#from time to time i just stare off into the nothingness and half gasp half laugh cause like

[teteminne]

Just finished Hannibal.

This is the most brilliant shit i've ever seen in my entire life wtf

#hannibal #im still scared shitless to go out of my apartment to take a smoke #but it was so so worth it #omg this is insane how was this acrually produced #from time to time i just stare off into the nothingness and half gasp half laugh cause like #wtf #they were insane for this #bryan fuller was insane for this #and mads and hugh omg #this was so #i cant i cant #the way that hannibal knew that will knew he was in love with him #and will knew he knew that he knew #and there was just this implicit understanding between them #fully wordless #that carried the whole chapter #omg i am going insane over this i will never be normal again #my friends will all desert me I already got drunk af a couple days ago and said that 'sex is like cannibalism' #they wont be able to handle me now #omg omg omg

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter five.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Day 120 - Also known as the day you finally confront Captain Levi after your dreams begin to connect some dots.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Hange Zoe

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER FIVE.

“Thanks.”

The boy with raven hair speaks the syllable like his voice forgets its function, hoarse and small. In his hands is a small, precious piece of bread. His chin lowers to take a bird-sized bite, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

Looking down, you find that your hands are occupied by a half of a loaf, too — perhaps even the other half of the one the boy has.

You bring the food to your mouth, careful not to bite down too hard.

“Can I… sit?” you ask the boy as he continues to feed.

He nods once, so you nestle into the empty spot beside him.

Rather than floating in the dream's usual nothingness, the bench sits hidden in a closed-off dark room, lit only by lanterns and torches lining its walls. Shouts sound in the distance, but the noises are not scared. They’re… laughing. Howling, even, at jokes and drinking songs.

You can't hear the lyrics no matter how hard you listen.

For what feels like hours you sit beside this strange, quiet boy, happy not to be alone.

However a man shouts louder than the rest, belligerent and shitfaced, catching your attention. The boy never once looks up. You see a hat adorned on his head where long, unkempt hair flies out from the bottom of the hat like wires.

“Is… that your dad?”

You don’t know why you ask.

The boy ignores you for a length of time, picking apart what little is left of the roll.

“Is that your mom?” he croaks in return.

You’re scared to look at him, but you do anyway. Instead of a gnarled face of a woman like before, it’s finally his face: you're met with silver gray eyes, sunken to their sockets and tired, as he stares curiously at you. His right eye is blackened, cheek subsequently swollen, but he doesn’t seem to be in any immediate pain.

“No,” you answer, the syllable shaken. “I call her Mother, but… she found me.”

He doesn’t react — only chews, like every bite may be his last, and swallows. His tongue darts out to lick the crumbs from his busted lip.

You want to ask.

It’s been so many times, you’ve never gotten this far, and you want to finally ask.

“Do you have a na—”

“Levi!”

Bolting right out of bed with a choked gasp, your hand instinctively reaches for your throat. 

Did you just say Levi’s name out loud, or was that in your dream?

It sure feels like it came from your mouth. Pressing a timid hand to your sweat-slicked face, you find your breath and attempt to quell your gasps in the pale light of the moon. You look to your left to see the curtain billowing in the midnight wind.

A dream.

The same fucking dream, over and over.

“What the hell was that?” you ask the air, and no reply comes beyond someone grumbling for you to shut the hell up.

The barracks — you’re still sleeping in the cadet barracks.

Training with the hopefuls ought to be tougher than it is, but you imagine it’s easy because you lived the war they strive to experience: ODM gear training is a breeze. Strategy classes bring a certain feel of home. You’re able to debate military advancements with the book-drawn knowledge to back it up. Running — so much goddamn running — but your training in Trost paid off.

Commander Erwin’s theory — your theory — is proving right.

The cadet training is helpful, because you now see a puzzle piece perfectly clear in your mind’s eye: that sad child’s face, the one you’ve been chasing for the last four months. If given a pen and paper, then you could draw the damn look of it on command.

Slipping out of bed to relax in the night air, you pull your tan cadet jacket over your shoulders, settle into your knee-high boots, and leave your exhausted bunkmates to dream.

(Yeah — that’s one thing you didn’t anticipate: wearing the swords like you didn’t already earn your Wings of Freedom stripes.)

You could seek out the Scouts. If the rumors are true, then Hange should be arriving today or tomorrow with the rest of them to see how you’re doing.

According to Commandant Shadis, there’s no real need to waste anymore time. You’re battle ready, even if your brain isn’t following up with the finite details. Those, he argues, could come later or not at all. At the end of the day, skill is what matters.

Whether they accept you back to the Scouts is another story entirely, yet having Commander Erwin on your side with the help of Section Commander Hange increases your chances exponentially.

Despite the nerves in your belly, you are excited to go beyond the Walls. To see what you must’ve witnessed time and time again in your military career.

Maybe, in a belatedly morbid fashion, you always wished you could one day relive what it would be like to see it for the first time all over again.

The wind at midnight is freezing in comparison to the blazing morning sun. You hug your arms closer to your sides, reliant on body warmth to push you forward in the stroll to clear your head.

Then two Military police officers enter your peripheral.

Realizing you have no jurisdiction after curfew, you search your surroundings for cover. Abruptly you spot a ration barrel and drop to a crouch, hoping they didn’t see you aimlessly walking around.

You stay low, fingertips pressed to the oak barrel, and wait.

Their mumbles turn into coherent sentences with each nearing step. You don't mean to overhear, but their conversation freezes you in your tracks.

“Did you hear about the extra addition to the cadets?” the one with red hair grunts.

The blonde shakes his head. “What about an extra what now?”

“The cadet that’s not really a cadet.”

Oh? Your hands press further into the barrel.

“Not ringin’ any bells.”

“Remember the chick they called Lieutenant? Served under Erwin.”

“Oh… yeah, now that you say Lieutenant, I kinda do,” the blonde answers, slow to start.

“Well, they’ve managed to wake up that dead sewer rat and thought it would be beneficial to send her to train with the cadets. Word is they’re trying to prep her back to the Scouts.”

The blonde huffs. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope.” The ‘p’ is popped. “Heard the news from Raoul.”

“Wasn’t she in really bad shape? Like… memory screw-y type of bad?”

“Yeah. A coma,” the redhead confirms. “They won’t tell anyone anything beyond hitting her head, but I saw they’re training her here for a few weeks to see what she remembers.”

“Damn, talk about wasting resources.” Your blood runs cold. “That’s about how rodents work, though. That bastard Captain Levi opened up the cellar for the nasty Underground folk.”

Wait.

Captain Levi?

“Can’t believe that shit ever flew with the Scouts in the first place. I don’t know what Erwin was thinking, bringing an Underground brat in.”

Captain Levi was from the Underground, too?

“I thought we got rid of the start of the infestation when they said she died. But you can’t kill that Captain kid. He’s got more lives than a street cat.”

Raven hair.

“Nope — and she’s just as bad,” the blonde laments. “Pretty sure they worked together way before the Scouts, too, if you believe the rumors.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. Rats stick together. Erwin has a fetish for waywards he can kill under his thumb.”

Sunken gray eyes.

“So we got thugs on the frontlines. Wonderful,” the redhead grunts. “Guess that’s better than the people behind the Walls. Get rid of them first.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Bracing the barrel as they begin to move their post to another section of the training camp, you place your right hand over your mouth.

There’s no way.

Trembling in your crouched space, you replay the conversation over and over in your head like it’ll piece together and make sense. You study the patch of grass under your brown boot, waiting for a rogue tendril to crawl from the earth and drag you back underground.

(Where you belong, according to them.)

Yet you raise your chin to find you’re not alone behind the food barrels:

The little boy in the dream, his messy mop of black hair, stares back at you with a confused expression etched across his malnourished features. His lips part, mouthing an answer to a question you’ve asked him night after night after night.

Do you have a name?

Then he lifts his hand, offering his half of the bread loaf.

When you blink, he vanishes into thin air, leaving you sweating with the very real gravity of the situation sitting heavy at the back of your tongue.

You have to find him.

Tomorrow, you have to find Captain Levi.

.

.

.

.

“They said she’s doing well.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because if I speak any louder, I might scream,” Hange confesses in a rushed hiss, fidgeting with their fingers at the mess hall table. “And if I scream, then I’ll be alerting every cadet within a five-meter radius that we’re here.”

“Pretty sure most of the cadets are already aware, Hange.”

“Do you think she’s remembering more conversations?” they ask, flipping the subject he can’t escape from. “Or maybe a past mission?”

Levi couldn’t roll his eyes any harder.

The second the report came back from your temporary superiors is the second this Special Operations squad lost their fucking minds.

Petra hasn’t stopped babbling about how much she missed having you around after dropping you off to the training camp three weeks ago. Hange isn’t much better, but he can tune out their incessant babbling easier than most. Gunther, Oluo, Eld — they all want to know if they’re bringing you home.

Home — like what’s out here beyond the Wall Rose is any home at all.

By sticking you in the pool of cadet shit-stains looking to claw their way into the interior, Erwin inadvertently slashed the hopes and dreams of the 104th. Adding you to their mix only puts them at a grave disadvantage: if they make you stay the entire time, then you’d walk away with top marks from experience alone.

In a way, putting a memory-riddled veteran in disguise as a cadet is fucking hilarious.

“She isn’t a dog ready for tricks, Hange.” Levi brings the lip of his tea cup to his lips. “And her mind’s the only thing fucked, not her muscle memory.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t even go through cadet training when she first came to us. How much muscle memory could there be?”

“Environmental experiences trump cadet bullshit.”

“I suppose so.” Pursing their lips, Hange waves their spoon around aimlessly. “Acing her ODM gear aptitude test makes the most sense. Hand-to-hand combat, another surefire win. Still…”

Levi narrows his eyes. “Still?”

“I wonder how long it should take for her memory to return. Fully, I mean.”

Confliction makes his mouth itch.

On one hand, he’s hopeful that you never do. An honorable discharge from the Scout Regiment may not hold the same weight as a retired MP, but it’s a safer life behind the walls than whatever the fuck they lead as a unit now.

On the other hand, he can’t forget that this is your choice. 

Even in the aftermath of a horrific accident where you’ve lost everything, you’re still choosing to see if you can one day serve and re-join the Scouts.

Clearly Erwin would allow it. Resources wouldn’t be wasted on a half-assed effort.

But can he afford seeing that blank expression pointed in his direction for the rest of his goddamn living days?

It was hard enough to have a basic conversation with you. Factor in the idea that, somewhere in the not-so-distant future, he may work alongside you outside of these Walls again?

He ought to sabotage your training.

He ought to go back to his old ways and lie, cheat, steal, to ensure your failure.

He ought to do something — anything but the one thing everyone expects him to do.

Erwin Smith is playing a game of 4-D chess and Levi cannot see the board or where his next piece may be headed.

It’s infuriating.

“Is he still going to reinstate her even if she’s still fucked in the head?” Levi asks, maintaining a monotone distance from the subject.

Hange pushes some food around with their spoon. “Hard to tell. I don’t think they would waste the resources if they thought it wasn’t a potential win for us.”

Of course Hange iterates exactly what he’s thinking — they’re opposites on humanity’s spectrum yet somehow always on the same wavelength.

“What about you?”

That question, however, is one he doesn’t expect. Levi uncrosses his legs. 

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with her getting added back to Levi Squad if she passes?”

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

(But would he want you reassigned where he can’t follow? Also absolutely fucking not.)

“Let’s see how she’s faring first,” he decides, eyes trailing the entrance of a taller person as Hange stands from the table. He’s about to ask, but then he sees it: Moblit rushes in from the left with several papers rolled into his hands, looking positively frantic and exhausted.

Never a dull moment in Hange Zoe’s life.

“Quitting on me?” Levi teases against the flat of his voice, and Hange’s lips purse.

“Oh, stop it. Like you weren’t about to shut my twenty questions down.” They stick out their tongue as they dismount the bench. “Party pooper.”

“That’s the closest to a shit joke as I’m ever going to get from you.”

A loud ha! escapes their lips while they walk to the door, hounded by Moblit’s anxious babbling until — nothing.

Silence.

The disappearance of Hange, the lack of Erwin, just leaves Levi to sit menacingly in the corner on his own. At other occupied tables, the overspill of injured and traumatized cadets eat their portioned meal for the morning. 

A quiet place away from the noise of the other recruits thriving at the idea of war.

If he squints hard enough, a woman hunched over the table could be you — bruised to oblivion from the collarbone-up, with shaken hands rattling the ceramic plate below.

It causes his own fist resting on the table’s surface to tighten.

Maybe he should — talk to you, tell you, about everything.

Maybe if you learned just how bad it gets out there, then you’ll change your mind.

(There’s still time.)

.

.

.

.

You take off the minute you’re excused from the morning duties to investigate the grounds.

They have to be here somewhere.

Granted, you’re not sure if your current cadet status will get you anywhere in this camp. Revoked and stripped of the Scout title may bring setbacks when it comes to this — remembering, seeking answers — but you’re hopeful there’s a loophole nestled between your alleged seniority and talent.

When you turn a right corner, you see it: The glasses. The messy ponytail. The green cloak.

You yelp the name when excitement takes hold of your throat:

“Hange!"

Because you’re happy to see them walking by the barracks with Moblit in tow. Anxiety buzzes under your skin as they stop in their tracks and turn on their heel.

Instantly beaming at the sight of you, Hange yells into the crisp morning air and waves their hands wildly above their head. 

You take off on a jog to meet them faster.

“James! Look at you! All dressed up— Huh.” Their excitement washes away at the sight of the double-sword badges on your jacket. “Funny, that’s the wrong emblem.”

You drop your chin as they poke an unimpressed finger to the side of your arm, as if a sticker will peel off and reveal the Wings of Freedom instead. The badge stays put.

“They thought it would be too much of a distraction to give me my Scout jacket,” you explain, hurried, before waving to the man behind her. “Hey, Moblit.”

He blanches to a translucent pale, jaw slacked.

Hange squeals in their throat.

It takes a second to realize what you’ve said.

Up until today, you had never met Moblit.

“Oh. My. God!” Hange says from a whisper to a shriek. “Did you hear that? Moblit, you’re the first person she’s greeted by name!”

“Whoa,” he murmurs under his breath, still flushed from shock. “I, uh… Hey, James.”

“This is amazing!” Hange growls, sucking in a sharp breath as both of their hands clamp down on your sore arms. “Of course, when Erwin suggested the hypothesis that maybe training would kickstart things, I didn’t think it would work that well! What else are you remembering? Tellmetellmetellme.”

As much as you would like to fill them in, you know there’s someone else you need to see first.

“Levi.”

You exhale his name like a prayer, and Hange’s expression shifts to one of awe. 

“Oh?”

“No, not like that. I’m— Have you seen the Captain? I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”

“I—” The syllable gets trapped in Hange’s throat before a finger raises, pointing to the east. “...he was just at the mess hall. He was supposed to visit the stables after breakfast.”

“Thank you,” you deflate, shrugging out of their grasp. “We’ll catch up later, right? I’ll see you in a bit.”

They don’t try to stop you when you disengage.

I have to talk to the Captain.

Because if he continues to avoid you, then there is a chance the outline of this puzzle will never be completed.

.

.

.

.

Just as Hange suggested, you see it: the smaller framed man in the middle of the horse stables just east of the training camp.

Captain Levi wears the emerald cloak over his shoulders, arm raised to give attention to a horse as dark as midnight. It licks at the palm of his hand generously, and the captain doesn’t pull away until its tongue pokes out a third time.

You stand still at the mouth of the empty stables, watching.

Observing.

Because if you’re going to implode the only chance you might have to get this right, then it has to be done with the utmost certainty that what you’re about to say is true.

And despite how your certainty has yet to reach beyond ninety percent, the clues are littered all over him:

The jet-black hair curved in a fresh, precise undercut. The way his eyes always look like he’s tired even after a long night’s rest. The skinniness to his frame that harnesses such ungodly strength. The curve of his nose at his profile.

