#This song has held me in a death grip and has haunted my dreams for nights on end

[justheretoreadfanfictions12]

The Love You Want - Part 8

Sleep Token Fanfiction - Green

The night after the concert, I sleep in Jax's room without having to sneak in when the others are sleeping. I just walk into the room with him. I hold his hand. I kiss him. I wear his hoodie. It's too good to be true. But when the sun sets & darkness surrounds us, I can feel him breaking apart next to me. I can feel his demons haunt him when he tries to rest. I wake up at 4am, the room is dark, everything is quiet except for his breath. He breathes heavily, almost choking, like there's no air in the room, like all oxygen has been drained from his lungs. He gets up, opens the door to our balcony, grabs a pack of cigarettes & disappears into the night. I get up quietly & follow him. I see his tall frame leaning against the railing, watching the city, inhaling the cigarette smoke. I don't say a word but grab the pack from his hands to light myself a cigarette too. He doesn't ask any questions, he has never seen me smoke but he seems to just accept that I'm joining him in his mid night smoke break. After a few minutes he says: "I have terrible nightmares when I manage to fall asleep. I have had them since I was a child". He sounds exhausted, the sleep deprivation is draining him. "I used to have them too." I say. "I used to dream about my own death. Falling from a tall building, drowning, burning, being buried alive. I sometimes still have them". He lays his hand on mine. "I always have the same dream. Waking up in a hospital bed, surrounded by my family. They speak to me but I can't answer. They touch me but I can't move. Then I realize I'm dead. I can't tell them how sorry I am. I can't tell them that I couldn't take the pain anymore. They could never understand why I did it. They could never understand how torn apart I am. I feel like I'm not even human anymore, Iris. I feel like I'm a shell filled with anger, trauma, pain, lost in this world. I didn't even remember what happiness felt like until I held your hand." he says. I know that he had tried to take his life, I know that he barely survived. "You are more than a shell, Jax. You are so much more." I say. He pulls me close, squeezing me into him. Then he takes a last inhale of his cigarette, throwing it off the building.

He crashes his lips on mine, holding my neck with his strong hands. He manages to pull his lips away just to say: "I don't feel like talking about this right now, I'd rather distract myself by making love to you, Sugar". He pushes me against the wall behind us, his fingers find their way beneath my shirt. His kiss is so aggressive, yet his hands are so gentle. Trailing the tattoos on my chest, drawing circles around my nipples, squeezing my breasts. "I'm begging you to get on your knees, please." he says. The tone of his voice makes my body tingle. He is literally begging for me. I won't give in so easily. "I'm not convinced. That's not enough." I say. He sighs. I can feel his lust & frustration build up. He gets on his knees slowly. Kneeling in front of me, he raises his hands & says: "Iris, I'm begging you to cleanse me with pleasure". He's using his own song texts to make me weak & it works. "Get up." I tell him. He seems to enjoy my sudden dominance. I push him against the wall, then I get down, kissing his chest, licking the line of fine hair down to his stomach. I feel his body shiver beneath my tongue. I dig my nails into his thighs as I bite into his boxers. He is hard, harder than I have ever seen him. I pull his shorts down, revealing his huge erection. I spit in my hand, then I slowly stroke him. Just the tip. He moans. Then I tighten my grip, stroking down to his shaft, holding my hand there while now licking the tip. I can feel him growing even harder, I didn't think that was possible. I take his hands, guiding them to my head, signaling him to hold it & use is as he pleases. He moans loudly as he pushes himself deeper into my mouth. It takes all my self control to be able to take him in. Suddenly he stops, pulling me back on my feet. "I love fucking your mouth, but I would much rather fuck you pussy." he says. His voice is deeper than usual. His eyes are darker. He almost seems like a different Jax, but I like this version of him. He pulls me back into his room, pushing me down on his bed, quickly tearing my shirt & panties off of my body. "I wanted to make you cum with my head between your legs but I can't wait. I can't wait another second to feel you." he growls. Then he is on top of me, his elbows next to my head, I have never felt him this close. "Look into my eyes when you push yourself into me" I say. He sighs, he's like a wild animal watching his prey, ready to attack any second. His eyes are locked with mine when he enters me. His expression changes, this moment seems to be all he has been waiting for, he adores me, he adores the feelings I give him. His hips are so close to mine, the friction between them combined with slow deep thrusts drive me crazy. My lips find his, I moan into his mouth, my hands hold on to his back tightly. We both can't take it for long, after about 10 thrusts my body shivers, my eyes roll back, my voice cracks at my loud moan, which turns him on even more. "I can feel your pussy pulsing on my dick, it makes me want to fill you up." he says. Then I feel him cum, he warms me up from inside, he buries his head in my chest, his breath stops for a few seconds.

Jax falls asleep next to me, breathing calmly, his head on my lap, his hands holding my thighs. How can one man be filled with so many different personalities? With so many emotions? I adore him. I adore that he needs me. I adore that I'm the only one who can truly make him rest, make him laugh, make him burst with lust.

The next morning we wake up early & super tired. We shower & get ready for the day. It's quite warm outside so I throw on some black jeans shorts, a black top & one of Jax's hoodies. A black one with dark red roses on the sleeves. I have to tuck it into my shorts because it's almost a dress for me. He's so tall, his clothing is just huge. He looks at me in awe. "My hoodies look way better on you." he says. I turn around, the sight surprises me. He is wearing a black pair of pants with little white stripes, a white shirt & a dark green hoodie on top. I have never seen Jax wear anything that isn't completely black. "Who are you & what have you done to my Jax?" I ask jokingly. He smiles, his smile is genuine, it's heartwarming. "My Jax." he repeats. "I could get used to that. I'm your Jax now." I blush. "So I'm not just your groupie?" I ask. He shakes his head. "You never were. I admit I used to have some groupies here & there, years ago. But it never gave me what I was looking for. It left me even emptier. It was meaningless. I felt drained after talking to a woman, talking to anyone but Alex, Dan or Ryle. Nobody has ever felt like you, Iris. I'm your Jax. I swear I want to be nothing but your Jax. I want to be Vessel & I want to be your Jax. I was in the mood for some color today cause you bring color to my life ". He takes a step towards me, his hands cup my face. He looks at me, his silver eyes burn their way into my soul. I could look at him forever, drowning in his eyes, breathing in his smell. "Are you my Iris?" he asks. No words come out of my mouth, I just stand there crying like a baby. I nod. "Yes, I'm your Iris if you promise to be my Jax. No matter what happens. I love your dark side, I love your bright side, I won't ever leave you hanging when you need me." I say, my voice breaks, tears fall from my face. "I love you." he says. Hugging me tightly, I push my face into his chest, my hands hold on to the back of his hoodie. "I love you, Jax." I say.

He never lets go of my hand. He never misses a chance to look into my eyes. He holds doors for me. He carries my coffee. He demands me to stay seated & gets everything I want for me. Alex looks at us with big question marks in his eyes. "What in hell has happened to Jax?" he asks me. I shake my head & laugh. "I don't know. He's just in a good mood." I say. Ryle reaches our table & turns at Alex. "Is he wearing green? GREEN? Something is off today." We all laugh. Then something so unusual happens, that we all laugh even harder. Jax sits down, hands me my coffee, looks at us laughing & joins in. A genuine laugh leaves his body. His cheeks turn a little red. He squints his eyes, looking us up & down, then he asks: "What are we laughing about?". Ryle smiles at him & says: "Nothing, brother. We are just happy". Jax nods. He nods with a little smile on his face, sipping his coffee & holding my hand beneath the table. We all seem so normal, so free of worries, just 5 friends having breakfast together. Just for a second, I forget who he is, who I am, that I should only do their marketing, that he's a literal celebrity whose identity is unknown to the world. We are just ourselves, that's it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #vessel #vessel sleep token

[setaflow]

(X)

#Seta speaks #Seta memes #Tom Cardy #This song has held me in a death grip and has haunted my dreams for nights on end #top posts #EDIT: 4.2k notes later and I'm waiting for someone to notice the F*cking Typo I made lol #5k #10k #25k

[chuplayswithfire]

Is Nowhere To Be Found

Inspiration grabbed me by the throat the second I finished the fic@robininthelabyrinth posted today, and I just HAD to share my idea of whodunnit.

Summary: Wei Wuxian was stabbed, found barely breathing, left for dead. His would-be murderer has no regrets.

0000

The Cloud Recesses were abuzz with chaos, serenity abandoned in the wake of the attack on Wei Wuxian. The news had already spread that he would live. That soon he would be sure to wake and then to carry on with his second life. Gates had been shut, entrances and exits barred to prevent escape. Disciples were combing every building, every potential hiding place.

Lan Chaoyun was not hiding.

The knife that he had used lay before him, still stained with blood that had dried now, tacky, flaking like rust in the air. The iron scent had faded, as the blood dried, as the incense burned. It was a paltry offering, he knew now, marred by failure as it was, but it was an offering. He hoped that Lan Tianming would appreciate it, that his wife would know he had done his best to give her justice.

Perhaps it was not justice. Perhaps it was revenge. He no longer knew, just as he no longer cared. It was her birthday, and the knife, the flowers, the incense - he could only hope that all would reach her, that all would grant her peace if she had not yet moved onto her next life.

Gradually, the incense burned, one by one each stick dwindling to ash. When the last had been lit, and the last burned, he bowed low, face to the ground.

"I may be joining you, this night," he said. Her silent tablet offered no response. "Forgive me my delay."

Still, nothing. He knew there would be nothing. He knew that Inquiry had yielded no answers, that her spirit was gone from this world.

It did not stop him from wanting, aching, wishing.

0000

The noise was louder, outside of the memorial hall. It seemed the rules for running and shouting had been discarded. Lan Chaoyun was not surprised.

Many rules had been discarded for the sake of Wei Wuxian.

He walked among the hurrying, searching, worrying masses, tranquil as the feather that falls to the river and floats along its surface. His path was set, his fate lifted from his hands. He felt no fear and carried no worry, as he walked to the courtyard where discipline was carried out and knelt on cold stone.

Lan Chaoyun inhaled, filling his lungs with cool, sweet mountain air, and exhaled slowly. He would clear his mind, and he would breathe. He would wait, settled patiently.

It would not take long for him to be noticed.

0000

"Hanguang-jun! Hanguang-jun!"

Shouting at the door of the jingshi, the banging of a fist - enthusiastic or fearful or both, and Lan Wangji rose from his place as silent sentinel. The path to the entrance of their home from their bedroom was a short one, crossed in a few brisk step.

If he jerked the door open rather than slid it with grace, if wood groaned at the strength of his grip, who would complain?

"What?" Bitten out, terse. Wei Ying was sleeping and this noise would wake him. Short, yet eager. No one would disrupt them without reason. "What is it?"

A junior stood at the door, round-cheeked with youth and shaking. The top of this one's head would have barely met Wei Ying's shoulder. His name escaped him, lost to Wei Ying, his health, his stuttering breaths and still form.

"Z-Zewu-jun sent for you!" The stuttering child near-shouted, his hands coming up to his mouth in horror. He was nervous. Lan Wangji should have reassured him.

Lan Wangji did not.

"The - the culprit has been found - and Zewu-jun has called for you to -"

He did not hear the rest of what was said, either. The culprit has been found. Nothing else was as important as this.

No, one thing was as important as this.

"Where?"

0000

Lan Chaoyun held his head high. His meditation was long concluded with the arrival of so many others, but his poise still held, even - no, especially - with the weight of so many eyes on him.

Lan Qiren and Zewu-jun both stood before him, faces dark with anger. On any other day, the sight of them united against him like this would have set his guts to tightening in fear, his knees weak. It was their misfortune that this was not any other day.

It was their misfortune, not his, that he regretted nothing.

A sudden stirring behind him, the hurried rustle of fabric, the swift snap of steps across the stone.

"Hanguang-jun," was the whisper, the breaking of the heavy silence. More than one voice spoke, silent Lans set to chittering like startled birds.

Lan Chaoyun kept his silence. The arrival of his distant cousin was nothing for him to fear. He had known from the moment he woke this morning that this would break whatever remained of the tie between them, and he had made his peace with it.

Only his cousin's happiness had kept him oblivious to the fact that that bond had been one-sided, rotted from within and long decayed.

He would understand, now.

He heard those crisp footsteps falter, a brief stutter in an otherwise perfect rhythm. Were he looking, Lan Chaoyun was sure he'd be seeing the moment his cousin recognized exactly who knelt for punishment before their sect's leader.

"Lan Chaoyun," Lan Wangji said, voice tight. Nothing else followed. Perhaps he was at a loss for words.

How fortunate for him that that was his only loss.

"Lan Wangji," Lan Chaoyun returned. He did not look at his cousin. He did not want to see his face.

More whispers, at that. It had been many years since any save Zewu-jun and Lan Qiren himself referred to the great Hanguang-jun by name.

Zewu-jun cleared his throat, a quiet noise that nonetheless silenced the gathered crowd and drew all attention to himself.

"Lan Chaoyun, you confess to and submit yourself for punishment to this crime?" For all his anger, his voice was remarkably steady. Lan Chaoyun had wondered if seclusion would restore his control, his still-lake facade.

"I do," he confirmed, locking eyes. Zewu-jun too was his cousin. Younger, though their cultivation meant that such distinctions were impossible to see and their status meant them inert. "I stabbed the Yiling Laozu. My regret is only that he lives. I should have cut his throat instead."

Lan Qiren flushed with anger at Zewu-jun's side, his nostrils flaring. "Have you no shame at all for what you've done?"

Of all things, this was what sparked the smile to Lan Chaoyun's face.

"My only shame is that I waited until A-Tian's birthday to take justice for her," he said. If he relished in the surprise that spread over Lan Qiren's face, in the realization that filled Zewu-jun's eyes, for the anger the tightened Lan Wangji's jaw -

who here could justly blame him?

"Did you forget?" He asked, knowing he was being cruel and caring not for it. What was one more broken guideline in this place that bent to the whims of any ruling Lan? "I understand. It has been fourteen years. I didn't."

Zewu-jun drew breath, undoubtedly intending to begin a pacifying speech on the nature of rules and grief and the unjust nature of revenge. Lan Wangji spoke first.

"Wei Ying did not kill Lan Tianming," he lied, his hand clenched around his sword's hilt. Perhaps he didn't know he lied. Perhaps he thought he spoke the truth.

"His fierce corpses did. Perhaps you did not know. I understand you were busy ferrying him from the battlefield that night, but I bore witness to my wife's murder. I know who is responsible, and the corpse of our shidi was only Wei Wuxian's murder weapon."

The sight of him, white robes stained with blood and draped in black, arms filled with the body of the man responsible for that unending hell, had been the second worst of Lan Chaoyun's life.

Lan Tianming's face as she breathed her last, their shidi's clenched fist still driven through her chest, had been forever seared into his eyes, haunting his waking days, his dreaming nights, but his cousin's back as he fled that field of death with the murderer in his arms was not a sight he could forget.

All these years, he'd kept silent. Wei Wuxian was dead. His cousin may have betrayed them, but it had been for nothing, and the punishment had kept him off his feet for years. Lan Chaoyun had never forgiven it, but he had been willing to keep his peace.

Ruining Lan Wangji would not have brought Lan Tianming back to him, would not have restored the laughter in his life, the song that matched his guqin, would not have re-lit the flame of their small dreams, their hope of a family.

But Wei Wuxian was no longer dead. Wei Wuxian breathed this earth's air and ran through the Cloud Recesses and his laughter rang through every corner of their home and Lan Tianming would never breathe or run or laugh again.

His home, her home, every corner of it tainted by her murderer's life, his joy, his happiness, as if a single brief lapse (what more was a death that ended than a lapse?) were enough to account for her death.

Lan Wangji's throat worked but no sound left his lips. The knuckles of his sword hand were white where they gripped at Bichen.

"I attempted to murder the Yiling Laozu," Lan Chaoyun said again, voice raised. He met Zewu-jun's gaze once more. "I submit myself to punishment, Zewu-jun. I do not regret offering my wife justice. I do not regret the knife that now rests before her in offering. I regret only that she is dead and her home is defiled by the presence of her killer, who failed to so much as kneel before her tablet and beg forgiveness."

Whispering. No amount of throat clearing now would silence them. Zewu-jun seemed to know that - his eyes were hard as he bowed his head.

"Lan Chaoyun. The punishment for raising a weapon to one of our own is -"

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan xichen #lan qiren #the untamed #continuation fic #mdzs fic #chu writes #i was grabbed by the throat and forced to write this/the plot bunny demanded this story be told so i'm so glad robin allowed me to write it #lan tianming is 天明 tiānmíng #meaning dawn; first light; break of day #lan chaoyun is 朝雲 cháo yún meaning morning cloud #both names are taken from Bai Juyi's A Flower Is No Flower

[flowercrown-bard]

I have another prompt for you! Do with it ehat you want. It rested way too long in my "Ideas I never use" box:

"I don't even care about my own life, why would I care about yours? I am a fucking pheonix, my dear, death is just like an insect to me – It stings, but has no lasting effect"

(maybe it's fitted for a Fey!Jaskier? Or Ageless!Jaskier? Or a Villain?)

Ohhh I love that prompt! Thank you!! <3 (shame on me, i left out the word 'fucking' bc it didn't fit the vibe of the fic. Hope it's still ok)

I again have no idea what I'm doing, but where would be the fun in knowing what's going on in my own writing XD

word count: 4884

content warnings: brief mention of blood, brief mention of injury, temporary character death (for about two seconds), burning alive (kind of)

There was something in this forest that didn’t belong here.

Hasty steps disturbed the birds’ songs and heavy panting cut through the illusion of safety that lay over this land like a fog.

The girl running through the woods threw a glance over her shoulder, a haunted expression on her face. Her feet caught on a protruding root and with a cry that pierced the air like an arrow, she fell onto her hands and knees.

Her scream carried on, long after she had closed her lips again. The echo started out as a whisper, then it grew louder and louder, became a symphony of fear and desperation. The sound of one who was truly lost.

Then again, all who found this forest were lost in one way or another.

And though they might not realise it, no one was ever truly alone in these woods.

Inhuman blue eyes watched from the shadows of the underbrush as the girl curled in on herself, lying on the forest floor in a heap of helplessness.

With slow steps that fell onto the earth silently as a sigh, Dandelion took off their cloak of shadow and approached the lost girl in front of them. As they came closer, they lightly hummed a melody, a soft lullaby made of wishes and dreams.

Slowly, the girl’s shuddering breaths evened out and some of that tension that held her in a vice-like grip, eased out of her shoulders.

“Child,” Dandelion spoke softly, in a voice that was bird song and trees swaying in the wind.

The girl looked up. For a moment, she didn’t seem to comprehend what was kneeling before her. Then, within the blink of an eye, she scrambled backwards, terror etched onto her face.

“You don’t need to fear me,” Dandelion said softly, holding their hands up.

“Why should I believe you?” The girl’s hands wandered across the forest floor until the closed around a branch lying next to her. Though fear twisted her face, she held the branch in front of her like a sword.

Dandelion cocked their head to the side, a smile flickering over their face. This girl was brave. Most lost people were, but there was something about her…something other. Something elder.

“You can believe me, because I can’t lie.”

“You’re not human.” The girl’s gaze wandered over Dandelion. They could nearly feel how her eyes raked over his claws that were just a little too sharp to pass as human, over their blonde locks that nearly had the colour of the flower they had named themselves after; the name yet another fruitless attempt to become more than they were. They were so close to being human. Still, despite centuries searching, they hadn’t found the right them yet. Not in this life and not in any that had come before.

“I am not,” they admitted and the words tasted like ash on their tongue. Always ash. Always fire and ambers. And yet, nothing more than a small sting that would pass when the life engulfed them in another embrace. Another chance.

“Then what are you?”

Dandelion lowered themselves to the ground, until they were at eye level with the girl. Carefully, they reached out their hand, an offer, an invitation.

“I am a Home for the Lost. Another Chance.”

“I am not lost!” The girl sprang to her feet without warning, gripping the branch tighter. “I know where I’m going. I’m…I’m looking for someone.”

“And someone’s looking for you, I assume?”

The girl bit her lip while her eyes darted to the side again, scanning the trees as if whoever she was running from could jump out and attack her at any moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Dandelion repeated. “You can be lost here for as long as you need to be.”

“What if I don’t want to be lost?”

Dandelion gave her a smile that they knew couldn’t reach their eyes. “Then I can keep you safe until you’re found again.”

“But you’re not him. The one who’s supposed to protect me.” The girl’s breath hitched. “Are you? You’re not Geralt of Rivia.”

