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rosenongrata · 1 year

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A Year in Time — Chapter II: February

⋯☆ Summary: A chapter for every month in the year featuring Zhongli x my dearly beloved OC (Hauteclaire).

⋯☆ A/N: Zhongli probably a bit OOC in this, but I love the thought of Zhongli being so flustered when he falls in love the first time…. :'3

Prompts: 💖 Snowfall 💖 Love Letter(s) 💖 Gifts (Chocolates + Flowers)

⋯☆ AO3 Link. ⋯☆ Chapter I

⋯☆ W.C.: ~1.5k

⋯☆ CW: TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, lots of teasing from both of them (menaces), potentially OOC Zhongli but who cares I am correct about everything.

Today is a rare snowy day in Liyue Harbor. While the small, frosty snowflakes may trickle from the sky—they melt the moment they touch the harbor floor. Many people bundle up much more than usual before they leave their warm homes, maladjusted to such frigid weather.

It leaves a nostalgic beat in Zhongli's heart as he gazes out his open window; he hasn't seen the snow touch the bustling city in quite some time. While it's rare, it's not impossible for it to happen. Although, if he had to be completely honest, he never cared for colder temperatures. His draconic tastes prefer the heat of the summer sun much, much more.

Yet, he knows someone who…adapts much quicker to such chilly climates. And he almost envies her ability to even enjoy this dreadful season. He knows why she thrives like this, but still… It will never not be strange to him.

He sighs, continuously tapping the tip of his quill at the bottom of the inkwell without much thought in his mind (for once.) When the thought of, "Oh, right, I'm supposed to be writing a letter right now," strikes him, he grumbles in dismayed confusion.

"I suppose it's not much of a surprise this letter is coming to be quite…difficult to write." He muses to no one but himself, "She's an oddity, an indiscernible one…" His eyes flutter shut, the repetitive movements of his quill coming to a halt.

When he finally opens his eyes only to see the blank parchment below him, he groans. He's repeatedly attempted many letters of confession to give her, yet he's ended up coming at a loss for words every time. This has left him with many unfinished letters collecting dust in a little handcrafted lock box somewhere in his home.

Releasing the quill in his hand to allow it to rest in its inkpot, he then folds his hands in front of his face—elbows resting on the desk. He can only contemplate so much before he ends up with a thundering headache that requires only one type of medicine—Qingxin tea.

Zhongli removes himself from his desk before leaving home altogether—he wants fresh, piping hot tea. Once bundled up to a perfect degree, he'll get his "medicine" from whatever store carries it. He'd rather not sit out in the cold to drink tea, so he may as well make it at home, right?

Arriving in Chihu Rock, he's quick to make his way to Second-Life first and foremost. The shop often has what he needs or wants. Yet when he gets there, he finds himself in line behind a woman with a familiar hairstyle—amidst a head of brown locks stands out a single blonde strand.

"Oh no," He mutters mentally. Before he can walk away to avoid interaction with her for now, he's already called out on his cowardice—

"I know you're there, Zhongli."

"Aha…" He laughs—in the stiffest way only a rock can manage—as he turns back to his…friend? Coworker? Lover? Well, whatever she is, he's only faced with her scrutinizing glare when he meets those pale eyes.

Her eyes are a bit like his own—golden—albeit pale like the summer sun, rather than an evening amber glow. The most significant difference between their gazes is that hers has lost so much life now that they resemble the blank stare of a corpse. At least he retained his adoration for life. At times like these, he finds her glares unnerving. But, there's still something enchanting about them all the same…

"You aren't trying to mimic Hu Tao and prank me now, are you?" She scolds, her arms folding as she subtly teases him underneath a thin veil of solemnity.

"Ah, of course not." Zhongli corrects, shoving his hands into the pockets of his fluffy winter coat—he really did hate the cold, after all.

"Hm." She hums, "So, what are you doing exactly, then? Aside from creeping up behind me and then trying to run away when I notice you."

"Nothing suspicious as you presume, Hauteclaire. I had come to pick up some items to make Qingxin tea." He shakes his head.

"Oh." Hauteclaire blinks, yet her unreadable face remains, well, unreadable. "I'll get out of your way, then—" She moves to leave as if she had no reason for being there in the first place.

"W-Wait," Zhongli catches her by the arm, "Allow me to treat you to some. It's…very chilly out today. You must be cold." He sputters out, making every excuse in the world to have her stay a bit longer.

"…I am a bit chilly, actually. This weather isn't as cold as in my homeland, but… It's cold nonetheless." She smirks before brushing his hand off her arm. "So…" She trails off, a faint darkening of her cheeks tinting them for a fleeting moment. "Sure, let's have some tea." She nods.

Once he purchases his tea items (he's been doing his best to bring his wallet and save money as of late…to some avail), he and his coworker walk to his humble abode. When they slip past the front door and into the home, he quickly shuts the door to keep his house from getting any colder.

"Please, make yourself at home," He welcomes her with nothing but chivalry, "I'll be right back." He nods to her, discarding his two coats and pair of shoes before moving himself to the tiny kitchen.

Making herself…somewhat cozy in the living room, she sits on the sofa—one arm thrown over the back while her ankle rests over her opposing knee. If Zhongli was present, he'd tease her about how unladylike she is. But, today? Today is her turn. That's what she decides when she sees a small box of Fontaine chocolates and a local bouquet of flowers that are tied with a baby pink, silk ribbon. They're all sitting on the coffee table in front of her, and she can't help but smirk.

When he presents himself in the room, he takes a seat next to her, "Well, the tea shall be done shortly. I hope you aren't bothered by waiting—"

"Not at all, loverboy." Her smirk aims toward him now, her deathly gaze alight with a tiny bit of life.

"L-Loverboy?" He coughs before clearing his throat.

"Mhm. I presume the gifts are for a special someone." She coos, gesturing her head toward the pair of gifts.

She'll never admit that her cold, antique heart cracks when she assumes that they're for someone much different from herself. But, she'll tease anyway. If she can't have him, at least she gets to tease him still.

"C-Claire!" He looks so deeply offended and it makes her laugh. Laugh! She's mocking him, she's definitely mocking him right now. He groans when his head droops from utter defeat. "You…you were not meant to see those yet…" He mumbles, a faint pink tint now coating his cheeks.

"Huh?" Her brows knit, confused by his reaction. "Why not? Who are they for, Lili?" She spits out at record speed.

"Ah… Uh…" He doesn't elaborate, instead, he simply stumbles over his words like an infatuated schoolboy.

"Who are they for, Zhongli." She puts both feet down on the ground, affirming her mood as seriously curious. She leans a bit too close to him, head tilted like a confused puppy.

"…No one in particular." He lies through his teeth, not thinking twice about the…implications. His forte does not lie in sudden countermeasures.

"So… You bought them for yourself." She deadpans, face falling before rolling her eyes and leaning back against the loveseat.

"N-No! I would…not do that." He grumbles.

"You're an idiot. Like all men." She insults, glancing away—threatening to give up on figuring out where the gifts came from.

"Pardon?" He's deadpan now as well, not taking well to her constant teasing—the last insult certainly didn't help.

"You heard me." She scoffs, now resting her elbow on the armrest while her hand holds up her head.

"Maybe you are the fool, for you can't see they are for you." He finally admits, so close to the end of the line with her that he sounds a teensy bit annoyed.

"What!?" She gasps, her face burning with embarrassment. Now it's her turn, "Y-You little—" She stares at him with wide eyes, completely dumbfounded.

"Are you flustered? Are you perhaps…embarrassed?" He smirks, folding his arms as he finds a strange sense of victory in the exchange.

"G-Go back to your tea, you idiot!" She stands up, shooing him out of the room—but it only makes his already cocky smile grow with pride, even as he's pushed back into the kitchen.

With him out of the picture, she grumbles to herself as she flops herself back onto the sofa. She glares at the gifts—the gifts for her. Yet, it doesn't last long as a sweet smile takes hold of her once-pouty lips. Her heart—for the first time in a long time—feels warm and fluffy. When was the last time someone gave her a romantic gift? In the moment, she forgets.

When he sneaks to the living room to check on her—head peeking past the doorway—he smiles at the sight of her trying out the chocolates.

He wins this time, Claire.

#ship: zhongclaire #fic: a year in time #mine #zhongli x oc #genshin x oc #genshin oc

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kindaichiyu · 1 year

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i will take any excuse to rec a fic so. here r some of my fave seijoh-centric fics that make me go batshit !!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33415123

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453651

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904797

hello!! thank u!! i actually wanted to read them first and have the opportunity to discuss lol

peer reviewed recommendations <3

talk shit, get hit, presentability, & dog days

talk shit get hit.

oh my god oh my god. ok. so the thing is, when a story is written in third person, i feel like it's rarely much more than a neutral perspective with additional insight into the character's thoughts. but this is, fully in oikawa's perspective, this was written by him, in the third person, for this reason alone i really really already like this fic.

it's also something that manages to be heartwarming and batshit insane. if you suspend the feelings from the narrative it's crazy. one thing that i love about haikyuu is its ability to be an exciting shounen with low stakes (no one dies) and lots of humor. this is is the culmination of seijoh shenanigans and whatever combination marriage and war that iwaoi have had going on in their heads the last fourteen years.

there's so much in here from both the writing, the plot, and the characterization. this is oikawa in his most hysterical and theatrical form. i can't recommend it enough.

presentability

this was actually a reread for me! i have scoured the kyouhaba tag for things short and sfw and this is such a good one. we see from kyoutani's point of view but it's very easy to imagine that yahaba is very aware of what he's doing and trying to play it off like this is casual, this is platonic, this is very normal. and it's nothing too crazy, but i don't think these are bro activities, to say the least. i love how kyoutani just rolls with it, a little confused and maybe concerned, but just like the wall scene he accepts his fate and lets yahaba do his thing. this is happening now, it seems.

dog days

every year i tell myself i'm not a summer person. but the truth is that i have been so miserable with this cold and i should try to get outside as much as i can come july.

this fic made me so nostalgic for sticky summer nights, fireflies and msoquito bites, the sounds of crickets and cicadas in the night. night swimming!! it's kind of ominious because all around you is dark and who knows what's out there, but it adds a layer of charm, somehow. this one was really gorgeously written and heavier on the show don't tell.

overall awesome short reads, thank u again @shoyou-kun for the recommendations :)

#fic rec #haikyuu!!#it is late when i am posting this im sorry if i do not make sense #but these were great!!#psa the author of dog days still seems to be active :)#talk shit get hit tho #rihuvrthoieegwefiu

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warmau · 3 years

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summer is supposed to be a time of happiness, of adventure and goofing around under the constant sunlight

and so when you start summer, you are all smiles and big dreams! unfiltered energy to do whatever you want!

and whatever you want is definitely

NOT spending even a day (actually three) in the hospital after you end up falling off your bike and breaking your ankle like the absolute unlucky person that you are

"that is so gnarly dude, my condolences"

chenle mutters, skateboard under hand and shaking his head

jisung nods in agreement beside him - still wearing his helmet even after your nurse gives him a look about it

"hey, at least you're getting all this free candy?"

jaemin motions, picking up a 'get better soon' box filled with chocolates from your uncle

he pops one in his mouth and haechan swats his hand away before he can steal any more

mark sighs and gives you a sad smile, renjun puts the flowers they all bought together in a vase by your bed

it's all a little too much - and you tell them it's fine, it's just an ankle and you'll be out of here in no time

they all agree, except for jeno who is sitting at the foot of your bed with his volleyball uniform still on and his duffel bag between his legs on the floor

you keep throwing glances his way because you have never seen jeno so quiet in your life

mark - who is the brains of your friend group (oddly enough) - catches the looks of worry

so he does what any good friend would do, he tells all the remaining members he saw a machine with snacks out in the hall and they all excuse themselves with 'see you soon!'s' out of your hospital room

jeno doesn't move a muscle

"how was practice? jaemin looks happy so im guessing you guys are going to be in great shape when school starts again?"

there isn't any response and jeno is almost hidden with the way his head is hanging low and his hands are clasped on his knees

"jeno-"

"it's my fault you're in here."

you puff your cheeks and cross your legs

"oh please! it's my own fault! is that why you're acting all sad?"

he doesn't answer and the lack of communication is making you nervous more than it is making you angry

jeno and you are close, to the point of knowing each other's parents by their first names and who your first kisses were back in middle school

he has never been one to lack the words for a conversation - at least not with you

you wish you could scoot closer and pinch his cheek or poke his forehead

but your cast is restricting movement and these days touching jeno feels......different

"i should have stopped you before you went down that hill, i was there and i couldn't save you-"

"jeno, im not made of glass and plus im not even that hurt!"

he finally shifts so he can look at your leg, propped up on the pillow and covered in its cast that has been brightly decorated with signatures and doodles

the way his gaze travels up your hospital gown and to you, you know he isn't registering anything you're saying

you sit up a little and hide the wince behind another set of promises to jeno that you are ok and you don't need him to blame himself when he has so much more going on on his plate

"you and jaemin are going to graduate after the upcoming semester and that means it's your last year with the volleyball team. you should focus on practice and being the best you can be - when i can get myself up on those crutches ill come visit to see how you guys are doing!"

he seems to soften, the sharp angles of his face that have just gotten more handsome as he ages still somehow manage to look sweet and youthful

he picks his duffel bag up off the floor and leans toward you like he's going to push some hair from your face or kiss your forehead

he's done both before - but this is the first time the gesture has made the blood in your veins stop and something imaginary clog in the back of your throat

instead of doing either jeno seems to buffer as he hovers above you, reaching out to fluff the edge of your pillow

"ok, but also you have to be serious about your recovery."

he pulls back and the same concern as before washes over him, his vocal tone lowers

"don't go doing anything dangerous."

you point to your cast with a half-smile

"i don't think that's going to be possible."

you get discharged from the hospital the next day, not that it brightens your summer any further, you basically just end up trading the hospital bed for the four walls of your own room

the group chat explodes with more well wishes

but you change the subject, all the pity makes you cringe

'how was volleyball practice?'

several people start typing - except for jeno

jaemin's reply comes first, 'it was good!'

followed by jisung's, 'but.....jeno didn't show up...'

renjun adds 'he said he wasn't feeling well - don't worry!'

you furrow your eyebrows

'has anyone visited him? does he need medicine?'

haechan texts something before anyone can really stop him, 'im pretty sure he's just being sad - if he had the stomach flu we all be sick. we eat together everyday.'