His image morphs, changes, from glorious emerald to tattered tan shirts hanging off of his torso. Wild and unkempt hair. Same nose, but smaller. Shorter.

Your brain short-circuits at the images colliding.

“It was you.”

The whispered words tumble faster than you can stop them. 

They curl and float through the air until they reach the shorter man in the middle of the stables in an unfortunate echo, and the world seems so much smaller than it was a moment ago.

He turns.

His stare is bone chilling.

At the sight of you Levi stops brushing the mane of his horse, arm still raised in the air. Carefully he lowers his hand to set the wooden brush on a stool, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Captain.” You take a step towards him. “Sir, I have something urgent to ask you.”

He looks like he considers for a moment before his attention lulls back to the horse he had been originally tending to. “Aren't you supposed to be busy running drills?”

“I should be. I am.” You take another step. “But—”

“So then why are you—”

“I saw you!” you blurt, loud and certain.

You realize you may sound a breath short of delusional by the way he rips his attention from the horse to stare at you like you’ve lost your mind. Where he usually appears rigid, expressionless, his eyes gleam with palpable confusion.

Levi snorts. “That was a weirdly-worded question.”

“It was you,” you press on, losing your breath, “before all of this.”

Your stare is hopeful. He is devoid of such.

You dare another step forward, hands out to your sides.

“I’ve been seeing things,” you say.

“Sounds like a condition for a doctor, not me,” he flatly replies.

“Memories,” you clarify, fidgeting with your fingers in a failed attempt to soothe your own nerves. “Of this specific place and the people in it. They’re from the Underground City. I must have been… I don’t know, young? Maybe really young, which would make sense since — but…”

The whites of his eyes grow, if only a fraction.

You try to explain faster.

“Everything is in pieces, right? I told you that last time we spoke. Nothing’s really fit together, not really, but whenever I dream about where I came from, I’m always seeing this young boy. He’s got this black messy hair. His clothes hang right off of him — he’s so small, and he sits with me on this bench eating food I offer him.”

Fuck, is he really going to make you spell it out? 

“And I think it might be—”

Wide-eyed confusion twists to an apprehensive sneer. 

“How could you be so sure it was me?”

Your shoulders slump.

“Because he looks exactly like you. Maybe with a skinnier body and a smaller face, but I’m seeing it now. The hair, the— the gray eyes—”

Finally he bites, voice low. “Because small kids with gray eyes are so fucking rare.”

“Don’t act like it doesn’t make sense!” you bark. “Everyone says I should remember you — because you know me better than anyone in the Scouts. And I’m not insane, because the person I keep dreaming about isn’t just a kid, it isn’t just some subconscious shit—”

His teeth clench together. “Careful.”

“And I heard it,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “Last night, I overheard two Military Policemen talking about how Erwin Smith allowed two rats from the sewers to join the Scout Regiment. Captain Levi, who came from the Underground, and a Lieutenant, who lost her memory.” Your eyes narrow. “I may not have my shit screwed on right, Captain, but it doesn’t take many brain cells to put two and two together.”

At the evidence, Levi says nothing. 

All that keeps the silence away in the barn are the rustling legs and raspberry breaths of horses. 

Your shoulders deflate at his unwavering, piercing gaze.

“You know me,” you finish, voice catching on emotion, “but you won’t help me. Why?”

Levi falters for a second, and you recognize the emotion that flickers over his face this time:

Doubt.

He doesn’t mouth off, which is one good thing about this uncomfortable encounter.

In your gut you can feel that this isn’t an unfounded discovery, but Levi isn’t willing to—

“Because you finally have an out.”

It’s the first real thing Levi Ackerman has said to you in four months.

Defeat settles into your tired bones when he disengages and turns his chin back to his horse. In the glow of the morning light from the open windows, he looks hunched — and, if you didn’t know any better, just as defeated as you — like so little was too much to divulge.

“Did we join the Scouts together?” you murmur, softening with hope.

Levi sets his jaw, and when you think the attempt has failed, he speaks:

“No. I joined without you.”

There.

Your eyesight becomes glossy with overwhelming emotion.

You’re not crazy.

(You were always right.)

“When?” you urge under your breath, nearing without realizing. 

He stays put. “Years ago.”

“And when did—”

“Two months after.”

Where you can’t stop watching him, Levi refuses to look anywhere but ahead.

“So I knew you?”

“Yes.”

“Since we joined the Scouts?”

“Yes.”

“And before that?”

In your mind’s eye is a sullen face, exhausted from an eternal night.

He sighs through his nose. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying, James.”

By the time he turns his head, you’re only three steps away.

Hearing the sound of your name on his lips — not icy, not angry, not anything beyond what it is — takes you off guard. 

“Do yourself a favor — continue training with the cadets. Chances are you’ll get Top 10, easy. Top 10 means you can choose where you serve. Most of the brats pick the Interior.”

Your brows fly high. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Interior is a cushy gig. They’re offered real bedrooms, routine meals—”

“Captain—”

“—and the most danger they get into is wiping the King’s ass,” Levi continues, shifting his left boot closer to you. “I heard he’s got one hell of a shit schedule.”

You both stare, eye to eye, as his words of advice settle into the dirt between you. 

“...so you want me to cheat my way into the interior,” you eventually recap, quiet and disgusted, “and forget the Scouts?”

“Forget all of it,” Levi confirms, dead serious.

This isn’t what you were expecting if – and when – you finally spoke to the captain. For someone who is allegedly important to you, Levi sure has a funny way of showing it. Pawning you off to whatever gets you furthest from whatever lies beyond the Walls is a swift punch to the gut. Maybe you barely know you, but you do know one thing: hiding away in the Interior was never an option.

Forget all of it.

“I’m not doing that.” A humorless laugh exits your mouth. “You know I’m not going to do that.”

“I know,” he resigns, monotone. “Worth a try, though, to get through your thick head.”

“You’re an asshole.”

You’re not sure what compels you to snap, but it’s biting. Venomous.

You near him like a predator challenging another in its rank, chin ducked. Levi steps in a half-circle in a subconscious dance.

“You are. I have been asking you, begging you, going so far as to corner you so you can maybe help me out, and all you’re willing to do is run. Every damn time you see me, you turn like a coward and go the opposite direction. I can even see it right now: you’re hoping Hange or Moblit walk in so you have an excuse to defer me to them.”

You sneer, teeth grit.

“Humanity’s Strongest, my ass.”

It’s about the worst ramble you could’ve offered him. With each passing accusation, Levi’s expression grows darker until it’s unreadable. Yet you keep going, choosing violent words over soft pleads.

The latter never worked, so the former just might.

Then something peculiar happens:

Levi’s voice upticks, melodic in what you can only describe as quiet awe.

“You finally sound a little more like you.”

You watch with lips parted. Levi nods to himself, as if certain his assessment is right, before his arms cross under the emerald cloak decorating his shoulders.

“You’re right: I have been avoiding you,” he finally admits steadily. “I couldn’t stand the wide-eyed and bushy-tailed act. It doesn’t wear well on you.”

All the blood drains from your body.

“Commander Erwin’s set on making you a Scout again. Only a moron would think he hasn’t thought this through, which leads me to a shitty predicament.” He pauses. “Lieutenant or not, you were a part of my squad. Am I so much of an asshole that you no longer want to be a part of it?”

You open your mouth, but no words exit.

He stares directly at you, this time with meaning.

“I won’t feed you our memories. I won’t let you speculate where I fit with the hope that I put the pieces together for you. If you want my help, then we start with a blank slate.”

“A blank slate?” you numbly respond.

“A blank slate,” he repeats.

“As if we don’t know each other at all?”

“Besides knowing what I looked like as a kid, do you?” Levi asks then clarifies. “Know me.”

Looking over his face, you want to say yes. You want to say the truth — that you might have known him your whole life — but you can’t.

Might have isn’t as strong as do.

“And if I eventually remember, even if it’s not every little detail, then will you keep shutting me out?” you question, softening your face when an emotion flickers over his. “Don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it—”

“I swear it.”

He interrupts before you can finish.

As much as you're afraid to believe it, his statement of conviction is sincere — three words rushed, hissed, with a weight pressing against your wildly-beating heart.

“Okay,” you murmur back. “I trust you.”

Just like that; no more fighting, no more lying, no more doubt. 

His hair flops with the tilt of his chin as he's caught between calling a bluff that isn’t there and the undying truth — three words solemn, slow, with a weight pressing against his heavy-burdened shoulders.

He disputes nothing.

In an attempt to start on the right foot, you hold your hand out timidly between you. Your fingers flex.

Levi’s eyes take a beat to leave yours and look down.

“I’m James,” you introduce softly. “Member of Levi Squad, Lieutenant of the Scout Regiment. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Levi swallows, thick with a hesitance. You’re almost certain he’ll step right past your humble effort to start over — just like he asked.

Then he removes a slender hand from its tucked space at his side and holds it out, hovering fingertip to fingertip.

A beat passes. His hand reaches forward, gliding along your palm to hold your hand.

He squeezes.

You feel it hit, zapping every nerve like a short-distanced lightning strike — warmth floods and envelopes your body with an image you don’t quite have the word for in the moment, but you see it when he opens his mouth.

“Levi Ackerman,” he roughly replies. “Leader of Levi Squad, Captain of the Scout Regiment. Glad to have you on my team.”

(Home.)

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and sent lovely anons about this story before. You're alll such wonderful people. xo

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[effervescentdragon]

Akira can we please have a Charlos forced soul bound with happy ending?

"That's not - that's not how it works, I..." Seb trails off, tilting his head half in horror, half in fascination. Carlos wants to punch him, and scream at him, and possibly cry. Mostly, he wants Seb to be able to fix this.

"Well, it's happened," Carlos bites back, forcing himself to turn his fear into anger. "Now help me fix it."

Seb is looking through him, though, deep in thought already. "I didn't think anyone would know how to do it anymore," he mutters. "There must have been something - a soul bond cannot exist unles there is a tether - I wonder if we look at the beginnings of the bond, maybe there -"

"Sebastian!" Carlos yells. It breaks Seb out of his contemplation, and his unnaturally blue eyes focus on Carlos. "I don't care about the theory! I don't care about tethers, or about the alchemy, or about - anything, really! I just want it to be fucking fixed!"

"You mean broken."

Seb's eyes widen. Carlos whirls around, cursing quietly in Spanish. He should have been able to feel Charles coming, but he didn't. That must mean their bond isn't proper. He must tell that to Sebastian. It may assist in the - fixing.

Charles leans against the door. Carlos is pretty sure his nonchalance is completely feigned. There is something in Carlos, in his chest, in his mind, in both and neither, something that flutters and feels exhausted, like it's on the verge of collapsing. There is an echo of a whisper of a heartbeat, and Carlos ignores it as best as he can.

"Do you not want the same?" he hears himself ask. Charles doesn't react immediately, but the fatigue in Carlos suddenly increases. Carlos flinches involuntarily. "I didn't mean -"

"It's the best thing for both of us." Charles interrupts his fumbling. "I don't know how we managed to form this bond, when we were only trying to organize a Ritual."

He's already turned towards Sebastian as he speaks, and Carlos can feel warmth and affection in his chest. It makes him want to scream even worse than the thought of their accidental fucking soul bond, because it so obviously isn't directed - because it's so obviously for Seb.

"Which ritual?" Seb wastes no time in asking, and Charles pushes himself off the door and crosses the room towards them. Carlos can feel how much that has cost him, and he suddenly feels like a complete asshole.

"The Cor Scrutor," Charles says, and Seb gasps. "I know, I know, don't fucking look at me like that," he says to Seb's disapproving face. "We need to know it for our testing anyway."

"Yes, in theory," Seb starts, and Carlos stops listening to their bickering properly and focuses on his breathing.

Charles took the brunt of hit of the backfired ritual upon himself. Charles was the one who was guiding the ritual, using Carlos' bigger strength to their advantage, to paint the scope of the magic in bright light and colour. Charles was the one who noticed something was wrong, and the one who alerted Carlos. Charles was the one who stepped in front of Carlos as their ritual circle dissolved into nothingness before exploding outward like a supernova. Charles was the one who went limp in Carlos' arms when he caught him after he fainted from absorbing that much concentrated Ether.

Charles was the one whose heart beat in Carlos' chest, right against his own.

Charles is also the one who looked like he was about to faint again, and Carlos is an asshole.

"Sit," Carlos says, interrupting the scowl-off between Seb and Charles, and pulls a chair out.

"What?" Charles asks. If Carlos couldn't fucking feel him everywhere, he'd buy the look of confusion on his face.

"Sit," Carlos repeats with emphasis. When Charles only stares at him, Carlos takes a deep breath and makes himself relax as much as possible and doesn't look away from Charles as he thinks Sit before you fucking pass out and Seb calls the Healers on us, and they will definitely notify the Inquisition.

Charles' eyes widen. He sits down without another word. Carlos looks back at Seb, who looks like he's about to solve a thousand-pieces of a puzzle in three moves, and prays he doesn't say anything about their obvious mind-speak (the fifth and final sign of a successful and strong mind bond, Carlos remembers ftom their notes, and then tries to forget).

"Right. Where were we?" Seb asks after a long second, and Carlos can feel how much Charles relaxes.

"At the circle we used," he replies, and Seb nods, and doesn't even look at Carlos when he steps closer to Charles and puts one hand on Charles' shoulder in reassurance. Charles' heart skips a beat in Carlos' chest, but after a moment he relaxes into Carlos' touch as he describes the markings in great detail.

(And if his own heart skips a beat in tandem with Charles', well. Their bond will be fixed soon, anyway, as soon as Seb and Charles figure out how to undo this mistake. No point in even thinking about it.)

#the hea is implied #i remembered this one and i was inspired #i hope yall enjoy #charlos #f1 rpf #effervescentdragonwrites #my writing #ferrari boys <3 #fingers crossed for me and my exam pls

[naivesilver]

hmmm I'll give you a lot of options with this one and say anything of your choosing off the 'questions starters' for lies of p? 😊

Listen. There are SO many characters I love in LoP - the boi himself, Romeo etc. But do you know who I will ALWAYS go to bat for? That's right, it's Eugénie 💞💞💞 this is inspired by my absolutely batshit first run of the game AND its "Free from the Puppet String" ending, thanks

Question Starters

"Do you feel alright?"

Eugénie doesn't expect the boy to come look for her because, frankly, she doesn't expect to be the person he needs, right now.

Not that there are many people left, honestly. Sophia is gone. Geppetto is gone. Antonia is wasting away to nothingness, and Polendina is an ever vigilant shadow by her side, as helpful and devoted as he always was. If there weren't a thousand and one things Eugénie can and must do to keep herself busy, she wagers she'd be going insane at the moment, what with the world falling to pieces as she speaks.

Still, fixing things is her job and her vocation. Perhaps taking a hammer and some boards to the walls of Hotel Krat might be a slight misuse of it, but weapons and machinery - that she can still do blindfolded, so when the boy comes and wordlessly holds out his legion arm for her to inspect, she accepts it without question, clearing some space on her cluttered worktable and turning on the nearest lamp. She might not be Mr. Venigni, but that doesn't mean she's useless, thank you very much.

He remains silent as Eugénie pokes and prods at him, but that doesn't faze her - he's a quiet one, this guy, always has been. She's plenty used to having to fill the silence herself, and heavens, does she need to, presently, with the doom and gloom still hovering over their heads. "It's not doing too bad- you took good care of it, you know? I just need to replace a couple springs in here."

No answer, which is just typical. What's not typical, however, is the way he seems to freeze at the words - Eugénie lifts her head from her work, pushing her glasses up to squint at him, and finds him staring vacuously ahead, all tense and curled up on himself, the other arm tucked in the folds of his coat. "Do you- are you feeling alright?"

It wouldn't be unheard of for him, to be hiding some sort of injury or- or mechanical damage, she guesses. He seems the type to avoid drawing too much attention to himself, especially at a time like this, with their generous host dying a painful death and after what Geppetto tried to make him do. Eugénie is quite ready to bully him into getting a check up, personally, but before she can conjure up a good scolding he pulls his hand out, dropping something on the table between them.

