#l death note says come on and slam
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Every time I think about all the roles Kappei Yamaguchi has played I lose it a little, especially when I remember that one of those roles is Bugs fucking Bunny.
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Scintilla (Prologue)
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Mentat!reader
author's note: This is the first official posting of the series. I do plan on making chapters than what I am posting now.
warnings: house harkonnen, mentions of death and blood
wc: 528
“Are you sure I’m getting what I want?”
You say to the guard blocking the closed door. You’re saying not for him but mainly for yourself. How easy his life must be. He just stands there, quietly. You think.
“Are they going to write me off and not listen?”
FACT: OPEN POSITIONS ARE ON KAITAIN. INFERENCE: 70/30 CHANCE I GET KAITAIN. HYPOTHESIS: WILL GIVE ME KAITAIN OR A TEACHING JOB IF WORSE COMES TO WORSE
The great door opened with a bird-like screech,
“(Y/N) (L/N) come in.”
The door slammed, punctuating your entrance. You take rushed steps and a nervous inhale. In front you is a monstrous pedestal that holds the council of three professors who told you everything you know, who made you self righteous and sufficient. The people who gave you everything; the people who would give something great back in return.
“(Y/N) (L/N), the orphan, the child of a planet destroyed by interplanetary wars,” says Vere Engle, the one standing in the middle, the old man with a shocking white beard and circle glasses.
Gosh he’s ancient.
“My peers and I have decided to give you a prominent assignment.” He says with a slight chuckle.
“You’re giving me Kaitain, aren’t you?” You coldly state while cutting off Professor Engles giggles, “To work for the Emperor and become his mentat? He always needs more of us.”
“Well there’s been a change of plans…” Professor Glacian utters out, the lady who made your life a living hell. Drilling you over and over again when you got complex material wrong. Punishing you and saying that it was because, ‘you need to learn how to take this information or else you’ll face more extreme consequences’
“You’re not going to Kaitain anymore…” She says.
FACT: THE COUNCIL IS KNOWN FOR NOT DECLARING OTHER OPENINGS FACT: THE BENE TLEILAX NEEDS MORE PROFESSORS HYPOTHESIS: YOU COULD BE STAYING HERE (EXTREMELY UNLIKELY)
You weigh your options, staying here to teach isn’t a bad thing, you think
“Okay,” you muttered out, trying to hide your disappointment, “if not Kaitain then it must be that you want me to stay here.”
“No (L/N), you’re leaving this planet.” Professor Engles says.
“You’ve been given the honor of working for house Harkonnen on Geidi Prime” The third professor beams out, “isn’t that just splendid?”
You feel the anger well up into your body. I have trained harder and better than every single one of my classmates and this is how they repay me.
“Why am I going there?” Your voice almost breaks as you reply.
“The Harkonnens mentat, Piter De Vries, has gone off the wrong path if you know what we mean. Since we cannot trust that the Baron has the best interests in mind, we are sending another mentat, you.” Engles says trying to calm the situation down.
“No one survives Geidi Prime. You’re sending me to an early grave.” You say jokingly, even though the people in the room knew the gravity of the assignment.
"So, learn to hold your tongue" declared Glacian.
If I die at least no one will see the blood stains on my clothes
#feyd rautha#feyd rautha x reader#house harkonnen#mentat!reader#dune 2021#dune 2024#dune#dune x reader
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To Date a Criminal
Bucky Barnes X Celebrity!F!Reader
Word Count: 1,800ish
Warnings: Angst | Talk of ending relationships | Asshole Interviewers | Language | Brief mentions of sexism | Fluff?
Summary: Bucky’s history is a problem to some of Y/N’s fans
Author’s note: This is more angsty than I originally intended, but life is a shitty mess so there’s no point sugar coating it lmao. Unedited. Didn’t know what to call it, so this is what I landed with.
"A-list celebrity Y/N Y/L/N is speculated to be romantically involved with ex-assassin James Barnes, the Winter Soldier. A lot of people believe that Barnes should be convicted of the numerous murders that he committed over the course of the Cold War, but Y/L/N seems to have no issue flaunting her criminal boyfriend on every platform she has a voice. The 108-year-old man was once a close friend to Capt-" Sam turned the TV off. Bucky stared at the blank screen for a little longer, before swallowing heavily and looking down. Sam wanted to say something but struggled to find the words.
Bucky sighed. "This is fucked," he said after a moment. He appeared to be fairly calm about it, before he slammed his fist down on the table, leaving a small dent in the wood. "What the fuck?" He shouted out, as Sam crossed his arms.
"Buck, you know better than to listen to that shit," he said. Bucky turned to him, shaking his head.
"It's not about me listening to them." He started. "Y/N is being attacked. Even if she doesn't agree, her entire reputation is at stake, for dating me. They're calling me a murderer for fucks sake." Bucky ran his hand through his hair. Sam sighed. Of course, he didn't care what people thought about him. He'd been receiving death threats and insults daily since returning from Wakanda, he was used to it. "She has every reason to leave me. She'd be an idiot not to." He mumbled, turning away from Sam.
Sam sighed. He couldn’t argue with that. But something he’d come to realise is that both Bucky and Y/N were complete dumbasses when together. “Just, talk to her, man,” He replied, leaving Bucky to stew by himself.
*
He sipped his drink slowly, hearing the door slam close and a loud sigh. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve had to deal with today,” She said, throwing her coat onto the back of a dining chair. She bent over the sofa and pressed a kiss against his cheek. “The guy who was interviewing us made some sexist comments before we even began, so we just knew it was going to be a long session,” She kicked off her shoes and sat on the sofa beside him. “It was really tempting to just walk out on multiple occasions, but apparently I needed a better reason,”
Bucky grinned quickly, before placing his glass on the coffee table. "Baby, we need to talk," He began. Y/N looked at him and her eyes narrowed in confusion. She couldn’t read his expression at all. Her face fell when she realised that his smile had disappeared.
"What about?" She asked cautiously. Her heart sped up.
Bucky took a deep breath. "You need to break up with me," he said.
Y/N furrowed her eyebrows at him. Everything was going well. She really liked Bucky and she thought he felt the same for her. "I don't understand. I don't want to." She said.
"And I don't want to either. But people are calling me a murderer." Bucky looked at her finally, and she could see the sadness in his eyes. She let out a deep exhale, relieved that she’d not done anything to upset him.
It took her a moment to think her way around his comment. "But you're not a murderer, and I don’t care what people say," She replied, crossing her arms across her chest.
Bucky smiled softly. Y/N was brazen, just one of the many things he liked about her. “Sweetheart,” He started, “I’m not worth ending your career over,”
She bit the inside of her cheek and turned away. Whilst she held the belief that he very much was worth it, she didn’t want to admit that now. Not if things were going to end. “Do you want this to end?” She asked. He was fairly insistent.
Bucky seemed taken aback. “No, god no, you have no idea how much I don’t want this to happen. But you have to do the smart thing here. You can’t stay with me,”
“I don’t care. I’m not ending this.” She said indignantly.
Bucky rubbed his forehead. Fuck, he loved her stubbornness sometimes, but it was not helping right now. “Your reputation-”
“I’m not worried about my stupid reputation! I couldn’t give less of a shit about it!” She shouted back and Bucky stared at her. She exhaled heavily and furrowed her eyebrows. “The only thing I’m worried about is you, Buck,”
Bucky clenched his jaw and turned away. “Well, that’s really not convenient. Because I worry about you and the way people treat you and the way everyone sees you. And you not giving a shit about that sort of thing really makes my job a lot harder,” He replied, and Y/N smiled.
She pulled his face back in her direction, and her hand fell to rest on his chest. Pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’d leave everything behind to stop you from worrying,” She admitted and Bucky rolled his eyes.
“You’re crazy if you think I’d let you,” He raised his eyebrows, but grinned, all the same, leaning in to kiss her again.
She pouted at him. “I’m starting to think that you want me to be famous more than I care for it,” She joked.
“Not famous. Successful. I want you to do well, and I like seeing you get the recognition you deserve. I need people to love you as much as I… love you,” He paused at the last words, and looked down, hoping she didn’t notice.
But of course, she did. She’d been waiting to hear those words for weeks now. She stared at him, noticing the slight pink tinge that was creeping up his neck. “Buck,” She began. “I love you too,”
He looked up at her, searching for any hint of a lie. It had been a while since someone had said those words to him and meant it. As if she could tell, she took hold of his wrist and directed his hand to feel her heartbeat. “I love you,” She said again, smiling at him.
“And if you still think we should break up, then you’re the crazy one. Especially after that super romantic admission of your love for me,” she stated, grinning at him as his cheeks tinged pink. He looked down, but his small smile was very much evident.
He sighed. “You’re right. As much as I hate to admit it,” He said back, as Y/N giggled. She kissed him again, and Bucky’s hand moved to hold her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I love you,” He murmured in the space between them, their foreheads resting against each other.
*
One of the downsides of being a celebrity was having to maintain a social presence. As a result, Y/N had to attend several red carpets that she had no real investment in. This particular time, Y/N was being interviewed by someone from some media outlet that she was unfamiliar with. The questions had strayed from anything remotely related to the public perception of her boyfriend.
“Bucky is not a murderer,” Y/N scowled at the person interviewing her. Her dating life was noones business at the best of times, but it was entirely inappropriate to discuss this right now.
The interviewer smirked at the rise they were getting. “He was one of the worlds most wanted criminals. He’s credited with at least two dozen high-target assassinations. He’s responsible for the Avengers breaking up back in 2016…”
Y/N stared daggers at the interviewer, and their face fell as they noticed. They stopped talking and swallowed heavily. “Bucky is not a murderer. He was given a pardon which has forgiven him-”
“Implying that there was something to forgive.” The interviewer interrupted “Why do you think it’s ok to date a war criminal?” They added.
Y/N lips parted in surprise. “You know what? I don’t have to deal with this. If people have a problem with who I love then that’s their issue. I do not have to listen to you insult my partner.” She snapped back, before storming off to the bathroom.
On her way there, a hand took hold of her wrist and pulled her away. Looking up, she saw Bucky beaming at her. “You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” He held his arms around her waist. His face fell when he saw her look in her eyes. “What’s happened? Are you ok?” his first instinct was to check her over for any injuries.
Instantly she let her tears fall and leant against him. “Why do people have to be assholes?” She bawled out. Bucky hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head. He held her tight, letting her cry into his chest.
“What did they say?” He growled, angry that anyone would have the gall to insult his girl. He looked around to determine whos fault it was. If anyone seemed even remotely guilty for the upset that they’d caused, but everyone seemed fairly content with themselves.
She sniffed quietly. “They were being so rude about you! I had to leave the interview,” She replied, and Bucky seemed taken aback. They’d insulted him and she was distraught.
He held her at arms length and looked at her, lowering his head so that she was staring directly into his eyes. “There are always gonna be assholes in the world, but you walking away from them in that situation helps people realise. You are so incredibly brave for walking outside your door every day when you know what people have said about me. And for that I love you. I worship the ground you walk on. I’m honored to have a place in your heart.” He said sincerely, desperate to calm her down.
“But you have to promise me that you will not give these people a place. Please don’t let them hurt you. Don’t take these shots that are meant for me,” He added, caressing her cheek with his knuckles.
Y/N furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, but seemed to smile. “Buck, I would take actual bullets for you,” She said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Bucky chuckled. “Very unwise. Bullets hurt like hell. And you’d be taking a lot of them,” He bantered back. “But I appreciate the sentiment. I love you sweetheart,” He smiled.
Y/N exhaled heavily, smiling back. “I love you too,” she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Do you wanna come with me?”
He looked at her, confused as to what she meant. “Back onto the carpet? What about the interviews?”
She grinned. “Maybe you can do some staring if they piss me off.” She giggled.
Immediately he seemed excited. “Oh sweetheart, don’t tempt me!”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#Bucky Barnes#bucky x reader#reader insert#marvel fanfiction#fanfic#fluff#angst#marvel#oneshot
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Infinity
Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x F ! Reader
Part 1 | my broken maid
Warnings | abusive parents, mentions of death, grammatical errors, etc.
Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^
Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.
Infinity Masterlist
year 1020 AD
GOJO SHINYA watched carefully. His blue eyes piercing into the back of a young maid dressed in a tattered kimono that she had to stitch up the patches herself, she worked tiredly, quietly, and most of all - she worked obediently. Her name, as he recalled, was y/n l/n. The firstborn of the l/n clan. But depsite being born in such a esteemed family she was hated all because she didn't inherit her family's cursed technique or the ability to see cursed spirits. For this reason, both her mother and father sought to have another child, and that they did. This time a young son of five years old who has already shown signs of having both inherited his father's and mother's techniques.
When he first visited the clan as it was his duty as the next clan head of the Gojo clan and the next lord of the land, his first thought upon hearing the news and seeing the girl was simply a 'how pitiful' and he went on about his day.
However, as luck would have it...he would get to know her, little by little.
He would learn that she was soft hearted and soft spoken. She never got mad, even when her own family was berating her or yelling at her. She never raised her eyes in defiance. She never yelled back. She never even slammed the sliding door.
He would learn that she was a lovely singer with a voice of an angel. Her little lullabies echoing quietly in the garden's of the l/n estate as he would find himself wandering around as talks with the l/n clan have concluded and he was given free reign to explore the place.
He would learn that she loves flowers and even tries to protect them when her own mother would come out and start ripping the small plants from the ground saying how y/n was "undeserving of such things as pretty flowers". Gojo knew he wasn't meant to witness the scene, but his six eyes allowed him to see a lot of things. He even got to see how y/n cried over the deadening flowers and how she would replant them in hopes that they would grow back.
He would learn that she flusters easily. As when she had caught his gaze unexpectedly one hot March afternoon, she had blushed profusely. Her (color) cheeks heating up greatly as her eyes would fixate onto the ground. Her hands gripping the broom a little bit more tightly as she resumed her sweeping. She was so cute, he mused.
So, he would learn and learn and learn many things. She was gentle, caring, soft, and cute too. He found that he wanted to hold her close as the weeks turned into months and months turned into a year as he would find himself visiting the l/n clan many times in hopes of seeing her.
The head of the l/n clan. Sojiro. Would take pride and his ego would visibly swell as THE Gojo Shinya would frequently visit his estate. Gojo honestly hated the man and wished that y/n was the clan head instead. At least then he would have someone pretty to look at instead of an ugly man, and ugly five year old who wouldn't stop smiling, and an even uglier wife who would eye him like a piece of meat.
But Gojo would tell himself that it was worth it. He would get to see y/n (even though it was at a distance) and he would get to make treaties and deals with the esteemed l/n clan. He kills two birds with one stone.
"You will offer this land to us?! Are you certain my lord?!"
Gojo gave a stiff smile and gave a dismissive wave of his hand, "please, I'm no lord yet. So, technically this land here is just a promise for when I come into power. Though, when I do become lord, I hope you will give me something else in return along with your devote loyalty."
Sojiro could only bow to Gojo. His forehead meeting the floorboards, "of course Lord Gojo, whatever you wish from us will be yours!"
Gojo clapped his hands together as a smile adorned his face, "splendid! I'm glad to hear it, but for now...I'll wait to tell you what I want. Once I become lord of the land and take my title as the head of the jujutsu sorcerers, i'll gift you the land and then tell you of my desires from your family. Will that suffice?"
"Of course Lord Gojo!"
Gojo smiled happily as he stood up, "good then! I think I'll take a small walk around the grounds and then take my leave. See you all in the next coming of days."
The family bowed, hell, even the five year old did after his mother urged him a little. But Gojo didn't care. His focus was to see the cute little maid he has been secretly pining after.
Well, that was until he had opened the door and walked right into said girl he was looking for. A crash sounding as a mess of dirty water and rags spilled at their feet. And when their eyes locked. Oh, the fear he saw within her (color) hues. He wanted to hug her tight and tell her it'll be alright, bit refrained from doing so. Instead, he watched as she got on her hands and knees. Head bowed to the floor, lips trembling as she apologized over and over and over again. Her tattered and mis-matched kimono getting dirty and wet from the cleaning water.
"I'm so sorry, Lord Gojo."
Her voice would tremble. Shake and quiever. He didn't need the six eyes to know that her parents and even little brother were glaring daggers at her. Oh, how he wanted to sweep her off feet and whisk her away right then and there. But it wasn't his place. He wasn't exactly a lord yet after all.
Sojiro would quickly apologize as well as he would get his bearings. And as Gojo found himself in a new pair of clothes and ushered out of the estate. He had wished to see y/n one more time. But the head of the l/n clan seemed eager to usher him out most likely because he wanted to "discipline" his oldest daughter for causing such a mess. When in reality it was Gojo's fault just as much.
But he decided to leave it at that. Merely smiling and saying it was alright. Waving a dismissive hand as his usual walk around the grounds was postponed. He reckoned he could see her again (properly) some other time. Hopefully without fear in her eyes.
But alas.
Gojo Shinya would not see her again.
Because apparently she was beaten to death that same night. When he heard the news he had a sort of .. fell into silent fury dwelling within him.
A girl he had fallen for from a distance so easily taken from him depsite him being a sorcerer and having the six eyes.
For the rest of his days after that, he vowed to find her again for it was written in books of old that pure souls with tragic endings got second chances.
So with reincarnation embedding itself into the deepest parts of his mind, he vowed to see her again. For he had a tragic end too. I mean, he didn't end up with her after all, right?
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#gojo#female reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo x reader#yandere#yandere gojo#yandere gojo satoru#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x y/n
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All i gave you is gone.
Pairing:Steve Rogers X bestfriend!Reader.
Summary: What started out as a regular mission for you and Steve, quickly turns south when something goes horrifically wrong. When you have to pay for this with your life, Steve is in for more heartbreak than he ever thought anyone could possibly live through.
This is a what if he fell for you and not peggy.
"Steve!! where is that damn gun of mine?" You asked punching one of the bad guys.
Steve throws his shield. 'Give me a minute Agent L/N" You smiled and say over the com in your ear. "Last name Rogers?" he chuckles. "Sorry it's a habit"
"Well try to break-" You gasp and feel a sharp bullet hit your chest. You look at the wound and Tony says "Y/N!??"
He lands and catches you. "No no!" You say. "To...tony" Steve is yelling through the coms. "Stark talk to me!"
You lay in a bed unconscious and Steve hasn't left your side since you got there four hours ago. "Come on Y/N please don't leave me"
he kisses your hand and Bruce walks in with Natasha. She walks over and places her hand on Steve's shoulders.
"I can't lose-" he tries to speak but he get choked up again. Tony walks in. "How is she?" Natasha looks at Tony and shakes her head. "No change"
"Rogers i'm sorry i would gladly take that bullet for her" Steve looks at you then you flat line. "Y/N?! no no please god no!" he stands up doing CPR and Bruce says. "She's-"
Steve turns and grabs tony by his shirt and slams him to the wall. "This is your fault! if you didn't be such a hero you'd be dead and not her!"
