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seeingivy · 4 months

Text

the beach

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

an: 14k. buckle in. song mentioned is sparks by coldplay!

previous part linked here

to sukuna’s mother

eren: we’ll be there at five am.

lana: OH ITS HAPPENING

sukuna: did she slap you?

lana: DID SHE KISS YOU?

eren: she cried a bunch while watching it. and she hasn’t said much…she’s just been staring out the window of the airplane blankly

lana: oh that’s not-

sukuna: AHAHAHAHAH

lana: well, anyways. we’ll wake up for you.

sukuna: she’ll be fast asleep. i will wake up for you.

eren liked a message

The second Eren closes his phone, he looks to his left to find your pink, teary eyes looking at him and immediately pales. Your eyes are positively red at this point, an itchiness settling in his throat at the sight of it.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he asks.

“No.” you murmur.

Eren pauses.

“Did you want to say something?” he asks.

He watches you pause, almost like you’re mulling over the question. He supposes that it was quite stupid for him to ask, because if it were him in your spot, he probably would have talked your ear off for every little detail.

“You can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth, I promise.” Eren adds.

You give him a halfhearted nod, before looking back out at the window, at the little lights glittering amidst the clouds beneath. It’s like being asked to pick up each grain of sand on a vast, mile long beach. Almost impossible.

“I don’t even know where to start, Eren.” you murmur.

Eren gives you an understanding nod before yanking out his laptop before setting it flat in your lap. You swallow hard, knowing fully where he thinks you should begin. With that USB that’s been burning in your pocket, ever since he handed it back to you at the house.

Of Eren’s interview, on the Life in Love podcast.

Eren leans into your space, handing you one of the earphones that you settle into your ear, as you press the little play button at the bottom of the screen. The video starts - Eren and Lana sitting with the chunky headphones on their ears - with the interviewer sitting in between them.

“We’ll start with you, Eren. Have you ever been in love?” the interviewer asks.

You watch as Eren’s face splits into a bright smile, surely one that was echoed on your face too the day after the beach, as you feel a twinge in your chest. That whenever you saw clips of the interview, they filled you with such intense, deep rooted hatred for Eren that all you saw was red.

And that he didn’t even deserve one fraction of it.

“Yes. Of course, I have.” he responds.

“The person that you’re most associated with, Eren, is your co-star, Y/N L/N, from Attack on Titan. Can you comment on that, on what it’s like to have your first love be something so public?” the interviewer asks.

Eren sighs, before he leans back in his chair.

“First love is a funny way to describe it, when it almost feels like it’s more than that? I know a lot of people like to assume things and we’ve never said it publicly, but we did date. Obviously. She’s basically been scored on my heart since the second I met her in my chemistry read, but we ended up officially dating around season three of Attack on Titan. But it’s almost like that concept or notion is too trivial to explain what I even felt for her. She was never just my girlfriend or just my best friend.”

“Was it one of those…acting became too real situations?” the interviewer asks.

“I guess that you could say that. We had originally started, I guess, thinking that way when we started doing our character work. It was a whole thing we did together, while we were filming Attack on Titan. Method acting. The reason Y/N and I act so well in Attack on Titan, and win awards from it, is because we had started doing it outside of it too.” Eren responds.

“Can you elaborate?” the interviewer asks.

“We had started by kind of putting ourselves in that headspace, off of the set, in order to feel more connected to our characters, their relationship together. I think one of the things about Attack on Titan that makes it so compelling is the fact that my co-stars and myself, not to pat myself on the back, put time and effort into translating our characters into something that is real for us.” Eren states.

“It’s also something that you kind of just possess as an actor with certain co-stars. Some movies, like rom-coms or drama pieces, just function and work so well because you have that chemistry with the person whose on the other side. And make no mistake, Eren and Y/N aren’t short of any chemistry themselves.” Lana responds.

“What it is about her that struck you really differently, Eren? Clearly the two of you have a special relationship that you haven’t really been able to replicate else place, certainly not with Hyla Clarkson, for example? I mean, if you’re comfortable, you can share what you told me before you we started recording.” the interviewer states.

A searing, red hot anger flares through you, at how friendly, how approachable the interviewer seems. The fact that they’re purposely trying to make him feel safe, just to later edit the words as they see fit.

“Make no mistake, what I have with Hyla Clarkson is like that thing thing that Y/N had with Ricky James. We all have managers, we all get asked to do things that we don’t exactly want to do. I guess that’s the part that people don’t really understand, when they find out about PR relationships. That it seems so morally wrong. But we’re all actors, we’re all part of the entertainment industry - it’s almost like it’s part of the job to do these types of thing. And at that point, Y/N and I weren’t dating and I have strict managers, so…” Eren states.

“Are you saying that your relationship with Hyla Clarkson wasn’t real?” the interviewer asks.

“The first time she kissed him he threw up on the other side of a yacht. Do you think his relationship with her is real?” Lana asks, earning a laugh from the two of them.

“It’s kind of hard to wrap your head around. But we do these things, pretend a little. It’s basically like we’re acting all the time. None of that chemistry, or that character is there. I don’t even think I could ever really like her like that. And it’s not like the relationship I have with Y/N. You asked me why she was different than everyone else? It’s easy. I’ve never met anyone else like her. I’ve never had a relationship like the one I’ve had with anyone else.”

Eren sighs, nervously knitting his fingers togther, before he talks again.

“I grew up with this backdrop, of this really fractured relationship with my brother. I was always told as a kid that my family, that the people around me who were real, were the things that were going to keep me tethered to my real life. That if I choose to do this, that I’ll be in the public eye, that people will say things, and it’ll be on me to build trust. To choose the right people.” Eren starts.

“It was already so jarring to feel like I couldn’t trust my own brother, that my only family didn’t want me. And Y/N…she just kind of walked into my life and there was something so earnest about her. She felt like family basically the second, or third time I had talked to her. She was just something so real. And I’m not sure if it’s because she had a normal childhood, if she came into this on her own or what, but she always got to give me that dose of reality, of realness that I had always craved.” he continues.

“She was really gentle with me. Always quick to wipe my tears away, to give me support, that felt more full and honest than anyone else. Some part of her made me feel like a real person. I’d always be in my own head, convincing myself that I was made up sometimes, that my feelings were manufactured, that I was just putting on a front for everyone, but I never really felt that way with her. She’s always seen past that, always seen me, in our relationship. Even when we were just friends.” Eren finishes.

“And that’s just a quality that she naturally possesses. The first time she met me, she basically had no reason to have any trust, to have any good conviction of me. But by the end of the third or fourth day I knew her, I basically felt like the girl had seen right through me. All the way down to my core. And of course, all she saw was good. That’s how she is. I think for people like Eren and I, who naturally think so rotten of ourselves, someone like Y/N, whose so determined in how she shows her love, you almost….start to love yourself too. It’s not something that’s isolated to her, but it’s definitely something rare. People like Y/N and like Marco Bodt…that type of thing is just a part of them.” Lana states.

“That’s wonderful to hear, especially from you. Y/N has an interesting track record with her own friends, like Historia and Jean and Mikasa that many people have pointed out before. That there’s a part of her that’s conniving, that she uses those around her to get to the top. Is that ever something you’ve noticed, Lana? Especially as someone who would be in competition with her, as a singer-songwriter yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I think she has drive and ambition and I think that people confuse that with being conniving or competitive. Her existence means that people are going to put her against me or Historia, but that’s just because we’re women. That has nothing to do with something that’s isolated to Y/N and more with people who are just shitty and can’t see two women succeed at once.” Lana states.

“She’s very focused on her craft - any role, any song she writes - they’re so deeply personal and authentic. That’s why she is so successful, why people covet after her so bad. I don’t consider myself to be in competition with her at all. And if I actually thought I was, I don’t think I would even last a day.” Lana continues.

“That’s something I’ve always admired about her. You’re in competition - and people are putting you there, against people you love - and you have that thing you really want, you’ll do anything to get it. There’s a mentality that people get about it. There’s only one person who ends up on a pedestal and if you have to kick people off to get there, that’s what it is. But she never, ever, put her own friends at stake in ways that she could to do that. I mean all of those rumors about Historia were coming out and she wrote dorothea of all songs, about how important their relationship is always going to be her.” Eren states.

“You have to hold onto those type of people around you, in this type of industry, when you find them.” Lana states.

“Good thing for me, then. I never intend to let go.” Eren adds.

The interviewer smiles, turning to the camera, before talking again.

“Eren’s prepared a song for us, his first in a while, that he’s going to perform for us live. What’s the song called, Eren?”

“Sparks.”

“Any hints to what it’s about?”

“It’s quite obvious.” Eren responds.

Lana starts strumming on the guitar, as Eren sings and those godawful tears of yours return. You loop your arm through Eren’s free one on your side, entirely jarred by how calm Eren is watching the interview. At how he’s not a mess, a ruin, like you are at seeing this.

My heart is yours It's you that I hold on to Yeah, that's what I do

And I know, I was wrong But I won't let you down Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I will, yes, I will

Yeah, I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks And I saw sparks

The video ends, as you wipe the wetness away on your cheeks and look over at Eren on your side. You lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, unable to look at his piercing green eyes, as he returns the favor and leans his head on top of yours. You try to figure out how to broach it - this big mess of questions in your head - but it seems that Eren saves you from figuring that out and talks first.

“You said the other day on set you wanted to know why I want on that podcast and said what I did. You wanted to know if I still cared about you…do you know now?” Eren asks, his words so slow and careful.

“Is it idiot day?” you ask.

“Huh?”

“Is it idiot day? Do you really think I’m still sitting here being mad at you? You….”

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, brushing the softness on his cheek.

“I have a hundred things I have to say to you. I-I don’t want to speak wrong. Can you give me a second?” you ask.

Eren smiles, lifting his hand to place it over where yours is on his cheek.

“I made you wait like…three years. I think I can wait a second for you, Margaret.” Eren whispers.

You frown, nodding as Eren places his hand on your head and leans it back onto his shoulder.

“Thanks, Bruce.” you murmur back.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.” Eren repsonds.

It’s only when the two of you are walking up the cobblestone path, barely illuminated by the light of the rising sun, that you realize that Eren’s brought you back to the same beach house that the two of you had visited before.

In the past twenty four hours (the ones you’ve been awake for anyways), the only thing that seems to be replaying in your mind is that night. Because every action of Eren’s that you’ve doubted seems painfully obvious now. The song he wrote, the way he insisted that the two of you were real people, only together.

That Eren gave you so many signs. And that you didn’t know how to read them.

The salty air stings at your nose as Eren pulls up the mat, pocketing the key placed under it, and giving you a smile.

“Isn’t that really dangerous? To keep a key under their mat when they live so…out in the open?” you ask.

“Sukuna put it there for me. And no one knows they live here. This is technically Lana’s brother’s house, so they never really suspected it.” Eren offers, shoving the key into the lock as he twists the knob open.

You and Eren quietly set your bags by the door, making it a point to tip toe in the early hours of the morning only to pad into the main room to find Lana standing near the counter, cracking eggs into the bowl.

“Oh my god! Don’t tell me that Lana No Middle Name Price is awake at a normal hour of the day?” Eren deadpans, giving her a jeering smile as she all but drops her little spatula and runs over to hug him.

You watch the two of them, the way Eren seems more calm in his demeanour now, as the two of them lean against the counter and talk. His shoulders are more relaxed, the softest of smiles on his face while Lana looks unlike you’ve ever seen her.

Her hair is extremely short, barely secured into a ponytail at the back of her neck with a pink ribbon. But even more than that, it’s something about her smile, the way her eyes are glimmering that it fills that gaping hole that’s been burning in your chest with the smallest warmth as you watch the two of them.

“Sukuna’s going to get mad when you burn those cookies.” Eren states.

“I’m not going to burn the cookies, Eren. That was one time.” she responds.

“You almost fed your son a carcinogen. And burned the house down. Also, we all inhaled a lot of smoke so you probably ruined our lungs for all we know-”

Lana lightly smacks him straight across the face, as he laughs and immediately swats her hands off. The two of them continue that way - pushing and shoving each other like siblings - until Lana pushes Eren a little bit too hard and he backs up into you.

Eren immediately looks back, his hands on your shoulders as he stables your wobble, and you shoot him a grateful smile. It’s only then that Lana notices you standing there, at the front of her little kitchen, and you shoot her a smile.

Lana’s quick to run to your side and give you a hug - the pressure on your body so tight that you can feel her squeezing that little burden of hurt that’s been sitting in your chest. Lana makes no move to let go, as you quickly deflate into her arms and start sniffling into her shoulder, immediate warm tears sparking in your eyes as her hands rub circles into your back.

“We’ll talk, Tinky Winky. About all of it, okay?” she whispers.

You give her a nod, as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You follow the two of them into the kitchen, as Lana continues to roll the little cookies into circular shapes.

“Eren. Go away.” Lana states.

“Wow. Is this how you repay me? After I take care of your son?”

“He is your godson. You should be happy to take care of him. And they just left for their walk not that long ago, you can catch up.” Lana states.

“Sukuna is a speedwalker. They’re probably long gone.” Eren whines.

“Eren. Respectfully, get out of my house. Go sit on the beach and stare at the water like the little freak that you are and let me talk to Y/N in private.” Lana states.

“I do not-!”

“Yes, you do. Y/N, I swear to god, he sat out there everyday and we had to drag him back in like we were pulling an anchor out of the sea. Now get out.” Lana states.

Eren sticks his tongue out, before shooting you a warm smile and padding out onto the sand. You stick your hand into the bowl, rolling the cookies into little circles with her as you give her a smile.

“Cute ribbon.” you murmur.

“I wore it for you. A Y/N classique.” Lana responds.

You smile in response, as the two of you continue to roll the batter and decide what you want to talk about first. And just like Eren, she bites the bullet for you first.

“Sukuna’s here. He’s just on a walk right now with Teddy.”

You smile to yourself, the thought of it filling you with an immense amount of joy.

“Do they do that often?”

“Every day. Teddy’s quite the insomniac and wakes up extremely early. Sukuna lets me sleep in a little and takes him on a little walk along the beach. Says that they need their father son bonding time.” she muses.

“I remember that about him. Theodore or Teddy, I mean. When Eren brought me here, in the dead of night, he was awake. With your brother, making cookies.”

She smiles, setting the little tray in the oven, as she gestures for you to follow her onto the couch.

“Theodore, huh? Eren did tell me he had quite the crush on you back then.” Lana states.

“Huh?”

“He doesn’t really go by Theodore. Eren and I call him Teddy and Sukuna calls him Theo, but…Theodore just feels a little bit too formal. He only uses it for really important people. Like you. And when he starts talking to Elsa on the TV screen.”

“I’m glad I’m keeping such important company.” you respond.

You laugh, hiking your knees to your chest as you decide to bite the bullet full on.

“Lana….Ricky isn’t in his life, right?” you whisper.

She gives you a nod, placing one of her hands on yours, as she gives you a warm smile.

“No. Thankfully, he’s never even met Teddy. And he’s not going to.”

“Does he know about him?” you ask.

“Yeah. I had told him, a few weeks after it happened. When I started showing. And you know how he is…he wanted me to have an abortion and be done with it. But I…I couldn’t go through with it.” Lana states.

She sighs, cracking her knuckles.

“I know it seems weird. I really do hate Ricky, everything about him, but Teddy isn’t really…his in my mind. And-”

“He’s your son. And Sukuna’s. I wasn’t even thinking that. And…and even if I was, you don’t need to explain yourself to me of all people.” you respond.

Lana scoots closer to you on the couch, as she leans her head on your shoulder and you place yours on top of hers.

“I kind of saw it as my way out for some time. LIke, I was so deep in with everything and all the people that we were working with. It would have never been acceptable to take a break, not unless I had to take one. And I’m not saying that I had him because I wanted to get away from work, but to me…it just kind of felt like a sign. I got to crank the brakes.”

“I’m sure it was good for you, in ways that you might not even know about yet.”

“I think he saved my life, Y/N. I was so deep in that shitty, self-absorbed bubble of the industry and how it is and he just…reminded me other things were more important. He took his first steps and he’s learning how to play the piano…his entire world is confined to what movie we’re going to play after lunch. Who's going to tuck him into bed at night. That’s how life should be. And that’s always how I wanted mine to look. Soft, calm.”

You smile, squeezing one of her hands interlocked with yours. At the thought of Lana, wishing for this exact future when she was a kid, only to have it now. That she fought nail and tooh for it, but still got to have it.

“I would have told you about Teddy. About everything. But I wanted to keep it as under wraps as I could and-” she starts.

“You are entitled to share your secrets with whoever you want. You don’t owe anything to me.” you state.

“I know. But just know, it’s not because I didn’t trust you. You mean the world to me, in more ways than you could ever possibly know.” Lana states.

You shake your head dismissively, as she quickly brushes you off.

“No, really. Eren and I…I know it can be really hard to understand why we did what we did. Why we kept so much but from you. But we grew up in this type of thing. It seems difficult to confront these things head on, when they’re basically what your whole lives have revolved around.” Lana states.

“I get that. But…you guys seem fine doing it now? Especially with the documentary and all, I guess I just…wish I knew earlier. Could have helped you both to this point sooner. I feel shitty because you did it all on your own and you didn’t have to.”

Lana smiles.

“You know we only did that because of you, right? The documentary.”

“You mean Eren.”

“No. I mean Connie. Me. Sukuna, even. And you know how…private he is. But we did it because of you. You’ve always reminded us, in your own ways, not to take shit from people. And at this point, we don’t really have anything to lose. Only things to gain. Like you back in our life. Control over our lives again.”

“You guys are building me up into this big thing I’m not. I hid out for two years because I was too scared to confront everything. I ignored all of you because it was easy for me to do. I’m far from this big..confrontational person you think I am. And I’m definitely not as good of a friend or supporter to you all like you think I am.” you murmur.

“Or…you just think too little of yourself. You went through something big, traumatic even. So did we. It’s no shit that Eren was special to you, so of course the loss of him was going to be big. And you also had your fucking life’s work stolen from you, which is nothing small, Y/N.”

“I guess.”

“One of the biggest, most important things that Eren has taught me was having grace. Don’t ever tell him that because you already know how big his fucking head is. But…there’s a lot of patience that you have to have with yourself to get yourself out of that headspace. I lived there for years. And it is so not feasible for you, Y/N. At the end of the day, you’re still someone in our lives whose stood for the right things. And you still have that impact, even if you feel like that’s not what you’re doing right now. You don’t always have to be one thing to be the same person. Who you are, who you’ve always been, won’t ever change.”

You swallow hard.

“So you missed a few days? There’s another one tomorrow, Y/N. You lost a few years with Eren? That doesn’t matter because he’s still always going to be there for you.” Lana states.

You give her a nod, embarrassed that she’s read so quickly through you when it comes to Eren, as you pinch a smile for her.

“Just like the moons and the suns, with the certainty of the tides, just like hope springing high, still you’ll rise.” Lana states.

Eren’s words from the beach.

“Maya Angelou. Eren’s told me that one before.”

Lana smiles, rolling her eyes.

“He’s cheesy. But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

You wrap your arms around her, sighing into her shoulder, as she hugs you hard.

“I’m really proud of you for owning it all. I hope that you get to drag Ricky’s name through the mud. For good this time.” you respond.

“A girl can hope.”

“And hank you, Lana.”

She tilts her head in confusion.

“You took care of Eren when I couldn’t. I won’t exactly be able to repay you for that.” you murmur.

“Consider yourself repaid. You did the same for Sukuna before I knew him.”

You scoff.

“As if. Sukuna and I are nowhere near how you and Eren are.”

She shakes her head dismissively, as she hops up on her feet and drags you by the arm to the hallway. The walls are littered in little frames, each little photo sweet little memories.

There’s pictures of Lana, Sukuna, and Teddy on the beach and of Eren sitting at the piano with Teddy in his lap. Of Lana and Eren fast asleep on the couch and of Sukuna and Yuuji pulling each other’s cheeks as kids. And the last one in the row is of you and Sukuna, cheesing on the set of Ten Things I Hate About You.