'haechan!' mark replies as jaemin sends a shaking his head emoji

'wait. jeno is sad?'

it goes silent and then suddenly jeno is typing

'im not sad, im fine. ill be at practice tomorrow.'

you let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding in

it's only natural that you, as jeno's friend, would be worried about him. at least, that's what you tell yourself.

to be honest - now that you're not out enjoying summer - you're more than ever stuck with your own thoughts and the most recent string of them is: what changed between you and jeno?

for years it had been easy going fun, the simple enjoyment of each others company

but ever since it started getting warm enough for t-shirts - there has been a shift in the central point of you and jeno's friendship

you are suddenly hyper-aware of how strong the outline of his arms looks.

you notice when he wears different cologne.

you see the way other people turn their heads to look at him when he walks by, the way they pick up on the handsome features that make up your best friend

and you can't help but feel something cruel and cold fester in the pit of your stomach when you think jeno might one day look back at that stranger ..... and notice their features too

you sit up, which is a mistake because you shift your foot and it makes you yelp, but you look at your phone again

the gc has moved onto topics of video games so you message jeno outside of it

'hey, if something is wrong you can tell me'

he reads the message and doesn't reply. you tell yourself that's totally fine.

a couple of weeks pass before anyone lets you limp out of the house by yourself

you've mastered crutches and when you really need something, one of your friends delivers it

although recently, it seems to be everyone but jeno

everything otherwise seems normal

no one really talks about volleyball - which is fine, you just assume they're busy practicing

and so you hobble down to the school gym that's still open for the student-athletes during the break and are secretly happy to bump into mark who helps you with the stairs

"by the way, don't be upset with him ok."

mark says before you enter the gym - you look at him with a raised eyebrow

"upset with who?"

mark swallows - just tilts his head and when you go inside you look everywhere, you see everyone, but you don't see jeno

"im guessing he isn't in the locker rooms?"

you ask mark with a deflated tone of voice, mark shakes his head

"he hasn't been to practice at all."

you can understand why no one had told you.

like mark said, they knew you'd get on his case about it - which is what you plan on doing when you end up on his front porch

jeno comes down with messy hair and basketball shorts on. he's not wearing a shirt and immediately you think you lose the ability to speak

"you shouldn't be walking around just yet."

he says and you frown

"it's been a while now, plus im not here about me. im here to ask what you think you're doing."

jeno crosses his arms and you hate the involuntary flex of his muscles.

actually, you don't hate it, you hate that you stare when you don't mean to.

he ushers you into the backyard and motions for you to sit on one of the patio chairs

he's still being the same thoughtful guy you grew up with but you're beyond confused

"are you quitting volleyball - why aren't you going to practice?"

"im not quitting. i just don't feel like it - i don't feel like doing anything."

you reach out with one of your crutches to poke him, he makes a face

"im the one with a broken ankle - im the one who gets to be depressed. c'mon, tell me what's really wrong."

jeno falls silent, you notice that he hasn't completely shaved and there's a bit of a shadow on his jawline

you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat

this is your best friend since you were kids. you are literally not going to think anything but pure thoughts from now on. ok. stop. don't you dare.

"that's the thing. you have a broken ankle, you can't even go to the beach and im supposed to do what - enjoy the summer without my best friend?"

he throws his hands up and you see an expression you barely ever get from jeno form on his face

"i could have stopped you from being reckless, i could have made sure you weren't in that stupid cast and that you could-"

"jeno!"

you cut him off and he looks at you, the momentary distraction of your newfound attraction to him dissipates as you grind your teeth

"i told you that it's no way your fault i got hurt - plus it's not like you personally broke my ankle and im not suffering torturous pain. things happen like this in life - don't beat yourself up about it!"

you wish you could get up to make your point, but the best you manage is a shaky lift grabbing onto your chair

jeno gets up to help you but you shoo him away

"it hurts me more to see you moping around on my behalf! did you think about that, how it would make me feel to hear that my injury is making you slack on the things you like?!"

he blinks and you suddenly feel a rush of different things

one is that you hate how he seems to be so full of pity for you, another is that you hate how he's kind of right about this summer being pointless now that you can barely move, but the last is that because of all these things happening you can't even properly wrap your head around the fact that you think you like him

and not in the platonic way you'd been beating on liking him your whole life

so to add this to the pile - you take your crutches and give him a stern look

"just start going to practice. i told you when i was in the hospital, i'll always come to cheer you on when i can. that doesn't change for me, broken ankle or not because you're my best friend and i want to see you succeed."

and i love you

you don't say the last part, you bite your lip back and although you can't storm off in your usual fiery passion, you make it out of his backyard and let a heaviness fall off your chest as you somehow manage to get back home

the sound of messages incoming on your phone are drowned away by your tiredness

i just want to be a source of happiness for you, i never wanted to be your burden jeno.

the next day there's a knock on your bedroom door - you tell them to come in and go wide-eyed when you see jeno there

he's in his volleyball uniform and he's holding something in his hands

"jen-"

"im sorry. you were right, i can't use you as an excuse to be lazy anymore. i brought these."

he hands you the tupperware of cookies and you are about to ask him if he made these when jeno's familiar, warm laughter fills your room

"i didn't make them, they're chipsahoy but i thought the gesture could count."

you look down at them - he's so silly.

you look back up at jeno's smile - i really love him.

"good. now go have fun at practice, ill visit you guys later in the week."

he comes closer to you and suddenly the air in the room stills, he leans over and you think you can feel the temperature of your skin rise to an unsafe level when he hooks his pinkie with yours

"promise?"

you nod and he disappears with a wave. you sit in your bed and hold the cookies.

maybe breaking my ankle and not spending every minute around him might actually have been a good thing.

as you promised, you show up to practice at the end of the week.

jeno is there and he lights up when he sees you, helps you with your crutches and everyone gathers around to tell you how thankful they are that you went and got jeno to comeback

jisung randomly sputters a, "the only person who can control him is you. it's like he's your boyfriend."

mark catches the look on your face before jeno does and flicks jisung on the head, "what do you know about dating - c'mon lets go get water for everyone."

the comment swims around your head for the entire time you're there - and you don't know it, but it swims around jeno's as well

when practice is over, jaemin offers to drive everyone home - no one agrees because they're probably terrified of his driving

and jeno says he'll be the one to walk you home

it's nothing unusual, you've been with jeno throughout your whole childhood, but there seems to be a weird pause among your group when he announces it

when you and him set off toward your house, mark does something weird - he winks at you and you take a second before

oh - he knows i like jeno doesn't he?

you can only go at the of the equivalent of snail's pace, and jeno matches it without complaint

you don't say anything and it makes it that much harder to distract the chanting about how good he looks and how you can't believe you're that person who fell in love with their best friend and how this summer is so confusing its almost vomit-inducing and-

"hey, would it be weird if i liked you?"

it feels like the earth itself has been dropped from the shoulders of atlas, you think suddenly all the gravity has gone and disappeared

you stop and look at jeno who sets his bag down on the asphalt

the boy you met when you were young is suddenly not a boy anymore, his shadow is tall and mature against the setting summer sun

"liked me?"

he scratches the back of his neck and then nods

"i had said i can't use your injury as my excuse to be lazy. i actually wasn't being lazy, i was just going through a hard time because i thought i had hurt the person most important to me in the world."

your heart thumps against your chest so hard it kind of hurts

"me?"

"yeah, and i realized your friend can be the most important person in the world - but i think it's different the way i feel about now......i like you."

"i love you."

you blurt it out before you can even really stop yourself, jeno looks shocked for about a second before it breaks into a big smile on his face

the one you haven't seen in what seems like forever, the one that feels genuine and right

"oh cool, i actually love you too - i just didn't know if i should say it-"

"can you come over here and kiss me, these crutches are kind of making it hard for me."

no one is surprised when you and jeno announce in the gc that you're going on your first date

mark tries to act it, but literally everyone is like finally - you do ask mark if he knew all along about how you felt and he goes i knew how you felt and how jeno felt. you two are open books.

the date isn't as thrilling as you both might have wanted, the broken ankle is still kind of getting in the way, so jeno takes you out to the lake and does all the rowing himself

you offer, since it's your hands, but he insists he can do it himself and he does. seriously, he's way stronger than you remember him being a year ago.

you guys eat on the grass when you get back and he effortlessly picks you back up onto your feet, you swoon everytime but try not to show it

and when jeno drops you off - he kisses you again, and this time he doesn't have to have you tell him to - he picks the perfect moment

being his best friend and dating him doesn't change too much, it's just you're now holding hands everytime you hangout and you're kissing in the back of jaemin's car much to his disappointment and well

it's just made everything easier - you're not wrapped in your head about what's different, because nothing is, you just are honest with how you both feel

jeno and jaemin even get visited by scouts for volleyball and when jeno tells you about it you try to jump up to hug him and he's like bABE CAST but too late you're like OW and he's like oh god oh god let me hold you

you're like jeno let's learn to bake cookies for real so we don't have to buy chipsahoy to give each other and he's down for it but then you both almost set the kitchen on fire and call renjun like ten times to ask about the recipe and basically you are both banned from baking again

your cast gets filled in with hearts from jeno...you let him lay his head on you when he's playing games on his phone and you're like watching him play and when you get bored you're like let's kiss instead

jeno leaves all his hoodies 'accidentally' over at your house because he knows you like wearing them but won't admit it outloud

the summer continues on until suddenly it's colder outside and the reality of school coming back dawns on everyone

and also, you get the date for when your cast will be removed

jeno asks if you're going to keep it once it gets cracked - you say you might, you woulnd't want to lose all those cute hearts he scribbled on them and he just smiles and kisses your forehead

"i'd scribble all the hearts everywhere for you."

"that's cute, we should save that for when we get married."

and you do save it for then - years later when you're showing jeno the design on your invitations

beside both your names is a cluster of different hearts, all doodled by jeno himself

"how'd you get these?"

"kept a part of my broken cast."

he stares at you with wide eyes

"im joking, i got them off a napkin you doodled on when we were at dinner."

jeno pokes his tongue out at you and you giggle as he wraps his arms around your waist as to not let you get away

the softness of your love and silliness of your friendship is still there

it'll always be there - through all the broken ankles, casts, and doodled hearts to come.

#weeeeeee now i only have two neos left #nct dream au #jeno au #nct dream scenarios #jeno scenarios #nct dream imagines #jeno imagines #lee jeno #nct dream #sfw #nostalgia au #nct dream x reader #jeno x reader

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cowboycakes · 3 years

Text

The Strategy

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Synopsis: The forest was the last place you thought you'd find yourself infatuated with someone you barely knew - especially not your cocky prisoner.

Themes: angst, flirting, guilty love, big plot twist

Warnings: kissing and suggestive language, bullying / teasing, mentions of death, some anxious thinking, light alcohol and tobacco use, profanity. reader uses she/her pronouns. s4 spoilers.

Word Count: 5.7k

Anon (🐸)'s Request: Hi ! Can I request a Zeke x fem reader imagine/one-shot? Reader is a captain for the survey corp and long time veteran. She is really intelligent and is a strategist for the corp. They kind of hate each other but have a lot of chemistry but start bonding before the forest incident. Sorry if that isn't specific enough and too vague.

On occasion, you tended to be so logical that it ruined your life. There was no room in your mind for daydreams, love, or speculation. Fate was false - most things in life were completely arbitrary. That was the way you’d trained yourself to think. Not because you enjoyed it, only because it made it easier to survive.

This way of thinking is a result of your lifetime with the Corps. The award of a Captain’s position was the fruit of your labor, along with being revered for your ability to strategize. Many of the most important and most successful missions in recent years had been planned by you. But, the bubbling tension and division within the walls have thrown you for a loop. You’ve attempted to collaborate with Levi in recent weeks to try to pin down any conflict - anything you could do to calm the storm and keep your comrades safe would be worth it.

Instead of being able to act on whatever plans you’d developed, you’d been assigned to the most bizarre mission you’d ever taken part in: babysitting some man in his late twenties, all the way out in a forest filled with towering redwood trees. This mystery man was apparently not to be trusted, he was Eren’s half-brother from Marley and the holder of the beast titan. He’d done tremendous damage to the Corps in the past. His intentions and motives now remained mysterious, but one thing was for sure: his loyalties lied with Eren, not with the Scouts.

You were disappointed and terrified all together. Being so far away from the action left both you and your comrades vulnerable. But, Levi insisted you needed to confine this man far away from society. And although you were a captain, whatever Levi says usually goes.

The forest wasn’t so bad upon your arrival. Damp pine needles that covered the ground coated the air in a sweet aroma. The blanket of shade given off by the trees was temperate in the summer heat. The tents you’d been provided with were sturdy, insulated, and a dark shade of green that complimented the woodland setting. Above all, you were accompanied by 30 trained soldiers and a shipment of high-quality Marleyan wine.

The entirety of your first day in the forest was spent unpacking and setting up your living quarters. Stars now peak through the canopy of branches above, and a cold breeze ruffles the millions of leaves surrounding the camp. The air was chilly despite the heat that blazed earlier in the day.

The cot you’d assembled in your tent is comfortable enough, but the grey sheets you’d just stretched over the mattress still smell stale. You conjure up the idea of going for a walk while your blankets air out. The musty scent sure wasn’t going to lull you to sleep.

Your timid feet crunch on the ground through the forest for a while, away from the camp. The mist of your breath is tangible in front of your face - the light jacket you’d brought wasn’t going to be enough to keep your goosebumps at bay. It’s much more intimidating out here at night than you’d expected. Darkness brought mystery to the gaps between each tree. And the sheer amount of trees beyond the campsite is dizzying, their height is even more difficult to process. They add a sense of company to your walk, although you can’t tell if they are peaceful observers or prying sets of eyes.

It’s surprisingly quiet out here, no animal or human alike made noise at this hour. The silence leads you to pick up on the echo of a fire crackling somewhere. You’re suddenly a bit excited - you’d figured everyone would have gone to sleep by now.

You spot a comforting orange glow coming from the other side of the distant campsite, offset from the main groups of tents. Maybe someone else’s sheets needed time to breathe too.

The light grows brighter as you trek towards it. It leads you to a humble tent and a fire pit with two rusted metal chairs placed on either side of it. In one of the chairs sits a blonde man in a white shirt, with his back turned to you. He has his nose in a poorly bound book - its stitching is frayed and the pages look wilted, as if they’d been dropped in water before. A cigarette smolders in his free hand.

Your feet crunch into the ground a little harder as you approach in an attempt to avoid startling him. The man looks up to you once you’re finally facing each other. His face is foreign to you. Round glasses on his nose reflect a golden luster from the fire in front of him, blurring your view of his grey eyes slightly. Blonde waves are parted down the middle of his head, tousled a bit too perfectly. He has a well groomed beard that compliments his structured face and strong biceps that peak through his shirt sleeves.

He’s handsome, classy, alluring. Nothing like the usual around here.

“Hi, I’m Captain Reader,” you say with a small smile.

