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lilacookiee · 11 months

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So today, I went through my iCloud and because it's been at max capacity from old photos for the longest of time, I could never actually thoroughly go through them to get rid of old photos but a year down the road, I never realised how big of a blessing that would be.

I stumbled upon hundreds of photos and videos of the life I shared with Jerry, I realised how truly real and gentle love had been with you, and how empty I must’ve felt, and how painful it must’ve felt for you to have to come to accept to let go of someone you loved so much because of unchangeable situation, and for me to have someone to love immediately after you. It must’ve been painful to watch me move on to someone with extreme passion that probably made you felt like you never meant anything at all. But surely that wasn’t the case. There will always be a space in my heart that remains filled with memories of you, more so than any partner I’ve ever had because 3 years is a long time, and I’ve grown the most with you and I’ve watched you grow time and time again, so it’s impossible to ever replace you. So in my heart you will remain, no matter who you are with, and who I am with.

I pray I find someone will love me just as much as you did, and I pray that when the time comes, it will last, and religion won’t be in the way again.

Looking back over the 6 months being single, I cried over a boy who’s love burnt with passion, but there wasn’t a bone in him that could commit to an everlasting love. Falling in love with him was like adrenaline, it was almost as if I was impulsively deciding on doing something crazy stupid, enjoying it, at risk of death or injury. It’s like an extreme sport, crazy fun, unpredictable, addicting but you have an inherent probability of dying or getting injured. Most times you’re lucky but when it falls through, coming back from it is more difficult than ever. It cuts you deeper than the loss of a soft love that just couldn’t work. But that’s just it isn’t it? I played with fire and I got burnt. Exciting, and then you realise it’s only fun and happy until it bites you back in the ass

But you know what helped me today? Looking at photos of the me before him. How real love towards me looks like. How you and I forgave each other time and time again, instances where we swore that we would never see each other again, we fought and you ran to your sister’s home and I would lock my doors and be so angry I wouldn’t want you to come back home, yet my heart would soften, and before I call you or when I do call you, you would already be on your way back home to see me.

Countless times, over the 3 years we fought, we always made up, times we thought one another would never change and we found ourselves unconsciously changing a few months down the road because we just really enjoyed each others presence so much that nothing that came between us was big enough of an obstacle to keep us apart. Petty or big issues just became a page of our history. Well, normal relationship problems aside, your ugly traits and mine aside, ultimately we only broke up for good when the love for one another was not enough to be a reason to forgo the love and commitment to our gods. But looking back at it despite the break and the mistakes, we had it all. I was anxious and you made me secure, each and everyday, I never delved deeply in what you did or how you made me feel that way, but looking back on our photos, I get it now.

I never realised how many photos we have of us where you were gently kissing my head, videos and pictures of you randomly embracing me without asking, how often you kissed me lovingly, how friendly you’d joke with me, how tender you were when you held me, how lovingly you looked at me, and how you would compliment me like I was the only girl that existed in your life. And funnily enough, as my memories are tied to photos, I remembered that before some of those photos and videos, we had big fights or silly altercations where I would sulk or get upset over little things, yet when I take videos after we made up, the love and how gently you treated me never changed.

You’d always remind me that you’ll love me even if I was jobless, even if I was handicapped, even if someone splashed acid all over my face, you’d still be by my side. It wasn’t just empty words you gave me, but from the way you loved me or treated me, it spoke louder than anything you could’ve said, no matter how bad you were at communicating.

I knew you loved me because I know it wasn’t because I’m able or I’m pretty, it was because you saw through my flaws, you held me through the hard times in my life and despite the pain of our differences that tore us apart, seeing and feeling the forgiveness you showered me with, truly define what love really is, and in turn, you softened my heart to love you the way you loved me.

Being in love with you made me learn to love more earnestly and honestly than I ever did, which is a good thing with the right person, but incredibly dangerous when given to a person who doesn’t treat my heart with care.

How can I ever thank you for loving me that much? You loved me despite my ugliest flaws and mistakes, forgave me countless times and kept the love flowing. You taught me how to love better despite my rough tendencies. Now, I love and forgive to the best I can, hoping I could even get close to how you could forgive me for the worst things I’ve ever done. Even though our paths have diverged and moved forward with the hands of time, I’m now relearning what it means to be loved, and how I should continue to love, despite all the pain I’m experiencing. I’m grateful I stumbled upon our photos and videos because it serves as a reminder to me that there is someone out there who would love me the way you did, to show that real love goes beyond time, space, and fights.

Seeing our love made me remember how safe it felt to be in a secure relationship with someone who chooses to love you despite your flaws and believes in a better future as a couple, rather than the addicting thrill and adventure of a fiery passionate love with the chance of love burning out or burning me at any moment. It also set the bar for me not to be so hung up over a boy who doesn’t know how to love someone enough to look for the light at the end of the tunnel, someone who isn’t strong enough to stay even despite the hurdles that come his way and to not love someone who is incapable of loving anybody enough to cherish their presence to make things work no matter how steep the mountain may seem at first.

It made me realise that I deserve someone honest, who doesn’t lie to me or himself to keep an imaginary happy image of a relationship going on to me, the world and himself afloat. That I deserve a love with someone who no matter how bad the fights get, or how far we run, or how hard it may seem, always comes back around because of the genuine love and forgiveness for each other that we share.

Thank you Jerry, you’ve thought me so much back then and even now, more than a year apart and without contact, you still manage to help me without even lifting a finger. I’m glad someone genuine loves you now, and I feel so genuinely happy seeing videos of the two of you. Although it didn’t always start off that way, but I’ll always have mad love for you because our love is never meant to intertwine more than what has already transpired, so I’ll smile and let a prayer slip through my lips for your happiness, whether it’s her, or if by the grace of God, me, should you ever convert and it leads you back to me, i don’t know.

I used to want to control what happens in my life, and worry and hurt in the process. But now I really don’t want to fight what’s in store for me, I let things go and unravel as it comes while loosely following a goal in my life, and if I meet someone who loves me along the way, whether it happens that ex I almost married, or you, or just about anybody I can open my heart to and is a person who is capable of loving me you the way you did, I’ll be eternally grateful.

I am hopeful and I am stronger now, because the me a year ago, could never be alone after a breakup, the me then would’ve never seen the beauty in the solitude you loved so much to bask in, and most definitely, the old me would have shattered at the sight of old happy memories, whether it may be Bryan. Jerry or him. But I don’t now. I’m so proud of me. Taking a trip down memory lane, something I didn’t expect to go through tonight, showed me that I am someone worth loving and I shouldn’t have been been treated nor destroyed the way I was last year.

I’ve been on my knees crawling day by day, and by the time I look back, the memory is so much further from me than what I my mind had exaggerated it to be. Truly eye opening. I’ll keep moving forward, smile and be happy with someone in the future. I know it’ll come.

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kirathegreatfoxandkingofeyeballs · 11 months

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genuine question- how does this discord username update cause privacy issues? I hate this shit ass garbage change too for many reasons, but don't see how it leads to issues with privacy, but you're not the only one to bring that up so maybe I'm missing something?

I gotta be real that I don't necessarily know all the specifics on it, but I do know the basics of like, to put it simply, having a randomly assigned number + the username is naturally a lot safer than just the username. Now, if someone wants to find me, and I reuse usernames at all, they can easily, say, try to friend me. Or try to friend me without knowing who I am by just writing a bunch of random words and username ideas in the friend bar until something matches up.

Before, that wasn't a possibility.

I say that literally, I literally tried it once cause I was curious how it functioned, you had to not only match up the username word for word, character for character, but also know the exact code to go with. That's a lot harder to accidentally stumble upon than just throwing a bunch of Latin-only characters into a generator and seeing what sticks.

That's the other thing. It's not Latin-only characters. That was one of the other fun parts about the usernames. My username includes Hangul, which is Korean characters, bullet symbols, and a font that is not in technically speaking, Latin characters. None of the characters from my base username function in this new format.

To simplify, we went from something that could be any character ever from like 5-20 (I can't remember the exact range needed for usernames back then) + 4 randomized numbers. So even if you had the same number as someone else, it didn't matter at the end of the day, so long as you didn't have the same username too.

For example, let's say my numbers were 4575 (not my real number either mind you), I could have any array of characters, from other languages to numbers to Latin characters, to Greek and Chinese and Japanese hiragana, special characters and fancy fonts. Emojis even. This greatly increases the amount of characters and by proxy possible combinations we can apply. Which, of course, means it's harder to hack that username. (this is not including the numbers, even.) Adding to that is the numbers, ofc. In this case 4575. See, the cool thing about the previous usernames, I could literally scream from the rooftops my number. It...wouldn't actually matter. Because without that specific username, it's useless. (It used to not work that way, but they changed it over time iirc, but I might be wrong on that. The fact is that to friend someone, or contact someone you don't share a server with, you needed to not only know that specific number code, but also the exact characters of their username.)

This is where my issue comes with Discord. We went from this, while not necessarily perfect, but not bad really, system, one where they even built in an auto-copy function so it's easier to share your username and numbers if you so wish, to the basic bitch system that's a lot lot lot easier to crack.

If I have the username "kira" for example, now, anyone can go and friend me just on that username. Because that's all that's between my safety, my privacy, and my inbox. Whereas before I had four unknown numbers and an array of characters that most people are unable to even use without the right keyboards. Which means it's a lot harder to just accidentally stumble across me.

My characters are now limited to a much smaller amount of options, making it, of course, easier to crack, but also, harder to hide from. Before you could get nitro for example, and change the numbers. Now, if I have exiled someone from my life, they can't friend me unless they randomly guess my numbers, and I don't even have to change my username to fix that.

Humans can try to be creative, but we statistically fall back on habits. (I am not an exception, although I doubt people will recognize me, I've used similar usernames for a good 8~ years, and I do it purposefully in that case, but sometimes it's just what I fall back on. It's harder to come up with something new than to use what you already know.) People will repeat usernames. People will repeat passwords. Even if they need to change it to hide from an online stalker, for example, they only have what's in their head already to work on. The numbers, at the very least, provided a nice buffer between your hackability as a person, and anyone trying to access you and/or your account.

A part of me also worries they're going to try to use usernames as part of the function to log in. Which they haven't required previously. I use my email every time to log in, if I don't use the QR code. So if we end up having that option, I'm running the risk of getting hacked anytime I so much as mention too many characters of my username, which is a lot riskier, at the very least.

I don't know a lot of the inner workings, and won't pretend to. I'm sure there's probably other privacy concerns, and some may be much more glaring and something we should be more worried about. But the fact they downgraded a somewhat secure system to something that we don't need nor want makes me worried. I have a lot of private shit on Discord from years on there. I have servers dedicated to venting about life and problems from middle school. And I suspect that just deleting the text files won't actually delete that from their records.

Having that be even slightly more hackable has me pulling up my hackles instinctively tbh. I don't know what is making them think this is at all a good idea. The whole "four numbers are too hard to remember" bullshit is just that, and I'm sure they're well aware of it. Which means there has to be some other reason they're doing this, and I'm not excited at the prospects, tbh.

Sorry for rambling a little, I hope this clears up at least some of the privacy concerns regarding it, and I'm sorry I can't explain more. It's really not my forte beyond my knowledge of internet safety. Which should be really basic stuff, which is why I'm shocked they think they can side-sweep us like this isn't right in front of our faces.

Also no worries about asking! Again, sorry I can't provide more details, but I'm happy to help explain anything I know anything about should anyone be interested. Thanks for the ask.

#rambly kira #it's not my expertise but that's the info i can provide #thanks again for the ask!#I love getting asks #it's a treat to see each time

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breath-of-void · 2 years

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001 Was Underwhelming

A ton of people are of the opinion that Stranger Things season 4 was an unexpected return to form and that the villain of Henry was *chef’s kiss.* Surprising no one, I do not share that opinion.

Now, I do not fundamentally disagree with the premise that the children in Hawkins’ Lab weren’t just the product of Mystery Science Juice. In fact, I was a little excited when Henry (as an orderly) brought up the existence of a 001 that was a lot like Eleven.

Where it falls apart for me is that Henry (as an orderly) was that 001, because why would he be? Why would Brenner, knowing Henry’s prevalence for murder and mayhem, let him walk around unchecked in the facility. Granted, not fully unchecked, but he had way more personal power than he should have given Brenner’s fear of him. The Soteria in his neck suppressed his powers, but wouldn’t a dedicated enough Henry simply have been able to scratch it out at some point given that it’s shallow enough to be seen from the surface of the skin? And there’s no build up to his powers either, the moment it’s gone, he’s right back to a hundred percent. It feels like he should have been restrained along with that Soteria.

There’s also the question of where Henry’s powers came from. I don’t typically need a detailed explanation for why there’s cool stuff in my media. In Firestarter, for example, Andy and Vicky’s powers are the result of Science Juice and Charlie’s are because she’s their child. I really don’t need more than that. When you start having people like Henry randomly develop powers though, I start asking why. More accurately, I start asking why other people don’t have these powers.

Eleven could have simply been born with her powers. One of a couple children touched by the Upside Down and I would have accepted it as there is a repeatable, random element to it (i.e. shit happens sometimes). Her and One and the others being given Science Juice that inexplicably connects them to the Upside Down also works for me. But Henry just being the sole human person to be born with powers just because and for no other reason feels really weird.

I want to state for the record that I don’t think it’s bad just because it isn’t what I would have done. But it genuinely feels strange to me that Brenner would allow a Henry who has shown nothing but contempt for the living to have unfettered access to all these other psychic kids.

So now we have the question: what would I have done?

Still have Henry be the genetic code for Eleven and the others, but instead of allowing him free reign of the facility, depower him and keep him restrained in the basement. Think Wretched Egg from Deadman Wonderland. I would have either Eleven stumble upon him while running from the other kids or have the orderly be the victim of a trickle of Henry’s powers leaking out and he brings Eleven to him under the guise of helping her escape.

As for where he got his powers: Science is good enough. Perhaps they created a portal to the Upside Down and on of the scientists was pregnant at the time and her baby was born with powers and a lack of empathy. Simple.

In my narrative, the baby would of course be held by Brenner to see what else it can do. The first few years are easy enough but as the kid’s powers grow, it becomes harder to control. Maybe it starts speaking with the Upside Down itself, wanting to merge the two worlds permanently and Brenner destroys the portal to prevent that. In a rage, Henry rips the facility apart and runs away, eventually getting himself adopted for a good few years before he starts hearing the Upside Down again and kills his new family. This incident draws Brenner’s attention who gets the Soteria in him while he’s unconscious, takes him back to the lab and puts him under heavy lock and key while using his blood to make more psychics. Which then leads into Eleven finding him and helping him which leads to the massacre which leads to her using one of his rarer powers, opening portals using death as a catalyst and flinging him through it which leads to season 4.

In conclusion, I don’t hate the IDEA of 001, but he was handled badly. I’ve never really been able to stand villains getting their way, not because they’re particularly clever or powerful, but because the Powers That Be where incredibly lazy when it came to containing them.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #spoilers #001 #eleven #telekinesis #breakdown #disappointment #deadman wonderland #akira #elfen lied

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jiminstonic · 3 years

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Apothic | pjm

pairing: yandere!zombie!jimin + g/n reader

word count: 6.1k+

genre: thriller, fluff(?), mild angst

warnings: GORE, violence, puking, obsessive thoughts, death, zombie cannibalism, is it necrophilia when it’s a zombie?? (sorry if i forgot anything)

— synopsis: Ever since the apocalypse hit, it’s been kill or be killed. So, what are you to do when a ghoul would kill for you instead of kill you?

Fuck, no more canned ravioli. Chef Boyardee will be dearly missed.

You crack a smile at your own thoughts while scanning the supermarket aisle, a flickering fluorescent overhead. Dirt and various food wrappers litter the tiled floor that you tiptoe on with sock-covered feet, shoes in hand in order to make as little sound as possible. You’ve yet to see a ghoul in this supermarket, but better to be safe than sorry.

With every item you stuff in your bag, a small sigh of relief passes through your lips. Going nomad helps a lot with your need to be alone, but also comes with many cons. Sitting at the very top of the list is being cautious. If ambushed by a group of ghouls, you must find a way out all on your own. It’s a risk you’re willing to take. But you’re not stupid enough to be noisy, whether you’re really alone or not.

Maybe you’ll get a box of cereal this time. You just hope it won’t make too much noise while in your bag.

You make the round of a few more aisles, grabbing a new toothbrush and a few pens. Some rash cream too maybe, just in case. You start to mindlessly grab items that you might need until you end up in the candy aisle.

Gummy bears. It’s the first thing to grab your attention, better with the nearly vacant shelves, and you refuse to leave without it.