“It might not feel that way to you, but you’re his best friend. He’s told me that you were one of the first people - to meet him and treat him like a person. It’s no shit that everyone hated him when he was sixteen, but you were the one to extend your hand to him and be friends. Means a lot more to him than you think.” she murmurs.

You give her a nod, as the two of you shuffle back into the kitchen and take the little tray of cookies out of the oven. You nicely plate them all onto the platter and turn around to wash your hands, as Sukuna, Teddy, and Eren pad back into the kitchen.

“Ryomen Sukuna, if you track sand into my house again, I’m sending you right back out and you’re staying there for a few days.” Lana warns.

You turn around to find Sukuna giving Lana an eye roll, as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. His arm is still secured around her as he faces the platter of cookies.

“Lana Price. Did you bake something without setting the house on fire?” Sukuna asks.

“Yes. I’m not incompetent, you know?” Lana responds, trying to shove him off.

“Right. Making ready-made cookies is such a difficult task. Quite the feat if you ask me.”

“It is! You have no idea.” she deadpans back, as Teddy runs up to hug her legs and she lifts him straight into her arms.

Teddy reachs for the little ribbon in her hair immediately, twisting it in his little hands as he yanks it out of her hair.

“Teddy, tell your dad he’s being very rude. And that I’m a very good cook.” Lana states.

“Mommy. You almost made a car engine.” Teddy responds.

“Buddy. It’s carcinogen. Car-sin-o-gen.” Eren repeats, annunciating every syllable.

“Eren, quit teaching my kid bad words. You’re a horrible influence. And Y/N was watching me while I made them so…” Lana murmurs, pressing a kiss to Teddy’s cheek before setting him back on the floor and letting him run up in between Eren’s legs.

Eren gives you a smile from your little vantage point near the sink, as he gestures for you to come closer to him. You follow and crouch down to where Eren - and Teddy - are standing as Teddy nervously peeks at you from behind Eren’s back.

“Okay, bud. This is my pretty friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?” he asks.

Teddy’s cheeks turn bright red, as he nervously toussles his hair, before extending his little hand to you.

“My name is Theodore Price. My mommy calls me Teddy. And Eren. And my dad calls me Theo. And the mailman always calls me kid.” Teddy rambles.

You fight the urge to laugh, at how cute he is, as you smile at him.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, shaking his little hand as you watch a little smile spread across his face.

You look up to find Sukuna making eye contact with Lana, mouthing Theodore? as Lana shakes her head dimissively at him. You give Sukuna a smile, which he actually returns, before you focus back on Teddy.

“I have a gift for you.” Teddy states.

“For me? On your birthday?” you ask.

“I didn’t buy it so it doesn’t actually count.” he responds.

“Sound logic, my friend. What is it?” you ask.

“You have to close your eyes and put your hands out.”

You look up at Eren, giving him a disbelieving look, as he gestures for you to follow. You close your eyes and cup your hands out to the two of them, as you hear Eren laugh.

“Okay. You can open them now.” Teddy states.

You open your eyes to find a pink ribbon in your hand, specifically the one that Teddy just snagged from Lana’s hair, as you hear Sukuna and Eren laugh. You smile hard, twisting it in your hands.

“Thank you, Teddy. That’s very kind of you.” you respond, giving him a smile.

He returns the favor, his cheeks bright pink, as he runs up behind Sukuna’s legs and burrows his face into the fabric of his pants. You and Eren stand back up, as Eren leans into your space and whispers.

“He still has a crush on you.” Eren states.

“He’s a baby, Eren.”

“You’re so rude. Babies aren’t capable of love?”

“Well, you’re standing right here so that’s obviously not true.” you deadpan.

“Haha. Now give it.” Eren states, holding his hand out to you.

“Give you what?”

“The ribbon, dingus.” Eren responds.

“Actually, Eren. He gave it to me. Maybe if you were cuter, he’d give it to you.”

“Okay, Megamind. Don’t get a big head now. I was just going to put it on for you.” Eren responds.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You place the little pink ribbon in Eren’s hands, as he gestures for you to turn around. He’s quick to secure the ribbon into the little ponytail in your hair, giving your head a little pat when he’s finished.

“So cute.” Eren says, sarcastically.

“Shut up. I’m adorable.” you respond.

Eren smiles.

“Yes, you are.” he responds, zero hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Sukuna gives Eren a nod, as the two of them switch spots, and he takes your side. You get to take Sukuna in full this time, at the little smile wrinkles near his eyes and the salty, beach smell that seems to emanate off of him.

“Y/N L/N. Are you finally gracing us with your presence?” Sukuna asks.

“Father Sukuna. I think I am.” you respond, placing your hands on your hips.

Sukuna smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair.

“You and I are going to talk after breakfast. And that’s only because Lana will burn our house down if I leave her alone to it.” Sukuna states.

“Deal.” you respond, smiling at him.

You and Sukuna settle down onto the little patio, the waves of the ocean crashing against the sand in front of you. He sets the little plates in front of the two of you, giving you a smile, as you both lean back in your chairs.

“Pumpkin pie?” you ask.

“You want some?” Sukuna asks.

“Sure.”

And then Sukuna lifts the plate and immediately smashes the pie into your face. It’s cold and squishy, as you quickly smear it out of your eyes just to glare at him.

“Eren! Bring Y/N a towel. And another slice of pie.” Sukuna states.

Eren sticks his head out of the screen door, widened eyes at the state of you.

“What happened?” Eren asks.

“She fell into the pie. She’s always been such a clutz.” Sukuna states.

“Into the pie? On the plate?” Eren asks.

“Yes.” Sukuna responds.

Eren gives the two of you a weird look, as he shuffles back into the house and returns with a towel. You wipe all of the filling off of your face before hitting Sukuna straight in the face with the towel and crossing your arms.

“Is it asshole day, Sukuna?”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’m the asshole?” Sukuna asks.

“You just smashed a pie into my face.”

“And you didn’t return my calls for two years.” Sukuna responds, glaring.

You sigh, leaning back in the chair, as you look at him.

“Make no mistake, Y/N. I’m not Eren and I’m not Mikasa. I’m not going to beat around the bush just for you.” Sukuna states.

“Thanks, Sukuna. I can always count on you to support me.” you deadpan.

Sukuna stops in his tracks, before swallowing hard.

“Lana told me to be nice to you.” he states.

“You don’t have to be. Whatever it is you’re feeling…I’m sure that I deserve it.” you respond.

“Contrary to your belief, I don’t actually enjoy being rude. I actually hate it. But…there are things you have to know. You’re really fucking stupid sometimes, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re a changed man, Sukuna.”

Sukuna shifts in his seat, as you quickly bite your words.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You really do seem different. Better.” you murmur.

Sukuna smiles.

“I am. Different. Better.”

You lean forward, placing a hand on his forearm.

“You’re a fucking dad, Sukuna.”

“I know. Who would have thought?” he asks.

“Me. I always knew you’d be great at this type of thing.”

“Yeah right.” Sukuna responds, sarcastically.

“No, really. You…you have that ability. The type that really good parents have. You always know what to give people, what they need to hear. You know that people don’t give things to me straight, so you always do it for them. And you’re the only person on my side - the only person who says that and means it.” you respond.

Sukuna leans forward on his elbow.

“I could have done better by you. I know that.”

“Sukuna-”

“The awards show. I could have stopped you. I…I figured that Historia and Jean were riling you up. That you were already far past a point of reason and I just…”

“I would have cussed you out if you tried to go against me in that moment, Sukuna. Kicked you out of my house.”

“I thought that much but…but still. I could have made you listen.” Sukuna responds.

“Don’t get me wrong. I find lots of value in your words. But really, I wouldn’t have listened. And…and you were still there in the way that I needed you. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that the person who dragged me out of that dressing room that night was you.” you murmur.

Sukuna sighs.

“I fucking hate you for not talking to me, Y/N. I get not talking to anyone from Attack on Titan. To Levi, Hange, whatever. But I was never apart of that. I was your friend, Y/N. I was always on your side.”

“I’m sorry.” you respond.

“You don’t think I would have fought for your albums back with you? That I wouldn’t have wrung Eren’s neck out if he asked me to? That I wouldn’t have crawled into your shitty house and stayed there with you if you needed me to?”

You swallow hard.

“It’s embarrassing to be around people when I know I’m doing something wrong. But it’s infinitely more embarrassing when that person is you, Sukuna.” you respond.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…you’re one of the best people I know. You’re always saying what’s on your mind, you’re exactly what I want to be. Honest. Earnest. A good friend. I know I can be shitty. It’s just really hard for me to do it in front of you.” you respond.

“You think too much of me.” Sukuna states.

“You think too little of yourself.” you respond.

“Don’t quote my girl back to me, L/N.” Sukuna sneers, lightly shoving you.

You smile.

“Your girl, eh?” your respond, smirking at him as you watch a pink flush crawl up his neck.

“Do you think you’re funny? We have a kid together.” Sukuna responds.

“You have a crush on Lana.” you respond.

“Okay?”

“That’s so cute, Sukuna.” you respond, exaggerating each syllable as he rolls his eyes at you.

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him as hard as you can as you feel the tears collect in your eyes. Sukuna pulls back the second he feels you sniffling, his eyes pinched in annoyance.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m so happy for you, Sukuna.” you whisper.

Sukuna deflates, pinching his lips shut.

“You could have told me too, Sukuna. About all of it, everything that happened. When-when you were a kid. I would have listened to you. And I would never tell.” you whisper.

“I almost did tell you. That night that we were in my trailer. When Historia released Lacy.”

You gesture for him to continue.

“I told you that…that hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror. It was more humiliating for me than that. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was, how I let that happen to me-”

You feel the tears immediately burn in your eyes.

“-but it bothered me even more. Because I look just like Yuuji, Y/N. Yuuji means the fucking world to me, just like you do. Like Lana does. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him. And…and at that point I realized. That I didn’t even hold myself to that standard. That I didn’t see that happening to myself and think that I deserved better.” Sukuna states.

“Sukuna. You deserve so much better. So much better.” you whisper.

“I know that now. And I have it too, Y/N.”

You and Sukuna turn your heads to look at Lana and Teddy through the window, the two of them showing Eren something in a book. The two of you smile at each other.

“Luckily for me, Lana showed up right when I needed her. I can’t believe that I’ve been walking around her for years, on red carpets and at awards shows. She was right under my nose this entire time and I had no idea.”

“There’s this legend. An invisible string of fate. That the person that you’re destined to be with, the two of you have a little string tied around your pinkies the second you’re born. And no matter how far you go, you’ll still have a pull on each other. End up together.” you respond.

“Yeah?”

“I’m pretty sure the two of you have been making steps towards each other the entire time, Sukuna.” you respond.

He smiles in response.

“Me too.” Sukuna responds.

You wipe the wetness from your cheek, as you lean back in the chair.

“Okay, Sukuna. Give it to me straight.”

“Give what? A slap?” Sukuna asks.

“No. I know you. You’ve probably got a lot to say to me. So…just come right out and say it. I can take it.”

Sukuna smiles, almost too sinisterly.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive? You can’t fight me on any of it.”

“Fine. Just tell me.”

He takes a deep breath before talking, the tone in his voice so matter-of-fact that it catches you off guard.

“You have no right to give Mikasa shit for picking another maid of honor. Even if Amy’s a bitch to you. Quit playing the victim with her on that one, becuase first and foremost, you will lose. And second of all, she’s getting married. You’re the one who needs to bite the bullet and make sure that she has a good day.”

“Wait-” you start.

“Why aren’t you writing any music anymore? Why are you accrediting all of your success to Danny and Sareen when you’re the one who wrote those songs?”

“I’m not-”

“Aren’t you though? And when are you going to stop punishing Eren for something that you did to him first.”

“Sukuna.”

“What are you mad at him for? That he didn’t tell you what he was going through? Isn’t that what you did to him first? Because yeah, you’d call him before all your shows and pretend like things were fine. And then Eren had to find out from a fucking interview that those two dickwads were starving you. That they were controlling you like you were one of their assets.”

You sigh.

“I’m not playing the victim with Mikasa.”

“Aren’t you though? Because if it were me, if I had not talked to my best friend in two years despite the fact that she reached out multiple times, I’d think that I was in the wrong.”

“I was struggling.”

“And you don’t think she wasn’t? Did you know that she almost broke up with Jean in the years that you were gone?”

You pale.

“What?”

“Did you ask her? Did you ask her how she was when you came back?”

You swallow hard.

“You don’t think that she needed you for that? For something as big as almost losing Jean when he’s always been by her side. You don’t think that she needed you for even small things even beyond that? Someone to talk to. Someone to support her?”

“Are her and Jean okay?”

“Yes. Eren was there. But Eren can’t exactly replace what you are for Mikasa. And god knows he has the emotional capabilities of a fucking teaspoon.”

It seems that every time you’re at the depths of your regret, of your guilt, you find that there is always a way to sink down further.

“Quiet now, aren’t you? Fight me about the music.” he states.

“No.”

“Because I’m right?” he asks.

“So what if you are? I just don’t want to write anything anymore. It’s not that serious.”

Sukuna leans forward, inches between your faces.

“It’s not that serious, for any normal person. But it is that serious for you. Because you love to write music, Y/N. You scribble lyrics onto your scripts when you’re supposed to be reading them. You hum songs when you’re basically doing anything. And you’re not doing it now, because you’re still in that godforsaken hole you sank yourself into in your house.”

“So what if I am, Sukuna? What if I am? Don’t you get that I’m fucking scared of this type of thing? That it is isn’t easy? I lost Eren. And then I lost my music. All of my friends. You don’t think that type of thing was fucking hard for me?” you respond, warm tears spilling out of your eyes.

Sukuna leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing hard.

“You were never one to back down from a fight. What kind of hold do you think those two idiots have over you at this point? Need I remind you, that they’re only famous, that they only have a claim to their names, because of you. Did you lose Eren? No. Because he’s literally peering through the fucking window right now because you’re crying. Did you lose your music? No, because he fought so hard to somehow get it back for you. And you didn’t lose your friends. We’re right in front of you.”

You pull back, glaring at him. Because as annoying as he is, he always did point out the truth. You give Eren a smile through the window, gesturing to him that it’s okay, as he gives you a disbelieving look and walks away.

“I’m mad at Eren for what he said to me.” you respond.

“That’s valid. But have you ever considered that he might have been mad at you for what you said to him too? Or even worse, that you could have really hurt him?”

“What did I say to him? Because he-”

“You didn’t pick him.”

“But, Sukuna. I had to do that. Sareen and Danny-”

“So you get it. You get that what you did was because you had to. So why don’t you understand that what Eren said to you was because it was what he had to say too?”

You sigh.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Y/N. You know I don’t say any of this to hurt you. But you’re not twenty-one anymore. And neither is Eren. It’s time for you to face this head on. Both of you.” he states, the tone in voice so caring that it makes you falter.

You sigh.

“Did you know that Eren was struggling that bad?”

“No. And I gave him tons of shit at the time for it. You’re not the only one with regrets.” he states.

After a fresh shower, you pad back into the main room to find Eren in the kitchen, while Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy cuddle in the crouch. Eren gestures for you to join him at your side, as he pushes a little cutting board and the food towards your side.

“Are you trusting me to cut the vegetables? Are you finally viewing me as your equal, Eren Jaeger?” you ask, feigning shock.

“It’s a safety knife. That’s what Teddy uses when Lana teaches him how to cook.” Eren responds, smirking at you.

You elbow him, accompanied with nice string of insults as you stand at Eren’s side. You look to the picture at the your side, of Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy dressed up nice in a little courthouse.

“Hey. What’s this?”

“Lana and Sukuna are married.” Eren states.

“Excuse me. You said they were dating.” you state.

“We said dating in the documentary, because they were dating at the time. But at their one year anniversary, they did a small little court wedding. The three of them got takeout sushi and came home like right after.” Eren states.

You walk over to the picture, inspecting it in full this time. At Lana’s white slip dress, at their matching rings, and the little bouquet in Teddy’s hands. The three of them are smiling so brightly, Lana and Sukuna leaning their temples together, with their eyes closed and bright smiles.

“Eren.”

“Hm?”

“How did that happen?” you ask, gesutring over to the three of them.

Eren sets his knife down, lookng over at the picture as he places his hands on his hips. You can already tell from his stance that whatever he’s about to say is going to be bitingly sassy.

“Okay. When two people love each other, they get in a be-”

“Shut up, idiot. I mean, Lana and Sukuna.”

Eren shoves you in the side, as the two of you avert your eyes to the three of them on the couch.

“After that night, when I had said everything to you, I had immediately called Levi and Hange. Lana and I had been debating calling them and asking for help the second I ended up in the hospital, but that night was kind of the final straw for me.” Eren states.

“Your injury should have been your final straw, Eren.” you respond, pinching your eyes at him.

“At that point, I was ready to drag Scott Clarkson into the ground. From my standpoint, I didn’t really have anything to lose from suing them. And Connie and Lana, it didn’t take them much convincing to follow. But Levi basically wanted to stack all of our cards in our favor, that if we were going to say something, anyone else who has something to say would get to take that chance too.” Eren adds.

“That’s where he came in.” you state, to which Eren gives you an affirmative nod.

“Sukuna had told us almost everything about what happened to him, except for…you know.”

The sexual assault.

“Yeah.”

“Lana was the first person that he told. And I don’t know what she told him, since that’s not something I understand having experienced but she obviously does, but…they both just kind of came to us one day. Told us that they wanted to own it.” Eren adds.

“So, they just got close? From all that? Not that it’s not a thing that connects him, but he…he’s always so reserved.” you ask.

“I think he just naturally gravitated towards her, that’s all. I think they have these deep, all encompassing emotions that they don’t share with other people. The feel things deeply, love really hard. It was just like an underlying thing…that they knew they would get along in that way. Like you and me.”

“Like you and me?”

“Y’know. We were close right off the bat. No awkward stage, no holding things back from each other. Well, in the beginning at least.” Eren states.

You hum in response.

“Sukuna met Teddy pretty early on. When Lana and Sukuna started dating, they were serious straight off the bat. He kind of just…fit in perfectly with them. Nothing really changed. Teddy just kind of called him dad in passing one day. No one really said much about it, but I did find Sukuna crying later.”

You frown, clutching your hands on your chest.

“I’m really happy for them, Eren. There’s no one who deserves it more than them.”

You feel a brush past your shoulder to find Sukuna and Lana at your sides, the two of them tip toeing into the fridge and pulling a little box out. Eren hands you a little box of candles, as you pull out five little green ones.

The four of you huddle over the cake, perfectly placing them and lighting them, as you walk over to where Teddy’s still sitting, fully engrossed into the screen. Sukuna turns to the three of you, quietly counting down, before you all burst out singing and Teddy turns around excitedly.

You watch as Sukuna smashes a decent amount of frosting onto Teddy’s cheeks after he blows out the candles, as Lana quickly snaps a picture of the two of them with the cake.

“Is that your thing now, Sukuna? You just smash dessert into people’s faces?” you ask.

“Well, you deserved it. And I’ve been doing this since my first birthday with him.” Sukuna states.

“Don’t tell me you smashed food in a grown woman’s face?” Lana asks, deadpanning.

“It was pie. That hardly counts as food. And again, need I repeat, that she deserved it.”

Lana comes over, securing her hands around your shoulders, as she presses a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re rude. Our princess does no wrong.” she states, gesturing for Eren to join him at her side.

Eren follows suit, gesturing for Lana to get in the picture, as he points the little camera at them, and you peer over his shoulder at the viewfinder.

“Teddy. What did you wish for?” Eren asks.

“Don’t say! Your wish won’t come true.” Lana whines.

“Y/N!” Teddy states, giving you a bright smile.

Sukuna laughs, reaching for his sides to tickle at him.

“Sorry buddy. You already snoozed and lost on that one.” Sukuna responds.

The three of them shuffle to the counter as Sukuna starts cutting the cake into little slices and placing them on the plates. After a decent amount of dessert and sweet pictures, Eren shuffles away with Teddy to set him to bed, as you shuffle into your own room and muse over what you’re going to say to Eren later.

