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nebris · 2 years

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The Excesses of Compassion: A Reading List on Fallen Gurus

Stories about spiritual teachers who lose their way.

Stories about gurus can be as seductive as the swindlers they profile. Even though they are entirely predictable — charismatic leader offers a solution to life’s hardship, makes millions off of enthralled followers, and careens into an alternately titillating and deeply tragic scandal — they’re still irresistible. Perhaps it’s the mystery of how a guru steps into their magnetism, and how someone like your otherwise sensible best friend can fall for their logic-defying doctrine. Perhaps it’s the schadenfreude of watching a powerful person fall, or even a cautionary reminder of how vulnerable we are in our longing. But my near obsessive fascination with longform culty stories stems from something far more personal: The first one I read laid bare the hypocrisies of my own trusted guru.

I was 25 years old. At the time, I’d been part of Siddha Yoga, a community centered on an enlightened teacher who guides students toward their own self-realization through meditation, chanting, and selfless service. I’d gone so far as to move into the community’s headquarters, Shree Muktananda Ashram in New York, but after being immersed in spiritual life for over a year, I’d had enough. When I left, I’d been warned that an impending “big article” — as the ashram’s PR department had referred to it for months — contained some pretty brutal rumors. But nothing prepared me for the shock of seeing those rumors in print, in the November 14, 1994, issue of The New Yorker. My guru, Gurumayi Chidvilasananda, was on the cover.

I didn’t recognize the cartoonish descriptions of the ashram I had called home, but my heart pounded and stomach churned while reading the allegations: the way my teacher threatened her own brother with violence; the way her own teacher, who claimed to have renunciated worldly habits and desires, smoked pot and sexually abused women and girls. I knew I needed to leave Siddha Yoga. But in the process of disentangling myself and sorting through the rubble of my shattered beliefs, I wondered whether corrupt gurus could still inspire genuine spiritual growth.

I liked the idea of joining my fellow devotees in solidarity, railing against a person we had willingly given so much power to. But the groupthink had always made my eyes roll: When posed with a problem, many followers had the same answer for everything — do the practices, say the mantra, hand your pain over to the guru. When I reflected on how I’d been abused, I looked hard, but couldn’t see it. At the ashram, I’d been given room, board, and a small stipend in exchange for service: administrative, writing, and teaching jobs that enhanced my skills and ended up serving me well once I’d left. The schedule of daily spiritual practices provided me space and structure to go within and heal my bruised self-esteem. Most significantly, I’d received useful, playful attention from Gurumayi, evading the wrath that many — especially those who got too close — did not.

More than betrayed, I felt guilty. Guilty for getting away not just without harm, but with a discipline that serves as an antidepressant and still carries me through hard times today. I was embarrassed, too, for believing in the very idea of a Siddha — a perfect enlightened being I could submit to, I could aspire to emulate. But that’s the thing: For some primitive reason probably rooted in childhood, humans have a deep need to idealize other humans; to project the possibility of transcendence or redemption onto a charismatic other. The clash between the tender need to be led and an idol’s need for power forms a breeding ground for the worst of humanity.

It also makes for a compelling story, and the subject of endless podcasts, docuseries, and, as listed below, stellar reported features. These stories are not only entertaining, but meaningful in their capacity to shake some followers out of their trance. Some gurus, clearly, are crooks from the get-go, but in the following pieces we see flawed humans initially compelled to share some essential Truth, who get waylaid by their own greed, grandiosity, and need for control, thereby throwing the Truth and its seekers under the bus.

The Second Coming of Guru Jagat (Hayley Phelan, Vanity Fair, December 2021)

Hayley Phelan, with a ripe combination of rigor and snark, chronicles the rise of a Colorado farmer’s daughter (Katie Griggs) as she becomes the kundalini master Guru Jagat and head of RA MA Institute, her own wellness organization. Jagat was a spiritual renegade, on the brink of being canceled for her anti-vax, conspiritual — where conspiracy and spirituality meet — views before her mysterious death at 41. Phelan elucidates the lineage of damage passed down from Jagat’s Punjab teacher, Yogi Bajan of the tea fame, an alleged rapist who invented kundalini yoga, “an ancient technology,” out of thin air. This passage reveals the impact of these co-opted spiritual practices on the traditionally Black and brown Sikh community.

Though Bhajan himself was Punjabi, he purposefully courted mostly white followers, creating the kind of community where, decades later, someone like Jagat, a white girl from the suburbs, could find herself whitesplaining the Sikh faith during an “intersectional feminist” panel that included mostly brown and Black women. Morrison called it a troubling example of “aligning whiteness with expertise” and noted that white kundalini practitioners who cheerfully wear turbans to class seem to have little understanding of how different the experience can be for a brown person, and how much danger and attention it may attract.

Scandal Contorts Future of John Friend, Anusara Yoga (Manuel Roig-Franzia, The Washington Post, March 2012)

John Friend wasn’t yet a yoga superstar when I lived at the Shree Muktananda Ashram, but he was at the ashram a lot, prototyping anusara, his signature brand of hatha (physical) yoga. When I read Manuel Roig-Franzia’s article in which he cites “students spoke of melting beneath his touch,” I could attest to it: In a class of 300 in the ashram’s main hall, I felt particularly lucky to be singled out for an adjustment.

While this superbly researched article doesn’t mention Friend’s early connection with Gurumayi, it was my impression that she served, if not as his guru, then as a staunch supporter of his work. Like Siddha Yoga, anusara teachers were given a strict, ethical code of no drugs or sex with students, which Friend — and the gurus of Siddha Yoga, kripalu, and kundalini yoga before him — disregarded by doing both. The article makes it clear that Friend was growing something powerful that he lost track of as his own power grew.

The small yoga classes that Friend once taught at Willow Street and other studios morphed in recent years into flashy extravaganzas, some with music and dance performances. His shows were branded with catchy names, like the tours of mega-rock bands: Ignite the Center. Melt Your Heart, Blow Your Mind. Light the Sky.

“It just got weird,” said Jezzeny, the New Hope, Pa., Anusara instructor. “I’m like, ‘What happened to the yoga?’

Inside Hollywood’s Orgasm Cult (Mick Brown, Los Angeles, May 2022)

How did Nicole Daedone manage to turn a one night hookup with a monkish dude into a radical organization for women’s pleasure and men’s spiritual growth — one that exploded onto the wellness scene but then later found itself investigated by the FBI for sex trafficking, prostitution and labor law violations? Mick Brown deftly documents the whole journey for Los Angeles magazine, and in this particular passage showcases the sleazy recruitment and sales tactics that are mirrored by so many wellness gurus and their programs.

Potential customers, it was alleged, were referred to as “marks”— the grifter’s term for targets. The sales staff were “lions” or “fluffers”—a porn-industry term.

“You fluff someone to get them energetically and emotionally hard,” one former salesperson told Bloomberg. “You were the dangled bait, like, ‘You can have more of this if you buy this.’ ”

Potential customers were told that money was just “an emotional obstacle” and urged to take out multiple credit cards to pay for courses. Some talked of racking up debt of up to $150,000.

The Hare Krishnas of Coal Country (Ashley Stimpson, Longreads, February 2022)

If you’re like me, your Spotify kirtan playlist is near the top of your homepage. You could say the Westernization of kirtans — iconic call-and-response Sanskrit chants — all started when Abhay Charanaravinda Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada founded the Hare Krishnas in New York in the ’60s, and troops of saffron-clad monks danced and chanted Hare Rama, Hare Krishna in the city streets.

In Ashley Stimpson’s tale, in which she books a writing retreat at the rundown International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) headquarters in West Virginia and ends up researching the organization and its infamous scandal, she traces the trajectory of where things went wrong. In a refreshing departure from the norm, the “genuine saintly” Hare Krishna founder Swami Prabhupada was not accused of the harmful duplicity that his successors embodied.

At the top, Stimpson brilliantly lays out the question that many readers will be wondering. Her answers, with her personal story and vulnerability woven in, are deeply compelling.

The only thing more surprising than the scandal this place had endured was that it had endured at all. How did a radical, communal movement of the ’60s, dismissed as a cult and lampooned by everyone from Kermit the Frog to Cheech and Chong, manage to survive, let alone on this ruined patch of Appalachia, where fracking trucks rumble past weed-choked doublewides folding in on themselves?

The Billionaire Yogi Behind Mogi’s Rise (Robert F. Worth, The New York Times Magazine, July 2018)

Robert F. Worth’s chilling profile of Baba Ramdev, a populist swami/yoga teacher/business man, draws uncanny parallels between the rise of U.S. nationalism and the Christian right. Although Ramdev is not (yet) a politician, through his rhetoric he has successfully won the political imagination of the middle class, and contributed his vast spiritual leadership to winning Indian nationalist elections. Ramdev, in addition to running his ayurvedic herbalism business like an ashram where workers accept low wages in exchange for their service to humanity, jockeys between harsh taskmaster, merry prankster, and politician, playing to his audience, as modeled in the dialogue with Worth below:

When I asked him if I could follow him around for a day or two, he seemed delighted. “Of course! You can stay with me,” he said, gesturing at the house behind us, where he sleeps on a pallet on the floor. “I’m not married. But don’t worry, I’m not homosexual!” He burst into raucous laughter and added, “I’m against homosexuality!” The laughter got even louder, and he added under his breath, “Just kidding.”

Further reading:

“Kelly Brogan’s Covid-Denying, Vax-Resistant Conspiracy Machine” (Matthew Remski, GEN, September 2020)

“I Think About This a Lot: The Beauty Habits of This Possible Cult Leader” (Maureen O’Connor, The Cut, August 2018)

“‘He Said He Could Do What He Wanted’: The Scandal That Rocked Bikram Yoga” (Richard Godwin, The Guardian, February 2017)

***

Blair Glaser is an executive leadership consultant and writer in LA. Her essays have been published in Oldster, Shondaland, Insider, and HuffPost. She is currently working on a culty memoir.

https://longreads.com/2022/08/25/fallen-gurus-spiritual-leaders-reading-list/

#The Sisterhood #fuck your gurus

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 years

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Run To You ~ Chapter Ten

Chapter Summary: Kasey and Dean grow closer as they each come to a realization about their current feelings.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Kasey Belmont (OFC)

Warnings: Language; FLUFF; Dean’s internal monologue; A bit of angst, and self-analysis

Rating: Mature 18+ (due to later chapters) NSFW

Word Count: 6127

Series Master Post

Beta: @princessmisery666

Movie Reference/Quote: None

Author’s Notes: This is an AU. While there are several SPN characters mentioned, basically no one has the same connections as they did in the show, and Dean and Sam are not related.

Written for: @jay-and-dean -Jay’s 3K Celebration and @spnaubingo.

SPNAUBingo Square Filled: Fugitive AU

**ETA - Updated title card and format 3/14/23**

Kasey can't sleep, frustrated that she can’t dive in headfirst. Patience and time are not her friends. She’s limited in what she can do until the computer and documents that Sam will be sending are delivered.

Rolling to her side, she pulls a notepad and pen from the drawer of her nightstand before shifting up to lean back against the headboard. Chewing on the cap of the pen, between making notes, she finds her mind drifting to thoughts of Dean and the meltdown she had in front of him. It certainly wasn't a display of professionalism, and she hopes it won’t mar his opinion regarding her legal prowess.

What the hell was that about anyway? He’s the one going through a traumatic experience. He doesn’t need someone who will get emotional at the drop of a hat. He needs someone strong, someone, who’s willing to stand up and fight for him.

The air around her suddenly seems oppressive. Tossing the pen and paper to the side, she slips from the bed to open her window. The cool breeze that flutters the curtains and whispers over her skin is refreshing after the sultry heat of the day. The night is clear, stars twinkling brightly in the midnight indigo sky. Still restless and now fully awake, Kasey decides to sit out on the porch for a while. She carefully avoids the squeaky floorboard near her door, not wanting to disturb Dean, whom she heard enter the bedroom below about an hour ago.

She doesn’t need it for warmth, but she drags her favorite hand-stitched comforter onto the porch, wrapping it around her shoulders as she sits on the swing. It always makes her feel like her grandmother is hugging her, and she needs that right now. Kasey tucks a leg beneath her; the other dangles over the edge, toes pushing off the boards to set the swing in motion.

Staring out at the stars, she breathes deeply, silently seeking advice from the two most influential people in her life, finding comfort in her memories of them and the lessons they taught her.

Eventually, her thoughts wander again to Dean. She can’t seem to escape him. Has it truly only been two and a half days since she last sat here, lazily enjoying the afternoon before Dean staggered out of the field? Mind shifting through the events of the past sixty-odd hours, she searches for the strand of thought that has been weaving itself through her subconscious. The one she hasn’t been able to find the end of yet.

She’s been feeling like her life has jumped the rail and is careening out of control down the side of a cliff. She is so far away from the person she had been and even further from the person she wants to be, and not in a good way.

Talking to Sam appeared to have unlocked the door to the memories and emotions she had buried deep inside her. But why now? It wasn’t like they had a heart-to-heart. She contacted him to call in a favor. A favor she was more than entitled to. So why had she become so unexpectedly emotional? She was desperate to convince him to help her, to help Dean.

Sam’s right. There are experienced and capable lawyers locally who could handle this matter. Still, Sam is the only person she can truly trust with a case that is rapidly becoming a personal crusade. He had every right to caution her about the Fremont case. It had been at the forefront of her mind since she decided to take this on. She had turned that case into a crusade for a different reason, and an innocent man had been killed, leaving behind a wife and baby girl.

Dean’s case is different, though. It doesn’t have anything to do with the mafia. He’s just a man mired in a bad situation, not unlike most of her previous clients. So why is this turning into more for her than simply correcting an injustice of the legal system? The obvious answer is Dean, but she senses there’s something else frustratingly out of her reach. Like a shadow in the peripheral of her eye that she can’t quite see—a harbinger.

It seems like everything that has happened the past couple of days has triggered a need to redirect her course. Precipitated her arrival at a proverbial crossroads, and this time, her gut tells her that no matter which direction is chosen, the path will profoundly affect her life. There will be no u-turns, no going back to the rut she had been stuck in the past two years.

Sam is her closest friend and has been for nearly half of her life. He’d always been the safety net at the bottom of the chaotic free fall of her existence until she finally crash-landed two years ago. It stands to reason that she would want him to know that she is finally coming to terms with the events of her past. However, it still doesn’t explain the wave of overwhelming emotion in that moment.

Growling in frustration, she pushes off the seat, nearly tripping on the comforter as she begins to pace. Moments later, she flops back onto the swing, leaning back with both feet planted on the floor stopping the swing’s motion mid-sway.

It had been fear—unmitigated, unequivocal fear—that Sam wouldn’t help, of the changes that are hitting hard and fast, the worry that they might not win, concern that Dean may spend the rest of his life in jail, or worse. Kasey’s no stranger to dread and apprehension, but this is different. It isn’t just about herself; it concerns Dean too.

But what of Dean? He is, after all, a stranger. What does he have to do with your emotional upheaval?

While technically not her client, she had agreed to assist with his case through Sam; decided to be a part of his defense team. So, in a roundabout way, he is her client. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. So why doesn’t it feel like one? The problem is that she’s crossed lines that should never have been crossed and done more for him than she would for any client.

Reflecting on the past two days, she knows she felt him out there. Felt him before she’d laid eyes on him, like an itch under her skin, the ghost of a shiver down her spine, a premonition. Could he honestly be the catalyst? Or is he just the mirror being held up to show her what she already knew?

Closing her eyes, she seeks out the thread she knows will lead her to the answer. Kasey replays the conversation with Sam in her mind. The joking, the nervousness about telling him, the anticipation of his response, reaching for Dean, needing that connection and seeking the comfort she knew she would find in his touch.

If Dean had asked her why she sought solace from him, she wouldn’t have been able to put it into words, not then, but everything has been so unexacting with him. The amiable communication, the casual flirting, and the natural way they accommodate each other. All of it so new and yet so familiar. That same sense of familiarity had been reflected back to her tonight when he didn’t let go, silently offering support in the soft smile he’d given her.

Holy shit!

She bolts upright, eyes opening wide in surprise at seeing a shooting star. While not all that uncommon, especially in the dark, clear skies away from the city, it’s been a long time since she’s seen one. Maybe Dean has a point. Perhaps the universe is trying to tell them something. They were both running away from a life that had betrayed them. Maybe now they have something… someone to run to.

The hard thump of her heart against her rib cage makes her gasp. In that single beat, like the click of a gear aligning itself, the reason for the wild swing in her emotions falls into place. In two short days, this man—a man she should have dismissed upon his arrival—has managed to strip away layers of pain and loneliness and effortlessly slotted himself into her small world. Not only has he given her a new sense of purpose, but he’s also managed to reawaken feelings that she had locked down in the deepest part of her heart.

No. It’s not possible. I don’t know anything about him. Except that he’s charming, intelligent, considerate, funny, can cook, and a fucking male model. Stop! He’s a convicted felon accused of murdering his wife. What if I can’t prove his innocence? What if he really did commit the crime? What if he actually is like Bundy, and now I’m trapped in this scenario with him?

Kasey vehemently shakes her head. “No. The universe can’t possibly be that cruel. You wouldn’t let that happen, would you, Grandpa?” she breathes into the inky stillness around her.

Yes, there’s an aura of danger about Dean, exuberant energy simmering just below the skin, like a barely contained live wire. Yet, there’s a stillness that comes from being comfortable in his own skin, from accepting who he is and not being ashamed to show his truth. As much as she hates to admit it, she knew who he was and what he’d be to her the moment she laid eyes on him. It was like she’d known him for decades.

Whether providence or happenstance, what they are about to face will undoubtedly be a challenge, but she’s been overcoming challenges her entire life, even making a living out of it. This one may take every tear, drop of sweat, and ounce of blood, but she will gladly give it all to ensure that Dean is safe and, above all, free.

A sense of calm swells inside her with that awareness. Her heart and soul are more at peace than they have ever been. Pulling the quilt tighter around her, she snuggles further into the swing’s cushions and sends a silent thank you to her grandparents.

Dean can’t sleep, frustrated that there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do to help Kasey. He’s never had much patience, and time is definitely not on his side. He hopes that whatever that guy, Sam, is sending gets here quickly.

Dean rolls to his back and stares up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the details of his defense and where things went wrong, but it doesn’t take long before his thoughts drift to Kasey. She was happy, excited about her friend taking on the case but had been in tears by the end of the call.

She had run out of the room without an explanation as soon as she could. He had tried to decipher what the last part of their conversation had meant. Kasey had told Sam that it wasn’t ‘just for him’, which Dean took to suggest there was something in it for her. He’s pretty sure it has something to do with why she ran away from her previous life, but it could be anything. It’s not like he knows that much about her. There’s part of herself she keeps hidden, he can sense it, but he doesn’t take it personally. She keeps those parts locked away, even from herself.

He had wanted to go after her, find out why she was so upset, and offer her a shoulder or an ear, but it didn’t feel right to intrude. After all, he’s only known her for two and a half days. Why would she want comfort from him? Kasey had reached out for him, though. She had clung to his hand as she gave an impassioned speech defending him to her friend.

At first, he thought it was to reassure him, but the way she had held onto him and looked into his eyes, searching, like she was trying to read his soul while pleading with the man on the other end of the line to help her help a man she doesn’t even know, made him think that she needed the reassurance just as badly. He had clutched her hand tighter, hoping to convey the gratitude he felt while trying to keep his feelings in check. The way she had spoken about him made his chest tighten around his wildly beating heart; he knew his eyes had misted over more than once while he listened to her.

His emotions have been all over the place, and he wonders if she thinks he’s nothing but a sniveling idiot. It’s just that he’s never had anyone stand up for him like she did or made him feel like his life matters, that he deserves a place in this god-awful unforgiving world. She gave that to him the second she allowed him to step onto her porch. He also knows that finally having a chance to slow down has partially been the catalyst for the emotional meltdowns. After being bottled up for so long, all the pent-up rage, stress, and fear are finding a release.

Dean throws off his covers, the air in the room suddenly stifling. Slipping on a t-shirt and the pajama pants Kasey had loaned him, he makes his way out of the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake her.

He’d memorized which floorboards needed to be fixed while she was out doing chores earlier and deftly avoids them as he quietly slips outside, careful not to let the screen door slam shut behind him. Standing in the middle of the porch, he inhales a lungful of the refreshing night air, letting it out slowly.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. Placing a hand on his chest, he turns toward the sound of her voice, growling, “Fucking, hell! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Kasey laughs and scoots to the side, patting the space beside her. “Come on, take a load off.”

Dean shuffles over, mindful not to jostle the seat too much as he sits. She tucks her other leg, letting him take over the rhythmic sway of the suspended bench. The silence stretches between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it’s soothing, a relief to his overloaded senses. Quieting his mind still seems to be an issue, though, so after a few minutes, he clears his throat. “Uh, listen, I, uh, I’m usually not such a wuss. I’m sorry for all the blubbering I’ve been doing.”

“It’s okay; I get it.” She leans away from him, and he hears a match strike. Seconds later, a dim golden glow from a lantern on the table illuminates the area around them. Shaking out the match, she places it in a small tin on the floor. “Honestly, I’d be worried if you weren’t showing any emotion.”