Dandelion drew in a deep breath, tasting the name on their tongue as they inhaled. Their eyes fluttered close as the power of the name surged through them.

“I’m not,” Dandelion agreed. It wasn’t a lie. And yet, they felt a part of Geralt of Rivia’s being taking root within him. His name was theirs. His winding path, his doubts, his destiny. His losses. “But he will come here. I promise you that.”

“How can you? Have you seen him in these woods? I didn’t know he was in Brokilon forest.”

“This isn’t Brokilon forest. It stopped being that when I found you. And it doesn’t matter where Geralt of Rivia is. Not yet.” A breeze ruffled through the trees, whispering its secrets to its master. “He will be here. All woods lead here, when you go deep enough. When you get lost enough.”

If there was one certainty that pulsed through the name like a heartbeat, it was that Geralt of Rivia was lost, more than anyone Dandelion knew of. Except, of course, for the one person that Dandelion didn’t have the power to guide back to their right path. The one person who was given chance after chance after chance for a new start and yet never found their way out of the maze they were trapped in.

“He will come.” Their promise tasted like lightning and the soothing melody of a bubbling river. “You will be his second chance. Until then, let me be yours. I will keep you safe.”

The girl hesitated a moment longer. Then, she dropped the branch and flung herself into Dandelion’s arms, desperate not to be lost again.

Dandelion’s held her tightly, rapped his shadowy cloak around her and whispered soothingly into her hair. The embrace was like the feeling of when the fire stopped. At least that was how Dandelion imagined it must feel, when there were no flames coursing through their veins.

But they couldn’t truly know. After all, everyone was in this forest was lost in one way or another.

--

‘The girl in the woods will be with you always’

Renfri’s words echoed in Geralt’s mind as he limped onwards through the trees, ignoring the worried calls of the man who had taken him with him on his cart.

Geralt couldn’t waste a single moment longer by staying with him and his wife. His child surprise was out there somewhere, waiting for him. And Geralt…Geralt didn’t know what to do. He had to find her, had to make sure she was safe.

Yet he had no way of knowing where she even was, or if she was still alive. It was a miracle Geralt himself wasn’t dead yet.

You can be lost here.

Geralt’s head snapped up, his eyes darting across the trees sharply.

“Who’s there?” He called out. A mistake he wouldn’t have done if his mind had been clear and not muddled by ghoul poison.

For a long moment, there was no reply. Ever so slowly, Geralt tore his eyes from the darkness that lurked behind the trees. That’s when a different echo reached him.

Not Geralt of Rivia.

This voice sounded younger. Child-like.

“Ciri.” The name was but a breath on his lips, but he knew it in his heart to be true. Somehow, this voice was Ciri’s.

His staggering steps got faster, until he nearly ran. Geralt didn’t care about how the movement tore at his wound, how twigs whipped into his face, how his breath became shallow as black spots danced before his eyes.

He was urged onwards by the unbending certainty that Ciri was near, that he would finally find her.

People linked by destiny would always find each other.

But there was something else as well. A wildfire in his chest, a strand of shadow tugging him onward.

Geralt of Rivia.

The echo of his name rang through the woods, through the air and the inside of his head. Two voices. Ciri’s – and another one. A voice that sent shivers down Geralt’s spine.

The repeat of his name turned into a melody. A lullaby. A siren’s call.

Every instinct in him screamed to turn back, to get himself to safety. But instincts had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

His instinct had told him that his mother would take care of him.

His instinct had told him that he was loved.

His instinct had told him that there was nothing he could lose by calling upon the law of surprise.

But, oh, how he had lost. His mother, the woman he had thought he had loved, the certainty that he could keep walking the path that had been his only guidance since Vesemir had taken him to Kaer Morhen.

Geralt had lost, again and again, until he had become lost himself.

His chest became tight and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the pressure building behind his eyes.

He was lost.

And yet he had no choice but to keep going. A haunting lullaby and his name on the wind forbid him from turning back.

He tried to orient himself on the rays of sun shining through the canopy of too-green leaves. Desperate to reach a path or a person that would make him not-lost again, Geralt ran until his breath turned into pants and his muscles protested. Witchers didn’t tire so easily. If need be, Geralt could fight for hours, stay up for days. Yet, no matter how much his body ached and protested, claiming it had been hours, days, weeks, the sun remained in his spot, never moving, as if no time was passing.

Geralt’s lungs were burning and the pain in his leg flared up with every step, until there were no more steps to take.

His knees gave out from under him and he collapsed, falling to his hands and knees onto the grass, the blades of which looked sharp as a sword but felt soft beneath his hands. Like a pillow to lay down on. Like an embrace. Like a home.

Witchers had no home. They only had the path, and yet, looking at this strange forest with its whispers and stagnant sun, Geralt had not even this.

“I am lost,” He called out, an act of pure desperation that never before had he allowed himself to admit to. His voice was raspy and scratched at his throat like shards of glass. As if he hadn’t uttered a single word for weeks.

Lost.

The haunting reply came in his own voice. A chill raced down Geralt’s spine and his fingers fisted into the grass, desperate to cling to something.

“I don’t know the way.”

Away.

An unshakable fear seized Geralt. He didn’t care how his voice broke, how his body was already broken.

“I need help.”

Witchers didn’t need help. They didn’t beg. And if they ever did, their pleas would go unheard.

Not so Geralt’s.

Something snapped to his right. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching for his silver sword. The medallion on his chest vibrated furiously.

He pushed himself to his feet, trembling with the effort, but unwilling to be on his knees like a condemned man waiting for his executioner.

The snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves stopped for a moment, a quiet laugh that sounded like water tumbling over rocks replaced the sounds.

“I found you.”

Geralt stiffened. It was the same voice as the first whisper he had heard – the voice that had lured him here. Only this time, it wasn’t a whisper on the wind. It was very real and far too close for comfort.

Witchers didn’t receive help. Whatever had answered his call must have darker intentions.

“Show yourself!” Geralt demanded, gripping his sword tighter.

For a moment, everything went still. No more whispers, no lullaby, not even the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Then, the bushes to Geralt’s right parted and someone stepped through. No, not someone. Something.

The creature in front of him looked how someone who had only ever seen a human’s shadow might imagine a human to look like. The being walking towards him was taller than any human could be, towering over Geralt. Their limbs were too long.

When their lips parted for a smile, the rows of teeth in them were sharp as a wolf’s.

“What are you?” The question left Geralt before he could think better of it.

The being cocked their head to the side curiously, too-blue eyes wandering over Geralt’s body, as if they didn’t even notice the sword pointed at them.

“I’m the Second Chance,” the being said, their eyes flashing with something Geralt didn’t dare name. “Yours, if you want me to be.”

“Who else’s second chance are you?” The question didn’t make sense, but Geralt had no control over his tongue. There was something about this creature – person? – that urged him to say things he didn’t understand. It was as if deep down, he already knew the answer, as if a part of him had known this person for a long time.

The being didn’t reply, but they raised their hands to their side and brushed lovingly over something. The air flickered in front of Geralt’s eyes, making him nauseous and dizzy, yet when he tried to look closer, he could only see shadow behind the creature. Until they flicked a hand behind them and the shadows parted, revealing a smaller figure. A girl with blonde hair that stared at Geralt with big green eyes.

Geralt sucked in a sharp breath.

It was Ciri. The one who had been lost to him.

And she was standing behind a creature powerful enough to lure even a witcher in. A creature who now placed a clawed hand on Ciri’s shoulder – the shoulder of the girl Geralt was sworn to protect.

“Let her go.” The demand left Geralt’s lips like a beast’s snarl.

“Go?” The being’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I made a promise to keep her with me. I don’t let any lost soul go.”

Their eyes bore into Geralt’s, searching through his soul, laying bare everything he was.

A boy, lost and abandoned by his mother.

A man who had lost a fight with the woman he thought he had loved – losing the fight, losing her, losing what he had been so sure had been love.

A human, who had lost his humanity.

Geralt, who was nothing but lost.

And there in front of him stood a creature who kept lost souls. The being sucked in a deep breath, closing their eyes as if they could taste all of Geralt’s losses.

They would keep him. Him and Ciri, damned forever to wander this cursed forest in which time stood still and echoes whispered into his heart.

He couldn’t let that come to pass. Not for Ciri.

Geralt knew his life was lost as well, even as he swung his sword. It didn’t matter. He had to save Ciri, had to get her out of this creature’s grasp.

There was a cry when his blade pierced the being’s chest. Was it his own cry or Ciri’s? Was the whole forest screaming as its master fell to their knees? There was only one voice who didn’t join the cry of agony. One, who was deadly silent, as life drained from it.

Blue eyes shot open, staring at the blade buried in the being’s chest with curiosity that quickly turned into resignation. For but a heartbeat, fear flickered in the being’s expression.

Fire blazed in those blue eyes. Fire poured forth from the wound instead of blood. Fire came to life in the being’s hair, searing the dandelion-yellow strands and racing over their body until all that was left of them was dancing flames.

Geralt watched in horror, as the flesh turned to ash before his very eyes. No, not ash. Dandelion seeds.

The wind picked up, tearing at Geralt’s hair, pushing him away, making the dandelion seeds tumble through the air in a wild dance.

Leaves tore from the trees, yellow flower petals, bits and pieces of the forest. All was dancing through the air, forming shapes and breaking apart again. The grass that had been so soft a moment before, shot up, grew faster and higher than any plant could, forming the shape of legs, of a torso, of a head. And still the leaves whirled through the air, obscuring the sight to the body that formed right in front of Geralt’s eyes.

A pit opened in Geralt’s stomach and the realisation of what this meant crashed into him with the force of a cockatrice slamming into its prey.

The being wasn’t dead. But it was only a matter of time before Geralt was, dying at the hand of the creature he couldn’t kill.

Geralt’s sword slipped out of his limp grasp, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Geralt followed a moment after, his knees hitting the ground once more. This time, his executioner wouldn’t hesitate.

Geralt couldn’t protect his child surprise. Not in the years to come. But there was one thing he could do in this moment, one last act of desperation to save a life that he had always been meant to guard with his own.

“I make you a bargain!” Geralt’s voice got drowned in the howling of the wind, and yet, the ever-changing shape of the being turned towards him. Geralt’s throat went dry, his chest tightening. “My life for hers.” Through the whirlwind of leaves and blossoms, Geralt met Ciri’s gaze. Her eyes were wide and terrified. She was his to save. “Take my life and give the girl back hers. Let her go.”

Geralt bowed his head, awaiting judgement. For failing Ciri. For failing Vesemir and not being able to kill this creature. For failing himself. For losing, just when he had finally found the girl he had been looking for.

The wind didn’t falter, yet it changed course. The petals drew closer together, reaching towards Geralt like a hand.

A soft touch brushed his chin, tilting his head upwards, forcing him to look at the swirling shapes before him.

Though the being had no lips yet, their voice was clear and crushingly loud, coming from all around him. Every tree, every blade of grass, the very air spoke with the being’s voice. “Oh, but I don’t even care about my own life, why would I care about yours?”

Despite the roaring volume, the voice was achingly soft, like sweet nothings whispered in Geralt’s ear. The petals brushed Geralt’s cheek like a lover’s caress.

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest, like a drum, growing faster each second, it’s rhythm dictated by the song that made this creature be.

“There must be something – how can a life be meaningless to you?” Geralt’s voice broke and his eyes flickered over to Ciri again. The child he hadn’t wanted. The life he had tried to push as far from his path as he could.

A sharp sound pierced the air, reverberating in Geralt’s bones. Only when it cut off abruptly, did Geralt recognise it. A laugh, devoid of life or joy.

“I am a phoenix, my dear.” The endearment cut into Geralt, broke him apart, made him wish that he could be more – that he could be found. “Death is just an insect to me – it stings, but has no lasting effect.”

“Liar.” The rasped out word cut through the symphony of sound.

Within the blink of an eye, everything around him stilled. The wind was still moving the petals and leaves. The being’s shape was still changing, and yet, there was no sound. Nothing, but Geralt’s own heartbeat and his blood rushing in his ears.

Then-

“What did you call me?”

It was only a single voice, within Geralt’s mind. A helpless desperation clung to it. A hunger.

“I called you a liar.”

“I cannot lie.”

Geralt’s jaw clenched and he forced himself to stare up at the swirling shape.

“Then you are a fool, if you truly believe your own words.” His hands trembled and he had to clench them into fists. Each word he spoke, dug his own grave deeper and yet, he couldn’t stop. It was as if there was something tying him to this creature, something telling him that he could know them, just as he was certain the creature knew him. “If death is like the sting of an insect to you, then it is more than just a passing irritation. Adults still remember when they had been stung by a bee as a child. Warriors flinch back from wasps, even knowing the stinging will pass. Gnat’s bites will itch for weeks.”

“Pretty words for a man who had first used his sword before attempting to speak. Yet the cut of your words hurts me as little as your sword did.” The caress of the petals left Geralt and he nearly found himself following their receding touch. “I do not care for my death, nor do I for my life.”

“Then why am I still alive? If life and death doesn’t matter to you, then why did you not just end mine?”

Unless…

I don’t even care about my own life, why would I care about yours?

They had never said they didn’t care about Geralt’s life. It had been a question – unable to either be a lie or a truth.

The only life they didn’t care about was their own.

It didn’t make sense. And yet, as minutes, days, an eternity passed and the being still hadn’t taken on a new shape, a vessel for their new life, no doubt was left in Geralt’s mind.

“Then let me give you something else,” Geralt whispered, his mind racing. In the stories, the creatures entrapping children in their realm and bargaining for their lives only ever wanted one thing. “If you let her go, I will give you my name.”

Something changed in the air. An almost palpable tension pressed down on Geralt, making it hard to notice anything around him but the dancing petals.

“Oh, my White Wolf.” The name the being spoke wasn’t Geralt’s name, and yet Geralt felt a tugging in his chest, a soothing caress, a gentle promise. It felt like his. And it felt like the being’s. “I already have your name.”

“Then what do you want? What…” Geralt trailed off, only now noticing the hint of something heavy in the being’s voice. It had Geralt’s name. Yet, Geralt had no way of referring to the creature. He didn’t know them. Perhaps no one did. “Then I give you permission to tell me your name. You may let me get to know you. You may ask to not be…to not be lost without anyone knowing who you are.”

Yearning. Hope. Helplessness.

How a being without a form could make their emotions so apparent, was beyond Geralt, but there was no denying it. The air felt lighter, the grass brighter and the silence was replaced by a soft humming, not unlike the lullaby Geralt had heard earlier. The forest was pulsating like a heart, was living off of the being’s longing to be found.

“I can’t give you my name,” the being said. “I can’t ask of you to hear it. I don’t want you to know it. I care not for my life, nor any life I’ve lived before.”

Something rose in Geralt’s chest. A fluttering, a certainty.

People linked by destiny would always find each other. This wasn’t destiny. It wasn’t any outside force pushing them together. It was two people being lost, finding each other.

Two creatures, inhuman in their own way, feared by those who didn’t understand with no one to care enough about who they were. Neither of them had had a choice in who they wanted to become. Neither of them had chosen to be lost as they were.

The witcher, who’s name had been replaced by a hated moniker. People didn’t know him as Geralt. He was the Butcher of Blaviken.

And this being before him - this Second Chance? Who had they been? Who could they have been if they had the chance to start a life that wasn’t dictated by what they were meant to be?

“I can be your second chance,” Geralt prayed that he could be what he promised, knowing in his heart that he could. “If you won’t take my name and won’t tell me yours… I can give you a name. A new life that will be more than an itch left by an insect. More than the fear of that short sting that will end it.”

The yellow petals were back on Geralt’s face, cupping his cheeks almost reverently. In that moment, Geralt wasn’t a condemned man on the execution block anymore. He was a man on his knees, asking another being to start a new life, to bind them together in a way that felt utterly right for a reason Geralt couldn’t understand.

There was a plea in the silent touch.

“Tell it to me then.” The voice was quieter than it had been before, yet it felt more urgent than the loudest cry.

Geralt lifted his hand, laying it carefully onto the petals touching his cheeks. Yellow petals. Not tough like a dandelion forcing its way through stone paths, set on coming back to life again and again. No, these petals were different. Softer. Fragile.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice laced with power he hadn’t known it could possess. Louder, he repeated, “Jaskier. I have found you. You are no longer lost.”

A tremble went through the forest. The wind stilled, but the petals didn’t fall to the ground. Instead, they finally settled on a shape.

The petals caressing Geralt’s cheeks were the first to turn, their touch becoming more solid, warmer, human.

Geralt pressed into the touch, holding the hand that formed in his. Dizziness swept over him as the form before him solidified. Green leaves turned brown as they did in autumn and turned into hair. Petals became red and gave shape to a mouth that was stretched into a radiant smile. Grass turned into fabric, dressing the person whose life was just beginning in an embroidered doublet. A tree bent down, its bark peeling off and turning into an instrument, that the person deftly caught in one hand, the other never straying from Geralt’s face.

Then, the human opened their eyes. Blue again but lacking the eerie otherness. And yet, they were brighter than before, so full of life and for once filled with anticipation of what this life would bring.

This life that Geralt had given them.

Before Geralt stood no longer a phoenix, a creature with no name. They were their own second chance. They were Jaskier.

Even as Ciri rushed from behind Jaskier and flung herself into Geralt’s arms, the witcher couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jaskier.

The new human looked at Ciri with a fond expression on their face, and yet there was a strain around their eyes.

When their gazes met, Jaskier’s lips tugged into a small smile.

“I guess I kept my promise then,” they said in a voice that held no power, but made Geralt’s heart skip a beat nonetheless. “I kept he safe until she was found.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “You intended to let her go? Then why –“

“I didn’t bargain her life,” Jaskier said softly. “She was free to go whenever she pleased. I – I wasn’t. You gave me my life and I give it back to you. If you want it.”

Without thinking, Geralt shook his head and tightened his arms around Ciri.

“I don’t want your life. It is yours.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier’s lips moved silently, forming the word ‘mine’, as if testing it out for the first time. A smile lit up their face, making their eyes brighter.

“If my life is mine, does that mean, I can choose where I want to go?”

Something twisted in Geralt’s chest at those words. “You are.” Had Jaskier only ever known this forest? If so… “Do you know any place besides this? Will you…if you leave on your own, will you get lost again?”

A gleam entered Jaskier’s eyes and they slung the strap of their lute around their neck, their fingers finding the strings of their new lute.

“I won’t,” they said, their face set in conviction. “Because if I get to choose where I am going, I will be following you, Geralt of Rivia, my White Wolf.”

Unlike before, there was no power to the way Jaskier spoke his name.

“White Wolf?”

Jaskier’s lips twitched and he plucked a couple of chords experimentally. “You have me a new name. If you don’t want my life, the least I can do is return the favour and give you a new one two. A name, people won’t curse. One that will no longer belong to a lost man.”

No longer a Butcher. No longer a mutant, bastard, monster!

Slowly, Geralt nodded. “A life for a life, then.”

“A life for a life.” Jaskier’s expression softened. “A name for a name.”

Two lost people finding each other, silently promising each other to do everything in their power to not let the other get lost again.

