were jealousy scenarios with a bit of spice! I went over my word limit on Jamil’s but that’s just cause I love him so much! Please enjoy! And commissions are open still! This one cost $3

Warnings: slight spice, fem!reader, jealousy, protectiveness, possessive behavior, light light LIGHT angst, marking kink (is that a thing? oh well. Basically a love bite that displays their claim.)

“In the jungle, the botanical jungle, a lion sleeps all the time~!” you sang out teasingly. Leona huffed and his tail thumped against the ground once in irritation. Giggling, you slid closer and poked said tail, which retracted swiftly, prickling in annoyance.

“Scram herbivore.” Leona’s tone was mildly annoyed but had no bite to it. Truthfully he hoped you would inch just a bit closer so he could grab you and hold you hostage as his pillow.

You hummed and stood, much to his displeasure, and grabbed your school stuff. Quietly you packed everything away and threw out your lunch trash before returning to Leona’s spot one more time.

“I have class now, Leona. I’ll see you later, kay?” he grunted in agreement and watched you walk away, nose twitching as he inhaled your fresh scent one last time before it began to fade. The down side of the botanical garden was that any smell other than flowers was quickly dispersed by the sickeningly sweet perfume of nectar.

The lion sighed and stared up at one such flower with distaste. How dare they try to outdo his beloved? He would never appreciate their scent more than hers. He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous thoughts and fell back asleep. He hummed as he did so, mimicking the tune you had sang to him. He missed you already.

----------

5:48 P.M. You were 18 minutes late. 18 minutes had passed since you were supposed to be in Leona’s bed, curled up next to him, petting his ears, and doting on him like the king he was. 18 minutes where Leona gradually became more worried, as well.

It wasn’t like you to be late. Especially not late to a night with him. It set his instincts off and he was on high alert, tensed, ready to pounce on anything that dared touch his mate. Finally when the clock turned 5:20 he sprang out of bed and strode down the hall with power that sent the message “don’t mess with me”.

In the Savanaclaw lounge you were seated next to the decorative pool, chatting amidly with a fellow student. Leona glared and growled when he spotted you, far too close to the other man for his liking. He watched in anger, as the student slid even closer to you so that your hips touched briefly.

Rage flashed in Leona’s eyes and his expression darkened into something dangerous. He stalked over behind you and the student, who seemingly didn’t notice his presence and hastily picked you up before throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!” you cried out and he snarled at you. “Quiet, herbivore!” Recognizing your boyfriend's voice you stilled and relaxed a bit. At least it wasn’t some stranger.

He mentally gave you points for fighting back when you didn’t know who it was. “That’s right, only I get to touch you.”

Looking down at the student who had been sitting with you, he noticed your homework was on his lap and realized he had just been helping you. He growled and turned walking away, a bit upset that he didn’t have a good reason to turn them to dust. Not that he needed one, but he couldn’t imagine upsetting you by harming one of your classmates, no matter how much he wanted to.

Soon he reached his room and threw you on the bed. You landed with a gasp and looked up at him in confusion and slight annoyance. “Leona! What was that-MPH!”

He silenced you quickly by shoving you down on the bed and sliding his tongue into your mouth. Immediately your body relaxed underneath him and he smirked when you brought your hands up to weave into his hair.

Only he got to touch you like this. Only he got to kiss you. Only he got to say that you were his. His and his alone!

You panted when he pulled back and started to ask why but he kissed you again so you couldn’t. “Jealous. Protective. Possessive. Mine” He said between kisses and soon trailed them along your jaw and down to your neck.

A breathy moan slipped from your lips as he sucked on the sensitive skin near your collar. He kissed up until he was right over the junction between your neck and shoulders. Then he bit down hard, drawing a loud cry from you.

The taste of your blood only just barely appeared before he pulled back and began to kiss the wound. He knew that licking it would irritate it further due to his cat-like tongue, but he still attempted to soothe it as much as possible.

Finally he pulled back completely and gazed down at you with a smirk. Several different bruises and love bites littered your neck, shoulders, and collar. Only one had been deep enough to break the skin. It would scar he was sure and the thought of you always wearing a symbol of his claim made him purr.

He stopped though when he realized he could have hurt you. “I’m sorry. Princess, I didn’t mean to get so upset, it’s just instincts.” he sighed.

You smiled at him and pulled him down for another kiss. “Don’t worry. I find it super sexy when you get possessive.” His eyes widened in surprise and he took in your mild blush. “Hmmm…” he purred with a smirk. “Well in that case you don’t mind if I mark you up a bit more… and while I’m at it you can use that pretty voice of yours to remind the whole dorm that you’re mine and mine alone!”

Jamil gritted his teeth and turned away from the lounge. He made his way to the kitchen and immediately began to prepare more horderves. Kalim’s party was going wonderfully, of course all due to his hard work. Although he supposed he appreciated a week's notice and Kalim did help magically with some of the decorations.

He was still stressed, but not quite as much as he could have been, had Kalim not given him a warning. In fact he was looking forward to actually trying to enjoy one of Kalim’s parties for the first time since he was born.

It was a very nice party and since everything was going smoothly, Jamil found time to sit down and sip some juice. Alcohol wasn’t allowed on school premises but grape juice mimicked the taste nicely depending on what brand you bought. Kalim was partial to the sweeter stuff, while Jamil preferred it to be more sour.

However, he found that the sour taste in his mouth wasn’t from the juice at all when he spotted you dancing joyously with some other student. His smile fell into a frown and he watched angrily as the student pulled you close and said something that made you laugh.

You had a beautiful laugh, it was the kind that made everyone in the room sigh in content when they heard it. Jamil fell in love with it almost as hard as he had fallen in love with you. Especially because you rarely laughed for anyone but him.

To hear you generously sharing that sound with some nobody sent flashes of anger through him. He clenched his fists and dug his nails into his palms a bit. Just remembering it made him pissed.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jamil got to work cutting up some more vegetables at a fast speed that would intimidate anyone who tried to approach him. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone so he glared darkly at the food in front of him in an attempt to send off silent go away signals.

Kalim, who entered the room to find Jamil after seeing him storm off, caught sight of the frustrated man and paused to observe his body language. Ever since Jamil’s overblot, Kalim had been trying to read his friend's emotions better. Luckily he caught on quickly and left the room.

Jamil sighed in relief and set the knife down. Why the hell would you wanna hang out with anyone but him! You were his and his alone! The only thing he had claim over, or ownership of. Mentally he berated himself for thinking that way. You weren’t an object, you were a person and you should be allowed to do whatever you want. He would be a hypocrite if he tried to restrict your choices and behaviors.

“Jamil?” The man spun around and found you standing behind him with a concerned look on your face. “Kalim told me you looked upset, is everything alright?” Your tone was soft and worried. It eased Jamil’s emotions in the way it always had. You always put him first, a habit he both loved and hated. On one hand he adored being pampered for once, on the other he knew what it was like to ignore your own wants and needs for another person.

He sighed and put on a smile, taking your hands in his own. “Just tired that’s all.” you frowned and glared up at him in the way you always did when he lied.

“Now, I know that’s not true. I’m not gonna force you to tell me, but I also want you to know that you can be honest with me. That’s why I’m here.” Jamil bit his lip and turned away, a flush rising on his cheeks.

“The truth…” he hesitated. “The truth is I don’t want you hanging out with that other student!” The sudden exclamation took you aback and you blinked in surprise. “I don’t want to control you or tell you what to do and who to hang out with, but I also want you all to myself. No one else should be able to touch you or whisper in your ears, or dance with you, or make you laugh and smile. That’s my job, because your mine, not theirs!”

At this point you were blushing as well, but noticed he was beginning to get upset. “And I’m so sorry for saying that like you’re some object, cause you’re not. You’re a person who deserved to make their own choices and decisions, but goddamnit I can’t help wanting you all to myself. You’re- you’re…” he paused and looked at you. “You’re special… to me. I don’t want anyone taking you away from me. I know i’m being a hypocrite but don’t go back out there. Stay here and be mine-”

Jamil was cut off by you kissing him passionately on the lips. His eyes widened before they fell closed and he snaked his arms around your waist, tugging you flush against him with a growl.

His tongue swiped at your lips and you parted them obediently. He smirked and chuckled lowly before slipping it into your mouth. “Good girl.” You moaned through the kiss and felt your knees weaken. He pulled you around and lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. His kisses moved from your lips to your neck where he simultaneously worshipped and abused your skin.

Love bites and dark bruises displayed his rough treatment, but the sighs that fell from your lips told him that you were enjoying it greatly. Silently he pulled back to observe his handiwork and smirked at the amount of marks he had left behind. Some would be easy to hide, whereas others he had left strategically in places that would be impossible to cover up. He felt a little guilty, knowing that you would be slightly upset later for making it so hard to hide the fact that he had been kissing you, but seeing something almost like a name tag, or a brand, that signified you were his and his alone, stirred something in him and he was tempted to never let you leave his sight without a mark warning people off about advancing on you.

“Jamil…” you spoke shakily. He looked at you and how wrecked you were just from some kisses and his gaze darkened with lust. His tongue licked his lips subconsciously and he watched you shiver in reaction. “I have something important to tell you…”

He raised an eyebrow and moved his head to the other side of your neck, placing kisses and marks there as well. It made it very hard to think so you momentarily pushed him away, making him growl in displeasure. “Don’t feel bad about being possessive over me, okay? Because when you are…” you hesitated, “it’s really freaking hot.”

His eyes widened and an almost evil smile drew up on his lips. “That so… well, then I guess you don’t mind me leaving a few more marks over here,” he licked a stripe up your neck drawing a gasp from you, “to show the whole world that you belong to me!” He snarled it out before biting lightly at your skin and relishing in the way you tilted your head to the side with a moan. Yeah, he could get used to you hanging out with other boys so long as he got to do this to you before and after.

#twisted wonderland #twst #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona #twst leona x reader #twst jamil #Jamil Viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #commision

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kamotoshi · 3 years

Text

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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pricklynoodle · 3 years

Text

real or not real

Itadori Yuji/Fushiguro Megumi pairing | Squid Game AU | Rated T | warning: implied character death | ANGST

( yes, writing instead of doing school lol, squid game ruined me so if you want to read this then be warned of SQUID GAME SPOILERS. There's no graphic death, but its sad as hell either way TT)

---

“The player who takes all ten marbles from your partner wins.”

Megumi had always kept to himself, never saying anything unless spoken to, never stuck to groups, and never took the choice to attach himself to something. Everything had an expiration date. Unnecessary things like friendships had never appealed to him. He only needed his sister, and it wasn’t like she had the choice to have him as her brother. But the fact that she still stuck around caring for him until she worked herself to a coma.

So honestly, it’s a surprise why he feels his heart drop when the announcement tells him he has to go against … whatever 310 is to him.

He hardly knows 310, and doesn't know anything about his life actually. Other than that he’s crazy strong, has an impressive pain tolerance, but also the loudest kid he’s ever met. He's always around him, sticking to Megumi like a persistent piece of gum stuck to his shoe. But he doesn't dislike him, but he can't say he's thrilled with him either.

But would Megumi kill him?

Stupid, he tells himself.

“Oh, fuck, I honestly didn’t see that coming,” 310 says with a grimace, looking at Megumi guiltily as if he was the cause of Megumi’s inner turmoil. He sits down on one of the stone benches. The whole setup was supposed to mimic a typical neighborhood, something Megumi wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up in. The bastards even made the effort to add in the sounds of cicadas from the fake trees, as if this was a completely normal summer for a couple of teens.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, he feels dizzy. He drops down to the bench, away from 310 as possible.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” 310 says as he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Megumi seriously, “This whole thing reminds me of Hunger Games.”

Megumi looks at him with furrowed brows.

“You know, Jennifer Lawrence?” 310 pushes. Megumi says nothing. “...Tall girl, big ass? The one with the arrows?”

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Megumi deadpans, then he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then glances down at his hand. 10 marbles. “Just tell me how to play this game.”

“I don’t know either,” 310 admits, sounding sheepish. He shrugs carelessly, “This is more of the games my gramps used to play, but he was too busy being sick to teach me though.”

Megumi looks up at 310. He looks tired, but nostalgic. Like he was thinking of a good memory.

310 perks up, grinning at Megumi brightly, “though they said that we can make our own rules. I’ll think of something.”

Megumi nods solemnly. The silence stretches until 310 lets out an ‘aha!’.

“Let’s bet everything and just play one around,” 310 says, even dropping his fist down onto his hand as if it were the best idea ever.

Megumi freezes, staring at 310, was he going to trick him? He doesn’t even know him. They’re not friends. Of course, everything still is a death tournament at the end of the day.

310 seems to pick up Megumi’s reluctance, he jerks his head to the side. He points towards the pair of men competing against each other, looking frantic and panicked.Their faces are sheened with sweat, t-shirts drenched in sweat. It’s… it’s a pathetic sight.

“Fine,” Megumi relents. “What are we playing?”