Carefully, you pinch the corner of the bag, gently pulling it from the rack it hangs on. It’s a slow process, and you’re on the verge of regretting it as a scraping starts to sound when you continue to tug. Finally, the rack comes to an end and the bag slips off with no more than a split second of a crinkle. That’s when you decide that you have enough for today’s supply, not wanting to risk much more than that. With a swift spin, you turn to head out, one socked-up foot in front of the other when you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Right at the other end of the aisle, stands a ghoul. It’s as still as a statue, save for the twitch in its fingers.

The sight makes your heart drop and the bag of gummy bears slip from your grasp. The sound that emits when it hits the floor makes the ghoul jump, oddly enough, but it still doesn’t make a single move. It just stands there, watching you.

That’s when you finally snap out of it, stumbling backward and running as fast as you can to the back exit. Even with the machete strapped to your side, you like to avoid having to kill them because, once again, noise. It’s always noise. The same thing that caused a headache for you once upon a time, but is now sometimes caused by the lack thereof.

You can’t care enough to try slipping on your shoes, too busy running for your life down the road. Rocks jab at the bottom of your feet, but you can only tighten your jaw and force yourself to bear it. A bite hurts a lot worse, you remind yourself.

The entire road is bare, same as when you came and is the reason why you even went into the supermarket. No ghouls around. ‘Clear skies’, as you like to call it. So, why was it just that one ghoul there? And how did you not notice it before?

Your pants come out in a near wheeze as you push yourself through the heavy door. Once it’s shut behind you, you fall back onto it and slide down to the floor. The thick air of the high school locker room suddenly doesn’t seem so bad when you’re gasping for breath.

With one last deep breath, you push yourself up with a huff. You sling the bag from off of your shoulder and let it drop to the ground, not very worried about its contents. With a tug on the strap around your torso, the velcro pulls apart and you place it on a metal table sticking from the brick wall, the machete only making a small thud.

Your mattress is in the deeper corner of the locker room with the rest of your stuff. The lockers in that spot hold more than you should probably keep, but you’re not very worried about anyone raiding the place. As far as you know, this town is abandoned.

Your feet drag across the tile as you make your way toward the showers, flicking on every one of the battery operated fans as you pass by. You don’t know how or why, but there’s still running water coming into the locker room. You’ve always tried not to question it, afraid of jinxing it just for the water not to work anymore. And you’re worried for when winter comes, since the water can only run cold. But you’re grateful for it. There’s no way you can’t be.

Usually, you’d pick a cd out of your stash to put into the battery operated player, but you don’t want to waste any time in washing off the sweat that sticks to your skin. With your clothes thrown to the floor at your feet, you turn the nozzle and immediately feel the cool water rush against your skin. You’re quick to grab the bar of soap, one of the many you’ve made sure to collect, and rub it against your skin.

You wake up randomly, not bothering to sit up and separate yourself from the warmth of the blanket, even if it is just a fireproof blanket. But the grumble of your stomach forces you to change your mind. Eating something before crashing on the mattress would’ve been a smart decision.

With a kick, you fling the blanket from your body, setting your feet onto the floor. As you stand, the faint breeze from the fans hit you, waking you further. You rummage through the lockers containing food, not being able to see much of anything—it’s still dark out. The moon is high in the inky sky, a tell-tale sign of the night’s peak. It casts its glowing rays through the high windows to beam down in sections on the tile.

Your hand finds a pack of crackers that you settle for; it’s only a late night snack anyways. Shutting the locker door, you practically jump out of your skin at seeing the dark figure that stands there. A shriek escapes you, feeling your heart drop far into your chest as you drop the crackers in favor of clumsily shuffling backward into the corner of the lockers. You can’t afford to take your eyes off of the figure if they’re here to hurt you, take everything you have left.

You can’t even see their face yet, the moonlight only illuminating their torso. Looking at what you’re able to actually see, you notice that they’re holding a bag, quickly recognizing the gummy bear logo. Your brow shoots up in question.

It isn’t until you shift your eyes back to their shadowed face that you realize they’re getting closer, the moonlight racing up their body. You push yourself further into the lockers pressed against your back, not thinking it was even possible to be any closer. Your breaths come out quicker, nostrils flaring as you begin to panic with every step the stranger makes toward you. Looking past them, you catch sight of your machete that sits on the table, useless on the other side of the room.

Maybe you can side step them, make a narrow escape and grab the weapon, impaling them with it before they can blink twice.

But that plan bursts into flames as you feel their presence just inches from you. They’re eerily quiet, not even the sound of breathing could be heard from them, only you. You slowly look at their face, the moonlight finally bringing it to light, and you panic further upon the sight.

They’re a ghoul. The ghoul. It’s the same one that you ran from earlier today in the store. It’s pale and delicate face, devoid of life and showcasing veins here and there, is surprisingly unscathed. It-...he must’ve been a gorgeous man when he was alive. His blue-ish violet lips stand out the most, especially with the dried blood that stains them. His eyes are the most unique you’ve seen for a ghoul. Usually, a ghoul’s irises were clouded over in a deathly white mist, but he only has one eye like that. The other is perfectly normal, it’s deep brown holding a single sparkle from the light. It’s captivating, to say the least.

Not once has his eyes drifted from you, and it’s starting to make you worry even more. You can already feel the sting of an impending bite everywhere he looked on your skin. It was torture, and he kept getting closer and closer, making you shut your eyes in fearful expectation. Yet, a bite never came. He didn’t fiercely tear away at your flesh with his teeth, making you his late night snack just as you were fearing. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Instead of a painful bite, you felt cold skin pressed against your chest. It has you feeling your own rapid heartbeat against your rib cage. Slowly, you open your eyes to look down, only to see him leaning his forehead against your chest. You’re beyond confused, but you don’t push him away in fear that it may trigger him to actually kill you. And so, you stay impossibly still as he has his...moment?

You watch as he slowly moves his head, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin until you feel his slightly parted lips do the same. He stays there with the tip of his nose and lips lightly touching you, right over your pounding heart. You have no idea what he might be thinking—if he can think. If there’s more to ghouls than what people know, then you are just as clueless.

Suddenly, you feel—as well as hear—him take a deep inhale. It makes you clench your fists that are pressed against the lockers since you’re still too afraid to squirm away from him. His exhale comes out as a small, soft whine, almost as if he were in pain, but still content. You’ve never heard anything so smooth and airy come from a ghoul before, most of them wasting what’s left of their voice boxes by incoherently yelling. He presses his free hand rather harshly against the locker next to your side, emitting a bang that has you flinching. With the same arm, he pushes himself upright to meet your eyes. Once again, he lets out a soft hum while you keep eye contact, and if he were still alive, you would’ve melted at the sweet sound.

It’s not until you feel a nudge at your hip that you look down, seeing him pushing the bag of gummy bears toward you. Hesitant, you glance back up at him, gauging his intentions only to be met with the same stare. He was waiting, wanting you to take it. So you did. With a shaking hand, you take the bag from him, and his arm immediately falls limp at his side as if he were carrying a large weight this entire time.

As he steps back, you take the only chance you have and run past him while dropping the bag, the machete being your only priority. You grab it, spinning around with it already raised high in the air and pointing at the ghoul, ready to bring it down into his chest. But you stop halfway, the sight in front of you completely catching you off guard. His eyes are wide, scared even, hands held in front of him to shield himself from your attack. They shake with the effort he puts into holding them up, and you slowly start to break at the dawning realization. Your grip on the weapon’s handle immediately disappears, the blade dropping to the floor with a resounding clang.

“What am I even doing?” You whisper, appalled by the aggression you didn’t think twice about. That’s not like you, it never was like you. Even if the one standing in front of you is a being that can rip your flesh and devour your organs in an instant, you were still disgusted with yourself.

Sure, his actions were confusing and you’ve never seen a ghoul act so...human. But that definitely doesn’t mean you should put a blade in his skull without a second thought, all because he confused you.

On the other hand, you’ve lived with the apocalypse for half of your lifetime, only ever knowing to kill or be killed. There weren’t many times you had to kill a ghoul, but when you did, there was never the satisfaction that others talked about after taking one down. You never felt victorious or powerful. Only guilty and despondent. Even if it was their fate, a fate that could’ve never been reversed.

So you stand there, tears blurring your vision as you’re unable to meet the eyes of the ghoul in front of you. All of your thoughts are like knives spearing your heart, and you’re unable to focus on anything else around you. Shutting your eyes, the tears flow freely as a sob erupts from you. Maybe this has been building up for weeks, months even. Leaving your makeshift family to go nomad, adjusting to being on your own, jumping from place to place, and never knowing where is truly safe. It was all piled up stress, and this was the peak of it, your breaking point.

Lost in those thoughts, the sudden feel of lips on your cheek make you still and blink until your vision was no longer blurred. He was kissing your tears. You can feel how the ghoul’s lips were pressed ever so gently on the salty trail, and it only made you feel worse to know that he was trying to comfort you only seconds after you tried to end his afterlife.

“I’m so sorry... I don’t deserve that...” Placing your hands against the ghoul’s cold chest, you softly push him away and make a beeline for the mattress. You were no longer worried about the possibility of him eating you alive—he would’ve done that already. He would’ve done it instead of giving you the gummy bears you had wanted today, instead of kissing your tears away. What a complex, lovely ghoul.

You curl yourself into a ball once wrapped up in the blanket and lay with your back towards him, not yet having the heart to face him any longer.

As for the ghoul, he never thought he could once again feel his motionless heart constrict so much. The sight of your tears made an indescribable feeling dwell within him.

He sits on the ground, leaning back against the lockers as he watches your balled up form. Oh, how he wants to hold you right now, feel you in his arms, even if they are still weak.

When he stumbled upon you today, he knew he had to have you. You were glowing under the flickering fluorescents and he swore he felt butterflies. But he was a coward, standing there as you sped off in fear, slipping through his fingers. For that split second, he had forgotten what he really is. How foolish.

He doesn’t remember what exactly happened to him; all he knows is that he slowly turned into what he is now. He can’t quite recall his own name, although he knows for a fact that it starts with a J. He also knows for a fact that he is /not/ like all of the other ghouls. Yet, they all limp alongside him as if they see nothing wrong, because they can’t. He’s positive that maggots have eaten half of their brains already with the way they have no communication whatsoever, or sense of direction and coordination. Unless they’re after food, then it’s a one-track mind.

And he can’t lie, he’s done his fair share of flesh chewing, but he’s only ever felt as if he was going through the motions. It wasn’t as important to him as it was to the rest of the walking dead. He’s never tried talking, so he must’ve lost his voice from never using it, which explains why he had such a hard time speaking to you. That, and his body that never really decomposed, leaving him on the fence of death. He had tried so hard to tell you something, anything, but it just didn’t work out in his favor.

You also smell amazing. Your lingering scent was what led him to you, after all. If it wasn’t for the way you caught his attention, he might’ve taken a few bites of you. No doubt the urge is still there, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He could never.

He can still feel the vibrations of your heartbeat, it’s calming sound that put him at ease. His lips still tingle with the warmth of your skin. Sure, it was a bold move on his part, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. He’d do it over and over again. Even if you ended up nearly bashing his head in for a second time.

His mind was running wild with the visions of you, your warmth that is so close now, yet still so far away. But his serenity was interrupted as a bang resounded. His head snapped in the direction it came from, sadly taking his eyes off of your now sleeping form. You must’ve cried yourself to sleep, he muses, wishing you would’ve used his shoulder to let out your pain.

He’s met with the darkness of the rest of the locker room, silence returning, but he can’t take any chances. Shakily, he pushes himself up, trying to take on a protective stance and shielding you with his body, but ultimately failing when his spine slacks under his own weight. The damn zombie body, he internally curses.

With dragging feet, he makes his way around the corner, only to be met with the silhouette of a ghoul standing in the doorway that he broke off himself in order to get to you. He must’ve been so consumed with tracking you down that he missed any sign of other ghouls around. Oh, how distracting you are to him.

It was obvious that the other can smell you, trying to make its way toward where you sleep while foolishly ignoring him. Without hesitation, he snarls, lunging at the intruding ghoul. There’s no way he’s letting it get anywhere near you. Not without ripping it to unidentifiable pieces, anyways. The anger quickly boiling up within gives him the strength to knock down the ghoul, letting the thought of you push him further, far beyond self-control.

You woke up slower than usual, the weight of the night before still heavy on your chest. He was on your mind right when your eyes opened to the morning light beaming into the locker room. Your dreams were even plagued with him—dreams that are rather compromising to have with a ghoul. You aren’t even sure if you really want to remember it. And it’s sad to say, but you didn’t feel so lonely.

Looking over to the lockers, you find the spot empty of his presence, making you jump up from the mattress. He couldn’t have just up and left, not after last night.

You nearly laugh at your own thoughts. Who are you to act that way toward a ghoul? It isn’t as if you slept with him. Not in reality, anyways; his little moment last night must’ve really gotten to you. It all makes your brow furrow, not understanding your own mind and feelings.

You walk around the corner of the lockers, picking up a foul stench that makes you immediately cover your nose and mouth. Whatever it could be, you know it isn’t good. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were met with at the door.

There you found him, sitting on the floor with his back turned to you, hunched over a mutilated body. Not any human body, but another ghoul, or what once was. Its head, torn off at the shoulders, lays a foot away from its body, unfortunately facing you. Its foggy eyes wide and seemingly staring into your soul. Its jaw is hanging by a thread, pulled apart with the stretched flesh hanging like strings. Whether it was always that way or not, you’d rather not know.

Both arms were ripped from its torso, one of them laying in tact, the other in pieces at each joint. Discolored blood is smeared on the floor, most likely from the gaping hole in the torso.

You try to suppress a gag—because of both the smell and sight—but it was futile. The sound alerts the other to your presence, making his head snap toward you. The same discolored blood from the floor is slathered on and around his mouth, dripping down his neck and staining his already dirty clothes. Something must’ve snapped him out of whatever mindset he was stuck in because upon seeing you standing there, visibly appalled, made his stomach churn. He pukes it all up right there, the disgusting taste of zombie organs finally registering with him.

You quickly look away, fighting off gags with your forearm pressed against your mouth. Never have you witnessed something like this. A ghoul eating another ghoul was just unheard of. It didn’t seem logical with what a ghoul’s diet really consists of: humans. He puked it all up as well, begging the question of whether he really wanted to or not. It would seem that way with how you walked up on him taking bites from the other’s intestines, but with him, you have to question everything you know.

Glancing back, you find him trying to wipe off the remnants of the other ghoul. He was struggling, even looked a little confused. So, you couldn’t help what you were about to do.

“Come on,” walking up to him, you hold your hand out toward him, “come with me.”

The look he gives you could’ve shattered your heart, his wide puppy-like eyes staring up at you coupled with the blood smeared on his face shouldn’t make you feel that way. It should make you feel disgusted, yet you only feel that way toward the mess and stench.

With a shaking, bloody hand, he takes yours, letting you lead him to wherever you were going. He wasn’t very focused on that, though. No, the sight of your hand grasping his is far too enthralling. The fact that you initiated it makes it feel even better.

Once at the showers, you pull him into the stall, making him stand just far enough to not be under the shower head. Letting go of his hand—much to his dismay—you reach past him and turn the nozzle, the sound of water smacking against the tiles echoing. You quickly take the opportunity to hold your hand under the water, washing off the blood that transferred onto your palm. You both watch as the dark substance flows on the floor and down the drain, getting stuck in creases along the way. He mimics your actions, surprising you when he skips waiting for the blood to wash off, immediately going to caress the lines of your palm.

“Why did you do it?”

Your voice is gentle to his ears, much like a soft caress. He did it for you. It was all for you. He would’ve killed anyone who walked through that door, not just a ghoul who wanted you for food. He could see no reason for anyone else to be in there anyways. He was protecting you. There’s no way he’d let anyone or anything touch you, not even come near you. He’d make sure of it even after you’re only his to keep. But he couldn’t tell you that. Not yet.

As for eating the other ghoul—that wasn’t planned. It was almost as if he blacked out. He can remember smelling you as he was ripping the limbs from the ghoul. It was too much to handle, so he bit into the ghouls thin, decaying flesh in an attempt to alleviate the hunger he felt for you.

He didn’t have the courage to confess it all to you, he didn’t want to scare you off. So, he ignored the question in favor of bringing your hand up to rest against his cheek.

“Please...”

His voice is unexpected, making you freeze completely and stare at him in shock. His eyes sparkle, staring at you pleadingly while you still try to comprehend the fact that he talked to you. There was a break in his voice that pulled at your heart, so you can’t stop yourself when you swipe your thumb across his cheek. His eyes flutter in bliss as you begin to wash the blood from his skin. The dark blood is like a waterfall on his skin, a contrast to his translucent and paling skin.

Your heart starts to beat faster as your fingers inch closer to his lips, yet they still dance across the bottom one ever so gently. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your fingertips upon feeling them, gliding his hands up your arm to hold your wrist in place. You didn’t expect the first kiss, and you definitely don’t expect when he continues to kiss different spots on your hand. It’s almost as if he’s lost in what he’s doing, his eyes shut as he concentrates on pressing his lips to your skin over and over again. You can feel the heat that rises to the tips of your ears while you watch him.

