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#another day lost to the blurry fog of not being asleep and yet not being awake. I am not loving this feeling

huenjin · 3 years

Text

quarter past midnight.

pairing: chan x reader | breakup!au

word count: 6.107 words

genre: angst, smut

tw: heartbreak and break ups, reader is confused af, nsfw content — cunnilingus, overstimulation blowjobs, deep throating, face fucking, unprotected sex. this is just some angsty smut.

note: an old work i edited because i needed to write something angsty with chan and hurt myself, yes. <3

apartment 5005.

you stare at the door for as long as you know, your heart tingling, stretching apart to tear and shatter within you and you know this for sure — you are clearly mad. you are absolutely crazy, but love makes people do crazy things. beyond love, survival instincts to protect oneself in the long run makes people do disastrous things. you are confused, lost and heartbroken. isn't that why you are here? for some clarity in this mist that fogs your mind.

you insert the duplicate key you had into the keyhole and open the door to the abode you once called home, not because it was four walls that provided you shelter but because bang chan lived there.

it was the spring of 2016 when you had fallen in love with this man - the entirety of this man with a crooked smile so cute and a giggle that could open dimensions to him. he stood before a cherry blossom tree with two cones of ice cream, one for you and one for him and asked you out on a date —"let's watch cherry blossoms together, y/n," - and you agreed with not much reluctance. because you were enamoured of chan at the very first glance. a little boy with endless passion and boundless potential all ready to win your heart.

it was a gradual fall from there — falling in love with chan was so easy, so precious. every small action of chan's made you fall for him harder and the fall was steep. you toppled and tumbled happily but the impact of the crash was hard.

It was hard enough for you to have forgotten what breathing was. It was claustrophobic in a room that was wider than an average one. bang chan slowly seemed to have no time for you. so caught up with his own life and to sort that out, he took out his anger at you, the anger he bottled up in front of all the people — almost as if that was normal. funnily, you thought it was normal.

chan loved you. chan loves you. there was no way anything could have changed. the emotions were strong — the emotions are strong — however, it almost seemed like it was contaminated. like the strong colour of potassium permanganate that changes the whole liquid. so exactly, where in the world did you go wrong? how did your relationship reach this stage — this strained stage of your threads ready to snap and let go?

and staring at his open door, you want to know the answer.

you had walk in the rain to reach here. the weather was disastrous. it had rained heavily enough to make you feel more void than you already felt. the rain had hit your body with a certain impact that momentarily snapped you back to reality; yet, you are quick to drift away. with every step you had taken, the world feels like time had drifted to the past, aeons away. the rain merely grows even more intense and your heart sinks.

the rain has left you drenched. your hair strands stick to each other with droplets of water falling from the ends. your vision was blurry and all you had know was to get to chan quicker than ever. like your body being pulled to a force. you had to reach bang chan quick, to ache this void.

and when you do, your heart skips a beat. you take a step back as an act of cowardice and you do not want to knock on his door. you stand in front of his room, puddles of water collecting by your foot from the water that drips from your clothes and your hair. how could you knock when you were conflicted yourself? you couldn't leave chan but you know you had to if you wanted to try finding happiness again. probably with the man himself years later when you both grow up.

it was in the winter of 2016 that you grew to love bang chan for the person he was. that you knew were in love. the innocent, star-eyed boy waited in front of your house unexpectedly in the strong winds of winter. when you come back home late after your work at the grocery store, you find him there, still waiting for you. your heart had ached for the man who sat in front of your house, leaning against your door with his body shivering and his teeth clattering. he was half asleep, holding onto his thick overcoat tightly in an attempt to escape the cold.

"chan," you had called out to him. "chan, baby, wake up."

his delicate eyelids had fluttered open only to see you. the man quickly sprung to his feet, stumbling and losing his balance for a split second. chan fell into your arms and nuzzled himself into your warmth. he looked delicate and everything chan usually tended to not display - of vulnerability, a certain pastel and ethereal kind.

and when his pale arms had wrapped around your waist carefully and weakly and you held him up, you knew for sure that this always chirpy and optimistic man (albeit all the layers of insecurities he had) was going to steal your heart. and he did.

probably that is why it is so hard for you to knock on his door now. the fact that you could set the world on fire with the love you had for him and yet you knew that you had to untie the knot you had in your relationship to find happiness for a while. to find yourself all over again.

after much thought, you knock on his door. you feel cold, both physically and mentally. the water you are drenched in is soaking into your being and you know you are going to catch a cold for sure tomorrow. however, that is the least of your concerns at the moment.

the door is pulled open only for you to come face to face with the man you have fallen so in love with.

bang chan's face instantly morphs into one of concern as soon as he sees you drenched in the rain. he catches hold of your arm and pulls you into his small studio room of his. he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. you nuzzle into his chest and he gently rubs your back.

"are you crazy?" he asks so softly, that it almost does not feel like he is scolding you. "you walked all the way here in the rain. you are most definitely crazy."

you do not respond, however. chan holds you close and notices your silence. you tug at his shirt and chan keeps you close. it's this warmth you reckon you will miss. for the years you step back, you'll feel like a tourist. you pull apart and you look at him with tears in your eyes, "chan."

he looks at you worriedly. this isn't normal. this isn't normal. this is definitely not normal. you take a step back before continuing, "i'm leaving you."

there. you said it. it's out in the open and you hear it out loud too. the thought that screamed in your head is finally freed and normally, you should have felt lighter. so why is it that you have never felt your heart heavier than this?

you had promised yourself that you wouldn't shed tears yet here you are, unable to stop all those droplets falling from your eyes like a cascade of all those memories.

"what?" chan looks broken.

"i can't do this anymore, chan," you say, looking down, shifting your balance from one foot to another. "it's heartbreaking to be in this relationship. every time i take one step forward now, you hardly have the time to even take two steps back."

"you know my work entitles me to this lifestyle," chan reasons. his voice is cracking and seeing chan this hurt merely makes you want to go to him and shelter and protect him for as long as you live. however, that very act makes you feel lost. not right now. what the two of you need at this minute is a break.

"i know," you look at him with guilt. "i know and yet i can't help but feel a little bit nervous of you never being there. i can't help but realise that your career is definitely way more important to you than i am. i understand that but i can't help but realise that maybe you don't love—"

"don't." chan's voice turns icy. he takes a step forward and you shudder at that moment. why did things turn out like this? why could the two of you not be like any other normal couple out there?

"stay, baby," chan pleads. his hands hold your arms fiercely and he leans over to look at you in your eyes. "i beg of you. stay. we'll make this work, somehow."

"how much more can the two of us try, chan?"

"enough to make this work. you promised me a lifetime of happiness. don't go back on your promise, baby. please."

chan is vulnerable, like a glass ready to crumble into fine dust and you realise how human this man — who seemed to be very nonchalant once — was all his life. in all the time you had dated him, chan had been rarely vulnerable and every time you saw him like that, it made you wonder how the world could ever be cruel to him to put him in such a state. the joke is on you this time for it is you who was hurting the one man you never wanted to let go of, the one man you never wanted the world to hurt.

"i'm hurting, chan. every day i go back home waiting for that one call of yours that never comes. i lay in bed wondering how it was perfect only months back when you pulled me close and rested your head on top of mine as we drifted to sleep. chan, we are not working," you gesture at the two of you, "this relationship is strained, toxic and potentially damaging to our mental wellbeing."

you are crying. your eyes burn and your cheeks are wet. chan looks at you in a shock. his eyes are red and he takes a step back from you, dropping his hands on either side of his body. he looks lifeless for a split moment and you are hurting too much to sort this issue out.

"do you want me to let you go?"

"yes," you say with much pain and sorrow from every word that can rip you away from chan.

"okay." chan takes two steps forward, edging closer to you, "okay. but do me one last thing before leaving me."

you look up at him, wondering if it could be anything that could revoke more memories and hurt you more than it already was. chan couldn't do that. he was in pain too. the two of you manage to be hurting at the same time.

"stay with me tonight. one last time before i say goodbye."

chan closes into you and cups your face delicately. he leans close enough for you to feel his breath fan on your face. his eyes are glassy and they shine in the light. his brown eyes with specks of chestnut hues look pretty. he is so devastatingly pretty.

how is that chan looked so painstakingly pretty to you right before you were about to leave him?

"chan," you sigh his name out like an airy breath of fresh morning hopes. "no."

"why?"

"because then i would want to stay," you whisper into nothing. your heart strings drum and beats quicker. your eyes burn so badly and you want to leave instantly and cry out loudly.

chan presses his lips against yours instantly. his softness melts into yours as you kissed him and he to you like nothing else mattered. you sigh within and bring your hands up only to find home in his soft brown hair. he is everywhere, infiltrating your mind slowly and creeping into everything subconscious.

every contact of his reminds you of everything you had and everything you were ready to miss out on. chan leans closer, and suddenly he is kissing you harder, deeper with a fervent urgent need you had never known.

"chan," you pull away and lean back slightly. "chan, what are we doing?"

"let me make you stay," he whispers into the crook of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

"but I won't stay," you mumble, sadly. "i can't."

"then, allow me one night to remember everything," chan rasps out. his mouth has found its way to your neck. parting his mouth sinfully, he latches onto the skin at the crook of your neck and sucks. your eyelids close and your eyes roll back.

with chan, it is the small oblivious bliss. with chan, it is possession and yet not. with chan, it is being loved and cherished. with chan, you feel complete and yet crave for so much more.

like the air you blow into a balloon with a hole.

you pull chan closer by his hair and you hear him moan against your skin, the shudder of euphoria running down your spine and only enhancing the heat you felt at your core. yout body needs him as much as your mind craves his being.

chan pulls apart and looks at you, studying your face, every curve and every dip. he wants to remember everything. he begins, "i—" but never continues. rather, he holds your waist and lifts you up. your legs wrap around his waist automatically and almost in an instinct. you wrap your hands around his neck and lean forwards.

your cold thumb grazes the expanse of his cheekbone and your chest contracts. everything is too painful. chan's hand squeezes your waist and you lean forward for your foreheads to touch.

chan still smells like fresh morning with mist and beautiful dew. you blink the tears that threaten to spill as you cup his face. you peck his lips, once, twice and again till you can remember how his lips were with your eyes closed.

chan parts his lips for a sigh and you kiss him. you press your lips against his and you feel him loosen, his arms still on your waist, but this time, his fingers grazed ever so slightly. you let out a whimper when he pulls apart.

the next thing chan does is take you to his bed. He carefully walks across his room, still carrying you and you're looking at him. you look at chan's eyes and you look at his nose. you study his face and your heart aches with every minute you stay.

he places you delicately on his bed and and you watch him stand and pull his shirt up to remove it. the moment seems familiar, the emotion however, is not.

chan matches your body form and you instinctively arch upwards, moaning in the contact of his body heat against yours. you kiss him again and you feel him relax against you, lips softening as he permits you to take his lower lip between your teeth. you suck against his lower lip, moaning into his mouth as he pushes his tongue against yours.

chan's hands trace the sides of your torso, cradling your curves as he finds home in your neck. chan has always liked your neck. his licks, kisses and sudden bites only further enhances your point. your hands go to his hair as you hold him more firmly against you. the swelling of him beneath you makes you gasp and your thighs rub against each other.

chan pulls back for a minute, his fingers playing with the ends of your shirt. you whine greedily and move your hands to pull the shirt off your body. chan helps but he is so slow that you pause and look into his eyes. chan wants this moment to last forever.

he removes the shirt off of you and looks at you, unsure when his fingers trail to your shorts. you place your hands over his and together, you unbutton your shorts. you pull yourself upwards and kissing chan, you say, "i'm staying the night, chan. i'll stay tonight."

the two of you discard the rest of your clothes, undergarments still on, only for him to pause and stare at your breasts, "how did i not notice you not wearing a bra when you were soaked in the rain?" and then he realizes how, pausing for a while. you quickly pull chan closer.

chan rushes to latch his lips back on your skin, sucking and kissing his way from the crook of your neck to the top of your left breast. you rock your hips against his, desperate for some friction. your clit has swollen, moisture already dampening the fabric of your panties.

chan's hands travel to your arse, squeezing the flesh beneath his fingers and grinding you down against the bulge growing in his boxers. a moan escapes your lips even before you could hold it and chan looks distinctly pleased.

"chan," you whine. "chan, please. i need you. touch. kiss. anything. please. i need you everywhere."

he smiles and removes the grasp on your arse, your skin feeling bruised over how tight he was holding you. his fingers trail upwards only to loop around the strap of your panties and he pulls it away from your body slightly only to release it. the strap hits against your skin and you wince.

"you're so delectable," he mumbles and pulls your panties away. you rub your thighs together, feeling your wetness spread. his lips gently graze over your hip bones and land right over your clit, grazing it almost unnoticeably. the sudden contact leads you to grip on chan's arm and cover your mouth to smother your groans.

"do you like this, baby? do you want more of this?" he kisses the skin on your hips, so close to where you craved his attention.

"chan—"

"you could have more of this if you stayed. y/n, just stay, please," he peppers more kisses around, moving his hands up and down your thighs.

"chan, no," you place your hands on his head, tangling your fingers into his hair. "i—"

"why not?"

and then chan's lips find your lower ones and you moan so loud that you didn't know you even had it in you. you pull his hair up of surprise and chan licks your lips up and down slowly and in the most gratifying manner.

"c-chan!"

he doesn't respond. he merely brings his hand down and places his thumb over your clit, pressing down on it as he licks you. he pulls apart to lightly kiss your inner thighs and the sudden loss of contact makes you whine.

"why can you not stay?"

"because it hurts to be with you when you're never around," you sigh, tears rolling down your cheek and chan looks at you from below. he sees you vulnerable and broken and he blames himself. he is as responsible for leading himself to this situation as much as you are.

he holds tight on to your thighs, pulling you closer to him as he plants soft kisses on your dripping core. he sucks and nibbles on the lips before parting them with his tongue, swiping one big stroke and resting on your sensitive nub.

"chan, more, please," you whimper. his sinful tongue feels like heaven on your hot core, and you leave your hands to move around to look for places to grip onto; moving from your hair, to the edge of the bedsheet, until they find their way to his hair again where you make your final grip. you always did like gripping on his hair during sex. it edges him and steers him to do as you pleased. you instantly entangle your fingers through the strands of his locks as you start to move your hips in the same motion as the movements which his lips and tongue are now making.

chan keeps his action of devouring you with hunger, moving his tongue skilfully in and out of you, humming as he went. the vibration only makes you edge a bit more. you close your eyes and focus on feeling him and his motion. and right at the moment, chan feels your grip on him getting tighter. when your whimpers sound more desperate, he moves two fingers inside your walls, curling deep while sucking at your clit. he keeps biting lightly at the swollen nub, making you cry out his name. the moment when he feels you tightening around his fingers, he latches his lips around your clit tightly and sucks, all while thrusting his fingers deep onto your sweet spot, relentlessly, until you see sea of stars from under your eyelids.

"ch—" your breathing shortens and you quake, "oh my god! baby!"

however, bang chan never stops; even when your whole body starts shaking and quivering on his bed. he continues the work of his fingers and his hot, sinful mouth all moving in the same pace, letting you ride out your high until it slowly subsides and you are left, gasping for air, on the brink of overstimulation.

chan finally lifts his head as you open your eyes and you notice. his lips glistening and his eyes sparkling. he runs his tongue across his lips, taking in the last of the remnants of your high. you gulp, admitting that the scene before you is hot. chan doing anything will always be hot.

"fuck my life, i'm so in love with you," chan says and your eyes widen.

"no," you mumble. "you should not be."

"isn't that my decision, baby?" chan says. you lean forward and holding onto his arm sockets, you move him backwards allowing yourself to climb on top of him. you position yourself over his leg and frantically pull his boxers down and away.

"you shouldn't though," you take his cock into your hands. chan stifles a moan. his fingers softly hold your head and stroking your hair as you tease him with your tongue on his shaft. your eyes keep looking up at his face while you drag a slow lick along the base of his member, before swirling your tongue around the tip, earning his subtle grunt and unsteady breaths while he looks at you with darkening eyes.

you lock your gaze on chan and dragging one excruciatingly slow lick, you take his head into your mouth before pulling apart almost instantly. you drag your tongue over your lips and tease, "tell me what you want, baby boy."

chan smiles widely at you and your sudden voice of confidence. he strokes the back of your neck and says, "i want you to stay."

"you're such a buzz—"

"but i know you won't. so i'd rather, just for tonight, have you as a whole. i want your pretty little mouth on my cock, wrapped around it and sucking it. i want you to look like a mess, baby, for me."

you smile at him softly and almost apologetically. shaking your head of any sad thoughts, you place another kiss on the swollen tip of his cock, before giving a long and slow lick at the base of his shaft, coating his member with your saliva, and finally take him completely in your mouth. you hum gladly as your lips move and sink down slowly, adjusting yourself to the size of him, only stopping once you feel his tip touching the back of your throat. the depth and your constant move gifts you with a couple of deep groans coming out of his own lips. you look up to see him, supporting himself up and leaning his head back, enjoying the way your mouth is sucking him tightly. once you are adjusted to the size of his girth, the muscles around your jaw relax a little, permitting you to move your head and sink down low. hollowing your cheeks, you keep sucking him on your way up with flattened tongue, stopping by the time you reach his tip only to sink yourself back down.

"fuck, fuck. fuck, y/n, baby. your mouth feels euphoric," chan groans, his head dropping and his eyes screwing shut. you let out another hum in acknowledgement and respond with another bob of your head up and down his length.

the sound of his ragged breath and his whimpers makes you aware of how fucked out he was. you keep your pace while raking his thigh with your nails from one hand, while you use the other to cup and graze the skin of his scrotum and his uncovered base. until suddenly, he looks down on you while gently stroking the sides of your face with his thumbs before he moves his hips upwards, thrusting deeper into your mouth.

you gag in surprise with his length reaching all the way down to your throat. you whimper against his cock. you keep your tongue still flat and presses against the base of his cock to give him more sensation as he keeps fucking your mouth at a distinct pace. you hold on tightly onto his thighs, scoring them, ignoring the soreness on your jaw and throat to let him chase his high, until he finally explodes inside you. the sudden appearance of his thick, creamy release filling your mouth has you gagging. when chan slows down, you are finally able to carefully swallow every single drop, a few dripping down by the corners of your mouth.

"ah, fuck," he suspires, gradually slowing until he stops and pulls himself out of your mouth. "i'm so sorry— i'm sorry, baby," he tells you between his ragged breaths, sitting up and rubbing his thumb on your face and neck lovingly, over and over again. "did i hurt you? tell me i did not. fuck, i got carried away."

you take hold of his hand and kiss his knuckles, letting out a small chuckle. chan pulls you closer and hugs you and you sit in his warmth. you mumble against his chest, "i hate to be evil, but i hope that no one can give you a blow job or a mind-blowing sex like i could."

chan sighs and holds you tighter, "don't you already have me in your captive?"

the back of chan's hand moves around the edges of your face before he pulls you in and kisses you slowly. he touches the tip of his tongue to yours, teasing at first, before entwining your tongues together. his hand moves down your back and pulls you closer, your core pressed against his cock and you moan against his mouth.

"i'm going to make you come all night. when you tire out, i'll let you rest and have you again," chan whispers against your ear as he pulls apart from your lips.

this was why leaving chan was hard. he was addictive. the taste of his lips, the deep moan he exhaled when he deepened the kiss. you let him intertwine his tongue with yours, let him taste your mouth while you press your palms on his chest to feel his warmth. chan's hand runs freely over the curve of your arse, earning a gasp to escape from your lips, stopping the kiss unexpectedly.

he pushes you back once he had calmed down from his last high and climbs on top of you with a smirk, "i could eat you out again but good lord, you look so fucking delectable that i need to have my cock inside of you — right now."

you gulp and you feel your throat parching. he continues kissing you while settling himself between your shaky legs, groaning against your mouth the moment he could feel your wet folds brushing the tip of his shaft. he leans forward to catch your erect nipple between his lips. he did the same thing to the other breast.

he firmly holds your name and kisses every single part of your body, murmuring softly against your skin, "need to remember. need to remember. fuck, i need to remember you."

you cup his face softly and look at him, breathing slowly in order to force him to do the same, "chan, I love you."

"but you can't stay."

"i can't."

"i need to be inside of you. i need to remember how you felt. i need to engrave it till i know how much you've captivated me and left me miserable," he whispers softly between your kisses, and you buck your hips upward to meet his as a response. you are still mildly sensitive but so needy to feel him inside you.

exhaling, chan pushes his throbbing length between your swollen lips, ever so slowly delving into your hot sex with a low grunt and moan. you instantly hook one leg around his hip, placing both of your palms on his back as you guided him inside you. your soft, hot walls enveloped his length, pulling him in deeper as he thrust his hips against yours and when your being finally envelopes him, he grunts in content.

"i missed this so much," he whispers to you, pressing your foreheads together as you pant softly against his lips, trying to regulate your breathing. "i'll miss you, baby."

chan waits until you adjust yourself to his length. no matter how many times you have had sex with him, his girth still surprises you. you notify him by pecking on his lips with your eyes flickering up to him and staring at him with lust and want, and chan knows you are ready.

he moves slowly in and out of you in a calculated rhythm, almost like he was playing his own music, never looking away. he pulls his hips back and then thrusts forward, filling your hole as much as possible once your body recognises his being.

"fuck," chan grunts. beads of perspiration have formed on his neck and slowly they drop down and you watch. chan looks precious and for a minute there, you want to stay. you want to stay with chan forever, marry him and have his kids. you want to be there in his highs and lows. but you know you shouldn't. he deserved better and so did you.

"oh god, y/n," he moans, gripping your thigh harder. he keeps on grinding his shaft into your wetness with more fervour and all you could do is —

"chan!"

scream his name out for everyone around to know.

he sighs, moving his hips into yours a bit faster as you begin to meet his thrusts with the movements of your hips. he lets go of you and drops both of his hands down to the bed on either side of you, holding himself up and increasing his range of motion; pulling nearly all the way out, then rocking forward to push all the way back into his base.

your fingers keep holding tight on his shoulder and his upper arm, lightly scratching your nail on his skin. he leans down to press his mouth to you, kissing you hungrily. he moves into you harder and even faster, scrunching the sheets up under his palms while driving his shaft deep into you.

your soft moans grow higher in pitch and you bite into your lower lip harshly. you become louder as you feel your high approaching. "chan, baby, fuck," you rasp out and chan kisses your clavicle and licks a stripe, leaving a bruise by its end.

"let go, baby," he moves his hands back on your hip with a tight grip, helping you to move in the same rhythm as his. you grip harder on his arms for leverage. you feel him grinding your clenching walls with his shaft inside of you until you can not take any more, and your entire body shakes from the second climax of the night.

chan starts to slow down yet keeps thrusting forward, so gently and disoriented. he smiles before kissing you deeply once again. he groans at the feeling of your walls clenching hard around his shaft, your orgasm lingering even after your body had stopped shaking so much. leaning down, chan presses his body hard on you while he kisses you, and you can feel his member throbbing within your depths and his heart pounding fast in his chest. his brown eyes look softer tonight and his eyes are glassy. you cup his face and kiss him repeatedly. you hold him steady while he pushes into you languidly. you can't seem to part with him — is this what love does?

you move your hips. you can feel your desire still dripping hot in your core and more than ready to continue on. "keep going. i want to feel you come inside me, chan."

his hips, hitting against your clit repeatedly, makes you woozy with tensed and excess euphoria. it is too much but you couldn't stop. you guide him into you, over and over again even when your walls seemed to scream out of exhaustion. you needed to feel chan in you, fill you up.

you wiggle your hips and raise them to meet his warmth. smiling, you bend your knees up to help him reach his high quicker.

you hold onto the moment he starts to move his hips one more time, drilling inside of you with both of his hands planted on the bed once again for grip. this time, you keep your eyes opened. you gasp and enjoy how beautiful his toned body looks, moving above you fluidly. silently admiring how his skin is glowing from the illuminating moonlight which enters the room through the opened windows, how they had fallen perfectly on his sweaty chest against the background music of the rain hitting the window panes.

you let your eyes capture its beauty, memorising him and everything else the best you still could in your mind. just so you could keep the image of him making love to you for as long as you possibly could in your memories. after all, this is it. this was the end of the lane, the last page in the chapter you shared with him.

you graze chan's chin and watch how he moves into you. you close your eyes for a second - just for a second - to hear distinctly of the squelching sound of his cock entering you and his hips slapping against yours.

he tilts his head and gives you a few sloppy kisses by the edges of your neck and then your mouth. your eyes screw shut with the overload of euphoria. you are oversensitive and tears spill out from your eyes. chan thrusts a few more times into you before reaching his own orgasm that washes over him like a wave. you feel his cock pulsate and a shiver of pleasure runs down your spine. his movements become slower. he grunts and moans in each motion of his and you lean forward to kiss him. after a few deep and long kisses, he steadies himself and pulls out of you carefully. he kisses you a few more times — your lips, neck, clavicles, breasts and everywhere.

chan falls besides you and sighs. he cups your face and looks at you. your eyes are closing in exhaustion and you whimper, "i'll miss this."

chan remembers that this is the last time and pulls you closer, a lone treacherous tear falling on your face. he watches you carefully and you softly smile, "you should sleep. you have practice tomorrow."

"no, it's my last day with you. i'd rather watch you than waste time sleeping," he sounds sad and you move closer into his warmth.

"i really do love you, chan."

"i know and so do i. our circumstances just weren't right. don't beat yourself to it," he mumbles, pushing a strand of your hair from your face.

"nor should you. promise me that you won't overwork yourself?"

"i—"

"chan!"

"just go to sleep, baby. you look tired. i love you," chan coos and you yawn almost immediately. he laughs and rubs your back soothingly and you fall asleep. chan does too, soon after.

and when his eyelids part the next morning, the bed feels cold and his heart feels the void. you are gone and chan is lonely as he has been always.

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602 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

tis the damn season

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

a/n: this is the end and i’ll need therapy because dear god i hate it when any of my projects end. thank you so much for supporting it and reading. hope you enjoy xx

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me but if it's all the same to you it's the same to me ...

There was a sea of people, suitcases rolling everywhere, people hugging their loved ones and there she was, straight out of the airplane holding her worn out, beat up suitcase with her name tag on it. It was a cold day, one of those that reminded her of being by the window with her mother doodling on the fogged glass as the snow laid on the green grass of her childhood home yet there was no snow, just cold. She knew to walk through the doors that led to the arrivals but she stood back, almost as if the cold froze her to her spot. Returning to her hometown meant looking at the road not taken before, the road she couldn’t have taken. Nevertheless, in the midst of chaos of people coming back home for the holidays, she ended up being almost dragged into the arrivals hall.

Immediately she spotted Wanda and Pietro dressed in thick winter coats and hats who were holding a sign with her name. She put on her best photographic smile, walking over to the twins who rushed over to hug her tightly, something she missed dearly when she was away.

- Finally! - the brown haired girl hugged her best friend tightly. - You can never leave me again for this long.

- It’s only for a few weeks, Wan.

- Let me savour it. - she loosened up the hug, handing Y/N’s bags to Pietro who just shrugged off and started walking to the car. - I have so much to tell you. Remember Elizabeth, the girl I copied off for Maths? Well, she got married but she had a baby like 5 months later which doesn’t adds up.

- Shotgun wedding. - Pietro added. - It was so tacky, absolutely awful. I fell asleep for at least five hours.

- Very good gift bags though. I took an extra one for you.

The three walked onto the cold town she thought she’d never have the change to return to. The moment she woke up from what she thought was certain death, her father and the chief of police were already telling her they had set up a witness protection program for her, all the way in Massachusetts. It was nice, she liked the weather, the warm fall colours during October but she didn’t felt at home. She had a new name, new story, in this one she didn’t even have her father not that in reality she ever did. She sat in the passenger seat of Wanda’s car, listening to all the news she seemed to have kept locked inside her mind for when she returned. Her mind as going haywire about what she wanted to know about, she wanted to know about Bucky.

She knew he couldn’t be happy if he had discovered it which she guessed by now he had. Several times her father had told her he’d employed several men to try and find her and had even told her to stay away until Christmas. Of course the only reason he wanted her around was so she could drive him from the bar after he drank his weight in beer but she couldn’t help but do it, she promised her mum she would take care of her dad no matter what happened. Yet, she still wanted to know about Bucky. She wanted to know if he hated her, if he had put a hit on her head. It kept her awake at night, every night, bugging her like a bad memory.

- Are you sure you wanna stay at your dad’s? You can stay with me and Vision.

- Of course she doesn’t want to stay with you. What kind of name is Vision anyway? - Pietro rolled his eyes.

- HIS PARENTS WERE HIPPIES. We’ve had this discussion. - Wanda playfully threw a empty water bottle at his brother. - Don’t you want to spend Christmas with someone who will actually be in the house during Christmas?

- I promised my mother, Wan.

- C’mon. If it’s because me and Vision will be there, there’s no problem. Remember Michael? He still wants to go out with you.

- I don’t want to go out with him.

- Yeah, Wanda. Y/N liked James Barnes. - Pietro muffled in a laugh, receiving a death glare from his sister. - What? It’s true.

- Y/N does not like someone who wants her dead. Don’t you remember when one of his friends was on campus and he had a gun?

- What? It’s just like Mr and Mrs Smith and for one, it’s something I’m interested in. Good for her.

- What about you, Pietro? Where’s your girlfriend? - Y/N smirked, crossing her arms as Wanda parked in front of Y/N’s childhood home.

- Which one?

- You’re a lost cause. - she opened the passenger’s door, going around to retrieve her suitcase.

- Call me if you’re alone during Christmas or Christmas Eve. Vision and I will come and set up a dinner with you.

- It won’t be necessary.

- Just call me, okay?

- Okay, Wan. I’ll see you tomorrow.

The red head smiled before driving away. Y/N stood on the cobblestones of her sidewalk waving goodbye before it was time to go meet her father. Her relationship with him was at best strained. When they didn’t find the shipment they wanted, he subconsciously blamed her along with constantly talking about how Edward could’ve died but he was luckily alive with a limp. She wished he had more than a limp but saying anything against his ward was absurd and completely forbidden. She was almost sure he’d spend more time at the hospital with him than her. Nevertheless, she was here and as she stepped into her porch, there were no Christmas lights, no garlands.

Flashbacks invaded her mind of sitting on the wooden stairs as her mother wrapped every surface she could in garland, wrapping the lights around the columns while her dad worked overtime. The two would then sit on the stairs with cups of hot cocoa, Y/N always preferring white chocolate hot cocoa with pink marshmallows and watched the lights go up for the first time. Every year she expected there to be lights after her mum was gone but they never showed. One year she tried to put them up but she soon came to realise the lights that held whatever sweet memories an object could hold were lost and gone. Everything was gone. She didn’t know why she expect it to be here.

Her keys jiggled as she opened the door to her childhood home. It was always messy, dusty, her mother’s yellow coat still hanging on the coat hanger the day she returned from the hospital. The house was a snapshot of that day, never changing, her father didn’t allow her. She knew why, she always knew why, she just refused to say it, she refused to say whom her father believed was the cause of her mother’s death. She refused to say it because she knew who it was and it wasn’t who her father thought it was.

- Dad? - she left her suitcase against the entry wall, walking further into her house and into the kitchen, liquor bottles on the floor near the chair were her father was sitting, still in his uniform, shirt tightened over his beer belly. - Hey dad, how are you?

- Y/N, darling, can you get some some of the liquor from the cabinet?

- Sure, dad. - she turned around, reaching into the cabinet, right at the end of it where she kept a bottle with water which tricked him all the time. - How’s the precinct?

- I think you know.

- You shouldn’t make catching him your target. Your target should be to protect innocent civilians.

- What would you know about it? You failed us.

- I’m sorry. - she looked down at her shoes. - You know ... I smell snow.

- You can’t smell snow, Y/N. There’s no such thing.

- C’mon... - she held his hands in hers. - We can make some hot cocoa, like mum used to do.

- Your mother would’ve been ashamed of you. - she shook his hands away from her, pointing his finger at her. - You caused another officer to get shot, you have no integrity. I shouldn’t have put you in the case.

- I didn’t. - she took a step back. - I told you I didn’t and you don’t believe me. Barnes didn’t try to shot me and Edward stepped in, you saw the report, the bullets don’t match up. He tried to shot at Barnes.

- He’s the most experienced shot I know, if he wanted to have gotten Barnes, he would’ve.

- He would’ve if I hadn’t stepped in front of it.

She turned around, tears watering her eyes and making her vision blurry as she walked further an further away. She kept walking, away from her house, away from her street until she was the furthest from it she could. The wind blasted her hair in different direction, freezing through her thin, useless jackets. She could smell it was going to snow, she could always smell it, the smell of freshly fallen and there she was, having forgotten her jacket. It was late into the night, no establishment was open and all she could wear were her boots against the slight frozen layer upon the cobblestones. She should feel hurt but she found herself in a numbness of state, the image of waking up in a hospital room all by herself much clear in her mind. She continued to walk until a purple light lit up her face.

She looked upwards, the title of the old establishment she used to work in blasted into purple light. Now, she was a rational being, a true believer of think before you act but she was cold and seemingly no longer held fear of her own death. Life is ephemeral and if she was meant to die, if fate was a thing then let it be. She went through the bodyguards entering the club that despite being almost Christmas Eve was filled with people.