“Calm down,” 310 chuckles, “are you that excited to kill me?”

Megumi stays quiet.

“We have a lot of time left,” 310 says breezily, pointing towards the timer mounted on the wall. “Let’s do it at the last minute.”

“What do you suggest we do till then?” Megumi asks with a scowl. “Sit nice and pretty, twiddle our thumbs and shove these marbles up our asses?”

“Jesus, man,” 310 laughs, “no just… talk.”

“Talk,” Megumi repeats.

“Talk,” 310 smiles, looking down at his hands. Megumi looks at them too. He remembers the hard calluses on them, when they shook hands. They’re thick and sturdy, and hold a lot of power. He really could have killed Megumi before, just wrap his hands around his neck and it’s all over.

Megumi also shakes away the filthy thoughts of what else those hands could do. Get a grip, Fushiguro.

“Things we couldn’t tell other people,” 310 says, smiling wistfully. “One of us is going to die here anyways.”

Megumi swallows the lump in his throat.

310 smiles wider. He’s always smiling, Megumi notes.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed if that’s the case,” 310 tells him, “I promise I won’t laugh when you blush like a tomato.”

“I don’t,” Megumi denies, but he can feel the heat already rising up to his cheeks.

“You do,” 310 says, “but I think it’s cute.”

Cute.

“So, uh, you have someone back home then?” 310 asks.

“Yeah,” Megumi says.

“...like a girlfriend or something?”

“Sister,” Megumi says quickly, “no...never a girlfriend. Impossible for me.”

“Ah, okay,” 310 says, nodding. “Just your sister?”

“I had a dad, but he … never came back.” Megumi confesses, “he was a shitty dad. He was never really home, but he gave us shelter and food. He had a bad temper, but he never hit us. He never liked to be around me especially. I … used to think he hated me.”

“What changed?” 310 asked.

“I… I became him. I understand why he did what he did,” Megumi says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Doing dirty jobs, stealing, never at home. Hiding from danger. Hiding us from danger. Protection.”

310 nodded, he slid closer to Megumi. Thighs brushing. Silence continues.

“He came here,” Megumi says, looking up at the ceiling. It’s painted a pink-orange gradient, like a sunset. “I found half of that business card in one of his jackets. The last two digits were cut off. I dialed every possible number until I got here.”

“For what?” 310 asks.

“Find him,” Megumi says, “punch him. I would have killed him, I think, if I found out that he left us to rot. Then steal all his money to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”

“Oh, she’s sick?”

“Coma,” Megumi clarifies. “Some rich bastard from work hit her on her way home. He got off easy because of money.”

“I see,” 310 says, clenching his fists. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Megumi says gruffly.

“You’re still getting money though,” 310 says. He doesn’t say but you don’t get your dad back. “What would you do with it?”

Megumi doesn’t even hesitate, “pay for my sister’s medical bills. Buy a nice house for us to live in. A car, if I can.”

“If you can?” 310 says, “where would you drive your car?”

“school,” Megumi says simply. “I would use my car to drive to school.”

310 blinks. “You know, you can do much more with that 40 billion. You really don’t want anything else? Don’t have a destination?”

“I’d go to Sendai.”

“Wh—Sendai? I’m from Sendai. Are you kidding me? Are you going to drive there with a shiny new Toyota Yaris?”

Megumi blushes furiously, “enough about me, ugh, it’s your turn anyways.”

310 shakes his head, but he’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “You really have to think bigger. Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Megumi says.

“You should, one that’s got nice soft sand and blue water. With palm trees too. And you should get piña coladas.”

“What?”

“C’mon man, you don’t get to be frugal with 40 billion. I’ll teach you how to splurge once we get out—”

Ah.

“Right,” 310 breathes out, laughing to himself all silly. “Only one of us leaves.”

Megumi grunts.

Silence.

“...Ever seen a dead body?” 310 asks.

“...I’ve been answering all these questions. You haven’t answered at all,” Megumi points out, feeling far too exposed for running his mouth.

“Ah you’re right! Uh, I don’t have anyone.”

“But your grandfather—”

“He’s dead. For a while now. My mom and dad. Also dead. My brother is on the run. He’s, uh, killed a lot of people. He got the death penalty, so yeah, haven’t really seen him around.”

Megumi looks at him.

“I don’t think he counts,” 310 says, scratching his face. Megumi realizes the scars on his face aren’t from the previous games. They looked healed, puckered and faded from time.“He looks a lot like me, though. A lot of people can’t tell us apart. He hated that. He’s only a bit taller than me, and he loves to brag about it. He has a huge ego.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” 310 says, but he doesn’t look awkward about it. Just mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, have we really been talking for that long?”

Megumi looks at the time. They have less than 2 minutes.

310 stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants. He pats around for his marbles. “Okay, so you see that wall over there?”

Megumi nods mutely. It’s quite far, maybe around 2 meters.

“Okay, we throw one marble, and the one closest to the wall wins, okay?”

“Okay.” Megumi nods, easy enough.

“Okay, you go first.”

Megumi scowls.

“added rule, we do it together,” he says, jaw clenched.

“Eh?” 310 looks at him, confused.

“I’ve been doing things first, so it seems rather fair if we do it at the same time, with our best effort, okay? I have the blue marble, you get the red one.”

“... okay.”

“Don’t give me a weak ass toss, alright, that doesn’t count,” Megumi says gruffly, narrowing his eyes at him. “Do your best.”

310 nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay!”

“On three,” Megumi says.

“Okay!”

“Three.”

“Two,” 310 continues, positioning his arm.

“One,” Megumi does the same.

They both throw their marbles. Megumi’s heart leaps out of its chest as he watches his marble in the air.

Clack!

Megumi looks down on the marble that lands right next to his shoe.

It’s red.

“Ahh, shoot, I threw it too hard,” 310 says with a pout.

Megumi sees red.

He shoves 310 against the wall. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Whoa! No, you won f-fair and square, man,” 310 stutters. “I did my best shot, like you said!”

“Any idiot would know that shit would bounce right back if you threw it like that!”

310 laughs, “I must be some one of a kind idiot, then.”

Megumi shoves him further into the wall. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You can’t kill me if I’m gonna be dead anyways.”

“THEN I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DIE.”

“See, that doesn’t really make sense—��

“Shut the fuck up! Why did you do that?!”

310 slumps against the wall, body lax. Not looking at him.

“Answer me!”

“You… you have a lot more to live for than me,” 310 says quietly. He looks up at Megumi, tears in his eyes, “what kind of asshole would I be to deny you for a life?”

“You have a life!” Megumi snaps.

“I don’t, not anymore,” 310 sobs, a wobbly smile on his face. “Before my grandfather died, he told me that I should help others. That when it was my time to go, I would die surrounded by others and not end up like him.

“I should use my strength to help others, that’s what I’ve been doing here. Out there, no one wants me to help them. No one wants the face of a killer to help them. No one wants me to be around them. I can’t go to places, I’ve… I’ve always hated what Sukuna did to me. Made me carry his sins, his crimes. The way people looked at me as if I was him. I can’t move forward, not like you.

“I… I never went to school either, y’know. Or I never graduated. When Sukuna became a wanted man, I became a target. I stayed in my room. The doors were locked. The curtains were always down. It was like this for years. I received no support. The only way I could get by was doing interviews with journalists, feeding the narrative. Making people hate Sukuna more, making them hate me more. That’s no way to live.”

Megumi felt the back of his eyes burn, his teeth aching from being clenched too tight.

“Even if...I had the money. I can’t erase what my brother did. I can’t erase my existence in the world. I would just keep doing the same thing everyday. I don’t… I don’t want a bigger house, not when it’s just me who lives there.”

“You and I are not so different,” he says, looking up at Megumi.. “I think that’s why… I want you to win. You get to experience all these normal things, and feel… happy. You have a chance.”

Megumi wipes his eyes harshly, “Shit.”

“That’s true.”

“... What’s your name?” Megumi asks.

“Itadori Yuji,” 310—no, Yuji says. “My name is Itadori Yuji.”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, he raises his hand for him. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

Yuji grins, he clasps his hand onto Megumi’s. “That means blessing, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m glad then, Megumi. That I’m friends with you even through this hell. That itself is a blessing in a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Megumi punches his shoulder.

A guard suddenly arrives, carrying a gun in his hand. Waiting.

Yuji looks behind Megumi’s head. “Ah, I wish we had more time.”

Megumi bites his lip. “I wish I’d… met you sooner. I don't know anything about you.”

Yuji jaw drops, “Okay, I’ll … summarize this in ten seconds! I’m twenty-years-old, my favorite color is green, my favorite manga is Bleach, my type is tall people with big butts! Uhh, I really like watching action films—”

“Not … whatever, nevermind,” Megumi says softly as he listens to Yuji ramble on about himself.

Yuji pauses from his ramble looking winded, “uhm, Fushiguro, can I hug you?”

Megumi freezes.

“I just haven’t had a hug in a long time—” Yuji trails off before he gets cut off with Fushiguro hugging him desperately, clinging to him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

“...Hey, Fushiguro Megumi, live a long life, okay?”

Megumi lets go.

He turns around.

Eyes burning as he stares unblinking down the path. Footsteps. Silence. Breathing. He feels something salty on his lips when he licks them. It's not sweat.

He... he got attached. He stares forward, he doesn't regret it. Not at all. He got to know Yuji Itadori, the real him, and the pain in his heart is the best he can give back. A reminder that he was more than what people saw him. Yuji Itadori didn't deserve what the world gave him, they did not deserve his cries. The fact that... no one would shed a tear for him.

...Ah.

Megumi notices the dark wet spots on the dirt.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

#my writing #itafushi #itadori yūji #fushiguro megumi #fushiita #squid game au #squid game spoilers #angst #fanfiction #im sorry everyone lol #it just broke me #i m gonna go lay down and cry now bye

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weasel-b33 · 3 years

Text

500 Miles (j.p x fem!reader)

Description: A few years after the birth of your son Harry, you and your husband James recall the beginning of your relationship. (NO VOLDY I CAN NOT DO THAT TO MYSELF)

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing, A little Swearing, idk Cute Daddy James, Prolly many spelling errors I wrote this late and I am very tired...

(THIS IS MY FIRST TIME EVER WRITING SOMETHING KINDA SIRIUS hehe SO IM SORRY IF IT IS TERRIBLE)

Also the dates may be a bit wrong so im sorry in advance!!

italicized is flashback!!

Lyrics used in the song are from “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by The Proclaimers (I KNOW THE SONG CAME OUT IN ‘87 BUT SUSPEND YOUR DISBELIEF PLEASE)

(not my gif)

The rambunctious laughter of the four year-old toddler and his father echoed throughout the large estate.

“Daddy!” exclaimed the messy haired Harry, “Can I please have a story.” Heavily emphasizing the puppy dog eyes he learned from his godfather, Sirius, a few years prior.

James Potter, the man unable to say no to anyone, tried to recall a story he had not told his son. Thinking back to the fairy tales of a prince slaying a fictional dragon, even though they are very much real, to save the princess that his mother used to tell him, James realized he was all out of good material.

“I’m sorry bubs, I have nothing new too share,” the bespectacled man added lamely. The disappointment was instant on the child’s face, but luckily before the waterworks began, Y/N Potter strolled through the foyer into the den.

“Mommy!” Harry exclaimed, jumping up and bonding over to his mother, nearly knocking her over with his brute strength.

“Umph- Where’s the fire lovey?” you questioned with a slight chuckle. The dramatics of your son were never a surprise. Between his father and Sirius, you were surprised he had not acted much worse. Walking, more like sliding due to the child gripping your calves, over to your husband and lightly pecking his lips you ask,

“What’s wrong now?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sheepishly stated, “I sorta don’t have a new story to tell him... he’s a bit peeved, if you couldn’t tell.”

A loud laugh tore through your throat as you pet your son’s hair affectionately.

“Come off Harry, Mommy has a perfect story to tell you,” you crooned softly.

“You do?”Harry questioned, rubbing the tears out of his stunning green eyes.

You picked him up and sat down near James, “Yes poppet, I have a very interesting story about how two very special people fell in love.”

James quickly turned his head and quirked a questioning brow, “It all started when they were 15...”

November 7, 1975

Quietly sitting on the vermilion couch of the Gryffindor Common Room, you began to fade out the noise of Lily ranting about the recent History of Magic exam, and Marlene’s long monologue over if she should or should not cut bangs. Instead, you were beginning to rip out each and every one of the hairs on your head because your Potions essay was nearly finished, yet you could not get those final words to conclude it all.

Across the common room, a rowdy group of teenage boys, better known as the Marauders, were planning the newest prank on Snape.

"We should give him that shampoo that will change his hair pink,” Sirius added.

Remus shook his head disapprovingly, “Pads, we did that last time come on..”

“WE HAVE NOTHING! WHAT IS WRONG WITH US, MOONY, HELP I’M DYING OF NO CREATIVITY!” Sirius exclaimed throwing himself across the scarred boy.