“Reader, huh?” he says, folding his book closed, “I think I’ve heard that name somehow…”

“Oh, possibly. I’m a long time captain. I do a lot of strategic work as well, and it's not exclusive to the Scouts. So my name tends to get around.”

“My name is Zeke,” he replies, returning the smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Zeke… did that sound familiar? You couldn’t decide.

You take a seat in the other chair across from the fire, warming your hands once you get comfortable. The embers lit in front of you are only a sad little bundle of sticks, clearly in need of more fuel. Zeke rolls his shoulders back as his eyes focus in on your frame. His attention is definitely not on the book anymore. His body language almost tells you he likes what he sees - he’s open, relaxed, observant. The cigarette has gone a bit limp in between his fingers.

You’re guilty of curiosity too, as your eyes prod his figure. There must be something in the air.

“What’s that book about?” you question, “it looks… well loved.”

He chuckles. “It's a little fantasy piece, actually. Not something I’d usually find myself reading, but I’ve read it a hundred times now. It’s about a maiden who buys her way to heaven, and a prince who rescues her from the consequences.”

“Interesting…” you say, “how does someone buy their way to heaven?”

“With something far more valuable than money,” he explains. You wonder if the sultry undertone he added was all part of your imagination. It was a little grumbly, suggestive.

“And what would that be?”

“Not sure, still trying to figure that one out,” he remarks, bringing the cigarette up to his lips. Light from the fire gets trapped in the smoke and travels up through the dark air as he exhales.

“You’re gonna ruin your lungs if you keep doing that, Zeke,” you joke.

He chuckles again, “So she’s pretty and caring. Guess I’ve lucked out.”

You feel a little heat rush to your cheeks. This innocent, flattered, puppy-love feeling: you hadn’t felt this way in years. You really wish you could just brush it off, it wasn’t something you were used to. Instead, you let your mind wander for only a second - it would be a nice pastime to have a summer fling with someone in this forest. You were more than tempted. It would get your mind off of the impending doom you tended to feel in chaotic times like this. You could live a bit for once.

And the beautiful man in front of you could be the perfect candidate.

“Hmm, it’s convenient that you think so,” you reply, crossing your legs.

“Convenient? For you, or for me?” he questions. “Looking to get something out of your time in this forest, Captain?”

You pause. He’s bold. “Depends… what about you?”

Zeke lifts the book up slightly in his hand and flips it over to examine its withered back cover, “Not sure, maybe I’ll finally experience whatever this book is talking about. Something so desirable I could cheat my way into heaven with it.”

No. His tone wasn’t your imagination.

“I have a feeling you’ll end up being the prince that has to deal with someone else’s fuck-ups instead,” you laugh.

His lips curl back into a smile as he starts to laugh with you. “Doesn’t sound out of character,” he replies.

His pretty blonde hair ruffles a bit as the wind picks up. And shit - is that wind bitter. The miniscule fire wasn’t doing it’s best to warm you. You notice your limbs are shaking, too much for your jacket and hands to conceal. Zeke surely notices too, he’s been eyeing you this whole time after all.

“Here,” Zeke offers, pulling a thick corduroy coat off of the back of his chair.

“No, no. You should wear that. I’m alright,” you protest, rubbing your hands over your arms vigorously to try to stop your shuddering.

Zeke gets up from his seat anyway and crosses the gap between the two of you. You look up to him once he’s standing over you, embarrassed. Two big hands drape the hefty fabric over your shivering shoulders. You immediately feel warmer as your body heat gets trapped underneath it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, pulling on the jacket to adjust it on your arms.

The wind still howls as Zeke goes back to his metal chair. He sits down casually, taking another drag of his cigarette as his eyes move back to you, lingering on you gently -- like he feels satisfied or nostalgic. Your features looked so beautiful in the faint orange light of the fire, as the only focal point in his vision while darkness clouded everything behind you. He couldn’t help but stare.

“I do mean it,” he says as he exhales, “that you’re pretty.”

His words hang there for a moment. They wait for you on a hook, persuading you to take his bait. So he could reel you in.

“Trying to flatter your superiors huh? Well that’s one way to get what you want,” you retort.

“Who says you’re my superior, Captain Reader?” he jokes.

You laugh at him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you begin, “but I’ve never seen you around before. Are you from another branch of the military?”

Zeke pauses, letting out a huff of air.

“You know, with a reputation like yours, one would think you’d know your enemies a little better.”

Your face drops from a smile that rested high on your cheeks to a shocked, open-mouthed glare. You’re frozen. Why didn’t you assume…

“You’re the other Jaeger…” you trail off.

Zeke brings the cigarette back to his mouth and flips his book back open in response.

You stare down into the fire, unsure of what to do or say next. You were mortified. Maybe saying nothing was the answer - you’d already dug yourself into a hole by flirting with your prisoner. And damn, did Zeke deliberately let you. He knew who you were. He wanted you to feel this way. He led you on.

Who was supposed to deal with your fuck-up now?

You stand up, keeping your eyes on the ground.

“Goodnight, Zeke,” you say quietly, dropping his coat onto the chair.

You move quickly through the dark air that nips at your ears, back to the safety of your tent.

***

“Don’t go off and be an idiot,” Levi warns.

You assure him you wouldn’t, pouring a big glass of wine for yourself with a smile spread across your face.

Levi had been more than reluctant to let your soldiers bring this wine, but you’d done some convincing. This forest had been boring for the past few days. Laughing over a few drinks would be a sure way to liven up the crowd. You were just excited to finally get a taste of this Marleyan wine that everyone had been raving about.

You hadn’t seen Zeke since that night three days ago. Unfortunately, you couldn’t get him off of your mind. Partially because you were horribly embarrassed. And angry. You couldn’t believe you’d walked into his trap like that, practically offering yourself to him as a subject to humiliate. You were sure he’d enjoyed every bit of it.

And the other reason you couldn’t get him off of your mind…

He was a bit gorgeous. And you loved the way he talked to you, how it made you feel. Even though your time with him was so short, you secretly wanted more. You cursed yourself for thinking about him like that after all the harm he’d done to the Scouts. All of it made you sick - it was wrong, it made you feel like you had dirt on your hands.

But what if you tried to talk with him again? Just to sort your feelings out. Then you could be free to forget about him. This time, you would control yourself. You knew who he was now, and what it meant to be speaking with him. You were allowed to speak with him, you just had to be careful if you were going to proceed. None of you could trust him.

But the curiosity was still killing you.

You swirl the wine around in your glass as you dig the toe of your leather boot into the soft ground - trying to decide.

Anxious feet move below you before your mind is ready for them to, back toward Zeke’s tent.

It was nearly sundown, and beautiful purple rays beam through the forest, shattered from full display by hundreds of tree branches. The air was warm tonight, so there would be no need for Zeke's jacket again.

Once you see his camp, you notice he’s back in the same chair again. He’s still reading that torn-up book, this time with a pencil in his hand. He scratches little notes onto the pages here and there.

He looks up once he hears the familiar sound of your boots. The eyes behind his circular lenses scan you, lingering on the glass in your hand. You wonder if you should have brought him one.

“Hi, Zeke,” you say softly, making your way to the chair across the empty fire pit.

“Captain, thought I’d never see you again,” he says, a false excitement stuck in his voice.

You keep swirling your wine around in its glass, waiting for it to air out so you could take your first sip. It smelled divine, so fruity and fresh, in contrast with the earthy smells that the forest gave off.

Zeke looks up to you over the top rims of his glasses, unimpressed. You raise your glass to your lips, almost ready to tilt it back and let the chilled, burgundy wine rush into your mouth.

“That’s sluggish if you,” he remarks.

You pause, letting the cool glass linger on your bottom lip.

“What?” you bark, pulling the glass from your mouth.

He looks back down at his book, “No Marleyan strategist - or any good strategist for that matter - would drink in front of their adversaries. It makes you look sluggish.”

You just gape at him. He’s probably having fun while trying to irritate you. Two could play.

You put your arm out in front of you and flip the glass over, pouring the wine onto the wet dirt below. It splashes up onto your boots as it streams from your cup and runs down to spill into the fire pit.

“Happy?” you grumble, tossing the glass into the dirt. “Probably shitty wine anyway, considering you two come from the same place.”

He snickers, “Not quite. I was hoping you’d just hand the glass over.”

You regretted trying to talk to him now.

“Fine,” you sigh, getting up from your spot and turning back toward your tent. “Keep scribbling in your stupid book.”

“Actually, I was writing the two of us into the story.”

You’re sure he’s just pushing your buttons further - trying to lay another trap for you and capture you in another awkward moment of infatuation. But his words cause you to pause in your steps for a second.

“And what are we doing?” you question.

“We just cheated our way into heaven.”

“Creep,” you grumble before continuing to walk.

***

You hadn’t gone near that wine since. You had a grudge against it now, it completely ruined the mood last time you saw Zeke. But it had sure lightened the mood for everyone else, probably a little too much. Everyone except for Levi, of course. It was nearly impossible to change his mood.

In the meantime, you were still victim to unwarranted thoughts of Zeke in your head. This almost felt like a schoolgirl crush, how he bullied you a bit. This was more like torment, actually, considering you were trying to get him out of your head. But it didn’t change the fact that you liked what you saw.

Lately he was always reading that book and jotting down notes in it. And he rarely left his little corner of the campsite except for when he went on walks sometimes. You’d admire him from afar, careful never to let your eyes meet with his.

You’d take the images of him now burned into your brain back to bed with you, and stare up to the dark tent ceiling above. You’d fantasize about what it would have been like to meet Zeke in another life. One where the two of you weren’t enemies trapped on two different sides of a war. Where you didn’t feel guilt for your interest in someone who had jeopardized you and your comrades. Where the two of you were free to know one another.

You couldn’t pinpoint what kept driving this involuntary curiosity you felt towards him. It was tiring, honestly. But you wanted his company. Maybe you just wanted company in general -- it's not like you got along with him or anything.

Should you fix that? Did you even want to fix that? Would a peace offering be doing too much?

He did mention he wanted your glass of wine…

So one night, you cave. And you march over to the wooden cart that held dozens of cases of wine, an empty glass for Zeke in hand. You’re shocked to see only four measly bottles remain, laying on their sides in the only wooden case left. You could have sworn the shipment was full only a few days ago, but this camp had been set up for weeks now. Everyone here must be just as bored as you were, and several times more thirsty.

You pry open a cork and pour a few inches of wine into the glass, stopping to waft the crisp aroma into your nose. The air tonight was crisp too, it was cooler than it had been in recent days. You were adamant about remembering a jacket this time. The journey to Zeke’s tent feels long under the moonless sky. Hesitancy, followed by regret, pools into your brain as the dim light from his campfire comes into view.

Grow some balls, you’re convincing yourself that all of this means more than it really does. You’re bringing him a glass of wine for God’s sake.

There’s still time to turn around though… you could just finish the glass on your own. Out of range for him to bully you for it.

But he’s sitting there so prettily. He has his boots up on the rocks surrounding the fire pit, careful not to burn their soles in the flames. His blonde locks are pushed back slightly, giving you more room to look at his smooth face. And he’s certainly not busy, just reading his old book. Maybe he still had some compliments left for you despite all the bickering you two had done. Maybe he-

“Haven’t tried any of that ‘shitty’ wine yet, have you?” he questions. You hadn’t even noticed how close you are to him now. You’d gotten lost in him on the way.

“No…” you grumble, “it's for you. A peace offering.”

You stick your hand out. He receives the glass, lifting it up to examine it before taking a big drink.

“Ah,” he breathes, clearly satisfied. “It’s disgusting, Captain. Really.”

You stifle a laugh. “Everyone else seems to think so too. It’s all nearly gone.”

“Hmm,” he says, taking another sip, “None for you, I guess. Might as well just let it run out.”

“I think I will,” you mock, turning away from him to go sit in your chair,

The sizable fire Zeke had put together tonight was quick to thaw the chills on your arms. You really didn’t need your jacket after all, and opted to lay it over the back of your chair. The two of you sit there in silence for a while, taking in each other’s presence, observing the dying light in the forest.

Zeke looks at you eventually. Your eyes instinctually dart away.

“What made you want to come see me again?” Zeke asks.

You frantically search for an answer. You need to be careful.

“Boredom,” you reply flatly.

“You think so?” His attitude is back to how it was the first night you’d met. He’s engaged, focused, yet comes off so casual laying back up against his seat like that. He enjoys toying with you, like a cat to its prey.

Be careful.

“Don’t like my answer or something?”

That wasn’t exactly careful.

“No. You’re just not being honest.” He breathes that last word out like he needs to get a rise out of you, then he nonchalantly takes another drink while he waits for you to respond. Your mouth is open the slightest bit; you’re nervous, angry. He’s in your head now. He was reading you like that overused book of his.

“Then what do you want to hear from me?” you question. There’s thankfully still a false calmness in your voice.

“Just the truth. It’s not that complicated.”

You were sweating in front of this fire now. What was the truth? That you were interested in him? That you wanted nothing to do with him?

Be honest.

“I guess I just like your company,” you admit. Your eyes fall to the rocks lining the fire pit.

***

The discussion became pleasant after that, surprisingly. You guess you just needed to own up to how you felt. Your admittance caused some of the anger and tension tugging between the two of you to subside. The conversation was calm, collected, bouncing around from subject to subject: from the book, to life in Marley, to life in Paradis, to your occupation, and back to the book. Most of it was uneventful, but you liked that. It made it easy to pretend you were talking to him on the first night again, before you found out who he really was.

You left his camp with a giddy smile on your face. You’re on your way back to your tent now, after saying your goodbyes to Zeke. It was late, and you needed to be up early to have an important conversation with Levi. And god forbid he found out about any of this business between you and Zeke. Even though nothing was serious, it would come off unprofessional. And rightfully so.

You’re so lost in thought by the time you’re opening your tent door that you didn’t realize your arms were cold. The jacket you brought was probably still hanging off the chair at Zekes fire pit. It would look suspicious if you left it there and one of the other soldiers happened to see it.

You go back quietly, careful not to let anyone hear your footsteps. A couple of scattered thoughts weave their way into your head on your journey - what if this was another ploy of his? An attempt to get you back where he wants you, this time late at night. But how could it be? You were the one who left your jacket there. If anything, this was your own attempt to lead yourself back to him. Did you want him that badly… deep down?

When you reach your chair, you find it to be empty. You check around its sides, back, and underside - no jacket in sight. Out of the corner of your eye, a sliver of light shows from under the tarp serving as Zeke’s tent door. He’d probably noticed it and taken it inside with him after you’d gone home.

Halfheartedly, you meander to the tent door. You tap on it once the limited glimmer of light from inside touches the toes of your boots.

“Zeke? Do you have my jacket?” you whisper, still flicking the tarp to get his attention.