Tony blinks. "Steve calm down" Steve Let's go of him and walks out of the room.
Tony fixes his shirt. "How is he like this over y/n? Am i missing something?"
Nat says. "I'll talk to him" She walks out and sees Steve in the hallway with his head in his hands. Nat sits by him. "What's going on?"
He sits back sighing. "i didn't get to tell her how i felt about her....How i truly felt" he looks at her and she says. "You were in love with her?"
He looks at the floor. "yea and it's killing me that i never told her i showed her by doing small things for her like when she got sick i was there for her and giving her random notes during missions"
Nat nods. "Oh Steve I'm sure she knew by all you did for her and the team. She knew you loved her by your words and actions."
"i just...i feel guilty i never told her" Nat nods. "She knew Steve, She knew" He turns and she wraps her arms around him as he let the tears fall.
Steve tried his best to not cry as he and the team carried your casket down to the church.
After Tony and other spoke it was Steve's turn. He stands up and walks over to the stand and looks at everyone.
"Y/N was not only part of this team she was a best friend to us...she was the girl i fell in love with, Y/n could light up a room with just a smile and her laugh. She was tough as nails and fought up to her death. We may be mourning her but i chose to celebrate her life. Y/N L/N Thank you for all that you did in this life, I hope we meet again soon, I love you"
He walks back to his seat and looks at your casket and smiles knowing you and him would be a great power couple....in another life.
A/N: well damn i hope you enjoyed this one shot. Reblogs mean a lot.
tags@cutedisneygrl @patzammit @nicoline1998enilocin @angelbabyyy99 @mrsevans90
#steve rogers angst#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x you#steve x reader#steven grant rogers#stevenat#steve rogers imagine
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lover be good to me: part two
You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.
But it’s your wedding day.
minors and ageless blogs do not interact.
<- part one - part three ->
pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader
notes: and part two is here! i am once again so excited to be able to share this fic with y'all. thank you again to everyone who has sat thru me yelling at them about this fic—it means the world! and a special thank you to my beta for getting through this beast and getting it into tip-top shape <3
title and part title are from hozier’s “be” and “nfwmb”
tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, non-graphic partner death (not kita), anxiety, borderline panic attack, food consumption, love as a choice.
wc: 16k
Shinsuke almost catches you.
You’re still whirling around to run, a jewelry box ballerina wobbling in place desperate to stay on her feet, when his fingers graze your wrist. They’re warm. Callused. They trace along the delicate skin there, sending sparks skittering beneath your skin.
His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist.
But they don’t.
They fall away, until there’s only the ghost of him lingering on your skin. He speaks too, his steady voice almost pleading, but your thrumming heartbeat is filling your ears and echoing inside you, a wild hymn of instinct.
His touch falls away and you’re through the shoji before you realize where you’ve gone. You whip past your friends, their shocked expressions blurring at the edges like watercolors, and into the hallway.
It hurts to breathe.
You dart into one of the shrine’s empty tea rooms, chest heaving. You slam the shoji shut behind you and sink to the floor, your shiromuku pooling around you, gleaming like moonlight in the dim. You knot your fingers in the fabric. Your fingertips brush over the heavy embroidery, over the graceful sweep of a crane’s wing, and your grip tightens.
Your chest aches, a bruise of a thing; the red string of fate wound fast around you, your ribs its spindle, cinching tighter with each passing moment. The world wavers.
You come back to yourself on the other side of the room. You’ve shed your shiromuku; it’s in the middle of the room, an empty husk; a cocoon broken open too early. Your next breath is shaky.
Faintly, you can hear people rushing through the hallway. Their voices wash over you like waves on a distant shore. You bury your face in your hands.
You don’t look up when the door opens. Abe and Yoshikawa have always been able to find you, no matter where you hide.
The door shuts, and then—
“Hi,” Takao says.
You go stiff.
“Hi,” you say, refusing to look up.
You feel Takao settle next to you; the fabric of his kimono is soft against you. He sets his hand on your knee. He’s warm, as always. It’s the soft heat of freshly washed sheets, of the spring sun’s tender touch. You curl into him.
It feels like home.
Quiet falls. It settles between the two of you like the night, a shroud of your own making. Takao leans back. He sighs; it sounds like it comes from between the gaps in his ribs, from the very depths of him.
It sounds like saying goodbye.
“Please don’t leave me,” you say, and you sound small even to yourself.
“I think that’s my line.”
You wonder if the words taste as bitter as they sound. If they linger sour on his tongue. Takao seems to realize it at the same moment, but he doesn’t apologize, and you don’t ask him to.
“I’m not going to leave you,” you say.
He hums skeptically, low and resonant, and it chips away at your bones, scrapes you down to your very marrow.
“I’m not,” you insist, low and desperate. You barely recognize yourself. But you want to keep Takao, to keep this man you’ve spent years learning, spent years loving. Leaving him would carve you open and Kita may be your soulmate, but even the most careful stitches can’t always keep a wound shut. “We said it didn’t matter.”
“We did,” he says. “But I think it might.”
“He’s a stranger, Aoshi,” you say. “I don’t know him, not the way I know you. Not the way I love you.”
“It’s different, though, isn’t it?” he asks. “With soulmates.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“But it is.”
You swallow down the sob.
He shifts next to you, giving you more space to curl into him. You take it, burrowing into his side and pressing your face against the soft fabric of his haori. He sighs.
“Do you feel—” he starts. You can feel the way the words rumble in his chest. He stops and runs a hand through his hair; he blows out a big breath. “Do you feel connected to him?”
You bite at your bottom lip. You remember Shinsuke in the sea of silken hydrangeas, the deep blue of them eddying around his legs like the tide as he moved through them. You think of how your eyes had caught on him then. How his companion had faded into the background.
How well you’d known the taste of his name on your tongue.
“I don’t know,” you say.
“Yes, then.”
“I don’t know, Aoshi,” you snap. “I don’t know anything except that we were supposed to get married today and now it’s all—”
“Fucked,” he says when you trail off. “It’s all fucked.”
You nod, sniffling miserably.
“I think we need some space,” he says.
“From?”
“Each other.”
You pull away from him.
“What?”
“I think we need some space from each other,” he repeats. He’s not looking at you, his dark eyes focused straight ahead, as if he can see through the shoji and find all the answers right there.
You want to shake him.
“I don’t need space from you,” you bite out. “I need you.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he says. “I need space from you.”
“Aoshi, what? Please, I don’t understand.”
He blinks. His eyelashes are wet; they’re clumping together. There’s a stray one caught on his cheek like a dandelion seed. You catch yourself before you reach for it.
“You have a choice to make,” he says. “And I don’t think I can watch you do it.”
“My choice is you!”
He looks at you, then. He looks at you, his eyes night-sky dark, and there is something terribly tender to him when he says, “I don’t think you know that yet.”
You sob.
It’s pulled from somewhere deep inside you, an animal sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making, something that lives behind your bones. It guts you, that sob, flays you open from neck to navel.
Takao sucks in a sharp breath. His hand flexes by his side. You sob again, softer this time, but no less wounded for it.
“You’re not being fair,” you tell him.
“Neither are you.”
You grit your teeth, wondering if there’s such a thing as fairness, in a moment like this. You think it’s unlikely.
“You don’t get to make my choice for me,” you snap.
“There are no choices being made today,” says a new voice, and you close your eyes as your mother’s perfume wafts around you. She smells of summer irises and the honeyed earth of saffron, and you breathe her in as she gathers you into her arms.
You curl up into her, a child once more, and start to cry in earnest.
“Go,” she says to Takao. If she says anything else, you can’t hear it over your own sobs, over the great, gasping breaths wracking your body.
You feel Takao leave, the warmth of him fading away, and it takes everything you have to not reach out to him. You sob again, choking on his name.
“Oh, tadpole,” your mother says. She presses a kiss to your temple. “Let him go for now.”
“I’m supposed to be getting married,” you tell her.
“I know, tadpole.”
“Why is this happening?”
She cradles you close. “I wish I knew.”
“You said—”
“I know.”
“Mama,” you murmur. “Mama, what do I do?”
“I don’t know, tadpole,” she says, and you feel one of her hands shift to press against her stomach, to cradle her own soulmark’s blackened kanji. “I don’t know.”
You turn your face into the crook of her neck and cry all over again.
She hums to you, soft and soothing, but lets you cry your fill. She pets at your back, her strong hand firm, keeping you grounded in your own skin.
Your sobs have just started to abate when the phone rings.
It cuts through the heavy air of the tearoom like a knife. Both of you jolt with it, and you furrow your brow. It’s a classic ringtone, the one all phones come with, and you immediately know whose phone it is.
You push yourself up and out of your mother’s arms glancing to where your shiromuku still lays, a collapsed chrysalis. You chew on your lower lip but go to it, kneeling in front of the beautiful fabric and picking it up carefully until you can see Shinsuke’s utilitarian flip phone. It jingles, the ringtone continuing, and you reach for it with trembling fingers.
Miya Osamu, the lit screen reads.
You sit with the phone cupped softly in your hands, your pulse thrumming. You trace a finger over the edge of it.
You flip it open before you can convince yourself otherwise.
“Hello?” you ask.
“You picked up,” Shinsuke says.
You suck in a sharp breath. You had known, but it’s so different hearing his voice. The steadiness of it, even though the edges of it sound worn down.
“I did.”
“I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Me neither,” you confess.
“Are you alright?”
You close your eyes. This would all be so much easier if he wasn’t good. But you know he is—you can hear it in his voice, in how earnestly he asks.
“Not really,” you say. The least you can do is give him the truth. “I assume you need your phone back?”
He goes quiet. You listen to him breathe and something in you aches, like a healing bruise being pressed. You wish you were better, that you were kinder, that you could handle this with grace instead of inelegantly side-stepping it.
“Yes,” he says. “And I’d like to talk.”
You bite your lip. “Yeah,” you say. “We probably should.”
The two of you agree to meet in the tearoom in thirty minutes which is good, because even with your shiromuku shed, the kimono you wear is clearly wedding garb. It’s beautiful in its simplicity, stark white and painstakingly stitched, and you desperately need to be out of it.
It’s your mother who helps you disrobe, her fingers careful as she unwraps the pristine obi, the gossamer fabric as delicate as a spider’s web gleaming in the low light of the room. You stare out the window as the attendant takes it and folds it up for storage. She’s glancing at you occasionally, her dark eyes wide, and you wonder what she’ll tell the people she knows. How she’ll spin the story of your misfortune. If she will tell it as a blessing instead.
The obi is followed by the kimono itself slipping from your shoulders like water, and your mother brushes a hand against your cheek before she hands you your street clothing. She and the attendant leave you to remove the rest yourself. You leave the nagajuban pooled on the floor as you dress.
Once you’re dressed you wander over to your kimono, carefully hung next to your shiromuku. The attendant has smoothed most of the wrinkles from the silk, and you trace a finger over the long lines of it.
You wonder if you’ll ever get to wear it again.
By the time the attendant returns to retrieve the garments you’re sitting by the window, staring out into the pouring rain. The lush plants of the courtyard—heavy, ruffled ferns with massive fronds and vining shrubs with blossoms like little stars dotted between verdant leaves—sway under its touch, dancing to a tune that only nature knows.
Behind you, the shoji clicks open and shut.
You turn around.
Shinsuke gives you a soft smile. It’s wan, but there’s still a sweetness to it somehow. His hat is gone; his gray hair gleams silver in the light, the black tips all the darker for it, and you think again of thunderclouds.
“You’ve been crying,” he says, his brow furrowed, and that almost sends you into a fresh wave of tears.
You let out a watery laugh. “A bit,” you admit. “It’s fine, though.”
He watches you, those vulpine eyes shining. He clearly doesn’t agree.
“Here,” you say, reaching out. “Your phone.”
He moves closer and takes it from you with quiet thanks. He lingers there and you bite your bottom lip, trying to figure out what to even say to him.
“I’m sorry for running,” you say.
He smiles, soft and sad. “I understand.”
“I just—I don’t even know where to start.”
“That’s alright,” he says calmly. “We have time.”
We. He says it so easily. Your stomach roils.
“I can’t,” you say. “I can’t do this.”
Shinsuke’s expression doesn’t change, but he’s different suddenly, like a guttering flame finally blowing out. You swallow down a sob.
“I understand if you need space,” he says. It’s barely there, a wisp of a thing, but there’s pain in his voice. “I know this isn’t easy.”
Your laugh is wild at the edges, an unraveling stitch. “If we’d met an hour later, I would have been married.”
His fingers flex.
“I just—” you catch yourself as your voice cracks. Your lips are tingling; you bite down on the bottom one to make it stop. “I can’t do this right now. Please. Shinsuke, please.”
The tilt of his lips is edged with sorrow. “It’s fine,” he tells you. “We’ll trade phone numbers for now.”
“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you.”
He nods. You trade phones, his fingers sweeping over your palm. They’re callused, rough against your skin, and you feel the ghost of them long after he’s drawn back. When you take your phone back, you’re careful to keep from touching him.
Kita Shinsuke, his contact reads, and you can’t help saying it aloud, letting your tongue roll over each inch of his full name now that you know it.
Shinsuke—no, you think, he’s Kita, stranger that he is to you—smiles. He says your name too, his voice soft like the spring sun. Your stomach churns.
“Thanks,” you say, drawing back into yourself, curling up like a fern frond. “We’ll—we’ll talk soon.”
He looks like he wants to say something else, but he must see something in your face because he simply nods. There’s something you can’t quite understand tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth.
“Alright,” he says. “Soon.”
He glances back at you once, just before he disappears into the hallway.
The shoji has barely clicked shut behind him when it’s opened again and Abe and Yoshikawa tumble into the room. They sweep you into their arms without a word and your knees give out. They cradle you as they lower you to the floor, and Yoshikawa hums quietly as you knot your fingers in their kimonos.
“C’mon,” Abe says, the gentlest you’ve ever heard her. “Let’s get you home.”
“Aoshi’s not there,” you sob.
Yoshikawa’s grip tightens.
“That’s fine,” she says, as steady as the sun’s rise, “because we will be.”
***
You wake to sunlight streaming in through your window. It cradles you like a lover, plays gently over your face, and you wrinkle your nose.
“Aoshi,” you grumble, “you forgot to close the curtains last night.”
There’s no response.
You crack an eye open, peering to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. When you press your hand against the worn cotton sheet, it’s cold.
It all comes pouring back in, a riptide of memories washing over you like a stormy sea.
“Oh,” you say quietly, curling up so that your knees are pressed against your chest. You blink back the tears. “Right.”
The sunlight thickens, pools like molten gold around you, and you turn your face up to it, a winter flower searching for warmth. You don’t know how long you stay like that; you’re only roused by the faint sound of clattering in the kitchen followed by the purr of your coffee maker. The scent of it fills the house, and you put on your house slippers.
When you enter the kitchen your father is snipping away at your neglected bonsai, trimming the needles back with careful, sure hands. He glances up at you.
“Hi,” you say.
“Hi,” he says. “You’re terrible at taking care of this.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, putting down the pruning shears. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” you say, and quiet falls.
His lips have a faint downward tilt as he watches you, like a waning moon. He sighs, thumbing at the soil of the bonsai. There’s a flash of his soulmark, blackened into a charcoal smear, a gravestone all its own. Your eyes catch on it.
“Did you love your soulmate more?” you ask. “Was it better with her?”
“Oh, tadpole,” your father says. He comes over and takes your hand, squeezing it lightly. “It was different. Not better, not worse. Just different.”
“But did you love her more?”
“I loved her differently.”
“You keep saying that, but what does it mean?” you ask, pulling away from him. “Either you loved her more or you didn’t!”
He sighs. “It isn’t that easy,” he tells you.
“It is!”
“It isn’t, tadpole.”
“It has to be.”
“It’s not black and white when it comes to soulmates,” he says gently. “You know that.”
“I want it to be,” you whisper. “It’d be easier.”
“It would be,” he agrees. “It would be.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
He sighs. “You don’t have to know, not right this minute.”
“What if I never know?”
He hums, picking up the pruning shears again. He brushes a soft hand over the bonsai tree, tracing over a winding branch, his fingers reverent against the old bark. A few blue-green needles come loose, pattering down to the counter. He sets the pruning shears against a branch and the blades flash, catching the light as they come together. He catches the little branch as it falls.
When he looks up, he looks right past you. You think of early morning mist, how it swallows a person down.
“You will,” he says.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His gaze flickers to you and when he smiles, it feels like something you aren’t meant to see.
The coffee pot gurgles. It breaks the spell and your father’s smile warms at the edges, smoothing out the tender gash of his mouth.
“I made it the way you like it,” he says. “I thought you might need it.”
“Yeah,” you say. “I think I do.”
You’re halfway through your first cup when your mother emerges, already fully dressed for the day. She looks you over from head to toe and her face softens, goes sweet at the edges.
“Did you sleep?” she asks.
You nod.
“Good.”
“Where are you going?” you ask.
“The shrine,” she says.
You wince.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Take care of what?”
“There’s a soulmate clause in the contract,” she says carefully. “They’re required to refund you. Mei is meeting me though, and she thinks the clause is loosely worded enough that she can get them to hold a different day for you instead, if you’d like. It’ll likely be a less auspicious rokuyo day, but—”
“But if I marry Aoshi, it might be the best I can get.”
She nods. “At least you’ll have options.”
“I guess. Mei’s going?”
Mei is an old friend of your mother’s and one of her prime sources for her study, a veritable treasure trove of data. She’s made for the courtroom, tiny and calm and whip-smart, and her grasp of soulmate law—tricky at the best of times, highly scrutinized as it is—is unparalleled.
“Yes,” she says. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.”
She comes over to you and cups your cheek. You lean into the touch, into the saffron scent lingering on her skin. “You aren’t alone, tadpole,” she murmurs.
You close your eyes. “I know.”
She pats your cheek lightly. “Good,” she says.
You miss her warmth when she pulls away.
She takes her purse from your father; they murmur to each other. Your father leans forward to press his forehead against hers and you look away.
The door clicks shut behind her, and your father starts to hum, low and off-key. The quiet, off-beat snick of the shears accompanies him. It’s like being a child all over again, and you settle into the hazy familiarity of it.
The morning stretches on. Yoshikawa and Abe appear during your second cup of coffee, and they drag you out to the new cafe you’ve been meaning to try. It’s a creperie filled with hazy pinks and soft greens, the warm air scented sweet. The three of you squish into a small booth as you have so many times before.
They keep you busy, plying you with sugary crepes dipped in rich, thick chocolate and decorated with fresh, perfectly red strawberries. They’re cut into little fans, pressed softly into the chocolate, almost like small flowers in the dough. The three of you peel them out of their paper cones, licking at your fingertips like little kids. You swap flavors, trading bite for bite.