But the moment is short lived when you gently push him back, leaving him standing under the water. Hurt flashes across his features, a look that you force yourself to ignore.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to wash up properly,” you’re unable to make eye contact with him, but you still hold your tingling hand to your chest. “...and I’ll get you my mouthwash. Must still have a bad taste in your mouth.”

He can only nod in agreement and watch you walk off, never sparing him a glance. His heart hurts, but swells simultaneously at you caring for him. You’re right, there’s still a bad taste in his mouth. And he highly doubts that you would’ve wanted his nasty throw up mouth on you. How inconsiderate of him, he scolds himself.

You do exactly as you told him you would, opening up your bag and grabbing the travel bottle of mouthwash. But you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you’re basically on autopilot. You’re well aware of your heart still going haywire in your chest. It’s a little embarrassing, a ghoul making you feel this way. Maybe if you could just get past that stigma...

No way. There’s no way you’re seriously contemplating being with a ghoul. But it’s so tempting when he’s so sweet to you, practically worshiping your body every chance he gets. It’s supposed to creep you out, scare you—you know that. Still, your thoughts are filled with what it might feel like to let yourself go to him. You just don’t think you could handle it if he went all ghoul-cannibal again.

Those thoughts come to a halt once you walk up to his stall. His bare back is turned to you, littered with dark veins that demand to be seen through his deathly skin. The dried blood in his light hair washes away as he holds his head under the water. He didn’t bother taking his pants off, something you’re not sure if you’re actually thankful for.

Stuck staring, you notice the marks on the back of his right bicep. A bite. The teeth marks are messy, but left visible holes in his skin nonetheless. That must be how he turned, you think, must be why the rest of his skin is barren of gashes and punctures. Black veins branch out from the old wound, leaving the surrounding skin dark. Though it makes you wonder...did he die alone? That possibility makes your heart fall.

“Hey...”

His voice pulls you from your melancholic reverie. It still surprises you, his small voice. It doesn’t waver this time though, most likely getting used to using his vocal chords. He’s turned to face you now, chest and stomach accentuating his lean stature. You force yourself to hand him the mouthwash before you get too lost while looking at him again.

“Hey. Here you go.”

He takes the bottle from you, trying to pull the cap off, ultimately cracking it. Bringing the rim up to his lips, he takes a swig, surprisingly not struggling to keep it all in his mouth as he swishes it around. He makes brief eye contact with you as he spits it out—well, more like letting it spill from his mouth, the minty liquid dripping from his bottom lip to flow into the drain. Eyes meeting once again, he stares at you with an almost menacing look while sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight sends a shiver through you, not knowing if it’s from fear or excitement.

Still full of surprises, he drops both the bottle and cap, letting them bounce on the tile as he reaches for you. Panic shoots through you when he grasps your hips, pulling you into him and under the flow of water. Maybe this was his breaking point. Maybe he was finally going to kill you—eat you.

But he only wraps his arms around you, securing you in a tight embrace. His face fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, a fact that leaves him as elated as feeling you against his cold skin. He can hear the breaths you take right next to his ear, a sound that comes second to your heartbeat—his favorite. The pounding muscle, especially when it speeds up, sparks excitement within him. He can just imagine the rapid beating doubled with your quick breaths, how you would say his name...

Wait. His name.

In that split second, he remembers it perfectly. All it took was the thought of you. It’s always you. You are his complete motivation; he would do anything for you. Anything at all.

“Jimin...” He huffs out into your shoulder, still having a hard time getting any words out since he already doesn’t breathe. It’s the moment you realize that he’s just a human stuck in a ghoul’s body.

By now you can’t help but ghost your hands over his arms, your fingertips going against the water droplets gliding along his skin. You’re both soaked, but it’s the least of your worries when he speaks the single name to you.

“That’s your name...isn’t it?” You can feel him nod in affirmation, his cheek brushing against your shoulder almost in a shy manner. However, his brazen actions paint him as anything but shy.

“Mine’s ____,” you whisper directly into his ear, oblivious to the true effect it has on him. Your name is something that he will commit to the little memory he still has. He’ll chant it over and over again if that’s what it takes to never forget your name. Lifting his head up, he locks eyes with you. His hair, drenched with water dripping from the ends, almost covers his contrasting orbs. You feel his arms tighten around you with his next words.

“____...”—making your breath hitch—“say it...” You stare at him in confusion, not quite sure what he means. “Say my name.”

His once soft tone is suddenly demanding, throwing you off, but reeling you in all at once. You’re captivated, completely and utterly captivated by him.

“Jimin.”

And he doesn’t waste a second in connecting your lips, his hand holding you in place on the side of your neck. It surprises you, but you’re quick to melt into his lips. His grip borders on tight, and you’d be worried if you weren’t so focused on how his lips feel. Soft and plush against your own in a delicious dance. And now, you didn’t have to wonder anymore with his lips latched to yours.

Jimin turns you until your back is pushed against the stall, all while you feel his tongue peek out to graze your bottom lip. The action has you letting out a small gasp and he takes the chance to push his tongue into your mouth, leaving you even more breathless when you feel it glide against your own. You can feel his hand massaging and gripping your waist, in turn making you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. With his body pressed against your own and his tongue feeling like heaven, your mind turns to mush. You’re putty in his icy hands.

Jimin detaches from your lips and you finally take a breath of air. His kisses move further down your neck, his tongue swirling on your skin with every few press of his addicting lips. You’re practically seeing stars already, eyes drooping in bliss. With him so close to your ear, you can hear each and every hum from him that has warmth spreading throughout your body. As his lips travel higher on your neck, you lean your head back, baring your throat to him. Jimin’s practically ravaging your skin, his kisses getting fervent, making you sigh as you card your fingers through his drenched hair.

And then suddenly, with his mouth opening wider, a searing pain sparks on your neck. Your eyes shoot open to be greeted with the molded ceiling that has you crashing back to reality. A pained sound escapes your open mouth as the realization dawns on you. Jimin is biting your neck. You can feel each and every puncture of his teeth into your skin, and he only bites down harder when you try to move. With all of the strength you can muster, you push him away harshly, finally getting him to stop sinking his teeth into you.

With foggy vision, you watch as he stumbles back, hitting the stall behind him. Your blood coats his lips and stain his teeth, and you can see it on his tongue when he licks his lips. All sound fades until there’s just a constant ringing.

Clutching your neck, you can feel the thick and slimy liquid that coats your skin. Even though you already know what it is, you can’t help but look at your shaking palm, caked and dripping with your own blood. Looking back up, you find Jimin nearing you once again. Hastily, you move backward until you’re cornered like you were before with your back against the stall. He gets closer and closer, watching you carefully, especially the blood that gushes from your neck. You sob when he brings a hand up to caress your cheek, not letting you jerk away.

“Beautiful...perfect...” And he means it. The thick red dripping along your body is a divine sight. He hates that you have to hurt for this to happen, and he’d be furious if it were anyone else that had done it, but it needed to be done. How else were you going to stay with him? Surely not as a human. Of course, he loved the beating of your heart and the warmth that you held, but he knew it would get in the way of making you his. This was inevitable.

His bite will stay there long after you’ve become undead, a fact that had him even more excited. His mark on your skin would be visible forever, a constant reminder of who you belong to—who made you. It was perfect.

Jimin watches you carefully, and it seems you’ve lost the will fight, though you never stopped glaring at him through your tears. You were already bitten, it was inescapable. But little did you know this was your fate from the moment you saw him in that abandoned store. You foolishly put hope into being with him, the deceiving ghoul that he truly is.

Your eyes start to roll back into your head, legs giving out with Jimin catching you before you can hit the hard floor. Picking you up, he leaves the running shower behind to carry you over to the mattress. Your body is limp in his arms, either passed out or already dead. After all, he picked the perfect spot to bite you. With the wound on your neck, it’ll take no time for the infection to make its way to your brain. He’ll have you quicker that way.

He sets your body on the mattress, blood quickly pooling on the fabric. Already, he can see the bite mark start to take effect, slowly starting to look just like his. It’s a gorgeous sight to him, and he can’t wait until you finally awaken. Then, he’ll be able to keep you forever.

tag list: @jikooksgirl19 @sicnesa @buzzyourgirlfriendwoof @deepdarkdelights @iamnamjoonsbxtch @4evahevah @moon8child

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skiyoosmi · 4 years

Text

if fate permits

⤷ chapter nineteen: when it's too late

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YN'S POV

ATSUMU'S POV

TWO DAYS LATER...

[THE FOUR IDIOTS’ APARTMENT, 6:55PM]

Kiyoomi only watched as your eyes became melancholier, as if it were not already in the first place, the longer you stared at the screen of his phone. Probably rereading his conversation with Atsumu, he thinks. Initially, he wasn’t really planning on showing it to you but just like any other day, you decided to be the whipped soulmate (or more like an idiot, at least to him) you were, all while saying “Atsumu is important to me, should I really leave this apartment while not making amends with him?” He almost retched, is this girl really fixated on becoming a saint? How could someone be this lenient? He has no idea. And so, he showed you– that even after all this time, the piss-haired boy will remain as he is; that no matter how many years may pass, Miya Atsumu will be Miya Atsumu.

And he was the exact opposite of you: he was self-centered, conceited, prideful, juvenile, and so many more that it would take Kiyoomi more than a day to list all the things he detested from the boy. He can only remember how much he loathed the boy upon their first proper meeting; not that he likes meeting new people anyway. Kiyoomi was no genius but he knew, right at that moment, that Atsumu was far from being the ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ soulmate his dearest sister was so engrossed to have.

Kiyoomi also knew that he was not the best brother in the world; hell, he is way too far from being a good one even. He couldn’t care less if you have an admirer from afar (like that Iwaizumi who seems to be around you all the time these days), nor when you finally get yourself a suitable boyfriend, not even when you finally get wedded to someone. He wasn’t overprotective... or at least that’s what he believed. But he was only human, after all– now that he contemplates about it, he realizes that he isn’t really fond of seeing you cry.

“Stop hurting yourself over and over again, you fool of a sister,” he said, clicking his tongue afterwards and grabbing your bags after hearing your father call from downstairs, “Know your worth a little, will you? It’s kind of painful for me to watch you get hurt too, you know. It’s not just mom and dad.”

And with that, he left the room, leaving you to tend to your other belongings and perhaps, say goodbye to this little house that managed to etch itself to your heart. Compared to your childhood home, it wasn’t enough to make you sob your heart out dry. But for some reason, tears still found its way on the corner of your eyes as you remembered the fond memories you’ve made here with your boys – the moment you stumbled upon this house when you four were trying to find a place to stay, the smile on your face when you decided that this was the one (cue Atsumu literally hauling you three towards the agent to settle the down payment), the moving day when Kiyoomi and Osamu brawled for the first time in their lives because they both wanted that bedroom that was the only one downstairs, “to be away from the idiot disease” as what they said. You can only wonder if you could make new memories as happy as those in your future home.

“Ah… you really are a fool of a sister, YN,” you whispered to yourself, wiping the tears away and getting the last of your things before proceeding downstairs, finding your father standing by the front door, arms crossed with a face mask adorning his face (you never really questioned where your brother got his traits, it was as clear as the day), “Kiyoomi is already in the car but I think you should bid Osamu-kun a proper farewell first. He’s in the kitchen. We’ll be waiting so just take your time.”

You nodded before proceeding to the said area, finding the gray-haired with his arms already wide open. Your lips quivered before jumping at him, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“We’ll still be seeing each other at school, you damn gorilla,” he chuckled before burying his face in your neck. You clicked your tongue, pouting at his very much realistic reply, “But it’s different! Eating breakfasts together, going to school together, going home together… and drinking wine until we’re brains out! I’m pretty sure my dad won’t let me do that at his house!”

He cackled, releasing you from his hold and flicking you on your forehead, “what an alcoholic woman! Are you sure you’re going to be a student in a prestige university abroad? You’ll be left behind by your classmates if you keep on prioritizing your wines before your studies.”

“Hah! You’ll see, Osamu. Those red wines will be the reason I even become one of the most famous writers in the world. You better wait and I’ll release an autobiography saying a man named Miya Osamu used to bully me to death,” you huffed, smirking after you saw him stare at you in disbelief. Your smile gradually disappeared upon the realization that the center of your heart was not home… even when I’m already leaving, huh?

Osamu frowned as well, scratching the back of his neck because of the sudden silence that indicated your little recognition, “I’m sorry. I told him to go home before 7 but…”

“It’s fine, Samu. We’re still not in the best terms so it’s probably better this way – a more peaceful way of farewell, you know? No fighting or anything else. Besides, I couldn’t tell him anything about my moving, scholarship, and so many things,” The lad didn’t miss the way you quickly wiped your tears away though. Damn you, Atsumu, why are you always making her cry, he thought.

“I’ll see you at school then, Samu. I’ll miss the dinners you cook,” you smiled, walking quietly outside, and shutting the front door. At the same time, a chime resonated from your phone that was in your pocket. Opening it, you released a long sigh… of relief? of anxiety? You didn’t know.

[Haji, 7:15PM]: I did it, YN. My thread, it’s… black.

You looked up at the night sky, finding stars twinkling as if they were gazing back at you.

Should I start moving on too, Haji?

[TOKYO UNIVERSITY GYMNASIUM, 7:20PM]

For the umpteenth time this week, Atsumu heaved yet another deep sigh, hands weaving itself with his hair to ruffle it out of frustration. Today, he couldn’t care less about the girls lurking around the university gym… because for the umpteenth time this week as well, his twin brother expressed his disappointment towards the boy, leaving him in the said place with the same words he had uttered yesterday and even the day before that, accompanied by a threat this time: “You’re such an immature asshole I wouldn’t be surprised if YN finally gives up on being your friend. You better come home before 7PM or else, I will drag you by your feet with my own two hands.”

Clicking his tongue, he grabbed another ball, gripping it so hard his nails almost left a dent on it. 7PM? He only scoffs. No, he won’t go home yet. He doesn’t care if Osamu gets furious at him and drags him nor if you give up on your friendship; all he thinks right now is that he wants to spike this ball straight onto the other side of the court, make it burst if it was even possible. It wasn’t his fault he got mad at you, he’s entitled to his feelings; he’s right, Kiyoomi’s mistaken… you shouldn’t have promised something you would just break in a span of less than thirty seconds. You shouldn’t hav–

But is it really her fault though? A voice in his head refuted him, or is it just because you’re really an immature asshole who can’t be happy for her?

Of course, it’s her fault, he argues. Immature? Him? He’s almost twenty-two, for god’s sake! He has been living in this world for more than two decades, how could Osamu call him underdeveloped? He swears he’s going to give his twin brother a good punch or two once he gets home.

… But she’s just trying to reach for her dreams, why are you not supporting her? She always does that when it comes to you, doesn’t she? Or have you already forgotten?

And at that, everything went perfectly still. The sound of the ball falling from his hands resonated throughout the quiet gym. Even with just hearing words from something or someone he can’t even identify, Atsumu felt as if he was hit on his head with a ton of bricks.

“E-eh…? W-why… why am I crying?” He whispered, fingers going up to touch his cheeks and furrowing his eyebrows when he felt the dampness of the said area.

Because you know you don’t deserve her. You know that it’s your fault. It has ALWAYS been your fault.

“Shut up,” he said to no one, plopping down the floor while he clutched his ears this time to shut the voice out. As it kept talking, he tried hitting his head with his hand, tried talking over it, tried retorting savage remarks back; however, everything was futile for it kept talking, kept torturing his mind with nothing but the truth.

You hurt her, then apologize, then do it again. What are you playing, a tug-of-war? How selfish of you, Miya Atsumu! Are you really her best friend?

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” He screamed, his throat feeling as if it was getting scratched from the rawness of his voice. There was no way he was gonna have a voice tomorrow.

You’re so aggravated whenever you think about losing YN, are you sure you’re not in love with her or something? Yanno… have you never thought about the fact that maybe she’s your sou–

“Atsumu-kun! Wake up!” A voice yelled while grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him awake, finally bringing him out of his… dream? Was that even considered a dream? Because Atsumu was sure as hell that what happened was just plain torture to him.

“Are you okay, Atsumu-kun? You were having a nightmare,” turning to the girl who kept her hold on him, he finds Yui, who was looking back at him as if he lost the screws in his head. He starts to believe that he, in fact, did after all that weirdness. After all, who in the world would randomly just fall asleep in the middle of an empty gym then proceed to have a nightmare while on it. Surely, there would be no one except for him. How in the world did it happen anyway? As far as he could remember, he was just practicing his serves and tosses a while ago.

“Yui, why are you still here? It’s getting late,” he asks the girl whose eyes just lit up, for some reason, at his question before lifting her hand up and showing… what? She continued to smile though and waved the same hand right in front of Atsumu’s face, much to his slight annoyance. He wasn’t really in the best mood to play guessing games right now, so he only sighs exasperatedly, “Just get to the point, Yui-chan. I’m feeling the exhaustion now.”