Dean remains silent, staring out into the night. She lays a hand on his thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze. Without thought, he rests a hand on top of hers, fingers slipping around her palm.

“You’ve had to deal with the death of your wife, a very public and very stressful trial, being locked up in a jail cell, and on the run for about two weeks now. I doubt you’ve had the chance to process any emotions other than anger and fear. Your body is just finally catching up.”

Dean briefly tightens his hold on her, relieved that she understands. It all seems so effortless and straightforward with her. It’s like she’s known him for years, can sense what he needs, what he’s feeling, without him saying a word. He’s never seen the altruism and decency that she radiates, never had that empathy directed at him, and he worries that he may taint her in some way—that all the ugliness of his life will bleed into hers and ravage the beauty and integrity he sees in her.

Kasey shifts, dropping her feet to the floor. “If anyone should apologize, it should be me. That comment about you allegedly only killing one person was indelicate.”

“Nah, it was funny. Just caught me off-guard.” Smiling, he admits, “Honestly, if the situation were reversed, I would have said the same thing.”

“Yeah, well,” she smiles back, “it still wasn’t the most appropriate thing to say, and I’m sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect.”

For the sake of his sanity and to ward off another potential bout of waterworks at how thoughtful she is, he changes the subject. “There are so many stars. Little pinholes of light.”

“It’s beautiful. Isn’t it? Did you know this is one of the darkest parts of the country? Every year the state holds a Star Party in a reservoir a few hundred miles from here. People come from all over to gaze at the stars each night, maybe even catch a meteor shower.”

Kasey turns her hand, entwining their fingers as she stands. “Come on; I want to show you something.” Kicking the edge of the quilt out of her way, she leans back, trying to pull him out of the seat when he doesn’t immediately stand. “You’re going to love it. Let’s go.”

“Alright, alright. Want me to grab the lantern?”

“Nope,” she gently yanks on his arm, bare feet tapping the floor, “just come on.”

Leaning over, he picks up a corner of the blanket and then stands. “If we’re going to go trolling around in the dark, I don’t want you to break your neck.”

The night swallows them as they step onto the yard. The grass is soft and cool. The slender blades slip between his toes and tickle the soles of his feet. It’s been a long time since he’s walked around barefoot, and he looks down, trying to make out the shape of his toes as he wiggles them. It’s so dark, though, and his eyes haven’t adjusted yet. He hesitates, wondering if he should go back for the small light, despite her denial to bring it.

As if reading his mind, she pulls on his hand. “Just stay close. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

What if I already have?

He chuckles and places the hand holding the comforter on her shoulder, following close as she guides him to the rear yard. She doesn’t let go of him until they are a few feet from the house, shrugging out of her makeshift cape and spreading it over the ground with his help. If it were up to him, he’d never let go.

“See, I told you I’d keep you safe. She smiles up at him as she sinks onto the soft cotton, beckoning him to join her. “Get down here.”

Kasey lies back as he takes a seat next to her. Eyes more accustomed to the darkness, he swallows thickly, watching as she does a full-body stretch, arms above her head, back arching. “Ahh, this feels good,” she sighs as she settles into the quilt, hands resting on her stomach, fingers entwined. “I haven’t done this in ages.”

Two days.

It’s only been two days, he reminds himself. How can he be such a goner for her already? He wonders if it’s a form of Stockholm Syndrome, quickly dismissing the thought because, one, it’s only been two days, and B he’s not Kasey’s captive, at least not in that definition. Still, he thinks he may very well be on his way to becoming a captive of her heart.

Stop it! The two of you are not soulmates or some bullshit like that. You don’t even believe in soulmates.

“Dean, are you okay?”

The stroke of her fingers along his forearm startles him, and he shifts uncomfortably beside her, glad for the lack of light because thoughts about soulmates aren’t the only ones he’s having. The pads of her fingers are so soft, but her grip is firm and confident, and he would love to feel it around his dick.

What the hell? Reel it in! You’re either being a pathetic basket case or a horny douchebag. Pick a side already?

He clears his throat, trying not to choke in the process. “Uh, yeah. Just thinking that I haven’t thanked you for calling your lawyer friend for help. I guess, uhm, I’m a little nervous about it too.” He hears the weakness in his voice and groans inwardly.

Way to go, dude. So much for keeping those emotions in check.

Kasey turns onto her side, leaning on her arm, and her other hand comes to rest on his knee with a gentle squeeze. “You’ve thanked me enough, Dean. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do or thought I couldn’t help. I also wouldn’t have called Sam if I wasn’t confident in his expertise in law and ability to be discreet.” Lying back down, she pronounces. “No more talk about your case. Lie down and look up.”

Dean chuckles and does as instructed, stretching out next to her and placing an arm behind his head. The sky above them is stunning. It’s like one of the pictures he’s seen on EarthSky or some other astronomy website. “Wow!” Her soft laugh makes him snap his gaping mouth closed. “I’ve never seen the Milky Way this… clearly. It’s awesome.”

“Do you see the Summer Triangle?”

“No.”

“That’s Deneb in Cygnus,” she states, pointing directly above her. “And that’s,” she leans into him, pointing to his right, her warm breath fanning his cheek, “Vega in Lyra, and there,” her finger now points in the direction of their feet, “is Altair in Aquila.”

When she lies back, her shoulder presses against his, their arms resting side by side, and like they are in some damn chick flick, he reaches for her hand. There’s not a second of hesitation before she slips her fingers between his, their palms pressed together. His pulse skitters and he crosses his ankles, thankful that the pajama bottoms fit loosely around him. Even with excitement coursing through him at her nearness, a calmness settles into his bones, and his body relaxes, his mind finally quieting, letting him concentrate on just being close to her.

“I used to do this all the time when I was a kid and when I first moved back. It always helped to ease the tension and anxiety.” Her thumb skims along his index finger, her voice becoming a whisper, “I couldn’t do this in the city. There was always too much going on. Always too bright.”

Dean taps the fingers of his free hand on his stomach, trying to push back the thought of how he wants to bring her hand up and kiss each knuckle. “I used to drive when I needed to think or blow off some steam,” he says, ignoring how easy it would be to turn his head and kiss her temple before resting their entwined hands on his chest. “I’d hit the open road until I found a secluded spot I could pull off in, then I’d lay on the hood of my car and just stare up at the sky for hours.” Though he doesn’t turn to kiss her, he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, his thumb from brushing over the back of her hand.

“Sounds like heaven.”

She sighs, and he wonders if it’s a consequence of imagining the scene he’d told her about or because she’s as content as he is just by being next to her. Kasey’s not the only one that’s good at reading people, and he’d be willing to bet that it’s a little of both. He hopes it’s a little of both. She hasn’t stopped touching him since he sat beside her on the porch. Though he has enough common sense not to make the first move because there’s no way he’s going to take a chance on being proven wrong and fuck everything up. So he tells himself to be satisfied with the feeling of her silky skin beneath the calloused pad of his thumb.

“Yeah. I miss my Baby.”

“You have a baby?” She sharply turns her head to look at him, shock and confusion evident in her voice. “You didn’t tell me that? What’s their name? What happened to them?”

He laughs and squeezes her hand in appeasement. “Baby is, was my car, a ‘67 Impala. She was my pride and joy.” He sighs wistfully, “I’ll probably never see her again.” There’s a little more edge to his voice now. “It kills me to think that someone else is driving her, hands caressing the leather of her steering wheel, running over her sleek black metal. I just hope whoever has her takes care of her the way she deserves.”

“Didn’t you have anyone that could keep her for you?”

“For a while, yeah.” He huffs a breath, recalling how quickly he had lost everything. “On the advice of my attorney, I signed everything over to my business partner, Benny, before the trial so that I wouldn’t lose everything in case the worst happened.” He chuckles snidely. “Well, as you know, the worst happened. Benny kept the doors of the business open as long as he could, but with my conviction, we lost a lot of clients and didn’t gain any new ones. He finally had to sell everything to help pay my legal fees and cover the business loan. He held onto Baby as long as he could, even mortgaging his home before finally selling her.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I understand that feeling.”

She brings their hands up to rest on her stomach, covering them with her other hand, and he sucks in a breath as his pulse jumps, feeling her bare skin against his arm below the hem of her shirt.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I were ever forced to get rid of my truck.”

“It looks like a pretty sweet ride.” He counts to ten in his head, trying to calm his raging heart. “How long have you had it?”

Kasey pulls her hands from his as she sits up, and he grips the blanket between them to prevent himself from reaching for her.

Really? So now I’m a clingy sap?

“It was my grandpa’s. He taught me how to drive in that truck when I was only twelve. I could barely reach the pedals. I hadn’t gotten my growth spurt yet.” She laughs, lightly slapping her thighs. “Poor guy was practically eating his knees in the passenger seat.” Briefly glancing up at the sky, her voice softens, “I could never get rid of her.”

Dean sits up, thankful for something more familiar and less pervy to focus on, and excitedly asks, “I’d love to get a better look at her. You know what a classic she is, right?”

“Hell, yeah. It’s especially tough to find a turquoise one nowadays.”

Dean can’t believe it. Of course, she knows about classic vehicles. She also seems to have at least a working knowledge of their mechanical systems from the animated story she tells him about helping her grandfather with repairs. Just another reason to love her.

Love her? Shit. Fuck. Nooo. This isn’t love. It’s just a connection. Just two people making a connection over a common interest. A human connection that both of us have been lacking, nothing more. A connection that I’ve never felt with anyone before, not even while I was married.

Son of a bitch. There’s no way that I can love her. It’s only been two fucking days! Okay, technically, two and a half. I have to be losing my goddamn mind. It’s the stress. It has to be the stress and overwhelming relief. Yeah, that’s it, just relief and gratitude for what she’s doing for me.

Kasey’s voice cuts through his existential crisis when she mentions the Impala. He tries to catch up, not wanting her to know that he missed most of what she had said. “I’m sorry, did you say you have an Impala, too?”

“Yeah, it’s in the rear of the garage. I bought it a couple of months ago at a classic car show that Bobby and Ellen dragged me to.” She laughs. “I have no idea why I bought it. I thought it was one of the display vehicles and kept going back to admire it. When it went up on the auction block, I knew I had to have it.” The corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles wide. “It’s not very practical; it uses a lot of gas. But you don’t leave a car like that just sitting around, so I’ve driven it into town a few times. It’s in excellent condition; whoever owned it before took great care of it. There wasn’t a lot of history on it. The auction house had purchased it, so I don’t know how many owners it had or what repairs may have been done. It needs a tune-up before I take it out again, though.”

“What year and color is the car?” Dean suddenly feels like he has spidey-sense, his entire body electrified.

“Black, and it’s a ‘67. Oh.” Kasey’s palm slaps against his chest, disbelief coating her next words. “No… it couldn’t possibly be… could it?”

“Benny never told me who he sold it to. I didn’t want to know.” He fists his hands into the blanket; there’s no possible way Kasey could be in possession of his beloved car. Yet, “You know, it would be freaky as hell if you bought my car, but considering everything else…” His voice trails off as he tries to tamp down the hope bubbling in his gut.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She jumps to her feet, then tugs at the edge of the quilt, trying to get him to move. “Come on, Winchester. Don’t you want to know?”

“Hell, yeah.” Grabbing the comforter and bundling it under his arm as he stands, he extends a shaky hand to her. As soon as Kasey places her hand in his, they take off running.

Dean waits impatiently on the porch while she dips inside to get the keys. It only takes her a few seconds but feels like an eternity. He still can’t wrap his head around the possibility that his Baby, the car he’d spent most of his life driving, even living in for a time, might be here, just a few yards away. He’s still desperately trying to keep hope at bay. It’s unfathomable that he would be gifted this much luck in such a short time span. Then again, he’s owed some luck.

Light floods the yard between the house and garage just as the screen door slams open, making him jolt. He doesn’t have time for any other reaction as she flies past him, jumping from the top step to the grass and then sprinting toward the barn, yelling over her shoulder, “Let’s go, slowpoke.”

Dean laughs loud. He can’t contain it. If it weren’t for the stitches in his side, he would have followed her lead and foregone the steps by jumping over the railing. Instead, he takes the small set of stairs two at a time and catches up to her in a few quick strides.

Seconds later, Kasey unlocks the small side door, flipping on the light as she steps into the barn. He hesitates just outside the door, preparing himself for the disappointment he’s sure to find.

“Dean, come on.” The excitement in her voice fades away on the last word as she looks up at him. “Hey, listen,” her fingers wrap around his upper arms, “even if it’s not your, Baby, it’s still a pretty cool car. So come take a look.” She slides her hands down his arms until she holds both of his hands in her grasp, tugging him forward as she steps backward into the building.

Once he crosses the threshold, she drops a hand and turns to lead him toward the back of the garage. The familiar shape of a car beneath a tarp comes into view. When they’re about a foot away, she lets go of his other hand and steps up next to the vehicle. Kasey fists the material in both hands, ready to yank it off the car.

“Wait!”

“What? Why?” Her voice sounds incredulous, but she ceases pulling on the cloth.

His hands fist at his sides, and he inhales deeply. He’s never been this nervous about anything in his life. He shouldn’t be, it’s probably not even his car, but his gut is churning, his emotions spinning again, and for a brief moment, he’s not sure if he does want to know.

As inexplicable as the past couple of days have been, it would be over-the-top weird that this is his car. He hopes that it’s his, he could use the win right now, but on the other hand, he recognizes it would be pushing his luck, tempting fate. It would be way over his quota of good fortune to have found Baby and Kasey because he has never been favored enough to have everything he wants. The universe will find a way to take one or both of them from him.

Seriously?! What the hell is wrong with me? Kasey doesn't belong to me.

Her laugh echoing through the room stops the spiral.

“It’s like ripping a band-aid off. Besides, the suspense is killing me.” With that, she pulls the cover away with a flourish.

Before the last corner of fabric flutters to the ground, he knows. Knows without even looking at the VIN that it’s her. It’s his car.

“Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?” He reaches out a hand and lightly runs his fingers over the dark, cool metal in awe. Elation and foreboding swirl in his stomach, threatening to choke him. He glances at the dash through the windshield to verify what he already knows, then closes his eyes, inhaling deeply to try and calm the emotional wave rising through him.

“Well?”

She sounds frantic, and when he turns to face her, she’s rubbing her hands together, bouncing on her toes.

“It’s mine.” he breathes, the edges of his vision blackening, tunneling his vision until there is nothing but her.

Kasey squeals, clapping her hands and dancing in place. Nothing could have stopped him. With one long stride, he stands toe to toe with her, hands cupping her face, lips pressed to hers.

It’s rough and messy, urgent and hungry. He feels her stiffen as soon as he touches her, relaxing when he brushes his thumbs over the apples of her cheeks, flattening her hands against his chest. His heart threatens to break through his ribs with its thundering beat, but he doesn’t care if she feels it. Her lips are supple and moist, just like he’d imagined. She smells like the fresh evening breeze and tastes like sin. If he never had the opportunity to kiss anyone else ever again, he wouldn’t care. Every kiss pales in comparison, and before he was married, he’d had more than his fair share of kisses.

Slipping a hand into her hair, the other rests on the curve of her shoulder. Dean swallows down the warmth of her sigh, filling his lungs with the sweetness of her breath, as her fingers walk a trail up his chest, nails scraping at the skin of his nape, thumb caressing the pulse point in his neck.

He swears he can feel the reaction of every last cell in his body—skin prickling, tiny hairs standing on end, nerve endings igniting with sparks, the blood coursing through his veins. Like in a slapstick movie when they flash from some poor dope having a heart attack to an image of the blood pumping wildly through his heart before it explodes.

Kasey presses up on her toes, mouth falling open as he licks along her bottom lip, slender fingers press into his skin, grip tightening, pulling him closer. It’s breathtaking and frightening. The slide of her tongue against his has a dizzying effect, but as she gasps into his mouth, he realizes that it may partly be due to a lack of oxygen, which they both seem to desperately need.

He breaks the kiss but not the connection, pressing his forehead to hers, sharing the air between them with each pant. Dark amber eyes meet his as she sucks in quick breaths, and his heart sinks the second reality comes crashing in on him. He can’t speak, can’t look away, can’t let go, so Kasey moves first.

“Dean.”

She leans back, hands sliding down his body, and he reaches up, gripping her hands and caging them to his chest. “Don’t.”

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Love Me Some Pie taglist: @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @michellethetvaddict // @mvdeanw // @shawnie74 // @siospins2 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

@muchamusedaboutnothing

#jays3kcelebration #spnaubingo #fugitive au #dean x ofc #au series #run to you chapter ten

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failedintsave · 2 years

Text

I'm sick and feeling loopy, so it's soft skwistok hours, I don't make the rules

Talking to the Moon

The silent vacuum that followed end of year revelry was always the seasonal hallmark Toki detested most. His issue wasn't the cold; he could withstand the chill better than most. Winter's icy tendrils grasped and choked, and frost spiraled across the windows in fractals, encasing every branch and blade of grass in a sparkling chrysalis ready to shatter. There was an eerie beauty in the monochrome sterility.

What Toki took umbrage with was the quiet that pervaded the grounds as though they were a cemetery, black pines dotting the landscape like towering headstones, desolate and lonely. He'd had his fill of silence at an early age, and now he insulated himself against it, filling the hours with loud games and trailing after his bandmates, keeping up a constant line of jabber. When they weren't available, he'd fall back on Rockso. The clown was always a reliable source of noise. Anything to fill the oppressive quiet.

He reclined against his headboard one evening, scrolling endlessly through his phone, when rapid fire knocking preceded his door being flung open.

"You gots to come looks at dis!" Skwisgaar barged in, practically tripping over his own boots in his haste. He grabbed Toki by the elbow, tugging for him to follow. "Hurries up!"

Toki allowed himself to be dragged along behind, stumbling an extra half step for each of the taller man's strides. "What?! What happened?!"

"Just come wif me, quick!" He was seldom this excitable, and Toki was glad of the distraction.

The wound through the corridors, careening around corners until finally Skwisgaar threw aside the door leading onto a balcony high above the main courtyard. He skidded on the ice, finally releasing Toki to catch himself against the rail and snapping off a cascade of icicles that tumbled to break on the ground below.

It was a clear, crisp night and the grounds were bathed a silvery blue under the nearly full moon, faint divots and trenches buried under fresh powder marking the trails of the patrolling yard wolves. Paying the ground no mind, Skwisgaar pointed to the sky.

"Look!"

Though there was no cloud cover, the pinpricks of distant stars were still faint, the sky muddied by the light pollution of Mordland's various outposts and the red glow of the Haus itself. Squinting, Toki followed the line of Skwisgaar's outstretched hand. Beyond the tip of his finger there was a brief streak of light, followed by another, and another still.

"Do you sees dem?"

"Ja."

They were pretty, of course, but he'd seen meteor showers before. Growing up so far from city lights meant his view of the heavens had been mostly unobscured; he'd witnessed aurora and wheeling nebulas, and had even been terrified the first time an eclipse darkened the woodland around him.

Skwisgaar's reaction was far more interesting than the meteorites themselves. With each miniscule flash of green and white his grin widened further.

"De Geminid shower came t'rough last month, but it was too cloudies to sees it den." He exclaimed as another whizzed across the sky. "You sees dat green tail behinds it? Dese pieces ams composed of a lots of mangks-nesium and it ams boirning up when dey enters de atsmosphere."

Toki looked again, Skwisgaar's enthusiasm kindling a new appreciation for the falling stars. Skwisgaar gestured expansively at the cosmos, mapping out the sky. Calaeno, Orion, Rho Persei, Pollux; he traced constellations on the air. Toki couldn't help his growing smile.

"Wowee, you sure knows lots of stars names, huh?"

"Huegh, ja, well. I loirned dem eventchkuallies, but befores dat, I used to makes up my own names to call dem. And, euughh…" He rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck, his voice dropping to a mumble. "Talks...to dem."

"To de stars?"

Skwisgaar huffed a laugh, stirring the wispy strands of hair that framed his face as he looked down into the yard. "I, erm, was by mineself a lot as a kids…" He folded his arms over his middle, gripping his elbows. "So I woulds name dem and makes pretend dat dey was friends who came to visits me."

Keeping his eyes averted skyward, Toki was careful not to snicker at the idea. Rare were the moments when Skwisgaar volunteered personal information, especially something that could so easily be weaponized as teasing fodder. There were some things that were off limits by unspoken agreement though, and Toki understood coping mechanisms.

"Dere sure ams a lot... always made me feels small when I looks for too long." Toki murmured, eager for Skwisgaar to share more.

"I kinda likes dat, 'dough. When I was alones, I always t'oughts about who else am lookingk at dese same stars. Space ams so deep, maybe someone just like me ams watching even from anudder worlds. Some of de stars might be brighter to dem, or in a different parts of de sky, but still ams de same stars. Helpsed me for to not feel so lonesome."

A wolf howled in the dark, its solitary voice a feral aria echoing across the frozen barrens and shattering the silence. It was soon joined by the chorus of its pack mates as they rambled through the forests surrounding Mordhaus, invisible from where they stood on the balcony. Toki could almost imagine the grounds as one of the countless alien worlds Skwisgaar had mentioned, a fallow asteroid or tiny satellite caught in the orbit of their shared yellow-dwarf.