You close your eyes as you reclaim your own crepe from Abe, sinking into the taste of it, letting the sugar wash everything away. Abe laughs, loud and bright, accompanied by the low purr of Yoshikawa’s voice. You let the sound of them encompass you and wonder how you ever got so lucky.
You check your phone as you leave the creperie. You bite at your cheek as your phone screen comes to life, Takao’s little smile carving out a piece of your heart. It’s an old photo from when you first got together, and it’s still a favorite even after all these years.
Abe takes your free hand and squeezes it softly. She doesn’t say anything, but then again she doesn’t need to.
There’s still no message when you go home. Dusk is falling, the last fingers of sunlight playing across the horizon, and you hesitate on your own doorstep. Yoshikawa coaxes you inside with a firm hand on your back. When you glance back at her, her dark eyes are sharp but kind.
Once you’re inside, you can’t decide what is worse: Takao not being home, or the fact that he was. His favorite jacket is missing from the closet; his to-go mug isn’t by the coffee machine. One of the dresser drawers is still cracked open.
Yoshikawa and Abe talk to you, but you can’t quite hear them. They bundle you onto the couch and stay until late, when you finally shake the cobwebs from your thoughts. Abe bites her lip when you shoo them out the door, but she goes without a fight.
The house is quiet as you get ready for bed. The bed feels vast, too big for just you. You reach for your phone perched carefully on the nightstand, untangling the charger from the trailing vines of the pothos it’s by so you can pull it closer. You squint against the brightness, texting Takao a simple good night.
He doesn’t reply.
You hadn’t known the living could haunt, but you go to sleep curled up around a ghost.
***
You go back to work.
There’s still days left of your soulmate leave, but you need the distraction. You ignore the quiet whispers and bury yourself beneath a new project. Caught up in your work you float through the day, only coming up for air when your phone vibrates. You snatch it up each time, but it’s only stray notifications—a news alert; a pop-up saying that the recipe blog Yoshikawa likes updated; your IC card balance.
It’s never what you want it to be.
It carries on for two days; each day you wait for the ping of Takao’s text, but you receive nothing. On the second day you wrap up your day late, staying behind to finish off a few notes on the new project. It’s not as if you have anything better to do.
The sun has set by the time you’re on your way home. The city has bloomed into a neon wonderland, little shocks of color blazing through the night. You watch a black cat scuttle across the sidewalk, its fur glinting fuschia from the nearby izakaya’s sign.
Your neighborhood is quieter but it still has the hum of the city to it, a familiar song. There’s a sweet scent on the breeze, courtesy of the night-blooming flowers that coat the building next to yours. You trace your fingertips over a delicate petal. It’s silken against your skin, and you sigh, turning to your home before coming to a quick halt.
Golden light is slanting out your kitchen window. It pools warmly on the ground, and you suck in a harsh breath, almost running to your door. It opens with a click. You step inside and for a moment, the genkan looks undisturbed. But then you see Takao’s shoes tucked carefully into the getabako; his house slippers are missing. There’s a quiet rustle from the kitchen’s direction.
You slip off your shoes and drop your bag into its place.
“Hello?” you call out, wincing at how timid you sound.
The rustling stops. It starts again, and Takao rounds the corner just a few seconds later.
“Hi,” he says shyly. “You’re home late.”
“Worked late,” you say. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
You’re across the room in seconds, and he wraps you up in his arms as you barrel into him.
“Please stay,” you say, knotting the soft cotton of his shirt up in your fingers. You can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. Something in you warms. “Please.”
He cups the nape of your neck, the warm span of his palm soft against the tender flesh there. You breathe him in, still nestled in tightly against him.
“You didn’t respond to me,” you murmur.
“I said I needed space.”
“It was just a good night text.”
“Let’s not do this,” he says.
Something in you wants to drag it out. To make him hurt the way you hurt. But you bite back on that part of you, swallow the poison down.
“Are you staying?”
He sighs and you go very, very still.
“I am.”
You slump into him with a sigh of relief. He cradles you close.
“You scared me,” you tell him.
“I know.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Good.”
“You know, this is what I was afraid of, all those years ago,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your hairline. “That I wouldn’t be able to let you go if your soulmate came. And that I’d have to worry about you leaving me.”
“How many times are you going to make me say it?” you ask, gritting your teeth. “I’ve told you, I’m not leaving you.”
“You might.”
“We’ve been together for years,” you say, pulling back so you can meet his dark eyes. “He’s a stranger. He wants an idea, not me. Not really. So no, I’m not.”
He sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.
You kiss him then, a featherlight brush of your lips that lasts for just a breath before you pull back. He cups your jaw and chases you. He kisses you again. Deeper, more solid. When he pulls back, you open your eyes and look at him.
“I’m not, Aoshi,” you say. “I know. Trust me.”
He watches you. His eyes remind you of a summer’s night, encompassing and pitch-black, but warm. Always warm. He searches your face, his gaze so intent that it feels physical.
He nods.
You let out a low, soft breath.
Now you have to talk to Kita.
***
It takes time.
Your work’s soulmate leave is generous, but Kita is at the whim of his farm. The rice paddies don’t care about soulmates nor do they pay attention to weekends. And devoted as he is, he heeds their call, nature his kindest mistress.
It makes you think of Toyooka. You know the song of the fields, the rustle of the rice in the countryside breeze, an age-old tune that’s sunk into the soil. This close to harvest the verdant fields go Midas-touched, gilded with the sweetest hint of gold.
You wonder what Kita’s farm looks like. If it looks like the summers of your youth. If he sits on the engawa in the hot months, eating crisp watermelon down to the white bone of the rind, juice dripping sticky down his fingers. If the taste curls thick on his tongue, sweet with the countryside’s unique freedom.
He’d offered his farm as a meeting point early on, but without a car it’s too far. It’s too personal as well. He’s sown into the soil there, living in each grain he’s tended to. You think his hands were kind against the rice shoots, his long, thick fingers careful as he planted them.
It’s too much, the idea of being surrounded by him.
Your home is out of the question because it’s not just yours.
You couldn’t do that to Takao, not when he’s stitched into every seam of your home. He’s in every atom of it—the slight imprint of his form in the memory foam mattress; his toothbrush, half-flattened by how hard he brushes, tucked neatly into a cup by the sink; the photos that line the walls, a tapestry of silken years woven together.
It’s also the one thing Takao’s asked of you.
(“Don’t bring him here,” he says one night, his voice flat.
You pause in the middle of drying a dish. He holds out the next, still soaked to the point that it’s dripping on the floor, and you hurry to finish. It almost slips through your fingers when he lets it go.
“I wouldn’t,” you say fiercely, even though you’d thought about it for one brief second. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Okay.”
“Do you think I would do that to you?” you ask him, setting the dish onto the rack. He hands you another, and you take it without thought.
Takao blinks. He turns to look at you, and his expression is beautiful and terrible, a tender underbelly flayed open.
“No,” he says. “I don’t, not really. I just want this home to have always been ours. Just ours. I just—wanted to be sure, I guess.”
You reach out and cup his face, cradling it between your palms. “It is,” you tell him. “It’s just ours. It’ll always be ours.”
He considers you. “Good,” he says, and he catches your hand in his. He turns his head; he presses a kiss against your palm. It’s devout, that brush of softness from his lips against the ley lines of your skin, as if he’s an acolyte at your altar, laying offerings at your feet.
The two of you press together for a moment, the warmth of his lips searing through your skin to settle in your bones. You take up his hand and press your own kiss to the center of his palm. His eyes go half-mast, and you can feel his smile against your skin.
He pulls back. Squeezes your hand softly, and then he’s turning back to the sink, already reaching for another dish.
You stand there for a moment. Your hand has gone cold without the heat of his skin. You flex your fingers, trying to make sense of the dread creeping over you.
Takao glances at you. He smiles, sweet and fleeting, a dandelion tuft caught in the breeze. For a breath, you’re in high school again, gazing at a boy you’ve never spoken to but spent hours with, the two of you balanced on a precipice. And then the past fades, until you are left with who Takao is now. With who he has become to you.
You smile back, and then take the next plate he hands you.
It’s easy, after that. He washes, and you dry, a rhythm you’d know anywhere. Takao is swaying, humming along with the radio, and he laughs when you start to sway with him, your hips bumping each time.
He doesn’t bring Kita up again.)
With both your homes off-limits, you’re back to square one.
Finally, Kita decides to drive to you.
You choose a little coffee shop on the outskirts of the city, both to shorten the drive for Kita and for its familiarity, a cradle of comfort for a conversation you’ll never truly be ready to have.
It’s a charming place, more rustic than modern with little wooden tables and shelves draped with plants, their lush vines hanging down behind the counter. It’s always warm, the sunlight streaking through the windows to paint the counters golden. The shop is studded with flowers too, bright buds spilling over the lip of water pitchers in a froth of color. Coffee is heavy on the air but a note of sweetness threads through it, a sugary bite of fruit. The pastries are made in-house and you know they’re sinfully good, little melt-in-your mouth slices of heaven.
You’ve eaten three since getting here. You’re on your second drink too having gulped down the first one—scalding your tongue in the process—so quickly that even the barista had seemed surprised.
It’s your own fault, really—you were almost a full half hour early. With nothing to do but wait, you’re all tangled up in yourself.
The woman tapping away on her laptop in the corner pauses to eye you warily as you shred another napkin. You’d folded this one into a lopsided origami bird before beheading it. You send her a polite smile; she turns back to her laptop without a word.
You try to make another origami animal but you can’t remember any other patterns. You could make an army of birds you suppose, but after the fifth one you run out of napkins. When you consider getting more, the look on the barista’s face keeps you in your seat. You slouch down into it, your cheeks warm.
You look up just as Kita enters, the little bell at the top of the door chiming quietly. He finds you instantly, his amber eyes settling on you as soon as he’s through the door. He smiles, warm like the spring sun, his eyes crinkling with it.
He’s as handsome as you remember, leanly muscled with broad shoulders and casually graceful as he walks to your table. In the cafe lighting his gray hair goes silvery, bright against the black tips of it, and you think of a moon being eclipsed.
“Hello,” Kita says, holding out a hand when you start to get up. “S’fine, you don’t need to get up.”
“Oh,” you say, caught awkwardly between sitting and standing. A smile drifts across Kita’s face like a summer breeze, a quick, soothing thing. You cough and sit back down. “Hi.”
The two of you are quiet for a moment. He’s watching you, drinking you in, and his eyes remind you of a sunlit forest, of the way the sun’s rays drip down between the trees like honey. It aches, the way he looks at you. It’s soft and sure. Steady and open and earnest.
Kita looks at you like you help make the world make a little bit more sense.
His gaze flickers down to the tabletop, and that same small smile blooms on his lips.
You suddenly remember your mini-army of origami birds, including their headless leader. You fight the urge to close your eyes in mortification.
“You should order something,” you say, fidgeting with your cup. “Their coffee’s nice.”
“Alright. D’ya want another?” he asks. “I’ll get it for you.”
You shake your head. “No,” you say. “Thank you, though.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” you say, and he nods.
When he goes to the counter to order you hurriedly sweep the remains of your shredded napkins away, wincing as they flutter into your purse. Some of them stick to your sweaty palms, and you rub them vigorously against your thighs until they curl up into little paper pearls. They patter to the ground quietly. You send out a quiet mental apology to the cafe workers.
“You alright?” Kita asks. He settles down across from you and you envy his assuredness, how serene he looks.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He eyes you for a moment, those golden eyes all too knowing. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wind his hands—lightly tanned and slender, with a constellation of small scars scattered over his skin—around his cup.
It’s tea, you think, the faintest hint of it reaching your nose, and it fits him in a way you can’t quite put into words. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he takes a small sip and you look away.
“I’m glad we could meet,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say, already wishing you had another napkin to shred. “I think it’s important to talk.”
“It is, but I just wanted to see you.”
He says it so simply. Kita speaks with the surety of the sun’s rise; he means every word he says. There’s a sweetness to him that could only come from earnesty. He leaves no room for doubt.
You break in the face of it.
“I can’t be with you,” you blurt out.
He goes still. The smile on his lips fades. “What?”
“I can’t be with you,” you repeat.
“We’re soulmates,” he says, and it’s the most rattled you’ve ever heard him. His fingers flex. He looks lost, those amber eyes hazy, and you think of the morning mist, how it swallows down the sun. There’s a tiny quiver to his lips.
“I know.”
“We’re supposed to be together,” he says.
You ache for him.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “But that’s not enough. I can’t leave him. I don’t want to leave him.”
Kita’s quiet. The silence stretches on. And then—
“You love ‘im,” he says softly.
You nod.
“You’re happy?”
You nod again.
Kita leans forward and cups your cheek. He skims his thumb over your cheekbone, a careful glide. It comes away wet, his skin salt-kissed, and you lean into his calloused palm.
He wipes away another tear. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise.
“Okay,” he says. “I can live with that.”
That quiet, easy capitulation makes it worse. You can see he means it; it’s reflected in his eyes. If you’re happy, that’s enough for him.
Your stomach hurts.
You sniffle, pulling away from his warm touch and wiping at your eyes. Your cheeks are hot, and they get hotter as you see a few people glancing your way. Kita lets out a slow, deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” you say, staring down at your coffee cup. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
It’s not an “it’s okay,” but you suppose that would have been asking for a lot from him. You look at him from underneath your eyelashes and find that his amber eyes are distant, like the sun at the very edge of the horizon.
You wonder where he’s gone, and then think that perhaps it’s best that you don’t know. You fidget with your cup. The porcelain of it scrapes against the table, and Kita’s eyes clear. Still, they’re not as keen as they usually are, and you shift in your seat. He takes in a soft breath, a whisper of a thing, and then his eyes flicker to you.
“I’d like to stay in contact with you,” he says.
You jolt, almost knocking your cup off the table. “What?”
“I would rather have you in my life.”
“Shin—Kita, that’s not fair to you.”
“Please call me Shinsuke.”
You ache for him, something bone deep that no salve will help subside. “That’s exactly why this isn’t fair,” you say gently. “You’re going to want more than I can give you, and we both know it.”
“I know,” he says. His eyes are keen as they flicker over you; the tilt of his mouth makes you look away. “And I’m sorry. But I won’t ask anything of you, except for this.”
“Kita—”
His fingers flex, but he doesn’t correct you.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” you ask. Your hands are trembling; the words are sour on your tongue, the lemon tang of a promise that’s going to hurt.
“Yes,” he says, steady as stone.
You sigh. “Okay,” you say. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
You nod, toying with a sugar packet as he sips at his tea. You fold and unfold the edge of the package, until the paper starts to wear thin, a few tiny crystals of sugar spilling loose to plink against the table.
The silence that falls is heavy, weighing you down like an anchor. There’s the quiet background noise of the cafe: the chatter of the barista and other customers, the soft tinkle of the bell as someone else enters, the hiss and purr of the espresso machine, but it seems distant.
“I’m gonna go,” you say abruptly. “I think that’s for the best.”
You’re already starting to gather up your things when Kita stands. “It’s okay,” he says. “You should stay. I need to be gettin’ back to the farm anyway.”
“You just got here,” you say helplessly. “You drove all this way.”
He glances at you. His expression is complicated; you can’t quite parse it.
“I drove here for you,” he says gently.
You open your mouth and close it again, a koi-like gape. You sit down slowly, settling into the booth again. He picks up his cup of tea—still piping hot, little wisps of steam rising from it like smoke—and gives you a little smile that doesn’t quite reach his striking eyes.
“Get home safe,” he says.
“You too,” you say faintly.
You watch him leave, the way each of his steps is steady and sure. You don’t think you’ve ever known someone so at home in their own skin. But there’s a curve to his shoulders now, the broad width of them collapsed inward. It’s minute but it’s there, and your stomach roils again, a sour brew of emotion welling up in you.
He pauses to ask the barista something; she gives him a to-go cup and watches as he carefully pours his tea into it. He hands back the other cup with a little nod of his head.
The cafe door clicks shut behind him, bell chiming, a clear, porcelain sound that cuts through the chatter of the cafe. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands, choosing instead to look down into your nearly-empty cup. The dregs of it are dark, and you wonder if your future is written out in them.
You blow out a soft breath and scrub at your face with your hands. When you glance up, the barista is carefully not looking your way. To avoid seeing the way her lips have twisted, you glance out the window into the haze of the mid-morning sun, still spilling golden over the tiny parking lot. You immediately balk.
Kita’s still there.
He’s in his truck, half-hidden by the glare of sun against the windows, but you know it’s him. You can’t see his eyes, but you can tell he’s staring straight ahead. His mouth is a thin, tight line. You chew on your lower lip.
One hand comes up to scour beneath his eyes. It comes away with a wet sheen catching the sunlight and shining bright. You wince, glancing away.
You stare down into your coffee cup again. When you down the last of it, the dregs of it, it’s sharp and bitter on your tongue.
It almost erases the heavy, metallic tang of guilt.
Almost.
***
Your phone pings.
You grab it without looking away from your monitor, typing in your passcode one-handed as you mutter the last line of the email to yourself. You flick the notification to pull up the text without checking the name and pause.
It’s a picture of the rice fields, rippling in the breeze like a current, the stalks going gilded as harvest draws closer. Beyond the sea of them there are rolling hills of green with only a few power structures—standing tall on their metal legs as they reach into the sky—to mark a human presence. It’s all framed by the bluest sky you’ve ever seen, filled with puffy white clouds that you think are likely being whisked along by the breeze.
It’s so vivid you can almost smell the fresh air.
There’s also only one person that could have sent it to you.
Trying to keep in contact with Kita has been an exercise in awkwardness. You feel bad but you’re trying to figure out how to temper it, since you’re caught between what you know he wants and what you’re capable of giving him.
To his credit, Kita never pushes. You suspect that he prefers calling—he seems the type—but he mainly texts, following your lead.
(“I feel like I owe him this much,” you tell Takao one night, when Kita has texted you while the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie.
“I don’t think you owe anyone anything,” he says, but he never asks you to stop.)
There’s still a hint of stilted awkwardness to it, but it has gotten better than it was.
It’s stunning, you text back. It reminds me of summers in Toyooka.
He doesn’t reply until dusk is settling, but that’s not unusual considering how diligent he is with his farm. You reply quickly, bored with the TV show you’ve been watching as you wait for Takao to pick up dinner, and the two of you fall into conversation.
He asks about Toyooka and you tell him. You tell him about catching summer fireflies and playing in the fields with Abe. You’re about to tell him about Abe’s duckling that followed her everywhere one summer when you realize exactly how long of a paragraph you’re sending.
Before you can second guess yourself, you delete the paragraph and send a different message: I think this might be easier as a call.
I’d like that, Kita replies.