It's not blood, or grease, or, God forbid, a metal plate from his chest. Instead it's a pair of leather gloves, wonkily stitched but brand new, clearly never worn before. Eugénie chokes out a gasp, despite her best intention - she recognizes those gloves, because of course she does. She made them, after all. She made them for Alidoro, long before he...before they...

"Where did you get these?" She asks, breathlessly. "Why do you have them?"

Once again, she gets no reply. What she gets, instead, is the legion arm pulled out of her weak grasp, almost guiltily and still half-opened, and a weak, low voice whispering: "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand. Why- what happened?"

"I lied to you. Alidoro never...he said they were rubbish, but I knew it would make you upset, so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh. I see." Eugénie glances down at the gloves again, feeling a small shiver run through her like a drop of icy water. She is a solid, practical woman, she's always thought, but these things look as dark as a bad omen, right now - the betrayal is a sharp stab in her chest, but then again she should have gotten used to it by now, shouldn't she?

"I guess I should have seen it coming," she hears herself say, distantly, forcedly light, as though it came from someone else's mouth. "He was never as nice as I'd remembered him, once he got here."

"That's because he wasn't the real Alidoro." He hasn't raised his voice even a smidge, damn him. Eugénie has to strain to hear him, and yet she feels as if paralyzed, hypnotized by what he has to say. "The real Alidoro is dead. That man killed him for- for gold. He'd been lying to everyone about his identity, for months."

"How- how do you know that? When did he tell you?"

"After the Alchemists' attack, I- I wasn't looking for him, but he was in the path, and he was cowering, and- and then I killed him."

Where earlier he was as still as a slab of stone, now he's shaking like a leaf, a full-body tremble that goes from his hair to the tip of his shoes. His face is crumpling into something that might be fury, or shame, or even just realization of all that's fallen on their shoulders; if he was capable of crying, Eugénie thinks he would be, by this point.

"He called you a stupid girl," he continues, and he's never sounded as hoarse as he does now, nor as emotional, far from any other puppet she's met before.

"He lied to you and- and he said you were the reason why he told the Alchemists about the hotel, and I know he was just a coward, but he- He did all that for money, and he couldn't even be nice to you. And he used me. I- I shouldn't have done that, but I'd seen the hotel and I was so angry-"

He won't meet her gaze, but Eugénie simply stares at him as he trails off all the same, hands folded in her lap. There is a cynical, logical part of her that tells her that she should be angry, horrified, even, at all these lies and tall tales, at a friend of hers killing a man out of pure frustration, like a rabid dog. This is what she would have done, no doubt, before Hotel Krat was destroyed.

But Hotel Krat is in shatters around her, and all she can think of is this boy, this angry, fragile thing that isn't fully human and yet isn't a real puppet anymore, who's had to watch his father die after being forced to make many a terrible choice and still wanted to come clean about what he did in the name of caring for her, as though that was the worst mistake of his life. As though it had been the last straw who managed to break his back, even after Simon Manus did his worst to get the same result.

She could be giving him any of her usual witticisms, right now. Instead, she gets up, slowly and without a word, and steps around the table to get closer to the boy, wrapping her arms around him.

He startles in her grasp, stunned, but Eugénie doesn't let go. He smells of gasoline and decay, and this is hardly her preferred method of comfort, but all of it only makes her hold him tighter, and for a split second she almost forgets who's actually holding who upright, in truth.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," she whispers, low enough that it doesn't echo, even in the hotel's cavernous, suddenly too empty arched galleries.

"And- thank you for trying to spare me, earlier. I know you only wanted to make me happy. It's not your fault that any of this happened. You were just trying to do the right thing."

There is a lull of silence, one that seems to stretch for decades. Then, haltingly, the boy lifts his arms and clings to her, the motion feeling nearly desperate, like a child begging for company after a long, dark nightmare even if the chandeliers above them are still burning sun-bright. He doesn't stop shaking, but it seems more focused, almost, true relief instead of simple rage.

And all throughout that Eugénie holds him, waiting for the moment to pass, watching those small, blasted, handmade gloves just lay there, innocently, mockingly, amongst her beloved tools.

#lizardthelizard #ask meme #lies of p #lop #pinocchio #eugénie #fanfic #at long last...............a new pinocchio version to taint with my silly little writer's hands #I have SO MANY IDEAS this was a whole epiphany #so thank you for enabling me fam ❤️

[hanahaki-disease]

“One Minute” or “By Your Side”

I got possessed to write this after I got out of work, and so here’s a Donnie and Leo twin fic that’s angsty as all hell. I couldn’t decide on a title so it’s a toss up between those.

˚✧₊⁎💙💜⁎⁺˳✧༚

“No Leo!” Donnie yelled. The battle shell he was working on forgotten about as he tried to hold back his tears. “I’m not talking about when we lost you in that kraang dimension!”

“Then why are you so upset?!” With a huff, Leo dropped onto the bed. His leg had been healed enough to walk him from the med room to Donnie’s lab, that’s for sure, but he couldn’t stand there for that long. Not yet at least, with the way Donnie said his knee cap was fractured. “I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re so adamant about this!”

“‘Cause you don’t understand!” Donnie replied.

“Then tell me! I can’t read you mind-!”

“You died!” He snapped. Donnie turned around from the table, tears flowing freely now in the purple LED lights.

Leo sat there stunned. The breath in his lungs held itself in his throat and the words on his tongue died like Donnie said he had. “What?” His voice barely above a whisper.

“You died. I’m not talking about when we lost you in the other dimension. No. Your heart stopped beating for one minute on the way back to the lair.” Donnie turned back to the haphazard piles of wires and metal on the table.“For one minute—for seventy-four seconds—you were dead and for the first time in our existence…I was alone.”

He couldn’t look at his twin the same anymore.

They thought Leo was stable enough to move to the lair, and while he needed the most medical attention out of the group, every one believes he was good enough to move through the subway tunnels towards home. He had been doing fine, up until the station on sixteenth and broadway when he had gone quiet and limp. Leo had started slipping out of April and Donnie’s grip, his legs unmoving and head hanging against his chest. April was the one to notice first, not liking the way Leo’s hand wasn’t gripping onto hers anymore.

When they laid him, Leo’s eyes had glazed over, a ghostly sheen that spread over his irises and left him starting ahead at whatever victim was in its path. And Donnie was right next to him.

Donnie couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. The world below him disappeared and he was falling through into nothingness; his world had became nothing as he stared at his twin brother’s dead eyes. Around him, fuzzy figures went to work trying their best to reanimate the dead turtle. He saw red and orange were the first to the scene, their hands following the steps from the cpr training a few years ago. Yellow was next to him, trying to shake him out of his stupor. Grey was somewhere, Donnie couldn’t see where, it didn’t matter at that point. Donnie was now alone in this world.

Everything zeroed in on Donnie as the realization hit him: Leo broke his promise.

A flash of a memory, a ghost of a forgotten time when the twin were just under six years old, hiding beneath their shared blanket in the middle of the night. Bright eyes starting at each other as they giggled about everything and anything.

“Hey ‘tello?” The blue-dressed turtle said.

“Yeah ‘nardo?” The purple one replied.

“You’re never going to leave me right? You’ll always be with me?”

“Of course!” The child’s voice beamed. “But only if you promise to never leave me alone, m’kay?”

“I promise! I’ll always be right by your side!” The blue turtle held out his third finger. “I pinkie promise!”

“But we don’t have pinkies!”

“Doesn’t matter! You have to promise to, okay?”

“Okay,” the purple turtle wrapped his third finger around his brothers, eyes half closed as sleep was rushing over them both. “I promise.”

Donnie didn’t know what to do in those few seconds, that moment when his whole world crumbled to the ground. And then he heard a gasp and yelled of relief. He saw black gloves twitch off the ground and a blue bandanna spring to life before reading on the cold concrete of the subway station. And while everyone else had expressed their concerns and double checked if Leo was okay to move again, Donnie had still stayed frozen in place, his eyes staring at where Leo’s dead ones looked back at him.

“Donnie,” Leo said breaking the silence.

“No! No! Don’t ‘Donnie’ me!” The older twin yelled, angry tears replaced the sad ones, but they were tears nonetheless. “I had to loose you twice! Twice! I had to watch you break your promise twice, Leo! You said you’d always be by my side, you promised we’d be twins forever, and then you had to do you dumb-dumb self sacrifice to save our dumb-dumb lives without thinking of how that would affect me!!”

His chest heaved, every ounce of anger and grief pouring in his words. Donnie had been fighting a war against his emotions since the invasion, trying to keep his head level and not think about those few moments where his other half had been gone, and right now he was loosing. Donnie wiped a few tears from his face, his cheeks feeling dry and crusted over from the salt, “I…I do t know how to live if you’re not there, ‘nardo, because you’ve always been there.”

“It’s always been us, always been me and you.” Leo looked away from his brother, his own tears creeping up on him. “And then it was just me…I-I don’t know what that’s like, and I don’t ever want to find out again.”

That’s how it had always been, since they were toddlers, Leo and Donnie were practically glued at the hip. Wherever one went, the other would follow. When one got sick, the other was right next to them. Even if they fought or argued, they never strayed far from the other. The blue and purple turtles had a bond so very different than the rest.

When they were older, shortly after reforming Draxum from villainy to lord of the lunchroom, they had found blueprints of Draxum’s lab. Original ones at that.

In the design for the center spire, the one that housed the oozequitoes and the cage where their father was trapped in, there was no separation wall between Leo and Donnie’s mutation bobble. They had been floating the same goop when they were mutated by ooze and Lou Jitsu’s DNA. No wonder they had been so close—they were practically reborn as twins when they were mutated!

Wether it was a coincidence or not, Leo and Donnie had grown up as them against the world, and for a few moments, it was just Donnie.

Leo grunted, his voice bringing Donnie’s attention to him, his non-existent eyebrows were furrowed as he stood up from the bed. There were no arm rests to help him up and his walker was too far away to grab, but that didn’t stop him. And slowly, oh so slowly he made his way to his twin, weak and recovering arms wrapping around his brother and the bandages that covered Donnie’s injuries.

“Leo wha—?” Donnie began, started by the unannounced touch.

“I’m sorry, ‘tello.”

Donnie cried again for the second time that day as he wrapped his around his brother’s cracked shell, burying his sobs in his neck as the two of them hugged. And for the first time since the end of the invasion, Donnie didn’t feel alone anymore, not when he had his twin by his side.

˚✧₊⁎💙💜⁎⁺˳✧༚

Don’t ask how many words that is I wrote it on my phone notes.

Also, I hc that Donnie and Leo have nicknames for each other that only they can use. Like Leo’s is “Nardo” and Donnie’s is “tello” I just think that’s cute.

#rottmnt #rottmnt disaster twins #disaster twins #rise donnie #rise leo #hope you enjoy

[amandayetagain]

An After (A Legacy Scarred) (568 words) by amandayetagain Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Biana Vacker, Vespera (Keeper of the Lost Cities) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Biana should have been the one to kill vespera and I stand by this, debatable overuse of quotes, Flashbacks Summary: When looking at your reflection means reliving the most traumatic experience of your life, most people wouldn’t look in a mirror. Biana is not most people.

Click keep reading to read on tumblr.

She was thrown back there whenever she caught a glimpse of her reflection. A spiderweb of cracks reflecting a hundred replicates of her face, contorted as she let out an unholy scream. The warm, wet blood dripping down her body, a stark contrast to her gradually paling skin. Vespera above her, reasoning whether or not she should carve out her eyes.

Scars canvassing her back. Trailing up her neck, and down the outsides of her thighs. Her arms, covered to the point where it looked like the pattern on a gown to which you couldn’t find the seam. After all, what Vacker would show you where you could tear them apart?

There she was again.

Slamming through a mirror.

Vision blurring, the world turning around her. She was so, so tired. Her breaths were coming in short strains. Her head was pounding. 

“Why, your eyes are just like your father’s,” Vespera crooned. “What a shame, to be burdened with yet another reminder of your lineage. Don’t fret darling, I can fix them for you.”

But then she couldn’t look at herself like this.

The sting of the shard of glass she clenched in her fist. Thicker shards jut out of the left side of her body, her cheek practically torn to pieces.

“My, your shoulders are looking awfully dreary. I’ll add some color.”

Vespera’s skin, pale as the moon.

She relished in the pain she caused.

“Elvin guilt is a highly inconvenient obstacle, you know. You should be honored.”

She had shallow cuts. Intentional ones. Precise.

The deep ones pierced what she now knew to be her Cephalic and Basilic veins.

She re-lived it all, impassive. Staring cooly into the depths of nothingness.

Let them gape. Let them see the consequences of their inaction. Let them gasp, and imagine what will never come close to what was. It’s not like they’ll be able to look her in the eyes. She’d give them a bored look, a raised eyebrow- are you done yet?- and they’d quickly avert their gaze.

“Even the best washer couldn’t erase this. You will see your scars, and you will remember. By the time someone finds you, you’ll be passed out in a pool of your own blood. They will remember too.”

She was selfish, to be glad she wouldn’t truly be in this alone. To be the only one haunted by bloodstained memories and an after.

After Nightfall, after Vespera, after her blood mixed with ash, and her screams echoed, bouncing off of mirrors and back to her body. After she lost the last remnant of her innocence. It left her when she succumbed to the darkness. Her hand, limp, glass clattering to the floor, blood beading on her palm from its edges.

She held her hand to her reflection, tracing the marks on her face. They were gashes once.

Panakes petals on her tongue, choking down the blossoms.

So . . . I guess I’m the one doing the almost-dying thing this time.

Fitz’s silence when she asked how bad it was. 

Her telling him she was fine.

Fine? Half your face is shredded!

Their faces when she asked them to make it worth it.

Dex’s sharp intake of breath after he picked her up, blood seeping through his tunic.

They had fought hard before. But after? Afterwards, they fought a hell of a lot harder.

She just wished she didn’t have to be the reason.

#biana vacker #kotlc #amanda writes again

[mrskurono]

title: Crybaby || sub!Akaashi x fem!Reader

a/n: A softer contribution to my 4k for Femdom event! He my other baby <3

word count: 1.7k

tags: femdom, established relationship, mommy kink, mdlb dynamics, lactation kink mention, big dick Akaashi <3, voyeurism (use of a breastfeeding room on work time), handjob, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, mild overstim, creampie, hint of breeding/pregnancy, mildly unedited

character(s): Keji Akaashi (hq)

synopsis: Tenma thought it was weird when Keji asked if the faculty he was applying to had a room for breastfeeding women to go. Honestly at the time you were with him when Keji asked so Tenma thought nothing of it if his new coworker was just looking out for his fiancé’s comfort if they were gonna start a family. The ex tiny giant had no idea his coworker meant it for much different reasons.

Rustling of fabric signaled Keji’s impatience. His big hands attempting to slip under your blouse to no avail. 

A nervous wreck like this and suddenly Keji couldn’t do anything for himself.

“Shhhh....Mommy’s right here. It’s alright Keji, mommy will make you feel better.”

The first few buttons are undone. Those same hands under the fabric of your shirt quickly. Needy pawing as  Keji tried to push it up. Clearly ignoring it was a button down. You smiled at his neediness even if it was clouding his mind.

“Mommy-” Keji’s tiny voice bubbled up in his throat. He was so close to tears. 

Best get your shirt unbunttoned as quickly as possible since you were certain his coworkers weren’t use to this kind of baby crying.

As quickly as the door had latched behind the two of you. Keji was latched onto your breast. A favor towards the right one when he was this upset. His lips pulling most of your nipple into his mouth with the deepest latch. Even his sniffling couldn’t stop him. Keji pressed his face into your breast and sighed heavily. 

The warm tugging motion of his mouth. Just in time with his tongue swirling over your very well worked over nipples. Keji’s hand reached up to find the other. Palming and kneading it gently. Soothing himself. You could feel him calming down. All save for one problem.

“Mmmm, is this what was upsetting you pretty boy?” You hand lightens a top his the bulge in his slacks.