Meanwhile James was leaning against one of his club’s walls, cigarette hanging from his lips. Filthy habit he knew, but he did it when he stressed. It soothed him, yet it seemed like all self destroying things soothed him. His eyes lingered against the empire he had built which now seemed so stupid. All material things and a few kills to remember him by when he died. He wondered if they would even remember or if when he breathe his last breathe, he’d be erased as quickly as he came to be. No one remembers what came in between and James did not create the business, he just perfected it. Nothing surprised this old dog anymore until tonight. He thought his brain was playing tricks on him as he saw her pass through the doors, hair covered in a knitted hat yet as quickly as he saw her enter, the quicker he saw her leave.

- Steve, follow her. - he immediately told the blonde who was happily chatting with his newly wedded bride. - Tell me where she stops. You better not lose her out sight or you won’t have any children.

Y/N was fast out, the moment she felt the warmth of the club. She no longer knew what she was doing, much too lost in whatever pain mixed with unresolved feelings she had. Nevertheless, she was out, and immediately calling Wanda. She was out on a date but offered to stay at her house and that was enough. She needed to sleep, consider what she was doing here and then return to Massachusetts. She could get used to being Elizabeth, the orphan girl who went to Harvard. She could be Betty, she could be someone on paper. She just didn’t know how to be Y/N anymore. She had to go back.

Wanda’s new place wasn’t thankfully too far and per usual she hide the key behind her petunia vase. Inside it looked exactly like what she believed her best friend’s dream home looked like but she deserved it. She deserved Vision, she deserved all this happiness and she wished she could stay behind and watch it.

She stripped out of her frosted clothes, walking into the bathroom to take a warm shower. “It’s no use dwelling on the past, sweetheart. It’s already gone.” her mother used to tell her and she guessed she was right, what use was it for her to wonder what if? There was no what if. She was a dead woman if he knew, but Y/N was already dead even if she didn’t. The last name ended with her, the genetic tree of her ancestors ended with her and she guessed it fit, destroyer of trees and blood.

She felt the warm water drip down her body and onto the porcelain floor of the shower, the foam making the air smell like wild daisies on a summer afternoon. It felt warm, it felt nice, thoughtless, to be only the essence of life without the obligation of thought. Just seeing, living, greatly dissolving into the fabric of nature. Stepping out of the shower, thought evaded. She was expecting to see him, to look at him one last time before she was gone. Yet again, what use was to look into someone who’d she betrayed? It was no use.

She involved herself in the white fluffy towel, walking into the kitchen to rummage through whatever Wanda and Vision had. Wanda was always a fun of tropical fruit so she knew she probably kept something yummy for her.

- You’ve always toyed with probability, petal. - she turned around once she head that voice, heart clenched yet beating faster at the same time. - It is very dangerous for you and for you friend. Easy lock, windows open.

- If you’re going to do it, please do it outside where we won’t stain my friend’s apartment.

- Oh petal ... - he took the gun from the holster which was always close to his legs. She had been shot before, she didn’t feel it, it didn’t hurt. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound but the only sound that came was his gun hitting the floor. She opened her sides, watching as he slide the gun over to her, it reaching her feet. - I thought we were done with you being afraid of me.

- James ...

- Bucky. - he corrected her, still standing on the opposite side of the room. She stood there motionless but he started walking up to her. - You think I want to kill you.

- The worse thing I have ever did was what I did to you. Besides, Wanda saw one of your friends on campus with a gun.

- We always carry guns, petal. The question is what have you done to me?

- I’ve betrayed you.

- Have you? Because I don’t remember my shipment being intercepted not that it would, I lied to you.

- You lied to me?

- I never doubted your ... your affections towards me but I did doubt your loyalty to your father. I was surprised.

- Were you?

- No, I lied. What I was surprised about what that you took a bullet meant for me. What the fuck were you thinking? You could’ve died.

- I don’t know.

- You ran away from me. I wanted ... I ...

- What did you want, Bucky? - she cocked her head to the side, examining him and whatever his thoughts were doing to him.

- I wanted you. I wanted to have been by your side when you took a bullet for me, I wanted you in my bed, not in my bar I hate watching other men ogle you. I wanted you to marry me and carry my child. I wanted to give you everything I have and some more, all of what I have and all of what I don’t have. I wanted you, the captain’s daughter. I adored you.

- You don’t know me.

- I know you. You’re a terrible liar, can’t lie to save your life. Your heart ... - he stepped closer and closer to her. - Is on your sleeve. You might not know who you are or you might forget it but when you do remember I control everything but you control me.

- Bucky ...

- I just wanted to see you’re alive and well. I’ll leave and promise you’ll never see me again if you want.

- You didn’t ask me what I wanted.

- What do you want, petal?

- I want you to kiss me.

- I know where that ends, petal. - he smirked, hand searching for hers. - Very tempting of you to do those things to me.

5 YEARS LATER

It was cold, the sort of cold Bucky had began to hate, the sort of cold he felt whenever she left early in the morning to go to work but it was the sort of cold which mixed with sweet memories. Nevertheless, there he was, at another meeting, hearing whatever bullshit excuses Rumlow had to give him. Steve had been the one to suggest taking his territory rather than just off him yet taking care of a damaged business with an even more damaged partner was doing his head in. He stood against the new furnished couches of the bar, drinking his scotch as he heard Rumlow ramble and ramble about how he had good ideas. He had ideas, just not good ones. An hour late he was leaving the godless establishment to return home. He walked home as he always did during winter, watching the newly put up Christmas lights in the streets. His apartment wasn’t too far, having sold his previous one once Y/N moved back to Massachuts to buy one near her and then selling it once she graduated to buy another one. It was close to the bar and she liked it that way, constantly begging him not to go during Christmas and stay with her but business was business. Entering his home, the electrical fireplace was on and his heavily pregnant wife was barefoot, walking side to side and jumping into her dress.

- Stop jumping, you’ll fall and hurt yourself. - Bucky smirked, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her body. - And we all know you can’t get up when you fall.

- So funny. - she playfully slapped him on the chest. - It’s almost as if this wasn’t your fault.

- How’s our little boy?

- How do you know it’s not a girl? - she smirked. - Nice try, Bucky but you’ll only know when the baby is born.

- You’re killing me here.

- Come on, we have to go to the twin’s baby shower.

- Explain to me again why did your friend decided to do a baby shower after the babies were born?

- So that she would tell us what size clothes they are. - she gave him a soft kiss, leaning against him. - You won’t be your usual grumpy, scary self. You’ll be good to the other dads.

- What will I tell the other dads when they ask me what I do?

- You’re a business man. - she straightened his suit’s lapel. - Isn’t that somewhat true?

�� - You’re lucky I adore you.

- Come on.

Bucky found it hard mixing both of their lifestyles, but he did it for her. God, he had done so much for her and he only wanted to do more for her. If someone had told him he’d beg the police captain to go to his wedding just to make Y/N happy, he would’ve laughed, yet Y/N deserved it. His father had pretty much set her aside once it came to light she was hanging out with him and he couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. He didn’t have many friends and those he had had completely relationships to the friends Y/N had, nevertheless he tried. He wanted to be the best husband and the best father he could possibly be. Bucky would lay sleepless every single night wondering how he’d do it. How would he go to profession day and tell kids about his job? He couldn’t or he’d traumatise them. Nevertheless, he worried. Y/N was going to be a great mum, the best mum even but him? He wasn’t so sure.

They reached Wanda’s place which was decorated with all sorts of baby blue decorations. 2 boys in one go. If Bucky suddenly had two kids, he would’ve had a heart attack. He barely knew he could be a good dad for one, imagine two.

- Oh my god, you’re huge. - Wanda said as she opened the door. - How come it’s not out yet?

- The baby’s stubborn like his father.

- More like his mother. - Wanda added. - Come see the twins.

There were two bassinets on the living room where Vision was frantically rocking them side to side, Pietro sat in the couch on his phone while most of the guests were still to arrive. Y/N looked over the bassinets, the two babies laying there wide awake which probably explained why Vision looked so overwhelmed.

- Why are they so big? - Y/N whispered to Bucky. - I can’t push something that big out of me.

- Well, think positive, at least you’re only pushing one out of you and not two.

- So that’s Billy and that’s Tommy. I think. - Wanda cocked her head to the side. - Well, Billy replies to his name and Tommy doesn’t.

- Can I hold one?

- Sure. Bucky, do you wanna hold one? - Wanda asked and before he could reply, the redhead had already put a baby in his arms. James hadn’t held a baby, he didn’t know how to hold a baby yet there it was, a baby. - Aw, look at that Billy or Tommy likes you.

- We’re still working on what colour we should dress one another so we know which one is which. - Vision added. - Pietro is still upset we didn’t name one Pietro.

- Y/N you will name your baby Pietro if it’s a boy.

- Absolutely not. - she said as she cooed the baby in her arms. - They’re so beautiful. Congratulations.

- Yeah ... - Bucky handed back the baby to Wanda. - Do you think I can use your balcony?

- Sure.

Y/N furrowed her browns, putting the baby back in his crib before excusing herself. She gave Bucky some time before following him and there he was, leaned against the wall, cigarette hanging from the middle of his lips as his wild blue eyes observed the night sky.

- It’s a filthy habit. - she walked into the balcony. - What’s stressing you?

- Nothing’s stressing me, petal.

- You always smoke when you’re stressed so let it out. What’s wrong? Is it Rumlow?

- Rumlow wishes he could stress me.

- Bucky.

- You’re pregnant, petal. Like ... really, really pregnant.

- We’ve established that. - she looked at her own bump. - You thought it was a food baby?

- I don’t know, looking at Wanda’s kids ... we will have a baby in less than a month and I am going to be a father and I will screw it up. I’m not ready.

- You’re stressed about being a dad? - she wrapped her arms around his neck, soft kind eyes looking at him. - Buck, everyone’s stressed with their first baby. You’re going to be a great dad.

- I should get a new job.

- Not this again.

- Yes. I need to get a new job so the baby ...

- Bucky, you don’t need a new job. - she interrupted him. - Your job won’t put the baby in danger because I won’t let it happen. I don’t know if you remember but I’m very good at deflecting bullets.

- Deflecting? - he laughed. - You’re very good at catching them.

- Either way, you’re going to be a great dad. Steve’s a great dad and he went parachuting without a parachute like an idiot. You take a parachute, at least.

- I see your point.

- James Barnes, in exactly five months you’re gonna be as good as a father as you could be. - she leaned against him, taking her opportunity to take the cigarette away from his mouth and tossing it out the balcony. Her eyes followed up to his face, intently on something. - What?

- I smell snow.

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cutiepisenpai · 4 years

Text

Kinktober 2020 Day 13

Spencer Reid X F!Reader

Warnings: Smut of course, sex toys, overstimulation, vaginal fingering slightly, Dom and Sub relationship, Dom and Sub drop.

A/N: My knowledge of Dom and Sub relationships is limited so I’m sorry if this isn’t entirely accurate.

Spencer wanted to try something new, you were excited when he first asked about it but now you are just asking yourself why you thought this was a good idea in the first place. Today was a day to run errands; you went out for breakfast, picked up dry cleaning, the two of you were currently grocery shopping all the while you have these damn ben wa balls rubbing against your sensitive walls. Every sensation has you on edge, feeling the AC on your skin stopped you dead in your tracks. Walking in general is agonizing, your knees feel weak and you are holding onto the shopping cart so tightly that your knuckles are turning white. “How are you doing, princess?” Spencer asks from behind you. You grit your teeth, “How does it look like I am doing Spencer.” You grit out. Your breath is heavy, it is taking all of your self control not to whine. “Watch how you talk to me.” He says walking ahead of your uncaring of your current predicament. They shifted with every step you took you had to continuously clench your wall to keep them inside of you. “Aren’t we done yet?” You ask whining unintentionally, wanting to rub your thighs together but you know it won’t help if anything it will just make it worse. “Almost sweetie, we could have been doing ages ago but you are moving at a snail's pace.” He says. Twenty excruciatingly slow minutes later your groceries are packed into your car and you are on your way home. Your breathing is heavy, the ride is tortuous with every bump and sharp turn the balls move knocking against each other you feel like you can almost hear the metal clinking. When you arrive at your building Spencer instructs you to go upstairs and wait not to touch yourself or remove the balls while he brings everything inside. You take the tormenting walk up the stairs; it takes you so long that Spencer passes you twice. You finally arrive into the apartment and collapse the couch not able to make it any further. You lay there eyes closed trying to relax your body but your muscles ache so much from the constant tension. “Come on princess.” He says, you crack one eye open seeing a blurry Spencer through water eyelashes. “Where?” You whine, voice cracking in a near cry. “Bedroom.” He says but you make no effort to move. Losing his patience Spencer picks you up and carries you to your shared bed, you whine when he moves you balls moving with every miniscule movement every step jolting them against one another. He lays you down gently on the bed and you whimper and squirm into the pillow's jaw clenched tightly teeth grinding. The room is filled with silence and you look up searching for Spencer. He stands at the end of the bed smug smile on his face watching you writhe against the blankets. “Spencer.” You whine out. “Is that what you should be calling me?” He questions sternly. You huff and just stare back. “Suppose I should go start on that new book.” Spencer says turning to leave. “Sir!” You cry out and the look you are met with is infuriating. He looks so proud of himself, you are completely at his mercy. “So, what do you want princess?” “I want them out.” “Really, I thought you enjoyed being filled.” You throw your head back into the pillows swearing under your breath. You feel the bed dip and Spencer’s hand is on your knee. “If you don’t want to answer I will leave them right where they are.” “Please, sir.” comes out in a high pitch whine as a weak hand grabs his own hand bringing it up your skirt to your wet panties. “Good girl.” He says hooking a finger in the hem of your panties pulling them down your legs and separates your thighs. He groans at the sight, he rubs a thumb over your oversensitive clit and you bite down on your lip when he slides two fingers in tugging on the cord. Your eyes roll back and your back arches off of the bed coming with a high pitched whine. The orgasm seemed to last forever. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, your skin feel prickly every touch bothersome. You flinch at a cold feeling on your arm. Your turn your head and through blurry eyes see Spencer holding a glass of water. He sets the glass down on the nightstand and wraps an arm around your back to help you sit up. “Sorry but you need to hydrate.” He says bringing the water to your lips for you to take a drink. Some condensation drips off the glass onto your chest and you recoil in his grasp. He sets the glass back back and wipes the droplets off with the sleeve of his cardigan. He lays you back down and lays behind you holding you close to him. His massages a hand through your hair, “Are you okay? Was that too much?” He asks. Your brain is in a fog, it wasn’t a bad experience but you aren’t sure if it something you would want to do again anytime soon. You got so lost in thought and silent for too long that Spencer turns you slightly to face him. “Are you okay?” You nod and his eyebrows scrunch, not believing you, you open your mouth to talk but your throat feels tight and no words come out. He sits you back up with urgency sitting behind you, “Deep breaths okay, slowly in…. Slowly out.” He instructs. You don’t know when you fell asleep, you wake looking down to see Spencer's arms still wrapped around you. You turn your head to see his concerned eyes, “Are you okay?” You ask. You see relief wash over him as he lets out a deep breath. “I was worried about you.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms tighter, “Don’t be this is my fault.” “I’m okay really Spence.” You try to assure him, he rests his head in the crook of your neck, turning his head to kiss your face all over, making you giggle. “How does a relaxing bath sound?” “Sounds perfect.”

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #Smut #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #reader insert #Female reader #x reader

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Careful

Takes place after 5x01 because I love that angst of that episode and I love hurting Hotch but also Reid so...

No warnings

Dozing in and out of anesthesia it takes Spencer several hours to recall the full events of the day. He’s in too much pain, too distracted to note the lack of people at his bedside. Penelope holds his hand and he knows it’s her because he cracks an eye open and sees that someone dressed as the embodiment of the rainbow is softly asking him if he wants another ice chip. As time moves on, minutes feeling like hours, his sense comes to him and he sees the room around him. Feels a pang of hurt when he realizes that while Derek is eating his jello he does not see the typical crowd of three always waiting just at the edge of his bed.

“Where’s Hotch?” he asks sleepily. He can’t disguise the pain in his voice at this realization that Hotch hasn’t shown up. Hotch is always here. Lingering just out of reach but watching, Hotch always watches. Maybe not every time that Spencer wakes up but there are always blurry memories of the older man. Sometimes resting or pacing the room or just sitting and waiting but something. There’s always something.

Derek clears his throat but Garcia’s softly muffled sob beat him to it.

The heart monitor jumps as Spencer’s anxiety skyrockets, the pieces of his memory filling in as he recalls the conversation he had with Emily. Foyet and blood and the hospital. He can’t fight his tears, no amount of quick blinking abates them. “Is he…”

Derek sits up, shushing him before he can find the words to fill in the heavy blank. “No, no,” he cups Spencer’s cheek, shaking his head. “No, pretty boy, he’s okay.” Derek shakes his head at his own exaggeration of the truth. Hotch is anything but okay right now but he’s alive and that has to count for something. “He’s a little banged up,” Derek amends. “He’s alive.”

They dodge his questions for the rest of the day. Using just how touched starved he is against him, turning his attention away from his thoughts with a hand pressed to his forehead. Fingers sweeping through his hair until he’s safely nestled back into his blankets and pillows, losing to his exhaustion.

The sunrise of the next day brings the pain he hadn’t felt under the mental fog of the other drugs. He curses Tobias Hankle and hates himself as he fists the sheets in his hands and shakes his head. Turning away their offers. Thankful he doesn’t have to explain how life has left him here chewed up and spit out and deprived of the drugs that would soothe this pain. Derek tries to help but Spencer doesn’t care that it’s not technically a relapse and no one would blink an eye if wanted something, hell anything but he shuts his eyes and refuses.

He’ll be fine.

The pain… After a while, he struggles to keep his cool. Penelope comes up early and wipes sweat from his brow where it’s accumulated in his strain. He tries to keep silent, answer her questions as nicely as he can so that he doesn’t say something mean. He hates the way that the words come out of his mouth. The way he takes his pain out on everyone else around him.

He just wants to know how Hotch is and after a while of their brief answers and shrugging, half-assed mumbles he can’t take it. Secluded to this bed, having no say in anything happening to him, all he has is time to get lost in his head. Which is okay for a while, he can think about books to take his mind away from the pain but that does get boring quickly. Daytime television is ass and he’s not nearly tired enough for a nap.

“How’s Hotch?” he asks knowing already what they’re going to tell him. Never direct answers because he suspects they’re trying to protect him but it’s really because they don’t know. They’re afraid to really know. He would be afraid too if he could see but he can’t see and he can’t know and he’s really, really fed up with it.

JJ shrugs. “He’s just--” she crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head. Guarding herself. “You have to be careful around him,” she mumbles. That’s all that any of them seem to be able to agree on. This careful that they all seem to ache with. The way that they can’t even look him in the eyes to say it. Even Penelope, she looks down and tears glisten in her eyes and there’s that word again: careful.

And he mistakes JJ to mean that he has to be careful around Hotch. That they’re saying that he is at risk of setting Hotch off and it’s childish and a simple misunderstanding but it drives him crazy. Of all of them, they’re worried about him? He and Penelope are the only people who don’t go out of their way to piss Hotch off. Derek yells at him all the time, the two of them never get along. Hotch has known Spencer twice as long as he’s known Emily and Hotch hated her for the first year she was on the team.

But he needs to be careful? As if they aren’t torches lighting him ablaze.

So, he goes to see for himself.

It’s late and he’s working with a small time frame. Needs to wait for Dave to head home after dinner but before Emily can come to sit with him for the night. It’s about twenty minutes, he knows only because Derek aired the concern two days ago. Was afraid of what could happen in that amount of time but Dave had won out and the twenty minutes remained. Hotch needs a break from them and he likes the twenty minutes, so they’ll give him that.

So, twenty minutes it is.

The moving makes him tremble, the pain nearly overwhelming but he’s got a plan and he needs to move. Needs to do it fast.

He doesn’t know where Hotch’s room is but he knows it’s on the second floor. He’d heard JJ and Emily talking about Hotch getting moved from the intensive care unit to a general floor but not one like Spencer’s. Someplace still close to the nurses who often need to get to him quickly. Emily had dropped that it was the second floor, twisting her fingers anxiously in her hands. She hadn’t liked the idea of the move but it wasn’t up to her.

So Spencer makes his slow way down the hall of the second floor. His bracelet and crutches get him far, it just looks like he’s been sent by another floor’s nurse to get some exercise in. That and he’s aware that his overgrown hair and thin body makes him look younger, innocent so he gets smiles and the occasional wave and one says anything.

Finding Hotch is harder than he’d thought it would be but he finds the room. A giant stuffed bear sitting in the windowsill-- the same one, if not smaller he notes with a jealous frown, Garcia brought him. Stepping into the room he’s not sure what he’s expecting to find but it’s not this. Careful, they’d said, and he’d thought of Hotch’s performative anger. The way he sends paper flying through the air. Thought of the way Hotch had fussed with him over the years for his dangerous stunts.

Careful and he’d assumed Hotch would be hardened. Guarded.

He’d never thought careful could be mean weak.

There’s a walker sitting by the bed, discarded Spencer knows when he realizes that the wheelchair is physically closer to Hotch. That the tiny amount of space between the chair Hotch sleeps in now and the bed was too great a distance. Even though it’s no more three feet, no more than a step or two.

He’s paler than Spencer has ever seen him, held up by pillows, and breathing heavily even with the aid of the oxygen canal sneaking under his nose. Entirely limp, lifeless with his head turned into the raised side of the chair. To his left is the dinner he’d left nearly untouched, unable to stomach even a bite of unseasoned chicken or the steamed carrots that should have been easy on his stomach. He’d had a few sips of apple juice and fallen asleep, exhausted from just being moved from the bed.

Spencer stands there so frozen that he’s glad Hotch is asleep. He can’t imagine the ways in which he’d hurt his boss if he were awake to see the emotion in Spencer’s eyes. To see the tears and sympathy as his eyes move over Hotch’s chest. Taking in the dots of blood on his chest, the gown pulled down to show far too much. To see the staples peaking through where the gauze isn’t thick enough. That he’s being held together like a broken doll and he looks their measures just aren’t enough. He’s broken beyond compare.

“Reid.”

He jumps and turns to see Emily standing outside the door and he wonders just how long he’s been standing there. He steps out into the hall, flinching at the grip she has on his elbow as she steps close to him. There’s something about her eyes, the sneer he hasn’t yet heard in her voice. He’s afraid of her and she wants him to be. “Don’t let him see you looking at him like that,” she warns but it’s not the way you reprimand a misguided child. She’s pulling his hand from a red hot burner and she means to scare him. “Do you understand me? Do you think that’s what he needs right now? Seeing you look at him like that?”

She releases him and he resists the urge to rub where her fingers dug in. Only then does she soften, just a little, and sigh with a shake of her head at him. “Pull yourself together,” she mumbles, brushing past him to step into the room. “Don’t come in here unless you can handle it.” He sees her pain now, the way she looks at the floor. “He needs you to be strong, Spence. It’s not easy but he can’t do it right now.” She pulls in a deep breath, “I’ll tell him you came by--”

He shakes his head, “no, no I--”

She stops him, “please? Take tonight. Feel. Let it sink in and come back in the morning. He’ll… he’s better in the morning.” But her tone makes him think that’s probably not true.

He watches her go into the room, watching from where he’s hidden as she walks up to Hotch. Cherishing a soft moment while he sleeps to press a kiss to his temple and wake him, gently like she’s sorry. They exchange soft words, Hotch’s too slurred for him to make out but Emily’s clear and kind. She’s walking him through the last few days, reminding him until he can nod and fill in the pieces himself.

He turns away when he sees Emily preparing to get him up and he realizes that he really isn’t strong enough for this. She was right and he can’t imagine… he doesn’t want to even think about Hotch right now.

Curiosity killed the cat and now he's dragging his sore ass back to his room. Left to sit on the image of the man who's always protected, the man who never leaves slumped and hurting because he can't stomach it. He's too weak.

Spencer's always too weak.

What does that say about him? That he can't think of a single time Hotch left him alone in the hospital, no matter his condition, but when Hotch needs him...

#criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner

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meeko-mar · 3 years

Text

Leak day is approaching, how we feeling?

I’ve had this bouncing around my drafts for a little while, a little idea that hooked itself into my mind. Who’s up for some BKDK Healing/Recovery Arc fluff??

I'm still deeply hoping for some slower, softer chapters to follow this VERY INTENSE war arc. I know a lot of ideas out there are operating under the concept of the boys healing TOGETHER in a hospital room, but like hear me out...

What if they start out at the hospital SEPERATELY and have to agonizingly wait until they’re better healed before they see each other? What if they can’t stand to wait any longer?

Spoilers for like...chapter 285 and beyond.

The nurses at the hospital had of course heard of Katsuki Bakugou, the boy who’d won the broadcasted UA Sports Festival. They had an inkling of the student’s more...aggressive tendencies. They steeled themselves for a potentially frustrating time managing and healing the reactive teenager.

The Doctors had done their best with his wounds in surgery as soon as he was admitted, got him stable with some much-needed blood transfusions, and sent him to rest and recover under the watch of a handful of night shift nurses. He was expected to wake sometime in the morning.

And yet, it was still the deep dark of night, when a tell-tale yell erupted from within the room with his name scribbled hastily onto the nameplate.

By the time the closest nurse turned the corner into the room, Katsuki was already pushing himself up with his good arm. Gritting his teeth, he swore aloud as stars popped in his blurry vision...but persisted in trying to lever himself out of bed. IV lines swung and tugged dangerously as he struggled.

The nurse rushed to the bedside as he tried to lean out the bed, but swayed from the vertigo. Pain exploded in his wounds, it felt like white hot coals had been dumped right into his gut and his left side.

“Young man, you need to lay down for now, your wounds..!”

“D-don’t tell me what to do!” Katsuki growled, in almost a feral state. Despite the drugs in his system, he was still in survival mode. His crimson eyes landed on her, still unfocused, delirious.

“Deku--Where...” He demanded again, voice cracking in desperation, still supported on one violently shaking arm. He squinted and blinked frantically; Why couldn’t he see straight??

The nurse grasped his good shoulder and eased the student back down into bed. Katsuki’s strong frame was resistant, but weakened by his injuries and lack of stamina. Even his willpower wavered with his consciousness.

“We can talk in the morning,” She assured in a calming voice. “But you need to sleep now, and stay put.”

Katsuki’s back connected again with the hospital bed, and it felt to him like it was grabbing him, keeping him there, and pulling him down into some dense fog. As his mind quickly began to drift, he wondered if the woman above him had some sort of sleep-aid Quirk. He blinked at the ceiling tiles and dimmed lights above, as the nurse adjusted his dosage, checked his IV, and logged notes on his condition. Another nurse hurried in, and they spoke quietly.

“What the hell...” Katsuki trailed off.

Both nurses flitted from the room, and Katsuki was alone in the darkness as it swallowed him.

“...De...ku...”

---

Katsuki didn’t have any idea how long it was that he was asleep. But as his eyes tried to flutter open again, they were met with soft light. And a silence that was almost jarring, after the battle, and after the frantic nightmares.

Nightmares...Aerial battles, explosions of green light...bursts of red....Black obsidian tendrils tearing through the air...

With a turn of his stomach, his eyes suddenly shot open, once again looking at a hospital room ceiling. Daylight was filtered out by thick curtains, and not far away, his parents seemed to have been keeping a vigil, each occupying a chair, leaning against each other in slumber.

His sight became a bit more focused and adjusted to the light, but his breathing intensified. He looked to his other side, and found he was in a private room. The door was shut at the moment; he was boxed in.

A flash of green energy played across his mind again....And a sick, charred hand that had reached out...

He felt a pain blossom in his abdomen as his breathing continued to spike.

He heard Deku’s yells in his mind again, and he once more felt the intense need to get up. His unrestricted hand clamped around the guards on the side of the bed, hoping for an anchor. Gritting his teeth against the fire in his gut, he tried to pull himself forward

“Hey...Hey!” He tried to yell, but it came out so hoarse, he growled and forced more of his pained breath into it. “Old hag!”

Mitsuki blinked awake, and jumped to see Katsuki staring back at her. Masaru awoke as well. and breathed a sigh of relief. Something twinkled in his son’s eyes that he was certain he’d never seen there before.

“Katsuki! Sit back down!! You’ll reopen your wounds!!” Mitsuki yells, surging to her feet.

“Don’t give a shit! Where the Hell is he?” Katsuki raged, once again pushing up with his good arm. His chest shuddered with hyperventilating breaths, and he felt as if it was threatening to tear him back apart. “Deku...Where’s Deku!”

“Deku?” His father asked, a bit confused.

“...Inko’s boy?” Mitsuki supplied, looking at Masaru as well. “Inko came to the hospital too, but...We haven’t seen her.”

“Dammit!!” Katsuki practically yelled, and tossed a venomous look towards the door. His fingers flexed with an overwhelming urge to blow the damn thing off its hinges. “What about All Might?? Or Half and Half, or fucking anyone who knows what the fuck’s going on?!”

“You settle the Hell down, brat, or I’ll make you!” Mitsuki loomed over him, a hand clamped tightly on the top of his head and forcing him back against his pillows. Katsuki glared at her, teeth bared and nostrils flaring, absolutely hating how weak he was to resist. “You’re damn lucky that whatever it was didn’t hit anything vital, but you almost bled out on the battlefield! You’re not going anywhere!! Don’t be a damn idiot!”

Katsuki tuned the rest of her words out. He was pretty sure she was turning to his father and going off on just how fucked this entire mission was, the insanity of putting teenagers who were clearly unprepared for the level of destruction that was involved...How none of them seemed to be properly informed of what the kids had been getting into.

They might have been discussing the prospect of Katsuki even going back to U.A. at this point, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t muster up a single iota of a crap to give over that right now.

He stared past his parents, at that damned door, waiting. Waiting with clenched fists, once again confined to laying against his uncomfortable pillows. His wounds were still too painful to move even if he wanted to. While somewhere out there...

Deku was somewhere out in that hospital, condition unknown. Red eyes glinted with moisture.

Come on.

Someone. Anyone. Come through that damn door...

He couldn’t believe how damn desperate he felt.

Tell me he’s safe.

---

Katsuki was loathe to comply with any procedures and check ups the nurses had to run on him for the days to follow. He grew more and more aggravated the longer it went on, the more they told him to wait. It was a developing situation, and there were so, so many civilians and Heroes in the hospital from that battle, the nurses didn’t have any time to prioritize seeking out any information on Izuku’s condition for him.

He crossed in and out of sleep all day and night. He couldn’t control it, between the pain and the meds, and even the sheer boredom of not having anything to do but agonize. He could only logically badger his parents so much concerning information he knew they didn’t have.

Sometimes sleep was a relief. A chance to pass time without thinking so deeply about everything.

Sometimes, it just gave him more nightmares and stress, and woke him with another hit of desperation to find closure for the battle he’d survived, confirmation that his best friends had made it out alive too.

News finally came when he woke up early in the next morning.

All Might appeared in the door way with eyes that seemed more cast in shadow than usual. Katsuki’s crimson eyes locked him and he immediately tried once more to pull himself up and forward. After the initial establishing conversation, All Might pleaded for privacy from his parents with a deep bow, and as they left the room, All Might drew himself back up. Blue eyes couldn’t quite meet Katuski’s.

“Start talking.” Katsuki grunted, and All Might pulled up a chair.

---

Izuku was lost in a long dream.

He was trying desperately to find the Vestiges again... He either couldn’t reach them, or...they were gone for good. He couldn’t quite remember, and the answer was so slippery it kept evading him.

Sometimes he would be minutely aware of what was going on around him in the physical world. Doctors. Nurses. Probes, needles, foreign hands.

Recovery Girl’s voice...Mom’s voice.

On the other hand, Nana’s voice. The First. Tomura Shigaraki. All For One.

He couldn’t quite grasp either side, and would be pulled once again into the dreams. It was as if he were stuck on a dizzying pendulum.

He gave in and floated for a while.

---

Hours passed, and little changed for Izuku. But as he seemed to surface back into the world, bits and pieces came back and fell into place in his mind. All of the things that had transpired. His slumbering mind could begin to process it, and make sense of it. Little by little.

By the time emerald eyes cracked open, Izuku had realized, he must have been asleep for quite some time. He had enough experience to recognize that he’d landed in the hospital, but felt powerless to assess how bad it was. He still felt hauntingly unattached to any of his limbs for the time being, no strength left to attempt to move them. He must have been heavily drugged by this point.

He wondered about Shigaraki, if he was also reduced to a quasi-sense of being, forced to lay low, let his mangled body regenerate. He prayed that the villain would be in such a phase for a while. Izuku knew there was no way he, or any of the heroes, could handle a rematch. Maybe not for quite a while, even.

A fleeting thought, however, as it was quickly overtaken by an urgent need to know the outcomes of so many....too many, of his friends, teachers and allies. Civilians, even. Aizawa, Gran Torino, Endeavour, all injured in battle. Shoto, his dear friend, and....

Kacchan.

The realization made a spike of anxiety lance through his chest like a knife.

Dear god, Kacchan. Was he...

“Ka...cchan--” Deku murmured, suddenly, feeling the tears pooling in his eyes. His poor mother, keeping a vigil by his side, leapt up and pressed a soft hand to his forehead, quivering voice crying with encouragement for her son.

“Mom, he...” Izuku whimpered, finally focusing on something for the first time, in his mother’s eyes. “Kacchan...The others...I couldn’t...”

As quickly as it had come, his resolve was gone, and his broken body wracked with sobs. His determination that had held him through the battle before losing consciousness, the rage, the adrenaline, was gone, and all that remained was the heartache that came from such destruction, from seeing his mentors and friends torn down one by one.

The image of blood suspended in air, and a shadow of a figure falling towards the Earth, stained his vision.