You hit call, knowing you’ll balk if you give yourself time to think.
He picks up instantly.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi,” you say, a little awkwardly. “How are you?”
He chuckles, but it’s kind. “I’m good,” he says. “How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“That’s good,” he says. Silence falls for a moment. It’s not a comfortable one, and Kita shatters it by saying: “You were talking about your summers in Toyooka?”
“Yes,” you say, and you launch into the tale of Duck (“She named the duckling Duck?” “We were six.”) and how he’d followed Abe through the sea of paddies, all the way up to the genkan of the rented house each and every day.
Kita is a good listener. He seems happy to let you chatter away. He asks questions here and there and tells a few stories of his own, but mostly he’s quiet, just the soft whisper of his breath echoing on the line.
The two of you talk until you hear the door to the house open. Takao calls out a greeting, a familiar song, and you call one out in return. Rustling accompanies him and the faint scent of spices starts to waft into the living room.
“I should go,” you say into the phone. “Dinner’s here.”
“Alright,” Kita says softly. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Takao comes into the living room as you hang up; he presses a quick kiss to your lips. He tastes suspiciously like your favorite appetizer.
“Hey,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “Did you eat some on the way home?”
“Yup,” he says cheerfully. “A toll for my labor.”
“You haven’t finished your labor yet. I set the table, so go unpack the food.”
“Yes ma’am!”
You bat at him; he dodges with a little laugh. He leans down and gives you another quick kiss, this time at the corner of your lips, sweet and fleeting. When he pulls away he heads towards the kitchen, lightly swinging the bag of takeout as he goes.
You’re getting to your feet to follow him when your phone vibrates in your hand, buzzing along your skin. You glance at the notification and see that it’s Kita. You flick it open.
It was good to talk to you, he’s texted.
You pause for a moment, chewing on your lower lip. You can hear Takao humming to himself in the kitchen.
Yeah, you reply. It was good to talk to you too.
It’s easier after that. You stop agonizing over each word. It doesn’t completely fade; you will always be more careful with Kita than you are with anyone else. It’s the kindest thing you can do for him.
The two of you start to text more, each message a string drawing you closer to each other. He texts you photos of his ducks. You repay him with photos of the conbini’s cat, a spoiled little thing often found lounging in the front windows, little face turned up to the sun.
You start to call too. It’s sparse at first, often a continuation of a text chat that simply would be better on the phone, but it grows more frequent as the weeks pass. Some nights it’s short; other nights, you feel lost in time, as if only seconds have gone by when you’ve talked for much longer.
You grow used to seeing Kita’s name pop up on your screen. It’s nice, if you’re honest. You like talking to him.
“What’re you makin’?”
You glance towards where your phone is propped up. At some point, today’s call became FaceTime, mainly so you both have your hands free to make dinner. It gives you a glimpse into his kitchen; a glimpse into him.
His kitchen is meticulously clean and inherently practical. Everything seems to have its space, whether it’s a row of well-maintained pots and pans or a knife block with an assortment of handles jutting out from it, a sharpener carefully tucked in beside it.
But there are other little touches of Kita scattered about: the apron hanging from the rack is embroidered with tiny rice paddies, each stitch painstakingly made by his grandmother’s steady hand; the strawberry plant in the window is heavy with small, glistening berries despite the season; there are neatly folded handkerchiefs tucked loosely into a drawer by the cleaning supplies.
Even through a phone screen it feels warm. Homey in a quiet way.
Kita moves back into frame with a bowl in his hand. He’s got a brow raised, and you remember he asked you a question.
“Nikuman,” you tell him, gliding the cabbage over the mandolin’s shining blade. You work it carefully, watching the ribbons of white-green flutter down onto the cutting board. “Oyakodon too. You?”
“Tofu hamburger.”
“That’s your favorite, right?”
A small smile blooms on his lips. “You remembered.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I’m not,” he says. “It’s just nice.”
You hum, finishing up with the cabbage and dumping it into a bowl. Kita keeps chopping as you pour rice into a pot and start to wash it. “Ugh,” you murmur to yourself. “Almost out of rice.”
“What rice do you use?” Kita asks.
You point at him with a wet hand. “No,” you say. “You’re gonna judge me.”
“Over rice?”
“You’re a rice farmer!”
He chuckles. “And?”
“That means you know rice secrets. Like better brands.”
“I could always give you some.”
“Some rice secrets?”
“Some rice.”
You hum. “Thanks, but I don’t want you to have to go out of your way,” you say. “Shipping it seems inconvenient.
“I was thinkin’ I could bring you some. I have a delivery in the city soon.”
You pause. Kita’s stopped preparing his dinner, instead turning his gaze on you. Even through the phone, his amber eyes almost glow. You think of the last vestiges of a sunset, of the deepest sheen of gold threading across the horizon.
“Kita…”
“You can say no,” he says quietly. Quietly, but no less steady for it.
You sink your hand into the rice that’s settled at the bottom of the pot, still covered by water. When you flex your fingers, the grains slip through them like darting little fish. You do it again. The water ripples around your wrist.
“I can’t, Kita,” you say.
He nods, his gray hair a lightning strike gleam. “Alright,” he says. His shoulders dip low, an exhausted Atlas, and you sigh.
“Not yet,” you say. “But one day.”
He nods again. For a moment you think he’ll say something else, but he simply gives you a crooked little smile. When you change the subject, he doesn’t fight it. The two of you settle back into conversation as you cook.
You hang up as Takao returns home. Dinner has just finished cooking, the oyakodon perfectly golden, the scent of it lingering savory in the air. You settle in at the table, talking about your day as you eat, until you finally put your chopsticks down.
“Kita asked me to meet up.”
He puts his chopsticks down as well.
“I said no,” you say, meeting his gaze. “Well, I said not yet.”
“Not yet? You want to see him?”
“I think I’d like to,” you tell him, because you will always be honest with him about this. “But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t want to stop you from doing something you want to do.”
“I will, though.”
He runs a hand through his hair; it flows through his fingers like water, little rivulets of dark hair catching between his fingers. “I know,” he says.
“I’ll choose you, Aoshi,” you tell him. “As many times as it takes.”
He reaches over and cups your cheek with a warm hand. “I know,” he says. “It’s not my favorite thing, but if you want to see him you should.”
You cover his hand with your own and turn into his touch. You press your lips against his palm, against the leylines that are carved there, a future you don’t know how to read.
You press another kiss to his palm, a quiet gratitude for his trust.
He leans over to brush a whisper of a kiss to the corner of your lips.
As you turn back to your meal you think of the waver to Kita’s smile, like the sun hidden behind passing clouds.
One day, you promise him. One day.
***
One day comes quicker than you’d thought.
It’s early, the sun still hovering over the horizon as the blue of dawn fades away into something brighter. The sunlight catches on the city buildings, the windows shimmering like a mirage, a promise of what’s hidden behind them. The streets aren’t empty—they never are—but the frantic pace of them has slowed to something leisurely, as if the city is still waking up too.
You weave your way through the streets. The route is familiar and you pay little attention to where you’re going, choosing instead to watch the vendors begin to open their stores. The florist is already putting out buckets of flowers, a riot of color from the dawn hues of a ruffled ranunculus to the deep purple of the elegant, leggy irises rising over the rest. He’s half-lost in the blossoms, pushing his way through petals to lay out more of his wares. Some of them catch in his hair.
Next door, the conbini is still aglow. It’s always a beacon in the night, but it’s softer in the day. You head in and grab a quick snack for later, giving the half-asleep cashier a little smile.
The bustle of the street has grown when you leave the conbini, the stream of people burgeoning into a river. But you still hear it when someone calls your name.
You glance around and find Kita just a door down from you, coming out of a small grocer’s. He smiles at you softly and you almost duck back into the conbini.
He waits there, leaving the choice of approaching up to you, but you’ve run from him enough. You slip through the crowd and join him by a flat of dusky peaches, the air around them faintly sweetened.
“Hi,” you say. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He nods towards the inside of the grocer’s shop. It’s small, clearly family owned, but it’s well-stocked. There’s a kid—no more than ten, you think—carefully putting shining apples into a basket, their face scrunched up in concentration.
“Tsukada stocks my rice,” Kita says, and now that he’s said it, you vaguely remember him mentioning this neighborhood when you’d talked about his delivery route a few weeks ago. “I’m very grateful for it.”
A scoff comes from behind the register. An older woman peers out, her brow raised. Her eyes are wrinkled at the edges, her crow’s feet papery, but the thickest line is clearly a laugh line.
“It’s good rice,” she tells you. “Simple as that.” She eyes you curiously, tilting her head to the side. Her thick black braid thuds against her shoulder; it’s streaked with gray, like pebbles just visible through a river’s darkened waters.
Kita inclines his head to her, a small smile on his lips. “You’re kind,” he says.
“Just tellin’ the truth.” Tsukada settles back, disappearing behind the register again. “Take some fruit with you when you go. I know your granny likes peaches this time of year.”
“I will,” he says. “Thank you.”
She waves him off with a gnarled hand, barely visible from your vantage point.
Kita returns his attention to you. “It’s good to see you,” he says, all summer warmth. “I don’t suppose you have a little time? My next delivery isn’t until later.”
You purse your lips. He tracks the movement, his eyes dimming, and you sigh.
“I have a little time,” you say. “Coffee?”
He lights ups. “Perfect,” he says. “D’ya know a place near here?”
You nod. “I think it has tea, too.”
He smiles at you. Then he’s calling a respectful goodbye to Tsukada, gathering a few of the peaches to put in the bag slung over his shoulder. You watch him pick them, his long fingers tender against the soft flesh. He brushes his fingertips along a stubborn leaf still attached to the stem. You half expect him to tear it loose, but he leaves it in place.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
The two of you wind through the streets. He stays by your side but gives you space, only pressing close when the stream of people on the sidewalk thickens to a river.
The coffee shop isn’t far. When you duck inside the scent of coffee billows over you, sharp and thick and a little bit bitter. You both order—Kita offers to pay, but he doesn’t look surprised when you decline—and then find a little booth tucked away by a small window. The sun has warmed the seats. It streams through the glass in whirling colors, catching in the stained glass decal pressed close to the window. It dapples Kita with pink like he’s been flecked with sakura petals, and you hide your smile in your coffee cup.
He seems to notice, an answering smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t mention it.
“How’s the farm?” you ask.
“S’good,” he says, taking a sip of his tea. You can smell it faintly, even through the coffee, an earthy kiss. “The ducklings are fully grown now, since I know that’s what you really want to know.”
“You caught me,” you say with a laugh. “Can you blame me? They’re so cute!”
“Yeah,” Kita says, his gaze steady on you. “They are.”
“And you’ve been skimping on the pictures.”
“I sent you one just yesterday.”
“Yes, exactly! Just one!”
He chuckles softly. “I’ll do better,” he promises.
“Good.”
“And how’re you?”
“Working a lot,” you say. “It’s starting to feel like it’s all I do, but my project should be done soon so I can have a bit more time. I want to meet Abe’s new girlfriend, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll meet her soon.”
“Hope so. How are your Olympians? This is what, their second one coming up? I’m looking forward to it.”
He grins. It’s broad and bright, brimming with pride and joy. “They’re not mine,” he protests, but his grin doesn’t falter. “But yes, their second, and they’re good. Workin’ hard. It’s off season, though, so hopefully they’ll come ‘round to visit.”
“I’m sure Aran will.”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” he says. “Granny’ll go get him herself if she’s got to. He’ll get an earful about it, too.”
You smile into your cup. “I’d like to see that.”
“It’s sure something.”
“I can only imagine.”
Kita takes a sip of his tea. Not for the first time you’re struck by the way he moves, the careful surety of it, steadiness edged in grace. You wonder if it’s from his time playing volleyball or if he was always like this.
“Do you ever miss it?” you ask.
“Sometimes,” he says. “It made sense, y’know? Learning something, repeatin’ it, then using that repetition to move forward.”
“It doesn’t sound that different from farmwork.”
He chuckles. It’s low and warm, like the first true rays of light pouring over the horizon. “I suppose they have similarities.”
“Seems like it to me.”
The two of you keep chatting. It’s easy to pick up the thread of the last time you spoke, and you weave it into today’s conversation.
You bask in the glow of the morning sun as it streams over the booth. Under the sun’s warmth the world goes honeyed, a slow, sweet drip of time. You shift sleepily. Kita breathes out what could be a little laugh at the sight, but when you look at him he’s got his face tilted up into the light. It gilds him, his half-closed eyes going from amber to pure gold, as if he’s Midas-touched.
You sigh.
He blinks, the fan of his long eyelashes casting a soft shadow on his tanned cheeks.
“I have to go,” you tell him. “But this—this has been nice.”
“Very nice,” he agrees.
“Let’s do it again sometime.”
His breath catches briefly. You pretend to not hear it.
“Yes,” he says, a quiet hope lining his voice. You hate yourself a little. “Let’s.”
You give him a little smile as you rise to your feet. He gets up too despite his unfinished tea, and the two of you head out the door together.
The humid air rolls over you; you can already feel the heavy stickiness on your skin. You huff, rolling up your sleeves, and a tiny smile appears in the corner of Kita’s mouth. He doesn’t say anything though, and you bid him a quiet goodbye.
He returns it, his eyes soft, and you head down the street.
When you turn the corner, you can’t help it. You glance back at where you left him.
He’s already gone.
***
Autumn makes itself known.
It encroaches on the hazy, honeyed nights of late summer slowly, a creeping first frost. The cold is soft edged, more a kiss than a bite. Still, the hydrangeas that line the path to the municipal office have faded under its touch, the blossoms leeched of color and gone brittle at the edges. They rasp out a dry, harsh song as the breeze picks up.
You shiver and lean into Takao’s warmth as the two of you walk to the office, your kon-in todoke clasped tight in your hand. The ink of your seals is still fresh, done hurriedly at the kitchen table when you realized that you were going to be late for your appointment. Abe’s seal is almost too far out of the witness’s section to count; she’d still been bleary-eyed, her first cup of coffee only partially drunk. Yoshikawa’s seal is perfectly in the box for it. She was still teasing Abe when you and Takao left.
“Nervous?” Takao asks, twining his fingers with yours. His palm is slightly sweaty; you hide your smile in your scarf.
“A little. You?”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“Yoshikawa,” you say promptly. “I don’t think marriage would rattle her at all.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.”
You slip inside the office; the chatter of it settles over you. You shrug off your scarf as you orient yourself, reading the signs plastered all over to figure out where the two of you need to go.
The clerk who processes your kon-in todoke is young. She has a kind smile, and she flashes it as she takes the form from you, along with your koseki tohon. She holds out a hand for your IDs and her nails are baby blue, dotted with tiny white clouds, a perfect summer sky. You can’t help your smile.
You lean into Takao as she scans your forms. He gives your hand a little squeeze; when you glance up at him, the tips of his ears have gone dusty pink. You almost laugh. He seems to realize it, delivering a nudge to your side that makes you pinch at him.
“Everything looks in order,” the clerk says. “You have your soulmate form as well?”
“Yes,” Takao says. He hands it to her; you stare at the bulletin board behind the clerk’s head so that her face is blurry. Her keyboard clicks away, but she doesn’t say anything, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
She examines your forms again, her eyes sharp as she reviews them, and then she’s shuffling them together and forming a neat stack. She flashes that same sweet smile.
“Congratulations,” she says. “You’re officially married.”
Takao squeezes your hand before letting go. He turns to face you and he’s glassy-eyed, his lower lip trembling. He cups your cheek and pulls you close to brush a barely-there kiss against your lips. You chase him when he starts to pull away, deepening the kiss for a brief moment.
“Hi,” you say when the two of you break apart. “Husband.”
“Wife,” he replies. There are roses blooming in his cheeks, the blush spreading from his cheekbones up to his ears. He nuzzles his nose against yours.
The clerk coughs, but when you glance at her, your cheeks heating, she’s still smiling.
“Thank you,” you tell her.
She nods, gathering the rest of your paperwork and handing the small stack to you. You collect them carefully before handing them to Takao so he can put them in the small folder he’d brought.
The entire trip home feels unreal, the cityscape swirling together in a watercolor blur, neon melting into the harsh sheen of metal, softened by a hint of greenery. Takao’s touch is grounding though, and you squeeze his hand from time to time, as if making sure he’s still there.
He always is.
The two of you exchange rings in your sunwarm kitchen. You have no vows, but you think you don’t need them. It’s enough to see the look on Takao’s face as he slips the ring into place; it speaks a language from long ago that you still know by heart. Abe and Yoshikawa cheer when you’re done, and then the rest of the day rushes by, filled to the brim with mini-celebrations. Your friends have gone out of their way to provide what the shrines will not, and you once again wonder how you’ve gotten so lucky.
Dusk is falling when the last of your guests leave, the sunset spilling over the horizon like fire. The last dregs of light fade as you curl up next to Takao on the couch. He presses a soft kiss to your hairline; you chase him for a real kiss. You lace your fingers together when you break apart. You thumb at his wedding ring idly, the metal warmed by his skin.
“We’re married, huh?” you say.
“Seems that way.”
You laugh. “Don’t sound too excited, now.”
He pinches at you. “I’m not excited,” he says, deftly avoiding your return pinch. “I’m happy. There’s a difference, you know.”
You lean into him. “I think you’re right.”
“It happens sometimes.”
“It does?”
He pinches at you again. You shove him away, but he pulls you back in and cradles you close. You play-struggle for a moment and then finally relax into him when he tightens his grip.
“Are you?” he asks softly.
“Am I what?”
“Happy.”
You turn in his arms, reaching out to cup his jaw. You stroke your thumb against his cheekbone.
“Yes,” you say. “I am.”
He kisses you then, his mouth soft and sure. You would know his touch anywhere, you think. It settled beneath your skin long ago.
“Good,” he says. “Good.”
You bury your face in the crook of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin on your parted lips. His breath wavers. You press a kiss to his pulse.
“I have a phone call to make,” you murmur into his skin. “And I need to do it soon. It’s important.”
He tugs you back up so that you’re looking at him. His eyes—as deep and dark as the night sky—flicker over you. You wait. His brow furrows for a moment and then understanding blooms on his face. He leans forward to press a ghost of a kiss to the corner of your lips.
“Okay,” he says, letting you go and getting to his feet. He pauses, as if he wants to say more, but he heads to the kitchen without a word. You watch him go before grabbing your phone and dialing.
You take in a deep, slow breath as the line rings.
Kita picks up quickly. The two of you exchange pleasantries for a few minutes, catching up with each other briefly. There’s an easy flow to it, but he pauses after a moment.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
You bite at a hangnail.
“I got married today,” you say softly. “I—I thought you should know.”
He’s quiet. It reminds you of the deepest parts of winter, when even the air is still. You ache with it. He’s a bruise that will never quite fade, you think, and you can only imagine what it’s like for him.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, his voice soft but steady. “For telling me.”