“I told you before that I could see my thread, right? Well, it turned black! Me and my soulmate met up a while ago and turns out, he was a Moira, so we performed the mini ritual, which is so weird by the way, before cutting it. He said one of us has to ‘affirm’ their desire to cut the thread, so I did! As far as I know, based on my previous researches about soulmates, it doesn’t really matter because the ‘gods’ know the deepest desires of our hearts but you know, I don’t really care because I’m free!” She exclaimed, squealing afterwards, and flinging her arms around Atsumu’s neck to give him a hug. But the boy stayed still and gaped because how can someone afford to be happy at this situation? His arms remained motionless at his sides, confusing him; wasn’t he just itching to have this weeks ago? In fact, he was just dreaming about it about three days ago. So why? Why couldn’t he bring himself to hug her back?

“Your soulmate cut it. How can you be happy, Yui-chan….?” Before he knew it, his mouth spoke for him faster than his brain could process. He removed himself from the girl’s embrace, watching as confusion begin to form on her face; though it only took her milliseconds before an odd smile showed up on her face once more.

“Because that means I could finally date you without feeling guilty for my soulmate, silly!”

Atsumu felt like a hundred years had passed in just a single night and yet again, he sighed. If anyone sees him right now, they will probably laugh at his rather pathetic-looking state. Never in his life has he felt this exhausted, not even when Kita Shinsuke would force him to do an unreasonable number of receives and then make him clean the whole gym with the said captain; no, not even that could beat this fatigue and strangely, it makes him miss the captain.

Maybe he should’ve just gone home before 7PM, like Osamu said. He then shudders as he remembers that he still has to face his twin’s wrath.

“Can’t I just go back to being a toddler… like the brats that have no problem in the world?” He whines to himself quietly, relief spreading throughout his whole body as he sees your shared apartment; can already smell the meal Osamu cooked for you four; can visualize the disgusted look your brother will give him once he enters the house, all sweaty and gross-looking. Though, he thinks it’s odd that upon looking at the window of your room and Kiyoomi’s, he finds that they weren’t lit up unlike the usual. Maybe they’re already asleep, he shrugs given that you both love getting your beauty rest as much as you can. Twins, you are.

As careful as possible, he opens the front door, wincing when it makes a sound that would possibly wake up the very sensitive ears of Sakusa Kiyoomi from his room downstairs.

“Don’t bother trying to be quiet, Atsumu. You’re not going to wake anyone up in this house,” The voice of Osamu startles him. Fastly recovering from the mini-scare, he turns to his twin to glare while clutching his chest in hopes to calm his heart down, only to stop when he finds his brother glowering at him with a much worse scowl on his face.

“Samu, I’m sorry. I just got caught up with som–”

“You know, Tsumu, it’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? You always come around when it’s already too late,” Osamu speaks, trying to find the right words to say, “YN and Kiyoomi… they left and went back to their parents’ home. They will be staying there until YN and her mom leaves for abroad which would be in less than a month, right after this semester ends.”

Miya Atsumu was self-centered, conceited, prideful, juvenile, and so many more that it would take Kiyoomi more than a day to list all the things he detested from the boy. He didn’t care if you gave up and break off your friendship with him… at least that’s what he believed. But like Sakusa Kiyoomi, he was also human – and at that moment, as his brother stares at him and waits for a reply, he only stays still. Why is it that instead of the volleyball he was holding at the gym moments ago, it’s his heart that’s about to burst?

⤷ notes. we didn't have internet connection for a whole day and phew.. this was the result of me being bored out of my wits, i guess? and i apologize in advance for the pain that i keep on giving and WILL keep on giving :>

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #atsumu smau #iwaizumi smau #atsumu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #miya atsumu #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

A Sea of Fragments V

Word Count: 2,635

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: I don’t know how I went so long without updating! Honestly I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Things are starting to get dramatic, and I’m upping the ante a little bit. As a treat.

Scaramouche exited the dining tent as quickly as possible, storming off towards his tent with urgency. He hated eating around other people; the noise, the insipid conversation, the amount of imbeciles trying desperately to get in his good graces. It was agony, and the sooner he got away from it the better. Besides, he had something vastly more important to do this evening.

Entering his tent Scaramouche took some odd sense of pride from the fact he had beaten you to it. Sitting down in his chair he sighed, propping his head up with his hand and allowing his thoughts to drift for a moment. He had to admit that he was incredibly curious as to what he was going to witness today. He had already gotten a glimpse of your ability during your first meeting, but between the tense atmosphere and the barbed conversation he hadn’t been able to really focus on what exactly you were doing. Your terrible physical state at the time certainly hadn’t helped, as you had looked as if you were going to faint any moment. Scaramouche was glad there would be no fear of that this time.

What must it be like to look into the future? Scaramouche had to admit that he envied your ability slightly. Though you had seemed less than enthusiastic about it, Scaramouche couldn’t believe that you truly begrudged the ability to see into the future. If you did then you were surely a greater fool than he was already aware of. Even with your revelation that it was hardly an exact science as to which future would happen, even the slight ability to see what might come to pass would be an incredible asset to the Tsaritsa and her goal.

Besides, Scaramouche couldn’t truly bring himself to believe that your bedraggled state had been solely due to seeing into the future. How much energy could be expended by sitting into a chair and closing one’s eyes? In a world of war and battle and death the idea that something so still could be so taxing was absolutely ridiculous. No, there was no reason for him to worry, or for him not to begrudge you something that was so obvious a blessing from the Seven.

“Scaramouche?”

Your voiced pierced through the air, pulling the Harbinger slowly out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how engrossed he had been in his own musings, and the sudden pull back to reality cause irritation to once more surface within him. He quickly managed to push it down however, the reflexive annoyance replaced with an anticipation that couldn’t be completely hidden. Gesturing for you to sit in the chair across from him Scaramouche sat up straighter.

“Is there anything that must be done before we begin?” The Harbinger wasn’t used to such pleasantries, but this time he figured it was probably worth asking. Seeing you shake your head he nodded curtly. “Good. Then shall we begin?”

“If you insist,” you mumbled, voice lacking it usual sharpness. The nervous feeling that you emitted the first time he saw you in the forest appeared to have returned from out of thin air, and you shifted in your seat awkwardly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No! No, just, I just need to relax.”

“Take all the time you need.”

You shot him a look with very little behind it. Breathing in deeply you closed your eyes, letting your head tilt backwards slightly. Sitting back in his chair, just realizing that he’d been leaning forward this whole time, Scaramouche watched as your breath began to slow and you appeared to drift into some sort of trance.

Closing your eyes you willed your mind to emptiness. From the moment you had entered the Harbinger’s tent once more you’d been seized with anxiety. You never wanted to be in this position again, divining for others, taxing yourself over and over for goals and wishes not your own. Not to mention the identity of your current employer; Scaramouche’s Harbinger status aside relaxing in front of this man seemed nigh on impossible. Letting your eyes flit this way and that you didn’t even bother to try and look him in the face. Not when what you were about to do loomed over you.

Looking into the future was bad enough, doing it in front of Scaramouche was even worse. You tended to lose control of yourself while looking into the future. Falling out of furniture, mumbling things randomly, all those things were possible. And though the people in your village had gotten used to your half-trances you were sure that Scaramouche wouldn’t quite appreciate you accidentally faceplanting into the table or sliding onto the ground the way the people you had grown up in proximity to would.

Letting yourself sigh once more you allowed your conscious to fade, shoving aside all those problems to deal with it later. The present would always exist, but for now you had to cast your eyes upon the possible futures. The world darkened around you, turning into a sea of stars which fell down, down, down. Letting yourself tumble around you finally saw fragments begin to form in front of your eyes. Stretching out your hands you reached for the one that seemed to shine the clearest, reached for the best outcome that you could find. Always start with the clearest ones first, for the muddier the fragment, the worse the suffering, the more energy must be expended. It was information that had been extracted after years of trial and error, and now you let it guide you as you sought out what you needed to know.

You were standing in a deadly quiet room. Paper doors surrounded you, the moonlight filtering through them casting long shadows, making it look like you were trapped in an odd sort of prison. If so, it was a very cozy prison. All the hallmarks of domesticity were there; pillows thrown this way and that, books shoved into various nooks and crannies on a small shelf, a table which housed various small clay figures. There was a hallway to the right of you, and from it you could hear the faint sound of snoring. Taking a few steps forward you studied the small shelves hammered into the wall, trying to look for something that seemed to house a great deal of elemental energy. Letting your elemental sight guide you, you slowly turned around.

At the other end of the room was a small table. Upon it was a small red cushion, and upon the cushion was a mirror. The circular glass was surrounded by an emerald frame, dotted with small gems and cracked in certain spots. Though it might have appeared like an ordinary enough family heirloom you could tell that it was infused with power, a power so great it seemed to be leeching the rest of the energy around it, a black hole, warping the fragment around it. Taking a step back, afraid of it even in this imagined future, you felt the energy become even stronger, even more corrosive. Blinking slowly your eyes finally removed themselves from the scene.

Looking around at the other fragments around you, you tried for the next clear fragment. In it you found yourself wandering the streets of the village, right near the inn where you had been hiding out until recently. Although nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary initially you were soon pulled towards the rooftops. You could see a Fatui recruit, though which one you were hardly sure. Clad in black their face was a sharp contrast to the night around them, pale and twisted into a frown.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit. What am I going to tell Lord Scaramouche? Where is it? Where is the damn thing?!” Sighing the Fatui member climbed back down from the roof, something not very difficult as the building was a rather squat one. Running into the night you saw him look back once. The village was as silent as ever.

You pulled yourself back into the liminal space around you. Looking around at the various fragments scattered about you felt yourself frowning. How many there were! It would take ages to find such specific information as where the mirror was located. Letting yourself drift you closed your eyes. You would just have to pick one at random. Reaching out your hand you felt the cool shard of a fragment against your fingertips. Opening your eyes you let out a strangled sort of noise, faced with one of the darkest shards floating around you.

What you were transported too was absolute chaos, chaos and a crushing weight pressing upon you. You weren’t supposed to be seeing this, you really were supposed to be seeing this. Stumbling around you tried to focus on one thing. The noise, that was the best thing at the moment. Ignoring the flames that licked at the houses and ground around you, the fleeing people and the choking smoke, you tried to pick up on any piece of information.

“Did you manage to get it before it went up into flames?”

“Fuck, no I didn’t! Did you see that house? No one would fucking survive something like that!”

“I’m not sure if we’re going to even survive.”

“Fuck, no this isn’t how I wanted it to end. I didn’t even get a promotion.”

“You three! Stop dawdling and get out of here! We’ve already caused enough trouble.”

“The village is a goner anyways.”

“Glad it’s not, fuck, glad it’s not mine.”

The voices faded into the cacophony, quickly replaced with more unpleasant sounds.

“Mama!”

“Did you see my husband?”

“No, I have to get back in there!”

“Your books are a fucking goner.”

“Come on sweetie, you have to move. I know, it really hurts, doesn’t it? Come on sweetie, we’ll get something to make it better, but you have to move.”

Voices piled on top of one another, roaring and mixing together. Opening your eyes you stared as people rushed all around you, some covered in soot, others nursing horrific burns. The noise was louder still, the weight crushing the air out of your lungs. Clapping your hands over your ears you felt your mind start to go blank with panic. You needed to get out of here. You needed to remember how to get out of here.

A muffled sound seemed to reach above you. Looking up into the burning sky you reached towards it, almost as if you might tear through the papery-thin night back to safety. Taking a deep breath you tried to open your eyes, to go back into the space that you usually occupied. But the weight was so large, the distortion so strong, you found yourself trapped, as if in a nightmare. The sound called out again and you continued to reach towards it.

Please. Please.

“…”

Scaramouche watched as you seemed to collapse in on yourself, tumbling out of your chair and onto the floor, barely missing the table in front of you. Your breathing was ragged, irregular, and you seemed to be trying to say something. Panic gripped the Harbinger, blood rushing to his ears. Pushing himself out of him own chair he knelt down next to you.

“Hey, hey!”

Shaking your shoulders he went to pinch your arm. You skin seemed to be cold to the point of heat, and you made no move of recognition as his nails dug into your arm. Shaking his head Scaramouche tried calling out one more time.

“Wake up. Can you hear me? Wake up!” Shaking your shoulders once more he tried to suppress the panic that seemed to be driving him, though his thoughts were in such disarray he couldn’t be entirely sure whether or not it was working. A myriad of things leapt through his mind; his plan was going to fail, the effort took in tracking you down appeared to be worthless, were you really going to die? Surely you wouldn’t. He needed you for his plans. Besides, the idea of you dying seemed somewhat terrifying, lying in stark contrast to all the other people that Scaramouche had used and thrown away. The idea of your death seemed much more visceral, much more real.

“Hey. Look at me. I told you that you never even look at me. Open your eyes and look at me. Weren’t you supposed to be blessed by the gods? You can’t even look at me.”

Scoffing Scaramouche glanced towards the tent. He was going to have to call a healer at this rate.

The sudden feeling of someone grabbing his wrist caused the Harbinger to hiss. Looking back towards you he found his eyes met with yours. You seemed to be half wild with, something. Scaramouche couldn’t tell what lay behind the look in your eyes, but it surely seemed something close to panic. Breathing heavily you let out a whisper.

“It’s going to tear you apart.”

“What are you talking about?” Scaramouche felt anger rush through him as the situation seemed to crash into him. “Is that normal? What in Teyvat happened.”

“The mirror, the thing, it’s not normal. It… it warps everything around it. I, I can’t go back again. I can’t look again, I can’t find it again. It’s too heavy; it’ll tear everything apart.”

“You’re not making any sense! Tell me, is this mirror what we’re looking for? Where is it?”

But you said nothing, instead letting your grip tighten on Scaramouche’s wrist as you stared at him. The intensity of your gaze seemed to throw cold water on the Harbinger for a moment, and he quieted down. Everything had gone unexpectedly, what was he supposed to do now? A part of him simply wanted to haul you up and push you out of his tent, towards the healers or towards your own tent he didn’t care. Another part of him however wanted to ask you if you were alright, wanted to know what had frightened you so much, wanted to know why now suddenly you were staring into his eyes, almost as if you were trying to divine his thoughts. The more you looked into the future the odder you became, and the more Scaramouche found himself unable to understand you.

“Do, do you need a healer.”

“No. Just, let me breathe, just let me breathe for a moment.”

You closed your eyes, placing one of your arms on top of your forehead. The grip on Scaramouche’s wrist lessened and you let your arm slump to the group, fingers curled slightly against your palm.

Scaramouche wasn’t sure what caused him to do such a thing, whether it was fear of you having another episode or something else. Yet before he was entirely aware of what he was doing he placed palm on top of yours, allowing it to rest there for a moment. Your hand felt warm against his, still slightly clammy from what had just passed. He couldn’t necessarily call it comfortable, but he nevertheless didn’t draw away.

Staring down at you the Harbinger wondered once more what you had seen. More than that he thought about your expression when you woke up. Expression panicked, eyes wide, gaze full of fear and urgency and something else. It seemed to be the first time you had stared him right in the face without hesitancy. Were your expressions always so intense when you looked someone directly into their eyes? It was uncomfortable, but it always also something else, intriguing, or something like that.

He wondered if you would look at him directly again. He wondered if your words were truly worth heeding. And once more he once more wondered why he, a Harbinger, would kneel in the dirt and trampled grass to make sure you woke up.

#genshin impact fanfiction #scaramouche x reader #Scaramouche #genshin Scaramouche #genshin impact #series #my writing

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noctumbra · 3 years

Note

ok i’ll elaborate on camboy!bucky since he’s my fav rn<3

- i feel like you’d stumble upon him randomly, maybe like through an ad or something so ure scrolling through the different cam ppl & u find him

- & then he’d be so so good at it so you just keep going back to him, eventually you become a regular & he starts to call you “angel” or “sweetheart”

- then you’d get so comfy w/ him so you do private shows & he would be so good, always praising you & telling you how hard u make him😫

- one day your friend tells you she wants to set you up w/ a friend from her job & you’re like “i’m not even looking for anyone” bc ur camboy has been keeping you so satisfied but she insists you go on this date bc he’s cute & is sweet

- so you do go on the date & he’s very sweet & charms you & you wanna hook up on the first date but he’s such a gentleman so you don’t. & the entire time you’re on this date it feels like you know him for some reason, like it’s so comfortable & there’s no “first date awkwardness”

- & then you do hook up on your second date & you notice bucky has the same exact scar on his left shoulder that your camboy has. you don’t ask him for weeks, afraid he’ll judge you for watching him or something until eventually he notices you’re acting different

- & when you both realize that you’ve actually known each other for months & have been intimate together way longer than you thought nothing really changes (other than the fact you go on cam w/ him now 😌)

alright that’s all ty<3 i’m gonna go daydream abt camboy!bucky again - 🧸

OMG THIS IS ACTUALLY SO GOOD WAIT—

#answered asks #camboy!bucky #🧸 anon

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pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 4 years

Text

you say you hate me

summary: four times you were forced to spend time with Matthew plus one time you chose to.

warnings: mentions of drinking, swearing

word count: 7.2k

note from the writer: is it bad that I’ve already started another Matt fic? also this gif is *chef’s kiss* amazing

ONE

You knew you ran the risk of running into him when you moved from St. Louis to Calgary. But you couldn’t pass up the job opportunity you were given, even if it meant you were looking over your shoulder as if to avoid running into him.