Although, many people turned their attention to the dark haired pureblood, James seemed he could not take his eyes off the girl nearly burning holes into her parchment, the girl he has fancied since he was 12.

While playing with the snitch he stole, he said, “What if we tried that new rain spell we learned in charms today?”

“Too difficult, we have not had enough practice.” Remus dismissed. “Well what if I found someone to practice on?” James added quickly turning to face his werewolf best friend.

“Sure... Whatever, I could care less- Pads, get the bloody hell of me before I kick your arse,”

“I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY REMUS JOHN,” Sirius yelled beginning his quick climb up the stairs to the boys dorm, with Remus and Peter quickly following.

“You comin’ Prongs?” Remus asked to the brunette still staring at the girl with shaky hands.

“No, I’ll come up in a few, still want to try to figure this prank out...” he said quietly. The lanky boy followed his best friends line of sight and quietly smirked to himself.

“Alright, don’t wear yourself out too much.”

Even throughout the commotion, you still made no move to change your line of sight. That was until Marlene nudged you and whispered into your ear.

“Psst! Oi! Y/N! Why is Potter staring at you?”

You quickly shook your head and waved off her question, opting to continue to find the right words.

Well until your blonde friend gripped your jaw, and turned your head to the direction of the boy. You instantly made eye-contact with the messy haired Gryffindor and quirked a brow. He smirked and turned his head away. You thought nothing of the interaction, until you felt a sudden drop above your head...

Instantly, it seemed as though there was a storm in the common room. Looking towards the ceiling you saw the dark rain cloud above your head. Quickly turning your head to the essay you were writing you noticed it completely wet and ruined. You jumped into action, trying to salvage what you could, but it was too late. Ignoring the screeches of your friends and fellow housemates, you began to look for the source of the cloud.

That was until you made eye contact with the laughing and smug James Potter.

“POTTER!” you yelled. Almost immediately the rain stopped, but the damage had been done. “JAMES POTTER! YOU BETTER HAVE A REASON YOU STARTED A STORM IN THE COMMON ROOM!”

Hearing the commotion, the rest of the Marauders came down to the common room to witness what was happening. But all they saw was a yelling match between you and their brunette best friend.

“YOU ARE A DICK JAMES POTTER! KARMA IS A BITCH AND SHE IS COMING! IT’S GONNA BE SO NICE TO SEE YOUR FACE WHEN ALL YOUR ACTIONS FINALLY COME TO KICK YOU IN THE ARSE!” you yelled.

“What? I did nothing, I don’t mean to dampen your mood, but I have no idea what you are on about.” James replies smugly.

“UGH- YOU ARE A BULLY AND A RIGHTEOUS, STUCK UP, EGOTISTICAL ARSEHOLE! I HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING THIS BECAUSE-- OH MY! I-” You were quickly being dragged away by your red head companion.

“Y/N, he is not worth it... let’s just leave.”

“NO! I HAVE TO RESTART MY ESSAY! I WAS THIS BLOODY CLOSE. UGH- YOU ARE AN ARSE JAMES POTTER I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT!”

“Y/N, it was just a prank, its no big deal relax.” James said.

“RELAX! ARE YOU KIDDING... I-” you paused taking shallow and rapid breaths, ‘you know I can not believe you think its funny. You truly have no regard for people and how they feel do you?” you asked slowly and meticulously.

“Prongs, just apologize and lets go..” Remus said quickly.

“I- I didn’t realize it would be that big of a deal.” James tried to say to you, but it was no use because you had already dragged Lily and Marlene out the common room and to the library to re-start your assignment.

“Oh, COME ON! I did not” James stated jokingly.

“Darling, you must certainly did, I barley passed that essay as well. I blame you for me getting an E in that class.” You replied giggling.

“Moooommmyyy! Story, get back to the story,” Your son said dramatically, grabbing your cheeks and turning to face him for extra effect.

Hearing a chuckling from James in the background, “Alright bubs, back to the the story”

January 23, 1976

After months of back and forth between you and James, he was fed up trying to get your attention. From roses to chocolate, to even a firework show in your honor, James believed he had done everything to apologize to you for his stupid prank and prove his affection.

Tired of his friends constant whining, Remus and Sirius decided to take matters into their own hands and talk to someone who knew you better than anyone else, Lily and Marlene.

“Oh Evans, Mckinnon, we are in grave need of your beautiful minds” Sirius flirted. Remus smacked him across the head adding, “Ignore the git, we need some help its about-”

“James?” Lily and Marlene said in unison.

“Yeah...how did you know” Remus questioned. “Are we gonna ignore the fact they spoke at the same time” Sirius said, once again receiving a blow from his friend.

Rolling her eyes, Lily remarked, “Well, Y/N has been complaining about him for months,” Marlene quickly interjected, “...and you never are without him so its an easy assumption.

Now its was the boys turn to roll their eyes to the back of their heads. “Anyways, he will not shut up about getting her to forgive him... so we were wondering if you had anything that could work to get her to forgive him?” Remus pleaded with the best Sirius puppy dog eyes he could muster.

“Fine,” Lily and Marlene said jointly.

“THEY DID IT AGAI- OH NOT YOU TOO AS WELL!” Sirius exclaimed rubbing the now sore bump on his head.

Ignoring the dog’s dramatics, the group of four began conducting a plan for James that would knock Y/N’s socks off.

At this point, Harry had nestled between his parents and fell into a deep sleep.

The two of you put him to bed and settle down back into the living room.

Looking longingly at his wife, James says, “Well, might as well finish the story love... it is the best part.”

Giggling at the antics of your husband, you shrug and began to finish the story...

February 14, 1976

The Great Hall looked as though Cupid had just went on a decorating rampage. The room lined with pink and red hearts and the sight of loving couples nearly made you want to gag. Then, you remembered the boy who has dying to get your attention for the past months and can not seem but to get excited.

What does he have planned for you? Is he gonna get me a gift? Do I look presentable?

“WHAT!” you quickly think to yourself, “Why in Merlin’s name am I excited to to see Jame- Potter. Godric I can’t feel like this for him... He his as a fly that buzzes and will not leave me alone... but he is not the worst to look at”

You quickly snap out of your thoughts as Lily starts to put food onto your plate. You begin to eat, but can only think of one thing.

James Potter.

“Why?” You begin questioning again, “Godric, Y/N You like him... No I do not.. You realize you are having this whole conversation within your brain, right? It is obvious you like him...” you grumble to yourself as you realize your psyche has won once again.

Lily noticing your strange behavior begins to question if you discovered what they have planned.

Almost as though the boys heard Lily’s thoughts the beginning of the plan is activated.

Instantly, the candles in all of the Great Hall extinguish and there is the beginning of a song plays.

Suddenly, a spotlight shines onto the teachers table where atop, James and the rest of the Marauders stand, Remus and Sirius with guitars and Peter on the drums. James holding a mic begins to sing...

When I wake up, Well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you.

Your head snaps to the noise and there you see in all of his glory, James Potter holding a microphone staring straight at you.

When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along.

Quickly shoving the breakfast roll down your throat you nearly choke as you see the boy slowly make his way towards the front of the Gryffindor table.

When I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you.

Your eyes widen comically when you see James Potter jump onto the Gryffindor table.

And when I haver, hey I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you.

Slowly, the boy begins his walk across the table to where you sit. You try to make a run for it, but Lily and Marlene quickly grab your arms and anchor you down to the bench

“What friends you are!” you hiss at the two.

Marlene just rolls her eyes and Lily pinches your hip.

And I would roll 500 miles And I would roll 500 more Just to be the man who rolls a thousand miles To fall down at your door

Once the boy is standing in front of you he reaches down for your hand. Stubbornly, you ignore his gesture, well until your two friends throw you up onto the table with the love struck brunette.

When I come home well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you And when I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you.

You grip onto the boys biceps for stability and are forced to look into his ravishing hazel eyes...

In that moment you forget all that he has done to you in the past and all you can think about is him and you.

But I would roll 500 miles And I would roll 500 more Just to be the man who roles a thousand miles To fall down at your door.

Smiling, to yourself, you grab the face of the boy in front of you and mold your lips together. Ignoring the cheers of your classmates, the only sounds you hear are the background noise of the boy’s best friends signing backup.

Da da da Da da da Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da Da.....

Smiling to yourself and grabbing the hand of the man you love you start laughing.

“What’s so funny, love?” James asks.

“Nothing.... Just we began dating because you performed a whole song and dance in front of the entirety of Hogwarts.” you reply breathlessly.

“Well, hey, look at us now... happy, healthy, and a true family.” he replies smiling at your antics.

You lay down your head into the lap of your husband, and look up into his hazel eyes you got lost into all those years ago, “Such a sap, Potter, such a sap...”

Kissing your cheek softly, “Only for you, my darling girl... only for you...”

“I love you Jamie”

“I love you more, my love.” ______________________________________________________________

AHHH I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! IM SORRY IF IT IS SO BAD!! THIS IS MY FIRST FIC PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I COULD DO ANYTHING BETTER!!! AHHHH (but like kinda like this story... kinda proud ;))

#james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #harry potter #fluff #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter x you #marauders x reader #james peter remus sirius #fem!reader #songfic #500 miles

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

right where you left me

summary: this is the fourth prompt of @caplanbuckybarnes ‘s summary challenge! this idea kind of went a little crazy on my part, but the prompt is: remember when you said you’d marry me? today’s our wedding day and you’re not here to see it.

warnings: y’all, i really said that i didn’t write angst and then made cardigan, and then this after one serious talk with @teenwonder - yeah, so this is angst? i wrote this while extremely vulnerable so this is very messy- deepest apologies

note: yes, the title is a taylor swift song. it is a must listen if you haven’t heard it, please!

word count: this is literally a baby, the shortest thing i’ve ever written- 1.4k

also guys, i got to 300 followers sometime last night- thank you!! i’m so glad that other people are enjoying my stuff, it’s such a great feeling.

If you had known that one person wasn’t coming back after retrieving the soul stone, you would have gone with Natasha instead of letting Clint go, and you would have forced her to let it be you. At least, that was your main thought for weeks and weeks, until the hole in your heart grew bigger and the rock on your finger grew almost too heavy to carry. Then, after your anger at her for leaving you in the dark and alone faded, you realized that it was just sadness. Nothing but. And for a while, it seemed to be going on a steady incline, and nothing was even close to getting better.

You woke up every morning in emotional pain. Every morning, the right side of the bed was cold. Every morning, there was a lack of eyes on your face, and of feather light touches going down your back. There were no whispered Russian words or sweet nothings spoken in English. It was just you and no one else, and you could have never imagined that peace and quiet could have ever been so destructive. You would never be over the fact that it seemed like everyone had gotten their loved ones back, clicked right back into place like they never left to begin with, but you were stuck. Stuck in time, stuck in emotions, stuck with your body still aging but your heart never moving on. You were on a spinning platform, watching everyone grow old and renewing old vows and having kids, and you couldn’t get off. You would be there for the rest of your life, right where she left you. And then, that was when you took your original thought back.

You would have never been able to leave her in the amount of sadness that she left you.

You knew that she was always self-sacrificing, no matter how much she liked to pretend that she wasn’t the sort of team player that the world needed. It showed in the way she spoke about certain topics, the way she always secretly cared for the underdog, how she always stood up for recruits trying to prove themselves, and even how she always watched out for the little guy and stuck her neck out for the people she knew needed a little more help than others. Hell, she met you by sticking her neck out for a stranger. You were fighting a man inches taller than you who had a knife swinging at you so wildly that you were sure that he was actually going to get you with his manic jabs. She came flying in out of nowhere without a sound like some sort of battle angel, and before you even realized who she was, she stepped in, took a shallow stab for you, and then dropped him so quickly that you were scared he was dead.

She sported that scar for the rest of her life, and at first, it brought shame to you. It made you feel guilty; knowing that your weakness caused another person to wear a scar on their body. Especially her and her body, because she was flawless. Because as hard as she seemed, she was beautiful inside and out, and she didn’t deserve to have any scar of any kind. As your love grew on, things changed, and that godforsaken scar became the flame to your hovering moth. Your fingers always managed to find it, even over her civilian clothes or tactical suit, and your lips always brushed over it when the lights were out and the air was thin between the two of you, when all there was was you and her and the candles that burned on the other side of the room.

Now, you couldn’t imagine not wanting to see that scar. All you wanted was to trace it with your fingers even though you knew every single puckered spot that hadn’t healed correctly, and every curve of the scar itself. You couldn’t think of a more peaceful scene than placing light kisses on it and then looking her in the eyes, watching her smile that pretty little smile she did every time, the one that said that she would jump in front of the knife a thousand times over again.

So, yeah, you knew that she was self sacrificing. But you would have never thought that she would leave you in shambles. And shambles was what you were in as you sat in the apartment, the one that you used to share that you had nearly cleared out with the help of a pitying Sam and Maria Hill, in your beautiful white gown that you were so certain matched the one that Natasha had picked for herself.

You still hadn’t seen it.