No answer.

Cold air stings your exposed skin as a draft swoops down through the camp. You also were wary of any observers that happened to be out this late at night. There was no telling what it looked like you might be doing outside his tent at the moment. The more uncomfortable you became out here, the more impatient you got.

“Zeke!” you hiss, whipping your head around your shoulder to double check your surroundings.

Still nothing but silence on the other side. Had he fallen asleep already?

The urge to pull back the tent door hits you. It would only take a moment to retrieve the jacket, then you’d be on your way.

Once again, making this a bigger deal than it really is.

But that didn’t matter. It felt like a big deal. That’s what every situation that involved him felt like. A big, complicated, multidimensional deal.

Be careful.

That wasn’t the answer either. Being careful was a good tactic when it came to strategizing your next moves in war. It was sometimes rendered useless when dealing with love. This was out of your control. And that was ok. That was what compelled you toward him - the mystery, the rush.

Let go.

You grip the tarp, it crinkles under your stiff fingers as you pull it back. A rush of warm air hits you, along with the light of a few oil lamps. And Zeke… shirtless. Sitting on his unmade bed with your jacket in hand.

The sight of his sculpted body in front of you sets a nervous, unprepared spark off in you, causing you to shut the door fast and stumble inside. And all at once, there you were - back in Zeke’s grasp. You accepted that wanted to be there.

“My jacket... ” you say, staring hard at the fabric in his hands, trying to avoid eye contact with his bare chest.

He stands up in silence and comes to your side, raising the jacket up once he gets real close to you. Oh no, he’s draping it over your shoulders again, slowly this time around, taking his time to stare into your puppy dog eyes. Dammit - the hot cheeks, the butterflies, the embarrassment. All of it was back now, in an instant he had you feeling like puddy in his hands. The two of you stare at each other as his hands adjust the jacket around you, stopping to play with one of the buttons on the front.

“You’re forgetful,” he mumbles, still focused on the button on your chest. His tone is sweet and quiet, a small smile appears out of one corner of his mouth.

You weren’t breathing, or thinking. Just looking down innocently at the hand that was so close to you.

“I’m not… normally,” you say quietly.

Zeke’s hands move to grip each side of the front of your jacket gently. His eyes move up from the hands placed on your jacket, and back to you. To your lips. You part them at the realization, swallowing the lump that suddenly appeared in your throat.

He shifts further in towards you, tugging on your jacket the slightest bit.

One cohesive thought rises up in the blankness of your brain. You want to kiss him.

The urge was mutual. Your lashes flutter against your cheeks a few times before you shut them, turning your head slightly to the right. Zeke follows your lead. You feel warm fingertips touch your chin and guide you to his soft pair of lips. His other hand abandons your jacket and comes down to meet your waist, slowly sliding to the small of your back. You melt into his touch, pulling yourself in closer. Chills go down your neck at the sensation of being in his arms, at his mercy. It feels so right, so warm and gentle. You want to keep going - so bad. You want him to hold you, touch you, kiss you harder.

But only for a moment.

You pull away once the guilt hits your core, gently touching your fingers to your lips.

Zeke stares at you, his eyes a bit wider than normal. His arms have gone limp at his sides without having you to occupy them any longer. You can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue, something that might save the situation and bring your lips back to his. You didn’t want to hear it.

“It’s wrong. This is all wrong,” you say, backing up into the tent door behind you.

You think of the war. You think of your duties. You think of who Zeke really is. Any fluttering in your stomach was gone now, instead it was filled by tinges of regret.

“You’re right. It is,” he responds. He walks back over to his bed and sits on the quilt ruffled at its end. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns his head away from you. “I figured you’d be smart enough not to kiss back.”

You were almost too shocked to notice how much his words burned. Your mouth hangs open as your eyes squint at him a bit. Emotion courses through you as your mind crashes down from the high you were just on. You needed out of this tent.

You grip the tarp resting against your back and fling it open. You felt lost, speed walking away from Zeke’s tent and toward the center of camp. The night concealed the confusion on your face, but only for a minute. A fire glows near your tent, lighting up your surroundings - its Levi. You try your best to avoid him, changing your course to avoid his eyes.

“What are you doing awake, Reader,” Levi questions dully.

You don’t let out any response other than stopping in your tracks.

“Is everything... alright?”

“I just,” you search for anything appropriate, any excuse for your apparent distress, “don’t like being in this forest.”

You both go quiet for a moment, listening to the snapping of thin branches in the fire.

Levi breaks the silence, “That’s actually what I was going to mention to you tomorrow. The MP’s need you for something. I was going to give you the choice to go back, or stay here.”

Going back. Maybe that was the right answer you’d tried so hard to find.

***

You shove all of your belongings into your suitcase early the next morning. It didn’t take you long to decide you needed to abandon this mission. Nothing between you and Zeke would ever work out, and your feelings for him were only a burden to everyone here, and yourself.

You lug your bags to a horse and cart that had been set up for you, tossing them over the cart’s walls and into the back.

Climbing up into the front seat, you notice a gift waiting for you - that overused book. Zeke must have finally figured out how to fake his way into heaven.

You decided to read some of it on the way back.

Zeke sure had written his own story inside of it. All of the notes he’d scribbled in the margins were in another language, presumably from Marley - a secret story you’d never get to understand. Only for him to know.

***

You heard news of what happened in the forest a few days after you arrived home. You couldn’t process it at first, instead you just sat in disbelief and denial. Then the ‘what ifs’ set in. What if you had stayed? Maybe you could have stopped Zeke from doing all the damage he decided to cause. The tear-filled anger set in after that.

There was only one chapter of his book left now. You felt disgusted looking at it, a reminder of everything you’d felt for him. You needed to sit yourself down and get through it so you could finally throw it away - and finally forget about him forever.

You come to the final page. It was intended to be blank, a sort of protectant between the ink on the last page and the back cover. But instead, there’s a penciled in note. From Zeke.

His writing in your language was messy and shaky. You assumed he could read in your language, but may not be practiced in writing in it. This was probably the first message he’d ever written in it. All for you.

—

Dear Captain Reader,

I tend to avoid feeling guilty for much. I probably won’t feel guilty for everything I’m about to do to your soldiers in this forest.

I did feel guilty, however, when I saw your beautiful face that night you found me alone in the forest. And then I realized you were caring, brilliant, and a strategist that was far smarter than I was.

Well, this was my attempt at strategizing.

Pulling you in and then pushing you away. I hoped the guilt and confusion would make you leave. Make you think you were unfit for the assignment, too distracted by me. Heartbroken, even. Anything to get you out of here.

Now, I’m not too sure there will be anyone to rescue you. I won’t be able to again. Take care of yourself. Stay sharp.

I hope you enjoyed the book. I was really never a fan of the ending.

Zeke

—

Author's Note:

Dear anon: You gave me a lottt of free rein with this one, so I hope it was ok ●﹏● (and not too angsty and complicated lol. You said they kinda hate each other but theres chemistry and I just ran with it. Oopsies.) This was one of my favorite fics to write, ever, I think! I had a lot of fun with the dialogue especially. Thanks so much for the request, and thanks to everyone else for reading! Lots of love - Shep :)

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astarryon · 3 years

Text

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart.

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp.

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.��

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself.

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #tfatws #catws #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #series #angst #hurt #comfort #1940s bucky

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

Note

Psst yo do you have any favorite ysijwa quotes

Like your favorite favorites

Sweet, funny, whatevs

Oh god let me see there’s a few

“He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.”

“And as Y/N stares across Los Angeles during one of its most breath-taking moments, Harry finds himself staring at her instead.”

“‘I like making you happy, too.’”

“I'm not going to ruin her life. She's not going to end up like me.”

“He can’t help but think that...That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get.”

“‘I just really like spending time with you, I guess. It feels natural. Really natural.’”

“She makes him feel the one sensation he didn't think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive.”

“I'd listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I'd listen. For you, always.”

“It's that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it's her. It's always been her, since the moment they'd first met. From the moment he first laid eyes on her.”

“Yes, vulnerability should petrify him. Vulnerability means danger. It means giving someone the ability to break you.”

“As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time. His butterfly.”

“‘Just because it has a sad ending doesn't mean it's not worth knowing.’”

“‘Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues. Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons... and he was worried he'd hurt Clara.’ Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who's watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can't bear it. Harry knows what it's like to fear hurting the ones you care for.”

“Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive. And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him. There's no doubt in his mind that it'll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?”

“Sometimes she tastes the way the first breath of spring feels— light and soothing, with hints of fresh florals and dewy mornings. Other times, she tastes like strawberries on a summer evening— warm, tangy, and nostalgic.”

“He spends the rest of the night twirling stands of her hair around his fingers and counting her heartbeats, vaguely wondering what it feels like to have one. It's been so long since he's carried a pulse, he's forgotten what it's like to have it thumping in his chest. All he has left is a phantom organ and not a day goes by where he doesn't miss its steady rhythm.”

And then here’s some from ch 11 that I really like

“He observes the image as if it were a Renaissance painting, taking in every dip and crater as if it were the strokes of a brush, every healed flaw and slight discoloration as an accidental mixture of varnishes, and every sprinkle of uneven textures as the speckling of a stippling tool. And he finds it all to be absolutely stunning— finds himself wishing she was a real work on canvas, just so he could hang her up as the centerpiece of his collection.”

“He’ll take certain things seriously again for her, and just for her. Only when it comes to her. Always when it comes to her.”

“A sweet, loving, blissfully ignorant human girl whom Harry has— against all rhyme and reason— come to care for more than he could ever put into words.”

“Plain and simple, just as he’d said. Scary, but exhilarating. Different, but still them.”

#ysijwa!ask

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estellaelysian · 3 years

Text

Ocean kiss

Set in Oh book 1 chapter 10. Missing this energy.

She treaded softly on the cool grass, its sweet, ticklish smell filling her nostrils as her heart hammered in her chest wildly. She had left the room, trying to walk properly as she ran down the stairs and through the long posh corridors. But now, as the cold wind washed against her uncovered shoulders, she thought perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. It was cold enough already without the warmth being taken away, but now, she was well and truly alone.

Some people were mingling about near the pool, so instead, she turned and started toward deep grove of trees. There atleast, she hoped to find some quiet.

A deep whine rung in her ears ever since she had banged that door shut behind her, leaving him alone in there. Hot frantic tears had threatened to escape, but she held them at bay. This was not – she was not going to let it hurt her enough to make her forget that she wasn’t here for all this. She was here to help him find a cure for Naveen, and she’d do that.

She had somehow forgotten that when she stood with him on that balcony. Maybe that was the issue.

Laying back on the grass, she stared at the moonless night which stretched above her. It seemed to have parted with its long time friend too.

She wished for all the lights to be turned off so she could just commingle with the darkness till the break of dawn and forget that any of this had ever happened.

But how could she? It was too precious, too good to be forgotten just like that. It stung, it inflicted pain, and yet, she held the night close to her heart.

Maybe she’d just keep it to herself and make it last for a long time. Maybe that was all she could do. Maybe she’d let herself stand behind ethics and rules and hold one thing to herself, for he had made it abundantly clear that no one could ever know about this, that they couldn’t do this again, that it wasn’t right.

She liked herself with him, but it wasn’t enough.

His summer blue eyes made it feel like she was losing herself in the depths of them.

And just like that, she was back at the sea, strolling by the water’s edge as the waves lapped at her feet. Walking as the first rays of sun pierced the sky with their intensity. Closing her eyes and feeling the wind in her hair.

That was how she felt when she was with him.

It was not like her to give up, but maybe she could manage to let it all go after all.

Just the thought made her laugh, which came out like a choked cry because her throat was painfully tight by now.

She really needed to breathe.

She tried to distract herself by taking deep breaths, waiting for the warm comfort the moonless night could provide her with, but it never came.

Perhaps the night was missing the moon too.

***

The only place to be alone seemed to be the dark groove of trees, hidden away from the public view.

It had been an hour since he had heard her heels click away. Almost.

He had pretended to be asleep, just like she had done for so long as she could before leaving. And then, he just stared at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. It had taken all he had to resist himself from glimpsing outside the window to see where she was going.

She couldn’t even bear his company now. It stung incredibly, but after all, he had to live with that, no matter what he thought, because he had made his choice, and she had made hers.

It didn’t matter how much he…

He had tossed the blanket aside, sitting up and glancing outside at the darkness that had descended on the world. Well, half of it anyway. It didn’t seem like she was near the pool, which meant, he was free to go downstairs and take a very, very cold swim, letting the coldness take all the warmth away.

One more glance through the window, and he was free to leave the confines of this pathetic room which almost felt suffocating.

After carefully avoiding gazes and certain people, he found himself at the pool, then cursed because it was still occupied.

But then, rounding up to the dark copse of trees which huddled together had seemed like a good idea until he saw her, laying on the grass, hugging her knees close to her chest and staring up at the sky.

And then she saw him. It was hard to make out her expression, but he could tell she had been crying.

‘Dr. Ramsey,’ she said, her bold and daring gaze matching his. Damn, she hid herself well. ‘I was expecting to see you here.’

‘Sorry to disappoint,’ he bit out, wondering why this had to happen to him at all.

She smiled. Actually smiled before turning back to the sky.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. He couldn’t even describe what he felt for her in words. He wanted to be the sky for her. That sky, which would never fall short for her to fly. He wanted to be the ground to her, which would never fall short for her to walk on. He wanted her to be the light of the day and the shine of the stars, that was his only aim. He wanted her to fly high, and not stumble in her aim because of him.

She was his oasis. He could see her, but he couldn’t quite reach her.

‘Mind if I join you?’

She nodded. It was a terrible, terrible idea, he thought as the memories of the night flooded his mind. He pressed his eyes shut, fighting against instinct, fighting against himself as he took a seat beside her.

The breeze had somehow stopped. Even the hushed murmur from the crowd near the pool seemed to fade away as he matched her gaze to the sky which was barren, without the moon, without the stars, without its beauty.

In the void of silence that followed, Ethan could feel his heart race against his will. He wondered if she knew…

‘Why are you here?’ she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

Perhaps he had lost his coherence, the ability to form full sentences, or perhaps, this was all a dream. Maybe he could still give in and be happy for himself.

No.

This was maddening, the effect her presence had on him. He’d have to figure out a way to avoid this. They would be working together after all. He was her boss.

Her boss.

His gut twisted unpleasantly at all that the word entailed.

But then he thought about all he wanted her to do. He couldn’t be the obstacle. He couldn’t ruin her career just like that.

She stood abruptly, brushing away stray strands of hair before turning to look at him. ‘I am going back inside,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps you came out to be alone anyway.’

That was it. He stood too, and he knew well enough that he shouldn’t have done that, but he caught her arm, stopping her before she could walk away. Again.