But after three months of living in Calgary you hadn’t seen him, so you were certain you were in the clear. You reasoned that he would’ve popped up sooner, you followed each other on Instagram and have each other added on Snapchat, so you knew that he knew you were in Calgary. You pushed him to the back of your mind, though, not wanting him to take up any more residence in your mind than he already did. And after a while you figured you were safe from his presence and any headaches that seemed to follow him around.

So imagine your surprise when he shows up while you’re in the middle of a date.

Chris is a nice guy. It’s your third date, and the bar he’s taken you to is a little more on the casual side, but the Edmonton vs. Canucks game was on the television above the bar and you knew he was a big hockey guy.

Clearly, you had a type.

“So, I think my boss is going to give me a big project, which would be a huge step in the right direction for the promotion I—” You were gushing about the news you had received earlier in the day, but you were unable to finish your thought as Chris yelled.

“Oh, fuck off, Mcdavid! You should have scored that.”

After realizing that he wasn’t talking about your ability to buy a goal or calling you McDavid, you learned two things about the man sitting across from you. One, he hadn’t been listening to a single word you were saying and you could count on the hockey game being more interesting to him than anything you could have said. You should have known, anyways, on your first date he spent five whole minutes talking about how the Oilers were his favorite team after you mentioned you grew up in St. Louis. And two, he was that kind of hockey fan. The kind that tore down their team’s top players over any little screw-up. The kind that made your skin crawl after having grown up with the sport.

“It was a rookie mistake.” Chris’ attention turned to you since it was a T.V. timeout and you blinked at him for a moment, wondering just how your night took a downturn so quickly. The bar was so low, and he managed to limbo under it.

“McDavid. Rookie mistake?” You blanched, propping your chin on your hand as you waited to see what kind of bullshit excuse he funneled at you. He stuttered over his words, and you were about to interject with a very well laid out explanation about how players were people and able to make mistakes without having their skill questioned. Plus, it was McDavid.

But then a hand landed casually on your shoulder, and your first instinct was to turn and face whoever decided it was a good idea to randomly touch with a scowl. Your frown only deepened when you spotted who it was, completely ignoring the choked noise Chris made.

Of course he had to show up on the one night you were on a date.

“Couldn’t hide from me forever.” Matt drawled easily, removing his hand from you and leaning against the edge of the tall table you were sitting at. You rolled your eyes, not at all surprised at the fact that he decided to start the first actual conversation you’ve had with him in weeks with a tease.

“I’ll try harder next time.” You stated dryly, taking a sip of your nearly empty drink and avoiding the gaze of both men around you. Well, Chris was too busy eyeing Matthew and puffing out his chest as if he was trying to assert his dominance. Please.

You didn’t get the appeal of Matthew. Sure, he was attractive and pretty good at hockey, not that you’d ever admit that to anyone, but he was a pest. He grew up next door to you, which meant the better part of your childhood was spent at the mercy of Matt’s teasing. You adored the rest of his family, you had a four-hundred and thirty-six day Snapchat streak with Taryn, a number seven Senators jersey hanging up in your closest, Chantal’s number was saved as ‘mama tkachuk’ in your phone, and you had once called Keith in a panic when you were sixteen and got a flat tire and your parents weren’t answering.

Matt had laughed at you when you stumbled walking across the stage at graduation.

You were not his biggest fan.

“Hot date?” Matt questioned, not even looking over to Chris who nodded the moment the words entered the air. You winced at the question, because you were technically on a date, but you weren’t exactly feeling it, especially after what had just transpired. But you would marry Chris on the spot if it meant annoying Matt.

“I’ll see you later.” You spoke through gritted teeth, plastering on a forced and obviously fake smile. Matt grinned at you, his mischievous look that you had seen a thousand times growing up that warned you that he was going to do something to get under your skin made warning alarms flash in your mind.

Your suspicions were proven correct when he reached a hand up to ruffle your hair before slipping back into the crowd. You pouted, glaring at his back until you couldn’t see his mop of curls anymore and turned to face Chris again. Your date was looking at you with an annoyed expression, one that was surely mirrored on your face but the only difference was his look was directed at you and yours was at Matthew for showing up out of nowhere.

“Are you okay—?” You barely got the question out before Chris was interrupting you. Again.

“You can’t talk to him if we’re going to see each other.” He stated, as if it was that easy.

It wasn’t as if you wanted to hang out with Matt, not since you hit middle school, but it would be a cold day in hell before some guy told you who you could and could not talk to.

“We’re neighbors, nothing will ever be going on there but our families are good friends. I literally have to talk to him whenever I go home.” You weren’t sure why you were explaining this to him, maybe a part of you wanted to see if he’d bactrack and apologize, even if the relationship was damaged beyond repair. Those hopes were squashed the moment he spoke next.

“Then I’m out.” And he was standing up, barely giving you a second look before he was headed towards the door.

It was pettiness that had you crossing the bar in search of the one person that you couldn’t stand to be around for an extended period of time. You had seen a whole new side of Chris in a matter of five minutes and a small part of you was glad that Matt interrupted and brought it out. Emphasis on small, though.

“You owe me a drink.” You nudged Matt’s shoulder, sliding in next to him at the bar. You didn’t care that you were interrupting his conversation with one of his teammates, you had just been dumped by the guy you’d been somewhat seeing for a few weeks because he couldn’t handle the idea of you knowing a NHL player. “Scared my date away because he didn’t like the fact that I talk to you.”

“I feel like I did you a favor, if he really is that insecure. We don’t even like each other.” He had waved down the bartender with a chuckle, ordering you a beer like the one he had clutched in his hand. It was seconds before the cool glass was set in front of you. Perks of being a hotshot hero in Calgary, you assumed.

“I’ll drink to that.” You clinked your bottle against his, taking a generous sip as Matt watched with an amused grin. He was leaning against the counter, his back now fully turned on his teammates. Clearly, he wasn’t planning on letting you finish your drink in peace.

“Mom told me you got your dream job, so tell me about it.”

“Like you care.” You rolled your eyes with a scoff. You were feeling especially bitter, and you were taking it out on Matt. To be fair, he was taking it all in stride, but you knew he was biding his time until he could make a joke.

“Try me.” Matt wasn’t a bad guy. Annoying, sure. A pain in your ass? Since the day you met. But you knew him better than most—begrudgingly, of course—and you could tell he was genuinely curious. He probably had plans to tease you about it later, you would put money on the fact, but with the way your night had turned out, you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“Fine, but just until I finish this drink and my Uber gets here.”

TWO

mama tkachuk: Hi sweetie! Keith and I are in town for the weekend and were wondering if you wanted to get dinner with us and Matt! Text me when you get a chance!

It was so unfair. How could Chantal be as sweet as she was and have produced a child like Matthew? You were so caught up in how kind her invitation was that you had agreed to meet up with them before it really set in that you would have to sit through a dinner with Matt.

You had arrived at the restaurant a few minutes later than the agreed upon time due to traffic, so everyone else was already at the table by the time you made it. Chantal was the first to jump up and greet you with a hug, Keith following after with a ‘how are you, kid’ and a tight squeeze. You shot Matt a tight-lipped smile, trying to remain civil infront of his parents, and he returned with his typical smug grin, though it was more subdued than usual as a result of sitting next to his mother.

“You always liked to be late.” Matt teased as you sat down. You rolled your eyes at him, annoyed but willing to let the comment slide for the sake of his parents.

“I don’t know why you guys bicker all the time, you used to tell us all the time that you were going to be a family someday. You guys even practiced with Taryn and Brady.” Chantal reminisced, and you smiled uneasily at the memory. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant one, some of your best memories took place in the Tkachuk living room. Back when you were kids, you and Matt were attached at the hip. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum—if Matt was caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar you were right at his side reminding him to grab one for you too. This particular instance stuck out in your mind, though, because your mom teased you about it whenever she got the chance.

It was a rainy Saturday, Keith was out of town for hockey and your dad was at the office, which left the moms sitting in the kitchen chatting about whatever adults talked about. Taryn had just learned how to walk, which meant that she was trying to follow you around to the best of her ability, even if that meant watching from the sidelines as you played mini sticks with her brothers.

But after Matt had scored against you and Brady enough times, you declared that it was time for them to play your game—house. Taryn was your baby, and she happily filled the roll as she toddled behind you. Brady was your other son, and Matt was the dad. You played like that for an hour or so, Matt pretending to come home from road trips while playing in the NHL just like his father, only to help you pretend to cook dinner and put ‘the kids’ to bed.

At six years old, he was a dream pretend-father.

“I can’t help it if Matthew runs his mouth too much.” You chirped, and though you meant it in good fun there was some seriousness. Matt never knew when to quit, his comments more obnoxious than endearing most of the time. Though, he did have his moments, you were willing to admit. You knew he had your back when it came down to it, but he also would be the first one to crash your date and tell the guy you were with some embarrassing story about you from when you were seven.

He did that no less than three separate times when you were teenagers.

“Remember when they pretended to get married at like six? And Matt cried when I told him that he wasn’t actually her husband.” Keith nudged his wife with a grin, his statement earning a groan from Matt. You flushed, keeping quiet as the memory flashed in your head—the theme of the night, apparently.

It was a summer wedding, so to speak. Sometime during the offseason your family and the Tkachuks rented a lake house for a week and you spent the entire time racing from one activity to the next while clutching Matt’s hand. Your aunt had just gotten married, so weddings were on your mind and you decided you wanted a party like she had. Your choices for potential husbands were limited, Brady and Matt the only other boys close to your age. When Brady claimed that you had cooties and ran away, Matt was the only option left and it simply took the bribe of sharing your dessert with him after dinner for him to agree.

You had made paper rings and even forced Matt to fake propose to you, all while both your mothers looked on with camera’s clutched in their hands. You had claimed your unending love for Matt that day, and he had done the same. In an effort to tease you, your mom had said that he had to kiss the bride and you both looked at her like she was crazy—though he did end up pressing a quick and sloppy kiss to the back of your hand to appease her.

And then twenty minutes later he shoved you off the dock because you were too scared to jump in.

Matt was watching you as his mother told the story, chuckling as she added in anecdotes about how she and your mother had almost started planning your real wedding that day and similar comments. It was no secret that she was rooting for you to get together with her son, and even though Keith would try to get his wife to tone down her comments, you saw his smug grin every once on a while.

The rest of dinner and dessert passed by with minimal reminiscing, and soon enough the check was paid. Matt picked up the bill, and though you tried to argue that you could pay for yourself, Matt simply stuck his tongue out at you and Keith said that he would’ve paid for everyone if he had only been able to grab the check faster. You rolled your eyes at Matt’s childishness, but thanked Keith for his kindness despite the fact that he hadn’t even really done anything.

“So where did you park?” Chantal asked as the four of you stepped outside. The cold air made you shiver, and you used one hand to tighten your coat around you while the other gestured over your shoulder in the general direction of where your car was.

“Like three blocks away. It was pretty busy when I got here.” You replied. Chantal nodded, opening her arms for a hug you readily reciprocated.

“I’ll walk you. It’s way too late for you to go by yourself.” Matt spoke up, interrupting your goodbyes with his parents. He handed his keys off to his dad so they could wait in the car while he went with you, and because he simply couldn’t just be nice, he added his next comment. “You’d probably get lost if I don’t go with you.”

“Thanks, Matt.” You said sarcastically, the roll of your eyes coming almost naturally. There wasn’t room for you to argue, because Chantal was nudging you in the opposite direction she was headed to get to Matt’s car. Part of you wondered if she somehow planned this in an another attempt to get you to spend time alone with her son. You didn’t have time to think about it too much, between saying goodbyes and making plans to meet up when you went home for the holidays, you were rushing a bit to get out of the cold.

While you walked, Matt stayed quiet, something you didn’t realize he was capable of. Your hands were shoved deep into your coat pockets to try and stay warm, but you felt his arm brush against yours every once in a while.

“Thanks for coming tonight, mom loved it.” He was softer now, his voice devoid of any of its usual smugness.

“Are you kidding? I love your parents.” You teased, trying to figure out where this quiet side of Matt was coming from. It was the side of him that rarely came out, especially in front of the media and never on the ice, but it was the side that you got along with the best. You stopped at your car, turning to face Matt. “Thanks for walking me.”

“No problem. Uh, text me when you get home, or whatever. So I know you got there safe.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, a slight redness to his cheeks that caught you off guard. You nodded, unlocking your car and offering him one last smile and goodbye before climbing in.

You couldn’t help but grin to yourself as you drove home. He was trying.

THREE

You had the worst luck.

Firstly, the only flight you could get home for the holidays was a red-eye to try and save some money. Secondly, your parents were making you get a cab from the airport instead of coming to pick you up. It was fine, you were an adult and could handle both those things. You had long come to terms with it by the time you were settling into your seat as everyone boarded.

But third—

“No way am I this lucky.”

The sound of the familiar voice had you tilting your head back with a groan, not even bothering to look at the person who was dropping unceremoniously into the seat beside you. Though his curls were tucked under his hoodie and he was trying his best to remain undetected, his presence was one that you would recognize anywhere.

“I’m just really, really, unlucky.” You told Matt, and though your comment was a jab at him, he wore the same grin he always did.

“That’s mean.” He teased, reaching over to poke your side because of course he hasn't outgrown giving you jumper cables. You glared at him, momentarily pausing your efforts to dig through your bag in search of your headphones just so he knew how annoyed you were. Not that he cared, or that it ever really stopped him.

“Look, Matt, I’ve had a long day, and I was looking forward to just sleeping this whole flight.” You sighed, dragging a hand down your face in frustration.

“I’ll leave you alone, promise.” Matt grinned that stupidly smug grin of his.

Yeah, right. You thought, but kept the comment to yourself. It was better to let Matt think he won than invite him to keep going by replying. He grinned at you, simply miming zipping his lips shut as you rolled your eyes.

He lasted longer than you thought he would—ten minutes.

“I don’t know what you don’t like about me so much, it’s not the hockey thing, because you love Brady.” Matt spoke up, going so far as to pull your headphone out of your ear so you could hear him.

“Brady’s adorable and like a baby brother to me.” You said matter-of-factly, earning a snicker from Matt. “You chipped my tooth when we were twelve and then blamed it on me.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.” He snorted, and for a second you thought he’d leave it at that. He had succeeded in getting under your skin, just like he usually did. “And it was your fault. You weren’t paying attention.”

“You didn’t have to shoot the pucks at me that hard!” You frowned at the memory. You had offered to stand in goal for him while he practiced shooting, and though you were definitely not destined to play in the NHL like him, that didn’t stop him from acting as if he was taking part in the hardest shot competition.

Matt didn’t respond, instead he just shook his head with a grin. Clearly, he was more amused by the memory than you were.

He went back to leaving you alone, though he stole one of your headphones and placed it into his ear to listen. He scrunched his nose up at the song, and you rolled your eyes at the silent jab at your taste in music.

Eventually, you did end up falling asleep. When you woke up to Matthew shaking you gently, you realized that you had fallen asleep on his shoulder and that he was waking you since you had landed and people were starting to exit. You waited for the chirps to come about your subconscious action, knowing he probably had a few comments up his sleeve. Except, he didn’t say anything, only stood up to retrieve both of your carryon bags from the overhead storage.

Matt stuck by your side the entire time you got off the plane and headed to luggage claim, unable to help himself from chirping you at the fact you couldn’t find your suitcase. You poked your tongue out at him, admittedly a little juvenile on your behalf, when you spotted your bag come around the carousel. Before you could grab it, though, he snagged it and stuck his tongue out at you before departing into the airport in search of his parents. Now, you were forced to trail after him.

Your annoyance faded, though, when you heard Chantal call your and Matthew’s names. You smiled at the woman, who hugged her son quickly before turning and pulling you into her arms.

“Guess who I got to sit next to?” Matt chimed, sounding a bit too pleased with himself for your liking. You rolled your eyes, unable to help the tiny bit of amusement you felt at how excited Chantal looked at the idea that you had each other on the flight. You and Matt may both be adults, but to her, you were still toddlers that needed constant supervision and she loved the idea that you were there to watch after each other.

“Oh, that’s lucky!” Chantal cheered and you grit your teeth, forcing a smile on your face at the way Matt was grinning smugly at you. Okay, you figured it could have been worse, you could have been seated next to a creep, but you weren’t about to admit that to Matt.