Keji moans into your breast even with the slightest touch. Worse when you grip him through his pants and rub. His nursing picks up pace and Keji ruts his hips hopelessly into your touch.

“You haven’t been playing with yourself have you....”

He shakes his head, nipple still in mouth with a groggy reply, “....n-no.”

“Mommy said you could play with yourself when you need to baby.”

“Only you....want, you.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips. He was a handful. These long work hours made him even needier. And as you slipped his cock out of his pants. The thick uncut cock hardly able to have your fingers curl around it was a testament to that handful. 

Slipping back his foreskin. Revealing the glistening precum leaking from poor Keji’s cock. You click your tongue with a little shake of your head.

“So needy.”

Moaning into your breast, as your slow strokes start Keji refuses to let his lips leave your breast. Nursing with every intent like he wanted something to come out of it. Fingertips gliding over his slippery and sensitive cock head, you hum softly as Keji’s hips rut slightly into your hand. Enjoying the sight of his glistening cock expose itself with each shift of his hips. Not so much fucking your hand as he was fucking the nothingness but the feeling of his foreskin peeling back and forth over his swollen gland.

“Do you need mommy to keep your cum for you baby?” You mutter softly into the mop of black curls, “Do you want mommy to have all your cum?”

Keji nods, eyes closed tight and hips still rocking to the slight motion of your hand around his cock, “Please....please keep all my cum safe mommy. I don’t want it. I can’t keep it please- I-”

“Shhh, that’s all right,” You slip the tip of your index finger inside the extra of his foreskin. Watching delighted as Keji breaks away from your puffy nipple with a choked moan. How sensitive was his cockhead. Watching him writhe and twist his fists up in your shirt at the mere tease of just your fingertip made the tingle between your legs worse. A very viable wet spot on your panties for sure. Your baby was so needy. But it was ok you needed him.

“M-Mommy-” His weak plea distracted you from your thoughts. Before you even knew it thick bubbles of cum were oozing out from the tip of his covered cock. Staining your fingers with milky whiteness and Keji’s death grip on your blouse let you know he was cumming without wanting to.

When you pulled your finger away. Creaminess following and staining his still throbbing cock, you frowned and clicked your tongue, “You had an accident....and it didn’t look like you finished all the way.”

Keji hid his face in your chest. Pressing so hard against your breast you wondered if he could breath. The poor thing, so prone to cumming before it was time. But as you watched the two meager beads of cum roll down his purple cock head you knew there was far more left inside him.

Gently you ushered him off of you. Stricken with fear that he was in trouble. It was when Keji’s half lidded eyes landed on you pulling your bottoms down and resituating yourself on the oversized chair did he see what you wanted. With legs spread and propped up on either arm of the chair. You took the cum stained finger and drew it along your soaked slit.

“Mommy’s gonna save the rest of your cum ok?” Your question far more like a demand. Fingers swirling around in the mess of juices clinging to your cunt lips, you spread them wide and see Keji’s eyes widen as well, “I need you to put your cock in mommy ok baby. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Nothing made him more excited and nervous than your most intimate parts. Keji rarely made it to feeling your cunt around him and now you were inviting him right here and now after he thought he was in trouble. So when you beckoned him over Keji swallowed hard and couldn’t stop staring at the wetness between your legs. All exposed. And here he was twitching with his cock still hanging out of his pants and precum already drooling from his foreskin.

“Come here baby.” You usher him closer. Keji lined his hips up. His own hands held tight above his waist line, as he watched you reach down and guide him closer. Keji sucks in a deep breath when you rub just the tip of his cock against you. Smearing his cock in your juices and streaking your cunt with the little cum still clinging to his cock.

“Mommy-” Keji mumbles drunkenly at the sensation of you peeling his foreskin back. Revealing his sensitive head that sends a tingle right through his entire body when you let his cock brush against your clit, “M-Mommy more-”

“Shh, it’s coming,” You coo softly at him.

Pressing his tip against your entrance you don’t have the leverage you do at home. So you encourage him to push as well. Not one take the lead Keji timidly leans in until you pull him closer. Thick and sensitive cock delving into you so slowly that it takes you no time to adjust to his size. Keji bottoming out in you before you know it.

“That’s a good boy, yes you are, so big inside mommy,” Your breathing deepens a little. It had been so long since you’d felt him inside you. Keji looking like he was going to loose his mind as he knelt before you in the chair. Cock stuffed inside you and black curls clouding the rim of his glasses. 

“ ‘s much-” He gurgled, tears brimming on his lashes as Keji could hardly keep his eyes open to look at you, “Mommy- ‘s much. It tingles-”

“Your doing so good. Baby move your hips a little yeah?” You sweet talk him as you caress his face. Urging him to move but really you see it’s simply too much for your poor baby.

Keji’s cock resting only half way inside you. As a good mommy you take it upon yourself to help your baby. Reaching down and feeling the slickness coating his cock and navel. When Keji feels your fingers curl around his base he hides his face in your neck. Leaning into you as you lean up into him.

Slow and stead you begin jerking him. Much like before he came. This time the tip of his cock resting inside you in the safest place possible for your poor baby. Keji’s hot breath against your neck. Whines and wordless pleas jumbled up with moaning. Keji unable to even move his hips as the sensation of his already twitching cock now gets the duality of your hand and your cunt milking him.

“There we go...now you can give mommy all your cum. Mommy will keep it safe....fill me up baby boy. I know you can. Can gimme all your cum just like you should.” String of praise falling past your lips as the stroking quickens. A clear tense to Keji’s body when you do so. Swearing on your life you can feel his cock swell inside you. It just doesn’t seem to be working yet so you press your lips to his ear and rut your hips into his as your fingers feverishly pump his cock, “Give mommy all your cum, fill mommy up, so my breasts will get nice and full and you can drink all of mommy’s milk. Your cum is safe with me- You can-”

“Mommy!” Keji gasped. He didn’t even mean to be so loud. Nothing in him could stop it though. Grabbing onto your waist for dear life as another orgasm rippled through him. Keji inadvertently rutting his cock in you as everything in him told him to bury himself inside you. He didn’t understand why but he didn’t care. Needing to pool all his cum inside you as the twitch and tighten of his balls last every last drop of cum deeper inside you than you anticipated.

With Keji’s heavy panting you weren’t surprised when he just leaned off of his body weight into you. The clear feeling of cum seeping out around his cock as he slowly softened inside you. The poor thing, this stressed and sensitive. You raked your fingers through his black hair and hold him close to you as you savor the feeling of your sweet baby’s cum defiling your deepest parts, “That’s right. All your cum is safe with me...mommy will keep it all for you. Don’t ever forget that my sweet baby boy.”

#three.4k #threethirst #sub hq #hq!! #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!! #sub haikyuu #hq smut #haikyuu smut #akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi smut #akaashi keji smut

[witch-hazels-musings]

nightmares

Includes: Childe, Albedo, Xiao

Warnings -> STRONG emotional images (panic attack, spectral hands grasping at character, feeling of overwhelming fear and dread) -> leads to comfort

Synopsis: Nightmares plague the characters sleep and they wake up startled - the reader comforts them 

I’m a SUCKER for painful things man - I want to put them through hell just to pull them back up again ... 

Anthology

Childe

He was drowning, suffocating by the thousands of hands pulling him deeper into the terrifying darkness he ran from. Their nails dug into his skin, pulling it back to reveal the horrors laying underneath. The thousands of vile acts he had done in service of the Tsaritsa, for the Fatui, now pouring from him and feeding the hunger of the hands, urging them to dig deeper into him until there was nothing left. 

He reached out toward the distant light, gasping and desperate. 

Childe...

The light called to him, speaking his name as if he were worth more than being a simple tool, a means to an end. The dirty hands grabbed at his face, he struggled with every ounce of his strength to get away. The fear of seeing what lay beyond the reach of the light spurring his determination. He screamed and nothing came out, instead his mouth filled with bloody fingers. 

Childe violently awoke, lurching forward with incredible force and urgency. He was drenched in sweat and fiercely forced air into his lungs. When he felt a hand on his arm he jerked away stumbling from the bed in heartbreaking distress. 

“Childe …” he heard your voice, saw your hand reaching out to him, saw how you looked at him as if he were some wild animal: fearfully.  “It’s me … do you see me.” he watched as you moved the sheets from your legs. “You’re safe, it’s okay.” you moved toward the edge of the bed, “Put the knife down.” He looked down into his hand and saw he was gripping onto the knife which he kept in the nightstand. His fingers wrapped so tightly around it that they had turned a painful shade of white. 

The beating of his heart continued to race even as he straightened himself out, even as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead. 

“I’m okay …” he spoke the words more to himself than to you, like a montra he recited every day. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. 

He heard the bed creak and, returning his attention to you, he saw you making your way toward him, hands open in an attempt to show him you didn’t mean any harm. 

“Is it okay? Can I come to you?” the words are covered in honey, and he knew you were trying to cover up the hesitation of your steps. He placed the knife on the windowsill and nodded, making sure you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

The feeling of your arms wrapping around him was akin to a drug. You provided him with comfort he’d never known, the sensation of your face resting against his chest, he reveled in it. Your voice had this magical power of reaching him no matter where he was, or what he was. 

“Your heart is beating so fast. That must have been one intense dream.” your lips connect with the space over his beating heart. 

“You can’t imagine,” he breathes into your hair, resting his face in it’s wild locks. He lets your scent fill him up, and this connection helps to calm him. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you shift your head making him lift his own, you stare at one another in the moonlit room before he finally answers your question. 

“I don’t want to make my fears your own,” he places a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m pretty tough, I can handle it.” you squeeze your arms around him in a playful manner which elicited a chuckle from Childe. “But, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll always listen, if you ever change your mind.” 

His heart rate slowed, thanks to the proximity of your own giving it the ability to match it’s pace. 

“Thanks,” He scooped you up and led you back to the bed, and once you got settled in between the sheets he slid down to rest his head against your chest. There he was able to drift back into a peaceful sleep by the rhythmic thumping of your heart and the movement of your fingers in his hair. 

Albedo

There was a long hallway, incredibly long, unending. His footsteps echoed off the walls and when he glanced upward he couldn’t find the ceiling. A child was laughing further down the passage, and he followed after it until he reached a blinding light, without hesitation he stepped through it. 

On the other side was a bustling city filled with laughing citizens weaving between one another, going about their day under the warmth of the sun. As he walked through the streets, he noted how the citizens didn’t seem to mind him. A woman stumbled before him and he reached out his hand to help her, when she turned to thank him her face contorted into uncomfortable, inhumane shapes. She screamed causing Albedo to stumble backwards and, in unison, every citizen stared at him, their mouths open, screaming. Their voices culminated into an unholy sound which unraveled his soul. 

Suddenly, shackles appeared around his wrists, his ankles, his neck. Their icy touch seeping into his skin. When he touched them the screaming only grew louder which caused him to cover his ears, tears falling from his eyes onto the stones below, which were now covered in snow. He looked up and saw burning buildings. Screaming families desperately trying to hold onto their children as the walls crumbled around them. He looked onward, and without warning the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole. 

Albedo, in a hysterical fit, pushed himself off of his chest and onto his knees. His arms extended to keep him from the mattress and he watched how it became damp from the sweat dripping off of him. His heart was beating way too fast, he couldn’t breath, his chest felt tight and it began to make him panic. 

“Albedo?” a voice called to him, but the beating in his ears made it impossible to hear. He felt a hand slide along his back and it caused him to sit up suddenly, smacking the hand away from him. When his eyes saw you in the darkness he wondered what face he must be making based on the way you looked at him. 

“Albedo …” you called again. He grasped at his chest hoping he could find a way to pull the invisible weight off of him. His breathing still erratic. “Hey, look at me.” you told him, and when he looked at you he saw you were now sitting closer to him, your hand extended to his chest. The warmth of your fingers broke through the chill smothering his body and he watched as you pulled his hand to your chest. 

“Do you feel my heartbeat? Feel my breathing.” and he did. The even in and out of your chest, the steady thump of your heartbeat. He felt them. “That’s it, match my rhythm.” You placed your other hand on his shoulder, which provided him another way to ground himself. The images started to fade from his mind and were replaced by the outline of your frame, illuminated by the soft light from the bedside table. 

You looked at him and gave him a warm smile. “Keep breathing, I’m here.” You stroke his face and that’s when he learns he had been crying. He pressed his face into your palm, breathing in the sweet smell of your skin. “I’m here, and I’ll be here until you’re ready to sleep again.” 

You stayed with him even as the sun started to fill your room and birds chirped out morning salutations. 

Xiao 

An epic battle raged around him, the sounds of victorious and pained screams mixing with the clashing of swords and heavy claymores. He was running quickly through the mass of bodies thrusting and flying through the air. His mind focused and clear, it had to be if they were expected to win. 

To his left he saw the flash of red fabric, to his right he heard the booming voice of another and when he found the source he smiled to himself. It seemed that even through all of this the yaksha’s were able to relish and live. He felt his heart move at their elegant movements, how they used the strength of one another to quell the mania of the world. Xiao continued to run, his movements turning into a blur at the speed. In fact, he ran so fast that time seemed to move with him until he came skidding to a stop in an open field. 

He looked behind him confused as to how he got here, wondering if he had passed through some portal or door. He was alerted to a shriek and turned forward only to feel a sharp stabbing sensation pierce his chest. It propelled him backwards and as he fell, red strings claimed him. They wrapped around him, completely enveloping him and held him suspended. Again, there was a shriek. He turned his head and wished that he hadn’t. He saw the face of his kin pleading and begging to another before being struck down violently. Their body ripping in half before him. The yaksha decorated in purple garments turned and with a great thrust of their weapon impaled another. Xiao watched as their body, bathed in blue light, went limp and with the flick of the wrist were tossed into oblivion. 

Xiao writhed and pulled at the strings capturing his limbs, he spat and yelled but couldn’t escape. His head shook violently, unable to deal with the scene in front of him, and unable to do anything to stop it. He closed his eyes letting his angry tears drop into the black water slowly rising over his body. 

“Xiao,” a voice called out and when he opened his eyes he saw the dangling bodies of his yaksha family impaled against the nothingness which drowned him. 

He awoke in a fit. He felt the scream spill from his throat as he lurched upward. Around him things began to fall to the floor, toppling back to the ground as if a huge gust of wind had picked everything up all at once. Before his eyes a piece of paper fluttered past him before slipping under the trunk next to the window. Something touched his shoulder and in a second he had the perpetrator in a tight hold, one hand viciously wrapped around their wrist and the other gripping onto an arm. 

“It’s me, it’s me!” his eyes were clouded, but he knew the voice. “Come back … it’s me.” The breath in his lungs was hot, almost as if he had been standing next to an active volcano. His mouth was heaving in an attempt to grasp back to reality, to still his overworked mind. The sound of humming filled the room, it’s soft, slow tone pulling him in. He focused on it, taking the tune in as if it were a lifeline, the only light in the dark space which surrounded him.  After a bit, his eyesight began to clear and when he saw you, eyes closed humming to him, and his hand digging into your wrist he quickly let go.  

“You’re back,” you whisper, sending him a soft, ‘i’m relieved’ smile. 

He crawled off of the bed and made his way to the window, desperately in need for some fresh air, and an escape. 

“Whatever you saw in your dream, must have been very frightening.” your voice stilled his movements. “I’ll be here when you decide to come back,” he looks back at you, your legs crossed, hands resting in the blanket. The moonlight illuminates the space there, casting white shadows along your chest and face. You look like an ethereal being in this moment, and there is a call in his chest to return to you. 

His heart is still so heavy, and even though his breath has returned to a normal state, buzzing energy continues running through his veins. He looks at your wrist and can see a bruise beginning to form. He can’t risk letting his energy out with you near him, it’s too dangerous. Even though he feels the stab in his chest, he slips out the window and into the night sky. 

In the morning when you wake up you find qingxin flowers resting on the table next to the bed. You lift them and inhale their scent. 

“How did you sleep?” you turn to see Xiao perched in the window, his eyes downcast. 