"Wasn't a whole lots in mine life den dat was constant besides dem. Ams stupid, I knows, but euughh." Skwisgaar shrugged one shoulder, seemingly reaching his word limit for the day. The quiet returned.

Raising his eyes again, Toki gazed at the bright ovoid moon, waxing towards full. He could recall many nights he'd spent huddled on the moldy straw floor of a root cellar, kneeling in the pool of light provided by the moon shining through the barred hatch overhead. The pits and craters of its surface looked like a face to him then, and in the darkness, he'd imagined that maybe it was someone kind peeking in on him. Someone that cared and could see his hurts, even if they couldn't fix them, could bear witness. It had given him comfort at a time when he'd been afforded none.

Toki turned to Skwisgaar, the taller man's features glowing pale in the dark shadow cast by the building at his back. "I don't think it's stupid at all." Maybe neither of their make-believe had been too farfetched.

Skwisgaar's smile was small but nonetheless radiant when he looked back at Toki standing at his elbow. A chilly gust swept over the rooftop, sending snow billowing in a glittering spiral around them, like frozen stardust in the wake of a comet. Skwisgaar jumped as the ice dusted his head and shoulders.

"Holy shits! Okej, it ams too cold for dis, we can goes in now."

Wrapping his arms around him from behind, Toki leaned hard against Skwisgaar's back, trying to press some of his own warmth into him. He nuzzled into Skwisgaar's neck, inducing a shiver of a different sort.

"No, we can'ts yet, you hasn't properly instroduced me to your friends!"

He felt more than heard the chuckle rumbling in Skwisgaar's chest, as well as the shift of muscles when he once again raised his arm to point out specific blips of light.

"So dat bright one ams Sirius, and it's part of Canis Major—which am a big dog and ams my second favorites—but down here you can barely sees Canis Minor. And he's a puppy, hueghuegh."

Skwisgaar chattered on about pulsars and antimatter, displaying an unexpected depth of knowledge and lamenting their lack of a telescope (Toki filed that tidbit away for later). Toki nodded his encouragement each time Skwisgaar checked in, but truth be told he would have let him list out his favorite brands of cuticle oil in alphabetical order so long as he could keep listening to his voice, so warm with passion, filling the otherwise silent night air.

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #look guys they aren't just laying around in bed this time

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

(un)loving miya atsumu

twelve.

you’re my sunflower.

You didn’t like zoos.

It’s not like you didn’t like animals, there were a whole lot of fascinating creatures that lurked and filled the earth. Coming in different shapes and sizes - some rule the land, some soar the skies, and some are masters of the ocean, they can even be as large as a mountain or as small as your fingernail. Truly, they are humble dwellers on the face of the earth. It’s just that humanity, since their evolution, has learned to dominate the land thanks to their superior intelligence.

Thus, animalia that once ruled the earth were now cut down while humanity increased.

Once they roamed free, now, they are caged and put on display for all of mankind to see. Isolated from the freedom forever.

Hence, why you didn’t like zoos.

Watching animals on display, not being able to run wild and free just didn’t sit right with you.

“Wah!!!! Look, look, look at it, (Y/N)!” Atsumu held on to the railing, leaning down to look at the nearing creature – it looked like a giraffe, but fluffier, lankier, almost floppy.

Sadly, it was mandatory – being a school event and all. It was your first school trip, since moving to Hyogo. It should be exciting if it weren’t for helpless animals put on display.

“It looks like a giraffe and a sheep had a baby,” Osamu said, nearly voicing out your thoughts.

Laughing into your muffler, you eyed the approaching creature warily. “It’s an alpaca.”

“Oh!!!!” Atsumu was shaking with excitement, hand reaching out to touch it.

Very speedily – almost a quick reflex, you pulled Atsumu back at the creature spat, its slimy spit landing just inches from Atsumu’s feet.

“HEY! WHAT THE HECK!”

“Careful, they spit.” You warn, letting him go cautiously. Osamu laughs behind you.

“Ha, not even they like you,”

“’SAMU, SHUT UP!”

A caretaker, who was guiding the gentle creature, looked at the boy in shock, appalled by his language and tone. You had to bow in apology for Atsumu, prompting him to quiet as the three of you continued to roam the outside area of the zoo.

Passing the kangaroo farm, just across it was the penguin walk, where you could hear your schoolmates cooing at the sight of waddling flightless birds.

A collective gasp once the birds appeared, followed by cooing of the girls, some of the boys were clapping their hands to get their attention. Sure, they were cute. But not even that could ease your unease.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Osamu turns to you, seemingly having enough of flightless birds.

“Yeah,” Atsumu rounds you, honey-brown eyes watching. “you barely said a thing since we came here!”

Feeling bad about your lack of response, you could only bow your head in shame. Muttering an apology under your breath, nose digging into your muffler. Cold winds blew in, winter must be approaching.

“Are you hungry?” Osamu asks.

“Do you want to take a dump?” Atsumu asks next.

Shaking your head, head still hung low. They both glance at each other, then to you.

Fiddling with your gloved hands, you wondered if the twins would leave you then and there. Eyes staring down on the concrete ground, focusing on the material that came to view.

You shouldn't have come.

At first, there was a hand – two hands, holding your own. Then a tug.

Suddenly, you weren’t seeing animals on display, allowing yourself to be whisked away.

Veering northeast from where you were.

“Where are we-“

And then, there was a burst of color in different shapes and sizes.

Flowers.

Reading the sign, blinking, the twins brought you to the ‘Flower Garden’.

“Girls like flowers, right?” says Atsumu with a smile, Osamu smiling next to him.

Feeling a smile coming on, a gentle tugging at your heart, slowly you nodded.

“…zoos are just weird,” you say finally, walking down the path, the twins on each of your sides, matching your pace. It shouldn’t be hard, since you were inches taller than them.

“Weird how?” Osamu asks, nose wrinkling as he sniffs around.

Shrugging, you thought of your next words carefully. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of animals in cages?”

“Well, that’s what zoos are for!” Atsumu says, almost helpfully.

“And that’s where the problem lies.” You point out, drinking in the many flowers, far as the eyes can see.

Walking along the pebbled path, several schoolmates were in the area, gushing and watching at the flowers in interest. There were even some adults, two teachers leaning towards each other, whispering and giggling. Atsumu wrinkled his nose at the sight, Osamu just walked on quietly.

Having rounded the Flower Garden, the three of you leave, your eyes looking around until your eyes fell on the bricked flowerbed by the exit. An array of flowers were on full display, but your eyes on a particular flower. Little pieces of the sun, sprouting brightly against the rest of the equally bright, blossoming, and elegantly arranged flowers. The little sun was peeking up, proud and tall.

Osamu was busy watching some butterfly while Atsumu turned to you, curiously following after your gaze.

Out of nowhere, a bark sounded off. From the corner of her eye - where you vaguely read a sign that said 'Dog Stage' a blur of white and a bright pink tongue came rushing your way.

Quickly, you hid behind the boys, holding on to Atsumu's shirt. Osamu turned to you in shock, then at the dog, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, a dog!"

Laughing, the caretaker approached you three. "He's just excited to meet you lot!" Kneeling, he gently ruffles the dog's head. "Why don't you come say 'hi'?"

White in color with splotches of brown littering his face and body, the dog had an oddly-shaped head, almost shaped like an inverted egg, its triangular brown eyes were bright.

Furiously shaking your head, a yelp left your mouth when the dog broke away from Osamu, walking up to you. Despite its obvious friendliness, the dog was half your size. Seeing your fear, Atsumu puffs his chest, holding his guard against the sweet boy.

"Sorry mister," Looking down at the gentle creature, Atsumu then pats the dog. "doggy, but (Y/N)-chan here isn't up for it."

His reply was a bark, causing you to yelp again.

"Okay then, guess we'll have to go now." Pushing himself to stand, the caretaker whistles for the dog. "Come on, Bowser."

From behind Atsumu shoulder, still holding on to his shirt, you watched the dog happily wagging its tail as it walked behind its caretaker, leaving adoring glances from everyone on the path.

The two brothers exchanged glances.

"Well, looks like you don't want to meet our granny's dog, huh?"

When it was time to leave, everyone settled in the bus. With a total of four classes, two classes had to share a bus, meaning, to your luck, you and the twins sat together.

"Atsumu," you berate at the boy, rushing towards your seat. "where have you been?"

Osamu, who was sitting by the window, was forced out by Atsumu, who sat on top of him, wiggling until he moved in disgust.

"You'll see!" he grins ear to ear, excitedly clutching on to his backpack. Noting his dirtied nails, Osamu frowns and mutters something under his breath.

"Okay, everyone here?" Your teacher asked, his response was a chorus of 'yes'. Nodding, he turns to the driver, and the bus slowly careened off the road.

Once the bus was miles away, instantly, Atsumu perked up and turned to you. “(Y/N)-chan, I have something for you!”

Ducking down low, very carefully, he zipped open his bag, produced a paper bag, which was covered in dirt for some reason.

Bright yellow, as though the sun's rays solidified itself, came to view. The very sun shrank to the size of a child's hand, sprouting out from the same child's bag as though in greeting. Mouth parting, you stared at the flower before you.

“Ta-dah! I got you a sunflower!”

“’Tsumu," Osamu frowns, hating that he was in the middle. "that’s stealing, ya know.”

Swiping the underside of his nose, you saw dirt under his fingernails. “They’ll never know!” he says rather proudly. "And hey, (Y/N), did you know?" he scuttles closer, voice low. "When it rains, and the sun's gone, sunflowers face each other to harness each other's energy?" He puffs his chest out, all smug. "Pretty cool, huh?"

You took a moment to appreciate the tiny sun in his bag, that he got. For you. Registering Atsumu's words, it was kind of endearing, and he looked really proud of the information he shared.

However, "That's a misconception." You tell him, he guffaws, Osamu cackles between the both of you.

Fingering the smooth yellow petal, seeing the dirt cumulate in his bag, which will probably earn an earful from his mom, the fact that he did this for you was enough. Smiling, you tell him, “Thank you so much, Atsumu.”

(Atsumu swore, your smile rivaled the sunflower he got for you.)

Hiroshima was surprisingly calm.

Proclaimed early on as the 'City of Peace' postwar, the city was only fours hour away by bus, the prefecture was known majorly for being one of the first to suffer the nuclear attack from the first world war that devastated the island. And yet, it feels peaceful, calm.

Like all the years ago, those past sins, have all but wavered into the wind, forgiving the many generations to come.

A strange sense of calm washed over you, gazing at the structure before you, feeling for the victims - direct and indirect victims of the bombing. Even the very ground you stood on, was once covered in casualties unimaginable today, a traumatic experience impossible to dismiss. Truly, after the war comes peace. But that peace comes with sacrifice, bloodshed, and tears.

"(L/N)-san?" a voice calls, cutting you of your stupor. Turning, you met Kusakabe's kind face. "Are you okay? I've been calling your name for a while now."

Feeling your hand holding on to the itinerary plan, your other hand on the railing, hearing students murmur all around you brought you back - you were having a class excursion. In Hiroshima. For three days.

"Um," putting the booklet down, you gave a weak nod. "yes. Yes, I am. Sorry. I was just" you peek back at the monument. "awe, for lack of a better word."

He smiles, pushing his glasses back. "I understand what you mean. Coming to these monuments just makes you appreciate the history behind it."

You nod again, looking at the map - it would be a long walk, considering the park's grand area and the monuments you'll visit along the way.

"Anyway, I just came to inform you that we can roam around the park for an hour. Then we'll meet up by the parking area for lunch."

"I see. Thank you so much, Kusakabe."

He nods, smiling.

"Kusakabe!" from behind him, a group calls, waving.

Turning to you, Kusakabe asks. "And ow about you, (L/N)? Do you have a group?" the wind blows, you wrinkle your nose at the cold. "If you want, you can join us."

Before you could even reply, someone walks up to you - well, four someones that is.

"...That's why I told you, if we strike that bell hard enough, it could probably echo throughout the park!"

"Idiot, you want to ruin the sanctity of the bell? It's called 'Peace Park' for a reason!"

"Woah," Suna deadpans, eyes on his phone. "'sanctity', that's a big word, even for you, Osamu."

"Now, now, let's just enjoy the trip, yeah?" Ginjima, ever the peacemaker, tries to settle things, smiling apologetically when he meets your eyes.

Heaving a sigh, wearing a smile on, you gestured to the boys with an open hand. "As you can see, I have a group of my own."

Nodding at the trouble children, Kusakabe breathes a laugh. "I can see that. Well, I'll see you around, (L/N)."

Osamu asks, watching said boy meet up with his group. "Wasn't that the student council prez?"

"That is him."

The rest of the boys watch Kusakabe approach his group in joint interest, especially from the way they move - all good posture and all, neatly pressed uniform, not a hair out of place, all of them were pretty as a picture.

"Elites, huh?"

You rolled your eyes at Suna's words. "Just because Kusakabe and I belong in a college preparatory class does not mean we're elites."

"Well, your class does give off some sort of vibe," Ginjima explains helpfully.

That was a strange way of putting it, you thought. After all, you've been classmates with them all of three years, with the occasional new classmate last year. Other than that, it was just like any other class, filled with different personalities on different faces, except everyone in your class was outstanding students with equally outstanding grades.

Cold wind gushed, (h/c) strands of hair flying in your face.

"It's gotten cold, huh?"

"We're just a week off nationals and we're greeted by cold," Suna mutters.

"At least it's not hot anymore," Osamu grumbles, remembering the unforgiving summer that passed.

Busily working on your hair, your muffler ended up loosening to the sides in the process. Letting out a sigh, you undid your muffle, ready to fix it when large hands took the ends of your muffler.

"Not to mention the culture festival next month!" Atsumu gushes excitedly, making quick work on your muffler. Next month, being November. Time sure flies when you least expect it.

"Oi, 'Tsumu, step away from (Y/N)," says Osamu, walking towards you both. "you might end up choking her."

"Will not!" he yells, yet his hands carefully folding around your neck, tying in front. "I know how to fix a scarf, idiot!"

Wincing slightly at the volume of his voice, you suddenly found yourself unable to look away, frozen in your spot, watching Atsumu busy himself on fixing your muffler.

"On your own, maybe."

"U-Uh, guys...?" Ginjima fumbled, Suna just watching in veiled interest.

Doing some finishing touches, ever so gently looping and pulling the ends, Atsumu nods, clearly pleased, before he steps back to admire his finished work. "There, see!"

Osamu steps in, eyes on Atsumu's work, face neutral, eyes laughing. "Sloppy."

"HAH!?"

Glancing down at Atsumu's work, it was a bit sloppy, but it seemed to hold up just right.

"You should be ashamed, now (Y/N) will lose face."

"From a fucking scarf!?"

"You've ruined her, idiot."

"You're ruined!"

Exhaling, you just walk ahead letting them argue amongst themselves. Ginjima and Suna were quick to follow after you.

"Um, should we-"

"You've been with them for three years now, Ginjima. They'll be fine. They'll just follow after." Suna nods at your words, randomly taking photos of the area.

For the next few minutes, relative calm washed over your group walking along the path, watching ancient buildings. What's left of it, a skeletal piece with absent windows, floors, or life, covered in scars from years past. Each of the boys carefully regarding each monument in awed whispers.

Although, time to time, someone would comment about how creepy it was to be up close to it, then would be called disrespectful by someone. You'd only have to turn and then they'd be silenced. Every now and then, you'd write down about the monuments on a small notepad, so you could use it later for your essay after the trip.

Furiously writing, a vibration went off in your coat pocket. Putting your notepad away, you flipped your phone open to read the text.

"Who're you texting, (Y/N)?" Osamu asked beside you.

"Aran-san."

“Eh? What about Aran-kun?” Atsumu asked, suddenly appearing by your shoulder. Suna and Ginjima looked up, at the mention of the senior.

“Well, he tried out for Tachibana Red Falcons a few weeks ago." You tell them, seeing no harm in it. Hitting send, you waited until the confirmation popped up before pocketing your phone away. "He’s going to get a call of his results sometime this week.”

Nearly all of them raised their eyes in shock, amazed by the news. It was the same reaction you had when he told you.

"Hear that, 'Samu?" Atsumu laughs at his twin, pride and unbridled happiness. "Aran-kun!"

"I heard, idiot." Not even Osamu can hide his joy and pride, like that of his twins', over the news.

"It's nice that you've still kept contact with Ojiro-san and the others." Ginjima noted with a smile.

Suna, appearing beside you, gently guided you towards the next destination as your group converged with some tourists, some girls giggling at Suna. "It's so you to keep in contacts with the seniors,"

"Because I respect them?" Burying your nose into your muffler, at the chilly wind that blew past.

"Because you fit right in with them."

Reaching the Peace Bell, just at the heart of the park, you were told that you can ring a bell and make a wish.

"Normally people wish for world peace here," Ginjima says aloud, reading from the booklet.

"Maybe we should wish for Ojiro-san?"

"I believe we can do that."

So you rang the bell, a soft gong echoing out, clapped your hands twice, palms pressing together, then lowered your head. Offering a quick prayer. For Aran-san. For Kita-san. For Akagi-san. For Oomimi-san. For Reiki. For Mika.

Following after you were the Ginjima, then Suna, and then finally, the twins, which you had to stay and watch over, lest they try to really smash the bell so loud it'll echo throughout the park. Thankfully, they behaved under your watch.

Later, while having lunch at a nearby restaurant, your phone vibrated.

“Ah.”

“What is it?”

The four boys turned to you - Osamu sneakily taking a meatball from Atsumu's bowl, Suna was putting mushrooms and carrots into a small plate, Ginjima was blowing into his bowl.

“He got in.”

At first, there was silence. Then, you ever so calmly turned your phone in your hands, showing Aran's text, for further confirmation. And then, the trouble children burst out in joy - all hoots and cheers, happy for their senior, uncaring at the spectacle that they've caused. And Suna caught it all on camera.

(Aran cried when he received the video)

“Something’s different about you,” Atsumu says to you. You blinked twice, surprised.

“…I’m wearing my winter uniform?” You say, almost consciously, gesturing to the blazer you now donned on your uniform, contrasting the summer uniform, which was just a shirt, a sweater, a skirt, and shorter socks. School-issued brown blazer shirt, shirt, maroon tie, black skirt. Your socks were knee-length because of the seasonal change.

Even with the culture festival going about, students were encouraged to wear their uniforms - well, students of Inarizaki High School that is.

With October long past, students were all to wear their winter uniforms to anticipate the cold weather ahead.

In spite of the season dropping a few degrees though, the culture festival at your school rolls easily. The school was filled to the brim with life coming from its students, visitors from different schools, and supporting families.

Yet for some reason, amidst the fanfare going around, Atsumu keyed on you.

Something was shining, hitting Atsumu in the eye.

“Wait a minute,” Atsumu closed in, too close for comfort, tucking bangs and some strands of hair behind your ear. “You got a piercing!”

There was a stud by the inside of your right ear cartilage, just by the inner middle rim.

Suna whistles. “Wow, never thought you had it in you, (L/N).”

“Uwah, it looks cool, but does it hurt?”

“More importantly, when did you get it done?” Osamu asks with a frown.

Atsumu’s thumb was tracing along the shape of your ear, staring at your conch piercing in fascination, standing way too close. Gulping you took a step back, fixing your bangs as you explained. “I, uh, did this on a whim. And yes, it did hurt, because it was on my cartilage, but nothing I can't handle.”

The four look at you, eyes wide.

It kind of ruins the image of the perfect role model people has cooked you up to be. Then again, you were never perfect, to begin with, it was nice to ruin that image and shatter people's expectations.

“Woah.” Ginjima's eyes shined at the stud on your ear.

“Badass,” muttered Suna.

"When did you get so rebellious?" Osamu teased, as though reading your thoughts, pinching your nose with his knuckles.

Atsumu couldn't look away at the new addition in your body. "But when did you-"

"(L/N)-senpai!" a voice cheerily called you from behind, green from the torso up - green wig, green coat, ruffled white undershirt, black pants, with black shoes. Oh, and there was some sort of contraption strapped on their arm.

Atsumu stared in confusion as the person happily greeted you, holding your hands and full of smiles, he just about to burst when Osamu elbowed him.

"It's Yoshimichi," Suna explained, admiring the costume. "y'know, one of the kits."

"Or the managers-in-training," Ginjima added, enjoying the interaction between you and the younger girl.

"Yoshimichi!" you greeted, taking her in. "Wow, you look amazing!"

The younger girl flushed, her usual dark brown eyes were replaced with light blues - contacts, it seems, gripping your hands tighter. "Thank you so much! I worked hard on it! But senpai, your hair looks great!"

"Ah, thank you," you say with a faint blush. "Asano worked on it." More like, she worked on them while you busily sat on your booth, studying the papers from all the attendees who came to the volleyball club's gig. Asano took advantage of your preoccupation to work on your hair. You couldn't hate her for it, since the style proved to be helpful from keeping your hair from your face.

"It's times like these where (L/N) can really be a girl, huh," Ginjama said.

"You're making it sound like she's not." Suna deadpans.

Sputtering, Ginjima tries to defend herself. "Y-You know what I mean!"