---

Days into Katsuki’s stay at the hospital, All Might visited again. The man still had so many new lines on his face, though he was heartened to see Katsuki, determined as he was, recovering and gaining focus quickly. Though with the focus, came that trademark, Bakugou impatience.

“He’s still in surgery!?” Katsuki yelled.

“More like, in and out of Surgery. They can only do so much at one time, even Recovery Girl could barely work with him, his stamina is almost non-existent right now...” All Might sighed. “And, there’s no shortage of other patients for her, unfortunately.” He said sadly, sipping a cup of tea with a white knuckled grip.

“That bad, huh.” Katsuki sneered, looking away from the man. Softly, he muttered, “Fuckin’ Deku.”

All Might smiled a deeply sad smile.

It had sounded spiteful, to the untrained ear, but by now, he could recognize how deep Katsuki’s concern really went.

---

One week after the incident at Jakku found Katsuki well enough to finally feel the cold tile beneath his bare feet again. Short walks were in order, as he was allowed to pace in his room every once in a while. The taste of regained autonomy was amazing, but he still felt the need to rest after very short walks, the wounds in his core still on the mend. Steps were small, and few, but Katsuki was feeling better for the improvement.

He leaned against the edge of his bed, muscles still stiff. Left arm in a sling, and right hand gently set on his stomach, he breathed deeply as he was able, assessing what his body was telling him.

He was gradually getting better, and the next goal was finally heading out that door. Fierce red eyes could have shattered the wood of the door, now left open just a crack. They couldn’t keep him in here forever.

---

“Good news,” All Might had told him, looking a little brighter. “They’ve moved Young Midoriya to the recovery ward. They’ve done everything they can for the boy, now all that’s left is to see how his limbs heal.”

Finally, Katsuki had thought. He was getting tired of waiting for the nerd to recover.

He scowled as he stalked out that door, and into the hospital hallway. His mended wounds still throbbed with each tender step, but the pain was becoming more and more dull everyday. He was itching to be able to get into physical therapy, and recuperate his body back into peak condition.

The ache in his shoulder gave him the most unease...His arms and shoulders needed to be up to taking the brunt of his Quirk. There was no time to lose in recovering those tissues, and he locked away any fears of never living up to his previous output, never being able to surpass it...He just couldn’t think of that right now.

Slippers scuffed against clean linoleum. Around the corner and nine doors down, All Might had said. He rounded the corner, and came, abruptly, to a stop, all inner thoughts ceasing. Crimson eyes had fallen on a figure ahead of him, and locked, his jaw dropping just slightly.

There before him, clearly in a state of dizziness, was Izuku himself. Of course, he seemed to be muttering to himself, staring intently at the name plates of each room he was passing.

Their eyes met.

His arms were bound up in thick casts once again, and in slings over his stomach, and bandages covered almost his entire torso in lieu of any shirt. Izuku stared back, large emerald eyes tired and glistening. He seemed to tremble at the sight of Katsuki, and the moisture in his eyes threatened to over flow.

“K-Kacchan,” He whimpered, blinking back the sudden tears, unable to wipe them away.

Katsuki's body suddenly unlocked, and he marched up on the other boy, as hard and as fast as his body would permit.

“What the fuck, Deku?!” Katsuki scolded. He planted a palm on the top of Izuku’s green head of hair, tilting his tear-stained face up to look at him. “Damn nerd, What the Hell are you doing out of bed?!”

“Kacchan,” Izuku sniffed, staring up into crimson eyes without an ounce of restraint on his emotions. “Y-you’re out of bed too...Are you okay?”

Katsuki twitched at the question, a reflex reaction now due to long years of rejection to the nerd’s selfless worries.

“Don’t you switch this around! I’m not the one who just got out of surgery!” Katsuki barked, ignorant to any stares from passersby they were drawing. “You shouldn’t be able to move, dammit!!”

“It’s okay, I mean, my legs feel totally fine!” Izuku argued weakly, even as his legs seemed to quiver just slightly beneath him. For the first time in the exchange, a hint of a dismissive, but pained grin tugged at his lips. There was still a very visible split on his bottom lip.

“That’s not the point, you--!!” Bakugou growled behind gritted teeth, fingers twitching impulsively under the messy nest of hair. How was he ever going to get through that thick skull of Deku’s??

“Please, Kacchan,” Izuku urged, “I know, I shouldn’t be out here yet, but I had to know for sure....that you were ok...I thought I’d really lost you...” He was beginning to choke on his words.

“They told you I was fine, so why go out of your damn way?! Why get outta bed when you can barely stand up straight, huh??” Katsuki retorted.

“I’m not explaining how much more it’d hurt if you were gone!” Izuku cried, and raised his head against Katsuki’s hand, cheeks flushed. He shook his head just gently, feeling a headache blossoming. “It’s not logical, I was...I was afraid, okay?! I have nightmares every time I close my eyes, telling me that Shigaraki kill-... took you away, or Todoroki wasn’t able to help you in time. It keeps replaying in my mind, and...And if it hadn’t been for me...”

He was gulping in air at this point, the words themselves seeming to scar him as he acknowledged their effect on him. Katsuki was unsurprised by the tears flowing anew, but something about the tremor in Izuku’s voice, shook him.

“I had to see you. And if my legs would work, then...There’s no way I could stop myself.” Although tired, his eyes glinted with that stubborn edge. It was the same, almost scared look of determination that had looked at him in the dark hallways of their first training exercise all those months ago...The first time they’d fought.

Wide crimson eyes held steady, and he noticed the shadows under the boy’s eyes, shadows of bruises that lingered against his freckles.

The hand that was on Izuku’s head suddenly shifted to the back of his head and he pulled gently, until Izuku’s forehead connected with Katsuki’s uninjured shoulder. Katsuki’s strong arm almost cradled him there in a half-embrace. A moment’s hesitation, and then his fingers curled around the deep, unruly green locks. Not to hurt, or threaten, never again...

“Idiot... Idiot. How the fuck do you think I feel?!” Katsuki muttered shakily against Izuku’s bowed head, his features furrowing. “Don’t you ever...fight like that again.” He bit his lip ferociously as it quivered, before any more words could spill out.

Izuku felt tense for a moment, adjusting to this strange new reality. In time, he eased, leaning into Katsuki’s offered shoulder, feeling the warmth of the arm curled around him. He felt a pang of guilt for being so overjoyed that Katsuki was here with him when so much had been lost...And another wave of surprise and contemplation as Katsuki’s words pinged around in his head. Even so, he dared to smile a broken smile into Katsuki’s shoulder, where no one in the world could see.

He only wished that his own hands were free so he could reciprocate the gentle gesture that was so exceedingly rare from the blonde, but so comforting.

Katsuki grimaced, but made no objection when tears began to soak the fabric of his shirt. The weight and the warmth of Izuku’s head against him was oddly comforting to him. A quivering sigh of relief escaped him, his cheek buried in green curls.

Reluctantly, the thought dawned on him; This is okay. Whatever this is...was worth the damn wait.

Turns out the wait was actually much, much longer than the time spent in the hospital.

---

*BONUS* owo

I DID happen to doodle the moment that really locked this into my mind and made me have to write this; I literally drew these at slow moments at work on receipt paper. (scanned a tad bit out of chrono. order though)

ALSO A NOTE:

I happened to fixate on this idea of Kacchan always grabbing Deku by the head(there was a post with a lot of this floating around not too long ago) and I’m convinced it’s part of his own unique language. You may have noticed, I threw in the little detail of contrast with how his mother in fact does the same thing, but forcefully, and exerting dominance over her son. Kacchan uses it this time to communicate with Deku, but it ends up being more gentle and as a comfort.

YES PARELELLS.

If I ever have time and inclination, I would love to redo these little doodles, honestly = u =

ANYWAY thank you if you’ve made it this far, I hope you liked :D

#Bakudeku #BKDK #katsudeku #bnha spoilers #Post-war-arc #Katsuki has trouble with emotions #Speculation #HEALING ARC PLS #bnha fanfic #bnha fluff #bkdk fluff #oneshot #mostly Kacchans POV bc I enjoy writing him #and honestly he'd be conscious probably much sooner than Izuku?#Izuku is very very injured and he's gonna have to be in surgery for a while I'm betting

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ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Tri-Amare: Change Overnight

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~4.6k Rating: T with implied off-screen M activities Time Frame: First year of college? Maybe second? Dunno yet Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: Oh gods, why would I think it to be a good idea to add another iron to a fire I’ve been struggling all year to keep hot enough to produce works worthy of posting? I blame the adorableness of the first several episodes of the Nijigasaki anime; the others have been awesome in their own right, but ideas for this started brewing early. So I guess I’m writing a Niji fic now as well.

Ughn… Ayumu felt her nose wrinkle and her brow furrow as a dull ache in her head filled her slowly waking consciousness. Is this what a hangover feels like? Karin and Emma had described the sensations to her a while back after a bunch of former school idol club members had gathered for a celebration of something. For some reason, Ayumu had feared it would be worse, but then again, she hadn’t had all that much to drink last night. At least not as much as the other two…

Last night hadn’t been the first time any of them had consumed alcohol during a celebration, but Ayumu was pretty sure it was the first time they had actually gotten drunk. Just what kind of beer had Yuu brought last night?

The three friends had gathered last night to celebrate Setsuna’s first single as a professional idol reaching Gold status in sales and the top of the Oricon charts for a week. Ayumu had cooked, Yuu had brought drinks and Setsuna was told just to bring herself as she was the one being celebrated. Not surprisingly, she still ended up bringing something anyway, signed CDs for her favorite fans. It all had been a fun night, not all that different from many other nights except the lack of studying and a particular focus on Setsuna and her accomplishment.

Ayumu’s vision was blurry as she opened her eyes, but the pink she saw indicated the duvet was hers so this was her bed. That made sense, as they had gathered in her room, which again, was fairly normal these days as it was typically the cleanest of the three.

Black. And green. Wait… was that…? Ayumu blinked a couple times in an attempt to focus. Sure enough, Yuu was asleep beside her. It wasn’t the first time her childhood friend had shared a bed with her, but Ayumu still felt a bit of heat gather in her cheeks from the proxim… wait… Yuu was closer than normal. A lot closer. So close, in fact, that…

Oh gods…

Ayumu repressed a gasp as she realized that what she was hugging in her arms was not one of her favorite stuffed animals, but instead, Yuu’s arm. Geez, now she would have to figure out how to let go without waking the other girl, lest she be teased about it. Slowly, and ever so gently, Ayumu began the process of detaching herself from Yuu. However, as she did so, she became aware of another sens…

Oh gods…

Why were neither of them wearing pajamas?!

The temperature of Ayumu’s cheeks reached a boiling point. What the…

Breathing. Senses still kicking in, Ayumu realized it wasn’t just Yuu’s and her own breathing she could hear. There was a third. All but forgetting the fact that she was still attached to Yuu, Ayumu pushed up on her shoulder and craned her neck just enough to…

Oh gods…

Setsuna was lying on her side, mirroring Ayumu’s position such that she assumed the part time idol was hugging Yuu’s other arm. And of course, she didn’t appear to be wearing pajamas either.

Heat was now spreading down Ayumu’s neck. What the heck happened last night?!

Ayumu squeezed her eyes shut as she focused her energy toward piercing the veil of fog in her mind and recalling any sort of details from the prior night.

After dinner, the three girls gathered together to watch a recording of one of Setsuna’s performances. Ayumu and Setsuna had leaned against Yuu in the middle to get a better view of Ayumu’s laptop screen. It hadn’t been the first time the three had squeezed together to watch something, usually anime or idol related videos. It was so common, in fact, that the three had developed an unspoken routine to rotate who got to be in the middle.

What was unusual last night was the alcohol and a heightened sense of… something… Ayumu still couldn’t quite put a finger on the exact emotion, though it had probably been a mix. There was the all too familiar feeling she got when Yuu and Setsuna became lost in their own world while she was stuck watching. Throughout the concert, Yuu bounced back and forth between giddy fangirl and keen-eyed but friendly critic while Setsuna lapped up both the praise and insight like a happy puppy.

Thankfully, Ayumu had at least been able to get in a compliment or two of her own and had received in return several of Setsuna’s signature smiles, the kind that could ignite any heart with line of sight. Ayumu often wondered if the idol had any idea as to the effect of those smiles and if she invoked them intentionally or if they were just a natural part of her charm; Ayumu suspected the latter.

Still, something had continued to bother Ayumi. She hated to admit it, but it was likely the fact that Yuu had been completely focused on Setsuna to the point it felt like she had all but forgotten Ayumu was even there. Not that this should have come as any surprise, that was just how Yuu was when she was hyper-focused on one of her interests. Quite frankly, Setsuna wasn’t all that different, and when the two shared a given interest, a geeky feedback loop consumed them and it was often tough to get them back to reality. And idols were one of those shared interests. Not that Ayumu could blame them as she herself remained a fan, particularly of Setsuna.

Ayumu couldn’t deny her jealousy when Setsuna thanked Yuu for her help with composing the single that just charted, particularly because Yuu had responded by pondering the possibility of getting an internship at the same production company, which Setsuna had thought would be a good idea. This of course would mean the two would be working together and likely grow closer, which had reminded Ayumu of the decision she had made and that she still needed to tell the other two.

But then something had changed. The concert came to an end and Yuu had sighed. Then, saying something about nostalgia, she had opened a new tab and pulled up a different idol video. Ayumu had been surprised when she was suddenly watching herself on screen. A younger, school idol version of herself, but still.

Immediately, Setsuna had cooed something about adorableness which Yuu followed up with something about cuteness, or had it been the other way around? Not that it mattered as Ayumu had already lost the battle in keeping down a blush by the time the other two came to an agreement about her being even cuter now. Ayumu had sworn, years ago, that someday she would react better to such compliments, but that day yet to come. Thus, as always, she had found herself a flustered mess as the other two showered her with adoration.

Perhaps it had been the booze. Perhaps it been the desire to react differently. Perhaps it had been just giving in to a long-repressed desire. Perhaps all three… or probably… no, most certainly all three. In any case, the next memory that came to her was that of leaning in and pressing her lips gently against Yuu’s cheek.

Yuu had giggled her name in response and looked like she was going to return the favor when Setsuna had leaned in to plant a kiss on her other cheek. Ayumu’s jealousy flared again, but instead of pushing Setsuna away, she had pulled… and kissed her fully on the lips.

Oh gods… it really had been her that initiated all… that… Ayumu held down an embarrassed whine as memories continued to bubble up from the hazy depths of her mind.

Ayumu had realized what she had done and tried to retreat, but Setsuna had grabbed her shoulders and pulled them both deeper into the kiss. At that point, Yuu said something Ayumu couldn’t fully recall, but it had caught the attention of the other two girls. They broke off their kiss, turned and descended upon her.

At that point, Ayumu had no idea whose hands or lips went where, but she remembered the sensations. And the passion. Yuu’s gasps. Setsuna’s whimpers. And both of their moans. And by the gods she remembered how much she had wanted more.

Ayumu opened her eyes to see her two closest friends still sleeping soundly beside her. More… she still wanted more. Of course she wanted more. Yuu and Setsuna were more than just her best friends, they were the two she loved more than anyone, or anything else. Yuu, her childhood friend, on whom she’d had a crush for years. And Setsuna, who ignited something within both of them and changed the course of their lives before joining them for the ride as if she had always been there.

The three of them were practically inseparable through their second and third years of high school. And now in college, they’d gone so far as finding a dormitory with three available rooms next door to each other to make it that much easier to be together outside of class.

But now things were more complicated. Why did she have to do that? Ayumu chastised herself for her behavior the previous night. She knew better. Love triangles don’t last. They can’t. And they never ended well for the childhood friend.

Ayumu sighed. She thought she had steeled herself to step away and allow Yuu and Setsuna to be a couple. And she was going to do it last night, but Setsuna made her announcement at breakfast and Yuu immediately suggested a celebration that night. There was no way Ayumu was going to be the one to ruin the mood. Even if she wanted them to be happy, she knew her friends would want to console her and that would just bring everyone down.

“Nnn…”

A quite voice dragged Ayumu from her thoughts.

“Ayu… mu?” Yuu murmured, turning unfocused emeralds toward her.

“G-Good morning, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu managed to get out with minimal stuttering.

After Yuu yawned, Ayumu felt movement on her chest. Oh no! She was still holding Yuu’s arm! Yuu was moving it probably with the intent of rubbing her eyes or scratching an itch or stretching or…

“Ayumu?”

Oh gods! What to do? If she let go now, the movement would likely cause the duvet to slide away and reveal… But if she held on, Yuu would probably be able to feel… Oh gods…

“Why are you…”

“Kyaaa!”

A sudden scream came from the other side of Yuu and the duvet was pulled away. Setsuna, in her surprise, had apparently rolled backward off the bed. And taken the covers with her.

The next few minutes were chaos as the three girls scrambled to find covering while avoiding looking at each other.

“Ughnnn…” Yuu was the first to break the silence, which didn’t come as a surprise to Ayumu. “Anyone else have a splitting headache?” She let her head fall back onto the mattress from her position sitting against Ayumu’s bed.

“Mmm…” Came a meek reply from Setsuna who had backed herself into the corner between the wall and the desk. She clutched her knees to her chin as though to make herself as small as possible while not seeming to care what her position was revealing. Not that finding the skirt she had worn last night would have made much difference.

“Mine isn’t all that bad.” Ayumu admitted. “Do either of you want some water?”

“Yes, please.”

“Mmm…”

“Alright.” Ayumu got up to retrieve several bottles of water.

Upon her return, she couldn’t help noticing how cute Yuu looked in her pink shirt. Somehow, in their haste, they had ended up with the other’s top. It wasn’t the first time they had swapped clothing, but it was still rare to see Yuu in pink. Also, it had been a while, so doing so again felt… no, now wasn’t the time for that.

“Here.” She held a bottle out.

“Thanks, Ayumu.” Yuu replied with a tired smile. “You’re the best.”

Geez… she’s not making it any easier, is she…

Ayumu shook that thought away before making her delivery to Setsuna. “Here.”

After a moment, Setsuna looked up, then away, then down, and away again. The blush spreading across her cheeks was hard to miss. Wait, was she… Geez… Yuu-chan’s shirt is short on me…

“A-anyway, drink up, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu managed to get out as she pulled down the hem. “It should help a little.” That said, she made her way back to where she had been sitting.

Once again, silence descended upon the room.

Not good. Ayumu thought feeling a tension start to rise. Somebody say something. Please. Yuu-chan! You’re better at this! … … Geez…

“So…” Ayumu ventured.

“Mm?” Yuu turned her head toward her.

“Uhm…” Ayumu couldn’t help fidgeting with the hem of her… Yuu’s shirt. “What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… last night…”

“What about it?”

“Well, we…”

“The drinking, or…”

Yuu-chan, you can’t possibly be that dense! “Not the drinking.” Though I am still curious about that beer you brought.

“Oh, well…” Yuu rubbed the back of her neck. “I mean I wish I remembered it in more detail. But I remember feeling really good. And that makes me happy.”

Yuu was happy about it? That’s good right? Or does it further complicate things?

Yuu furrowed her brow. “You two felt good too, right? I hope I wasn’t the only one.”

“Y-Yes.” Oh gods, did it feel good.

“Setsuna-chan?”

The raven-haired girl nodded weakly.

“But honestly, who would have thought Ayumu would be the one to make the first move.”

“Y-Y-Yuu-chan?” Ayumu sputtered, feeling heat explode across her cheeks. Yuu was right, of course, but did she really need to say it out loud?

“And all this time I’d been holding back because I thought you weren’t ready.”

What.

“You were holding back?” Ayumu’s mind reeled at the implications.

“Well, yeah, I mean that kind of stuff is normal, right? Of course I’d want to do that with the ones I love.”

Setsuna’s head snapped up, causing her to wince, but she gritted her teeth through whatever her hangover had just dealt her before opening her eyes again to stare at Yuu.

“Love?” Ayumu ended up being the one to put a voice to what she assumed to be the shared thought of both Setsuna and herself.

“Of course, love.” Yuu’s expression seemed one of either confusion or annoyance, though perhaps a mix of both. “I love you two. I… thought that much was obvious?”

Oh… Oh no… No. No, that’s not fair!

“Ayumu? What’s wrong?”

Of course, now she decides to be perceptive.

Ayumu swallowed hard.

“I’m… sorry…”

Yuu blinked. “Sorry? What are you apologizing for, Ayumu? Because you started…”

“No! The truth is…”

“The truth is…?”

Oh gods, why did it have to be so hard to say? Would it have been easier to say it last night? Before they did… that?

“I’m… planning to move out.”

“What?!” Yuu practically shouted, pushing herself up to stand on her knees, before realizing it was a bad idea. Her face contorted and she fell back down to sit on her feet, but she leaned forward again anyway to continue. “Moving? Ayumu? Why? I thought you liked it here?”

“I do, but…” Say it. Just say it and get it over with. “I’ve decided that you and Setsuna-chan need your space to be a happy couple. I’m just getting in your way.”

Yuu moved her mouth but no sound came out as she stared.

“You’re not in the way, Ayumu-san.”

Both Yuu and Ayumu turned their attention to the girl huddled in the corner who looked to be on the verge of tears.

“You’re not in the way.” Setsuna repeated. “Even someone like me can tell that the two of you have pretty much been a couple since longer than I’ve known you. If anyone is in the way…” she took an uneasy breath “it’s me…”

“Setsuna-chan…” Yuu whined, collapsing back against the side of the bed. Her shoulders slumped with the weight of what her two friends had just revealed.

“I saw it right away, when I first met you.” Setsuna continued. “I saw it, and yet… I still fell for you. Both of you.” She tightened her arms around her legs. “While I was hiding my love of idols and anime from my parents, you two gave me a safe haven to truly be myself. And even when I could be more open at home, I realized how much more fun it was to share my hobbies with friends in person than with faceless avatars on random forums. And somewhere, amid all the time we spent together, I realized I couldn’t get enough, because I had fallen for you. But you two were already together.”

Setsuna paused as though still choosing the best words. “You know, I tried to walk away several times.” She made eye contact with Ayumu. “But you two just kept pulling me back in. And I kept letting you. And now… I guess I just wanted to hope that maybe my triangle would be different.” Her gaze fell back to the floor. “I’m sorry, I should just…” She let go of her knees and seemed to get ready to stand up.

“Wait.” Yuu stated. “Both of you, wait. Please.”

The other two girls turned toward her.

“I think…” She shook her head. “No, I know, I owe the two of you an apology.” She looked back and forth between them a couple times to make sure she had their full attention. “All this time, I’ve been thinking everything was great between us, that we were all happy together. I mean, I thought the main reason we got these dorm rooms, despite them being an extra station away from where we all need to go every day, was so we could live next door to each other and make seeing each other all the time that much easier.

“But I had no idea that either of you felt this way. I didn’t see it at all. So, I’m sorry. I really am. And I don’t care if it sounds selfish, but I don’t want either of you to go. I can tell you right now, losing either of you will not make me happier… Wait, now I’m confused. And maybe it’s just the hangover, but… You both wanted to leave because you loved me and wanted me to be happy with the other… Do you two not love each other?”

“What?” Setsuna seemed taken aback and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees to crawl a meter toward the others. “It’s because I also love Ayumu-san that I wanted her to be happy with Yuu-san! And I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

Ayumu stared at Setsuna. The same. They really did feel the same. Why hadn’t she noticed it sooner?

“So…” Yuu scratched her head. “Ayumu, you love Setsuna-chan and me.” She pointed at her childhood friend but didn’t wait for an answer before moving on. “Setsuna-chan, you love Ayumu and me. And I love the both of you. We don’t want Ayumu to leave. We don’t want Setsuna to leave… What about if I left?”

“No!” Ayumu and Setsuna said in unison.

Yuu grinned. “Then I guess the only solution is for us all to stay together.”

Was it really that simple? “Can we really do that?” Ayumu couldn’t help asking.

“Why not?” Yuu asked in return. “We’ve pretty much been doing it already up until now; we’re always together, we go on dates constantly, we share cooking responsibilities, we stay over in each other’s rooms. Heck the only things we didn’t do we just did last night. Sure, we just uncovered a snag where you two each thought you needed to leave for the sake of the other two, but now that we’re all on the same page and know that the other two both want us to stay, we should be good, right?”

“It won’t be easy…” Setsuna said quietly.

“Relationships aren’t supposed to be easy.” Yuu countered. “They’re about working together for the common goal of being happy together. Sometimes it feels easy because the rewards are just that great, but other times you have to slog through and remember that the effort is worth it.”

Ayumu blinked. As romantically dense as Yuu often was, it was not completely uncommon for her to catch Ayumu off guard with some poignant bit of insight.

“And I believe you two are worth all the effort I can give.” Yuu flashed a smile. It was the smile Ayumu had loved since childhood, naturally confident and casually reassuring, and it never failed to make her heartrate spike for a moment or two.

As the other two remained quiet, Yuu decided to continue. “And you know, triangles are the strongest shape. That’s why they’re used so often in construction. Graphene is the strongest substance we know because of the triple bonds formed among the carbon atoms. Triangles are also the most stable shape. That’s why they’re used for tripods for cameras and stuff. And…”

Setsuna had started giggling about halfway through Yuu’s geeky rant, but now held up a hand. “Alright, alright, we get it.”

“But I’m serious.” Yuu insisted. “Just think about it, how much we behave like a triangle, how the sides are always supporting each other. Setsuna-chan, your passion keeps Ayumu and I motivated to do our best. And Ayumu, your reliability helps keep Setsuna-chan and I grounded so we don’t lose ourselves to our hobbies.”

“And Yuu-san’s support helps Ayumu-san and I keep our confidence throughout the day.” Setsuna concluded.

“Yeah, something like that.” Yuu nodded.

“Wait…” Ayumu spoke up. “Why do I get the negative one?”

“Negative?” Yuu tilted her head to the side questioningly.

“You two are positives with passion and support, but it sounds like I’m somehow keeping you from having fun?”

“That’s not what I meant at all, Ayumu.” Yuu shook her head. “By reliable and grounded, I meant that you’re kinda like a guide or a navigator or… Oh, I know, it’s like we’re a boat out on the ocean. Setsuna-chan is the engine or propeller that drives us forward and you’re the steering wheel or rudder that keeps us on an even keel. Can’t get to your destination all that well if you’re just drifting aimlessly without power or navigation. I know I’d still be drifting aimlessly through general studies if you two hadn’t been around to help power and navigate my journey through my music course.”

Ayumu smiled as the newer analogy resonated with her. However, “You left yourself out again, Yuu-chan.”

“I did? Oh… uhm, I’m… hrm…”

“Yuu-san is the hull that keeps us afloat.” Setsuna offered.

“The hull?” Yuu scrunched her nose.

“You’re definitely our hull, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu agreed.

“Alright, I suppose maybe I am the hull.” Yuu conceded with a sigh. “Although,” her gaze landed on Ayumu for a moment before settling on Setsuna “I don’t think I’m quite as buoyant as either of you.”

What did she mean by… Ayumu realized where Yuu was looking. “Yuu-chan!” She scolded, feeling herself blush.

Yuu burst out laughing. However, the bout only lasted a moment before setting off lingering hangover effects.

“Setsuna-chan, you should finish buttoning up.” Ayumu said, moving toward the other girl.

“Huh?” Setsuna looked down to find that in her haste to get dressed earlier, she had only secured two buttons on her shirt. Thus, from her position on her hands and knees, she had apparently been providing Yuu with a rather voluptuous view. “Eeeehhh?” She rocked back to sit on her legs and began fumbling with the fasteners.

“Here, let me get that.” Ayumu offered, reaching over the secure the buttons with a dexterity unhindered by a hangover. However, despite the action having begun in good faith, Ayumu found it difficult to resist stealing her own glimpse. Well… maybe if she wasn’t as blatant as Yuu…

“T-Thank you, Ayumu-san.”

“Sorry, Setsuna-chan.” Yuu offered. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you that much.”

“It’s fine…” Setsuna decided after a moment. “It’s not like you didn’t already see it all last night…”

“We’ve also visited hot springs together like a dozen or so times.” Yuu pointed out. “Anyway, still have any doubts, Ayumu?”

Did she still have doubts? She knew Yuu was right when she said that relationships were not easy, and whatever difficulties two might have, three would have to face that much more. But also, as Yuu had said, she was willing to do that work. And there was no doubt in her mind that Yuu and Setsuna would put forth the same effort. Because they all wanted the same thing, to be happy together.

Ayumu shook her head. “No. I’m just… really happy right now.”

“Good. And I’m happy as…” Yuu was interrupted by a yawn. “Ughn… either of you two remember what time we went to sleep last night? It feels like we woke up too early or something.” She yawned again. “Well, good thing it’s the weekend so I can take a nap.” She turned and started climbing onto Ayumu’s bed. “Either of you want to join me?”

“Do you think another hour will help with my headache?” Setsuna asked, crawling toward the bed.

“It should.” Ayumu replied, following the others. “Huh? Yuu-chan?” She found herself blocked from taking her former position as Yuu had already made it to the wall side of the bed.

With only a smile and a gentle touch on the arm, Yuu guided Ayumu down between herself and Setsuna. Oh, so sleeping arrangements were going to rotate like when they watched anime and idol videos together. She dismissed a thought that such a thing may not be best for one’s sleep cycle as she decided the three of them could discuss it if it became an issue, or they may just figure it out intuitively, like they did with their anime viewing.

Emerald eyes entered her field of vision. “I love you, Ayumu.” Yuu said quietly before pressing her lips gently against hers. Then as quickly as she appeared, she retreated.

Her mind barely had time to register the event before eyes of cendrée appeared. “I love you too, Ayumu-san.” Setsuna said in a similar volume before also pressing her lips to hers.

Ayumu stared upward in a surprisingly satisfying stupor as the other two exchanged affections above her. No flare of jealousy or laments of being left out disturbed her as she watched contently. She basked in the warmth as Yuu and Setsuna settled down on either side of her, taking her arms into theirs. She was happy. Very happy. And she realized she should probably tell them that.

“I love you two, Yuu-chan, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu murmured.

Two pairs of eyes snapped open to stare at her. Was it really that surprising? Oh… wait… was that the first time she had said that to them? Certainly, it wasn’t the first time she had thought it, but… oh dear… Perhaps she should apolo…

Two smiles creased two sets of lips. Likely since they had already given voice to their feelings, the other two remained quiet. Setsuna tightened her embrace for a moment before nuzzling into Ayumu’s shoulder. For her part, Yuu shifted her hold so she could slide her hand down into Ayumu’s and intertwined their fingers.

No. No apology was necessary. They knew. And they accepted and loved Ayumu for who she was, even if this was the first time she had said as such in return for all the times they had told her.

Ayumu closed her eyes, took a deep breath and released it slowly. There would be plenty of time for her to give more voice to her feelings later. For now, it was time to relax and enjoy a peaceful slumber, snuggled between the two girls she loved.

This triangle would definitely be different.

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Amare #Love Live Nijigasaki #no idea if that's the right ship tag...#may have to change it later #or add alternate versions #like with yohariko and yoshiriko #to which i should probably add yohariri at some point...

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years

Text

a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Part 23 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Very Very Long Naps

Read on Ao3

Martin remembers what it had been like, vaguely—to step over the threshold of Upton House and feel months of sleeplessness and hunger and thirst and filth accumulate on and within him all at once. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like—being exhausted to your very core, being startlingly mortal in your physical needs. Being human. He’d reveled in it, just for a moment, as his mind recognized his body’s old habits and sighed with a sort of content.

Then, weakness and fatigue had crushed him with the weight of a thousand sufferings, and he’d collapsed. For 71 hours, apparently. He supposes when they say you can’t catch up on sleep, they don’t count on you staying awake for a literally uncountable amount of days.

Now, as he watches the last eye overhead blink out of existence, its gaze burning through him until the very end, he feels that same crushing exhaustion return tenfold, nearly collapsing him on the spot, as the world lets out a collective sigh and mortality makes itself known once more. His hand tightens around Jon’s as he feels his knees weaken and his mind begin to turn fuzzy and blurred, and he knows that Jon’s feeling the same by the way he sways slightly, bumping into Martin’s side.

“That’s… that’s it then?” Martin manages to say, tongue heavy with sleep that longs to claim it. “We… we fixed everything?”

“I��” Jon trails off, and Martin thinks it’s just the exhaustion catching up to him, but when he glances over with blurry eyes, he sees that Jon’s forehead is knit in confusion. “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

“You… you don’t…” Martin frowns, but the words slip from his tongue like water on wax and his mind can’t quite catch them.

“I… I can’t…” Jon slumps fully into Martin’s side, the sharp angle of his elbow pressing into Martin’s stomach. “Too many… threads…”

He sways, just once, and then collapses against Martin. And when darkness comes to claim Martin as well, he can do nothing but let it.

When Martin finally feels sleep release him, it does so to bright yellow light streaming in through a dusty window and a scratchy woven comforter slung over him that’s just a bit too hot. He groans and shifts, and his elbow comes into contact with something soft and pliant.

He looks over, and a vibrant warmth curls within his chest.

Jon’s next to him, still asleep and relaxed in a way Martin hasn’t seen him in months—hell, maybe in years. The persistent dark smudges under his eyes have faded into the barest hint of grey, and the lack of tension in his body makes Martin realize with a start that he’s actually sleeping, all of himself contained within his own mind, no parts stretched to touch the minds of others, to consume their suffering even under the guise of rest.

He feels so unbelievably, uncontrollably happy, just for a moment, as peace finally begins to make its home in his chest.

Then, he remembers what had come after the peace and happiness—the blank stares, the lost trains of thought and memories that slipped through fingers like water, the lack of Jon Martin saw when he looked into Jon’s eyes as they stepped back over the threshold and into the thrumming fear that called to them—and he’s seized by an all-too familiar terror.