#thank you for the prompt!! #fae!jaskier #fey!jaskier #*gestures vaguely*!Jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #creature!jaskier #fic #my writing #witcher #the witcher #witcher fic #prompt #ciri #geraskier #kinda #i have no idea what this is but it was fun to write

[cyaneyesullivan]

listening to WAP and having thoughts...

i took my interest off petekey for a while to focus on other stuff, but everytime i listen to Fall Out Boy, the wonder and amazement spark back immediately... i’m still completely blown away (among other things) by how much Pete must’ve liked (loved) Mikey to keep up with it for so long -- or how much he feels in general. and even if the songs aren’t about Mikey (i have discussed this briefly), it doesn’t change the fact that Pete is absolutely tormented by his own emotions. it’s kind of fascinating.

with that being said, i’m in the mood to list off all the suspicious lyrics ever written by Pete that makes me go “damn, Mikey really did a disgusting number on him” or like, “poor Pete man”

disclaimer: again, these lyrics, let alone songs, might not be about Mikey, but i choose to believe so. i have to satisfy my fixation and bedazzlement on the fact that petekey highkey happened in the summer of 05. 

i’m only including my favorite songs or i’ll be here all night.

italic = my favorite lines

in no particular order:

Bishops Knife Trick (a LOT to unpack in this one): - And I’m living out of time, eternal heatstroke - Spiritual revolt from the waist down - To the places that we never should have left - I’ve got a feeling inside that I can’t domesticate, it doesn’t want to live in a cage, a feeling that I can’t housebreak - And I’m yours, ‘til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away - I’m struggling to exist with you, and without you - I’m sifting through the sand, sand, sand, sand, looking for pieces of broken hourglass - Trying to get it all back, put it back together, as if the time had never passed - I know I should walk away, know I should walk away - But I just want to let you break my brain - And I can’t seem to get a grip - No, no matter how I live with it

Heaven’s Gate (some interesting elements here that describe Pete’s all-consuming yet destructive love) - If there were any more left of me, I’d give it to you (this one is just a personal favorite, not particularly related to Mikey) - Go out in the world, start over again and again, as many times as you can - ‘Cause everything else is a substitute for your love - I’ve got dreams of my own, but I want to make yours come true (another personal favorite lol) - You’re the one habit I just can’t kick

The Last Of The Real Ones (i adore this song but it leaves a lot of space for vague interpretation, so I’ll just list off my favorite lyrics that give me goosebumps when I think they’re meant for Mikey) - You are the sun and I am just the planets, spinning around you - You were too good to be true, gold plated, but what’s inside you? - I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you but not as much as I do, as much as I do - I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me - That ultra-kind of love you never walk away from - I am a collapsing star with tunnel vision, but only for you - My head is stripped just like a screw that’s been tightened too many times, when I think of you - Just tell me, tell me, tell me I, I am the only one, even if it’s not true, even if it’s not true

Just One Yesterday (oh my lord, this one lmao -- honestly the whole song has this odd vibe that it’s a pointed jab at Mikey) - Anything you say can and will be held against, so only say my name - I’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday (any notion that suggests Pete is obsessed with the past is a win) - I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way - I don’t have the right name or the right looks, but I have twice the heart (i just feel like maybe he’s implying he’s not a girl and that does not please no-homo Mikey) - If I spilled my guts, the world would never look at you the same way (lol) - And now I’m here to give you all my love - So I can watch your face as I take it all away

Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet (my ultimate favorite of FOB. unbeatable. i had to put it here if only to honor it) --> i talked about it before -- there are no obvious marks of petekey here, but i made a post on it in the past

Immortals (lolol) - I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass (hourglass, time, past, bottom half, Pete is still waiting for Mikey, blabla) - I try to picture me without you but I can’t - ‘Cause we could be immortals, immortals, just not for long, for long - And live with me forever now, pull the black out curtains down (blocking public exposure?) - I’m still comparing your past to my future - It might your wound but, they’re my sutures (Pete’s heartbreak = big inspiration that keeps him writing lyrics therefore having a career?)

Centuries (obviously) - Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold - But you will remember me, remember me for centuries (they must have done super crazy shit back in 05) - And just one mistake, is all it will take, we’ll go down in history (presumably, their story must be so nuts it will end up in a massive gossip explosion) - Mummified my teenage dreams (his songs lol) - No it’s nothing wrong with me, the kids are all wrong, the story’s all off, heavy metal broke my heart - Bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints - Cause I-I am the opposite of amnesia (notable, since there is concrete evidence of their ‘lovestruck summer’ in the form of a million of his lyrics) - You look so pretty but you’re gone so soon - We’ve been here forever, and here’s the frozen proof (again, his lyrics, photographs, dramas, tweets etc)

Irresistible (honestly, the whole song lmao) - Mon cheri (i’m only putting this one down because, little story: i didn’t know about petekey when i first listened to this song, and i’m french, and when i heard this for the first time i was like, wtf, people keep wanting to use french words and end up using them wrong. well, oops. maybe the use this time wasn’t as faulty as i thought)

HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T - I neve really feel a thing, I was kind of too froze - You were the only one, that even kind of came close - I took too many hits off this memory (memory = joint? lmao) - Another day goes by (without Mikey?) - So hold me tight, or don’t (basically, settle or fade) - Oh no, no, no this isn’t how our story ends - I got too high again when I realized I can’t not be with you or be just your friend - I love you to death but I just can’t, I just can’t pretend, we were lovers first - Confidants but never friends, were we ever friends? (interesting point since they never really had a lasting friendship. it’s a well known fact they helped each other with their own monsters (so, confidants), but after the whole summer fiasco, their friendship was at best on and off, and even then, there’s a lot of mourning on Pete’s end. poor guy) - ‘Cause I’m past the limits, the distance between us, it sharpens me like a knife

Jet Pack Blues - I’m the last one that you’ll ever remember - And I’m trying to find my peace of mind - She’s in a long black coat tonight (someone, in a significant night, has been in a long black coat too) - Did you ever love her? Do you know? Or did you never want to be alone? (notable, Pete is questioning whether or not his ‘love’ could stem from loneliness, because this shit happens way too often than should be) - Don’t you remember how we used to split a drink? It never matted what it was - I think our hands were just that close, the sweetness never lasted, no Novocaine (i like this one in particular because it just seems to suggest that Pete will never be finished with this, and will haunt Mikey forever, either to get revenge for being left behind or relive that one unforgettable summer) - I will always land on you like a sucker punch (omg lmao) - I am your worst, I am your worst nightmare - If you knew, knew what the bluebirds sing at you, you would never sing along - Because they took our love and they filled it up, filled it up with novocaine and now I’m just numb - I don’t feel a thing for you (sure) - I’m just a problem that doesn’t wanna be solved - I feel like a photo that’s been overexposed (i wonder if it’s because of all the junk he posted on livejournal) that concludes it! of course, there are so many more obvious songs, like Fourth of July and Bang the Doldrums, but i don’t love those songs, so i didn’t include them. and side note, the lyrics hit that much harder when Patrick is the damn singer and makes everything hurt. but i’ll rant about that in another post, maybe.

(it doesn’t really matter who sees this or doesn’t -- i just wanted to put this out somewhere. petekey will forever be so interesting. the impact Mikey (or whoever Pete wrote about) had on Pete is just unbelievable to me.)

end.

#fall out boy #my chemical romance #fob #mcr #mikey way #pete wentz #petekey #the summer of like #2005 #i can't get over this #i feel bad for pete

[pinkhairedlily]

He waits for her to break the spell

Prompt: Dates | AO3 link here | Connect with me on Twitter. (Belated) Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

A/N: Almost 3,000 words so this is quite lengthy as well. 😅

Waves break against the cobblestones on the shore. Sasuke picks apart the shiny seaglasses with his eyes as they glint against the fading rays of the sun. His legs alternately swing with her on the seawall as they silently watch the small fishing boats dock at a nearby port. A flock of seagulls fly above them, calling it a day and coming home.

He waits for her to break the spell.

They’ve been here before, and several times the gaps were filled in with laughters, awkward conversations, and hushed confessions. He grew up with her, their houses on the same block, same primary schools, same favorite parks, but he never talked to her. But he knew her name, and she knew his. They knew each other’s families. It was one of those instances when you just saw a steady familiar face as you go through the motions of life.

He took a month’s worth of leave after the unfortunate car crash, and he settled back in quite all right, much better than his older brother who remained catatonic and would never truly grieve until his adulthood. The first week after, she followed him home, a few meters trailing behind him but close enough that he was always in her line of sight. He didn’t mind; after all, their houses were on the same block.

Then one day, she pulled his drifting mind to safety when he almost walked into an open manhole. The distances between them shortened in the following weeks until she walked beside him, even with no conversation.

She brought him here on the eve of his parents’ first death anniversary. They raced against the looming cumulonimbus with their rickety bikes after she ambushed him in front of the school gates after class. And he followed her, even when she said nothing, even when there was a storm coming.

When they arrived at the dock, the fishers were hurriedly tethering their boats to the steel posts, knowing the possibility that they will be strung away but trusting the hold the rope has, nonetheless.

It was a big storm and large drops were starting to pour down, but she stood on the edge of the seawall with arms stretched out to her side, her rose hair in disarray around her face, her eyes closed to welcome the fall of the rain. And just as the usual, he followed her, his body straining to keep upright against the gusts. He remembered feeling the rain come down like pellets, and he was sure he winced in pain. For the first seconds of that moment, he regretted coming along with her. Insane, irrational, dangerous – two teenagers soaking up the storm. But he felt it welling soon enough, the emotion he spent twelve months bottling up. It began to rack up slowly, accompanying his deep breath, and following his exhale, continuous sobs lost in the whistle of the gale.

He waits for her to break the spell.

The place has become solace for him. His signal was sometimes a pebble thrown at his window at four in the morning. Huddled up in a blanket he bunched in his bag pack, they sipped hot chocolate from the same thermos, their legs brushing against each other as they waited for the sun to rise.

“I want to be in the same class as you,” Sakura said, the blanket completely covering her head except her eyes, and he couldn’t tell whether it was a joke.

“That’s very clingy of you.” He tried to lighten it.

“And beat you in recitations and assignments and grades.”

“Clingy.” He repeated.

She loosened the blanket from her head and stuck out her tongue at him. “So what?”

So what, indeed. He only realized this as he fell into a deep sleep after they went home – they missed the sunrise, and that was their first conversation.

Sometimes the signals were just a wave – after classes at the gates – and they would bike to the seawall, just in time for the sunset. He cannot exactly pinpoint the exact date he gave her a mixtape, but the following afternoon, she brought a portable cd player and they listened to it with an earphone each on their ears.

And he doesn’t know why or what it was that triggered him, but he held her pinky finger with the long earphone wire in between. His memory was of her laughing, removing her finger momentarily from his touch and engulfing his entire hand with hers. It was warm and rough against the surface of the seawall.

He waits for her to break the spell.

They ditched prom, she dressed in an emerald dress that matched the intensity of her gaze, in two-inch heels, and messy bun of pink curls, and he in a classic black tuxedo set handed down to him by a cousin in the next city over. They would have won prom king and queen, but they traded the first dance with the meandering waltz through the busy streets in his motorcycle.

It caught him offguard, the way she looked ethereal without the distraction of a busy port or its harsh blinding lights. She was in company with the murmur of the waves and the soft echoes of a bustling city at night and his silent presence. They stood on the seawall, hand in hand, and her head was at a perfect height to lay on his shoulders thanks to her heels. She did the gesture while humming a song by The Cure. It was on her mixtape, but the title escaped him.

“Why don’t we dance, Sasuke?” She lifted her head and twirled around on the precarious ledge, her trust solely on his grip on her wrist.

“You told me you didn’t want to dance.” He pulled her in closer and placed both of her arms around his neck while his hands went to her waist.

“I want the stars as our audience,” she chided as they swayed side to side to an invisible beat. She started to sing in an offkey manner, and she laughed in between words when Sasuke didn’t bother to hide his regrets.

We’re never done with killing time, can I kill it with you

Till our veins run red and blue…

We come around here all the time

Got a lot to not do, let me kill it with you

She laughed harder when he joined her, his deep, sultry voice accompanying hers in a disconcerted rendition of the song.

You pick me up and take me home again

Head out the window again

We’re hollow like the bottles that we drain

You drape your wrist over the steering wheel, pulses can drive from here

We might be hollow, but we’re brave

“And I like you.” He reached through the small gap between their faces and captured her lips in a kiss. Soft, plump, cold. And she opened her mouth in response, welcoming his tongue with a smoldering warmth. They found their way to his empty house, his older brother a shell of pill-induced sleep, and they fell on his bed skin to skin, teeth to teeth, bones to bones. Her dress and heels on his floor and her rose strands on his pillow, fanned out and clenched through his fingers.

He waits for her to break the spell.

She was moving away. She told him this a month before graduation. Medicine in her dream school. He congratulated her with a sincere smile. He even tucked stray hair behind her ear, and she smiled back just as brightly.

Two days before her departure, they met here again at the peak of the port’s busiest harvest season. She cut her hair and dyed it black. For a change, she said.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked unprompted. Before this, she gave him a box of memorabilia, of things she wanted to leave behind with him.

Things she wanted to do away with. Things she doesn’t want with her.

Sasuke smirked. He put his hands inside his jacket’s pockets, afraid of holding her hands. “Why don’t you stay here with me?”

“You’re right. That was a selfish question.” She waved her hands in front of her as if to dissipate the weird atmosphere. Then, she looked at him with those piercing jade eyes. “But I wish you would, get out of this city, see the rest of the world blah blah, you know the script.”

This isn’t a miserable town when you are here, Sakura.

“Leave the grief behind,” she finished.

The doubts crept in. “So it was pity after all.”

That hit her bad, and her face contorted into a series of emotions, too fleeting for him to name everything at once. But she never got full on angry with him. The most argument they had was a cold shoulder that lasted for a month. “I was just offering you a chance to start over.”

“As if I cannot start over on my own,” he supplied.

“In this place?”

“This is my home, Sakura.”

“This isn’t mine,” she replied. “I can’t stay here. You know my dreams.”

He knew them all too well. He saw the pamphlets and brochures of the university stacked on her desk, and the map of the world gobsmacked on the wall of her room with pins on specific places and post-its of attractions. It didn’t escape him that there was no pin for their city or a post-it with his name. It was a hovering observation that haunted his head for years, and that eventually, he would have to decide.

But the world was too big for him, too expansive that he was afraid of the grief he would have unlocked at every place he stepped in. Sasuke smacked his lips together and nodded. “Keep in touch, will you?”

His hands fumbled with a box inside his pocket. I can’t follow you everywhere, Sakura.

“At least don’t remember what I felt as mere pity.”

It was a desolate moment, their seemingly absent outburst of emotions contrasted by yells of traders in the small impromptu market that assembled on the dock. She nodded, both knowing that it was an empty promise. She proceeded to stood on tiptoes, and he met her movement with an embrace as their lips touched for what felt like was a final kiss under the searing sun.

He waits for her to break the spell.

The waves come after midnight, Sasuke noticed. Sporadic sleepless nights comes in twos or threes or sevens, and he would glance at his weather application on his phone, swiping until he finds her city and wonders what she’s up to.

The text found him at his third cup of coffee before sunrise.

“It’s a great day to be out and about, sun will be shining today!”

Her city was in the middle of a hurricane path.

But she wasn’t. She was in front of his doorstep several years after she went away. Rose hair, emerald eyes, and a smile that he constantly chased in his dreams. She was back for the summer only, a quick break, a breather in her other words.

His caffeine-induced soul followed her footsteps out of his house and through the grocery aisles. He doesn’t engage her in conversation, but she has her hand in his, twirling now and then, euphoric to be in his orbit for a moment.

And he lost control of the script he prepared in his mind and the list of reasons why he shouldn’t be meeting her again because he, too, was euphoric to revolve around her again.

To refamiliarize all of her contours, to explore the new dips and marks that carved her skin, to taste the places she went to, to get a glimpse of her new batch of memories, to fill his senses with her being.

He parked his car beside the seawall one night, and Sakura waved him over, two bottles of beer already drained beside her.

“I heard Itachi got married.”

Sasuke halved his bottle before replying. “Izumi. Gentle but firm, dependable also. They liked the mountains more than the sea so they’re on the other side of the city.” He paused and drank the other half in one gulp. “How was….the world?”

“Shitty.” Sakura laughed. Spite, remorse, regret. “Med school is all right, aced it, like how you aced your law school.” A proud smile right there, and he caught that she implied she was keeping tabs on him even though there were no letters and calls, only sparse texts in few and between of the usual how are you and the default reply of I’m okay. “The rounds are what’s bad, like I’m always giving away a part of myself every time I treat. I have self-awareness and I’m empathetic, but I can only give away so much. There’s nothing I can take in return anyway. And life is moving too fast. Someone’s getting married, someone’s having a kid, and I’m stuck in scut duty with 72-hour shifts and I come home to no one.”

“And you feel lonely.” Sasuke summed it up for her.

“I wish I believed you when you told me this was my home.”

She swooped in into his space to place her lips on his mouth, and he allowed her to fill him in. He lost all reasoning when she appeared in his doorstep at the beginning of this season, and he will again lose all reasoning when it was time for her to go back. So he savored all what she could give.

Even if she was oblivious that he has given all of him, for her to take and not return. Like a boat capsizing in the middle of the storm and following the waves down to the bottom.

He waits for her to break the spell.

He waits for her to break the spell. Stars dots the transitioning purple sky, and the seaglass now glints against the moonshine. She pushes the stop button of the cd player even though it was no longer functioning, and they don’t have earphones on.

“I’m getting married.”

He knows even before she uttered the words from her own lips. He saw the band on her finger when she drifted through the grocery aisles with a silver-haired man a day ago. He twirled her in between shelves regardless of the bemused faces of onlookers, and he made her laugh out loud to the extent that she clutched at her sides.

And Sasuke wished he didn’t hear her laughter through his rushing thoughts.

“Congratulations,” he simply says.

“It just happened. He’s actually a schoolmate of ours, but he moved out to the next state for senior high. Kakashi? Does the name ring a bell?” Her face is animated when she says his name. “We met in the hospital. Turns out he’s a resident there too.”

God forbid he remembers him. All his memories conjure is this seawall and her face, her rose hair, and her emerald eyes. Sasuke doesn’t know what to reply.

She sighs. “You know what I’m trying to say. We’ve always been two halves of each other.”

He doesn’t want to reply. He wants to ask a hundred questions instead. What things remind her of him? Does any sea, dock, or fishing boat transport her to memories with him? Does she see his face in the middle of grocery aisles? Did she ever love him? Did she ever have regrets? Would they have ended up together if he followed her? Did he fight for her enough to want her to stay?

“Just a minute,” he says, but it’s almost a plea. “Just a minute more.”

And she holds on to his hand and intertwines her fingers with his against the rough surface of the seawall. She scoots closer and lays her head on his shoulder, a bit broader than what she might remember, and he hopes to gods that she is memorizing his scent just as he is memorizing the curve of her head on his neck and the feel of her now long rose strands against his cheeks.

“I love you.” Sasuke doesn’t expect a reply, and even if she does answer back, he knows all too well that they don’t have the same gravity as his.

“I love you,” she whispers in his ear.

Not a minute later she stands up, dispelling the spell that hovered between them, walking towards a place he cannot follow no matter how he wishes. And he sits on top of the seawall an hour longer, alone with the shore, the stars, and the silent dock.

He pulls out the velvet box from his pocket and stares at the ring that should have been on her finger. He closes it and flings it to the sea.

What is wrong with me that I made a fluff prompt angst? Anyway, please listen to 400 lux and Hard Feelings by Lorde for full effects. Thanks for reading!

#ssm21 #ssm21d16 #sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #lorde

[myonepiece]

Okay so here's a fun idea for a songfic! Can I have a songfic with Kid with a ex-gf who's in a punk band (she was originally part of the crew but left it after a rough ending of their relationship), the crew hears about a concert on the island they're stopping at. Kid wants to go just to kind of laugh but when they go, he's kind of in shock at their progression.

She spots them in the crowd, focusing on Kid before whipping out either Black Sheep by Metric or Everything Back But You by Avril Lavgne. I know not true punky songs but they fit well enough lol

Maybe end it where they kind of make up?

Omg yess I love sad love ;-;

But You

A Eustass Kid Scenario

•~•~•~•~

Kid’s days had melted together, and eventually so did his weeks and so did the momths. It was all just a blur of violence, looting, drinking, and a painful grip on his heart. He thought about that day everynight, he would drink to forget but when he lay in bed piss drunk the only thing he could think about was the sight of you in another man’s arms and the look of horror on your face as he was shot in the head by an “unknown” attacker.

Flashback

You sat in an old rundown inn, your mind clouded with the alcohol you had tried to drown yourself in. The post card hanging from your hand by the tips of your cold fingers.

You should leave, I’ve had my fun but it’s time to be serious

I want you to be her

I’ll be in my workshop late tonight

I expect you to be gone by the time I’m back

The mangled postcard smelled of cheap perfume, but you were too focused on the words to put much thought to that. He must’ve been with her when he wrote it, her perfume wearing off on the paper. You had caught her clinging on to him, and in a fit of rage and jealousy you had ran to another man and betrayed the trust you had built with Kid.

You had blacked out after a few rounds of hard liquor and a gunshot through the head of the man in front of you splattering blood across your face. When you awoke you were laying in the bed of a dirty inn, and the Victoria Punk was gone, the only thing left was a postcard signed with the captain’s name.

End of flashback

You were sitting in the kitchen of your ship, eating with your band/crew, conversing over the show you were playing tomorrow night followed by a break for a few days. You’re punk music career had been keeping you busy for the past two months, and you were trying enjoying yourself when you played with them.

Still, late at night when the alcohol wore off, it brought you to a state of mind with terrified you, bringing back every single memory of your previous voyages with your ex captain. You would allow yourself to wallow in self pity until the next day, when you would return to your punk and fiery personality that was so well known across the seas.

Kid rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he stared at the poster Killer had handed him, portraying a picture of the punk band that held a reputation despite not being a big pirate or anything similar. He stared at the bright smile that haunted his dreams, his nightmares, and his every waking thought. The smile he loved but despised more than anything.