You were in the entire outfit. Your shoes were strapped on lazily, your veil was pushed back and crinkled, your mascara was running, but your dress was perfect. Your dress was frozen in time, stuck in a day that it had never even seen play out. Your sobs echoed louder than any laughter in the apartment had now that all the picture frames and decor had been torn down.

She was supposed to marry you. That was the promise that the both of you made when she got on one knee after the best day at Coney Island, surprising you only because you had a black box in your pocket, too. You were supposed to marry Natasha Romanoff, and your wedding day was here, knocking loud and proud, standing on your doorstep. It was the day, the one that was staring at you in the form of the glaring pink sharpie that you two had used to circle the day on the calendar. The calendar was the only thing still up in your apartment, as if you could ever forget the date.

Suddenly, the dress that fit you perfectly began to feel tight. The necklace that you picked because it was elegant and light felt heavy around your neck, like a collar of sadness preparing to choke you at any second. You stood up, ready to take it all off and throw your dress and all of it off of the top of Stark fucking Tower, but then the heels that were your perfect height felt too tall. You collapsed back onto the couch, bawling your eyes out and whispering her name like a prayer over and over again, like it would bring her back to you, standing in a radiant white dresses that you could have only dreamed of. You could imagine it, her staring down at you with the soft smile she reserved for you that you missed so much, hand reaching out for yours, and you would have stretched to the point of desperation just to touch her. The door to your apartment had been unlocked and there was a quiet shuffling that signaled people coming in, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t care that they were her friends, or yours. You didn’t care that they had somehow gotten a key to your apartment, or that they looked almost as heartbroken as you did, sitting on the floor of the apartment that used to be shared, and so full of life and love. You didn’t care that you could hardly breathe through the pain or through your chest rattling sobs, nor did you care that someone had their arms wrapped around you and was trying to break through your eternal wall of grief.

You and your dress were stuck in time. Stuck in a place where nothing bad ever happened to you or Natasha, in a timeline where you two managed to get married. In your mind, you were looking at Natasha while you threw your bouquet at your small group of friends, wide smiles on the both of your faces as you heard their playful squeals. In reality, you were sobbing on your floor, dust collecting on you and your true emotions as pages of reality and dream world stuck to each other. She left you, and she left you with no choice but to stay in a moment that would never happen forever. You flinched when you felt the arm squeeze you gently, forcing you to look at who was truly there in the flesh in front of you. It wasn’t her.

But it was your wedding day. And she was never going to be there to see it.

****

i got sad and selfishly decided to make it other people’s problems- this is the result

#natasha x female reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff angst #natasha angst #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #lgbt marvel #marvel fanfiction #i hate endgame #my fics #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #cappyssummerchallenge

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thirstyforcharacters · 3 years

Text

When the Universe Collides (Sam Wilson x Reader)

Summary: Every person has a soulmate. When your soulmate experiences pain, so do you, and any bruises, scars, or other markings that they get appear on your skin. Or, the story of how smacking yourself in the face with a cabinet was the best thing to ever happen to you.

Notes: Hi! Since the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier comes out today, I wanted to write something for Sam! He’s super underrated and deserves more love! Also, this soulmate AU is extremely self-indulgent and has absolutely nothing to do with the TV show, but tbh I don’t care. Hope you all enjoy it too! (no y/n, no pronouns) (PS: any italicized text is Sam texting and the italicized and bold text is the reader texting!)

Warnings: mentions of a stab wound (nothing explicit), cursing I guess

WC: 2.2 k

Your soulmate must have one hell of a job.

Almost every day, you woke up with dark bruises covering your body. It seemed that whenever one faded, another took its place. At completely random times, you would double over in aches that you certainly didn’t inflict upon yourself. One time, in the middle of the night, you woke up with pain in your stomach so intense, it felt like someone had stabbed you! It turned out that it was a stab wound, but given that no one had stabbed you lately (or ever), you figured it was from your soulmate. You definitely didn’t appreciate that hospital bill.

But you still desperately wanted to meet them. Meet that person that completed you: your other half. As a teenager, you made your parents tell you the story of the day they finally met so many times, you knew it by memory. They were both in the library at college, and your mom dropped a psychology textbook on her foot! Her howl of pain was only matched by the “SON OF A BITCH” that came from your dad on the opposite side of the library. When the two of them made eye contact, they instantly knew they were the ones for each other (they were also immediately kicked out for making such a ruckus). You wanted to have that moment so badly; meeting your soulmate was a huge milestone in every person’s life, and you needed it.

Your best friend and roommate, Brianna, had met hers just two months ago. They had met at the beach, when out of nowhere, Bri had shrieked in shock and pain.

“A crab just pinched me!”

When you had looked at her foot and told her nothing was there, she was totally confused, until you saw a handsome guy with a crab hanging from his foot! He had introduced himself as Julian, and the two had been inseparable since. He was living with you now, and you had honestly never felt more lonely in your life. Sure, you had your dream career; you ran a music shop in New York City, selling instruments, making repairs, and meeting all sorts of interesting people. You had a decent apartment, a chill best friend, and the cutest Yorkie, named Muffin, on the planet. By all accounts, you had it pretty good. You were just missing your other half.

It was a rainy day in NYC. The chill of winter was still clinging onto the March air, and you shivered as you trudged from your apartment to your shop. Even though you had an umbrella to protect you from the rain, the wind blew right through the too-thin jacket you yanked off of the coatrack in a rush. Still holding your half-eaten toaster strudel in your hand, you pushed open the doors to Major Instruments and Minor Repairs, your pride and joy.

It was two floors: the first was where you sold instruments, and the repair shop was above. Acoustic panels were attached to the burnt red walls to help quiet down the place, since the hardwood floors didn’t do much to help with that. The checkout desk was directly in the center in the room. Surrounding it were reeds, bottles of valve oil, and guitar strings. Picks were placed in two clear, plastic bowls on the desk itself. In the front left corner of the room was a grand piano, situated right in the window so passersby could see whenever someone plucked its keys. The entire back wall was covered in guitars and basses. To the right of the desk was a large drumset, accompanied by a pair of drumsticks and brushes. On the right wall were string instruments; string basses and cellos were leaned against the wall, while the violins, violas, and bows were displayed on it. Woodwind and brass instruments were scattered across the room in various display cases. Instrument stands, bow rosin, and miscellaneous instrument parts were on shelves throughout the room as well. The spiral staircase leading up to the repair shop was in the back left corner of the room. Behind the staircase was the door to the back store room, where you kept your extra supplies and also where you took your breaks.

“Good morning!” called Andrew, one of your closest friends from college, from behind the desk.

You waved in reply, wandering to the back store room. You were lucky you had Andrew; you could rely on him to run the front desk while you and Brianna assisted customers on the floor. Unfortunately, Bri had the flu today, so it would just be you on the floor, which would make things a little more hectic. You hurriedly finished your strudel, took off your jacket, which left you in a black and white flannel, a matching black tank top reading “Music is Life,” black leggings, and black combat boots (you had an aesthetic to uphold), and strode back out to the main area.

“You seem in a bit of a rush. Everything okay?” asked Andrew, who was currently restocking bell covers.

You sighed, “Just a whirlwind of a morning. Bri has the flu, Muffin nearly choked on a chicken bone, I almost burned my toaster strudel, and I smacked myself in the face with my cabinet door by accident.”

“Oh, that’s where the new bruise on your eye is from,” he mused.

You snorted, “Yeah, for once it’s not from my soulmate.”

“Maybe he’s a spy. Or a superhero!”

“Yeah, or a criminal,” you joined in on the restocking, grabbing some trumpet mutes since the place opened in just half an hour, “thanks for opening up, by the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied, “you know I don’t mind.”

The doorbell jingled and two of your instrument repair people, Sarah (for strings), and Natalie (for brass), entered. Natalie was lugging what was unmistakably a tuba case, while Sarah carried both of their instrument repair kits.

“Morning, ladies!” called Andrew.

“Good morning,” Sarah replied pleasantly.

Natalie huffed out a “morning” and dragged the tuba up the stairs.

“Her tuba’s broken. The tubing that holds up her mouthpiece completely snapped off. She’s going to try and repair it before her appointments today,” explained Sarah.

You winced, “That’s rough.”

Sarah dropped off both of their jackets and followed Natalie up the stairs leaving you alone with Andrew again. Soon after, Erik, your percussion guy, and John, the woodwind repairman, arrived, and it was time for the shop to open. For a while, it was just another mundane Thursday. Customers came and went. People tested the piano and drumsets, someone bought $100 worth of jazz scores, and a teenaged boy came in who somehow got a ping pong ball stuck in their trombone (you learned to never ask). But at exactly 1:47 pm, a time you would never forget, two very unexpected customers walked through the threshold of your store. You were up on a ladder, carrying a large, rather heavy, box of violin bows to situate on the wall, when you heard their voices.

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m a wizard at the saxophone.”

“Sure, Sam. I’ll believe it when I hear it.”

“I’m serious, dude! I played all the time before I joined the military, and I picked it back up a little bit again after the whole Avengers thing. I just need to get a new one.”

“Hmm, okay. We’ll see.”

“Bastard.”

You whipped your head around and saw the Falcon and the Winter Soldier themselves in your shop. Having superheros in your place was a first. And who knew Sam Wilson played the saxophone?

Andrew offered them a cheerful greeting and directed them toward the saxophones, which happened to be near the ladder you were teetering on. Every time you leaned up to put a bow on display, it wobbled so badly you thought you were going to fall. You really needed to allocate some funds toward a new one.

As you continued to place bows on display, you heard the conversation of the two gentlemen browsing the saxophones. Apparently, Sam much preferred the tenor sax (which you happened to play, quite well you might add). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pick up a Selmer Paris model and inspect it. Those didn’t come cheap, but you were sure that saving the world gave a man a pretty decent paycheck.

“You think I can test it out?”

“I don’t know, dude. You should probably ask.”

You saw him nod, “Yeah, I guess so. And there’s not a reed in here, anyway. Excuse me!”

You realized he was calling you, so you craned your head to look at him. Both men were looking up at you, both with kind smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way I can get a cheap reed to test this out with,” Sam asked, “and are we even allowed to test them in store?”

You smiled back, “Yes, you can. We have test reeds at the front desk, just ask Andrew and he’ll give you one. That’s the only one you’ll get though.”

“Cool, thanks,” he replied while looking around, “nice place you’ve got here.”

Your smile grew a little wider, “Thank you! It took a little while to get it off of the ground, but I’m really proud of how it turned out.”

It was almost as if the universe wanted you to suffer. You stretched up to display yet another bow, and the ladder toppled to the ground, taking you with it! You shrieked in surprise and braced yourself for the impact with the floor.

But it never came.

Instead, you were caught in a pair of (ridiculously) muscular arms. When you looked into the arms of your hero, of course it was Sam himself. He was too handsome for his own good. The thing that stood out most to you were his deep brown eyes. And how, on the left one, was a bruise that exactly matched the one that you gave yourself this morning.

“Are you alright? That ladder must have it out for you,” joked Sam, though you could tell that he was concerned for you.

“I’m okay,” you squeaked, “thank you.”

“It’s no problem. All a part of the job.”

You nodded distractedly, still fixated on the bruise adorning his eye. He couldn’t be your soulmate, could he?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned.

“I-yes. I just got a bit, well, distracted.”

“By what?”

Well, it was now or never. You might as well just go for it.

“When did you get that bruise?”

He looked a bit surprised by the question, “The one on my eye?”

You nodded.

“This morning. It just popped up. Hurt a little bit, like something hit me in the face. Can’t be worse than what I’ve given my soulmate, though. I got stabbed in the stomach once and all I could think about was how confused and hurt they must’ve been,” came his reply.

It was him. It had to be! All of your random, serious injuries made so much more sense now.

“It did hurt,” you murmured back, “but not as much as the hospital bill.”

His face went from apologetic to elated faster than you had ever seen, “Wait, that means it’s you?”

“I think so,” you said, “I hit myself in the eye with a cabinet door this morning, and that-” you gestured to his face, “matches mine.”

“Oh, it does!” he exclaimed.

“Are you two done over there?” complained Bucky.

Thankfully, the Winter Solider had successfully rescued your box of bows.

Sam stood you up, and you could feel the embarrassment slowly creeping over you, “Yeah. Sorry about that, guys. Promise I’m not usually that clumsy.”

“Seems like you need a new ladder,” Bucky told you.

“You don’t say,” you sassed back, prompting a laugh from Sam.

Bucky then strode off to return the fallen box to Andrew. He gave Sam a knowing look as he passed by. He wasn’t very slick, though, you totally saw him.

“Listen, since apparently we’re soulmates and all, I’d love it if I got your number. I’ll take you somewhere nice to make up for all of the times I’ve gotten you hurt,” explained Sam.

You smiled bashfully, “That sounds nice.”

He handed you his phone and you input your digits. As Sam and Bucky were in the checkout line, your phone buzzed.

Hey, gorgeous. It’s your new man.