He reaches for Jon, but his hand stills just shy of his shoulder. He hesitates, just a moment, before his fingers curl back in toward his palm and he slowly retracts his hand. It might be the same as before, he thinks with a twisting sensation deep within him. It might not. Either way, he just- he can’t interrupt what little true peace Jon may have left. Not over a fear that can be dealt with in its own time. If it need be dealt with at all.

Besides, his stomach is currently doing its very best to consume itself, and his tongue is dry and sticky with thirst, so he carefully extracts himself from the bed and moves to the door of the bedroom. It hasn’t escaped his notice that this is not the safehouse, nor is it anywhere that strikes a sense of familiarity within Martin. His hand closes on the door handle, and he offers a quick prayer to a God he has long since stopped believing in that this safety has been offered by genuine hands.

He opens the door and steps out.

He’s alone. Perhaps that should be a relief, to not have fallen into yet another trap with no escape. Perhaps he should be disappointed, to not see a familiar face—though there had been so few left at the end.

He just feels tired again. So, with a sigh and weary steps, he makes his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Upon the fridge, adhered with a magnet of a black-and-white cartoon spider:

Martin,

I do hope you and Jon are doing well. I suppose congratulations are in order—it couldn’t have been easy, bringing the world back into balance. Of course, now that the Ceaseless Watcher has—well, has ceased watching, I suppose—there’s a gap to fill, but don’t concern yourselves with that. We have it quite covered. Just rest now—you’ve earned it.

As for the house—it’s yours. Call it a thank-you gift for all you’ve done these past few years. You’ll find the cabinets well-stocked, and there’s a university nearby with two staff openings that I believe you’ll find suit your needs exactly. It really is a lovely little town—quite similar to that Scottish one you both seemed so fond of. That one’s gone now, of course, remade in this world’s recreation, so this will have to do. But don’t worry—you’ll like it here.

Also, please do let Jon know that should he need anything—anything at all—all he has to do is ask. After all, this is a wonderful new world that we live in—I think he’ll find that it will suit him quite nicely. Do make sure he remembers that.

Annabelle Cane

In the other room, Jon blinks awake.

They’re sitting in one of the green spaces of the university, on a wooden bench shadowed by a spiraling tree that looms just a bit too tall overhead. The birds that chirp from its branches are slightly too low-pitched, just a bit too harsh. Though they’re the only ones who notice. Who know. Who, when the world had been flipped on its axis, had been fortunate enough to Watch.

Jon stares at the employee badge in his hand, proudly proclaiming him a new professor of information and library science, with a detached look in his eyes. “I… I just asked for it, Martin,” he says, running the pad of his thumb over the block letters that spell out his name: Dr. Jonathan Blackwood-Sims. “He… when he handed it to me, he said, ‘Welcome aboard,’ but his eyes, they were… I don’t think he actually saw me.”

Martin fiddles with his own employee badge, labeling him Admissions Coordinator like that’s something he’s even remotely qualified for, and remembers with an unsettling twist of his stomach the way the man who handed him his badge had looked as he moved, his motions just a bit too stilted to be quite his own. He thinks of the note, left pinned to the fridge, and Jon’s maintained coherency, and the gap to be filled, and doesn’t particularly like the picture it paints. “Maybe he was just… tired,” Martin says, knowing it’s a bad excuse but letting it blanket them anyway. “And… thought you were someone else.”

The dry look Jon shoots Martin matches that of the picture on his employee badge, and Martin gives up. “Yeah, okay, fine. Point taken.” They sit in silence for a few moments, letting the sounds of wind through the leaves and the gentle murmur of students passing by numb them to the growing unease within. Then, quietly, Martin says, “So that’s what Annabelle meant, then? When she said to- to ask.”

Jon stares at the ground. “I don’t know.”

“Because I would have thought that with the Eye gone, you’d be- I don’t know, released or something, not just pawned off to the closest available fear—”

“I don’t know, Martin!” Jon’s eyes are alight with a raw desperation as he turns them from the ground to Martin. “I- I don’t know. I don’t feel different, but- but I also don’t feel like I’m fading, like I’m losing myself like I did before. I don’t know if that means that I’m- I’m just severed completely, if that’s even possible, or if I’m tied to the Web now, or if it’s something new entirely, something in between the Eye and the Web, or if it’s none of those things! I can’t know anymore.” Jon’s hand grips the badge so tightly Martin can see it cutting red lines into the flesh of his hand, and a subtle terror begins to creep in behind the desperation in Jon’s eyes. “I can’t See anything, but apparently I can Ask, and I don’t know which is worse.”

“Oh, Jon,” Martin says softly, and he puts his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pulls him tightly to his side. Some of the tension bleeds out of Jon as Martin presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s.” Jon pauses, his breath hitching slightly. “It’s fine. It’s… whatever this is, I don’t think it’s something I can get rid of. Not… not like before. I’m… I’m stuck. Trapped.” Jon lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Though I suppose that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Martin glances out over the green, at the flowers coming into full bloom in the warm early summer air and the stone pavers that carve their way across the grass. It’s so alive, in a way that fills him with so much love and longing and joy it hurts him to contain it all, and he gets to share it with Jon. Jon, who he loves, who he married as soon as he possibly could because he couldn’t bear to lose his chance again. Jon, who he’d longed for for so long, through the Archives and the fears and the terrifying moments in that destroyed world when Martin thought he would lose him. Jon, who is his joy, chasing away the tendrils of fog that once curled around his heart and that still nip at his heels when he isn’t paying close enough attention. He can think of a thousand different words to describe what this world is to him, and what this world is to Jon, but trapped is not one of them.

The Web doesn’t do favors, and it doesn’t offer kindness without expecting something in return. But this, Martin thinks, feels less like a kindness or a favor, and feels more like a thank you. And when faced with the scale of human suffering, a thank you feels quite all right.

“It could be worse,” is all he says in the end, because he knows that Jon doesn’t want to hear another placation about how it’ll all be fine. Then, with a small smile, he adds, “After all, we have jobs now, and there’s a Sun in the sky again, and I love you.”

There’s still uncertainty and distrust brimming in Jon’s eyes, undercut with something Martin thinks might be curiosity, but he lets himself relax into Martin’s side with a sigh. “I… suppose.” His hand finds Martin’s, and he threads their fingers together and squeezes, just once. “I love you too.”

The wind blows through Martin’s curls, bringing with it the scent of cut grass and far-off rain, and he lets it soothe the last vestiges of nervousness that linger at the back of his mind, telling him that though this is a world that has righted itself, it has not quite given them the courtesy of being free.

#whumptober2020 #no.23 #exhaustion #the magnus archives #fic

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glassworkspiderlilies · 4 years

Text

like some holy rite

Fire Emblem Three Houses | Dimitri/f!Byleth | AO3 Summary: Byleth wakes up and finds Dimitri at Garreg Mach some time before the Millennium. For a while, it is just the two of them. It makes...somewhat of a difference. —Azure Moon reunion, and onwards. Notes: Is it absurd to post a 19.5k word fic in this format? I sure hope this post supports it; I’m not sure I’ve ever written this long a fic before haha. Guess we’ll find out. I recommend reading this on AO3 anyway, also because my actual notes are there too. :’) Long story short, I am FLINGING this out there after months of working on it, as I started writing this as I was playing through Azure Moon back in December lolol. _(:3 」∠)_

“You shouldn't go there,” the villager warns as Byleth’s gaze towards the monastery sets with determination, nearly begging as he adds, “I won't be held responsible!”

She doesn't deign a reply, starting to pick her way towards Garreg Mach, slowly but steadily. The more she walks, the more she feels like she's coming back to her body, the movement like oil to her machine even as she feels like she’s walking through a fog. She's still wrapping her head around what the villager said—it's been five years since Garreg Mach fell—but she can't quite believe it. Not that she thinks him a liar. Things are simply too strange; she's been caught in some kind of intricate web since—or even before—she arrived at Garreg Mach, and she has no answers, and Sothis...Byleth knows it was Sothis who woke her, but the goddess is quiet once again.

And so, amidst all this strangeness, Byleth is alone.

It's not fear that drives her towards the monastery, even when the villager had recounted the gutted bodies of Imperial soldiers with a shudder. But it is familiarity. She needs to rendezvous. Even if there's nothing there but rubble, even if there's nothing there but monsters and bandits, she has to go, wants to go, to the place that she spent the last year in relative peace, if only so she can think within its ruined walls.

So she goes, climbing the rocks and rubble and debris, stepping over and past the numerous—too numerous—bodies that litter the ground. She decides on the cathedral for its vantage point, finding the structure largely still intact as she makes her way up the stairs. Even here there are bodies, blood both old and new staining the stone. She doesn't pause at the fresher red; she has not been afraid of enemies for a long, long time.

The sunlight filtering in startles her after the darkness, but she adjusts quickly. The view distracts her for a moment, but when she casts her eyes over the rest of the open space, she realizes there is someone else here.

Byleth is calm; her senses are attuned and rarely lapse, despite Sothis scolding her in the past for being dull. Whoever this is—they are not an enemy.

As she takes her first steps towards the figure crouched in the shadows, she knows—yes, this is not an enemy. She knows him even as his name comes slowly, and she is crossing the distance with an even stride as the sound of her boots echoes in the chamber.

Byleth sees the grip on his lance tighten, the weapon seeming like the only thing that is keeping him upright. She knows before he lifts his face that five years have not been kind to him, that he is haggard and wounded, possibly beyond repair.

When he does lift his face, cheeks splattered with blood, a patch of black covering one of his blue, blue eyes, his gaze so bleary and unseeing…it takes a minute for Byleth to place the emotion welling up inside of her. It's a quieter form of what she felt as she held her father's cooling body; this boy—no, man—is still alive, but oh does he look like death, like he doesn't know how to be alive.

Just as he looks at her, unsure if she is real, she too gazes back, unsure if he is corporeal.

She takes a few more steps forward, reaching out a hand, hesitating. She's always dared, but this...perhaps the consequences will be too much.

“I should have known...” he begins, voice rough from disuse. But in it too is pain, and grief, and a touch of wildness. “That one day...you would be haunting me as well.”

Careful, she warns herself, but still, she dares.

Gently, ever so gently, feather-light, she traces his cheek to jaw with her fingertips. He shudders violently at the touch despite the mere whisper of it, the sound escaping him caught between a keen and growl.

“Dimitri,” Byleth says, her voice coming out like a sigh, a whisper. Perhaps a prayer.

He looks at her with both puzzlement and wonder, as if he cannot fathom why sound should be coming from her lips.

“You...” he says, darkness and bitterness and guilt eclipsing the brief, so brief light in his eye, “What must I do to be rid of you? I will kill that woman, I swear it! Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes!”

She doesn't know what to say—she's never been good at expressing, but Dimitri has never been one to mistake what she can express. It's not scorn, but pity, and the fact that he mistakes—misinterprets—it...she realizes he's not seeing her, not truly.

“A wish for a world where no one is ever unjustly taken from us...” she sighs, her soft voice an echo of a distant memory, of regret. “Ah, Dimitri. How many have been taken from you?”

He stares, truly stares, his gaze sharpening. She looks upon him, her fingers still lingering on his jaw; she traces backwards this time, jaw to cheek, then upwards to brush his shaggy bangs from the patch on his right eye with her fingertips.

“It can't be...” he says hoarsely, and for a moment he looks desperate and afraid to hope. “You're alive....?!”

“Everything will be okay,” she murmurs, because she wants to believe it, but his face shutters closed, what could have surfaced lost underneath the dark.

“Hmph. If that's the case, that can only mean you are another Imperial spy. Did you come here to kill me?” he says, and when she doesn't reply—”Answer the question.”

He spits out the words like a challenge, growling and angry and ready to attack. But she does not obey, and stares one of her long, unsettling stares, and something, something in him backs down, just a little, just enough.

“Of course not,” she finally says, and he groans like her refusal hurts him, like he wishes she were here to end him.

He brushes past her—close enough that he just grazes her shoulder, far enough that she could consider the contact her imagination if she wanted to. But she stops him when she speaks again.

“I'm glad you're safe,” she says, her voice soft.

There is a long, heavy pause.

“Am I?” he asks, and Byleth—oh, she hurts, in that internal phantom way, and she feels the trace of a tear roll down her cheek but doesn’t know if it is physical or imagined. She cried when her father died but this man is alive—and yet it hurts just the same.

“Dimitri,” she says, lifting her hand once more, but he sees the movement and whirls, eye wild.

“Don't touch me!” he all but howls, but Byleth's hand freezes where it is.

“I won't,” she says evenly, “But sit with me.”

“No,” he growls, but he makes the mistake of meeting her eyes, and he cannot look away.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” she says, and he flinches at the use of his full name, his royal name.

He doesn't move even as he bristles, but she finds that a more positive indication than not. Her vision goes blurry for a second though, and she sways a little, but she steps forward to stabilize herself.

“Stay a minute,” she says faintly, like she's asking him to stay after class to discuss something, as she did with her students in the past. She tilts, and he sees his arm fly out of his cloak to catch her, and her last thought before she blacks out yet again is that there are some things that do not change after all.

He's there when she swims back up to consciousness, the sun setting red and gold. She finds that she's tucked sort-of by his side, not touching, but near enough to, so that part of his voluminous cloak is draped over her. He's sitting like when she first found him—hunched over, hand gripping his lance, head cowed. But she's here now, next to him.

Blearily, she unfurls her hand, the back of her finger resting lightly against his knee. After a moment, he shifts, moving just a breadth away. She closes that distance as well.

“What do you think you're doing?” he says, voice rumbling low.

“What have you been doing for the past five years?” she murmurs instead.

“I have been dead, more or less,” he counters easily, flatly. There is a silence before he speaks again, the words rushing out of him, tinted with anger and accusation, but also—disbelief, still. “And you? Where were you?”

Byleth sighs.

“I don't know,” she whispers, trying to reach for splinters of memory. “There was—the dragon, and the canyon...I...think I screamed.”

Dimitri goes rigid. She touches her throat lightly, as if she can't believe she did such a thing.

“And then...there was only...the darkness, for a long time.”

“Yes,” he says, and she understands it's not because he's corroborating her story.

“Eventually...Sothis was there...” she continues, “And then she wasn't. And I came here, and you were here...and you're still here.”

“That, I am,” he says harshly, bitterly. If the use of the Goddess' name startles him, it's overshadowed by other emotions.

“And I'm here too,” Byleth says.

A pause.

“That, you are,” Dimitri responds, less tightly.

She looks up at him, but he refuses to meet her eyes again, his hair shadowing his expression.

“Dimitri,” she sighs, sleep claiming her once more, “Dimitri.”

He waits until her breathing slows again and he knows she's asleep. He hovers a hand over her cheek, struck by how big his hand is in comparison. He could kill her so easily, right now. It's in his crest, his blood.

For once, he doesn't want to; the ghosts, right now, are silent.

“Hello, Professor,” he says quietly, the greeting sounding—almost normal, like how he used to greet her around the monastery. “It's been—too long.”

He's not the same, can never return to the boy she likely remembers, especially if she hasn't experienced anything of the past five years. He doesn't know how to tell her—anything. Not that he saw her fall and heard that piercing, echoing scream of hers that day, five years ago, and one final, final thread in him snapped as a roar burst out of him when he reached out as if he could save her. Not that in a distant, distant place in him, he'd hoped she was alive somehow, because her ghost was not among the usual chorus—though this was something he hadn't quite realized himself until she appeared again, and when she did, in thinking that she had finally perished if he was able to see her again, he didn't know another part of him could wither.

Dimitri stares as she sleeps, unable to parse what it is he feels about her presence here, amongst everything that's happened. If she cannot reconcile what he's become, then nor can he reconcile how she hasn't changed. She doesn't fit in, cannot fit in in the blight that is his current existence.

He won't, then. He'll leave her be, and she can do what she will, as she as always done. It doesn't, and won't, matter; she is merely someone he used to know.

He moves, intending to get up, but she curls in her sleep, breaching the remains of distance, her forehead pressed lightly against his leg.

Dimtri is frozen. It would be so easy to move, so, so easy.

Things have never been easy with the Professor.

In the end, he stays, cloak draped over her form, watching the sun set, listening to her breathing into the night.

He's gone in the morning, just minutes before she opens her eyes, the warmth of his body and cloak still on her skin.

When she'd first arrived at the monastery, she had been something of a—ghostly presence. A trained mercenary, indeed, but many thought she could have found occupation as an assassin. Deathly silent in her movements, utterly quick and efficient in her fighting, preternaturally calm and blank. But as more time went by, and as she grew more accustomed to the lifestyle at Garreg Mach and teaching, the Blue Lions especially were privy to the changes in their professor as her main class. Byleth Eisner became more solid, more human to them over the course of the year, and well-loved.

And Dimitri...he had become particularly adept at reading and communicating with their still-enigmatic professor. He had deeply treasured the times they sparred, the times they had tea, the times she'd help him train orphans in swordplay. Like anyone else, he had loved their professor.

Like anyone else.

But now—she feels like the same kind of presence that he found her to be in the beginning: silent, and unsettling, even as he knew that she meant no harm, then. He no longer knows how to read her, and, caught between familiarity and finding her a threat (for even if she means no harm, she is still a threat), he finds himself on edge and wary and overall uncomfortable.

Byleth follows where he goes, mostly, though sometimes she wanders off to some other part of the monastery. She fights the “rats” with him, though her style remains clean and efficient even as he brutalizes his prey. He can feel her eyes on him, though she says nothing.

He continues to avoid meeting her eyes, brushing brusquely past her when she attempts to speak to him. Some days, he'll give her curt, sharp responses. Neither treatment seems to deter her; she stays with him.

Sometimes, he comes out of a haze, on trial with a jury of ghosts, to find her back or side pressed against his. Sometimes she is asleep. Sometimes she is not. She lets him move if she is awake, does not protest or hinder him. He can never quite bring himself to move is she is asleep. He never stays if she is awake, only when she is asleep, though he is always gone just moments before she opens her eyes.

He will not say he appreciates her presence. He doesn't. But she slots herself back into his life neatly. Not seamlessly, not as if she has never left, but neatly.

The ghosts have grown quieter.

He no longer knows if that is what he wants, because the ghosts have been his jury since the tragedy. He doesn't know if he can live without them anymore.

Dimitri does not worry or search for her when she is nowhere to be seen. He does not feel relief if he ends up spotting her in the distance, trailing among the rubble, as if she is trying to place what it used to be. He doesn't care.

But he looks for her, and ends up watching. As if he cannot help himself.

A part of him still bristles, shouting that she is an enemy, no matter how she acts—the Imperial soldiers, spies, assassins and Kingdom traitors have tried all manner of methods to kill him, from brute force to the finest seductions. The bodies all look the same when he's done with them.

Yet even after all these years, Byleth is still an exceptional swordswoman, and the Sword of the Creator seems even more comfortable in her grip. Maybe that is why she feels—safe. There have been a handful of times where she's startled him, or moved too quickly, or simply caught him at a bad time, and his lance never leaves his side. But any time he's swung, she's blocked it cleanly—though perhaps sometimes she'd had to dig in her feet to account for his strength. Sometimes she merely just steps out of the way, and he misses entirely. It's one strike, only ever one.

“You've gotten better,” Byleth says one day, as she lowers her sword. “But not more skilled.”

Dimitri glares. As if there is an art to murder. Once, that comment would have bothered him, or driven him to improve. But not now.

She offers nothing else. They never spar—Dimitri never accepts, the handful of times she's suggested it. He never apologizes for his lapses; she never expects them, breezing past the moment as if it didn't really matter to her. Perhaps it doesn't, even as he cannot understand why.

“You need to sleep sometime,” Byleth murmurs one night, staring at the bags underneath his eyes, lowering his weapon with her own.

Dimitri blinks several times to get his bearings, then grunts. He didn't sleep well as a student, and since then, he hasn't slept in years.

Byleth reaches out—he growls, but does not say don't touch me, and so she inches closer. He shudders when her fingertips touch his skin, though perhaps less violently than the first time.

“I'll guard you,” she says simply, and he barks out a humorless laugh. He opens his mouth to retort, but she levels him with a stare.

“I'll guard you,” she says again, and motions to a more comfortable-looking piece of rubble to lean against. He won't take a bed, she knows, and so she doesn't bother recommending one. She'll stay where he wants to stay, and it is always the ruined cathedral.

He stares at her, considering walking away, but she continues to stare back and he eventually relents. He settles down where she'd gestured to, and she nods in satisfaction. She leaves his line of sight momentarily to patrol the immediate perimeter before returning, sitting on another comfortable-enough piece of rubble, her eyes and posture alert.

Dimitri doesn't know why she's bothering, when he won't even sleep. Even if he does drift for brief moments, the clamoring in his head will not let him rest. Better to not even attempt to sleep, in the end.

Still. He supposes there is nothing else to do right now, without rats scuttling about to be disposed of, and his body would shut down sooner or later if he didn’t perform at least minimal maintenance. He still had things to do. If Byleth wanted to waste her time guarding, then so be it.

He lets his eyes droop, and eventually, after a long, long while, he drifts.

When he wakes, he's so groggy that it takes him quite a while to realize that he isn't in the same position as before he closed his eyes. He's lying down—and not on the hard ground either.

He closes his eyes again, a mixture of emotions roiling inside of him. He doesn't want to turn and look up to see what he knows he will see, and instead turns his head a little bit so that he can hide his face, hair falling over his eyes. Perhaps she's asleep, and he can pretend like this never happened.

Unfortunately, he feels her fingers lightly brush his hair back, hand resting on the back of his head. She wouldn't have gone back on her word to take watch.

Her hand is warm, her lap is warm, and Dimitri cannot handle it. He turns the other way, an accusation on his tongue, but it dies the moment he sees her face, gentle and serene.

She's not staring at him—she's looking forward, still on watch, but does look at him once she feels him turn. She smiles faintly at him, but says nothing, and then returns her gaze forward.

“It's still early,” she murmurs. “Go back to sleep. I will guard your dreams.”

She strokes his hair, nails scratching gently at his scalp, and he is still so, so tired. He sighs,

“How can you do that?” he mutters, though it comes out less cutting than intended.

“I'm here,” she says simply, and he sighs again.

“Yes. You are.”

She murmurs something else but he cannot make it out, already slipping back under.

He doesn't dream.

She's still there in the morning when he wakes. Dimitri rises as quickly as he can, and she also gets up from her position to stretch. Neither say anything about what occurred; Byleth yawns, and then curls up on the ground again.

“Clear,” she informs him, her eyes already drooping.

He stares at her. After a moment, he takes off his cloak, wrapping her in it, her head pillowed by the fur around its collar. He sees her smile faintly, but she's already asleep before a thank you can leave her lips.

He prefers it that way.

Dimitri is no guardian of dreams, but he stays as she sleeps, as he always does, and leaves just before she wakes, as he always does.

Sometimes, he truly loses himself in the heat of battle.

There are none around the monastery that can give him any challenge—thieves, bandits, Imperial soldiers and spies, they're all the same as he fells one after another. He pays no mind to Byleth when she joins him for the hunts; she knows well enough to stay out of his way. When he starts, he only knows the heat of bloodlust, and rage.

He's grown numb to the corpses he creates; he no longer looks at their faces. But it's never satisfying, after the battle; he always feels cold, empty, the blood stiffening his body as it dries.

Dimitri doesn't know which the worse state to be in is, honestly. He's never had to think about it before, but now Byleth is here, Professor is here, and thus the paradigm changes.

Stubbornly, he clings to what he knows.

He lets his mind go blank during the next wave of Imperial soldiers, cutting down any moving body he sees. He loses track of time—surely there hadn't been that many, but his sense of numbers have been skewed over the years as well. Ten, fifty, one hundred—how many is too many enemies to face? They're all weak, so weak, too weak for this world.

But so are you, the ghosts whisper. After all, you let us die. You let your friends die. You were too soft a prince to be king, and now...now what? What can you possibly be the ruler of?

“Be quiet!” He hisses, swinging his lance, “I vowed I would bring you her head! I will do it if it is the last thing I do! I will not fall until then!”

Dimitri, they moan. Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri. Avenge us. Avenge us.

“Dimitri,” a voice calls. “Come back to me.”

The ring of metal against metal snaps him back to attention, and as the haze of battle lifts, he realizes that it's Byleth in front of him, the Sword of the Creator in its whip form wrapped around his lance.

“Professor?” he questions, his voice like that of a child. Confused, shaking, high-pitched.

“Welcome back,” she murmurs, tugging her sword, and thus the lance from his grip.

He lets it go. She catches it before it clatters to the ground, untangling and sheathing her blade to carry his weapon. She reaches out a hand to grab his, but hesitates. He stares at her extended hand blankly, numb, and she wraps her fingers gently around his arm instead, giving it a light tug.

He complies. He remembers nothing after that, only truly coming back into his body when he realizes Byleth is scrubbing his hair vigorously with her nails. They're in the baths, only his chest bare, but the whole of him drenched in warm water.

He...doesn't know what to ask. Where are we, what are we doing, what happened—he can figure out the answers to all of these with a little thought. So he stays quiet, and allows Byleth her ministrations. It's actually a little bit painful as she scrubs, but not unwelcome. She holds a hand over his eyes as she dumps water over his head to rinse, and he sees the water run red, then red again. She keeping pouring until it runs clear.

“Soak,” she says, and he turns his attention to the steaming bath. He looks at her, and she stares back impassively, holding out a towel.

He understands that she means to stay, and tries to form words as he takes the towel. He is a little embarrassed, even now, but she turns, and he hesitates for a moment before stripping out of the remainder of his sopping clothes, wrapping the towel around his hips, and sinking into the water. She turns back to face him after she hears the water still again, and nods in satisfaction.

It's silent, save for the occasional drip or splash of water, and it takes a while before he begins to feel flushed from the steam and heat. He makes to get out, and Byleth offers him another towel, as well as monk robes. He raises an eyebrow, but she shrugs, and leaves him to change.

His cloak still hangs in the changing room, and he throws that on over the robe before walking out.

Byleth is nowhere in sight, but he makes his way to the cathedral and finds her sitting on the pews in front. His wet clothes have been wrung out and draped over the pews on the other side, drying. His armor too rests in a neat pile.

She turns and tilts her head at him when she hears him approaching, gesturing for him to come closer. He does. She motions of him to sit, and instead he sits on the floor at her feet, cloak pooling around him. She smiles a wry smile, then pulls his head into her lap, running her hands through his damp hair.

He closes his eyes, unable to protest; after the bath, he feels dislodged and exhausted. He lets out a deep, burdened sigh, and she pats his head.

“What have you been doing for the past five years?” she asks, again.

“I have been dead, more or less,” he responds, again, though the words sound simply tired this time.

“And what does that mean?”

He doesn't answer right away, focusing instead on her fingers through his hair.

“Dedue snuck me out of the prisons,” he says eventually, “And paid for it with his life.”

“...And the others?”

“I've been on the run. The Empire reaches far, too far. They can only be dead.”

There's another silence between them.

“Why did you come here?” Dimitri asks.

“It was the only place I could go,” Byleth says. Her words are matter of fact—because truly, where else would she have gone? She had no home, no attachments to any place as a mercenary, and with Jeralt gone...there was never any other option. “And you? Why was it that I found you here?”

“It was the only place I could go,” Dimitri says too. It wasn't—sentimentality, just a bleak hopelessness that had him moving back towards the monastery. A familiar place, away from the Empire and its prisons, where he could plan and think, at least for a little while.

Byleth hums.

“Professor,” Dimitri says, sounding very much like the boy he used to be.

“Hm?”

“Leave.”

She lets out a soft laugh, and despite it all, a vague sort of warmth blooms in him at the sound.

“No,” she says, so simply. “Sleep, Dimitri.”

It takes a while, but he obeys.

“PROFESSOR!”

He watches in horror as Solon completes his spell and Byleth is swallowed up into the darkness. There is silence, and the Professor is no longer there, and Dimitri—he cannot articulate what it is welling up inside him. The rest of his classmates catch up to him, Dedue and Felix both catching sight of his face, and he doesn't know what it is they see there. Dedue is impassive as always, but his eyes widen just a fraction, and Felix's eyes also go wide, then narrow, a scowl creasing his face as he turns back to Solon.

Dimitri's knuckles are white as they grip his lance, eyes still trained towards the sky.

He's shaking.

“Boar!” Felix barks, grabbing his shoulder, and flinches almost imperceptibly as Dimitri turns to him, eyes still blown wide with shock. “Pull yourself together! We still have enemies to fight!”

“Enemies,” Dimitri echoes, hollow, “Yes.”

Felix hisses, shoving his prince as he tears his hand away, but Dimitri doesn't feel a thing.

He doesn't recall actually fighting, just vaguely remembers swinging his blade, the weapon becoming slick with blood. He doesn't know how much time passes before Annette's shriek pierces the air.

“Everyone! Look!”

He looks. The sky splits open, light rendering the sky red, and he waits with bated breath as a hand reaches out of the tear, and then slowly, Byleth steps out of the sky, sword burning bright in her hand, eyes and hair glowing Goddess-green.

Dimitri, practically blinded yet unable to turn his gaze away, wonders if this is what salvation feels like.

It's almost the same when she appears again, five years later, but Dimitri knows—there's no saving him, now.

“Forgotten already, your highness?” Glenn laughs, “Don't you remember my body, at your feet? How cold I was in your hands?”

“My son,” his father calls, “Dimitri—you must not let them get away with this.”

“Oh, my son, my son,” his mother weeps, “Bring me her head—only then can I rest.”

“Please,” he begs, “I've made my promises, it was my fault, and I am sorry for it—”

“It was not your fault,” comes the whisper of light.

“It was,” he insists, “I was there, I could have saved them—”

“You could not have.”

He shudders.

“Weak, because I was weak—”

“No. Because it was out of your control. You were a boy. How could you have known? What could you have done?”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry—”

“I forgive you, if it is truly mine you're seeking.” the light says. “Peace. I'm here.”

He weeps, apologies and sins incoherent on his tongue.

Byleth cradles his head and lets him confess.

He is wary the next morning when they finally cross paths again, back in his black armor with his lance tight in his hand.

He had awoken with his head still in her lap, her hands still on his cheeks. She had been snoozing lightly, and woke when he moved to look up at her; the two had gazed at each other sleepily for a moment before Dimitri pulled away and left without another word. Byleth let him go, yawning and stretching as she rose from the pew, her first order of a business a bath of her own.

She makes no comment, of course, when they reconvene. He's at least partially back to his snappish self, but—his gaze lingers, when he speaks rudely, as if he is self-conscious of the disrespect.

It amuses her, a little, to see the difference, even as it flickers in and out in the coming days. There are still good and bad and worse days, where he ranges from that awareness of his behavior to uncontrolled anguished raving and violence, but. But. There's a brink, now, which he can come back to, no matter how tenuous and fragile it is at the moment.

But he retreats again, when they finally confront the root of the infestation of bandits and thieves, and one by one the rest of the Blue Lions house makes their appearance, five years older. There's no time for a proper reunion in the midst of battle, but Byleth is pleased, and her former students yell and whoop and laugh when they catch sight of her alongside Dimitri.

When they finally do get the chance to speak after the battle, Dimitri is gone before she realizes. Felix scoffs, and Gilbert, Ingrid, and Sylvain look at each other worriedly. Mercedes, Annette, and Ashe are too excited to see her to fully take note the change in Dimitri at the moment, Annette hugging her so tightly that Byleth cannot breathe.

Still, she smiles, and though her former students stare in surprise as they always did at the rarity of the expression, they smile back. Plans are made, the monastery regains life slowly, but quicker than she could have expected. Dimitri sequesters himself back in the cathedral at all hours, and the others take their chances to approach at first before keeping their distance after he lashes out, or cows them with his countenance alone.

With how much they were in each other's company before, since there had been no one else, Byleth feels like she has not seen him in days. She has a new role, with the others looking to her for guidance that they cannot find in Dimitri even as they address him. It feels similar to five years ago, where her role as a professor blended with tactician and commander—but now, she is an adviser to a king, save for an official title. Everyone still calls her “Professor”, unable to shake the habit, or perhaps they too need the familiarity. She hasn't changed at all in these five years.

When she finally does make her way to the cathedral, Felix is there too and pulls her to the side.

“Do something,” he hisses at her, though his eyes are on Dimitri, “I can't bear to see that creature in the state it's in.”

Byleth says nothing, only looks to the prince standing by the ruined altar.

“He's gotten better at killing,” Felix says, his brows furrowed, “But in doing so, relinquished what little humanity he had.”

It's the Felix way, Byleth knows, to be like this. He's concerned in his own way, for his own reasons, but there is a past between them that she does not know the full extent of that colors it all. The reason why he only calls Dimitri the Boar Prince, and never by name.

“Such things,” Byleth says after a long moment, as the two of them stare at Dimitri's back, “Are not so easily undone.”

“I know,” Felix says, almost miserably. “But...”

He stares at her, eyes burning, and she inclines her head.

“I will not move any faster than I have been.”

Felix frowns, but seems to piece some things together. Have been, she says.

“You found him first,” he says, slowly. This, they all know, but how long ago, they did not think of.

Byleth shrugs.

“Neither of us knew the Millennium would be upon us,” she muses. “I am...glad you all came. He will be too, once he...remembers how.”

Felix snorts, and turns away.

“As you will, then,” he grumbles.

“As I will,” Byleth agrees, and leaves his side to stand next to Dimitri.

Felix watches as the Boar Prince turns to her, temper flaring, but she glances at him but for a moment before turning her gaze to the rubble.

“Go away,” Dimitri still says, but it sounds defeated, somehow.