“So lucky.” You muttered sarcastically. Thankfully, Matthew wasn’t given a chance to comment further on your response, as his dad spoke up before he could.

“Is your dad here? I got a new set of clubs I want to brag about.” Keith questioned and you shook your head with a genuine smile. Living next to a retired NHLer gave your dad plenty of opportunities to bring out his competitive side, and golf was definitely one of their favorite pastimes.

“No, he and mom couldn’t come to get me because they both had work.” You explained and Keith rolled his eyes in good fun. You always wondered how both families got along so well when you couldn’t stand Matt.

“Do you want a ride home then?” Chantal offered sweetly.

“That’d be great, thank you.” You were glad you wouldn’t have to worry about getting an Uber, and you didn’t feel as if you were crashing the Tkachuks’ time with their oldest son since as soon as you started to head to the car, Chantal fell in step with you.

“Oh, Matt, you’re being such a gentleman, carrying her suitcase for her.” Chantal gushed after having noticed that Matt had an extra bag and you didn’t have one. She shot you a look and you just knew this was only fueling her belief that you were destined to end up with Matt. She would probably mention it to your mother, and then you really never would hear the end of it.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Keith chirped, earning an eye roll from Matt and laughter from you and Chantal. It was all in good nature, the teasing comments a sign of love amongst the hockey family.

And really, you had no choice but to agree with Keith.

FOUR

“I need you to run next door and give this to Chantal.” Your mom told you, holding out a tray of holiday cookies. You sighed, reluctantly getting up from your spot on the living room couch. You weren’t doing anything, but the aspect of having to walk all the way next door was not totally appealing.

But you did as she said and stuffed on some shoes before heading next door and letting yourself in. Taryn was the first to greet you, taking the tray of cookies and leading you towards the kitchen. As soon as the platter was set down, you both helped yourself to a cookie.

“How’s Calgary? Is Matt showing up randomly to bug you?” She was teasing, but she was right. You laughed, nodding as you broke off a piece of your cookie to eat.

“He showed up while I was on a date, completely by chance, and ruined it.” You chuckled at the memory and at the way Taryn laughed loudly at that. It wasn’t entirely true, Chris was doing a pretty good job of ruining the date on his own, but Matt’s appearance was the final nail in the coffin.

“That’s because he's practically in love with you.” She spoke between giggles. You rolled your eyes, having heard the comment countless times before. It had followed you and Matt around since you were kids, and by the time you were thirteen it morphed from platonic love to your moms explaining what soulmates were to you guys. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered the idea of Matt having a thing for you, but you had long since given up on that idea.

You didn’t have time to comment on it, though, because speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“What’re you guys talking about?” Matt marched into the room, a smug grin on his face. While he spoke, he reached across to where you were standing and broke off a piece of the cookie you were still eating. With a pout, you watched him pop your cookie into his mouth all the while eye contact with you and wearing a self-satisfied grin.

“Oh, just how you’re in love with each other.” Taryn said casually, her sentence punctuated by Matt choking on the cookie. Clearly, he was caught off guard.

“You deserved that, and no, we were not.” You told Matt as he tried to catch his breath. You couldn’t help the grin you were wearing, and for a brief second you acknowledged that he looked adorable all flustered. Matt shot a glare at his sister, who was laughing hysterically at him, and launched forward to dig his fingers into her sides.

You watched carefully as he tickled his sister mercilessly, preparing to make a break for the living room if he turned his attention to you. You were smiling, widely and genuinely, as you watched Matt mess around with his sister.

This was the Matt that you grew up best friends with.

As you were distracted, Matt let his sister go and she caught her breath while cursing him out and you let out a loud laugh at some of the creative things she said. She certainly was from a hockey family.

But then Matt turned his attention to you, a wicked grin on his face and a playful look in his eyes. Your own eyes went wide, and as soon as he took half a step towards you, you spun on your heel and dashed out of the kitchen.

You heard him chasing after you, but you didn’t risk looking back knowing that if you even wanted a chance to outrun him you would need to stay focused. And as you took a particularly sharp turn into the other room, you heard him crash into the wall, clearly not as agile as he thought he was.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Tkachuk! I brought cookies from Mom!” You greeted with a laugh as you sprinted past Keith and Chantal in the hallway. You barely had time to register their looks of amusement before you felt Matt’s fingers brush your back, signaling that he was close to grabbing you.

“Don’t hurt her, we like her more than you!” Keith called after you, teasing Matt and catching him off guard enough that he stumbled, and you were able to put some distance between you and him. You were laughing maniacally, the sound mixing with Matt’s chuckles and Taryn encouraging you to run faster.

Eventually, you made it to the living room, and you spotted Brady’s head poking up behind the back of the couch as he watched some rerun hockey game. You know it’s a longshot that Matt will give up and that you need to bite the bullet and let him catch you, but your stubbornness is what makes you throw yourself over the back of the couch, your head landing in the lap of a very confused and surprised Brady.

“Protect me.” You order, grabbing the younger Tkachuk brother’s bicep as Matt leaned over the back of the couch, his curls wild and grin wicked. For a second, there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat, but then he was back to being smug.

“Brady can’t stop me.” Matt teased, leaning against the back of the couch. Brady didn’t comment, though he rolled his eyes at his brother. It was an argument that had been going on for a decade or so—which brother was stronger? And though they wrestled from time to time, Brady being victorious more often than he used to be, you knew they would never actually fight. You had been there when Keith made them shake heads and promise not to drop the gloves the first time they played each other.

“He’s taller.” You argued, and Matt chuckled as he made his way around the couch. You watched as he lifted your legs, dropping into the spot on the couch they once occupied before resting your limbs across his lap.

“Doesn’t matter.” He replied, giving your shin a squeeze as he spoke. You rolled your eyes, getting comfortable in your spot laying across the Tkachuk brothers and turning to watch the Blues vs. Stars game Brady had put on.

It felt nice to laugh with Matt again. It was as if things were back to normal, and you tried to ignore the funny fluttering feeling in your stomach as his thumbs brushed back and forth along your legs. You hated it, because it was Matt, and you had long since declared that you couldn’t stand him. And yet, there you were, melting under his touch.

“Oh, come on, you’re not going to attack her?” Taryn complained as she dropped into the free chair on the other side of the room. You stuck your tongue out at her, smiling at the sound of Matt’s chuckles. You were going to make a comment about how she was supposed to be on your side in response, but Brady was faster, and his words—for whatever reason—made any reply die on your tongue.

“It’s because he’s in love with her.”

AND ONE MORE

You hated the fact that you weren’t able to sleep. But even more so, you hated the fact that you knew exactly why you couldn’t get your mind to turn off. You couldn’t stop thinking about how sweet Matt had been earlier in the day, and though you knew he always had a soft spot for his sister, for some reason this time it was hitting you differently. Plus Taryn and Brady’s ‘he’s in love with you’s were bouncing around your head.

Finally, after what felt like the hundredth time you had tossed around under the covers, you sat up and snagged your phone off of the nightstand. You sat up, unlocking your phone and opening messages and before you could really think about stopping yourself you typed out a text and sent it.

Only after the message was sent and you couldn’t do anything about it, did you reread what you said and check the time. You couldn’t help but cringe at the one in the morning ‘hey, are you up?’ text that seemingly glared back at you. But then the three dots appeared that signaled that he was typing, and you quickly slid out of the conversation so he wouldn’t think you were waiting for his text. You were, and though he responded within a minute, you didn’t want to give his ego that extra boost.

matthew: usually I’m the one that sends that text

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, having expected him to say something along those lines. You had practically handed that joke to him. Before you could type out a reply telling him to forget about it, your phone buzzed again with another text.

matthew: front door is unlocked, meet in the basement for a movie?

He was giving you a choice. You could go to bed and pretend this never happened and continue to tell everyone around you that the only thing you felt for Matt was annoyance. But you didn’t. You knew that you might regret it, but you slipped out of bed and tugged on a pair of leggings and a hoodie over your sleepshirt. Shoving on a pair of shoes, you tip-toed outside and to the house next door. It felt a little ridiculous, you were an adult, sneaking around to visit a boy like a teenager. But, you were quiet, and made sure you didn’t make any noise as you slipped down the stairs.

“Why am I sneaking around here like we’re fourteen again?” You teased as soon as you saw Matt already on the couch as he flipped through movie options. For a reason unbeknownst to you, your heart skipped a beat in your chest and your breathing stuttered as you cataloged just how attractive he looked in something as casual as a hoodie and sweats, how suddenly you wanted to run your fingers through his curls that definitely needed a hair treatment.

“I don’t want my family to know you’re here because then I’d have to share.” He teased, snapping you out of your thoughts and opening his arms to silently ask you to cuddle him. You hesitated for a moment, because that was not something you usually did except for maybe when you were three, but decided to throw caution to the wind and curled yourself into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. Besides, you didn’t usually text him at one in the morning either, so precedent was already out the window.

As soon as you settled into him, he draped the blanket that had been folded over the back of the couch over both of your legs. You blushed at the thoughtful action, but tried to hide the flush of your cheeks by staring straight ahead at the television.

“What are we watching?” You found your voice after a moment. When Matt didn’t respond right away, you turned to face him to find him already watching, a small smile on his face and a gentle look in his eyes. For the second time that night, you felt your breath catch in your throat, and it was only the surprised look on your face that had him snapping out of it.

“Oh, uh, you can pick.” He handed the remote to you, and you raised a brow at his odd behavior. You reached a hand up, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead as if to check his temperature with a confused look on your face.

“Are you feeling okay? You must be sick, if you’re letting someone else choose the movie.” You teased, grinning when Matt laughed, swatting your hand away and tugging you closer all in the same movement.

“I’ve been thinking—” He started, but after having grown up with hockey players, you were quick to think up a chirp.

“Are you sure you’re okay then?” You teased, enjoying the warm feeling you got when you heard his laugh. He had your back pressed to his front, so you were facing the television and couldn’t see whatever the look on his face was.

“Would you just let me talk for a minute?” He chuckled and you felt the vibrations in his chest from where you were cuddled against him. And though he was teasing you, there was a softness to his tone that had you nodding, still facing forward. “I kinda sucked when we were teenagers.” He confessed, and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. Though, holding true to your word, you stayed quiet and let him talk. “I was a preteen boy that didn’t know how to act around you and ended up making an idiot of myself.” You knew there probably was a deeper meaning to his words, but you weren’t ready to dive into that and he kept going. “And then we were fifteen and you were in love or whatever with Tommy Banner and I was jealous. And then you broke up but I had to go away for hockey and I don’t regret that, but I do regret not making things better with you before I left.”

His confession hung in the air for a moment as you processed his words. He threw a lot of information at you at once, and you cringed momentarily at the memory of your first ‘serious’ relationship.

See, the thing was, as much as you talked up your annoyance at Matthew, he had always been your person. You fake married the guy for a reason, even if you didn’t really know the implications of your actions way back then. You knew what marriage looked like from your parents and Matt’s, and you wanted that for yourself. You wanted that with Matt. He was your first real crush, and those never really go away. Or at least, yours didn’t.

But once you were teenagers, you stopped pining after your neighbor, a seemingly unattainable goal, and started hanging out with other people. You and Matt started to drift, and then eventually his teasing comments always seemed to be directed towards whatever guy you were seeing, thus making you grow contempt for him.

But now, he was showing his softer side, and those feelings from when you were younger resurfaced as he confessed that he felt the same. You couldn’t deny that you felt something when his hand brushed against you or when he grinned at you—no matter how self-satisfied he looked.

Suddenly you became aware that you had been silent for a moment too long, and you sat up straighter and turned to face Matt. He was studying you, and for the first time in as long as you could remember—except maybe that one time in eighth grade when he asked you to go to the school dance with him because he wanted to make his mom happy—he looked unsure of himself. It was an emotion that didn’t sit right on his face, and as often as you complained about his teasing, you much preferred his shit-eating grin.

“It’s your turn to talk now.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood but only succeeding partly since the breathy chuckle he gave at the end told you he was nervous.

Before you could help yourself, you had cupped his face with both your hands and pulled him forward to connect your lips to his. It took him a second to relax under your touch, but as soon as he realized what was happening, he grabbed your elbow to hold you in place.

When you felt his tongue swipe at your lips you knew you had to pull away before you got too caught up in him, which you knew you would, and you separated. His grin was wide, a little smug like usual, but mostly he was looking adoringly at you.

“I thought you hated me?” He teased, because it’s Matt and of course he would. You rolled your eyes, willing to admit that you had set him up with that one.

“Don’t push your luck, Tkachuk.” You pecked his lips once more, wondering why you had waited so long to do so. If he had been telling the truth, and you knew he was, then he had been crushing on you as long as you had been on him.

“Yes ma’am.” He joked, mock saluting while leaning towards you to chase after your lips for another kiss. You complied, but then pressed a hand on his chest to lean back enough to give him a serious look.

“And if this is going to work, you have to stop being such a pest all the time. Tone it down a bit.” He nodded, grin widening at the mention of your relationship moving past the night. You smiled at him, leaning up to give him one more kiss before settling back into his side. “And I still get to pick the movie.”

Matt chuckled, but didn’t argue. Instead, he settled for pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He let this arm fall from around your shoulders to your waist, and you knew without looking at him that he was wearing a satisfied grin.

“Who’s going to tell our moms that they were right about us?” He spoke up after a moment, and you chuckled. You were as stubborn as Matt was, and neither of you were too excited to admit to anyone that you had been wrong about the fact that you’d end up with each other. You were even certain that Brady, Keith, and Taryn had a running bet about when you and Matt would get together.

As it turns out, neither of you would have to, because you fell asleep together on the couch and Chantal was the first to find you cuddled into her son's chest.

Just like she knew you always would.

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew tkachuk imagine #Matthew tkachuk imagines #Matthew tkachuk x reader #hockey imagine #NHL imagine #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine

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dadsbongos · 3 years

Text

Insert Coin - Chapter 3 / Series Masterlist

Sunlight streamed down through puckered clouds, sky bathing in golden backdrop and splattering against the rocky hilltop below. Peko stared straight ahead as the marching came closer and closer until she was surrounded by the source. Robots upon robots upon robots aligned in layers of circles around her, the Ultimate Swordswoman.

Without her permission, an arm raised - her gut twisting at the knowledge that yes, now she was a tool, but it wasn’t for him. Young Master.

Rushing forward, Peko cut through one of the robots with what she’d sworn was a bamboo sword.

Robot after robot fell by her hand.

Countless had crumbled and yet there were still so many left.

Creaking rumbled behind her. Before she could register the blond hair and midnight dark suit, she’d already swung. Cutting through her foe… and Young Master.

Holding his fragile self to her body, Peko cooed and murmured sweet nothings to her Young Master. The robots stumbled forward closer and closer and closer. There was a split pain darting through her back and stomach, blood guzzling as more and more bots enclosed her and Young Master.

Opening her eyes once again, Peko looked into the blinking, blaring red eyes of one of the robots. Its sword rose high, high, higher above its metallic head before coming back down on hers in one clean strike.

“Agh!”

(Y/n) shot up from her bed, gripping the fabric of her sleepshirt in terror, cold sweat drooling over her slick skin. Eyes wide in fear and heart racing.

Nightmare.

It was only a nightmare.

Closing her eyes, (Y/n) was struck with the illusion of Mahiru, slumped against the teal door with the back of her head smashed in. Vibrant pink staining her clothes and clumping in her hair.

Her ears rung and in the background, she could hear the wails and broken sobs of Hiyoko. She could feel the snag of hands pulling desperately at her skin, drawing marks over her body with no care.

She slammed her eyes open, hands coming up over her ears to hide the sound of broken cries.

Until there was a knock at the door, her eyes fell from the door to its lock - finding momentary comfort in that it was, in fact, locked. Her legs shook as she stood, debating on whether or not to answer. It was a few moments later, and after a few more rounds of knocking that she decided yes, she’d open it. Her talent was useless anyway, if she got killed nobody would suffer.

On the other side was Nagito, and peeking past his shoulder, (Y/n) saw that the sun was just kissing the horizon with its fiery, blaring passion. His smile was faint, “I know scum like me shouldn’t pop up out of nowhere, especially so early, but you seemed pretty wrecked after that trial.”

“Don’t call yourself scum,” (Y/n) tiredly protested before pulling Nagito inside by his jacket collar, “But yes, I could use the company.”

“Did I interrupt you?” the boy asked, clearly uneasy about walking into his classmate’s cottage, “I really am complete, irredeemable trash, aren’t I?”

“Nagito,” (Y/n) huffed, forcing the sickly skinny teenager to sit on her bed, taking his head between her hands affectionately, “you’re not trash. You’re my friend. You came to check on me, it was a nice gesture. The morning announcement will probably be going off sometime soon anyway.”