Eren makes his way down the following morning, to find the three of them mulling around in the kitchen. He makes it a point to shove Lana and smack Sukuna, before pressing a kiss on top of Teddy’s head and taking the seat next to them.

“You’re not going on your walk?” Eren asks, looking up at Sukuna.

“Someone already claimed the beach.”

“Huh?”

Sukuna points behind him, as Eren looks out the window to find you sitting there in the sand, on a little blanket. Your back is facing towards him, your hair slightly swaying in the light breeze of the beach outside.

“What’s she doing?” Eren asks.

“She wants to talk to you, Eren.” Lana states.

Eren pales.

“Out there?” Eren asks.

The two of them nod as Eren feels knots twisting in his stomach, that whatever semblance of relationship that the two of you were building back together was going to come crashing down in a second. That the harsh, cruel justice that he was owed was finally going to be served to him.

“Fuck. Okay. Do I look fine?” Eren asks, turning to the two of them.

Sukuna and Teddy squint their eyes in confusion, as Lana gives him a big thumbs up and all but pushes him onto the patio. He turns around and gives her a pointed glare, which she only returns with a smile as he starts trudging towards you, feet digging into the sand.

You notice Eren before he can creep up behind you, as you give him a smile and gesture for him to take the spot next to you. It’s decently overcast, a slight chill in the air as you pull your hoodie around you and watch the waves crash ahead.

“Hey.” Eren says.

Eren takes the spot at your side, hiking his knees to his chest, as your elbows brush against each other in the cold.

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” you ask.

“I beg your pardon?” Eren resopnds, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

You can barely contain your laughter, as Eren quickly catches on. His cheeks are positively pink as he starts grumbling under his breath about how mean you are and you choke out an apology. The two of you sit there in silence as the water pulls close to the shore, just to quickly retreat back into the big mass of water.

You bite the bullet this time.

“The song that you wrote that day. The one that you sang to me on the beach.” you say.

“Yeah?” Eren asks, almost too attentive as he hangs at the ends of your words.

“That’s my first question. What did it mean?” you ask.

Eren looks back out at the waves.

“I thought that what we had ran it’s course when I wrote it. It was a few days before you got there. And by that point, I was already so down in it that all I was left with was the feeling of being grateful. That I did get to experience that love, with you, at some point. And you know. You’re the moon. I’m the ocean. It was a nice solace to think our love would last forever that way..” Eren responds.

You nod in response.

“That night. When- when you tried to kiss me. I told you I couldn’t because you were still with Hyla. Why didn’t you tell me then and there that you had broken up?” you ask.

“I could have. But I wanted to know if you wanted me still, with such extreme urgency, that-that I kind of forgot that I was technically dating her in the first place. I said it before, but I never really considered that real, Y/N. She didn’t even warrant a mention in my mind. Or ever mean anything to me.” Eren responds.

“Okay.”

Eren pauses. You suppose your response was barely convincing and that he can most definitely tell.

“I’m only telling you this part because Sukuna is going to tell you anyway and he’s been holding it over my head for weeks.” Eren states.

“What?”

“It’s embarrassing. Just- pretend like it’s nothing when Sukuna says it to you.”

“Okay?”

“The yacht. When-when Hyla kissed me.”

“Oh. Vomitgate.” you respond, smiling at him.

“Don’t call it that!” he whines.

You laugh as you gesture for him to continue, his cheeks lightly dusted pink.

“Hyla likes to wear a lot of lipgloss. And she..she always wears this red one. That smells like cherries.” he states.

“Okay?”

“I didn’t know that it tasted like cherries too. And when she kissed me, I-I could taste it.” Eren mumbles.

“Congratulations? I’m glad it tasted good while you were kissing her.”

“No! No, Y/N. You don’t get it. You….you taste like cherries when I kissed you. Or when you used to.”

“Huh?”

“The slushies. Your lips always tasted like cherries. So when she kissed me, I-I immediately thought of you. And…and then I realized it was her.”

“And then you…projectile vomited?” you finish.

“Okay, you promised you wouldn’t make fun.”

You smile. Primarily because he’s so embarrassed that it’s cute. And that in the most evil way, the thought of him being so disgusted by kissing someone that isn’t you that it makes him vomit makes your heart warm in a special way.

“I said no such thing, Eren.”

The two of you sit there in silence for some time, as you muse over his words. The air only seems to get colder as time goes on, the clouds swirling in the sky above the two of you.

“The things that you said to me, Eren. I-I know they weren’t true. But I want to know how you came up with them. Because I understand that it was something you had to say. But they just fell out of your mouth so easily. That you only wanted me for that and nothing more and-”

“In no way were those words easy for me to say. Don’t even say that.” Eren states, the urgency in his tone so adamant that it makes you sweat.

“How did you come up with it? Because it must have been in the back of your mind if-”

“Y/N. I come from literally the shittiest, meanest place that you can imagine. I’ve told you before. The things that Zeke had said to me.” Eren states.

“And?”

Eren stops. His voice is softer this time, almost laced with a pinch of hurt.

“When life gets harder, I have to get harder to match. If you show up and I can’t have you, the thought of it fills me with so much anger, so much hurt that it all comes out. On you. And that doesn’t make anything I said okay, but you being there. Having you so close to me and having to send you away. It had to be something cruel. You wouldn’t have gone otherwise.”

“Well-”

“Don’t even say that to me. Because I know for a fact that if I had told you any of this then, you would never leave. You wouldn’t listen to me because you’d want to stay with me.”

“Is there something wrong with that? With me wanting to be there for you?”

“Of course, not. It’s just that you being there with me required you to be there. With those shitty people. And if it comes to you or me, I’d pick you. Even if I had to do something shitty to make sure that you were far away.”

You’re immediately reminded of the conversation that you had with Eren. Or more acutely, the fight that the two of you had. Of what Eren had said to you.

But I couldn’t have you there. Because if it came down to it, when I had to pick between covering someone else or taking care of you, I’d pick you.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Of the implication that if Eren was faced with the choice - of you and Teddy or you and Connie - that he would pick you.

Even if it was the wrong choice to make.

“And Armin?” you ask.

“That’s the thing about you two. You both came in so hot. I was expecting after the interview that the two of you were going to cuss me out, leave without even saying anything. But your instinct - both of yours - was to immediately believe it wasn’t true. Bittersweet, because you knew me well enough to know I’d never really say that but also shitty becuase then I had to bite back to make sure you left.” Eren states.

You lift the little cover at your side and slide the little box into Eren’s hands. You see his eyes go wide immediately, as you hand him a polaroid camera, the exact specific brand that Erwin had gifted Armin all of those years ago.

“I can make my amends with it. Even if it hurt my feelings. And hopefully that helps you make amends with Armin.” you state.

“Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been looking for this for a better part of the past year.” he states.

“I found it this morning. And…I’ve eavedropped on one of your fights with Armin.” you state.

“Nosy.”

“Okay, I’ll just go return it.” you state.

“No!” Eren states, quickly clutching his arms around the box as you laugh.

Eren sighs.

“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” Eren responds.

“I think I have an idea.” you respond.

Eren smiles, albeit halfheartedly, as he looks down at the box.

“My turn. Unless you had more?” he murmurs.

“No. Go ahead.”

“The awards show. What do you think about it now?” Eren asks.

You sigh.

“What you were saying, it seems much more obvious now. That it was Historia and Jean there. That they were riling me up. Historia, she was already mad at you for what I said, for going against what we had as kids, and for Jean. It was personal. He basically felt like you had betrayed him and told me that. I suppose now that if Mikasa was there, she wouldn’t have let me go as far as I did.” you respond.

“Mikasa wanted to come. Danny and Sareen didn’t let her. They knew for a fact she wouldn’t let you. She’d want to be there for you in the way you needed. Probably put my face on a dart board and talk shit about me.” Eren muses.

“I would have preferred that over what I really did. But I remember that now. Danny and Sareen said that her hysterics weren’t conducive to the situation. And granted, Mikasa’s never short of being dramatic but…always calm when you need her. I can’t believe I forgot about that in the moment. And Sukuna, he never gave his opinion. He just told me to make my own decisions and that he would support me, which makes more sense in hindsight too.” you respond.

Eren nods in response, content with your answer.

“Why did you cry when I was singing the grudge?” you ask.

“Why did you cry when you were singing the grudge?” Eren asks.

“The fight we had. You told me beforehand that..that I didn’t have any faith in you like you did in me. It was the first time that it might have crossed my mind. That you didn’t mean anything that you said and…and then I was singing a song about how I’d never forgive you. And you were crying during it. It pretty much sold me on the fact that I was right.” you respond.

Eren nods.

“For me, it was the fact that you were playing the piano. On your own. I was waiting for years to see you do it on your own, to take that step and be confident in your own abilities. You’ve always been great and all I wanted to do in that moment was to stand there. Tell you I told you so. And I couldn’t.”

“What did you mean? When you said I didn’t have faith in you?” you murmur.

“I was just really upset in that moment, Y/N. I didn’t-”

“I want to know.”

Eren sighs.

“You thought right. I was upset that you believed it so blindly. That you believed an edited interview of me. And what I had said that night, which you had every right to believe. I was just-”

“It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t mad at you. And I’m still not. I regretted it after I said it.”

“Okay. I appreciate the grace you give me, Eren.”

“Nothing you haven’t given me first.” Eren responds.

You both avert your eyes from one another.

Anything else?” Eren asks.

“I guess not. Is there something you want to tell me?” you state.

“I want to know what you were doing in the years that I wasn’t with you.”

“In the house?”

“No. No, when you were with Danny and Sareen. After-after we said fishbowl on the rooftop.” Eren states.

You sigh.

“I feel fucking stupid about it all in hindsight.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes.

Eren’s quick to notice, like he always is, as he pulls you closer to him and you lean your head against his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re okay, just take a breath-” Eren whispers.

“I did three albums with world tours back to back. Movies in the hiatuses.” you state.

“And?” Eren murmurs.

“And I didn’t take a break once. I-I only realized when I locked myself in that godforsaken house how much time I had lost. How much of it I swam through when I came back and Falco was basically grown. I left him when he was barely a teenager and then he was just…this whole person. Comforting me when that’s always been my job. That Jean and Mikasa had moved so far in their relationship that they were actually going to get married. That we all fucking grew up.” you respond.

You wipe your nose.

“I realized really quickly that I wasn’t making money off of the Lucky One. I had spent that entire first year, not even thinking about you or anything else, because I was just fighting desperately behind the sidelines to get them back.” you state.

Eren snorts.

“I think when you stopped fighting is when I started. We had won the lawsuit at that point and I-I was told to negotiate for whatever I wanted.” Eren responds.

“How did you know?”

“Danny and Sareen. At the awards show, they had made it a point to me. That it was always their goal. I had been inquiring about it ever since then and…the second you released the Lucky One and disappeared I knew they were going to do something. I tried to negotiate the entire album back, money and all, but all I could get you was the rights. And I’ve talked to Niccolo about it. You can re-record them or-or we can do something else but-”

“Thank you.” you state.

You look back at the ocean. You don’t say something for sometime, which fills Eren’s stomach with an overwhelming amount of discomfort as he rests his head against his knees. But you can’t even stomach it. How you’re supposed to thank Eren for what he did. For what he’s always done.

For how consistent he’s always been. When it comes to you.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

You look over at him, or more precisely, at the little tattoo on his bicep as you open up his arms and rest your fingers against it. He mimics your motions, smiling at the little inked skin.

“I was half convinced you were going to get it removed.” Eren states.

“I almost did.” you respond.

He laughs.

“I always thought it was stupid. That you wanted to be the ocean when I thought you were the moon. You know, like a light shining on a dark night? That’s always what I thought you were for me.” you state.

“It feels like there’s more to that statement.” Eren responds.

“Can you see the moon right now?” you ask.

Eren looks up at the overcast sky, the clouds dense above.

“No.”

“But you can see the ocean. All the time, whenever you want. The waves pull back, but they always return.” you state.

Eren looks up at you, in confusion.

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m saying you picked right. I am the moon. Fickle. Unreliable. I disappear at the first sign of a storm. But the ocean…”

You look over at your right, to the waves crashing.

“It’s one of the only things in nature that keeps its promise. Keeps crashing back on the shore, against the pull.”

Eren’s eyes falter.

“You had every right to do what you did.” Eren responds.

“I know that. But it was always you and me. From the start. I was the one who lost sight of that when I let you go.” you state.

Eren swallows hard.

“Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice in the smallest whisper.

The fact that he even asks shatters something in you, into tiny little pieces. That you had sown so much doubt into him.

“I…I had so much faith in us. What we had…it came to us so easily. Snuck on me so quickly that I took it for granted. I figured that if I had to let you go for sometime, you’d come right back to me. The same way that we were before.”

“You were nineteen.” Eren states.

“I was stupid. Because that’s not how you saw it.”

“No. No, it-”

“Don’t lie. You thought I left you.”

“It’s water under the bridge.” Eren responds.

You sigh.

“Eren. Eren, if you felt that way, why didn’t you say that? I- I fucking adored you. I would have pulled back and said no the second that you had asked me not to. Surely you must have known that I would move any mountain for you?” you ask.

Eren looks at you, the look in his eyes faltering as you realize.

“Eren. Did you know that I would do anything for you? Did you know that I loved you as much as you loved me?” you ask.

“I did.” Eren responds, the lightest hint of disbelief in your voice.

You pull him closer, cupping his face in your hands.

“Eren. You were my person. I loved you so, so much and you didn’t even know?” you ask, warm tears filling your eyes.

“It wasn’t anything about you. It was me. It’s my fault that I didn’t think that.” Eren whispers.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that, Eren.” you respond, pulling away from him as the hot, embarrassing tears pour down your eyes.

At the fact that Eren’s so willing to forgive. So quick to look past the fact that you took the love that he had given you for granted. That you hadn’t appreciated it, and him, half as much as you should have and now it was never going to be the same. That he was so insecure in himself, that he couldn’t accept the love that you had given him. And that you didn’t even notice.

Eren sits quietly at your side, making no move to comfort you this time. All you can see are his green eyes, looking directly into yours, almost like he’s waiting. Mulling over the exact words that he has to say to you. And the fact that he’s sitting there trying to comfort you, when he should be cursing your name, makes it ten times worse.

“Y/N.” he murmurs.

“No.”

“Y/N.” he repeats, softer this time.

You shake your head as he scoots closer to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he gives you a smile. He wipes away your constant stream of tears with his thumbs, as his face washes over in the softest, most comforting look.

“You know that stupid, cheesy as fuck saying? That you can’t give love to someone else if you don’t have it for yourself?”

“Eren.”

“It’s not a bad thing to give yourself kindness. To give nineteen year old you grace the same way I give twenty-one year old me grace.” he whispers.

“I was old enough to know better.”

“And so was I. But your life isn’t meant to be a punishment. Neither is mine. We’re not supposed to sit here and never forgive ourselves over something what’s already happened.” he whispers.

“I picked wrong. You- I let you leave, Eren.” you cry.

Eren smiles.

“Am I gone?” Eren asks.

You sigh.

That’s not the way you meant it.

Eren smiles, tilting your face up in his clutches as he gives your cheek a little squish.

“Answer my question, Margaret.”

“Why do you call me Margaret?”

“You first. Am I gone?”

“Yes.” you deadpan.

Eren leans closer to you, noses almost touching, as he whispers.

“I’m right here. I’ve spent far too much time without you. Don’t tell anyone but…you’re kind of my favorite person, ever. You’re always going to be my best friend. And as long as you don’t send me away again, I’ll always be right here.”

You sniffle.

“I won’t tell anyone. There’s no one else to tell.”

Eren smiles so wide, so bright at you repeating the same words you had used all those years ago to him, as he pulls you straight into a hug. You deflate straight into his arms, wrapping them around his torso as you inhale his biting, minty smell once more.

“Wanna know why I call you Margaret?” he asks.

“Please. I know for a fact that it’s not just some random name you picked.”

Eren pulls back, a devious grin on his face.

“Margaret is the name of the moon.”

Of course.

“...of Uranus.” he finishes.

“Huh?”

“Uranus. It’s the name of one of the moons of Uranus.” Eren repeats, emphasizing every last syllable.

You can tell from the way he’s smiling that he’s incredibly pleased with himself. And it makes uou break out into a teary laugh.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not. All of Uranus’s moons are named after Shakespeare characters. And the first one that came to mind when we were having that talk out of all of them was Margaret.”

“So you intentionally gave me a name based off of an anus?”

“Not just any anus, Y/N. Ur-anus. It’s very significant to our relationship.”

“Ew, Eren. Oh my god.” you respond, the two of you laughing as you look at him with disgust.

“What?”

“I can’t tell what’s worse. This or Hobo Eren.”

“Hey.”

“Nevermind. It’s definitely Hobo Eren. That’s an atrocity to humanity, Eren.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m horrendous” he responds, slightly shoving you in the side as you return the favor.

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page. It’s been putting a real damper on our relationship.” you respond.

Eren looks over at you and smiles.

“Are there any dampers on our relationship now? For real?” Eren asks.

You shake your head.

“No. But…you and me on the same side now. Always. You can’t keep secrets from me and-”

“I won’t.” he responds, definitively.

“Then no. No dampers. You and me till the end.” you respond.

Eren smiles as you look back at the waves crashing and you lean your head against his shoulder again. He softly murmurs into your hair.

“Why do you call me Bruce? Yours had to be just as deliberate as mine.” he asks.

“You don’t need to know. It’s not half as cute as yours.” you respond.

“Well, nothing is as cute as Uranus unfortunatley.”

“Naturally. I…um. You…you know that shark from Finding Nemo? That…that pretends to be friends with the fish and then tries to eat them?” you state, giving him a peachy smile.

“No fucking way.”

“I’m sorry!” you whine.

“You’re so rude, Y/N L/N. I gave you a sweet, sentimental nickname and that’s how you repay me.”

“You gave me Uranus, Eren.”

“There is nothing more scared than my anus, Y/N. You know that.”

“You’re so immature. You have the humor of a twelve year old.” you respond.

“And you love it. One would argue that…that you enable this behavior from me. I’d never make these jokes if you didn’t think they were funny.”

“You tell jokes based off of me?” you ask, sarcastically.

“Yes. I want to see you laugh. You think I’m just out here saying stuff just to say it?”

“You’re full of shit.”

“And you’re not even half deserving of my anus.” Eren responds.

You and Eren bicker back and forth. And the sun rises, straight through the patches of the clouds.

On the two of you, together again.

next part linked here

an: MEOW

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tsukimefuku · 5 days

Text

blunt trauma ♰ nanami kento

summary: your mission is to execute a curse user. the issue? said curse user is nanami kento, your former high school classmate and the man who you still secretly love.

tags and cw: dark content, no use of y/n, sorcerer!f!reader, villain!nanami, +18, explicit smut (mostly rough with tender moments hate/love sex), unprotected sex (wrap it, ppl), masturbation, oral (f receiving), pv, from enemies to enemies who fucked 👍, drama and angst (i’m a latina who grew up watching telenovelas), mentions of death, canon-typical violence, ptsd, cursing, hurt/no comfort, this man is saltier than the sea and turned it into everybody else's problem.

wc: 7.5k

notes etc.: somehow it became a character study. this is my rendition of what i think gege would make nanami to be like if they followed their original plan and had nanami be a villain. inspo list is so huge i had to make a playlist, i got carried away.

writing/reading soundtrack: playlist link ; main songs → way down we go (kaleo) and daylight (david kushner).

disclaimer: i do not in any way approve of (or encourage) the relationship depicted here. it is toxic and bad for all parties involved. this is fictional and should stay that way.

oh, father, tell me ♰ do we get what we deserve?

It felt like the air had been beaten out of your lungs by the very one and only blunt blade you ever knew when you heard the news from Gojo.

Of course the first thing he did when he finished wrapping things up was calling you. If roles were reversed, and this had been Geto, he wouldn't expect any less from you.