There was nothing he desired more than to have you back. Killer had explained what was likely going through your mind at the sight of the whore clinging to him. She was simply a lowlife wannabe pirate princess who held no importance in his life whatsoever. He had killed her for ruining his love, but it was too late to mend what he had done for you had already fled the island, ripping part of him away with you. So with one more swig of beer, he set course for your show.

Arriving at the start of your second song, the Kid pirates walked into the cheering crowd that surrounded your stage. Kid’s breath caught in his throat as he stared longingly at the angel he had lost months ago, the way your leather clothes hugged your curves and your hair swaying lit up by the lights, intoxicated him beyond rational thoughts. He stared frozen in place.

As the crowd roared with cheers, you grinned at the wave of fans that made everyday happier. But all color drained from your face as your eyes met the red head’s. Even from far away shrouded in darkness you recognized his fur coat and bright red hair that you had come to loathe. Your heart’s beat drowned out the cheers of the crowd as your head swam with emotions that you had shoved down and drowned in whiskey for the past two months. With your brain clouded over and a surge of impulsiveness, you turned and instructed your band to play your song. The crowd quieted down and your band struck up the tune, you kept your eyes glued to Kid’s which had never once left yours.

Two months away from you but I couldn’t tell,

I thought that everything was gonna be fine

The postcard that you wrote

With that stupid little note

Something wasn’t quite right about it

It smelled like cheap perfume

And it didn’t smell like you

Kid knew exactly what you were singing about, and it broke his heart to relive it from your point of view. He felt a sting in his eyes but was too wrapped up in your voice to do anything about it.

There is no way you can get around it

Because you wrote “I wish you were her”

But you left out the “e”

You left without me

And now you’re somewhere out there with a

Hey, Hey

Physco, babe I hate you

Why are guys so lame

Everything I gave you

I want everything back but you

Under the lights, you could’ve sworn you saw a glittering tear slide down Kid’s cheek and fall onto the fur of his coat.

My friends tried to tell me all along

That you weren’t the right one for me

As the music faded out and was replaced by cheers and hollers, you broke eye contact and swiftly walked off the stage- you had to get out of here. The crew quickly packed up the intrsuments and supplies, and you were the last to head down towards the docks. While walking on the path down to the docks, clitching your coat around you, footsteps appeared behind you. You already knew who it was, and you picked up your pace. As the footsteps picked up pace too you started running down the path.

“Y/N!!” You tried to tune out his desperate pleas, but a hand reached out and firmly wrapped around your wrist holding you back.

“Turn around Y/N. Why are you running from me?” Kid’s voice was quiet ending the question. He sounded like a lost child, not the captain of one of the most feared pirate crews.

Slowly your straighten up and turn around facing your ex lover. He has tears brimming your eyes, something you never thought you’d see. It makes your own eyes tear up as you stand in silence just taking in the sight of each other. He looks like a mess to be honest, you can make out the dark eye bags and the small stubble on his chin. You have to say a small part of you likes seeing himself ins such bad shape over little old you.

“What do you want Kid, I have a boat to catch” you talk to him coldly, feeling slight guilt as he had been talking so softly to you.

“I just want you back angel”

“You left me, why do you want me back? What about your other whore” you see Kid wince at your harsh words and unwavering icy stare.

“She was some lowsy wannabe, I was trying to get her off, I would never jeopardize what we have”

“Had, what we had”

“It’s not gone Y/N, is it?” It wasn’t, as much as you hated Kid for leaving you alone, you couldn’t deny that your love for him still burned in your chest. Tears now streamed down your face as you hardened your glare.

“It’s gone Kid. Everything is gone”

“You know I didn’t do anything with that girl, so what did I do” It’s true that you know he didn’t do anything with the girl, because you had heard of her gruesome death by Kid’s hand, abs the fact that Kid had rented an Inn room and layed you in the bed meant he still cared for you when he left you. But that’s what he did, he left you all alone.

“You left me... YOU LEFT ME ALONE!” Your sadness turned to anger as you thought of all the things you had done for him only to be cast aside and left so easily. You stepped closer to him still scolding him-

“AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN GHROUGH YOU THREW ME ASIDE SO EASILY! AND IT HURT KID, YOU HURT ME!” You stood directly in front of Kid now, you landed a hit against his broad chest. As your sobs became stronger so did your hits.

“I HATE YOU EUSTASS KID” You cried out at you landed your final punch and felt your legs begin to give. Before you could fall, Kid grabbed your shoulders tightly,

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I love you more than anything and I’ll do anything to get you back. You think leaving you didn’t hurt me? It hurt coming back to get you and finding out you already left!” Kid raised his voice as his anger came bubbling to the surface.

“I’m not supposed to feel like this Y/N this is weakness and pirates aren’t supposed to have that! Dont you get it?! YOU’RE MY WEAKNESS AND I WANT YOU BACK!” You tried to squirm away but Kid pulled you harshly into his chest and held you there.

“Please come back, let’s forget this ever happened. I’m not leaving you ever again angel” Kid whispered into your hair. He sounded genuine, and you could feel your hard self control wearing thin. You inhaled the familiar scent of Kid, and with your sigh you caved and grabbed onto his coat pulling him closer to you. You felt him let out a shaky sigh and he pulled you closer and softened his embrace. That night he held you closer and tighter than he ever had, he showed his full vulnerability to you and he was scared that you would use it against him. But he realized he didn’t have to be afraid of that because he would never give you a reason to leave him ever again, because the only thing he can hold onto, is you.

#one piece #one piece headcanon #eustass kid imagine #one piece imagine #kid x reader #one piece scenario #eustass kid headcanons #one piece kid #kid imagine #kid headcanons #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader

[shotomyheart]

dreams stay dreams

mattsun x female reader

synopsis: working as a funeral director and priest isn’t exactly what mattsun had dreamed for himself

warnings: sad fic, not too much about romance but you end up with him, death (not of mc or you), not totally canon, my tenses are all over the place, mentions of drinking, mattsun can sing and play guitar bc i said so

note: this was an original piece i made when i was 15 and decided to share by replacing my oc with mattsun. bc of this, my writing isn’t the best but i wanted to share anyway

wc: 1.7k

POV: Mattsun

I always count how many flowers are in the room before anything else. I like to see how much the corpse was worth to people, how much they cared, or if they feel more guilt for not treating them better. It’s like a game, so far the high score is two hundred forty two flowers in one day. Today there are ninety-six flowers, most are violets, but some roses are spread around the room in bunches. The room has about a hundred people standing or sitting near the guest of honor. Most are crying, some laugh about good times. I, on the other hand, view others while leaning against the wall. In respect, I wear an all black suit, no wrinkles. My brown dry eyes stand out against the black atmosphere, but somehow I stay hidden amongst the crowd.

When people start to sit down, a choir softly sings songs about how great Heaven is and God will protect all that want to survive the world, not live, but survive. I believe the song was “Redeemer of Israel”.

I hum along.

I fiddle with my fingers as my father preaches to the crying children of God and tells them to rejoice in the aspect of life after death and rejoice in the temporary life the victim had.

Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice. It is a common word in my household of just my father and I.

When the ceremony was over, I wait until all of the guests have left, the immediate family being the final six to leave. The wife’s tears are silent while the youngest child was coaxed by an older sibling— I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl at my angle—telling the young boy to be quiet. I wonder if the child believes if he cries loudly enough his father will wake up.

The rest of the three, presumed, siblings hold onto another, as if grasping onto the last bit of reality. When they let go of each other, their eyes seem to gloss over in a new world, one of old memories that rained in front of their views. My father watched in pity.

That was the difference between him and I, well there were many differences, he looked at people with pity and I viewed them with knowledge. Knowledge of knowing what it’s like to watch themselves fall and their dreams to crack beneath their feet. It was a remarkable sight.

. . .

“The flowers go to-”

“Ms. Jackson, I know. They always go to Ms. Jackson.” I mumble. Another family lost a member last Tuesday and preparations were always the same. I set the six tables that rounded the room. Usually there were seven, but one of them was missing or broken, I don’t recall what my father had said.

At seven o’clock exactly I grabbed my coat and threw off my black tie that my father makes me wear to work. I unbutton my collar and shake off my coat once I shimmer into my rusting, dark blue truck. When I ignite my car, it rolls into the street with rumbles and creeks echoing into the silent neighborhood.

As the street lights become brighter and the people are louder, I slide into a parking spot. The Late Pool has bright blue lights illuminating onto the pavement as I walk in. With guitar in hand, I shift my way into the back of the bar. Crowds observed my every move as I confidently stride up the small stairs onto the dirty stage. The eyes of broken hearts and mistreated wives hanging onto the sex-crazed men that haunt the streets of Manhattan chug another fizzy drink that drowns their sober thoughts.

There was nowhere else I would rather be.

In the corner of my eye there is a large window and hidden behind the sleepless city was a church peeking over roofs and the dark sky.

I called to close the shades.

Positioning myself, silence echoed and my breath could be heard a mile away, but reality was people chatted amongst themselves, kissing and dancing to toxic music and to toxic thoughts. My fears wash away as soon as my guitar sings to the crowd and the dying club music shuts off. Ed Sheeran’s “I’m a Mess” flows off my tongue, bringing a more gentle feel throughout the bar. People continue to grind and shake off their regrets of that afternoon as my voice leaves my tongue and I cry to the Heavens and my Father and my dreams of tomorrow.

When I finish, the crowd rumbles out my name with a drunken slur and a tiny bit of admiration, but that could just be my tipsy state imagining and hoping.

It is ten o’clock when I have my seventh drink and my feet start to stumble. I ask for another. The burning sensation touches my throat as it swam to my thoughts. I threw my ideas up with my vomit as I rushed to the toilet.

Inside, a young woman approached me with a solemn face. Her cheeks were puffy, but I hardly took notice. Her black dress hung loosely on her and tear stains rushed to the floor. I would have recognized her if my eyes didn’t shift every two seconds. She took ahold of my hand with a firm grip and placed my hands on her hips. A buzzing moved in my pant’s pocket, but I was focused on the girl kissing my neck. I knew my breath smelled horrible, but she continued to kiss me with a fierce determination. The bathroom was messy and the tiles were old fashioned, I was pretty sure it was dirtier than my mouth when I ranted on to my friends. The night never seems to end, we drove into a sloppy night full of hope and wishful thinking, neither of us knowing the other’s name.

. . .

That morning I woke up with a groan. My phone vibrated in my pant’s pocket a few feet away. My dark hair stuck in uncomfortable places and my eyes droop with restlessness. The girl had rushed off to the bathroom to throw up while I kept the bile from coming up my throat, instead I take a deep gulp of air. By the fifth ring, I propped my body up and grudgingly moved toward my jeans. Sliding my pants on, I pressed the answer symbol on my phone and placed it on my shoulder and my head tilted to keep it in place.

“Hello,” I grumble. The smell of throw up and beer combined made my head spin even more. There was a sigh at the other end of the call.

“Finally, Mattsun. I've been calling you all night!” The deep loud voice on the other end made me wobble on my feet. I pulled the terror from my ear before I ran into something.

“What do you want, Makki?” I kicked a glass bottle away from my path to the bar counter. A young man wiped the counters down and I raise two fingers and mouthed the word “water”. The man nods his head and grabs two glasses and fills it with ice cold water. I sit down and grabbed the glass with one hand and the other held onto the phone towards my ear again. “Cheers.” I said to the bartender. He nodded and went back to cleaning.

“Are you even listening?!” I debate on asking for a shot of whiskey instead if Makki was going to keep on screaming.

“Calm down, what is it? I'm listening now.” I took a sip of my water and let the cool liquid flow down my throat.

“You idiot! It’s your dad…” Suddenly he hushed his violent shouts and I could practically see his big brown eyes looking up at me in sadness. The woman returned and I nodded at the glass of water to her. She smiles and takes the glass, chugging it down. Her face reminded me of someone, but I couldn't place it.

“What about my father?” I returned, impatiently.

“He’s dead.”

I don't remember if I started crying there or if I cried on my way to our house.

. . .

I count the heads of the people who entered the room. Today there should be about forty five relatives and friends arriving today. When I counted up to forty two, I began my speech of life after death. After a few minutes, Hallelujah rang into my ears as the women of choir sang to the distressed. In the corner of my eye, a bright blue light shines throughout the city, it seems. I go over to shut the blinds.

It’s been a month since my father died and it’s been exactly a year since we moved from Japan to have better business. It’s been three weeks and four days since I put my guitar away and it’s been one hour since I last saw my girlfriend Y/N, the one I met at the bar and later recognized as the figure who talked to the boy at the funeral. Our relationship has been speeding into a serious relationship, and like life, I can't slow it down. She told me I need a steady job instead of the bar, and reluctantly I agreed.

The church welcomed me with open arms and black cloth. I started working a week after my father’s death, rent was calling and apparently so was God. Things change quickly here, as suppose to Japan where there was always enough time to chat a bit and talk about dreams over a bit of beer. Now I realize beer isn't solving my problems and dreams are too high in the clouds for me to reach them, and so was rent in New York City.

So when I cried to the Heavens to bless the family who lost their member (a young girl of the age eighteen, some old drunk ended her sweet life of being a child of the richest family in the area, the Parkers) I cried to God to give me a window of opportunity to leave, or even a crack in the wall. The thunder outside gave me my answer. The dead stay dead. Just as dreams do.

#daydreaming.nightmares #daydreaming.longer #mattsun #mattsun x you #mattsun x reader #mattsun haikyuu #haikyuu #matsuwaka issei #matsuwaka x reader #matsuwaka x you #female reader #mattsun x y/n #mattsun x female reader #haikyuu angst #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq angst #hq mattsun

[yacoka]

the beginning

ii. the silent song of souls

character(s) — tsukishima kei, matsukawa issei

pairing — tsukishima kei x reader

genre — royalty!au, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

warning(s) — death, brief mentions of war, PTSD, loss

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

masterlist

Bone-chilling screams echo off the stone walls, bouncing through the corridors as people run mindlessly about the castle, Shadows dance upon the walls, touching briefly before scattering, blending into the dark walls of the castle.

“Issei,” you breathe out, placing a worried hand on your best friend’s shoulder.

“I know, but it’s not safe. You have to stay in here.” Matsukawa pats your hand reassuringly. His expression betrays his emotions however, thick brows furrowed in worry as his usual sleep clouded eyes are now alert. No matter how much he tries to comfort you, every sound from outside your chambers has his hands twitching towards his sword.

You stare into the blinding flames of the fireplace, eyes transfixed by the way they dance about, burning up they touch. Worry and fear that gnaw in the pit of your stomach, and the desperation to know what was going on has you restless.

You're tempted to reach into the fire, to feel something other than the uneasy blend of emotions. You wonder how the fire would feel like, crawling up your skin, eating away at the dress you wore. It would probably feel better than the bile that creeps up your throat, the idea of people dying in your name making you ill.

“Y/n,” Matsukawa calls out to you weakly.

Spinning around, you find him bleeding out on the floor, a blade stuck through his chest.

“Issei!” You choke, rushing to his side. God, there was so much blood. Why was there so much blood?

“Issei, hang on, I’ll go get someone, please,” you cry out, pressing down on the edges of the mortal wound unsurely.

“It’s no use, I won’t survive this.” His smile is a broken one, filled with blood and regret. “I’ll die here, in your name.”

“No, Issei, please,” your hands flutter around his wound, trying your best to staunch the bleeding, but it only causes the blood to surge out more, staining your hands and the pale white chemise you wore.

He coughs roughly, his whole body convulsing in pain.

“Because of you,” he gasps out, “I will die here, without a future, for a spoiled brat who isn't worth my life.”

You recoil from his harsh words.

“No, it's not- Issei-”

All you can do is repeat his name helplessly as he tells you of the future he has lost, choked out between shallow breaths and bloody coughs.

With every word, the blood spreads until you are soaked in it, drenched with the blood of your best friend, with the blood of those who have died because of you tonight.

“It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s yOUR FAULT. IT’S YOUR FAU-”

You jolted awake, chest heaving as you rushed to the window, the moonlight illuminating your clean hands. They were clean. They were clean. They were clean.

(So why the hell can you still feel the stickiness of blood dripping from your hands and down your body?)

The words bounced around in your head, leaving a pounding headache in their wake. The cold sweat covering your body has you shifting uncomfortably as your heart raced, the overwhelming guilt and fear still racing through your veins.

“Issei,” you whispered, clenching your eyes shut. “Issei, I’m so sorry.”

You sat there, slumped against the cool stone of the walls until day broke, your hands clenched into tight fists, leaving crescent moons imprinted into the velvety skin of your palm.

That was how your ladies found you. With poorly disguised looks of pity, they hoisted you up and got you ready for the day. The soft chatter that flowed around you steadied you, pulling your mind back from the crumbling edge.

Today was not the day you would lose your mind, your spirit. Issei would have wanted you to live for him. It was what he gave his life for.

Today, you will not break.

Akasuki helped you out of the now-cool bath, drying you off and fitting you into your armor for the day, painting on your mask with deft strokes of her gentle hand.

A firm knock on the door had one of your ladies rushing to it, peering out at the visitor. A few words later, and she pulled back into the room with a letter in hand.

“Your highness, this is for you.” She bowed deeply and opened the letter for you to read. Your eyes scan it quickly.

“I’m to join Prince Tsukishima in the gardens for a walk it seems.”

Akasuki merely nodded in response as she applied the finishing touches. “Just in time then.”

You swept through the long, arching corridors, guards and servants alike bowing out of your way hastily. Your mask was a fragile thing today, paper-thin and fragile. It was crinkled and weak, and just a wrong touch would send it crumbling. The strength you have is only enough to keep it up until you make it to the gardens, and a single short glance from Tsukishima already had it cracking once more.

“You look terrible.”

The carefully crafted smile fell as your eyes relaxed into a tired indifference, your face sagging with exhaustion. You shot him a tired glare.

“And you’re such a gentleman.” Your voice lacked the sarcasm meant for the statement, and the brittleness of it had you wincing internally.

Tsukishima held his arm out - the one with the red string entwined around it, you noted with exhausted amusement - and you entwined your arm around it. The contact was steadying, and your next breath came easier. The pressure on your head eased as Tsukishima tugged you closer ever so slightly.

“Shall we?” He tilted his head down at you. “Or are you too unwell for even a stroll?”

The scowl that slipped onto your face is less than ladylike and would have your etiquette teachers fainting if they saw it. You didn't bother dignifying his dig with a response, tugging roughly on his arm as you strode forward.

The casual conversation that flowed as you walked through the Tsukishima’s royal gardens washed away any lingering memory of the haunting dream, and you found yourself laughing at Tsukishima’s dry humor. He would have gotten along well with Issei, you noted with a wistful smile.

You learnt that day that Tsukishima was a fan of bones (“Paleontology,” he had snapped at your teasing. “Fossil bones, not just any bones.”), he has a sweet tooth, and he enjoys music (“Not the horrid song we danced to last night, but proper music.” He insisted on playing for you after lunch.).

The remaining days blurred together as you spent most of your time with Prince Tsukishima exploring the castle grounds, visiting the nearby village, and even sneaking out one night to stargaze. The last day of your stay was spent in the grand ballroom where a grand piano sat, and Tsukishima taught you how to play.

His slender fingers covered yours as he guided your hands over the keys, and you found yourself closing your eyes, losing yourself to the melody that flooded the ballroom. Your eyes flew open when you realized what you were playing.

“Isn’t this-”

“The song we danced to on the first day? Yes, it is.” He smiled down at you softly.

You grin at him, your eyes lighting up. “Why, I thought you said it was a horrid song!”

His nose crinkled up in distaste even as your fingers continue to dance haltingly across the keys. “It is, but you like it, so I thought I’d teach you.” A note of uncertainty slipped into his voice, a wrong key slipping from his careful control.

“I do like it, thank you, Prince Tsukishima.”

“Kei. Call me Kei.” His voice was soft as the song came to an end, his brown eyes locked onto yours, his smile turning bashful.

“Kei,” you repeated after him. “Call me Y/n.”

You were just barely past the edge of sleep, your mind a floating mess of thoughts and images from the week’s events. Prince Tsukishima sat at the centre of it, and the memory that shone the brightest is him smiling at you, with that soft, vulnerable look in his usually guarded eyes.

“Kei,” he had whispered. “Call me Kei.”

You could feel yourself flushing even as you entered a light sleep-

Your body jerked upright, eyes flying open as your heart thundered, panic jolting through you in jerky waves. Wild eyes searched the room for the cause of this, and a constricting feeling on your pinky where the string lay drew your attention. It was almost painful, and the fear radiating through it seeped into your bones.