You giggled softly and looked up at him. He gave you an exaggerated wink and launched finger guns at you, making you laugh a bit harder. You entered his number into your phone and decided to send a text back.

Looking forward to you making up for all of those broken bones.

Me too.

You knew you’d be happy with him. Whenever the universe collided in this way, it always turned out for the best. If your parents and your roommate weren’t enough proof, soon you would discover it for yourself. You couldn’t wait for all of the memories you’d make together.

#sam wilson #falcon #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fluff #soulmate au #x reader #x reader fanfiction #x reader fluff #x reader fic #marvel #MCU

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years

Text

The Storm

Notes: So, I did something. Maybe there will be a part II, but I wanted to post this one first and now I can only hope whoever read this, might enjoy it. Also, forgive for any mistakes, English is not my first language, but I wanted to try something knew and practice a little.

Warnings: language, self-harm and slightly NSFW.

Enjoy! 😊

Elain was trying hard to pretend she wasn't picking a fight with a bush after spending the entire afternoon working in a elderly faery's garden. She didn't know how old Arya was and didn't ask either. Despite the wrinkled face that made her expression look grave at first sight, Arya was gentle enough to bring a fresh lemonade cup every few minutes. Even if Elain hadn't finished hers, it would be replaced by a full cup with two ice cubes and the right amount of sugar - and a warm smile from Arya.

So when she had sent word asking if her garden could be fixed, Elain gladly embraced the distraction, even though it didn't seem to be a particular good day for gardening, if the cloudy sky was any indication.

Kneeling on the dirt, she had been digging and pulling for hours now as she tried to get rid of the ivys surrounding the beautiful blooming roses.

Usually her gardening was a pretty distraction - her mind would focus entirely on what she was doing, her hands moving on their own accords, until every single thought that made her throat tighten was nothing but mist in the distance.

But lately something's changed.

Hateful thoughts, old anguishes, almost familiar as any part of her body, and new ones found themselves in her mind, making her remember what she longed to forget. She didn't bother to wear gloves, wanted the feeling of rough rocks and sharp thorns against her skin. Wanted to focus on the physical pain, to be as far away from her own mind as possible.

And yet it wasn't enough to keep those too many thoughts, cravings and needs at bay.

Her frustration grew with each passing second, her work getting sloppy when a thunder filled her ears.

It was definitely not a good day for gardening.

Elain couldn't decide what was worse: that her work no longer pushed her thoughts away or that she was literally fighting a stubborn rose bush, pulling a branch out with both hands and groaning a curse that would make Cassian proud.

Elain pulled and pulled, the branch slowly, Gods, so slowly giving up - and then it broke in half, leaving the part covered in thorns still buried deep in the ground. She didn't hesitate though, just wiped the sweat off of her forehead, grabbed the branch, thorns and all biting her skin, and started again.

When Arya came back once again, the lemonade cup hit the ground.

She looked at Elain, taking in the blood staining her cobalt dress, big red drops running down her hands. "It's nothing to be worried about, it's already healing."

It wasn't a lie. But Arya still insisted that Elain went home, claiming that a beautiful lady like her shouldn't remain covered in blood and sweat. A scream caught in Elain's throat that bagged for a few more minutes of distraction, just a few more. But she knew Arya was thinking about her well being, so she made a gentle smile bloom on her face and thanked her for the limonade.

"Hurry up now or you're going to get caught in the storm."

Indeed, Elain could already smell the rain, the air charged with electricity, the wind colder than usual, the promise of thunder and lighting.

Yet her steps were lingered, heavy as she walked by the vibrants streets of Velaris

When the first drops came… she tilted her head and let them pour over her, only wishing it could wash away every burden in her heart.

It didn't take long for the cold rain to soak her, making her own bones shivered. A walk back to the lake house would took long enough to make her catch a cold and since being stuck in a bed was the last thing she needed, Elain made her way to the town house. It was still empty, but at least she could warm up and wait for the rain to pass by.

Elain had just crossed the front door and immediately sighed as she felt the cozy warmth. She was freeing her hair from the braid, combing it with her fingers, taking in the sitting room of the empty house - and froze. Because that was a very, very light fireplace. She only had time to take a step back when the scent of mist and cedar hit her nose.

_______________

After a long visit to the eyes and ears under his command, one would think Azriel would take a warm bath and go for several hours of sleep to put away the feeling of the cold rain against his wings that had chased him for miles and miles.

He could have winnow into shadows. But he hoped the exhaustion of flying through the storm combined with a hot bath to relax his sore muscles would help his body to give in to some poor, few hours of sleep.

Azriel had just gone out of the bath, his hair still damp, when he heard the front door shutting. A shadow curled around his ear, registering someone's presence, and he made his steps quiet as death, aiming for the sitting room.

He hadn't seen Elain alone since Solstice and even at the few dinners on the river house he still tried to attend, Azriel could barely look her in the eyes, the memory of her pain too much for him to handle.

But there she was.

She was staring at him, wild-eyed, soaked to the bones. He allowed himself to drink the sight of her, let his eyes travel slowly through her face. Usually, in those dinners, he would hardly steal a glimpse in her direction - well aware of Rhysand's eyes almost daring him to challenge his orders. But here, alone… It was exactly this kind of situation he tried so hard to avoid, knowing it would be the death of him.

Azriel's eyes dropped to her body, the wet fabric hanging to every curve, and spotted the dark red stain on her dress. He scanned her furiously, looking for injuries, stooping at her bloody hand. There were only a few drops, the rain must have washed the blood away - but it was enough to make him want to roar at the sight of it, the predatory instincts inside him ready to kill and kill and kill whoever was responsible. Before he could say anything though, Elain blurted, "I… I thought the house was empty."

Her voice was almost a whisper above the rain, but the words hit him with the force of a thunder. Azriel swallowed hard. He knew she wasn't looking for him. Not after Solstice. But the way she'd say it...

Without even thinking, he closed the distance between them. Elain lifted her chin to keep her gaze locked with his.

Even in a filthy, soaking dress, her damp hair grabbing to her neck, her bloody hand… She was so breathtakingly beautiful, so full of light.

He took her hand in his, so delicate between his scarred fingers. The soft skin marked with small scars, no doubt from her gardening. He turned her hand, exposing her palm and saw the multiple, small bruises. His calluses brushed hers as he asked, "What happened."

She was shaking slightly, not only from the cold rain, "Usual gardening."

He couldn't take it. It was some kind of cosmic joke to be in an empty house with her, so many words hanging between them. He wanted her to know them all, but some he didn't know how to say, and others he couldn't .

Azriel almost choked on his own pain. He stared at her, letting every feeling unsaid, his own longing and despair, rise to his eyes, unable to stop it as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Her doe eyes flickered, and Azriel knew she saw beyond those words. She knew he wasn't talking about her bruised hand still in his, the only connection between their bodies.

And when Elain squeezed his fingers, he knew she understood him. Perhaps not everything, but enough.

Azriel didn't know for how long they stood there, watching each other, their hands still intertwined, the rain pouring outside, the sound of heavy drops hitting the roof interrupted only by the rumble of thunder. Without knowing who moved first, he realized his face was inches from hers, enough to share breath. Elain inclined her head and brushed his nose with hers, the gesture so tender.

A moment later, their mouths collided at last and everything else faded away.

Her mouth was soft against him, and the scent of jasmine, honey and rain filling his nose made his eyes roll back behind his eyelids.

Such a sweet kiss as if The Mother or whoever was wanted Azriel to just have a taste of what he couldn't have. Despite every cell in his body screaming at him, Azriel made to pull away, but Elain held him in place and brushed her tongue against his bottom lip. He moaned her name and yielded himself to her.

The kiss wasn't desperate or frantic as Azriel had imagined it would be for so fucking long. No, the kiss was slow and deep, like pouring honey. Their thongs danced with each other, stroking and caressing.

And her taste… like honey and spring sunrise. He couldn't get enough. He needed more, needed her printed in his very bones, until their souls intertwined.

He was breathing hard, one of her delicate hands wandered across his chest and arms, the skin beneath her fingers burning. Elain traced every muscle, every inch of tattoo ink, as if to reaffirm he was real, that he was there. She buried her other hand into his hair, pulling slightly, and Azriel let out a sound between a moan and a purr, barely audible above the rain.

The world faded away and there was only her, only her mouth, her scent, her body. He needed her closer, wanted to merge himself with her so they would never be parted.

Everything about that kiss was so sweet and so sensuous as if it was a song sent from heaven to lure him to the deepest of hells, where every sinful idea would take form. It was his paradise and ruin, and he was utterly, thoroughly hypnotized.

He'd lovers, many throughout the centuries. But he never felt so drowned, so lost and found at the same time. Nothing had ever felt so good, nothing. Azriel could only pray to the old gods that at least one part of him would be his at the end of it.

They continued that taunting dance, touching, exploring, seducing. Their tongues met stroke for stroke until Elain parted and sucked on his bottom lip, and any sane part of him ceased to exist.

Azriel groaned and his hands moved from her waist to find that generous, gorgeous backside of hers, squeezing possessively with both hands, making her moan into his mouth. Elain ondulated her hips, pressing herself against him, and gasped when she felt exactly how much she was affecting him. How much power she had over him. A small smile curved her lips and Azriel traced it with the tip of his tongue.

More more more

Azriel could feel her shaking in anticipation, smell her arousal in the air.

He was going to devourer her inch by inch. He was going to -

Elain suddenly pulled back just enough to look at him in the eyes, and Azriel almost fell on his knees. Sheer desire was printed on her face, those pink, perfect lips swollen, making his mouth watering. A blush stained her cheeks, and he wondered what other places he could make her blush. He needed to know them all.

But all of that was nothing compared to that look on her face. The honey-brown almost entirely gone, her eyes flashing with molten desire as if those black expanded pupils were windows to her soul and his particular way through.

Both of them were breathing each other's air. Elain stared and stared and stared at him as if she was undoing every single wall and shield he'd ever raised.

Azriel let her. Didn't need them with her anyway.

He cupped her face with his hand and brushed her cheek with his thumb, making her shiver. His eyes never left hers, and he could almost see a bridge of light and dark taking form between their souls, honey-brown and hazel in each end.

When his thumb moved to trace her bottom lip, Elain cupped his hands with hers, mouth parting slightly before she kissed the tip of his finger. Azriel didn't know who he was, where he was, because there was only her, only that female accepting every part of him.

Then Elain sucked his thumb into the wet heat of her mouth. Pure desire ran through his body like a lighting straight to his groin, and he had to brace his other hand on the wall to keep himself standing, to not fall on his knees.

Elain let go of his thumb, her eyes glimmering in a way he'd only dreamed about. She inclined her head, baring her throat, and Azriel knew he was in deep shit.

He couldn't help the sound that came out from somewhere deep inside of him, his nostrils flaring at the sight of her delicate, creamy skin covering her pulse point and totally exposed to him - and only him.

Offer and permission.

A thunder rumbled outside, but all Azriel could hear was his blood singing her name as he lowered his head and brushed his nose along the side of her neck, breathing greedily and letting her scent fill his nose, his lungs. Elain arched a little, asking for more.

Azriel then kissed her neck tenderly. Wanted to savor every second of it, every taste of her. Didn't want to rush this - not with her, not when he had the chance. He prayed that the storm would never end, wanted to take his time, worship every part of her body until one stroke at the right place would be all that would take to make her come. Hard.

He kissed the spot beneath her ear and where her neck met her shoulder. Elain's hand tightened, pulling his hair in silent command. Azriel bared his teeth, brushing his canines against her pulse point. He pressed lightly - just enough to make his teeth sink into her skin, claiming her.

Elain moaned louder at the sensation and tightened her hold on his hair - and pure male smugness washed over him. Because he was the one she bared her throat to. It was his mouth on hers, his hands covering her ass. He could already smell his scent on her, mist and jasmine, cedar and honey.

And it was his name she moaned.

"Azriel."

Before Azriel could unleashed himself, he first dropped to his knees.

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #my writing

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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x trans reader #bakugou x trans male reader #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you #trans reader

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Cliche Mini-Series: Patronus

Draco X Reader

Requested: @shadowsingeraxolotl Okay, so they're all in 8th year or something and everyone are practicing their patronusus and they match and everyone is in awe because they are the most powerful ones they've ever seen? Like an alternate soulmark but better because they realize that Draco is so soft

A/N: Y’all sure do have a lot of cliches you want to see, so here’s the first one that sparked my interest. It will not be the last I promise, but please enjoy these two kids falling in love and healing after the war.

Okay so it’s 8th year

Everyone is a little tense, and the castle looks new but everything just feels wrong

McGonagall created an entire new wing for the 8th years so that they could get away from the haunting that the war left in the old castle

And the House Cup was done away with and first years were allowed to pick houses and others were allow to declare house-less or switched as they saw fit fight me on this I dare you

Which meant that the few 8th years who decided to come back all declared to be house-less because f*ck destiny and who they were supposed to be. They just wanted to be kids goddamnit

That doesn’t mean that you’re not a little surprised when Draco declares house-less. You thought he’d want to stay Slytherin

You catch his eyes and there’s no light in them and your heart just hurts

War was hell, and being trapped on the wrong side had to be the depths of Tartarus

McGonagall keeps a dozen Mind Healers on staff this year, for obvious reasons

Which is where you run into Draco often. You’re craving a therapy session and he has to—court mandated.