During the School's Exchange Event, Jujutsu High was attacked by multiple high grade curses and curse users.

One of them was your former best friend from high school, Nanami Kento.

"Are you certain it was him?"

"Absolutely," Gojo replied on the other side of the line, "there were traces of cursed energy from his cursed technique. He was also spotted by one of MeiMei's ravens."

"And how many students did he…"

"Two students from Kyoto."

Your head instantly felt dizzy.

"He also killed around a dozen assistants and people securing cursed objects underground."

"Shit… shit," you muttered, forgetting for a few seconds what words were and how to form a coherent sentence. Following suit, your stomach dropped with a sinking ache the moment you made the obvious realization, uttering the most painful thing you had to say in your life — even worse than he's gone, so many years before.

"This will earn him a death sentence, won't it?"

Gojo was silent for a few moments.

"Hey…"

"Tell me. I can take it."

After a bated breath — from your end, mostly — he confirmed your worst fears.

"Yes. It will."

Ever since Geto's and Nanami's defection, you and Gojo had a special type of shared sorrow over each other's failures to save the people you both loved the most. Call it trauma bonding or codependency, but you developed an unwavering sense of loyalty towards one another.

For that reason, he already knew what you were about to ask him, and you only would because you knew he wouldn't find it in himself to refuse it.

"When it happens, please, have me be appointed as the executioner."

"Of course."

Sitting with a glass of whiskey while gazing out of the window in an understated house just by the outskirts of Sendai, Nanami couldn't say he was fulfilled, unable to grasp the concept of feeling in any way elated ever since his teenage years. However, he was definitely satisfied that this plan had worked.

He managed to put a dent into Jujutsu Society, aiding Geto — or, at least, someone that looked like him, not that Nanami truly cared about it by this point — in retrieving multiple cursed objects that would be used for their inevitable fallout.

There had been a few casualties, though.

Two students and many personnel died — or rather, met their fateful end by the edge of his blunt blade —, but some deaths should be expected if Jujutsu Society was to be brought to the ground, down to its last brick.

Ever since that fateful day when he was nothing but a tall child sitting beside the cold corpse of his best friend, Yu Haibara, Nanami had simmered what would become a cauldron of absolute venom-dripping rage against Jujutsu Society.

To hell with saving other people — what about them? What about the teenager that would never grow to be a sorcerer, who became an inanimate nothing before ever getting the chance of making something out of himself?

That face… Nanami could never forget it. It haunted his dreams, even a decade later. Such a stark contrast between the light-spirited smiles and this cold, gray monolith that laid in the morgue.

They had no right to rob their students from their youth, much less from their lives, but that's exactly what Jujutsu High did when they didn't even bother to check the mission appropriately before dispatching Haibara and Nanami to a certain death.

Nanami escaped, but just barely, by the skin of his teeth. Haibara, however, wasn't blessed with the same luck, and drew the short straw when his hitched final breaths met their end against Nanami's shoulder. Nanami, who carried his best friend on his back, desperately tried to win a losing race against death.

Help was late to arrive.

They were too late for Haibara.

And, in a sense, they were too late for him, too.

The worst part, though, was when they were finally being transported all the way back to Jujutsu High. As he glanced over Haibara’s cadaver, now covered by a body bag, one particularly insensitive assistant very rudely stated, “at least there is a body to be buried.”

At least

There is a body

To be buried

Those words echoed in his head for what felt like eternity. Was that the best they all had to hope for? To at least have remains left behind for the mourning?

In any case, that was why, even though he had to kill, Nanami never mangled any of his human victims — something not easy to do, given how his technique worked and how easy it was to split someone in half.

You had noticed this perverted benevolence while looking over the necropsy reports, a realization that just added insult to injury.

Let there be something for the funeral, I suppose, was what he told himself.

In his own twisted way, Nanami figured this was a kindness very few sorcerers received at their tragic ends, and decided he'd definitely be more compassionate than what Jujutsu High put their sorcerers through.

In his eyes, those from Jujutsu High who died under his will were the ones granted a truly merciful death.

His peace was disturbed by the sound of the entrance door being brutally kicked in, flying its way across the living room. He pulled his blunt blade from the side of his armchair with his free hand, but quickly put it down when realizing it was you that had just barged inside.

He knew you very well — well enough to be certain you wouldn't come swinging at him immediately.

"I can see you still have a temper. Destroying the door wasn’t necessary, I would've opened it for you," he stated, sipping on his drink.

"I don't care," you retorted, "I guess you already know why I'm here, in any case."

"I do. You're here to carry out my death sentence," he stated, completely unbothered, as if talking about the weather.

As if he was just mundanely stuck in his ways.

You huffed, placing your hand over your sword's handle.

"Precisely."

"We haven't spoken in a long time, why don't you take a seat?" Nanami inquired, pointing at the armchair right in front of him. "I want to finish my drink."

You glared at the curse user, as he, unfazed, kept gulping on his whiskey. Nanami was wearing a black buttoned shirt, black pants and black oxford shoes, and you couldn't help but see him as a grim reaper — this was a somber look, fitting for the equally somber man who carried it.

For a second, you took in his features — you hadn’t seen Nanami for a few years after the last time you crossed paths.

His shoulders had slightly broadened, and he still bore the same chiseled face, framed by his sand-blond hair neatly slicked back.

Nanami’s eyes traveled over you quickly, apparently doing the very same thing.

Time had left its marks. It was evident you both had grown up — and apart.

You knew this was a shit idea, but entertained it enough that you actually walked towards the chair and sat down. There were definitely things to be talked about, and you just about had a million questions for him.

Most of them, however, boiled down to what you immediately asked.

"Why did you do it?"

Nanami put his glass on the coffee table right in front of you.

"It was a necessary means to an end."

His words came with frost-bitten coldness, his voice embodying the monotone you once loved, but eventually, grew to hate.

You scoffed, incredulous at his reply, involuntarily clenching your fingers around your katana's handle as it laid on your lap.

"Necessary means to an end? Nanami, you killed teenage sorcerers!"

"As I said, and I don't like repeating myself," he interjected, "it was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause."

"You're such a hypocritical, self-righteous ass!"

Nanami sighed, clearly displeased.

"We have always been able to keep some semblance of respect for each other, despite our… differences. Do not use that foul language with me."

You laughed bitterly, no amusement or fun in your voice as you did.

"Do you think I can still have an ounce of respect for you after what you did? You murdered my people! They were all sorcerers. You killed students, Nanami! Jujutsu High's students! Just like Haibara once was!"

He shot his eyes at you, and the aura of his cursed energy grew sinister at your words.

"Don't say his name."

Yu Haibara, arguably the glue that kept the trio together. You were hot headed, Nanami was intransigent, and Yu was the conciliatory ray of sunshine that kept you two — but you, particularly — from constant quarreling as classmates nearly every day.

But back then, you'd argue with Nanami with love.

This wasn't the case now.

Not entirely, at least.

"He was my best friend too, the three of us were! Do you really think this is what he would've wanted?!" you questioned him, equal parts hurt and enraged.

"I'm not one to ponder on could've or would've been's. Haibara is gone."

"I'm not a would've been!"

You could still remember it. The day you realized why dealing with Nanami and hearing his sharp comebacks riled you up so intensely.

You finally understood you were in love with him.

Ever since the first day you met Nanami, you envied the way he'd be able to keep his feelings in check when you constantly felt like falling apart. You felt jealous at how he was considered a greatly competent individual, regarded by all as the best of your class, while you were basically viewed as a ticking bomb nearing explosion. And finally, it made you livid the way how everyone treated him like the informal leader of the trio when the three of you were out on a mission together.

However, those were the same things that got you to admire your friend and, eventually, fall in love for him.

That day, you asked Nanami to meet you outside after class by himself — much to Haibara's dismay —, because you had something to tell him. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the unforgiving sun of summer was already setting, casting an orange glow through the leaves of the tree you were both under.

After confessing your feelings for him and bracing yourself for being shot down, because why the hell would Nanami Kento, the brilliant, competent, and mature second-year, have any interest in the chaotic, hot headed mess you were, you realized he actually looked surprised. After taking a few moments to collect himself, Nanami told you how he had thought you actually hated him.

At last, somewhat nervous — but definitely intent on not letting it show —, he confided he had affectionate feelings towards you as well.

Your first kiss was awkward, as it would be expected out of two inexperienced people such as you and Nanami were at that age, but it carried the sweet taste of a blue spring marked by teenage years' innocence.

It felt like a promise.

Unfortunately, such promise was unmercifully cut short the very next day, when Nanami and Haibara were dispatched to their life-changing mission.

What an irony it was that, in the end, you were the one to actually mature over Haibara's death, growing up to be an upstanding sorcerer, loved and admired by peers and students alike, and Nanami was the bomb to blow up in everybody's faces.

What a cruel irony.

"I was there too, and I'm still here, having to pick up the pieces of what you deliberately destroyed!" you rasped, angrily.

"You weren't a 'would've been'? Where were you when we needed you? When I needed you?" his voice didn't conceal the tinge of hurt that those questions carried.

What a fucking low blow.

"Nanami, that's not fair. There wasn't anything I could've done in that situation, and you know that!"

You blamed yourself for a while for not going on that mission with them, until you realized that you too would probably have died if you were there. From the three, Nanami was the only one strong and fast enough to pull off an escape like he did.

He diverted his gaze back to the window.

"You were the one to bring up hypothetical scenarios. Let's indulge in them for a minute, shall we?"

Nanami glanced back at you, and his next words brimmed with bitter resentment, even if his voice sounded more calm and collected than ever.

"You see someone you supposedly love slowly sinking into darkness. What do you do?"

"Don't you dare, you condescending prick! I asked you so many fucking times what was going on. You were the one who shut me out!"

Your voice carried a decade-old pain that resonated from the depths of your soul.

It came from all the times you entered his dorm room with his favorite sandwich after he had cooped up in there for days on end, and he didn't even bother to eat it. Every time you asked him to talk to you, said you were there for him, and was met by a vacant stare.

And, at last, the time when he cruelly blamed you for not being there when Haibara died.

The way he coldly told you about Haibara's last words.

According to Nanami, Haibara said he wanted to speak to you one last time, at least to bid you farewell.

And you weren't there.

Oh, the viciousness with which he blamed you, and decided you owed him something for this perceived failure.

The next time Nanami talked to you, he asked you to leave Jujutsu High with him, just like Geto did, and swore to destroy them. You tried, pleaded, implored for him to reconsider and stay, but the very following day, you were met by an empty room where the person you once loved used to be.

That emptiness had, paradoxically, filled you wholly with grief.

Gojo once told you that nobody could save someone who didn't want to be saved.

You still thought you should've tried harder, in a childish attempt at giving yourself an illusory semblance of control over that clusterfuck of a situation.

This is the gap inside our psyche that feeling guilty tries to fill, isn't it?

We can only feel guilty about the things we could've changed, right?

Your voice sounded decades older than yourself, burdening the weight of multiple lifetimes of hurt and grief. Your soul was too old for your own good.

"How can you find it in yourself to blame me for this?! No… This is a prison of your own making. You built the house of cards that is tumbling down on your head as we speak entirely by yourself."

He huffed intensely through his nostrils — Nanami’s version of a snort —, looking the other way before proceeding, each syllable hitting you with the deadly precision of his cursed technique.

"You abandoned us, leaving me and Haibara to fend for ourselves, just like Jujutsu Society did."

By that point, you began yelling, and your voice reverberated all across the room.

"The hell I did!"

You had to take a deep breath before proceeding.

"I just couldn't get behind this dumb idea that we should become curse users and bring down Jujutsu Society."

"Why didn't you come with me?" he finally asked, in an amalgam of pain, sadness, longing, anger, and stinging resentment. "I would have followed you to the deepest recesses of hell if you asked me to."

You huffed, laughing angrily in between your teeth, before thrusting your words like thorns against him.

"Funny you should say that. You'd go anywhere for me? How about staying? Why couldn't you have stayed for me, then?!"

Perhaps that request was egotistical, but you didn't care. If only for a moment, you wanted to give yourself this small privilege — to want in a world of duty.

"I was the one actually left to fend for myself, right inside the belly of the beast, and you couldn't have cared less."

He stared at you, nothing in his eyes other than the void left behind after his spirit got killed with his best friend so many years ago.

"I didn't stay because… Because," Nanami stated, with a grave finality, "and you're the one who chose to stay. You're still actively choosing to, just like you did back then."

"That's not a good enough answer," you replied with a bad taste in your mouth.

"It's what you've earned," he coldly replied, "but in case you change your mind-"

"Enough," you interrupted him, incredulous that even after everything, this man had the nerve of suggesting you'd ever be interested in running away with him. "It appalls me you would even consider I could… After what you've done? No, never."

Nanami sighed, and for a brief moment, seemed to be actually disappointed under his resigned, polished visage.

"Well, then. Let's get this over with, at once."

In a split second, you pushed your chair on the ground, falling on your shoulders and rolling on your back, dodging his lightning-fast attack. It left a crater behind, right where you were seconds before. Nanami jumped over the fallen armchair, and you dodged him once again, spinning on your heels, unsheathing your sword as you did so, to deal a beheading blow on the back of his neck.

However, right before impact, you faltered, slowing down your movement.

Your own body held you back from taking his life.

He didn't seem to notice.

Nanami bent down just in time to avoid the blow, and swung his blunt blade towards your kneecap. You were quick on your feet, and jumped back, putting a good distance between the both of you.

"I can see you're actually fighting to kill," he noted, getting up on his feet.

"Of course. That's what I came here to do," you spat in his direction.

"You were never the practical one."

You scoffed.

"Guess I learned something from you."

He smiled at the irony of that, but his eyes didn't follow his expression.

Nanami lunged at you, but while you thought he'd deal his next blow in your direction, he hit your footing, having you fall on the ground. Abruptly, his blunt blade descended in your direction, but you were able to catch it and have it slip to your side using your katana supported by your hand behind it, sending a sharp, loud sound around the vicinity, trembling against the bones and flesh of the house.

You rolled on your side when he struck a new hit in your direction, leaving another gaping hole on the floor, and you jumped yourself up.

Before you could attack him, however, he took you by surprise, and you lifted your sword to defend yourself. Nanami hit your katana with his blunt blade, breaking it near where the handle and the steel met, launching your body back on the wall.

The impact knocked the air out of your lungs, and you fell to your knees, unable to recover yourself as you got up. Instantly, you heard his quick, steady steps sprinting their way in your direction.

You were cornered.

This is it.

You braced yourself for the impact, closing your eyes. You remembered his technique perfectly.

Precise, just as he was.

Deadly, just as he was, too.

You were to die at the hands of the man you loved, who had become a murderer and only a distorted, broken version of whom you used to truly love.

This seemed like an oddly cruel way to go.

However, the impact never came.

His blunt blade stopped as it was about to hit your stomach, and you opened your eyes, just to see his face mere inches apart from yours. His mountainous form blocked your view from anything else behind him, and Nanami, at that moment, actually looked like the menace he truly was.

“Why were you appointed as my executioner?” Nanami asked, much to your surprise.

“I asked to be,” you answered, holding his gaze as something went through his eyes. A hint of anger, most likely, and some sense of betrayal, certainly.

“So, you want to kill someone you once loved? You were always prone to self-penitence, so it stands to reason you’d do something idiotic like that.”

You scoffed, grimacing at him, feeling your entire body incandescent with rage.

“I fucking hate you, Nanami.”

He inched his face even closer, brushing your noses against one another, eyes stone-cold and hauntingly vacant.

“I hate you as well.”

For a moment, you wondered if he had really stopped his blade before impact. You didn't expect it, but hearing those words felt like you just had been hit, victim of a blunt trauma, at how much they tore you apart.

The same blunt trauma that severed the Nanami you once knew — the teenager with bangs, who'd always be carrying around a few spare changes to get soda cans from the vending machine for you and Haibara, in his own understated kindness — and this empty monster looking back at you.

"Good. Finish me off, then, and get your revenge for a crime I never committed. Being unfair and an all-around self-centered asshole certainly suits you, fucker."

His hand made its way up your neck, and you were pressed against the wall. The grip was firm, but not enough to choke you — it came more as a warning than anything else.

"I already told you to stop using that foul language with me," he ordered, low voice simmering with genuine irritation.

"Then make me," you challenged him, hoping for this torture to be over as fast as possible.

Just fucking kill me already.

His blunt blade fell with a thud on the floor, and you were confused for a moment, wondering if he really wouldn't give you the kindness of a quick demise. Did he plan on choking you to death?

Did he hate you that much?

His other hand came up, but before you could do anything to try to resist — which would be nothing but a futile attempt at survival, given that Nanami was physically much stronger than you —, his fingers snaked their way through the back of your hair, tugging it at the roots.

His mouth clashed against yours, all teeth, tongue, anger, and hunger, and instantly every nerve in your body flared up with a raging fiery ember you hadn't felt in years. All the pent-up resentment, hurt, and desire you had for Nanami swirled together in your gut, guiding your hands up his hair, as you also pulled on it intently, robbing him of a gasp.

You intertwined your tongue against his, and he unceremoniously bullied his own inside your mouth, leaving no crevice unexplored, as his hand on your neck descended towards your waist, where he clenched his fingers with a vicious grip. You whimpered against his lips, and he grunted in return, pushing his body on yours. His throbbing growing cock could be felt, even through both of your clothes, as he pressed it right against the edge of your pants.

When you finally parted after what seemed like a not-long-enough eternity, you huffed and panted, and albeit less than you, he was panting too.

"I fucking… hate you…" you gnarled, glaring into his eyes. The hazel-brown gaze you once adored was now clouded and dark, like the muddy waters of a deep lake.

"Shut the fuck up," Nanami groaned back, strongly cupping your cunt with his large hand. You whimpered in surprise, and he pulled you in harshly for another kiss, letting go of your hair and sex to sink his fingers on the backside of your thighs, pulling them. You immediately jumped up and threw your arms around his shoulders, as he manhandled your legs to have them hooked around him.

He quickly took you both inside the room, and tossed you on the bed, having you gasping in surprise. Before you could catch your breath, he climbed his way on top of you, pressing your body down, and clashed his mouth against yours again, making you actually lightheaded from a lack of air.

You pushed against his chest, grunting uneasy, and surprisingly, he parted his lips from yours.

"What?"

You panted heavily, nearly hyperventilating, and mindlessly rested your hand on his cheek.

"C-can't breathe…" was all you mustered up to say, trying to replenish oxygen back into your system.

His eyes softened so discreetly you nearly missed it, and his cold-ivory enclosure slightly cracked under the affectionate touch he didn't expect.

Nanami had no idea how much he had craved it ever since you parted ways, and hated himself, just a little, for how much such an innocuous gesture stirred his old feelings up, throwing his heart against his chest in a fluttering rush.

I should be over her by now, dammit.

Nanami also brought his hand up your face, and ghosted over your cheek for a second before sliding his fingers delicately down over it.

You also weren't prepared for that, and your chest tightened all over your heavy heart as you remembered your first kiss.

The way he'd cup your face in his hands.

So delicate, so lovely.

This touch, at this very moment, felt like a painful reminder of everything you had lost.

"Kento…" you cooed, voice strained in your throat, with all the things you were sure you'd never say.

He hummed your name in return, and kissed you while sinking your body against the mattress. This kiss was different, as his lips brushed gently over yours, and his tongue tenderly teased over the seam of your mouth. You welcomed him in, and you both explored these deep waters tentatively, as he upped the intensity after each stroke of your tongues against each other.

He tasted like whiskey, and bread, and the tainted love left behind as nothing but a reminiscence of less grueling days. You couldn't help but feel robbed by him.

You both had been missing out on this for all these fucking years.

"Why did you have to go?" you asked, pulling back from him, a tinge of anger to your cadence, and another of pain in your face.

"Why did you have to stay?" he spat back at you, equal parts saddened and resentful.

His mouth made its way to your neck, and you gasped with the sensation of his warm breath mingled with saliva against your skin, as he licked and bit his way around.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to push him away, and your eyes burned with the prickling sensation of tears that wouldn’t come. You were starved for his touch, his smell, his body, even if this was the murderer of your students, of your friends.