“Alright,” you sniff the flowers again, “you came back.” 

He huffs at you and looks back out the window. His back resting against the windowsill, one leg bent so he can rest his arm on it, the other dangling over the edge. Sliding out of the bed you make your way over to him, taking up the space at his side. He looks at you and you can see he is looking at the bruise on your wrist. Placing his head in his palm he reaches down and grabs onto your wrist with the other. His fingers brush over the darkening skin. 

“Welcome back.” you whisper into the wind. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin impact X reader #childe X reader #genshin childe #childe #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #albedo #xiao x reader #genshin xiao #xiao

[distracteddegenerate]

Yandere!Yuta x Fem!FirstYear!Reader

Warnings: jjk spoilers, tw.yandere, tw.noncon, tw.dubcon, tw.blood

Thrown up into the crisp air like a chained animal cut loose, you barrelled down the school’s polished floors, The sound of your mary-janes clacking on the ground resonating through the corridor loudly.

Heart beating in your chest wildly, frenzied breaths escaped from your belly into the chill air, like dissipated spirits that snapped into nothingness as you broke past them. You could hear the lanterns you passed in your hurry being put out one by one, mere seconds apart. 

The shadow consuming them was growing, and gaining on you rapidly.

You skid to a screeching halt at the bottom of the hallway, almost toppling over from your frantic momentum. 

Dead end.

You gasp, spinning around to look at your pursuer head on, jaw clenched and eyes closed tightly, bracing for something horrible. 

The air snaps and whizzes past you, your (h/c) hair billowing outwards when you hear a faint impact on the wall behind you. Your eyes snap open, and before you have the chance to move, you feel the weight of a monstrous set of claws wrap around your shoulders tightly, The sharpness of the talons sinking into your flesh and threatening to slice into it.

You chew your lip in panic, straining in the grasp of the vengeful spirit that had taken you hostage. You knew there was no chance of escape now. But you probably knew that from the start anyways. Rika Orimoto was one of the most powerful curses in existence, her power obliged by the innate talents of her master, who was rounding the corner of the passageway this very second.

Materializing from the darkness was a slouching, gloomy figure, his hands in his pockets as he ambled closer to you. 

“Now now, Rika. I told you to be gentle with her, didn’t I?”

With that, the pressure weighing on your body was lightened. Although you were now able to move slightly more, fear rendered you motionless, your eyes staring straight ahead with tears threatening to prick their way through.

“Sorry, (Name)-chan. We didn't mean to frighten you.” Grinning sheepishly, Yuta ran his fingers over his hair, combing it back before letting it fall down again to frame his face. “It’s just.. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself before you took off.”

When you could only offer a small whimper in response, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Yuta’s lips tightened shut and he leant in closer to your face. He brought his hand to your cheek, and traced his fingers down to grab your chin. Clenching it tightly, he yanked hard, forcing you to look straight up at him.

“I deserve that at least, don’t I? To be listened to?”

You felt Rika’s talons sink down deeply onto your shoulders once again, Only this time you yelped from the pain. This time she had actually cut through your blazer and into the skin beneath. You felt a wet warmth spread out from the site of your new wound.

“Rika, now didn’t I just tell you to be gentle? You just hurt (Name)-chan!” Yuta sighed, and looked from you to the curse behind you in exasperation. “I thought you promised to help me do this, because you wanted to make me happy…”

You could swear you heard the spirit groan in protest. 

“Tut-tut, Rika. You know that she’s fragile.” He huffed, your head was forced to follow the exhaling motion, chin still held tightly in his grasp. “I think you should let me handle the rest. Go and think about what you’ve done.”

You heard a deep, mournful moan, and the barely audible noise of Rika scurrying into the shadows. Yuta had released his grip on your chin, and allowed you to crane your neck around to glimpse part of the curse’s escaping form writhing away. The feeling of Yuta’s left hand coming to rest on your waist, the other hovering over your wounded shoulder, snapped you back to reality. He stroked over the gash, cooing softly. You whimpered.

“You’re a sorcerer, yet you’re so delicate, (name)-chan. You know, Rika would rip you in half if she could. She’s that jealous.” He lifted his finger tips, now covered in your blood. He held them between the both of you. The moonlight breaking through the windows that lined the hallway washed over Yuta’s form, your blood glistening over the blood soaking his raised digits. 

“But.. I can stop her. I have the power to fix up this injury too, with a reverse technique.”  You looked deep into his eyes, and looked away quickly again soon after. They seemed so wild, so frightening. His hand suddenly shot forward, and he grabbed you tightly, his hand wrapping around your face and squeezing your cheeks. He walked forward firmly, slamming you into the wall behind.

“It’s rude to look away when a senpai is talking to you, (name)-chan.” You struggled in his grasp, shaking your head as strained as the motion was due to his hold on you. 

“W-why? Okkotsu-senpai..” You blubbered out as best you could, your cheeks still squeezed so tight it hurt, tears beginning to stream down your face. He chuckled. If not for the situation, that unassuming laugh would have made you feel secure.

“Because you need me, (name)-chan. It’s like I said, you’re so delicate. And here I am, a big strong powerful sorcerer. One of the strongest” He let go of your cheeks that were now burning from his grip, and wiped at the tear stains. His left hand still on your waist, he moved in even closer to you. He was now crushing you against the wall. “I can make you, or I can fucking break you.”

The cheerful grin he wore, betrayed all of his actions. Especially now that he had planted the hand that was wiping away your tears on the wall behind your head, and was pushing his knee upwards, up between your legs. His head moved in closer, to the crook where your shoulder and neck met, where he lightly pecked at the skin. His thumb rubbed circles on your hip, as he started moving his knee, boring it into your heat in a kneading motion. You began to weep again.

“God.. so fucking cute, (name)-chan. You need me. Don’t you? Tell me you do, right now.”

#jjk #yandere!yuta #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen #dark jjk #yandere!jjk #yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu #jjk x reader #reader x jjk #tw.yandere #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #tw.blood #jjk spoilers #yuuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #yandere!yuta okkotsu #fem!reader #scenario

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

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[heyiwrotesomethings]

Warmth

Bela Dimitrescu x They/Them Reader

A/N: Yes, I’ve contracted the RE8 fever, and a bit late at that, what about it? Anyway, hope ya’ll like it. I don’t think there is anything that I should have to warn any of you about but let me know if I’m wrong. Word Count: 2,176

Being the fire stoker for the Dimitrescu daughters was simultaneously the best and worst job in the castle. It was the best job in that the daughters saw them as too valuable to kill or maim since they did their job so well. It made the daughters actually quite appreciative of them. Worst because if (Y/n) were to, god forbid, let a fire die in one of the girl’s rooms, their own light would be just as quickly snuffed out for such an error. That appreciation could turn to devastating hate on a dime if they were to slip up.

Winter was the most critical season. (Y/n) was often running room to room stoking the fires of each daughter’s most favorite areas of the castle to keep the most desirable temperatures. Often times they would fall asleep in the halls outside of the most at risk rooms and jerk awake at the slightest drop in temperature. Lady Dimitrescu had caught them dozing off once and scared them terribly when they awoke. Luckily, the Lady simply rolled her eyes and continued on her way, but not before reminding (Y/n) how easily a fire could fizzle out without the proper care and consideration. A warning.

The castle was huge, (Y/n) wished to argue, it wasn’t their fault that the daughters and their favorite rooms were so spread out. They’d like to see the Lady tend to every fire all throughout the harsh Romanian winter and see how long she could go without suffering from exhaustion. Well, on second thought, could the Lady even get tired? (Y/n) shook their head and sighed, rubbing at their bloodshot eyes. Lady Bela’s room was next in the rotation so they made their way to her wing while checking the state of their matchbook. They’d need to visit the kitchens to get a new one soon.

As they neared Lady Bela’s chambers they noted a slight chill which made their blood run cold.

“No, it can’t be...!” They gasped, fully sprinting down the hall now. They somehow remembered decorum despite the frenzy they had worked themself into and knocked upon the door, announcing their presence before stepping in. Their heart dropped to their feet.

The fire had completely died and Lady Bela was shivering in her bed, only her golden eyes could be seen staring at (Y/n) from beneath the covers as they rushed to the fire place with trembling hands.

“I’m so sorry Lady Bela!” They apologized fervently. How could this have happened? They had the timing down to a science! They had gotten too comfortable as Lady Dimitrescu had suggested and now the eldest daughter was sure to kill them for their carelessness. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how this could have happened! I swear I’ll fix this, you’ll warm up in no time!”

Soon enough, the fire was blazing, the snap of the wood causing (Y/n) to flinch back. They heard the rustling of sheets and saw a black silk nightgown in their left periphery before they scrunched their eyes tightly shut. This was it, they had outgrown their usefulness. They held their breath and waited to be dragged away by Bela’s sickle but the biting pain never came. Instead, they were enveloped in chilled arms and wrapped in a luxurious duvet. An Ice cold nose dug into their neck and made them flinch.

“You will warm me. Move before I allow it and this will be the last fire you tend to.” Bela shivered and chattered against (Y/n)’s neck.

“Y—yes Lady Bela. Of course.” (Y/n) replied, back stiffening as Bela moved curl up in their lap. It was a bit awkward considering she was taller than most, but once settled she seemed pleased enough.

They sat like that for what felt like hours to (Y/n). Enough time to make their legs cramp and back ache. If Bela didn’t let them go soon, they were sure they’d have more than one displeased Dimitrescu sister to worry about. Fortunately, Lady Bela seemed to have grown tired of them and rose from their lap with a sigh before languidly moving back to her bed.

“Move along little human, if you let Cassandra’s fire go out I can’t say she will be as merciful as I.” Bela informed, looking back at (Y/n) over her shoulder with half lidded eyes.

“Yes, of course! Thank you Lady Bela, I swear I’ll never let it happen again!” (Y/n) bowed deeply before running out of the bedroom, shutting the door tight and quick not only to keep the heat in, but to hinder Bela a moment if she decided to change her mind on being merciful. They ran down the hall like a bullet leaves a gun to tend to Cassandra’s fire next, praying it hadn’t met the same early death as Bela’s.

***

It happened again.

It happened again and (Y/n) was absolutely beside themself. They had never been so sloppy in their life and even if Bela wasn’t going to kill them they almost wanted to sickle their own shoulder for their ineptitude.

“Tell me, what did you promise me yesterday little human?” Bela taunted from the bed while (Y/n) frantically stoked the fire to a roaring blaze.

“I— I don’t know what to say Lady Bela, I am disgusted with myself. Truly, I’ve never—“

“Hush now.” Bela glared from the pile of soft covers. If she wasn’t a vampiric bug woman with murderous tendencies, the scene would have been adorable. But (Y/n) knew better than to entertain the thought for long. Then Bela stretched her hand out from beneath her mountain of blankets.

“Come, warm me little human.”

“Whatever you wish, Lady Bela!” (Y/n) nodded, giving the fire one last look as if to say, ‘behave!’ and then they quickly stood beside Bela’s bed. There was no time to be shy when Bela lifted the covers, (Y/n) dove right in and let Bela maneuver them however she wished.

Unlike the day before, this warming position was much more comfortable and so much more dangerous. (Y/n) could feel that they were starting to drift off in the luxurious bed. If they fell asleep here, surely they would not wake again. Well, that might actually be kind. Who wants to be awake for their death anyway?

“I can feel your heart slowing, little human. Perhaps you’d best be on your way before you succumb to sleep and leave another fire to die.” Bela whispered a bit snidely.

“Right!” (Y/n) shot up and fell out of the bed, scrambling to their feet and anxiously smoothing the covers back down, “Thank you again for your mercy, Lady Bela. I’ll do better!”

“See to it that you do.” Bela replied airily as (Y/n) left the room. They failed to notice the small smile curling Bela’s lips as she watched them go.

***

Two weeks. Nine out of the fourteen days Bela’s fire had died before (Y/n) could stoke it. Sometimes, it even happened twice in one day and (Y/n) was dangerously close to a mental break. Bela, miraculously, seemed to have the patience of a saint and had yet to kill (Y/n) for their failures, simply making the fire stoker warm her with their body before sending them away. Despite the circumstances that preceded the impromptu cuddling sessions, (Y/n) couldn’t help but enjoy every moment they held Bela close or visa versa. It was actually really nice. They would have been lying if they said they hadn’t felt an attraction for the eldest daughter growing within them as they became used to life in the castle.

That didn’t mean (Y/n) didn’t feel horrible though. Each failure, every shiver drawn from Bela’s body, hacked at them like an axe and it was only a matter of time before they became the timber for the next fire.

So they set out for today to go differently, they quickly stoked Daniela’s fire and the one in the library, as well as the parlor, before bounding over to Bela’s room to arrive nearly half an hour earlier than usual. They knocked, announcing their presence, before promptly opening the door. They were already halfway across the room when they glanced up, pausing mid step when they saw Lady Bela out of bed standing over the fireplace. She stared back with wide golden eyes, seemingly frozen in time as well if not for the trickle of water pouring from the small bucket in her hands.

The sizzle of the water meeting the hot wood drew (Y/n)’s eyes to the fireplace and they watched slack jawed as smoke billowed and the small fire drowned into nothingness.

“...what?” (Y/n) whispered, their eyes shifting back to Bela who had the decency to look thoroughly embarrassed before fruitlessly hiding the bucket behind her back. The unusually meek display from the eldest Dimitrescu daughter seemed to spark (Y/n) to speak further out of turn, though words did not seem to be coming easily to them as they just continued to say, ‘what’, only getting louder and sounding more confused and utterly flabbergasted with each utterance. Their arms gestured between Bela and the sodden, burnt wood several times before Bela finally groaned and tossed the empty bucket into the nearest corner of her room with a clatter and a dull thud against the carpet.

“That’s enough!” Bela said sternly, causing (Y/n)’s jaw to snap back shut. She stalked over to them and lifted them by their shirt, quickly pushing them back against a wall in such a way that left their feet slightly above the floor as their hands scrambled to hold onto Bela’s.

“You will speak about this to no one!” She hissed, a buzzing sound emitting from her chest.

“My Lady,” (Y/n) wheezed, “I won’t say anything I swear!”

Bela scrutinized them closely before lowering them back down with a shallow nod.

“Good. Now,” she cleared her throat sheepishly before turning back towards her bed, “light the fire.”

(Y/n) didn’t need to be asked twice, scrambling to their knees in front of the fireplace. As they replaced the soggy wood with fresh timber, their mind raced. Why would Lady Bela douse her fire only to demand it be relit? Why would she do such a thing when she was so susceptible to the cold?

Once the fire was blazing once more, they tentatively turned to Bela, watching as she sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her feet. If (Y/n) couldn’t know the motives behind such a play, they were sure to lose their mind. So, they tested their luck and addressed Bela who gave them a warning look.

“Lady Bela, forgive me, but why ever would you douse your fire? Lady Dimitrescu had informed me of how important it is that you and your sisters stay warm when she assigned me this position. And... well, please forgive me if I’m wrong, you seemed to have made a bit of a habit out of it...”

Bela clenched her fists and growled, making (Y/n) jump to their feet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” They said, making a dash to the door only to bump into a wall of Bela’s flies. This had to be it. They should have just kept their mouth shut!

“Stop panicking, little human.” Bela sighed and finished reforming in front of (Y/n). The fire stoker nodded, but their heart still beated ferociously in their chest. Being told to stop panicking by a Dimitrescu was like a great white shark telling a bleeding seal in open water to do the same.

“I’m only going to say this once so listen closely,” Bela averted her eyes for a moment and bit her lip before focusing back in on (Y/n), “you’re beautiful... handsome? Pleasant to look at and very warm and soft, sweet. I can’t very well snuggle up to a fire without being burned so I... stop looking at me like that.”

(Y/n) had a cute little smile on their face that seemed to be growing by the second. Their eyes were bright and alert as they soaked in every word and Bela couldn’t stop the small smirk tugging at her own lips.