You wave and he gives you a curt nod. He’s in most of your classes now that you were both house-less so you’re peers, maybe acquaintances

True to Harry’s nature, he’s suspicious of Malfoy at all times, and well maybe you pick up a few habits of looking after Draco as well—but in a different manor

You make sure he eats, and gets to class, and stays awake in class for that matter, then you make sure he gets to bed. All by gentle questions or offering to go with him to meals or class etc (“hey, I haven’t eaten dinner, wanna come with?” “You have Flitwick with me... wanna walk together?” “It’s late, I’m sure the book will be there in the morning,” “I made too much tea, do you want some?”)

He notes your kindness but only mentions it to his Mind Healer. He’s confused as to why you’re being kind and doesn’t know if he likes it or not (he’s also a bit better with his emotions since he’s in therapy) y’all get therapy it’s amazing

“Well, you could ask her about it,” the Healer suggests. Except he didn’t understand how much Draco could not do that because he wasn’t confrontational anymore

Instead he decides to extend the same kindness to you. As an olive branch. You spill ink all over your paper in shock when he asks you to dinner. He quickly vanishes the ink with a flick of his hand

Now you two sort of get dinner together. Like all the time. It’s just something that normal and routine. You talk about your days, your classes, and Draco feels... normal. Like you’re not gawking at him, not afriad of him, you don’t hate him, and he’s pretty sure this isn’t some sort of ploy

fuck canon. Remus Lupin isn’t dead and neither is Sirius. I am the queen of this blog and my word is law.

Remus teaches DADA because he loves teaching and now that the job isn’t jinxed and McGonagall knows he needs a break from 24/7 Sirius to maintain his sanity, he teaches

And of course he adores his 8th years

He teaches a wide range of defense spells, but to pass his class with full marks all you have to do is summon a patronus. Corporeal or not.

Draco, though still quite flawless in about everything else, struggles with casting a patronus. A lot of 8th years do as well, so he’s not singled out, even if he is a bit frustrated

Remus understands that after a war this is hard for his kids, so he allows them to take a day and go to the lake instead of class for fun in the sun and to make new and safer memories

“Aren’t you coming?” You ask Draco who’s sitting alone in the common room sulking. “No,” he mutters. “Why not? Lupin is taking attendance, you have to come,”

“No, I don’t.” He snaps.

He really doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to swim. He doesn’t want to take his shirt off or wear short sleeves. He doesn’t want to be gawked at because of his Mark or his numerous scars. He’d rather save himself the panic attack.

“Come with me?” You try weakly. “You don’t have to swim. I’m not going to, but maybe just sit out there? We can read? Or talk? Or something?” You know it’s a lost cause. You sigh. “We’ll miss you Draco—I’ll miss you,” you offer a small smile and head down to the lake downcast.

And maybe Draco misses you with each step that you walk away from him. Maybe it’s so unbearable that he curses himself and you before stalking down the the lakeside beach.

Meanwhile you’re perched under a tree reading a book. “Couldn’t get him to come down huh?” Lupin asks. “Sorry Professor,” you give a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s gonna take Draco a bit longer to get on his feet again. In fact I’d be surprised if—” Lupin stops mid sentence.

“Professor?” You ask. “Well I’ll be a mandrakes uncle,” Lupin grins, nodding to someone in the distance. You turn and see a familiar head of white blond hair heading towards you.

Ignoring Lupin completely you jump up and run over to Draco, pulling him into a hug, before remembering yourself as you take a step away awkwardly.

“I’m glad you came,” you stammer. “Me too,” his cheeks are flushed slightly pink as you two sit under the tree together.

True to your word, you two do read. He reads some sort of wizard classic literature and you read a muggle classic: Pride and Prejudice because you need a break from magic and spells

Draco asks you about your book and you explain a bit of it to him, saying that he would probably enjoy it, despite its muggle origins. He eyes the book and you skeptically but asks if he can borrow it when you’re finished with it

You two are mostly left alone for the afternoon, except always under the watchful eye of Harry who is still convinced that Malfoy is up to something

Your patronus charm is now incorporeal. You jump excitedly and the charm falls. Draco, who’s next to you, is quite surprised by the hug he gets tackled with by a very elated you.

Which leads to more awkward blushing and apologies.

“So you and Malfoy?” Harry asks one night while you’re alone. “I... I don’t like it.” “Oh come on Harry, don’t you think if he was going to do something he would have? He’s just trying to move on like the rest of us,” your voice is venemous and cold as you glare the golden boy down.

Draco sees you and Harry talking alone at night and gets the wrong idea before rushing away not understanding why that hurt so badly. He feels betrayed. You were the one person he thought was on his side and now you were skirting around with Potter.

You notice immediately that Draco has closed himself off to you and you worry. “Is everything okay?” “Ask Potter,” Draco snaps. “You seemed pretty cozy with him the other night.”

Then it hits you. “We’re you spying on me?” The thought is quickly dismissed. “Draco, Harry came up to me bitching about you. And I told him to drop it and leave you alone because you deserve your place here like the rest of us,”

Well you hadn’t said exactly that, there was a bit more swearing involved but the sentiment was there

“You... you defended me,” he’s in disbelief. “Yes,” you groan. “Now will you stop sulking and come and get dinner with me?”

“I’ve already eaten,” he mutters. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Draco,” you press. “Please,”

“I’ll never understand how you can tell when I’m lying,” he grumbles, standing. “You don’t look me in the eye,” you laugh, walking towards the great hall.

The trips to the lake become a Friday thing for 8th years and Remus. To give the kids a break and to let them blow off a little steam.

You know Draco isn’t comfortable going again and you don’t want to either so, you talk to Lupin and work out a deal.

“Are you coming?” You ask him, dressed in your old quidditch robes. “You’re going to the lake in that?” He asks skeptically. “And no I’m not going,”

“I’m not going to the lake,” you smile, perching on the back of a couch. “So, are you coming?”

“Where are you going?” He asks. “Oh come on you’re a smart bloke, put two and two together.” You laugh and take off down the hall towards the quidditch pitch.

You’ve done a few laps when Draco joins you in the air. “This is stupid,” he declares. “Yeah,” you smile. “But it’s fun!”

Draco sighs and his resolve fades and soon he’s smiling and chasing after you in a one on one game of catch-the-snitch

And honestly it is fun. Draco’s laughing and flying with you and he almost forgets that he’s supposed to be Seeking.

And when you fly closer to him, staring into his eyes, beaming, he does everything he can to remember to keep flying. You’re inches from him. You reach out and his heart is stammering.

Then you grab something next to his head and laugh victoriously showing him the snitch.

“Oh come on that was cheating!” He whines, chasing after you towards the field floor.

“It’s not my fault you were staring at me like I was Potter!” You call back. “Although I hope you don’t hate me,” you land softly on the grass and Draco is caught off guard by your words and why would he ever hate you and he crashes into you

“Draco!” You scold, and he thinks he’s hurt you and that you’re crying but no you’re laughing hysterically beside him

“I—are you okay?” He stammers, gaping at you. “I’m fine,” you laugh sitting up. Until you put pressure on your wrist and well maybe then you’re not fine

Draco feels awful and takes you to the infirmary, letting Pomfrey heal your broken wrist. All the while the roles are reversed and you have to convince him to calm down and that you’ll be okay man that boy is a mess

“B-but I hurt you!” He exclaims. “It was an accident Draco!” You fold your arms. “I’m not mad, please don’t be mad at yourself,” your voice softens as you take his hands. “Please?”

His eyes catch yours and he nods and you smile at him.

Since this is an every week thing, you and Draco have a rivalry going on of who’s won more matches. (The smack talk and banter is real, but all in good fun. It leaves you both laughing and smiling and onlookers completely confused because “uh, he just called you slower than a spider in roller skates” “Yeah, and he knows that it’s still faster than his blond arse” “My arse has nothing to do with it” “Oh I beg to differ,”)

Winter turns to Spring and now showers are 100% necessary for you Friday afternoons after you matches with Draco.

You pause in the locker rooms after one match and notice that Draco has shed his robes and is now shirtless before you, his back turned. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the scars that paint a gruesome image on his skin.

You don’t think he knows you’re there but his tired voice barely speaks: “I know you’re staring. It-It’s okay. I’ve... I’ve come to terms with it myself. And I think I’ve come to terms with you knowing as well.”

He turns to face you, a mask of calm on his face, his eyes holding yours.

“Harry did this?” You breathe out, taking a step toward him, your hand coming up and hesitantly tracing a scar that bends around his shoulder.

“Harry, my father, my aunt... you stop keeping track after a while,” His eyes are downcast letting you know that he knows exactly what scar is from whom.

Your hand trails down and brushes over his Dark Mark. He flinches, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

“Thank you,” You whisper. “For showing me... for trusting me enough.”

Draco’s patronus is now incorporeal.

You cheer and he wraps you into a hug this time and you’re shocked for a moment before hugging him back

You’re currently tied on your catch-the-snitch matches and today marks the tie breaker and the winner it’s just too hot to keep doing it during class time in the afternoon.

“D-Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me, tomorrow?” Draco stammers one Friday afternoon. “Sure,” You smile, “A bunch of our friends are going, were you planning on not going?”

Draco purses his lips because of course you’re going to make this hard for him.

“I meant with me. Just me. As a... date?” He’s flushed bright pink and it has nothing to do with the heat.

“I thought you’d never ask,” You grin and zoom off after the snitch and he’s left chasing you wondering and asking what the hell you meant by that.

He ends up catching the snitch and is completely distracted from his victory because what did you mean you thought he’d never ask????

“Draco, stars above you’re so dense,” you dismay and grab the front of his robes and pull him over and press your lips to his

It causes him to let the snitch go and pull you closer. And maybe the two of you spend the afternoon kissing thousands of feet above the ground.

You two enter the Common Room, hand in hand and a cheer is let up as well as bet money being exchanged. Draco is flushed pink, and so are you, but you just smile and roll your eyes back Hogwarts is starting to feel like home again

And oh he absolutely spoils you at Hogsmeade the next day. And you have to admit, as much as you like gifts, it’s so much more to see him happy about buying them for you.

Harry is sulking about the entire thing, and now has been jeering at you and Draco and most times Draco stops you from punching the golden boy in the face.

“I did it to him for years,” Draco murmurs. “Doesn’t make it right,” You hiss back, glaring at Harry.

A few others take the same idea as Harry and start to taunt Draco about his long sleeves in the warm weather. Draco never rises to the bait but you can see that it wears at him. You just hold his hand a little tighter and maybe send a few wandless, nonverbal hexes their way,

It draws the line one day when Harry with a few other 8th years stop you and Draco in the halls. Draco, you can tell is close to having a panic attack because it’s not the first one of his that you’ve witnessed and you just go off

“What is wrong with you!?” You scream at Harry. “At least he’s trying to get better! At least he’s changed! You might have saved the world but you’re nothing but a bully!” There are tears in your eyes as Draco places his hands at your waist, steadying you and himself. “And maybe he would wear a t-shirt if you hadn’t tried to kill him a few years ago with Dark Magic that left its mark all over him! Did you ever think of that!?”

Harry is gaping at you, shocked. Draco pulls you down the hall and it’s not far before he’s breaking down into a panic attack in your arms. You stroke his hair as you let him cry out all his tears, then you walk him through breathing exercises and five-things-five-senses (Grounding)

After this Harry backs the fluff off (and eventually apologizes and goes to Mind Healing himself because you were right, he needed to get better too.)

You and Draco become more comfortable around another and in public. Which leads to cuddling in the common room or kissing in the halls And no one can deny that you and Draco are just sweet and perfect together

Out of the blue but not really because Harry had a hand in it Lupin talks privately to Draco about his scars and they sort of have a therapy session themselves. Sirius talks to you and gives you advice about how to help Draco through overcoming his fears and self doubt about his scars and now you two have sort of been adopted by these two dads)

It’s the last day of DADA and Lupin makes all of his 8th years cast a patronus and you and Draco do it together and everyone stares in complete and utter awe at the two dragons coiling around each other filling up almost the entire room

You and Draco are in shock too, but soon, smug smiles fall on both of your faces because, yeah... those are two souls sworn and bound to protect another. Two fighters. Two dragons.