‘Ethan…’

‘Alishka, stay. Please stay.’

‘What do you want?’ she asked, and for the life of him, he didn’t know the answer to that question. What did he want? Did he want this? Did he want to hurt her again? Once had been bad enough, but again?

‘I know what you’ll say, trust me, I do, but–’

Then he kissed her. With abundant release, just as he had wanted to.

He kissed her.

***

She felt breathless even though his kiss was tender at first. He was willing to go against all reason this once, and yet…

Tomorrow, they’d be back in their monotonous roles – he her employer and she a mere intern. They’d have to leave this all here, right here in the dark groove of trees where they stood now as he deepened the kiss, holding her against him.

A breeze fluted through the trees, leaving an unforgiving bite as his warm hands found her waist and then her back. It was as if his fingers burned through her. Her longing was raging its fire inside her as she tangled her fingers in his hair, wondering what she could do to make this last forever.

And then, for her own sanity, because she knew she couldn’t make this last forever, because she knew she didn’t have that potential, neither the power, she pried her lips away from his and turned away, for she couldn’t see his face in that moment. She had to do it. For herself, and for him too.

‘We should go.’

‘Alishka…’

What would he say next? That he was sorry? That he couldn’t help it? Or that they couldn’t do this again?

‘I know,’ she whispered, knowing that he could say nothing more, that they could do nothing more. ‘I know we can’t let this happen again,’ she said, giving him a melancholy smile.

She didn’t see who he was, that was the issue. She didn’t see clear enough. The picture she had painted had been fleeting, lost today.

And she would be to blame.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she said, ‘I should get some sleep. And so should you. We have work tomorrow.’

And a flight together too.

She now understood why the night had been so indifferent towards her. It must have been upset too.

‘Good night,’ she murmured before turning away.

**********

A/N: Just felt super nostalgic, so here it is, my first Miami fic.

Thank you all for reading and all the love, I am very grateful 💖

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart #ethanramsey #choices #openheart #fanfiction #open heart 1

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magioftheseas · 3 years

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Lotus-eater machine with World Destroyer x Nagito for your bingo meme? I think this prompt really fits them.

SORRY FOR THE WAIT, ANON, OH MY GOD.

Anyway, for the @badthingshappenbingo whoaaaaa and cross-posted to Ao3 here. It’s still pretty short tho. Sorry.

Warnings: Mentioned instances of violence. But it’s pretty mild for a danganronpa fic, even based on the sdr2.5 ova.

For as long as his life had been bright and dazzling, there’s always been a shadow looming over his shoulder. A blight always threatening to eclipse the sunshine, and something that he had to continually ignore to the best of his abilities. He doesn’t know when, exactly or why—but it’s just something he has learned to live with.

“That is a deception,” the shadow murmurs to him, gripping his shoulders. “You truly are so troublesome.”

The shadow was an annoyance. But, it’s fine. No matter what the shadow says, the world remained bright and sparkling as it was supposed to.

As it had to.

“Komaeda!” Souda is waving at him frantically, with a grin splitting his face wide open.

(Not like how when the shadow had ripped his jaw clean off just the other day—)

“We’re going to the arcade!” Souda announces, then, upbeat as ever. Beaming like he should. “You, me, Kuzuryuu! We haven’t had the chance to hang out in way too long!”

“Idiot,” Kuzuryuu griped. “We see each other in class all the damn time.”

“That’s different!” Souda harrumphed before smirking. “Besides, you spend all of classtime making googly eyes at your girlfriend.”

“Wha—?!” Kuzuryuu’s face lit up, red and furious. “How many fucking times do I gotta tell you that it’s not like that?! Peko’s just a childhood friend of mine! Not... Not...” He trailed off into a flustered sputter. “N-Not my girlfriend...”

“How are things going with Sonia-san again?” Komaeda asks cheerfully, and Souda gets even brighter.

“She’s beautiful as always! You’d make Pekoyama a happy girl, too, if you weren’t such a coward, Kuzuryuu...”

“What was that?!” Kuzuryuu snapped heatedly. “You want to say that to my fucking face?!”

“Hey, come on, don’t get that serious, haha! I’m joking! We both know she’s already pretty happy!”

“O...Obviously... Idiot... What the hell ever, let’s just go.”

Komaeda giggled at them. Isn’t it nice? Isn’t this nice?

“Komaeda, what about you?” Souda wonders then. “Are you happy?”

“Of course!” He doesn’t hesitate. “Why wouldn’t I be? Oh, please don’t tell me it’s because I don’t have a girlfriend...”

“Please don’t tell him that,” Kuzuryuu deadpanned. “You know how he is.”

This time, Souda gets rattled, pinker than his hair.

“I-I wouldn’t! I get it, I do! I really, really, really—”

The shadow twists his head off, but it only lasts for a second.

“I do! I do get it!”

Kuzuryuu grunted, but he gave Komaeda the kind of supportive, considerate glance that he was so prone to. It made him happy, it really, truly did. Souda trying so hard also made him happy.

See, this world was perfect. Ideal. Even when people were confused or insecure, others were willing to support them and help them understand. And people always tried to do better, with little in the way to stop them. Determination and good intentions ran everything. Nothing more, nothing less.

People liked and accepted him, even if he wasn’t significant in the cosmic sense. And his own existence helped others. Wasn’t that wonderful? It really was wonderful, especially when at the arcade, him almost getting knocked out lead to Souda getting one of the best prizes.

Souda was cheering, Kuzuryuu helped him up graciously, and the shadow—the shadow’s stare bore into him, piercing under the drones of arcade machines and little pew, pew, pews from the several rounds of Galaga being played.

“See,” he says, holding a bag of ice to his head. “This world is perfect. I don’t need your interference.”

To make up for his injury, Souda bought him strawberry bubble tea. It’s pretty obnoxiously sweet, but it’s the thought that counts and he likes strawberry. It’s just fine. Kuzuryuu and Souda are bantering good-naturedly even as Komaeda stares down the shadow.

“It’s fine,” he insists. “Everything is fine. Not only is everyone getting what they need, I’m able to get them what they want. And nothing stands in our way.”

“Hmph.”

The shadow takes his drink, pinching at the straw as he sips from it. It’s such a ridiculous image that Komaeda wants to break into hysterical laughter, but he stops, stops, stops.

Across the street, there’s a happy couple sharing ice cream. It’s such a nostalgic image, one that makes him think of—of something. Something he can’t quite grasp. Under the eternally summer sun, where waves lapped along an endless beach. Wasn’t Mioda there playing a song? Weren’t his classmates playing in the water? All except for—

Komaeda blinked. Everything froze.

“Everyone gets what they need and you get them what they want,” the shadow drones. “But what about you? Isn’t there someone you want that this world won’t give you?”

Kuzuryuu and Souda have been scribbled out crudely. Even as Komaeda frantically tries to remake them, the images just get more and more muddled until they, too, become shadows. Shadow upon shadow upon shadow, staring him down with piercing red eyes. All with that same image.

“Komaeda,” one of the shadows says, then, but without a gaze at all. “What are you doing sitting by yourself? Don’t you get lonely?”

“I... I-It’s fine! It’s absolutely fine!” he exclaims quickly, forcing out a laugh. “Just seeing everyone else happy is enough for me. I don’t... I don’t need to ruin that happiness for them just to brazenly indulge. It’s enough...”

Everyone is carefree. There’s no need for wishes, for desires, for hope. Everything comes naturally, because people are so wonderfully capable. He doesn’t—

Then shadow before him shifts. In several forms. One he only passed by and only spared a glance. One that so brilliantly shot him down. The one that had been haunting him for so long, tearing everything else around him asunder. All in that same dark suit, until finally, they don something simpler. Warmer. A plain uniform consisting of a white shirt, a green tie, and dark pants. Komaeda’s stare bores into the heart-shaped pin on the breast pocket before going up and—

Ah.

The shadow smiles at him. Touches his cheek. It’s such a warm smile, contrasted against that amusingly prickly appearance. He’s always known that this person was so kind, so wonderful... How they press their forehead to his, humming softly.

How they disappear in an instance when Komaeda tries to cup one of their hands with his own.

“Komaeda?”

He blinks several times, coming to. Souda and Kuzuryuu are staring at him. They’re immediately worried. To be cared for like this is almost too much for his heart to take.

“Is everything alright?”

The shadow stares up at him, cold and knowing. Another shadow wraps its arms around his waist, holding him tight in ways he never dared to dream.

“Everything’s alright,” he lies, and his expression doesn’t even change when with a flick of the shadow’s wrist, both Souda and Kuzuryuu are slumped over and dead, blood pooling around their skulls. What a mess.

The shadow holding him squeezes him. Whispers his name, “Komaeda.” Pleads with him, “Wake up.”

Komaeda shuts his eyes, rebuilding the world once more.

#Magi fics #anonymous #Magi answers #bad things bingo #KomaHina

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riotrues · 4 years

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blooming star (pt. 1) | malleus draconia

summary: the sight of blooming flower in a wilting garden. a miracle in a tragedy. their newly blooming friendship filled their summer days seamlessly, but what happens when winter comes knocking at the door?

pairing: malleus draconia x gender neutral reader (yuu)

content: fluff, minor toxic masculinity, cute stuff with malleus & incoming major angst (and death)

word count: 2k

comment: no proofreading we die like men. also hi, i’m rue and this is the beginning of my very angsty journey! how are ya? part two comes after my two assignments are done! whoop, whoop!

FALL / 20 / -- / --21

The air had grown colder and various shades of brown and orange had taken over the scenery. It’s the season of fall. Not particularly his favourite, though he never minded that much. Between his hands, he holds a warm cup which he’s been slowly sipping through all morning. It’s slowly nearing afternoon and the tea slowly loses its steam. He holds onto it.

Malleus is not one to wander outside too much, but he likes to do so during his alone time.

He likes nature. The trees, the smell of grass and soil after soaking up rain droplets, blooming flowers during spring. He finds it calming to be surrounded by them, he takes comfort in it.

It’s been a while since he last stepped out of the house. As summer slowly fades into fall, he too feels as if that spirit to venture outside had wilted. He slouches against the wall, letting the steam of his cup get blown away by the cold air.

He keeps on wondering how they would cope through such a season?

Yuu has never been the type that’s fond of the cold, after all. They despised it, in fact. They’d go on a continuous rage about the frostbite and the cold air despite the beautiful wonderland you get to see when the snow covers every ground surface. He didn’t realize he was smiling to himself until he brought his thoughts back to reality.

In his other hand, Malleus holds a wilting daisy. His eyes dropped, brows furrowing at the sight yet he maintained a gentle hold on the piece of flower. Yuu’s favourite. Their babies, they’d refer to the flowers as. At the thought, Malleus lets out a soft laugh.

A shadow looms over him still though he refuses to let it take over him. Despite its nature, the piece of the flower brings him back to a year ago. The first time they met.

☆

SUMMER / 10 / -- / --20

They met that day on a summer afternoon.

That day, the heat wasn’t overwhelming though the sun remains to shine ever so brightly. Even then, the soothing wind counters it. That day, Malleus isolated himself from others. There’s only so much interaction he could handle and the recent visit to his parents’ home had completely taken up most of his energy. He seeks small joy in these times where he’s with himself. He’d taken up this time to do some knitting. Nobody knew this, not that he blamed them as it’s quite a new hobby he’d picked up.

In his younger days, he’d have servants making him knitted dolls that he was quite fond of. He’d kept them in his room, played with them and dressed them up, referring to them often as his friends. His father detested this and got rid of most of them, pushing him to attend lessons instead. It’s quite vexing having to think back to it again yet here he was, creating his own knitted dolls away from all that.

He understood his role as the heir of the most powerful dark faerie in the land. His natural-born abilities granted him immense power, unsurprisingly with the blood that ran through his veins. Malleus was capable of having heightened senses when an inhuman presence is near and he had mastered such at a young age. He learned and studied all sorts of skills and abilities throughout his childhood.

He did everything to maintain that integrity, but he felt at times it’s quite suffocating. Malleus finds solace in quiet moments such as this. He felt time had paused for him whenever he spent his days in the field. All worries and burden washed away by the calm breeze, tensed muscles loosened by the smallest light of the sun on his body.

He learned that day he wasn’t the only one.

Only a couple of glances upwards and there he saw in the middle of the grass field. A human with their back facing him. They have lengthy (Y/H/C) hair that reached their waist, complemented by their overall bright white clothing. A white blouse under a sheer cloth hung on their shoulders. A peculiar soft, yellow ribbon that was tied into a bow around their hair. The only hint of colour that they had.

Their attention fixated on the flowers around them. White daisies.

They were no stranger, in the sense that he’d felt their presence always though he never figured out why. A mere human who spent most of their time at this place he calls a safe haven for himself. How peculiar yet perhaps the human also seeks solace the same as he.

They had a certain air that he couldn’t exactly touch on. If he were to put into words, his first encounter with them felt like he’d seen a figure behind sheer white curtains. Someone within the distance of his reach yet felt so far away.

The glowing outline from the bright sun above and their clothing created a glowing outline. The scenery felt like a dream. The human glowed in his eyes.

He didn’t realize that they had turned their attention to him. He’d lost himself in his own thoughts and he caught himself off-guard when he realized a pair of (Y/E/C) looking at him with a gentle gaze then smiled widely.

“Hey there.” The voice that came out radiated comfort. Perhaps it was their glow and their mannerisms. “I’ve seen you around here often! You like daisies?” They greeted first, he noticed. Not what he’d expected. They’d asked if he liked daisies. He never gave them much thought nor has he ever had anyone notice him in such a way.

He nodded, unsure. The other person smiled. “More company for the babies then! The more the merrier.” They continued cheerfully. They referred to the flowers as their own child, he’d grown to know how much they adored that plain daisy field on top of that very hill.

☆

FALL / 25 / -- / --20

One encounter became two. Two became three then several. Sometimes, he’d even gone to the field day and night.

Although Malleus had already been familiar with the field, it brought a different atmosphere with Yuu. The two often spent their time together on the field, lying down with the flowers tickling their skin and the blue sky above overwhelming their sight.

“I live there.” Yuu pointed out the mansion surrounded by what seemed like tiny red dots. Apple trees, they explained to him. “I have the cutest youngest brother who really loves apples. Father made sure to have those apple trees planted across the house and we truly became the apple mansion.” A giggle erupted from Yuu, a hearty yet soft one.

“You have such fond memories, human.”

“Hmmm, yeah.” They looked down at their hands, tugging at their shirt with a mindless smile on their face. “I suppose so.”

Quickly, Yuu turned their head towards Malleus with a wide eye and a knowing smile. “So, how ‘bout your childhood, Great Dark Faerie Lord? Any fun memories you wanna share?”