Atsumu sort of does, having known you all his life. You weren't the girliest girl around, but you dressed like one, but it was average at best and formal, compared to Mika, who loved wearing frills, brightly colored dresses, and all. Plus, you didn't have many female friends because you had the twins. Most of the time, you were surrounded by boys, so you had to toughen up.

"But who're you supposed to be?" Osamu couldn't help but ask.

"Lyserg from Shaman King!" Yoshimichi says excitedly.

"Your class is doing a cosplay cafe, huh?"

"Right on! Senpai, you should visit!" remembering that you weren't alone, she looked at the four boys behind you. "Ah, you senpais can come, too!"

"I feel like she's extended the invitation to (L/N), though," Suna mutters, Ginjima laughs.

From the end of the hall, someone, with an equally elaborated costume, holding a sign, calls out to her.

"Ah, that's my cue! I have to go now!" Before she leaves, she turns to you. "Senpai, I'll be waiting!"

Smiling, you wave off as she runs towards her classmate, watching them stroll down the hall.

Once the younger girl left, you turned to the boys. "Yoshimichi's family owns a tattoo and piercing shop. I had it done there." Their reactions were instantaneous - multitudes of shock.

"Yeah, but when?" Atsumu asked. He can't even fathom the idea of Yoshimichi - bright, bubbly, cosplayer Yoshimichi Ryoko to come from a family of punks!

"Um," uncharacteristically on the spot, you rubbed at your elbow. "A day after we came back from Hiroshima."

"Who would've thought that our kit comes from a ragtag fam."

"That's a rather crude way of saying it,"

"Yeah, but the flip side of getting a tattoo is you can't go to onsens,"

Ginjima hisses, eyes suddenly sad and dim. "Ah, that is sad and true."

"On the contrary, there are onsens that allow tattoos, so long as it's not visible or in an innocuous location," you say helpfully, automatically bringing backlight in Ginjima's eyes.

"(Y/N) have mercy on us with your words," Osamu cries. "the lot of us are idiots here!"

You'd expect Atsumu to retort, absolutely refusing to be called an idiot, or likening to one. But he was quiet, right by your side, smiling.

"Heh, I'm thinking of getting a piercing myself!"

Three eyes turn to him, doubtfully.

"What?"

"Everyone knows you're likely to cry getting one."

"HAH!?" And there he was. His aura was emanating warm and gentle, like his usual vibe from before. What's weird was, you were there, yet he was smile was genuine, probably brighter than everyone in school.

"(L/N)-san, are you alright?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Um," Asano's eyes went from your face to the mechanical pencil in your hand. "y-your pencil lead…it’s run out." You stopped writing, or what you thought you've been doing. "For a minute now." Oh.

Pushing your pencil, seeing the lead pop out, you write again.

"Thank you, Asano."

"You're welcome," she smiles, but her lip turns up, eyes filled with worry. "But are you okay?"

"I've just got a lot on my mind."

Asano's face fell, eyes not leaving your face, noting the heavy intake of breath, followed by the sag of your shoulders. Even your eyes seemed lost, sad.

The feared and great 'Inarizaki's Fox Keeper' was known for her uptightness, her stoic and cold aura - intimidating by name, more so in person. Highly respected and feared, even the coaches held her to a high regard. With a reputation like hers, it was no wonder she was able to manage the team on her own for years, even aiding them to nationals, and holding her ground against Miya Atsumu. (L/N) (Y/N) was the perfect manager, a standard for all club managers. A reputation that definitely lived up to her expectations.

However, Asano Miki, found that you were actually just a really reliable person, extremely kind, and a saint-like patience. Under your guidance, she eventually got out of her shell - she and Yoshimichi, and easily adjusted to the club thanks to your guidance. And behind closed doors, especially during those nights at training camps, you were practical, uptight like a mother, and almost always preoccupied.

And yet, underneath it all, there was always this sort of sadness in you.

She couldn't help but think of the iceberg theory, that's there's always more to a person.

With her and Yoshimichi, you could open up more about yourself. With the rest of her seniors, you could, too. But Asano could feel like it was to a certain degree, there was something you'd like to keep within. The more she thinks about it, the more it scares her of what's underneath it all, of how long before the truth just freezes her over.

A flash of yellow appears from the corner of her eye, when she turns, it was the captain - Miya Atsumu.

Just a year ago, you and him were not on good terms, having been childhood friends for a long time. The team's dynamic changed drastically, but you remained as manager, only colder and more robotic, as the rumors say. It was said you supposedly resigned, only to wordless come back. Magically, the team's dynamic changed for the better. Even your dynamic with the now, blond-dyed, setter-captain.

"Oiiii, As-a-no~" Yoshimichi calls in a sing-song, her fellow manager-in-training nudges her shoulder. The girl turns to her. "C'mon, I'll pass the bibs to the opposite team, you fetch the cart from the storage room. Okay?"

"O-Okay!" she starts for the storage room. However, unable to help herself, she looks over her shoulder, to where you were, with the captain standing close, the two of you seem to be discussing something. You were doing the talking, pointing with your mechanical pencil, talking a mile. And then there was the captain, eyes soft and warm...watching you.

Atsumu - known for his smug smirk, likened to that of a fox, filled with general mischief and mayhem, wore a true smile. A smile that softened his features, that made him (and his twin, because they were identical) admired by many, a smile that brightened him more, one that reached his eyes - one that Asano knew was reserved for you and you alone.

Of all the things Asano knows about you, one thing is for sure: Miya Atsumu was the cause for the sadness in your eyes.

“You know, I worry about you,” Osamu says to you, echoing questions that have been thrown to you for days - mostly indirectly, at your usual convenience store over a shared sashimi set.

Something's bothering you, has been bothering you, from the looks of it. Osamu knows it.

From the dim moonlight that hung up in the sky, contrasting against all unnatural light, you blinked at him. When your eyes met, his grey-brown eyes took you out of your stupor, making you feel bare and open, without even saying anything.

“I’ve been worrying about you." Osamu adds, voice thick. "For a long time, you felt this need to put others before yourselves. Don’t get me wrong, it’s admirable and honorable at best. It's what many of us love about you, (Y/N). But," his shoulders sag, gray-brown eyes softening "if you keep putting them over you, one day, you’ll forget yourself altogether and just crush from the weight of keeping everyone first.”

You feel the need to defend yourself, to make a statement rebutting all his claims. Yet, your tongue feels heavy, mouth clamped shut. Looking up at him reluctantly, you were met by his unwavering kindness - so, so kind, and worry. Worry growing, seeing as your eyes turned glossy, neutral expression cracking.

Osamu reached an arm, pulling you over. You wanted to pull away, but his warmth washed over you.

Quietly, eventually, you leaned against Osamu, crying softly.

Strong as they were last year, it wasn't enough to satiate the hunger of your foxes, led by Atsumu, that brought them to victory. Still, Karasuno's presence was felt, establishing themselves in the national scene now that they've made a resurgence in the past year with an invaluable set of players. One of them, being your dear childhood friend.

"Sho-chan!" you called out after the match ended, seeing as you had time.

The redhead turned, eyes widening and brightening at the sight of you. "(Nickname)!"

Running to him excitedly, he did the same and the two of you met by the sides.

"Oh wow, your hair's getting shaggy!" you laugh, ruffling at his hair. "By the way, great game, today. You guys are as tenacious as always."

Noticeably, some people were looking your way - still surprised that by some twist of faith, you and the spry middle blocker were acquainted, let alone childhood friends! Too busy being in your friend's presence, you hadn't realized the attention you were receiving. Too busy catching up to the ball of sunshine before you, going on and on about the feats they did today, freely smiling about with your childhood friend.

"Inarizaki is crazy strong this year! Especially with Miya-san's serves!"

"Which Miya?" you laughed with a cock of your head.

"Oh, uh...the blonde dyed one??"

"Ah, Atsumu."

"Are you close?" Hinata asked, sensing the familiarity when you said the setter's name.

"Um," tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you were unsure how to answer. "kind of." That seemed like a good answer. "He and his twin brother live next door and were my first few friends when I moved to Hyogo." Behind him, his captain was calling for him. "Neh, let's continue our chat later, okay?"

"A-Ah," he sputtered, short-circuiting.

"You're here until tomorrow, right? Better make it worth your while. After all, we haven't talked much in a while. Well," you take his hand in yours, squeezing. "face-to-face, that is."

At the prospect of seeing more games, and maybe spending more time with you, he brightened. "Sure thing, (Nickname)!"

Unable to help yourself, you ruffled his hair playfully. "Then, wait for my text later, okay?"

Later that day, dinner, a bath, a short meeting later, you were slipping on an oversized hoodie over your pajamas, and took off. Despite it being a rather exciting day, you still had enough energy to go about, carefully making your way to meet your childhood friend.

Meeting Hinata just a block away from your hotel, the two of you walked a few more blocks until you reached a neighborhood playground, chatting aimlessly as you sat by the railings framing the park.

"Since it's your last year of high school, do you have any plans, (Nickname)?"

"To be honest? Not really." Wrinkling your nose at your answer, you tried again. "Maybe nothing special. How about you, Sho-chan?" you ask, despite him being a second year.

To your surprise, he readily answered. "I wanna do beach volleyball!"

"Beach volleyball? Why?"

Something sets off in his eyes, almost like excitement, assurance, burning compassion. "I want to try and learn a lot of things!" It even showed off from his voice, no longer quivering, strong and firm, with a hint of childish excitement. "I want to try and get better to be able to play more volleyball!"

That was a rather interesting take into his career, choosing to play outside court. Plus, you've heard beach volleyball can be demanding with just two players.

"You're really set on it, huh?"

"Yes!"

You felt warm.

"Well, good luck with that, Sho-chan. I'll be rootin' for ya~"

Extremely, pleasantly warm, despite the January cold.

“(Nickname), you’re really a lot different, huh?” Before you could ask what he means, he furthers. “I mean, from all our texting, you seem…kinda…on hold? Like you’re holding back? But in person, you seem more relaxed now.”

You blink, remembering bright lights, head against another warm body, a shared sashimi set.

“Maybe it’s because I’m with my Sho-chan.” you smile, forcing the thoughts away. “A lot’s happened in my life. I’m not ready to unpack them all to you, but Sho-chan, you just really have a way with making people feel relaxed about themselves, of making them feel like it's okay, y'know?”

He flushes at that.

“I’m really jealous of that part of you.”

“W-Well, I’m jealous of how smart you are, (Nickname)!”

The two of you laugh into the night before you randomly blurted out wanting something sweet to eat.

"Want ice cream?" Hinata asks, gesturing to stand.

Peering out at him in the dark, the park was a bit dim, your childhood friend shined bright. "Nah, maybe I should head back."

"But you said you wanted something sweet!"

Chuckling, breath coming out in puffs, you stand. "Alright, but you're buying, okay?"

"Aren't you older?"

Playfully frowning at the younger teen’s argument - because yes, you are the older one by a year, you just link your arm around his. "Yeah, but you lost to us!" you threw back.

"How mean, (Nickname)!"

On the way, you realized how eating something cold during a cold season wasn't feasible, which made the younger boy panic. Laughingly, you assured him that it was probably because it was so cold that you wanted something sweet, for a boost of insulin or that happy feelings rush.

At the nearest convenience store the two of you could find, which was a few blocks away from your hotel, the two of you make idle chat over ice cream despite the January weather, explaining further on sweetness, boost of insulin or that happy feelings rush.

"O-Oh! I see!"

Seeing the look on his face, you guessed that the mini-biology plus chemistry lecture made his head spin. "Do you really, Sho-chan?" you tease, handing him a plastic spoon. "It's okay to say you don't."

That caused his nose to scrunch up, brows furrowing together. "I understand, (Nickname)! Sheesh, I passed biology!"

Laughing again, both of you opened up the small pack of ice cream to share. It was in salted caramel.

One bite full and comically, both of you felt warm inside, moaning in absolute delight at the sweetness and saltiness.

The conversation started anew from there with topics that flew from fun plays, his sister, Natsu, taking an interest in volleyball, your sister and her boyfriend, Kaoru and his soccer, talks of the new Karasuno captain.

"Hey, Sho-chan," you asked, watching him chew. "if we didn't move..." if her dad wasn't an asshole "...do you think...?" you mulled, thinking of all the people you've met since moving. Weakly, you leaned against the younger boy, much to his surprise.

"(Nickname)-"

"...do you think things would be different?"

Hinata falls silent at that.

Who knows what your life would have turned out had your family stayed in Miyagi, or your uncle didn't forcibly bring your mom out of her depression and move the family all the way to Hyogo? Would you be happier? Would you have turned out better? Who would you even be?

"Does it matter? What's happened, happened. And whether we like it or not, it's for the best!"

Ah, such a simple-minded sweet boy. "That's true."

"But," you push yourself off, watching him. "had (Nickname) remained, maybe I would've had a boost up with my skills! I would be at maximum level now!"

Snorting, you broke out laughing. "Maximum level!?"

It was a shared moment of nostalgia between two childhood friends over a tub of ice cream, all smiles and laughter.

...which is how Miya Atsumu found you.

"Miya-san!" came Hinata's energetic cry, you look up in shock.

"Shoyou-kun..." the setter says quietly.

Was he looking for someone, you thought, spooning a chunk into your mouth. Or maybe he was out for a late night snack?

Chewing, you didn't notice your captain walking towards you. "(Y/N), if you wanted a late night snack, you shoulda counted me in!" Huh?

Before you could react, he took your spoon and fed himself the last chunk, moaning dramatically at the burst of flavors in his mouth.

"Mi-Miya-san!" shrieked the younger boy, cheeks flushing for some reason.

"You could have gotten your own spoon, you know," you frown, grabbing the spoon from him, he whines. "Besides, you shouldn't be eating sugar before your bedtime."

"Speak for yourself, (Y/N)."

Thinning your lips, you put away the spoon. Your captain turns to the redheaded boy. "Anyway, it's getting late and we should all get back." Turning to your childhood friend, the setter asks. "Shouyo-kun, you're here until tomorrow, right?"

Recovering from whatever it was earlier, the younger boy nods. "Ah, y-yes, n-no!"

"Which is it?" you ask worriedly.

"That's cool!" without warning, he stands next to you "Be sure to watch our game, 'aight?"

"Of course!"

"We should probably head back now," you announce as you stood up, taking your trash with you. "You need a full rest of sleep. Both of you." At the last part, both athletes felt chills run down their spine.

When all three of you were at the door, Hinata assuring you that he can walk back to his hotel just fine, you suddenly remembered something and called out to your friend. "Sho-chan!” the younger boy turns to you. “Actually,” seeing you uncharacteristically sheepish, he keeps his eyes on you, waiting. “I'm on the fence with what I really want."

Offering you a smile, you feel warm all over. "That's okay, (Nickname)! You still have time!"

"We're months away from graduation," you reply, a small smirk at his crestfallen face. "but I think I'm settled."

Instantly, he recovers. "That's good to hear! Well then, good night, (Nickname), Miya-san!"

“What? What? What?” Atsumu turned to you curiously, picking up on the conversation with Hinata. “What were you two talking about?”

Burying your hands into your pocket, you debated. Osamu, Hinata, and Mika were the only people you’ve shared with, the ones you could trust with. The career form fresh in your mind.

“C’mon, (Y/N)!” he whines. “You can tell me!”

And for some reason, you opened your mouth and told him. “We were talking about future careers after high school,”

“Ah, really?” Before your third year even started, you were already thinking and dreading life after high school. “It’s strange that you don’t have a plan after high school.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean," he shrugs easily, carefully steering you to his side, his other side to the open street. "you’re so well organized and value order above anything else. Not to mention, you’re one of the smartest people in our year-“

“Just because I’m part of the top students doesn’t mean I’m guaranteed success,” you tell him, bluntly. Despite the cold, Atsumu feels even more chillier at your pointed words.

But he chips at the ice.

“Still! It makes a world of a difference because it’s you!”

You stopped at that, his words sinking in.

“It’s…me.”

“Yeah!" He continues to chip at the ice, mouth opening, as though reminding you of the most obvious thing on earth. "Plus, I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine wherever or whatever you end up choosing. I’ll be rooting for ya!”

Despite yourself, you smiled, warmed by his words. “Thanks…I kind of needed that.”

Atsumu glanced at you, the two of you carefully taking a turn. “So, what did you write in your career forms?”

“Um…nutritionist, psychologist, or probably something related to sports.”

“Wow,” he thinks back to your background, awed at how much your past impacted your future. “That’s amazing, (Y/N)!”

"Nowhere as amazing as you," you tell him, with utmost sincerity and honesty. He was, after all, a nationally recognized athlete for a high schooler. With his impressive reputation, he'll definitely go far and have the best teams at his disposal.

He barked a laugh, happily. "But of course! Sucks that 'Samu won't be with me, but I'll work for the both of us. No," he thrusts three fingers in the air as he declares "the three of us!"

For some reason, that was a moment of calm for you, filling you with the assurance you'll need. No matter how many years passed, even with his hair dyed lighter than his natural dark roots, he was still that same self-assured, cocky boy you know. You get the feeling he'll always stay like this, which you find you don't mind either way.

Much like Hinata, this boy right here, made you feel inexplicably warm. "That's surprisingly mature of you, Atsumu."

His name came out surprisingly easy. And to Atsumu, who stares at you as though he discovered a snowflake's design at a microscopic level, it was the sweetest thing he's ever heard.

Snow gently falls down, your breaths coming out in puffs, Atsumu's unable to look away.

"We should really head back to the hotel now."

"Y-Yeah!" Atsumu takes hold of your hand, much to your surprise, tugging you forward.

Inarizaki, unfortunately, made it to the top 3 after losing to Kamomedai – who, under the captaincy of Hirugami, were relentless as always – you and your team found yourself with heavy, weary hearts. There were regrets here and there, but the fact that the team maintained its spot as the top 5 made the pain of losing less. Also, you kept your promise to Aran and the rest, who were over the moon (and probably in tears) from watching in the benches.

Speaking of Aran and the rest, you had met up with the rest of your former seniors. Ever the emotional man that he was, Aran was tearing up at how proud he was of how well the team played, and how much the trio – the twins plus you, held the team up.

Being captain in his final year, with his brother as vice-captain, and you as manager, was definitely a highlight in Atsumu's high school career. Smiling at the camera, arms hooked around you and Osamu, Atsumu will forever cherish this amazing high all his life.

Now that you think about it, when did you first start liking Atsumu? What was the instance that made you fall in love with your best friend?

It's been almost ten years - 9 years, to be exact once the cherry blossoms bloom. It's been that long since you met the twins, met Atsumu, and loved him.

But for however long you loved him, a most precious feeling for your young heart, never had you expected it to be inferior in the eyes of many. You may never have said it out loud, but when Atsumu read your love letters out loud in front of the whole team - seeing the looks in their eyes, you felt so cheap. Maybe your feelings were cheap, a joke. Even after the incident, even after a new year and the new faces, that scar was still there - the unavoidable scar that lingered on the fearless, 'Inarizaki's Fox Keeper'.

If people knew the actual reason for the dispute between you and Atsumu, would people think of you differently? It never bothered you, but the knowledge of your feelings for someone as perfect, unattainable, unreachable, and out of your league?

It only made sense.

In a sense, it was like an old toy - one you loved so much as a kid, but once you've played with it too much, it gets worn out, broken, and useless, you'd have to throw it away.

The whole time you held on, foolishly you were also holding on to the possibility that maybe one day Atsumu would come to return your feelings. In a cliche way, he'd think of you as more than a friend, see you as something more, then come around to love you. Again, you were foolish.

It was wishful thinking.

Atsumu's eyes and heart were set on your perfect big sister, Mika.

And who wouldn't? She was perfect, beautiful, smart, kind - everything you're not.

You? You were boring, plain, an afterthought.

Annoyed at the person staring back at you, you childishly flicked water at it - as if it would magically dispel the ugly. Nope.

All you found was a splotchy view of you, strings of water running over.

For all your feats - or whatever people thought of you, you had one terrible weakness: you gave your heart way too easily.

Your asshole of a father was one.

He was your father, of course it was only natural to love him. Until he broke it in a million pieces.

Miya Atsumu was second.

You gave your heart to him since he took you by the hand, never getting the courage to take it back. Atsumu can do whatever he wanted with your heart, just so long as it's still with him at the end of the day.

You had to wonder though, much of your heart was left in his hands?

The human body was composed of atoms – millions and billions of them in the form of hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen. It also contains much smaller amounts of the other elements that are essential for life.

The human body is also composed of love. Now, compared to atoms, its amount was infinite, endless.

Atoms burn out and die each day, easily replicated the next second, but not love. Love was something that you give but never runs out.

How much was a single person capable of loving?

How much of their fill until eventually, it runs out?

You might never know.

Scientifically speaking, love was just…unexplainable.

Law of attraction or serotonin can do very little in explaining the amount and power of love.

It was infinite in quality and quantity, yet it's also finite in a way.

"Nee-san?"

Lately, you've noticed that Kaoru tends to call you 'nee-chan' behind your back. You heard it once when you were sick. Normally, he just calls you 'nee-san', Mika was 'nee-chan'. It was just an honorific, with subtle tones when using.

"What."

His brows furrow, arms folded against his chest. "Why are you lying on the floor?"