“If it’s cuddling you wish for my Lady, you need only ask. I do enjoy the time we’ve been spending together as of late. Well, minus the heart attacks every time I see the fire’s dead.” (Y/n) informed.

“Just please,” they added, “no more fire sabotaging. I hate to see you shiver.”

“Easy enough,” Bela hummed before pulling (Y/n) back to her bed with visible excitement in her eyes, “hurry now, you got here early today so we have extra time!”

Before, Bela had been rather stiff with her demands. It was like (Y/n) was warming a block of ice wary of melting, but now she all but flung herself at (Y/n) with no inhibitions now that her secret was out. She hummed pleasantly and (Y/n) wiggled in her hold while icy fingers trailed beneath their shirt to settle on heated skin. It was shaping up to be a rather eventful winter.

#re8 oneshots #resident evil oneshots #bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village oneshots

[saphirered]

Hi! I'm dying for some Prince Dorian stuff. Could you write a princeling Dorian x reader before he leaves on his adventures. They love each other but they're not allowed to be together so when he leaves he asks his them to go with but they can't. Bonus points if they meet up later down the road, S/O left to find him. Please and thank you.

Hope this one turned out to your liking! And I did go for those bonus points 😉. Happy reading! 😘

A gentle morning breeze and warm sunlight bleeding through fabric ease you back to consciousness. You shift and adjust, your legs weighed down by someone else’s, tangled. With a groan you roll your shoulders and place a hand under your pillow to get a little more comfortable. Tempted to allow yourself to slip back into the darkness of sleep, you decide against it, feeling fingers brush lightly over the bare skin of your arm, and the sensation of being watched.

“You’re staring.” Your voice is still heavy with sleep as you crack an eye open to wake up to a sight you’ve gotten so used to.

“Good morning.” You expect a voice heavy with sleep like yours but the words sound like someone who’s been awake for a while. Awake and burdened. So you rub your eyes and raise up a little, to get into the same half slanted position your lover’s in. The blanket falling from your torso leaves you longing for warmth so you do what you’d always do; wrap your arms closer around the second son of the Silken Squall and bask in the warmth he provides. The embrace is returned and his hold is a little tighter than usual, a kiss to your temple but lips lingering longer than usual.

“What did Cyrus do to piss you off and get you in a mood this time, princeling?” You smile, earning a playful pinch in your side, making you gasp and squirm. You know he dislikes the nickname but you’ll keep calling him so anyway. You’re the only one he tolerates it from and if anything, when you say it, it’s endearing.

“Something’s been on my mind for a while now and I can’t seem to shake it. No need to worry. I’ll figure it out. For now I’m just happy you’re here with me.”

“Then why do I feel there’s more meaning to those words.” You pull your head from his chest to look at him proper, place your hand on his cheek to direct his gaze to your face instead of into the nothingness. Brontë takes a deep sigh and offers you a half smile.

“Talk to me? Please? Don’t let your burdens weigh you down. Not if I can help it.” A few strands of hair, out of place you brush back while you trace the contour of his jaw resting on his chin and leaning up to kiss his lips. Worry eases away as you move to straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull away. Like the lover he is Brontë gently dances his fingers up and down your spine as his other hand caresses your cheek.

“It’s nothing. I’ve just been experiencing a bit of wanderlust. That is all.” Brontë admits and you fake gasp.

“You, son of the Silken Squall, potentially in line for the throne? Wanderlust? What would your parents say?!” You earn another squeeze of your side making you squeal but his hands keep you in place.

“I’m sick of walking in Cyrus’ shadow. I’m sick of being remembered only as the second son, forgotten, ignored unless it is to be scolded or told how much of a disappointment I am. I want to be my own person. But I’ll never be anything else if I stay here, will I? The thought of wandering the world for a little bit, if not forever, has been on my mind for the past few weeks and the concept is looking more and more tempting.” He admits as your features soften, the humour gone and instead you just give him a sad smile. You agree with Brontë; ignored only until suspected of something that his parents disapprove of and punished for it. It’s how he’s been slipping through the cracks in the first place. That’s how even after his family told him you and him could never be he still was able to sneak out and come and see you.

“Why not leave then?” Confusion runs across his face.

“Are you so eager to be rid of me?” Brontë jokes.

“Of course not, you fool. I love you. But you are right. Our people are not meant to be contained to the same place forever. Wanderlust dwells within our hearts. Staying in one place, it can get suffocating. If you feel this is what you need, how could I not support your decision?” You don’t get a reply, at least not a verbal one. His lips meet yours in a deep passionate kiss. Brontë doesn’t know what he must have done to have you walk into his life but you’ve been a true blessing, even before you became lovers. He can never repay you for that. Not while he remains in the Silken Squall. His parents will never approve and he’ll never be allowed to openly take you as his partner, no matter what he does. But perhaps if he just left, you could both be free of all of your burdens.

“But I can’t just up and leave. What will I need? What will I do? Where will I go?” The worries and insecurities kick in as his mind wanders trying to find all the answers.

“There’s adventure in the unknown. Embrace it, my dear Dorian.” You speak in the voice pretending to be an old soothsayer, your eyes narrowing, lips puckering and cheeks hollowed. Brontë laughs at your impression before you break.

“I highly doubt I can live up to the Dorian of the Tempest in your stories. I’m not an adventurer and I think it’s quite impossible to actually fly on a living storm.” He counters.

“I’m a storyteller, I know what it takes for someone to be the stuff of adventurers and heroes.” You poke at his chest, faking offence. Storytelling is a pastime that allows you some extra coin to be made wherever the Silken Squall settles, and allowed you to pick up on new stories from other peoples, places and cultures. Knowing you take great pleasure in doing so Brontë always listens to those stories with happy content, as you spin the tales into existence.

“Join me. You can tell me if I have what it takes to be a hero.” Your smile turns to a saddened one, as you brush your fingers through his hair. The pained expression in your eyes shows him enough. He knew he was a fool for asking but he had to. Just like him you have expectations you have to live up to but unlike him, people rely on you fulfilling those expectations for their livelihoods. You might wish to be free, you simply can’t. Perhaps you could in time, but if Brontë has any desires to leave behind the Silken Squall, he’ll have to do it before his parents figure out what he’s up to and lock him up for good. The only solace he can take is that when he’s free, you’ll meet again without him having to sneak into your home without anyone noticing or vice versa. You won’t have to pretend to have broken things off because his parents do not approve. You’ll both be free to love.

“I want to. More than anything. But you know I can’t.” You sigh but manage to brighten your smile once more. “I’ll just have to wait for my Dorian to summon me a storm and call me home.” You cup his cheeks giving him a soft kiss.

“A promise then; to be your Dorian and summon you a storm.”

“A promise it is.” You accept and more kisses follow. Never had you truly felt the pressure of your relationship as it is coming to an end. You’ll still love each other but come nightfall, your Dorian will be gone, to chase the clouds and let the winds guide him. You’ll watch out for him, knowing he’ll face many troubles, make friends, find adventures and allow himself to find what he’s looking for. He’ll return one day and you’ll be waiting for that storm to arrive and bring him home to you, summon you to the planes so you might reunite once more. Until then you’ll sing the songs and tell the stories of Dorian of the Tempest. You’ll carry the story of Dorian Storm and the adventures he’ll encounter. You’ll tell the tales of a hero, a friend, and a lover.

—————

Let it be known that Cyrus Wyvernwind is a terrible, horrible spy and criminal. His twenty thousand gold bounty is undoubted proof of that and you do not want to go into detail how many times you’ve shouted at him, berated him and called him every name in the book for how bloody stupid he is getting in this kind of trouble. You’d told him to look for a job, make some coin. Told him all he needed to do and watch out for and he’d ignored each and every single one of your warnings. He’s lucky you’re quick to make friends and he’s got some useful skills as long as they do not involve decision making or thinking. Charming a Corsair or several worked in your favour and left you with enough security and coin and the unsavoury actions were far and few.

The glorious hero lifestyle is an image you knew to be a story. You’re a storyteller. You know when the tales told are spun on over-exaggerated rumours, hearsay, boastful drunkards and the likes. Jrusar certainly was something else. A whole new world of ruggedness and hardships. Lucky for you, you’d gotten plenty of those stories too and knew how to handle them. At least whenever the Silken Squall touched down near a village, town or even city you did wander and had some idea of the real world out there but the Wyvernwind heir is a whole new breed of oblivious. And he paid for it, which by extend meant you paid for it. He dragged you into this mess and most certainly did not have the capabilities to get you out.

You’ll have to give Cyrus some credit through, because he managed not to miss the fact his brother walked into the hideout of the Corsairs when he was enjoying his breakfast. You’d have paid good money to be there and watch that go down but you were out on some errands and missed the whole thing. Of course Cyrus couldn’t let things rest and snuck off to chase them. He spoke to his brother but the conversation did not exactly go well. Second time he went you caught him and followed. Your curiosity had gotten the better of you, you hate to admit. It’s good to see Brontë’s made friends. Heroes come in merry bands and while this one is still a little shaky, it’s got potential.

Nevertheless, you watched them spot Cyrus, follow him and confront him. You heard the majority of the conversation from your own dark corner in the Spire by Fire. You felt it best to not interfere and just let things be. Best not to get involved and make things more complicated. You heard he calls himself Dorian now. Dorian Storm. It warms your heart and makes you yearn for the life you both left behind at the Silken Squall, despite it’s many flaws. When all went their separate ways, Cyrus back to the Corsairs, the others off to bed, you just couldn’t help yourself. You made sure Cyrus didn’t get caught before you trailed back to the tavern. Outside on the rooftops you’d whistle, a tune from your stories, a melody only you and those who cared enough to remember the details of your stories could recall, stories that Brontë-no Dorian had listened to a thousand times over and written songs and melodies to accompany you with. He’d know. If he were listening he’d know.

About to crash for the night Dorian throws himself onto his bed, mind still wandering and processing the meeting with his brother, the surprises of the night, and his friends, new and older being faced with his idiot of a sibling, being cornered into revealing certain things he’d rather not bring up… ever. But here he is sitting on the edge of his bed thinking back to the life he left behind, the things he’s happy to forget, and abandon, and the ones less forgetful, things he yearns to hold once more. He can imagine your voice, picture your smile if he closes his eyes. He had to assure the others he’s fine and just needs a moment but will sleep soon. They take his word for it. He’s too caught up in his mind to even notice the snores of the others, or the fact the light has dimmed. He’s too in his own mind to be aware of his surroundings as he replays you telling one of your grand stories, people hanging onto your every word, that whistle, a secret sign the lost lovers use to find each other ringing in his mind…. That’s quite realistic… Too realistic…

You repeat the tune a few more times before you’re about to give in and let it be. He’s probably asleep. They did look quite worse for wear. You can come back later, perhaps even approach if you find the courage. You’ll stick in the shadows for now. Or so you think until you hear the calling of your name. Looking over the edge you see where it came from, the voice familiar to you it makes your heart skip a beat. You let yourself drop down, swinging off a balcony onto the solid stone. Your breath catches as you lower your hood, your face revealed and see your lover. His response is the same, your name a whisper upon his breath when he realises it’s truly you.

Dorian wants to ask many questions but all thought escapes him when your eyes meet his. His feet carry him over to you, like a gentle breeze in his back guiding him closer as you meet him half way. He cups your cheeks. This might just be a fever dream induced by the aftermath of the fight earlier but the moment he feels your skin beneath his palms, the flush of your cheeks rising as you bring up one of your own hands to cover his and smile, he knows it’s real. He knows you’re really there. It doesn’t matter how or why, not right now anyway. He leans in slowly, asking for permission but you grant it by closing the distance yourself and pulling him into a long awaited kiss. Losing track of time you do not pull apart until you’re breathless, but remain in each other’s embrace not willing to part.

“Hello, princeling.” You smile pecking his lips, brushing aside a few strands of hair.

“You’re here.” Dorian breathes still not quite believing this is real.

“I’m here.”

“How?” He laughs, unable to form a proper question, or ask you anything else. He’s just happy you’re here with him, however long it might last, but hopefully forever. He’ll take this moment and savour it regardless.

“Because your brother is an idiot and dragged me into his mess.” Of course he is. Of course his brother is an idiot but for once he’s done the right thing because it’s gotten you back to him and Dorian would move heaven and earth to keep you here now you’re away from the Silken Squall. He’s got plenty of tales to tell, plenty of inspiration for your next stories.

“Then I might just have to thank him for messing up good this time.” You’ll have to admit, you might have lost the majority of grudges held against the airhead that got you in this trouble in the first place.

“So Dorian, huh.” Your grin couldn’t be smugger. One of his hands moves down to your side and pinches it lightly, and just as any time he’s done so before you jump and squeal, pulling yourself even closer to him. This time you use the excuse to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Dorian Storm.” You laugh. The name of not just an entertainer, or a stage name but the name of a hero.

“You’ll always be a princeling to me.” Once more you close the distance, lips moving against each other, in a passionate kiss. You have some time to make up for and intend on doing so. For now you’ve found each other again. Summoned home by a storm. All is as it should be. The breeze has guided you home, to your Dorian, to your princeling.

#critical role x reader #campaign 3 x reader #dorian storm x reader #dorian x reader #critrole x reader

[nctsworld]

reigniting

✩ mark x reader | dance au | enemies to lovers | car s*x | smut | fluff | 1.6k

SUMMARY ⇾ your hate for your dance captain (and ex-best friend) melts and evolves into something more for the night. WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ smut (near the end), car s*x, swearing, angst in backstory RATING ⇾ mature FOR ⇾ @markleesflathead​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ yes i’m bitter that most of my fics in ask form don’t show up in tag so i might have to post them as individual fics hhh || @markleesflathead​ idk how this ended up into car s*x but i’m sorry if it isn’t what you really expected slkfmd also i’m v flattered to be one of your fave writers *_* thanks for the bday wishes!!

“I missed this.”

Mark suddenly says into the air after catching his breath from all the laughing he just did. With the hand that’s been resting on the steering wheel since he parked the car fifteen minutes ago, he swipes his thumb against it.

Your laughter subsides too, turning your head in the passenger seat to get a good look at him.

The closest street lamp isn’t near enough to cast a light to see all his features clearly, but you don’t need much lighting to see the waver behind his bespectacled face, nor the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

“I missed you,” he whispers softly, then matches your eyes with a tilt of his head.

The beginning was simple. You and Mark, best friends since middle school, about to attend the same university and were going to do everything together, including extracurriculars.

Which included the university’s main competitive hip-hop dance team, since both of you were on your high school’s too.

From what you heard from upperclassmen, every year, the team offered at least five spots open. Of course, Mark and you were confident in yourselves and each other to make the team.

But during your first year, only one spot was available on the team.

The straining of your friendship began to slowly occur, since you saw less of each other in order to train more individually for the auditions.

And when the auditions happened, there was a new tension between Mark and you. Still friends, but competitiveness was a prevalent wall between you two.

The wall grew larger, tangled with vines of jealousy and bitterness, when Mark received the spot, not you.

Both parties tried hard to keep the friendship afloat, but it eventually came crashing down.

“You’re just fucking jealous that I got in and you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” you said. “and I should be, because I’m the better dancer.”

“As if.” he scoffed. He spat out the next words venomously—

“If you were better they would’ve chose you, but you’ve just never been as good of a dancer as me.”

That was the last time you spoke to Mark... for a while, at least.  

When second year came by, you decided to prove him wrong and obtain a spot on the team. Successfully, you did, but partway through the term, the captain dropped out and, to your dismay, Mark was given captaincy.

Fast-forward to today, Mark constantly gave you shit during practices and you knew it was personal.

Sure, you could’ve quit, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. However, you always did wonder why he didn’t decide to kick you off the team when he had the power to do so.

Following one practice, Mark ordered you to come by the studio on a separate night for a talk. He claimed it to be extra training, but you were mentally prepared for him to finally remove you from the team.

However, you were wrong and the unexpected happened—the wall between you two began to crumble. The hostile professionalism during the extra session grew into an area of familiarity, remnants of a lost friendship. After the session, Mark swallowed his pride and apologized about what he said back then, even offering to take you out to dinner.