“Not nearly as happy as yours, I can guarantee.” He bitterly replied, didn’t mean to come off as mean but it was the truth. He never had the greatest childhood, mostly sheltered away by his parents. But even then, he thought back to the young days he spent with Silver and Sebek while Lilia had to take care of them all. There were little moments such as those. “I suppose… There are people that I’m grateful for. They’ve made those days better even just by a little.”

Yuu shifted their body to the side, replied gently, “Me too.”

“I...I like knitting dolls.” It came out as a stutter. He could feel his cheeks heat up at that. He never openly admitted to it to someone like this.

Unsurprisingly, they let out a squeal. “Really? You do? Oh, Mal! You should show me some of your dolls! I had no clue you liked them that much. That’s adorable!”

The words only made his face even redder and to this, Yuu laughed. “I think it’s super lovely that you do, Mal! I mean it! My babies can now finally meet with your babies.” They continued with a radiant face still. He couldn’t say much aside from nodding gently.

“I’m happy.” The reply came out softer than he expected, but he loved that most about Yuu. How gentle and accepting they can be.

Yuu let out a sigh. “You know…” They paused. “That reminded me of my little brother. He liked dolls, so much. Gosh, every day I would accompany him and his pals during tea time. He loved them so much!”

They continued, “I think… I think you both would’ve gotten along.”

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint, but the smile on Yuu’s face was different. They avoided eye contact and looked down at the ground almost with a solemn look on their face. Something he’d never seen on their face before.

“Are you close with your brother?” He asked, shifting his focus on the back that he’s facing. The moment of silence hung heavy as he kept staring at the back of Yuu’s head. He was unsure what to make out of how Yuu’s currently feeling. The air felt heavy.

“Yeah,” Yuu replied almost too quietly for him to catch. The pause continued. “We were. There’s no stopping life after all, even if it meant such wonderful things would have to end.”

Their voice faded into a whisper, but it held depth to them. There was something particularly nostalgic in the way Yuu said those words. The energy and warmth died down with the silence that seeped through.

“And that’s exactly why you can’t waste any more precious time!” Yuu pointed at Malleus with a drastic shift in tone. The wide gummy smile now had taken over their face. Yet this time he wasn’t sure why, he couldn’t take in the smile as genuine. It felt… hollow somehow.

He held back not wanting to hound them with further questions. They lied there staring at the constantly changing shapes of the clouds and began to swallow the blank blue sky whole.

☆

?? / ?? / ?? / ????

That day, a storm lurked around the corner. The sky grew darker each minute that day. Storm echoed from a distance. It was as if the vibrant nature was being devoured slowly by the foul grey sky above. Malleus had no recollection he’d gone outside, but for some reason, he needed to find Yuu.

The thunder grew closer and closer each minute. The wind grew violent, blowing through the grass harshly causing branches to fly and a cold air that causes a shiver down his spine. He held tightly to his coat and in the distance of their usual spot, Yuu stood still.

Their back facing him just like that day when they had met. The atmosphere is far heavier this time.

“Yuu?” He called out to them. He noticed how their fist clenched yet when they turned around, he greeted them with the same usual smile. The one that never failed to wash over his chest with warmth.

The wind became unbelievably strong. It was almost ominous.

“Yuu! It’s dangerous out here!” He shouted.

“Malleus…” He stopped at the sound of their voice echoing in his mind. “Goodbye.”

His senses heightened for a moment when he felt a strong inhuman presence near him. The sound of thunder grew closer. He grunted, falling onto his knees at the surge of pain in his body. He didn’t have enough time to deflect. His senses overwhelmed, his sight overwhelmed by flashes of what felt like memories.

He saw a young boy with the fairest of skin and hair black as night. Daisies. Apples scattered all over the place. He saw the very view of the field in distance, from a window. He felt ill in the stomach. Cold and fatigued. He felt a suffocating feeling in his chest, slowly his sight fading. Who did these memories belong to?

When the daze of those memories had wandered off, he realized Yuu was no longer there. Then his world turned pitch black.

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleus x mc #malleus x yuu #fluff #angst #malleus draconia x reader #potential character death

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jaylaxies · 3 years

Note

i honestly love bungee jumping there's this park near my house and before the pandemic, i used to be there all the time heeh

also its like 2:20 am here im gonna go to sleep now but before that here's a list of questions i made throught the day for you

1. do you wanna get a tattoo/do you have a tattoo 2. do you believe in tarot/face/palm readings 3. whats the one thing that will always make you feel nostalgic? 4. whats your favorite type of drink? 5. have you watched hamilton? 6. if you could swap one of your talents with someone who would it be, which talent and why? 7. have you ever had a dream twice? 8. hot chocolate in winters or ice cream in summers? 9. what's your current biggest wish? 10. do you believe in heaven and hell or cycle of life and death+salvation?

-byeol

aw that sounds like fun bae, i hope pandemic gets over soon :(

1. uHM idk if i'll ever get any tattoo cause i want to donate blood and stuff so yea.

2. omg i've recently started believing about it and ngl it sounds very fun, some things are scarily accurate as well.

3. watching old cartoons makes me super nostalgic ngl.

4. water, i absolutely love water.

5. no i've not lmao–

6. oH i really want the ability to sing so maybe voice with some singer?? im not really sure which one rn hehe.

7. yes, more than twice as well, it's usually the scary dreams which repeat themselves.

8. im not a big fan of ice creams but they sound decent during summers, also my bestie and i go on ice cream dates even tho i don't like it much but i adore those moments a lot.

9. getting good grades probably 😭

10. some things make me believe in them do probably yes, i do think that cycle of life exists.

byeol bb this was sm fun ! i really appreciate the time you spent on finding/making these questions and sending them to me, it's really sweet of you <333 i hope you're sleeping well ^^

#byeol anon <3 #iloveyou #aria : asks

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ddaengyoonmin · 4 years

Text

Genre: angst 😭 (I wanna say very light smut? Like it’s barely? It’s kissing and being all pressed together ya know? Anyways that’s that lol)

Warnings: marijuana smoking, it’s sad :(( ,

A/n: I specifically used a real location I had in mind. There was a place on the Oregon coast I used to visit with my family when I lived there and I’ve been feeling nostalgic for it lately.

Word count : 1.5k

————————

It wasn’t usually this sunny by the Oregon coast. You were enjoying that part of this moment, observing the way that the rays hit Yoongi’s white blonde hair and light it up into a golden spectacle. He brought one hand up to his lips, the joint that you’d been sharing between his fingers.

If only there was more time…

Despite the day being blessed by the sun it was still slightly chilly, your short jean shorts and thin zip up hood weren’t quite the best defence against the bite of the strong winds that just started to pick up.

But the sun still fell so beautifully on his face. He closed his eyes and exhaled the hit, staring up to the sky and letting the sun light up even more of his features, painting his face into a glowing golden canvas.

“You gonna share?” You chuckled, nudging him with your shoulder. The two of you sat on the hood of Yoongi’s car, staring down at the beach, it would be a bit of a walk down, but it was always a tradition to spend Yoongi’s last day here, celebrating with some smoke and writing your names in the sand.

You’d been doing it since the first summer before the two of you left for college. You’d ended up at different colleges and knew it was best to call things off and stay friends, you were better as friends anyways. Or so you’d had to convince yourself.

You sighed and snapped your fingers impatiently at Yoongi.

He chuckled and passed the joint over to you.

“Almost ready to head down to the beach?” you asked as you brought the joint to your own lips.

This was the last summer. You were seniors this upcoming year, and he was a music producer a damn good one with offers ready to take him places, this would be the last trip to the coast with him. The last time watching that goofy wide smile grin at you as you struggle to get off of his car.

The last time he’d rush to your side and steady your hips with his hands.

The last time that his touch would drive you so crazy that you couldn’t help but give in and pull him into you, his hips pressed against you and his eyes looking you over with a sad expression. You didn’t blame him for being sad, you were too. Yoongi took the joint from between your lips and put it between his own, the two of you remaining silent as he pressed you against the passenger side door of his car.

You put an index finger from each hand into a belt loop on his jeans and tried your best to pull him even closer into you. It was a pointless effort though, he was as close as he could be. So why did you feel like he was so far away?

Yoongi breathed a large hit in and leaned forward, giving his head a small quick tilt up. It was a motion you’d recognized from knowing him well that he was asking you to open your mouth and let him shotgun the hit into your mouth.

You listened all too easily. How could you ever say no to him.

Your lips parted and quivered just slightly in anticipation for him coming closer.

His eyes grew heavier as he leaned in and brought his lips to where there were brushing lightly against your own.

He started to exhale the smoke he’d been holding in his mouth slowly and gently as his hand not holding the joint started to slowly make its way to the back of your head, his fingers gently moving to tangle themselves in your hair.

You inhaled the smoke and closed your eyes as you tried not to think about all the lasts, and if this was one of them.

After you’d held the hit in for a moment and released it, Yoongi finally let his lips fully fall onto yours. He moved against you as if he was savoring the moment, and trying to make it the best one yet. You knew the feeling. You wanted the same.

You pulled back from the kiss, a small tear starting to form in your lower lid, making its way to your lashes.

“Yoongi I-” you choked on your words, not even sure what you wanted to say.

Yoongi put his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“You’ll find someone. Someone who can always be there for you. As much as I wish that person could be me, it just can’t.” His voice was shaky and you could tell he was carrying his own weight with all the lasts piling up today.

“I don’t wanna let you go Yoongi. I’m not ready yet.” You felt your body starting to lurch forward with a sob that escaped your lips.

He bit down on his lower lip and it seemed he was fighting back his own tears.

Yoongi stepped back away from you and you let go of your grip on him.

He was staring out at the ocean, pulling the joint to his lips once again and choking on his hit, coughing hard a few times before he yelled out a ‘Fuck!’ towards the beautiful nothingness in front of the two of you.

His back was turned to you but you nodded in agreement as you wiped your tears from your eyes and walked towards him.

“Here’s to life. May it give us both everything we’ve been searching for.” Yoongi faked a small smile and held the joint out to you.

You stood side by side with him and linked your arm with his. The sun was starting to set on the Pacific and the waves were catching fire with the bright orange now laying down across the peaceful waves, it might not be the last time you’d see that but it would be your last time with Yoongi.

‘Everything we’ve been searching for.’

You took the joint and breathed in deeply, the glowing red tip matching the sunset in front of you.

Here's to Yoongi finding everything he’s been searching for. You hoped with everything in your being that he’d find it.

You didn’t have high hopes for yourself though.

No, you felt more like you were losing everything you had thought you’d found.

It’s just that you’d figured out all too late it was what you’d been looking for, and by that point Yoongi’s junior internship had already spun into companies wanting to drag him left and right across the world.

You’d be here though, and you knew that. You weren’t leaving this place, and he knew that.

Which is why it could never work.

“You’re too beautiful of a creature to keep in a cage.” you mumbled.

Yoongi turned to you and raised an eyebrow.

“Are we reaching our limit? Am I gonna have to cut you off?” Yoongi reached for the joint.

You let him take it but you chuckled and shook your head.

“No, no. I just…” You pursed your lips and looked him over once again. His ability to absorb the color of his surroundings and just let it hit his skin in such a beautiful way, will be a sight you will forever miss. His hair now a reddening color as the sun made its final movements down past the horizon. You’d had him once, but you set him free, and you knew if you held him down again that he wouldn’t get all those dreams that he’d been chasing his whole life.

You sighed. Shaking your head. “Never mind.” You leaned forward to give his lips a soft peck, but he held you there for a bit longer, a soft ‘mmmn’ vibrated against you.

“I loved you, you know?” Yoongi whispered as he pulled back.

You bit down on your lip and sighed, nodding.

“I still do love you Yoongi.”

“I’ll write a song about you.” His lips curled up slightly, his hand reached for yours and he drew small circles on the back with his thumb.

“Oh? And what are you gonna call it?” You giggled.

“Hmmm. I’m not quite sure, but you’ll know it when you hear it.” He now grinned widely. “It’ll be something about this.” He stepped back and motioned to the whole scene before the two of you. “Hopeful not about how stupid I was to let go of you.” He mumbled that last part.

“It’s not stupid.” You shook your head, trying your best to put on a face to reassure him he was doing the right thing.

“To the beach?”

You nodded slowly. Ready to take in some more lasts. Not ready to let go of him.

But, you’d keep your eye out for that song. You were sure you’d see it, because you were making the right call, Yoongi was going places.

He intertwined his fingers with yours for what might be the last time.

You’d savor it, this moment, and the next.

“Goodbye Yoongi.” You whispered.

“You don’t need to say it yet?” he chuckled “We’ve got hours still.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to say it then.” you responded in the same whisper.

He nodded, “Yeah…”

Yoongi kissed you on top of your head, holding his lips there for a few long moments.

“Goodbye y/n.”

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader insert #bts x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #yoongi x y/n #suga x reader #suga x you #btswriterscollective #bts imagine #bts scenerio

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mystery-deer · 4 years

Text

Missing Out (b99, fic)

Raymond walked languidly through a seemingly endless field of wheat, bending the plants with a stick he’d picked up somewhere along the way. He was going somewhere and that was all he needed to know.

After what seemed to be hours he stopped, made lazy by the summer heat and lulled to tire by the pleasant sameness of everything surrounding him. Endless wheat, endless blue sky, endless sun caressing his skin.

He sat down and listened as someone began to hum, soft and familiar. He closed his eyes, opening them only when he felt the sun being blocked from him. He squinted up at the boy in front of him, redheaded and serious. He broke into a smile when he met Raymond’s eyes and Raymond smiled back, holding out his hands which were taken immediately as Kevin pulled him up into an embrace.

Have you ever played that game before? You know the one, the girls on the playground gathered round in circles. Mystic and wise despite how you might have jeered. Did you want to join them? Did you want to know? I won’t blame you. I wouldn’t blame you for anything. You know the one, the girls on the playground chanted; Pick a number Pick a color Pick a number Pick a color Pick a number Pick a color You live in a House With your Husband And you have Half a child (laughter) And you work as A -

No no no we didn’t have that kind of game. The girls at my school weren’t mystics, they were creatures of fact and reason like me. They would flock to the corners of the schoolyard and play jump rope. And though you may have jeered you admired their ability to look so free between the violent turning of the plastic. Did you want to join them? Did you think you would fall? Were you afraid to be called a- You know the one, the girls on the playground screamed; Strawberry shortcake cream on top! Tell me the name of my sweet heart! Is it, R A Y M O N -

Raymond woke up in the way he always did, all at once. It was a cloudy day and for a moment he was disconcerted by this, sure it had been sunny a few moments ago, before he was slotted completely back into reality.