"Because of gravity," you reply, staring into nothing, maybe at the ceiling, maybe at cracks, maybe at the ceiling fan, maybe at the spaces in between composed of billions and billions of atoms. Inhaling through your nose, exhaling the same way. Some days, it was just getting harder to think...to be, to seem.

Kaoru frowns harder, always hated how cryptic your replies tend to be, whenever he was genuinely worried for you. Then his expression wipes clean into worry.

"Nee-san," you could hear the franticness in his voice. "are you crying?"

Alarmed, you didn't move to hide your eyes, lest you worry him or make it worse. Instead, you sigh and close your eyes. "No. It's just dust."

You didn't see the slight panic in Kaoru's eyes, his big (e/c) eyes on you - his big sister.

“…nee-chan?”

You hummed, not daring to open your mouth at the sudden wave of emotion.

Kaoru was silent, for a while, and then. “I love you.”

Smiling at your brother, opening (e/c) eyes met lighter (e/c) ones, saying it back. “I love you, too.”

masterlist • thirteen

#(un)loving miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu fic #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fic #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! angst fic #hq #hq x reader #hq fanfic #hq angst #hq angst fic #inarizaki #countdown to the end begins

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

So... during the time skip, Hange is on a business trip to Marley. Levi stays home to deal with some installation or important project for Hange, gets injured in some stupid way, falls off scaffolding or something. And he doesnt think too much of it because it's such a stupid way to get injured. And he hides it even when it gets worse and Hange is the only one who notices because she knows him so well. BUT when she gets back, it gets worse. And Levi hates hospitals so Hange forces him to go <3

Hello! Thank you so much for the prompt :) I’m not super thrilled with the way this one turned out, but I had a lot of fun anyway, and I hope you enjoy it! Angst ahead, if that’s not your thing.

(Drinking game: take a shot every time Levi says he’s fine)

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

It wasn't a particularly bad accident, but it was a particularly stupid one.

Hange had been tied up in meetings for days, stuck inside Sina with other military personnel, with carnivorous media, with business moguls eager to ensure their pockets would be well lined by any negotiation plans with Marley and their neighbouring countries.

She had taken Armin and Jean alongside her; Armin had a mind with similar mechanics to her own, and as such he was best suited to help her formulate a compelling case with their higher ups, while Jean had attended at Levi’s insistence. Hange had already made it clear that, with Armin gone, they needed somebody to oversee continued construction on the railway line, and Levi, uneasy with the idea of Hange being without an attack dog, had demanded Kirstein attend in his place. The brat was becoming something of a budget Moblit, always trailing after Hange whenever she was around—Levi thought he looked a little pitiful, following her around like an eager puppy, but he supposed he was grateful for it now, if it meant he had no objections taking a trip into the interior with her.

Levi had been left with the rest of the brood. Eren and Mikasa worked diligently, though Eren—distant and despondent as he had been since the Queen’s address after Shiganshina—remained sullen, while Mikasa alternated between shooting Eren looks of concern, and staring scathingly at Levi whenever he came into view. She tolerated him far better, these days, but Levi was unsure she’d ever fully forgive him for his public display at Eren’s trial.

No matter. She did as she was told, reluctantly as may be. Connie and Sasha, on the other hand, were proving problematic.

They lacked focus. The four of them were working on construction of a rail house near the coast, somewhere to store equipment for maintenance, with a few flat beds for workers to rest in between commutes. The walls were coming along, but the space was still lacking a proper roof, covered only by tarp to keep the metal beams and frames inside from rusting before they could be treated and on the tracks. Eren and Mikasa were working quietly on one side, while Connie and Sasha were goofing off on the other.

Levi clicked his tongue. The work was, in theory, far less hazardous than slaying titans had ever been, but they were still a couple of stories in the air on flimsily constructed scaffolding, without any gear to catch them if they fell. The drop wasn’t deadly in itself, but the inside of the half-built hut was full of great mounds of metal, beams and poles and wires covered only by papery thin sheets. A fall onto that, from this height, would result in breaks and bruises at best.

"Oi,” Levi called, making his way around the rickety structure. Connie and Sasha either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. That had been happening upsettingly often, of late; whatever intimidation tactic Levi had employed when they were still bratty kids had lost its effect. Connie teetered around Sasha as she tried to smear mortar on his cheek, edging along the scaffolding on only his toes until he made his way around her. Levi picked up his pace and called again, more of a snarl this time, a warning, but Sasha let out a shriek of delighted laughter as she managed to slap a trowel full of mortar on the top of Connie’s head. Neither of them heard him.

“You fall and break your necks and Hange will kill me,” Levi said. Sasha twisted to look at him but offered only a smile. Levi was within feet of them, when Connie moved quickly behind Sasha—he was doing nothing suspicious that Levi could see, but Sasha, awaiting retaliation, tried to scurry hurriedly away. Her foot missed the edge of the scaffolding, and there was a fraction of a second in which her eyes widened, body tilting, before Levi moved.

His hand closed around her wrist. With a sharp tug, he jerked her back onto the safety of the scaffolding, but in his rush to grab her he hadn’t the time to brace himself—with his weight unbalanced, the force of his pull sent his body careening forward, tipping over the edge of the plank.

He barely managed to release his grip on Sasha before he lurched over the edge.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

Levi hit the beams with a resounding clatter. Metal clanged and wood splintered, dust gathering in great plumes as Levi hit the tarp. The beams, built with enough strength to hold steam engines, had no give to them—Levi struck one solidly with his side and his body bowed around it. Something—his ribs, his spine—crunched on impact. The sudden stop made his neck whip down, temple cracking hard against the stone floor.

Every last drop of air punched out of his lungs and a white, dizzying pain exploded in his head. He slumped the rest of the way to the ground, gasping fruitlessly, but his chest, all empty, crushing pressure, would not expand, would not allow for a single wheezing breath.

He lay in a heap on the cold stone. Dimly, he could hear voices, the clatter of feet on wooden planks and the echo of sturdy shoes on the scaffold poles as the kids clambered their way down to him, but everything sounded muffled and distant, warbled by the pound of his pulse and the rush of blood in his ears. He blinked rapidly, squeezed his eyes closed to push the fuzziness from the edges of his vision, then gathered himself slowly, shifting to lay on his back. His every muscle felt tight, seizing from the shock of the impact and sharp, stabbing pain, but despite the tension, something in his side felt loose. He sucked in a few small breaths, pausing at every spike of pain before trying again, and then he pushed himself up to sit. His head felt thick and full, stuffy, too heavy for his neck to hold up. It throbbed with the change of position, a crack of pain so sudden he thought his skull might split in two. He resisted the urge to grab at it as the kids’ footsteps sounded close by, several sets of feet scuffing and clicking against the stone.

Levi pre-empted their concern with a wheezy, “I’m fine,” as Mikasa, followed swiftly by the others, rounded the corner and stopped short of him. “Get back to work.”

None of them moved. Levi focused his swimming gaze on them as well as he could, attempting a glare, but the corner of his eye and the side of his face felt fat, skin tight over the rapidly swollen flesh, and his breathing was tight, uneven, chest jerking with each attempt to fill his empty lungs. Nobody looked intimidated by the sight of him—in fact, all four of the little brats looked almost frightened.

“Captain…” Eren said. Levi scowled, fought not to wince.

“I’m fine.” Gritting his teeth to muffle each pained grunt, Levi grabbed a nearby beam and used it to drag himself up to his feet. His head spun, the ache intensifying to something almost unbearable, and that, coupled with the sickening grinding sensation in his side as he straightened up, was enough to make him sway on the spot. Mikasa was the first to step forward, hovering awkwardly. Levi suppressed the manic urge to laugh—there was some irony somewhere in Mikasa, grudge so steadfastly held, being the one ready to catch him if he fell. Levi shooed her away. His chest ached something terrible, a persistent, resounding swell behind his rib cage. It should be impossible to feel so full, so bloated, yet so empty at the same time.

“You should rest a little more,” Eren said, at the same time Sasha erupted with a wailed apology. Connie looked pale and guilty behind her.

“Hange wants this—shitty thing—finished, by the time—she gets back.” Levi hitched stilted breaths as he spoke. He took a careful step forward. His side screamed, and his head pounded, but he remained upright, which was good enough. He passed by Connie and Sasha, who both looked ashen-faced, and clicked his tongue against his teeth. They’re too tall now, so tall he almost lost his precarious balance when he stretched up to pat them both roughly on the head. Then he brushed past them with as much ease as he could manage.

“Hurry up. The damn walls won’t build themselves.”

Levi had expected to be better by the time Hange returned.

The pain had not subsided at all in the three days that passed between the injury and Hange’s arrival—if anything, it had intensified, and Levi’s bouts of dizziness and breathlessness were near constant. He hid it as well as he could from the others, compensating with vicious scowls and quick, barked instructions, but he couldn’t escape their concerned glances.

The building, at least, was almost complete. They had laid the rafters for the roof the day before, and were hammering on the felt when Hange, Armin, and Jean appeared in the distance.

The weather was blisteringly hot. Eren and Connie had removed their shirts long ago, while Sasha and Mikasa had tried fruitlessly to keep their hair off the base of their necks and out of their faces. Despite his lack of manual labour Levi was just as sweaty as the rest of them, though his skin was pale in comparison. He had argued, albeit rather feebly, to do his part in aiding the construction, but the damn brats had put their foot down on that, at least—as such, Levi had spent the last three days sitting beneath the shade, glumly watching their progress.

He stood when he saw the horses approaching. The others climbed down from the scaffolding, wiping sweat from their hands and faces. They cast Levi a sidelong look, and he glared in return.

“Not a word,” he reminded them coldly. Levi had already demanded that they keep the details of his incident quiet. The swelling on his face had gone down some with the aid of a bag filled with cold sea water, but the bruises were persistent, mottled from his eye to his ear. He could play it off as a far smaller incident than it was, so long as he could keep the ugly welt on his torso well hidden. The bruising there was dark, a deep, violent shade of purple, wrapping around his side and bubbling out over his back.

Eren looked uncertain. Mikasa gave him a stoic, level look, while Sasha and Connie still looked sheepish, avoiding his gaze. They had apologised profusely, and on multiple occasions, for causing such a mess. Levi had, at their insistence, scolded them for messing around, but in truth he had little energy left to care.

Hange waved as soon as they were close enough. She kicked her horse on, Jean and Armin following dutifully behind her. The three of them pulled to a stop and dismounted, leading their horses to shade and water, looking tired, but satisfied. Levi kept his angled down, twisted to one side. He was prolonging the inevitable, he knew, but if he could get Hange talking about the meetings, or with some luck the upcoming expedition, or maybe even the mostly completed rail house, Levi could at least wait until they were alone before Hange battered him with questions.

All three of them had dark circles under their eyes. Armin yawned widely, he and Jean bumping into one another as they walked. Hange, as tired as she looked, strode forward with a delighted confidence—Levi, in spite of himself, quirked his lip in a small smile. It has been too long since Hange looked excited about anything. The prospect of an expedition had breathed some life into her.

“We’ve still got to work out some kinks,” Hange said, “but things are looking good. We’ll set up another meeting with Kiyomi. It might take a little while, but we’ll get out there ourselves. See the world with our own eyes, and—more importantly—let them see us.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged excited glances. Mikasa and Eren shared a more subdued look. Levi understood both perspectives—the prospect of venturing out into the world opened them up to a lot of risks. Each of them carried targets on their backs. One wrong move, and they would be in trouble. But, if all goes according to Hange’s plan, there would be plenty of reward. Freedom was worth any price they could pay, if only they can secure it.

Levi listened as the group reacquainted. Eren and Mikasa seemed pleased to have Armin back in their company, while Sasha hounded Jean endlessly until he relented, and surreptitiously pulled a small pack of cured meat from the inside pocket of his jacket. He had the decency to look embarrassed when he caught Levi’s eye on him, but his abashed expression quickly turned to one of confusion when he caught a good look at Levi’s face.

“The hell happened, Captain?”

Hange, who had been quietly engaged with Armin and the other two, looked around. Levi tutted and curled his lip, letting his fringe fall to cover part of his bruised brow.

“None of your business,” he said. His chest spasmed and he clenched his teeth, fighting the sudden urge to cough. “If you’ve still got the energy to stand around talking, you can get up there and help them finish the damn roof.”

Jean, who either hadn’t quite developed the same immunity to Levi’s brash tone as the rest, or was nervous about Levi scolding him for stealing food from the interior, nodded once and shrugged out of his jacket. Sasha’s eyes followed longingly as he hooked it over the nearby cart sitting on the tracks, but then her gaze shot back to Levi, and she scurried after Jean towards the rail house.

The others followed. Hange’s eye was still on him, and she waited until the group had scrambled up onto the scaffolding and picked up their tools before she crossed over to him. She bent a little, tilting her head to get a good look at his face. Hange let out a low whistle.

“Quite the bruise,” she said. Levi gave her a somewhat guarded look, and carefully shrugged one of his shoulders.

“Brats were messing around,” Levi said simply. “Caught me with a stray elbow.”

He didn’t dare look Hange in the eye long enough to determine whether she believed him. He nodded towards the rail house and said, “They’ll be done in a few hours.”

Hange beamed, bracing her hands on her hips. “They’ve made good progress! I wasn’t sure they’d get it finished by the time we made it back.”

“You wanted it finished,” Levi scowled, “those were your orders.”

“Calling it an order is a little harsh, Levi.”

“You’re our commander, Hange,” Levi said. “You tell us to do something, we do it. By definition, it is an order.”

Hange grimaced. It had been years since Shiganshina, years for Hange to come to grips with the position that had befallen her, and to her credit she had taken to it admirably enough, on the outside. It was only in small, private moments like this that she allowed herself to show doubt. The lack of cooperation from Hizuru had been a blow Hange had expected, but hoped to avoid—she had worked hard on her proposals and her negotiations had been sound, but the rejection stung nonetheless. With each new trial and each new error, Hange felt herself all the more lacking. Her distaste for her own position, for Erwin’s faith, grew stronger, and showed face more often.

Levi took in her sullen expression and winced internally. After a moment of heavy silence, he said, “They give you a hard time?”

“Who?”

“Zackley. The reporters. The kids.”

Hange let out a low chuckle. “Zackley’s as rigorous as ever. Picked apart every last thing we had to say, highlighted every possible flaw in the plan. Made us work hard, as usual. The reporters...asked a lot of questions we didn’t have answers to. They’ll smear our names in the papers tomorrow, no doubt, but it can’t be helped. We did our best. Armin was a huge help, though. He’s still a little nervous, but—so clever! So full of interesting ideas, and he negotiates well. He’ll make a good commander one day.”

“And Kirstein?”

“He’s an excellent paperweight,” Hange said, shooting Levi a sideways grin. “I appreciated the company, but I think we would have been fine without him.”

“Never know,” Levi said gruffly. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the heat of the sun or simply standing too long, but Levi was beginning to feel woozy. Breathing was still a chore, a concentrated effort to suck air into his aching chest and let it out again without choking, coughing, and more often than not he felt lightheaded. He nodded towards the boxes he’d been using as a seat over the last couple of days. “Sit. You look like shit.”

“For once, I don’t think you get to judge me for that.”

Levi had already begun walking stiffly to the boxes, and made no comment. He had no valid argument to give—he did look like shit, far worse than Hange, and he felt even shittier. He dropped a little heavily onto the box and bit back a grunt of pain.

Hange sat next to him. The box shuddered. Levi tensed as pain lanced through his side. He took in a quick, sharp breath, holding it high in his chest when the pain intensified. He could feel Hange’s eye on him and clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his face somewhat neutral.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hange said to him. Levi grunted. He busied himself taking slow, shallow breaths, staring resolutely ahead, avoiding Hange’s keen stare. “You look a little clammy.”

Levi made another quiet noise. Levi wasn’t very talkative at the best of times—this, he knew Hange was aware of, and most of the time Hange was content to fill the silence herself, but today she was quiet, and watching him too closely. Scrutinizing. Levi had often praised Hange for her powers of observation—she had an incredible eye for detail and a knack for spotting patterns and anomalies, a talent which had served the Survey Corps very well, but right now, Levi was cursing it. He didn’t need Hange surveying him.

He was hurting. He’d had a near constant headache since the incident, and his chest felt tight, riddled with pain both dull and sharp, stabbing whenever he breathed too deeply or gave in to the pressing urge to hack out a cough, but more than that, he felt unwell. Groggy, sickly, light-headed. His heart beat frantically, and his skin did feel clammy, cold sweat sitting on his brow. He stared ahead, blinking the fuzziness from his head and resolutely ignoring Hange’s steady stare.

Hange’s palm pressed to his forehead. The sudden touch made him jump—his muscles tensed, his ribs screamed in protest, and Levi let out a strangled groan, biting his tongue a second too late to trap the sound.

He was barely aware of Hange’s fussing as he fought to draw breath. Air grated in his battered lungs as Hange’s hand pressed flat to the back of his neck, her voice warped and muffled in his ear as she felt his sweat-damp skin. His vision tunnelled. He blinked rapidly to clear the black spots and wheezed in the humid air. His chest felt like it might split open, pressure billowing out from behind his ribcage, pressing agonisingly against his damaged bones.

He breathed short and shallow until the haze of pain lessened. Hange’s voice was loud beside him, the sharp, deep bark she used when she felt it necessary to assert her authority. Through the fog in his head he could barely make out her words, but he knew exactly what it was she was demanding. Sasha’s voice was meek in comparison, but it still carried over the distance enough for Levi to hear her.

“It was an accident,” she was saying. “It was our fault—my fault—”

Levi hissed through his teeth. Hange’s hands—one still at the back of his neck, the other curled around his arm—tightened their grip on him.

“Drop it,” Levi said. “Stop grilling them. It doesn’t matter what happened, I’m fine.”

Hange had the audacity to laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Fine? Levi, you can’t even move. You can barely breathe! What the hell did you do?”

“Fell,” he said shortly. His voice sounded weak, but he didn’t have the breath to put more force behind it.

“From where? When? Hell, Levi, when did this happen?”

“Hange, leave it.”

Hange turned her question to the rail house, and Connie answered immediately. Traitors, Levi thought scathingly. Mikasa explained without prompt that they didn’t know the extent of his injuries, that Levi had refused a proper medical examination despite the head wound that had left him unable to stand straight. She explained that they had managed with very little effort to get him to observe the construction from the ground, which, it seemed, was enough to concern Hange—Levi wasn’t the type to sit around doing nothing. He despised being idle and she knew it.

“You should see a doctor, Levi.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not. What else did you hurt? Just your head?”

Levi felt ill. Hange’s persistent questions were making his head spin and his entire body felt sore and spent. He mustered enough strength to glare at her, but nothing more. Hange was watching him carefully, brow furrowed in concern, but at his silence her expression hardened, and she stood abruptly. Levi bit back another groan as the box moved beneath him.

“You can ride, then?”

Levi squinted up at her. “Hah?”

“If you’re fine, you can ride back into town with me.”

No. “Sure.”

Hange stared at him a little longer, waiting, no doubt, for him to backtrack, admit defeat. Levi clenched his jaw and maintained steely eye contact. Hange narrowed her eye at him, then turned towards the rail house.

“Oi!” Hange called up, cupping a hand around her mouth. Six heads turned their way, popping up over the roof. “We’re heading back early. Leave the scaffolding when you’re done, we’ll send for it tomorrow. Good work!”

She turned on her heel and headed towards the horses, still tacked and tethered beneath the shade of a small copse of trees.

“We’ll go get your head checked.”

“Hange, I said I’m fine.” It was a weak argument, made even moreso when he stood too abruptly and swayed on the spot. Hange darted back towards him and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and a little of her angry resolve cracked, worry creasing her brow. She led him, more slowly now, towards the horses with her hand hovering over his back. He braced himself for the agony of her touch, if she pressed her palm against him, but Hange—perhaps in fear of not knowing what other injuries he had sustained—didn’t touch him.

“Humour me,” she said. “If you’re really fine, and it’s really nothing, no harm done. I’ll feel better knowing, and you—” she drew them to a stop by the horses and turned to face him fully, grinning, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “—you get to say I told you so.”

Levi said nothing. The thought of riding for hours on end made him feel nauseous.

“This is pointless,” he said. “I’ll rest here, if you’re so worried.”

Hange shook her head at him. She untied her own horse and Jean’s, holding the reins out for Levi to take.

“We’re going back now, Captain. That’s an order.”

An hour into the journey, Levi began to struggle in earnest.

No part of the ride had been pleasant—the heat was oppressive, and the motion of the horse required a fluidity in his hips and back that sent sharp jolts through his side with every step. Hange was uncharacteristically quiet, occupied instead by watching Levi from the corner of her eye. His head pounded with increasing intensity the longer they travelled, and between the pain, and the scorching sun, and his pitifully shallow breathing, Levi was feeling more faint by the second.

It was an unsettling sensation. Injuries were always difficult, but Levi had never felt so completely wiped out by physical damage in the past. Three days was enough time for his body to at least begin healing, but Levi had seen no improvement since the moment he struck the beam during his fall—if anything, he’d felt worse by the day.

Now, he was fighting to keep himself upright in the saddle.