“No,” Byleth says, and remains where she is. The two of them stand in silence, until Byleth is called elsewhere.

Sylvain laughs, when Felix recounts this interaction later to his childhood friends. Ingrid smiles.

“Still weak to the Professor, I see,” Sylvain says, with a grin. “How long do you think they were here alone together?”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid says, slapping him on the arm. He winces. “This is not the time. In any case. It's...reassuring.”

Felix admits to nothing, but at the very least, he trusts their Professor.

But the Boar is another matter, and always has been.

Byleth makes her decisions and stands by them. She is not afraid of Dimitri, no matter what he has become—she is far more used to being the one that is feared. The mercenaries did not call her Ashen Demon for nothing, sometimes in derision, sometimes in respect, sometimes in awe. Dimitri is called the One-Eyed Demon now, so if the pair of them are demons together, then they are the only ones who can deal with the other and come away relatively unscathed.

Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid notice when Dimitri takes his prisoner; the other Blue Lions come at the tail-end of the confrontation. Dimitri's tirade is—difficult to hear; it is difficult to see what he has become, especially to his childhood friends. Felix's head spins, fury and despair warring, and just as he surges forward, he feels a hand on his shoulder before a figure brushes past him.

Byleth casts judgement on Randolph, quickly, mercifully. She takes note of his last words, flicks the blood off of her sword, utterly calm.

“What...is the meaning of this?” Dimitri seethes, once he processes what just happened, and he does not back down this time when Byleth turns her eyes on him.

“...I miss you,” she says, just a little wistful, and they all know what goes unsaid.

His face contorts.

“The Dimitri you once knew is dead. All that remains is the repulsive, blood-stained monster you see before you,” he growls. They stare at each other for a moment before he spits out his next words. “If you do not approve what I've become, then kill me. If you insist that you cannot...then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones.”

Felix mutters beast under his breath; Sylvain and Ingrid watch with pained faces. Annette and Mercedes have tears glistening on their cheeks, and Ashe's eyes are bright with tears as well.

But Byleth steps closer, steps directly into his space, all but pressed up against him. Though she is nearly a full head shorter, she stares up at him, and the air seems colder than before. It feels as if the world has slowed and there is only Byleth and Dimitri, Dimitri and Byleth, boring holes into each other with their eyes, or maybe it is just Byleth that is doing the boring.

An eternity seems to pass before a hiss escapes from Dimitri's lips like steam escaping pressure, and he looks away first, severe unhappiness evident on his face. He turns sharply on his heel and leaves, and Byleth watches him go. She waits only a moment before she turns to the rest of her former students.

“We bury the bodies,” she says, her eyes distant but her expression otherwise perfectly normal, and the Blue Lions wait only a moment before following her orders. They know not what, exactly, passed between their Professor and future king, but they are glad to not have been caught between them.

Night finds Dimitri in the cathedral, as usual. Byleth joins him later, much later, when there is no one to see. It is not because of gossip that comes at the late hour, merely because it is so.

It is quiet; Dimitri has no pleas for ghosts, tonight. They sit in silence, and the minutes pass; there is less tension than one might expect, only a tremulous, wary thread of something waiting to break.

“I am a monster,” Dimitri says eventually. His voice is steady, sure. “I do not know why you continue to persist. You saw me today.”

“You are not a monster,” Byleth counters, just as steadily. “So do not think it...excuses you for your...poor decisions.”

Dimitri is silent.

“I know...why you are as you are,” she continues, haltingly, as she struggles to find the proper words. “And so I hesitate to interfere too much. But know...that I will interfere...as I see fit to.”

“Because you are here,” he says, turning to her, an eyebrow raised.

“Because I am here,” she agrees, width a faint smile.

He stares at her, breathing in deep to let out an equally deep sigh. They stay there, in the cathedral, with Dimitri facing the ruined altar again, Byleth sitting behind him.

When morning comes and the castle stirs once more, neither are to be found.

Ailell puts Dimitri in a fouler mood, between the heat and the ambush, and even Byleth suffers from the punishing temperatures. She is conscious of every rivulet of sweat that drips down her skin, and pities those who must wear armor. She hasn't the faintest of how Dimitri is surviving, with his black attire and fur cloak—or maybe his single-minded focus pushes even the heat out of his mind.

To be fair, once the battle begins, she is no longer thinking of the heat, only how their surroundings affect their troops. They must finish the battle quickly and get out of the Valley of Torment; soldiers from Faeghus especially are not made for the heat.

Dimitri and Rodrigue reunite, and Byleth watches closely as the prince's eyes gleam with an old light. She knows from experience to not get complacent, and Dimitri's minuscule softening is no exception.

She is even more on watch during their next battle, where Dedue enters the fray, scarred but very much alive. For a longer moment, Dimitri looks like the boy she once knew, the boy they all once knew, and Byleth almost wants to believe that Dedue's return will be the true catalyst in Dimitri's health. But such things cannot be so easy. She may be far from an expert of the matters of the mind and heart, but she knows danger when she sees it.

Yet—Byleth ultimately becomes distracted and heartsick, even without a heartbeat; she can imagine Sothis' somber countenance even as she gives logical reasoning as to why Byleth must continue to hold her sword despite it, even against former students who now work for the Empire.

She makes a decision; she will stop the hearts of her former students herself, so that those who have sided with Faerghus and her and Dimitri don't have to. She can see their pale faces at they recognize familiar faces leading enemy troops, and though something in her keens, it is she who will take the responsibility, it is she who will bear the burden of that weight. As their professor, and friend.

Still. It is a hard burden to bear, when she looks down at the body of Lorenz Gloucester. It's been a while, Professor. If this were anywhere but a battlefield, I would offer you tea. I've no choice but to follow the Empire, if I wish to live. I hope you will not think ill of me, he'd said. She did not, and how dearly she would have liked to accept his invitation, to spare him from this fate. She allows a moment of grief; nearly all the enemies have been disposed of, and the sounds of the battlefield are only growing quieter. This kill had been...the definitive one, this battle. Her moment of silence does, however, extend longer than she'd expected, caught up in memories—muffled yelling snaps her back to attention, and she runs back to the center of the fortress.

Dedue and Felix parry Dimitri's wild swings, while the rest of the Lions watch with worried eyes. Sylvain and Ingrid are on standby, weapons drawn, though Dedue and Felix are doing well enough to keep him at bay.

But this is not Dimitri from the training fields, who tempered his strength; no, this is Dimitri unbarred and unseeing, and even Dedue and Felix will not be able to hold up under barrage from his strength.

“You stupid boar!” Felix seethes, deflecting yet another blow. He growls, noticing his blade beginning to crack. “Get yourself together!”

“Your Highness,” Dedue intones, but not even he seems to be getting through.

Dimitri is speaking, but his words are jumbled and incomprehensible. Byleth blinks, forcing herself out of her previous stupor; the living need her attention. Later, she will brew a cup of Lorenz's favorite tea, and find a vase to put a rose in.

“Professor!” Annette squeaks, finally noticing her, and several eyes flicker to her. “I—we don't know what happened, the battle ended but he just kept going—”

Byleth doesn't respond; she knows, she's seen this before. She passes Sylvain and Ingrid, who both look at her warily and mutter be careful. Like a ghost, she slips past Dedue and Felix, whose eyes widen, but Byleth has become well used to Dimitri's fighting style that he's developed over the years, especially in these states. She doesn't parry his blows; she steps to the side just as he lunges low and then surges forward, wrapping her an arm around his neck, squeezing in an almost-chokehold.

“Dimitri,” she murmurs directly into his ear, lips pressed against his skin. “It's over.”

He goes rigid, though his knuckles are white on his lance. She continues to murmurs his name into his ear, and it is a long, longer moment before he drops his weapon and falls to his knees. Byleth continues to hold him, bringing her other arm up to hug him properly, and Dimitri lets out a noise between a sob and a scream as he covers his eyes with his hand.

Byleth tightens her hold and buries her face in his shoulder.

“We have to keep moving,” she says, muffled by the fur of his cloak, and turns her head to his ear and repeats her words. She's tired, very tired.

“Yes,” Dimitri says, voice rough, “We do.”

She untangles herself from the prince, helps haul him up. The others are hovering nearby, unsure where or if they can offer their help. Byleth sweeps her gaze over them, and feels a desperate fondness for these people.

“Let's return,” she says, her tone exhausted.

The Blue Lions offer her tentative smiles or nods of acknowledgement and comply, trailing after her and their ragged prince with their open hands and hearts.

Byleth leads Dimitri away upon return to the monastery, and the Blue Lions watch them go. Neither show up for dinner—Byleth will usually eat with the Lions, and ever so rarely she coaxes Dimitri to the dining hall when there are less people around—and when night falls and both are still nowhere to be seen, the Lions go looking.

“You think they're in one of their rooms?” Sylvain suggests, waggling his eyebrow, hands behind his head as he swivels to and fro.

He dodges a swing from Ingrid, but she catches him on the return, and he lets out a yelp of pain.

Felix's frown deepens.

“The Boar is hardly in a state to do anything but harm,” Felix scowls, and Sylvain sobers, putting his arms down.

Dedue rumbles low in his throat, but even he cannot counter the potential consequences of Dimitri's...instability.

“I think the Professor will be fine,” Mercedes says serenely, a faint smile on her lips. “But I think we should still make one more round before we turn in for the night.”

“It's odd that they're not in the cathedral,” Ashe muses. “His Highness is almost always there.”

“I think we should check that again first,” Annette declares. “They could have left the monastery earlier. Or maybe we just keep missing them?”

“Let's go, then,” Ingrid agrees. “But let us take the side entrance—we missed the left terrace, I think.”

So they go, the whole retinue silent as they wind around the side and up the stairs to the cathedral.

It becomes evident that at least Dimitri is there now, his voice echoing in the open space, tone high and crazed and—broken. The Lions look at each other, moving as quietly as possible as they peek into the cathedral, fearing what they might find.

But their fears are unfounded.

Byleth is sitting on one of the stones near the rubble, her hair almost glowing in the dim lighting of the remaining sconces. In her lap she cradles Dimitri's head, who is screaming, or sobbing, entreaties into her hands; her expression as she looks down at him is so tender it burns. She threads her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“You cannot stay here,” Dimitri gasps, as if he is choking on his own tears, “You've seen what I can do—”

“I will stay,” Byleth says, and she tilts his face up with both hands. “With you.”

“Leave,” he says, sounding less like a threat and more like an entreaty.

“No,” she says.

“Leave!” he screams, surging to his feet and away from her, chest heaving.

She stares up at him and he stares back, and after a moment, Byleth lifts up her hands, as if to say come back.

“Dimitri,” she says, softly. “Are you afraid of me?”

He hesitates before answering. It is a long moment before he sinks back to his knees, and Byleth lowers her hands with him. Still he does not take them.

“No,” he says tiredly. Even as her light burns, even as he tells her to leave. It's not fear that she strikes in him every time she counters him.

She smiles.

“Nor I, you,” she says. “Come.”

Slowly, he takes her hands, then lowers his head back into them.

“I cannot win against you,” he murmurs.

She strokes his cheek with her thumb.

“You can, in other fields,” she hums. “But in this, I will not allow.”

DImitri lets out a choked laugh, and the two fall into silence, staying so still they could be a painting.

The rest of the Blue Lion House take a moment before they peel away from the side of the walls of the cathedral, only daring to speak when they are a safe distance away.

“Well, that was certainly something to see,” Sylvain says, his tone as suggestive as ever, but his expression belies him. He's far more pensive, his eyes far softer than anyone's ever seen them.

“The Professor will be okay,” Mercedes says again, smiling. “And...eventually, Dimitri will be too.”

“I agree,” Dedue says quietly.

“But let's offer our support where we can!” Annette says, pumping her fists. “After all—even the Professor needs help sometimes. If we can't exactly help with His Highness...we can at least help the Professor help him, right?”

“That's right!” Ashe nods decisively. “Which means, we should make sure they eat tomorrow morning, if they skipped dinner tonight.”

The others begin to discuss plans on what they can do, while Sylvain and Ingrid look to Felix. He meets both of their gazes then scowls, crossing his arms.

“It's pathetic, to see him like that,” he says, looking away. “And it shouldn't be the Professor's responsibility to recreate a man from the pieces he's made of himself.”

And yet, he'd made the request of her as well. Because he knows that she's the only one capable of it, even as it is unfair.

“Poetic,” Sylvain comments, and Felix glares.

“Perhaps not,” Ingrid concedes, “But...nor is our Professor a fool. She made the choice because she wanted to.”

Felix says nothing. He knows. After a moment, he lets out a deep sigh. Sylvain and Ingrid smile at him, which he ignores. Very little gets past childhood friends, anymore.

The next morning, breakfast is brought to Byleth's room with an extra plate made up for Dimitri, and she greets them with slow blinks.

“Let us know what we can do, Professor!” Annette says, determined.

“Anything at all,” Ashe adds earnestly.

Byleth blinks at them a few more times before her lips quirk up into a slight smile.

“Thank you,” she says.

For the moment, everything seems like it will be okay.

Rodrigue dies.

They watch Dimitri break down again on the battlefield as he holds the man in his arms. The battle against Claude and then Edelgard had not been easy, either physically or mentally. When he finally faces the Emperor, the madness within him flares up again as he issues his threats upon her retreat. But the young soldier girl and her knife and Rodrigue blindsides all of them, including Dimitri, and he nearly becomes undone again.

But it's different, now, than when he escaped from the Empire's prisons all alone.

Byleth kills the girl with some regret; she thinks she knows who she might be, but—Byleth too has things to protect, and she is the more skilled of the two of them. Afterwards, she drops to her knees in front of Dimitri as he sits shell-shocked, cupping his face and bringing her own near, forcing him to look at her until he focuses on her—her eyes, her hair, her hands, her scent.

“Are you with me?” she says, breath warm, “If only for the moment?”

Numb, he nods.

“We bury him,” she says, her eyes kind but hard, “And then we must leave. Do you understand?”

He nods again. She wipes away the tears that he didn’t realize are sliding down his cheeks and presses a kiss to his forehead.

When she gets to her feet and turns, she sees Felix first, Sylvain and Ingrid beside him. Dedue, Ashe, Mercedes, and Annette are behind them.

“We bury him,” Felix echoes, his face blank. He does not look at Dimitri, nor does Dimitri look at him.

Other soldiers come forward who want to help bury a man they admired, a hero of the land. When the deed is done, Dimitri whirls away without a word to anyone, and Byleth glances at him, and then to Felix, who is already looking at her.

“Go,” he says, and he sounds—exhausted.

There is a moment where Byleth doesn't move, then closes the distance to wrap her arms around Felix, who goes still in her embrace. He pats her back awkwardly, and the side of his lip quirks up at this uncharacteristic display from their Professor. This was treatment reserved for Dimitri.

“I'm not the one who needs you,” he says, not unkindly.

She pulls away, stares into his dark eyes.

“Perhaps not. But you have me, nonetheless. All of you.”

She looks up, nods to the rest of her team, then takes off after Dimitri.

Sylvain and Ingrid move into the space Byleth had occupied, each putting an arm around Felix. He sighs again, trying halfheartedly to push them away, but they press in even more until he finally leans into them.

Annette sings, Mercedes prays, Dedue and Ashe stand solemnly in respect.

“You're all idiots,” Felix grumbles, and they say nothing. There's no bite to it at all. But a few moments later, so quietly they almost miss it, he speaks again. “Thank you.”

They don't even tease him, merely stand in the rain for a moment longer, until Annette's voice is drowned out by the downpour.

They fight in the rain.

“You cannot go to Enbarr,” Byleth says, tone hard, as she steps out in front of him, and she can see the raging turmoil in Dimitri's eye, the tension without release thrumming in every muscle.

“Get out of my way. Death is the end, Professor, and the burdens of hatred and regret...they fall on the shoulders of those left behind. I must continue down this path—I already told you as much. It is far too late to stop.”

“You're wrong.”

His lips quirk up into a bitter, scathing smile.

“Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should move on with my life for their sake. That is merely the logic of the living. It's meaningless.”

Byleth stares at him and her lips thin. She cannot let him go, will not let him go, and that, at the very least, is not meaningless.

She puts a hand on her sword, tilting her head in question, then her chin up in challenge, and Dimitri blinks once before something like relief washes over his face as he spins his lance and strikes. He is lost, lost again, and he doesn't know what to do, but fighting—fighting is familiar, too much so.

Byleth is skilled with several weapons and far stronger than her frame suggests, but Dimitri's strength has no equal. And so she applies tactics that she hasn't needed to use in a long, long time—so-called dirty tactics. She flings mud into his face and trips him into it, trying to hold him there, but he squirms out of her slimy grip and lunges, the two of them rolling once, twice, before Byleth knees him in the stomach. He grunts and she springs away, releasing the bladed whip of her sword. Dimitri deflects it with a well-timed flick of his lance, having seen the move often enough, and catches it with his other hand, fingers protected by his gauntlets though its sharpness cuts into even them. He pulls, and Byleth narrows her eyes as she retracts the whip, bringing him closer, and lifts her leg to kick him. She aims true, but doesn't pull away fast enough, and he grabs her leg and throws her. She skids in the mud, planting her sword in the ground to stop herself, and leaps up again, expression still impassive.

His eye flickers warily as he opens and closes his fist, as if he can't quite believe what he'd done. He spins his lance again and grips it more tightly in anticipation of her next move. She spins her own sword, adjusting her grip, and walks forward slowly, keeping her eyes trained on him.

Dimitri blinks—and suddenly she's gone, flashing before him, and the next moment he's flat on his back. He makes to get up, only to feel a slight pressure insisting he stay down, and when he finally manages to open his eyes and catch the breath that's been knocked out of him, he sees Byleth with a foot on his chest and the tip of her sword hovering under his chin.

When he looks up at her, she touches the blade to his skin and tilts his chin up, just a little, and smiles, just a little.

“You cannot go to Enbarr,” she says again, with the tone of one who expects to be obeyed, and he almost laughs.

“Not like this, certainly,” he agrees, groaning.

She steps off, and Dimitri half-rises from the ground, using his lance as support. He hurts, between whatever move Byleth had just used, and the recent stab wound from that young girl. She hadn't gone easy on him despite it, and the realization warms him, oddly enough.

“Tell me, Professor, since you seem to have all the answers,” Dimitri says after a moment, staring at the mud. “Those who died with lingering regret...they will not loose their hold on me so easily. Please, tell me...how do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I save them? Ever since that day nine years ago...I have only lived to avenge the fallen. Even my time at the Officer's Academy was all so I could secure my revenge and clear away the regret of the dead. It was the only thing that kept me alive...my only reason to keep moving forward...”

Byleth drops to her knees, but he does not lift his head, rivulets of water dripping down his hair and his face.

“You've suffered enough, Dimitri.”

Her voice is soft and sad, but she says them like a benediction.

“But then who...or what...should I live for?”

There's a pause before she speaks again.

“...For what you believe in.”

His head jerks up, his eye swimming with anguish and uncertainty, question ready on his lips. But his breath catches before he can speak; Byleth is staring at him with such intensity that it awes him.

“For a world where no one is ever unjustly taken from us,” she continues. “For the justice of Duscur. For the man you wanted—want—to be. There are things you believed in and still believe…you need only remember.”

Dimitri gapes at her as she speaks, the each word sinking into him slowly. Byleth smiles at him, tender and sweet, and she puts her hands to his cheeks.

“What I believe in...Rodrigue said the same thing. But is it possible? I am a murderous monster. My hands are stained red. Could one such as I truly hope for such a life? As the sole survivor of that day do I...do I have the right to live for myself?”

She touches her forehead to his.

“Come forward with me, Dimitri,” she whispers, her lips just barely brushing his as she speaks.

Hope flares, and he leans into her hands, covering them with his own, sighing. He’s not sure if he knows how to live for himself, not yet. But he thinks that there are some things he might want to live for.

“Your hands are so warm...have they always been?”

Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. After another moment, he tucks his head into the crook of her neck and weeps. But this time, unlike previous times, he feels just a little bit lighter, and his future just a little bit clearer.

She murmurs something once, then twice, but both are lost in the sound of the rain and his sobs.

The rest of the Blue Lions minus Felix are waiting when they return to the monastery, watching with slight smiles as they watch Dimitri trail behind Byleth like a drowned puppy.

Mercedes and Annette wait until they're closer to exclaim upon their sorry state, while Sylvain starts to laugh.

“What the hell were you doing out there? Mud wrestling?” he says, and Byleth shrugs.

“Something like that,” she says, slicking mud off of her arm. “We need a bath.”

“Together?” Sylvain follows up, waggling his eyebrows.

Byleth folds her arms into her signature thinking pose.

“It would be more efficient that way,” she concedes, and several of them choke.

Dimitri, to their surprise, flushes to the tips of his ears and looks away.

Sylvain howls.

“It sure would, Professor,” he says, “So why don't you and His Highness—”

“THAT,” Dimitri and Ingrid say loudly at the same time, and Dimitri sputters a little before holding up his hand to motion for Ingrid to continue speaking in his stead.

Amusement mixes with the indignation on her face, because right now, he's very much the Dimitri they're all familiar with, and it's a pleasure to see.

“That won't be necessary,” Ingrid continues, “We may be low on supplies, but water we have plenty of. And there's soapwort enough to go around if you aren't picky.”

“What a shame, eh Your Highness?” Sylvain snickers, putting an arm around Dimitri, not even caring about the mud. “Anyway, it's good to see you back.”

It's a casual declaration, and one that Dimitri can't quite process yet, but he's whisked away to the baths by Dedue and Sylvain and saved from responding. Ashe opts to make for the kitchens instead, to prepare something for Dimitri and Byleth to eat afterwards. The girls lead Byleth away with offers to help her wash up, and she smiles bemusedly and allows them their ministrations.

“Thank you, Professor,” Ingrid says, as she works at Byleth's scalp with her nails.

Byleth hums, and does not accept nor deny the gratitude. Ingrid understands, but feels the gratitude nonetheless.

“He needs the rest of you too,” Byleth says after a long moment, her voice sleepy. The girls are utterly spoiling her, with Ingrid at her hair, Annette working on her nails, and Mercedes massaging her face and shoulders. This has to be unfair, somehow.

“We know,” Annette smiles. “But Professor, you're like...I don't think it's an exaggeration to say he needs you the most.”

“You're his heart and soul,” Mercedes says, and there's a pause. “And that's as dangerous as it is beautiful.”

The girls are silent for a moment at this truth, and Byleth considers Mercedes' words.

“I don't know if we know how to live any other way,” she says, distantly. “But if that is my place, then I will claim it.”

Ingrid, Annette, and Mercedes smile.

“We're very lucky to have you, Professor,” Mercedes says, and the other two murmur in agreement.

A faint smiles curves Byleth's lips.

“I think I'm the one lucky to have all of you,” she says quietly.

She's practically asleep when they rinse her off the second time and put her in a soft tunic and skirt while her clothes are being cleaned. Mercedes seats her for a bit and does something with her hair while she dozes.

Sylvain is waiting outside with a salacious smile, but holds up his hands after Ingrid glares and makes a sharp gesture.

“I'm just here to say that Dedue has brought His Highness to the dining hall, if you care to join him.”

The way he says it suggests that this is Sylvain's personal report, as opposed to being requested to do it. Byleth nods, and he turns to leave, but she stops him.

“Wait.”

He turns, and Byleth looks between him and Ingrid.

“Felix?”

Sylvain's eyes go a little glassy, and Ingrid's lips flatten, both of their postures going stiff.

“It’ll take some time, but he’ll be okay,” Sylvain says, his voice an awkward mix of airiness and seriousness, as if he himself doesn’t know how he wants to deliver the line.

Byleth stares at him until he sighs.

“Felix and his father have always had a complicated relationship since Glenn died,” he explains slowly. “And…his relationship with His Highness is the same.”

“He needs time alone for now,” Ingrid says. “But…you’ll probably see him in the training yard again soon. The sword has always been how he’s worked through things, after...everything.”

Byleth nods, and lets the matter rest for now.

Sylvain decides to join them as they go to the dining hall, joking about how he's with a whole entourage of beautiful ladies, but none of them rise to the bait and he complains at the lack of reaction.

The dining hall is empty save for them; Dimitri is sitting quietly with his meal as Ashe talks about the dish he prepared with Dedue. Byleth pauses at the doorway before joining them, observing. Though subdued, Dimitri looks...better. His hair is tied back, and without the cloak and armor, dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, he looks more boyish.

He looks up and catches sight of her, and his face blooms into a tentative and shy smile.

She smiles back, and joins them at the table. The rest of the Blue Lions exchanges looks all around them; Sylvain mimes being blinded by the light when neither Dimitri nor Byleth are looking, and Ashe and Annette muffle a laugh while Mercedes titters. Even Dedue cracks a smile.

When the two have eaten enough to satisfy their watchers, the rest of the Blue Lions take their leave, late into the night it is. Dimitri and Byleth stay behind for a moment longer, the silence stretching between them as they regard each other.

“I...must talk to Felix,” Dimitri says, and Byleth nods.

“Then I will be in the training room for a whie,” she says, and Dimitri nods back.

There's nothing else to say, after that. Dimitri goes, Byleth goes, and though it is late already, there is still much of the night left.

(Felix lets Dimitri in, if only to get a better look at him. He crosses his arms and scoffs after a few minutes of scrutiny, even though he's satisfied with what he sees.

“So a wild boar has regained some of its senses,” Felix says, his brown eyes hard. “What now?”

“Tomorrow I will make the announcement that we will march to Fhirdiad, to reclaim the capital,” Dimitri says, unwavering.

Felix grunts.

The two stand in silence, and Dimitri opens his mouth—

“I'm s—”

“Don't.”

He shuts it. There's a pause.

“Words are not enough. But I'm afraid I have little else to offer.”

Felix stares at him, face unreadable.

“I'm not after words. I'm after actions. Glenn died for you. My father died for you. They both died for what they believed in, and that was you, and the kingdom that you'd rule. So show me what you can do...Dimitri.”

The use of his name isn't lost on him, even as the mention of Glenn and Rodrigue pain him. Since Duscur, Felix hasn't called him as such, and the fact that he is doing so now...

Dimitri will not forsake this show of...well. He's not entirely sure. It's something like trust, or confidence, or faith, but he knows that the relationship between him and Felix has changed since their childhood, and it will never return to what it was. But...they're moving forward. Felix is giving him a chance.

“Of course,” Dimitri says. “It is my every intention to do so.”

The two stare at each other in silence, before Felix brushes by him.

“Now get out,” he says, even though he's out the door himself.

Dimitri calls after him before he can get too far.

“The Professor said she'd be waiting in the training rooms for a while,” he says, and Felix stops and turns back to him.

“You owe that woman far more than just your life,” he says.

“I know,” Dimitri replies.

Felix smiles wryly, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Dimitri closes Felix's door for him, and settles into his own room for the first time since his arrival to the monastery.)

Byleth turns and inclines her head in greeting when she hears Felix walk in. He doesn't return it, walking straight to the rack of training weapons, He deliberates a little; over the years, he's learned how to use axes, bows, and his fists in addition to mastering the sword. Byleth too is skilled in all of those, and so he has quite the range to work with, now.

But in the end it's an easy choice; he picks up a sword, and so does Byleth, and the match begins without so much a warning.

Felix picking up the sword was warning enough.

She drives him hard, and he meets the challenge she sets with enthusiasm. Her skills had been a bit rusty, in the beginning; the rest of them had five years of more consistent training on her after all, but she had caught up quickly enough; she had already been rather exceptional in her fighting prowess back then. Still their Professor, after all this time.

Felix uses one combat art after another, and she counters them with ones of her own. It's always been a pleasure to fight against her; he's had a handful of wins since his student days, but she too is continuously improving. She may no longer be a mercenary, but the life of one cannot be discarded so easily; she hasn't given up her own training, and with the war...there's no shortage of actual fighting, either.

She wins today, with a move he's never seen before. He raises an eyebrow, and she smiles faintly.

“I haven't worked it out completely yet,” she says. “I'll teach you once I have.”

He nods. This one bout was good enough for tonight, and so they return the training swords to their places. Byleth doesn't offer any additional conversation, which Felix appreciates.

“He owes you more than the life he has,” Felix says eventually, as they walk out together.

Byleth glances at him.

“No one owes me anything,” she says. “I live according to what I want. It's harder now. My father...picked up where I lacked. But still.”

There's a pause.

“And I love him, I think,” she says, thoughtfully.

Felix chokes, then turns it into a scoff.

“You wouldn't do as much as you are if you didn't,” he says.

Byleth looks at him, her eyes knowing.

“Mmm.”

Felix flushes, and he snarls at her, but she smiles and he scowls harder.

“As you will,” Byleth says, echoing a previous conversation of theirs.

“As I will,” Felix responds. “And as you will.”

Byleth nods.

“Do not forget what I said at Gronder,” she reminds him, before they go their separate ways for the night.

Felix stills, then nods. Byleth watches him go, but just before he rounds the corner, he turns back.

“…The same applies to you, Professor.”

He slips away after that. She smiles again, looking up at the moon before she makes her way back to her room. Briefly, she wishes Sothis were here the way she used to be. Byleth is—happy, she thinks, and wishes Sothis were here to share in it.

She sleeps deeply that night. In her dreams, she hears a familiar voice—you've grown, I see—but once she wakes, she cannot remember what was said, only a sense of comfort that it was Sothis who had spoken.

They take back Fhirdiad.

Cornelia dies, leaving behind both new information and new mysteries with her last breath. It disturbs Dimitri, the revelation that his stepmother may have been the mastermind behind everything, and Byleth watches his eye cloud over. But he shakes his head and moves past his moment of darkness to focus on what needs to be done.

“Come, Your Highness,” Gilbert says, “You still have some responsibilities that must be carried out. Your people have been patiently awaiting your return.”

Dimitri's eye goes wide.

“Do you mean...no. I can't bear to face them after all I—”

“You must face them,” Byleth says, before he can finish.

He looks at her with surprise, but nods after a moment.

“Professor...right you are, as ever. I am their king, after all...”

They walk towards the royal balcony, and Dimitri’s face is pinched as they do so. Byleth reaches out and pats his back, and Dimitri sucks in a deep breath before he straightens his spine and walks out to greet the citizens without any more hesitation.

The sight he sees shocks him—what seems like every person in Fhirdiad is crammed into the royal square and into every street he can see, cheering for him.

“What…is this?” he breathes, and Gilbert smiles.

“As you can see, the people are rejoicing at the return of their king.”

“Even though I turned my back on them, and fled the Kingdom in disgrace…”

Dimitri trembles, his voice wavering.

“Even so, the spectacle before you does not lie. We are a Kingdom in need of a king, a hero to save the people from their long oppression. Your Highness…it is truly a blessing that you have returned.”

Dimitri swallows, his mouth opening and closing a couple times before he can get the words out.

“Do I really have the right to stand here? Will they accept me as their king? Bloodstained as I am…am I fit to be king?”

His voice cracks, and tears begin rolling down his cheek.

“They’ve already accepted you,” Byleth says, stepping closer, just a little. “From here, you—we—move forward, together.”

He turns to her, and she blinks, reaching up a hand as if to wipe away his tears before she stops herself. Not here, where he is King, appearing in front of all his people. But Dimitri’s lips tug into a smile, eye bright with fervor.

“These are happy tears, my friend,” He explains, as he turns back to the crowd. “I am finally home again. Faerghus...how I missed you.”

He stands for a moment longer, then bows to the crowd before heading back inside. They roar even louder at this display of humility.

The rest of the Blue Lions are waiting for him, most of them grinning from ear to ear.

“I think this, at least, calls for a celebration, don't you?” Sylvain smiles, his eyebrow raised in expectation.

“How can I refuse?” Dimitri says with a slight laugh, and the red-haired knight whoops.

“Hell yeah! Let's get this party started!” he hollers, and the other soldiers who hear him begin cheering as well.

Dimitri smiles. He doesn't even need to do anything to prepare—the soldiers and everyone else make the party happen, and so do the citizens outside the castle. They can't exactly let the place be overrun, but—they end up opening the courtyard, at least, so that everyone has more space for revelry. Soon, Dimitri is being plied with drink and food and swept alongside Sylvain's pace, and it is a little while before he realizes Byleth is missing.

He finds her at the castle roofs, overlooking the city.

She turns at his approach, smiling faintly, and he feels warm at the sight of it.

“Hello, Professor,” he greets, “Have you grown tired of the festivities?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” she replies, tilting her head to motion him closer. He steps over, and they look out at Fhirdiad together.

“It's more...that I find it difficult to be around everyone at the moment,” he confesses. “It's still hard to believe that I can...deserve this.”

She reaches up and he stoops a little so that she can cup his face with her hands. He smiles shyly at this familiar gesture.

“You do,” she murmurs. “I know it will take time. But you do.”

He says nothing, only continues to look at her with a rueful expression, and she stares back willfully.

“There are some things on my mind,” he says, after a while. “May I trouble you?”

“Tell me,” she insists.

He does. Dimitri tells her of his parents' graves, his thoughts about the upcoming battles and Edelgard. He confesses his concerns over being king—a good king, and his failures as a human being.

“There are no instructions on how to be a human being,” Byleth says, her eyes distant. As the wind rustles her hair, Dimitri is reminded that this woman is Goddess-blessed, truly so, and wonders what her thoughts on humanity are. “So you can only try your best...and fight for what you believe in. You have your work cut out for you as king, certainly…but you are not alone. Remember that.”

There's something wistful about the way she says it, as if it doesn't apply to her. He reaches out for her, this time, to take her hand, somehow afraid that she might disappear.

“There is so much to do, it makes my head spin,” he says, “I will...need your help to do it.”