In your head, you felt like digging a hole and throwing yourself in it, to wallow in the misery of realizing that you were about to fuck the murderer of people you loved, and that it felt good.

A pool of heat and fire shot down your insides as your heartbeats throbbed in between your legs.

You hated yourself, and on top of it all, hated Nanami.

Hated that you couldn't help but still love him, even after all he had done.

This was the setting tension in between the both of you, the two extremes of hate and love pulling against each other, all while the tug of war rope refused to snap to either side.

He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside, and you undid his shirt, unzipping his pants. He unzipped you too, and quickly enough, took off your pants along with your panties with a single sharp tug.

Back to rough, but not entirely, it seemed.

His hand glided against your thigh and his fingertips slipped over your entrance, getting completely glazed by your already dripping arousal. He grunted, a guttural and intense sound deep in his chest, giving you another bite on the soft skin of your neck.

"Hate me?" Nanami asked, teasing his digits over your cunt, "doesn't seem like it."

You managed to scoff at him, which would prove to be a mistake.

"Go fuck yours-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he dove two of his fingers inside knuckle-deep, without any hint of a warning, forcefully stretching your walls around them. You immediately let out a whimper so pitiful you wondered if that was really your voice.

He seemed satisfied at that. Perhaps, even elated.

"Good girl," Nanami whispered right beside your ear, nibbling against your earlobe with his teeth, sending shivers down your spine. He began sliding his fingers in and out, and you bucked down against his hand while moaning and mewling, walls sheathing his digits as he finger-fucked your cunt, neglecting your clit as punishment for calling him a condescending prick earlier.

His palm rucked against your dripping folds, echoing wet slaps all throughout the room, as your arousal kept pooling on his palm.

He mumbled softly against your skin, bringing his mouth up to brush against yours, "hate… you still love me."

You instantly drew one of your hands to slap him in the face for this hurtful teasing, but he had quick reflexes — quicker than yours. He dodged himself back as your hand hit the empty sheets, and edged his fingers to hit against your soft spot, pressing it so violently, you let out a strained cry from the shooting overstimulation pain.

"Ah- Shit!" you shouted, face all scrunched up.

"Can't you behave for once?" he chided, "why is it so hard for you to j-just-“

Nanami’s breath hitched in his throat as he grunted, unable to finish his sentence.

You shut him up the only way you could think — grabbing his cock harshly over his boxers. It was extremely effective, and he immediately humped his length against your hand, while lowly groaning.

With trembling hands and a violent snap, you haphazardly pulled his boxers down to his mid-thighs, as his fingers kept mercilessly bullying their way inside you, sending vibrating waves all throughout your body with every thrust.

“Stop… telling me… ah-aaah-“ you rolled your eyes back with a loud moan, struggling to keep a train of coherent thought, gnarling your next words, “what to… ah- do!”

His cock sprang out, slapping against his belly. The tip was already flustered red, leaking with pre-cum, and had a long, prominent vein on the underside.

To punish him back for the roughness, you grabbed his length with one hand, and with the other, pressed the middle of your palm against his flushed tip, glistening his arousal around it with enough force to jump across the divide between intense pleasure and painful overstimulation.

Nanami cursed with a feral voice through his teeth, immediately biting the side muscles of your neck with no semblance of restraint, making sure to leave a purple remnant of pain etched on your skin.

“Ah- ouch! Fuck!” you spat out, tightening your grip around his cock, but weakened enough to release the tight pressure against his tip, letting him fuck into your hand. His hips bucked erratically, and his lips pressed a quick kiss right where he had previously bitten.

He couldn't help it.

Suddenly, Nanami stopped his rutting fingers to press his thumb against your already throbbing clit. That instantly had you seeing stars as you cursed loudly in between moans and grunts, drawing your free hand to his head, ferociously tugging at his hair, as heat pooled in your lower abdomen like fiery embers of coal.

He grabbed your arm, pulling it away from his shaft, and removed his fingers from your walls, having them clenching around nothing at such a sudden emptiness. You began complaining, only to have your voice cut short by his tongue slipping its way inside your mouth, in a sloppy, wet kiss.

Parting from you, Nanami’s eyes were glassy, and you were absolutely sure your gaze must’ve looked just as hazy as his.

In a brief moment, before you realized it, he slid himself down, and unceremoniously lapped at your already sensitive clit with his warm tongue, hot breath tickling against your sensitive skin.

Both of your hands descended towards his hair, brushing over his golden and now messy locks more tenderly than you expected. Nanami suddenly shivered and moaned into your cunt, edging his tongue down your folds and back, eyes fluttering shut the moment he tasted you entirely.

He felt a tinge of pain clench at his chest, realizing this was the taste he had missed out on for all that time — your taste, which would surely ruin him forever.

Nanami’s pain, however, was quick to turn into outrage, as he began sucking on your clit relentlessly, eliciting the most animalistic sounds you had ever uttered.

You instinctively tried backing away, and he pulled on your thighs, holding them with such a violent force that his hand was sure to leave an engraving of his digits over your plush skin.

Nanami was intent on dragging this orgasm out of you by any means necessary.

You had never given him anything he wanted from you — be it the company to fight against Jujutsu High or the same unwavering loyalty he had for you. So this was something he’d take.

If you wouldn’t be by his side, then the least you could do was to cum for him so fervently, he’d be sure to ruin you just as much as he felt like you had ruined him. You owed him that, or so Nanami thought.

“Aaah-- Kento! S-slow d-… fuck!”

You came with a thunderous shout, jolting your hip forward as your thighs tightened with inhuman strength to the sides of his head. Nanami made sure to deliciously lick your way down from your high, applying such a precise and perfect pressure on your clit that you could’ve wept from sheer satisfaction.

After your legs went limp, he slowly climbed his way back to you, pressing kisses all over your body, leaving a ghost of heat wherever his mouth traveled. When Nanami finally reached your face, he put his forearms against your sides, hands over your shoulders, caging you in, as he pressed his mouth against yours in a slow kiss.

You were floating in a calm sea, salty waves caressing your body every time they passed through, and it felt cozy. Inviting, even. As he parted his lips from yours, Nanami gazed into your eyes in the way he used to.

For a second, you got catapulted into the past, and the orange sun that warmed your cheeks through the leaves as you kissed for the first time seemed to shine its rays over again.

With his arms around you, the nonsensical feeling of being protected washed over your heart.

“Come with me,” he whispered with a sultry, husky voice.

“Kento…” you cooed, sighing, wanting nothing more than for this moment to extend for infinity.

But it couldn’t.

You didn’t go with him, so many years ago.

And wouldn’t go now, either.

That wasn’t how it worked for the both of you.

Nanami understood it, and what seemed like another crack against his unwavering walls had formed the moment his brows furrowed above his eyes.

“Fine, then,” he said, with a tinge of genuine hurt to his voice.

You parted your thighs to accommodate his hips, and he obliged, guiding his hand down to align his cock against your entrance. You bent and hooked your legs around him, pulling him in, and as the tip of his length got pressed against your dripping cunt, he gasped slightly over your lips.

Nanami sunk in slowly, going through your already relaxed ring. However, it apparently wasn’t relaxed enough, or perhaps he was just too big, because you could feel every inch of stretching his cock made against your walls as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt.

His mouth fell open and you exhaled a moan into it, breaths mingling together. You two drank each other in. Nanami pressed his forehead against yours, and you both held each other’s gaze, as he pulled your left wrist above your head, holding it there, pushing you down the mattress by your waist with his other hand.

After a moment for you to take him in, Nanami began rolling his hips into you, while his hand kept bruisingly pressing your wrist against the mattress. You could feel his balancing act of trying to love you and wanting to hurt you at the same time.

You weren’t so different from him in that sense, though. Your nails got dragged down his back with abrasive force, and for a second, you considered drawing blood from him. He grunted, and you saw the spark of cold-hearted anger flash through his now dimmed eyes.

You both wanted to love each other just as much as you wanted to hurt each other.

In a more forgiving universe, perhaps, he’d hold your hand tenderly, intertwining his fingers in yours. Maybe you two would be in the kitchen as he showed you one of his favorite bread recipes, and share quiet moments of understanding companionship when remembering those who had left this world too soon.

But this wasn’t that universe, unfortunately.

He was to die, and you were to carry out his execution.

Except you couldn’t, because even if you still tried to cling on to any sliver of morals, even if his life was something yours alone to take, the mere thought of a world without Nanami was far worse than the reality of a world in which he was a murderer.

You insisted on fighting a losing game, and much to no one’s surprise, you lost.

Good riddance to me, I suppose.

His grunts came hitched and stuttered against your mouth as he was now rutting himself into you, biting your lower lip hard enough to almost pierce the skin with his teeth. You moaned loudly, dragged around with pain and pleasure, the combo that seemed to summarize the gist of your relationship.

He let go of your wrist and descended his hand without a warning towards your already overworked clit, glazing his thumb against the ring of arousal you were leaving around him before starting to make circles around your nub. Your moans came out cracked and faltering, as you tried to resist the instinctive urge of fleeing that the overstimulation was eliciting.

“Give me… one more,” Nanami groaned lowly against your cheek, planting multiple kisses down the side of your face and your chin. His hair — which had already fallen from its usual slick arrangement — brushed against your fluttering eyelids, momentarily weaving golden sand colors over your your vision, and you drove both your hands to the back of his head, pulling him in for another kiss.

You could kiss him like this forever.

You actually wanted to, at that moment.

To his request, you nodded, and this was probably the first time you acquiesced to any request Nanami had ever made to you.

Fulfilled, his thrusts and his finger over your clit became increasingly erratic, as he was now moaning your name against your mouth. You pushed your tongue over his, sliding your hands up his head to tug at his roots, and that was all it took to tip him over the edge.

Nanami came with a muffled groan, having your tongue still pushed inside his mouth, and kept pumping himself inside you trying to keep the comedown at bay. His thick, white cum got glazed all over inside you, and the slaps of flesh and skin began sounding ever more wet than they already were.

You weren’t so far off, with your walls fluttering around him, and he noticed it, keeping his now trembling thumb pressed and circling intently over your clit. With one perfectly applied nudge on your sensitive bud, Nanami finally pulled you over the edge along with him.

Some tears began pooling on the edges of your lashes, and all your emotions — anger, sadness, grief, longing, and a particular brand of despair you cultivated during the last decade — came crashing down as he wrenched your second orgasm from you.

Your body convulsed under him, fluttering walls expelling his softening cock out, as you shouted and grunted into his mouth. You didn’t know if you were more furious at yourself for still loving him, at him for loving you, or at Jujutsu Society for jumbling you both like pawns to be tossed around until you two were broken beyond repair.

Angry at them for sending the young out to have their spirits crushed too soon. For all the deaths no one got to mourn because there was too much work, too little time, and the wounded were always left behind to fend for themselves.

Just like you were.

And just like Nanami was.

You sat at the edge of the bed while putting your shirt back on, and looked back at Nanami, who had his buttoned shirt open over his chest.

“Are you still resolute on your decision of not coming with me?” Nanami asked, with a tinge of eagerness. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

You pondered for a moment, and knew exactly what the answer to that question was.

“Yes. I’m not coming with you.”

For a second, you caught the faintest glimpse of the person he used to be. Something aching to genuine disappointment.

The longing that flashed through him, unfortunately, was quick to go, as he began buttoning his shirt down, averting his gaze elsewhere.

“Why?”

“Because I’d hate myself for the rest of my life if I did,” you stated, sighing before continuing, “and it’s not because I can’t kill you or because I love you that I don’t despise you. You crossed an uncrossable line.”

He pursed his lips, and almost felt regretful for the path he chose.

Almost, since regret now would come ten years too late.

“You can’t go back. They will know you let me go,” Nanami remarked. Be it from him or from looking around this house, Jujutsu High would surely hold you accountable for this — for willingly letting the curse user and murderer, Nanami Kento, escape their wrath.

“I know that,” you replied, a tad bit more defeated than you expected, “that’s why I’m fleeing to Hokkaido.”

He sighed and looked at you. You held his gaze, feeling a little hint of anxiety at what he seemed to be simmering under the surface.

With a warmer expression — or as warm as he could muster it up to be —, Nanami spoke again.

“I truly want you to come with me. You’d be safer. We’d… be by each other’s side.”

For a moment, you faltered, open lips with no sound coming out of them. Blinking yourself back to Earth, you asked, “you mean together?”

Nanami kept silent, but nodded, waiting for your response.

He wasn’t just asking for you to come with him, but to be with him.

You wanted to. You did. Something Nanami never knew was just how much you wanted to follow him when he asked you the same thing, so many years ago.

But even though you wholeheartedly loved him with every minute part of your being, your loyalty lied elsewhere.

Not with him, but with the people he had killed.

Well, at least that was the comfortable lie you were capable of living with.

It would destroy you to realize the loyalty you had for the murderer of the people you loved.

In the end, even if you weren’t a teenager anymore, you were just as much a hostage to your feelings as you had always been.

The ticking took a long time, but the bomb eventually went off.

With a decade’s old delay.

“I… just can’t. I can’t.”

Nanami reclined himself against the wall over which the bed rested, closing his eyes as he supported the back of his head on it.

He never told you, but this moment broke his heart all over again.

He felt pathetically small.

Guess we get what we deserve, after all.

“You really do have a taste for penitence,” Nanami noted, his voice barely concealing the bitterness that tainted those words.

You scoffed, getting up on your feet, ready to leave as the first rays of sunshine began bleeding through the thick curtains that covered the bedroom’s window.

“Go to hell.”

He chuckled, a sound you hadn’t heard in a very long time. However, it sounded off-key. Wrong.

Sad.

“We’re already here.”

At the end of it all, he wasn’t wrong.

You were doomed to always keep leaving each other.

If only the world had been a little kinder.

But kindness, it seemed, wasn’t in the cards for you.

End notes: I’m silently screaming. Oh my, this one took way longer than expected, but I enjoyed the writing process during every step of the way (I mean, if that wasn’t evident already from the fact that I made a playlist for this 😂). I forgot how much I was a sucker for gut wrenching angst. Hope you enjoyed it too! 🦉

Tag list: @actuallysaiyan @diogodxlot @jadedjane @redlikerozez @voiceless9000

@marvelousfanfictionbitch @kentocalls @ohhheymessa @magical-girl-b @simp-manhwa

@codenamesongbird

287 notes · View notes

credince--writes · 1 year

Text

Hands (1)

God, you dream of those hands.

Original Prompt:

Size Kink & Breeding Kink with Konig.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - AO3

Konig x Fem! Reader

(A/N): I accidentally fuckin deleted the original post while trying to add links to the other 2 chapters, so reposting LMAO. I'M SO SAD BC IT WAS ONE OF MY BEST PREFORMING POSTS.

Honestly? It started in a very innocent way.

"I'm taking off your gloves."

He sat in front of you, tapping his foot on the cold tile. Currently under the attention of you from the intended use of his hands in combat.

Which is why you were inspecting for broken knuckles.

Most of his gear had been taken off, set aside along with the hood that donned his head on missions. Now, you were pulling the gloved that clung to the asking of his hands off. Inspecting the pale skin beneath them.

"You know, I'm starting to think you do dumb shit like this on purpose." You glance up at him.

"I'd never." He replied.

"Because I'm lookin' at these hands, and I'm seeing a whole lot of unnecessary bruising."

"It was necessary."

You quirked a brow.

"You just, happen to lose your gun there soldier?" You pulled back, leaning back against your seat and shooting him an amused glance.

"Sometimes, things are better done by hand."

"mmhm." You mumbled.

Eyes trailed up his hands, finding stray scars and following the veins leading up to his forearms.

Man,

those were some big hands.

"Is everything alright, doctor?" He asks, amusement twirling around in his eyes, sparking out in his voice.

Maybe he was catching on to your oogling.

"Just making sure nothing broken. Can't imagine it would be fun to work with broken fingers."

"Nein."

"This hurt?" You ask.

"Nein."

"Then you're fine. I'll give you some meds and send you off on your way."

"Danke!" He shot up, clamping a hand down on your shoulder, man near enveloping your entire left side.

You started to imagine what it would be like if that big hand wrapped around your neck.

"Be careful, please."

"Of course." He shot a sideways, toothy grin. The side that his nose crooked over to and the side with the one crooked canine that made him look like a dog ready to chase a bone.

He turned, starting to walk away.

"You know, König." You stated. He stopped a turned around. "If you want to visit me, you don't need to have an injury."

His eyebrows raised, and you could swear there was a blush that tinted his cheeks. "I'll consider that for next time."

Before turning and leaving.

And he did visit you.

One visit turned into two.

Then four.

Then he just popped in so often while he was not on a mission he became part of your routine.

Have a cup of coffee with König in the morning, maybe even join him for dinner and enjoy it in the sanctity of your quiet and private office.

Just so happened that the longer you spent with him the more your thoughts were clouded.

His hands,

his thighs,

fuck, you can't even imagine how big his cock would be.

You'd like to think you were better than this.

Pressed up in your shower thinking about the huge man, wondering what his bare chest would feel like curling up over your back.

You closed your eyes, trying to picture just how good it would feel.

It would be right after he comes back from a mission, the dark look in his eyes still clouding his consciousness as he's still in the mindset of a soldier, a killer.

His steps would be heavier- you'd hear him walk into the bathroom, the rustling of clothing as he strips the cloth covering his flesh discarded down to the ground without a second thought.

He'd slip into the shower, with your head placed under the stream of hot water. Almost comically so, his head would be unable to reach the stream of water without immensely bending at the knees.

You'd hum, leaning back into him as he'd reach his arm around your waist, pulling your wet body closer to his. Head dropping down for his mouth to latch onto the nape of your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

Gasping throwing your head back farther and allowing it to bump against his shoulder, letting out a light whine that he'd love to harvest from your throat.

One hand would drift down, widening his palm as it flattened and slid down your tummy, nearly covering the expanse of your abdomen before it dipped down, lower.

His other hand would grab your chin, pulling your head back to meet into a feverish kiss. Pressing your back up against the cold wall of the shower, holding it up against it.

On a normal occasion, you'd be terrified to slip, but you just know with his arm slinked around over you waist toying dangerously close to your cunt that there was no chance of slipping.

No chance of him letting you go.

A digit would brush up through your folds collecting the slippery production of your arousal, dragging his finger ever so carefully up until it traced around your clit. Circling it, dangerously so.

Applying pressure as the rough pad of his finger pushed against your clit, mouth devouring any noises you let out.

It hurt, in a way.

One that was so delicious you only wanted more.

His large finger pressing down on your clit felt heavenly, the feeling of his tongue pushing against yours as you swapped spit in the most degenerating fashion.

Your hips unconsciously pushed forward against his hand, bucking as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

He'd tsk, giving you a light scolding before removing his mouth from yours completely, allowing a thin strand of spit to cast its way from him lips to yours.

God.

You could just die.

He'd snicker, that snicker that made his lip quirk upward revealing his crooked tooth. All before he'd lean in and ask,

"What do you want me to do, Schatz?"

"Fuckkkk." You'd whine, letting your head bump against the shower wall. "Please." You'd whisper out.

"Hm?" He'd ask, still toying his finger around your clit.

"Finger me- fuck, please. Please finger me."

His finger would leave your clit, diving back down and just barely poking into your entrance.

The digit was long and thick- it felt like nearly two of your own being stuffed inside you. Even more so as the single digit could curl up in such a delectable manner pressing up against the spongey roof of your core.

You'd breathe harshly, ducking your head up against his neck and arm gripping at the expanse of his back and nails digging into the pale and freckled flesh.

He'd add a second digit, and you felt like you were on cloud nine.

No,

You felt like you were on cloud nine as he removed his free hand from you, bringing it down and rubbing on your clit as his other hand pumped mechanically in and out of you, curling his fingers forward and circling the pad of his finger against your clit.

It would feel like your legs would give out first, but he'd keep you upright as you came, his mouth would latch onto yours. Shoving his tongue into your mouth claiming you in the best way possible.