You also tease Draco about his name and the dragon for the rest of his life which always ends with him growing frustrated and kissing you to shut you up and then the both of you get a little carried away... but it’s fine. The castle is enormous and there are plenty of empty classrooms

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypotter-blog @atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @okaydraco @the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos @quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox @slothgirl22 @peachesandpinks @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo @naughtygranger @queenofmankind @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @myforeveryoungblog @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @strawberriesonsummer @jjustsomerandomgirl @mrvlfangirl3190 @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @stoleurmomsvan @echpr @sunkissed-hufflepuff @dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker @xlosttdreamss @sleepysnapesnake @hoeforthefictional @coldlilheart @helen-paris @romance-geek @rosie-starlit-sky @californiaa-babyy @vulture-withafile @hogstupefy

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klbwriting · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Allies - Epilogue

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz/female!Reader

Summary: just a little wrap up that maybe opens the door for more fun with these two

Note: there is like the most casual mention of smut in this, I hope you don’t mind!

Taglist: @mcntsee @amwitherspoon @cxlpxrnia @fcvcritecrime @aysegust @sagewrites111 @spawn0fsatan @itsemy01 @thedelusionreaderbitch

I literally just wanted an excuse to use this GIF

Kaz groaned softly as he lay back on the bed, sweat dripping, Y/N falling forward, lying next to him, both of them fully satisfied. She let an arm fall across his naked chest and traced some of his scars. He couldn’t lie, the Little Palace bed was perfect for a tumble, and ever since their first day there they had been taking advantage of the room. Y/N still hadn’t given an answer to being queen and Kaz had a feeling she would be waiting until the last possibly moment.

“You know, I think that is my favorite part about meeting you,” Y/N said, kissing his shoulder. “Totally worth the wait.” He smirked a little. Their first night Y/N had slept soundly for the first time in weeks and Kaz hadn’t left her side. The next day seemed like even more work, meetings, greeting the other armies officially, and so many people wanted to meet Y/N that Kaz had barely had any time with her. So after dinner when she found him in the hallway he had whisked her away, wasting no time after getting back in their room. Kaz hadn’t thought much about tumbling with anyone before Y/N, his interest in most women fading quickly once money wasn’t involved. But after a night with Y/N, he didn’t think he wanted to do anything for the foreseeable future.

“We need to get up, you promised to give an answer about leading Ravka today,” he said, not moving in the slightest. Y/N sighed and pushed off the bed, moving to dress. Kaz watched her, admiring her once again. She looked and caught him staring and raised her eyebrow. “What? Not everyday I’m in bed with a naked queen.”

“Actually, that’s been your entire life for the past month and a half,” she laughed. She finished dressing and looked at him. “You coming Rietveld?” He rolled his eyes and stood, but he no longer hated when she called him that. He was sliding on his shirt when he knocked his jacket off the dresser, a small box falling from the pocket. He froze when Y/N picked it up and opened it. “Kaz…”

“I wanted you to make your decision first…without me being involved,” he tried to explain. She looked at him, eyes soft.

“Kaz, we both know that I’m not cut out for this life and neither are you, we both need to be out there, causing trouble for everyone else, so if you want to ask me something, I would ask it,” she said, tossing him the box. He pulled out a black ring with a ruby stone. He had stolen it from the old royal jewels that were stored in the Little Palace, knowing that in Ravka it was traditional to have a ring when proposing.

“You know I’m not going to get on a knee or anything,” he said. She laughed. “But, Y/N, I can’t stay here, and neither can you so how about we get married quick and then run away? Get on a boat to Kerch and never look back?” She smiled and nodded.

“Let’s do all that and cause some chaos in the process,” she said, holding out her hand. Kaz slid on the ring and wrapped his arms around her.

“We should tell Inej and Mal first, considering they’re mostly in charge,” he said. Y/N nodded.

“Also, they’re sharing a room now so easier to find,” she said casually. Kaz snapped his head to look at her. This was new, he hadn’t realized anything was going on between them but apparently the Wraith was keeping her secrets close. “What? I saw them leaving his room this morning and well, they had the same look we probably are wearing right now.”

Kaz had barely had time to recover from this new information when Y/N was dragging him out of the room. They found Mal’s room and knocked. Mal opened the door a little, shirtless and Kaz could see he was pretending to have been sleeping.

“Ok, come on we know Inej is in there,” Y/N said. Mal just pretended to be confused. “Ok fine, I don’t care, tomorrow me and Kaz are getting married, be there.”

“Tomorrow?” Mal asked. Kaz looked at Y/N with a smile.

“Yes, we are getting married and also we are going to recommend that you and Inej run Ravka with the leaders council,” she said. “I don’t want to be queen, I’m not a queen.” Mal sighed.

“Ok, well congratulations anyway, making a huge mistake with this guy but have fun,” Mal said with a smile. Y/N punched his shoulder softly.

“By Inej!” Kaz called into the room.

“Congratulations…” she called back, still out of sight. Y/N and Kaz laughed, his arm going around her as they went to find the other Dregs at breakfast.

Nina, Jesper, and Wylan were excited to see the ring, Jesper bragging about how he made it before Kaz told the truth about stealing it. Matthias glowered.

“A demon and a witch…this is going to be a disaster,” he grumbled. Nina nudged him and he smiled at little.

“Also, we’re leaving tomorrow night, 12 bells, if you’re coming meet at the old palace, we’re going back to Ketterdam to see how they’re rebuilding,” Kaz said. “Get in on the ground floor and run the Barrel again.” Nina shook her head.

“I think Matthias and I are going to stay here,” she said. “Settle down now.” Y/N hugged her friend tightly. “I’ll miss you guys though. Is Inej going?”

“We didn’t tell her. She’s loyal and I know she would go with me if I asked but she’s happier here where she can make a good difference in the world,” Kaz said. “Jesper, Wylan, you coming?”

“Hell yes we are, I have to be honest, I need to get out of here,” Jesper said.

“Only because you owe so many people money,” Wylan muttered, earning him a nudge from his boyfriend.

The joining was small, only the Dregs and Mal, and as soon as it was over Kaz and Y/N packed to leave. Y/N glanced at Kaz’s bag, noticing it was already full and he was trying to shove in a vase from the Darkling’s office.

“Here, I stole some smaller items,” Y/N said, opening her almost empty bag. Kaz glanced inside and saw the entirety of the crown jewels sitting at the bottom. “Their mistake for giving me unlimited access.” Kaz smirked and put the vase in the bag before kissing her deeply. They heard 12 bells strike and headed to the old palace. Jesper, Wylan, and Inej were there waiting. Inej looked to Kaz a little annoyed.

“Did you think you could sneak away without even a goodbye to me?” she asked. Kaz looked a little guilty.

“I didn’t want to make you choose…”

“I wasn’t going to choose you Kaz, not anymore,” she said. “But I hope you’ll come and visit sometime now that the Fold is out of the way.” Kaz shrugged and then felt the little Suli woman hug him tight. He was surprised but wrapped his arms around her also. “I will miss you Kaz Brekker. Don’t screw up with Y/N, remember she can kill you.” Inej turned to Y/N and hugged her also. “Keep him safe or remember that I can kill you.”

“You are amazing Inej, I will miss you so much,” Y/N said, hugging her. “Come on, we should go, there’s a sand skiff leaving for the True Sea this afternoon and we want to be on it.” The four Dregs headed to the stables, stealing themselves some horses before riding off to find home.

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #kaz x reader #kazbrekker #kaz brekker #kaz #unexpected allies series

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

End of an Era

It was fun while it lasted guys :)

>>>Read on AO3<<<

And one night, without any warning, the last piece of the puzzle came. The dream told her everything, ran over the entirety of her life, and when the old and wrinkled soldier Mikasa closed her eyes for the last time, she woke up with unshed tears brimming in the corners.

Next to her, the devil she decapitated slept peacefully, with no marks or scars under his eyes. She didn’t want to wake him yet, as there was another person Mikasa needed to talk to right now, so getting out of the bed carefully she located her phone.

“M-Mikasa?”, a yawn, “It’s four in the morning, why are you calling me?”

“I’m sorry Armin, I have to ask you something.”, Mikasa whispered, keeping her voice low not to wake Eren, “please…”

“Sure, just…” another yawn, this time even longer, “Give me a second so I can collect my brain from the dreamland.”

Mikasa could hear the phone being put down and then the rustling of bedding on the other side as Armin was most likely stretching and fully waking up. She waited patiently until he picked the device up again, speaking in a much clearer voice.

“Ok, I guess I’m functional now. What’s up?”

“In the book you are writing, does the main pairing gets a happy ending? Do they get together?”

“I… Uh… Is that why you woke me?”

“Armin, please. It’s important to me.”

In truth, the blond had no idea why Mikasa was suddenly so interested in the ending of his story. Sure, she read it during development and said that it was good, but there’s a difference between that and calling at four AM to grill him about the ending she didn’t get to see yet because Armin finished it about a week ago. Then again, her voice was completely serious and while Mikasa did like some fun pranks from time to time, this didn’t sound like one at all. So, following her wish, Armin gave her an honest answer.

“No, they don’t. The girl is forced to kill her love interest to save the world from him, but it's sort of bittersweet because their friends get to live a happy life after.”

There was a gasp on the other side as if he confirmed some of Mikasa’s suspicions.

“Why?”

“Well, people like angst, and giving everyone a happy ending is a bit of a cliché, no? I mean…”

“Why her though, wasn’t she the heroine?”

“Yes, but she can move on in time you know, forget about him and whatnot.”

There was a bit of silence on the other side before Mikasa spoke again, this time in a small and sad voice.

“Could you change it? Please, for me.”

“How?”

“Just make her happy…”

Running a hand through his sleep-tussled hair Armin puffed out air, turning the possibilities in his head. It wouldn’t be that hard to make Mikasa’s wish come true. He had a lot of supernatural going on in his book, monsters, and gods, a simple resurrection wouldn’t break the story. Plus it was rare to hear Mikasa beg like this, she was usually the “cool and stoic” type, and it tugged at Armin’s heart.

Hell, why not.

“All right, I’ll do it somehow.”

“You will?!”

“Yeah, but you’ll owe me one.”

There was happy and relieved laughter on the other side.

“Of course, I’ll do anything Ar, thank you so much!”

With a click, the call ended and Mikasa let out a long breath, rubbing the unshed tears from her eyes. It would seem that Armin wasn’t writing a story, more like remembering it, but unlike the one that happened this one would get a different ending.

Mikasa told Eren everything over breakfast, hugging a warm cup of coffee with both hands. He didn’t say anything while she spoke, just listened, his green eyes taking all of her in, both words and gestures. Only when she finished did he let out a long breath, one that felt like he was holding in for an eternity.

“This is a lot to take in.”, he said, “Especially at once.”

“I know…, you don’t have to believe me but…”

“I believe you. Every word.”

“Just like that?”

A firm nod.

“You believe it, and I see no reason why I should not. Past lives and other-universe memories can exist, it's not like the entire human psyche has been mapped.”

He looked away for a second.

“The Eren you described, he is so different than me, yet so terrifyingly similar in some aspects. I can sit here and say that I would never cause the apocalypse but in his place…? I just can’t know for sure.”

“I guess we are lucky that we don’t have to find out.”, Mikasa offered, “This life is so much better than whatever they went through...”

“For sure.”

“And that’s not all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I… I think I married someone… Jean maybe? Had kids with him too.”

“Oh my god.”, Eren threw an arm over his face dramatically, “Out of all people, why him?”

“I… I don’t know if it was him but….”

“Please Miki, I get that I died, and you wanted to move on, but didn’t your past life have any taste ?”

“Hey! Jean is nice.”

He peeked at her from under his arm.

“Nice huh?”

“Yea, nice. You know what, if you die I’m going to marry him here too.”

The fingers that were till now peacefully resting on her hip curved and dug into her flesh, a dangerous flash in the emerald that stared at her.

“You’re just trying to rile me, is that it?”

She fought the grin, not wanting it to reveal the joke.

“Maybe…”

However, Eren’s grip weakened as his face grew distant, the classic “philosophical” look entering his features.

“Would that be fair to him though? Jean is… okay I guess, and you treating him like an afterthought, a second choice? Not nice.”

Mikasa’s smile faltered when she realized that, and Eren was not even done with his speech.

“Then again, if I’ll be dead then I guess I have no agenda in telling you what to do. Plus I think I’d be happier if you moved on and had a family instead of mourning me forever. You are too young for that.”

These words hit way too close to Mikasa’s dream, and she could feel the sadness rising in the chest again. To battle it, she took hold of Eren’s chin and tugged it down until their lips were touching.

“Hey, not more talk about death, okay?”, she ordered, “I had enough of that while sleeping.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When she kissed him, Mikasa’s sadness melted away again, chased away by Eren’s warmth against her. Maybe her other self had to settle for something else, but not her. She was here and she had the love of her life right in her arms, in her bed, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

Eren mulled the facts over for a time, putting them together in his head. It was a nice day outside, and while he did all the math Mikasa simply watched him with a faint smile on her lips. It was almost noon when he came to her with a new question.

“So let me get this straight – I didn’t achieve anything In the end? My island was still nuked and the monsters…”

“Titans.”, Mikasa corrected him.

“Right, titans. Those are still around? Man, I guess I was turned into a clown at the end.”

She didn’t know how to disagree with any of those points.