“It didn’t feel right to not,” you confess. “I’m sorry, Kita.”
“I know.”
The call doesn’t last much longer. There’s not much left to say after that, and your husband is patiently waiting for you.
Once you’ve hung up you head into the kitchen and find Takao slicing up a small cake. It’s a froth of delicate frosting topped with crystalline spun-sugar flowers. Abe had insisted that you have a wedding cake and you hadn’t bothered to argue.
He glances up when you wander in. His smile is incandescent, a starlight thing, and you go to him with a matching smile tugging at your lips. You kiss him once, then again, and then a third time still. He laughs.
You wind your arms around his waist as he finishes cutting the cake, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades. He smells of home; there’s the faintest hint of his cologne under the scent of your laundry detergent. You press closer.
“Hard call?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say, muffled by his shirt.
“It’s over now.”
“So it is.”
He puts down the knife and turns around in your arms. He draws you close. “I love you,” he says. “Enough that I’ll even share this cake with you.”
“Oh, wow.”
“I know.”
You laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, knowing you sound terribly, disgustingly fond. You start to pull away but he tightens his arms around you. “Aoshi!”
“You gotta say it back.”
“I love you,” you tell him softly. “I really do.”
His smile is tender and fleeting, a dandelion seed caught on the wind. You kiss it from his lips. His hands come up to cup your jaw; you feel the metal of his wedding ring against your skin.
It feels incredibly ordinary.
You hope it always will.
***
You shiver as you pull the door to the onigiri shop open, burying your face in your scarf even as you step into warm air. A gust of wind whips in behind you, carrying a few rare snowflakes—fat and fluffy, a perfect pure white—inside. You pull the door shut behind you quickly.
It’s blessedly warm in the shop and the air is spiced with enticing, savory aromas. For a moment, you think of your father’s kitchen: the clutter of ingredients spread across a chopping board, an organized mess; the weight of a worn soft apron; the warmth of a heating stove. You open your eyes, not realizing you’d closed them as you breathed in.
It’s a cozy shop. There are plush looking booths and a few small tables, plus a handful of stools at the counter the chef is working behind. He’s a broad man, his forearms flexing as he shapes an onigiri. He snaps something at one of the men sitting on the stools, reaching out to smack the blond’s hand as he tries to grab something behind the counter. The blond squawks, pulling back and looking deeply offended.
You cough out a laugh.
Both of them snap their gazes to you. They’re twins, you realize, encountering two identical faces. The chef’s furrowed brow smooths out into something placid. He pushes the blond back into his seat with a big hand.
“What can I get ya?”
“Oh,” you say, caught off guard with how easily he’s switched up. “I’m not sure yet, I’m sorry.”
“Menu’s over there if you need one,” he says, pointing to a stack you hadn’t noticed. “Sit wherever you like.”
“Thanks,” you say, and suddenly, the man next to the blond looks up. He’s handsome, tall even while he’s sitting down, his shoulders just as broad as the chef’s. He’s also oddly familiar; he says your name and you blink.
“Aran?” you ask.
He beams. “It is you! It’s been a while. Are you staying to eat?”
You glance between the three of them. The twins are staring at you now; the chef has a brow raised but is otherwise placid, while the blond gapes. You put two and two together and realize that they must be the Miyas. No wonder the name of the shop sounded familiar.
“You’re Kita’s soulmate,” the chef—Osamu, you remember—says. He sounds bland, but there’s a bit of a sneer tucked into the corner of his mouth.
“That’s her?” the blond—Atsumu, then—says. He looks you over from head to toe, his honey-brown eyes shining in the low light. His mouth twists into something lemon-edged, a faint hint of sourness lining his whole form.
Osamu ignores him, looking at you instead. “Kita’s here,” he tells you. “He’s droppin’ off some rice in the storeroom.”
You glance at the door of the shop.
“Dontcha want to see your soulmate?” Atsumu asks, a little bit mean.
You wince. You twist your scarf around your fingers, spooling it around your knuckles.
Aran sighs, looking very, very pained. “Don’t be rude,” he chastises.
“M’not being rude! I’m just asking! She’s not—”
“Atsumu.”
Kita emerges from the back, coming up behind the counter. His sleeves are rolled high on his forearms; there’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow. It turns his hair to the dark gray of a summer storm cloud. His mouth is drawn taut, a gash of a thing.
Atsumu goes pale.
“I’ll have the other part of the delivery for you later this month,” Kita says to Osamu. The dark-haired twin nods. There’s a little smirk on his lips, the bitten down delight of watching a sibling get in trouble.
Atsumu’s fidgeting, tugging at the hem of one of his sleeves with long, strong fingers.
“Hey,” Kita says, turning to you. “S’good to see you.”
“Yeah,” you say, still looking at Atsumu, who looks like he’s waiting for a death sentence.
“I didn’t realize you came here, I would have told Osamu to look out for you.”
“It’s my first time. A coworker suggested it.”
Atsumu’s shoulders are slowly lowering. There’s the slightest twitch to Kita’s lips, a little half-smile that you recognize. There’s a layer of mischief to it that you’re still getting used to.
“By the way, Atsumu,” he says, and the blond chokes. “Didya have something you wanted to say?”
Osamu snorts as his brother wildly shakes his head. It’s quiet but obvious and Atsumu scowls at him. Kita clears his throat and both brothers snap to attention.
Next to Atsumu, Aran looks like he’s holding back laughter. It’s a good look for him—he glows with it, his barely contained smile bright and true.
“Ya sure?” Kita asks, that same little mischievous tilt to his lips. Atsumu nods. “Alright then.”
He rolls down his sleeves as he steps out from behind the counter; he comes over to you and gives you a crescent moon smile, soft and sweet. The two of you step away from the group slightly.
“Hi,” you say, quieter this time, something just for you and him.
“You stayin’?” he asks. “You should join us.”
You shake your head. “I have to get back,” you tell him. “Another time?”
“Of course.”
Kita stays by your side as you order; he radiates a gentle heat, like the bricks of a hearth long after the fire has died down. You watch Osamu make the onigiri, placing each filling carefully. His big hands are gentle as they mold the rice. There’s care and pride in each movement and it lives in his face, too, in the swell of his smile as he completes each one.
They’re a lively group—Atsumu is growing louder and louder as he argues with his brother, something like a pout on his expressive face before it’s wiped away by indignance.
“Oi!” he says, pointing at Osamu, halfway out of his seat. “Take that back!”
“Nope,” Osamu says.
“You—”
Aran grimaces as he pulls Atsumu back into his seat. “You’re so loud.”
“Am not!”
“Ya are,” Osamu says. “Now shut up, you’re bothering the customers.”
Atsumu makes a noise that reminds you of a cat that’s fallen into water as Osamu hands you your order. The box is rather simple, with Onigiri Miya stamped onto it in a deep, rich ink, but it somehow reminds you of the bentos of your childhood. You think it might be how carefully the onigiri are tucked into it, each one nestled close to the next, a little mountain range of rice.
Kita walks you to the door after you say your goodbyes to the rest of the group. He holds your onigiri box as you put your scarf back on, looping it around your neck.
“Sorry you couldn’t stay,” he says. His fingertips linger when he hands the box back. “I promise my friends don’t bite.”
“Maybe not Aran.”
He laughs softly. “The twins are all bark and no bite,” he says. “Besides, I can keep ‘em in line.”
“I noticed.”
He smiles. “See you soon?”
“Yeah,” you say. “See you soon.”
He holds open the door for you; a gust of wind sweeps over you, tugging playfully at the end of your scarf. You carry his warm smile into the cold winter afternoon.
You’re almost halfway down the street when you hear a familiar voice.
“Hey!”
You glance back over your shoulder. Atsumu is powering after you; he catches up to you in an instant, tugging you back until you’re both out of the way of other pedestrians. You’re halfway into an izakaya’s doorstep, the winter peonies surrounding it swaying around your ankles. A few early customers peer out the door at you, but Atsumu pays them no mind.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks, a little too loud.
“Miya—”
“Kita’s traditional,” he says roughly. “It’s only ever gonna be you for him. You know that, right?”
Your stomach roils.
(I’ve been waiting.
He still is.)
“I’m married.”
He throws his hands up into the air. “He’s still your soulmate!”
“I don’t love him!”
“It’s Kita,” he shouts, startling a few passersby. “Everybody loves him!”
“I’m not in love with him,” you say, the words bitter on your tongue. You are so, so tired. “I’m married. I’m happy. Kita’s accepted it, so why can’t you?”
He snorts, honey-brown eyes narrowing. “You really think he’s accepted it? Or is that what you tell yerself so you can sleep at night?”
“Fuck you.”
The words snap out of you, brutally frigid, like river ice cracking beneath its own weight. To your utter horror, there are tears pooling hot in your eyes, threatening to spill over. Atsumu looks almost as horrified as you feel, but it’s of little consolation. You can feel a sob welling up inside you, rippling through you like oceantide.
You manage to bite down on it when it leaves you, muffling it just enough. Then the tears finally fall, carving their way across your cheeks like snowmelt, already bitterly cold from the winter air. You rub them away with the back of your hand.
“I didn’t mean ta—”
“But you did,” you say, knife-sharp and drawing him up short. “You did. Goodbye, Miya.”
He doesn’t follow you when you walk away.
***
The neighbors’ little girl loves the summer rains. She spends them running around outside, the murky puddle water splashing under the soles of her banana-yellow boots. She has a matching umbrella and sometimes you and Takao can see it from your bedroom window, whirling like a top.
“We should do that,” Takao says, his chin hooked over your shoulder. It’s pouring out. The rain hums against the roof, nature’s oldest song, and the neighbors’ girl—Aiko, you think—is dancing to it. You can just make out her long braid bouncing as she hops from puddle to puddle.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, getting to his feet and tugging you with him. “Let’s go.”
“Aoshi, it’s pouring.”
“Yes, that’s the point.”
You laugh and let him drag you through the house. He shoves your raincoat at you, shrugging on his own before the two of you race to the genkan, giggling as you go. You slip your boots on and run outside.
The rain sluices down on you, the humid summer heat already sneaking its way beneath your raincoat, the beginnings of sweat starting to gather. You pay it little mind, sucking in a deep breath instead, taking in the scent of the wet concrete as Takao grabs your hand. He tugs you towards Aiko.
Before you know it, the two of you are swinging her back and forth between you, her little wrists clutched tight in your hands. She shrieks with delight each time she comes up off the ground; each landing creates a tidal wave in the puddle she crashes down into.
Takao is laughing, low and sweet, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. His dark hair is plastered against his forehead. Water droplets are beading on his long eyelashes before he blinks them away.
Your breath catches for an instant. And then Aiko is tugging on your hand, wanting to go again, and you glance away from your husband with a little smile.
You stay outside with Aiko until her father calls her in. Then the two of you tumble back into your house, stripping off your wet clothing with groans.
Takao cooks dinner as you lay everything out to dry. You’ve just clipped the last clothespin into place when he calls to you; you take the extra clothespins and clip them along the little storage space you’d added to the balcony for them, a short length of bright blue twine.
He’s made curry, the type that warms even your bones. The two of you curl up together on the couch to eat. You lean into him, ignoring his groan as you accidentally elbow him in the stomach.
“We should go on our honeymoon,” he says after a moment. “It’s almost been a year and we still haven’t gone.”
“We should,” you say, scraping your bowl clean and licking the last of the sauce off of your chopsticks. “Where do you want to go?”
“Haven’t thought that far.”
You snort. “You’re the one who brought it up!”
“It’s a step by step process, you know. First we have to decide to actually go, then we pick the place.”
He easily evades your little pinch.
“It’s gonna be hard to pick,” you tell him.
“Maybe.”
“We’ll figure it out, I guess.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple.
“We always do.”
He’s right, you think. You always do figure it out.
Together.
***
The farm is dusted with snow.
It reminds you of powdered sugar, light and fluffy and easily blown away in the slightest breeze. It’s the first snow according to Kita. The true frost set in over the last week; the paddies have iced over, a cobweb of winter. You listen to the crackle of it settling and shiver, pushing deeper into your scarf.
“Ya warm enough?” Kita asks.
“Yeah,” you say. “It’s just a little more mild in the city.”
He hums his agreement. The two of you keep walking along the worn dirt path, weaving through the slumbering fields. The snow crunches softly underfoot. In the distance, you can hear the rumble of a truck; it purrs and groans as it putters down one of the other roads.
“I’m glad you came,” Kita says softly.
He’s invited you several times, never pushing, but you’ve always said no. You don’t know why this time had felt right, but it had. You watch a crow circle overhead before it lands in a bare tree, a spot of darkness against the pale blue sky.
“Me too,” you say. “I’ve never been out here in the winter.”
“Pretty, ain’t it?”
“It is.”
The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence as you wander further. You pass another farmhouse where two small children are playing outside, both of them bundled up to the point that they’re waddling more than walking. One of them has a crimson scarf, the deep color of poppies at night, the ends of it fluttering in the gentle breeze.
They’re sliding a puck back and forth on ice that’s creaking ominously. They wave to you with the branches they’re using for hockey sticks.
“Should we stop them?” you ask, waving back.
Kita shakes his head. “There’s only an inch or so of water, this time of year. They’ll be fine.”
“Okay.”
“Did you ever do that?”
He laughs. “Course.”
“Play or fall through?”
“Both, actually,” he says. He takes hold of your arm as you slip on a patch of ice, keeping you upright with ease. “Careful now.”
He waits until you’re steady before he lets go. He presses a bit closer after that and you let him. The wind is too constant to really feel the heat of him, but you think you feel it anyway.
You fall back into comfortable silence. The wind is whistling softly through the bare trees, stirring the last clinging remnants of the leaves. You watch one of them tear free and blow away. It carries across the fields, which stretch as far as the eye can see.
You turn back when you get to the edge of the paddy you’re walking next to. By the time you’re back to the farm, you’re chatting about what to make for dinner. Kita had taken you to the local market earlier in the day letting you browse through the piles of daikon and leeks, each of them fresher than anything you would see in the grocery store.
“Oden?” Kita suggests as you enter the genkan and you nod.
“Sounds perfect,” you say, using the wall to balance as you start to take off your boots. Kita stops in the middle of taking off his jacket and kneels down in front of you to get the buckle you’re struggling with. “Kita, you don’t need to do that.”
“Already down here,” he says with a smirk. “So I might as well.”
You sigh. “Thank you,” you say, slipping off your jacket and hanging it carefully.
He nods, tucking his outerwear away neatly before getting to his feet. After he’s sure you’re all set, he heads down the hall, turning on the small kotatsu that sits in his living room. It’s an older one, the blanket slightly worn, patterned with white cranes. It was his grandmother’s, you think.
“Get warm,” he says. “I’ll start cooking.”
“I should help—”
“You can after you’ve warmed up a little bit.”
“Fine,” you say, ignoring the little smile on his face as you pout. You sit at the kotatsu and melt into the warmth as he heads into the kitchen.
You join him not long after. He gives you leeks to chop as he peels daikon; you spend a few minutes at his pristine kitchen sink, washing the grit out from between the leaves. The two of you chatter as you cook. The kitchen is slowly heating, until it’s like a banked fire.
His kitchen is small but set up well and the two of you move around it easily together. You rarely bump into each other and hand off ingredients as the other needs them. It’s seamless and it doesn’t take long before the oden is done.
The two of you settle at the kotatsu to eat. Kita hands you a pair of well-worn chopsticks.
“You should come for longer next time, if you can,” he says.
“I’ll try to,” you say, knowing that you’ve only touched the surface of the farm. Of the life he’s built here, in the wide expanse of the countryside.
He smiles warmly. “Good.”
Time flies by until Kita has to get up to turn on another lamp as night encroaches. When you peer out the window, the night sky sprawls endless above you, softly lit by the tender touch of the waning moon.
“I should go,” you say. “It’s late.”
He hums an agreement. The two of you bundle up in the genkan; Kita lends you a too-long scarf that’s messily knitted. You wrap it around your neck several times before you are willing to brave the cold.
The snow glistens under the moonlight as you trudge to Kita’s truck. There’s a stillness to the night, as if you’re on the cusp of something unreal, something otherworldly. You tilt your head back and gaze at the stars, scattered throughout the plush darkness, glinting like ice.
Kita cranks the truck’s heater to high as it rumbles on. It blows out a gush of cold air that makes you shudder, but it’s already warming by the time you’re pulling out of the driveway.
“Where does your farm end?” you ask.
“Just here,” he says, flicking on his blinker as he makes a turn down the road towards town. “Then it’s Suzuki’s place.”
“Do they—”
“Have ducks?”
“...Yes.”
His eyes flicker to you, the amber of them aglow in the silvery moonlight. “He does.”
You must look pleased because he laughs, the sound low and warm, filling the cab of the truck like billowing smoke. The smile on his lips is wide and you think of the horizon, how it never ends, and hope that his joy never ends, too.
“Kita,” you say, unable to help yourself.
“Mhm?”
“I’m glad we’re friends,” you say softly.
Kita’s smile dims, the summer sun hidden behind thin, wispy clouds.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. He sounds a little sad. “Me too.”
The rest of the ride is silent.
***
Winter melts away in the face of spring’s burgeoning warmth. The crocuses come early this year, pushing up through the dregs of frost, unfurling quietly, steadily. Yoshikawa paints them; they’re bruises against the soft white of her canvas, the yellow stamen cradled between petals like golden treasure.
She gives you and Abe the paintings one day at the park. They’re carefully wrapped, no bigger than your hand, tied up with a piece of twine that you think she sniped from your gardening supplies.
“What’s this?” Abe asks.
“Find out for yourself,” Yoshikawa says, as if Abe isn’t already tearing into the paper. She hands you yours as you sit up from the pile of blankets you’d laid out on the grassy knoll of the park. You pull it open carefully.
“Pretty,” you breathe, tracing a finger over the long, elegant curve of the stems. “Are these the ones behind the house?”
She nods.
“These aren’t your usual style,” Abe says.
Yoshikawa shrugs, laying down on the blankets and shielding her eyes against the sun. “I’m trying something new.”
“It’s nice,” Abe says. “You should do more like it.”
“Maybe.”
“When are you going to paint me?”
“I already painted you,” Yoshikawa points out.
“That was in high school!”
“It’s still painting you.”
You tune them out and lie back down. You curl up so that you can pillow your head on Yoshikawa’s stomach. She shifts to give you more room. She smells like sweet, wet earth. You think of a garden after rain, when it’s gone lush and green. You sink into the oasis of her.
Abe wakes you up as the sun is starting to set. You groan but let her coax you up. The three of you gather your items plus a few things you hadn’t had at the start of the day: a heart shaped rock Abe tripped over; a box of okonomiyaki that’s perfuming the air with a savory, spicy scent; a few golden wildflowers, tied carefully together with a hair elastic.