“Are you sure?” he almost seemed like a puppy at that moment. So desperate to be told he’d done well - for a person so bent on being nothing, he definitely desired to hear otherwise. Eyes shining up at the girl holding him so tenderly.

“I’m absolutely sure,” she confirmed, brows furrowing in confusion shortly thereafter, hands rising from his cheeks to his forehead, “You feel a little warm, are you okay?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he waved off, “Though my throat’s been a little drier than I’d care for. And it’s been harder to breathe.”

“Since when?!” (Y/n) immediately pulled back to grab one of the water bottles Hajime had randomly given her, “Here, you should be staying hydrated.”

“Just upon waking up,” Nagito avoided the girl’s eyes as he uncapped the water, “I’d had some trouble sleeping… coughing kept me up,” he chuckled lightly at the girl’s evident concern, “Ah, to think, such a beautiful ray of hope - all worried over garbage. It’s almost sweet, if only it weren’t me you were worried about.”

“Of course, I’m worried, we’re friends, remember?”

“Oh,” he muttered, sipping at the water before recapping it, “you meant that.”

“Obviously!” she exclaimed, exasperated with the sick student, “Why would I lie about that?”

“To be nice, that was my guess, you are the Ultimate Peacekeeper. Saying things to make people happy is your talent,” Nagito shrugged off, as if having no friends was normal for him.

And at that thought, (Y/n)’s heart sunk a little further for Nagito Komaeda.

“It is, but I’m not just saying that,” she sat beside him, grabbing his hand when he moved to pull away - not thinking himself worthy to be close to an Ultimate, “Nagito Komaeda, we’re friends, and I mean that. If you really don't want to be, then fine, but don't run out of fear that I secretly don't care - because I always will.”

“I couldn’t run from you, and it’s not just my new sickness,” he sighed wistfully, “How unlucky, I get to be on a beautiful island surrounded by Ultimates but then I get sick.”

His luck cycles. Right. She’d nearly forgotten of those. Nearly.

“Good morning, everyone! Looks like today is gonna be another perfect, tropical day!”

“Not-so-perfect with you out of commission,” (Y/n) brushed back some of Nagito’s hair as he drank more water, feeling how much warmer he’d already gotten since she last checked, “Poor thing.”

Shaking his head, Nagito gave her a gentle smile, “It really isn’t much. Please, don’t waste precious space in your brain on me.”

“I’ll waste as much space as I want, now c’mon,” (Y/n) stood, dragging Nagito up with the hand locked in hers, “I bet the pharmacy has something for you.”

“There’s really no need- "

“Hey now, we’re going to the pharmacy,” at the harshness of her own tone, (Y/n) sighed before tacking on a quick, “Is that okay? Can you agree to at least go to the pharmacy with me?”

“I…” Nagito paused, eyes shifting to his feet before closing completely, “Yeah, I can agree to that. It’s the least I could do for an Ultimate.”

“Thank you,” she nodded, shaking their hands together slightly before heading out of her cottage and into the tropical sunlight so typical of Jabberwock island.

Walking past the dining hall the group typically met in, the pair crossed over the large wooden bridge to the pharmacy, catching Mikan gingerly flipping over bottles of antiseptic in her hands. Hands that weren’t shaking. She appeared so… at ease. At home. Calm with the medical supplies stacked in shelves around her - though that was to be expected, it was her talent after all. It was only when people, two people at this exact moment, came in that her fidgeting and flutters returned.

“No need to panic,” (Y/n) reassured, waving off the nurse’s squeals of anxiousness, “We’re just here for medicine, Nagito seems to have caught something.”

Tears buzzed at Mikan’s eyes, hands coming up to block her face as if Nagito and (Y/n) were about to begin beating her for merely existing, “H-how ter-terrible…”

“Please, please,” Nagito sighed lightly, waving a hand dismissively at the nurse’s tears, “Don’t mind trash like me. It won’t make a difference if I drop dead.”

“It will make a difference,” the peacekeeper insisted, grabbing at daytime and nighttime cough syrup before turning to Mikan, “Do we use our Monocoins to pay for these or no?”

“Our- our w-what?”

“Nevermind, it was silly,” (Y/n) giggled, waving at the nurse as she left with Nagito and handing the bottles to the boy, “Here; I’ll go out on a limb and say you know how to take medicine?”

“Luckily for us, I do… well, luckily for you anyway,” he pocketed the bottles, “Thankfully I don’t have to burden an Ultimate with my problems.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden by asking me to help you take medicine, I’d be happy to help.”

Walking into the dining hall, the pair were struck with the odd sight. Posterboard akin to something at a science fair covered in photos of and taken by Mahiru with candles surrounding the shrine, goat skulls lining over the top.

“Hiyoko built it,” Hajime murmured, glaring at Nagito as he approached the girl, “I wouldn’t bring it up, she’s still reeling.”

“Avoiding and chastising her for it will make things worse,” (Y/n) shook her head before siding herself with Hiyoko, “It’s lovely. Mahiru would’ve loved it.”

Shaking off his earlier nerves about it, Hajime went to the blond’s other side before, rather awkwardly, trying his hand at comforting the dancer, “Yeah, what better way to remember her than photos?”

There was no reaction, simply blank staring - shock, despair, neither were sure - from Hiyoko at her two classmates. Her brows furrowed and as she opened her mouth, another voice cut in,

“Guys… I’m sorry…”

Fuyuhiko stood there. Eyepatch over his right eye, but other than that, thankfully, he appeared fine.

(Y/n) shook her head, “It’s okay, Fuyuhiko. We’re just glad you’re up and awake now.”

“Who agreed to that?!” Hiyoko burst out, tears already streaming down her reddened face as she pointed to the other short blond, “If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be here!”

“Hiyoko,” (Y/n) placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “I know you’re upset, and for good reason, but we can’t turn on each other. Mahiru wouldn’t want us to split apart because of this - we should be living in harmony to honor her, not fighting,” the dancer relented, eyes clenching shut and still letting out tears. (Y/n) brought the girl into her side, holding Hiyoko tightly in what she hoped was a comforting embrace before turning to Fuyuhiko, “And you.”

Hajime flinched slightly at the stony tone suddenly donned by the peacekeeper when she referred to the gangster.

“Don’t go doing something like that again, you hear me?” (Y/n) huffed, “I get what you were trying to do but we almost lost three people in one day. Mahiru and Peko were painful enough, we can’t lose anyone else.”

Fuyuhiko’s brows furrowed, cheeks filling rouge, “Whatever, you all were doing fine without me anyway,” his shoulders drooped as he turned, voice quieting, “You don’t need me.”

“Good riddance,” Hiyoko stubbornly muttered into (Y/n)’s shirt.

Eyes dancing across the worried faces of her remaining friends, Ibuki suddenly piped up, startling everyone in the dining hall, “Ibuki can fix this!”

Unamused by the girl’s rambunctious yelling so early, Hajime merely tilted his head, “How so?”

“Just be on the lookout for something from me later!” the rocker called out as she ran out of the dining hall.

“I’m sure she’ll figure something out,” (Y/n) mumbled, still holding Hiyoko as the girl clung to her, “It’s Ibuki’s thing to be cheerful, right? She can help.”

She can help...

#insert coin #sdr2 reader insert #danganronpa x reader #sdr2 x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #komaeda x reader

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kimetsunoyaibawritings · 3 years

Text

Introspection

[AO3 Version] | [Original Request]

Rating: General

Summary: When a rainstorm threatens Tanjiro's travels through the countryside, he takes refuge in the home of a kind stranger. During his stay, he discovers that not only is his host of half-demon blood, but their mother had also been a member of the Demon Slayer Corps.

Tanjiro is nothing if not curious, and learns more about the multifaceted world of demonkind, hopefully growing ever closer to undoing the curse upon his sister.

Tanjiro could tell that something was off. From the moment that the man had entered into his physical perception he knew that something wasn't quite right. The man -- you -- weren't entirely human. Neither were you entirely demon, but he couldn't get much detail behind the simple fact of otherness that permeated the air around you with every shift of your body.

It wasn't a bad smell either. In fact, when you bowed in greeting, he found the gesture scented with honesty and friendliness instead of hidden malice or insincerity. He bowed in turn, and the two of you exchanged names. It didn't take long before you took note of his weapon, and much less after that to realize that the wooden case hefted against his back held something far less trivial than one would have assumed. Not something, but someone.

His nose was sharp -- for a human, at least. Yours was just as honed, though the ability came from your mixed blood than from a rare natural gift. It took but one breath with a defined focus to realize the young man you'd met was hardly a normal person.

Demon Slayer.

The words held some semblance of meaning. Nothing with coherent form; they were words passed down to you from your parents, spoken with such fearful vitriol that you had to wonder what kinds of people became such Slayers of Demons. Surely they would be bloodthirsty, heartless souls that would so willingly strike down such simple people without due thought or consideration to what their sins truly were -- assuming that existence itself wasn't a sin for a demon.

But as Tanjiro stood before your eyes, you had to reconsider the image that had built up behind the words. He did not look bloodthirsty. He didn't even seem aggressive. But he still carried the nichirin blade that you'd been warned of, and you had to wonder how many demons had been killed at the mercy of its sharpened edge.

So you, a half-demon standing before one so named a demon slayer, do the careful thing:

You invite Tanjiro to stay with you for the night.

Truthfully, Tanjiro isn’t in a position to reject the offer. he’d been traveling for several days through the rolling landscape between the mountains, and he could smell a thunderstorm coming in. For all that he couldn’t understand you or your strange scent, Tanjiro really had no reason not to trust in his kindness.

The house you called your own is humble, too far from the nearest village for anyone to randomly stumble upon you without incredible forewarning. Tanjiro is actually quite the rarity, one that you find some manner of joy in meeting — the last person you’d met was half as kind and barely a fraction as patient.

“Are you a demon slayer?” you find yourself asking barely a moment after the two of you have stepped into the narrow threshold of the front doorway. Beyond is a home consisting of a few rooms at most, minimally furnished but meticulously cared for.

Tanjiro barely has the chance to set his gear down, but he flashes an earnest smile in your direction.

“I am,” he says. There’s pride in his tone. “Though I’m a little surprised. Not a lot of people recognize us that quickly, unless…”

“No. I don’t have any connection,” you quickly dash his assumption aside. “But I recognize the uniform and weapon you’re carrying. Nichirin blade, correct?”

Tanjiro blinks, but the look of warmth never quite fades from his face even as he nods to affirm your suspicion. It sates your surface curiosity, but it doesn’t offer any sort of clue as to what is in the box he’d carried upon his back. For a moment you wonder if it would be rude to inquire about it, but shrug the notion off quickly when you remember how strange the box smells. Not weapons, not rations, but something softer.

“What’s in that box of yours?”

Tanjiro’s entire frame stiffens. In barely a breath’s worth of time, his demeanor tightens up and leaves the young man looking tense and unsure. With one hand gently laying upon the wooden surface of his cargo, he says, “Something… very important to me,” he then reaches his other hand up, fingers splayed open and shaking as if to ward off concern. “-but I promise it’s nothing dangerous.”

You can smell a soft trace of anxiety around him. While the unexpected reaction incites a spark of curiosity within your chest, it’s not without a resounding sense of restraint and mannered respect for Tanjiro’s privacy. If he doesn’t wish to share the nature of it’s contents with you — someone who is little more than a stranger to him, admittedly — then he is under no such obligation. Still, you purse your lips for a moment in disappointment before lightly gesturing for him to step further into the house with you.

“I’d been cooking food when you arrived,” you say gently. “Clean yourself up and I’ll serve us both something hot to eat.”

It doesn’t take very long before the two of you are sitting together, sipping at the brothy soup that had been bubbling away for the entirety of the earlier afternoon. Though the majority of the meal is somewhat silent, Tanjiro’s eyes move about the room, taking in every detail that raises above the floor and out from the walls. It doesn’t take a genius to realize how well he fits into the ideal of a Demon Slayer — Tanjiro is perceptive and foolhardy with at least some basic talent for the blade on his hip.

Beyond that, however, you’re not quite sure what is to be expected of him as a slayer. He’s very kind and respectful… but those are hardly the traits you’ve come to associate with the title. Everything about the young man demands curiosity, so much that you don’t realize how his gaze has settled onto one particular spot on the wall behind you. By the time you remember what is hanging openly, Tanjiro’s lips are already forming a question -

“Whose sword is that on your wall?”

You don’t even turn your eyes around to look at it. The object has taken a defined place within your memories — you can’t forget the shape of the blade, the texture of the hilt, or the soft smile of it’s previous owner even if you genuinely wanted to purge them from your thoughts.

A sigh escapes your lips after a few moments. “It belonged to my mother,” you explain after a moment. When Tanjiro’s rust-colored eyes light up, you decide to answer the question just behind his lips. “And yes, it’s what you think it is. She was a demon slayer herself.”

“Oh,” the syllable falls with a sense of understanding of was rather than is. A misjudged understanding, given the ambiguity of your answer, but a respectful one nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”

A moment passes.

“And… your father?” Tanjiro asks.

The speed at which you shake your head is almost comical. No. No. The visual image is a joke in itself, and Tanjiro doesn’t even realize why his question is so humorous to you.

“My father was not the kind of person for that line of work.” a gentle chuckle does manage to escape the poised line of your lips. “…I doubt he’d be able to wield a blade like that in the first place.”

It feels as if the conversation is going to continue out from there, a gentle rolling of waves upon the edge of a beach after the brief storm of near-realization to what was hiding just beneath the surface of half-dodged answers. But it doesn’t manage to get farther than another breath before a noise sharply echoes out from the wooden box set out near the doorway and shocks both of you into a gazing silence.

“Tanjiro,” your tone is careful and your eyes hone in on the item. Caution prickles in your fingertips and against your tongue as claws and fangs slowly emerge from behind a carefully-kept glamor. “what is in that-”

“What are your thoughts on demons?”

You blink, turning to face the man again with a look that does not hide an ounce of your confusion. It takes a few moments for some of the dots to connect to one another. The reason for him asking your opinion is hanging right above your head, a heavy reminder to half of your heritage — but it doesn’t quite match all of the points of confusion all but emanating from Tanjiro and the strange box he carried with him.

Still, his question deserves an answer. And even as your eyes settle carefully on the square shape across the room, you offer one.

“Asking my thoughts on demons is no different than asking my thoughts on humans,” you say, words careful and tone oddly tight. “Some are good, some are bad, and none-” a sharp breath passes over your lips. “-none are perfect.”

Tanjiro’s eyes linger on you for a long while, longer than what feels comfortable for the silence between you. For a few moments you wonder if his question was a test and your answer had failed it abysmally, but it didn’t change your feelings on the matter in the slightest. Nothing ever will.

Another sharp noise echoes from the direction of the box. Your eyes begin to dart towards it, but the motion of Tanjiro’s body commands your attention towards him instead, he as if ready at any moment to launch himself towards the box, but his eyes meeting yours openly and earnestly.

“So you’re saying you think some demons can be good, right?”

You watch him, but sense no malice in the young man’s gaze.

“Of course.”

Relief seems to flood across his expression. When another, more rhythmic sound comes from the box, he doesn’t so much jump towards it as he does shuffle to his feet and step across the room. Before he’s able to reach it, however, the door suddenly opens to reveal a shape of pink fabric spilling out from within. You blink and watch as the fabric moves, and ever so quickly does your mind realize that there is a person within it, wearing the kimono that reminds you of cherry blossoms in springtime.

By the time Tanjiro is at the side of the wooden box and holding out an outstretched hand, you’ve come to realize that it’s been a young girl inside of it the entire time.

A demon. The scent doesn’t escape your nose for a moment, though it lacks the underlying sharpness of iron you’d come to expect from others of her kind and yours alike.

And Tanjiro regards her with tolerance, nay, respect. It seems to take the young woman a few moments to orientate herself to her surroundings, but he smiles at her with all the same gentleness.

“It’s okay, Nezuko,” Tanjiro says brightly, pulling the woman onto her feet. “This is a safe place.”

Despite all the words that press up behind your tongue, you can’t help but stare at the young duo. Tanjiro smiles and gestures towards the young woman beside him, Nezuko.

“This is my… younger sister,” he says at last. The air settles around the room in a nonverbal confirmation of information that doesn’t take more than a heartbeat to confirm, but it leaves you equally confused and curious all the same.

“Tanjiro,” you murmur, words finally picking up a semblance of strength. “This may be a stupid question, but are you aware that your sister is currently a demon?”

Though it’s not clear what would have been more surprising of an answer, Tanjiro’s honest nod does seem to do plenty to throw you for a loop. A demon slayer traveling around with a demon at his side? The notion vexes you completely, even if the demon in question is a member of his familiy. Unless…

“Was she born a demon?”

Tanjiro and Nezuko both look at you, the former with a more defined look of confusion across his face.

“Born…?” he asks. “As in turned? Turned into a demon?”