Body draped over yours, his large hands pleasing you to the point of competition-

Blinking, you realized there was no man draped behind you.

The water in the shower had run cold a long time ago, but the pleasant buzz in your head from your shameful masturbation numbed any embarrassment for a few moments.

You sighed, turning off the water and glancing down at your fingers.

For now? Thinking of his large hands would have to do.

#könig x reader #könig x you #mwii #call of duty mw2 #Konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig imagine #Konig x Reader- Hands

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happeehippie · 3 months

Text

instagram j.b.

summary: follow along with joe and his girlfriend evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim is Yasmin Quintana*

part one. part two. part three.

breezyevie

liked by joeyb_9, lahjay10_, bengals and 34,034 others

breezyevie: shout out to the sweet lady who sent us these cookies to start the new season! we are so excited to have j with us this year! #uno

view all 1,238 comments…

user: let’s go UNO

joeyb_9: put some respect on him

> breezyevie: they’re about to find out.

user: chosen 1

user: uno finna go crazy!

> breezyevie: i see no lies.

lahjay10_: let’s work

> breezyevie: work work work work work work

user: why is no one talking about the cookies?

> breezyevie: they were so good.

user: get ready to be destroyed this season.

joeyb_9

liked by breezyevie, bengals, and 117,505 others

joey_9: “If you die without any scars then you never did anything worth fighting for.”

view all 2,009 comments…

user: marry me

> breezyevie: @joeyb_9 me first. 🥺

user: tiger king

breezyevie: it’s joe time baby!

user: ain’t that the truth

user: this your year joey b!

lahjay10_: no pain no gain

> breezyevie: wise words yoda

breezyevie

liked by joeyb_9, taylorswift, bengals and 43,298 others

breezyevie: in honor of the new season starting this sundey! it’s who dey forever.

view all 1,727 comments…

user: this our queen!

user: drop the link

> breezyevie: on my story!

user: long hair joe need to make a comeback pending your approval

> breezyevie: i approve!

user: ev over everyone!

user: time for joe to get injured

> breezyevie: time for you to be a decent human being.

joeyb_9: you’re the best

> breezyevie: my heart. 🤍

breezyevie

liked by joeyb_9, bengals, taylorswift and 289,528 others

breezyevie: Let’s do this shit. #whodey

view all 2,783 comments…

user: i feel like your personality is too dominant for clean boy joe

> breezyevie: i feel like you don’t know us

user: i am so excited for game day content! i love you!

> breezyevie: it’s coming!!

user: sis donate the jacket!

> breezyevie: but.. i love it.

user: sorry sis he’s cheating on you

> breezyevie: in your dreams?

> millyg: can’t you be more original? it’s always the cheating trope.

user: that’s her MAN!

> breezyevie: FOR LIFE

user: delete this, lmao.

> breezyevie: awe, this bothers you huh?

user: can you fight?

> breezyevie: i’m prepared. 💪🏼

user: i’m confused.. are you his gf? your page looks like a fan page.

> breezyevie: people can’t fan girl their own boyfriends? yikes, this is embarrassing for me.

joeyb_9

liked by breezyevie, bengals, lahjay10_ and 413,108 others

joeyb_9: Andddddddddd I’m back

view all 3,909 comments

lahjay10_: back like you never left

> breezyevie: cant wait to watch y’all run it back

user: in joe we trust

> breezyevie: always and forever.

user: you’re girlfriend is so average, you could do better.

> breezyevie: ouch. my fragile ego. 💔

user: ur the mvp

user: i love how ev is always in joes comments replying to everyone. she’s my favorite person ever.

> breezyevie: stop it, you’re my favorite person ever!

user: overrated af

> breezyevie: i think you mean hot af. because dayum. 🥵

user: THE JOE SHOW

breezyevie: the goat reporting for duty?

> joeyb_9: dork 🤣

bengals: He’s back!

BONUS:

liked by millyg, lahjay10_, joeyb_9 and 780,826 others

breezyevie: i love you.. and that’s the beginning and end of everything.

view all 7,283 comments…

user: omg! i just seen joes post!

user: i’m so happy i could cry!

millyg: my best friend.. you deserve this love.

user: not joe posting you for this after not posting you for like 4 years

joeyb_9: life with you is my favorite.

> breezyevie: please never change.

user: get that ring!

joeyb_9

liked by breezyevie, millyg, sam_hubbard_ and 871,038 others

joeyb_9: vibes are pretty.

view all 8,372 comments…

user: joe please i can’t handle this i have exams to study for

user: there is no fucking way he just dropped this bomb

user: the most basic caption ever

> user: yall cant ever just be satisfied. obviously its not a problem for them, let them enjoy this.

user: respectfully, this ruined my day.

user: I AM SO EXCITED

user: ev finally becoming that NFL wifey!

breezyevie: i will be smiling and giggling uncontrollably for the foreseeable future. i love you jb. 4ever.

#bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow instagram #joe burrow x reader #nfl #nfl imagine

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best-transgender-character · 2 months

Text

Hi everyone. I've been putting some thought into the best way to bring this up without making light of it, since this is a serious topic and this is a very unserious blog. I don't want to reblog a bunch of individual posts without context and explanations attached, but if I find posts that I feel are thorough and explain what is going on, I may reblog them. Here is a summary, for anyone completely unaware of what is happening:

A trans woman (Rita, URL was Predstrogen, now Cyprederone) has had her account falsely flagged as NSFW and banned multiple times as a result of a transmisogynistic harassment campaign against her. You may have seen people talking about how her transition timeline has been flagged mature content, multiple times.

Support have been unhelpful when it comes to the harassment, and dubiously helpful about restoring accounts until this latest event.

People reached out to Photomatt about the topic, who is the CEO of Tumblr. He decided to respond, claiming that Rita was personally harassing him and posting death threats about him. This does not line up with the official reason why Rita was banned, which was "sexually explicit materials". The "death threat" was a slapstick post about an exploding car full of hammers. Matt threatened to contact the police or FBI about the threat, used neutral pronouns for Rita despite being informed of her pronouns, and even referred to her as 'it' in one sentence. He referred to Rita as "pergstrogen" in one post, which may be a particularly unfortunate typo, but may also be an ableist slur. He also sent people direct messages about the topic. Matt denied any possibility of transmisogyny playing a part, and suggested that people who feel this site is not safe for trans women should just leave to a different site.

Rita has been banned for life. Several people criticising Matt for this have also been banned.

Please pay attention to this, read other posts about it, look at Photomatt's blog (archived as of 21/02) to see the way he has handled this and Cyprederone's blog to see Rita's statement.

Here are all of Photomatt's posts about the topic, please check the notes of them to see people's responses as well as people archiving his comments. Edit: These posts have been deleted. I'm unsure if there is an archive somewhere of the comments, but these links are now the webarchive links to these posts.

You gonna do anything or make any statement about the rampant transmisogyny on this hellsite (original post with they/them) (first edit with "the account") (second edit with she/her) (archive of most recent edit)

I love this site and I’m sorry so many people are determined to ruin it.

So, the terfs and neonazis are fine, but a trans women giving threatening you is where you draw the line?

You should really feel bad about how transphobic tumblr is

all you ever do is drop the ban hammer on trans women you don't like, while casually ignoring the harassment they face

can I report your beahviour, or?

it's been four hours and nothing you've said has made this decision look better

Why did you misgender her lmao

❤ (heart emoji) [I don't yet have an archive of this. Please reach out if you have an archive of this, although there wasn't much relevant in this post.]

I'm continuing to get harassment and death threats here

My Beliefs and Principles

Tweeting Rita's saved URLs

He is further arguing with people on Twitter.

[Edit] Staff have now made a PR statement about the topic.

Please give trans women your love and support, and remember that this is deeply serious transmisogyny, not just an excuse to joke about car hammer explosions.

#transmisogyny #this is a very link heavy post so lmk if i fucked any of them up #a previous version of this post included a link to a blog that was only visible if you have an account. that should be rectified now #added archived links for several of the links as well as added two new photomatt posts #cyprederone has been taken down

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most-tragic-character-tournament · 4 months

Text

So,

What a wild ride, everybody.

This tournament went live on July 13th, 3023, and concluded January 1st, 2024. For a long time before, I’d been wondering if I should try my hand at running one of these tournaments, and then I realized we hadn’t had a general tumblr-wide one for tragic characters. I knew that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I decided to bite the bullet and take the URL. The rest is history.

I didn’t have a set plan, but I figured I could take 128 entries. And then in less than a week and a half, I had ~122. And honestly, I wasn’t happy continuing with just those I’d gotten so far, and thought it’d be unfair if it closed that quickly without warning, so I decided to up it to 256 with a max 2 characters per canon after preliminaries. Only after that did I go on a mad search to find brackets that were big enough for that, and I’d almost given up before I finally found these:

Those are all the characters that made it past prelims and into the competition. Some quite unexpected results came out of these matchups, round after round, and honestly I’d consider the first round to have had the most brutal competitions, because I had tried to do the best I could to match levels of popularity with each other, as far as I could tell. (Yeah, that’s why we had c!Tommy v Jon Sims and Primrose v Jinx.). But even eclipsing all of those, as the weeks went on, we were eventually met with Antigone versus Lloyd Garmadon. Ah, those crazy kids.

At some points it was stressful, in the early rounds when I had dozens of posts, each with edited images and alt text, to prepare for every round, but I never regretted starting this. As of posting, this blog has 2,020 followers and has made over 1,000 posts. This will be the last post on this blog—any future asks I receive I will answer privately back to the asker, or cannot be answered if they are anon—but it will always remain here for posterity. The link below is to the similarly-preserved google sheet compiling every word of every submission this tournament ever received.

I’d like to take this chance to say thank you to everyone who submitted characters, supplied photos, sent in propaganda, reblogged the polls, indoctrinated their teachers into greeklitsweep, and everyone who kept good sportsmanship when their blorbos proved so tragic they couldn’t even win. Thank you to the small group of URLs whom I’ve consistently recognized in my inbox from submissions all the way to finals, thank you for letting me know when a name was messed up, and thank you for your patience in-between rounds. (Shoutout to @elemom as well for having their tiktok on the original antigone/lloyd poll blow up.)

If you’ve stumbled upon this blog weeks, months, or even years after this was posted, I would direct your attention to the tag map in the pinned post to sift through the tumblr history you’ve just uncovered. And I would also be tempted to point at the big sign next to it reciting the nuclear zone warning poem. Lastly, if anyone here or there wishes to talk to me about anything regarding the tournament, you’re welcome to DM @twilight-skies.

There were times when I said to myself this was a one-and-done thing—I was NOT dealing with this again, but….keep a look on the horizon, ya never know.

But until next time, it’s been amazing.

Sayonara you weeaboo shits.

#most tragic character tournament #most tragic tournament #tumblr polls #polls #important #gifs

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

Note

Hi first of all, I wanted to tell you how much I love your fanfictions I'm always happy to see something new (ascended astarion and astarion spawn stories are my favourites but the others are captivating too). I was wondering if you could write a story where the original Tav dies and is reborn a few hundred years later and Astarion finds her again. Maybe in a more modern setting where the prudery thing isn't quite so… strong

I apologise for my bad English it's not my native language I hope you can understand it anyway

“Mistrial:” a Modern Faerûn AU

Astarion x Tav |E| 2.5K modern au

Ao3 link

Summary: Hundreds of years without her, Astarion still sits on the bench, Justice Ancunìn hear case after case. Until one day, that young prosecutor gets under his skin, until she confronts him after their trial, until ancient memories stir and things awaken.

A/N: Thank you to @myfavouritelunatic and @brabblesblog for their enabling and encouragement.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Justice Ancunìn, I have to object,” the little firecracker of a prosecutor ground her high heel into the tile of the courtroom.

Astarion shook his head, tired of her tone already on day one. “You don’t have to, counselor,” he rubbed two fingers against his silver-haired temple, “but given that this is already your twenty-second one today, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She looked at him with sharp eyes and folded arms. The little shit. He did not care for her already.

If this had been in the good old days when Faerûn was at its prime and most debauched, he could have her flogged for her tone and sent to cool in the stocks. And that would have been before he had been turned into vampiric spawn, before he had become hero of Baldur’s Gate with the love of his life at his side. Helping him learn how to hide his immortality and vampirism from the public, learning how to still serve as Magistrate despite his… condition.

That was until time moved on, and his immortality won over the lingering bonds of love. He missed Tav, her brilliance and ferocity, her pointed ears and sweet blood, her passion in life and in the bed.

Like the blink of an eye, he moved on. City to city, career to career as hundreds of years continued their slow grind of time. Until now, now, he stared down from his bench in BGC, new finagled magic in this modern age like cars and electricity and internet. But law was law, and a judge was a judge

It was as if he never left, aside from the new spitfire attorney, just arrived from New Waterdeep, with a ferocity he would have once admired.

He just now found it tiresome. Irritating. He realized after a moment, she had the decency to wait on his final word on her request for objection. He shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at her. “Overruled, Counselor Ylfe.” He banged his gavel twice. “In fact, court adjourned until tomorrow,” he stood grumbling to himself. “At least I’ll be spared a twenty-third objection in so many hours…”

His pointed ears picked up on a high pitched scoff. “We shall see,” that lawyer snipped to herself. But that tone, that defiance and jabbing quality… something piqued his interest.

Stirred his ancient memory.

He finally groaned as he rested in his chambers, only moments after shutting the doors and sliding off those scratchy robes. Gods, he missed silks and wigs and velvets. Not this cheap crap everyone wore. He went to his cabinet, taking out a discrete green bottle and pouring himself a mug of its swirling ruby contents. He popped it in his microwave, one improvement on the campfire he would not begrudge using.

Not when it made his stash of blood warm for once.

But even as it hummed, his mind kept rolling over his day. Especially that stubborn, annoying, irritating prosecutor with her defiant eyes and jutting out chin and crossed arms and swaying, perfect hips, and……

“Justice Ancunìn, I figured you would finally have a moment for us to address how to best proceed civilly in your own chambers,” his head shot up, his gaze narrowed as he watched her stride on into his offices.

Her.

“What in the hells are you thinking, Counselor Ylfe?” he spat, fighting hard from baring his fangs at her. A habit eroded from nearly a millennia of practice almost overturned just at the sight of her. “You know any discourse outside of the courtroom can result in a mistrial?”

“This isn’t about the trial, this is about your abject disdain for me, personally, it would seem.” She did it again, crossing her arms and swaying her hips in that tight little black pantsuit of her hers.

Astarion let his eye wander. There was something about her… not many females cut so fine a figure in trousers, or slacks or whatever the fuck they were now.

Not since… her. The other her in his life. His true love. That was the last time he even gave a woman a second glance.

Her hair hung over her shoulder, but now, up close, he could see two pointed ears peeking through her crown of long and flowing hair. Elf. High elf.

He locked eyes with her, that piercing shade… his mind raced and wandered… flying through ancient history for some, the warmest of memories for him. Emerald Grove, Shadow Cursed Lands, the real Baldur’s Gate…

“Didn’t you hear me, Your Honor?” she snapped at him.

Astarion shook his mess of silver locks, smiling in a way that no longer hid his fangs. “I’m afraid I was… lost in the sea of my long and winding memories… darling….”

That made her freeze solid. Her smooth face drew into an inscrutable expression, her cherry red lips parted… “What did you call me…?”

Only then did he realize the slip of his own tongue, how that pet name he vowed never to use flowed right off of it. “D-darling.” He repeated, as shocked as she was at the impropriety. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ylfe.”

“Don’t be,” she instantly replied with a shake of her head. Then she smiled, even as her brows furrowed. She looked at him, at his pale face and silver hair and… dark brown eyes…. “Have you always worn contacts, Mr. Ancunìn?”

“How…” but before he could interrogate that true suspicion, his microwave dinged.

“You better get your drink, Your Honor…” That lilt in her voice was new, he noted.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugged. “I can always reheat it later. First I’ll have to apologize for my… behavior today.”

“I should hope so,” she grinned, walking around and sitting on the edge of his desk. “Treating a lady with such disdain… only to about face and call her darling the next moment… seems something only a true, black-hearted rogue would do…”

“What?” he went rigid. Bending forward, that old instinct to fight or fly racing through his nerves after centuries.

“I’ve never been a fan of contacts,” she smiled so easily as she leaned back against the top of his desk, fingers splayed on his files and papers. “Better if you just showed the world your natural eyes, Mr. Ancunìn….”

His nostrils flared, his breath racing and head swimming. But this time there was no fucking tadpole, he knew that.

“What’s your name…” he hissed, narrowed eyes leveling at her.

“I can tell you, unless you’re bent on letting your stash of blood from getting cold…. Astarion.”

His hand flew to her neck, bringing her up into his face, fangs bared, hackles raised, every long suppressed vampiric sense firing on all cylinders now as he smelled her. “Name,” he commanded.

“Taveria Ylfe,” she swallowed under his hold. “But those close to me have always called me Tav….”

“Tav,” her name was a gasp in his throat.

“And I know you,” she said, breathy and quick. “I didn’t know how… but there was something about you that made me… unsettled.”

“Twenty-two objections later and you call yourself… unsettled?” he smirked, lightening his hold, but stroking his fingers on her skin.

Her skin.

“Well, darling,” she purred, "lifetimes of perfect memory for our kind, and I should have recognized my lover with the crimson eyes and pointed fangs.”

Astarion shook his head, swallowing the rising ball of emotion that caught in his throat. “I’d cry, but it’ll make my contacts hurt,” he gave a wet laugh. His thumb traced on the side of her neck, two circle marks in her flesh, like moles or scars…

“You found them, the brands I’ve have on my flesh ever since you, Astarion,” she added, eyes batting shut under his touch. “I’ve looked for you in every lifetime, my true love with roguish swagger, red eyes, pointed fangs, and massive…”

She paused, pursing her lips.

“Ego?” he offered as an answer, but she shook her head.

“Cock,” she grinned as she bit her lip.

“I was hoping you’d say that… darling…” He hissed as her hand grasped at the gusset between his legs. “Looking for your evidence?” he growled, a roll of his hips into the pressure of her touch. So ancient and familiar. “You’ll get it, darling, if you want it…”

“I do, Astarion,” she sighed, fingers stroking back and forth on the cotton of his pants, feeling that rising erection instantly straining back.

A monsterous growl in his throat, a burning hunger in his belly, he grasped at the back of her neck, pulling her against his lips.

The age-old dance, the same taste. Closing his eyes, his body transported a millennia ago… as if he could smell blood and woodsmoke and magic in the air mixed with her scent. Had he suppressed so much of his senses he couldn’t recognize her scent? Had he ignored the same beat of her heart in her chest, same musical rush of blood in her veins?

He shook his head to let all that go, realizing her hands already tore through her own blazer and button down, clothing now cast to the floor. Already, she had shimmied off the desk, pressing harder into his kiss. He waited for no further invitation, hands instantly sliding her slacks from her perfect curves, his own clothing suddenly feeling too tight and too abrasive.

Astarion only wanted her skin on him now. After so long. He couldn’t move fast enough, his reflexes had dulled from neglect, his dexterity a fraction of what it once was with her. But it, too, slowly crept back, his hands making quick work of his own clothes.

Suddenly, those fingers remembered the smoothness of her skin, rekindled their dexterity. His hand clawed into her hair, the other stroked down her belly, backing her perfect body to perch on the edge of his desk. The gasp he drew from her lips as he sank two fingers into her folds woke something feral in him, something ancient. Vampiric.

“Tav,” he hissed, nuzzing against the music of her artery, rubbing along the stream of her blood in her neck. “May I, please…”

“Mmm, I want to see your real eyes before you take anything of mine, Astarion,” she purred, arching against him. One hand splayed on the desk behind her, she smirked and watched. Never had anyone removed contacts so quickly, so dexterously.

As he blinked, her heart poured open. That scarlet glare, that tilted head, those mussy silver curls. “I can’t believe it’s you…” she sighed.