They were approaching another clump of trees, great leaves wilting in the heat, when Levi, jaw tight and teeth bared, grunted out a request that they stop.

Hange looked torn. She wanted to hurry back into town, and was already impatient enough that Levi had requested they walk—”It’s too hot, for the horses”—but something on his face must have reflected the severity of his discomfort. Hange directed them to the treeline, dismounting and taking Levi’s reins while he did the same. His feet hit the ground and his knees buckled.

Hange caught him about the elbow but only after he had sunk to the grass. He felt shaky, weak, but more than that he felt vulnerable. Realistically, Levi knew that there was no shame in being hurt, in needing help, but he was a stranger to it. He had been self-sufficient since he was in Kenny’s care, and had grown up with the express understanding that showing weakness was a death sentence. And then again, in the Survey Corps—an injured soldier was titan bait.

There were no titans now, but Levi felt distinctly exposed, sitting in the long grass with his vision swimming and his lungs burning, barely functional.

Hange knelt next to him in the grass. She brought a hand up to his face, fingers curling against his jaw. Her gaze darted over his face, all of her righteous anger forgotten as she took in his state. Levi wanted to shake her off, to shake off the spinning in his head, to stand up and get back on the horse and continue their journey, but he couldn’t find the strength to gather his legs beneath him. Hange’s hands—one on his arm and one still on his face—kept him sitting upright.

“Levi…” Hange said slowly. Words sat on his tongue, reassurance that he was fucking fine, that he just needed a minute, but try as he might, he couldn’t get enough air in to voice them. His chest bubbled and rattled as he drew in a thin breath.

“Levi,” Hange said, sharper this time. Levi blinked blearily and searched for her. Neither of them were moving, but Hange’s image wavered and blurred in front of him. He swallowed. Wheezed. His heart hammered in his ears. Hange’s fingertips found the pulsepoint in his neck, pressing, counting. “Levi—what else hurts?”

Levi swallowed thickly, a nauseous tremor under his tongue. After a moment, he choked out, “cracked a few ribs, probably.”

Hange sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me see.”

He didn’t have the strength to fight her as Hange began unbuttoning his shit. He swayed where he sat, struggling to balance without her hands keeping him upright, until he heard Hange’s hiss as she uncovered the bruises wrapping his chest and back.

Levi looked down and grimaced. The bruising was worse than he remembered, stretching further up his chest, dark and mottled, the flesh tight and swollen.

“Levi, this is bad,” Hange said. “We need to get help.”

“Just need rest,” Levi said. His voice sounded slow and slurred in his own ears. Hange’s hand cupped the side of his neck, her thumb tipping his jaw up to look at his face. His eyelids felt heavy.

“I know it hurts,” she said, “and I know you don’t want to move, but—Levi, please. C’mon, I need you to get up.”

It had been a long, long time since Levi had heard that frantic tone from her. She sounded urgent, panicked. Desperate. Levi dragged his eyes open, but found he couldn’t focus on her face anymore. His lungs protested violently as he tried to speak, only coughing instead, dry and hacking. His chest burned.

Hange dragged him to his feet. Levi’s limbs felt heavy and clumsy, detached and completely out of his control. He leaned heavily into Hange’s side as she moved him across the grass.

“C’mon, Levi—work with me.”

Hange hefted him up onto one of the horses. Her horse, he realised, as she clambered up with him. She settled behind him, her arms gripping the reins either side of him. Levi tried to sit up right, but as she kicked the horse on, he slumped back with a low groan. Hange’s voice rumbled through her chest when she spoke.

“You good?” Hange asked quietly, and then, “stupid question, of course you’re not.” Levi found the strength to scoff, but it was a pitiful sound, and followed swiftly with another pained grunt and a fit of coughing. “Bear it a little longer, okay?”

Consciousness drifted, as they rode on. Levi was dimly aware of the sun on his feverish skin, and of Hange’s warm, solid body at his back. Her jaw brushed his head when she moved. Her voice was constant now, a rumble up his spine and in indistinct mumble in his ear. At times he could pick out her words, but his comprehension was hazy, mind unable to string sentences together, to find meaning in her chatter.

In this state, there was no focal point for the pain. It was consuming, indistinct but ever present, impossible to isolate in any one location. His whole body ached. His breathing was quick and laboured. There was no real respite even in this state.

Hange’s hand repeatedly found his throat, fingers feeling for his frantic pulse.

Time passed strangely. The ride seemed to last a lifetime, with Levi waking a thousand times to agony, consciousness barely breaking before he succumbed again to his feverish dozing.

At times, he awoke to new sounds and new sensations. The echo of multiple voices around him, all talking frantically over one. The scratch of crisp sheets beneath his bare back, the click of shoes on tiled floor. New, stinging, fiery pain, sudden and excruciating enough to make his body jolt in discomfort, followed swiftly by strong hands on his arms and legs to keep him still. Cool air blowing gently over his heated skin. His hand caught in a loose, tangled grip.

The aches in his battered body settled, localised. Levi felt it acutely in his chest, though the pressure no longer felt as intense. Breathing still hurt, but the air came easier now. He felt his lungs fill with it, little by little, for the first time in days. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the light, then rolled his head slowly to look around.

The small window had been cracked open, the fresh, cool air lifting Levi’s fringe, tickling at his brow. Thin morning light poured in, illuminating the small, sparsely furnished room. Besides the bed he lay on, there was only one small table and a stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair.

Hange was slumped low in the chair. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her, her chin dropped to her chest while she slept. She had discarded her military jacket, eye patch, and glasses in a heap on the floor, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons of her shirt undone and splayed open. Her hair hung limp and ratty around her face. She looked pale and exhausted.

Levi’s tongue was dry, tacking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. It took him three attempts to say her name, and when he did it came out raspy and ragged. He tried to move, to reach over and nudge her awake, to ask what the hell had happened since he’d last been lucid—but as he leaned over a sudden, white hot agony ripped through him, tearing into his side.

He gave a strangled groan and pressed himself back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes closed as he rode out the spasms. Wood scraped by the bed; Hange must have startled awake at his outburst. Levi squinted an eye open to see her blinking rapidly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes before scooping up her glasses and taking in the sight of him.

The pain subsided little by little, though Levi didn’t dare move again. Hange sat on the edge of her chair and reached for him, her hand stopping short of his and falling to grip the bed sheets instead.

“How you feeling?”

Levi cleared his throat. “Like shit.”

Hange managed a weak smile. The bags under her eyes were considerably darker than they had been before, her skin paler, papery. Levi frowned at her. “You still look like shit.”

Hange waved him off with a small laugh, sitting back and scrubbing her hands over her face. She hung her head over the back of her chair, fingers pressing into her eyes beneath her glasses. She sat for a long while, observing the backs of her eyelids. Levi watched her through pinched eyes as the burn in his side settled to a more familiar ache.

“Don’t do that,” Hange said, voice strained by the stretch of her throat. “Don’t do that again.”

“Which part?” Levi said.

“All of it. Don’t get in stupid accidents. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Don’t—”

She stopped short, then, with a sudden hitch of her breath. Levi watched her dig her fingers harder into her eyes, watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed reflexively. For a moment she was quiet, then she sat up straight and turned watery, bloodshot eyes on him.

Hange was strong. She was a far more emotionally available person than he could ever be, but she had an incredible capacity to compartmentalise. To switch off. To accept the necessity, the inevitability of loss, to evaluate and recalculate and move forward. Hange mourned—Levi had witnessed the aftermath of it plenty of times before, repaired broken tables and reorganised upended bookshelves in the wake of her disaster—but she mourned later. Alone. Felt all her fears and frustrations in isolation, away from prying eyes.

Hange wasn’t the type to cry at peoples besides and beg them to live.

And yet.

“Don’t leave me on my own.”

“It wasn’t that—”

“You dare tell me it wasn’t that bad and I’ll kill you myself.”

Levi clamped his mouth shut. Hange was glaring at him like she might really mean it. Instead of arguing, he said, “what’s the damage?”

Hange slumped forward, elbows on her knees and head hung low. “Broken ribs. Ripped up a few muscles in your back. Collapsed lung. The air pressure in your chest was restricting blood flow to your heart.” She put her head in her hands and dug her fingers into her messy hair. “You got so fucking lucky, Levi. If we hadn’t left when we did—”

He watched silently as Hange groaned into her palms. She breathed deeply, back and shoulders raising as she did.

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Hange’s head shot up. “By the skin of your teeth, Levi. You—” she took a long, steadying breath, but her voice still shook as she continued, “—you were barely breathing. You couldn’t talk to me, you would hardly even respond to me.”

“Sorry.”

Levi wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Hange looked distraught, her composure tenuous. Levi’s fingers twitched on the sheets, itching to reach out and touch her, offer some kind of reassurance that he was here, he was fine—but he wasn’t fine, and moving so far was out of the question. He gripped hard at the sheets instead. “Sorry.”

“Not you as well,” Hange said quietly. Levi’s chest tightened painfully at her tone—she sounded so small in that moment. Scared. Levi wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so frail before. “What am I supposed to do if you—” she cut herself off again, shaking her head.

“Same thing you always do.” Hange curled tightly in on herself. Levi turned to stare at the ceiling instead. “You keep going, Commander.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“One day or another, everyone you care about eventually dies. You said that.” He listened as Hange’s breath hitched, but refused to look at her. “It sucks. It hurts. But we keep moving forward.”

The mattress dipped by his hand. Levi rolled his eyes down, and found Hange hunched out of her chair, her face pressed into the blankets. Levi sunk his fingers quietly into her hair.

They lapsed into a painful silence. Hange hiccupped and sniffled now and then, while Levi scratched lightly at her scalp. After a long while, Hange spoke again.

“I know those were my words,” she said thickly. “But I can’t accept that. Not now. Not after everything.”

“Stubborn,” Levi said quietly. He pulled lightly at her hair until she raised her head, wiping her cheeks and nose messily on her arm. “Disgusting.”

Hange managed a bare, wobbly smile. Levi’s hand fell from her hair as she straightened up, and Hange scooped it up in both of her own. She played absently with his fingers, curling and flexing them, rubbing her thumb over the lines on his palm. She seemed to be gathering herself, brow a little furrowed in thought.

“I know we can’t guarantee anything. I know how uncertain our world is. But just—” Hange paused, closing Levi’s fingers around her own, then looked up at him with a fierce determination. “Promise me anyway.”

Levi blinked sluggishly at her. “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll survive.”

Levi tensed. “Hange…”

“Indulge me. Just this once, please.”

A promise of that kind was unrealistic, Levi knew this. Hange had said so herself: there were no guarantees. Except, that wasn’t quite true—death, at least, was a constant. The only inevitability they had. The island may be free of titans now, but the threat of attack loomed over them like a persistent storm cloud, black and heavy, ready to give at any moment. And accidents, as he had painfully learned, could happen in the blink of an eye.

Levi was resilient, but he wasn’t invincible.

But Hange was looking at him steadily, her resolve unwavering. She wanted his word here and now. Needed it, maybe, but Levi knew her. Hange valued honesty over everything else. There was no way she could feel at ease with such an empty promise.

Levi sighed.

“You’re a brat, you know that? Looking at me like that.”

Hange’s gaze held firm. Levi felt her grip on his hand tighten.

“I can’t promise shit like that, Hange,” he said. She squeezed his hand tighter still, and her body tensed, shoulders drawing up to her ears. “You know I can’t. Nobody can.”

For one horrible, gut wrenching moment, Levi thought she might cry again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes but when she opened them again, her good eye looked terribly blank.

“You’re right. Sorry, sorry!” She let go of his hand and sat back in her chair, hands resting on her legs instead. Her voice sounded lighter, more like Hange, but there was something off about it. Something forced. Strained. She adjusted her glasses but didn’t meet his gaze again.

This was the Hange he knew. The Hange who could bury her feelings in the moment, squash them down and push them aside to focus on the rational, the plausible. Seeing her like that didn’t relieve him the way it should have. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a discomfort in his gut, knowing that he was the cause of the grief she felt she had to hide.

It was stupid, the whole situation—how a moment of carelessness lead to this; Levi bedridden, and Hange struggling to hold herself together.

The space between them grew stagnant. Hange seemed a little lost in thought, gaze caught blankly on Levi’s blankets, while Levi watched her, waiting for her to say something else, to change the subject, to be Hange again. But Levi was never one for giving inspiring speeches, and in truth, he didn’t know that anything he could say now would make anything better. Hange would do what Hange always did—wait until she was alone, and vent in whatever way she could.

And Levi, as soon as he was able, would do what he always did, too—pick up the broken pieces and mend as much as he could.

“You should rest.”

Hange blinked tiredly over at him. It had been an age since Hange looked well-rested, years since Shiganshina and the exhaustion of that particular battle had never left her. The burden she carried—everything Erwin had left behind and all that they had discovered since—was so impossibly heavy, the expectations put upon her too much for any one person to handle. Hange had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to be worried about him, too.

“Eat something, bathe. Sleep. I’ll still be here when you come back.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll promise you that much.”

Hange gave him a weak, wry smile as she fished up her eye patch, strapping it into place and righting her glasses over it. “I guess I’ll take that. And then tomorrow, you can promise me the same again.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Go.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll nap for a couple hours and come back. You should sleep some more too, you know. It’ll help you heal faster.”

Levi grumbled in response, and grumbled louder still when Hange stepped up to the bedside, but he fell quiet when she leaned over, brushing his fringe back from his forehead and pressing a small kiss to his hairline. It was such a simple gesture, and nothing out of the ordinary—Hange had been a physically affectionate person as long as he had known her, always grabbing and hugging and kissing whenever she got the chance—but there was something so tender in it, this time. Levi’s eyes fluttered closed.

Hange lingered longer than was strictly necessary, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Levi could easily have let her stay close, feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips on his skin until he drifted into sleep, but she straightened up after a moment and Levi was left instead with the cold breeze from the open window. Levi blinked sluggishly up at her. His own exhaustion barrelled in, making his eyes sting, lids heavy. Hange folded her jacket over her arm and pushed the chair into the corner, out of the way.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” She said.

“Mm.”

“You’re gonna feel like you got crushed by a titan when the pain meds wear off, so make the most of it.”

“Got it.”

“And you should let the doctor know if anything changes. Straight away, don’t wait around.”

“I will.”

"And there are nurses around, if you get hungry or thirsty. The bathroom is just down the hall too, but they've got bedpans if you need to—"

“Hange.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Hange had already crossed the room as she spoke, but she paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame. She deliberated with herself for a moment longer, then said, “hey, Levi?”

“Hm?”

Hange chewed on her lip, contemplating something, a faint blush building on her cheeks. And then she shook her head, gave him a small smile, and said, "Ah, doesn't matter. Sleep well."

She left quickly after that, closing the door quietly behind her. Levi stared at the space she'd vacated, brow a little furrowed; her hesitancy confused him.

But he was tired. His body hurt. His head felt thick and fuzzy, and without Hange's presence to keep him occupied, he consciousness began to drift.

Tomorrow, he thought hazily. He would ask her tomorrow. For now though, he would follow his own advice; for now, he would rest.

#snk #levihan #my writing #man I had a hard time with this in the end hjhgjj I can't say I'm that satisfied with it #but!! I am sticking to my philosophy after the Drabble week #someone somewhere will like it #levihans relationship ended up more ambiguous but hey ho #also ended up being a lot of angsty hange

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monsteronfire · 3 years

Text

The 7 Pleasures of Camping [Installment 1 | Taehyung]

type;; 7-part Series (1st Installment 2.6k words)

pairing(s);; BTS x older!Reader/OC | Pt. 1 mostly Tae x older!Reader/OC

genre;; Slice of Life, Smut, Camping AU

warnings;; Drinking, smoking, oral (female receiving), anal, tough/bratty!Reader/OC, very slightly dom!Tae, slightly dom!Namjoon, dirty talk, a lot of cursing and use of dirty words, a bit of tit-play, a tiny bit of ass eating, Jin being the trouble starter, Jin's also sweet to the Reader/OC though, mentions of male masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Tae and Koo being impatient af

a/n;; What's going on? What am I doing here? Why am I doing this? Who fucking knows. Don't ask questions, just enjoy me careening into madness. I can't make any promises about how frequent the updates will be. I'll desperately try to keep them from dragging out for months on end, but please bare with me if my dumbass falls apart and gets procrastinatey. For the time being enjoy this chaos that I started. Gif is not mine.

------

For the life of you, you have absolutely zero idea as to how you got here. Not to say you’d lost all memory, no. You know how you got into the campgrounds; how you and the seven men you were vacationing with set up the camper and various tents; how you all set out chairs and started a fire, cooked dinner and ate into the night. You know how you opened your first beer, then your second, then the third, fourth, fifth and sixth. You know about all that, that’s easy. What you don’t know is how you ended up practically folded in half in this uncomfortable lawn chair with your legs swung up over each plastic arm and Jin nestled between your thighs eating you out like you are his goddess and it’s his day of worship. Not to mention the six other members of your camping group just milling about your campsite going about their business as if there’s not a supremely drunk, half naked chick getting her cunt tongued right in front of them.

That’s not to say they aren’t reacting to it. They’re all watching with great interest and heated stares, all of them sporting a hard-on for the ages just for little old you. Still they go about their business as they watch, like you’re the entertainment after dinner. Yoongi sits at the camp’s picnic table with Namjoon, both of them playing cards nonchalantly while Yoongi chain smokes. Although Namjoon does keep pawing at his cock through his jeans from time to time. Taehyung paces back and forth with a bowl of cereal in his hands, sitting somewhere for about 30 seconds to eat and then getting up to get a different angle; hard dick bouncing away in his sweats every time he moves. Jimin is sitting very still in a chair to your right, his hands gripping the arms ever so subtly and his piercing eyes glued to the way your breasts move when you pant. Even with his legs crossed you can see the bulge in this jeans and you suspect that when he switches his legs over from time to time he’s only doing it to get some friction. Hobi’s standing off by a tree on the other side of the fire, smoking his own cigarette and taking swigs from his bottle of beer, sometimes palming his cock through his shorts. His eyes burn while he watches you, catching your gaze every few moments to stare you down. Jungkook is a little more zealous than the rest of the group, sitting directly across the fire from you with his head lulled back and his hand pumping over his cock while he watches.

The bottom row of Jin’s teeth deftly catch your clit and you hiss at the sensation, the pain mixing with pleasure to create an intense feeling. You pull away from him, one of your bare feet moving to push him away with your foot. He only backs away a little kissing the inside of one thigh while his hand runs over it soothingly.

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbles to you before diving back in to suck the pain away.

“Fuck,” you breathe, one of your hands gripping a handful of his hair and tugging very lightly. You aren’t sure if you want to pull him closer or tug him away. Doesn’t really matter, it’s like his sinfully plump lips are glued to your pussy. He noses his way down to slither his tongue into your clenching hole and you swear the appendage is way too long for him to be human. It wriggles inside you and laps up to tease you with small thrusts in and out. It seems he’s picked up on how much teasing your hole drives you crazy.

‘Just the tip’ as they say.

His nose flicks back and forth over your clit while he works and it’s only when he reaches the hand on your thigh up to tug on one of your nipples that you realize you’re getting impatient. You grip the hair on the crown of his head a little tighter and start working him against you, doing your best to rock your hips over his tongue in the awkward position you’re in. He hums against you and you groan with an open mouth, the simple sight of this lewd act starting to really get you off.

“Fuck, hyung. How much longer are you gonna be? You haven’t even stuck your dick in her yet, at this rate it’s going to be morning by the time we all get a round.”

Jungkook sounds more impatient than you and Tae seems to agree with him.

“I mean how many times has he made her cum now?”

“At least three times,” Jimin says evenly, never looking away from you.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck yes!”

You ride the high off Jin’s tongue, the knowledge that he’s practically sucking the pussy juice out of you making your orgasm a little messier than usual. You can feel yourself gushing into his waiting mouth and are nearly thrown into another orgasm when he pulls you impossibly closer, humming loudly and eating every inch he can of you until you’re completely clean of anything. Well anything, but his saliva. His fingertips feel like they’re leaving bruises they’re pressed so far into your flesh and you swear he’s enjoying you cumming more than you actually are.

“Make that four times,” Jimin reiterates

You vaguely hear Taehyung slam his cereal bowl into the table, stomping his way over to you and dropping a hand onto Jin’s shoulder.

“Alright hyung, you’ve had your fun. It’s my turn now, you can have her back when I’m done.”

“Like hell, she’s mine after,” Jungkook shouts.

Tae pushes Jin back, though the elder doesn’t put up much of a fight. You moan at the site of his glowing face, the lower half glistening in the firelight with your juices. He licks his lips and wipes the rest clean with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, the look in his eyes promising you that he’s not done with you yet. When he’s out of the way, Tae is kneeling between you legs. He bites the inside of your thigh gently and pulls each leg from the arms so that your feet are back on the ground.

“Can you stand for me babygirl?”

You roll your eyes at the pet name and shove him back.

“I’m older than you, idiot. Back up.”

He moves away from you and stands easily, his hands hovering around you when you get up, as if he expects you to fall. When he’s certain you’re steady on your feet he tugs your sweater (the one Jin had pushed up over your breasts to get a better view) over your head and tosses it on to the chair. He takes a half step back to look your over, admiring your unkempt skirt that was flipped up and your flushed skin.