It had been an odd dream.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” Kevin said, peering into the bedroom, fully dressed and carrying a box. “I was beginning to consider waking you up, like a schoolchild.” He teased. Raymond rubbed his eyes and squinted at the alarm clock on their bedside table. Good lord, 7:30 am!

“You would have been remiss not to have done so!” He exclaimed, immediately getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom.

“Were you experiencing any difficulty sleeping last night? It isn’t like you to lie in so long.” Kevin remarked thoughtfully, swiftly removing and replacing their pillowcases with an intensity that told Raymond he’d been eager to for the majority of the morning.

“No…” He paused to brush his teeth as Kevin continued to replace towels and sheets, evidently the box was full of them.

“Well I had a dream, it wasn’t disturbing. I can’t remember the specifics. Something about…” He tried to latch onto anything from earlier but could only remember the vague feeling of warmth and Kevin.

“You were in it.” He settled on. “Why are you replacing all our linens?”

“It’s the beginning of summer, I thought they could do with some brightening up.” Kevin explained, holding up the corner of their duvet. “And this is much too heavy, a spring blanket will be absolutely suffocating when the weather turns.”

Raymond had no strong opinions on spring vs summer blankets but Kevin’s attention to detail was enamoring. ‘And,’ he thought as he ran a brush through his neatly buzzed hair ‘He might wear that lovely blue shirt that brings out his eyes now that the weather’s warmer.’

“Did you make breakfast yet?” He asked, exiting the bathroom and heading for the closet. “Not yet, should I?” Kevin called, already off down the hall. “No, I’ll prepare my own.”

When Raymond was a boy he had visited a relative’s farm. They had no animals but in the summer there was an explosion of carefully lined colors, bounty as far as the eye could see. He and Debbie would be set loose, told to “Go play outside” and she’d immediately be tugging at his hand, stepping on his shoes as she begged him to play Marco Polo.

“That’s a water game.” He’d say, observing a full tomato. “For the pool.” “Nuh-uh, it’s fine as long as you can’t see each other!” She'd insist.

And he’d acquiesce out of annoyance or fear that she’d run back inside crying that he was mean to her and he’d get the older brother speech.

He remembered a tiny thrill shooting through him as he crept around the crops, listening for his sister’s barely concealed giggles and shouts of surprise as they nearly collided. He remembered the childish idea of magic that seemed to be in the air when he opened his eyes somewhere different than where he started from.

Kevin liked his strawberries with a small bit of honey. This was to Raymond, a sickening amount of sweetness. “If the strawberry isn’t sweet enough on its own it’s a bad strawberry.” He’d say every time he found Kevin sitting out front, eyes half-lidded, indulging.

Sometimes this led to a playful argument and sometimes Kevin would simply smile and Raymond’s heart would lighten when gently assured of the knowledge that he was loved.

“Did you ever go apple picking as a child?” He asked Kevin over breakfast. Raymond was drinking a smoothie and Kevin was eating jam on toast.

“Not really.” He said after some deliberation. “At least, I don’t remember it. I was more of an ‘indoor child’ as my mother called me.” He laughed softly. “When I did go outside to play my father would open the window and yell ‘Dear God, he’s escaped!’”

Raymond pictured Kevin as a child, rolling his eyes and shoving his nose in a book when he heard his father call.

He felt...uneasy.

“What has you in such a nostalgic mood?” Kevin asked, wiping his face and clearing his plate. Raymond continued to sip his smoothie.

“I don’t know.” He admitted.

Raymond remembered so many days, all lined up in boxes, slightly differing but at their core the same.

Quietly studying his notes and praying the teacher would make it back to the classroom before the group of girls who were giggling and going table to table made their way to him and asked him if he liked any of them.

Changing so fast into his P.E uniform that the other boys began to remark on it and having to come up with something that wasn’t; ‘I’m so afraid that something will click if my gaze lingers anywhere, I’m so afraid that you will realize something about me and I will be confronted with the same thing and it’ll destroy me.’ He chose to declare his love for gym. “Ha, is that your boyfriend?” One of the boys laughed and he couldn’t remember what he’d said in response over the beating of his heart.

Retreating to the bathroom when one of his co-workers invited him out to a bachelor party. He looked past the color of his skin but balked at homosexuality; Had told him once. “The guys who give you shit about the black thing are fucking morons Ray.” Had told him once, “Don’t you look cute with those bug eyes on.” when he’d come in wearing his era-appropriate glasses. Had told him once, “You look good like that.” on a stakeout, leaning in too close to be coincidental, smelling like booze and cigarettes and putting an uncertain hand on the back of Raymond’s neck.

When he’d gotten the invite Raymond had smiled and said “So you finally roped Sandra into marrying you? How much did it set you back?” and the man’s eyes had widened before they refused to meet his, ashamed. Raymond had stared and stared and stared and then found himself in the bathroom, gut coiled tight with loss and anxiety.

When wasn’t it?

He imagined Kevin running past him on the street, reporter on the beat, thinking I’mnotI’mnotI’mnotI’mnotI’mnot so hard he could almost believe it.

“It...was difficult. It was a happy childhood but…” Hours had passed and Raymond was helping Kevin in the garden, watching him pluck insects off the fruit and flowers and deposit them safely in the dirt below. His tongue was so sharp it was easy to miss how gentle his hands were.

“...Anxious.” Kevin said. “Pardon?” Kevin pulled his hat down further and reached into a rose bush to remove a stick lodged inside it like a parent might remove a splinter.

“It was an anxious kind of happiness.” “I- ah.” Raymond hissed and instinctively cradled his hand before unfurling it and assessing the damage. Not much, just a small pinprick from one of the thorns.

“Are you alright?”

As Kevin took his hand he pictured a smaller Kevin with a smaller him, inspecting the cut. He pictured Kevin with a gaze so heavy it stilled him, calmed him. They had both played doctor as children - the real kind. Raymond had practiced with his stuffed animals and Kevin would write out notes and prescriptions to his brother.

Something welled inside him.

“Do you ever feel that you wish we had met earlier in our lives?” He blurted out, mildly surprising his husband. He had gotten a pocket first aid and was finishing up his ministrations, wrapping a band-aid around Raymond’s finger.

“Sometimes. Is that what’s been on your mind all day?” “Yes.” Raymond said, glad to be able to pinpoint it. “I just...can’t help feeling that perhaps we missed out on something.”

Kevin made a low noise of consideration. “I’m happy I met you when I did.” Raymond sighed in equal parts frustration and fondness. Kevin, ever rational. His lack of imagination was one of the most charming things about him.

“I can’t imagine anything better than how we met. I was granted the privilege of falling in love with your voice, your mind, and finally your body.” He continued, hands still cradling Raymond’s despite the cut having been attended to.

Raymond didn’t reply, breathing. He remembered Kevin being drunk when they were young and dating, they'd parked Gertie somewhere and his then-boyfriend was leaning half out of it. "I fell in love with you three times Raymond." he'd said, pulling himself back in and cupping his face. "What's more romantic then that?" He had assumed he was speaking nonsense at the time.

“Would you like to hear the stupidest thing I did as a child?” Raymond blinked, nodding. He was confused but comforted by Kevin’s apparent confidence.

“My father took me and my brother on a fishing trip and, tiring of waiting for the fish to bite, I threw the pole god knows where and tried to grab the fish myself.”

“Oh no.”

“Indeed. I ended up falling face first from the boat and nearly drowned. However, when I was dragged back on I found that a small fish had become trapped in my pocket.”

“How fortunate.”

“Yes. Of course my father was furious and my brother was beside himself, as I had accidentally hit him in the head with the pole, but I was over the moon. I was sent to bed without dinner and grounded for a week and never invited out fishing again but in my mind I had accomplished my goal of catching a fish.”

“...That’s a wonderful story Kevin." He paused. "I’m afraid I’m at a loss for how that connects to our previous topic of conversation.”

“Just because you weren’t there for those events doesn’t mean you can’t know them Raymond.” He clarified, kissing his husband’s hand before going back to gardening.

Raymond blinked again before breaking into a grin and nodding to himself. “Yes...I see!” He exclaimed, a rush of joy running through him.

The rest of the day was spent sporadically telling stories back and forth; The time Raymond kicked a dentist (“Oh, please tell Martin that one.”) The time Kevin got a girl’s hair stuck in his braces (“Quite the casanova.”) The time Raymond fell off the roof of his aunt’s house (“Amazingly, nothing broke.”) The time Kevin had had an allergic reaction during a date (“He did not call me back.”)

By the time night fell Raymond went to bed with his head full of Kevin. And when he closed his eyes he dreamt again;

He was in a boat, dressed to the nines and holding a parasol to combat the sun. He offered it to Kevin, who he felt would need it more but the man just shook his head. “Watch.” He insisted gently, gesturing to the water. And he did. It was beautiful. Two lifetimes played out on the surface, Kevin and Raymond as toddlers, as children, as teenagers, as adults. They laughed and pointed and exclaimed and watched every minute of it. They didn’t miss a moment.

Fire! Fire! False Alarm! Raymond fell in Kevin’s arms! Is he gonna be the one? Yes no maybe so! Yes no maybe so! Yes no maybe so!

#my writing #b99 #b99 fic #kevin cozner/raymond holt #b99: is a comedy show #me: Time to write a slow and introspective fic

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immortalghostkami · 4 years

Text

Like the Sun and the Moon

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Meeting

Chapter Index

My dearest Makoto,

Although I still can’t comprehend why you’re so insistent on being a demon slayer, I’m relieved that you survived Final Selection. Having said that, if the next time I see you and you are missing a limb just like Old Man Shiro, I will personally wring BOTH of you by the ears.

Life over here has not changed much from last we wrote. The village is as peaceful as ever, but it’s a little lonely without you here.

The elders often ask about you. They miss you and wish you good health. Grandma Ayame especially so. She often brags to me about how talented you were with the shakuhachi and wants to know if you’ve been practicing. She says that when you come back, that she’s expecting a performance.

Honestly, I’m a little jealous of how much the old folks love you, but that’s to be expected I suppose.

Grandpa Kenji still wants you to marry Soma as well. He often gets into fights with Grandpa Takehiko whenever it comes to that. Saying Soma would be a better husband for you than Yori. Haha, aren’t you lucky having so many suitors?

All jokes aside, they worry about you, so make sure to keep in touch. Don’t forget that this is your home too. I’m sure everyone would be excited to see you again, even if you’re just dropping by, so come visit soon.

Yours truly, Yuuki Nakano

Smiling down at the letter, a warm feeling swelled in Makoto’s chest. Her eyes softened as she read the words over and over again. Giggling at the doodles Yuuki had made at the bottom of the paper, she couldn’t help but feel nostalgic.

The memories of Grandmother Ayame teaching her the shakuhachi and playing with her father were heartwarming. Or when the men of the village would sing and dance all night long during the summer festival, only to be scolded by their wives the next morning.

Mokoto recalled how Soma would cry whenever he saw a spider, or when she spent the day playing with origami paper with Yori and his mother.

She remembered the giant sakura tree at the edge of town…

Picking up the ink brush, Makoto’s strokes were delicate as she made her replay. Assuring that she was fine and that she too wished for everyone’s well being. Subtly skipping over the suitors, Makoto promised to stay in touch before signing off.

Letting the ink dry before rolling it up, Makoto slipped it into the metal tube that sat atop of Shiro’s crow. Opening the window, she wished him well before he flew off.

Turning around, she greeted Shiro with a smile as he opened her bedroom door.

“Did Yuuki respond?” he asked, not really caring for the answer as he spotted the open letter.

“Yes, I just sent Sora to deliver my response. I do hope you don’t mind,” she affirmed laughing slightly at his eye roll of the nickname for his bird. He really saw no need for it, but she had insisted.

Turning around, he called over his shoulder, “Come, your sword has arrived.”

Sliding open the living room door, Makoto entered the lightly decorated room. A man with a hyottoko mask sat by the table in the middle of the room, sipping his tea. Sitting down across from him, Makoto greeted him, bowing politely.

“Ah, you must be Makoto,” he smiled, placing his cup down.

Adjusting the mask back on his face, he turned to open the wooden box next to him.

“I am Yuudai Yoshioka, the swordsmith who crafted your blade. You know Makoto, your sword was quite a challenge to make. Never before have I made a sword quite like this one, it was quite a fun challenge indeed,” Yuudai beamed, handing the blade over.

Examining it, it felt no heavier than a normal katana. The pale blue and white sheath reminded Makoto of the sky and the cloud-shaped handguard only strengthened this thought.

“Well? Aren’t you going to open it? I’m sure you know what these katanas can do,” Yuudai asked, eagerly waiting.

Softly laughing, Makoto unsheathed the blade, holding it up as the three waited with bated breath.

Makoto stared at it in awe of the craftsmanship. There was clearly a lot of effort put into the 12 toothed sword, each tooth separated by a small indent. She only found it more beautiful as a lovely shade of purple crept up from the base of the sword. Tinting the once black and silver blade lavender.

“Lavender, huh?” Shiro mumbled, a little disappointed it wasn’t green like his own.

“Thank you so much, Yoshioka, this is exactly what I wanted,” Makoto beamed, the corner of her eyes crinkling.

“A beautiful sword for a beautiful person. I hope it leads you well in combat, and if anything happens, I’ll be happy to make another blade for you,” he chuckled, proud of the joy he brought.

Flying through the opened doors leading to the garden, Makoto’s crow suddenly swooped in.

“Makoto Sasaki, southwest! South-Southwest! You must head southwest!” he kawed, flapping his wings in the doorway.

“Asuka!” Makoto said, startled.

“So you’ve already named this one too huh?” Shiro sighed, hiding his amused smile.

“Yes, but that’s beside the point right now,” Makoto retorted before turning back to Asuka.

“What’s southwest?” she inquired.

Settling down on her outstretched arm, he kawed, “This is your first mission! Beware, the village down southwest sits next to a lake! People have been going missing! Daughters! Brothers! All gone!”

Makoto frowned, about to speak when Asuka suddenly continued.

“Children… Children… Children under ten… are coming up dead in the lake!” he kawed, causing Makoto’s stomach to drop.

“All… under ten…?”

Gathering her equipment in her room, Makoto prepared for the journey ahead.

Slipping her sword into the white belt around her waist, Makoto adjusted the sleeveless uniform jacket on her shoulders. Leaving it mostly unbuttoned, it exposed her bound chest. Needing to let her skin breathe, she kept the bottoms of her hakama pants untied as well, unlike most Corps members.

After slipping into her crane patterned haori, Makoto picked up an old, wooden hairpin. The pale pink paint had already started to chip off the crudely carved sakura blossom, and the jewel that once sat in the middle had fallen out.

Staring at it longingly, Makoto’s fingers were light as she traced its petals.