You know the walk home by heart, so you spend your time looking at the city as it comes to life, a night-blooming flower. Next to you, Abe is chatting merrily at Yoshikawa, who is looking at her with a smile you know well. She glances at you and drops you a sly little wink.
“What was that?” Abe asks immediately.
“Nothing,” Yoshikawa says, taking your keys from you and opening the front door.
“It was something!”
“It really wasn’t.”
“Yes it was!”
You listen to them bicker all the way to the kitchen, trying not to laugh. Abe whirls on you. “Tell me,” she whines.
“It really was nothing,” you say. “She’s just winding you up.”
Abe huffs. “I hate you both.”
“You love us,” Yoshikawa says, opening up the box of okonomiyaki and grabbing three of her favorite plates.
“Sadly, I do.”
Your phone rings; when you glance at it, it’s an unknown number. You silence it and grab a plate from Yoshikawa. The three of you eat and chat, swapping bites here and there since you all got different fillings. The sun sets; the golden light pours in through your kitchen window and haloes your friends.
Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket, expecting it to be Takao. Instead, the same unknown number is calling you again. You frown and pick up.
A woman says your name. There’s something to the way she says it. You let out a soft, shaky breath as you listen.
You hang up. Your phone sits heavy in your hand.
“That was the hospital,” you say, sounding too calm even to your own ears. “Aoshi was in an accident.”
Abe and Yoshikawa’s heads come up.
“Is he okay?” Yoshikawa says, blade-sharp.
Your vision is going black at the edges, a slow, steady swallowing. You sit down carefully, the wooden floor cold even through your clothing.
Abe says your name.
She sounds scared.
“No,” you say evenly. “He didn’t make it.”
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moments in death note that are gay sex in no particular order
this does NOT include moments like the foot scene or the tennis scene because those moments are ABOUT gay sex in the absence of gay sex but they are not actually gay sex
-when L reveals that actually Lind L Tailor was a death row inmate and they were only broadcasting to the kanto region of japan
-light calling near as his headquarters are being stormed like "what's wrong, near? you better flee."
-when mello says "hey mogi how about you come see me in new york"
-misa getting slammed to the ground by lidner
-aizawa and ide sitting in the car together as they catch higuchi
-matsuda's railing handstand
-rem's death
and finally. the ultimate moment of gay sex in death note
-matsuda shooting light three times
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so close, yet so far | peter parker
this post is a part of a series called "but you're the one i want"! click here to read parts one, two, and three!
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summary: summary: you've fallen in love with peter, and the worst part? you can't. not when you know you must be with someone else.
warning: flirting, maybe cursing, teeny bit of angst/sad petey for a second, use of y/n, mentions of death and school shooting (lemme know if i missed any)
pairing: peter parker x fem!reader (this is in 3rd person!)
word count: 1.4k+ words
peter
"it's kinda chilly," peter noted. "come over to my place instead," he murmured, pulling away from the hug.
"okay," y/n smiled, stepping away.
they walked in silence, but unlike before, it was a little uncomfortable.
"you have any family here in new york?"
"no. just one or two close friends."
do i count as a close friend?
"my mom's still in florida, and my brot-... he's, um, not really around."
"he goes to school in florida? how old is he?"
"no, no, i mean he's not around. like, he's... not alive. and he would have been 17 if he were. it was... uh, it was a school shooting. h-he was eight." she fanned her eyes, forcing a laugh.
"actually, you know what? l-let's just go. it's fine, it's fine. i'm sorry i brought that up. i didn't mean to kill the mood," she chuckled awkwardly, suddenly regretting all her life decisions. peter didn't say anything, he knew that sometimes, sometimes it's better not to think about those things. and it doesn't help when people try and pry.
he gave y/n a smile, and took his hand in hers. he blushed, but it was out of her line of sight, so she didn't notice. peter spent the whole walk there hoping she wouldn't pull her hand away. soon enough, they were at the parker residence.
"uh, my aunt may isn't here, so we have the house to ourselves."
he had to pull his hand away to unlock the door, which he mentally frowned at.
"you live with your aunt?"
"yeah, my uncle ben died, so if i left, she wouldn't have anyone to stay with. i just don't want to leave her alone like that, you know?"
"that's honestly so sweet of you, peter." he blushed at that.
"i wish i had someone to live with like that. it gets lonely every now and then."
peter hummed in acknowledgement, his heart doing a 360.
he watched nervously as she looked around, "nice place. real cozy."
"isn't cozy just realtor talk for small?"
"maybe, but i didn't mean it like that. it feels nice in here, like a home. an actual home."
he wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he didn't bother about that. peter walked up the stairs to his room, y/n right behind.
"um, i-it's a little messy."
"oh. yeah i can see that. is- is that underwear?" she asked, gesturing to the garment on chair.
his eyes widened as he grabbed it and threw it into his closet.
"t-that's not mine!"
"the spider-man underwear isn't yours? my bad."
he looked around the room, still bright red, as he started throwing some clothes into the closet. after he was done, he slammed the door closed. y/n was trying her absolute hardest not to laugh.
spoiler alert: it wasn't working very well.
this is absolutely degrading.
she slipped off one of her heels as peter sat on the swivel chair. y/n sighed in relief, taking those lousy heels off. well, it wasn't really a sigh. it was more of a moan.
get your mind out of the gutter, peter.
peter blushed red and turned the chair around to face the laptop. he scrolled through the new daily bugle posts to distract himself from thinking such scandalous thoughts.
yes, he did like to google himself every now and then. but it wasn't a pride thing, it was just to see what people... well, what people thought of him. because as much as he didn't want to, he really cared about that.
peter was trying to not process what he was feeling for her. obviously, there was something there. he just didn't want to over complicate what they had.
also, he didn't trust himself. not with y/n. peter wasn't going to allow himself to make the same mistake. in the end, captain stacy had been right.
peter swallowed, trying to think about something else. but no matter what he tried, his mind traced back to y/n.
nope. no. no, no, no. there are no crushes here. none at all.
he groaned loudly and banged his head on the table.
"woah there, are you okay? cause you seem very un-okay. seriously, don't complain when you get yourself a concussion."
peter blushed a bright red and didn't move, keeping his head on the table. he had completely forgot she was even there.
"peter? are you good?" her voice was laced with concern, and that didn't help his crush. it might have been small, but regardless, it existed. how was a 23 year old man struggling this much with something so minor? he should be able to deal with a crush.
he looked up, trying to come up with a sensible excuse that wouldn't freak her out. peter turned around, only to be meet with her deep, loving eyes. she ran her hand through his hair, dropping it to cup his cheek.
peter's breath hitched slightly, seeing as the proximity between the two was very small. sure, he was nervous to kiss her the other time, but this felt way different. he was almost... scared. it was odd, he had always felt more confident as spider-man. maybe that's why, he told himself.
"just- uh... work stuff. got a l-lot to catch up on, y-you know?" he was looking everywhere, just not at her. he knew she was leaning in, and it was freaking him out.
"yeah?"
"uh-huh..." peter finally locked eyes with her, and quickly regretted it. because as soon as he did, he couldn't look away. their lips were centimeters away, and he found himself leaning in as well, unable to help it.
y/n’s lips brushed his, and as soon as they did, the two of them were interrupted.
"peter?" aunt may called out. "honey, you home?"
she flinched and practically leaped back in fear. "i thought you said you were home alone?"
"i-i thought we were. may's shift m-must have ended early."
he noticed a change in her demeanor.
...disappointment?
he heart leaped at the thought. had she really wanted to kiss him? but what about spider-man? he loved aunt may, but right now, there was a twinge of frustration that he couldn't push away.
"uh- yeah! i'm up here! with a... a..." he glanced at you, "a friend?" his voice had faded to a whisper towards the last couple of words as his eyes met hers. he didn't know what to say about what just happened, and he guessed that she didn't know either.
y/n
"s-sorry," she murmured, looking away, "i, um, shouldn't have done that."
"no!"
she looked at him, clearly confused.
"i-i mean, it's fine. maybe it'll go better next time," he offered with a smile.
next time?
her head was spinning. over the past couple of days, she had decided that she liked peter. a lot.
and they almost kissed. that was crazy. who cares about spider-man? he's spider-man! for all she knew, that was a fling. besides, she didn't want to date the man-bug. she didn't even know who he was.
sure, yeah, it would be cool. but how do you have a relationship with someone you don't know?
but peter? peter was so different. nothing like anyone she'd ever met. every word exchanged made her heart soar. peter made her so happy. and the funniest part?
he didn't even have to try. not one bit.
y/n’s breathing was still uneven, the rush of adrenaline and confidence she had was down the drain.
"um. i need to go," she rushed down the stairs, not thinking a second thought.
"oh, hi there! are you a friend of peter's?"
"yes, yeah... a friend." the word had rolled off his tongue so smoothly that it had bothered her. in all honestly, hadn't even noticed that peter was following her.
y/n drew in a breath. "uh, yes, i'm y/n l/n. it's nice to meet you, may."
"it's great to meet you too! peter's told me a lot about you."
she glanced him, taking note of his bright red face. "oh, really? all good things, i hope?"
"of course!"
"well, it was nice to see you, but i'm afraid that i do have to be going," y/n plastered a smile on her face.
"i understand, you should come over more. our house is always welcome to you."
she gave the older woman a more genuine smile and left the house. y/n hailed a cab before peter came after her.
at this point, she just wanted to figure this out.
what was going on between her and peter?
taglist!
@whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee
#tom holland x reader#tom holland#peter parker#spiderman#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#fluff#angst#tom holland x you#peter parker imagine#but you're the one i want
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Forever and always
Steve Harrington x Fem!reader
Spoilers for the fic down below.
Plot: Steve’s been worried about his girlfriend with everything that has been going on. He didn’t want her to be brought into the mess again. So not knowing if she was okay, killed him inside but he thought her not knowing anything that was happening, would keep her from harm.
Pt.2
Notes: I have no idea what I want to keep making angst. So I’m sorry for future projects. And I did make memes for this fic..Check my stranger things masterlist
Warnings: Angst, blood, death and worrying.
Length: Short.
Everyone was already on edge. Having a cured town and having to worry about if you’d die at any moment, just when you think it just had gotten safe again could drive anyone insane.
But he wasn’t worried about himself, no he was worried for the love of his life. He found it unbelievable that he could care about a person so much like he did her.
Something in Hawkins, was murdering teens for some unknown reason and he found himself back with the group to explore what’s he hell was going on. So he hasn’t been able to check up on her in a while.
Though she’s been through the same stuff he has with the upside down he just couldn’t risk her life again. So he begged everyone not to bring you into it, and when they saw how serious he was they agreed.
Now they where about to go to a abandoned house searching for any clue so that could put the peace’s together. That means leaving town and leaving her alone. So if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be able to get to her in time.
Every moment was spent thinking about her and their moments together. The first kiss, their first I love you’s and every smile she gave him. Her smile was what kept him going, hoping that he could see her again when this was over.
“Close your eyes” He stood behind her just a hour before her birthday party. She closed her eyes as a smile spread across her face and she could since his hands moving over her head.
The as she felt a cold sensation on her neck and she knew exactly what it was, she felt the chain wrap around the rest as he let it go. “Open” She did looking in the mirror in front of them.
It was a golden heart necklace she reached up to admired it, and it was beautiful. She turned her head and staring right into his eyes that were already staring back at her.
“It’s beautiful, thank you. I love you” She hugged him quickly as he smiled knowing he did something right. “I love you too” he kissed the top of her head.
“Forever and always” he continued to hold her, wishing he never had to let go.
“Steve, you coming?” Dustin asked while they walked out the store but the older boy just shook his head while looking away from him.
“I need to make a call” He walked away as the others went back to the car. He pulled out a few quarters and stepped through the phone booth.
He dialed a number and let it ring, he twirled the wire with his finger anxiously. As the ringing kept going he told himself that she was probably out. She was always doing something.
The beeping stopped and a sad smile found his face. “This is Y/n L/n’s house phone, you’ve caught me at a bad time but just leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you” Then the robot voice came through to leave a message. He leaned onto the sides off the booth as he began to speak.
“Hey, y/n. It’s Steve, I just wanted to say how sorry I am that I’ve been away for a couple of days. But I swear I’ll make it up to you since you’re all I can think about.” His voice came through a machine into a empty living room.
Soft dripping can be heard as the message continued to echo through the room and through the house. “I don’t know what happens next and that scares me. After everything that has happened to us these passes few years- I just can’t risk not saying that I love you” Then it cutting him off. Steve slammed the phone back on the hook letting out a scream in frustration.
Hoping is all he could do.
Glass shatter along the floor by the broken table as a pool of blood had the reflection of the phone machines blinking light. Hoping wasn’t enough.
Her body laid on the floor with broken bones, with the sweater he had giving her for Christmas. After all his hopes a wishes he would never get to see her smile again. A golden heart necklace laid on the floor as it still wrapped around her neck.
“Forever and always”
#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x chubby reader#Steve Harrington#steve harrington x reader#stranger things#stranger things season 4#steve and dustin#dustin henderson#angst
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Shittiest tiny fic draft for the zombie au ive been brainstorming… in my brain until now-
- death note zombie au, takes place after light regains his memories and is about to complete his plans to end L.. a zombie plague causes him to run (https://www.tumblr.com/possumproductions/743695287607066624/deathnote-zombie-au-what-if-in-response-to-kira for more info) - after 2 years of the apocalypse light finally returns to L looking to work together for a cure-
((Just had to get this out of my brain my god i wish i could say ill write more but who knows also no shade its sloppy pfft))
…..
“Well.. i cant say i saw this coming.”
Light kept his hands clasped together, fingers intertwined held on the back of his head. The masked figure stood with a gun pointed directly at lights chest, he heard his own breath catch in the silence… that voice…
“Light… Why are you here?”
There was a softness there, perhaps unintentional, but it was there.
The gun remained raised as the figure used his other hand to pull back the black mask, revealing stubble and eyes as dark as light could remember them, as if the years had been days.
“Hello L”
All he got back for that tepid response was an agonising sigh, his former enemy unable to control it.
“You better come in, a hoard will be here soon..”
The shriek of an alarm partnered with red flashing lights began just as L turned to walk inside, as if he’d activated them for effect.
Light stumbled forward, cautious yet determined to follow into the fortress.
He had little time to feel relief before the room turned pitch black, a large metal door slamming shut as soon as he passed its threshold.
“Ryusaki? What is this?”
A swift kick answered his call as Light fell to the floor with the unmistakable weight of a boot on his back. L pounced in the dark and locked Lights wrists into the oh-so-familiar shackles that clicked shut. He couldnt help it, he started chuckling at the irony, unable to contain himself in such a ridiculous moment. L grunted in anger, shoving him back down with a harsh jolt as he stepped back. The force cut light off and he managed to bite his own tongue, blood leaking out of his mouth and dripping onto the floor.
“Fuck, great to see you too!”
“Shut up.” L strode away up the metal steps that appeared as the overhead lighting flashed back on. Light just slumped in relief, feeling the cold metal on his cheek manage to stiffle the sharp pain in his mouth. This was still, out of all his previous imagined scenarios of the moment they met again, far far better than expected- for one thing L didnt shoot him, and he was inside away from the terror outside.
He gave L a good 15 minutes of peace, not wanting to risk his mind changing just yet. As he rolled on his side, he stretched and contorted to pull his arms under his legs and out in front of him. He felt like an old hat at this, the handcuffs barely causing trouble as he stood up smoothly. When he did eventually climb the stairs and round the corner to peer past the door frame, he saw L sitting beside what looked like a shuttered window. There was a pool of smoke lazily drifting to the crack in the glass, pulling it through and out into the evening air. He took another drag and spoke without looking at Light.
“Why… what are you doing here.”
It didnt sound like a question, or at least not one for Light to answer just yet, instead he offered his own.
“Arent you impressed i survived this long?”
Now it was Ls turn to laugh, he tried to cover it with a cough that got away from him, smoke spluttering out of his mouth.
“You never smoked before…” Light whispered.
L caught his breath, but then he turned to face Light as he spoke and the fond moment of familiarity disappeared, replaced with a cold expression of anger.
“Why. Are. You. Here.”
Light stepped back, cursing himself for retreating yet unable to hide it.
“I… well.” How the hell would he explain himself?
“Im waiting.”
Light paused, staring momentarily at the hands cuffed before him, looking up at the man who had continued to imprison and release him in an endless cycle.
“I need your help.”
#death note#lawlight#light yagami#light#l#l/light#lawlight death note#death note au#death note fanfiction#zombie au
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Pinball Y/N
Slightly younger Vance Hopper x GN!reader (platonic)
Summary: Vance was the new kid in town, You could just tell by the way he looked, he was a tough kid. Y/N was someone nobody dared to fuck with, especially when it came to Pinball. It was their game. People warned Vance about you, telling him that he’ll get his ass beat if he fucked with you. He listened, well tried to at least. He got shoved by a kid, landed right on your game, yet you were surprisingly nice to him.
Warning: Does Contain swearing and a bit of violence
Side note: This is shorter than others
Just like every Sunday, well more like everyday, Y/N was in their usual spot, playing their one true love, Pinball. Everyday during the week, at exactly 4:00, Y/N was always in the exact same spot trying to beat their high score. It’s what Y/N loved to do. By now everyone in the entire town knew not to fuck with Y/N, especially when it came to their game. Nobody dared to ask if they could have a go, not unless they had a death wish. Y/N had anger issues, their way of having control over them was with Pinball, in other words when someone screwed then up, that anger got taken out on them. After the last incident that got around town, nothing ever happened again.
“Holy shit Y/N. Your going to beat your high score.” Y/N’s friend, James cheered from next to them. “Of course I am you dumb shit. I told you I would.” Y/N mumbled, not daring to take their eyes off the game. “Ding, ding, ding.” The sound of the bell at the front rang, revealing a blond haired boy standing near the cashier with money in hand. Once again Y/N didn’t dare to take their eyes off the game, occasionally listening to the whispers from other in the corner store about the kid hardly anyone has seen before.
“Come on, come on, come on.” Y/N mumbled to themselves, watching the ball drop closer to the end slot, not wanting to be this close to a new high score and lose it. “That’ll be $5.67.” The lady at the front told the same blond boy, the same one who had been eyeing the game ever since he entered the store. “Here you are.” The boy spoke for the first time, handing the lady the money. “Have a nice day.” The lady gave a sweet smile, watching the boy grab his soda and candy bar, walking closer to the machine then out the door. “Wow buddy. What do you think your doing?” A boy who had been watching Y/N play stopped the blond. “Going to play the game?” The blond had a clearly confused look on his face.