“God you’re so hot.”

You don’t reply, though you don’t really need to, and instead arch your chest out for him when he ducks down to fit practically a hole tit into his mouth. His tongue swirls over your nipple and slathers it in spit before he’s sucking on it like he’s actually trying to get milk to come out. You moan and card your fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands to let him know you like how rough he’s being. He bites down when you tug on his hair, pulling at the hardened bud until it pops back from between his teeth. You gasp out a ‘fuck’ and present the other breast to him, enjoying how his big hand tugs it into his waiting mouth. He gives that nipple the same attention and by the time he’s finished you’re even more flushed than before.

“Fuck, I’m gonna break you noona. Just wait,” he growls out, roughly spinning you so that you have to catch yourself on the chair just so you don’t fall.

You expected him to bend you over and stuff his cock into you, but instead you feel his hot breath on your ass. His overly large hands (hands that you’ve fantasized about a million and one times) push your ass cheeks up and out, spreading them so that he can dive in and immediately fuck you with his tongue. You gasp and moan, arching your back so that he has easier access and reaching around to tug his face closer. You were hoping for his dick, but his tongue is working just as well and when you feel him lick up to tease your asshole you can’t help getting a little excited. You always figured Tae for an anal man and it’d been ages since your ass got a good pounding.

He works back and forth between your core and your ass, gripping your cheeks so hard you can only imagine how hard he’s going to rail you and it makes you drool with anticipation. When he’s certain your ass is lubed up enough with his spit he slots one of his fingers into your hole and wriggles it gently. You moan and try to push back on him, vaguely hearing him chuckle and feeling him push back against you.

“Easy, babygirl.”

“Fuck, y’all keep talking about sticking your dicks in me. Just fucking do it already.”

“Do you think this tight hole will even be able to fit my cock,” he chuckles out.

“I don’t know, why don’t you slam it in me and find out. I’ve done anal before, you prick. It’s just like riding a bike. Spit in my hole, spit on your cock and stretch me out already.”

You wiggle your ass closer to his face and he growls, apparently thoroughly enjoying the dirty words coming from your mouth. He bites down on one cheek before pulling them both apart far enough that your hole gapes open for him to spit into. ‘Fuck’ tumbles from his lips when he stands and he’s quick to pull his dick out, spitting on that as well and lathering the saliva over his shaft.

“You sure about this, noona?”

You wiggle your butt again.

“Baby this ass is gonna milk your cock so good you’ll never want pussy ever again.”

He grins like the devil and slaps a hand over your cheek before he’s pulling them apart again and teasing you with his tip. You moan and push back on him, loving that his resolve is quickly snapping. He’s desperately trying to take it slow, easing the head of his cock gently past the ring of muscle while he tries to hold you steady and keep you from overdoing it.

“Fuck, would you relax already. You’re gonna push me past my breaking point,” he grinds out, his tone of voice clearly giving away that he’s clenching his teeth. You roll your eyes and push back harder, clenching and relaxing your asshole so that you’re basically sucking him in.

“Stop being a pussy and fuck my ass, Kim Taehyung!”

He practically roars and slams his cock the rest of the way inside you. You cry out, both in pleasure and in shock when he practically lifts you off the ground and slams you down onto the picnic table where Yoongi and Namjoon sit. He shoves you against the wood and drags his cock out of you, making sure you feel every ridge, every vein before slamming back into you. You cry out again and push back into him, practically begging for more.

“Fuck! Just like that, Tae! You know I like it rough, baby. Show me how rough you can be!”

He spanks you again, pulling out and pumping in more quickly every time he cycles through the motions. His cock bores so deliciously inside of you, stretching you out and tugging on your walls to create the greatest of friction. ‘Fuck’ tumbles from your lips multiple times and by the time Tae’s picked up a good, quick pace, you’re panting like a bitch in heat. Your face presses into the wood of the table and you stare at Namjoon with hazy eyes. He has a look in his that you’re not quite sure of, but you take a chance anyway and open your mouth so that your tongue can lull out. The pleasure Tae is giving you makes your throat and the back of your tongue ache for something. You want the weight and pressure of something big and heavy at the back of your throat, and Namjoon seems to understand.

He reaches forward with two fingers and presses them on the back of your tongue, rubbing there every so slightly before dragging down along the wet muscle and pressing over into your right cheek. Just like having a cock prod the wet cavern. You moan with an open mouth, letting the flood of saliva Namjoon caused to drool out of the corners of your mouth. He pulls his fingers from your tongue and you cry at the loss.

“More,” you whine to him, “don’t stop. Make me gag.”

He doesn’t need to be told a second time, pressing down on your tongue again and pushing back until he’s activating your gag reflex. Your throat automatically closes around his fingers for a split second before he’s pulling them away and dragging them all through your mouth. Over your tongue, along your gums, against the roof of your mouth and pressing into your cheeks. He lewdly fucks your mouth with his fingers like Taehyung is fucking your ass with his cock and you swear there’s no way Heaven could be better than this.

“Fuck, you’re such a slut,” Tae grunts out, snapping his hips into your ass like he’s trying to catch his cock on fire.

“Sluts deserved to be punished, right hyung,” he asks and glances at Namjoon. The older male smirks and nods.

“Sluts like her get spanked, isn’t that right baby?”

“Yesh!” You cry around his fingers, more drool pooling from your mouth.

Taehyung groans at your eager submission, slapping his hand on each ass cheek once, twice, three times. You cry out each time, your cunt gushing and your ass milking his cock while he fucks you. When he smacks you a fourth time he hisses and grips the other cheek tight enough to leave marks.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass noona, can I?”

There’s your boy, the sweet demeanor returning in his desperation to empty his load into you. Namjoon finally pulls his fingers from your mouth and wipes them dry on his jeans.

“Yes, fuck please, yes! Empty your cock in my ass, Tae. Fill me up with your cum.”

You feel the first hot spurt the instant you say the word ‘fill’ and by the second shot of his hot seed has you cumming yourself. You didn’t expect it, but as soon as the string snaps and your orgasm hits, you feel yourself squirt your juices out onto Tae’s balls and thighs. Your vision goes blank and white, hot pleasure has you crying the boy’s name into the night. He presses into your back and practically sobs while he empties his balls in you, wrapping his arms so tightly around you that you’re sure it’s to hold himself up and not you. By the time you finally come to, you’re both panting, your legs feel like jello and you feel like Tae is permanently glued to your back with sweat. You can feel the efforts of his labor oozing out of your ass around his cock and you know as soon as he pulls out, your thighs are going to be covered in the hot, thick mess. Which you can’t say you’ll really mind.

You get the feeling you’ll be covered in a lot more it before the night is over.

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mnemosyne-musing · 3 years

Text

Double date (River/11)

(So this prompt link is very tenuous and has basically turned into pwp for which I at least partially blame sonic for encouraging me. This version is rated T but the link for the slightly smuttier version is here)

“So!” the Doctor leaps up the stairs to the console and grabs the monitor, spinning around on his heel before typing rapidly into the keyboard, “I was thinking, once River arrives, maybe, a trip to the Amazzi waterfalls. They have these wonderful pools filled with algae. Only, it’s not really algae, it’s this kind of-“

“Doctor,” Rory interrupts, somewhat tentatively, “We were thinking tonight. If you don’t mind that is. That we could just stay in? Maybe have dinner and, you know, just talk to River, and you of course?”

“Yes,” Amy pipes up quickly, “Only if you don’t mind of course,”

He looks up from the console at the two of them standing by the railing. Amy folding her hands slightly nervously in front of her and Rory biting his lip anxiously.

He beams at them. “Of course!”

Amy gives a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you! It’s not that we don’t want to go anywhere, it’s just, it’s been a lot the last few weeks and we haven’t really had much of a chance to process or talk to River or-“

“Ooh, it can be like a double date!” he cuts in and claps his hands together, “We can cook dinner here. I’ve got this wonderful recipe from Escoffier. Fabulous chap. I worked in his restaurant once actually and-“

“Doctor, are you sure?”

He waves a hand at them as he types. “Pond, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. It doesn’t always have to be running and excitement. I can do an evening in. Now, off you pop and get your cooking clothes on! I’ll pick up River and we’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Amy and Rory grin at each other before bounding towards the stairs and out of the console room.

“Thank you, Doctor!” Amy calls as they scarper down the corridor.

It had been just over a month since leaving River in the hospital after Berlin. They’d seen her once since then. He’d taken the Ponds to a planet with a fantastic seventeen hour meteor shower and they’d bumped into her on the viewing deck. They’d also run into a gang of high-end jewel smugglers whose presence there River swore was a complete coincidence to hers. He had his serious doubts about that but, honestly, he’d been quite distracted by all the running and excitement and then afterwards River had had to dash off very quickly. Well, not so quickly that she hadn’t grabbed him and snogged him against the door of the TARDIS but. Anyway.

He sighs and shakes his head to clear of it of those thoughts before returning to the monitor. He’s just about to pull the lever to let the TARDIS dematerialise when there’s a familiar noise of someone appearing by vortex manipulator behind him.

“Hello sweetie,”

He turns around, a grin already on his face and leans back against the console. River is standing a few feet away, wearing a dark trench coat that’s cinched in and tied at the waist, a pair of dazzlingly high blue heels on her feet that do funny things to his insides.

She begins to stalk towards him, a little bit like a predator approaching its prey.

“I thought I’d bring you a birthday present,” she practically purrs, stopping just out of arm’s reach.

He quirks an eyebrow. “But, it’s not my birthday?”

She simply smiles. A slow smirk that spreads across her face and now she really does look like she’s sizing him up for the kill. That thought really shouldn’t thrill him as much as it does he briefly ponders.

She brings a hand to the belt on her coat and slowly pulls it loose. “Care to reconsider?” she asks, her voice low and throaty as the coat falls open.

The Doctor opens his mouth but all words and possible replies immediately evaporate as he catches sight of what she’s wearing beneath the coat. Or rather, what she’s mostly not wearing beneath the coat. He hardly thinks that the plunging bra and skimpy pair of knickers, both made of flimsy lace in a deep blue colour to match her heels, really count as clothes. In fact, he can think of several planets on which that is most definitely not considered an outfit and would probably be illegal and really- hang on, why is he thinking about other planets when River is here and-

He licks his lips and swallows. “I think,” he manages to croak out, “I think it might be my birthday after all.”

River grins wickedly at him and lets the coat fall to the floor with a soft thud. She steps in towards him and grasps his shirt front, pulling him off the console and steering him backwards towards the jump seat. She pushes him down willingly into the seat and his hands automatically drift to grasp her hips, his fingers splaying across her back and stroking the soft skin there.

As she leans down to kiss him, there’s a small flicker of a thought at the back of his mind that there was something he was supposed to be doing. Something he was doing just before River arrived and-

A little while later, she levers herself off his lap as gracefully as she can before turning to look for her knickers. He watches unashamedly as she bends down to retrieve them, arse in the air and wearing nothing but those heels. She frowns down at them before shrugging, kicking her heels off and slipping her underwear back on. Turning back towards him she leans down and nabs his shirt, slipping it on before he can protest and carelessly doing up less than half the buttons.

She looks so utterly delectable, all beautifully dishevelled and ravished that he reaches for her again but she dances out of his reach.

“River!” he complains, as she sashays away from him and towards the corridor, “Where are you going?”

“We need to toast your birthday!” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner.

“But, it’s not really-,” he sighs and stops as he realises he’s talking to an empty room. He shakes his head and pulls up his boxers and trousers before sitting back in the jumpseat and waiting for River to reappear. He still hasn’t really caught his breath back since River first appeared in the console room.

He must’ve closed his eyes very briefly because he nearly jumps out of his skin a few minutes later when River’s voice suddenly crackles in the air.

“Sweetie, do we have any of the 1976 Krug? I’m sure we do but I can only find the ’77 and it just isn’t as good.”

He looks around wildly but he’s still alone in the console room.

“River?” he exclaims, “What? How are you doing- Where-“

“I’m in the kitchen, sweetie,” she says in that infinitely patient tone that she seems to reserve for when she’s telling him something extremely obvious, “I’m speaking over the intercom.”

“But. The TARDIS doesn’t have an intercom?” he objects, still looking frantically around the room as if River might suddenly pop up from behind the furniture somewhere. Her silence in response to his comment tells him she is probably rolling her eyes at him.

He’s about to come up with something very cutting and witty when over the intercom he suddenly hears a gasp and a very Scottish ‘Oh my god!’

The Ponds! Oh gods indeed! He had totally forgotten them and their date! He leaps up, spinning around to look for his shirt and then remembers River had purloined it just minutes ago. He swears in Gallifreyan under his breath, running a hand desperately through his hair before dashing out the door.

He sprints down the corridor which is rather longer than he remembers it being, cursing the TARDIS under his breath as he does do. He careens to a halt just before the kitchen and vainly tries to slow his breathing as he attempts to nonchalantly stroll inside.

He stops in the doorway and swallows nervously. River is leaning back against the kitchen counter, still clad in only his shirt and her knickers. She’s clutching a bottle of champagne in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other and looking exceptionally amused.

There’s another doorway into the kitchen on the opposite side to him and standing there are both Ponds. Amy is looking mildly embarrassed but still faintly amused whereas Rory has a shocked and slightly horrified expression on his face.

“Ah, there you are, sweetie!” River calls out cheerfully, “Did you want a glass of fizz?”

“Doctor?” Amy simply puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head at him expectantly.

“Ponds!” he exclaims as he looks wild-eyed between them, “River just arrived and- she- Well, we were going to celebrate because-“

“I think we know how you two were ‘celebrating’,” Amy snorts, folding her arms in front of her, “You’re only wearing one outfit between the two of you!”

“Ah, no, no,” the Doctor shakes his head frantically, “I know what this looks like but actually I had to give River my shirt as she only had a coat and some underwear that, well, really wasn’t much of an outfit to begin with and after-“

“Not. Helping, Doctor,” Rory mutters from between gritted teeth as he scrubs a hand over his eyes as if trying to erase that particular mental picture.

The Doctor gulps and attempts to salute the other man. “Sorry, centurion.”

“I suppose I should have asked earlier but when are we, Doctor?” River asks, still looking far too entertained with the whole situation.

“We’ve only just done Berlin a few weeks ago,” he mumbles as her eyes widen.

“Oh! Early days then,” River nods in understanding, a grin still playing around her lips, “So, this is the first time you’ve caught us like this?” she asks Amy and Rory as they nod.

“Hang on!” the Doctor says in a panicked voice, her words suddenly sinking in, “What do you mean ‘first time’?”

River simply gives him that knowing smirk again. “Believe me, none of you want to know about those times in advance.”

He puts that rather worrying thought to the back of his mind, ignoring the way Rory blanches and Amy gives a small shudder. Pasting a smile on his face, he claps his hands. “Well, we’re all here now! We can have that double date!”

“Double date?” River raises an eyebrow as she looks at him.

Amy shakes her head. “Sorry Raggedy-Man. Seeing you two half-dressed has kind of ruined my appetite.”

The Doctor glares at her and pulls his braces up self-consciously over his bare-chest, ignoring River’s soft snort of laughter. “Oi. Rude, Amelia.

“Don’t you Amelia me!” she retorts and wags a finger at him, “I know exactly what you’ve been doing with my daughter!” she adds as the Doctor blushes bright red and avoids her gaze. She turns on her heel and heads towards the door, dragging Rory along with her. “We’ll see you in the morning,” she calls over her shoulder, “If you could try and keep it out of the communal areas that would be lovely!”

The Doctor splutters in protest and turns an even deeper shade of red. He turns to River who is still leaning against the countertop. “You,” he points his finger accusingly at her, “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes,” he nods emphatically, crossing his arms across his bare chest and trying to look foreboding as it was possible to look when only half dressed, “We had a nice evening planned. The four of us. A double date. And then, you arrived with-,” he gestures vaguely at her, “Well. With all-. Looking like that and now here we are.”

River ignores his attempts at glaring and simply laughs. She puts the champagne and glasses down on the side and slinks towards him, her hips swaying. She runs her hands up his chest and winds them around his neck.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she coos in a tone that suggests she isn’t really very sorry at all. She leans in closer and whispers in his ear. “Shall I make it up you?”

He swallows heavily, his arms having already uncrossed themselves and somehow found themselves settling on her hips. “Well,” he mumbles, “It is my birthday after all.”

Her answering laugh is muffled as he kisses her once more.

#river song #river x eleven #riverdoctorpromptweek #my fic #lmao this totally turned into tenuous pwp so I apologise #I am also doing no work this week bc of these prompts #rip my thesis

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

Note

Main Issues with Feysand's leadership: it mostly consists on rather inmature, underdeveloped strategy that would in no way get a world leader very far in the real world (see: 'i schooled my face into a look of boredom'), seem content in making enemies left to right as long as they never have to step down from the pedestal that they've built, and see Illyria as a necessary evil, like wtf. In conclusion, Rhysand is a governor for Velaris, but is not fit to be the ruler of the Night Court.

Rounding caveat, because I know I’m going to get shouty: the dividing line between ToG and ACOTAR is that tog is a fantasy series with romance, and acotar is a romance series in a fantasy world. They’re not the same. I’d be totally fine with how the world building in acotar is v handywavy, because it’s still accomplishing what the books set out to do (tell a love story, hello acomaf) but- BUT, it’s not consistent. And that inconsistency wildly undermines the characters.

And god, if Rhysand as a ruler isn’t the heart of ???? spirit.

We’re not going to talk about how the plot of acotar only makes sense backwards (Hey, Rhys, why did you want to kidnap every month a powerless mortal girl???), we’re just going to talk about reputation.

So Rhys is a villain who we learn isn’t actually evil. A classic. He was made to do terrible things by Amarantha! He sacrificed himself to save his friends! Of course the High Lords hate him, they think he sided with the enemy.

That could have been the whole thing- the layers pulled back, Rhysand also a victim, a reason for the world to hate him but for Feyre to see otherwise.

OKAY BUT- then we learn? that Rhysand has been playing Evil Scary Jackass in all political situations? for his entire reign? that’s just what he does?

Round two: Rhys had to be Amarantha’s because he had to “shield the knowledge” of his friends and his capitol? city.

BUT- other people Under the Mountain, also accessible to Amarantha, know the IC??? have been acquainted with them for years? They’re not a secret. Mor was almost married out, Az and Cas are legendary, Amren is a story people tell.

And all those people are probably incentivized by the fact that, you know, they think Rhysand is an evil traitor.

Furthermore: guess who willing cooperated with Amarantha? The Court of Nightmares. Recall who, surprise in acowar, knows all about Velaris: Keir.

Round three: Sexy Evil Cosplay, wherein we learn that not only instead of just keeping it together in politics Rhys has adopted an entire secondary persona, we learn he also...uses this persona...to scare all the other highborn faeries into submission....so he? never has to talk to them?

BUT ALSO: this whole thing is undermined by, once more, Keir.

The whole game on the throne is to instill fear/ control of Keir. The whole Second Face. But Keir knows about Velaris? Keir knows exactly what Rhys stands for because Rhys and Cassian tried to rescue Morrigan from the Court of Nightmares when they were teens. Hell, Keir probably knew Rhys when Rhys was a kid.

It’s almost like eventually the person you pretend to be becomes who you are.

I think the Political Rhys vs Real Rhys started out as a plot point, but in character became this: not someone separate at all, but actually, Rhysand’s coping mechanism for making shitty choices.

See: if everyone in the Court of Nightmares bows, I’m ruling them. It doesn’t matter that women are being sold, that there’s servants and presumably totally normal people trapped in a mountain they can’t leave with people I think are monsters.

Let’s jump to Illyria.

How much easier is it, for Rhysand, half-Illyrian himself, to align wholly with the High Fae and say: no, it’s Illyria’s fault. They’re savages, they’re barbarians.

Easy as being a dick to other powerful men because it’s fun when they can’t fight back.

If the blame isn’t his, he keeps his army. He doesn’t have to fight a civil war that might swallow him whole, considering Illyria is the army he controls vs the High Fae soldiers left entirely under Keir’s rule.

If it’s Illyria’s fault he can successfully reimagine the past as he clearly needs to (someday, I’ll make a whole ass post about Rhysand’s mommy issues and how they creepily bleed into Feyre’s characterization, but one thing at a time).

If it’s Illyria’s fault, he can’t be mad about his Mother, daughter of a warrior race, offering him up for brutal, dangerous training. It’s the fault of Illyria. He doesn’t have to imagine he was learning those things, fighting in the mud, because it was the only way his mother could pass the legacy, could say, look, this is where I come from and someday you will have the power to make it better for your sister, for everyone.

He LOVED his mother. He wears the sacred tattoos, manifests wings, has Illyrian “brothers”.

But- It’s Illyria’s fault, so Rhys didn’t fail, Rhys is doing his duty by keeping them in line.

Which brings us to the war.

I’m unclear on why only the Night Court knew Hybern was coming, but let’s just accept that.

But it’s all about the Public Face, moving in the shadows, the two Rhysands. So for the months Feyre is wasting away with Tamlin, planning her wedding Rhys...doesn’t warn anyone. Doesn’t whisper to the other High Lords to shore up defenses.