But what are you so afraid for?

(You don’t realize that the fear comes from Tsukishima, who’s chambers are at the opposite end of the wing. You don’t see the thin line slit across his throat, red spraying from his pale neck as he tries to claw his way towards the door to find someone, anyone to protect you.)

Your fingers curl around the string, trying to steady yourself against the silent scream of emotions in the too-quiet night.

(You don’t see the all-consuming panic as he chokes on his blood, nor the terror in his eyes as the life seeps out of him.)

The string is pulled so taut you’re afraid it might snap, and the intensity of the multitude of emotions flowing off of it is enough to tug you out of bed.

(You don’t see him reaching helplessly for you even in his last moments, nails dripping red from the effort that it takes to crawl to the door. You don’t see his head dropping to the ground with a sickening thud, eyes going dull as his desperate grip on the string is released.)

Just as your bare feet touch the cool floor, there’s an audible snap that has you lurching backwards, the string going lax and dissolving right before your eyes. Your back meets a hard surface that you know isn’t your bed, and a knife slides across your throat before you even have time to feel afraid.

The last thing you see are the red specks of the string’s remnants floating in the air as you choke on the blood that pours down your neck, the memory of a bright smile and an outstretched hand flashing-

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

[jango-fettish]

3 - A Salacious B. Crumb vs Boba Fett Story

Summary: Salacious B. Crumb is an enigma. Boba Fett is seemingly unkillable god. So what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? 

Warnings: Canonical Violence, Character Death, OCC Salacious 

Word Count: 2744

A/N: yeah the title is another britney spears song, deal with it. this has not been edited or read over after it was written so enjoy my mistakes (i meant typos and what nots, i know this entire thing could be considered a mistake). i gave up towards the end but whatever

Tagging my mutuals who tolerate my bullshit: @a-dorin @simping-for-fives @nelba @chadillacboseman @porgnugget @cptnbvcks​ @blxwjobsforclones @clonewarslover55​ @djxrxn​ @escapedthesarlacc

Gif is not mine. i got it from here. 

Tatooine was a barren wasteland, with only two outcomes for those unfortunate enough to land on the sandy dunes: a slow death or a quick death. No one ever got to choose which one would happen to them, it just happened. You could be a young child, just walking around the corner and getting caught in an unsuspected dust storm, sand filling every crevice and making home in your lungs. Or you could live for years, your skin and soul withering away under the twin suns, the heat baking you slowly from the inside out until you breathe your final breath. 

Or, for some reason, you could actually get lucky and survive something that should have been your end. In an instant you turn into a god amongst mortals, someone who could say that Tatooine tried her best to end you, but you were just better. That is until the ever-changing dunes decided that today would be the day and become your grave. It was a rare occurrence, even more rare to happen to multiple people in the same day, in the same place. But luck and whatever greater being they believed in was on their side. And they lived. 

Salacious B. Crumb, for all intents and purposes, should have died the moment he became the jester of Jabba the Hutt. The little Kowakian monkey-lizard wasn’t built for the festering, dry heat of Tatooine. What a change from the tropical climate and landscapes of his mother planet. Nonetheless, he adapted and survived. Though there were a few times that he was almost crushed by the weight of his master, or swallowed by the great slug beast for not doing his job. The little shit was tough, tough enough to be able to stare bounty hunters, such as Boba Fett, down and laugh in his face without worry of consequences. 

But Boba Fett was the type to not forgive or forget transgressions, even the same ones. The noxious laugh of Jabba’s most loyal pet seemed to bother everyone besides the Hutt. Each time he arrived back in the dais to get a new job, Boba planned out exactly how he would kill the little creature, each growing more and more violent in nature. In the end, he had three perfectly planned out executions for the little creature. He wouldn’t be able to live out his sick fantasies, at least not when the Kowakian was wrapped snugly in Jabba’s tail, stealing the small morsels of food that broke off of Jabba’s meal. 

Even as he fell into the great stomach of the Sarlacc, Boba could hear the high laugh of Salacious B. Crumb mocking him. It was cut short when there was a great explosion and, while it wasn’t one of the three ways Boba would have killed him, he was glad that at least it was done. But, their destinies were intertwined that day. Both were supposed to die in the swirling sands of the Dune Sea. But the Sea had other plans for them.

Boba Fett sat atop the throne once owned by his employer. How the fates had changed in favor of the Mandalorian, once swallowed the decaying in the bubbling stomach of the Sarlacc, now seated in a position of power no man would dream of having. 

But Boba Fett was no ordinary man. 

***********

As he stared at the bodies flooding the chamber, celebrating the ending of Bib Fortuna’s rule over the once powerful Hutt Empire, Boba felt at ease for the first time in his life. He had his father’s armor back, he completed a quest and earned himself a new powerful ally. However, even with all that, Boba could feel the bubbling of uncertainty in his gut. 

Under the safety of his visor, Boba’s dark eyes watched Fennec Shand, his faithful partner, flirt with a purple skinned Twi’lek woman. Once unsure of trusting an assassin with a reputation such as Fennec’s, who at a moment's notice could easily blind side him and take everything he worked so hard for, Boba was sure he could trust her. He had saved her life after all. No, she wouldn’t be the one to betray him. 

He didn’t have to worry about any supporters of Bib Fortuna. The pale Twi’lek had made many enemies within the five years he was in power, growing greedy and selfish. It helped that Boba’s reputation in the galaxy was well known and feared. He was a god, been to hell and back. Who would dare try to challenge him? 

“F-F-Fett,” a high gravely voice whispered from behind him. It was like a breeze, barely there, but he could hear it. 

Boba sat straighter in the throne and tried to drown out the sounds of laughing and merriment that echoed throughout the room. The helmet could only filter out so much. He wasn’t the same bounty hunter he used to be before the pit. Though he was only in the belly for two days, the Sarlacc did more damage to him than he would like to admit. His leg, which he surprisingly was able to save, burned and ached every step he took. The heavy beskar armor just added to the additional stress. He was in constant pain, unable to fully find a sedative or pill that would dull the pins and needles he felt in his knees. His ever increasing age only added to it. But gods didn’t feel pain, so Boba didn’t either. 

“Fett,” the voice called again from his left. Boba whipped his head to the side, looking in the direct the whisper came. It was coming from deep in the many caves of the palace. The voice probably travelled not that far though to get to him. He seemed to be the only one that could hear it. Part of him wondered if he was imagining things, if the voice was just a hallucination. Maybe it was a new symptom of the pit. 

Great.

Boba slowly stood up, his knees cracking each inch he rose. 

“Leaving the party so soon, Fett?” Fennec Shand asked from the edge of the dias, getting his attention briefly, before he looked back in the direction of the whisper. She held a bottle of bright blue spotchka, her drink of choice. “What’s the rush?” 

“Want to check something out,” he muttered.

“Ah, going after the ghost?” 

“Ghost?” The vocoder crackled his voice. 

“Some of the boys were telling me that they heard laughing in one of the storage rooms. Couldn’t find anything or anyone down there though.”

“Laughing? What kind of laughing?” Boba asked, looking back to Fennec. 

She shrugged, “Beats me. Said it was annoying enough to make them not want to go back in there.” 

Boba’s hand twitched slightly. An annoying laugh. He knew quite a few people who he could easily categorize their laugh as annoying, but none of them from this part of the galaxy. Except one. But he was dead...but then again, so was Boba. 

“Crumb,” Boba growled, grabbing his blaster. 

“Crumb?” Fennec asked to deaf ears as Boba made his way to the hallway entrance. 

The winding halls that led deep into the ground were dimly lit as he made his way deeper into the cave system of the Palace. The walls were glistening, the moisture collecting into little pellets the deeper Boba ventured into the ground. Where had Fennec said the laugh was coming from? One of the storage rooms? 

As if on cue, a guttural laugh resonated in the hall. The sound hit Boba right in the gut, sending goosebumps up his arms. It wasn’t fear, but irritation that coursed through his body. Boba ground his teeth together, stomping down to the one storage room he knew would hold the little monster. For years Boba watched the little shit pick at the food that was given to him or that he stole, going straight for the dried, cured meats. His beak would tear at the muscles, ripping them into shreds before consuming the food with a hearty laugh. 

Boba stood in the doorway of the storage room where the keepers of the Palace kept the dried meats. Different cuts and creatures hung from the ceiling on large hooks, perfectly still. The room had no light, other than the faint glow that flowed through the doorway. Boba’s body shielded most of the light, his shadow disappearing within the room where the light touched. 

“Where are you, you little shit?” Boba growled. He took one step forward, shifting his visor into night vision.

“ooooAHAHHAHAHAHA,” the voice cackled loudly. 

Boba couldn’t see anything, other than hanging meat, as he stepped through the room. His blaster was drawn at the ready, finger secure on the trigger. For years he dreamed a day like this would come. No longer was Jabba around to protect the Kowakian. 

“Come on now, little monkey, how did you survive?” Boba asked, pushing a piece of Bantha thigh out of his way. 

“F-Fett!” the voice called before chuckling darkly. The sound was unsettling. Boba hadn’t known the creature to speak actual words. Was it even possible? The deeper Boba stepped into the meat cellar, the greater his uneasiness grew. 

“Did Fortuna let you sneak your way back in here? If it were me, I’d have put you on the pit roast the moment you showed your fucking face.” 

Silence: something Boba did not like. 

“Show yourself!” he called out.

A chain to his left shook and he heard a scream. He turned, but a second too late and Salacious B. Crumb landed on the Mandalorian’s shoulder, his sharp beak trying to find a soft spot to sink into. The Kowakian’s claws dragged themselves across Boba’s helmet. Salacious was laughing the entire time, the haunting noise drowning out Boba’s curses. Boba gripped the scruff on Salicious’s neck, ripping him off and threw him back into the shadows. Truthfully, Boba knew that he should have strangled the little guy there, but the nauseating laughs irritated him to no end. Boba just needed him away.

Salacious clung to one of the hanging meats, his claws ripping into the tendons. He glared down at Boba, who had fully regained himself after the quick attack. How Salacious wished nothing more than to strike again, but he knew better. He had to bide his time. Boba Fett was good, better than most if not all bounty hunters. The Mandalorian looked up at Salacious, and tilted his head to the side. 

“You always were an ugly little shit,” Boba said. 

It was true, time had not been kind to Salacious. The fires from the explosion took most of his fur, save a few patches on his back. His once oil rich skin was rough and dry, as were his claws and beak. The iron rich meals he received from living in the meat cellar had provided Salacious with enough sustenance to gain weight. He was heftier, larger than Boba remembered. But it was the frenzied look in Salacious’s beady yellow eyes that struck the Mandalorian. 

“Fett!” Salacious cried out, his high voice rattling through the tense air. “Feeds on Fett Crumb will! Gain his power Crumb shall! AHAHAHAHAHHA.” 

Being alone in a dark room had made the Kowakian delirious and wild. 

“Just as Crumb did with the others!” Salacious howled again. 

“Others?” Boba asked. But a quick glance to the side answered his question. In the farthest corner that the light could touch were stacks of bones and mangled bodies of decaying Gamorreans. Boba himself had ousted most of them, not wanting to rely on the pig creatures. 

“You’ve made quite a mess, haven’t you, little monkey?” Boba said, raising his blaster once more. 

“Fett thinks he funny. Funnier than Crumb? Never!” Salacious growled, and jumped to another piece of meat. The chains rattled and moaned under the new strain. 

“You’ve gotten fat,” Boba said. 

Salacious grin was sinister and showed what rotting teeth he had left, “Fortuna got fat! Why not Crumb?” 

“I’ll give you that.” Boba watched as Salacious jumped to another, closer, piece of meat. “Watch it, little monkey.” 

Salacious went quiet and still, his head lurching to the side. His tongue flicked out from his beak, coating the tip in spit. He began making incoherent noises, babbling to himself.

“How are we going to do this?” Boba asked, “Though, to be honest with you, little monkey, I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Crumb told Fett already!” Salacious cried out, “Crumb will eats Fett!” 

“Not a great plan.” Boba took a step forward causing Salacious to hiss. “I’ve dreamed of this moment for a long time.”

Salacious’s body curled back, his eyes flickering to the piece of meat hanging to the left of Boba and Boba himself. After a few seconds, his angered look rested on Boba. He had made his decision. He lunged forward, claws ready to attach themselves into whatever piece of Boba they could. Salacious was fast, but a blaster was faster. 

And with Boba Fett at the end of the blaster, you are sure to lose. 

Salacious howled in pain, falling just before Boba’s boots with a dull thud. Smoke rose from his chest from where the blaster shot landed. He coughed out pathetically, blood spattering onto Boba’s boots, before stilling. Boba counted to three silently and then slowly began to bend down. His knees creaked and groaned with the chains. 

Before he was in a full squat, Salacious’s eyes opened wide and he swatted out at Boba. His claws connect with the beskar of Boba’s chest armor, scratching away the forest green paint in four jagged lines.

“Fuck,” Boba shouted, jumping back. 

“F..F...Fett,” Salacious said weakly, coughing once again. His chest moved erratically before completely stilling. His glossy eyes dulled over and his tongue hung limply out the side of his mouth. 

This time, Boba waited longer than three seconds, and this time, he didn’t bend down to check to see if Salacious was really dead. Boba nudged the limp body with the toe of his boot, making a satisfied noise when the body simply rolled to the other side, blood seeping out from underneath. 

By the time Boba emerged from the depths of the winding cavens, the crowd he had left doubled in size. He found Fennec easily in the mass of bodies, lounging in a large chair with a jug of spotchka, and not only the purple Twi’lek seated on her lap, but a human woman seated next to her, drinking in every word Fennec had to say. Boba approached his partner, the crowd dispersing from his path. One of the perks of being king, though it wasn’t really an issue for him before either.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. How was your little adventure?” Fennec asked. 

“Need you to do something for me,” Boba said, ignoring her question. He was in no mood for games; he just wanted to fuck off from the world and sleep.  

Fennec smiled charmingly at the human woman, “Hold on a moment sweetheart.” 

“I need you to get some men to go to the meat cellar and clean it up,” Boba began, “Tell them to get rid of everything.”

“We just got a fresh shipment the other day, why do we-”

“It’s spoiled,” Boba interjected. Fennec stared at him, leaning back in the chair. She knew well enough that it wasn’t spoiled; she had been there when the shipment came in and checked it herself. Everything was fresh and top of the line. 

“That’s new.” Fennec said, pointing her jug of spotchka to the four lines on his armor. “What happened there?”

“Fucking monkey,” Boba grumbled. Fennec was about to question what he meant, but Boba held a hand up, silencing any words from her. “Just...just have them clean the damn meat cellar.” 

Fennec nodded, taking a sip of the blue liquid. “Did you find that ghost?” 

Boba laughed darkly, “Oh I found him alright. Fucking took care of it too.” Boba grabbed the jug of spotchka from Fennec, “I’m going to my chambers, I don’t want to be bothered.”

“I was drinking that,” Fennec said. 

But her words drifted into the noise of the crowd, becoming one with the cacophony of laughs and jests and music. But the one thing Boba did not hear was that high pitched Kowakian squeal that chased him down the Sarlacc’s mouth. And he was content with that.

#WHY DO I ACTUALLY FUCK WITH THIS? #i will not apologize for my genius #im the only author to every exist #writing #salacious b crumb #boba fett #star wars #the mandalorian #star wars fanfic

[xxdearlybeloved]

The Kingmaker

Summary: Earl Ragnar takes a journey to greatness and may have met his destruction. This is not cannon, but that’s kind of the point of fanfic soooo yeah. 

A/N: Thank you to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for the fic header!!!!!! It is better than I could have even imagined and also thanks to @fjor-ok-skadi​ for reawakening my Ragnar thirst enough to finish this first part.

“Why are we doing this, Ragnar?” Floki asks in his casual, unassuming tone. Ragnar casts him a sideways glance before looking again to the horizon. Floki has been with Ragnar since the beginning but has never easily deciphered Ragnar’s vision.

“Because we need to,” is all Ragnar replied, in his frustratingly simple way.

“Okay,” Floki said, rising to head to the back of the boat. It was only a small team. One boat sailing to see the Viking King. No one knew why they were going, but with their numbers it was safe to assume they were not planning to attack.

The journey was short. They had left as the sun set and arrived as it rose, the morning light still not bright enough to make the kingdom seem welcoming for the travelers. As they drew closer, they saw men, the warriors of the King’s guard, standing at the dock waiting for them to approach.

Ragnar told his men to be calm, but ready. The king did not become king by letting lone ships board his dock without question.

Ragnar’s men rowed towards the dock with their Earl at the helm, his arms in a gesture of peace with an almost smile on his face.

Despite the gesture, the men at the dock stood ready, eyeing the travelers steadily. The boat floated towards the dock, but one man approached the edge, his axe tight in his grip. He raised his other hand to halt the approach, and the men did.

“What brings you here?” the men asked. No one spoke, waiting for Ragnar to break the silence.

Before the man could ask again, Ragnar finally answered him. “I request an audience with the king,” Ragnar said, standing as the boat knocked against the dock.

“And who are you?”

Another guard approached. “This man is Earl Ragnar”

The first guard looked to the other in annoyance, turning his frustration back to Ragnar. “You should have sent word”

“I thought my message would be better delivered in person,” Ragnar replied easily. The first guard looked to the second, who nodded. They backed away and allowed the boat to dock, surrounding the men as they disembarked.

The men were brought to the hall and waited until the first meal would begin. They were tired and thirsty, but Ragnar didn’t ask for a single cup of water, so his men didn’t either.

They had watched as servants went through the back, bringing water and fruits to the king. They returned either with smiles on their faces or with terror in their eyes.

At first, he thought she was a hallucination. One of the angels Aethelstan had mentioned to him before. She stood in the shadows, her eyes watching him. She wore a white sheet tied around her waist and a band around her chest, but the shadows hid her body.

He still could not tell if she was real, so he looked over his shoulder at Floki to find him staring in that direction, too. The same expression of wonder in his generally playful eyes.

“Do you see her?” Ragnar whispered, afraid that the sound would scare her away.

“She is gone” he replied. Ragnar turned to find the truth in his words.

Before he could ask any more details, they heard the sound of boisterous laughter. The King came, his voice booming as he greeted his guests.

The men all rose as Ragnar did, and the King approached him first. “Earl Ragnar, I’ve heard so much about you”

“As I have you, lord king”

“You and your men must be tired from your journey. I’m sure it must be important, to have you come all this way, hmm?” He looked at Ragnar expectantly. Floki could not tell if there was suspicion in his voice, but he did not trust this king. “Here, let us feast”

He ordered the servants to bring them food and water, and the men ate gratefully. Ragnar watched the King as he ate, but he also felt his glance drift towards the corner, wondering if he would see the angel again.

The king continued to talk loudly, as if his voice amplified his already massive presence. As the men finished, the king became quiet, his smile almost threatening as he looked at Ragnar. As the men noticed, the room grew quiet, the silence almost louder than the king’s laughter had been.

“What is it that brings you here?” he asked, the smile fading from his face.

Ragnar finished chewing slowly, taking his time yet again before providing his simple answer. “I need your help”

The king laughed, but this time it sounded mocking. “And how can I be of service?”

“I need your men”

“And what ever for?” He could not hide his surprise at this blatant request.

He leaned in more closely. A whisper that carried through the silence around him. “Paris”

The Viking King laughed at him. “And why would I send my men to be slaughtered?”

Ragnar sat back in his chair, his tone shifting as if he was talking to a petulant child. “How do you know?”

“I have my ways”

“I see,” Ragnar replied. “Well if you don’t give me your men, I’ll have to go to all of the earldoms to ask for theirs. When they ask if I have your support, I will have to tell them their king is a coward” He waited to make sure that the man had processed these words. “He has no heart for adventure”

The king’s face, already red from the drinks that had accompanied their meal, grew purple. “How dare you threaten me in my own hall,” he yelled, rising so fast that his chair flew behind him. His guards stood as well, pointing their weapons at Ragnar and his men.

They looked around uneasily, not sure of Ragnar’s plan. He looked calmly at the king, as if he were still sitting in front of him. “It is not a threat, lord king”

The king had regained his composure, and paced to his throne, before turning back towards Ragnar. “We cannot go to Paris. It will end in destruction; it has been seen”

And now Ragnar rose, going to meet the king. “But who did you ask?” Ragnar was familiar with the power of a seer, and he wanted to know what the gods had revealed. “What did he say?”

The king eyed him warily, but felt safe with his guards. Besides, he had nothing to lose. “She said, ‘A great king will fall in Paris and the people would long for his return'”

“Did she mean you, lord king?”