By now Y/N had been to lost in trying to get a new high score that they weren’t even listening to the conversation. “I wouldn’t to that if I were you. Unless you wanna get your ass kicked.” The boy holding the blond back chuckled. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The blond sighed. “You don’t know who they are?” The boy pointed to Y/N. “Nope.” The blond shook his head. “You must be new. That’s Y/N, Y/L/N. More commonly known as Pinball Y/N. Trust me when I say you don’t want to fuck with them.” The boy explained. “Ok, well I’m going to play the game. So fuck off.” The blond mumbled, slightly shoving the boy.
“Don’t.” The boy sighed, trying to push the boy back, accidentally pushing him a little to hard, sending him in the wrong direction. “You… son… of… a… bitch.” Y/N stared in disbelief, feeling a body collide with theirs, making them lose control of the ball, watching it fall all the way back to the bottom. “You asshole!” Y/N slammed their hands against the game, turning around, only to find a clearly scared boy on the floor in front of her. “Y-Y/N… I swear, it was an accident.” The boy that pushed the blond began pleading. “You, stay here. And you…” Y/N told the blond, turning their attention to the boy who shoved the blond. “You fucking dumbass.” Y/N grew angrier, practically charging at the boy, immediately taking him to the ground.
“Y-Y/N. Please, it won’t happen again.” The boy now under Y/N stuttered, trying to push them off of him. “Well if it won’t happen again, here’s this to remember.” Y/N grinned, punching the boy right in the fast as hard as they could. “Remember.” Y/N threw another punch at the helpless boy. “Don’t.” Y/N threw another, starting to draw blood. “Fuck.” Y/N punched him again. “With.” Y/N threw yet another, earning a bunch of gasps from the now forming crowd. “Me.” Y/N threw one final punch, easily giving the kid a black eye, a nose bleed, and a few more scratches.
“Oh for fuck sake.” Y/N mumbled, noticing the woman behind the counter get off the phone, probably to have just called the cops. “You. New kid, come on.” Y/N completely changed their mood, offering a hand to the blond. “T-thanks.” The blond mumbled, completely confused as to what just happened. “I gotta run.” Y/N sighed, turning to the door, starting to walk out, glaring at half the people still watching them. Without even thinking the blond boy started following them out the door, jogging to catch up with them on the sidewalk.
___________________________
“What new kid.” Y/N groaned, not bothering to even look at the boy. “I-I uh. The names Vance. Vance Hopper.” Vance introduced himself, making Y/N stop and look at him. “Well Vance Hopper. I’m Y/N, Y/L/N.” Y/N said plainly, looking at the boys hand in front of them, ready to shack. “Nice to meet you.” Vance gave an awkward smile, watching Y/N take his hand and shake it. “You too Vance.” Y/N chuckled, still being able to see the fear in his eyes. “But now I’ve really gotta go.” Y/N mentioned, pointing to the police car coming closer and closer. “Oh, yea, yea.” Vance mumbled, looked over his shoulder, turning his head back around only to find that Y/N was already to far away to hear him.
“Hey Hopper!” Y/N called back behind themselves, stopping to turn around. “Yea?” Vance asked, slightly yelling. “Meet me at the corner store tomorrow! 4:00 on the dot! I’ll let you have a go!” Y/N told him, giving a thumbs up. “Uh… y-yea! Yea, ok!” Vance returned the thumbs up, watching Y/N get further and further away, finally walking back to the store to get his belongings.
___________________________
The very next day, at exactly 4:00, the friendship of Pinball Y/N, and soon to be known as Pinball Vance began. The two people in town, nobody dared to fuck with. Especially when it came to their game.
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Don’t Ever Let Me Go
Supernatural Fic
Summary: While hunting a Crocotta, you discover someone is alive who should've died 10 years ago.
Notes: Blood, violence, gore, death, anxiety, angst (?), italics are thoughts about the past
"I think it's a Crocotta." Sam says from the seat next to me. "The phone calls from their loved ones before their deaths even though the victims’ families claim they didn’t... it’s the only obvious option."
Dean and I agree as Sam's phone rings.
"Agent Stiles."
I can hear a slight murmur over the phone, but I can't quite make out what is being said to Sam.
"Mhm... Yes, we'll be right there... Alright, thank you."
As soon as the beep of the disconnect is heard Sam announces that there has been another murder.
We all get in the Impala and head towards the latest crime scene to talk to the witness.
As we get there the body is getting wheeled into the coroners’ van and Dean stops it to check the deceased as Sam and I go up to the Sherriff
"Victims name is Lily Moonarch. She just dropped dead, same as the rest of them."
Sam replies, "Interesting. Any ideas yet?"
"Fourth victim and we're still stumped."
"You said there was a suspect?" I questioned as Dean rejoined the group.
"Yes, she was on the phone to the victim when she died." Dean and I shared a look, thinking back on what Sam had said back at out motel. "It's our only lead so we think she might have something to do with it."
"Okay well what's the suspects name, we'll head over first before you guys if that’s alright?" I ask at the same time as Sam appears at my side.
"Yes of course, her name is Phoebe Y/L/N"
Both Sam and Dean look at me wearily and I feel my stomach drop and my heart goes to my throat.
Sam is asking for her address, but my ears are ringing and everything seems muffled. I can barely breathe, and I can hardly feel Deans hand linked with mine, dragging me away back to the car.
Phoebe Y/L/N. Phoebe. Pheebs. My younger sister. My younger sister who died over 10 years ago when a demon killed my entire family while I was on a playdate. She was only 6 and I was 12.
"Mum! Dad! I'm home!" I yelled as I walked in through the large white door.
I heard no response, so I yelled out again but still, no one responded.
'Maybe they're asleep' I think to myself, so I walk up the stairs, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I see a bloody, red handprint smeared on the door of my parents’ bedroom.
"Mum?" I say anxiously awaiting her response.
I didn’t hear anything, so I push her door open very carefully. The scene before me is something no 12-year-old should see. Her parents dead on the bed in a pool of blood. A knife in her dad’s abdomen with his own hand wrapped around it. Her mothers throat slit. Blood splashed all over the room, the stench making me want to throw up. With tears streaming down my face I run out the bedroom and into my sister’s room, but I was too late to her as well. As I step in their room, a man is standing over her tiny bed with these hands around her neck, choking her. When the man looks over at me, he smirks, and slowly walks over to me, his eyes glowing red and he slams the door shut with just his mind.
"What are you doing here you sweet, sweet child?"
His smirk grows wider and so do my eyes as he continues making his way to me, but I can’t move. It's like I'm stuck in the mud, no matter how hard I try I just can’t move.
As I've accepted the fact that I can't go anywhere, that this is the end the door bursts open again, and a tall figure stands in the door, and I hear a shot.
"It's going to take a lot more than that to kill me, John." He drags out the man’s name, almost like he shouldn’t know what his name is but does anyway.
The man screams but no sound comes out, all that does come out is a long line of black smoke. The man- John, picks me up and runs outside and puts me in the car next to another boy who looks around my age and he runs back inside which I later found out was to double check that my family is in fact dead.
"Hi, I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam." Says the boy in the front seat.
"Y/N" I say through sobs.
"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N"
I jump up from the back of the same Impala I was in those 10 years ago.
Sam is looking over at me from the front seat and Dean is looking down at me on his lap with a worried look.
"We're 5 minutes away from Phoebes house."
I just look at him and give a late responded nod.
You can tell that the brothers are worried about me by the way they keep looking at me every couple of seconds.
When we pull up, I'm frozen in place, just like that night a decade ago but this time I have the help to pull me out of my trance. Dean puts his hand on my thigh.
"Y/N... Sam and I can do this on our own if you'd like? You can stay in here and-"
"No. I want to come. I need to see if it’s actually her." I interrupt.
"Okay."
We get out of the car, and I adjust my pants and suit jacket and wipe off the remaining mascara on my face and smile at the two brothers in front of me.
"Let's go."
As we're walking up the stairs in silence my mind is running wild with thoughts of what could happen. What is she's a vampire? What if it's someone else just with the same name? What if she doesn’t know who I am? I try to keep my heart rate normal and my breaths even but the longer we walk up these stairs the more worried thoughts are running through my mind.
When we get there both the boys give me a questioning look and I nod.
Sam knocks on the door, "FBI open up."
Phoebe opens the door.
"Is this about Lily?"
I stand there shocked, and Dean subtly holds my hand.
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out. "Pheebs?"
She finally makes eye contact with me, confused.
"No-one has called me that in years."
Sam puts his hand on my shoulder as a warning to stop and slow it down.
"It’s me Phoebe. Its Y/N."
"That can't be possible. The real Y/N died 10 years ago.”
"We were told you died 10 years ago." Dean told her.
"How about you come inside."
We all go inside, and Phoebe makes us all a tea and I pretend to not notice the holy water she boils for the drinks, and I sit down on her grey sofa in between Sam and Dean.
We sit in a semi-awkward silence until Phoebe hands us our holy tea and waits for us to drink it before continuing the conversation.
When there is no reaction to the holy water, a look of relief washed over her face.
"How are you alive?" Dean asked, almost accusatory.
Phoebe looked taken aback as she answered "I don't know. Just one day I woke up in my childhood home, cops everywhere. They told me my whole family were killed and my sister was missing, presumed dead. I went into a foster home and as soon as I hit 18, I moved in with Lily."
"So you have no idea how you go bought back?" Sam asked, sounding more sympathetic than his older brother did.
"Maybe she never died to begin with?" Dean suggested.
"But she couldn't have. I watched her die and John went and confirmed that they were both dead." I still remember the feeling of watching my baby sister die and never getting answers for it. Why did it happen? Who did it? I'll never get those answers, but it doesn’t matter anymore because my little Phoebe is alive.
"What about Lily?" She said, tears returning to her eyes. "Is it something supernatural? Is that why you’re here?"
"We think so." Sam replied.
I zone everything out after that. Looking around her little apartment. Her cat and the detailed drawings on the walls, she always was a good drawer, and the pink accents in her decor, pink is still her favourite colour. Everything is so normal compared to what I was expecting. I think I was expecting her to be a lot like me. A hunter trying to find out what happened all those years ago but she somehow managed to not get involved in this life and hopefully we can keep it that way by not getting her too involved in this job.
"Thank you for your time, Phoebe, we should get going." Dean says, putting his hand back on my thigh.
Sam and Dean stand up as I sit still, watching Phoebe.
Dean holds his hand out to me, and I accept it, getting to my feet and giving Phoebe a tight-lipped smile, still holding Deans hand hard.
"If you notice anything else strange, don't hesitate to call us," Dean hands her his FBI card. "We will call you with any updates as well."
"Thank you, guys."
As we're all walking out the door, I feel a cold hand grab by arm, and I turn around.
"It's good to see you again." Phoebe says and she pulls me into a tight embrace as I drop Deans hand. "I wanted to give you my number, maybe we can try and get to know each other properly."
"Of course, I would love that Pheebs."
A single tear falls from her eyes as I hug her again, never wanting to let go.
This could have a part 2 possibly
#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester#dean winchester#supernatural fanfic#spn#supernatural angst#jensen ackles#supernatural#spn fanfic#fan fiction#dean winchester fanfic#jensen ackles character
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Incorrect Quotes || Anime Edition ||
Y/N: Wow, it’s a barren featureless wasteland out there isn’t it?
Hakkai: … Y/N, try turning the map around.
{anime-Saiyuki}
•+•
Young Ichigo: I’m sorry I ate your candy.
Young Y/N: I’m sorry I pushed you off the bench.
Ichigo: It’s okay.
Ichigo: Wait. When did you-
Y/N: *Pushes Ichigo off the bench*
{anime-Bleach}
•+•
Y/N: We dream of summertime during winter. We yearn for winter during summer. What fatal flaw has God injected the human psyche with? Why must we always strive for the thing furthest away from us?
Tsume: …Are you okay?
Y/N: My hands are freezing off here, Tsume.
{anime-Wolfs Rain}
•+•
Miroku: You’re mad at me.
Y/N: I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.
Miroku: Oh, come on. Everyone knows that’s worse
{anime-Inyuasha}
•+•
Y/N: Woah, woah, woah. You think I’m into Kyo?
Yuki: Yes, Y/N, I do because you are.
Tohru: You mentioned his name nine times in the last ten minutes.
{anime-Fruits Basket}
•+•
Y/n: You’re supposed to be learning how to be good. So no more of….this.
Sesshomaru: You just gestured to all of me
{anime-Inyuasha}
•+•
Y/n: I can hold the whole world in my hands.
Kougaiji, unconvinced: Oh yeah?
Y/n: *holds Kougaiji's face in their hands*
Kougaiji: *voice breaking* I have a reputation to uphold.
{anime-Saiyuki}
•+•
Y/n: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!
Ichigo: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD
Y/n: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING CHAD WITH ME
Rukia, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now
{anime-Bleach}
•+•
Hakkai: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.
Gojyo: This knife is actually a magic wand.
Goku: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.
Sanzo: *cocks gun* Magic missile.
Y/n: What the fuck is wrong with you people
{anime-Saiyuki}
•+•
Y/n: *Gently taps table*
Shikamaru: *Taps back*
Naruto: What are they doing?
Hinata: Morse code.
Y/n: *Aggressively taps table*
Shikamaru: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-
{anime-Naruto}
•+•
Kiba looking at Y/n and Tsume.
Kiba: So who’s the big spoon and who’s the little spoon.
Tsume: I’m a knife.
Y/n:He’s the little spoon.
{anime-Wolfs Rain}
•+•
L: Y/n , we need to talk about-
Y/n: He was already dead when I got here
L: What?
Y/n: What?
{anime-death note}
•+•
Y/n: “me and Spike have that special chemistry where we can finish each other’s-“
Spike: “sentences!”
Y/n: “don’t interrupt me”
{anime-Cowboy Bebop}
•+•
Sanji: “pfft- Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.”
Zoro: “You were flirting with Y/n..”
Sanji: “and? So what? She’s my wife.”
Zoro: “you asked them if they were single.”
Sanji: “.....”
Zoro: “And then you cried when they said they weren't..”
{anime-One Piece}
•+•
Roy: WHY. why did you give Y/n a KNIFE?!
Maes: I’m sorry. They said they felt unsafe.
Roy : Now I feel unsafe!
Maes: I’m sorry.
Maes: ... would you like a knife?
{anime-Fullmetal Alchemist}
•+•
Y/n: i went through an entire character arc during quarantine
Y/n: i became more evil if you’re curious
Iruka: We're still in quarantine, don't worry, there's time for a redemption arc still!
Y/n: i’m going to get worse on purpose
{anime-Naruto}
•+•
Y/n : I will bathe in your fear.
Sanzo': Sorry but it feels like we're being threatened by cupcake.
{anime-Saiyuki}
•+•
Maes: Do you like Y/n?
Roy: What? No, I would never.
Maes: So you wouldn’t mind if I set them up-
Roy: I will kill you with my bare hands.
{anime-Fullmetal Alchemist}
•+•
Hakkai: Did you know that when you break a bone it typically will heal back stronger than before.
Y/n: So what you’re saying is I should break every bone in my body until I become invincible?
Hakkai:
Hakkai: Y/n, please do not.
{anime-Saiyuki}
•+•
Inyuasha: Don’t worry, you’ve got everything you need to defeat them.
Y/n: The power to believe in myself?
Inyuasha: No, a Sword.
Inyuasha: Stab them.
{anime-Inyuasha}
•+•
Hatori: I’ve lied to every girl I said “I love you” to. I thought I loved them but then I met you and realized I’ve never actually been in love before.
Y/n: Aww, I didn’t know that, Hatori. I’m kind of flattered—
Hatori: Yeah, it was eating me up inside so I called them each individually and told them I never loved them.
Y/n: Okay, that just seems unnecessary.
#anime incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes anime#anime#anime x y/n#anime x you#anime x reader#saiyuki incorrect quotes#Saiyuki#inyuasha imagines#inyuasha#inyuasha imagine#fruits basket x you#fruits basket x reader#fruits basket#cowboy bebop#fullmetal alchemist brotherhood#fullmetal alchemist#fma#death note#naruto#one piece#wolfs rain
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“Where Do You Want Me?” (Geralt x black!reader)
Summary: You lost the love of your life to a Leshee. Geralt tried to find a way to help you but doesn’t know how.
Notes: all mistakes are my own, GIF is not mine, dark themes (depression, trauma, death, attempted rape), read at your own risk and take care of yourself
—
Geralt can never forget the look on your face when Vesemir told you what happened. It was pure anguish. You immediately asked to see his body. The entire hall went silent as soon as the rest of the Witchers heard you scream.
Ciri and Eskel thought it would be a good idea to throw a party to get everyone’s mind off of what happened. They hoped you would at least come out, but you didn’t move from your spot.
In fact, you didn’t move when that drunk man came into your room, thinking you were asleep. You didn’t move when he laid you on your back or tugged your blouse open.
Geralt felt as if something was wrong when he saw that man stumble into the hallway. His instinct told him to follow him and he did. He opened the door to your room and rage filled him when he sees the man struggling to take off his pants.
“Oh! Hi, I was just looking for the bathr..” the man grew silent when he saw how heavy Geralt was breathing. “Hey, I don’t want any trouble.” “Should have thought about that before you did..” Geralt catches himself. He’s already spoken too much already. He nears the man and the man shrinks.
He picks him up by the street and threw him against the nearest wall. He kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him against the wall. He didn’t care if he could smell blood. Vesemir could hear the constant thudding and followed it to your room.
“Geralt! What are you doing? Put him down now!” Vesemir commands once he noticed the man falling in and out of unconsciousness and Geralt kept him suspended in the air when he says, “He tried to assault her,”
“She would have let him if I hadn’t stepped in.” Geralt looks over his shoulder at you. You had covered yourself up and rolled on your side. “I’ll take care of him. Just make sure she’s alright.” Vesemir states, picking up the man and tossing him outside to let nature takes its course.
Geralt closes and locks the door to prevent any disruptions. He stood at the foot of the bed and stared at you for a moment. “You were going to let him do that to you?” His fists started to clench. “Answer me!” He slams his hand on the bed and you jumped out of your trance.
Your eyes finally settled on him. “Why?” He adds. “I don’t smell him anymore,” you said, your throat sensitive from not speaking in a while. “I don’t have anything left of him besides my memories now. And I fear that won’t be enough.” You added, tears trailing down your cheeks.
Geralt sighs and sat across from you. “You’ll get through this, Y/N. He’s not the first man you’ve loved in the past decade.” “He’s the only one I’ve saw a future with,” “I’ve never felt a pain like this, Geralt. It’s more painful than any physical pain. Worse than nearly getting more heart torn out.” you croaked.
You’ve been in a trance-like state for days, not allowing yourself to express the anguish in your heart. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this,” you added. Geralt lays down horizontally, with his legs hanging off the bed. His head laid adjacent to where you were sitting. You looked over at him and naturally, you laid down the same way he was.