She blinks at him, seeming surprised, and for a moment he's—terrified, that he is overstepping his bounds, that she never intended to stay here, with him, with all of them. She tilts her head at him, and the silence drags on for a few heartbeats.

“I—forgive me, I didn't mean to trap you here, if you had wanted to travel—”

He lets go of her hands, but she reaches back out to grab them again.

“A place,” she says, “Do I have a place here?”

“Of course!” Dimitri almost yells, scandalized. Her eyes widen at his expression. “How could you not? Always. With me, with all of us.”

Her smile is slow, and the warmth in her eyes is beautiful.

“How strange,” she murmurs. “A place, a home.”

She lets his hands go after a moment, but she is still smiling at him, and he thinks, after the war, he should tell her.

A messenger arrives, bearing a plea for help from Claude, and the moment is broken, but there is nothing to regret. This is a war, after all, and there are things they must still do.

The weeks fly by quickly, as they grow closer and closer to their confrontation with Edelgard until they day is finally here.

Claude leaves Fodlan after the battle in Derdriu, Dimitri and Edelgard speak in private to establish that there is only one way that this tension between them will end, and then they are storming Enbarr as their final battle.

Edelgard's form in the throne room is—monstrous, strange, and there are too many questions to be asked with no answers, especially once she is struck down. Dimitri and Byleth are the only ones who bear witness, with their other friends and soldiers still fighting in other parts of the castle.

There is no further conversation, as the demonic form melts away from Edelgard's skin and she falls to her knees. Dimitri reaches out a hand, she looks up at him and smiles faintly, and he is hoping, hoping—

Edelgard reaches into her cloak, Byleth puts a hand to the hilt of her sword, and Dimitri steps forward.

Areadbhar goes through the Emperor's chest easily, cleanly, and the childhood dagger in Dimitri's shoulder hardly even hurts.

Edelgard tilts to the side with a dull thud. Dimitri removes the dagger and stares at it, the blade glistening with his blood. He'd given it to her as encouragement, so that she might carve a future for herself. She did, he supposes; or tried to. And now it has been returned to him.

“Come,” Byleth says, her voice soft yet firm.

He turns to follow her, feeling numb despite the victory. She opens the door, sunlight flooding into the room, but he stops short, turning back to look at his stepsister's body once more before he leaves her behind, should he even be leaving her behind—

Byleth threads her fingers with his, stopping him from walking towards Edelgard's remains. He hadn't even realized he was moving away from her side, and he looks at her, momentarily adrift. She doesn't say anything, turning once more and taking him with her.

The daylight burns.

Out on the balcony, he can see the continuing fights. He stumbles forward, looking to Byleth, and she nods.

“Go,” she says.

He goes. He grips the stone and pitches his voice as loud as he can.

“The Emperor is dead!” he yells, “Imperial soldiers! If you lay down your weapons now, we will treat you with mercy. Hear me, Enbarr! The Emperor is dead!”

The news carries slowly but surely through the battlefields, until the air is deafening with cries of triumph. Preoccupied with victory as they are, no one tries to look closely at their king's face; only Byleth is privy to his lack of smile.

Dimitri is exhausted; he cannot muster up the proper joy that everyone else is feeling at the moment. Edelgard is dead, and so are several other students that he shared time at Garreg Mach with. So are thousands of soldiers that he does not know the faces or names of, and civilians as well. The war may be over, but there is still a staggering amount to do, and King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is so, so tired.

His arm lifts not by his own volition and he looks down to see Byleth looping his arm over her neck as she ducks under and straightens, supporting his side. Because of her height and posture, it merely looks like he has put his arm around her. But he knows what the gesture means and is grateful for it; she is here by his side, she will weather what comes with him.

“I'm here,” she says, as they watch the soldiers cheer.

“That you are,” he agrees. “Thank you.”

She smiles at him, and the sun feels less violent on his skin; it is warm and the light is energizing, as if it accepts him, as if he belongs there.

She finds him in the Goddess Tower, after they return to Garreg Mach. The celebrations are still carrying on from the previous day, and Dimitri will not begrudge any of them their joy, but he himself is exhausted from and of the festivities. He wants—needs—quiet, and the topmost floor of the Goddess Tower is too troublesome a place for someone to merely stumble upon, even for a tryst. Byleth is either of the same mind or simply knows where to find him, but her presence is welcome, always so, and he smiles as she approaches. Encouraged that she isn't intruding, she comes to stand next to him, and Dimitri feels wholly at ease, now.

“We find each other this way often, don't we?” he says, with a low chuckle. “Escaping big parties.”

She smiles at him, looking out at the lights.

“I...don't think I'll ever like them,” she confesses. “They…overwhelm me easily.”

She never had cause for parties such as these, as a mercenary. But even Dimitri...

“I liked them more when I was a child,” Dimitri says, his eyes distant, “When I could spend them with Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain. After we started growing up...I liked them less and less.”

Byleth looks at him, but says nothing.

“In any case, the air here is refreshing. And the quietness here is...different...than the quietness on the battlefield. It is nice.”

She knows what he means. It's not silent; they can still hear the faint revelry, and the distant cheer is pleasant. Byleth watches as Dimitri closes his eye for a brief moment as a breeze passes, the air cool on their skin, and she shivers a little.

“Forgive me. Are you cold?”

Dimitri unfastens his cloak and offers it to her. The air is chill but not unpleasantly so, but she likes his cloak and smiles a little as she takes it anyway, draping it around herself. He looks amused by how dwarfed she is in its folds, and when she buries her face in the fur, he laughs a little.

It feels good to hear him laugh.

The warmth from the fabric is immediate; the fur is soft, the garment smells like Dimitri, and she could fall asleep right here. She leans against the stone wall and closes her eyes for a moment, and she must have ended up actually dozing for a few moments because when she opens her heavy eyes, she realizes that Dimitri is staring at her, his emotions naked and vulnerable on his face, unmistakable.

Her eyes widen.

Dimitri flushes red, from neck to ears.

“I...I—” He stammers, bringing a hand up and turning away.

She reaches for him, fascinated, bringing his face back into view, and he turns redder, if possible.

“Professor,” Dimitri squeaks, “It's just, I—”

“Dimitri,” Byleth murmurs. “Thank you.”

He blinks at her, confused, but she doesn't offer an explanation.

“I...think those should be my words, Professor,” he says, shyly. “Much has changed, but you will always be the one who has guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved...” He trails off, considering, then smiles. “Yes...my beloved.”

He takes a deep breath before he continues.

“There is...something I wish to give you, before the coronation. Give me your hand, please.”

Byleth stares at the silver ring, the emerald bright even in the darkness of the tower. She stares at it so long that when Dimitri speaks again, he cannot hide his nervousness.

“Please... I beg of you. Say something! If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me. If so, I will face the truth and walk away.”

She shakes herself out of her stupor, and removes the thin chain around her neck, pulling it out of her clothes to reveal her mother's ring.

“An exchange,” she says, as he holds out his own hand. “I love you,” she adds, if it wasn't evident, because he should know.

His smile is—bright, so bright, and just as he finishes saying “And I, you—” she pulls him down to kiss him. It's quick and chaste but when she pulls away, Dimitri's eyes are wide and he picks her up and spins her, laughing. She smiles wide, and then she's laughing too as she puts her arms around his neck. He spins her round and round and they're dizzy when they kiss again, but as they do, Byleth marvels at this feeling, at the happiness that is so keen in her not-beating heart it almost hurts.

A week before his coronation, she slips into his office, her face impassive. He rises from his chair and bends to kiss her cheek; she tilts up to meet him.

“Will you forgive me,” she says solemnly, “If I leave for a while?”

He blinks and tilts his head a little in question, smiling slightly.

“I would forgive you for anything,” he says, and takes her hands. “But I'd very much like more details, if you could spare them.”

She smiles back, squeezing his fingers.

“I will be here for the coronation, of course,” she replies. “But after that—I'd like to travel. Seteth and Rhea...you've heard they want me to be the new Archbishop. Five years ago, when they appointed me professor...I was not qualified for that. And now, as they want to appoint me Archbishop, I am not qualified either. But it is a position that could be used well, to go good, and better.” She looks out the window, eyebrows creasing slightly, her voice troubled. “I still do not understand the depth of their reasoning. Seteth would be a better choice, perhaps even Flayn. Yet, I am inclined to take it, even if it is not much a choice. But not now. I would travel first—a year, perhaps more. There are things that cannot be done from the walls of a castle or monastery.” she looks at him again. “Titles are no longer easily shed, now. You and the others cannot move so freely. But I can, for a bit. And I'd like to take advantage of that.”

Very rarely has Byleth spoken so much at once, and Dimitri is mildly surprised to hear it. But he smiles again, and touches his forehead to hers.

“After Fhirdiad, that night on the roof, do you remember what I said? I did not mean then to trap you here then; I would not trap you here now, or ever.”

“I know,” she says, leaning her head against his chest, her voice melancholy still.

“You do have my forgiveness, if you still wish it,” Dimitri tries again.

“I know,” she says, in the same tone.

“I love you,” Dimitri says, quieter. “I will miss you.”

She wraps his arms around him and squeezes a little. She doesn't have to speak; he knows she means the same, and feels warm.

He puts his own arms around her, and they stay there for a while, until the sun begins to dip and turns the room gold.

The weather is glorious, the day of the coronation. The sun is high, the sky clear and a brilliant blue. Excitement and joy crisp the air.

Supplies are scarce still, but those who can spare it scrape together what they are able to to furnish festivities—banners and little cakes and skewered meats, juices spiked with probably-contraband alcohol everyone turns a blind eye to.

Lady Rhea is pale and wan at the crowning but no less beautiful; Seteth and Flayn stand with her, as does Byleth. Though she will not be taking up the Archbishop's mantle quite so soon, the news of Byleth's eventual ascension in the next couple years has spread, and so no one finds it odd that she is there.

And Dimitri. He is solemn and poised at the ceremony, but when Rhea crowns him and he finally turns to face the crowd, his smile is bright, and radiant when the air vibrates with cheers. He relents to taking part in some post-coronation celebrations, sharing food and drink with nobles and commoners alike, dancing alongside the children and attempting their games.

Byleth smiles as she watches. She's never been one to mingle like this, but it feels wrong to slip away this time. She does, however, graciously accept the food she's being plied with by Ingrid and Annette and Flayn. Eventually, Dimitri finds his way over to her corner and takes her hands; the young ladies sigh, both dreamily and with slight disappointment, because any fool with eyes could see that what was between the new king and the eventual new Archbishop.

“Dance with me?” Dimitri murmurs, and Byleth tilts her head up at him, blinking.

“This, coming from someone who refused to dance in the White Heron Cup so strongly?”

Dimitri laughs; his friends turn to catch his expression, so light.

“Well...I never did manage to ask for a dance during the ball that year. I have regretted it since. Will you do me the honor of a dance today?”

Byleth smiles, bemused, and takes his hand as the musicians begin a ditty.

The King is a competent dancer, if lacking in grace, and his partner is stiff, though she eases up with more steps. Theirs is not an elegant nor impressive dance, but simple and natural and sweet.

“A dance!” someone roars, sounding suspiciously like Sylvain, and the guests laugh and pick a partner—anyone near and willing to participate, friends and family and strangers alike—and stomp their feet as the musicians pick up the tempo.

Dimitri and Byleth try vaguely to keep up but stick within the steps of their capability, watching the people around them swirl and clap and hop in time. Soon, everyone is laughing; the best dancers eventually are pushed into the middle where they and the musicians put their best skills to the test, and in the thrumming joy of King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd's coronation, for the first time in years, it feels like everything will be alright.

She stays four days after the coronation, just enough time to share his bed and hold a council with their allies. The focused atmosphere of the room as they discuss matters of the Kingdom feels very much like their old war councils, though the subject matter is at least a little less grim. Still, there are bandits and pirates to be watched for, farmlands to revitalize, villages and towns and cities to rebuild. That, and alliances to be reforged, policies to enact, and people to bring together. The road ahead is daunting, but Dimitri finds enough comfort in his friends to keep putting one foot forward at a time.

All her former Blue Lions students see her off when she leaves, and though she is taking his heart with her, Dimitri stands proud. She smiles at him as he helps her up on her horse, and she faces all of them with a solemn expression.

“Take care, all of you,” she says.

“No need to worry about us, Professor,” Sylvain says, putting his hands behind his head in that carefree pose she knows so well. “We got this.”

“Don't get yourself killed out there,” Felix grunts, as if he doesn't have full confidence in her fighting prowess.

“Take care of yourself, Professor,” Ingrid says, smacking Felix for his remark, as usual. “Remember to eat.”

“Come back soon, Professor!” Annette says cheerfully. “And write when you can!”

“I'll make sure to have some delicious pastries for you when you get back,” Mercedes adds, with a chuckle.

“Be careful,” Ashe says, faintly worried even though he knows he needn’t be, “Don’t be reckless.”

“Professor,” Dedue says, with a nod. “Travel safe, and swift.”

She smiles at all of them, her Blue Lions, and Dimitri takes her hand one more time.

“I will see you soon, my beloved,” he says, and Byleth nods.

“Soon,” she echoes, and bends down to kiss him before she canters off, not looking back to see the blush rise on his cheeks.

Dimitri watches her go, in silence.

“Come on, Boar,” Felix says, not unkindly, as Sylvain claps Dimitri on the shoulder. “We've got our work cut out for us.”

“That, we do,” the King sighs, and he and his most trusted advisers walk back into the castle together.

Oddly enough, the months pass quickly. Dimitri does not have time to rest, though Dedue and Mercedes insist and take it upon themselves to be personal reminders. The rest of their friends have gone back to their respective territories for now, to handle their own more local issues; Dedue would never leave Dimitri's side, and Mercedes had chosen to turn her efforts to the churches and orphanages in Fhirdiad. Felix and Sylvain would be traveling back and forth every so often, their lands being the nearest, but it would probably be awhile until they saw Ingrid, Annette, and Ashe again.

It’s strange, to be distant from them all as a group, when they had spent the last couple years fighting a war together.

But. Times were different now, and it wouldn't do to get caught up in memories.

“Your Majesty,” Dedue says. The door is open, but he knocks once on the frame anyway. “I’ve brought you some tea, and a repast.”

“Thank you, Dedue,” Dimitri says, without looking up. “Please, set it down wherever there is space.”

Indeed, most surfaces are covered by paperwork now, as well as stacks of books and newspapers, and various containers of various samples from various regions. Dedue looks around before carefully nudging aside a small stack of journals on the low table, setting down the tray. He looks back at Dimitri, whose focus is directed at the report in his hand, eyebrows furrowed and expression grave.

“You are overdue for a break, Your Majesty,” Dedue says, and Dimitri still does not look up.

“Yes, I will eat after I finish this,” he says absentmindedly, flipping to another page.

Dedue is silent for a moment.

“It would be prudent to take your break now,” he continues, his tone even. “As you read this letter that has arrived for you.”

Dimitri’s head jerks up, his entire body snapping to attention.

“A letter? From who?” he says, his tone both hopeful and disbelieving.

Dedue merely smiles.

“It is time for a break, Dimitri,” he says, gesturing to the sofa, and Dimitri lets out a short bark of laughter before rising from his desk. Once he has taken a few sips of tea and two bites of sandwich, Dedue nods his head in satisfaction and leaves the room so that the letter may be read in privacy.

Dimitri’s hands are trembling as he slits open the envelope, his first name printed neatly and without adornment on the front.

The contents are a single small page, quite brief, but it brings a smile to his face nonetheless. He hadn’t expected a long missive—Byleth never had cause to write letters the way nobles did, with flowing introductions and roundabout ways to say what they wanted. The letter is short and to the point, but carefully thought out, very much like the way she speaks.

Dimitri, it reads, I think I have gotten used to the cold in Faerghus. But I miss your fur cloak, and sitting in it with you.

I am well. Reports of bandits should be dwindling. They too are displaced and desperate; I have sent those who will listen to Sylvain and Ashe. They’ll have work for them. Some have demanded to stay with me; I suppose we’ve become a mercenary group. I enjoy it; it reminds me of my father. If they turn out good enough and are still with me at the end, perhaps we can make knights of them, though I have not yet told them who I am.

I am due West next. There is a group of volunteer doctors I’d like to get ahold of.

Remember to sleep.

She signs off as Byleth, and he brushes his fingers over the letters. It is somewhat strange to see it printed there; Professor had become less of a title and more of a moniker over the years. And then, to him, she was Beloved. But she had a lovely name, and seeing her signature endeavored him to call her by name properly when she returned.

He smiles at the last line; even far away it feels like she sees through him.

He cannot pen a response; she travels too much for there to be any reliability it would reach her. Instead, Dimitri finishes the food Dedue has left for him and lays down on the sofa; he puts the letter on his chest and closes his eyes.

He sleeps.

Recovery is a long and arduous road; Dimitri has good days and bad, though the former now outweighs the latter. Still, there are days Dimitri is choked by the mantle of responsibility he wears, as well as the ghosts that have never quite left.

(Edelgard is among them, now. Had she not been willing to sacrifice so much of what was not quite hers to sacrifice, she would have been an excellent Emperor. He is glad that he was able to speak with her towards the end, even though the answer was still the same between them. She was always strong, and bold in her methodology back at the Academy. Sometimes, he lets himself think that in a different world, he would have been pleased to ask her advice on occasion.)

There are days where he locks himself in his office, or chambers, and allows no one in for hours. Dedue and Mercedes leave food by the door; sometimes he takes it and sometimes he doesn’t.

But. He is improving, in these moments.

More often, now, he can gather just enough of himself to take out Byleth’s letters and read them over and over with shaking hands, until he has mind enough to unlock the door. Sometimes he will find Dedue, and ask to turn his hands in the greenhouse, or some other sort of manual labor. Sometimes he will seek Mercedes, and sit with her by a window and once more attempt embroidery, which takes every ounce of his focus not to break the needle.

He still sleeps badly. He still speaks aloud, sometimes, to those who aren’t there. He still retreats to a place where very few can reach.

But he remembers his friends, and Byleth, and the times he spent crying into her lap or her hands. How patiently she bore him, then. And without her here, how patiently he must now bear himself.

A year passes, and a half, and then two.

Dimitri sends aid where he can, writes decree after decree, bill after bill, fights tooth and nail against nobles who still too comfortable with their own power to have his plans instilled.

It becomes common to see King Dimitri and his retainer in the market after especially difficult and frustrating meetings. He is still a sight to behold, with his height and eyepatch and frustrated countenance, as is his retainer who often accompanies him with his stoic face and solemn air. But the townspeople have also grown quite familiar with them as well. The children like to climb both of these tall men like trees and sit on their shoulders as they peruse the market, steering them to their own parents’ stalls; King Dimitri’s face is always softer by the end of these walks, and if they’re lucky Dedue will also grace them with a smile.

The seasons are just about turning again, from spring into summer, and Garland Moon is upon them. The markets are teeming with blooms, carefully cared for to maximize their freshness; Dimitri smiles as he passes today. He stops in front of a stall with a bucket of small, light blue flowers; they have a slightly greenish tint as well, reminding him suddenly of Byleth’s hair.

“I know that look. Weaving a special garland, Your Majesty?” the older woman running the stall says with a kindly smile. “I’ll cut you a good deal.”

Dimitri laughs, brushing a finger against one of the petals.

“Perhaps I should,” he murmurs.

The shopkeeper looks at him a little pityingly, but he doesn’t mind. His beloved’s identity is well known, even though she hasn’t been seen in these past two years. Letters to Dimitri have also grown scarce, and he cannot help but worry. He misses her dearly, and is not ashamed for it.

He buys the green-tinted ones and a few other flowers at the shopkeeper’s recommendation. People smile at him as he makes his way back to his office, arms full of flowers, and he sets to weaving them into a garland with careful hands. He had been taught in his Academy days by Annette and Mercedes and Ashe, and last year Mercedes had given him a refresher course. He’d woven a couple lopsided garlands to place at the graves of his parents, and a few more for others whose graves were elsewhere. Glenn and Rodrique, in Fraldarius territory. And Edelgard, in Enbarr.

The last he makes with particular focus, using the almost-mint flowers and a few white ones. He’s pleased with the result—actually uniform—even if there’s no chance of him being able to give it to the intended recipient. Dimitri allows himself a wistful sigh before he gathers up all the garlands and begins making his way to the castle cemetery.

Perhaps tribute is no longer necessary, but…there are still tributes he wants to make, in honor, in love, in respect.

(In the market a little bit later, the same shopkeeper who sold the King his flowers sells another bunch of the bluest blooms she has to a traveler in a well-worn cloak.

“For a garland, traveler?” the shopkeeper says cheerily, “I’d recommend these as well—the King himself bought some not too long ago.”

“Did he, now?” the traveler says, her voice quiet and lower than one might expect. When she lifts her head from the display, the shopkeeper blinks. There’s something familiar about the face, those bright blue-green eyes, the impassive expression. “I will stick with these, I think.”

The shopkeeper completes the transaction without attempting any further marketing, still trying to figure out who this person is. It bothers her that the answer is on the tip of her tongue—the eyes, the tendrils of hair peeking out from the hood, the face…just who—

By the time the woman’s identity hits her full force, the not-so-stranger is already walking away, in the direction of the castle.)

(The traveler lets her hood down as she nears the castle gates, and one of the guards recognizes her almost immediately. She supposes there aren’t many with her particular shade of hair and eyes, but plenty people don’t know who she is. This guard must have seen her at one of the few public events she was present for—probably the coronation, or the following festivities. His entire face had lit up at the realization; he waves her through with impatient movements, and she gives him an amused look as she passes.

She is not dressed properly for a visitor to the castle, but she still knows the halls well enough to look as though she has a purpose, and thus attracts less attention than she might otherwise. Those who recognize her do double-takes and gape; she nods her head in acknowledgement before moving on, and none of them stop her.

Dimitri is not in his chambers or his office; there are other places she could check, but instead she sits on the sofa of his office and begins weaving the flowers in her arms into a garland. It doesn’t take very long, and as she checks its shape, a startled clatter sounds from the doorway, and she looks up to see Dedue staring at her with wide eyes, having almost dropped the tray in his hands.

“You’re back,” he says, and though the words are blunt his tone is warm.

Her eyes crinkle in amusement; how rare it is, to see Dedue caught so completely off guard like this.

“I am,” she says.

There are many conversations to be had, so much to catch up on, but instead Dedue smiles and sets down the tray of tea and pastries.

“He went to the cemetery,” he says, reaching out to shake her hand in welcome. “But I suspect he’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll go,” she says, as he expected her to.

“I’ll have more food prepared for you upon your return, and send word to Mercedes,” Dedue says, and she nods her head in thanks as she sweeps out of the room.)

He is crouching by the graves of his parents when she finds him, speaking soft prayers into the air.

Dimitri turns when he hears the gate creak. It takes him a moment to process who he’s seeing.

He wonders if he’s dreaming.

She smiles at his shock, and as she nears, he reaches out his hand.

“A ghost?” he asks, voice trembling.

“No ghost,” Byleth responds, taking his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

She places her garland on his head, and he rises from his position slowly, as if she might dissipate if he moves too fast.

“It turns out I have one for you as well,” he whispers. He crowns her with his own garland that he didn’t think he’d be able to give her, then cups her cheeks gently. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here,” she murmurs, placing her hands over his.

He lets out a soft breath. Dimitri envelopes her in a hug, careful of his strength, burying his face in the crook of her neck, and she wraps her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says against her neck, and she laughs softly.

“What have you been up to, these past two years?” she asks, an echo of a more bitter conversation long ago.

“Living, more or less,” he says as he pulls back, with some humor; if he thinks back on it, it’s been a blur of constant work. “May I tell you about it over tea?”

“Yes,” Byleth says, and tilts up to kiss him.

They’re both smiling when they part, and he hugs her again before lifting her up in his arms. She laughs softly and slings an arm around his neck, looking perfectly at ease with this carry. He’s shyer as they make their way back into the castle, but also proud and unable to stop smiling. They stop any passersby in their tracks—one, because the King is positively beaming, and two, Byleth’s presence is a surprise, whether they recognize her or not. Those who don’t know her learn her identity quickly; if the King himself wasn’t enough of a clue, the exclamations from those who had glimpsed her earlier fill in the blanks. Excitement begins to buzz in the air again as the news of Byleth Eisner’s return passes from mouth to mouth.

Dimitri and Byleth and Dedue take tea as all of this is happening; Mercedes rushes in just a few moments later, bearing handmade sweets that she’d made just this morning. The friends catch up as much as they can, but eventually Dedue and Mercedes beg leave to return to their own duties, though the controlled politeness of their excuses is telling. Byleth gives them amused looks as they leave; they smile back.

“Will you be staying?” Dimitri asks, and winces at the sheer hopefulness in his voice.

“I had not yet told Rhea and Seteth I would be returning,” she responds, smiling a little over her teacup. “And I am a bit new to the city. I will need a room.”

Dimitri laughs.

“I’m afraid my rooms are rather bare,” he says, “But may I offer you their humble space?”

“I think they will suffice,” Byleth says, and he smiles.

He wakes choking back a gasp, struggling to get his breathing under control.

It’s late into the night, though how late he’s unsure. A beam of moonlight filters into his room, and he relaxes a little more when he sees Byleth lying next to him, still sleeping. He lies there for another two counts or so before slowly slipping out of the bed, so as not to disturb her.

He tugs on some loose pants but doesn’t bother with a shirt, quietly walking out to the balcony and gripping the balustrades, breathing deeply. The nights are still chill, but he is Faerghus-born, and so he feels very much at home in it. Still, it is only a matter of time before his skin begins to feel numb, and he retreats back inside, feeling at least a little bit calmer. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about in detail, but he often dreams of the same things—the Tragedy of Duscur, his imprisonment, any and all of the people who have died in his lifetime. Though his heart rate is slowing back down to a normal pace, his mood and shoulders are now heavy, and it will be a challenge to fall back asleep in this state.

Byleth sits up when he clicks the door to the balcony shut, the blankets sliding off of her body, and she doesn’t bother pulling them up to save modesty, her entire countenance exuding sleepiness.

“I woke you,” Dimitri says apologetically, keeping his voice low, “Please, go back to sleep.”

She mumbles something, sliding out of bed as well, to his dismay. She still seems half-asleep as she makes her way over to him, tugging him towards the chaise. He sits on the arm after some light pushing on her side, and she remains standing as she rests against him and hugs him around the neck, her cheek on the top of his head. A chuckle rumbles low in his throat, and he wraps his arms around her waist, sighing into the crook of her arm. His skin must be freezing if hers is so warm from the bed, but still, she holds him tight.

“Did I look so pathetic?” he asks, with a wry smile.

“Merely troubled,” she replies. “And lost.”

He sighs again.

“Only a nightmare,” he says, “Not unusual.”

She murmurs an acknowledgement, pulling away from him, and he stops a noise of protest from rising in his throat.

Byleth tilts her head and smiles, taking his hand, moving further back.

“Come back to bed,” she says, and stepping into the beam of silver moonlight, smiling as she is, standing unadorned and unashamed, she looks a dream.

Dimitri doesn’t have words; he lets himself be led back underneath the blankets. Byleth presses her forehead to his.

“I’ll guard your dreams,” she says, and he smiles.

“How can you do that?” he asks, with a slightly cheeky lift of his chin.

“I’m here,” she responds, brushing back his hair.

“Yes,” he says, closing his eye, “I am glad you are.”

It’s late morning by the time he wakes, and his body is heavy with sleep. He swims back up to consciousness slowly, focusing first on the fact that his hand is holding another, and he traces up the arm and shoulder and neck until he meets Byleth’s eyes.

She’s sitting with her knees drawn up, a sheaf of papers in her lap and one sheet in her free hand, partially dressed in a very loose shirt that he vaguely recognizes as his.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning, Beloved,” he responds thickly, blinking a few times to chase the grogginess away. In his hazy, half-conscious state, he thinks idly that this must be what true happiness is, waking up to the one you love so dearly.

As he lies there, taking his time to fully come out of sleep, he slowly notices the strength of light filtering into his chambers—too strong—and rises abruptly.

“What time is it? I’ve overslept,” Dimitri says, looking around frantically, but Byleth reaches over to squish his cheeks together, tampering down his panic.

“You have,” she admits, “But the Kingdom is still standing. Dedue came to check not too long ago. We both agreed your prolonged sleep was necessary.”

“The reports—”

“The Kingdom is still standing,” Byleth repeats. “And will continue to stand. Will you take breakfast with me?”

He blinks at her.

“Of course,” Dimitri says, still somewhat disoriented, especially by the abruptness of subject change, but Byleth nods and gets out of bed first, stretching her arms.

“Help me dress?” she asks, looking back at him, and Dimitri softens.

“Of course,” he repeats.

Mercedes had sent up more court-appropriate clothing for her, and though Byleth is still unused to the length and style of the dresses, they are still undeniably beautiful garments. Dimitri brushes the tangles in her hair out with exquisite care, and zips her into her chosen gown of pale blue and gold. Afterwards, she helps Dimitri into his own clothes, tying back half his hair for him. They smile as they assess each other, and Dimitri opens the door for her with a gentlemanly gesture.

“Dedue said he’d prepare breakfast,” Byleth says as they walk together, “I have missed his cooking.”

“I expect he will provide us with quite the spread this morning, then,” Dimitri says, chuckling.

They cross a shadowed part of the hallway and Dimitri stops for a moment, realizing, suddenly, how easy this feels. Just as she had so many years ago, she’s slotted herself back in so neatly, as if nothing has changed, as if no time has passed between them. How happy he’s been since her return, and also, how carelessly carefree—

“Dimitri,” Byleth says, and he snaps his attention to her, though her tone had been soft, gentle.

She smiles, eyes knowing, and holds out her hand.

“Shall we go?” she asks, and Dimitri gives himself a little shake.

“Yes,” he says, as he moves forward. “I’m coming.”

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, offering his arm like a proper escort.

They descend the stairs together.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimileth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth eisner #dimitri x byleth #dimitri x f!byleth #fanfiction #I'M FINALLY FREE...#apparently only rebloggable on desktop LOL

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darlingsdevil · 4 years

Text

The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 5: “A Brewing Storm”

Masterlist

•••

A/N: I might actually end up writing another chapter tonight.. I can’t believe I’ve updated 5 times in 5 days jeez.. anyways... a brewing storm.. I wonder when it will touch ground >:3c

I made a playlist for this fic and I found the perfect song for this entire story.. but I won’t reveal it just yet >:3c

•••

Arthur couldn’t sleep. Again. It was a routine occurrence, but tonight was different. Mahala’s words stuck to him, and that’s the only thing he could think of.

The moon was bright and the stars looked wonderful under the midnight backdrop. They twinkled and dazzled. The air was crisp and mild.

Charles had arrived home from his weekend hunting trip, bringing back lots of game that would feed himself and Charles for many more weeks. Rains Fall expected them to feed themselves, and the people of Wapiti kept out of their business as they did the same. Charles tended to the fire at the very edge of the village, where land met forest.

Arthur had learned to hate the smell of smoke. It stung his healing lungs and made it harder to breathe, but it kept him warm. So he kept his distance from the blazing fire.

The wind changed and smoke blew into Arthur’s face, he choked on the bitter air. Dark eyes filled with worry flew to Arthur’s face. The wind changed its direction again but Arthur didn’t stop coughing.

Air forcefully ripped itself from Arthur’s battered lungs. He couldn’t stop coughing, panic rose in his chest. Charles came to Arthur’s side.

“I’m getting Mahala,” Charles said quickly, running to the healer woman’s tent.

Mahala, wearing a nightgown and holding a lantern rushed to Arthur’s side while he fell to the ground. Splatters of blood littered the dirt creating an abstract painting. The corners of the breathless man’s eyes filled with black until all light got blurry.

And then all went black.

•••

Lee took you back to the general store, the moon was bright and illuminated your blushing faces. Barely anyone was out in the streets, except for the occasional drunken man stumbling through the cobblestone alleyways. It wasn’t a terribly long walk from the pier to the store, but Lee still held you close and had an iron grip around your arm. He was nervous about you being alone at night, perhaps forgetting you used to be a wanted outlaw. Richfield was becoming more and more dangerous though, word had gotten around of the money being created in this town and criminals flocked to new, rich places. Richfield was no emerald city, but it was still a splitting image of the advancement and achievements of the industrial new world.

He nearly shoved you through the door, taking a second glance at the street, locking the door directly after that.

Lee turned around and smiled, pulling you closer to him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” He whispered in your ear. You leaned in and kissed him again, wrapping your arms around his neck. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. His lips were soft and the kiss was filled with passion. Lee lifted you on the glass counter, putting both hands on either side of your hips.

“Ahem.”

You both snapped your heads away from each other, looking at the person who interrupted you. It was Mr. Rinascita, looking smugly at the both of you.

“Sorry dad.” Lee said sheepishly, pulling himself away from you. You fixed your dress and pulled your locket to the center of your chest.

Mr. Rinascita chuckled, before going back up the stairs. You both watched him make it through the apartment door, staying absolutely still and quiet.

You both busted out laughing, and a large blush formed on your face. You covered your mouth with your hand in an attempt to silence your hysterical giggling.

After you somewhat silenced yourself, Lee leaned in and once again your stomach filled with butterflies. It felt like being with Arthur all over again, like nothing could ever harm you and nothing could ever pull you apart.

“It’s getting late.” Lee said when he pulled himself from your lips.

“I know.” You fluttered you eyes closed, leaning in for another kiss. Lee’s kisses were like a drug, and you were addicted.

But your lips were met with cold air, and you slowly opened your eyes.