His eyes flared and he turned to face Ragnar as he roared, “You are done insulting me at my own table, in my own hall”

At these words, his guards took Ragnar’s men, his own sword he drew and placed at Ragnar’s neck. He had every right to draw it across his throat, but he thought of the wars after the story was told. The king, in his great hall, murdered an earl who came on a single boat because the mighty king felt threatened. A pitiful story indeed.

“Take them away”

Some of the men resisted, but most followed Ragnar’s lead, letting the men lead them towards their prisoner hold.

------

Ragnar felt her before he opened his eyes. Her presence was like a mist, making his arm hairs stand on edge. She had been humming a haunting melody as she lay in front of Ragnar, tracing patterns in the dirt. He watched her, taking her in, her hair in long twists, the tattoos on her arms. The white she was wearing seemed to glow against her skin from the moonlight. He was afraid to blink.

He didn’t move as she continued to draw, still afraid she would run like a startled rabbit. She finished her song, then looked at him, her smile more beautiful than he could have imagined.

Her voice was just as melodic as her humming had been. “I will get you to Paris,” she told him, resting her head gracefully on her arms.

He couldn’t help but smile back at her. All of it was surreal. He wasn’t even sure if he was awake. “You can’t even get me out of this prison,” he said, turning on his back. She rose on her arms again leaning closer to him, lightly tracing the same patterns in his arm.

“I can,” she said simply. She rose and went to the door, casting a soft smile at Ragnar as she opened it. He stood clumsily to follow her to find the guards outside the gates fast asleep. At least he believed they were asleep. He did not know if they were breathing.  “Are you coming?”

He looked around to his other men, finding some of them awake as well, watching Ragnar and the angel. She held her finger to her lips and beckoned, a smile on her face. He was still unsure if this was a dream, and looked to the guards again to see if he could see signs of life or death. Ragnar looked to Floki, who nodded, and the men followed the woman into the night.

He barely heard her steps as she danced ahead of them towards the forest. Ragnar did not know if this was a trap, but he reasoned that the king had no reason to set such elaborate plots.

As the men hunkered in the forest, he looked towards the docks to see if they remained guarded. Their weapons were on the boat, and it would be difficult to get to it without them.

He moved to signal two of his men to follow him, but her hand stopped his. Her touch was cool, sending shocks up his arms. His eyes met hers and for the first time he saw fear.

“We must go by land,” she said sternly.

“But that will take days,” one of Ragnar’s men said. “Send me, lord, we can take them and be on our way before they know we are gone”

He believed him, but he saw the look in the woman’s eyes. He didn’t know if he could trust them, but she had gotten him this far.

“We walk,” he said, his eyes on her. So they did.

They hiked as far as she could before her legs gave out. They decided to camp there, not wanting to set a fire from fear the king would spot them. They would go to the nearest earldom and ask for boats, hoping that they arrived before the king’s messenger.

The men watched the woman sleep, the peaceful look making her seem even more ethereal. It wasn’t long before the men who weren’t on watch joined her.

Ragnar again felt pulled from his sleep by her presence. But she wasn’t there. He sat up, looking around until he saw the fire. He walked towards it, carefully stepping as he investigated who had disobeyed his orders.

He found her dancing around the fire, the sparks bursting in the air in time with her movements. The men who were supposed to be on watch were instead watching her as she seemed to cast the sparks into the air, sending them on their way to join the stars.

Her dance grew in intensity, and he found himself in a trance, moving closer until he stood in the edge of the firelight. The dance brought her to the ground where she stayed, breathing heavily. The trance faded and the men noticed Ragnar who still had his gaze fixed on her. The men stood, muttering apologies as they left to continue their watch, casting backwards glances.

He would deal with them later. For now, his focus was on the woman who lay lithely before him, her skin glowing in the firelight. She had disobeyed him and put them all in danger. He was preparing to tell her that when she spoke first.

“Come to me Ragnar, I need you,” she called.

He went to her without hesitation and joined her on the ground.

“You disobeyed my orders” he said to her, matter-of-factly.

“We have nothing to fear,” she replied in kind.

“How do you know?” he asked her with such intensity that he saw her laissez-faire attitude falter.

“What difference does it make?”

“How can I trust you?” She paused at this because she did not have an answer. So she gave him the best she could.

“You have to.”

“Have to?” Ragnar said softly, his rage boiling slowly. “You put a death sentence on my head, on the heads of my men, and you set a beacon for your beloved king to find you, and you tell me I have to trust you?”

She had sat up at this point, her knees drawn to her chest as she closed in on herself. Ragnar felt the strings of his heart pull but he cannot afford to be a fool.

He rose, so that he towered over her. “Tell me what you know”

She looked up at him, “Don’t you see, Earl Ragnar? I only know what the gods show me.”

“You are a seer?” She nodded. “But you are his seer?” She looked at him, and he saw the tears begin to form in her eyes. She looked away from him and into the fire which had begun to fade along with her spirit.

Ragnar lowered next to her. Her shoulders began to shake and he knew she was crying. He placed a hand on her shoulder and the other he used to wipe her tears. She still would not meet his eyes.

He found himself pulling her more closely, her usual coolness replaced by the warmth from the fire. He was drawn to her, but she was for the king. So he asked out loud the one question that echoed in his mind. “How can I trust you when you are his?”

The fire blazed behind her as she glared at him, her skin almost hot to the touch. “I have saved your life, Earl Ragnar. He wanted you dead.” She burned under his touch, but he did not let go. She looked away again. “The king is a terrible man. He will soon die.” She looked at Ragnar again. “The gods have plans for you, my lord”

Ragnar could not be sure she was telling the truth, but he saw in her eyes no trace of a lie. She saw in his all of the greatness the gods had foretold, and she knew the gods were right to make this Earl their king.

“I will get you to Paris,” she said softly, and as his lips met hers under the night’s fading stars, the fire flickered and died.

#ragnar fanfiction #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction

[deathonyourtongue]

Willow Run | Ch. 4

Summary: On a horse ranch in Texas, life is far simpler than on the streets of Bakubah, but Syverson has a bad habit of taking in strays of all kinds, no matter what demons may be after them. Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: Death. Yeah, I said it.  A/N: You guys are the absolute best! I apologize in advance for what I’m about to do (my body count is WAY too high at this point, but a niche is a niche I guess, right?) CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 |

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If pain and suffering were library books, Syverson was way past due. 

Despite all the extra work he’d put in, Sy slept fitfully. Sasha's presence had more than once awoken memories of his past and now, without his consciousness to act as a filter, his mind was having a field day as it dragged him down memory lane. He tossed, turned, murmured and finally cried out in sheer terror as the most horrific image of his life came back in full, breath-taking force.

Syverson sat bolt upright as the moment played out, his body covered head to toe in sweat, eyes wide and wild as he reached for a gun that hadn't been there in years; not since the incident with the window.

He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't block out the image, and even though he looked awake, Sy was still very much caught in the grips of his nightmare; the tears streaming silently down his face and his mouth locked open in a hoarse scream were proof enough.

Though Sasha had taken a bit to get comfortable in a new bed, she’d fallen asleep without much issue once she settled. After only about two hours’ worth of sleep, Sy’s scream jolted her awake, startling her badly until her mind was able to make sense of what was happening. Wearing only the t-shirt she’d grabbed from his laundry and not bothering to put on the shorts, Sasha dashed across the hall, opening the door to find Syverson awake, but not at all present.

She’d never seen a man look so terrified in all her life, and while most would find it emasculating to be so scared, Sasha knew better. This was no ordinary fear; this was a haunting, one that had probably been with him for years. Her heart broke for him as she approached slowly, seeing the tears pouring from his blue eyes. 

“Sy, sweetheart. Can you hear me? You’re having a nightmare, babe. Wake up.” 

Being careful about where she stood, Sasha slowly reached out and smoothed a hand over Sy’s curls, willing that her touch would bring him back to reality. 

Her voice and touch, so calm and soft in the midst of all the violence and screaming in his mind, snapped Syverson out of his nightmare and he took a gasping breath, looking and seeing her as if for the first time. Shaking his head to clear it, Syverson quickly wiped his eyes and tried for a smile to assure her he was okay.

"Hey, sorry. Did I wake you? I'm really sorry," he whispered, sniffling as he opened his bedside drawer and grabbed the black leg brace he hadn’t needed in a few weeks. Syverson's hands shook violently as he strapped the appliance around his leg, everything in his posture screaming of fear. He needed his pills, but they were down the hall and that meant attempting to walk. Syverson felt like kicking himself for being so stupid; the first time he had company in ages and he forgot to prepare the most basic of necessities in order to keep the night quiet for them.

"You should go back to bed, mama. Get some rest. I'll be fine, just need to grab a glass of water, then I'm back to sleep," he added, his eyes pleading with her to accept the bold-faced lie; it was the only area of his life that Syverson ever hid from anyone and he was certain he'd be able to hide it from her as well.

Sasha didn’t wait for Sy to continue telling his version of the truth and instead grabbed his water glass and made her way to the upstairs bathroom, filling it up with ice-cold water straight from the tap. Despite feeling like she was overstepping her bounds, she searched through the medicine cabinet until she found a prescription bottle with a valid date and Sy’s name on it. Relieved that it was Tramadol and not something stronger, Sasha returned and handed both over to Sy, her eyes holding the same sadness his had earlier in the day. 

“You need anything else?” She asked, cupping his face with her hand and  trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. Sasha felt like a chump for opening up to him about her past when it was clear he was unwilling to do the same and felt the need to hide so bad that he would lie about it just to pretend all was okay. 

Her hand on his face caused a hitch in his breath, Syverson nearly losing his composure once again at the gentility of her touch. He fought tooth and nail not to lean into it, rest his head on her palm and just let go as she had earlier; he was a man, and a soldier to boot. Soldiers weren't supposed to cry and they certainly weren't supposed to talk about how they felt or what they'd seen and done in far away countries.

Sitting there with Sasha, Syverson felt like letting it all spill out, laying his soul bare, and facing the consequences head on. His brain got the best of him however, and he kept mum. No use in terrifying the poor girl; she'd done nothing to deserve hearing about the atrocities he'd witnessed and done overseas.

"N-no, you just go on back to bed. No use in stayin' awake on my account," he murmured, the words sounding almost like a mantra; in fact, he had said them on more than one occasion to his own family. They'd all just looked at him with sad eyes, shaken their heads, and left the room. Syverson wasn't sure, but it didn't seem like Sasha would be so easy to shoo off.

His further distancing only opened the fresh wound in Sasha’s heart a little further, making her feel miniscule and stupid for being as candid as she had. It was an age-old double standard, one she’d thought would bypass her interactions with Sy, given how open he’d been all day. Whatever it was that plagued him, the walls he’d built to protect himself were high and steadfast. Sighing, she stood, raking a hand through her hair as she met his gaze.

“If we’re going to pretend that this never happened, that you don’t look like you’ve seen a ghost, then fine. But don’t expect me to open up about anything else in my life, if you’re unwilling to do the same. I’m not a little girl, Sy. I can handle whatever it is you seem so keen to hide away from the world.” 

Turning on her heel, Sasha gripped her stomach, ignoring her baby’s kicking as she began to make her way back to bed, wishing Sy wasn’t so stubborn.

It was the same old song over again and frankly, Syverson was tired of being the one to press play. His face crumpled and he let out a sob without being able to hold it back. When he spoke, his voice came out tinny and weak, but the desperation in it was as clear as the word was simple.

"Sasha!"

Syverson hoped it was enough, hoped she'd turn back and let him apologize, let him give in a little and let go the way she had. It wasn't easy for him to relinquish the control he usually kept so tightly bound on the subject, but he'd seen how his pushing had hurt her and Syverson didn't want to be the reason she walked out the door in the morning, never to come back.

She’d never heard her name called with such need, such distress before, and it stopped Sasha in her tracks. Born with a touch of a stubborn streak herself, Sasha had only planned on standing in the doorway to hear him out, but one look at Syverson’s tear-strewn face, the pleading in his eyes, and she moved as though being pulled by a magnet, sitting at his side in a matter of moments, all thought of being bull-headed forgotten. 

Syverson's tears subsided as Sasha sat down, his eyes red-rimmed and still filled with fear as he took her hand and held it in both of his.

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to havin' people around, especially for this crap. It's not somethin' I like talkin' about and people don't like hearin' it, so I was tryin' to spare ya. Didn't mean to push you away, sweetheart," he sniffled, his thumbs rubbing circles over her knuckles before he kissed them gently.

“Were you dreaming about whatever happened that sent you to the VA? I saw the album downstairs,” Sasha confessed, her free hand stroking through his curls, her face dipping to catch his gaze as Sy lowered his head, shaking it.

“Nah, that was just an IED that I had the misfortune of drivin’ over. It’s why I still have a prescription and a rod in my leg,” he answered, Sy clearing his throat before shaking his head once more, clearing the persistent whispers from his mind that told him to shut up and not talk about it any further.

“My nightmares are only ever about one thing. One little girl, actually. Her name was Zakiya. She was the sweetest lil’ thing. Big bright eyes, so expressive, she just put a smile on yer face immediately.” 

Sitting back against his headboard, Sy held Sasha’s hand a little firmer, his own trembling, although whether from pain or anguish, Sasha couldn’t be sure. 

“We used to drive through her village every time we left the wire. Back then, we always carried candy bars and extra MREs with us, mostly for the kids, but for people in need too. She’d come running every time she saw us comin’ through, like we were the ice cream man or somethin’. Anyhow, she took a shine to me. Would always ask for me to hold her, ‘cause I was taller than anyone in the village and she liked seeing out over the horizon.” 

Sy blew out a breath, his body beginning to rock back and forth as tears shimmered in his eyes once more. Sasha’s concern grew, her other hand covering the one already gripped in her palm. 

“We didn’t speak a lick ‘a each other's languages, but we somehow made it work. She always had a smile and a big ol’ hug for my neck. She wouldn’t let go until it was time for us to move along and even then, she stayed behind wavin’ like it was her favorite thing to do. She couldn’t ‘a been more than five or six.

“One day, we get there and she’s not there, waitin’. Instead, she’s in her father’s arms. He was a village elder ‘a some sort, and for whatever reason, had got it in his head that his wife and Zakiya had both dishonored him by being nice to us. Just for being nice, friendly...normal. By the time we got there, he’d already killed his wife...But he was waitin’ for us to show up before he killed Zakiya.” 

Sasha’s own heart clenched, knowing what was coming would be horror on a level she never hoped to experience first-hand, her sympathy and respect for Syverson going up exponentially as she steeled herself for the end of his worst nightmare. 

Sy kept his eyes on the mattress, his free hand picking at a loose thread in the bedding, terrified that after he told her everything, Sasha would never see him as the same man again. 

“I got on my knees for that man. Took off my helmet, my plates, everything. Told him to take me instead of her. I begged like the world was endin’ and I needed one more day. Our poor interpreter could barely keep up with me, I was talkin’ so fast.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Syverson let out a noise akin to a dying animal, folding himself in half for a moment before taking several rattling, deep breaths. 

“You know that famous shot of Jackie trying to catch Kennedy’s brain? He dropped her like a fuckin’ sack ‘a potatoes after he blew her head open, and all I could do was h-hold-” 

As a longing wail loosed itself from his lungs, Sy felt himself wrapped up in the fiercest hug he’d ever received. Sasha cupped the back of his head as her own tears slipped down her cheeks, unable to fathom how Sy had managed to go about his life with that sort of weight in his heart; she’d known men who’d taken their own lives for less.

“I’m so sorry, Sy,” Sasha whispered into his curls, her heart breaking at the way Syverson clung to her as though he were drowning. In a way, he was, Sasha wishing there was more she could do to help ease his suffering, though she wasn’t sure if anyone had ever even gotten this far with him before. 

“What happened to the elder?” She asked as she heard his breathing calm some. 

“I emptied a mag into his face.” Sy said resolutely, Sasha hearing no remorse in his voice, though she couldn’t blame him, given the circumstances. 

“No one in the village ever complained, not even his older kids. Think they were all afraid of him. We did them a favor. You don’t kill kids. Especially babies. You give ‘em kindness, compassion, love. That’s it. End of story. You hurt a child, you murder a child in cold blood like that? I put you in the ground, plain and simple.”

She held onto him, stroking his broad back, carding her fingers through his hair, letting him take the pain he’d held onto for so long and finally let some of it go. Though she knew he’d never truly recover from that day, Sasha hoped that finally talking about it to someone who wouldn’t judge or pity him, would make a small difference. 

His breathing slowed and Sasha gave him another squeeze, realizing something she hoped would help ease his pain further.

“For what it’s worth, Sy? If nothing else, you brightened that little girl’s day each time you saw her. You gave her a smile just like she gave you one. You were with her at the end and that’s what counts. She didn’t die alone. In a perfect world, she wouldn’t have died at all, but in the horror that was her final moments, she knew you were there. She knew.”

#henry cavill #captain syverson #syverson x ofc #captain syverson fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #willow run

[curiousconch]

Rose-colored Glass 

Chapter 11 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU)

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: As winter began its rein in Boston, Heather finds a way to cope with her trauma, discovering the truth while remembering her past. 

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Heather Song)

Words: 1.8k+ | Genre: Crime, Suspense/Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / emotional trauma, death

Author's Notes: This week has been hard for me, and writing this chapter was unimaginably difficult because of it. Thankfully, like Heather, I found a way to cope, and people to help me get through with it. So instead of moping around, I finished this, inspired by the hauntingly beautiful classic song La Vie En Rose (I listened to this particular version on repeat). So, this is for you Nina, rest well in heaven. 

Thank you so much for taking time to read this series. Please let me know if you want me to include/remove you in the tags list. Also, disclaimer: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song. I also do not claim ownership over the lyrics of La Vie en Rose embedded in this chapter.

Heather's discharge went smoothly, contrary to the time she spent in recovery. Her friends needed to stay behind to complete their shifts, and although Kyra offered to take her home, she refused. She needed to do something first. Heather did agree to let her bring her things back to the apartment, with one exception.

 Her slimmed fingers tightly gripped on the straps of the small bag she was carrying. The sunglasses she brought along tucked on the collar of her salmon sweater, not needing it anymore due to the cluster of clouds that blocked out the sun. Although it was almost noon, the chilly weather provided some semblance of shade as the heels of her boots thumped softly against the soft white snow-covered ground. 

Her gray coat was sprinkled small flakes of snow, as she navigated herself easily amongst the unmarked path, that if a spectator observed, they would readily know that she visited this place often. 

Heather's steps halted as she neared a willow tree, standing in front of a moss-colored headstone, aged by the almost seven years of Boston rain. 

Despite the gloom of her surroundings, Heather's lips curled into a smile, as she kneeled down to gently place the bouquet of pink roses she bought along the way. 

"Hi mom," she said, as the tips of her fingers skimmed the name carved in stone. "I'm sorry it took me so long to visit again. Things have been a little rough." 

She went still for a moment, relishing the poignant silence in remembrance. 

More than her ambition of being trained by America's top diagnostician, this was the reason why she chose Edenbrook. To be near her, to be in her mother's home city, it somehow filled the emptiness of missing her so much. To walk on the same pavements, to spend time in the same parks and places she's been to brought Heather nothing but the strength and determination to make something out of her once miserable life. Whenever she doubted herself, or when she was about to give up, the thought of her mom fighting a sickness no one should endure, gave Heather the much needed relief and energy to get back up again. 

And that's the reason she stood there that cold winter morning. She needed her mom to come through her once again. 

Heather closed her eyes momentarily, letting the rush of the nauseating trauma of the past few weeks resurface. Her whole being has run out dry, weakening her knees. She just felt so numb inside. 

So without inhibitions, she recalled the recent events that turned her life upside down. She told about the threats over her life, and how close she was to her own death. She spoke about Raf and their recent fallout, how heartbreaking it was but relieving at the same time. She brought up Bryce last. 

"This man, mom... I can't even begin to explain how I feel about him," Heather said as she rubbed a hand over her temple. "There's something about him that I just couldn't describe. It's been there since I've first met him, and it's still here until now..." 

Her head dropped low in between her shoulders, as she remembered with fondness the emotions that Bryce stirred within her the first time they met, leading up to their frustrating confrontation. Heather irked as the thought of her failure came. 

"But somehow, I messed it up. I picked someone else, because I was too afraid..." she revealed. She knew what she felt around him, but did her best to bury it. "Although I often wondered of what we could be, or what we could have been, the deep-seated fears of heartbreak, of what you and dad went through... I just couldn't act on it." she admitted. 