During the meal, both of you caught each other up on the last year or so, and at the end of the night, Mark drove you home.

Laughing, smiling, and talking with you like the last couple of years were a nightmare faded into nothingness.

And you didn’t mind it, because you missed him too.

But instead of telling him that, you nibble on your bottom lip and rock your head forward with a small smile.

Continuing the conversation from where you left off, after Mark agreed to stop giving you such a hard time during practice, you say, “Can I ask you to stop doing one more thing during practice?”

“What’s up?”

“Please, for the love of God,” you say with your hands clasped in a prayer. “Stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting.”

A hearty chuckle escapes from Mark, leaning his head back into the headrest. “Why is it distracting?”

“You know why!” you exclaim, beaming. “I know you do it on purpose!”

He cocks an eyebrow playfully. “And why would I do that?”

Rolling your eyes, you reply, "Because I know the oh-so humble Mark Lee still loves it when he gets attention."

The driver runs his tongue over the bottom of his teeth in a smirk, hand still on the steering wheel.

"And what about you?” he retorts. “You must still have a thing for arms if you think it's distracting."

You gasp inaudibly, unsure of how he could still remember that tidbit after all these years, and you twist your upper body to inch near him, glaring at him accusingly. "Is that why you do it?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." he shrugs nonchalantly. Leaning closer to you, parroting your stance, he adds in a teasing whisper along with a squint of his eyes.

"You'll never know."

There’s a passing beat as your eyes lock, one that carries the weight of the years of loving each other as friends, hating each other as enemies, working together as dancers, and everything in between.

A moment of connection that represents what everything has been working towards to for a long time, even if you never thought you’d have the chance to ever have Mark in your life again.

His look falters for a millisecond, flicking to your lips, then straight back to your eyes as if he shouldn’t have done that.

The corner of your mouth lifts slightly.

"Are you going to kiss me, Mark,” you whisper daringly. “or are you going to keep staring?"

You’re awfully aware of both of your breathing. Yours, heavy and wanting. His, light and barely existent.

"How do you know I wanna kiss you?" he croaks, a small crack in his voice underlying his question.

Because maybe a little part of you always wondered what it’d be like for Mark Lee to want to kiss you since you were kids—for him to send you that anxious starry-eyed yearning that could send your heart into cardiac arrest.

And now, from first-hand experience, you know it really does.  

You hold your breath and question back—

"Am I wrong?”

The tension in the air snaps. He’s fast to cup your cheeks and crash his mouth into yours. Soft lips move in tandem with yours as you rest your hands on his shoulders, lightly tugging at his body.

The first, tender kiss is quickly thrown aside, along with your shirts. The desire escalates immensely and you’re suddenly straddling him in the driver’s seat, now pushed back to give extra room for both individuals.

"Should we slow down?" you ask offhandedly at one point while Mark’s mouth leaves a hot trail down the side of your neck. At the same time, his fingers glide and grip onto your bare waist, making their way to grasp your breasts.

Mark jerks away from your neck and carefully caresses the back of your head. "Do you want to?"

"Mm-mm,” you hurriedly shake your head and drag him into another strong kiss.

The exciting rush continues to run through both bodies present. When you return to the passenger seat momentarily to rid of your pants, Mark shimmies his bottoms and briefs down to his ankles and pulls a condom from his glove compartment.

“How often do you have car sex?” you joke, straddling him once again after he wraps himself.

In his reclined position, Mark looks up and scans your body quickly, both indulging in your natural beauty and in disbelief that you are here with him right now, after all these years.

“Hey, a guy’s gotta be safe—fuck, God.”

All quips and logic are thrown out the window when you sit on his length.

You have one hand pressed against his defined stomach, the other on the car ceiling. Bouncing with no end in sight, you allow the pleasure to enrapture your senses. Muffled whimpers reverberate against the inner side of your wrist as you feel him deeply with every movement.

On the other hand, Mark tries his best to keep his focus on you, but the intensity breaks him down. He groans in pace with your moving body, and he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Mark—” you cry. You rip your hand from the car roof and, without thought, frantically push it against the driver’s window, smudging the frost that all your collective breathing conjured up. You’re surprisingly already coming undone, and so is your lover beneath you.

“I’m close,” he pants thickly. His hazy gaze attempts to meet your half-lidded eyes, but you’re losing control. All you can do is barely nod and as you’re about to bounce more vigorously, Mark releases your waist and raises himself upward, clutching your back and neck to lock lips fiercely with yours.

You barely can thrust against him, but you don’t need to at this point, because the kiss is simply enough to draw out his climax.

You’re pulled back to reality after a few moments, panting with your foreheads tipped against one another.

“And to counter your question from before,” Mark grins, still breathing heavily. “I’ll only stop rolling my sleeves up during practice if you stop tying your shirt up to show off your waist.”

You try to stifle a smirk, but it can’t be helped. You reply to him with a flutter of the tip of your nose against his.

“No deal, captain.”

nctsworld’s birthday week celebration!

#mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fluff #nbwc2021 #nctcreations

[americxn]

hi can i please request a kai x female reader imagine where the reader dies in his arms and its just pure angst with him screaming and crying and clutching her dead body? and him telling her he loved her.

kinda like your other imagine (his darkness) but instead she dies.

okay thanks <3

Too Late (Kai Anderson x GN!Reader)

a/n: this is basically just an alternative ending to an older fic: 

https://americxn.tumblr.com/post/648019215903784960/his-darkness-kai-x-reader

and I hadn’t realised how much my writing had changed until I changed the original fic but damn, my old writing was so messy (it still is but you get my point).

wordcount: 2k warnings: angst, death (idk what that’s like so this is definitely not accurate), grief, bullet wound, blood 

The gun shot echoed through the large warehouse, Kai’s shout falling on deaf ears as time seemed to warp and slow. You paused, blinking stupidly, your brain seeming to fall utterly silent as Kai sprinted for you, his face a contorted mix of fury and terror as the bullet cut through the air, right at you.  The pain didn’t register at first, just the sickening impact as flesh and tissue was shredded, the small piece of metal burrowing itself into you, ripping through sinew and slamming into bone. Your breath rushed from you as you looked down, your hands seeming to move in slow motion as they raised to cradle your stomach, your legs giving out beneath you. Finally, with another blink, the world became coherent again, time righting itself once more as the concrete of the floor rose up, up, your body cold as it slammed into the hard ground. Another series of gunshots notified that you your assailant had been shot down, too, Kai abandoning his troupe of cult members as he hurtled for you, lunging just in time to shove his hand between your head and the hard floor as you fell. “Holy shit, y/n?” He cried frantically, moving to support your head in his lap, his own hands batting yours out of the way to press over the perforation in the lower quadrant of your stomach.

He yelled something over his shoulder, the words inaudible to you as you blinked up at Kai, your own breaths too loud in your ears as your hands fell limply to your sides, the slipperiness of your own hot blood coating your fingers making your head spin and your chest constrict. “Y/n?” Kai spoke down to you a shade quieter, his face just as gaunt as yours as he yelled another order to his followers across the large space of the warehouse before glancing down at you once more, his eyes wide and teary in panic.  “Hold on, y/n, you’re okay. Just give me a minute.” He half instructed, half pleaded as he removed his hands from your wound momentarily to tear off his shirt. Suddenly, another somewhat familiar face appeared before yours, but you kept your eyes on Kai, feeling sickeningly helpless as he pressed his shirt to your stomach in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. “Kai,” you whispered, panic creeping into your tone as the pain finally began to register, a splitting, burning sensation beginning to work its way from the site of the bullet outwards. His wide eyes found yours, one of his hands leaving your stomach to rest on your cheek, his own palm clammy against the thin sheen of sweat coating the skin there, some of your hot blood being smeared onto the side of your face. “I’m fine.” You gritted out on a sharply exhaled breath, trying to convince yourself as prickling alarm began to work its way into your consciousness at the pain unfurling within you, hot and searing.  “I know. You’re absolutely fine.” Kai said, glancing to his frantic squad of cult members to ensure that they did as they were instructed. You nodded shallowly, the back of your head rubbing against his thighs. Gasping, your forced yourself to relax, clenching and unclenching your fingers as Kai continued to bark orders above you. “But it hurts.” You whimpered, beginning to shiver. A tear fell onto Kai’s cheek and he turned his head to wipe it away hastily on the shoulder of his shirt, praying that you wouldn’t notice the single salty droplet. “I know. It’s okay for it to hurt.” He reassured, his voice softer than you had ever heard it before. In the midst of your pain your heart warmed as his hand began to rub your cheek. After all the shit you and Kai had done and said to one another, it sometimes amazed you how much he still cared for you. Blinking slowly, you opened yourself up to him, allowing him to behold your gratitude and the care that you had for him, too, your eyes gleaming with wordless emotion. A stabbing pain radiated from your core as your shivering began to get more aggressive and you yelped quietly, you head titling back as you forced yourself to breathe through the pain. “Y/n? Please, just give me a minute, help is coming.” You groaned lowly in response, nausea unfurling in your stomach. Kai’s voice seemed to get quieter, as if he were getting further away and your eyelids began to feel heavy. How long had you been lying here? How long did it take for life to evade you if the bullet had torn through something vital? “Y/n, keep your eyes open.” Kai instructed, his tone still so painfully gentle but firm, his hand patting your cheek softly as your eyes drifted closed. Opening them again, you met his gaze, your fingers going utterly cold. “I’m tired.” You muttered. Kai nodded, a single tear falling as he blinked harshly, his voice breaking as he reassured you that feeling tired was also okay but “you have to stay awake until help gets here.” When your eyes closed again, a wrenching gasping breath sounded from above your head, Kai bending over to rest his forehead on yours. Hot tears fell onto your forehead as Kai sobbed over your body, the hand on your cheek patting your face again as he composed himself, lifting his face slightly from yours. “Please.” He begged. Your eyes opened in answer, fighting against the devastatingly strong urge to give into the black void calling your name, begging you to let go and give yourself to the darkness. Your teeth gritted as you focused with all your might on Kai’s hand on your cheek, allowing his touch to ground you. Kai whispered soft words of encouragement as you forced yourself to gasp one breath after another.  “I’m not ready for you to leave me yet.” Kai admitted in a whisper above you, his tears hot as they continued to roll off his chin, landing on your clammy forehead. Words evaded you but your eyes locked with his, blinking slowly up at Kai, a surge of icy panic washing through you as you felt your grip on consciousness beginning to slip, dangling over the yawning void that opened up beneath you and whispered quietly, beckoning you to let go of the man cradling you and fall into it’s endless depths.  Your chest rattled as you sucked down another hitching breath, your heart pulsing firmly within your chest, it’s rhythm faltering, struggling to sluggishly continue pumping your life source through you.  The void whispered to you again, calling your name, louder this time. Your body was falling numb. Kai’s name was poised on your dry tongue, struggling to fall from your lips as the pit of nothingness opened wider beneath you, it’s tendrils of darkness reaching for you, weaving through your fingertips and licking softly at your face with cool flames. You had so much to say to him. To the man leant over your body, his eyes bright with tears as they desperately scanned your own, watching in terror as the light slowly dissipated from your gaze, irises glassing over. But you couldn’t push any of the words from your tongue, a hot tear of your own leaking down the side of your face and disappearing into the hair at your ear as the ribbons of velvety blackness crept further over your body, whispering sweetly to you as they snaked over your limp frame. A weak grunt was all you could muster, your hand too heavy to place over the one he used to stroke your cheek, your heart splintering as all energy evaded you.  You couldn’t even say goodbye. You had left it too late, his desperately spoken words having convinced you that you could remain with him, filling you with cruelly false hope. What little grip you clung onto him with faltered, sending you toppling into the void that sang with warm delight, welcoming you as you fell. Kai’s lips moved as you watched your body sag completely in his hold, his face crumpling with raw, undiluted panic as you chest fell, never to rise again. Time seemed to slow, allowing you to drink in the sight of his face one final time, his scream of agonising anguish quiet to your ears as you fell and fell and fell before being swallowed entirely by the cocooning darkness.

His face contorted into a broken cry, dread like he had never known taking him in it’s grip as he shook the body draped limply across his lap. He couldn’t bare the sight of the blood crusted hands, once so lissom and soft, falling away from the body, their backs colliding with the blood smattered concrete floor of the warehouse, utterly lifeless, all colour draining from the face that he had grown completely smitten for, the eyes cold and staring unseeingly back at him. It felt as if his chest had been cleaved in two, shredding and ripping a chasm cutting through his being, taking away his ability to do so much as take a full breath as he folded over the vacant body, his forehead hot as it rested against the one which was rapidly cooling. The small group of cult members had fallen quiet, going utterly still as they watched their leader collapse over the body, his rasping screams chilling them to the bone; they had been too late. Help hadn’t arrived in time. And now it was all that they could do but watch as their divine ruler was ripped apart by anguish, the trembling of his fingertips that clutched onto the body evident even from across the large, cold space as he gathered the corpse to him, rocking pitifully back and forth and sobbing hoarsely into the limp strands of hair.  His tears were hot as the dripped onto the absent face, frozen in wide eyed unease, a declaration of love still poised on the cooling lips, parted slightly from the final breath that had been pulled from the stony air in a futile attempt to cling to the life that had been torn from the ailing fingertips. He, too, struggled to heave down hitching breaths of air, a mumbled string of words tumbling from his quivering lips as he continued to shake the body beneath him, clinging to the little warm still staining the dull skin, barely audible over the hoarse cries breaking out of him. A terrible nausea settled over his tremoring body, so full of overbearing emotion in comparison to the husk clasped into his warmth. He willed the body to hear, to listen to his voice and take one more gasping breath, if only so that he could offer the faded life the parting words that he hadn’t had courage to say when the body glowed with feeling. “I love you.” He moaned into the body, his chest igniting in agony as he struggled to push the words out past the sobs racking through his body. “I love you.” He repeated, groaning in despair, choking on his own anguish as he murmured those three words over and over, each repetition growing increasingly abhorrent on his tongue; if only he had been struck by that bullet. If only he could take the place of the body clutched in his grasp. If only he hadn’t been such a coward and had told the body the same words that now poured from his cracked lips when it was still occupied by life. They had to pry the body away from him, his fingers grappling with the clothes hanging limply around it in an effort to take it with him, to find a way to breathe the life back into it and tell it what he hadn’t been daring enough to tell it before. That he loved them.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins @ananad1 @shlutnutt @sanni333 @mossybank (dm to be added or removed <3)

#american horror story #american horror story cult #american horror story fanfiction #american horror story fandom #american horror story fanfic #ahs fanfic #ahs fandom #american horror story kai anderson #ahs kai anderson #ahs cult #cult #ahs season 7 #american horror story season 7 #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson #kai anderson angst #kai anderson x reader angst #kai anderson evan peters #evan peters kai anderson #evan peters ahs #evan peters american horror story #ahs evan peters #american horror story evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x reader angst #evan peters angst #evan peters fanfiction

[elsieys-blog]

"Oops, I dropped my wand"

Draco Malfoy x reader!

summary: during a boring class session, you dropped your wand. by the time you picked it up, you felt an airy touch and it escalated things.

contains: dirty talk, caressing erotically and maybe a bit spice ;)

———————————————————

"Now let's move on to another discussion." Professor Flitwick announced, the rows and columns of students heaving an irritated sigh.

As you were one to sigh, you rolled your eyes and leaned back to the chair, unprepared for another boring and prolonged class.

Your book cover was open, yet the pages hadn't moved because you weren't being attentive at all. Your hand just fiddled with your wand, eyes fixated and unfocused into nothingness. Your other hand rested at your inner thigh, your fingertips grazing light and airy touches against your feverish skin.

Your seatmate—Draco—hadn't moved at all too besides his rapid breathing. You instantly noticed he was bored to and.. well, everyone are.

His gaze was far away from you, looking at a certain direction which you reckon to be a blonde girl. Maybe a little flirting wouldn't be that bad.