His eyes went wide, shining in his unshed tears and well of emotion. “I’m so tired of words, Tav,” he replied, voice cracking with that exhaustion and unbridled desire now. “Just give me all of you, to lose myself in, to lose these long and draining years in, years without you.”

Not another word as said, nothing but the groans of their joining once more, the shudder of their bodies as they fucked, the creaking of the wood beneath her as he slammed his hips against it. Cock buried deep in her cunt, fangs digging into her neck.

Both parts of her were hot and leaking. Blood spilled from his mouth once more—warm and fresh and sweetened with her taste. Arousal leaked into the wood beneath them, her musk and sweat the only perfume he longed to smell.

He swirled his tongue over his bite marks, fresh bleeding wounds that swallowed those scars she was born with. A lasting brand on her skin as she had forever been on his heart, his soul.

He couldn’t bring her close enough to him, fingers clawed into her ass to keep her from sliding away with his frantic thrusts. And she had already wrapped herself around his waist, already scratched up the places of his back that weren’t riddled with scars still. Clutching him tightly to never lose him again.

Their lips were sealed together, locked as they sucked and moved and danced in their ancient kiss, the taste of her blood sending them both reeling into oblivion. She keened as her walls spasmed around his cock, that familiar ripple and beat of her climax pressing against his every wild and erratic thrust.

His forehead resting against her shoulder, the scent of her blood there was the last little push he needed, losing himself in the trembling warmth and comfort and pull of her body. His cock pulsed hard inside her, thrumming against her muscles as he came harder than anything for a thousand years. Forcing his head back up, he locked eyes with her, face twisting and arms shaking as he came. Lips pulled back to show those glistening and reddened fangs.

Her hand braced hard at the back of his neck, keeping her with him as his hips thrust, slowing as he emptied into her. At last he stilled, a foolish, young smile on his gaping lips, lips he licked clean.

He would tell her sometime, how she had made his undead heart remember how to beat and love again twice now. How she brought him back to life over and over again. But with that haze in her eyes, the way she clenched still around his cock, he knew this wouldn’t be the end of their reunion.

Thank the gods.

Lips curling as she met her mouth in a kiss, she drew him in again for more. “I have a hotel…” she whispered.

“And I have a penthouse, darling,” came his instant reply between her ravenous caresses.

“Hmm,” she laughed deep in her throat, their kiss still working slowly, unable to break apart once more. “As long as you keep it cleaner than your tent once was, I accept. Someplace for us until the morning when we return to court…”

His fingers, coated in the scent of her arousal, stayed her mouth. “Tch, surely even a young thing like you knows this will end in mistrial now,” he smirked. “Not even I can think of a clause that allows for lost soul mates to continue in court after such…” he glanced at the mess between their legs, “…debauchery.”

“Oh well,” she feigned disappointment, sliding off to retrieve her clothes. “Worth it…”

Suddenly his arms gripped her, pulling her by the swell of her ass, flush against his naked body one more time. “It’ll be days before either of us must return to court… long, exhausting, pleasure-filled days, darling.”

Tav dove up for his kiss, standing in her tiptoes to meet that smirk that haunted her for centuries. “You better hurry me away to your place, Astarion, or someone will find us here making up for lost time.”

Reluctantly and with a deafening sigh, he relented, busying himself to dress again.

“Oh,” she commented, that taunting tone in her voice, “and don’t think I missed how you never answered it your place was still a mess of chaos again.”

He turned, shaking his head as he refastened his belt. “Well, even if you are disappointed in that regard, I can assure you…” he gave her that look, those half-lidded eyes, that sharpened fanged smirk, “you won’t be left wanting in other regards.”

#astarion x tav #modern au #astarion modern au #judge astarion #lawyer Tav #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #vampire spawn #astarion spawn #spawn astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3

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theeoriginals · 4 months

Note

ok but what about werewolf!reader who is protective over tyler lockwood since mason died, and she's at senior prank night when klaus turns tyler. i imagine klaus being curious about her bc he hasn't seen or met her since she doesn't hang around elena & co. bc of what they did to mason. love u and thank you for blessing us with all these requests!!

i think i want you | klaus mikaelson

klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

author's notes; sorry this took a while!! holidays got the best of me and i've been so busy. i hope u like this!! go check out my klaus fic on wattpad for more content :) link on my masterlist

warnings; mentioned violence & death but nothing explicit. this is genuinely just a lot of fluff, and only a tiny bit of angst. I like writing klaus being straight up infatuated so enjoy

She’s heard of him. Klaus Mikaelson. Not only is he an Original, but he’s the worst of them. He’s a mystery, a myth of a man. The hybrid. The only one of his kind, and he’s trying to make more. He’s trying to become a god of his own making. He’s a terrifying beast, even in their world of monsters. He is the monster beneath your bed, he is the boogeyman that you see in the shadows of alleyways and glimpses out of the corner of your eye.

When she meets him for the first time, she expects something out of a fairytale, she supposes. It was unintentional, the image of him she had in her head, but she’s heard of this fabled man her whole life as a warning of what can happen if you grow lonely in this life.

She figured if she ever met Klaus Mikaelson, it’d be the first and only time. There weren’t many stories based on people’s personal interactions with him for a reason. If he bothered to pay you a personal visit and not just send one of his cronies out to deal with you, it probably meant you wouldn’t be seeing another day.

But instead of that, instead of meeting her demise at the hand of the infamous man for some offense she most likely didn’t even mean to do, she meets him in the high school gym in Mystic Falls, Virginia.

She meets him, and he’s just a man.

He’s a terrible man, no doubt, but just a man. She is perhaps wrongfully unafraid of him because of this. It most likely doesn’t bode well for her, because even though he looks just as human as the rest of them, she doesn’t doubt those stories about him are all real, and likely worse than the retellings.

But she was raised with a pack that taught her to be unafraid in the face of death, and even though she doesn’t have that pack anymore because of men just like Klaus Mikaelson, she wants Tyler to know the security and safety of it just as she had.

She does not flinch when he looks her way, and resists the urge to rip his head off of his shoulders when he snaps Tyler’s neck and puts Bonnie on a timer for finding a way to bring him back to life as a hybrid.

She knows she can’t win a fight against him, so she doesn’t fight back, not even as he forces Tyler to drink the doppelgänger’s blood and turns him into a hybrid. A half-dead, half-wolf thing that her pack would likely call him an abomination for. It’s a very dark, comforting thought to her that they aren’t around to condemn Tyler to the ends of the earth for something that was entirely out of his control.

She knows Tyler is frightened of her doing that, just by the way he looks at her. He learned from Mason and herself that there’s a sense of loyalty to their kind, and that vampires are an inherent enemy. Even his relationship with Caroline would be enough to get him shunned from most werewolf communities at this point. Though, even Mason himself didn’t take that into consideration considering his relationship with one of the doppelgängers.

After everything is said and done that night, she takes Tyler home without saying a single word to Klaus. Anything she wants to say will get her killed, and Tyler needs her more than ever now, so she can’t get ahead of herself.

Tyler sheds rare tears in the privacy of his home. He tells her he’s terrified right now because of the fact that a part of him is technically dead now, and that he’s never felt like a monster about being a werewolf until now.

She does her best to comfort him, but it doesn’t help much. She doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now and they both know it. If the circumstances were any different, she’d probably think he was the new enemy.

He falls asleep eventually and she leaves him be, heading to her temporary room in the Lockwood mansion. She falls asleep looking at the moon just outside her window, thinking about how she was just a little disappointed in the fact that Klaus Mikaelson is just a man.

──────

The next time she sees Klaus Mikaelson, it’s in the tea room in the Lockwood house. He somehow looks even more underwhelming in this place, despite its grandiosity. She doesn’t know why or when she’s going to stop feeling so disappointed in the fact that if she didn’t know any better, she could’ve walked past him on the street without even looking his way.

He’s there for Tyler, she knows, but Carol’s playing her role of oblivious hostess, and now she’s left to entertain him while Carol goes and handles a small, mayoral emergency.

Carol leaves them with a charming smile, winking her direction, and she ignores the older woman pointedly.

“I don’t think I got your name the other night at the school,” Klaus says, tilting his head as he looks at her. “I’m not usually so rude, but the stakes were high and I ran out of patience. You know how it is.”

She narrows her eyes, shaking her head a bit. “A thousand years old and you haven’t worked on your patience? Maybe your priorities are a little skewed,”

Klaus’s eyes flash with danger, but she swears she sees amusement in the smirk that pulls at his lips. It sparks that flint inside of her that likes to push and push, just to see the breaking point. She’d tried to deny it, but it only takes the smallest moment for that desire to set its sights on Klaus Mikaelson, even though pushing him could mean death. Her curiosity was a fatal flaw in itself, she knows.

“My only goal in life has been to break this curse,” He says, leaning forward to sit the cup of tea Carol had brought him on the table in between them, the only obstacle stopping him from lunging for her and snapping her neck before she could even blink. She wonders if he’s even aware of all the ways he could kill her, just by looking at her in this mundane setting. She doesn’t know if she actually wants an answer to that, though. “And now I’ve done that. I think a thousand years of this has proven I have nothing but patience.”

She hums, acknowledging the fact that he was right. She couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, waiting a thousand years to break a curse that kept you from being who you are. Even now, knowing that the Sun and the Moon curse was fabricated in order to help Klaus break the only curse– his curse– when it comes down to it, she can’t blame him for his insistence.

But she thinks about Tyler and how frightened he was, and she can’t stop the annoyance that builds in her all over again, so any bit of understanding washes away like sand beneath the rising tides.

She shrugs, unwilling to vocalize the depth of her understanding, as miniscule as it may be. “Still, choosing a hormonal teenage boy as your first hybrid probably wasn’t the smartest decision, wouldn’t you say?”

Klaus narrows his eyes at her and she stubbornly sits still, unwavering beneath his prolonged, burning stare. “You’re protective of him. I understand why you wouldn’t like me. But I’ve just made him the strongest creature he could ever be. He won’t need you, or any other pack he might have been clinging to before this.”

And this, she thinks, is the biggest indicator to why she’s not properly afraid of this man before her. It’s not just because he looks unfortunately normal, spare his admittedly beautiful face, or that he’s yet to truly focus any of his true capabilities of danger in her direction. It’s that, at the end of the day, Klaus Mikaelson is just as human as the rest of them are. Because no matter how long you live, or what kind of creature you are, everyone gets lonely.

“On the contrary,” She says, blinking slowly as she scans his face. “Tyler needs me now more than ever. And any pack would be lucky to have him around. That’s the whole point of a pack. You know that you’re never alone, no matter what happens.”

To a degree, she knows that’s a lie. There are plenty of packs out there that will banish Tyler and any other hybrid that is made in the coming months because of the rivalry between the creatures that the hybrids are made of. But she also knows that for every pack that will turn them away, there’s one that won’t. There’s always someone, even if it’s just one person, and she’s willing to be that person for Tyler, or for any other hybrid that goes through the loss of their pack.

“It’s a shame you’ve never known what that’s like,” She says, leaning forward to set her own cup of tea down, a mirror of his actions a moment ago. “Unwavering loyalty and trust, and a sense of family that never goes away. You may think that Tyler has no one, but I will always be here for him, just as I was his uncle.”

Something defensive passes through his face and he stands abruptly, making her tilt her head back to maintain eye contact with him.

Klaus leans down into her space, and they glare at each other with a surprising amount of vitriol that neither one of them feels is even genuine.

“You can cling to your idea of family all you want, but it won’t change the fact that Tyler isn’t just a werewolf anymore. And as much as you may want to deny it, you can’t help him anymore just like you couldn’t help his poor uncle,”

He stands upright again, looking at her almost accusingly. “But since it’s causing no harm to me, I suppose there’s no real reason to make you give up this desperate mission. I wish you the best of luck, dear, truly,”

He doesn’t wait for a response from her before he leaves, and after her initial anger and embarrassment wears off, she realizes he never even talked to Tyler like she assumed he came here to do in the first place.

──────

Mystic Falls has never felt like a smaller town. She’s never run into someone so many times when all she wants to do is avoid them.

It’s like all of the sudden, since that very first night she saw Klaus Mikaelson, he’s everywhere. He’s in Tyler’s house, because the newly-made hybrid suddenly worships him. He’s in her dreams. She can’t escape him.

Even now, sitting in a corner booth at the Mystic Grill, he’s suddenly there, sitting across from her like an old friend catching up for lunch.

Immediately, her face twists in disgust. “Klaus.”

He smiles in the face of her adversity, and says her name with a fondness of unknown origins. She almost feels insane, looking at him with any degree of civility.

“What do I owe this visit to?”

“I’m curious about something and I’m hoping you’ll humor me,”

“Interesting start,” She huffs, taking a sip of her drink beside her. “What on earth could you possibly be curious enough about that you have to ask me?”

“You, of course,”

She swallows roughly, nearly choking as she looks at him in surprise. “Me?”

The hybrid nods, smirking at her reaction.

“What… What do you want to know about me?”

He leans forward on the table, looking at her as she suddenly avoids his eyes, unwilling to admit that she’s feeling heat rise in her chest. “Why is it you aren’t banding together with those bumbling idiots to get rid of me, hm?”

“Oh,” She breathes out, face turning solemn for a moment as she looks down at the tabletop. “I don’t– I don’t have any reason to want to get rid of you, really. I don’t necessarily like you, but you haven’t hurt Tyler in any permanent way so… I guess I’m just not really worried about it.”

When she finally meets Klaus’s gaze again, there’s something shocked and unexpectedly warm in his blue eyes that makes her own soften.

“Is it really that simple?”

She falls silent for another moment, picking nonsensically at her nails. “They killed my friend.”

She looks back up at him, sighing. “Mason Lockwood. Tyler’s uncle. He came here because of Katherine– she was looking for the moonstone so she could break that stupid curse that you made up. And they killed him for it,” She shakes her head, anger seeping into her voice. “They’re irrational. And if I’ve learned anything about this life, it’s that being irrational gets people killed.”

Klaus hums lowly. “You are right about that.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, she looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “What do you want from me, Klaus? I’m not picking sides here– I’m going to protect Tyler until it kills me, and that’s all. So what do you want from me?”

He observes her for a moment and she doesn’t falter beneath his stare, if only out of spite.

“Perhaps,” He starts. “I just want to know you.”

Something fragile breaks on her face and she shows just a little bit more of that vulnerability to him in this new space between them. “What’s so interesting about me that Klaus Mikaelson wants to know me?”

His eyes search her face, lost. “I don’t know yet. I’m hoping you’ll let me find out,”

She lets out a breath, quiet, and admittedly flattered.

A smile pulls at her lips, bashful in a way she isn’t used to. She allows it to spread across her face and beneath Klaus’s gaze, she feels like a blooming rose being adored. It makes her feel things she’s nowhere near ready to admit to herself, or anyone else. “I think we can work something out.”

Klaus’s returning smile takes her breath away. It feels new, and wonderful.

#klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #kol mikaelson #the originals #fic recs #tvd klaus #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fanfic #damon salvatore #elena gilbert #tyler lockwood

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a-simple-gaywitch · 1 year

Text

Amidst the Chaos

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and (Y/N) didn't get along, and it annoyed the whole BAU. But when a traumatized (Y/N) shows up at Spencer's apartment late one night, their whole relationship shifts

Warnings: PTSD, trauma, references to torture, other canon-typical topics

Word Count: 3827

Author’s Note: not necessarily my best fic, but i’ve been working on it for over a year so... here it is

Orpheus - Sara Bareilles

AO3 Link

“Don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. Though I know it's blinding, there's a way out.” ~ Sara Bareilles, Orpheus

“Guys, I want you to meet our newest team member,” Hotch said to the BAU as they settled around the table. “This is Agent (Y/N) (L/N).”

You gave a shy wave to the group in front of you, but your smile was bright enough to light up the entire room. “Hi.”

“She’s coming to us from Organized Crime. I trust that you’ll all welcome her to the team.”

“Honestly, I’m just happy to be given a chance to work with all of you. It’s been my dream to work at the BAU for years.”

“We’ll have time to get to know Agent (L/N) better on the plane. But for now, we have a case,” Hotch said. “JJ?”

“So,” Derek said, taking a seat next to you on the jet. “What was Organized Crime like?”

“Honestly? Boring as all hell. It was mostly stopping money laundering and drug cartels,” you said. “Not as glamorous as Goodfellas makes it seem. Besides, the BAU was always my end goal anyway.”

He chuckled a bit. “Yeah, I get that. We’re glad to have you on our team. ” The conversation between you and Morgan flowed easily and before you knew it, you had become like brother and sister. The rest of the team grew to love you too. Well, most of the team.

Spencer seemed icy and cold toward you, and no one could offer a valid explanation. By all accounts, you should have gotten along. You loved Halloween just as much as Spencer did and you always had at least 3 books on your person at a time. You had a borderline unhealthy addiction to caffeine and sugar and spent more time in the office than your apartment. But for some reason, you and Spencer just seemed to constantly be at each other’s throats.

In your defense, Reid had started it.

For whatever reason, Reid disliked you right out the gate. He tried to be civil toward you, but something about you just bothered him.

He originally just tried to avoid you when he could, but with the nature of the team’s dynamic, that didn’t work out well.

Spencer found himself doing small, petty things to annoy you, like putting your favorite mug on the top shelf where you couldn’t reach it or borrowing your pens and “forgetting” to return them. Something about seeing you mildly inconvenienced and annoyed as opposed to your normally happy and bubbly self made him feel better. He knew it was fucked up of him.

Eventually, the animosity became mutual. You and Spencer were rarely paired together on cases because Hotch couldn’t stand the constant arguing between the two of you. Mostly, Hotch tended to pair you with Derek who you began to see as a brother.

Spencer would never admit it, but seeing you and Derek be as close as you were stirred some kind of jealousy in him. He figured it was just because he had been friends with Morgan first, that was all.

Local cases were always extra stressful on the team. Something about unsubs being so close to home made the cases more personal. As such, tensions were running high and no one had slept in over 24 hours as the team worked to nail down a profile.

“This doesn’t make sense,” you muttered as you looked over the crime scene photos. “The crime profiles as disorganized but the victimology and timeline profile him as organized.”

“How you doing there, Pretty Girl?” Morgan asked, setting down a carrier of coffee cups.

You sighed and picked up the cup with your name scrawled on it. “There’s discrepancies in our preliminary profile and I can’t…”

“Did you try comparing notes with Reid?”

“Derek, I love you, but are you insane?”

“I’m serious, (Y/N).”

“So am I. Any time I try to have any kind of civilized conversation with that man he turns it into an argument.”

Thankfully, Hotch came into the room at that point, stopping the conversation. “We have two potential leads. Morgan, you’re going with Blake to the first address. (L/N), you and Reid are going to the second.” Hotch tossed you both keys for SUVs. “Reid and Blake have the files. They’ll fill you in on the drive.”

“Yes, sir.” You grabbed your coffee from the table, along with Reid’s, and headed out to the car. When you got to the parking lot, Reid was already leaning against the car, flipping through a file folder. “Reid. Here.”

As you handed him the coffee, he said, “What, was everyone else busy?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. I’m just following Hotch’s orders.” You unlocked the car and climbed in. “Where are we going?”

“21 Rock Creek Road, Somerset. We’re interviewing Linda Walsh, the neighbor of our first victim, Savanna Curtis.”

“Great. Can you type it into the GPS?”

“Why? I can just give you the directions.”

“Because the GPS is more accurate.”

“(L/N), I have an eidetic memor-”

“Eidetic memory, I know. But you’re telling me your memory can predict traffic patterns? I don’t think so. Just use the damn GPS.”

“Fine.” Spencer typed the address in, muttering under his breath.

“Thank you. What information do we have on Walsh?”

“72 years old, she was reportedly in the house when Curtis was attacked and taken to the secondary location. Hotch wants us to interview her and see if she noticed anything that might help us with the profile.”

Soon enough, the two of you pulled up to the witness’s house. Before even getting out of the car, you felt like something was wrong.

”Wait, Reid.” You grabbed his arm as he reached for the door handle. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the windows. All of them are dark. Not even a television glow. Something’s off.”