Your head laid on his shoulder and your body shook as you cried. Tears blurred your vision and you were struggling to take a deep breath. You hid your face behind your hands. Geralt let you cry your heart out until you fell asleep. Your slowly chest rose and fell, matching the cadence of your breathes fanning his neck.
He cautiously got up and lifted you up for a moment to pull the covers back. He pulled the covers over your head because he knows that confined spaces made you feel safe. He turned to leave until you mumbled something under your breath.
“Mm?” “Don’t… leave,” you said with a yawn. “Where did you want me?” He asks softly. You opened the covers and he slid in next to you, wrapping his arms around you and trailing a hand up and down your back.
The two of you never were meant to be just friends.
**
The rest of the Witchers sat at the table and conversed among themselves when you walked into the hall. Your eyes traveled to Geralt when the conversations died down and they all stared at you. You grabbed an apple from the end of the table and turned to retreat back to your room.
After all, yesterday was the first day you took a shower. And today was the first day you ate. It’s not much, but it’s progress. “It’s been nine days and all you want to eat is an apple?” Lambert asks, earning a shove from Vesemir when you stopped in your tracks.
“Shut it, Lambert before you find your hair gone in the morning,” you stated, earning a few chuckles. “Good to have you back, Y/N/N.” Lambert states. You smiled to yourself before walking back to your room.
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ferris wheel
PAIRING – female ! reader x jason grace
SUMMARY – jason & y/n visit a theme park and they get a bit too comfortable if you know what i mean huhuuhuhuhuhu-
GENRE – fluffy
WARNINGS – none <3
NOTES – so this is for one of my friend who have told me they like jason~ sOOoOOO~
Jason had told Y/N that he wanted to take her somewhere, but he didn't specify where.
He refused to tell Y/N even though she tried her very best to make him spill the beans. Y/N sat at the back of Jason's car, in the passenger seat.
Her hair drifted in the wind, her eyes bringing out the best in her favourite outfit.
"Jason!" Y/N whined, a nagging tone in her voice, "Just tell me where we're going! Please!" She added, dragging the last word. Jason rolled his eyes.
"It's a secret! I can't tell! Not yet! We're almost there anyway," Jason replied, a casual smirk on his face. Y/N groaned, throwing her head back.
"If you don't tell me right now, I'm going to bash you in the head," Y/N said, menacingly. She hated to know that Jason Grace, her best friend, knew something she didn't. It was most usually the other way around. Jason scoffed.
"C'mon Y/N! It's just around the corner," Jason laughed at Y/N's death threat. Y/N slapped his shoulder.
"UGHHHHHH- fine," She gave up, "Whatever. But when you get your head bashed in, don't come rUnNinG back to me for help."
He looked handsome in his shirt, and she mentally facepalmed herself for thinking about him that way. No, he's my friend. I can't say that I like him! ew! That would ruin our friendship, Y/N thought. The car parked in front of a colorful place, light blared here and there. Loud noises were everywhere. They walked inside.
Y/N gasped. "Wait," She said, her jaw-dropping, "THIS IS THE AMUSEMENT PARK!" Y/N L/N wanted to go to an amusement park her whole life, but she never got the chance to do so.
Jason grinned, "I thought you'd like it!" Y/N tackled him in a hug and quickly broke away flushing. "Oh, I can't believe it Jace- You brought me to an amusement park!" She smiled widely. Jason grinned ear to ear, his cheeks flushing.
To Y/N's left was a gigantic Ferris wheel, with colorful seats. Onto the right, were games and such carnival treats. Before her, was a grand roller-coaster! She couldn't believe her eyes. They walked up to a stall, where there was a bottle knocking game.
The prize was a cute corgi plushie, which she wanted dearly. "OoOOoh!" Y/N squealed. "Look at that, Jace!" She tapped him on the shoulder, making him look at the Plushie.
"Y/N? Do you really want that?" Jason smirked. Y/N rolled her eyes.
"Jason. Just. Friggin. LOOK AT IT!" Y/N said, "It's adorable! I absolutely need it!"
Jason sighed. "Fine, I'll win it for you." But then Y/N came in front of him.
"Woah Woah Woah, Mister. I'm going to win it myself." She sniffed, putting her head high. The girl at the back of the Stall, probably the stall master, grinned.
She had messy black hair, tied in a bun. Teal blue piercing eyes and she wore a yellow and white baggy jumper with black tights and a cat ear headband. She waggled a finger at you both.
"New couple, huh? The name's azzie!" She pointed at Y/N, "You, you're his girlfriend? If you want it, win it yourself. You look like a confident person. Step aside, pretty boy- she's gonna win."
Jason blushed. "Er... Y/N isn't my girlfriend-" Y/N cut him off.
"I am Y/N L/N and I accept this challenge!" Y/N slammed her hands on the table, grinning madly. Jason winced. This is going to be fun to watch. He thought.
There was a stack of blue bottles which she had three balls to hit. Jason gave Azzie the right amount of money, and she counted it. Y/N, on the other hand, took the first ball in a fist and hit the bottle stack.
In the end (which was after a hard hour of coughing up money for 36 balls) Y/N finally won. Azzie gave Y/N the plushie, and she squealed. Jason offered a hand. "May I carry it for you?" He asked. Y/N scoffed.
"Seriously? I'm carrying it myself, thank you very much." Y/N said, sniffing. Azzie snickers. Jason coughed at Y/N's retort.
They walked away from the stall towards the Ferris wheel, which was gigantic. Y/N smugly carried her plushie with herself. She hugged it, while Jason looked at her in confusion
"I'll never understand you, L/N" Jason sighed, while Y/N smiled at him.
They walked up to the gigantic Ferris wheel, where there was a humongous line. Y/N gulped, as Jason tugged her hand. After what seemed like an hour of waiting and partially goofing off- it was their turn to ride the wheel.
Sitting in a blue seat, they looked up into the sky, as the Ferris wheel kept going up and up and up...
Y/N shrieked in excitement, and Jason laughed. "It's just a Ferris wheel-"
"Correct: It's my FIRST Ferris wheel!" She said, with a lopsided grin at him.
"Isn't the sight up here amazing?" Jason wondered out loud. A rainbow appeared in front of them, the sun glimmering through it. raindrops fell, it was magical.
Unconsciously, she dropped her head into his shoulder, as she hugged her plushie. They whipped heads together and slowly leaned forward, closing in, and... You know what? I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Let's just say they did something Coach Hedge would not approve of-
#jason grace#jason grace x reader#fluff#fem! reader#feminine#pjo#hoo#heroes of olympus#rollercoaster#ferris wheel#theme park#oneshot#ik this is short af but man I got the idea and wowee
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Attack On Titan Yandere Types and Quotes
Part 2 here!
~
Note: This is just my interpretation of the different yandere types these characters would be, if you don’t agree, please debate respectfully! <3
This is super long and super self-indulgent- I promise I’m working on the requests ily-
~
Warnings: yandere behavior, slightly suggestive material, death threats (not to reader), implied stalking, implied restraint, implied past abuse, choking, slapping, mentions of bruising, isolation, implied kidnapping, sensory deprivation, night stalker
Eren
Yandere Type: Removal
Eren has been really touchy-feely lately. The brunette attempted to hold your head to his chest. You felt uncomfortable so you pushed away from him so that you could keep your personal space. He growled at this, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “What the hell?! Why are you pushing?? You need to stop talking to other people besides me, it’s corrupting you! Don’t make me eat your friends! Do you want that?!”
Armin
Yandere Type: Dependent
Armin was such a soft boy, so when he asked to kiss you out of the blue when you two were alone cleaning together, you didn’t panic as much as you expected. But, when you thought about it, lately he had been saying things that have been making you slightly unnerved. Things like ‘I can’t live without you’ and ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me come with you!’. It was rather scary. It took you a few seconds because of your train of thought, and in that time, he shyly walked up to you and deeply breathed in your scent. You gasped and backed away from him, slamming into the stone wall behind you. Armin’s face screwed into one of anguish. “Quit that! I can’t bear to live without you! Just let me love you, please! Let me kiss you, I need you!!”
Jean
Yandere Type: Possessive
You and Jean have been slowly warming up to each other. You noticed that he had been blushing whenever he looked your way, and you began to notice how much of a handsome boy he was. Soon, you two were holding hands and giggling over each other. You felt as if you were in love. Soon though, Jean had become more jealous and possessive, although he never seemed to act on what he was angry about. Soon, he was giving you small love bites to claim you. You hated it and attempted to push him off of you in protest. “L-Look, I know this is new, but please just try and behave for me… please? I promise, I won’t hurt you. I just have to claim you as mine.”
Marco
Yandere Type: Delusional
The sweet, freckled boy was giggling as he pulled you into a broom closet that you had just been walking by. You whimpered as he kissed your face all over. You splayed your hands out into the dark, attempting to push him off of you, to no avail. “Oh… Oh! You’re just shy, aren’t you? *giggle* Well, that’s okay! We can go slower! Just give me a little kiss, that’s all!”
Mikasa
Yandere Type: Protective
You were getting uncomfortable with Mikasa’s constant hovering over you. After she met you, she seemed to begin watching over you more instead of Eren, which he didn’t seem to mind. Currently, she was pulling you away from training because you sat down to take a rest from sparring with some comrades. She fretted over you, poking you in certain places to see if you were hurt, and finally you snapped and shoved her off of you. The woman’s face made no visible change, although you could hear a slight shake in her voice. “Why did you push me? Did I hurt you? Did you get hurt? Tell me where it hurts, I’ll help you!”
Levi
Yandere Type: Stalker
He finally got you alone. He had pulled you into his office, calling you in for a chore detail that didn’t exist. You didn’t know that, but he just wanted you close to him. After a long period of watching you, he finally plucked up the courage to tell you how he felt. He backed you up against his desk, hands on either side of your hips; his lips mere centimeters away from yours. You use your elbow to get him away, and as soon as you do, you realize it was a huge mistake. Levi stumbles back a bit, his eyes shadowed over. In a flash, he’s back to being right in your face, gripping his hands on your sides to keep you still. He breathes heavily, leaning to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been watching you for so long… Now I finally get to hold you and you push me away? No… You need to apologize. That is an order.”
Hange
Yandere Type: Restraint
Hange had begged for days to get you to help her with some of her experiments. You asked her what kind of experiments they were, and she replied with: “oh, just some new medicines and maybe some Titan stuff! I just need an extra pair of hands!” You obliged. Soon enough, you were sitting in a chair in her office, waiting for her to give you the vial of… something that was sitting on the desk. You plugged your nose and downed the whole thing in one go, something Hange seemed most pleased about! As you looked up at her smile, it started to distort, and you began to feel nauseous. You saw Hange dip down to your level, her distorted features leaning in to give you a kiss. You were frightened, and in your fear, you flung your hands up to protect yourself. In doing so, you scratched Hange in the face and almost knocked her glasses off. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath so that she could keep her cool. She leaned in and pet your head as you began to cry and attempt to yell for help. “Don’t worry, my sweet thing! I’ve got some ropes all ready just for you so you don’t do that again! Oh no, no screaming! I’ll tie you up just like a cute titan!~”
Reiner
Yandere Type: Jealous and Violent
Your face stung. Reiner had threatened to hit you before, but never followed through. Tears built up in your eyes as the tall blond in front of you lifted you from the floor by your neck and slammed you back against the wall. You had made the mistake of sitting next to another man, in which Reiner got extremely jealous. Jealous to the point of yanking you away from your meal and into an uninhabited hallway. He pulled you into a bruising kiss, tongue and teeth pulling at your mouth. You whimpered, nearly punching at his chest to get him off of you. To him, your attempts were nothing as he grips your shoulders and deepens the kiss even further. Little whispers of “I love you” and “you’re mine” tumble out of his mouth in response to your protests. Soon enough, he pulls away, holding your cheek where he hit you. His nose rests against yours as you thrash about, trying to get away. “Hey! Don’t make you hurt you again baby, I don’t wanna do that again… Gimme a kiss to say sorry.”
Bertholdt
Yandere Type: Obsessive
You had been ordered to give a message to one of the boys in your squad, and you were informed that he was in the boy’s barracks. You traveled there with light feet, ready to get in and get out. You had trained with these boys, and you knew how rambunctious they could be. You entered the barracks, and it was dead quiet. Except for a small noise near the back of the room, which you approached, thinking that the boy you were looking for was in there. A small door at the back was slightly ajar, a very soft whispering carrying out from within. Curious, you looked in. There sat Bertholdt, curled in a ball on the floor and staring at the wall. A small light illuminated inside of what seemed like a broom closet with nothing in it. On the walls were thousands of carvings. Even more curious at this spectacle, you put one foot inside to look closer. You gasped aloud at what you saw. They were all carvings of your name. You noticed the tall boy whip his head around at the sound of your gasp, yanking you into the closet all the way and slamming the door behind you. You said nothing, still astonished by all of this obsessive writing and shaking under his hand as he stared you in the eye. He noticed you gaze and sheepishly blushed. “Oh... All this? I-It’s nothing, don’t worry about it!” He smiled and ran his hands up and down your sides. He sighed at what he was doing, like he was relieved to finally be able to be this close to you. You breathed heavily and gripped his wrists, attempting to pry them off of you. You kicked your legs out with increased vigor, knowing that he could easily kill you with his bare hands if he wished. Bertholdt made a face, like he was confused at why you were obviously trying to get away from him. He huffed, pushing you down onto the floor. He chuckles, petting your face over and over again while you struggle. “I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you! Don’t push me, you’ll only be hurting yourself if you do it again! Now… I wanna touch you some more… I’ve dreamed of running my hands on your pretty skin…”
Historia
Yandere Type: Isolation
She kept you in a golden cage. Because of her authority, Historia could keep you under lock and key and no one would question her. She told you that she had been watching you since training in the Survey Corps, and after Ymir, she knew she had to have you.
Your days were spent in a room as big as your house in the walls, daily visits from her were fraught with begging to be let out. Obviously, she was frustrated by this. The blonde wanted you all to herself, but at the same time, hated seeing you so upset. One day, she promised that you could come out and visit with the others for the entire day, but she had to accompany you. You happily complied, knowing that this was possibly the only time you’d get to see the sun for a long time. You followed what she said, you let her brush your hair, you even let her sleep in your bed with you! All just to see your friends again. The day that she promised of came but it did not end in you seeing your comrades. It turns out that Historia had just told you that to keep you quiet and obedient, to which you threw the biggest tantrum she had ever seen. You attempted to push her out of your room, to which she responded by throwing you onto the bed and sitting on top of you to keep you still. “Look… I know I said that I would let you see your friends, but I changed my mind. You’re staying here. Always. No going outside. People will only hurt you out there, don’t you understand?”
Sasha
Yandere Type: Wrong Idea
You had given Sasha a piece of your potato after she had asked for some. Even though she had eaten everything that she was given, she was still hungry. You sighed and handed her a piece, her drooling mouth practically biting it out of your grasp. She nearly cried from her gratefulness to you, swearing to pay you back somehow for this gracious gift of food.
Soon enough, she was following you around like a lost puppy, begging to help you out with anything that you ever needed. Did Levi order you to sharpen some blades? Let Sasha do that! Told to clean the horse stables by a superior? Nope, she’ll do that for you! The first time this happened, you thanked her, and you even told her jokingly that you loved her because of her actions. She smiled at this and began to help you with even more of your chores. It became exhausting after a while. You had become even more confused by her behavior as time went on. You knew you were capable enough to handle things on your own, so why did she have to act like you were an incompetent child? You decided to confront her one day, fed up with being treated like a dependent. You approached her, telling her politely that she needed to focus on her work and not yours, as well as the fact that you could handle it yourself. Sasha’s face dropped at this. “What, you don’t love me anymore?” She asked shakily. Your eyes widened. Did she think that the two of you were dating this whole time??
“I-I promise I’ll do better!” She yells, closing into your form with her own. She slams her hands on either side of the wall next to your head, trapping you in. You attempt to escape by pushing on her shoulders, panic sinking into your bones. “We weren’t ever dating, Sasha!!” You cry, pushing harder. “But… You said that you loved me! You gave me that potato and everything, and then when you let me help you out with chores you said it! You did, I heard you!! Now stop! You love me!”
Erwin
Yandere Type: Training
It’s been three days since you were able to move to a different position. Being blindfolded, gagged, and chained to the floor was not pleasant, especially when you have been wearing a leather collar along with it. It had a little jingly bell on it. He knew when you would move.
You hear the door open, and you immediately sit up. “Hello, my little one~” You hear his deep voice above you. You flinch away from his hand as he caresses you face just because you haven’t been touched for days. You hear him sigh. A shuffling of clothes is heard, and his lips touch your face all over as you feel him untying your blindfold and gag. You immediately smile at him, squinting from the lights. You know what you need to do; the bruises all over your body prove it. He pets your head as you pull at the collar, slightly annoyed by it. “Erwin? Can I take this off? I promise I’ll be good!” Erwin smiles softly at you, slowly laying you back down to the floor. You shake as he hovers over you. You grip his arm, fearful of what he might do. From your past experiences, it’s never anything good for you. He looks down at your arm, his face falling at your rebellion of his affections. “My love, it’s not time yet to take the collar off. You haven’t proven yourself to be as well behaved as I hoped. Now, as soon as I get your chain off, get on the bed. I think you need another lesson on who is in charge.”
Connie
Yandere Type: Worship
You sleep like an angel. Connie considered kissing you, but he decided against it. He had already pulled your blanket back to reveal your deity-like form. His hand rubbed on your supple thigh, practically drooling at your gorgeous skin. The boy had been watching you for so long, waiting to get just close enough to worship you properly. He doesn’t deserve you, but if you were willing, he will love you like you deserve to be loved. Connie wanted so bad to lay down and sleep right next to you, breathing in your pretty scent as he cuddled close to you. He considered it heavily for a moment. So heavily that he did it. He slowly climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. His eyes were glued to your face to make sure you didn’t wake up as he snuggled up close to you, burying his nose into the back of your neck. “You’re so beautiful… Your pretty face… Those hips… You even smell good~ I can’t wait to do everything for you!”
~
A/N: Thanks for making it this far! Sorry for taking so long, the holidays are truly crazy!! I love writing for AOT, so I hope you enjoyed! Sorry it was so long ^^; Thanks for reading!!~ <3
Tags
@candyk0rn
#yandere#yandere aot#yandere levi#yanderehange#yandere armin arlert#yandere jean#yanderejeankirstein#jean kirschtein x you#yandere levi ackerman#yandere reiner braun#yanderebertholdt#yanderehistoria#yanderesasha#yandere erwin smith#yanderezeke#aot zeke#yandere snk#yandere imagines#snk zeke#zeke jaeger#yandere eren jaeger#yandereconnie#connie attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#yanderecore
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