“Makoto,” Shiro announced, entering her room.

“Yes,” she sighed.

Taking in a deep breath, she placed the hairpin onto the side of her head before turning to look back at Shiro.

“I’m ready.”

After waving goodbye and promising to write, Makoto followed Asuka’s lead. Walking down the path, she spotted a familiar figure up ahead. He was leaning against a tree, and she could already feel the frown on his face.

“Good morning Shin-san. Lovely weather we’re having don’t you think?” Makoto smiled, mentally preparing herself as he scowled at her nickname.

“Don’t fuck with me. Didn’t I tell you, you weren’t fit to be a demon slayer!?” Sanemi snapped, cutting straight to the chase.

Rolling her eyes, Makoto rubbed the top of Asuka’s head as she hummed. Clearly not really thinking about his question.

“I heard about what you did during Final Selection. Don’t think other demons are just going to let you kill them so easily, especially with blood like ours,” he growled, stepping away from the tree.

“I don’t expect them too,” she sighed, finally looking up at him.

“You’re too soft Sasaki. You’ll never make it. Just go back to taking care of the old man,” he demanded, watching how her eyes darted away.

Humming softly to acknowledge she heard him, she changed the subject.

“Hey Shin-san, do you have a younger brother?” she asked, noticing how his face seemed to twitch at her question.

“Don’t change the subject,” he warned, but Makoto ignored him.

“But do you? There was a boy who reminded me a lot of you while we were choosing our ore,” she laughed, paying no mind to the way he glared at her.

“Your eyes are even shittier than I thought. Just ‘cause someone reminds you of me, don’t fucking mean we’re related,” he snarled, reluctantly answering her.

“Hmm, that’s true,” she hummed, folding her hands behind her back.

But before Sanemi could continue their conversation, she spoke up first.

“Oh! By the way, I was curious. How do I look?” she eagerly asked, twirling a little.

“Is that really something you should be concerned about?” Sanemi snapped, trying to ignore the smell of lavender she just wafted in his direction.

He could already feel his muscles relax just the slightest bit because of it, which only pissed him off more.

“I was wondering if you could tell my inspiration is all,” Makoto chuckled, not so subtly pointing to her open top.

Sanemi didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. Makoto could tell just by glancing at his face that he didn’t find her flattery very amusing.

“Stop messing around and just go back already,” Sanemi growled, trying to stay civil with her.

“I’m sorry Shinuzugawa, but you know I can’t do that,” Makoto sighed, voice flat.

“I’m able to do Breathing Techniques, I attract demons, I was able to change the color of my Nichirin Sword. If I have the ability to make a difference, to change something for the better, shouldn’t I do it?” she inquired, turning to meet his eyes.

“Isn’t that why you became a demon slayer as well?”

Makoto’s little speech was getting on Sanemi’s nerves, but her last words had left him speechless. His voice trapped in his throat as a slew of emotions bubbled up inside him.

“Anyway,” she coughed, not letting him respond.

“It was sweet of you to see me off. I’ll be going now,” she smiled, slipping past him.

“Stay in touch, won’t you?” she laughed, waving goodbye.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sanemi cursed as he watched Makoto’s back. He could stop her right now, force her to turn back, but what she had said struck a nerve with him. Heavily sighing, his frustration with her only grew.

“Sasaki!” he called, causing her to turn to him.

“If you’re leaving, don’t expect me to give you any more favors!” he shouted, fist clenched.

Studying his form from afar, Sanemi’s frown only deepened at the small smile she gave him. Her eyes were soft, swimming with knowing melancholy.

“I know…” she said, before turning around and leaving.

Walking down the country road, Asuka sat on Makoto’s shoulder as they traveled. The sun was above them, warming up the sleepy earth beneath her bare feet.

Taking a deep breath, Makoto did her best to calm her nerves, the grip she had on the hilt of her katana doing nothing to help.

This was it, she was finally a demon slayer! Her first mission was just up ahead and people needed her help! And yet, Makoto was unable to steady herself, Sanemi’s words echoing in her mind.

Stopping in her tracks, Makoto’s breathing grew unsteady as she stared at the ground. She hadn’t even made it to town yet and she was trembling with fear. Could she do this? Was she doing the right thing? Maybe Senami was right. Would she be able to kill a demon?

Tilting his head at her, Asuka cooed softly, worried.

The slight feeling of the ground rumbling underneath her snapped Makoto out of her thoughts. Spinning around she only found the dirt road and the horizon behind her. She stood there for a second, before moving to the side of the road.

The rumbling earth only grew more violent as the sound of a scream grew clearer. As it drew closer, Makoto recognized that raspy voice as the person came into view.

“GET BACK HERE YA STUPID BIRD!” he cried, swinging his chipped swords violently.

The Kasugai Crow that he was chasing flew headfirst into Makoto, huddling close to her chest as she held it in confusion. It was panting heavily and exhausted, panicking as the cloud of dust quickly grew larger in front of them.

Covering her face with an arm, Asuka and the other crow’s wings brushed against her face in their escape. Coughing as the cloud of dust around them settled, Makoto slowly opened her eyes to find two, large, unblinking blue ones staring back at her.

Makoto’s face was unreadably straight as she stared back, a puff of steam from its nose, blowing the hair out of her face.

“Inosuke, I’m glad to see you well,” she finally spoke, smiling at the slightly taller boy.

“Where is it?” he asked, his calm voice causing Makoto’s head to tilt to the side.

“Where’s what?” she blinked.

“The crow! That stupid bird flew over here!” he suddenly shouted, not noticing the birds above them.

“Oh…!” she jumped, eyes darting to the sky for a split second.

Following her gaze, more steam blew out of the mask’s nose as a cackle rumbled from deep within his chest.

“Found you…!” he snarled with glee, using Makoto as a spring to jump higher, causing her to stumble back.

A soft tsk could be heard from under his mask as he swung his swords at the two crows, only for them to dodge. Falling onto his back, Inosuke howled curses at the birds. Having completed its job, Inosuke’s crow flew off, leaving behind an extremely peeved Asuka.

Swooping down and pecking at him, Asuka cursed Inosuke for not only attacking him but for stepping on Makoto as well.

“Hey- hey, what are you two doing! I’m fine, so please stop fighting!” Makoto wearily shouted.

Begrudgingly flying back to her, Asuka sat on her shoulder, turning away from the two.

Growling, Inosuke jumped back up onto his feet, “I’ll kill ‘em!”

Holding the large bird back from attacking again, Makoto bowed, furiously apologizing.

After having calmed the two down, Makoto fed Asuka some seeds she had in an attempt to keep him tame as she talked with Inosuke.

“I’m so sorry about Asuka,” she apologized once more, only gaining a huff in response.

“Whatever!” Inosuke turned his head, crossing his arms.

Makoto couldn’t help but compare him to a pouting child. From this and the last time they met, he almost seemed to act like a rambunctious toddler. Then again, maybe she was being a little too harsh.

“Um, Inosuke, did you pass the Final Selection?” Makoto asked.

Her eyes moved to the battered swords that sat on either side of his hips. They were horribly chipped, but their indigo-gray hue was all she needed to tell they were Nichirin Swords.

“Of course! That was nothing for the great Inosuke! I’ve battled bears stronger than those puny demons! They were nothing compared to some of the animals on the mountain,” he boasted, puffing his chest out.

“I see, you’re quite strong then,” Makoto smiled, just happy he was alive.

Her comment seemed to only boost his ego, however. He was praising himself and showing off. Proving just how great he was by bending back until his head was in between his legs. Laughing softly, Makoto couldn’t help but find it amusing how a little bit of praise caused him to react.

Lightly pinching at her cheek, Asuka snapped her back to her senses, reminding her of her mission.

“Ah! My apologies, but I have to get going,” Makoto bowed towards Inosuke, only for Asuka to mumble something.

“What? I’m sorry Asuka, but can you repeat-”

“Inosuke Hashibira has to come!” he loudly kawed, making Makoto jump.

“Inosuke Hashibira has to come! This is a joint mission, a joint mission!” he begrudgingly kawed, flying off Makoto’s shoulder.

“The fuck’s his deal?” Inosuke grumbled confused, eyeing the black bird.

Taking a second to process Asuka’s words, Makoto could help but breathe out a sigh. The fear in the pit of her stomach settled a bit at this news. Turning to the boy with a board head, she smiled gratefully at him.

“Well, I suppose we should get going. I look forward to working with you,” she bowed, only confusing the poor boy more.

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#demon slayer #kimestu no yaiba #demon slayer fanfic #kimestsu no yaiba fanfic #oc/canon #oc x canon #Inosuke/oc #Inosuke x oc #fluff #angst #slow burn #Like the Sun and the Moon #manga spoilers

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capsensislagamoprh · 5 years

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Chanting Mantras, by Tribe.

Tribal mantra chanting. This is a thing unique to every tribe. Some even have 'dialects' based on regions. The most commonly know mantra is that of the Red Talon. The mournful call of the wolf to the moon may seem melodiously haunting to human ears, however the rest of nature knows what it is. A sound telling off to absolutely everything in hearing, twice if possible.

By contrast, the simple cry of the fringe society dwelling Bone Gnawer conveys a different message. You can hear the sage desperation as the cry for successful relief echoes in the cold night air. Humans may interpret this to mean 'Oh, Shit!', which in many cases, it is.

Many believe the chanting of the single word 'dude' to be the tribal mantra of the Children of Gaia. While it is true they have mastered the ability to turn a single word into its own language with meanings as varied as its pronunciation and situational awareness, it is in fact not the mantra. 'Whatever, man,' is the official mantra of the Children, with a many inflectional meanings as the aforementioned 'dude'.

In a more traditional vein, the Windigo manifest there mantra in the high-low chanting style of the natives to the soil they reside on. This can take musical tones, often accompanied by drums or string music, and strike nostalgic fear into the listener. It has been noted that nature itself will pause to listen to these often compelling sounds.

Silver Fangs, in the manor of those professing themselves 'purest of blood' have a long and complicated ritual in place that must have every tenant adhered to before chanting may begin. This gets more complicated every generation, as someone invariably 'adjusts' it. It is worth noting that many less stoic traditionalists have been known to try to have a 'servant' preform the mantra for them with disastrous results. This is why the four volume book, each 2+ thousand pages long, are required reading for any who would wish to learn the exacting mantra of the Silver Fangs.

Just as fastidious are the Shadow Lords, keepers of secrets and dark task masters of the unseen. While mantra chanting is not required reading for the would be chanters of the tribe, they do undergo rigorous voice training, breathing exercises and extended range reach at the hands of a formidable choir master. By the time the hopefuls graduate they have endured enough vocal torment to rival a Prima Donna. The result is the perfect sound for any situation, even if that means silence.

The Get of Fenris are known to call forth a primal rage. One tempered with laughter and vocal ogling. When that is all said and done, the event is called to order with the sacred chant of 'Hold My Beer'. The beer holder is a respected second to the Get's chanting, often accompanying the mantra invoker with vocal backing such as the famous 'yeah, what?!' cry, or the equally reverent resound of , 'dat's mah boi!'. While mantra chanting can be seen as a solitary pursuit, it is not the nature of the Get to allow the right to be performed with out a pack, even if one must be made up on the spot. This is often described as 'having ones back' and can be seen in many aspects of the Get lifestyle. When a pack cannot be obtained, no matter how temporarily, Fenris requires the chanting Get to invoke the terror of the forest stalker in their every word. Challenges against lineage, back ground, and bodily functions are never limited to reality. Instead, the absolute annihilation of ones personal weaknesses must be obtained followed by the cackling cry of 'You want some more?! Yea, didn't think so.' This is a common mantra learned by Get young early in life.

As a direct opposition to the open display seen above, the Silent Striders are more secretive about their mantras and chants. What is known can be summed up neatly by reading 'Into The Looking Glass' by C.S. Carol. Striders use a method of chanting called 'shuffle'. Meanings, sounds, volume can all change at any given moment and are not stead from situation to situation. Rather, they invoke a sensation in the listener of creeping silence that touches the primal in ways most cannot comprehend. If graced with the privilege of experiencing this sonic event, be assured you will never forget it.

Black Furies take a more direct approach to the application of their mantra chanting. While it is common to hear the classical chants of 'What did you call me?' and 'Men!', the modern Fury has expanded their chants to topical concerns. As such they can be seen at rallies and parades, using their voices to insight change and spotlight injustice. 'Love is Love' may have come from the Children, however many note the gentle cry for acceptance in a Furies throat often insights generational remembrance of inequality and brutality lending the chant an instant brutality. Many chants belonging to other tribes can be heard through out the Black Furies' chanters, each taking on an edge jagged enough to make visible impact.(edited)

With the traditionally melodic chants of the Fiona come an unavoidable set of consequences. Chants such as 'one for the road', and 'you fucking weapon' are countered by the keen insight the Fiona have to the effect of sound. Able to hypnotize, sooth, outrage, and start a brawl with any chant in their arsenal, the Fiona are known to adlib and counter chanting with such exacting focus that they have been called to task for devastating opponents. It is important to note a Fiona often fights itself when chanting. This can be for reasons as mundane as mentally working things out, or pep talking themselves, and often others, into something questionable.

Uktena have the most witnessed and least understood tribal mantra chant known. The sound has been likened to summer rain, thunder, the step of something light across hard ground, and many other numerous imaginings. The truth is much simpler. The Uktena do not chant in song or word. They dance a ritual that works runes made of claw strikes and puffs of hot air into the cacophony of nature. Doing so evokes a result as wild and unpredictable as the weather itself.

The Glass Walkers tend to take a more electronic approach to chanting, recording the sounds and playing them back whenever needed. This has lead to a number of top ten hits and some rather dubious messages being unleashed into the world. Glass Walkers do take pride in any chanter who can do so with a moments notice, no electronics, and maintain rhythm. This has lead to a lot of speed rappers, quick wit insult competition and 'rimes with' spit verses among the young of the tribe as they seek to perfect their chant before it is called on in a formal capacity.

Star Gazers have a simple, mind altering chant that is noted for its versatility. With low growls, hums and puffs of breath, the Gazer can invoke confusion, passion, cosmic wonder and knowledge to numerous effects. There are tales of those who heard the chant gaining wisdom beyond their years, while others report having their minds never work quite the same again, as if something inside had broke. If attempting to hear a Star Gazer chant, it is always advised that great caution is used.

Then there are the Black Spiral Dancers. They are not known for their chants, so much as the chants used against them. Most common are 'Fuck Off' and 'Die, you Wyrm tainted scum!'

This has been my Ted Talk.

#w:ta #werewolf #Werewolf the Apocalypse #rpg #WW #White Wolf #table top #13 tribes #mantra #chanting #bullshit i made up because i wanna #head cannons

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