He makes a plan contingent on 1)that creepy deal with Feyre that he can now both justify and doesn’t want to enforce knowing she’s his mate, and 2) long lost magical objects no one knows the location of, and that don’t belong to him.

Rhys got SO used to the All-Knowing Dickbag face, it’s like he started believing he was all knowing. He’s one of seven Lords, but he doesn’t talk to any of them, on the off chance they don’t do exactly as he says. He steals from Tarquin, a young High Lord kind enough to take a chance on him. He tricks Mor. He lies to...everyone?

And then it’s a big deal, a failure on their part, when at the FINAL HOUR AND LAST MOMENT BEFORE ALL OUT WAR, AFTER THE SECOND INVASION HAS ALREADY COMMENCED, when the High Lords don’t jump to trust Rhys.

A step back, a Feyre tangent: Feyre, younger, also deeply traumatized, falls into this hard. Rhys tells her he’s the underdog, and she believes it. He’s SO SO SO powerful he can take the voice of another High Lord, Feyre herself thinks he’s so magical the gap between him and his contemporaries is like that between humans and high fae-

But hey wait, they don’t trust him because he’s been a dick for five hundred years.

But hey wait, they came as their true selves, they don’t trust him while he’s WEARING ILLYRIAN WINGS- IT’S BECAUSE HE’S DIFFERENT-

No, it is not, but Feyre’s POV sort of wants us to think so.

And that’s where everything sort of falls apart.

The act of power has stopped being an act- it’s just their actions now. And they do not know how to stop.

Because they are in control, and they have to go on for the war. They have to keep making decisions, even if they’ve lost the thread, because they want to survive.

But they do survive.

And it turns out, even after that, they can’t put down the masks fused to their faces, because the act is the only thing keeping them together.

So the balls to the wall, We Must have the High Ground Even at Our Own Dinner Parties, The Center MUST Hold shit just keeps going: tearing down Lucien because he chose something that wasn’t their Court. Letting Illyria crumble because they don’t need the army right now. Banishing Nesta because she’ll never bow to authority.

All the weird, incestuous feeling inter IC drama.

But they’re the underdogs! the Heroes! It’s not their fault!

So they spend their time in Velaris, charmingly hanging out like they’re normal people, thinking they’re better because power is wielded on an unimaginable personal scale.

Rhys loves his people! Rhys sacrificed!

Rhys...careened from one war/disaster to the next, and then settled down to play house?

The narrative cannot decide: is Rhys really an underdog, devoted to his people? How about he helps every other city that Amarantha destroyed?

Is Rhys a Normal Guy who just wants to walk on pretty cobblestone and have a cute, happy family? Maybe, there should be a government so he isn’t solely responsible for everything?

Is Rhys the Lord of Darkness Redeemed by LOVE? Cool, let’s have him maybe he honest with Feyre exactly once, OR, at least talk about how him dying made her go off the rails and try to fix that with a bandage that isn’t baby shaped before Feyre’s 22nd birthday.

Canonically, becoming High Lord is a mystical, magical endowment. That then, for the most part, functions as some kind of mashup Monarchy/ Feudal Lordship.

If that’s what it is, why can’t we lean into that? Rhys who does want a normal happy life with Feyre, trapped by the weight of immovable magic destiny.

King Rhys, duty bound to his bloodline and his people, torn between different ways to rule.

Hell, Rhysand who really is a monster, because maybe Faeries are monstrous by human standards, who shows Feyre the beauty that lies beneath the brutality in a magic, surreal world where everyone is terrifying, but even monsters love.

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hizashis-lil-bunbun · 3 years

Text

Like a Moth to a Flame Pt. 3

Back at it again and this chapter was fun! Next one we’ll be getting into some more juicy bits but I needed a setup for the scene. So enjoy my friendly little deviants!

Mild TW: mentions of blood, violence, attempted assault, and (very) minor character death

As always, I thank/blame @miscellaneous-bnha for the inspo

Part 1 Part 2

•••••

You feel numb walking down the darkened sidewalk towards home, shock and frustration making it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. It had been several weeks since you last saw Mirio, and there hadn’t been any reports of strange, paranormal activity in any other part of town. At least, not according to the papers. Even after the landlord had coughed up the money to replace the ruined fire escape, you’d yet to catch another glimpse of the golden mothman. Night after night you’d put out bowls of sugar water, stayed up late, even pulled a few strings of old Christmas lights out of storage to decorate your portion of the new railing. But come morning, you always found the bait untouched and it left you feeling drained and disappointed. You knew your nightly routine was starting to feel unhealthy, obsessive really, and that your performance at work had been gradually slipping as a result. But it wasn’t until today, when your boss called you in after your shift ended and handed you that soul-crushing pink slip, that you realized just how far it had fallen. And on top of all that, you’d missed the last bus home, forcing you to take a literal walk of shame back to your apartment.

“What am I gonna do?” You breathe into the crisp night air, unconsciously reaching into the pocket of your coat to fish out your phone. Without even looking at the screen, you unlock the device and open your camera roll, tapping on a folder marked “Moth” before finally looking down. There was only one picture on file, but you’d seen it so many times it was practically burned into your retinas. The image was grainy and blurred (not to mention overexposed beyond the point of recognition due to the flash), but you couldn’t give a damn about any of that. The only clear part of the image, the only part you cared about, was the pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you. For some unknown reason, the camera hadn’t distorted them, perfectly capturing their glassy, sapphire hue and wide-eyed expression of curiosity.

And you had spent countless hours poring over it.

In the beginning, you’d convinced yourself it was nothing more than a piece of evidence, proof of your sanity and a confirmation of his existence. But as the days passed, you’d come to take comfort in it, more often than not allowing your mind to wander freely back to the memory of his voice in your ear and the warm weight of his head on your shoulder. You hadn’t even posted it to any of the online forums, jealously hoarding it the same way a dragon protects its treasure.

“Mirio.” You exhale softly, thumb absentmindedly brushing over the cracked surface of your phone screen. “I wish I could fly away from my problems like you. Must be nice having wings…”

“Hey there, baby!”

A gruff, slurring voice abruptly snaps you back to reality, head whipping up to see a trio of men leaning against a rundown building across the street. Their faces are indistinguishable, partially obscured by shadows thrown from a lone street lamp shining over their heads. But you can clearly make out the brown paper bags they have clutched in their fists, the material crumpled and molded into the tell-tale shape of liquor bottles as they continue to heckle you.

“Why dontcha come over here and hang out with us?” The biggest brute calls out, beckons you closer with a crook of his finger. “We’ll show ya a good time.”

“Yeah, a real good time.” The man to his left cackles. His lewd remark earns him a few snickers from his seedy friends while a wave of revulsion courses down your spine. Catcalling wasn’t exactly foreign to you; in this part of town, it was practically expected. But their drunken words and leering eyes make you acutely aware of just how empty the streets are right now, devoid of other people or passing cars to offer protection (or witnesses) should they decide to take things too far. Still, you straighten your spine and snap your eyes forward, long-since trained to know it’s best to ignore their booze-fueled jeers and keep walking.

“Awww, don’t be like that, baby!” You hear one of them call from your right, “We just wanna have some fun!”

You keep your gaze trained on the looming silhouette of your apartment complex, soles of your shoes clicking against the cold pavement as you grip the phone in your hand even more tightly. You’re close enough to see some of the lights are still on your neighbors windows, probably cleaning up from dinner or settling in for a smoke and a drink. With the promise of safety so close at hand, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder….

And feel your blood run cold as you see the men casually strolling across the empty street to fall in line behind you. They’re whispering amongst themselves as they take a few more swigs from their bottles, their shuffling gait and longer legs quickly closing the gap between you. You pick up your own pace in turn, walking much more briskly now and earning a reproachful growl from the men behind you.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” One of them snarls, “Didn’t your mama ever teach you it’s rude to ignore people?”

You don’t respond to his jab, too afraid to speak regardless, and set off at a jog, determined to put as much distance between yourself and these morons as possible. But that action proves itself to be a grave mistake, as you hear the footsteps behind you pick up in speed. Before you can fully register what’s happening, one of the men appears over your right shoulder, laughing maniacally as he gives you a rough shove and sends you careening off course and into an adjacent alleyway. The unexpected move knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground and knocking your head into the concrete with enough force to set your teeth rattling. Even worse, you lose your grip on your phone, hearing it skitter off into the darkness as the men crowd into the alley after you.

“I think she could use a lesson in manners! Ain’t that right, boys?” Their leader asks mockingly, seconds before he grabs you by the hair and roughly hauls you back onto your feet.

“Please!” You yelp, both from fear and the pain shooting throughout your scalp, “I-I have money. You can take whatever you want!”

“Whatever we want, huh?” He says with a sneer, his face close enough you can smell the sour aroma of cheap bourbon and old cigarettes on his breath.

“Then gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his free arm wrapping itself around your waist to keep you in place as he tries to force his tongue past your sealed lips and down your throat. Your screams for help are muffled by the kiss, and it’s all you can do to push against his chest and thrash wildly in his hold. His companions stand faithfully behind him, egging him on with bouts of derisive laughter intermingled with hoots to “hurry up and get on with it” so they can have their turn. After a few moments he pulls away for air, arm leaving your waist and clapping the hand that was tangled in your hair over your mouth. Meanwhile, his buddies move to either side of you to grab you by the shoulders and force down on your knees.

“Since you didn’t feel like talkin’…” He growls dangerously, free hand toying with the buckle of his belt. “Let’s see if that pretty little mouth is good for somethin’ else.”

Your eyes widen as his belt comes undone with a soft clink, tears pricking at the corners as he leers down at you. Instinct takes over as he attempts to undo his fly, and before he can move his hand you jerk your head back to partially free your mouth. Then you bite down. Hard.

“Fuck!”

He hastily wrenches his hand from your mouth before you can do any more damage while you take in a desperate lungful of fresh air. A quick glance at his hand shows you’d successfully broken the skin, leaving a perfect, crescent-shaped indent that was quickly beading up with fresh blood.

“Help! Somebody help! Rape! RA-!”

You’re abruptly silenced by a quick blow to your right cheek, delivered by one of the men still holding you down. Throbbing pain radiates out from the point of impact, making your vision white out and earning a cruel laugh from your captors.

“You little bitch!” The injured man spits at you, “Think you’re so tough, huh?”

A small click forces your eyes to open, only to be met with a glint of metal in the light of the full moon: a switchblade.

“Let’s see how tough you are when I slice up that pretty face of yours. Starting with that fuckin’ mouth.”

With a twirl of the blade, he advances towards you, relishing in your helpless state as greedy eyes roam the plane of your terrified face. You’re too scared to scream anymore, eyes squeezing shut as you brace yourself for the first cut. But instead of searing pain, there’s an odd rustling noise, followed by a colossal thump that seems to shake the very earth beneath you. The men holding your shoulders abruptly release you, backing away amidst a slew of bewildered curses. Slowly, you crack one eye open to find a new, dark figure standing in front of you, blotting out the moon itself and effectively shielding you from your would-be rapist.

“M-Mirio?” You gasp, voice wavering from disbelief and shock. The golden cryptid looks over his shoulder at you, only giving a chittering cry at the sound of your voice.

“What the fuck!?” The man behind him screeches, “The fuck is that thing?!”

Mirio’s head snaps around to face the terrified thug, wings slowly raising in a show of strength and dominance as he lets out a low, menacing growl.

“Y/N…” He snarls, taking a short step forward and shifting into a crouch. “Mine.”

“S-stay back!” The man stammers, jabbing the switchblade into the empty air in front of him like a puny saber. “I’m warning you!”

Mirio gives a low hiss in response, wings fully extended as he lowers himself to place one hand on the ground. You’re frozen on the spot, hardly daring to breathe as you sense the slightest movement could set him off. For a moment, everything is still. And then, spurred on by loyalty, liquid courage or a combination of the two, the other thugs charge Mirio from behind. Moving faster than you could comprehend, Mirio whips around with a high-pitched shriek, landing a powerful swipe to the center of one man’s chest and sending him crashing to the pavement beside you. The other one was luckier, successfully jumping onto the monster’s back and causing Mirio to rear up on his back legs once more. The attacker then attempts to wrap his arms around Mirio’s neck, perhaps hoping to cut off his air supply or at least distract him long enough for the third man to join the fray.

But Mirio was obviously stronger and smarter than he was expecting.

Clawed hands scratch at the attacker’s face and shoulders before the winged behemoth suddenly flops onto his back, bringing his full weight down on the foolhardy attacker with a sickening crunch. Rolling back onto all fours, the man is left gasping for air on the ground, possibly with a punctured lung or (at the very least) a few broken ribs. Undeterred by his pitiful cries for mercy, Mirio looses an unearthly roar before grabbing the man by the front of his sweat-soaked shirt, rising to his full height, and tossing him towards the empty street like he weighed no more than a ragdoll.

“MINE!” He bellows, “MIIIIIIINE!”

“Fuck you!” The remaining man screams in return, rushing towards the towering beast with his switchblade held aloft. “Die, you fuckin’ freak!”

Mirio shifts back into a fighting stance, his back to you as he lets out another spine-chilling howl and rushes forward to greet the oncoming attack. At the same time, the moon moves behind a cloud, throwing the alleyway into inky darkness as you shriek and cover your head with your hands. With your eyes screwed shut, all you can hear is the man’s incensed grunts and yells, overshadowed by Mirio’s own enraged roars and the scratch of his nails on the dirty concrete. After a few seconds of struggle, Mirio gives a piercing cry, followed by the wet sound of tearing flesh and a strangled, gurgling noise. The fight ends as suddenly as it started, the only sounds now coming from your own terrified whimpers and the clatter of the switchblade falling to the ground.

Peeking out from between your fingers, you find the sky has started to lighten once more, the moon reappearing from behind the clouds and washing the bizarre scene in an unsettling, ethereal hue. The scrawniest attacker is still sprawled out next to you, unconscious but mercifully alive given the force of his impact. Mirio stands facing towards you, breathing heavily as the wings on his back shiver and shake. And at his feet, eyes wide and lifeless, is the leader’s body, his face covered in deep claw marks and a puddle of blood seeping out from underneath him like an oil slick.

“You… you killed him.” You breathe, “Mirio, h-he’s dead.”

Mirio doesn’t make any move to acknowledge your words, simply sinking to his knees with a rumbling groan. He seems almost sad, remorseful even, with the way he hangs his head and curls his bloodied hands into fists atop his knees. In this new light, you also notice something on the mothman’s left forearm: a clean, shallow gash. That must have been the cause for his shrieking earlier.

Slowly you stand once more, swallowing the lump in your throat to take a few tentative steps toward the creature.

“Are you… hurt?” You ask softly, noting the way he jolts and then shrinks away from you. You’re only a few feet away now, close enough to make out the faint stripes and eye-spot pattern on his wings. You nervously crouch down, balancing on the balls of your feet but keeping a safe distance should he turn aggressive. A chilly breeze blows through the alley, pushing against your back and making the creature raise his head up slightly, sniffing the air. His gaze locks on your face, glassy eyes wide as he slowly puts his palms on the ground and gets back on all fours. He moves one clawed hand closer to you and you start for a second, taking a quick step back before catching sight of the streaks of blood dripping from his forearm once more.

“Hurt?” You say again, pointing a shaky finger at the wound. His eyes follow to where you’re pointing and he lets out a chittering mewl, lifting up his injured arm. His long, slithering tongue snakes out from his mouth and he begins to lap at the blood, wincing at the taste. You’re unsure if this is real or an act. On the one hand, it’s hard to believe a creature so obviously powerful as him would be so concerned over little more than a scratch. Then again, you feel certain Mirio is too much of a gentle soul at heart to fake the whole “kicked-puppy” routine.

“No. Don’t do that.” You chide gently, tone forcing the monster to stop licking at himself and look up at you. Moving slowly so as to not startle him, you reach into the pocket of your coat and fish around until your fingers close around a crumpled, but thankfully unused, piece of tissue. When you pull it out of your pocket, Mirio’s eyes narrow into slits and he bares his teeth to let out a small, warning hiss.

“Easy, boy.” You say soothingly, “It can’t hurt you. See?”

You extend your free hand and pat the tissue against your own palm, demonstrating it’s benign nature. Mirio’s face gradually relaxes as he watches your display, eventually crawling over the corpse on the ground to get closer to you. You’re now practically nose-to-nose with the mothman, dropping your empty hand by your side and using the tissue to gesture at the cut on his arm.

“Let me help.”

Mirio gives a short blink before shifting into a squatting position similar to your own, carefully extending his injured arm towards you. Doing your best to not cause him any pain, you carefully start to dab at the areas around the cut, mopping up the spilled blood as the monster watches you work.

“Y/N.” He says softly, his voice causing you to look up from your task. Mirio raises his other hand to touch the right-hand side of your face, sending a bolt of prickly pain shooting through your skull and making you wince. You’d been so caught up in the chaos and adrenaline-fueled high that you’d forgotten about your own injuries. No doubt you’ve got a sizable bruise forming from where that thug had punched you earlier. Mirio’s stiffens up at the your response, brow furrowing in concern as he quickly pulls his hand away.

“H-hurt?”

“A little…” You mumble in response, “But I’ll be alright.”

He stills for a moment and you offer him a small, pained smile, hoping to reassure him. And the next thing you know he’s moving, clutching you to his chest in a protective embrace and nuzzling his face into your neck. You squeak a little at the unexpected move, body going rigid in fear of being attacked. But soon his sweet scent and warmth fully envelop your senses, causing you to relax in his hold.

“Hurt.” He whimpers in your ear, “Y/N hurt. My fault.”

You can feel your heart clench at his words. He sounds so guilty. Helpless even. Like a child crying to their mother for comfort. Before you can think better of it, you wrap your arms around him in return, worming your hands underneath his wings to rest on his well-defined shoulder blades.

“Oh, Mirio no! It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

His body begins to shake, his breathing turning into ragged gasps as he squeezes you even more tightly. One hand leaves your back to cradle your head, the sheer size of his fingers tangling in your hair making you feel like doll-like. The two of you stay locked together like this for a few minutes, holding onto each other in the moonlight as Mirio continues to tremble beneath your touch.

“Mirio. I-” You softly breathe, causing him to raise his golden head and look you in the eye. You have so many questions for him, so many things you like to say. But all that comes out is a quiet, “Thank you.”

He cocks his handsome head to one side before a smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth, pearly teeth reappearing as he gives a short nod of understanding.

“Mirio… keep Y/N safe.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.” You say with a weak chuckle, reaching up one hand to brush an errant strand of blonde hair away from his face. “I’m safe now.”

Mirio coos as he presses his cheek into your palm, the same way he’d done outside your apartment complex all those weeks ago. His eyes close contentedly and you can’t help but smile at his blissful expression.

“Y/N. Mine.” He purrs.

You freeze at the bold statement, pulling your hand away and earning a disappointed mewl from Mirio.

“You said that before. Mirio, what do you mean–?”

“You there! Freeze!”

A familiar voice cuts off your question nanoseconds before a powerful flashlight is aimed directly at Mirio’s back. Even though you can’t see around his massive frame, you can tell it’s the same officer who caught you the last time Mirio visited you.

Only now, the cornered cryptid hadn’t had the chance to fly away.

“Hands where I can see them!” The officer demands, flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. Mirio makes no such move. Instead, he rises to his feet, hooking one arm under your thighs and taking you up with him.

“Wait! Mirio, don’t!” You shriek, desperately grabbing at his chest and mane as he turns to face the officer. It’s a terrifying sight for the poor man: three bodies strewn across a bloody alley, a blue-eyed beast, and a helpless civilian seemingly taken captive.

“D-drop the hostage!” He stammers out. “Do it, or I’ll shoot!”

You can tell from the way the light wavers that he’s shaking and you suspect the only reason he hasn’t fired his weapon yet is because he doesn’t want to risk hitting you. Your eyes flit wildly between his and Mirio’s face, finding his fangs are bared as he lets out a warning hiss.

“Y/N.” Mirio snarls, wings slowly unfurling behind him as he bends his knees and tightens his grip on you. “Mine!”

With that final declaration, Mirio gives his wings a powerful flap and kicks off from the ground. You scream as you take flight, tiny fingers digging into the solid muscle of Mirio’s chest and neck for safety. Between the sound of rushing wind and your own heartbeat jackhammering in your ears, you can barely make out the officer’s voice telling him to stop, followed by a rogue gunshot. And then there’s nothing. Nothing save for the wind in your hair and Mirio’s howl of victory as he carries you ever higher into the starry night sky.

“Stop!” You shriek, cold air stinging your battered face and forcing your eyes closed. “Put me down! Mirio, let go!”

Mirio doesn’t respond to your demands, either unable or unwilling to hear you as he sets off over the rooftops. After a few minutes of careful flying, he abruptly changes course, veering off westward and heading for the woods that ring the city limits.

“Keep Y/N safe.” Mirio says resolvedly, his voice rumbling through his chest and directly in your ear.

“Y/N… mine.”

•••••

Tags: @middevil465 @delightfully-anonymous

#bnha mothman au #mothrio #mothmanmirio #mha x reader #togata mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: attempted assault #mha #bnha

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