“It’s time for you to go to sleep, it’s been a long day.” He told you, his eyes were warm and caring. It’s like you could get lost in the depth of his eyes, they were like a thick forest filled with fog, mysterious and intriguing.

You nodded slowly, tiredness suddenly pulled at your body, making it feel heavy. It was strange, you hadn’t been tired all day until he finally had said something. Lee helped you up the stairs, it was like you blinked and were suddenly in your bed.

Lee planted a small kiss on your head.

“Stay with me, Lee.”

He turned slowly, giving you a small head shake.

“You’re too tired.” He said clicking off the light, leaving you alone in your bed. You weren’t alone for long though, Arthur appeared in your dreams and he had a message for you.

•••

“Goddamn it. I was sure he was getting better. My poor son deserves to have something good happen for once.”

“He’s been through so much, he deserved to heal.” Charles agreed. They both sat next to unconscious Arthur, paying close attention to the rise and fall of his chest. Arthur shivered from fever, so Mahala had thrown all the blankets she could find on him. She would make sure Arthur fully recovered if it was the last damn thing she would ever do.

“You know he can’t stay here any longer.” Mahala spoke in a soft voice, the fire reflecting in her worn dark eyes.

Charles was silent for a moment.

“I know. The house is ready, but I can’t take care of him, I don’t know the first thing about medicine.” Charles sighed, leaning back into the rickety chair he first found himself in.

“I’ll stay with you two, who else would take care of my mischievous boys?” Mahala smirked.

They became silent again, and worry filled Charles’s head. Arthur fought so hard for his family’s freedom, and he had danced with death too many times. Arthur spoke of settling down once, and how he longed for life to be peaceful for once. Arthur deserved that life, and Charles would do the best of his ability to help Arthur achieve that.

“I can tell you care for him a lot, Charles.” Mahala finally broke the silence, her words cutting through the heavy air.

Charles nodded slowly, keeping a respectful watch on Arthur.

“His wife does too.”

“Well she is not here.”

“She doesn’t know he’s alive, Mrs. Morgan is incredibly strong, I’m sure she’s still out there fighting.” He was slightly taken aback by Mahala’s observations. Had it been that obvious?

“She needs to come home, to Arthur. I can see the longing in his eyes for her. I’m sure that gang of yours is spread out all over the country now.” She spoke with sincerity.

“Truth be told, I don’t know where any of them are at. If I knew where she was I’d get her sent on the first train ride home.”

“Arthur’s too weak to look for her. She needs to find him. Something big is happening in his wife’s life, I could feel it when I was with him. His spirit reflects hers.”

“I wish I could send word out to John Marston. The man who visited here the day I found Arthur, she was riding with him at the time. All I know is they were heading north, beyond the Grizzlies and god knows there’s barely any cities in those mountains, she has to be on the other side.”

Arthur’s eyes began to flutter. A small groan escaped his lips. Mahala shifted in her seat, watching him intently.

“My girl is in the mountains?” Arthur’s hoarse voice mumbled, still half asleep. Mahala leaned over and put a finger to Arthur’s lips.

“You need to sleep, my son.” She silenced him and Arthur drifted back off into a deep slumber.

His dreams were haunted by you.

•••

“Arthur! Arthur!” Your voice split through the storm, Arthur couldn’t see anything a few feet in front of him. The harsh rain splattered onto his body, making him incredibly cold.

You heard him shout your name, and you followed it, continuing to shout his.

“Arthur, please, find me!”

And the rain stopped, and the sky cleared.

Arthur was standing right in front of you. His eyes filled with happiness.

“I need you to find me.” Your voices rose in unison.

“Before it’s too late.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #slight charthur #rdr2 angst

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rsbry-beret · 4 years

Text

There’s Only So Much You Can Do

Find chapter three on Ao3 here

Aries-

Trust your intuition. Today, your gut feeling is probably right. Write down your insights and confirm if you were right, but don’t be surprised if your subconscious mind picks things up that your conscious mind didn’t know was set down.

Thursday was fire.

Tobin saw flames lick up into the fog, the thick stench of smoke overpowering anything else.

There was only one figure on horseback this time, a startling scarlet that looked like blood. Tobin watched, frozen, as the rider dismounted and swaggered towards him.

The figure was blurred, smoke bending the harsh lines Tobin knew intuitively that they had. He watched the horseman raise a large sword above their head, didn’t flinch as it was brought down.

The blade plunged into the concrete, and the world-

-how could you do this, mommy the bad men are here again, civil blood makes civil hands unclean, if you can shoot you can fight, blood thirst isn’t like normal hunger, help me help-

-fractured around it.

Tobin woke up with the soft noise of crackling fire still ringing in his ears.

-0-0-0-

“It’s about balance,” Tobin said as soon as he saw Parker’s face.

“It’s four in the morning,” Parker replied blearily, stepping aside to let Tobin in the shop nonetheless.

“And yet you’re still here, hypocrite,” Tobin rebutted. “But that’s not important. It’s about balance.”

Parker started walking to the back room, taking the same winding route as they always did. Tobin followed. “Christianity?” they asked.

“The universe,” Tobin clarified.

They both sat.

“I can’t get rid of them. That’s not possible, and even if it was, I shouldn’t do it. The horsemen- they represent bad things, yeah. But the bad things need to exist. It’s not life, otherwise.”

Parker nodded, resting the side of their face against their hand. Tobin started to feel a little bad about showing up in the middle of the night. He kept talking, anyway.

“So, that’s the big problem with the apocalypse. All the bad things are happening, and all the good things don’t have time to catch up. There’s too much bad, not enough good, the scales tip too far to one side and fall over, and then the world ends.”

Parker yawned. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“Right.” Tobin nodded. “Right. So, I don’t need to get rid of the horsemen. I just need to balance them out. I have to start with War. Today, I think.”

Parker sat up straighter at that. “War’s the second horseman. Shouldn’t you start with the first?”

Tobin shrugged. “I had another precognition. I have to start with War. I-“ Tobin cut himself off, remembering the dream. “I have to start with War,” he repeated lamely.

Parker looked concerned, and reached out to touch Tobin’s hand. He hadn’t realized it was clenched in a fist until Parker pried his fingers open.

“How much sleep did you get, Tobin?” They asked softly.

Tobin lifted his free hand and fiddled with his hoodie string. “Like, two hours. I couldn’t fall back asleep after… after.”

Parker nodded, slowly, then smiled softly, in a sad sort of way. “Well, okay. I couldn’t sleep either. Want me to tell you more folklore?”

Tobin smiled awkwardly, relieved. “You can just call them ‘stories’, you know,” he said, and nodded.

-0-0-0-

Tobin came back the the shop after work. He felt bad, blowing Leif off again. He was his best friend, it was shitty of him to do that.

Then again, it was the end of the world. Priorities had to be chosen.

“Why do you think it’s happening now?” Tobin asked Parker as he shifted through a crate of river stones.

“Well,” they started, “it could be whenever, I’m pretty sure. That’s the point, I guess, that you don’t know when it’ll be. That being said…” they took a long sip of their earl gray tea. “...you’re kind of an, uhm, beacon.”

Tobin stopped looking for a good rock and sat up straight, still not looking at Parker. “A beacon?” he questioned.

“Well, you came in here that first day and I could feel the power, like, radiating off of you. It’s how I knew what you could do so fast.” They hesitated. “Probably also why we’re so close after knowing each other for two days.”

Tobin nodded slightly, then turned around to face Parker. “Probably the shared trauma of the oncoming apocalypse helps with the fast-friendship thing, too.”

Parker cracked a lopsided smile. “Yeah,” they agreed, “That too.”

-0-0-0-

Tobin wasn’t sure how exactly he was supposed to fight a horseman of the apocalypse. On some level, he figured, it was more the abstract concept of war that he was fighting, so he probably wouldn’t need to get his hands dirty.

Then, too, he’d only ever seen War in his precognitions- it’d make sense that he would have to fight them in his mind, too.

But Tobin wasn’t really a meditation-person. Last night he was able to, but that was fueled from equal parts desperation, exhaustion, and the lack of anything better to do. Now Tobin was sitting on the floor in The Library’s back room (not the chair- he wasn’t sure why, but Tobin knew that the chair was a bad idea) and trying not to fidget.

He imagined the ocean tide and tried to match his breathing, but that only made him need to pee.

He tried to focus on his surroundings before letting them pass through him, but then he’d find himself distracted by a passing thought, follow that stranduntik he was lost in a cacophony of thinking, get lost in it.

“Parker,” he called eventually, “I can’t focus.”

Parker made a loud humming noise from the other room.

“I keep getting all turned around in my own head. Following on thought onto the next and the next.”

“Don’t follow!” Parker called, “Lead!”

Tobin frowned, but shut his eyes anyway.

No, follow me, he replied.

-0-0-0-

Tobin was back on his foggy street. War was there, waiting for him. They were standing beside their horse, not leaning against her or touching her at all.

Presenting a united front, mused some part of Tobin’s mind, and he smiled.

The fire was thick, wilder than it had been last night. Tobin spared a minute to watch it. He wasn’t so sure why he had been worried by it before- it was beautiful, in a way. Fire burned, yes, but it warmed too. You couldn’t have one without the other.

Finally, Tobin looked to War and saw her.

She wasn’t blurry anymore, but sharp and strange-looking, like someone had cut a photo of her out of a magazine and pasted it in the street.

She had long, brown hair with gold beads tied in it one moment, then choppy short Auburn the next, constantly shifting. She was short and y’all all at once. She could be anyone, Tobin realized. That was probably the point.

She smiled, and had fangs.

Her sword was grasped firmly in her hand, the top scraping against the smooth, unblemished concrete. The cracks were gone.

Tobin steeled himself and looked to her eyes and saw-

-blood, death, don’t you want to be able to hurt them like they hurt you, love is a funny word for weakness, isn’t it easier to hate, there’s so much wrong and you can fix it, follow me, follow me-

-that they were clear red, no iris or anything.

Tobin felt like he was going to be sick for a moment, but it passed.

He stepped forward. She didn’t move.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Tobin walked close to War. Her hand tightened on the sword handle every step he took, then loosened. Besides that, she stayed still.

Her horse whined after a while, and stomped his hooves. Neither of them turned to her, but quietly, Tobin said “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The horse fell silent.

Hours passed, or seconds, and then Tobin was close enough to War that he could reach out and touch her.

He didn’t.

The three of them stood like that for a while. Tobin could feel the warmth of the fire around them flare up, then cool, with no discernible pattern. Every once and awhile, one of them would blink.

Tobin looked at her, and he smiled.

Picking his words carefully, he said, “Everything is going to be okay.”

She flinched.

Her hand loosened on the sword, and he heard it fall to the ground, but he didn’t look away from her.

“Things will get better. You’re going to be okay.”

She fell forward into him, shifting hands grasping desperately at his shoulders. He pulled her closer to him, and hugged her tight, not letting go when her body changed and not letting go when he could feel her nails prick his skin and not letting go when he could feel his shirt collar wet with tears.

Eventually, War pulled away.

Wordlessly, she got on her horse.

She nodded at him, once, and the fire died down to a content warmth.

They walked away from him.

Tobin woke up.

#coder boyfriends #leif donnelly #leif x tobin #tobin batra #zep #zep fanfic #zep fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #my posts #my fanfic #batronnelly #tobin x leif #magic #magical tobin #urban magic

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anothers-trash-my-treasure · 5 years

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Bittersweet - Chapter Three

I’m always uploading these chapters at like 1 AM but I did this instead of studying. Inspired by my own hangover (this shit lasted two days I swear, don’t drink kids). Enjoy this one!

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (femme)

Warnings: I don’t think soooooooo, lemme know if I should change this.

Word Count: 2797

Tag List: @elliotmercury @r-ahh-mi @the-almond-dinger @ahkmenrami1205 @itsme690 @xoa-lex

Let me know if you want to be tagged or if I forgot to tag anyone I’m sorry, I have a bad memory, just remind me and I’ll actually write it down lol.

I close the door behind me with a heavy sigh. The disappointment sits heavy on my shoulders at the way Merriell and I’s perfect day came to an end. A million questions circle my head but I don’t get more than a few seconds to contemplate them before Chloe is breathing down my neck about it.

“So?” she asks excitedly, “tell me everything.”

I kick my shoes off and hang up my jacket before turning to look at her. My disappointment must show on my face because the expression on her face quickly changed from one of excitement to one of confusion and concern.

“What happened?” She asks, reaching to pull me down onto the couch with her, “Do I need to fight him? You know I will.”

I smile weakly at her attempt to cheer me up before I shake my head, “I...don’t really know what happened?” I start, letting the confusion from how Merriell acted outside bleed into my voice, “We had such a nice day, and we were flirting and just having such a good time...” I trail off, sighing heavily as I relive the moment in my head, “But then we were standing at the car, saying goodnight and he had his hands on my waist and I was so sure he was going to kiss me...”

“And he didn’t?” Chloe asked, a little incredulously.

I nod, “He didn’t.” I confirm solemnly.

We sit in silence for a moment, while she processes my tragic short story before her hands find mine, holding them in a tight grip.

“Well, fuck that guy.” she says simply, “I picked up a few bottles of wine today? Wanna get drunk and order pizza?”

“God yes.” I reply immediately, “You know me so well.”

Through a haze of half drunk / half asleep fog, I hear a loud pounding at the door. I groan, rolling over and pushing my head into my pillow, not quite ready to wake up and face my headache and hangover yet. There’s no way I can walk all the way to the door to get it. The knocking continues but sleep tugs me back under, even as I hear Chloe stumble out of her room to answer. I hear voices but my brain doesn’t register anything more. A voice yelling my name threatens to drag me out, but I just bury myself deeper under my covers. I get a few more minutes of trying to block out the words before the covers are yanked off of me.

“Hey!” I exclaim, wincing at how shot my voice is and looking as Chloe glares down at me.

“You have a visitor.” she grumbles, “I’m going back to bed.”

I drag myself out of bed, and my hangover begins to really hit me. My mouth dry, eyes burning and head throbbing from the sunlight. A heavy pit of nausea sits at the bottom of my stomach and the world spins as I move. I go to leave my room, confused and disoriented. Who the hell could be wanting to visit me? I wrack my brain for answers and sure enough, as soon as I walk out into the living room them all come back.

“Fuck it.” I slur, downing the rest of my wine, “I’m gonna call him.”

Chloe squeals excitedly as I pull out my phone, “Yesssss bitch!” She yells, holding up her own wine glass high above her head, “Put the asshole on blast!”

I sift through my contacts and without hesitating press the call button next to a blurry string of letters that resembles the thoughts I’ve had all night. I press my phone to my ear, grabbing the bottle of wine and instead of pouring another glass, I start drinking out the bottle. Chloe laughs, loudly, brightly, and it’s so much I hardly register a clicking on the other line.

“Y/n?” His voice comes, and it’s sleepy and adorable and I simultaneously swoon and feel my anger rise at the same time. Fuck him for being so goddamn perfect, “is everthin’ alright?”

“Hello, Merriell.” I say confidently, getting up and walking around the couch as I speak, Chloe's drunken encouragement spurring me on, “Everything is fine, I just have a single question for you-” I pause bringing the wine bottle up to my lips, “Actually, you know what isn’t fine?” I ask, becoming sidetracked by a new train of thought, “How we left things this evening.”

I hear his amused ‘oh?’ come from the other end and I continue, words slurring.

“In fact, that, my dear boy, is where my question comes from.” I pause for dramatic effect, waiting for him to acknowledge my words before continuing, “Why, in the holy everloving hell, did you not kiss me?”

I groan loudly when I see him sitting on the couch. I cover my face with my hands, embarrassment flooding my body like a wave of heat. I hear his chuckle at my bemusement and suddenly his presence along with the effects of my wine-induced hangover are way too much for me to handle. The world is spinning and I make my way over to the couch on unsteady legs before throwing myself down onto it face first. Before I can bring myself to start apologizing, he speaks.

“How’re ya feelin’?” He asks, and although there’s amusement in his voice, there’s an undertone of something...else?

“Like shit,” I say into the couch, not wanting to look up at him just yet. The last thing I want to see is the pity and uncomfort on his face, “I really, really, really hate myself right now.”

“Aweh, c’mon. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with getting a little too drunk every now n’ again.” He says, almost reassuringly.

It’s silent for a few moments as I feel sorry for myself. Merriell sits, and he squirms and I can tell he’s uncomfortable being here. And then a question crosses my mind and I raise my head to look at him.

“Wait, why are you here?” I ask. He meets my eyes and raises an eyebrow, asking a silent question of ‘seriously?’. “Enlighten me, I remember making a fool of myself but not all the details.” My voice is almost bitter, the pounding in my head eating away at my patience.

He clears his throat, looking away from me, running a hand over his face before meeting my eyes again. “You-uh,” He pauses, his knee is jerking nervously and he wipes his hands on his pants, “You told me ya wanted to talk to me.” he starts, “And when I said I was listening, ya made me promise to stop by in the morning before I went to work.” He trails off before holding out his arms in a kind of ‘so what’ movement, “So here I am.”

I groan again, “Fuck, Merriell, I am so sorry.” I say, hand coming up to rub at my face, grateful that I had taken my makeup off before getting too drunk, “I don’t even remember what I would have wanted to talk to you about.”

My body protests as I pull myself into a sitting position, very aware of the fact that I’m only in sleep shorts and a t-shirt. I look at him properly, trying to gauge his emotion. He looks different from the first two times I’ve seen him. He’s lost his cool composure, fiddling with a loose thread on his worn t-shirt. His eyes won’t rest on one spot, flicking to look at me before looking anywhere else. He’s tense, and I know he doesn’t want to be here.

“You can go,” I say softly, even though I want him to stay. I want to fix this. For whatever reason, my heart screams at me to keep this, whatever this may be, alive. But if it’s one-sided, It’s best that it ends now, “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

I half expect him to just bolt after I’ve released him. But he doesn't. He stays. He still doesn’t say anything. His eyes stay trained on his hands as they fiddle in his lap. He seems to be battling with something. His mouth keeps opening and closing like he wants to say something, but he keeps losing the nerve. I try to stay focused on him but the pounding in my head and dryness in my mouth keeps me distracted. I excuse myself, wandering to the bathroom to try and get myself in order.

My mind races while I go through my usual morning routines. Why the hell did I call him? Fucking dumbass, I scold myself silently, glaring at my reflection in the mirror after brushing my teeth and drinking some water. There’s no way I haven’t fucked this up, he’s trying to find a way to let me down easy right now. Hell, I wouldn’t blame him if he left while I was in here. I grab some Tylenol from my makeup bag that sits on the counter, swallowing them down before taking one last look in the mirror.

“Idiot.” I breathe softly, before opening the door and walking back down the hallway to the living room.

He’s still there, almost surprisingly, when I walk in. He looks up at me and he seems a little less nervous, a little more put together.

“Why’d you say sorry?” He asks simply.

I’m a little blown away at his question. I sit down hesitantly beside him, gathering my thoughts, “Well, I guess I’m embarrassed at my behaviour. I acted irrationally, getting drunk and calling you out over the phone instead of being a normal human and actually taking my shot next time. If there was going to be a next time.” My hangover encourages me to speak honestly, too tired and longing the comfort of my bed and knowing the sooner this is over, the sooner I can sleep it off, I sigh heavily as I let my concerns pass my lips, “But I’m going to assume that I’ve fucked up any ‘next times’ that may have been in the works. So if you could just refrain from using my name when you talk to your friends about the crazy tourist you went out with, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

He looks at me, eyebrows drawn in and a small frown on his lips, “Why’d you assume that?” He asks voice laced with confusion.

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t go out with me again.” I say through a bitter laugh, “I mean come on, we go on one date, you don’t kiss me and I get drunk and yell at you on the phone about it.” I run a hung through my hair, ignoring the pain that comes from the pull of the kinks, “Any other guy would be running the other direction. It all just screams ‘crazy’.”

I don’t know what I expect him to do, crack a small smile and a joke, agree and never see me again or what but he surprises me by just sitting there, searching my eyes with a serious expression on his face.

“Well, I ain’t any other guy.” he finally says, softly. So softly, I’m not even sure he meant to say it out loud because when he speaks next it’s much louder, “How long are ya here for?”

“In Louisiana?” I ask, surprised at the turn of conversation. When he nods, I continue, “a week. We fly out on Sunday.”

He nods, looking back down at his feet on the hardwood floors and then it’s silent again. It’s silent for a while, him looking at the floor and me looking at him, trying desperately to see where his head is at. It hits me that I don’t really know this man, not actually. He told me small things yesterday, a detail here and there about his life. But to know him enough to try and predict his next move? To know what he judged as crazy or not? To know if he was a runner or a fighter? I don’t know him. And yet he sits on the couch of my rented Airbnb, trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble or not, and I don’t know a damn thing about him. But I do know, that I don’t want him to become just a story I tell my friends.

“Y’know I regret not kissin’ ya.” he says softly, finally looking at me and actually holding my gaze, “But I had a reason.” He pauses, “Lookin’ back it’s a stupid one.” A hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. He seems to do that a lot when he’s nervous, a defence mechanism.

“Can I ask what it was?” I ask softly.

He chews on his bottom lip nervously, running a hand through his hair before he sighs, “Okay,” He starts hesitantly, “Look, ’m not the best at relationships.” He winces at the sheer amount of vulnerability evident in his voice as he spills the truth, “I always fuck it up. Movin’ too fast or gettin’ scared and callin’ it off. My friend Eugene tells me I have ‘commitment issues’” He raises his hands into quotations on the two words, and I have to stifle a giggle at how annoyed he looks at the concept. He looks at me shyly, forcing myself to look me in the eyes, “But when I saw you,” he hesitates, “all o’ it went away. I just knew I wanted to see ya again.”

My heart soars at the words, a small smile tugging at my lips as he keeps talking, more like rambling now.

“But then, I got nervous last night. Lookin’ at me like that and it just kinda hit me that you’re not from here and you’re leavin’ and I didn’t wanna drag you into my bullshit.” He breaks off with a sigh, “but then you went n’ called me, callin’ me out for not kissing you..” he trails off, “I don’t think I’ve eva’ regretted anything more.”

All my feelings from the previous night come rushing back. My heart beating heavily in my chest as I stare at him, a little dumbfounded at his sweet words. He’s so much different today than he was last night. Cocky demeanour replaced with a much more real and open side of him. His eyes still betray him, showing how nervous, scared, conflicted he is at our situation. I have to laugh a little bit and how stupid we are; Both so afraid to mess this up that neither of us realized what the other was feeling.

“So fix it,” I say softly. He barely gets out a ‘what’ before I’m repeating myself, “fix it.” His eyes search mine as I scoot closer, driven by the fluttering feeling in my chest and stomach, my hangover long forgotten as I utter my next sentence.

“Kiss me.”

For a second I think he won’t do it. I think that he’ll let the fear of how complicated this could be get the best of him. But his eyes flicker from mine to my lips and I know that he wants this just as much as I do. My heart accelerates as he leans in, pausing when we’re just inches apart to let a hand come up to cup my jaw. He takes another moment to look at me and the possibility of him backing down still hangs between us. But, thank god, this time he doesn’t disappoint.

His lips press against mine, softly at first as if testing the waters before moving his against mine slowly. I breathe in as I lean into the touch, bracing myself on the couch so I don’t fall over. The world is spinning again, but this time it’s not nauseating or disorienting. He pulls back a bit, took look into my eyes, asking a silent question of if it’s okay.

I answer by pressing another kiss to his lips, moving closer so I can wrap my arms around his neck. We kiss slowly, languidly, enjoying the soft brush of our lips against one others. It’s magical to be kissing him like this. Intoxicating, exhilarating, electrifying. No one word can describe it. I don’t know how long we kiss for but the second he pulls away, I miss his lips against mine.

I let out a long breath, opening my eyes to look at him. I’m sure I’m looking at him with what can only be described as a dreamy expression on my face. But I can’t bring myself to care.

“Are you sure you have to go to work?” I ask, bringing our foreheads together.

He chuckles softly, breath fanning out over my lips as he rubs his nose against mine, leaning back down to speak before kissing me again.

“I can call in sick.”

Part 4

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek/reader #Rami Malek Trash #Merriell Shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton/reader #merriell snafu shelton #Snafu Shelton #snafu x reader #snafu shelton x reader

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nehawriter16 · 4 years

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5.11.19 - my life is falling apart and other updates.

Hello internet.

Just wanted to talk today. I like Tumblr because not many people I know follow me on here. Also there isn’t a word limit, and sometimes a girl just wants to rant.

So this is me releasing all my thoughts into the world today.

1. ACADEMICS

I quit chartered accountancy. Just woke up one day, and told my parents I couldn’t do it anymore. That was a long week at home, and I know they’re disappointed in me. All along I’ve been a bright student, somebody who never disappointed and they could brag about at dinner parties. But this course cut me open. It hurt me, it sent me crumbling and it dragged me through hell. In the movie Dear Zindagi, Alia Bhatt is in therapy and Shahrukh Khan tells her that sometimes we keep doing the hard thing because we think we have to. And we forget that its okay to pick an easy way. I guess that’s what I’m doing. I’m choosing the easier way because the harder way made me unhappy, it made me unhappy to the point where I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

So the new plan is that I will give my GRE and apply to Masters in Finance courses in the US. Preferably in the STEM field, because its easy to get a work visa after graduating if you’re a STEM graduate. Do I think this is the perfect career path for me? No, absolutely not. But do I think it will do me good to finally move the fuck out of home, have a change of continent, meet some new people, and have the college experience I always felt I missed out on? Yes.

So this is what we’re doing. My GRE is in 12 days. I am barely prepared.

2. DRIVE/PASSION

I always had a passion for writing. I knew when I discovered it that it not only brought me joy, but I was pretty damn good at it. Unfortunately being brown, and coming from a family of people who had all built their career from scratch by making practical decisions, because they didn’t have a choice due to their humble backgrounds, I was always told that writing was a futile thing and would just be a hobby, not something to be looked at as a career option. I disagreed. Having made a bit of money from it now, I still disagree.

But I’ve been brought up in the lap of luxury and I have a pretty high standard of living. I like my weekly Starbucks and I go to bars that don’t have happy hours. I enjoy the bimonthly staycation in a fancy hotel, and I hate repeating outfits and thoroughly enjoy fashion, so I’m always buying new clothes. It makes me happy to look good.

So yeah, I agree that since I haven’t had the liberty to pursue writing full time, I haven’t yet found a way to make a living from it. Maybe it’s a risk, and a back up plan is advisable. But all I know is writing is the only thing I feel like waking up to do. Even now, when my life is falling apart, it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.

Growing up I was always a hardworking student. And if I wasn’t, my Mom made me that way. She would yell if I got bad marks, and she always encouraged that I at least be in the top ten in class. Even the school I went to was pretty much only concerned with academics. And so due to the environment and brainwashing, I did well. I stayed in the 90 percent lane all my life, all the way up to twelfth grade. In my junior college I had two of the worst years of my life. I was molested by my co caption for months on end, and I couldn’t escape him. It was constant mental, emotional and physical turmoil, more so because I couldn’t tell anyone. Despite how insanely difficult it was to spend six hours every day in the place where my molester showed up every day, I still managed to keep my grades high. I scored 92 percent, and my parents were happy.

I had no passion for finance, but since I had proved to be so bright, my parents said the only thing to do now was four years of Chartered Accountancy. After that, my life would be sorted. I passed the first level by studying for 2 months, while other people attended classes for a year. I passed the second level too. I got into one of the biggest global multiconsulting firms in the world for my internship, and my parents were happy. My life was on track, and it didn’t matter that I was crying in the cabs home from work because I was so miserable. It didn’t matter as long as the plan was being followed. After all, the plan was being followed and I was so goddamn close to the finish line.

Two years into my internship I decided I needed to quit, or at least shift to a smaller firm. The pressures in this one were too much and I was so sad I could barely make it out of bed. So I told my parents I needed to study for my finals, and they got me out of it. My mental health was derailing – but oh boy, was this just the beginning. I moved to a smaller firm and pretended to stay home on the weekends and study. Instead, all I did was lay in bed with YouTube videos playing on loop because I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts.

2017 was the year my boyfriend broke up with me too, so all kinds of shit was hitting the fan at the same time. I was fucked up in every way. I started using alcohol to fall asleep, to wake up, to do pretty much anything actually. To engage in social situations, I’d carry around a quarter in my bag and drink it in the cab. It eased my anxiety and helped me smile at people in a more convincing way.

2018 sucked. So did 2019. These two years are a blurry flatline in my head. I have been drowning like the ground I walk on is quicksand, and the more I struggle to get out, the more it pulls me in. When I look back at my life’s work in the past two years, I see nothing. Nothing that counts as an achievement anyway.

I wasted them while everybody else was putting in the work to get into ivy league schools or pass exams, get their first real jobs kickstarted. I lay in bed and watched every tv show there was to watch with the curtains drawn. I ran through horrible men and gave my body up to practical strangers that I felt nothing for, and the ones I liked left me, like they always do. Yeah, I wrote two books. Made enough money to support my alcohol addiction, my shopping habits, my vacations and staycations. I blew it all off on the temporary ride of whatever would bring me happiness in the moment.

I lost myself. I lost myself to illness and addiction and worthless friends and denial. I’m still lost. I used to have a drive in my body, something that said wake up and get things done today. Instead, I’ve been doing the zombie shuffle through my own life. Sometimes I wake up and my first thought is – “How long till this day is over.” I count the hours until I can crawl back into bed, till its an acceptable time to go to sleep. Because the only place I don’t feel like my brain has a fucking dense fog rolling through it is when I’m sleeping.

I used to be brilliant, and I’ve lost my shine. I’ve lost my willpower, my ability to be the hardest working person in the room. I have gotten self destructive to the point where I procrastinate and procrastinate and then it’s too late for everything. I am so fucked up, you have no idea.

I don’t know what I should do to bring that feeling of wanting to do something perfectly back. You know, the feeling of studying so hard you know everything on the test. The feeling of being the best, no questions asked. The feeling of answering questions in class and submitting assignments on time and just…enjoying the process of academia that I used to love so much. But I guess in depression, your brain sort of grows old and tired. It can’t remember things. It doesn’t want to move, or think, or do anything difficult.

My memory is deteriorating and the moments I’m supposed to remember and the information I should retain? It gets lost more often than not. And I am so scared to assess the scale of this incompetency that I just don’t even try because whenever I do, it’s all so overwhelming and all the trauma from Chartered Accountancy comes swirling back to hit me in the head.

3. BODY IMAGE

As a result of my constant sadness, I had to find ways to make myself happy. The periods of happiness lasted for a short while, but I rode the highs to the fullest because I knew the darkness would be back eventually. I turned to alcohol and marijuana and nicotine, to the point where every three or four days I would need one or the other, if not all three in combination. I would drink every night to be able to fall asleep. In my cupboard there is a special collection of all the wine bottles that have acted as sleeping pills.

I also began to eat junk food, because carbohydrates make you happy before they make you feel like shit. All addictions are like that, actually. Swiggy was my best friend, and my array of lovers : greasy Chinese, McDonalds, any dessert place – just whatever was bad for your skin, fattening, but would be brought to you by a wonderful man on a bike no matter what the weather was, and was easy to eat and throw all evidence of out later and forget that somewhere on my body, this food would settle into another ugly layer.

In the middle I got sick of myself and went to the gym, started going at it hard. My body improved and the endorphins were definitely helping, but a few months in I stopped waking up. My brain said it didn’t want to anymore, and I, the slave to my depression, caved and listened. I haven’t been since. The swiggy orders keep coming in every day and I keep throwing the containers into the trash, changing quickly from one outfit into another so I don’t have to see what I look like naked.

But I know. I somehow hate myself for the disgust I have for certain parts of my body, and then for the part of me that knows it wants to “fix” them all, but is in constant battle with the part of me that says I shouldn’t feel guilty for taking up space or for being a curvy girl. But body positivity isn’t about a number on a scale, its just about whether you like your reflection in the mirror, whether it makes you happy. Mine hasn’t made me happy in a long time. But then again, what the fuck has?

Sometimes I’m in trial rooms with harsh lighting and I just stare at myself and call myself horrible names. I keep the lights off when boys come over and the clothes come off. I keep saying, “I have to lose 10 kgs,” but I keep ordering from Swiggy every time a depressive episode rolls in to make it go away.

I keep setting deadlines, like, “After this month, I will cut out sugar!” and “After this exam, I will go back to the gym!” but then I fuck up and I’m like, oh well. Maybe next month.

The bottom line is I despise my body and the way it’s started to look. It doesn’t help that my Instagram feed is full of women with perfect skin, defined abs, and perky butts with chiselled features. I want all of that. I want to feel beautiful, and beautiful is hard work. Which, of course, my brain pines after, but never actually lets me get out of bed to do.

4. DATING/LOVE

My last serious relationship ended in 2017. I briefly dated somebody exclusively in the beginning of 2019, but he turned out to be the biggest asshole of them all, and “didn’t realise” he was using me to get over his ex-girlfriend. He broke up with me over text, pretty much cheated on me, didn’t even explain himself until I found out from some mutual friends. After that I was done, I couldn’t take love anymore. I couldn’t let anybody in because every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended with me being the second choice or me being dumped or betrayed and left hurt and broken for years.

The trauma is too much. So I decided I was never going to let anybody leave me again or enter my life and find a permanent place in it. I became the biggest fuckboy of them all, despite my conscience that has always been a good, kind and sensitive thing. This player thing really isn’t for me, but it was fun for a while to trump boys and play mind games and make them feel inadequate about themselves, to stand them up and never call back and ask them to leave my house after I had gotten what I wanted, to only call when I wanted it again.