“Ah,” you suddenly feel a bit silly and more than a little embarrassed as his confusion seems to be genuine. “I think I misunderstood a few things. I’ve got my answer in any case but, no, I did actually mean born as in physically birthed.”

While Nezuko loses interest in the conversation and begins to roam about the room, her brother slowly settles back onto his spot across from you — albeit shooting a glance to his young sister every once in a while which is admittedly endearing. The two of them seem barely old enough to be out on their own, and you’re not sure if the demon slayers even have a minimum age requirement to begin with as long as someone can hold a weapon and defend another.

“How could someone give birth to a demon?” Tanjiro finally asks. “I thought they were only created by… uh.” he pauses for a few moments, waiting as if to catch something in your eyes. Recognition perhaps? “…A man named Muzan Kibutsugi.”

He’s not bothering to conceal his befuddled expression as, behind his eyes, you can see the threads of thought and logic try desperately to put an answer together from the bits of information he already knows about demon-kind.

“Most are,” your words taste bittersweet on the tongue. “But not all of them. Some demons can create other demons if they’re strong enough.”

Tanjiro nods as the faces of both Lady Tamayo and Yushiro appear in his mind’s eye. Though she had been a demon created by Muzan, he recalled that Yushiro was created by her hand in the continuing search for a cure to turn someone human once more. It had been the only instance where he’d come across a demon not created by the demon king himself, but it’s a clear enough example that Tanjiro doesn’t need to stretch his mind very far to understand your words.

Seeing this recognition, your hand raises to gesture up towards your chest, fingertips barely skimming across the wash-worn fabric of your kimono.

“You asked before about some demons being ‘good’.”

Tanjiro nods. Even Nezuko has moved her attention towards you, though she stands solemnly in one of the darker corners of the room as her eyes glow like shimmering sakura blossoms.

Considering the nature of whom was sitting in front of you — the organization for which Tanjiro allied himself with — there was a part of you that wished to simply lie between your teeth and wait out the night until it would be socially acceptable to all but kick the young warrior out of your home. That part had good reasons to be cautious and fearful, but another part of you found something hopeful behind the young man’s eyes. You aren’t naïve enough to call it ‘trust’, but the emotion is certainly within the same pond.

“My father was a good man,” your hand lingers, stilled against your chest and all but faintly feeling the thrum of your own heartbeat. “An odd man, but a good one. Tended to the fields, took care of my mother when she fell ill, even managed to make friends with some folks of the local village. He respected everyone around him.”

Even as he remains politely silent, something starts to click in Tanjiro’s eyes, even before you finish the point of your words.

“…my father was also a demon created by Kibutsugi.”

Tanjiro blinks with wide surprise and shock stilling the words that otherwise press against the back of his lips. While there had been a growing hunch forming somewhere within his thoughts, he can’t help the suddenness of the question needed to confirm them when he finally can speak again.

“Does that mean that you are-”

“Half-demon, yes.”

"How does that even...happen...?"

You chuckle, "I'd imagine how most people go about having babies."

Tanjiro's cheeks turn a dark red, and he quickly drops that particular line of questions.

You try to offer the young man a comforting smile, but he continues to stare in a summation of awe and disbelief. He’d never even thought that a demon and human could have a child together. For the longest time since learning of their existence, Tanjiro simply thought that demons couldn’t have children at all — like an extension of the curse befallen upon them, leaving them wanting for human flesh and blood, feral and wild and-

It is then that Tanjiro’s thoughts click into place once more. No. He’s not without multiple examples to the contrary, strengthened each and every day by the knowledge that his own sister is of the same creation as many of the demons so easily vilified and hated. But, even then, it doesn’t change the fact that Nezuko is a rarity — her lack of bloodshed is, as far as he’d learned, a genuine oddity among other demons.

“… Have you killed anyone?” he finally asks. His eyes glance towards the floor, looking almost ashamed in having to speak the words.

You shake your head. The question is hardly a surprise — you actually would have been more caught off-guard if that hadn’t been the first thought on his mind. But oddly enough, the question is something of a comfort. It allows to you answer it honestly.

“I haven’t hurt or killed anyone before — since part of my blood itself is human, my diet is relatively lackluster.” with a sweep of your hand, you gesture out to the empty bowls in front of the two of you. “I can be out beneath the sun, but my skin is somewhat sensitive to it; just a short while in direct sunlight can leave me with a terrible burn.”

Tanjiro nods. He brings up a hand to his chin for a moment to ponder over the details and new information as what appears to be every thread of his thoughts devote to try and weave it all together with what he already knew. One detail into another, filling up the ever-growing sense of curiosity that he had for demons and those around them. If nothing else, it proved that there were still things that not even the Demon Slayer corps understood properly — or, if they did, they certainly didn’t admit to them. The Hashira’s response to Nezuko solidified that well enough.

After a few moments, Tanjiro’s attention flicks back up to your face.

“Your… mother was a demon slayer, right?”

You nod politely, though it doesn’t take more than a quick glance back up to the nichirin blade hanging above both of your heads on the wall behind you to be reminded of the fact.

Tanjiro’s gaze tilts ever so slightly with his head to one side. “How did your mother and father meet?”

You shrug. “I never learned much of the details, though I do know that he was at one time a demon she was sent out to kill.”

Tanjiro chuckles after a few moments.

“I think I can guess what came after that,” he says. “So was your father… around much after you were born?”

“Of course!” your expression all but beams at the gentle memories. “Just because he was a demon doesn’t mean by default he was a bad or neglectful father. Though I suppose he so often seemed sickly to others; not able to go outside during the day, having to hide himself when there was company… I admit there is a lot about my father I still don’t know.”

For but a flicker of a moment, you are absolutely certain that there is a sadness within Tanjiro’s eyes. A mutual bitterness, empathetic beyond words. But the look is gone ever so quick, so much that if your perception was but a moment slower it would have been missed entirely.

But what remains is yet a soft expression.

“Thank you,” he finally says. “I am trying to learn as much as I can about demons right now.”

“I assume as much, being a demon slayer.”

“No, no it’s-” the young man looks suddenly flushed. “I promise I’m-… I’m not going to tell anyone about you. I just, think that… there’s a lot that I don’t understand. But I would like to. You see, my sister and I-”

And so, Tanjiro tells you the story of how he and his sister began traveling together — the murder of his family, his sister being turned into a demon, his promise to himself and those he lost that he would try to right all of the wrongs that had been done to them. He explains how he joined the demon slayers, how he had met other demons who had been kind to him in much the same way that you had been. Though the names Tamayo and Yushiro held no recognition, they did bring a sense of warmth to your chest in the confirmation that being a demon didn’t truly mean one had to give up their sense of humanity and kindness.

One topic moved onto another as the night continued on and the rainstorms moved in. Through the soft pitter-patter of water against the roof, you did your best to answer as many of Tanjiro’s questions as you could despite the fact that your knowledge of Muzan went no farther than simply hearing it once or twice and having a basic understanding of his role in the origin of demons themselves. There is also something admittedly humorous in watching Tanjiro’s expression when your glamor falls just a little, revealing sharp claws at the tip of each finger and fangs barely hidden behind the press of your lips.

“Neither my father nor I had any semblance of combat ability, but they’re useful for hunting.” a moment passes. “Animals, I mean. Me and mother still had to eat something.”

Perhaps it’s the reminder of your mother, and her lack of presence in the house with you, that finally encourages the question forth, “How long have your parents been…?”

“Dead?” you don’t fear the sound of the word or the notion behind it. “It will be twenty years this coming spring.”

“Twenty years?” Tanjiro gawks. “H-how old are you then?”

“I was born in 1857, so…” you do the math in your head, giving Tanjiro several moments to try and come to terms with the fact that you barely look older than your mid twenties at most. “This year I will be fifty-five!”

Your bright, sharp grin is in hilarious contrast with the shock all but painted across the young man’s face. After giving him a breath to take in the information, you point out, “I am half-demon. Time doesn��t mean as much to my health as it does a normal demon.”

“I… see,” Tanjiro’s eyes return to normal, but there’s no hiding his lingering awe. “So will just a nichirin blade… kill you?”

You have to laugh at just how shy the question is for the severity of the words. “Trying to plan my demise already, demon slayer?”

Though Tanjiro immediately begins to shake his hand and try to babble out an apology and explanation alike, you aren’t cruel enough to let it linger for more than a moment before explaining, “A normal blade could behead me and I would die. I could drown in a lake or perish from a high enough fall. In all things but old age, I’m still very mortal, Tanjiro — for better or worse. I can’t speak for any other half-demon you may come across, but I know that much.”

A moment of silence passes between you. Tanjiro thankfully doesn’t ask about your parents or their passing. In fact, he seems rather satisfied by the amount of information he’s gotten already, so much that his mind constantly looks as if it’s rolling about within his skull, putting together a puzzle with far too many pieces missing for most people to even bother in the first place.

The rain continues to fall. It’s a gentle white noise, ceaseless, and punctured only by the dull rolling sounds of thunder as it moves across the edges of your perception. It doesn’t take long for you to realize the time either, knowing even without looking out the door or window that the moon is high into the night sky and that, furthermore, it was not hospitable of you to keep your guest from getting a good night’s rest.

“If you have no more questions, I think it would be a good idea to get some sleep.”

There were more questions — there is always more questions — but Tanjiro can’t ignore the fact that it’s late and, yes, he would need to be moving along to his next destination early in the morning. It doesn't’ take long to ready a place for him to sleep, and less so for Nezuko who seems content to simply be near her older brother. Though she doesn’t speak a single word to you, the look in her eyes seems soft and curious, perhaps even grateful.

It’s understandable why Tanjiro has such a moderate view of demons despite being among the Demon Slayer Corps himself.

That fact in itself is something of a comfort as much as it is a curiosity, one that lingers with you even when you see the young man off the next morning, so early that the sun has barely crested above the hills and mountains on the horizon.

And Tanjiro, as he leaves, finds himself renewed with energy and questions alike. Every time he thinks he has a strong grasp on the world around him, something new emerges that throws it further into perspective in an ever-growing map of knowledge. Though the edges continue to get blurrier, there’s something nice in familiarizing himself in it. To Tanjiro, it brings him further hope for the future of not only himself, but for the Demon Slayer Corps and the greater world around them.

Maybe, he hopes, he’ll run into you again one day.

And maybe then he’ll be able to introduce his sister to you as a human — or perhaps the world will have grown in such a way that, like the union of your parents and the makeup of your own blood, it won’t even matter in the first place.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #fic #male!reader #sfw #sfw fic #writing #sfw writing #gen fic #gen writing #no ship writing #no ship fic #readerinsert #readershot #tanjiro #tanjiro kamado #request fill

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jaehyeonsgf · 3 years

Text

roommates : part one

In all retrospect, Jung Jaehyun was the worst type of roommate to have.

In your defence, you hadn’t given him much thought when you agreed to split rent with him. You had just moved into a college town and rent was predatorial to say the least. Having someone to spilt the burden with would have taken so much off the plate.

Besides, you had known Jaehyun for a while by then. Well, a while would be an understatement.

You’ve known him almost the entirety of your life. Your families were neighbours since you were in kindergarten. That said, apart from kindergarten and primary school, you two hung around different crowds.

In truth, the both of you were more like acquaintances.

And it wasn’t even your idea to room with him. It was your mother’s. And his mother’s. It was out of convenience.

But you never thought that he’d be this bad.

Firstly, he talked too much. Every Monday morning, since neither of you had morning classes, which, looking back on it, seemed more of a curse than a blessing, Jaehyun took it upon himself to cook breakfast for the both of you. The upside was that he’d cook and he wasn’t a half bad chef. The downside was that you were subjected to his rant of the week. As well as cleaning.

(It seemed he didn’t know the functions of a sink beyond a holding place for dirty dishes. And some days, he’d forget that too.)

It wasn’t limited to Monday mornings either.

Whenever he was feeling sad, he would demand for the attention to be on him. It didn’t matter that you were rushing out a 10-page essay due the next morning. Besides, even if you had found some magical spell to ignore his wails, he’d make a sad sound – a whine, perhaps – that gutted you.

So, you’d put away your work, and comply to his wishes.

You’d hug him when he demanded for one, but as friends. It didn’t matter how he’d make a soft giggle into your hair when you finally comply, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. It didn’t matter how he’d never let go until the both of you fell asleep in the arms of each other.

It certainly didn’t matter that your heart would swell so painfully against your ribs that it made it almost impossible to breathe.

After all, you were friends. Friends give each other hugs all the time, right?

(It was just a hug, anyways.)

Secondly, Jaehyun always left a trail of chaos wherever he went.

It didn’t stop at his room, though you were almost sure that his room was a biowarfare zone. His clothes would be strewn everywhere, decorating the floors of your living room, the sofas and the chairs at the dining room.

There were days that you found his laundry mixed with yours too. You’d wonder how it got there, but just like everything with Jaehyun, you wouldn’t be able to get a conclusive answer.

Unfortunately for you, his messes weren’t limited to the physical ones. He left a trail of girls behind as well.

Of course, he didn’t do it intentionally.

If you were to blame anything, you’d blame it on his face (which might make the list of his greatest offences). He was offensively beautiful, the kind of beauty that made you physically gasp in awe of it. It was no wonder that everyone wanted him. It was no wonder that everyone wondered what it would be like to love him.

“I’ve got a date!” He’d announce, randomly.

And you’re used to hearing those words. You’ve learnt not to ask about the girl that had came over just last week, or the girl that he was calling constantly at the start of the week. You’ve learnt to accept it. (Or at least, pretend to.)

You’ve also learnt not to ignore his announcement, for fear of him pestering, scared that you’re angry at him.

“You’re not angry at me, right?” He’d almost pleaded with his puppy eyes. The ones he knew you were weak for.

You’d try find a way to phrase how you were, but that anger was less because of the date and more directed at your annoyance with him. But of course, you wouldn’t be able to find a way to articulate it quick enough so he’d come over next to you, now bearing a pout, and he’d repeat his question.

When you inevitable end up in that spot, you’ve learnt the best way to get him away was to reassure him that you weren’t angry.

Then, when he finally left for the date, you’ve trained yourself to pick up after him, because which girl would want to date a guy who couldn’t clean up after himself. You’d place all his dirty laundry where they actually belong – in the laundry basket. You’d make sure that his bed was made, and that his table remained neat and wasn’t cluttered by everything and anything.

After which, you’d hide away in your room. And almost wait.

The pain in your chest would at once ease a little and yet intensify when you would hear their hushed giggles as they stumbled through the house. It was almost offensive. They hushed themselves for fear of disturbing you not realizing that their presence already did.

Honestly, you think, you’d prefer if they were more in your face about it. Rather than pretend, in this roundabout way, that they cared.

(You think about it again and decide, no you didn’t.)

However, in a way, knowing that he was preoccupied with another girl served as a sobering reminder that the both of you could never be. It was in a way, enjoyable. Much more than the nights when he did stay in, and one way or another, he’d end up entangling you in his arms. It’ll make you think in a way that could never be. Only for him to strut out of his room the next morning, with his bed hair that somehow still retained his handsomeness, as if the previous night was nothing.

(But of course, it was nothing. To him, anyways.)

Finally, Jaehyun broke up pretty often. And a broken up Jaehyun meant a drunk Jaehyun. And you despised a drunk Jaehyun more than his messes, or his loud mouth, or anything, or everything.

Because a drunk Jaehyun was an affectionate and touchy Jaehyun.

(As if he needed any more reasons to be obnoxious.)

He’d drunkenly stumble through the apartment, almost frantically, as if searching for something. Once in a while, he’d bump into something and there’d be a loud crash. You’d pretend you didn’t hear it and pull the blanket over your head. The stumbling would start up again and it always ended the same way.

The inevitable would happen. And you weren’t sure if you were anticipating it or dreading it.

Somehow, the drunken Jaehyun would find himself slipping into your bed, his arms snaking around your waist and his hot breath hitting the back of your neck. You’d pretend you were already asleep.

“I know you are awake,” he whispered against your skin.

You’d give him nothing.

“Don’t get mad at me.”

You’d dig your nails deeper into the flesh of your palm.

“Warm,” he’d say as he nested his chin in the crook of your neck.

Again, you’d give him nothing again. Instead, you’d close your eyes and pray that this night would be the night that Jaehyun would finally get the hint and leave you alone (with your aching heart). But of course, you’d never get what you wanted.

(Though when you did, it would be the next morning, the other side of your bed would be cold and empty and you’d almost regret praying for Jaehyun to leave you alone.)

You had resigned yourself to your fate. An almost masochistic tendency.

But you could live with it.

Because with Jaehyun, things were predictable. You could almost count the beats to the tune. A new girl would capture the attention of Jaehyun. Things would go well until they weren’t. Then he’d come running to you. But before you could even be tempted by the idea of something more, another girl would capture his attention again.

You thought that it was safer to put your hopes in an absolute never be than anything else.

But then one day, the beats changed. And nothing would be the same.

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #jung jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #mine #babe #happy belated new year

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