"Yet when I was faced with the choice between life or death, all I had was his words, no one else's," she paused, recalling how she soldiered on towards her own escape, empowered by the same declaration during their day out in the trampolines. 

"But now I'm afraid I'm too late, mom. I may have missed out on something great... Your daughter is a coward," she bit her lip, her eyes glistening. "Am I really too late?" 

The question felt like a cliffhanger, never to be answered. 

Sighing deeply, she collected her remaining energy to unzip the small bag she brought with her. She wrapped her hands around the neck of the instrument, pulling out a mahogany-stained ukelele. It was the last gift that she received from her mom, the very same she used to play her songs during their rare downtime.

She tucked its body between her arm and chest, as she tightened its strings with the tuners. With one satisfied strum, she began to sing the song that she and her mom always sang during the roughest period of their lives. 

Hold me close and hold me fast

The magic spell you cast

This is la vie en rose

When you kiss me heaven sighs, 

And though I close my eyes 

I see la vie en rose

In a rush, those simple words tingled her sensations in reminiscence from flashes of her adolescence - the late night talks, the bonding over ramen noodles, her alcoholic initiation by soju, those times that they saw a movie together, the smell of pancakes and eggs in the morning. 

In the few short years they were given, Heather treasured each memory more than anything in her life. Even the tragedy of watching her mom deteriorate because of her sickness, of those last months spent in a cramped hospital ward, she wouldn't trade it even for a pot of gold. Though in pain, her mother would whisper promises that she'll always be there for her, no matter what. Until her last breath, she held her daughter's hand. Those were priceless, shared souvenirs of a life well-lived. Of a life Heather hoped she could lead. 

When you press me to your heart

I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom

And when you speak, angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La vie en rose

Within those short verses contained the life lesson her mom taught her over and over again - to see life through rose colored glasses. Singing it reminded her that even if she was long gone, the memory of her will be embedded within, whispering that no matter what, there's a reason to continue living. 

Smiling through her tears, her head tilted up to the heavens, praying that the divine could carry her thanks to her mom. For once again, in the most difficult time of her life, she did follow through. 

As a sense of peace weaved itself through her, she opened her eyes and felt the clouds dissipate. With it were the frayed edges of the shadows of fear, regret and anger. And although she knew that it will still haunt her, she was content that healing has at least begun. 

After a few more moments of silence, she placed the ukelele back into the bag and glanced endearingly upon the headstone. She skimmed her fingers over her mother's name, vowing to come back soon. 

She swiveled herself to the opposite direction and began the path back to the cemetery gates, when her hazel orbs fell upon a pair of familiar leather shoes and gray slacks, making her stop in her tracks.

When she titled her head to see the face she expected to see, a pair of amber eyes met hers that made her breath hitch. They were filled with warmth and affection that heated the cold air and melted her inside.

"You're not too late," Bryce finally said, breaking into the quiet. His mouth formed a lopsided smile, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black coat which edges reached to his knees. 

"Seems like it," Heather replied, snapping out of the daze that suddenly came over her, lips curving. "Wait, you heard everything?" 

Bryce couldn't stifle a chuckle as he nodded, the adrenaline that rushed through him earlier as he tried to track her down slowly draining from him. A new and overwhelming feeling took its place as he planted the soles of his shoes on the soft snow, bridging the gap between them. 

Once he was near enough, he gently wrapped an arm around Heather's waist, pulling her close. The knuckles of his other hand brushed her jawline until his thumb grazed her chin. His gaze lingered down on hers, completely magnetized by the depths of the windows of her soul, begging for her consent. 

Heather's palms settled onto the nape of his neck, her lips parting to grant him permission. 

In a heartbeat, Bryce tenderly pressed his lips upon hers, releasing the long-running yearning they buried so well. Unspoken words no longer need to be said aloud, clarity dawning in them both as their mouths crashed. Soft moans escaped from them as they deepened their passionate kiss, unrestrained in expressing their newfound freedom. 

When at last they stopped to catch their breaths, Bryce leaned his forehead on hers, understanding that his unrequited love was never unanswered, only delayed. That after a year of pining, here she was, standing in front of him, a realization of a dream that for so many times he willed to come true. After all the nights of hoping and hurting, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the sight of her in his arms. A thought poked into his mind as he started to recall where they were. 

"Well this is awkward..." the young lawyer muttered,  with a sudden shift in his voice. 

"Hm?" Heather's eyes snapped open, dumbfounded. 

"I know I always wanted to kiss you," he grinned as he paused, before continuing, "but never in a million years did I think that the first time I did is in front of your mom."

At first her brows furrowed, but seeing Bryce's mischievous expression, Heather couldn't keep herself from laughing. 

Inspired by the music of her genuine laughter, Bryce joined in. The sound of their giggles echoing through the poignant space around them. 

Heather can't remember the last time when she laughed this hard. There were so many things that hung over her head that she almost forgot how to do it. But with Bryce, it came so easily. A sense of joy began to bloom in her, and when she saw the same glint in his eyes, she knew he felt exactly the same. 

With their fingers intertwined and arms around each other's, they walked the path that only earlier they trudged separately. And now with their hearts finally out in the open, their tracks carved into the thin sheet of snow, unveiling the lush greens of the grass hidden beneath, eager to leaving what's behind, together.

Tags: @eleanorbloom @ramsey-lahela @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #bryce lahela #open heart 2 #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #bryce lahela x mc #fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #bryce x mc

[wall-maria-fritz]

The Wingman (Erwin Smith x Marie)

Chapter 3: The Library

Reposting this because I am officially overhauling my @levi-lives blog, in lieu of this one because SOMEONE Tumblr won't let my posts show up from there anymore! grrrr.

@levi-lives blog is still up tho, if you would like still see my original posts

The Wingman: MASTERLIST

Summary: Before Erwin Smith and Nile Dawk became respected commanders of the Scouting Legion and the Military Police, they were good friends during their cadet days at the 92nd Cadet Corps. They, along with Mike Zacharias, were young, full of vigor, on the rise to greatness, and had a taste for women and booze.

And they all planned to join the coveted ranks of the Military Police.

But when Nile asked Erwin to write his love letters for a woman named Marie, Erwin starts thinking that maybe even a man like him could dream of falling in love.

Nile once scoffed at Erwin at how he could trade Marie for a life of Titans and death. And this is why.

A/N: I wrote this while listening to Tout ou rien by Marie-Flore! You can go ahead and search for its English translation you guys, it’s such a lovely song!

Chapter 3: The Library

Marie couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t understand how her heart was both thundering and constricting in her chest as she walked away from the dark haired man.

It wasn’t that Marie wanted to be harsh, but she simply wasn’t in the right disposition to be dealing with unwanted flirtations right now.

Not when all she could think about was what in the world would Erwin Smith of all people, be doing in a bar she happened to be working at?!’

She hasn’t seen those blue eyes for the better part of three years, and honestly, Marie has managed to forget about them. Those blue eyes once haunted her as a freshman, while in the middle of burning the midnight oil.

The embodiment of everything she didn’t have, perhaps couldn’t have, but wanted.

And now seeing them again. And here of all places! It had Marie reeling for the back of the bar.

She needed to compose herself.

The cool water Marie drank was a welcome and soothing sensation. She took a moment to calm down, and reassured herself that this was just a one time thing. Erwin Smith, for all his misperceived squareness, has always enjoyed the company of women. The man was probably just bar hopping and ultimately found what he’s been looking for— Elena.

After tonight, he’d be gone to look for other bars, to look for other girls. Perhaps even go back to Wall Rose where he belongs. And Erwin would forget he ever saw her waiting around some dingy, low-lit bar in Wall Maria.

Marie sighed.

But the fact remains that disappointment twinged at her heart. Once again berating herself for being so easily swept away, Marie tightens her apron and to get back to work. Ignoring the way those deep blue eyes suddenly transported Marie back to an old campus library at the College of Wall Rose.

-Three Years Ago, College of Wall Rose Library-

Marie had just started her first week of Advanced Philosophy and she knew that the class wouldn’t be easy, despite her having qualified for it. So now here she was, scouring the shelves for a few old textbooks which she thought might help her weather through.

If there was anything she loved most about her new college, it certainly was it’s rich library, with it’s vast collection of tomes, as well as it’s soothing old book smell.

“Professor Holmes’ class?”

Marie jumped at the sudden interruption of a deep baritone amidst the quiet. She looked up to find the most mesmerizing blue eyes she’s ever seen, staring down at her.

Almost… assessing her.

Erwin Smith gestures at the handful of books she had stacked up in her arms. “I noticed you’re trying to read up on Grecian Philosophy.”

Marie blushed when she realized that she must have been staring at the man for far too long.

“O-oh, yeah!” Marie gave a small laugh to shake off the nerves. “I wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t be left behind despite being technically ‘qualified’ for the class.” Erwin gave an amused smile when Marie put up two quirky little air quotes.

“So it’s true.” Erwin says, tilting his head, the light glinting against his deep blue eyes. “You are one smart cookie.”

Erwin was half expecting the usual flustered response once a girl realizes that he’s taken interest in her. But something in Marie’s hazel eyes sparked.

“I’m one exceptionally smart cookie, so watch out, sir.”

Erwin raised a thick eyebrow, his handsomely chiseled face breaking into an impressed smile. This girl’s certainly got his interest piqued now.

“I have no doubt about that, miss…?”

Now it was Marie’s turn to raise a sculpted eyebrow at him, shifting the weight of her books to rest on one hip. Posture held high, she held a slender hand out.

“Marie. Marie Bonnard.”

The blond man took her hand in his large calloused one, noting how soft it felt in his firm grip. Marie felt her cheeks bloom hotly at the contact.

“Erwin. Erwin Smith.”

Oh but Marie knew exactly who he was. There wasn’t a single girl on campus who didn’t know who Erwin Smith was— highly intelligent, easily commanded respect, and devilishly handsome. And as much as Marie hated to be another one of the many girls who fawned over this magnetic force of a man, she had to admit that even she is having trouble resisting his charms.

“Nice to meet you, Erwin.” Marie wanted to kick herself with how utterly soft that sounded.

Erwin smirked, “Likewise, Marie.”

Their hands lingered in each other’s hold for far longer than they should have.

“Where are my manners, let me get those for you.” Erwin’s smooth baritone breaks the spell and easily moves to get the heavy books off of Marie’s arms, when suddenly Marie gets a whiff of Erwin’s scent.

Sandalwood, aftershave and…

Erwin.

It nearly made her head spin. If it weren’t for the man motioning to a thick volume three shelves above her head, the poor girl probably would have been in a daze already.

“You won’t need these. Holmes likes to use a single resource for his lectures. Makes things easier for us and for him.”

Erwin turned to deposit the hefty books down a book bin for re-shelving. When he faced back to the ginger girl, Erwin was treated to the adorable sight of Marie up on her tiptoes, trying to reach the thick volume he just pointed at earlier.

He pursed his lips at the way her lithe body stretched and displayed her curves.

Marie heard a deep chuckle before a large hand reached from behind her to grab the book. She swiveled around, her red curls swaying along with her movement, and was met by the hulking form of Erwin Smith— so much nearer now— bent over her.

Deep blue eyes boring into her.

Drowning her.

Marie was once again engulfed by the scent of Sandalwood, aftershave and…

“Erwin!”

The pair looked to the voice, and found a woman with a distinctly annoyed look in her eyes. Well, the look was mostly directed at Marie, who was still pressed up against a shelf beneath Erwin’s large body.

“Let’s go, Babe!”

Her outburst was followed by a few distinct shushes which just agitated her more.

The woman was a bombshell. With luscious dark hair, and an even more luscious body. Marie recognized her as one of the sorority girls her dorm mate hung out with.

Erwin straightens up, and turns to the dark haired woman, and gracefully holds a finger to his lips. The action let Marie appreciate a fine view of his chiseled jawline.

The woman just pouted.

Erwin faces back to Marie, his handsome face returning to it’s usual polite smile. All the intensity in his blue eyes from moments ago have melted away.

“Well that’s my cue. Here.”

Their hands brush once more as Erwin hands Marie the book he held. Marie glanced down at the book.

“Thank you, Erwin.”

Erwin decides right then that he quite liked hearing his name on her lips.

“I’ll see you in class, Marie.”

And Marie watches him walk away.

——————————

Marie knew she should walk away.

But she was frozen.

She had managed to keep her composure as she actively avoided Erwin and Nile’s table, with the former’s calculating gaze and the latter’s lingering glances.

She threw herself so much into the night’s work, that she didn’t realize that the men had left. Marie never saw where they went off to, but she now certainly knew where Erwin would be staying for the night.

Marie was fixing up for the night when she found Erwin Smith pressing a very wanton Elena up against a wall.

Erwin’s large bulk had every intention of smothering the petite woman, as he languidly pushed his narrow hips against hers. One large hand had a firm grip on her ass, the other in the disheveled mess of her midnight hair. Elena was helpless as the blonde man’s lips throughly ravished her ruby red ones.

Marie gasped at the sight, dropping her dishrag.

Elena lightly pushed at Erwin’s chest when she realized they had company. The pair looks at her, still frozen on the spot.

Erwin’s pupils were blown wide in lust, but his gaze was cool and unforthcoming.

“Marie,” Elena purred breathlessly, delighted at the shocked look on the ginger’s face. She sensually trailed her hands up Erwin’s muscular arms, until they rested upon the thick column of his neck. “Please book a room for Mr. Smith and I upstairs.”

Marie swallowed a lump she didn’t know formed in her throat.

“I’ll log it down.”

Marie finally turned to walk away. Her heart pounding in her chest.

Angry. That’s what this feeling was.

She furiously swiped away a stray tear, reminding herself.

Erwin always loved brunettes.

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for reading! All your feedback is very much appreciated, and honestly motivates me to write more for y’all! Chapter 4 is already halfway done so hopefully the next chapter won’t be such a long wait!

And yeah, I did used to have a Professor with the last name Holmes before, but he taught us Research! He was hot tbh asdfghjsk

As always, please do stay safe and healthy and WASH YOUR HANDS!

#erwin smith #erwin smith x marie #erwin smith x marie dok #marie dok #marie #nile dok #nile dawk #nile dawk x marie dawk #nile dok x marie dok #mike Zacharias #the wingman #the wingman chapter 3 #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #commander erwin smith #erwin smith x marie x nile dawk #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x oc #erwin smith x you #erwin smith x y/n

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

addiction, m | myg ending

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of past hoseok x reader

summary: Min Yoongi saves a life and then has sex. Is it the best choice? No. Does he do it anyway? Yeah.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts, mentions of past cheating, smut (oral, m and f receiving)

--

Fuck it.

He had to do something. Yoongi stood up, grabbing his phone. His white t-shirt got caught in the chair and he stumbled, cursing at himself. He was a mess already and nothing had happened yet. He grabbed his black sweatpants and yanked them on, opening his door with purpose. Being in limbo wasn’t going to help him, so it was time to take the situation in his own hands. He strode to her door, heart pounding in his chest.

Get a grip, he scolded himself.

He tapped his knuckle against her door, saying her name loudly. Startled by his own volume, he lowered his voice, chewing on his lower lip as he spoke.

“Hey, I want to show you my mixtape. If that’s okay with you,” he finished awkwardly, wincing. He should have thought about what to say. There was a long silence. He pressed his lips together. He was losing his nerve. Each second felt like an eternity.

And then he heard the rustle of fabric. He could sense a form on the other side of the door. For some reason, he lifted his hand and touched the wood, knowing it was the only thing separating them now.

“The song… the song we worked on. I really want you to hear it.” Please.

He heard the lock turn and the door opened. The eyes that looked at him, he would remember for the rest of his life. Bloodshot, giant black pools that threatened to swallow him alive and a sadness he knew all too well. Her hands were stuffed into the sleeves of her huge grey sweatshirt and the matching long shorts made her look even smaller, a tiny thing quivering in her doorframe.

He was tall enough to see past her, into her room. It was a neat room, except for the low table at the foot of her bed. The tabletop was covered in photos that he couldn’t quite see. And in the center was a glass palette.

With ten lines of white powder.

His eyes widened. Panic shot through his veins and he grabbed her collar, inspecting her face, her nose, dragging her into the room. She didn’t even fight him, a dead weight in his hands. Her expression was lifeless, tired.

“How much?” he scowled, “How much did you take? Tell me!”

“I didn’t take any yet,” she replied calmly. Too calmly.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “You’re a drug addict.”

“I am not lying.”

His panic was thinning out into anger and confusion. And then she said it.

“I’m not a drug addict, Yoongi. I’m trying to die.”

He froze.

“W-what?”

He looked down again, at the pictures. They were pictures of two people. She was smiling in those photos, eye bright and reflective with the fullness of life. She looked younger, happier. Her arms wrapped around a young man, who had an equally bright smile, heart-shaped and cheerful.

It was slowly sinking in. He let her go, eyes scanning over the photos. Pictures of them in matching outfits. Pictures holding hands. Pictures of them kissing. He looked back to her and she was staring at the photographs too.

“Aren’t they nice?” She whispered softly. “They’re such nice pictures. He always took good pictures, my sunshine.” She chuckled darkly, an ugly sound. “But photos only highlight of the good times. They don’t show the bad times.” Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. “They don’t show his coke habit. They don’t show me enabling his habit, becoming a runner so he could have easier access. They don’t show me begging and pleading, doing degrading things so he can get another dose.”

Her hands went to head. She gripped her hair, breaking his heart with every word.

“I killed him as much as he killed himself.”

The information hit him like a truck. Speechless, he began to piece things together. The signs were there from the beginning and he didn’t even think about it because he would have never fathomed this in his wildest dreams. Guilt and comprehension hit him all at once. She could have kept the door locked and snorted the cocaine. What if he hadn’t chosen this moment? What if he had waited ten more minutes? She could have overdosed and he wouldn’t have known until days later.

But she had opened the door. She opened the door and let him see.

“What happened?” he murmured quietly.

She threw her hands out of her hair, nails raking down her face and neck. “We had a stupid fight. I told him I would be there to help him detox. We tried,” she wailed, throwing her fists against the wall. “He was shivering and pleading and exhausted. He told me he couldn’t do it. I told him he could if he actually tried and he blew up, telling me I didn’t understand.” Her voice was a panicked ramble as if she was reliving that night. He wasn’t even sure if she remembered he was there anymore. “He kept yelling at me, saying all I had to do was call Seokjin and throw myself at him. I said I was done being Seokjin’s whore just so he could get high. He stormed out, screaming that he would get his own.” She slammed her fists against the wall, screaming into it. The sound chilled Yoongi to the bone. She continued, blind to his presence. “I should have chased after him.” She slid to the floor, knees smacking the hardwood hard. “I should have gone. But I was so tired. I was so tired of it.” Her voice dropped.

“I was tired of him and it haunts me every day.”

He swallowed. It was obvious she had never said this aloud before to anyone.

“Next thing I know, he’s dead because of dirty coke.” She shuddered, arms covering her head. “I handed him a dishonorable death and I didn’t even go to his fucking funeral.”

“Why… not?” he asked softly.

She cackled, a terrible sound. “Why would I go? I never met his family. I was his drug dealer.”

He turned to the pictures. “It looks like you were his girlfriend.”

She finally looked up at him. Her glare was so sharp it could cut steel. “And what if they found out? Mom, Dad, meet my girlfriend who also gives me access to cocaine,” she scoffed.

They stared at each other, but they weren’t looking at each other. She was looking at her own demons, her own past. Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to look into pain in those dark orbs. It took him several minutes before he could speak again.

“You still deal, don’t you?”

Her voice was as distant as her stare. “You don’t get out that easily.”

They stayed like that for a moment. He had to do something. Anything.

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi sat down on her floor. She didn’t turn her head to look at him. Weirdly enough, the moment didn’t feel as alien to him as it should have. Maybe it was because he too had been at this road as well, although at that time he hadn’t quite formed a plan on how to follow though. He didn’t know what he would have done if the resources had been available.

“Do you remember,” he murmured, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice. “Do you remember that time where you gave me advice on what to wear for that concert?” He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “You made fun of my clothes and hair back then.”

Her eyes shifted to him. He continued, voice a little stronger now that he had her attention.

“You also brought me chicken that night and left me a note, wishing me well.” He smiled at the memory, holding her gaze now. “I wanted to tell you back then.” He wanted her to know. “Thank you.”

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t make fun of him. She looked a little taken aback.

He scratched his cheek, pressing his lips together before he spoke again. “I couldn’t tell you then, but back then, I really couldn’t afford to eat sometimes.” Without realizing it, he felt his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. “Remember that time you were making beef and my stomach growled so loud that you laughed?” He chuckled, a small smile on his lips. “It was a great laugh. I’ll remember it always.”