I purposely picked out the worst, baddest ones. Then I tamed them by being even worse than they were. In May I began speaking to somebody who was fun and hilarious and good looking and well off and who made my brain feel alive again. Every time he texted me I caught myself smiling, and all our conversations consisted of saying witty sarcastic things to each other. We went on one date and he kissed me in the car, but for some reason in real life his life was so different from mine, that I declared the kiss good (he put his hand in my hair and grabbed, in a non hurtful but very I’m-super-into-this way, ooofff) and the date a disaster. I don’t know whether I was just in denial of my now strongly sprouting crush, or whether I actually hated it.

As the months passed, I tried to get him to go out with me again. I’m not much of a pursuer, because I have always been the one who gets pursued. But this boy was different. We would talk a lot over DM and we would make fun of each other and his life was fabulous and exciting and I watched from the outside, and built him into a much grander version of who he is in real life. I do that. What made him even more attractive was that he didn’t want me, and I couldn’t figure out for the love of God why not. I thought I was the whole package, and I even started to act out a little bit in the psycho way he told me he liked his women, which is SO TOXIC but I had actually felt something for somebody after so long that I didn’t even backtrack. Anyway, it soon became clear that it was not going to lead anywhere because he just disappointed me, didn’t show up, and my ego took a hit. I let it go, mostly. Or I will, as time passes.

I think I deserve love. Not the makes you feel good and carries your bag when its heavy kind. I deserve the love that I am ready to give – the grand romantic gestures that would be so dumb, but somehow he makes them work. The cant live without you love. The we’re best friends and teammates and nothing, not even distance, not our past demons, will keep us from making it work. I want the kind of person who is so sure of who they are, so internally confident, and so absolutely sure that I am their soulmate that I convinces me. I don’t want to meet a lot of wrong boys, goddamnit. I’ve done my fair share of the wrong boys, I’ve paid my dues for the amount of hurt one person is supposed to have. Now I just want the right one.

Deep down, I know he’s not here. Not in this city, because that would just be a cruel joke. Imagine meeting your soulmate and then having to go to college in six months. Fucking shit. If the universe even pities me a little bit, it wont do that to me.

I sometimes wonder if my life only stays on track if my romantic life is going well. I mean, when I dated my last serious boyfriend, I had it all – I was skinny. I had a prestigious internship. I was passing my exams. The writing was flourishing. This is a very scary thought, because I don’t want to depend or co exist on somebody else for my happiness in any way. But I cant deny the fact that my entire life fell apart when that last boy, who I loved with all my heart, broke up with me. It hasn’t been quite the same since.

His life is going spectacularly well, though. Lots of women and a great job and enough money to buy plane tickets to different cities to meet these women when he wouldn’t even drive down three hours to see me in a neighbouring town. I hate how unfair life is. He’s found some amazing people that he has feelings for, that like him back, even though he’s the one who broke my heart. And I still haven’t found a single person who even makes it to the second date, and the only one who did was just using me as a placeholder while his cheating ex girlfriend took a vacation from their relationship. So how the fuck is that fair? Am I being given the worst kind of experiences because my broken heart produces a special brand of my best writing? If yes, then I’m tired. I’d rather be a mediocre writer, but I cant spend my whole life being abandoned and cheated on and dumped and taken for granted, especially when the kind of love I can give is loyal and abundant and pure.

That’s it. Those are my issues, or some of them. Honestly I’m tired of typing and want to retire to my safe space that is my bed, and the deep dark comfort of unconsciousness. I just thought I might feel better if I could release this into the world, before I feel a little better and write another post manifesting what I envision my life to be next year.

If you made it to the end, you truly love me and care for me. Thanks for sticking with me, I guess. I hope things get better. I used to say that the good thing about rock bottom is that there’s nowhere to go but up. I wish there was some kind of tracker that told you when you’d actually hit rock bottom, because all I do is keep on fucking sinking deeper and deeper.

#personal #life update #writing #fucked up

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slasher-is-as-slasher-does · 5 years

Note

Can you do something angsty with either Michael or Herman? You write angst wonderfully btw

MY TIME HAS COME I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR WEEKS

Spark of Madness

Pairing: Herman X Reader

Words: 2547

You ran around the map, the walls ofthe Gideon Meat Plant seeming to close in on you. You weren’t typically worried about beingkilled in trials anymore; not since you met the love of your life. Recently, however, something had been goingon, and you were told in a passing whisper to meet Sally at the end of thetrial, when you were the last one on the map. Sally was fairly good at her job, and she killed both Jake and Lauriethis round, leaving Jane to escape. Sonow, here you were, rushing around like you were looking for the hatch,listening for the heartbeat so you could meet with Sally and figure out whatwas going on.

Just as you were giving up hope, youspotted a pallet still leaning on its side against a wall. If you couldn’t find Sally, you’d help herfind you instead. With that in mind, yougrabbed the large bit of metal and threw it down, knowing she would hearit. Mere moments passed before you heardthe sound of her shrieking as she blinked towards you.

Appearing behind you, she took amoment to regain her strength and straighten herself. “There you are, Y/n…”

You approached casually, trying tohide your worry, and smiled at her. “Hi,Sals. What’s up?”

She glanced away from you and youcould feel her nervousness. It was startingto put you on edge. “It…it’s Herman…”

Your worry turned to full-blownpanic. “H-Herman?? What’s wrong with him? Where has he been? I’ve been looking for him for days!” You felt tears begin to burn your eyes.

“There’s something wrong withhim. He’s been…unstable recently, andit’s getting worse by the day. I thinkit has something to do with his electrical charges. They’ve been going out of control, and it’saffecting the way he thinks. He…” She took a breath. “He attacked Philip the other day.”

Attack…Philip? Herman would never! At least, not while he’s in his rightmind. “The charges…do you think they’vebuilt up too much?”

“Perhaps,” she answered softly. “I worry about him. He’s started lacking in his trials, but it’snot his fault. He can’t seem to releasethe static charge… We don’t know what to do.”

You sighed. Herman hadn’t been using his electricity atall recently; you knew this for a fact. Almost every trial he’d been in, you were one of the survivors, and hewould have never forgiven himself if he’d shocked you accidentally, especiallywith your low pain tolerance, and he didn’t want you to experience the madnessthe other survivors had to deal with. Damn that Entity! The only way tofix such an issue would be…

“He has to release all of the chargeall at once,” you told her, fear coursing through you as you realized whatneeded to be done.

“A mori?” she guessed. “I suppose it could work, but he’s so out ofit. He’d never be able to get his handson a survivor to execute it.”

You gave her a soft smile,attempting to keep your voice from shaking. “Unless the survivor doesn’t run from him.”

Sally stared at you for a moment,trying to understand your meaning before she reeled back in shock. “Y/n! You can’t!”

“It’s not like I’ll be deadpermanently, right?” you said. Youneeded to reassure her at least. If youcould do that, then you’d be able to reassure yourself as well. You’d never been mori’d before, but to helpthe man you loved? You’d doanything. “You said yourself that hewouldn’t be able to catch other survivors with the way he’s acting, so the onlyway to help him is to go to him.”

She paused, looking for something tochange your mind. When she realized youwere right, she gave a soft sigh, tossing her hands in a distressedmanner. “Y/n, you know what you’redoing…right?”

“Don’t worry, Sally. I have a plan.”

That started your work. You had to make sure this was perfect. Nothing could go wrong; no one could come inwith you. No one could know what youwere doing either. The other survivorswould actively restrain you if they found out, and you weren’t sure the killerswouldn’t do the same. As such, you madeSally promise not to tell them. Youcould imagine Michael locking you in a room or Anna swinging wildly at Hermanto keep you from danger.

Finally, the day came. Looking around the campfire, you spotted allof the other survivors sound asleep, glowing in the light of the fire. You were thankful for their slumber; if anyof them were awake they’d see your shadow as you scurried away. Going through the Fog alone was never a goodidea, for killer or survivor, but in this case, you had to have as littleinterruption to commune with the Entity.

It took almost ten full minutes ofMichael-level powerwalking before you felt you had strayed far enough into theFog. The maddening whispers of theEntity itself were all around you, incomprehensible, yet you knew it waswondering what drew you so far away from safety. You could almost swear you spotted one of itswicked tendrils amongst the trees, but you attempted to keep your eyes from it.

You bent down slowly, gripping asharpened rock and inspecting it. Youtried not to give yourself any time to think about it as you drug the sharp tipacross the palm of your hand, wincing and whimpering at the pain. Panting a bit, you held your hand to thesky. “There’s something I need todo. I offer you my blood to completethis. We’ll both benefit from it.”

The shift in the air told you theEntity was at least listening now, enticed by both your blood and yourarrogance to dare assume you had something it would need.

Taking it as a sign to continue, younodded. “I need to enter a trial atLery’s Memorial Institute, but I need it to be me only. No generators. No hooks. No other survivors. Just me andHerman. I ask that you grant him aCypress Momento Mori as well.”

A few seconds passed and youwondered if it was considering your offer. You knew it liked things running smoothly, and Herman was usually such agrand killer. Surely it would want himrunning normally again, even if he takes a moment to get over what he wasessentially being forced to do. A darktendril shot out from the shadows, approaching your hand and rather gentlytouching it, smearing your blood onto it and simultaneously closing thewound. Direct contact with blood to itwas like ecstasy to it, you knew, so this was quite the deal for it.

Shadows and embers began to swirlaround you, just as they’d do when you were being taken to a normal trial. This was going to be a quick but rough round.

When the shadows dissipated, youblinked the blurriness from your eyes, the white and blue tones of Lery’ssurrounding you. You could already feela distinct static in the air. You had tofind Herman. Determination fueled youand you started forward, spying a pallet to your left. No gens, no hooks, just as you hadasked. You were glad the pallets werekept; you’d have to really piss Herman off for him to catch you and moriyou. This was a matter of literal lifeor death…

Uneven stomps met your ears and youwatched Herman quite clumsily stumble into view. He looked almost drunk, but the manic grinand widened eyes told you there was almost nothing of him left. Even with his headgear, this wasfrightening. You found yourself slightlyfrozen, fear washing over you. Who wasthis man, because he was NOT your Herman.

His glazed eyes ran over you, hisgrin widening as he brandished his bat. In almost no time and with dizzying speed, he charged you. A cry of fear tore from your throat as youbolted the other way, dashing to a pallet nearby. Herman didn’t even hesitate to attempt to runthrough it, grunting when it was slammed over his head. He seemed to growl and he broke it in onehit, electric sparks flying around him.

“Oh boy…” you whispered to yourself,taking off once more. You ended uprunning around the whole place, easily juking him and pallet stunning him, butyou never allowed yourself to lose him. He needed to know it was you doing this. He needed to be so angry at you that you achieved your goal. This needed to happen, no matter what.

You were about to slam yet anotherpallet over his head when you felt the sudden burning pain in your back,ripping down the length of your spine. You screamed from the shocking pain and almost tripped, rightingyourself before dropping the pallet. Itwas time, you knew. You waited for himto break it, but he was staring at you, breathing heavily.

“W-what’s wrong?” you sneered,forcing a mocking tone into your voice. “Givingup already? You’re so close.” When he didn’t move, you smiled. “Aww, you’ve lost your touch, Doctor Carter.” You almost physically winced at the use ofthe name. If there was one thing youpromised never to call him, it was Doctor Carter. No matter who used that name, it sparkedanger in him like nothing else.

This was no exception as the firereturned in his eyes and he slammed his foot down, splintering the wood andlunging for you, growling in frustration when you just barely slipped away. You had to get him somewhere larger. The center of the institute would have beenfine, but it was the other direction. Instead, you headed for the north exit gate, slowing to a stop in frontof the iron door and taking a breath before turning around. Herman was stalking towards you, fistgripping his bat so tightly you were sure he was going to snap it as easily asthe pallets.

You swallowed as he approached andflinched when he raised his bat. Thesame pain as before bloomed in your chest, the force spinning you around as youfell to the ground. You coughed, bits ofred staining the snow in front of you. You glanced behind you, the action causing you to cough again.

Herman placed his bat in a loop onhis belt as he stepped over you. Rubbinghis hands together, he crouched down, slipping a bit until he straddled yourback. You could hear his ruggedbreathing as his hands came down to the sides of your head.

You whimpered before full onscreaming, the pain of the electricity shooting through your head like theworst migraine you’ve ever had. Yourbody began jerking from the force of it, nearly knocking him off balance, buthe held firm, the hands that would caress you like a gentle wind in bed nowgripping the sides of your head like he was trying to crush your skull. He finally released you and you jerked a fewmore times. Why were you stillalive? He held back, didn’t he?

You forced yourself up onto yourhands and knees, hearing his unsteady steps retreat. You caught sight of him as he slammed hisback against the brick barrier of the map and slid to his feet, throwing offhis headgear and squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. Sparks flew around him as he twitched,growling.

Panting and shaking, you crawledover to him, vision fading. You placedyourself into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist. You put your hands on his face, feeling theslight shock between the energy flowing through you and him. “H-Herman…” His eyes shot to you. “You needto let it all out. You…you c-can do, dothis… You have to.”

His hands flew out, gripping yourthroat, forcing a gasp from you. Onceagain, you felt the electricity flow, but you couldn’t scream this time, not withhis hands where they were. He growledloudly as the energy exploded outward, releasing you at the last second andletting his hands fall to the ground, gasping for air. It was like waking up from a long sleep,unsure of where he was or what he’d been doing. He felt a small weight on him, completely limp and finally looked around,his gaze falling on h/c hair.

“Y/n?” he whispered, his voicestraining against misuse. “What’s goingon?” When you didn’t answer, didn’t evenmove, panic fueled him. “Hey, wakeup! What’s wrong?!” He grabbed your shoulders and pushed you up,freezing. He recognized that look. That was the look when he killed someone byhis own hand. Dread built up. “Oh God… Oh no, no…” Your body beganfading, taken by the shadows of the Entity, ignoring his desperate grabs foryou. “Y/n! Give them back! Please!” He gasped out a broken sob. “Please…”

You woke with a gasp, Jake andClaudette filling your vision. “Y/n! You’re okay! What happened out there?”

Claudette picked up. “The Entity took you as if you were going toa trial, but only you were taken. Wewere really worried about you.”

You shot upwards. “I have to go.” Ignoring their calls, you raced through theforest, reaching into your pocket and taking out a pair of broken glasses. You held them to the sky. “Please take me to Lery’s!” Usually, that was enough for the Entity,taking the normal offering to let you wherever you wished to go. This time, however, you could sense itspresence, but it wasn’t taking the offering. “What… Please!” An indistinct whisper reached your ears,demanding yet pleading. “Oh. Yes, of course.” You picked up a rock and dragged it acrossyour palm, holding the blood up to the sky. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

Just as before, a tendril reacheddown and touched the blood, a little rougher than before. Soon after, you were thrust to the ground,enveloped in the shadows. The sight ofLery’s was like a comfort to you as you jogged through. Heading for the north exit. It couldn’t have been long since themori.

As expected, Herman was sitting inthe same spot, heartbreaking sobs emitting from him and echoing around thesmall area. You ran forward and slammedinto him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and hearing a squeak ofsurprise from him.

“…Y/n?”

“You’re back!” You didn’t let him respond to anything beforeyou pulled him into a kiss, feeling his arms snake around your waist, turningyour head with his hand to deepen it. Youfinally parted and got a good look at him, caressing his tear-stainedcheek. You started chuckling. “Fuck I love you.”

He stared at you, somewhat windedand confused. “I…love you too; will youplease tell me what the hell’s happened?”

You laughed again, feeling your owntears spring forth. “Later.” You buried your head in the crook of his neck,giving it a small kiss and giggling when his breath hitched. “Later.”

#ask #request #writing #Herman Carter #The Doctor #Herman Carter X Reader #The Doctor X Reader #text #Dead by Daylight #Anonymous

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mleighlikes · 5 years

Text

M’L Instants Post #22 :)

States of the Mind, Hey Inter World, here we are at instants post #22. I hope you guys are enjoying my little quick poems each week or rather over here a master post once a month. If you’d like to see my instants on a weekly basis then please do check out my main blog at mleighquickspot. If you’d like to get original content then look me up on Patreon. I hope you all have a great day and thank you for the Much Likes and Love :)

Awake…

Eyes wide, alert, totally aware of everything, everyone, all that goes on around you. Miss nothing, nothing missed; your eyes, your intuition, your senses and abilities are in tune with the world. To get passed you is next to impossible, to trick, deceive, to manipulate for gain isn’t even an option. Those who wish to try are in for a rude awakening, just keep walking deception; there’s nothing to see over here… You’ve got your eye on me, I’ve got my eyes on you.

Asleep…

Eyes wide shut, can’t see a thing. Closed to an environment, blinking yet still can’t see a thing. Right in front of you, are you freaking blind? What was that, did something or someone just pass me by? Claim to watch out, yet everything gets beyond your field of view. Stand there, try to stay focused, don’t miss it, I see it, really I do. Perhaps glasses will help, maybe contacts, blink again, one two three; whoops didn’t see it as it passed you by again.

Adaze…

Watery, blurry, can’t seem to focus. Eyes not all there. You see some but not all, blinking clears the veil for a moment, but the dull crusty film comes back with a vengeance. Claim to notice, be aware, on your toes. Sometimes it’s true, while others, didn’t you catch that; it’s right in front of your noise. Can’t catch em all, the eyes can be tricked, move to fast or even to slow; leaving you questioning your visual senses.

Veiled…

Can barely see through the covering, let alone think passed it. The mind has been blocked, covered, shrouded in such a way that only parts may work correctly.

Try to remove the covering, it can be done literally but not figuratively. You still only process the world, through your own filter’s. Letting only some information in, while keeping most other points of view out.

Clouded…

Where are we going, why do they want to see me? Where did that come from, once a hut now a palace in the distance… A clouded mind sees nothing.

Think you have it all together, nightmares shatter your visions as you dream at night. You awake in a panic, you know you don’t have all the answers. Why must I control this, my mind is clear is it not? Your spirit changes right before your eyes. Someone anyone free me from this torment created by my own cloudy mind.

Distorted…

What controls you, your body or your mind? Can you see past silly illusions, parlor tricks, slight of hand, masks that are placed to fool you from reality?

No more, if you want true understanding then you’ll need clarity. You must detox your mind off impurities, stay away from the false and come into the real. Nothing that the rational mind can dream up is immune from what the irrational mind can implant.

Illusions...

Can you see more than what is really there? Has your mind tricked your senses into an alternate type of reality? As your mind been bent, distracted, changed by sights unseen and visions of what was once there, has now become like a dream? Will you be able to free yourself from such a world where your mind can be tricked so easily? Or are you now trapped within a realm that always keeps you guessing, doubting, questioning if you can trust your abilities or do you trust nothing...

Diversions...

Keep yourself occupied, don't focus on the real, the here and now. The mind easily distracted, look at what's pretty; lock the ugly away from our sight. We can think on it tomorrow, there's still time. Don't take it so seriously, it's not that big a deal. Keep putting it off, pushing it to the dark corners of the recesses. Distract, detach, think on everything else before you get around to it. Keep waiting, okay now I can deal with this. It's to late the mind has forgotten, the mind let it slip.

Clarity...

I can see clearly now, nothing left to distract, to cloud, to fog my mind. All that was at the forefront that was filler has been taken away. Crystal clear, razor sharp, I can do this, my mind is a well oiled machine. Let me analyze what you've told me so I can come up with the more accurate response. OMG, wait a minute, they're thinking now we're in so much trouble. Talking done, action has taken it's place.

Tricks…

The mind tells you how to precieve your world. Don’t tell me what I saw or see I know what I saw… Glitch, de ja vu, and more come and go. I think that’s right, can’t trust the sense of sight it may fail you. Witness to be relied on, your truth is the same as mine. Did you see that I the background? What I didn’t see anything but what was in front of me. Slight of hand, watch it intently, don’t blink you’ll miss it. Try to rely on just your sight, you can’t, the mind is to tricky; that’s why the other senses are there.

Blown…

Can’t comprehend, does not compute. What am I party to right now, am I really here, is this really happening, is this real? So many thoughts firing, the mind can’t take it all in. System failure, error error, shut me down, shut me off. Keep me safe and away from what can’t but just did take place. Stand in shock, wide eyed, frozen in a moment that can’t be but some how is. Mentally slam the escape key over and over, what’s wrong with this silly thing. Eventually when and if there’s a recovery, you’ll have to start over from scratch, trying to fit something into your mental program that shouldn’t be…

Blocked…

Open up your mind on any such thing, your heart will most of the time follow. Feel it all as the thoughts flow freely, anything is possible. Let something happened, now there is a barrier. Nothing will pass this point anymore, defense is used as an offensive option. Think not on the painful, nothing good comes from such a practice. No lessons, no growth, just want to stay where I am. The mind is protected as long as the heart doesn’t beat beyond this point. The heart stops pumping, as the mind doesn’t think beyond such a life moment…

Bend…

Twists, turns, paths ever there yet at the same time ever changing. Take a curve, lead to another, try to get back to the beginning squiggle but some how can’t find a way. Take a short cut, leads to a new round about way, yet still getting lost. Try to map things out, still seem to miss one turn for another. Can’t just think this one through, I might have to feel it to. What lies just around this curve, this corner, this bend I the uncharted road.

Stumped…

Where do I go, will someone please lead me. Show me the way out of my mental trap, my deep seeded maze. Feels like I’m drowning, can’t find the surface. The bubbles are supposed to lead to the top, yet they simply sink and fall beneath my crushing waves. Can’t seem to get my head above water. Now used to breathing or at least trying to with a weight on my back or chest. Just wanted to be free of confusion, not to me stuck in this never ending loop of just made it, only to be pulled right back down…

Tangled…

Can’t tell the flowers from the weeds. Are the seeds of madness being planted in my mind? Am I to be faced with an inception so insidious, so infectious that my fate of a downward spiral is seen by everyone but me? Step me lose, get me out of these knots. I want to see the path in front of me, not the pitfalls that try to hide themselves as solid ground. Free me from the weeds, plant me so that I can finally grow, blossom, bloom into who I long, who I’m supposed to, who I want to be after trying to be something I’m not for much too long.

Let me know what you think and pass the thought along.

#mlinstants #instantspost22 #mleigh #states of the mind #poem #poems #poetry #poetic #questions #thoughts #conversations

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tabooleek · 6 years

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First Contact

The first new content I’m posting on this account. It’s about a giant waking up in a world that’s, well, no longer built for his kind. It fits into a larger sort of “world” I’ve invented, so feel free to ask for clarification about some aspects. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

This was not the situation Kuver thought he would wake up in. In fact, he didn’t remember much of the circumstances that lead to him being asleep in that strange chamber. When he first woke up, everything was dark, his head pounding like he had had one too many pints of ale. It was only when he sat up that flames suddenly sparked to light on the walls around him. He blinked blearily from the sudden light, not expecting it in the slightest.

“Ugh, magic torches… always catch me off guard,” he muttered. He slowly pushed himself off of the straw cot he had been laying on, wiping his eyes and then the hair out of them. His muscles felt stiff and tired, his mind blurry like a fog. He kept trying to think back to where he was or what was with this entire situation… but couldn’t come up with a thing. And to make matters worse, his stomach was growling like crazy. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in hundreds of years, maybe a thousand. “Gods, I wish I had some norms to eat…” he muttered under his breath before catching himself. “Oh wait, no…” he groaned, slapping his forehead in annoyance with himself. “Can’t eat them anymore. Right.”

Remembering all that stuff was such a chore. What he wouldn’t give to have a live snack right about now. So tasty. So filling. He began to drool just thinking about it, at least before he caught himself once more and slapped himself out of it. “No, no more of them! Just figure out if there’s any food in here.”

Kuver began to wander the room, wondering just where he was once again. This was definitely not any sort of home he’d known. He’d lived in a regular, old magically enlarged wooden house. Not a creepy cave full of weird crates and barrels. There was a staircase leading upward on the far wall, but he wasn’t quite ready to check out what was up there. At least not until he managed to ensure there was no food in here.

As it turned out, upon prying open one of the crates, there was in fact plenty of food stashed around here! The first one he opened contained an immense stash of vegetables, the second full of fruits. No meat though. It made sense that he wouldn’t find an entire crate’s worth of livestock to eat—where would someone even get that much—but he was hoping to at least find something in that area. As he moodily munched on a beet, Kuver got to thinking. Who could have put these in there? There was undoubtedly enough food for weeks. And arguably as much water in the barrels. He didn’t believe he did any of this—he’d certainly remember—so what was all of this about?

When Kuver finally had his fill, he stood once more, turning to the staircase that lead out of this strange cave. If nothing else, he had to make sure it was possible to leave. He made his way toward them, wondering if there were any norms about to hear his pounding footsteps.

“Heh, they always get so spooked by that,” he chuckled to himself. “Even when we were on their side. Weird little buggers.” By the time he finished chuckling to himself, he had reached the top of the stairs. Or at least the highest point he could reach without pounding his head on the ceiling. He had reached a perfectly smooth ceiling, at which the staircase ended a few steps away.

Kuver groaned with frustration, rubbing a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to proceed through that?! Was there really no way out of there? Was he doomed to survive on a vegan diet for the next week while he waited to starve?! “Welp, this is it. Guess I’ll have to learn to ration turnips. I wonder what they’ll say when they find my body? ‘That was the fittest giant I’ve ever seen. Perfect diet! A true hero to us—” he was suddenly cut off by a deafening rumble, one that shook him to his very core.

The ground rumbled beneath and all around him, making Kuver believe that he was trapped in an earthquake underground. That was the worst place to be during one of those! Or was it better? Actually, he really had no idea when it came to earthquakes. But generally speaking, foot-quakes from the largest macros was a serious concern!

Fortunately, the world decided to work in his favor that day. Instead of being subjected to a horrible, life-ending shift in the planet itself, a soft beam of light worked its way onto the ground before him. A sliver of silver light, in a perfectly straight line. He looked up, eyes widening as he saw the night sky slowly appear before him. He realized that the stone above him was merely peeling away, sliding into slots in the ground on either side. “Huh… neat.”

The full moon slowly revealed itself, shining overhead like a beacon of hope. Kuver made his way up the last of those steps, wondering how someone was able to create such a technical marvel. It didn’t feel like magic, so then what was it?

On the other hand, he really didn’t feel like worrying about that for the moment. He was merely concerned with getting out of that musty old cave and into the outside world once again. He took a deep breath of clean air, filling his lungs with that sweet scent. He felt as if he had gone an eternity without it! His bare feet finally touched forest ground, grass, bushes, and particularly short trees tickling the space between his toes. He stretched out his arms, allowing his full, 300-foot height to be visible to the world for miles over.

“Ah, good to be free!” he exclaimed. Finally, Kuver began to look around, trying to gain stock of his surroundings. First things first, he looked down, examining the trees that surrounded him. These were… well, kind of shrimpy, even for trees. While he was used to trees being kind of short most of the time, they usually at least came up his waist in non-macro forests. These… well these were just plain tiny. They looked like oak trees, but so very tiny. They barely came up to his calves. And unlike most forests, almost all of them looked like that.

“Weird…” Kuver muttered, taking a step forward, doing his best to step between the small vegetation. He didn’t want to crush any of these trees—they certainly needed time to grow—but it was difficult. There was no real path for him to walk through, every inch of this place covered in tiny plant life. It was as if no macro had ever walked these paths before, never carved out appropriate walking grounds. He was starting to wonder if he had come into another world altogether.

Finally, Kuver found a clearing, a place to truly get his bearings. It was a bit of a challenge, trying to figure out the best way to sit while destroying minimal plant life, but he managed. Eventually. His great bulk crashed into the ground, stirring dozens of birds into the air. He watched them go, lost in his own thoughts.

“So, I know I’m in the mountains, just like where I used to live, and I’m in the same sort of climate… But nothing is right here.” It was just like his old mountainous forest, but everything was so alien. It was like there was no life here. Or at least no macro life. It was so strange. He hadn’t even seen a norm town yet. He could at least ask them for information. “Ugh, this kind of sucks…” he groaned.

As Kuver sat there, wallowing in self-pity, he suddenly felt… something beneath him. It started out as a bump really, nothing more than a large rock. Or at least he thought. The more it snuck into his consciousness, the more he realized it was an odd thing. He could have sworn it was… moving!?

“Oh crap!” Kuver exclaimed, jumping to his feet. The forest shook for miles under him, scaring off even more animals, but he was more concerned with looking down.

Squashed into his butt-print in the grassy meadow was… a wolf. Or at least, he thought it was a wolf. Not like the feral kind though. The anthro sort. A norm, standing a relative inch or so tall. Or rather, lying in this case. It had gotten sat on after all. Kuver knelt down, giving the wolf a poke, as well as investigating further. “Uh… you alright there?” he whispered, trying to rouse the tiny creature.

Upon closer investigation, it was definitely a wolf. But a weird one. For one, this guy had a lot more fur than the average anthro. It looked wild, scraggly, and worst of all, kind of mangy. But weirder still, his muzzle didn’t look quite right. Too… short. More like a dog really. This guy just looked all kinds of weird. But somehow, Kuver got the feeling there was a more… human element to this anthro.

Suddenly, the wolf(?) twitched, causing Kuver to jump back in surprise. He nearly fell back onto his ass in the process. He watched curiously as the creature got to its feet, shook itself off, and promptly got back down on all fours to growl angrily at the giant who had sat on it.

Kuver couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Ooh, feisty little guy, aren’t you?” he laughed, reaching down to stroke at the wolf’s sizeable amount of back fur. He was rewarded with a few somewhat stinging nips, but it was otherwise harmless. Something that seemed to piss it off to no end. It kept biting and snarling, only making Kuver laugh more. “Been a while since I met a norm who was so confident. Doesn’t even seem like you can use magic though.” Honestly, that just made it even funnier.

Finally, Kuver reached to pluck the tiny, half-feral wolf up between two fingers. He made sure not to squeeze too hard, or at least he tried not to. Handling these little guys was always such hard work. But evidently, he managed to do it just fine. And with minimal protest at that! The wolf only snarled and squirmed instead of… well, popping like a grape.

Kuver laid back in the meadow, laying his feet back in the path of devastation he’d already made. In the same moment, he placed the small wolf on his chest, pinning him down with the weight of his hand. “I like you little guy. Why don’t you stick around a while and sleep with me?” Sure, he’d just woken up, but he felt oddly drained. He was sure something magical had happened with him to lead to this, but he could figure it out in the morning, when beings like him were supposed to be awake.

Of course, the wolf in his hand continued to snarl and squirm, desperate to escape, but even its sizable strength wasn’t enough to break free from the weight of a macro’s idle hand. “You sleep well too,” Kuver yawned before finally drifting back off to sleep, lulled by the sound of feral howling and barking.

Kuver awoke to… well, not much actually. The sun shone on his face, warming the world with his harsh light. And of course, it was hard to sleep through that. It couldn’t have been much earlier than early light, and Kuver knew he wasn’t getting much more sleep without a roof over his head. Birds chirped and squawked around him, flying away at the rumbles his body made while moving. But of course, he didn’t really think about that much. He was just starting to sit up when he remembered the hand on his chest. And more importantly, what was under it.

A chuckle escaped Kuver’s throat as he remembered the night before, eager to see what this strange wolf had in store this morning. He lifted his hand, expecting to see a snarling, biting canine in the early light of the morning. Instead, he saw… a human, not unlike himself, staring up at him with bleary eyes. He wore dark, tattered clothes, and was nearly a foot shorter than the wolf. Oddly enough though, his hair was a vibrant blue. Didn’t see that in humans. Was it a type of spell?

“What the…? What happened to the wolf?” Kuver muttered, lost in confusion. The human on his chest slowly got to his feet, looking awkwardly down at the macro’s face. It was an odd position for them both to be in, but it got the job done.

“Uh, well, I was that wolf,” the human replied, rubbing the back of his head as he gave a sheepish grin. “Werewolves, magic curses, all that jazz. Not really that weird considering I got sat on by a macro after going on a full-moon hunt though, right?”

Kuver blinked, not sure what he was hearing here. But rather than focus on the rather odd, if not presumed-imaginary-until-this-moment werewolf part, he instead decided to zero in on the apparent disbelief this man had in his own existence. “What are you talking about? You guys get sat on all of the time!”

The man chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “Man, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to a macro. I’ve got to be unconscious still… No one’s seen these guys in a thousand years…” He was speaking as if muttering to himself, but a macro’s ears were more than powerful enough to pick up such a soft sound. And at hearing it, Kuver’s eyes went wide.

“Wait, what!?” he jolted upward, flinging the tiny human off of his chest and (thankfully) onto his lap. Kuver heard the softest of groans come from his thighs, the man simply dazed instead of, well, dead. “Um, my apologies,” Kuver said, reaching down to pluck the human up and place him in his palm. He looked no worse for wear, but certainly cross.

“Well, at least I know I’m awake,” he muttered. However, concern soon overcame his expression. “Look, you don’t seem to know what’s going on here, and you clearly aren’t from around here so… What do you say we talk it out over a bite to eat? I’m starving.” At the mention of food, Kuver’s stomach began to rumble something fierce. His first instinct was to open wide and toss the human in… but hew thankfully opted against it. He needed information, and his best source was this tiny creature in his palm.

“Alright, then,” he replied, grunting as he began to stand. “But I really hope you have a good explanation for all of this…”

The man laughed, steadying himself on Kuver’s thumb as he stood. “Honestly… I doubt it. But I have some theories. I’m Samuel, by the way.”

Kuver chuckled, not at all used to norms talking to him so informally. This really must not have been the world he knew. “Kuver. By the way, how do you feel about vegetables a dozen times your size?”

#giant #tiny #g/t #leek writes #leek speaks #vore mention

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