Flitwick's voice subsided as your focus went on to something else. You inched your chair closer to his, your feet gradually shifting from time to time until it slid past his polished shoes under the table.

He seemed to notice the sudden touch so his eyes dropped and looked down. His smirk etched your memory and when he glanced at you, you shortly made a fiery, platonic eye contact together.

Draco smiled to himself, moving his feet to push yours away. You did the same, only added more exertion to it. And so he retorted with a ridiculously hard push. You smiled and both of you did the whole act for approximately half the class.

From how out-of-focused you have been, your wand fell onto the floor, making a faint thud. Flitwick was quick enough to hear and spun his face, flashing you a skeptical look. "Bloody students..." he hissed.

A tinge of crimson lather your cheeks so you ducked out and grab the wand underneath the desk. As you were about to reach it, Draco's foot stepped on it, making you exhale.

"Draco!" You whisper-yell but you doubt he heard it. Your hand barely touched the end of your wand but he kicked it farther from your reach. "Goddamn it, this man."

You hear him smirk proudly. He lowered his head and whispered sarcastically. "What's gotten you stuck there, Y/n?"

"Get your fucking foot out of my way!" You whispered angrily back. You were still sitting on your chair but your head was extended down to the floor.

"Say please.." he unwaveringly mumbled. You can feel the strong weight of his gaze belittling you.

You grit your teeth from his sudden nastiness. "Fuck you,"

"That wasn't nice. Nor was it begging." Draco chuckled softly, his hand was now roaming up and down the small of your back. "I want to hear you say please.."

He was a chip on your shoulder yet... It sounded attractive.

You sucked in your stomach. "Please." You tried to be calm but your atrocious attitude came storming back. "Now give me my fucking wand."

His hand pushed you further down, then steering lower and lower, caressing your spine. "Watch your mouth, there. Play nicely, love."

"Flitwick might see us, you twat—"

Suddenly, his foot avoided your wand so now you can freely grab it. When you did so and leaned back to your chair, dusting off your skirt and placing the wand to the brink of the desk—just beside your textbook— like nothing happened, he scoffed and shook his head.

You rolled your eyes. "See? That wasn't hard was it?"

"Mhm. And it wasn't really hard fixing your attitude when you talk to me was it? But still you get to be a bitch. And that— that is just.. making me upset, darling." His knuckles went white as snow.

"Why does it matter to you if I act like this around you anyway? It's not like you own me—"

"Oh yeah, what a reminder. I don't own you, Y/n. But maybe that'll change tonight." His stare was unmoving but his hands suddenly flew to your inner thigh, gripping it.

Your eyes went like saucers. "Tonight? Draco, are you seriously this prideful?"

"Are you seriously this stubborn?" He now looked at you with a scowl. He spat, "I don't like the way you talk to me. And we better get it into good hands." He paused. "My hands."

"My mouth doesn't bow down to your feet, Draco—"

"Oh but your knees will." He said nonchalantly.

"I—" you faltered as your hands fumbled the hem of your robes. "This is stupid. What are we even talking about—"

"We're talking about how you'll learn good manners, Y/n. How your mouth ought to be careful and put to better use."

You began to get intrigued. "...That's all?" You snickered mischievously, teasing him.

"Oh god no. Do you want me to keep going?" His hand skimmed past your knees and massaged your thighs back and forth. Soon it went up to the base of your skirt.

"Well it seemed like you're so affected by my manners then... Yeah. What's next mhm?" You taunted.

He smirked again, or perhaps it was a devilish grin. "Your questions would be answered tonight if you're too curious. I'll gladly put on a demonstration for you."

Your eyes glinted with interest as you crossed your arms over to your chest. "And what would you demonstrate, Draco Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his tongue to the insides of his cheek. "Would you like to find out? Have I got a pretty girl's curiosity ruffled?"

"I guess my answer is pretty obvious."

"Right then. I'll show you how it's done to properly beg. And maybe—just maybe—we'll get that knees of yours down and your tongue sprawled out."

"Merlin. It's like you've planned this whole thing out."

"Oh because I did Y/n. I've always wanted your attention on me, and only me." He avowed and my god was it tantalizing.

"Well now you've got it. Better be fast because I don't like waiting..." You put on the same frisky look.

"Oh I'll be fast. But I'll make sure the things I would do to you will last longer than years that you'll be begging for it to go away. You know, I love it when people beg..."

He was no doubt provocative and forgive myself for this but he can prey on me anytime he'd like.

"I rarely beg." You confessed and tried to challenge him. His finger now brushed the fabric of your panties as you gasped. "But it would be nice if you beg for me."

Suddenly time stopped.

"Mr Malfoy and Ms Y/l/n! Would you like to share the whole class what your chitchatting about?"

Draco wasn't hesitant to rise form his feet and grabbed his satchel. "With all my respect, no sir. But if you're really inquisitive, then Y/n will answer it for you. Wouldn't you love?"

"What are you doing?" You whisper-yelled.

He ignored her. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a demonstration to uphold for someone very... needy." He glanced at you erotically and winked.

You were befuddled and there was a convulsion between your legs.

Everyone's gaze was on the two of you but when Draco's shoulders slid past the doorframe, he smirked and gave you a final ogle. He mouthed, "eleven o'clock. My dorm."

When he left and the crowd fell dead silent, you strengthened your position and pursed your lip.

"Ms Y/n?" Flitwick's mad look didn't bother you but his tone did.

You sighed softly. "We're talking about sex."

#draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco one shot #draco angst #draco imagine #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy prompt #draco smut #draco x you #draco x ravenclaw!reader #harry potter

[lovclyboncs]

Everything I Wanted (Todoroki x Reader) Soulmate Au

inspired by Everything I Wanted by Billie Eilish.

TW! Mentions of contemplated suicide and insecure thought that could be triggering.

soulmate Au! Where your soulmate tattoo appears on your wrist after you touch your soulmate for the first time.

F!reader x Todoroki

F!reader x Bakugou (brotp)

Plot: the reader is Todoroki’s soulmate, but he doesn’t want to let some mystical ink on his wrist dictate who he should love, so he rejects reader as his soulmate. This story is about how reader first reacted to the rejection and how slowly reader lets herself heal, but what the universe wants it will get.

Part two out now!

This is my very first post on here! I hope you guys enjoy!

I had a dream I got everything I wanted Not what you’d think And if I’m bein’ honest It might’ve been a nightmare To anyone who might care

Every night you’d wake up drenched in sweat, panting as you tried to calm your breathing, tears staining your rosy cheeks. Every night you had the same nightmare, you wished it was just your mind overthinking, but sadly it wasn’t. Even in your dreams you’d replay that memory in your head over and over again.

“ I’m sorry (y/l/n), but even if your name is tattooed on my wrist and even if fate says we are meant to be together, I can’t return your feelings. My heart belongs to another. I’m truly sorry if I’m not what you expected as a soulmate.” He told you with nothing but sincerity in his voice. The sad and hurtful truth. 

“I-It’s okay. I understand Todoroki-san. Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine” You said holding in the need to cry, and the need to let the crawling feeling in your throat free, to scream and yell how once again this world was nothing but cruel. 

He gave a slight nod of his head before walking away from you. His other half as written by the universe and written on your left wrist.

You looked down at the floor clenching your fists and look up once again to see him standing with the rest of the A-1 class who was chatting as they waited for class to resume. A lone tear raced down your face.

“I’ll be fine” You whispered to yourself.

‘I have to be’ you thought.

As a young girl all you ever did was fantasize about your soulmate. You thought it would  be a dream come true for you when you would finally get to meet them. You would get your happily ever after like in those princess tales you’d love to read before going to bed. You thought you’d have the perfect white picket fence life to look forward to. 

As a young foolish girl you thought life would be easy.

you didn’t know your parents were going to sacrifice their lives to save others.

you didn't know that you weren’t quirkless and that your parents had been using ‘vitamins’ to suppress your quirk because of how dangerous it was when your emotions went haywire.

you didn't know that it wouldn’t get better contrary to what your therapist would tell you.

you didn’t know that you weren’t going to make as many friends as you had hoped you would.

and what hurt the most was that you didn’t know your soulmate wasn’t going to be your knight in shining armor like you had hoped. 

Thought I could fly (fly) So I stepped off the Golden, mm Nobody cried (cried, cried, cried, cried) Nobody even noticed I saw them standing right there Kinda thought they might care (might care, might care) 

It had been a month since Todoroki rejected you as his soulmate. You thought you could've gotten over it  but as always it seemed like the universe wanted to punish you for just existing. You didn’t participate in class anymore, You made sure to cover your soulmate tattoo so that no one would accidentally look at it, you didn’t tare your gaze from the floor, you thought that  it wouldn't hurt as much if you didn't have to look at him, but then the rumors started spreading and then the rumors weren't so much of a rumor. 

“ Todoroki and Momo made it official!”

“ I knew they were soulmates, I mean just look at how perfect they look together.”

“ Did you see the picture Momo posted of their soulmate tattoos? I'm so jealous!”

It was all too much for you, so you ran and you ran until you found yourself on the rooftop of U.A. and you let the tears you were holding in fall. 

You let the monster crawling at your throat free, letting yourself scream, letting yourself voice the hurt you had been bottling up.

why weren't you good enough for anyone?

not good enough for your parents to live for, they would rather die for others than to live for you. 

not good enough for your classmates, they barley talked to you or invited you to places like they did with each other. 

not good enough for your soulmate to want you. hell he’d rather cover you up than let people know fate had chosen you for him, were you so disgusting that you weren't even worth mentioning as the soulmate he rejected?

“stop” you whispered to your thoughts.

“ please just stop” your voice sounded hoarse.

“I just wanted everything to stop. To end” you said louder to no one, because no one was there, because no one cared. 

you slowly walked towards the edge of the roof and looked down at the ground.

your eyes were void of anything, they looked empty.

shakily you put one foot out into the nothingness, into the only thing that could stop you from letting the pain overwhelm you. you closed your eyes ready to fly.

‘This world is so cruel and yet so beautiful’ you thought before letting your eyes snap open and gasping.

your eyes regained a light and tears began to swell once again, you let yourself fall backwards away from the edge of the building.

Yes the world was cruel and life wasn't fair, but it was also beautiful. there was still so much you wanted to experience, still so much that would be worthwhile. 

after sitting on the floor for what felt like hours, you heard the distance sound of the bell signaling the end of lunch. you slowly picked yourself of the ground and cleaned your tears with the sleeve of your uniform jacket. 

you made your way back to class 1-A. you were the last one to walk in, and some of your classmates glanced up at you, but they didn’t say anything about your puffy red eyes, they didn’t ask why you weren’t at lunch, they didn’t ask how your day was going so far, they didn’t ask if you were okay. 

because you were not okay.

you once again felt a heaviness in your chest. 

you thought they would care at least a bit, they were heroes in training after all, yet it seemed like they hadn’t even noticed.

they hadn’t even noticed your absence and maybe they didn’t mind it in the slightest. 

I had a dream I got everything I wanted But when I wake up, I see You with me

Maybe you were too wrapped up in your own mind or maybe you finally lost it, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how you ended up like this. Eating spicy noodles quietly with your class’ very own lord explosion murder sitting across from you.

If you were to ask Bakugou why he demanded you have lunch with him, he’d say it was because your dumbass face was the only one he could stand enough to willingly share his homemade noodles with, and if you were to ask him why he was sharing noodles in the first place, he would tell you to shut the hell up and just eat without questioning him.

What Bakugou would never admit is that when he was roaming the school grounds during lunch two weeks ago he saw you standing at the very edge. He stood frozen in place, not sure of what he could do, but before he could will himself to move he saw how you feel backwards and out of his sight. He knew why he froze because he remembered a comment he made to deku before they entered U.A. He obviously didn’t mean it, but seeing you so willingly to just dive of a building made something in him feel guilt for making such an insensitive comment even if it was to deku.

He really didn’t know you well. He knew that he had never actually seen your quirk in action though probably more than half of the class could relate to that since you never really used it. He knew pretty much that he didn’t know you at all and that unsettled him. Sure he wasn’t the most sociable guy or easiest to approach, but he at least knew a couple of things about each of his classmates friends.

So he decided to pay more attention to you, he noticed how you really didn’t talk to any of your classmates and how they wouldn’t try to include you in their conversations. He noticed you always walked with your head down not really looking at where you were going. He noticed the bags under your eyes making themselves more prominent. He noticed how sometimes when you would space out in class you’d be staring at the back of the class where the half and half bastard would sit. He became aware of your being but he still didn’t know how to approach you.

The opportunity came after an awkward encounter.

Everyone (or so you thought) had gone out to who knows where and like always you hadn’t been invited. You decided to train for a little while. You had been slowly progressing with being able to control your quirk, but after your conversation with Todoroki you were back at square one. Your emotions were a train wreck making it hard to control your quirk. Becoming frustrated with yourself you decided to call it a day but since you were sweaty you went to take a shower first. You forgot to take your clothes with you, and since you were by yourself in the dorms you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal if you ran to your room. Midway there you bumped into a wall that wasn’t there this morning. You looked up and there was Bakugou looking down at you.

‘Oh shit I’m going to die’ you thought but then you saw Bakugou frown as he looked directly at your uncovered wrist.

‘Shouto Todoroki’ Bakugou narrowed his eyes. He finally understood why you had been acting more closed off than usual, and maybe if you had looked a little harder you wouldve seen the understanding in them.

“Sor-” you began to say but he cut you off

“get dressed and meet me in the kitchen” he said before walking away.

After that day things changed for you. Who knew eating noodles in silence with an angry blonde could set you on your path to healing?

Every time you saw them holding hands you didn't have enough time to let yourself question what you could have done for that to be you.

“hey dumbass hurry up or I’ll kill you” the red eye blonde would yell at you once he noticed you lagging behind. Making you forget about the black ink on your wrist and making you worry about how bakugou was going to react to you getting a C- on the test he spent a whole afternoon helping you study for.

And you say, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you Don’t wanna lie here, but you can learn to If I could change the way that you see yourself You wouldn’t wonder why you’re here, they don’t deserve you”

It was close to the end of the school year and if you were to say that much hadn’t changed you’d be lying. 

thanks to practing your quirk with bakugou and him suggesting meditation to help you stay calm you were finally able to control your quirk enough to use it without fear around others.

Through him you also became friends with the rest of the bakusquad and they helped you warm up to the others.

all the second guessing and the comparing yourself to others didn’t cross your mind often anymore. 

unbeknownst to you every time you peeled off the layers of insecuirty that held you back from expressing yourself bakugou would smile glad that you,just like him, could get passed the pain left by an unrequited soulmate bond.

also unbeknownst to you, as you began getting along with the rest of the class and opening up, he couldn’t help but be captivated by some of your quirks. How you would help the likes of denki study even when you weren’t better off yourself, how you were the only one who entertained Midoriya’s rambling and even added comentary.

He began to get to know you and he could see how the universe could’ve blessed him with a soulmate such as yourself. you were the complete opposite of what he was used to, the todoroki home wasn’t exactly the most affectionate.

He was seeing you bloom right before his eyes and all he could feel was guilt as he diverted his eyes to look at his left wrist.

‘Momo Yaoyorozu’

He softly caressed his thumb over the name and even with his soft touch the fake dark ink smuged.

He thought he had what he wanted.

He thought the universe had been wrong. 

He thought it was for the best.

but as he saw you bickering with bakugou he found himself wondering what he could’ve done for that to be him, for you to be open with him like that.

he knew he was wrong but he was too far in to fix it.

If I knew it all then would I do it again? Would I do it again?

lastly Todoroki knew that even if you found it in yourself to forgive him, he still wouldn’t deserve you. 

Thank you so much for reading this far if you did! I don’t know why I couldn’t get this out of my head and so here it is. Also I threw in an AOT reference to cope with the pain.

#mha x reader #todoroki shōto #todoroki x reader #todoroki angst #mha angst #anime angst #bakugou x reader #brotp #fanfic #oneshot #angst oneshot #billie eilish #songfic #soulmate #themes: unrequited #unreciprocated love #healing #fanart #strwbrrybratff