Her shoulders trembled with uncertainty. “Why… why are you telling me this?”

“Because I didn’t then. And I should have.” He looked deep, deep into those eyes. “I should have said something because I am grateful to you.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you did.” He caught her eye again, preventing her from looking at the ground. “You gave me a chance when no one did and I won’t forget it.”

She was silent. He hoped she allowed herself to understand. He was no knight in shining armor; he couldn’t make her mind see what he saw. It wasn’t that simple and he knew that. He also knew that humans had vices. Humans fell into patterns and they believed in them, even if they were senseless to other people. He was guilty of that too.

She was so close and yet so far. No. She was actually getting closer. Leaning towards him, looking into his eyes. Maybe her eyes weren’t so dark after all. They didn’t seem so dark when she was close like this. Her lips were slightly parted, so full and pink. He didn’t move. She stopped, centimeters from his face. She began to pull back and he grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.

It was a terrible idea. He replied before she could say anything.

“I don’t care.”

He closed the distance himself, pressed his lips to hers. You’re a rebound, this isn’t going to cure depression, this doesn’t discount the fact that she’s a fucking drug dealer – he pushed all those thoughts aside because he did not care. Her hand gripped his shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him roughly. He held her arms as she climbed into his lap, igniting him with wild kisses, stealing his breath. She sucked on his tongue, making him moan, letting him go to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. His hands slid down her arms, finding her ass and pressing his fingers into the fabric of her shorts.

“Yoongi…” His name like a prayer falling from her lips.

It was wrong, so wrong, but he wanted it so bad.

Her lips pressed against his earlobe, making him shudder. Her tongue laced around his earring, tugging lightly, making him shiver. If it wasn’t real, he didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t right, he didn’t want to believe it. Her teeth nibbling on his ear, making him moan. Her hands slid up his shirt, fingertips against his chest. Such thin hands but they seemed to feel all of him, setting his skin ablaze.

His fingers hooked the elastic of her shorts and pulled them down, dragging her underwear down with them. She kicked them off herself, getting on her knees, kissing down his neck, sucking the sensitive skin. It hurt a little but he barely registered it, cupping her bare skin with his palms.

He whispered her name pleadingly. She looked up, breathless, locking eyes with him.

“You should stop me,” he panted.

One final warning because he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself anymore. One final moment where they could turn back and maybe not do this.

She cupped his face in her hands, pressing her forehead against his.

“I really don’t want to, Yoongi.”

She kissed him, throwing caution to the wind. He reciprocated, sliding his hand up her back. Her skin was so soft, cool against his heat. He unhooked her bra with one hand, attempting to tug her sweatshirt off. She slid out of it, pushing it aside, leaving her naked over him. He looked over her body, scars dotting her skin as thin white lines. Lithe and strong, holding the weight of her past on her shoulders. He licked his lips, pulling his shirt over his head, letting it drop beside them. He looped an arm around her waist, pressing her against him, shuddering as he felt her nipples press against his chest.

“Who knew you were hiding such amazing breasts under those clothes,” he teased, voice low. Her cheeks flushed red and she gave him an indignant look.

He turned them over, putting her on her back. He kissed down her neck, licking her collarbones slowly, tongue dipping in between them. Down the curve of her breast, tongue leisurely teasing the tip of her nipple. She whimpered, one of her hands in his hair. His free hand traced her side, feeling the fullness of her hips. She tasted so good, better than his dreams, better than he imagined. He sucked, enjoying her soft mewls and cries. He dug his fingernails into her hip, holding her down as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. Her hand tightened in his hair, curling the black locks around her fingers.

He stopped, smirking above her nipple. “Is that why you said I would look better with longer hair?”

Her cheeks and ears reddened. Fuck, she was so cute. She spoke, surprising him.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, voice quivering.

He dragged himself up her body, pressing his clothed hips in between her legs, letting her feel his erection.

“I like it,” he drawled, his lips brushing against hers. “Lose yourself to me.” Let me take care of you, even if it’s only in this moment.

His hand ran down her body, grabbing her hips and shoving them against his, grinning as he felt her wetness smear against the crotch of his pants. She moaned, her back arching, a moment he burned into his mind. He kissed down her chest again, tongue lapping her nipples. Her fingers raced up the back of his neck, tangling themselves in his hair once again. He kissed down her stomach, his lips against her soft skin. He could smell it now, the heavy scent of her sex. He spread her thighs wide, fingers dipping into her flesh. He buried his nose into it, moaning as his lips tasted her, stickiness coating his cheeks and chin. A slow, languid lick of her slit made her cry out his name. He teased her lips apart with his tongue, rubbing the tip against her walls. Like honey, her taste coated his senses. He felt drunk off her taste alone. His tongue expertly traced circles around her clit, not quite touching it, but telling her he was avoiding it deliberately.

“Yoongi…” she whined. Her hand pressed against his head, trying to push him down. “Please.”

He brushed his nose against her clit, lifting his head slightly. She whimpered and he grinned.

“Please what?” he purred. His voice was deep with lust. “I want to hear it.”

He couldn’t help it. He wanted to hear her desire for him in words.

She pouted. “Touch my clit.”

He reached between her legs and pressed a single finger against the sensitive spot. She flinched, making him grin. He rubbed, slowly, slowly.

“Like this?” he teased. Her other hand was clutching in the white t-shirt. His.

She gasped as he increased the pace, not moving too widely, but concentrating the vibrations of his hand on her clit. Her hips twisted but he held them down, watching her come undone in front of him, head thrown back as he rubbed faster. Moaning his name, chasing her orgasm.

“Cum for me,” he breathed against her skin. “Cum all over my hand.”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip, stifling her scream as she came onto his hand, liquid coating his fingers suddenly. He immediately replaced his hand with his mouth, licking furiously. It was so intoxicating that he closed his eyes, moaning into her pussy as he lapped up her juices, pressing his tongue against her clit. Her hips bucked and he held her still, feverishly licking the sensitive nub. She gasped, shoving her hips against his mouth.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck!”

He flicked his tongue against her clit mercilessly, holding her thighs apart firmly so she couldn’t close her legs. Her back arched so high and tight he was afraid she was going to snap.

“Fuuuuck, Yoongi!”

His name punctuated her orgasm, hips shaking as she flooded his mouth. He sucked up her juices greedily, sticking his tongue inside her and feeling her walls clamp around his tongue. Sweat clung to his brow and back but he didn’t care. He lifted his head, a perverse satisfaction coming over him as he watched the string of her juices following his chin before snapping.

She lay against the floor, panting, a little hoarse. He crawled back up to her face and she kissed him without hesitation. If this was sin, he would happily go to hell.

They broke apart, his forehead resting against hers, hands on either side of her.

“Yoongi…”

Please say my name again and again. “Yeah?”

“Let me take care of you too.”

She pushed him, gently, and he obliged, taking her hand as she nudged him to standing position. He saw the table out of the corner of his eye but he looked away. She hooked her fingers along the sides of his pants and pulled them down, freeing his semi-hard erection. He looked down at her. She reached up and circled her fingers around his cock, holding it loosely. He felt it twitch at the attention of someone new.

A small smile. She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against his balls. He shivered at the strange sensation. Normally girls would go straight for the dick. She pressed the flat of her tongue against his balls and licked him all over. His skin erupted in goosebumps, stunned by the pleasure of her tongue wrapping around his balls and taking them in her mouth. He watched in fascination as she looked up at him, balls deep in her mouth and her hand wrapped around his cock.

He breathed her name, amazed.

She bobbed her head up and mouth, slowly stroking him. Saliva dripped down her chin and onto her chest, sliding down her breasts. He could see precum leaking out of the head and she casually spread it around with one finger, making his knees weak. He moaned as she removed her mouth from his balls. She guided him to her mouth, holding him in place as she ran her tongue over the head. He shut his eyes, seeing stars.

“Shit, I’m going to fuck your face at this rate,” he hissed.

He heard her small, “Heh.” And then she engulfed him with her mouth, hot, wet, lips tightening around his cock as she took him in. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. She went deep, so deep the head pressed against the back of her throat. He didn’t know how she had the skill to go so deep and, honestly, he didn’t want to know. She sucked him slowly, but each time she went down, the head of his cock scraped the roof of her mouth, increasing the sensitivity each time. He kept his hands flat against the wall, not wanting to grab her head and ruin her pace. One hand held his cock steady as the other cupped his slippery balls, smearing the saliva all over them.

It was so wet, so hot that he was sure he was going insane.

She sped up, sucking harder. Groans tore from his throat, legs shaking from the intense pleasure. He tried his best to keep his hips still, not wanting to accidentally choke her and cause her to stop.

“F-fuck me,” he moaned, feeling her tongue wrap around the head and her lips tightening around him. He couldn’t think straight anymore. He gasped her name and shot his orgasm into the back of her throat, sensing her hands releasing him suddenly. They gripped his thighs as she swallowed, the sound so audible and obscene that his cock twitched with desire despite being spent.

They stayed like that for a moment, her tongue gently encircling him. His cock left her lips with a soft plop, lips shiny with saliva. He slid to the floor, their clothes a mess around them. His chest heaved with effort. She was breathing hard too, staring at him.

He licked his lips and leaned in, kissing her gently. She clung on to the kiss, inhaling his scent.

When they broke apart, they locked eyes, the obviousness of their inappropriate moment hanging between them. He was a little ashamed, sitting naked in her room, having sex after what was almost a suicide attempt. He was still breathing hard, heart beating fast from anxiety and arousal.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to give her everything and more. He wanted to be the light in her eyes, but that was a foolish thought, a pipe dream, and a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.

Still, he wanted.

But somehow, those eyes didn’t look so dead anymore. Somehow, they were really looking at him, not just through him. She wordlessly scooted towards him and placed her head against him, ear against his chest. He wrapped her arms around her protectively, resting his head on her hair. From this position, he could see the sun tattoo that was underneath her left shoulder blade. Behind her beating heart. It was a simple tattoo, a circle with dashes around it. He traced it with his fingertip absentmindedly. He could guess who it was for.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. Held him like she was never going to let go.

--

masterpost

#bts #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #suga #bts suga #suga x you #suga x reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #suga smut

[whatzaoverwatch]

The Reaper of the Opera Chapter 10: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

This was always such a beautiful scene in both productions. Makes it all the more hectic that I have to write an action sequence.

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Dawn/Graveyard

You couldn’t take another second within the theatre. Just when you had thought all of your troubles were over, the Reaper had taken over your life once more. All you wanted was to just go away and live the rest of your life in peace. Those silly dreams of wanting the spotlight were tainted by his games. Now you were being forced to sing for him again. It wasn’t even him that wanted you to, now Genji and the rest of the crew needed you to draw the spirit out of hiding so they could capture him.

It was the last thing you had wanted to do. Your mind was already weak to resist Reapers call. If you had went through with the plan, who knows if you would ever escape from the dark again. Reapers words were clear, he still believed you belonged to him. Genji could see that as well, so it was understandable that he wanted to take advantage of Reapers desire and turn it against him. He was supposed to protect you from this madness, but you were no further away than you did when this all began. There was only one place that you could clear your mind from all this madness. Everytime you found yourself in sorrow or distress, it was always your sanctuary. Rubbing your eyes from your sleepless exhaustion, you looked towards your destination.

An iron bar gate stood before you, barricading a graveyard on the other side of the fence. Tombstones and statues as far as the eyes could see, waiting for the sunrise to peak against its stone. Fog lingering on the ground below to cover your steps. Cloaked in a black robe, you passed the gates and followed along the trail. Wearing a more suited gown for such a location. Looking at each grave with various names and gifts displayed to honor the dead. Memories and signs of mourning plastered on each stone. Shivering from the cold air, you strode through the dawn until you found what you were looking for.

A black marble gravestone carved with the words “[Fathers Name/Last Name] Beloved husband, caring father. Let your song reach the heavens.”. Below the text was a music measure, with notes from a song you remember from long ago. You felt the peace and melancholy of the display. Kneeling before the grave with a sigh. Pulling out a bouquet of flowers to set upon his grave. Red roses that spoke neither of Reaper or Genjis presence.

“Father, it has been so long. Are you well?” You spoke as if he was right there, knowing that you would not receive a response in return, “I wish I could say the same thing. The reason why I am alone this time is that I am lost.”

Resting your hands on your lap, you tightened your fists to compose yourself. Feeling the tears already building from your eyes. Hanging your head low from the grief you had held onto.

“I am haunted by a spirit, a man who wishes to take me away. But I am struggling to hold onto the light with my fiancé. I don’t know who to turn to anymore,” You quietly sobbed, watching your tears fall onto your dress. Shaking as you tried to compose yourself, “I wish you were here Father. You meant everything to me, it hurts to not hear your music again. I need you here Father. To help guide me like you said you would. To hold me and comfort me like you did long ago.”

Covering your mouth from your weeping, your tears carried into the silent graveyard. Leaving you in your emptiness as you exposed the sadness you had held within. Body shaking from the hiccups and pain in your heart. Trying to relief yourself by the gentle humming of the song engraved on the stone. The lullaby he played to you upon his violin.

Recalling when you rested in your bed, smiling up to him as he played his music. You always asked for an encore, and he always did it for you. To him, you were his little angel of music. As he was to you in return. It wasn’t fair that he had died to his illness. Watching him slowly silence his music forever. No one could play that song as well as he could. He promised that even when he was gone, he would have someone watching over you. Wanting you to continue his song in his place. In your grief, you suddenly heard a gentle whisper from afar.

“Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance…”

Lifting your head, you looked around you to find the source of the voice. Finding no one around, you rose from the ground with caution. Furrowing your brows as you wiped your tears away.

“Who’s there? Is that you Reaper? Or is this someone else?” You called out. Feeling the gentle wind against your face as you heard someone sing your fathers music.

Eyes widening as you could hear the song from one of the mausoleums. Guarded by angel statues to the torch lit tomb within. Its song pulling you closer as you stepped away from your fathers’ grave. Was someone mocking your pain? Or had you truly lost your mind?

“Is this some sort of trick?” You demanded to the music, hearing its song grow louder when you reached the staircase to the mausoleum.

“Have you forgotten about me, my child?” The voice spoke to you, filling your heart with the warmth that your father could once give to you, “Still wandering, still disheartened. I never would’ve left you in such sorrow [Name].”

“Father?” You whispered, stepping up the staircase towards the entrance. Watching the gates open to you ever so slowly. Halting your steps as you felt uncertain about his calls.

“My dear child, you still deny me. I promised you that I would watch over you. Turn away from your doubts, I bring you no harm.” Feeling the longing comfort of his words, your tears returned as you walked up the steps slowly.

“Please, never leave me alone. I need you; I miss you.” You quietly begged through your tears, no longer pulling away from the music. The music slowed ever so gently, leaving just the whispers in your mind.

“I missed you too, my dear. I promise you that and more. Come to me. Come to me my Angel of Music.” Finding yourself at the top of the steps, the gates just before you to slip into. Those last steps were halted by someones shouts.

“[Name], WAIT!” Snapping yourself out of the trance you had found yourself in, you turned behind you to find Genji running to your side, his blade in hand as the other held you from moving. Keeping you from following the voice.

“Genji??” You mumbled, finding him pulling you back from the mausoleum. The song falling silent from your beloveds presence. Standing between you and the gates you were drawn to.

“Stay back! Whatever you may believe, that voice is not your father!” He told you, the protection in his eyes still intact. His back towards the gate to keep his attention on you. Blinking in confusion, you shook your head in disbelief.

“What?” Just as you asked, your eyes looked up to the roof of the tomb.

Perched above was the very mask you had feared to see. Shrouded in his  black cloak and guns in each hand. Looming over the both of you like an owl on the hunt. Your alert stance caught Genjis attention, turning around fast enough to guard himself from Reaper as he leapt down from above. Aiming for a shot, Genji knocked him back with his blade. You hurried away from the two men as they glared each other down. Reaper standing at the top of the steps while Genji remained on the bottom steps. The masked man looked over at you then to his opponent beneath him.

“I should’ve taken care of you when I had the chance, Sparrow.” Reaper growled, watching as Genji took on a fighting stance with his sword.

“As I should’ve with you. We end this here.” Genji stated, the green on the blade glimmering against the peaking dawn. Reaper let out a chuckle as he raised his gun.

“Agreed, this will be your final resting place!” He proclaimed, pulling the trigger to take his shots.

Genji, quick on his feet, used the blade to deflect some of the bullet to the various statues around them. Leaping down the steps with a gentle land. You hid yourself behind one of the statues, watching as Reaper followed suit. Firing more towards Genjis direction. The younger man quick on his feet to every shot, letting the bullet ricochet against the steel and onto the fog plastered ground. Leaving Reaper to prepare his shots, the opening enough for Genji to lunge forward with his blade. His sword hitting against the armed guns, protecting Reaper in the crouching position. Leering at his opponent, Reaper kicked Genji back brutally to gain the range to shoot again.

The shot scrapping past the sword to sink straight into Genjis arm. He shouted in pain as spots of blood stained his white sleeved shirt. A grin plastered on Reapers face as he prepared for another shot, caught off guard as Genji rolled to the side to recover. Taking advantage of the lower ground to knock Reaper off his feet. Slamming Reapers back onto the ground as he now found himself at the disadvantage.

Genji leapt from the ground to act swiftly. Kicking away Reapers guns before he could recover. Leaving the spirit vulnerable to his final strike. He could faintly see the dark eyes behind the mask as they drilled into his soul out of fury. The young Shimada steadied his blade over Reapers face. Intent on stabbing into his throat. The anger seen in Genjis eyes as you had never seen them before. Realizing that he truly meant what he said about this being Reapers end. Looking down at the masked man, watching his breath quicken as he struggled against the victor.

Why did he still carry guilt in your heart? Ever since he said you reminded him of himself, it was as if you could understand his struggles. To be murdered in a graveyard is not the way he should go. What he had done to you and everyone else was not forgivable, but it was not the way it should end. To see him near deaths door was too much for you.

“It’s over, Gabriel Reyes,” You looked up while Genji spoke. His hands gripping the blade firmly, “Your haunting ends here.”

He merely chuckled at Genjis threat. His laugh raspy and deep. Narrowing his eyes with a smirk.

“So, she told you who I was. Tell her that man is no more. There is only The Reaper you see before you and I will never be forgotten.”

“We shall see about that.” Before Genji could make the strike, you approached him quickly with a hand over his. The touch drawing his attention away to see you pleading eyes.

“Genji no! Not like this...” You begged; the disbelief seen on swordsman’s face. Reaper even looking at you with a bit of surprise on your act of mercy.

Your eyes set on Reapers first, watching him catch his breath slowly. A faint smirk forming on his lips, something that left you uncertain on what he is thinking. Genji tugged away from your hold,confused by your abrupt request.

“After all that he has done!? [Name] you cannot think that I will let him get away with this,” He demanded, suddenly feeling the presence below him disappearing. The both of you turn to find that the Reaper slowly slipped away into smoke and shadow. Genji stabbed the ground, only to hear the laughter of Reaper, the fog and smoke lifting away with his voice. Frowning deeply, he stepped away angrily, “dammit!”

“Genji.” You stepped towards him, watching him wince in pain from the bullet wound.Trying to help with the injury, you brought him towards the steps from where it all began.

“We could’ve had him [Name]. Why did you stop me?” He asked you with bitterness, watching as you inspected the wound thoroughly, “Is it because you love him too?”

“What??” You were startled by his question. Seeing the envy that was written in his eyes. Giving you the answer as to why he was so determined to kill him so swiftly. Shaking your head, you placed a hand over his lap, “Genji, if you killed him here and now, you would be worse than him. I don’t ever want for you to kill for me.”

“[Name], he almost took you away again. I cannot have you spare him so freely.” He huffed, lowering his gaze to the ground in defeat. You reached over and cupped his cheek. Tilting his head to face you as sunrise became evident over the horizon.

“Then we will go with the plan,” You told him, watching his eyes widen at your acceptance. Nodding as you gave him a smile, “We will capture him, and we will end this nightmare once and for all.”

“But like you said, what if the plan fails?” He reminds you of the hesitation on the plot, leaning into your touch with a gentle kiss to your palm. His breath shaky as you responded.

“It wont, because I have you,” You tell him, his body releasing its tension at your trust. You took his hand gently with a look to the wound, “Come, I cannot mend to this here.”

He followed you suit, taking his blade with him to return to its sheath. Leaving the graveyard in a hurry and closing the gates. The shadows from before lingered against your father’s gravestone, its flowers decaying slowly before the smoke shifted into the mausoleum with a hiss.

“Now, it is a war upon you both.”

To be continued

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