“And the point of it all was nothing? That no matter how hard you struggle to save something you hold dear it will end up destroyed anyway?”

“It does sound hopeless when you put it like that.”

He snorted.

“Guess I was a certified clown then – oh well, now you see what zero pussy does to a motherfuc…”

“No, no, oh my god.”, Mikasa interrupted him, “Why do you keep making fun of it, I swear you are such a kid and…”

“W-What?”, Eren had trouble speaking because of the laughter, “It’s true! I died for nothing in your dream, I was a joke.”

“No… It wasn’t like that.”

“Take it as you will, but all my nightmares became reality and…”

Eren tapped the table a few times, most likely trying to wrap his head around it all.

“…you married Jean.”

“Well… yea, that was a bit weird.”

“Was it? I mean, the guy had a crush on you.”

She blinked at him.

“It was just a tiny one if there even was one at all.”

“Oh c’mon Miki,”, Eren’s grin was wide, “You couldn’t be that dense.”

“I-I mean…”

Jean? A crush? It reminded her of that night, not that long ago when she found out that most if not all of her female friends would like to have some sort of intimate experiments with her.

“Doesn’t matter.”, she blurted, “He’s a good friend, and I like him a lot, but not romantically!”

“He will be heartbroken…”

“He will?”

“Nah,”, Eren chuckled, “Jean got over it, he and Hitch are happy together, as far as I know.”

“That’s good, a crush is hardly a good base for a real-life relationship.”

“Then I guess we can be happy that you guys married in a dream only.”

“Indeed.”, she reached over the table to gently touch his face, “Here I have you.”

Eren mirrored her gesture, letting his thumb stroke the scar on Mikasa’s cheek.

“And I have you.”

“Forever.”

“Sadly.”

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing baby…”, a devilish grin, “Yes, forever.”

With her dreams done and finished it was time to return to civilization, to leave the cabin life behind. Eren told her that he got this, very courteously, most likely still worried about her mental state.

“Just take it easy,”, he said, kissing the top of her head, “I’ll pack.”

He did as he said, fighting with the baggage to the best of his ability. Mikasa was left to wander around aimlessly, and for whatever reason her steps took her to the big tree sitting there, overlooking a vast plain of grass. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air she leaned on the tree, but then her eyes caught sight of something that almost made her jump out of her skin.

There was a ghost sitting there, a ghost of her, dressed in a simple skirt and shirt, the scarf still around her neck. The apparition was about the same age Mikasa was, maybe a bit younger, but they looked almost the same. Her hair wasn’t short, it was long and pulled into a ponytail and there was no red highlight decorating it. The ghost looked up, her eyes meeting Mikasa’s, and a faint smile crossed her lips.

It was her perfect copy, down to the scar on the cheek - albeit the ghost’s was even more faded than hers, long years washing over it. She must have gotten her cut as a teenager. And there was also something about the eyes – it would be a lie to say that Mikasa had an easy life, but what she saw in the ghost’s eyes was something different altogether. The sitting girl saw hell and more, and it showed in her face.

“You are me.”, Mikasa finally pushed out.

The ghost looked at her curiously, tilting her head to the side.

“You… you can’t speak, can you?”

The ghost shook her head.

“I wonder why….”

The sitting girl shrugged, not understanding this any more than Mikasa did. She was just about to question her further when something else caught her attention. The ghost wasn’t sitting there on her own, there was something next to her – a tombstone with a very familiar name written on it.

Eren Yeager

Mikasa already had a suspicion, but this confirmed it – the sitting girl was the other Mikasa, the one she had dreams about, her past life. Following her eyes the ghost saw what she was looking at, her smile replaced by a look of deep longing. Gently, she caressed the stone, her eyes shining with tears.

“So the dreams were right, huh? You had to kill him.”

The ghost nodded solemnly.

“You saved the world, everyone, but you had to give the love of your life up.”

The apparition didn’t react, eyes trained at the cold tombstone.

“They say that if you love something, you should let it go.”, she told the ghost, “But I can’t do that….”

Looking over her shoulder at the man she loved so much, Mikasa let the words spill freely.

“I guess I’m selfish but I don’t want to lose this love we have, no matter what kind of symbolism it is. I want to wake up next to him every morning and spend ten minutes getting out of his hands because he holds me so tightly when we sleep. I want to see him yawn and wish him good morning and share a cup of coffee. I want him to be there for me when I come back so we can talk about our days and cuddle on the couch together…”

Her hands intertwined on the abdomen, gently stroking the fabric of her shirt.

“I want to have children with him, family, kids that will combine my and his looks and attitude. Is that selfish? Is that too much to ask? Is that…”

Lost in her speech Mikasa stumbled over the words and fell silent, letting out a short laugh after.

“I’m selfish and I don’t care. I’m never letting go simply because I don’t want to and damn everyone who disagrees with me. I deserve this, I deserve to be loved.”

As soon as those words left Mikasa’s lips she realized how insensitive those were towards her other self, the poor girl who, for all her bravery, for the act of saving the world itself – got nothing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”, she apologized to the sitting copy of herself, “I know that you never got to experience any of that with him.”

The ghost’s face fell and she buried her face to the scarf, eyes moving towards the headstone next to her. Seeing the longing written in her features, Mikasa couldn’t help but wonder.

“Did you… did you learn to let him go? Did you come to terms with his death?”

The pain in the girl’s eyes was all the answer Mikasa needed. It resonated within her, the suffering because she could imagine how it would feel. Maybe it was because she experienced it in her past life, maybe it was because of all these strange visions but she could do it and the pain and emptiness were terrible.

“This is not fair,”, she blurted, “You did everything you could, you saved the world and this was your reward? You’ve sacrificed… everything… and….”

She was crying now, Mikasa realized, her tears matching the ghost’s. Falling to her knees next to the girl she tried embracing her only to realize that she can’t touch a figment of her imagination.

“I’m so sorry for how the universe treated you, you deserved more, so, so much more….

More flashes- this time of a child, a faceless husband, grandkids too.

“This, all that… Did it make you happy?”

The ghost girl gave her a small enigmatic smile, and Mikasa realized one thing. It wasn’t for her to know – maybe she was happy with the other family, maybe she wasn’t, that would remain an enigma.

“But still, you kept visiting his grave,”, Mikasa’s eyes moved over to the headstone and the flowers there, “You never let his memory fade.”

A nod from the other girl.

“Still, it wasn’t fair to you. You could have been, no, should have been so much more…”, this time the raven’s eyes moved to where her Eren was, “You deserved to have a happy future with him too.”

“Yet you didn’t, and I did – you got the pain and I have the rewards you fought for. I swear, I will not let it go to waste.”

Standing up, she offered her hand to the ghost.

“Please, come with me, experience all that you bled for, struggled for so much. Let me show you how the love you wanted feels in full bloom.”

But the girl didn’t move, simply looking at her. And that was when Mikasa realized….

“… you don’t have to come with me because you are already here. You are me, I am you, we are the same person.”

It was strange, realizing that this was her- this old, tired soldier, a woman broken by a war Mikasa couldn’t even comprehend. A tragic hero who sacrificed her greatest love for the greater good, being left with nothing but a memory. A girl who was thrust into a cruel world and treated unfairly, no matter how hard she tried to change it, to save those she held dear. Tears in the corners of her eyes, Mikasa clenched her fists.

Not anymore.

Now there was no war, no titans, no apocalypse over their heads. Eren wouldn’t go to commit a global genocide to save his country, only to have it destroyed anyway. She wouldn’t marry another man and have children with him, bring her family to his grave, and plant flowers with pain in her heart. No.

Mikasa wasn’t a soldier anymore – she was an MMA fighter, a professional athlete, a model. Her life wasn’t filled with a constant struggle for survival. It was dreamy- filled with everything she could wish for, whatever it was spending her time with friends, goofing around with Eren, or training her pole dancing. She didn’t care for horses or sharpen her blades.

Eren wasn’t a hopeless maniac, driven to war by the sheer necessity of survival – he was a doctor, a surgeon, helping people in need not killing them.

Most importantly they were together – an engaged couple that loved each other so much that they couldn’t put it into words correctly. No tragedy would befall them.

Keeping her hand outstretched, Mikasa talked to the ghost again.

“We are one, but I am the lucky part of us, of me. I am love, I am the nights and lazy mornings spent in bed, I am all the kisses and hugs. You are my sadness, my sacrifice, my longing and pain, my unfulfilled and tragic fate.”

She stretched her fingers closer to the girl.

“Please, take my hand and experience it all with me, learn that there is beauty in this cruel world.”

Not hesitant anymore, the ghost held her hand towards Mikasa.

When their fingers made contact a chill ran down her spine and she gasped, blinking several times. The girl was gone, so was the grave, only the tree remained and gently swayed in the wind. And in her heart, in her soul, Mikasa felt different – different yet same because now she knew everything and the pain in her heart resonated.

It would always be a part of her, or rather it always was, but Mikasa wasn’t feeling down because of it. Now she knew that she had to feel everything, every touch and happy emotion that she experienced with him because it was what her past died for. If anything the full realization of her suffering made Mikasa appreciate it even more – she was living this life not only now but for the past too.

He was her Eren, she was his Mikasa, and in this world, nothing would tear them apart. And the tears the began to appear in her eyes did nothing to deny that fact.

“Miki? Why are you crying, what’s wrong?”

Refusing to answer Mikasa crossed the distance and hugged him, burying her face into Eren’s chest. Understanding that she didn’t want words now he stroked her back patiently, waiting for her to come back to him.

“Eren, you won’t ever leave me, will you?”

“Never.”

“I mean, I couldn’t do it even if wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I love you anymore, it’s more like fascination, adoration maybe.”

“…Eren…”

“Hell, I’d do anything to stay with you, you want me to bark for you? Cause I will..”

Despite her sad mood, Mikasa felt the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Stop, come on.”

Ignoring that, he pressed his face into her hair, a quiet bark leaving his lips.

“Woof.”, he nuzzled her gently, “There, I did it.”

She giggled at that and Eren smirked, glad that he made her smile because that was his mission in life – making the beautiful angel he was, for some reason blessed by, happy.

It made her reflect on the whole story, now that she had it whole. Eren kept silent while Mikasa was deep in thought, his fingers gently stroking her hipbone in small soothing circles. In her mind, she recalled as much as she could, brought it together and….

Mikasa took a shuddering breath.

“It makes no god damn sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The whole story, It… it doesn’t add up at all. You dying for nothing, me moving on so quickly I… The whole world….”

She was pouting now, that adorable expression that made Eren want to kiss it right off of her face, but he held himself back. Mikasa was talking.

“It had such a nice build-up, but in the end, it collapsed completely. I don’t understand why….”

“Well, that is the thing with dreams.”, he mumbled next to her, “They often don’t make much sense once we wake up.”

“But still..”

“Mikiiiiiiiiii…”, unable to resist her cuteness anymore, he pressed a string of soft kisses all over her face, turning that pout into a breathless giggle, “Stop overthinking dreams so much.”

Grabbing her hand he intertwined their fingers, raising it so the sun slid over their skin. It highlighted the contrast between them, how his tanned shade complimented her pale one, just as perfectly as they completed one another in life.

“This. This is important.”, he said, “This is real. You may be a broken titan slayer in your dreams, but here you are… well, still a titan slayer but one that is happy… I think.”

His voice got even deeper when he directed his question right at her.

“Are you happy with me?”

Mikasa was nodding her head before she even realized what was happening.

“Yes. Gods yes, I couldn’t be happier.”

“See?”, the flash of white teeth revealed his grin, “Then focus on that. Here, in this world, I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.”

“That might be a very long time Yeager, are you sure that you want to do that to yourself?”

“As if I had a choice.”, his fingers danced over her hip, “You bound me to yourself with black magic, remember?”

“Good to see that you remember that. My Dark Knight.”

The kiss Eren gave her was interlaced with a smile, and it was one of the sweetest Mikasa ever got in her life. He was right, after all, her dreams, past self, it was a tragedy that befell her, but it was so jumbled at the end that she had a hard time taking it seriously. The “ending” of her past didn’t make sense, no matter how much she tried to see the point of it. It all looked like such a tragedy, but in the end…. was it maybe a comedy? A twisted image where all the sacrifice and pain they went through amounted to nothing? Where several characters were made to be worthless, and their struggle amounted to nothing? A parody of a terrible conflict that couldn’t be solved by anything else by an annihilation?

But... why dwell on it?

She had this- this life, this Eren, and this happiness that they built together, and she loved every second of it.

And there was nothing else that the past could show her anymore.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“You sure? Didn’t forget anything?”

Mikasa looked at the tree where the conversation with the ghost took place, smiling. Tightening her hold on Eren’s hand, she felt more content than ever before, finally having an explanation and ending for her nightmares. It all made sense, and she would live her life to the fullest with the love of her life – not only for herself but for the other Mikasa too. She deserved to experience it, every second of it. After all, they were one and the same.

“Yes. I have all I need right here with me.”

#eremika #fanfic #:)

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