“I hate to say it, but you’re right.”

You hopped out of the car and pulled your gun from your side, following Reid up the path to the house. He knocked on the front door.

“I don’t hear anything from inside.” He knocked again. “Go around the back, see if you can get in that way.”

You nodded and walked around the house. You could hear Reid continuing to knock as you went around. As you rounded the corner, a sharp pain entered your shoulder. You yelled and turned around, but not before a blunt object hit you in the temple and your vision faded.

Spencer was panicking. You were missing, and it was his fault. He was pacing in the front yard of Walsh’s home while the team and the local authorities worked to catch up.

“Reid, what happened?” Hotch asked. “We need everything.”

Spencer relayed every detail from the moment the two of you pulled up to the house, still pacing. “I shouldn’t have told her to go off on her own, it’s my fault-”

“Kid, breathe,” Morgan told him. “You didn’t know this would happen. What’s important now is finding her and bringing her home safe.”

The team did a thorough inspection on Mrs. Walsh’s home and learned a good deal. Mrs. Walsh wasn’t home, as was reported. However, her son, Devin, was clearly staying with her. It didn’t take the team long to figure out he was the unsub.

When you awoke, you were in a secondary location. Your head was throbbing behind your eyes and your shoulder was in agony. Your arms were tied behind your back, but that was the only restraint to your mobility. You looked around, trying to figure out where you were. It was a large, open space, you guessed a warehouse, probably abandoned. It was dark, except for the glow of the streetlights outside and an industrial lamp in the center of the room. You didn’t have much time to assess your surroundings, though, because Walsh was waiting for you to wake up.

You knew the facts of the case. You saw the photos. He kept the women for 24 hours, torturing them until their bodies were barely recognizable. Then, he’d kill and dump them.

But you also knew your team. They were relentless. And they would save you.

“We’ve seen what he does to his victims. We’re in a race against the clock here,” Morgan argued with Hotch.

“But we still have to keep our heads and follow the law. If we don’t get a warrant, any evidence we do find goes right out the window.”

“Guys, Garcia found something,” JJ said. She put her phone on speaker. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

“So, Walsh’s dear old dad was the owner of a warehouse in the 80s. The warehouse is still in his name but has since been abandoned. And before you even ask, yes, I sent you the address.”

The SUVs pulled up to the warehouse and the team jumped out. The plan was to enter the building slow and quiet, but that changed when they heard you scream, followed by a gunshot. Then, everything went silent. Completely silent.

Everyone rushed into the building. The team was terrified of what they were about to find. What they saw, no one could have expected.

You were lying unconscious on the floor, in a pool of blood. Also on the floor, with a bullet hole through his forehead, was Devin Walsh. Standing with a gun in her hands was 72 year old Linda Walsh, tears running down her face.

“I had to,” she said, looking at Hotch. “He was gonna kill her.”

“We need a medic!”

The team was sitting around your hospital bed. The doctor had said you probably wouldn’t wake up for a while, but they were determined to have someone there with you when you did.

“We should take shifts,” JJ suggested. “That way there’s always someone here and the rest of us can get some rest, too.”

“That’s a good idea. Dave and I can take the first shift,” Hotch said. “We’ll do four-hour rotations in pairs.”

They talked through who would pair up and take what rotations before Rossi shooed the rest of the team out.

Eventually, Reid and Morgan were on their “shift.” Morgan glanced over at Reid, who was staring at the same page of a book.

“You ever gonna flip that page?”

“What if she doesn’t wake up?”

“Kid, you heard the doctor. She will.”

“But what if she doesn’t? It would be my fault. I’m the one who made her go off by herself. We were supposed to be a team and I couldn’t see past-” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Morgan put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “it’ll be okay, Reid. I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want one?”

“Sure.” After Morgan left, Spencer looked at you and sighed. Your body was wrapped in casts and bandages. “Hey, (L/N),” he said, reaching out and resting his hand on top of yours.

One thing you didn’t expect about being in a medically induced coma was to still hear everything going on around you. You could hear the doctors and nurses moving about your room. You could hear your teammates. You heard Hotch and Rossi talking about the paperwork they’d have to file on the case because an agent had been seriously injured. You heard the music Penelope insisted on playing, and you heard Spencer.

“Hey, (L/N),” you heard him say. “I don’t know if you can hear me but,” he took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. Not just for this. I mean, obviously for this. I never should have split us up, I never should have sent you around the back of the house, I never should have-” he stopped himself. You could hear the tightness in his voice. Was he crying? No, Reid wouldn’t be crying over you. Would he? But he continued. “I was awful to you. I mean, I was an asshole,” he said with a dry laugh. “There’s no other word for it. I was an asshole to you and there was no excuse. I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I-”

“One cup of sugar with a splash of coffee,” Derek said, coming back into the room.

“Thanks.” Reid took the cup in both his hands, grateful for a distraction from his guilt.

“Any change?”

He shook his head. “None.”

Derek sighed. “You know, part of me was really hoping she’d wake up in the five minutes I was gone.” He gripped your hand that wasn’t casted up. “We miss you, Pretty Girl.”

Your coma lasted for about 3 weeks. The doctors kept you in the hospital for observation for another full week before finally letting you go home.

During your recovery, your apartment was practically a revolving door. Just about the entire team came by to check on you and keep you company, with the exception of Spencer. You couldn’t say you were too surprised. However, something about it upset you. Hell, even Hotch and Rossi took the time to stop by and check on you.

Derek and Penelope were probably your most frequent visitors. You were honestly grateful for their visits, and for the help it brought. With your injuries, simple day-to-day tasks were more difficult for you, and Penelope and Derek were more than happy to help you out. Derek took your grocery list and all your other errands while Penelope helped around your apartment. You were even more grateful when they forced you to attend a dinner party at Rossi’s. Penelope was at your apartment, helping you pick out a dress for the event.

“I don’t know, Pen.”

“(Y/N), I’m telling you, purple is your color.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want my dress to match my bruises.”

Penelope just rolled her eyes and tossed the dress on your bed. “Do you really think I’d pick out a dress that didn’t make you look good? Let’s go, you haven’t had a proper shower in a week.”

Penelope helped you get ready for the dinner party before getting ready herself. She helped adjust the strap of your brace when your doorbell buzzed.

“That’ll be Derek,” you said. Penelope answered the door to Derek standing outside, leaning against your doorframe.

“Well, look at these pretty ladies. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I need to get out of this house,” you said. “I haven’t seen anything but these walls in weeks.”

When you pulled into Rossi’s driveway, you were more than excited to see the team. The team, in turn, was excited to see you. You were smiling and laughing, more and more of your normal self.

When Spencer saw you walk through Rossi’s front door on your crutches, a lump formed in his throat. Ever since seeing you in the hospital, he’d been wracked with guilt. It was the main reason why he hadn’t visited you like everyone else. He tried to avoid you the whole night. Thankfully, you were so happy to be with the others that you didn’t seem to notice. But Blake did.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” she asked Spencer, handing him a drink.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re avoiding everyone tonight. Why?” When Spencer stayed silent, Blake followed his line of sight. He was watching you talking with JJ. “Ah. Why don’t you go talk to her?”

“I can’t, Alex. Believe me, I’ve tried. For months. Any time I try and have just a normal goddamn conversation with her, what comes out is sarcastic and cruel. I-I don’t know why it happens.” He ran his hands over his face and groaned.

“You’re in love with her.” Blake wasn’t saying it as a question. Seeing the panic in his eyes, she said, “Don’t worry, it’ll stay with me.”

The heavy sheets of rain outside pounded against the apartment windows. It was the kind of cold rain that seeped into your bones, despite a warm home. It was late, but Spencer was still awake, reading. He couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t unusual for him. He heard a knock on his door. Spencer set his book down on his coffee table before walking to his door. He glanced out the peephole and took a step back in shock. Spencer opened the door to see you standing there, soaked and visibly shivering, in only your pajamas. Your eyes were bloodshot and you were sniffling.

“(L/N)? What are you-”

“I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want me here and I don’t even know how I ended up here, I just started walking and-”

“Wait, wait, you walked here? In the torrential downpour?” When you nodded, Spencer opened his door wider. “Here, come in. You must be freezing. What happened?”

You stepped through his door and began to ramble, “I don’t know. I woke up from a nightmare and I knew I-I couldn’t stay in my apartment alone so I just started walking and somehow I ended up here and I’m sorry.” Your teeth were chattering as you continued to shiver.

Spencer grabbed a blanket off the back of his couch and draped it around you. “No, no, it’s, um-” Spencer cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve found that sometimes just saying it out loud helps.”

Once you nodded, Spencer held his hand out and led you over to his couch. You were silent for a few moments, staring out the window at the rain streaming down.

“I was back… there,” you said when you finally started talking. “In the dark. I-I couldn’t see anything but I knew he was there. Then I felt his hands on my throat and-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. Your whole body was shivering, but Spencer didn’t think it was from the cold anymore.

Spencer moved to put his arm around you but stopped, dropping his arm back to his side. “I know how you feel,” he said. “After Hankle, I couldn’t handle looking at the crime scene photos because I knew what the victims were thinking right… you know… right before.”

“Do they ever stop? The nightmares?”

“I don’t know. Mine haven’t.” When he saw the defeat on your face, he added, “But it does get easier.”

You nodded, still staring out at the pouring rain. You cleared your throat. “Well, uh, I’ll, um, I’ll call a taxi and get out of your hair.”

“You don’t- uh, you can stay, um, if-if you want,” Spencer said.

“Reid, I don’t want to impose-”

“You wouldn’t be!” Spencer assured you. “I could use the company, actually. I’ve been trying to find someone to watch Stardust with me. Penelope says I need to watch more pop culture and I know you’re a fan of Neil Gaiman.” He gave you a soft smile. “Please, (Y/N), stay. I promise, you’re not imposing.”

When he saw your face crack into a small smile, he felt a swarm of butterflies rise in his stomach. “Okay,” you said.

About halfway through the movie, Spencer felt you slump against his shoulder. Before he knew it, you were fast asleep. He was frozen there, not wanting to disturb you. He knew how rough the past few months had been, and it was obvious to everyone you weren’t sleeping. Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was more, but Spencer felt like it was now his responsibility to take care of you, if you would let him.

The whole team noticed the shift between you and Reid. Where you would previously stay as far from each other as possible, you were now actively seeking each other out. You chose to sit next to each other in the briefing room and on the jet, something you had never done before. On the trips back from cases, you would rest your head on Reid’s shoulder and sleep while he read a book. But, no one said anything about any of it. No one wanted to burst whatever weird bubble was surrounding the BAU team.

That was, until Blake, Derek, and JJ spotted you knocking on Spencer’s motel door one night during a case. The two were sitting up in the lounge going over the case files yet again when they spotted you, in your pajamas, sneaking out of your own room.

After watching you slip into Spencer’s room, JJ said, “You don’t think they’re…”

“Reid and (L/N)? No, there’s no way. They can’t stand each other.”

“Well, they do say there’s a thin line between love and hate,” Alex noted, turning the page in her book.

“I don’t know about you two, but I need to know what’s going on,” Derek said, getting up from the couch.

“I’m coming with you!”

“Guys, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alex warned. “Just talk to them about it in the morning.”

“Do you know something, Alex?” JJ asked.

“Even if I did know something, it wouldn’t be my place to tell you.”

The next morning, you felt eyes on you as you drank your coffee. You looked up from the case file to see Derek staring at you.

“What?”

“Were you going to tell me about you and Reid or…”

“What are you talking about? Me and Reid?”

“(Y/N), come on. You two are practically attached at the hip when just two weeks ago you couldn’t fucking stand each other.”

You shrugged. “We worked out our differences, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Alright, what about you sneaking off to his room last night?”

Your face paled. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“Care to explain then?”

You sighed, looking around to make sure it was just you and Morgan. “You know I haven’t been sleeping since, well, everything.” Derek nodded. “Well, a few nights ago I ended up at Reid’s apartment in a panic. It was pouring out so he let me just stay and I slept better than I had in years. And, you know, he’s not too bad to hang out with either,” your face flushed with your last statement.

“You’re not too bad to hang out with either.”

You jumped, turning around to see Spencer in the doorway with cups of (good) coffee in his arms.

“Spencer, when did-”

He handed you a frappuccino. “Just now. I take it you weren’t as sneaky as you thought?”

“Shut up,” you whined, nudging him with your arm as you stuck a straw in your drink. Spencer just laughed and took a seat next to you.

“So, you’re just, like, friends now?”

You and Spencer looked at each other, seemingly having a conversation without speaking.

“I mean, I’d say we’re a bit more than just friends,” you admitted, smiling at Spencer. He kissed the top of your head.

“Damn, I owe JJ 10 bucks,” Derek muttered before saying, “But seriously, I’m happy for you two. It’s about time you realized you were perfect for each other.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #em's fics

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fourswordsannotated · 6 months

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akira himekawa are unbelievably cool.

soooo here's the thing. i was looking at akira himekawa's website on a whim and found a public blog, with posts that go all the way back to 2009. many hours of google translating later, and i've developed an even stronger admiration of these two women and their exceptional career as manga artists. they share so much in these posts about the creative process, their thoughts on social justice, their connections with nature, and their most major original story, gliding reki, which seems to have always been a passion project in the midst of commercial work.

from what i could gather, reki is unique in that they were determined to do it in full color. and they did it, because after reading about their career, it's clear to me that when these women set their mind to an idea, they make it happen. see also: they just recently produced and distributed their own art book, because no publishers were offering to do it in a way that pleased them.

their stated goals for reki were to make something more adult than their previous children's manga, taking place in a city, involving a lot of mechanical art, and featuring stronger romantic and self-described erotic subtext. good for them. before i get into the four swords-related stuff, i'm sharing what i could find on the internet about reki.

more under the cut, because there's quite a bit to discuss :)

not much that i could find on the blog specifically references four swords, but they have many fascinating insights about nintendo, the zelda fandom, and the franchise as a whole. i can't know for certain because this information was surmised from translated text, but it seems as if their manga with chibi link made them feel a little stifled, which is why they took a long break before returning to do twilight princess. it's not lost on me that even a work like four swords, which they may regard as not their favorite or best, still has inspired and brought together so many passionate, creative, and diverse people. this is especially sweet because it seems as if they met each other, and formed their creative partnership, because of a shared fandom interest of their own.

honda and nagano have shared their thoughts and feelings on this blog for more than a decade, and they have a lot of thoughts and feelings. throughout their entire career they've made commentary on work-life balance, their experiences as women in a male-dominated field, and their desire to create original art while simultaneously enjoying some commercial work as well. they are passionate about social justice, particularly re: women and indigenous people, and offer insights on aspects of culture and history and the state of the world that really could resonate with anyone. and they really seem to appreciate fans of their work, and emphasize repeatedly the care and thought they put into their manga in the hopes it will inspire and bring catharsis to readers. they love animals (especially wolves), being outside in nature, being nerds about art they enjoy, a certain subgenre of romantic manga that appealed to and empowered female readers in the 90's and 2000's, and traveling around the world to partake in activities like horse riding and falconry.

the coolest part is, they're still updating the blog to this day :) in fact they seem to have recently returned to it, reflecting that twitter is not their preferred manner of sharing things online. they seem very familiar with and fond of older-school blogging culture.

there's a lot more i could say here about my findings, some of which do pertain to... certain ships 💜🖤 . but i don't want my genuine appreciation for these authors to be overshadowed by that kind of conversation. in addition to a link to the blog itself, i'm including a few translated posts of interests, which you can interpret and incorporate into your perception of the media however you please. at the end of the day, it's a really cool gift that these artists have chosen to share so much over such a long period of time. by making their personalities, beliefs, and insights more visible to fans of their work, i hope it brings new context to the stories we already love.

a modern-day insight:

re: the zelda mangas. these are from several points throughout their career. please note that they have so many fond things to say about zelda as a franchise and their work on the mangas, especially regarding the way they've affected fans. i encourage you to look for yourself, on their blog and their other socials!

re: gliding reki

re: the creative process (and in the latter two, the fandom that seems to have inspired them!)

re: their two goofyass adorable tiny dogs that they dress up in outfits while also loving wolves like a lot, they love wolves (both domesticated and wild), they really love wolves

re: wolf day (every day is wolf day,)

re: indigenous rights

re: painting serious works on commission vs their manga. i can't know for sure exactly what it means, but it really does kinda hit

re: a fan and manga artist in training bringing them art and a note

and a moment from a twilight princess manga interview i found very sweet :)

okay. you've made it to the end. i know you're wondering. here you go. please remember that this is and always has been a public blog, and these posts are actually from 2009 and 2010. also please remember that the point of this post is not to cause or fuel fandom discourse, but to appreciate these authors and the things that they choose to express.

(also, this is the column they were referring to in image 1. it's FASCINATING. give it a read if you'd like!)

the dots are there. you're welcome to connect them.

thank you for your beautiful work and insights, honda and nagano. please never change.

#akira himekawa #four swords manga #legend of zelda #four swords #loz #twilight princess manga #(yes there is v/dow stuff at the very bottom okay it's there just please read the rest)

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redditreceipts · 1 month

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So this is the answer to an ask that @wild-wombytch has sent me, and I chose to answer it in this format because the original ask contains a link to a post that I'd rather not share, to maintain respectful of OP.

Thank you, I'm fine! and cool that you like the cat pictures ❤️ I'll make a separate post for you just containing cat pictures

and thank you so much for saying that! ❤️❤️

yeah, so @wild-wombytch refers to a post that deals with a person who got a tumor from HRT. They have made a post in a mainstream trans subreddit and the people on there got mad at them, because they didn't want to recognise the downsides of HRT:

So this is just a whole other level. People hating on OP because they got a brain tumor is so despicable. These people can rot in hell

(Also, if you want to use my post to make fun of OP for having a brain tumor, enjoy getting blocked 🥰 I try to make this a welcoming place for people who are transitioning, detransitioning or having problems with their medical transition. If you can't handle that, please fuck off)

The specific kind of tumor this person is talking about, a pituitary brain tumor, is (as stated) probably linked to HRT in trans women. This reminds me of the myriad of posts by trans women talking about galactorrhea. Galactorrhea refers to the spontaneous lactation without having given birth or breastfeeding a baby, which can occur in women and men. And what is the most common cause for Galactorrhea?

the most common cause of galactorrhea is a benign tumor in your brain. Even though benign tumors are not as dangerous as cancerous tumors, they can still cause severe dysfunction over time, because they can still grow slowly and compress vital areas of the brain. It's definetly not a topic to be joked about.

I was able to find a ton of "I am spontaneously lactating as a trans woman, is this normal"-posts in the span of seconds. Remember: Galactorrhea, a condition that is most commonly caused by a brain tumor. And what are the responses?

keep in mind: this person probably had not only been lactating, but even had blood in their nipple discarge. Up to a fifth of women who have that sign of discharge have a malignant cause for it - I can't imagine that the prospect for biological males on HRT is much better.

so yeah, instead of telling them to go see their doctor or anything, they link them to r/AdultBreastfeeding - it's a fetish subreddit for people who have a lactation fetish and want to induce lactation.

I mean, a large amount of the stuff I post here is kinda funny and absurd, but if you get a bit deeper in these online echochambers, it gets really dark real quick. Where did we go from "everyone should live their lives as they wish" to "downplaying brain cancer to own the terfs"? And this doesn't mean that every trans woman should immediately stop their HRT just to prevent that from happening. That's not what I'm saying here. I'm just saying that these people genuinely don't seem to care about anything other than their ideology, and even medical professionals are seen as "lying" and "bigoted", and people with brain tumors are accused of "attacking the trans community". How is this not a cult??

Also, I wish the person who made the original post all the best :) I hope they find people who support them and help them heal

#transmed #transmedical #radical feminism #radblr #radical feminists do interact #radical feminists please touch #gender critical #brain tumor #pituitary gland #pituitary gland tumor #radical feminst #terfblr #gc feminism #radfem safe #gc feminist #radical feminist safe

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when-pigsfly · 2 months

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WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

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